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The Schoolmaster and Other Stories

In The Court
AT the district town of N. in the cinnamon-coloured government house in which the
Zemstvo, the sessional meetings of the justices of the peace, the Rural Board, the Liquor
Board, the Military Board, and many others sit by turns, the Circuit Court was in session
on one of the dull days of autumn. Of the above-mentioned cinnamon-coloured house a
local official had wittily observed:
"Here is Justitia, here is Policia, here is Militia--a regular boarding school of high-born
young ladies."
But, as the saying is, "Too many cooks spoil the broth," and probably that is why the
house strikes, oppresses, and overwhelms a fresh unofficial visitor with its dismal
barrack-like appearance, its decrepit condition, and the complete absence of any kind of
comfort, external or internal. Even on the brightest spring days it seems wrapped in a
dense shade, and on clear moonlight nights, when the trees and the little dwelling-houses
merged in one blur of shadow seem plunged in quiet slumber, it alone absurdly and
inappropriately towers, an oppressive mass of stone, above the modest landscape, spoils
the general harmony, and keeps sleepless vigil as though it could not escape from
burdensome memories of past unforgiven sins. Inside it is like a barn and extremely
unattractive. It is strange to see how readily these elegant lawyers, members of
committees, and marshals of nobility, who in their own homes will make a scene over the
slightest fume from the stove, or stain on the floor, resign themselves here to whirring
ventilation wheels, the disgusting smell of fumigating candles, and the filthy, forever
perspiring walls.
The sitting of the circuit court began between nine and ten. The programme of the day
was promptly entered upon, with noticeable haste. The cases came on one after another
and ended quickly, like a church service without a choir, so that no mind could form a
complete picture of all this parti-coloured mass of faces, movements, words, misfortunes,
true sayings and lies, all racing by like a river in flood. . . . By two o'clock a great deal
had been done: two prisoners had been sentenced to service in convict battalions, one of
the privileged class had been sentenced to deprivation of rights and imprisonment, one
had been acquitted, one case had been adjourned.
At precisely two o'clock the presiding judge announced that the case "of the peasant
Nikolay Harlamov, charged with the murder of his wife," would next be heard. The
composition of the court remained the same as it had been for the preceding case, except
that the place of the defending counsel was filled by a new personage, a beardless young
graduate in a coat with bright buttons. The president gave the order--"Bring in the
prisoner!"
 
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