Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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After the impressions received during the last few days,
Nekhludoff felt perfectly hopeless of getting anything done. The
plans he had formed in Moscow seemed now something like the
dreams of youth, which are inevitably followed by disillusion
when life comes to be faced. Still, being now in Petersburg, he
considered it his duty to do all he had intended, and he resolved
next day, after consulting Bogotyreff, to act on his advice and
see the person on whom the case of the sectarians depended.
He got out the sectarians’ petition from his portfolio, and began
reading it over, when there was a knock at his door, and a
footman came in with a message from the Countess Katerina
Ivanovna, who asked him to come up and have a cup of tea with
her.
Nekhludoff said he would come at once, and having put the papers
back into the portfolio, he went up to his aunt’s. He looked out
of a window on his way, and saw Mariette’s pair of bays standing
in front of the house, and he suddenly brightened and felt
inclined to smile.
Mariette, with a hat on her head, not in black but with a light
dress of many shades, sat with a cup in her hand beside the
Countess’s easy chair, prattling about something while her
beautiful, laughing eyes glistened. She had said something
funny—something indecently funny—just as Nekhludoff entered the
room. He knew it by the way she laughed, and by the way the
good-natured Countess Katerina Ivanovna’s fat body was shaking
with laughter; while Mariette, her smiling mouth slightly drawn
to one side, her head a little bent, a peculiarly mischievous
expression in her merry, energetic face, sat silently looking at
her companion. From a few words which he overheard, Nekhludoff
guessed that they were talking of the second piece of Petersburg
news, the episode of the Siberian Governor, and that it was in
reference to this subject that Mariette had said something so
funny that the Countess could not control herself for a long
time.
“You will kill me,” she said, coughing.
After saying “How d’you do?” Nekhludoff sat down. He was about to
censure Mariette in his mind for her levity when, noticing the
serious and even slightly dissatisfied look in his eyes, she
suddenly, to please him, changed not only the expression of her
face, but also the attitude of her mind; for she felt the wish to
please him as soon as she looked at him. She suddenly turned
serious, dissatisfied with her life, as if seeking and striving
after something; it was not that she pretended, but she really
reproduced in herself the very same state of mind that he was in,
although it would have been impossible for her to express in
words what was the state of Nekhludoff’s mind at that moment.
She asked him how he had accomplished his tasks. He told her
about his failure in the Senate and his meeting Selenin.
“Oh, what a pure soul! He is, indeed, a chevalier sans peur et
sans reproche. A pure soul!” said both ladies, using the epithet
commonly applied to Selenin in Petersburg society.
“What is his wife like?” Nekhludoff asked.
“His wife? Well, I do not wish to judge, but she does not
understand him.”
“Is it possible that he, too, was for rejecting the appeal?”
Mariette asked with real sympathy. “It is dreadful. How sorry I
am for her,” she added with a sigh.
He frowned, and in order to change the subject began to speak
about Shoustova, who had been imprisoned in the fortress and was
now set free through the influence of Mariette’s husband. He
thanked her for her trouble, and was going on to say how dreadful
he thought it, that this woman and the whole of her family had
suffered merely, because no one had reminded the authorities
about them, but Mariette interrupted him and expressed her own
indignation.
“Say nothing about it to me,” she said. “When my husband told me
she could be set free, it was this that struck me, ‘What was she
kept in prison for if she is innocent?’” She went on expressing
what Nekhludoff was about to say.
“It is revolting—revolting.”
Countess Katerina Ivanovna noticed that Mariette was coquetting
with her nephew, and this amused her. “What do you think?” she
said, when they were silent. “Supposing you come to Aline’s
tomorrow night. Kiesewetter will be there. And you, too,” she
said, turning to Mariette. “Il vous a remarque,” she went on to
her nephew. “He told me that what you say (I repeated it all to
him) is a very good sign, and that you will certainly come to
Christ. You must come absolutely. Tell him to, Mariette, and come
yourself.”
“Countess, in the first place, I have no right whatever to give
any kind of advice to the Prince,” said Mariette, and gave
Nekhludoff a look that somehow established a full comprehension
between them of their attitude in relation to the Countess’s
words and evangelicalism in general. “Secondly, I do not much
care, you know.”
“Yes, I know you always do things the wrong way round, and
according to your own ideas.”
“My own ideas? I have faith like the most simple peasant woman,”
said Mariette with a smile. “And, thirdly, I am going to the
French Theatre tomorrow night.”
“Ah! And have you seen that—What’s her name?” asked Countess
Katerina Ivanovna. Mariette gave the name of a celebrated French
actress.
“You must go, most decidedly; she is wonderful.”
“Whom am I to see first, ma tante—the actress or the preacher?”
Nekhludoff said with a smile.
“Please don’t catch at my words.”
“I should think the preacher first and then the actress, or else
the desire for the sermon might vanish altogether,” said
Nekhludoff.
“No; better begin with the French Theatre, and do penance
afterwards.”
“Now, then, you are not to hold me up for ridicule. The preacher
is the preacher and the theatre is the theatre. One need not weep
in order to be saved. One must have faith, and then one is sure
to be gay.”
“You, ma tante, preach better than any preacher.”
“Do you know what?” said Mariette. “Come into my box tomorrow.”
“I am afraid I shall not be able to.”
The footman interrupted the conversation by announcing a visitor.
It was the secretary of a philanthropic society of which the
Countess was president.
“Oh, that is the dullest of men. I think I shall receive him out
there, and return to you later on. Mariette, give him his tea,”
said the Countess, and left the room, with her quick, wriggling
walk.
Mariette took the glove off her firm, rather flat hand, the
fourth finger of which was covered with rings.
“Want any?” she said, taking hold of the silver teapot, under
which a spirit lamp was burning, and extending her little finger
curiously. Her face looked sad and serious.
“It is always terribly painful to me to notice that people whose
opinion I value confound me with the position I am placed in.”
She seemed ready to cry as she said these last words. And though
these words had no meaning, or at any rate a very indefinite
meaning, they seemed to be of exceptional depth, meaning, or
goodness to Nekhludoff, so much was he attracted by the look of
the bright eyes which accompanied the words of this young,
beautiful, and well-dressed woman.
Nekhludoff looked at her in silence, and could not take his eyes
from her face.
“You think I do not understand you and all that goes on in you.
Why, everybody knows what you are doing. _C’est le secret de
polichinelle_. And I am delighted with your work, and think highly
of you.”
“Really, there is nothing to be delighted with; and I have done
so little as Yet.”
“No matter. I understand your feelings, and I understand her.
All right, all right. I will say nothing more about it,” she
said, noticing displeasure on his face. “But I also understand
that after seeing all the suffering and the horror in the
prisons,” Mariette went on, her only desire that of attracting
him, and guessing with her woman’s instinct what was dear and
important to him, “you wish to help the sufferers, those who are
made to suffer so terribly by other men, and their cruelty and
indifference. I understand the willingness to give one’s life,
and could give mine in such a cause, but we each have our own
fate.”
“Are you, then, dissatisfied with your fate?”
“I?” she asked, as if struck with surprise that such a question
could be put to her. “I have to be satisfied, and am satisfied.
But there is a worm that wakes up—”
“And he must not be allowed to fall asleep again. It is a voice
that must he obeyed,” Nekhludoff said, failing into the trap.
Many a time later on Nekhludoff remembered with shame his talk
with her. He remembered her words, which were not so much lies as
imitations of his own, and her face, which seemed looking at him
with sympathetic attention when he told her about the terrors of
the prison and of his impressions in the country.
When the Countess returned they were talking not merely like old,
but like exclusive friends who alone understood one another. They
were talking about the injustice of power, of the sufferings of
the unfortunate, the poverty of the people, yet in reality in the
midst of the sound of their talk their eyes, gazing at each
other, kept asking, “Can you love me?” and answering, “I can,”
and the sex-feeling, taking the most unexpected and brightest
forms, drew them to each other. As she was going away she told
him that she would always he willing to serve him in any way she
could, and asked him to come and see her, if only for a moment,
in the theatre next day, as she had a very important thing to
tell him about.
“Yes, and when shall I see you again?” she added, with a sigh,
carefully drawing the glove over her jewelled hand.
“Say you will come.”
Nekhludoff promised.
That night, when Nekhludoff was alone in his room, and lay down
after putting out his candle, he could not sleep. He thought of
Maslova, of the decision of the Senate, of his resolve to follow
her in any case, of his having given up the land. The face of
Mariette appeared to him as if in answer to those thoughts—her
look, her sigh, her words, “When shall I see you again?” and her
smile seemed vivid as if he really saw her, and he also smiled.
“Shall I be doing right in going to Siberia? And have I done
right in divesting myself of my wealth?” And the answers to the
questions on this Petersburg night, on which the daylight
streamed into the window from under the blind, were quite
indefinite. All seemed mixed in his head. He recalled his former
state of mind, and the former sequence of his thoughts, but they
had no longer their former power or validity.
“And supposing I have invented all this, and am unable to live it
through—supposing I repent of having acted right,” he thought;
and unable to answer he was seized with such anguish and despair
as he had long not felt. Unable to free himself from his
perplexity, he fell into a heavy sleep, such as he had slept
after a heavy loss at cards.
CHAPTER XXV.
LYDIA SHOUSTOVA’S HOME.
Nekhludoff awoke next morning
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