Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖

his intentions and arrange about the price at

which they were to rent the land.

 

With the pleasant sense of the firmness he had shown in the face

of the steward’s arguments, and his readiness to make a

sacrifice, Nekhludoff left the office, thinking over the business

before him, and strolled round the house, through the neglected

flower-garden—this year the flowers were planted in front of the

steward’s house—over the tennis ground, now overgrown with

dandelions, and along the lime-tree walk, where he used to smoke

his cigar, and where he had flirted with the pretty Kirimova, his

mother’s visitor. Having briefly prepared in his mind the speech

he was going to make to the peasants, he again went in to the

steward, and, after tea, having once more arranged his thoughts,

he went into the room prepared for him in the big house, which

used to be a spare bedroom.

 

In this clean little room, with pictures of Venice on the walls,

and a mirror between the two windows, there stood a clean bed

with a spring mattress, and by the side of it a small table, with

a decanter of water, matches, and an extinguisher. On a table by

the looking-glass lay his open portmanteau, with his

dressing-case and some books in it; a Russian book, The

Investigation of the Laws of Criminality, and a German and an

English book on the same subject, which he meant to read while

travelling in the country. But it was too late to begin to-day,

and he began preparing to go to bed.

 

An old-fashioned inlaid mahogany armchair stood in the corner of

the room, and this chair, which Nekhludoff remembered standing in

his mother’s bedroom, suddenly raised a perfectly unexpected

sensation in his soul. He was suddenly filled with regret at the

thought of the house that would tumble to ruin, and the garden

that would run wild, and the forest that would be cut down, and

all these farmyards, stables, sheds, machines, horses, cows which

he knew had cost so much effort, though not to himself, to

acquire and to keep. It had seemed easy to give up all this, but

now it was hard, not only to give this, but even to let the land

and lose half his income. And at once a consideration, which

proved that it was unreasonable to let the land to the peasants,

and thus to destroy his property, came to his service. “I must

not hold property in land. If I possess no property in land, I

cannot keep up the house and farm. And, besides, I am going to

Siberia, and shall not need either the house or the estate,” said

one voice. “All this is so,” said another voice, “but you are not

going to spend all your life in Siberia. You may marry, and have

children, and must hand the estate on to them in as good a

condition as you received it. There is a duty to the land, too.

To give up, to destroy everything is very easy; to acquire it

very difficult. Above all, you must consider your future life,

and what you will do with yourself, and you must dispose of your

property accordingly. And are you really firm in your resolve?

And then, are you really acting according to your conscience, or

are you acting in order to be admired of men?” Nekhludoff asked

himself all this, and had to acknowledge that he was influenced

by the thought of what people would say about him. And the more

he thought about it the more questions arose, and the more

unsolvable they seemed.

 

In hopes of ridding himself of these thoughts by failing asleep,

and solving them in the morning when his head would be fresh, he

lay down on his clean bed. But it was long before he could sleep.

Together with the fresh air and the moonlight, the croaking of

the frogs entered the room, mingling with the trills of a couple

of nightingales in the park and one close to the window in a bush

of lilacs in bloom. Listening to the nightingales and the frogs,

Nekhludoff remembered the inspector’s daughter, and her music,

and the inspector; that reminded him of Maslova, and how her lips

trembled, like the croaking of the frogs, when she said, “You

must just leave it.” Then the German steward began going down to

the frogs, and had to be held back, but he not only went down but

turned into Maslova, who began reproaching Nekhludoff, saying,

“You are a prince, and I am a convict.” “No, I must not give in,”

thought Nekhludoff, waking up, and again asking himself, “Is what

I am doing right? I do not know, and no matter, no matter, I must

only fall asleep now.” And he began himself to descend where he

had seen the inspector and Maslova climbing down to, and there it

all ended.

 

CHAPTER II.

 

EFFORTS AT LAND RESTORATION.

 

The next day Nekhludoff awoke at nine o’clock. The young office

clerk who attended on “the master” brought him his boots, shining

as they had never shone before, and some cold, beautifully clear

spring water, and informed him that the peasants were already

assembling.

 

Nekhludoff jumped out of bed, and collected his thoughts. Not a

trace of yesterday’s regret at giving up and thus destroying his

property remained now. He remembered this feeling of regret with

surprise; he was now looking forward with joy to the task before

him, and could not help being proud of it. He could see from the

window the old tennis ground, overgrown with dandelions, on which

the peasants were beginning to assemble. The frogs had not

croaked in vain the night before; the day was dull. There was no

wind; a soft warm rain had begun falling in the morning, and hung

in drops on leaves, twigs, and grass. Besides the smell of the

fresh vegetation, the smell of damp earth, asking for more rain,

entered in at the window. While dressing, Nekhludoff several

times looked out at the peasants gathered on the tennis ground.

One by one they came, took off their hats or caps to one another,

and took their places in a circle, leaning on their sticks. The

steward, a stout, muscular, strong young man, dressed in a short

pea-jacket, with a green stand-up collar, and enormous buttons,

came to say that all had assembled, but that they might wait

until Nekhludoff had finished his breakfast—tea and coffee,

whichever he pleased; both were ready.

 

“No, I think I had better go and see them at once,” said

Nekhludoff, with an unexpected feeling of shyness and shame at

the thought of the conversation he was going to have with the

peasants. He was going to fulfil a wish of the peasants, the

fulfilment of which they did not even dare to hope for—to let

the land to them at a low price, i.e., to confer a great boon;

and yet he felt ashamed of something. When Nekhludoff came up to

the peasants, and the fair, the curly, the bald, the grey heads

were bared before him, he felt so confused that he could say

nothing. The rain continued to come down in small drops, that

remained on the hair, the beards, and the fluff of the men’s

rough coats. The peasants looked at “the master,” waiting for him

to speak, and he was so abashed that he could not speak. This

confused silence was broken by the sedate, self-assured German

steward, who considered himself a good judge of the Russian

peasant, and who spoke Russian remarkably well. This strong,

overfed man, and Nekhludoff himself, presented a striking

contrast to the peasants, with their thin, wrinkled faces and the

shoulder blades protruding beneath their coarse coats.

 

“Here’s the Prince wanting to do you a favor, and to let the land

to you; only you are not worthy of it,” said the steward.

 

“How are we not worthy of it, Vasili Karlovitch? Don’t we work

for you? We were well satisfied with the deceased lady—God have

mercy on her soul—and the young Prince will not desert us now.

Our thanks to him,” said a redhaired, talkative peasant.

 

“Yes, that’s why I have called you together. I should like to let

you have all the land, if you wish it.”

 

The peasants said nothing, as if they did not understand or did

not believe it.

 

“Let’s see. Let us have the land? What do you mean?” asked a

middleaged man.

 

“To let it to you, that you might have the use of it, at a low

rent.”

 

“A very agreeable thing,” said an old man.

 

“If only the pay is such as we can afford,” said another.

 

“There’s no reason why we should not rent the land.”

 

“We are accustomed to live by tilling the ground.”

 

“And it’s quieter for you, too, that way. You’ll have to do

nothing but receive the rent. Only think of all the sin and worry

now!” several voices were heard saying.

 

“The sin is all on your side,” the German remarked. “If only you

did your work, and were orderly.”

 

“That’s impossible for the likes of us,” said a sharp-nosed old

man. “You say, ‘Why do you let the horse get into the corn?’ just

as if I let it in. Why, I was swinging my scythe, or something of

the kind, the livelong day, till the day seemed as long as a

year, and so I fell asleep while watching the herd of horses at

night, and it got into your oats, and now you’re skinning me.”

 

“And you should keep order.”

 

“It’s easy for you to talk about order, but it’s more than our

strength will bear,” answered a tall, dark, hairy middleaged man.

 

“Didn’t I tell you to put up a fence?”

 

“You give us the wood to make it of,” said a short, plain-looking peasant. “I was going to put up a fence last year, and

you put me to feed vermin in prison for three months. That was

the end of that fence.”

 

“What is it he is saying?” asked Nekhludoff, turning to the

steward.

 

“Der ersto Dieb im Dorfe,” [The greatest thief in the village]

answered the steward in German. “He is caught stealing wood from

the forest every year.” Then turning to the peasant, he added,

“You must learn to respect other people’s property.”

 

“Why, don’t we respect you?” said an old man. “We are obliged to

respect you. Why, you could twist us into a rope; we are in your

hands.”

 

“Eh, my friend, it’s impossible to do you. It’s you who are ever

ready to do us,” said the steward.

 

“Do you, indeed. Didn’t you smash my jaw for me, and I got

nothing for it? No good going to law with the rich, it seems.”

 

“You should keep to the law.”

 

A tournament of words was apparently going on without those who

took part in it knowing exactly what it was all about; but it was

noticeable that there was bitterness on one side, restricted by

fear, and on the other a consciousness of importance and power.

It was very trying to Nekhludoff to listen to all this, so he

returned to the question of arranging the amount and the terms

of the rent.

 

“Well, then, how about the land? Do you wish to take it, and what

price will you pay if I let you have the whole of it?”

 

“The property is yours: it is for you to fix the price.”

Nekhludoff named the price. Though it was far below that paid in

the neighbourhood, the peasants declared it too high, and began

bargaining, as is customary among them. Nekhludoff