The corridors of the Court were already full of activity. The
attendants hurried, out of breath, dragging their feet along the
ground without lifting them, backwards and forwards, with all
sorts of messages and papers. Ushers, advocates, and law officers
passed hither and thither. Plaintiffs, and those of the accused
who were not guarded, wandered sadly along the walls or sat
waiting.
"Where is the Law Court?" Nekhludoff asked of an attendant.
"Which? There is the Civil Court and the Criminal Court."
"I am on the jury."
"The Criminal Court you should have said. Here to the right, then
to the left--the second door."
Nekhludoff followed the direction.
Meanwhile some of the Criminal Court jurymen who were late had
hurriedly passed into a separate room. At the door mentioned two
men stood waiting.
One, a tall, fat merchant, a kind-hearted fellow, had evidently
partaken of some refreshments and a glass of something, and was
in most pleasant spirits. The other was a shopman of Jewish
extraction. They were talking about the price of wool when
Nekhludoff came up and asked them if this was the jurymen's room.
"Yes, my dear sir, this is it. One of us? On the jury, are you?"
asked the merchant, with a merry wink.
"Ah, well, we shall have a go at the work together," he
continued, after Nekhludoff had answered in the affirmative. "My
name is Baklasheff, merchant of the Second Guild," he said,
putting out his broad, soft, flexible hand.
"With whom have I the honour?"
Nekhludoff gave his name and passed into the jurymen's room.
Inside the room were about ten persons of all sorts. They had
come but a short while ago, and some were sitting, others walking
up and down, looking at each other, and making each other's
acquaintance. There was a retired colonel in uniform; some were
in frock coats, others in morning coats, and only one wore a
peasant's dress.
Their faces all had a certain look of satisfaction at the
prospect of fulfilling a public duty, although many of them had
had to leave their businesses, and most were complaining of it.
The jurymen talked among themselves about the weather, the early
spring, and the business before them, some having been
introduced, others just guessing who was who. Those who were not
acquainted with Nekhludoff made haste to get introduced,
evidently looking upon this as an honour, and he taking it as his
due, as he always did when among strangers. Had he been asked why
he considered himself above the majority of people, he could not
have given an answer; the life he had been living of late was not
particularly meritorious. The fact of his speaking English,
French, and German with a good accent, and of his wearing the
best linen, clothes, ties, and studs, bought from the most
expensive dealers in these goods, he quite knew would not serve
as a reason for claiming superiority. At the same time he did
claim superiority, and accepted the respect paid him as his due,
and was hurt if he did not get it. In the jurymen's room his
feelings were hurt by disrespectful treatment. Among the jury
there happened to be a man whom he knew, a former teacher of his
sister's children, Peter Gerasimovitch. Nekhludoff never knew his
surname, and even bragged a bit about this. This man was now a
master at a public school. Nekhludoff could not stand his
familiarity, his self-satisfied laughter, his vulgarity, in
short.