Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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After they were hanged they only shrugged their shoulders twice,
like this.’ He showed how the shoulders convulsively rose and
fell. ‘Then the hangman pulled a bit so as to tighten the noose,
and it was all up, and they never budged.”’ And Kryltzoff
repeated the watchman’s words, “Not at all frightful,” and tried
to smile, but burst into sobs instead.
For a long time after that he kept silent, breathing heavily, and
repressing the sobs that were choking him.
“From that time I became a revolutionist. Yes,” he said, when he
was quieter and finished his story in a few words. He belonged to
the Narodovoltzy party, and was even at the head of the
disorganising group, whose object was to terrorise the government
so that it should give up its power of its own accord. With this
object he travelled to Petersburg, to Kiev, to Odessa and abroad,
and was everywhere successful. A man in whom he had full
confidence betrayed him. He was arrested, tried, kept in prison
for two years, and condemned to death, but the sentence was
mitigated to one of hard labour for life.
He went into consumption while in prison, and in the conditions
he was now placed he had scarcely more than a few months longer
to live. This he knew, but did not repent of his action, but said
that if he had another life he would use it in the same way to
destroy the conditions in which such things as he had seen were
possible.
This man’s story and his intimacy with him explained to
Nekhludoff much that he had not previously understood.
CHAPTER VII.
NEKHLUDOFF SEEKS AN INTERVIEW WITH MASLOVA.
On the day when the convoy officer had the encounter with the
prisoners at the halting station about the child, Nekhludoff, who
had spent the night at the village inn, woke up late, and was
some time writing letters to post at the next Government town, so
that he left the inn later than usual, and did not catch up with
the gang on the road as he had done previously, but came to the
village where the next halting station was as it was growing
dusk.
Having dried himself at the inn, which was kept by an elderly
woman who had an extraordinarily fat, white neck, he had his tea
in a clean room decorated with a great number of icons and
pictures and then hurried away to the halting station to ask the
officer for an interview with Katusha. At the last six halting
stations he could not get the permission for an interview from
any of the officers. Though they had been changed several times,
not one of them would allow Nekhludoff inside the halting
stations, so that he had not seen Katusha for more than a week.
This strictness was occasioned by the fact that an important
prison official was expected to pass that way. Now this official
had passed without looking in at the gang, after all, and
Nekhludoff hoped that the officer who had taken charge of the
gang in the morning would allow him an interview with the
prisoners, as former officers had done.
The landlady offered Nekhludoff a trap to drive him to the
halting station, situated at the farther end of the village, but
Nekhludoff preferred to walk. A young labourer, a
broad-shouldered young fellow of herculean dimensions, with
enormous top-boots freshly blackened with strongly smelling tar,
offered himself as a guide.
A dense mist obscured the sky, and it was so dark that when the
young fellow was three steps in advance of him Nekhludoff could
not see him unless the light of some window happened to fall on
the spot, but he could hear the heavy boots wading through the
deep, sticky slush. After passing the open place in front of the
church and the long street, with its rows of windows shining
brightly in the darkness, Nekhludoff followed his guide to the
outskirts of the village, where it was pitch dark. But soon here,
too, rays of light, streaming through the mist from the lamps in
the front of the halting station, became discernible through the
darkness. The reddish spots of light grew bigger and bigger; at
last the stakes of the palisade, the moving figure of the
sentinel, a post painted with white and black stripes and the
sentinel’s box became visible.
The sentinel called his usual “Who goes there?” as they
approached, and seeing they were strangers treated them with such
severity that he would not allow them to wait by the palisade;
but Nekhludoff’s guide was not abashed by this severity.
“Hallo, lad! why so fierce? You go and rouse your boss while we
wait here?”
The sentinel gave no answer, but shouted something in at the gate
and stood looking at the broad-shouldered young labourer scraping
the mud off Nekhludoff’s boots with a chip of wood by the light
of the lamp. From behind the palisade came the hum of male and
female voices. In about three minutes more something rattled, the
gate opened, and a sergeant, with his cloak thrown over his
shoulders, stepped out of the darkness into the lamplight.
The sergeant was not as strict as the sentinel, but he was
extremely inquisitive. He insisted on knowing what Nekhludoff
wanted the officer for, and who he was, evidently scenting his
booty and anxious not to let it escape. Nekhludoff said he had
come on special business, and would show his gratitude, and would
the sergeant take a note for him to the officer. The sergeant
took the note, nodded, and went away. Some time after the gate
rattled again, and women carrying baskets, boxes, jugs and sacks
came out, loudly chattering in their peculiar Siberian dialect as
they stepped over the threshold of the gate. None of them wore
peasant costumes, but were dressed town fashion, wearing jackets
and fur-lined cloaks. Their skirts were tucked up high, and their
heads wrapped up in shawls. They examined Nekhludoff and his
guide curiously by the light of the lamp. One of them showed
evident pleasure at the sight of the broad-shouldered fellow, and
affectionately administered to him a dose of Siberian abuse.
“You demon, what are you doing here? The devil take you,” she
said, addressing him.
“I’ve been showing this traveller here the way,” answered the
young fellow. “And what have you been bringing here?”
“Dairy produce, and I am to bring more in the morning.”
The guide said something in answer that made not only the women
but even the sentinel laugh, and, turning to Nekhludoff, he said:
“You’ll find your way alone? Won’t get lost, will you?”
“I shall find it all right.”
“When you have passed the church it’s the second from the
two-storied house. Oh, and here, take my staff,” he said, handing
the stick he was carrying, and which was longer than himself, to
Nekhludoff; and splashing through the mud with his enormous
boots, he disappeared in the darkness, together with the women.
His voice mingling with the voices of the women was still audible
through the fog, when the gate again rattled, and the sergeant
appeared and asked Nekhludoff to follow him to the officer.
CHAPTER VIII.
NEKHLUDOFF AND THE OFFICER.
This halting station, like all such stations along the Siberian
road, was surrounded by a courtyard, fenced in with a palisade of
sharp-pointed stakes, and consisted of three one-storied houses.
One of them, the largest, with grated windows, was for the
prisoners, another for the convoy soldiers, and the third, in
which the office was, for the officers.
There were lights in the windows of all the three houses, and,
like all such lights, they promised, here in a specially
deceptive manner, something cosy inside the walls. Lamps were
burning before the porches of the houses and about five lamps
more along the walls lit up the yard.
The sergeant led Nekhludoff along a plank which lay across the
yard up to the porch of the smallest of the houses.
When he had gone up the three steps of the porch he let
Nekhludoff pass before him into the anteroom, in which a small
lamp was burning, and which was filled with smoky fumes. By the
stove a soldier in a coarse shirt with a necktie and black
trousers, and with one top-boot on, stood blowing the charcoal in
a somovar, using the other boot as bellows. [The long boots worn
in Russia have concertina-like sides, and when held to the
chimney of the somovar can be used instead of bellows to make the
charcoal inside burn up.] When he saw Nekhludoff, the soldier
left the somovar and helped him off with his waterproof; then
went into the inner room.
“He has come, your honour.”
“Well, ask him in,” came an angry voice.
“Go in at the door,” said the soldier, and went back to the
somovar.
In the next room an officer with fair moustaches and a very red
face, dressed in an Austrian jacket that closely fitted his broad
chest and shoulders, sat at a covered table, on which were the
remains of his dinner and two bottles; there was a strong smell
of tobacco and some very strong, cheap scent in the warm room. On
seeing Nekhludoff the officer rose and gazed ironically and
suspiciously, as it seemed, at the newcomer.
“What is it you want?” he asked, and, not waiting for a reply,
he shouted through the open door:
“Bernoff, the somovar! What are you about?”
“Coming at once.”
“You’ll get it ‘at once’ so that you’ll remember it,” shouted the
officer, and his eyes flashed.
“I’m coming,” shouted the soldier, and brought in the somovar.
Nekhludoff waited while the soldier placed the somovar on the
table. When the officer had followed the soldier out of the room
with his cruel little eyes looking as if they were aiming where
best to hit him, he made the tea, got the four-cornered decanter
out of his travelling case and some Albert biscuits, and having
placed all this on the cloth he again turned to Nekhludoff.
“Well, how can I he of service to you?”
“I should like to be allowed to visit a prisoner,” said
Nekhludoff, without sitting down.
“A political one? That’s forbidden by the law,” said the officer.
“The woman I mean is not a political prisoner,” said Nekhludoff.
“Yes. But pray take a scat,” said the officer. Nekhludoff sat
down.
“She is not a political one, but at my request she has been
allowed by the higher authorities to join the political
prisoners—”
“Oh, yes, I know,” interrupted the other; “a little dark one?
Well, yes, that can be managed. Won’t you smoke?” He moved a box
of cigarettes towards Nekhludoff, and, having carefully poured
out two tumblers of tea, he passed one to Nekhludoff. “If you
please,” he said.
“Thank you; I should like to see—”
“The night is long. You’ll have plenty of time. I shall order her
to be sent out to you.”
“But could I not see her where she is? Why need she be sent for?”
Nekhludoff said.
“In to the political prisoners? It is against the law.”
“I have been allowed to go in several times. If there is any
danger of my passing anything in to them I could do it through
her just as well.”
“Oh, no; she would be searched,” said the officer, and laughed in
an unpleasant manner.
“Well, why not search me?”
“All right; we’ll manage without that,” said the officer, opening
the decanter, and holding it out towards Nekhludoff’s tumbler
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