Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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himself among the number, “were particularly needed by the Tsar
and—the country,” he added, evidently only to round off his
sentence. “I am old, yet I am serving still, as well as my
strength allows.”
The secretary, a dry, emaciated man, with restless, intelligent
eyes, came in and reported that Shoustova was imprisoned in some
queer, fortified place, and that he had received no orders
concerning her.
“When we get the order we shall let her out the same day. We do
not keep them; we do not value their visits much,” said the
General, with another attempt at a playful smile, which only
distorted his old face.
Nekhludoff rose, trying to keep from expressing the mixed
feelings of repugnance and pity which he felt towards this
terrible old man. The old man on his part considered that he
should not be too severe on the thoughtless and evidently
misguided son of his old comrade, and should not leave him
without advice.
“Goodbye, my dear fellow; do not take it amiss. It is my
affection that makes me say it. Do not keep company with such
people as we have at our place here. There are no innocent ones
among them. All these people are most immoral. We know them,” he
said, in a tone that admitted no possibility of doubt. And he did
not doubt, not because the thing was so, but because if it was
not so, he would have to admit himself to be not a noble hero
living out the last days of a good life, but a scoundrel, who
sold, and still continued in his old age to sell, his conscience.
“Best of all, go and serve,” he continued; “the Tsar needs honest
men—and the country,” he added. “Well, supposing I and the
others refused to serve, as you are doing? Who would be left?
Here we are, finding fault with the order of things, and yet not
wishing to help the Government.”
With a deep sigh Nekhludoff made a low bow, shook the large, bony
hand condescendingly stretched out to him and left the room.
The General shook his head reprovingly, and rubbing his back, he
again went into the drawing-room where the artist was waiting for
him. He had already written down the answer given by the soul of
Joan of Arc. The General put on his pince-nez and read, “Will
know one another by light emanating from their astral bodies.”
“Ah,” said the General, with approval, and closed his eyes. “But
how is one to know if the light of all is alike?” he asked, and
again crossed fingers with the artist on the saucer.
The isvostchik drove Nekhludoff out of the gate.
It is dull here, sir, he said, turning to Nekhludoff. “I almost
wished to drive off without waiting for you.”
Nekhludoff agreed. “Yes, it is dull,” and he took a deep breath,
and looked up with a sense of relief at the grey clouds that were
floating in the sky, and at the glistening ripples made by the
boats and steamers on the Neva.
CHAPTER XX.
MASLOVA’S APPEAL.
The next day Maslova’s case was to be examined at the Senate, and
Nekhludoff and the advocate met at the majestic portal of the
building, where several carriages were waiting. Ascending the
magnificent and imposing staircase to the first floor, the
advocate, who knew all the ins and outs of the place, turned to
the left and entered through a door which had the date of the
introduction of the Code of Laws above it.
After taking off his overcoat in the first narrow room, he found
out from the attendant that the Senators had all arrived, and
that the last had just come in. Fanarin, in his swallow-tail
coat, a white tie above the white shirt-front, and a
self-confident smile on his lips, passed into the next room. In
this room there were to the right a large cupboard and a table,
and to the left a winding staircase, which an elegant official in
uniform was descending with a portfolio under his arm. In this
room an old man with long, white hair and a patriarchal
appearance attracted every one’s attention. He wore a short coat
and grey trousers. Two attendants stood respectfully beside him.
The old man with white hair entered the cupboard and shut himself
in.
Fanarin noticed a fellow-advocate dressed in the same way as
himself, with a white tie and dress coat, and at once entered
into an animated conversation with him.
Nekhludoff was meanwhile examining the people in the room. The
public consisted of about 15 persons, of whom two were ladies—a
young one with a pince-nez, and an old, greyhaired one.
A case of libel was to be heard that day, and therefore the
public were more numerous than usual—chiefly persons belonging
to the journalistic world.
The usher, a red-cheeked, handsome man in a fine uniform, came up
to Fanarin and asked him what his business was. When he heard
that it was the case of Maslova, he noted something down and
walked away. Then the cupboard door opened and the old man with
the patriarchal appearance stepped out, no longer in a short coat
but in a gold-trimmed attire, which made him look like a bird,
and with metal plates on his breast. This funny costume seemed to
make the old man himself feel uncomfortable, and, walking faster
than his wont, he hurried out of the door opposite the entrance.
“That is Bay, a most estimable man,” Fanarin said to Nekhludoff,
and then having introduced him to his colleague, he explained the
case that was about to be heard, which he considered very
interesting.
The hearing of the case soon commenced, and Nekhludoff, with the
public, entered the left side of the Senate Chamber. They all,
including Fanarin, took their places behind a grating. Only the
Petersburg advocate went up to a desk in front of the grating.
The Senate Chamber was not so big as the Criminal Court; and was
more simply furnished, only the table in front of the senators
was covered with crimson, gold-trimmed velvet, instead of green
cloth; but the attributes of all places of judgment, i.e., the
mirror of justice, the icon, the emblem of hypocrisy, and the
Emperor’s portrait, the emblem of servility, were there.
The usher announced, in the same solemn manner: “The Court is
coming.” Every one rose in the same way, and the senators entered
in their uniforms and sat down on highbacked chairs and leant on
the table, trying to appear natural, just in the same way as the
judges in the Court of Law. There were four senators
present—Nikitin, who took the chair, a clean-shaved man with a
narrow face and steely eyes; Wolf, with significantly compressed
lips, and little white hands, with which he kept turning over the
pages of the business papers; Skovorodnikoff, a heavy, fat,
pockmarked man—the learned lawyer; and Bay, the
patriarchal-looking man who had arrived last.
With the advocates entered the chief secretary and public
prosecutor, a lean, clean-shaven young man of medium height, a
very dark complexion, and sad, black eyes. Nekhludoff knew him at
once, in spite of his curious uniform and the fact that he had
not seen him for six years. He had been one of his best friends
in Nekhludoff’s student days.
“The public prosecutor Selenin?” Nekhludoff asked, turning to the
advocate.
“Yes. Why?”
“I know him well. He is a fine fellow.”
“And a good public prosecutor; business-like. Now he is the man
you should have interested.”
“He will act according to his conscience in any case,” said
Nekhludoff, recalling the intimate relations and friendship
between himself and Selenin, and the attractive qualities of the
latter—purity, honesty, and good breeding in its best sense.
“Yes, there is no time now,” whispered Fanarin, who was
listening to the report of the case that had commenced.
The Court of Justice was accused of having left a decision of the
Court of Law unaltered.
Nekhludoff listened and tried to make out the meaning of what was
going on; but, just as in the Criminal Court, his chief
difficulty was that not the evidently chief point, but some side
issues, were being discussed. The case was that of a newspaper
which had published the account of a swindle arranged by a
director of a limited liability company. It seemed that the only
important question was whether the director of the company really
abused his trust, and how to stop him from doing it. But the
questions under consideration were whether the editor had a right
to publish this article of his contributor, and what he had been
guilty of in publishing it: slander or libel, and in what way
slander included libel, or libel included slander, and something
rather incomprehensible to ordinary people about all sorts of
statutes and resolutions passed by some General Department.
The only thing clear to Nekhludoff was that, in spite of what
Wolf had so strenuously insisted on, the day before, i.e., that
the Senate could not try a case on its merits, in this case he
was evidently strongly in favour of repealing the decision of the
Court of Justice, and that Selenin, in spite of his
characteristic reticence, stated the opposite opinion with quite
unexpected warmth. The warmth, which surprised Nekhludoff,
evinced by the usually self-controlled Selenin, was due to his
knowledge of the director’s shabbiness in money matters, and the
fact, which had accidentally come to his cars, that Wolf had been
to a swell dinner party at the swindler’s house only a few days
before.
Now that Wolf spoke on the case, guardedly enough, but with
evident bias, Selenin became excited, and expressed his opinion
with too much nervous irritation for an ordinary business
transaction.
It was clear that Selenin’s speech had offended Wolf. He grew
red, moved in his chair, made silent gestures of surprise, and at
last rose, with a very dignified and injured look, together with
the other senators, and went out into the debating-room.
“What particular case have you come about?” the usher asked
again, addressing Fanarin.
“I have already told you: Maslova’s case.”
“Yes, quite so. It is to be heard to-day, but—”
“But what?” the advocate asked.
“Well, you see, this case was to be examined without taking
sides, so that the senators will hardly come out again after
passing the resolution. But I will inform them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll inform them; I’ll inform them.” And the usher again put
something down on his paper.
The Senators really meant to pronounce their decision concerning
the libel case, and then to finish the other business, Maslova’s
case among it, over their tea and cigarettes, without leaving the
debating-room.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE APPEAL DISMISSED.
As soon as the Senators were seated round the table in the
debating-room, Wolf began to bring forward with great animation
all the motives in favour of a repeal. The chairman, an
ill-natured man at best, was in a particularly bad humour that
day. His thoughts were concentrated on the words he had written
down in his memoranda on the occasion when not he but Viglanoff
was appointed to the important post he had long coveted. It was
the chairman, Nikitin’s, honest conviction that his opinions of
the officials of the two upper classes with which he was in
connection would furnish valuable material for the historians. He
had written a chapter the day before in which the officials of
the upper classes got it hot for preventing him, as he expressed
it, from averting the ruin towards which the present rulers of
Russia
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