Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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the button of an electric bell fitted to the table and the
waiters stepped in noiselessly and quickly carried away the
dishes, changed the plates, and brought in the next course. The
dinner was very refined, the wines very costly. A French chef was
working in the large, light kitchens, with two white-clad
assistants. There were six persons at dinner, the Count and
Countess, their son (a surly officer in the Guards who sat with
his elbows on the table), Nekhludoff, a French lady reader, and
the Count’s chief steward, who had come up from the country.
Here, too, the conversation was about the duel, and opinions were
given as to how the Emperor regarded the case. It was known that
the Emperor was very much grieved for the mother’s sake, and all
were grieved for her, and as it was also known that the Emperor
did not mean to be very severe to the murderer, who defended the
honour of his uniform, all were also lenient to the officer who
had defended the honour of his uniform. Only the Countess
Katerina Ivanovna, with her free thoughtlessness, expresses her
disapproval.
“They get drunk, and kill unobjectionable young men. I should not
forgive them on any account,” she said.
“Now, that’s a thing I cannot understand,” said the Count.
“I know that you never can understand what I say,” the Countess
began, and turning to Nekhludoff, she added:
“Everybody understands except my husband. I say I am sorry for
the mother, and I do not wish him to be contented, having killed
a man.” Then her son, who had been silent up to then, took the
murderer’s part, and rudely attacked his mother, arguing that an
officer could not behave in any other way, because his
fellow-officers would condemn him and turn him out of the
regiment. Nekhludoff listened to the conversation without joining
in. Having been an officer himself, he understood, though he did
not agree with, young Tcharsky’s arguments, and at the same time
he could not help contrasting the fate of the officer with that
of a beautiful young convict whom he had seen in the prison, and
who was condemned to the mines for having killed another in a
fight. Both had turned murderers through drunkenness. The peasant
had killed a man in a moment of irritation, and he was parted
from his wife and family, had chains on his legs, and his head
shaved, and was going to hard labour in Siberia, while the
officer was sitting in a fine room in the guardhouse, eating a
good dinner, drinking good wine, and reading books, and would be
set free in a day or two to live as he had done before, having
only become more interesting by the affair. Nekhludoff said what
he had been thinking, and at first his aunt, Katerina Ivanovna,
seemed to agree with him, but at last she became silent as the
rest had done, and Nekhludoff felt that he had committed
something akin to an impropriety. In the evening, soon after
dinner, the large hall, with highbacked carved chairs arranged
in rows as for a meeting, and an armchair next to a little table,
with a bottle of water for the speaker, began to fill with people
come to hear the foreigner, Kiesewetter, preach. Elegant
equipages stopped at the front entrance. In the hall sat
richly-dressed ladies in silks and velvets and lace, with false
hair and false busts and drawn-in waists, and among them men in
uniform and evening dress, and about five persons of the common
class, i.e., two men-servants, a shopkeeper, a footman, and a
coachman. Kiesewetter, a thick-set, grisly man, spoke English,
and a thin young girl, with a pince-nez, translated it into
Russian promptly and well. He was saying that our sins were so
great, the punishment for them so great and so unavoidable, that
it was impossible to live anticipating such punishment. “Beloved
brothers and sisters, let us for a moment consider what we are
doing, how we are living, how we have offended against the
all-loving Lord, and how we make Christ suffer, and we cannot but
understand that there is no forgiveness possible for us, no
escape possible, that we are all doomed to perish. A terrible
fate awaits us–everlasting torment,” he said, with tears in his
trembling voice. “Oh, how can we be saved, brothers? How can we
be saved from this terrible, unquenchable fire? The house is in
flames; there is no escape.”
He was silent for a while, and real tears flowed down his cheeks.
It was for about eight years that each time when he got to this
part of his speech, which he himself liked so well, he felt a
choking in his throat and an irritation in his nose, and the
tears came in his eyes, and these tears touched him still more.
Sobs were heard in the room. The Countess Katerina Ivanovna sat
with her elbows on an inlaid table, leaning her head on her
hands, and her shoulders were shaking. The coachman looked with
fear and surprise at the foreigner, feeling as if he was about to
run him down with the pole of his carriage and the foreigner
would not move out of his way. All sat in positions similar to
that Katerina Ivanovna had assumed. Wolf’s daughter, a thin,
fashionably-dressed girl, very like her father, knelt with her
face in her hands.
The orator suddenly uncovered his face, and smiled a very
real-looking smile, such as actors express joy with, and began
again with a sweet, gentle voice:
“Yet there is a way to be saved. Here it is—a joyful, easy way.
The salvation is the blood shed for us by the only son of God,
who gave himself up to torments for our sake. His sufferings, His
blood, will save us. Brothers and sisters,” he said, again with
tears in his voice, “let us praise the Lord, who has given His
only begotten son for the redemption of mankind. His holy blood
…”
Nekhludoff felt so deeply disgusted that he rose silently, and
frowning and keeping back a groan of shame, he left on tiptoe,
and went to his room.
CHAPTER XVIII.
OFFICIALDOM.
Hardly had Nekhludoff finished dressing the next morning, just as
he was about to go down, the footman brought him a card from the
Moscow advocate. The advocate had come to St. Petersburg on
business of his own, and was going to be present when Maslova’s
case was examined in the Senate, if that would be soon. The
telegram sent by Nekhludoff crossed him on the way. Having found
out from Nekhludoff when the case was going to be heard, and
which senators were to be present, he smiled. “Exactly, all the
three types of senators,” he said. “Wolf is a Petersburg
official; Skovorodnikoff is a theoretical, and Bay a practical
lawyer, and therefore the most alive of them all,” said the
advocate. “There is most hope of him. Well, and how about the
Petition Committee?”
“Oh, I’m going to Baron Vorobioff to-day. I could not get an
audience with him yesterday.”
“Do you know why he is Baron Vorobioff?” said the advocate,
noticing the slightly ironical stress that Nekhludoff put on this
foreign title, followed by so very Russian a surname.
“That was because the Emperor Paul rewarded the grandfather—I
think he was one of the Court footmen—by giving him this title.
He managed to please him in some way, so he made him a baron.
‘It’s my wish, so don’t gainsay me!’ And so there’s a Baron
Vorobioff, and very proud of the title. He is a dreadful old
humbug.”
“Well, I’m going to see him,” said Nekhludoff.
“That’s good; we can go together. I shall give you a lift.”
As they were going to start, a footman met Nekhludoff in the
anteroom, and handed him a note from Mariette:
_Pour vous faire plaisir, f’ai agi tout a fait contre mes
principes et j’ai intercede aupres de mon mari pour votre
protegee. Il se trouve que cette personne pout etre relaxee
immediatement. Mon mari a ecrit au commandant. Venez donc
disinterestedly. Je vous attends._
M.
“Just fancy!” said Nekhludoff to the advocate. “Is this not
dreadful? A woman whom they are keeping in solitary confinement
for seven months turns out to be quite innocent, and only a word
was needed to get her released.”
“That’s always so. Well, anyhow, you have succeeded in getting
what you wanted.”
“Yes, but this success grieves me. Just think what must be going
on there. Why have they been keeping her?”
“Oh, it’s best not to look too deeply into it. Well, then, I
shall give you a lift, if I may,” said the advocate, as they left
the house, and a fine carriage that the advocate had hired drove
up to the door. “It’s Baron Vorobioff you are going to see?”
The advocate gave the driver his directions, and the two good
horses quickly brought Nekhludoff to the house in which the Baron
lived. The Baron was at home. A young official in uniform, with a
long, thin neck, a much protruding Adam’s apple, and an extremely
light walk, and two ladies were in the first room.
“Your name, please?” the young man with the Adam’s apple asked,
stepping with extreme lightness and grace across from the ladies
to Nekhludoff.
Nekhludoff gave his name.
“The Baron was just mentioning you,” said the young man, the
Baron’s adjutant, and went out through an inner door. He
returned, leading a weeping lady dressed in mourning. With her
bony fingers the lady was trying to pull her tangled veil over
her face in order to hide her tears.
“Come in, please,” said the young man to Nekhludoff, lightly
stepping up to the door of the study and holding it open. When
Nekhludoff came in, he saw before him a thick-set man of medium
height, with short hair, in a frock coat, who was sitting in an
armchair opposite a large writing-table, and looking gaily in
front of himself. The kindly, rosy red face, striking by its
contrast with the white hair, moustaches, and beard, turned
towards Nekhludoff with a friendly smile.
“Very glad to see you. Your mother and I were old acquaintances
and friends. I have seen you as a boy, and later on as an
officer. Sit down and tell me what I can do for you. Yes, yes,”
he said, shaking his cropped white head, while Nekhludoff was
telling him Theodosia’s story. “Go on, go on. I quite understand.
It is certainly very touching. And have you handed in the
petition?”
“I have got the petition ready,” Nekhludoff said, getting it out
of his pocket; “but I thought of speaking to you first in hopes
that the case would then get special attention paid to it.”
“You have done very well. I shall certainly report it myself,”
said the Baron, unsuccessfully trying to put an expression of
pity on his merry face. “Very touching! It is clear she was but a
child; the husband treated her roughly, this repelled her, but as
time went on they fell in love with each other. Yes I will report
the case.”
“Count Ivan Michaelovitch was also going to speak about it.”
Nekhludoff had hardly got these words out when the Baron’s face
changed.
“You had better hand in the petition into the office, after all,
and I shall do what I can,” he said.
At this moment the young official again entered the room,
evidently showing off his elegant manner of walking.
“That lady is asking if she may say a few words more.”
“Well, ask her in. Ah, mon cher,
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