Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) đź“–
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and have grown embittered,” she finished, with a smile.
Shoustova’s mother came in at the door through which her daughter
had gone out, and said that Lydia was very much upset, and would
not come in again.
“And what has this young life been ruined for?” said the aunt.
“What is especially painful to me is that I am the involuntary
cause of it.”
“She will recover in the country, with God’s help,” said the
mother. “We shall send her to her father.”
“Yes, if it were not for you she would have perished altogether,”
said the aunt. “Thank you. But what I wished to see you for is
this: I wished to ask you to take a letter to Vera Doukhova,” and
she got the letter out of her pocket.
“The letter is not closed; you may read and tear it up, or hand
it to her, according to how far it coincides with your
principles,” she said. “It contains nothing compromising.”
Nekhludoff took the letter, and, having promised to give it to
Vera Doukhova, he took his leave and went away. He scaled the
letter without reading it, meaning to take it to its destination.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE STATE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE.
The last thing that kept Nekhludoff in Petersburg was the case of
the sectarians, whose petition he intended to get his former
fellow-officer, Aide-de-camp Bogatyreff, to hand to the Tsar. He
came to Bogatyreff in the morning, and found him about to go out,
though still at breakfast. Bogatyreff was not tall, but firmly
built and wonderfully strong (he could bend a horseshoe), a kind,
honest, straight, and even liberal man. In spite of these
qualities, he was intimate at Court, and very fond of the Tsar
and his family, and by some strange method he managed, while
living in that highest circle, to see nothing but the good in it
and to take no part in the evil and corruption. He never
condemned anybody nor any measure, and either kept silent or
spoke in a bold, loud voice, almost shouting what he had to say,
and often laughing in the same boisterous manner. And he did not
do it for diplomatic reasons, but because such was his character.
“Ah, that’s right that you have come. Would you like some
breakfast? Sit down, the beefsteaks are fine! I always begin with
something substantial—begin and finish, too. Ha! ha! ha! Well,
then, have a glass of wine,” he shouted, pointing to a decanter
of claret. “I have been thinking of you. I will hand on the
petition. I shall put it into his own hands. You may count on
that, only it occurred to me that it would be best for you to
call on Toporoff.”
Nekhludoff made a wry face at the mention of Toporoff.
“It all depends on him. He will be consulted, anyhow. And perhaps
he may himself meet your wishes.”
“If you advise it I shall go.”
“That’s right. Well, and how does Petersburg agree with you?”
shouted Bogatyreff. “Tell me. Eh?”
“I feel myself getting hypnotised,” replied Nekhludoff.
“Hypnotised!” Bogatyreff repeated, and burst out laughing. “You
won’t have anything? Well, just as you please,” and he wiped his
moustaches with his napkin. “Then you’ll go? Eh? If he does not
do it, give the petition to me, and I shall hand it on
tomorrow.” Shouting these words, he rose, crossed himself just
as naturally as he had wiped his mouth, and began buckling on his
sword.
“And now goodbye; I must go. We are both going out,” said
Nekhludoff, and shaking Bogatyreff’s strong, broad hand, and with
the sense of pleasure which the impression of something healthy
and unconsciously fresh always gave him, Nekhludoff parted from
Bogatyreff on the doorsteps.
Though he expected no good result from his visit, still
Nekhludoff, following Bogatyreff’s advice, went to see Toporoff,
on whom the sectarians’ fate depended.
The position occupied by Toporoff, involving as it did an
incongruity of purpose, could only be held by a dull man devoid
of moral sensibility. Toporoff possessed both these negative
qualities. The incongruity of the position he occupied was this.
It was his duty to keep up and to defend, by external measures,
not excluding violence, that Church which, by its own
declaration, was established by God Himself and could not be
shaken by the gates of hell nor by anything human. This divine
and immutable God-established institution had to be sustained and
defended by a human institution—the Holy Synod, managed by
Toporoff and his officials. Toporoff did not see this
contradiction, nor did he wish to see it, and he was therefore
much concerned lest some Romish priest, some pastor, or some
sectarian should destroy that Church which the gates of hell
could not conquer.
Toporoff, like all those who are quite destitute of the
fundamental religious feeling that recognises the equality and
brotherhood of men, was fully convinced that the common people
were creatures entirely different from himself, and that the
people needed what he could very well do without, for at the
bottom of his heart he believed in nothing, and found such a
state very convenient and pleasant. Yet he feared lest the people
might also come to such a state, and looked upon it as his sacred
duty, as he called it, to save the people therefrom.
A certain cookery book declares that some crabs like to be boiled
alive. In the same way he thought and spoke as if the people
liked being kept in superstition; only he meant this in a literal
sense, whereas the cookery book did not mean its words literally.
His feelings towards the religion he was keeping up were the same
as those of the poultry-keeper towards the carrion he fed his
fowls on. Carrion was very disgusting, but the fowls liked it;
therefore it was right to feed the fowls on carrion. Of course
all this worship of the images of the Iberian, Kasan and Smolensk
Mothers of God was a gross superstition, but the people liked it
and believed in it, and therefore the superstition must be kept
up.
Thus thought Toporoff, not considering that the people only liked
superstition because there always have been, and still are, men
like himself who, being enlightened, instead of using their light
to help others to struggle out of their dark ignorance, use it to
plunge them still deeper into it.
When Nekhludoff entered the reception-room Toporoff was in his
study talking with an abbess, a lively and aristocratic lady, who
was spreading the Greek orthodox faith in Western Russia among
the Uniates (who acknowledge the Pope of Rome), and who have the
Greek religion enforced on them. An official who was in the
reception-room inquired what Nekhludoff wanted, and when he heard
that Nekhludoff meant to hand in a petition to the Emperor, he
asked him if he would allow the petition to be read first.
Nekhludoff gave it him, and the official took it into the study.
The abbess, with her hood and flowing veil and her long train
trailing behind, left the study and went out, her white hands
(with their well-tended nails) holding a topaz rosary. Nekhludoff
was not immediately asked to come in. Toporoff was reading the
petition and shaking his head. He was unpleasantly surprised by
the clear and emphatic wording of it.
“If it gets into the hands of the Emperor it may cause
misunderstandings, and unpleasant questions may be asked,” he
thought as he read. Then he put the petition on the table, rang,
and ordered Nekhludoff to be asked in.
He remembered the case of the sectarians; he had had a petition
from them before. The case was this: These Christians, fallen
away from the Greek Orthodox Church, were first exhorted and then
tried by law, but were acquitted. Then the Archdeacon and the
Governor arranged, on the plea that their marriages were illegal,
to exile these sectarians, separating the husbands, wives, and
children. These fathers and wives were now petitioning that they
should not he parted. Toporoff recollected the first time the
case came to his notice: he had at that time hesitated whether he
had not better put a stop to it. But then he thought no harm
could result from his confirming the decision to separate and
exile the different members of the sectarian families, whereas
allowing the peasant sect to remain where it was might have a bad
effect on the rest of the inhabitants of the place and cause them
to fall away from Orthodoxy. And then the affair also proved the
zeal of the Archdeacon, and so he let the case proceed along the
lines it had taken. But now that they had a defender such as
Nekhludoff, who had some influence in Petersburg, the case might
be specially pointed out to the Emperor as something cruel, or it
might get into the foreign papers. Therefore he at once took an
unexpected decision.
“How do you do?” he said, with the air of a very busy man,
receiving Nekhludoff standing, and at once starting on the
business. “I know this case. As soon as I saw the names I
recollected this unfortunate business,” he said, taking up the
petition and showing it to Nekhludoff. “And I am much indebted to
you for reminding me of it. It is the over-zealousness of the
provincial authorities.”
Nekhludoff stood silent, looking with no kindly feelings at the
immovable, pale mask of a face before him.
“And I shall give orders that these measures should he revoked
and the people reinstated in their homes.”
“So that I need not make use of this petition?”
“I promise you most assuredly,” answered Toporoff, laying a
stress on the word I, as if quite convinced that his honesty, his
word was the best guarantee. “It will be best if I write at once.
Take a seat, please.”
He went up to the table and began to write. As Nekhludoff sat
down he looked at the narrow, bald skull, at the fat, blue-veined
hand that was swiftly guiding the pen, and wondered why this
evidently indifferent man was doing what he did and why he was
doing it with such care.
“Well, here you are,” said Toporoff, sealing the envelope; “you
may let your clients know,” and he stretched his lips to imitate
a smile.
“Then what did these people suffer for?” Nekhludoff asked, as he
took the envelope.
Toporoff raised his head and smiled, as if Nekhludoff’s question
gave him pleasure. “That I cannot tell. All I can say is that the
interests of the people guarded by us are so important that too
great a zeal in matters of religion is not so dangerous or so
harmful as the indifference which is now spreading—”
“But how is it that in the name of religion the very first
demands of righteousness are violated—families are separated?”
Toporoff continued to smile patronisingly, evidently thinking
what Nekhludoff said very pretty. Anything that Nekhludoff could
say he would have considered very pretty and very one-sided, from
the height of what he considered his far-reaching office in the
State.
“It may seem so from the point of view of a private individual,”
he said, “but from an administrative point of view it appears in
a rather different light. However, I must bid you goodbye, now,”
said Toporoff, bowing his head and holding out his hand, which
Nekhludoff pressed.
“The interests of the people! Your interests is what you mean!”
thought Nekhludoff as he went out. And he ran over in his mind
the people in whom is manifested the activity of the institutions
that uphold religion and educate the people. He began
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