Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
- Performer: -
Book online «Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖». Author Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
accurately, and had separated the weak. How could he have
foreseen this terrible heat, or the fact that they would start so
late in the day and in such crowds? The prison inspector? But the
inspector had only carried into execution the order that on a
given day a certain number of exiles and convicts—men and
women—had to be sent off. The convoy officer could not be guilty
either, for his business was to receive a certain number of
persons in a certain place, and to deliver up the same number.
He conducted them in the usual manner, and could not foresee that
two such strong men as those Nekhludoff saw would not be able to
stand it and would die. No one is guilty, and yet the men have
been murdered by these people who are not guilty of their murder.
“All this comes,” Nekhludoff thought, “from the fact that all
these people, governors, inspectors, police officers, and men,
consider that there are circumstances in which human relations
are not necessary between human beings. All these men,
Maslennikoff, and the inspector, and the convoy officer, if they
were not governor, inspector, officer, would have considered
twenty times before sending people in such heat in such a
mass—would have stopped twenty times on the way, and, seeing
that a man was growing weak, gasping for breath, would have led
him into the shade, would have given him water and let him rest,
and if an accident had still occurred they would have expressed
pity. But they not only did not do it, but hindered others from
doing it, because they considered not men and their duty towards
them but only the office they themselves filled, and held what
that office demanded of them to be above human relations. That’s
what it is,” Nekhludoff went on in his thoughts. “If one
acknowledges but for a single hour that anything can be more
important than love for one’s fellowmen, even in some one
exceptional case, any crime can be committed without a feeling of
guilt.”
Nekhludoff was so engrossed by his thoughts that he did not
notice how the weather changed. The sun was covered over by a
low-hanging, ragged cloud. A compact, light grey cloud was
rapidly coming from the west, and was already falling in heavy,
driving rain on the fields and woods far in the distance.
Moisture, coming from the cloud, mixed with the air. Now and then
the cloud was rent by flashes of lightning, and peals of thunder
mingled more and more often with the rattling of the train. The
cloud came nearer and nearer, the rain-drops driven by the wind
began to spot the platform and Nekhludoff’s coat; and he stepped
to the other side of the little platform, and, inhaling the
fresh, moist air—filled with the smell of corn and wet earth
that had long been waiting for rain—he stood looking at the
gardens, the woods, the yellow rye fields, the green oatfields,
the dark-green strips of potatoes in bloom, that glided past.
Everything looked as if covered over with varnish—the green
turned greener, the yellow yellower, the black blacker.
“More! more!” said Nekhludoff, gladdened by the sight of gardens
and fields revived by the beneficent shower. The shower did not
last long. Part of the cloud had come down in rain, part passed
over, and the last fine drops fell straight on to the earth. The
sun reappeared, everything began to glisten, and in the east—not
very high above the horizon—appeared a bright rainbow, with the
violet tint very distinct and broken only at one end.
“Why, what was I thinking about?” Nekhludoff asked himself when
all these changes in nature were over, and the train ran into a
cutting between two high banks.
“Oh! I was thinking that all those people (inspector, convoy
men—all those in the service) are for the greater part kind
people—cruel only because they are serving.” He recalled
Maslennikoff’s indifference when he told him about what was being
done in the prison, the inspector’s severity, the cruelty of the
convoy officer when he refused places on the carts to those who
asked for them, and paid no attention to the fact that there was
a woman in travail in the train. All these people were evidently
invulnerable and impregnable to the simplest feelings of
compassion only because they held offices. “As officials they
were impermeable to the feelings of humanity, as this paved
ground is impermeable to the rain.” Thus thought Nekhludoff as he
looked at the railway embankment paved with stones of different
colours, down which the water was running in streams instead of
soaking into the earth. “Perhaps it is necessary to pave the
banks with stones, but it is sad to look at the ground, which
might be yielding corn, grass, bushes, or trees in the same way
as the ground visible up there is doing—deprived of vegetation,
and so it is with men,” thought Nekhludoff. “Perhaps these
governors, inspectors, policemen, are needed, but it is terrible
to see men deprived of the chief human attribute, that of love
and sympathy for one another. The thing is,” he continued, “that
these people consider lawful what is not lawful, and do not
consider the eternal, immutable law, written in the hearts of men
by God, as law. That is why I feel so depressed when I am with
these people. I am simply afraid of them, and really they are
terrible, more terrible than robbers. A robber might, after all,
feel pity, but they can feel no pity, they are inured against
pity as these stones are against vegetation. That is what makes
them terrible. It is said that the Pougatcheffs, the Razins
[leaders of rebellions in Russia: Stonka Razin in the 17th and
Pougatcheff in the 18th century] are terrible. These are a
thousand times more terrible,” he continued, in his thoughts. “If
a psychological problem were set to find means of making men of
our time—Christian, humane, simple, kind people—perform the
most horrible crimes without feeling guilty, only one solution
could be devised: to go on doing what is being done. It is only
necessary that these people should he governors, inspectors,
policemen; that they should be fully convinced that there is a
kind of business, called government service, which allows men to
treat other men as things, without human brotherly relations with
them, and also that these people should be so linked together by
this government service that the responsibility for the results
of their actions should not fall on any one of them separately.
Without these conditions, the terrible acts I witnessed to-day
would be impossible in our times. It all lies in the fact that
men think there are circumstances in which one may deal with
human beings without love; and there are no such circumstances.
One may deal with things without love. One may cut down trees,
make bricks, hammer iron without love; but you cannot deal with
men without it, just as one cannot deal with bees without being
careful. If you deal carelessly with bees you will injure them,
and will yourself be injured. And so with men. It cannot be
otherwise, because natural love is the fundamental law of human
life. It is true that a man cannot force another to love him, as
he can force him to work for him; but it does not follow that a
man may deal with men without love, especially to demand anything
from them. If you feel no love, sit still,” Nekhludoff thought;
“occupy yourself with things, with yourself, with anything you
like, only not with men. You can only eat without injuring
yourself when you feel inclined to eat, so you can only deal with
men usefully when you love. Only let yourself deal with a man
without love, as I did yesterday with my brother-in-law, and
there are no limits to the suffering you will bring on yourself,
as all my life proves. Yes, yes, it is so,” thought Nekhludoff;
“it is good; yes, it is good,” he repeated, enjoying the
freshness after the torturing heat, and conscious of having
attained to the fullest clearness on a question that had long
occupied him.
CHAPTER XLI.
TARAS’S STORY.
The carriage in which Nekhludoff had taken his place was half
filled with people. There were in it servants, working men,
factory hands, butchers, Jews, shopmen, workmen’s wives, a
soldier, two ladies, a young one and an old one with bracelets on
her arm, and a severe-looking gentleman with a cockade on his
black cap. All these people were sitting quietly; the bustle of
taking their places was long over; some sat cracking and eating
sunflower seeds, some smoking, some talking.
Taras sat, looking very happy, opposite the door, keeping a place
for Nekhludoff, and carrying on an animated conversation with a
man in a cloth coat who sat opposite to him, and who was, as
Nekhludoff afterwards found out, a gardener going to a new
situation. Before reaching the place where Taras sat Nekhludoff
stopped between the seats near a reverend-looking old man with a
white beard and nankeen coat, who was talking with a young woman
in peasant dress. A little girl of about seven, dressed in a new
peasant costume, sat, her little legs dangling above the floor,
by the side of the woman, and kept cracking seeds.
The old man turned round, and, seeing Nekhludoff, he moved the
lappets of his coat off the varnished seat next to him, and said,
in a friendly manner:
“Please, here’s a seat.”
Nekhludoff thanked him, and took the seat. As soon as he was
seated the woman continued the interrupted conversation.
She was returning to her village, and related how her husband,
whom she had been visiting, had received her in town.
“I was there during the carnival, and now, by the Lord’s help,
I’ve been again,” she said. “Then, God willing, at Christmas I’ll
go again.”
“That’s right,” said the old man, with a look at Nekhludoff,
“it’s the best way to go and see him, else a young man can easily
go to the bad, living in a town.”
“Oh, no, sir, mine is not such a man. No nonsense of any kind
about him; his life is as good as a young maiden’s. The money he
earns he sends home all to a copeck. And, as to our girl here, he
was so glad to see her, there are no words for it,” said the
woman, and smiled.
The little girl, who sat cracking her seeds and spitting out the
shells, listened to her mother’s words, and, as if to confirm
them, looked up with calm, intelligent eyes into Nekhludoff’s and
the old man’s faces.
“Well, if he’s good, that’s better still,” said the old man.
“And none of that sort of thing?” he added, with a look at a
couple, evidently factory hands, who sat at the other side of the
carriage. The husband, with his head thrown back, was pouring
vodka down his throat out of a bottle, and the wife sat holding a
bag, out of which they had taken the bottle, and watched him
intently.
“No, mine neither drinks nor smokes,” said the woman who was
conversing with the old man, glad of the opportunity of praising
her husband once more. “No, sir, the earth does not hold many
such.” And, turning to Nekhludoff, she added, “That’s the sort
of man he is.”
“What could be better,” said the old man, looking at the factory
worker, who had had his drink and had passed the bottle to his
wife. The wife laughed, shook her head, and also raised the
bottle to her lips.
Noticing Nekhludoff’s and the old man’s look directed towards
them, the factory worker addressed the former.
Comments (0)