Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
- Performer: -
Book online «Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖». Author Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
elucidate some question at a judicial inquiry, safe in prison.
The fate of these persons, often innocent even from the
government point of view, depended on the whim, the humour of, or
the amount of leisure at the disposal of some police officer or
spy, or public prosecutor, or magistrate, or governor, or
minister. Some one of these officials feels dull, or inclined to
distinguish himself, and makes a number of arrests, and imprisons
or sets free, according to his own fancy or that of the higher
authorities. And the higher official, actuated by like motives,
according to whether he is inclined to distinguish himself, or to
what his relations to the minister are, exiles men to the other
side of the world or keeps them in solitary confinement, condemns
them to Siberia, to hard labour, to death, or sets them free at
the request of some lady.
They were dealt with as in war, and they naturally employed the
means that were used against them. And as the military men live
in an atmosphere of public opinion that not only conceals from
them the guilt of their actions, but sets these actions up as
feats of heroism, so these political offenders were also
constantly surrounded by an atmosphere of public opinion which
made the cruel actions they committed, in the face of danger and
at the risk of liberty and life, and all that is dear to men,
seem not wicked but glorious actions. Nekhludoff found in this
the explanation of the surprising phenomenon that men, with the
mildest characters, who seemed incapable of witnessing the
sufferings of any living creature, much less of inflicting pain,
quietly prepared to murder men, nearly all of them considering
murder lawful and just on certain occasions as a means for
self-defence, for the attainment of higher aims or for the
general welfare.
The importance they attribute to their cause, and consequently to
themselves, flowed naturally from the importance the government
attached to their actions, and the cruelty of the punishments it
inflicted on them. When Nekhludoff came to know them better he
became convinced that they were not the right-down villains that
some imagined them to be, nor the complete heroes that others
thought them, but ordinary people, just the same as others, among
whom there were some good and some bad, and some mediocre, as
there are everywhere.
There were some among them who had turned revolutionists because
they honestly considered it their duty to fight the existing
evils, but there were also those who chose this work for selfish,
ambitious motives; the majority, however, was attracted to the
revolutionary idea by the desire for danger, for risks, the
enjoyment of playing with one’s life, which, as Nekhludoff knew
from his military experiences, is quite common to the most
ordinary people while they are young and full of energy. But
wherein they differed from ordinary people was that their moral
standard was a higher one than that of ordinary men. They
considered not only self-control, hard living, truthfulness, but
also the readiness to sacrifice everything, even life, for the
common welfare as their duty. Therefore the best among them stood
on a moral level that is not often reached, while the worst were
far below the ordinary level, many of them being untruthful,
hypocritical and at the same time self-satisfied and proud. So
that Nekhludoff learned not only to respect but to love some of
his new acquaintances, while he remained more than indifferent to
others.
CHAPTER VI.
KRYLTZOFF’S STORY.
Nekhludoff grew especially fond of Kryltzoff, a consumptive young
man condemned to hard labour, who was going with the same gang as
Katusha. Nekhludoff had made his acquaintance already in
Ekaterinburg, and talked with him several times on the road after
that. Once, in summer, Nekhludoff spent nearly the whole of a day
with him at a halting station, and Kryltzoff, having once started
talking, told him his story and how he had become a
revolutionist. Up to the time of his imprisonment his story was
soon told. He lost his father, a rich landed proprietor in the
south of Russia, when still a child. He was the only son, and his
mother brought him up. He learned easily in the university, as
well as the gymnasium, and was first in the mathematical faculty
in his year. He was offered a choice of remaining in the
university or going abroad. He hesitated. He loved a girl and was
thinking of marriage, and taking part in the rural
administration. He did not like giving up either offer, and could
not make up his mind. At this time his fellow-students at the
university asked him for money for a common cause. He did not
know that this common cause was revolutionary, which he was not
interested in at that time, but gave the money from a sense of
comradeship and vanity, so that it should not be said that he was
afraid. Those who received the money were caught, a note was
found which proved that the money had been given by Kryltzoff. he
was arrested, and first kept at the police station, then
imprisoned.
“The prison where I was put,” Kryltzoff went on to relate (he was
sitting on the high shelf bedstead, his elbows on his knees, with
sunken chest, the beautiful, intelligent eyes with which he
looked at Nekhludoff glistening feverishly)—“they were not
specially strict in that prison. We managed to converse, not only
by tapping the wall, but could walk about the corridors, share
our provisions and our tobacco, and in the evenings we even sang
in chorus. I had a fine voice—yes, if it had not been for mother
it would have been all right, even pleasant and interesting. Here
I made the acquaintance of the famous Petroff—he afterwards
killed himself with a piece of glass at the fortress—and also
of others. But I was not yet a revolutionary. I also became
acquainted with my neighbours in the cells next to mine. They
were both caught with Polish proclamations and arrested in the
same cause, and were tried for an attempt to escape from the
convoy when they were being taken to the railway station. One was
a Pole, Lozinsky; the other a Jew, Rozovsky. Yes. Well, this
Rozovsky was quite a boy. He said he was seventeen, but he looked
fifteen—thin, small, active, with black, sparkling eyes, and,
like most Jews, very musical. His voice was still breaking, and
yet he sang beautifully. Yes. I saw them both taken to be tried.
They were taken in the morning. They returned in the evening,
and said they were condemned to death. No one had expected it.
Their case was so unimportant; they only tried to get away from
the convoy, and had not even wounded any one. And then it was so
unnatural to execute such a child as Rozovsky. And we in prison
all came to the conclusion that it was only done to frighten
them, and would not be confirmed. At first we were excited, and
then we comforted ourselves, and life went on as before. Yes.
Well, one evening, a watchman comes to my door and mysteriously
announces to me that carpenters had arrived, and were putting up
the gallows. At first I did not understand. What’s that? What
gallows? But the watchman was so excited that I saw at once it
was for our two. I wished to tap and communicate with my
comrades, but was afraid those two would hear. The comrades were
also silent. Evidently everybody knew. In the corridors and in
the cells everything was as still as death all that evening. They
did not tap the wall nor sing. At ten the watchman came again and
announced that a hangman had arrived from Moscow. He said it and
went away. I began calling him back. Suddenly I hear Rozovsky
shouting to me across the corridor: ‘What’s the matter? Why do
you call him?’ I answered something about asking him to get me
some tobacco, but he seemed to guess, and asked me: ‘Why did we
not sing to-night, why did we not tap the walls?’ I do not
remember what I said, but I went away so as not to speak to him.
Yes. It was a terrible night. I listened to every sound all
night. Suddenly, towards morning, I hear doors opening and
somebody walking—many persons. I went up to my window. There
was a lamp burning in the corridor. The first to pass was the
inspector. He was stout, and seemed a resolute, self-satisfied
man, but he looked ghastly pale, downcast, and seemed frightened;
then his assistant, frowning but resolute; behind them the
watchman. They passed my door and stopped at the next, and I hear
the assistant calling out in a strange voice: ‘Lozinsky, get up
and put on clean linen.’ Yes. Then I hear the creaking of the
door; they entered into his cell. Then I hear Lozinsky’s steps
going to the opposite side of the corridor. I could only see the
inspector. He stood quite pale, and buttoned and unbuttoned his
coat, shrugging his shoulders. Yes. Then, as if frightened of
something, he moved out of the way. It was Lozinsky, who passed
him and came up to my door. A handsome young fellow he was, you
know, of that nice Polish type: broad shouldered, his head
covered with fine, fair, curly hair as with a cap, and with
beautiful blue eyes. So blooming, so fresh, so healthy. He
stopped in front of my window, so that I could see the whole of
his face. A dreadful, gaunt, livid face. ‘Kryltzoff, have you any
cigarettes?’ I wished to pass him some, but the assistant
hurriedly pulled out his cigarette case and passed it to him. He
took out one, the assistant struck a match, and he lit the
cigarette and began to smoke and seemed to be thinking. Then, as
if he had remembered something, he began to speak. ‘It is cruel
and unjust. I have committed no crime. I—’ I saw something
quiver in his white young throat, from which I could not take my
eyes, and he stopped. Yes. At that moment I hear Rozovsky
shouting in his fine, Jewish voice. Lozinsky threw away the
cigarette and stepped from the door. And Rozovsky appeared at the
window. His childish face, with the limpid black eyes, was red
and moist. He also had clean linen on, the trousers were too
wide, and he kept pulling them up and trembled all over. He
approached his pitiful face to my window. ‘Kryltzoff, it’s true
that the doctor has prescribed cough mixture for me, is it not? I
am not well. I’ll take some more of the mixture.’ No one
answered, and he looked inquiringly, now at me, now at the
inspector. What he meant to say I never made out. Yes. Suddenly
the assistant again put on a stern expression, and called out in
a kind of squeaking tone: ‘Now, then, no nonsense. Let us go.’
Rozovsky seemed incapable of understanding what awaited him, and
hurried, almost ran, in front of him all along the corridor. But
then he drew back, and I could hear his shrill voice and his
cries, then the trampling of feet, and general hubbub. He was
shrieking and sobbing. The sounds came fainter and fainter, and
at last the door rattled and all was quiet. Yes. And so they
hanged them. Throttled them both with a rope. A watchman, another
one, saw it done, and told me that Lozinsky did not resist, but
Rozovsky struggled for a long time, so that they had to pull him
up on to the scaffold and to force his head into the noose. Yes.
This watchman was a stupid fellow. He said: ‘They told me, sir,
that it would be frightful, but it was
Comments (0)