Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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tea. “May I? No? Well, just as you like. When you are living here
in Siberia you are too glad to meet an educated person. Our work,
as you know, is the saddest, and when one is used to better
things it is very hard. The idea they have of us is that convoy
officers are coarse, uneducated men, and no one seems to remember
that we may have been born for a very different position.”
This officer’s red face, his scents, his rings, and especially
his unpleasant laughter disgusted Nekhludoff very much, but
to-day, as during the whole of his journey, he was in that
serious, attentive state which did not allow him to behave
slightingly or disdainfully towards any man, but made him feel
the necessity of speaking to every one “entirely,” as he
expressed to himself, this relation to men. When he had heard the
officer and understood his state of mind, he said in a serious
manner:
“I think that in your position, too, some comfort could be found
in helping the suffering people,” he said.
“What are their sufferings? You don’t know what these people
are.”
“They are not special people,” said Nekhludoff; “they are just
such people as others, and some of them are quite innocent.”
“Of course, there are all sorts among them, and naturally one
pities them. Others won’t let anything off, but I try to lighten
their condition where I can. It’s better that I should suffer,
but not they. Others keep to the law in every detail, even as far
as to shoot, but I show pity. May I?—Take another,” he said, and
poured out another tumbler of tea for Nekhludoff.
“And who is she, this woman that you want to see?” he asked.
“It is an unfortunate woman who got into a brothel, and was there
falsely accused of poisoning, and she is a very good woman,”
Nekhludoff answered.
The officer shook his head. “Yes, it does happen. I can tell you
about a certain Ernma who lived in Kasan. She was a Hungarian by
birth, but she had quite Persian eyes,” he continued, unable to
restrain a smile at the recollection; “there was so much chic
about her that a countess—”
Nekhludoff interrupted the officer and returned to the former
topic of conversation.
“I think that you could lighten the condition of the people while
they are in your charge. And in acting that way I am sure you
would find great joy!” said Nekhludoff, trying to pronounce as
distinctly as possible, as he might if talking to a foreigner or
a child.
The officer looked at Nekhludoff impatiently, waiting for him to
stop so as to continue the tale about the Hungarian with Persian
eyes, who evidently presented herself very vividly to his
imagination and quite absorbed his attention.
“Yes, of course, this is all quite true,” he said, “and I do pity
them; but I should like to tell you about Emma. What do you think
she did—?”
“It does not interest me,” said Nekhludoff, “and I will tell you
straight, that though I was myself very different at one time, I
now hate that kind of relation to women.”
The officer gave Nekhludoff a frightened look.
“Won’t you take some more tea?” he said.
“No, thank you.”
“Bernoff!” the officer called, “take the gentleman to Vakouloff.
Tell him to let him into the separate political room. He may
remain there till the inspection.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE POLITICAL PRISONERS.
Accompanied by the orderly, Nekhludoff went out into the
courtyard, which was dimly lit up by the red light of the lamps.
“Where to?” asked the convoy sergeant, addressing the orderly.
“Into the separate cell, No. 5.”
“You can’t pass here; the boss has gone to the village and taken
the keys.”
“Well, then, pass this way.”
The soldier led Nekhludoff along a board to another entrance.
While still in the yard Nekhludoff could hear the din of voices
and general commotion going on inside as in a beehive when the
bees are preparing to swarm; but when he came nearer and the door
opened the din grew louder, and changed into distinct sounds of
shouting, abuse and laughter. He heard the clatter of chairs and
smelt the well-known foul air. This din of voices and the clatter
of the chairs, together with the close smell, always flowed into
one tormenting sensation, and produced in Nekhludoff a feeling of
moral nausea which grew into physical sickness, the two feelings
mingling with and heightening each other.
The first thing Nekhludoff saw, on entering, was a large,
stinking tub. A corridor into which several doors opened led from
the entrance. The first was the family room, then the bachelors’
room, and at the very end two small rooms were set apart for the
political prisoners.
The buildings, which were arranged to hold one hundred and fifty
prisoners, now that there were four hundred and fifty inside,
were so crowded that the prisoners could not all get into the
rooms, but filled the passage, too. Some were sitting or lying on
the floor, some were going out with empty teapots, or bringing
them back filled with boiling water. Among the latter was Taras.
He overtook Nekhludoff and greeted him affectionately. The kind
face of Taras was disfigured by dark bruises on his nose and
under his eye.
“What has happened to you?” asked Nekhludoff.
“Yes, something did happen,” Taras said, with a smile.
“All because of the woman,” added a prisoner, who followed Taras;
“he’s had a row with Blind Fedka.”
“And how’s Theodosia?”
“She’s all right. Here I am bringing her the water for her tea,”
Taras answered, and went into the family room.
Nekhludoff looked in at the door. The room was crowded with women
and men, some of whom were on and some under the bedsteads; it
was full of steam from the wet clothes that were drying, and the
chatter of women’s voices was unceasing. The next door led into
the bachelors’ room. This room was still more crowded; even the
doorway and the passage in front of it were blocked by a noisy
crowd of men, in wet garments, busy doing or deciding something
or other.
The convoy sergeant explained that it was the prisoner appointed
to buy provisions, paying off out of the food money what was
owing to a sharper who had won from or lent money to the
prisoners, and receiving back little tickets made of playing
cards. When they saw the convoy soldier and a gentleman, those
who were nearest became silent, and followed them with looks of
ill-will. Among them Nekhludoff noticed the criminal Fedoroff,
whom he knew, and who always kept a miserable lad with a swelled
appearance and raised eyebrows beside him, and also a disgusting,
noseless, pockmarked tramp, who was notorious among the
prisoners because he killed his comrade in the marshes while
trying to escape, and had, as it was rumoured, fed on his flesh.
The tramp stood in the passage with his wet cloak thrown over one
shoulder, looking mockingly and boldly at Nekhludoff, and did not
move out of the way. Nekhludoff passed him by.
Though this kind of scene had now become quite familiar to him,
though he had during the last three months seen these four
hundred criminal prisoners over and over again in many different
circumstances; in the heat, enveloped in clouds of dust which
they raised as they dragged their chained feet along the road,
and at the resting places by the way, where the most horrible
scenes of barefaced debauchery had occurred, yet every time he
came among them, and felt their attention fixed upon him as it
was now, shame and consciousness of his sin against them
tormented him. To this sense of shame and guilt was added an
unconquerable feeling of loathing and horror. He knew that,
placed in a position such as theirs, they could not he other than
they were, and yet he was unable to stifle his disgust.
“It’s well for them do-nothings,” Nekhludoff heard some one say
in a hoarse voice as he approached the room of the political
prisoners. Then followed a word of obscene abuse, and spiteful,
mocking laughter.
CHAPTER X.
MAKAR DEVKIN.
When they had passed the bachelors’ room the sergeant who
accompanied Nekhludoff left him, promising to come for him before
the inspection would take place. As soon as the sergeant was gone
a prisoner, quickly stepping with his bare feet and holding up
the chains, came close up to Nekhludoff, enveloping him in the
strong, acid smell of perspiration, and said in a mysterious
whisper:
“Help the lad, sir; he’s got into an awful mess. Been drinking.
To-day he’s given his name as Karmanoff at the inspection. Take
his part, sir. We dare not, or they’ll kill us,” and looking
uneasily round he turned away.
This is what had happened. The criminal Kalmanoff had persuaded a
young fellow who resembled him in appearance and was sentenced to
exile to change names with him and go to the mines instead of
him, while he only went to exile. Nekhludoff knew all this. Some
convict had told him about this exchange the week before. He
nodded as a sign that he understood and would do what was in his
power, and continued his way without looking round.
Nekhludoff knew this convict, and was surprised by his action.
When in Ekaterinburg the convict had asked Nekhludoff to get a
permission for his wife to follow him. The convict was a man of
medium size and of the most ordinary peasant type, about thirty
years old. He was condemned to hard labour for an attempt to
murder and rob. His name was Makar Devkin. His crime was a very
curious one. In the account he gave of it to Nekhludoff, he said
it was not his but his devil’s doing. He said that a traveller
had come to his father’s house and hired his sledge to drive him
to a village thirty miles off for two roubles. Makar’s father
told him to drive the stranger. Makar harnessed the horse,
dressed, and sat down to drink tea with the stranger. The
stranger related at the tea-table that he was going to be married
and had five hundred roubles, which he had earned in Moscow, with
him. When he had heard this, Makar went out into the yard and put
an axe into the sledge under the straw. “And I did not myself
know why I was taking the axe,” he said. “‘Take the axe,’ says
he, and I took it. We got in and started. We drove along all
right; I even forgot about the axe. Well, we were getting near
the village; only about four miles more to go. The way from the
cross-road to the high road was up hill, and I got out. I walked
behind the sledge and he whispers to me, ‘What are you thinking
about? When you get to the top of the hill you will meet people
along the highway, and then there will be the village. He will
carry the money away. If you mean to do it, now’s the time.’ I
stooped over the sledge as if to arrange the straw, and the axe
seemed to jump into my hand of itself. The man turned round.
‘What are you doing?’ I lifted the axe and tried to knock him
down, but he was quick, jumped out, and took hold of my hands.
‘What are you doing, you villain?’ He threw me down into the
snow, and I did not even struggle, but gave in at once. He bound
my
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