the trial--the prisoners questioned.
when he had finished his speech, the president turned to the male prisoner.
"simeon kartinkin, rise."
simeon jumped up, his lips continuing to move nervously and inaudibly.
"your name?"
"simon petrov kartinkin," he said, rapidly, with a cracked voice, having evidently prepared the answer.
"what class do you belong to?"
"peasant."
"what government, district, and parish?"
"toula government, krapivinskia district, koupianovski parish, the village borki."
"your age?"
"thirty-three; born in the year one thousand eight--"
"what religion?"
"of the russian religion, orthodox."
"married?"
"oh, no, sir."
"your occupation?"
"i had a place in the hotel mauritania."
"have you ever been tried before?"
"i never got tried before, because, as we used to live formerly--"
"so you never were tried before?"
"god forbid, never."
"have you received a copy of the indictment?"
"i have."
"sit down."
"euphemia ivanovna botchkova," said the president, turning to the next prisoner.
but simon continued standing in front of botchkova.
"kartinkin, sit down!" kartinkin continued standing.
"kartinkin, sit down!" but kartinkin sat down only when the usher, with his head on one side, and with preternaturally wide-open eyes, ran up, and said, in a tragic whisper, "sit down, sit down!"
kartinkin sat down as hurriedly as he had risen, wrapping his cloak round him, and again began moving his lips silently.
"your name?" asked the president, with a weary sigh at being obliged to repeat the same questions, without looking at the prisoner, but glancing over a paper that lay before him. the president was so used to his task that, in order to get quicker through it all, he did two things at a time.
botchkova was forty-three years old, and came from the town of kalomna. she, too, had been in service at the hotel mauritania.
"i have never been tried before, and have received a copy of the indictment." she gave her answers boldly, in a tone of voice as if she meant to add to each answer, "and i don't care who knows it, and i won't stand any nonsense."
she did not wait to be told, but sat down as soon as she had replied to the last question.
"your name?" turning abruptly to the third prisoner. "you will have to rise," he added, softly and gently, seeing that maslova kept her seat.
maslova got up and stood, with her chest expanded, looking at the president with that peculiar expression of readiness in her smiling black eyes.
"what is your name?"
"lubov," she said.
nekhludoff had put on his pince-nez, looking at the prisoners while they were being questioned.
"no, it is impossible," he thought, not taking his eyes off the prisoner. "lubov! how can it be?" he thought to himself, after hearing her answer. the president was going to continue his questions, but the member with the spectacles interrupted him, angrily whispering something. the president nodded, and turned again to the prisoner.
"how is this," he said, "you are not put down here as lubov?"
the prisoner remained silent.
"i want your real name."
"what is your baptismal name?" asked the angry member.
"formerly i used to be called katerina."
"no, it cannot be," said nekhludoff to himself; and yet he was now certain that this was she, that same girl, half ward, half servant to his aunts; that katusha, with whom he had once been in love, really in love, but whom he had betrayed and then abandoned, and never again brought to mind, for the memory would have been too painful, would have convicted him too clearly, proving that he who was so proud of his integrity had treated this woman in a revolting, scandalous way.
yes, this was she. he now clearly saw in her face that strange, indescribable individuality which distinguishes every face from all others; something peculiar, all its own, not to be found anywhere else. in spite of the unhealthy pallor and the fulness of the face, it was there, this sweet, peculiar individuality; on those lips, in the slight squint of her eyes, in the voice, particularly in the naive smile, and in the expression of readiness on the face and figure.
"you should have said so," remarked the president, again in a gentle tone. "your patronymic?"
"i am illegitimate."
"well, were you not called by your godfather's name?"
"yes, mikhaelovna."
"and what is it she can be guilty of?" continued nekhludoff, in his mind, unable to breathe freely.
"your family name--your surname, i mean?" the president went on.
"they used to call me by my mother's surname, maslova."
"what class?"
"meschanka." [the lowest town class or grade]
"religion--orthodox?"
"orthodox."
"occupation. what was your occupation?"
maslova remained silent.
"what was your employment?"
"you know yourself," she said, and smiled. then, casting a hurried look round the room, again turned her eyes on the president.
there was something so unusual in the expression of her face, so terrible and piteous in the meaning of the words she had uttered, in this smile, and in the furtive glance she had cast round the room, that the president was abashed, and for a few minutes silence reigned in the court. the silence was broken by some one among the public laughing, then somebody said "ssh," and the president looked up and continued:
"have you ever been tried before?"
"never," answered maslova, softly, and sighed.
"have you received a copy of the indictment?"
"i have," she answered.
"sit down."
the prisoner leant back to pick up her skirt in the way a fine lady picks up her train, and sat down, folding her small white hands in the sleeves of her cloak, her eyes fixed on the president. her face was calm again.
the witnesses were called, and some sent away; the doctor who was to act as expert was chosen and called into the court.
then the secretary got up and began reading the indictment. he read distinctly, though he pronounced the "i" and "r" alike, with a loud voice, but so quickly that the words ran into one another and formed one uninterrupted, dreary drone.
the judges bent now on one, now on the other arm of their chairs, then on the table, then back again, shut and opened their eyes, and whispered to each other. one of the gendarmes several times repressed a yawn.
the prisoner kartinkin never stopped moving his cheeks. botchkova sat quite still and straight, only now and then scratching her head under the kerchief.
maslova sat immovable, gazing at the reader; only now and then she gave a slight start, as if wishing to reply, blushed, sighed heavily, and changed the position of her hands, looked round, and again fixed her eyes on the reader.
nekhludoff sat in the front row on his high-backed chair, without removing his pince-nez, and looked at maslova, while a complicated and fierce struggle was going on in his soul.
庭长讲话完毕，就向几个被告转过身去。
“西蒙·卡尔津金，站起来，”他说。
西蒙紧张地跳起来，颊上的肌肉抖动得更快了。
“你叫什么名字？”
“西蒙·彼得罗夫·卡尔津金，”他粗声粗气地急急说，显然事先已准备好了答辞。
“你的身分是什么？”
“农民。”
“什么省，什么县人！”
“土拉省，克拉比文县，库比央乡，包尔基村人。”
“多大年纪？”
“三十三岁，生于一千八百……”
“信什么教？”
“我们信俄国教，东正教。”
“结过婚吗？”
“没有，老爷。”
“做什么工作？”
“在摩尔旅馆当茶房。”
“以前吃过官司吗？”
“从来没有吃过官司，因为我们以前过日子……”
“以前没有吃过官司吗？”
“上帝保佑，从来没有吃过。”
“起诉书副本收到了吗？”
“收到了。”
“请坐下。叶菲米雅·伊凡诺娃·包奇科娃，”庭长叫下一个被告的名字。
但西蒙仍旧站着，把包奇科娃挡住。
“卡尔津金，请坐下。”
卡尔津金还是站着。
“卡尔津金，坐下！”
但卡尔津金一直站着，直到民事执行吏跑过去，侧着头，不自然地睁大眼睛，不胜感慨地低声说：“坐下吧，坐下吧！”
他才坐下来。
卡尔津金象站起来时一样快地坐下，把身上的长袍裹裹紧，颊上的肌肉又不出声地抖动起来。
“你叫什么名字？”庭长不胜疲劳地叹了口气，问第二个被告，眼睛不瞧她，只顾查阅着面前的文件。对于庭长来说，审理案件已是家常便饭，若要加速审讯，他可以把两个案件一次审完。
包奇科娃四十三岁，出身科洛美诺城小市民，也在摩尔旅馆当茶房。以前没有吃过官司，起诉书副本收到了。包奇科娃回答问题非常泼辣，那种口气仿佛在回答每句话时都说：“对，我叫叶菲米雅，也就是包奇科娃，起诉书副本收到了，我觉得挺有面子，谁也不许嘲笑我。”等庭长一问完，包奇科娃不等人家叫她坐，就立刻自动坐下。
“你叫什么名字啊！”好色的庭长特别亲切地问第三个被告，“你得站起来，”他发现玛丝洛娃坐着不动，和颜悦色地说。
玛丝洛娃身姿矫捷地站起来，现出唯命是从的神气，挺起高耸的胸部，用她那双笑盈盈而略微斜睨的黑眼睛直盯住庭长的脸，什么也没回答。
“你叫什么名字？”
“柳波芙，”她迅速地说。
聂赫留朵夫这时已戴上夹鼻眼镜，随着庭长审问，挨个儿瞧着被告。他眼睛没有离开这第三个被告的脸，想：“这不可能，她怎么会叫柳波芙呢？”他听见她的回答，心里琢磨着。
庭长还想问下去，但那个戴眼镜的法官怒气冲冲地嘀咕了一句，把他拦住了。庭长点点头表示同意，又对被告说：“怎么叫柳波芙呢？”他说。“你登记的不是这个名字。”
被告不作声。
“我问你，你的真名字叫什么。”
“你的教名叫什么？”那个怒容满面的法官问。
“以前叫卡吉琳娜。”
“这不可能，”聂赫留朵夫嘴里仍这样自言自语，但心里已毫不怀疑，断定她就是那个他一度热恋过，确确实实是热恋过的姑娘，姑妈家的养女兼侍女。当年他在情欲冲动下诱奸了她，后来又抛弃了她。从此以后，他再也不去想她，因为想到这事实在太痛苦了，这事使他原形毕露，表明他这个以正派人自居的人不仅一点也不正派，对那个女人的行为简直是十分下流。
对，这个女人就是她。这会儿他看出了她脸上那种独一无二的神秘特点。这种特点使每张脸都自成一格，与其他人不同。尽管她的脸苍白和丰满得有点异样，她的特点，与众不同的可爱特点，还是表现在脸上，嘴唇上，表现在略微斜睨的眼睛里，尤其是表现在她那天真烂漫、笑盈盈的目光中，表现在脸上和全身流露出来的唯命是从的神态上。
“你早就该这么说了，”庭长又特别和颜悦色地说。“你的父名叫什么？”
“我是个私生子，”玛丝洛娃说。
“那么按照你教父的名字该怎么称呼你呢？”
“米哈依洛娃。”
“她会做什么坏事呢？”聂赫留朵夫心里仍在琢磨，他的呼吸有点急促了。
“你姓什么，通常人家叫你什么？”庭长继续问。
“通常用母亲的姓玛丝洛娃。”
“身分呢？”
“小市民。”
“信东正教吗？”
“信东正教。”
“职业呢？你做什么工作？”
玛丝洛娃不作声。
“你做什么工作？”庭长又问。
“在院里，”她说。
“什么院？”戴眼镜的法官严厉地问。
“什么院您自己知道，”玛丝洛娃说。她噗哧一笑，接着迅速地向周围扫了一眼，又盯住庭长。
她脸上现出一种异乎寻常的神情，她的话、她的微笑和她迅速扫视法庭的目光是那么可怕和可怜，弄得庭长不禁垂下了头。庭上刹那间变得鸦雀无声。接着，这种寂静被一个旁听者的笑声打破了。有人向他发出嘘声。庭长抬起头，继续问她：
“你以前没有受过审判和侦审吗？”
“没有，”玛丝洛娃叹了一口气，低声说。
“起诉书副本收到了吗？”
“收到了。”
“你坐下，”庭长说。
被告就象盛装的贵妇人提起拖地长裙那样提了提裙子，然后坐下来，一双白净的不大的手拢在囚袍袖子里，眼睛一直盯住庭长。
接着传证人，再把那些用不着的证人带下去，又推定法医，请他出庭。然后书记官起立，宣读起诉书。他念得很响很清楚，但因为念得太快，混淆了舌尖音和卷舌音，以致发出来的声音成了一片连续不断的嗡嗡声，令人昏昏欲睡。法官们一会儿把身子靠在椅子的这边扶手上，一会儿靠在那边扶手上，一会儿搁在桌上，一会儿靠在椅背上，一会儿闭上眼睛，一会儿睁开眼睛，交头接耳。有一个宪兵好几次要打呵欠，都勉强忍住。
几个被告中，卡尔津金颊上的肌肉不断抖动。包奇科娃挺直腰板坐在那里，镇定自若，偶尔用一只手指伸到头巾里搔搔头皮。
玛丝洛娃忽而一动不动地望着书记官，听他宣读，忽而全身抖动，似乎想进行反驳，脸涨得通红，然后又沉重地叹着气，双手换一种姿势，往四下里看了看，又盯住书记官。
聂赫留朵夫坐在第一排靠边第二座的高背椅上，摘下夹鼻眼镜，望着玛丝洛娃，他的内心展开了一场复杂而痛苦的活动。