Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (portable ebook reader txt) 📕

into his business cabinet, furnished in a severely correct style.

“Won’t you smoke?” said the advocate, sitting down opposite

Nekhludoff and trying to conceal a smile, apparently still

excited by the success of the accomplished transaction.

“Thanks; I have come about Maslova’s case.”

“Yes, yes; directly! But oh, what rogues these fat money bags

are!” he said. “You saw this here fellow. Why, he has about

twelve million roubles, and he cannot speak correctly; and if he

can get a twenty-five rouble note out of you he’ll have it, if

he’s to wrench it out with his teeth.”

“He says ”eaven’ and ‘hour,’ and you say ‘this here fellow,’”

Nekhludoff thought, with an insurmountable feeling of aversion

towards this man who wished to show by his free and easy manner

that he and Nekhludoff belonged to one and the same camp, while

his other clients belonged to another.

“He has worried me to death—a fearful scoundrel. I felt I must

relieve my feelings,” said the advocate, as if to excuse his

speaking about things that had no reference to business. “Well,

how about your case? I have read it attentively, but do not

approve of it. I mean that greenhorn of an advocate has left no

valid reason for an appeal.”

“Well, then, what have you decided?”

“One moment. Tell him,” he said to his assistant, who had just

come in, “that I keep to what I have said. If he can, it’s all

right; if not, no matter.”

“But he won’t agree.”

“Well, no matter,” and the advocate frowned.

“There now, and it is said that we advocates get our money for

nothing,” he remarked, after a pause. “I have freed one insolvent

debtor from a totally false charge, and now they all flock to me.

Yet every such case costs enormous labour. Why, don’t we, too,

‘lose bits of flesh in the inkstand?’ as some writer or other has

said. Well, as to your case, or, rather, the case you are taking

an interest in. It has been conducted abominably. There is no

good reason for appealing. Still,” he continued, “we can but try

to get the sentence revoked. This is what I have noted down.” He

took up several sheets of paper covered with writing, and began

to read rapidly, slurring over the uninteresting legal terms and

laying particular stress on some sentences. “To the Court of

Appeal, criminal department, etc., etc. According to the

decisions, etc., the verdict, etc., So-and-so Maslova pronounced

guilty of having caused the death through poison of the merchant

Smelkoff, and has, according to Statute 1454 of the penal code,

been sentenced to Siberia,” etc., etc. He stopped. Evidently, in

spite of his being so used to it, he still felt pleasure in

listening to his own productions. “This sentence is the direct

result of the most glaring judicial perversion and error,” he

continued, impressively, “and there are grounds for its

revocation. Firstly, the reading of the medical report of the

examination of Smelkoff’s intestines was interrupted by the

president at the very beginning. This is point one.”

“But it was the prosecuting side that demanded this reading,”

Nekhludoff said, with surprise.

“That does not matter. There might have been reasons for the

defence to demand this reading, too.”

“Oh, but there could have been no reason whatever for that.”

“It is a ground for appeal, though. To continue: ‘Secondly,’ he

went on reading, ‘when Maslova’s advocate, in his speech for the

defence, wishing to characterise Maslova’s personality, referred

to the causes of her fall, he was interrupted by the president

calling him to order for the alleged deviation from the direct

subject. Yet, as has been repeatedly pointed out by the Senate,

the elucidation of the criminal’s characteristics and his or her

moral standpoint in general has a significance of the first

importance in criminal cases, even if only as a guide in the

settling of the question of imputation.’ That’s point two,” he

said, with a look at Nekhludoff.

“But he spoke so badly that no one could make anything of it,”

Nekhludoff said, still more astonished.

“The fellow’s quite a fool, and of course could not be expected

to say anything sensible,” Fanarin said, laughing; “but, all the

same, it will do as a reason for appeal. Thirdly: ‘The president,

in his summing up, contrary to the direct decree of section 1,

statute 801, of the criminal code, omitted to inform the jury

what the judicial points are that constitute guilt; and did not

mention that having admitted the fact of Maslova having

administered the poison to Smelkoff, the jury had a right not to

impute the guilt of murder to her, since the proofs of wilful

intent to deprive Smelkoff of life were absent, and only to

pronounce her guilty of carelessness resulting in the death of

the merchant, which she did not desire.’ This is the chief

point.”

“Yes; but we ought to have known that ourselves. It was our

mistake.”

“And now the fourth point,” the advocate continued. “The form of

the answer given by the jury contained an evident contradiction.

Maslova is accused of wilfully poisoning Smelkoff, her one object

being that of cupidity, the only motive to commit murder she

could have had. The jury in their verdict acquit her of the

intent to rob, or participation in the stealing of valuables,

from which it follows that they intended also to acquit her of

the intent to murder, and only through a misunderstanding, which

arose from the incompleteness of the president’s summing up,

omitted to express it in due form in their answer. Therefore an

answer of this kind by the jury absolutely demanded the

application of statutes 816 and 808 of the criminal code of

procedure, i.e., an explanation by the president to the jury of

the mistake made by them, and another debate on the question of

the prisoner’s guilt.”

“Then why did the president not do it?”

“I, too, should like to know why,” Fanarin said, laughing.

“Then the Senate will, of course, correct this error?”

“That will all depend on who will preside there at the time.

Well, now, there it is. I have further said,” he continued,

rapidly, “a verdict of this kind gave the Court no right to

condemn Maslova to be punished as a criminal, and to apply

section 3, statute 771 of the penal code to her case. This is a

decided and gross violation of the basic principles of our

criminal law. In view of the reasons stated, I have the honour of

appealing to you, etc., etc., the refutation, according to 909,

910, and section 2, 912 and 928 statute of the criminal code,

etc., etc. … to carry this case before another department of

the same Court for a further examination. There; all that can be

done is done, but, to be frank, I have little hope of success,

though, of course, it all depends on what members will be present

at the Senate. If you have any influence there you can but try.”

“I do know some.”

“All right; only be quick about it. Else they’ll all go off for a

change of air; then you may have to wait three months before they

return. Then, in case of failure, we have still the possibility

of appealing to His Majesty. This, too, depends on the private

influence you can bring to work. In this case, too, I am at your

service; I mean as to the working of the petition, not the

influence.”

“Thank you. Now as to your fees?”

“My assistant will hand you the petition and tell you.”

“One thing more. The Procureur gave me a pass for visiting this

person in prison, but they tell me I must also get a permission

from the governor in order to get an interview at another time

and in another place than those appointed. Is this necessary?”

“Yes, I think so. But the governor is away at present; a

vice-governor is in his place. And he is such an impenetrable

fool that you’ll scarcely be able to do anything with him.”

“Is it Meslennikoff?”

“Yes.”

“I know him,” said Nekhludoff, and got up to go. At this moment a

horribly ugly, little, bony, snub-nosed, yellow-faced woman flew

into the room. It was the advocate’s wife, who did not seem to be

in the least bit troubled by her ugliness. She was attired in the

most original manner; she seemed enveloped in something made of

velvet and silk, something yellow and green, and her thin hair

was crimped.

She stepped out triumphantly into the anteroom, followed by a

tall, smiling man, with a greenish complexion, dressed in a coat

with silk facings, and a white tie. This was an author.

Nekhludoff knew him by sight.

She opened the cabinet door and said, “Anatole, you must come to

me. Here is Simeon Ivanovitch, who will read his poems, and you

must absolutely come and read about Garshin.”

Nekhludoff noticed that she whispered something to her husband,

and, thinking it was something concerning him, wished to go away,

but she caught him up and said: “I beg your pardon, Prince, I

know you, and, thinking an introduction superfluous, I beg you to

stay and take part in our literary matinee. It will be most

interesting. M. Fanarin will read.”

“You see what a lot I have to do,” said Fanarin, spreading out

his hands and smilingly pointing to his wife, as if to show how

impossible it was to resist so charming a creature.

Nekhludoff thanked the advocate’s wife with extreme politeness

for the honour she did him in inviting him, but refused the

invitation with a sad and solemn look, and left the room.

“What an affected fellow!” said the advocate’s wife, when he had

gone out.

In the anteroom the assistant handed him a ready-written

petition, and said that the fees, including the business with the

Senate and the commission, would come to 1,000 roubles, and

explained that M. Fanarin did not usually undertake this kind of

business, but did it only to oblige Nekhludoff.

“And about this petition. Who is to sign it?”

“The prisoner may do it herself, or if this is inconvenient, M.

Fanarin can, if he gets a power of attorney from her.”

“Oh, no. I shall take the petition to her and get her to sign it,”

said Nekhludoff, glad of the opportunity of seeing her before the

appointed day.

CHAPTER XLVI.

A PRISON FLOGGING.

At the usual time the jailer’s whistle sounded in the corridors of

the prison, the iron doors of the cells rattled, bare feet

pattered, heels clattered, and the prisoners who acted as

scavengers passed along the corridors, filling the air with

disgusting smells. The prisoners washed, dressed, and came out

for revision, then went to get boiling water for their tea.

The conversation at breakfast in all the cells was very lively.

It was all about two prisoners who were to be flogged that day.

One, Vasiliev, was a young man of some education, a clerk, who

had killed his mistress in a fit of jealousy. His

fellow-prisoners liked him because he was merry and generous and

firm in his behaviour with the prison authorities. He knew the

laws and insisted on their being carried out. Therefore he was

disliked by the authorities. Three weeks before a jailer struck

one of the scavengers who had spilt some soup over his new

uniform. Vasiliev took the part of the scavenger, saying that it

was not lawful to strike a prisoner.

“I’ll teach you the law,” said the jailer, and gave