The presiding justice arrived early. He was a tall, stout man, with
long, grayish side-whiskers. He was married, but, like his wife, led a
very dissolute life. They did not interfere with each other. On the
morning in question he received a note from a Swiss governess, who had
lived in his house during the summer, and was now passing on her way
from the South to St. Petersburg. She wrote that she would be in town
between three and six o'clock p.m., and wait for him at the "Hotel
Italia." He was, therefore, anxious to end his day's sitting before
six o'clock, that he might meet the red-haired Clara Vasilievna.
Entering his private chamber, and locking the door behind him, he
produced from the lower shelf of a book-case two dumb-bells, made
twenty motions upward, forward, sidewise and downward, and three times
lowered himself, holding the bells above his head.
"Nothing so refreshes one as a cold-water bath and exercise," he
thought, feeling with his left hand, on the fourth finger of which was
a gold ring, the biceps of his right arm. He had to go through two
more movements (these exercises he went through every day before court
opened), when the door rattled. Some one was attempting to open it.
The judge quickly replaced the dumb-bells and opened the door.
"I beg your pardon," he said.
One of the members of the court, wearing gold eye-glasses, of medium
height, with high shoulders and frowning countenance, entered.
"Matvei Nikitich is late again," said the newcomer, with an air of
displeasure.
"Yes," said the presiding judge, donning his robes. "He is always
late."
"It is a shame," said the member, and sat down angrily, then lighted a
cigarette.
This member of the court, a very punctilious man, had this morning had
an unpleasant encounter with his wife, which was caused by her
spending her monthly allowance before the month was up. She asked for
a sum of money in advance, and he refused. The result was a quarrel.
She said that unless he gave her the money there would be no dinner
that night, and that he would have to dine outside. He departed in
fear that she would carry out her threat, as anything might be
expected from her.
"Is it worth while leading a good, moral life?" he thought, as he
looked at the beaming, healthy, joyful and good-natured presiding
justice, who, spreading his elbows, stroked his long, gray whiskers;
"he is always contented and cheerful, while I am suffering."
The secretary entered and handed the presiding justice a document.
"Thank you," he said, and lighted a cigarette. "Which case shall be
taken up first?"
"The poison case, I think," the secretary answered, with feigned
indifference.
"Very well; so let it be the poison case," said the justice,
considering that that case could be disposed of by four o'clock and
make it possible for him to keep the appointment. "Has Matvei Nikitich
arrived?"
"Not yet."
"Is Breae here?"
"Yes," answered the secretary.
"Then tell him that we shall try the poisoning case."
Breae was an assistant prosecuting attorney and was assigned to this
term of the court.
The secretary met Breae in the corridor. With uplifted shoulders, his
robe unbuttoned, and portfolio under his arm, he almost ran, his heels
clattering on the floor, and his disengaged hand outstretched in the
direction in which he was going.
"Michael Petrovich desires to know if you are ready," said the
secretary.
"Certainly; I am always ready," said the assistant prosecutor; "which
is the first case?"
"The poisoning case."
"Very well," said the assistant prosecutor, but he did not consider it
well at all--he had not slept all night. A send-off had been given to
a departing friend, and he drank and played till two in the morning,
so that he was entirely unfamiliar with this case, and now hastened to
glance over the indictment. The secretary had purposely suggested the
case, knowing that the prosecutor had not read it. The secretary was a
man of liberal, even radical, ideas. Breae was conservative, and the
secretary disliked him, and envied his position.
"And what about the Skoptzy?"[A]
"I have already said that I cannot prosecute them in the absence of
witnesses," said the assistant prosecutor, "and I will so declare to
the court."
"But you don't need----"
"I cannot," said the assistant prosecutor, and waving his hand, ran to
his office.
He was postponing the case against the Skoptzy, although the absent
witness was an entirely unnecessary one. The real reason of the
postponement was that the prosecutor feared that their trial before an
intelligent jury might end in their acquittal. By an understanding
with the presiding justice their case was to be transferred to the
session of the District Court, where the preponderance of peasants on
the jury would insure their conviction.
The commotion in the corridor increased. The greatest crowd was before
the Civil Court, where the case of which the portly gentleman was
telling the jurymen was being tried. During a recess the same old lady
from whom the ingenious attorney managed to win her property in favor
of his shrewd client, came out of the court-room. That he was not
entitled to the property was known to the judges as well as to the
claimant and his attorney, but the mode of their procedure was such
that it was impossible to dismiss their claim. The old lady was stout,
in smart attire, and with large flowers on her hat. As she passed
into the corridor she stopped, and turning to her lawyer, kept
repeating:
"How can it be? Great heavens! I don't understand it!"
The lawyer did not listen to her, but looked at the flowers on her
hat, making mental calculations.
Behind the old lady, beaming in his wide-open vest, and with a
self-sufficient smile on his face, came that same famous lawyer who so
managed the case that the lady with the large flowers lost all her
property, while his shrewd client, who paid him ten thousand rubles,
received over a hundred thousand. All eyes were directed toward him.
He was conscious of it and seemed to say by his demeanor:
"Never mind your expressions of devotion," and brushed past the crowd.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: A sect of eunuchs.]