Court sketch: The great legal motto "Let justice be done though the heavens fall" has never been fully tested in the courts, and yesterday was no exception.
As a former minister for justice was done - on two counts of tax fraud - the heavens stayed exactly where they were, yet again. But if something did fall on a momentous day, it was the idea that anybody is above the law.
The writing was on the wall for Ray Burke from about halfway through the sentencing speech. Yet even at the end he seemed to have trouble seeing it.
For several seconds after the judge declared him a prisoner, the former politician stared straight ahead, unblinking. Then he reached for his overcoat, and only a trembling hand betrayed his feelings as he was led away.
His demeanour in court was a condensed version of the manner in which his political career ended in 1997.
For the second time in a month, he found himself surrounded by petty criminals, some released from handcuffs only long enough to step forward and plead guilty. But dressed in a smart suit, Mr Burke again stood out from the crowd, and at first looked calm and even confident.
He stood out literally too. Well before he was called, he moved from the back of the court and took a prominent position in the aisle near the front.
When Judge Hogan began reciting the facts of the case, Mr Burke stood with hands clasped behind his back, looking almost as assured as when he was still a minister.
It was just after the judge emphasised the role of the Oireachtas in defining tax fraud as a serious crime that the bearing of the former Oireachtas member changed slightly. Now for the first time the defendant looked defensive: clasping his hands in front of him, like a footballer facing a free kick.
The defensive posture was fully justified by the turn the speech had taken. Judge Hogan was now talking about breach of public trust, about abuse of "a special position", and about the "impact of the offence on the body politic".
The impact of the speech on the body of the former politician was becoming clear. He folded his arms across his chest, staring straight at - or maybe through - the man on the bench, as he was told he had been guilty of "a premeditated act of commission, not one of omission".
By the end of the half-hour summary, the judge's words were sounding like a drum-roll. Only an act of contrition would do Mr Burke now, and that wouldn't save him from his penance.
Seven years ago, he answered questions for 90 minutes in the Dáil and claimed he had drawn "a line in the sand". Unfortunately for him, it was quicksand, and he was to face a lot more questions, from the tribunals and finally the Criminal Assets Bureau. So when he finally went to jail, he had nothing left to say.
The consensus among journalists before the hearing was that the defendant would "walk" afterwards. He did, but only the short distance to the white Garda van that would take him to prison.
A reporter shouted: "Have you anything to say, Mr Burke?" But Mr Burke went quietly.
