24

PIOTR GERASSIMOVICH’s assumption was correct.

The president returned from the judges’ room with a paper, and read as follows:

‘April the 28th, 188–, by order of His Imperial Majesty, the District Criminal Court, by virtue of the verdict of the jury, in accordance with paragraph 3 of Article 771, paragraph 3 of Article 776 and Article 777 of the Penal Code, decrees that the peasant Simon Kartinkin, thirty-three years of age, and the burgess Katerina Maslova, twenty-seven years of age, be deprived of all civil rights and be sent to penal servitude in Siberia: Kartinkin for a term of eight years, Maslova for a term of four years, with the consequences stated in Article 25 of the said Code. The burgess Euphemia Botchkova, forty-three years of age, shall be deprived of all particular individual and acquired rights and privileges, and be imprisoned for a term of three years with consequences in accord with Article 49 of the said Code. The costs of the case to be borne equally by the prisoners, but in the event of their inability to pay the same shall be defrayed by the Crown. The exhibits presented in the case to be sold, the finger-ring to be returned and the glass jars to be destroyed.’

Kartinkin stood, body stretched taut as before, arms pressed close to his sides and fingers splayed out, his cheeks twitching. Botchkova was apparendy quite calm. When Maslova heard her sentence she flushed a crimson shade. ‘I am not guilty, I am not guilty!’ she shrieked suddenly, in a voice that resounded through the court-room. ‘It’s wicked. I am not guilty. I didn’t mean – I never dreamed. It’s the truth I’m saying. The truth!’ And dropping down on the bench she sobbed aloud.

When Kartinkin and Botchkova went out she still sat there weeping, so that a gendarme was obliged to touch the sleeve of her cloak.

‘No, it can’t be left like this,’ Nekhlyudov said to himself, entirely forgetful of his selfish thoughts, and, without knowing why, he hurried out into the corridor to get another glimpse of her. An animated crowd of jurors and lawyers, pleased to have dispatched the case, jostled in the doorway, so that he was held back for several moments. When at last he got out into the corridor she was already some way off. He rushed along the corridor after her, regardless of the attention he was attracting, caught her up, went beyond and stopped. She had ceased crying now, and only sobbed fitfully, wiping her blotched face with the corner of her kerchief. She passed by him without looking round. After she was gone he turned hurriedly back to find the president, but the president had already left the court-room.

Nekhlyudov ran after him and caught him in the vestibule.

‘Sir, may I have a word with you concerning the case that has just been tried?’ Nekhlyudov said, going up to the president just as he had donned his light-grey overcoat and was taking his silver-mounted walking-stick from an attendant. ‘I was a member of the jury.’

‘Oh, certainly. Prince Nekhlyudov, I believe? Delighted, I think we have met before,’ said the president, pressing Nekhlyudov’s hand and recalling with satisfaction how well and gaily he had danced – better than all the youngsters – that evening when he first met Nekhlyudov. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘There was a mistake in the answer in regard to Maslova. She was not guilty of the poisoning and yet she has been sentenced to penal servitude,’ said Nekhlyudov with an anxious frown.

‘The Court gave its decision in accordance with the answers you yourselves brought in,’ said the president, moving towards the entrance door, ‘although the answers did seem to the Court to be inconsistent with the facts.’

He remembered that he had intended to explain to the jury that to answer ‘guilty’ and omit to add ‘without intent to take life’ meant guilty of murder with intention, but, in his hurry to get the business over, had not done so.

‘Yes, but cannot the error be rectified?’

‘Grounds for appeal can always be found. You must speak to a lawyer,’ said the president, putting his hat on a fraction to one side and continuing to move towards the door.

‘But this is terrible.’

‘You see, in Maslova’s case there were just two alternatives,’ said the president, evidently wishing to be as agreeable and polite to Nekhlyudov as he could. Then, having arranged his whiskers over his coat collar, he put his hand lightly under Nekhlyudov’s elbow and walking him towards the front entrance he continued: ‘You are leaving too, are you not?’

‘Yes,’ said Nekhlyudov, quickly putting on his coat and going out with him.

They went out into the bright cheerful sunlight and at once had to raise their voices to be heard above the rattling of wheels on the roadway.

‘The situation is a curious one, you see,’ the president went on, raising his voice, ‘in that one of two things could have happened to her, this Maslova, I mean: either almost a complete acquittal with only a brief prison sentence – or, taking the preliminary confinement into consideration, perhaps none at all – or else … Siberia. There is no other course. If you had added the words “without intent to cause death” she would have been acquitted.’

‘It was an unpardonable omission on my part,’ said Nekhlyudov.

‘That’s where the trouble lies,’ said the president with a smile, looking at his watch.

He had only three-quarters of an hour in which to see Klara.

‘I should advise you to consult a lawyer. You’ll have to find grounds for an appeal. That can always be done.’ Then, replying to a cabman, ‘Dvoryanskaya Street. Thirty kopecks – I never give more.’

‘This way, your excellency.’

‘Good day. If I can be of any use, my address is Dvoryanskaya Street, Dvornikov House. It’s easy to remember.’ And with a friendly bow he drove off.