CHAPTER XIX.
THE TRIAL--RESUMPTION.
In this state of mind Nekhludoff left the Court and went into the
jurymen's room. He sat by the window smoking all the while, and
hearing what was being said around him.
The merry merchant seemed with all his heart to sympathise with
Smelkoff's way of spending his time. "There, old fellow, that was
something like! Real Siberian fashion! He knew what he was about,
no fear! That's the sort of wench for me."
The foreman was stating his conviction, that in some way or other
the expert's conclusions were the important thing. Peter
Gerasimovitch was joking about something with the Jewish clerk,
and they burst out laughing. Nekhludoff answered all the
questions addressed to him in monosyllables and longed only to be
left in peace.
When the usher, with his sideways gait, called the jury back to
the Court, Nekhludoff was seized with fear, as if he were not
going to judge, but to be judged. In the depth of his soul he
felt that he was a scoundrel, who ought to be ashamed to look
people in the face, yet, by sheer force of habit, he stepped on
to the platform in his usual self-possessed manner, and sat down,
crossing his legs and playing with his pince-nez.
The prisoners had also been led out, and were now brought in
again. There were some new faces in the Court witnesses, and
Nekhludoff noticed that Maslova could not take her eyes off a
very fat woman who sat in the row in front of the grating, very
showily dressed in silk and velvet, a high hat with a large bow
on her head, and an elegant little reticule on her arm, which was
bare to the elbow. This was, as he subsequently found out, one of
the witnesses, the mistress of the establishment to which Maslova
had belonged.
The examination of the witnesses commenced: they were asked their
names, religion, etc. Then, after some consultation as to whether
the witnesses were to be sworn in or not, the old priest came in
again, dragging his legs with difficulty, and, again arranging
the golden cross on his breast, swore the witnesses and the
expert in the same quiet manner, and with the same assurance that
he was doing something useful and important.
The witnesses having been sworn, all but Kitaeva, the keeper of
the house, were led out again. She was asked what she knew about
this affair. Kitaeva nodded her head and the big hat at every
sentence and smiled affectedly. She gave a very full and
intelligent account, speaking with a strong German accent. First
of all, the hotel servant Simeon, whom she knew, came to her
establishment on behalf of a rich Siberian merchant, and she sent
Lubov back with him. After a time Lubov returned with the
merchant. The merchant was already somewhat intoxicated--she
smiled as she said this--and went on drinking and treating the
girls. He was short of money. He sent this same Lubov to his
lodgings. He had taken a "predilection" to her. She looked at the
prisoner as she said this.
Nekhludoff thought he saw Maslova smile here, and this seemed
disgusting to him. A strange, indefinite feeling of loathing,
mingled with suffering, arose in him.
"And what was your opinion of Maslova?" asked the blushing and
confused applicant for a judicial post, appointed to act as
Maslova's advocate.
"Zee ferry pesht," answered Kitaeva. "Zee yoong voman is etucated
and elecant. She was prought up in a coot family and can reat
French. She tid have a trop too moch sometimes, put nefer forcot
herself. A ferry coot girl."
Katusha looked at the woman, then suddenly turned her eyes on the
jury and fixed them on Nekhludoff, and her face grew serious and
even severe. One of her serious eyes squinted, and those two
strange eyes for some time gazed at Nekhludoff, who, in spite of
the terrors that seized him, could not take his look off these
squinting eyes, with their bright, clear whites.
He thought of that dreadful night, with its mist, the ice
breaking on the river below, and when the waning moon, with horns
turned upwards, that had risen towards morning, lit up something
black and weird. These two black eyes now looking at him reminded
him of this weird, black something. "She has recognised me," he
thought, and Nekhludoff shrank as if expecting a blow. But she
had not recognised him. She sighed quietly and again looked at
the president. Nekhludoff also sighed. "Oh, if it would only get
on quicker," he thought.
He now felt the same loathing and pity and vexation as when, out
shooting, he was obliged to kill a wounded bird. The wounded bird
struggles in the game bag. One is disgusted and yet feels pity,
and one is in a hurry to kill the bird and forget it.
Such mixed feelings filled Nekhludoff's breast as he sat
listening to the examination of the witnesses.
