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

a long time looking into the dark garden

and listening to the mill, the nightingales, and some other bird

that whistled monotonously in the bush close by. The light

disappeared from the foreman’s window; in the cast, behind the

barn, appeared the light of the rising moon, and sheet lightning

began to light up the dilapidated house, and the blooming,

overgrown garden more and more frequently. It began to thunder

in the distance, and a black cloud spread over one-third of the

sky. The nightingales and the other birds were silent. Above the

murmur of the water from the mill came the cackling of geese, and

then in the village and in the foreman’s yard the first cocks

began to crow earlier than usual, as they do on warm, thundery

nights. There is a saying that if the cocks crow early the night

will be a merry one. For Nekhludoff the night was more than

merry; it was a happy, joyful night. Imagination renewed the

impressions of that happy summer which he had spent here as an

innocent lad, and he felt himself as he had been not only at that

but at all the best moments of his life. He not only remembered

but felt as he had felt when, at the age of 14, he prayed that

God would show him the truth; or when as a child he had wept on

his mother’s lap, when parting from her, and promising to be

always good, and never give her pain; he felt as he did when he

and Nikolenka Irtenieff resolved always to support each other in

living a good life and to try to make everybody happy.

 

He remembered how he had been tempted in Kousminski, so that he

had begun to regret the house and the forest and the farm and the

land, and he asked himself if he regretted them now, and it even

seemed strange to think that he could regret them. He remembered

all he had seen to-day; the woman with the children, and without

her husband, who was in prison for having cut down trees in his

(Nekhludoff’s) forest, and the terrible Matrona, who considered,

or at least talked as if she considered, that women of her

position must give themselves to the gentlefolk; he remembered

her relation to the babies, the way in which they were taken to

the Foundlings’ Hospital, and the unfortunate, smiling, wizened

baby with the patchwork cap, dying of starvation. And then he

suddenly remembered the prison, the shaved heads, the cells, the

disgusting smells, the chains, and, by the side of it all, the

madly lavish city lift of the rich, himself included.

 

The bright moon, now almost full, rose above the barn. Dark

shadows fell across the yard, and the iron roof of the ruined

house shone bright. As if unwilling to waste this light, the

nightingales again began their trills.

 

Nekhludoff called to mind how he had begun to consider his life

in the garden of Kousminski when deciding what he was going to

do, and remembered how confused he had become, how he could not

arrive at any decision, how many difficulties each question had

presented. He asked himself these questions now, and was

surprised how simple it all was. It was simple because he was not

thinking now of what would be the results for himself, but only

thought of what he had to do. And, strange to say, what he had to

do for himself he could not decide, but what he had to do for

others he knew without any doubt. He had no doubt that he must

not leave Katusha, but go on helping her. He had no doubt that he

must study, investigate, clear up, understand all this business

concerning judgment and punishment, which he felt he saw

differently to other people. What would result from it all he did

not know, but he knew for certain that he must do it. And this

firm assurance gave him joy.

 

The black cloud had spread all over the sky; the lightning

flashed vividly across the yard and the old house with its

tumble-down porches, the thunder growled overhead. All the birds

were silent, but the leaves rustled and the wind reached the step

where Nekhludoff stood and played with his hair. One drop came

down, then another; then they came drumming on the dock leaves

and on the iron of the roof, and all the air was filled by a

bright flash, and before Nekhludoff could count three a fearful

crash sounded over head and spread pealing all over the sky.

 

Nekhludoff went in.

 

“Yes, yes,” he thought. “The work that our life accomplishes, the

whole of this work, the meaning of it is not, nor can be,

intelligible to me. What were my aunts for? Why did Nikolenka

Irtenieff die? Why am I living? What was Katusha for? And my

madness? Why that war? Why my subsequent lawless life? To

understand it, to understand the whole of the Master’s will is

not in my power. But to do His will, that is written down in my

conscience, is in my power; that I know for certain. And when I

am fulfilling it I have sureness and peace.”

 

The rain came down in torrents and rushed from the roof into a

tub beneath; the lightning lit up the house and yard less

frequently. Nekhludoff went into his room, undressed, and lay

down, not without fear of the bugs, whose presence the dirty,

torn wall-papers made him suspect.

 

“Yes, to feel one’s self not the master but a servant,” he

thought, and rejoiced at the thought. His fears were not vain.

Hardly had he put out his candle when the vermin attacked and

stung him. “To give up the land and go to Siberia. Fleas, bugs,

dirt! Ah, well; if it must be borne, I shall bear it.” But, in

spite of the best of intentions, he could not bear it, and sat

down by the open window and gazed with admiration at the

retreating clouds and the reappearing moon.

 

CHAPTER IX.

 

THE LAND SETTLEMENT.

 

It was morning before Nekhludoff could fall asleep, and therefore

he woke up late. At noon seven men, chosen from among the

peasants at the foreman’s invitation, came into the orchard,

where the foreman had arranged a table and benches by digging

posts into the ground, and fixing boards on the top, under the

apple trees. It took some time before the peasants could be

persuaded to put on their caps and to sit down on the benches.

Especially firm was the ex-soldier, who to-day had bark shoes on.

He stood erect, holding his cap as they do at funerals, according

to military regulation. When one of them, a respectable-looking,

broad-shouldered old man, with a curly, grizzly beard like that

of Michael Angelo’s “Moses,” and grey hair that curled round the

brown, bald forehead, put on his big cap, and, wrapping his coat

round him, got in behind the table and sat down, the rest

followed his example. When all had taken their places Nekhludoff

sat down opposite them, and leaning on the table over the paper

on which he had drawn up his project, he began explaining it.

 

Whether it was that there were fewer present, or that he was

occupied with the business in hand and not with himself, anyhow,

this time Nekhludoff felt no confusion. He involuntarily

addressed the broad-shouldered old man with white ringlets in his

grizzly beard, expecting approbation or objections from him. But

Nekhludoff’s conjecture was wrong. The respectable-looking old

patriarch, though he nodded his handsome head approvingly or

shook it, and frowned when the others raised an objection,

evidently understood with great difficulty, and only when the

others repeated what Nekhludoff had said in their own words. A

little, almost beardless old fellow, blind in one eye, who sat by

the side of the patriarch, and had a patched nankeen coat and old

boots on, and, as Nekhludoff found out later, was an

oven-builder, understood much better. This man moved his brows

quickly, attending to Nekhludoff’s words with an effort, and at

once repeated them in his own way. An old, thick-set man with a

white beard and intelligent eyes understood as quickly, and took

every opportunity to put in an ironical joke, clearly wishing to

show off. The ex-soldier seemed also to understand matters, but

got mixed, being used to senseless soldiers’ talk. A tall man

with a small beard, a long nose, and a bass voice, who wore

clean, home-made clothes and new bark-plaited shoes, seemed to be

the one most seriously interested. This man spoke only when there

was need of it. The two other old men, the same toothless one who

had shouted a distinct refusal at the meeting the day before to

every proposal of Nekhludoff’s, and a tall, white lame old man

with a kind face, his thin legs tightly wrapped round with strips

of linen, said little, though they listened attentively. First of

all Nekhludoff explained his views in regard to personal property

in land. “The land, according to my idea, can neither he bought

nor sold, because if it could be, he who has got the money could

buy it all, and exact anything he liked for the use of the land

from those who have none.”

 

“That’s true,” said the long-nosed man, in a deep bass.

 

“Just so,” said the ex-soldier.

 

“A woman gathers a little grass for her cow; she’s caught and

imprisoned,” said the white-bearded old man.

 

“Our own land is five versts away, and as to renting any it’s

impossible; the price is raised so high that it won’t pay,” added

the cross, toothless old man. “They twist us into ropes, worse

than during serfdom.”

 

“I think as you do, and I count it a sin to possess land, so I

wish to give it away,” said Nekhludoff.

 

“Well, that’s a good thing,” said the old man, with curls like

Angelo’s “Moses,” evidently thinking that Nekhludoff meant to let

the land.

 

“I have come here because I no longer wish to possess any land,

and now we must consider the best way of dividing it.”

 

“Just give it to the peasants, that’s all,” said the cross,

toothless old man.

 

Nekhludoff was abashed for a moment, feeling a suspicion of his

not being honest in these words, but he instantly recovered, and

made use of the remark, in order to express what was in his mind,

in reply.

 

“I should be glad to give it them,” he said, “but to whom, and

how? To which of the peasants? Why, to your commune, and not to

that of Deminsk.” (That was the name of a neighbouring village

with very little land.) All were silent. Then the ex-soldier

said, “Just so.”

 

“Now, then, tell me how would you divide the land among the

peasants if you had to do it?” said Nekhludoff.

 

“We should divide it up equally, so much for every man,” said the

oven-builder, quickly raising and lowering his brows.

 

“How else? Of course, so much per man,” said the good natured

lame man with the white strips of linen round his legs.

 

Every one confirmed this statement, considering it satisfactory.

 

“So much per man? Then are the servants attached to the house

also to have a share?” Nekhludoff asked.

 

“Oh, no,” said the ex-soldier, trying to appear bold and merry.

But the tall, reasonable man would not agree with him.

 

“If one is to divide, all must share alike,” he said, in his deep

bass, after a little consideration.

 

“It can’t be done,” said Nekhludoff, who had already prepared his

reply. “If all are to share alike, then those who do not work

themselves—do not plough—will