The president, having looked through some papers and put a few
questions to the usher and the secretary, gave the order for the
prisoners to be brought in.
The door behind the grating was instantly opened, and two
gendarmes, with caps on their heads, and holding naked swords in
their hands, came in, followed by the prisoners, a red-haired,
freckled man, and two women. The man wore a prison cloak, which
was too long and too wide for him. He stuck out his thumbs, and
held his arms close to his sides, thus keeping the sleeves, which
were also too long, from slipping over his hands. Without looking
at the judges he gazed steadfastly at the form, and passing to
the other side of it, he sat down carefully at the very edge,
leaving plenty of room for the others. He fixed his eyes on the
president, and began moving the muscles of his cheeks, as if
whispering something. The woman who came next was also dressed in
a prison cloak, and had a prison kerchief round her head. She had
a sallow complexion, no eyebrows or lashes, and very red eyes.
This woman appeared perfectly calm. Having caught her cloak
against something, she detached it carefully, without any haste,
and sat down.
The third prisoner was Maslova.
As soon as she appeared, the eyes of all the men in the court
turned her way, and remained fixed on her white face, her
sparklingly-brilliant black eyes and the swelling bosom under the
prison cloak. Even the gendarme whom she passed on her way to her
seat looked at her fixedly till she sat down, and then, as if
feeling guilty, hurriedly turned away, shook himself, and began
staring at the window in front of him.
The president paused until the prisoners had taken their seats,
and when Maslova was seated, turned to the secretary.
Then the usual procedure commenced; the counting of the jury,
remarks about those who had not come, the fixing of the fines to
be exacted from them, the decisions concerning those who claimed
exemption, the appointing of reserve jurymen.
Having folded up some bits of paper and put them in one of the
glass vases, the president turned up the gold-embroidered cuffs
of his uniform a little way, and began drawing the lots, one by
one, and opening them. Nekhludoff was among the jurymen thus
drawn. Then, having let down his sleeves, the president requested
the priest to swear in the jury.
The old priest, with his puffy, red face, his brown gown, and his
gold cross and little order, laboriously moving his stiff legs,
came up to the lectern beneath the icon.
The jurymen got up, and crowded towards the lectern.
"Come up, please," said the priest, pulling at the cross on his
breast with his plump hand, and waiting till all the jury had
drawn near. When they had all come up the steps of the platform,
the priest passed his bald, grey head sideways through the greasy
opening of the stole, and, having rearranged his thin hair, he
again turned to the jury. "Now, raise your right arms in this
way, and put your fingers together, thus," he said, with his
tremulous old voice, lifting his fat, dimpled hand, and putting
the thumb and two first fingers together, as if taking a pinch of
something. "Now, repeat after me, 'I promise and swear, by the
Almighty God, by His holy gospels, and by the life-giving cross
of our Lord, that in this work which,'" he said, pausing between
each sentence--"don't let your arm down; hold it like this," he
remarked to a young man who had lowered his arm--"'that in this
work which . . . '"