The Awakening | Page 9

he himself well understood. And
yet he doubtless acknowledged in himself this superiority, and regarded
the respect shown him as his due, and was offended when it was not
forthcoming. It just happened that in the jury-room Nekhludoff
experienced this disagreeable feeling of being treated with disrespect.
Among the jurymen there was an acquaintance of Nekhludoff. This was
Peter Gerasimovitch (Nekhludoff never knew, and even boasted of the
fact that he did not know his surname), who was at one time tutor to his
sister's children. Peter Gerasimovitch was now teacher in a college.
Nekhludoff could never bear his familiarity, his self-satisfied
laughter--in a word, his "communizing," as Nekhludoff's sister used to
put it.

"Ha, ha! So you are also trapped?" he greeted Nekhludoff with a loud
burst of laughter. "You did not escape it?"
"I never intended to evade my duty," sternly and gloomily said
Nekhludoff.
"That I call civic virtue. But wait till you are hungry and sleepy, you
will sing another tune," Peter Gerasimovitch said, laughing still louder.
"This son of an archdeacon will soon begin to 'thou' me," thought
Nekhludoff, with an expression of sadness on his face, as though he
had just learned of a grievous loss in his family. He turned from the
ex-tutor and approached a group of people that had formed around a
clean-faced, tall man, of dignified carriage, who were holding a spirited
conversation. The man was speaking of a case that was being tried in
the civil division, showing his familiarity with the judges and the
famous lawyers by referring to them by name. He was telling them of
the remarkable turn given to the probable result of the case by the
dexterity of a famous lawyer, by which an old lady, who was in the
right, would be obliged to pay an enormous sum to the adverse side.
"He is a most ingenious attorney," he said.
He was listened to with respect, and some attempted to interrupt him
with some remarks, but he cut them short as if he alone knew the true
facts.
Although Nekhludoff arrived late, there was a long wait before him,
which was caused by the failure of one of the judges to appear.

CHAPTER VI.
The presiding justice arrived early. He was a tall, stout man, with long,
grayish side-whiskers. He was married, but, like his wife, led a very
dissolute life. They did not interfere with each other. On the morning in
question he received a note from a Swiss governess, who had lived in

his house during the summer, and was now passing on her way from
the South to St. Petersburg. She wrote that she would be in town
between three and six o'clock p.m., and wait for him at the "Hotel
Italia." He was, therefore, anxious to end his day's sitting before six
o'clock, that he might meet the red-haired Clara Vasilievna.
Entering his private chamber, and locking the door behind him, he
produced from the lower shelf of a book-case two dumb-bells, made
twenty motions upward, forward, sidewise and downward, and three
times lowered himself, holding the bells above his head.
"Nothing so refreshes one as a cold-water bath and exercise," he
thought, feeling with his left hand, on the fourth finger of which was a
gold ring, the biceps of his right arm. He had to go through two more
movements (these exercises he went through every day before court
opened), when the door rattled. Some one was attempting to open it.
The judge quickly replaced the dumb-bells and opened the door.
"I beg your pardon," he said.
One of the members of the court, wearing gold eye-glasses, of medium
height, with high shoulders and frowning countenance, entered.
"Matvei Nikitich is late again," said the newcomer, with an air of
displeasure.
"Yes," said the presiding judge, donning his robes. "He is always late."
"It is a shame," said the member, and sat down angrily, then lighted a
cigarette.
This member of the court, a very punctilious man, had this morning had
an unpleasant encounter with his wife, which was caused by her
spending her monthly allowance before the month was up. She asked
for a sum of money in advance, and he refused. The result was a
quarrel. She said that unless he gave her the money there would be no
dinner that night, and that he would have to dine outside. He departed
in fear that she would carry out her threat, as anything might be

expected from her.
"Is it worth while leading a good, moral life?" he thought, as he looked
at the beaming, healthy, joyful and good-natured presiding justice, who,
spreading his elbows, stroked his long, gray whiskers; "he is always
contented and cheerful, while I am suffering."
The secretary entered and handed the presiding justice