Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

blushed scarlet. “I’m not guilty, not guilty!” she suddenly cried, so that it resounded through the room. “It is a sin! I am not guilty! I never wished⁠—I never thought! It is the truth I am saying⁠—the truth!” and sinking on the bench she burst into tears and sobbed aloud. When Kartínkin and Bótchkova went out she still sat crying, so that a gendarme had to touch the sleeve of her cloak.

“No; it is impossible to leave it as it is,” said Nekhlúdoff to himself, utterly forgetting his bad thoughts. He did not know why he wished to look at her once more, but hurried out into the corridor. There was quite a crowd at the door. The advocates and jury were going out, pleased to have finished the business, and he was obliged to wait a few seconds, and when he at last got out into the corridor she was far in front. He hurried along the corridor after her, regardless of the attention he was arousing, caught her up, passed her, and stopped. She had ceased crying and only sobbed, wiping her red, discoloured face with the end of the kerchief on her head. She passed without noticing him. Then he hurried back to see the president. The latter had already left the court, and Nekhlúdoff followed him into the lobby and went up to him just as he had put on his light grey overcoat and was taking the silver-mounted walking-stick which an attendant was handing him.

“Sir, may I have a few words with you concerning some business I have just decided upon?” said Nekhlúdoff. “I am one of the jury.”

“Oh, certainly, Prince Nekhlúdoff. I shall be delighted. I think we have met before,” said the president, pressing Nekhlúdoff’s hand and recalling with pleasure the evening when he first met Nekhlúdoff, and when he had danced so gaily, better than all the young people. “What can I do for you?”

“There is a mistake in the answer concerning Máslova. She is not guilty of the poisoning and yet she is condemned to penal servitude,” said Nekhlúdoff, with a preoccupied and gloomy air.

“The Court passed the sentence in accordance with the answers you yourselves gave,” said the president, moving towards the front door; “though they did not seem to be quite in accord.” And he remembered that he had been going to explain to the jury that a verdict of “guilty” meant guilty of intentional murder unless the words “without intent to take life” were added, but had, in his hurry to get the business over, omitted to do so.

“Yes, but could not the mistake be rectified?”

“A reason for an appeal can always be found. You will have to speak to an advocate,” said the president, putting on his hat a little to one side and continuing to move towards the door.

“But this is terrible.”

“Well, you see, there were two possibilities before Máslova,” said the president, evidently wishing to be as polite and pleasant to Nekhlúdoff as he could. Then, having arranged his whiskers over his coat collar, he put his hand lightly under Nekhlúdoff’s elbow, and, still directing his steps towards the front door, he said, “You are going, too?”

“Yes,” said Nekhlúdoff, quickly getting his coat, and following him.

They went out into the bright, merry sunlight, and had to raise their voices because of the rattling of the wheels on the pavement.

“The situation is a curious one, you see,” said the president; “what lay before this Máslova was one of two things: either to be almost acquitted and only imprisoned for a short time, or, taking the preliminary confinement into consideration, perhaps not at all⁠—or Siberia. There is nothing between. Had you but added the words, ‘without intent to cause death,’ she would have been acquitted.”

“Yes, it was inexcusable of me to omit that,” said Nekhlúdoff.

“That’s where the whole matter lies,” said the president, with a smile, and looked at his watch. He had only three-quarters of an hour left before the time appointed by his Clara would elapse.

“Now, if you like to speak to the advocates you’ll have to find a reason for an appeal; that can be easily done.” Then, turning to an isvóstchik, he called out, “To the Dvoryánskaya, thirty copecks; I never give more.”

“All right, your honour; here you are.”

“Good afternoon. If I can be of any use, my address is House Dvórnikoff, on the Dvoryánskaya; it’s easy to remember.” And he bowed in a friendly manner as he got into the trap and drove off.

XXV

His conversation with the president and the fresh air quieted Nekhlúdoff a little. He now thought that the feelings experienced by him had been exaggerated by the unusual surroundings in which he had spent the whole of the morning, and by that wonderful and startling coincidence. Still, it was absolutely necessary to take some steps to lighten Máslova’s fate, and to take them quickly. “Yes, at once! It will be best to find out here in the court where the advocate Fanárin or Mikíshin lives.” These were two well-known advocates whom Nekhlúdoff called to mind. He returned to the court, took off his overcoat, and went upstairs. In the first corridor he met Fanárin himself. He stopped him, and told him that he was just going to look him up on a matter of business.

Fanárin knew Nekhlúdoff by sight and name, and said he would be very glad to be of service to him.

“Though I am rather tired, still, if your business will not take very long, perhaps you might tell me what it is now. Will you step in here?” And he led Nekhlúdoff into a room, probably some judge’s cabinet. They sat down by the table.

“Well, and what is your business?”

“First of all, I must ask you to keep the business private. I do not want it known that I take an interest in the affair.”

“Oh, that of course. Well?”

“I was on the jury today, and we have condemned a woman