THE OFFICIALS OF THE COURT.
At last Matthew Nikitich also arrived, and the usher, a thin man, with a
long neck and a kind of sideways walk, his nether lip protruding to one
side, which made him resemble a turkey, came into the jurymen’s room.
This usher was an honest man, and had a university education, but could
not keep a place for any length of time, as he was subject to fits of
drunkenness. Three months before a certain countess, who patronised his
wife, had found him this place, and he was very pleased to have kept it
so long.
“Well, sirs, is everybody here?” he asked, putting his pince-nez on his
nose, and looking round.
“Everybody, I think,” said the jolly merchant.
“All right; we’ll soon see.” And, taking a list from his pocket, he
began calling out the names, looking at the men, sometimes through and
sometimes over his pince-nez.
“Councillor of State, [grades such as this are common in Russia, and
mean very little] J. M. Nikiforoff!”
“I am he,” said the dignified-looking man, well versed in the habits of
the law court.
“Ivan Semionovitch Ivanoff, retired colonel!”
“Here!” replied a thin man, in the uniform of a retired officer.
“Merchant of the Second Guild, Peter Baklasheff!”
“Here we are, ready!” said the good-humoured merchant, with a broad
smile.
“Lieutenant of the Guards, Prince Dmitri Nekhludoff!”
“I am he,” answered Nekhludoff.
The usher bowed to him, looking over his pince-nez, politely and
pleasantly, as if wishing to distinguish him from the others.
“Captain Youri Demitrievitch-Dantchenko, merchant; Grigori Euphimitch
Kouleshoff,” etc. All but two were present.
“Now please to come to the court, gentlemen,” said the usher, pointing
to the door, with an amiable wave of his hand.
All moved towards the door, pausing to let each other pass. Then they
went through the corridor into the court.
The court was a large, long room. At one end there was a raised
platform, with three steps leading up to it, on which stood a table,
covered with a green cloth trimmed with a fringe of a darker shade. At
the table were placed three arm-chairs, with high-carved oak backs; on
the wall behind them hung a full-length, brightly-coloured portrait of
the Emperor in uniform and ribbon, with one foot in advance, and holding
a sword. In the right corner hung a case, with an image of Christ
crowned with thorns, and beneath it stood a lectern, and on the same
side the prosecuting attorney’s desk. On the left, opposite the desk,
was the secretary’s table, and in front of it, nearer the public, an
oak grating, with the prisoners’ bench, as yet unoccupied, behind
it. Besides all this, there were on the right side of the platform
high-backed ashwood chairs for the jury, and on the floor below tables
for the advocates. All this was in the front part of the court, divided
from the back by a grating.
The back was all taken up by seats in tiers. Sitting on the front seats
were four women, either servant or factory girls, and two working men,
evidently overawed by the grandeur of the room, and not venturing to
speak above a whisper.
Soon after the jury had come in the usher entered, with his sideward
gait, and stepping to the front, called out in a loud voice, as if he
meant to frighten those present, “The Court is coming!” Every one got
up as the members stepped on to the platform. Among them the president,
with his muscles and fine whiskers. Next came the gloomy member of the
Court, who was now more gloomy than ever, having met his brother-in-law,
who informed him that he had just called in to see his sister (the
member’s wife), and that she had told him that there would be no dinner
there.
“So that, evidently, we shall have to call in at a cook shop,” the
brother-in-law added, laughing.
“It is not at all funny,” said the gloomy member, and became gloomier
still.
Then at last came the third member of the Court, the same Matthew
Nikitich, who was always late. He was a bearded man, with large, round,
kindly eyes. He was suffering from a catarrh of the stomach, and,
according to his doctor’s advice, he had begun trying a new treatment,
and this had kept him at home longer than usual. Now, as he was
ascending the platform, he had a pensive air. He was in the habit of
making guesses in answer to all sorts of self-put questions by different
curious means. Just now he had asked whether the new treatment would be
beneficial, and had decided that it would cure his catarrh if the number
of steps from the door to his chair would divide by three. He made 26
steps, but managed to get in a 27th just by his chair.
The figures of the president and the members in their uniforms, with
gold-embroidered collars, looked very imposing. They seemed to feel this
themselves, and, as if overpowered by their own grandeur, hurriedly sat
down on the high backed chairs behind the table with the green cloth,
on which were a triangular article with an eagle at the top, two glass
vases--something like those in which sweetmeats are kept in refreshment
rooms--an inkstand, pens, clean paper, and good, newly-cut pencils of
different kinds.
The public prosecutor came in with the judges. With his portfolio under
one arm, and swinging the other, he hurriedly walked to his seat near
the window, and was instantly absorbed in reading and looking through
the papers, not wasting a single moment, in hope of being ready when the
business commenced. He had been public prosecutor but a short time, and
had only prosecuted four times before this. He was very ambitious,
and had firmly made up his mind to get on, and therefore thought it
necessary to get a conviction whenever he prosecuted. He knew the chief
facts of the poisoning case, and had already formed a plan of action. He
only wanted to copy out a few points which he required.
The secretary sat on the opposite side of the platform, and, having
got ready all the papers he might want, was looking through an article,
prohibited by the censor, which he had procured and read the day before.
He was anxious to have a talk about this article with the bearded
member, who shared his views, but wanted to look through it once more
before doing so.