Fifty-Two Stories

A Sketch

ARKHIP ELISEICH SLOPSOV, a retired second lieutenant, put on his spectacles, frowned, and read out: “The justice of the peace of the…circuit,…district, invites you, etc., etc., in the capacity of the accused in a case of assault and battery of the peasant Grigory Vlasov…Justice of the Peace P. Sixwingsky.”¹

“Who is this from?” Slopsov raised his eyes to the messenger.

“From mister justice of the peace, sir, Pyotr Sergeich…Sixwingsky, sir…”

“Hmm…From Pyotr Sergeich? What is he inviting me for?”

“Must be for a trial…It’s written there, sir.”

Slopsov read the summons over again, looked at the messenger in surprise, and shrugged his shoulders…

“Pah…in the capacity of the accused…He’s a funny one, this Pyotr Sergeich! Ah, well, tell him: all right! Only he should prepare a good lunch…Tell him I’ll be there! My greetings to Natalya Egorovna and the little ones!”

Slopsov signed and went to the room where his brother-in-law, Lieutenant Nitkin, who had come on vacation, was staying.

“Take a look at what sort of missive Petka Sixwingsky has sent me,” he said, handing Nitkin the summons. “He’s inviting me for Thursday…Will you come with me?”

“But he’s not asking you as a guest,” said Nitkin, having read the summons. “He’s summoning you to court as the accused…He’s putting you on trial.”

“Me, is it? Pss…The milk hasn’t dried on his lips yet, who is he to put me on trial…Small fry…He’s just doing it as a joke…”

“He’s not joking at all! Don’t you understand? It says here clearly: a case of assault and battery…You gave Grishka a beating, so now there’s a trial.”

“You’re a funny one, by God! How can he put me on trial, if we’re what you might call friends? How can he judge me, if we’ve played cards, and drunk, and done devil knows what else together? What kind of judge is he anyway? Ha-ha! Petka—a judge! Ha-ha!”

“Go on, laugh, but he may well put you behind bars, not out of friendship, but on legal grounds, which will be nothing to laugh at!”

“You’re cuckoo, brother! What are the legal grounds here, if he’s my Vanya’s godfather? Come along with me on Thursday and you’ll see what kind of grounds there are…”

“And I’d advise you not to go at all, or you’ll put him and yourself in an awkward position…Let him decide in absentia…”

“No, why in absentia? I’ll go and see how he’s going to judge it…I’m curious to see what kind of judge Petka’s become…Incidentally, I haven’t visited him for a long time…it’s embarrassing…”

On Thursday Slopsov and Nitkin went to see Sixwingsky. They found the justice of the peace at proceedings in the courtroom.

“Greetings, Petyukha!” said Slopsov, going up to the judge’s bench and holding out his hand. “Doing a bit of judging? Pettifoggery? Go on, go on…I’ll wait, I’ll watch…Let me introduce my brother-in-law…Is your wife well?”

“Yes…she is…Go sit there…with the public…”

Having muttered that, the judge blushed. Generally, beginning judges always get embarrassed when they see acquaintances in the courtroom; when they happen to have an acquaintance on trial, they give the impression of people about to fall through the floor from embarrassment. Slopsov stepped away from the bench and sat down in the front row beside Nitkin.

“Such importance in the rogue!” he whispered in Nitkin’s ear. “You wouldn’t recognize him! And he won’t smile! Wearing a gold chain! Phooey on you! As if it wasn’t him who daubed my kitchen maid Agafya with ink while she slept. What a laugh! Can such people judge anything? I ask you: Can such people judge anything? Here you need a man of rank, substance…so that, you know, he instills fear, but they just perched some nobody up there—go on, judge! Heh-heh…”

“Grigory Vlasov!” the justice called out. “Mr. Slopsov!”

Slopsov smiled and went up to the bench. A fellow in a shabby frock coat with a high waist and striped britches tucked into short reddish boots emerged from the public and stood beside Slopsov.

“Mr. Slopsov,” the justice began, looking down. “You are accu-u-used…of assault and battery of your serving man…Grigory Vlasov here. Do you plead guilty?”

“What else! When did you turn so serious? Heh-heh…”

“Not guilty?” the justice interrupted him, fidgeting in his chair from embarrassment. “Vlasov, tell us what happened!”