Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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drive her out of his mind. “When the time comes I shall see,” he
said to himself, and began to think of what he ought to say to
the General.
The dinner at the General’s, with the luxury habitual to the
lives of the wealthy and those of high rank, to which Nekhludoff
had been accustomed, was extremely enjoyable after he had been so
long deprived not only of luxury but even of the most ordinary
comforts. The mistress of the house was a Petersburg grande dame
of the old school, a maid of honour at the court of Nicholas I.,
who spoke French quite naturally and Russian very unnaturally.
She held herself very erect and, moving her hands, she kept her
elbows close to her waist. She was quietly and, somewhat sadly
considerate for her husband, and extremely kind to all her
visitors, though with a tinge of difference in her behaviour
according to their position. She received Nekhludoff as if he
were one of them, and her fine, almost imperceptible flattery
made him once again aware of his virtues and gave him a feeling
of satisfaction. She made him feel that she knew of that honest
though rather singular step of his which had brought him to
Siberia, and held him to be an exceptional man. This refined
flattery and the elegance and luxury of the General’s house had
the effect of making Nekhludoff succumb to the enjoyment of the
handsome surroundings, the delicate dishes and the case and
pleasure of intercourse with educated people of his own class, so
that the surroundings in the midst of which he had lived for the
last months seemed a dream from which he had awakened to reality.
Besides those of the household, the General’s daughter and her
husband and an aide-de-camp, there were an Englishman, a merchant
interested in gold mines, and the governor of a distant Siberian
town. All these people seemed pleasant to Nekhludoff. The
Englishman, a healthy man with a rosy complexion, who spoke very
bad French, but whose command of his own language was very good
and oratorically impressive, who had seen a great deal, was very
interesting to listen to when he spoke about America, India,
Japan and Siberia.
The young merchant interested in the gold mines, the son of a
peasant, whose evening dress was made in London, who had diamond
studs to his shirt, possessed a fine library, contributed freely
to philanthropic work, and held liberal European views, seemed
pleasant to Nekhludoff as a sample of a quite new and good type
of civilised European culture, grafted on a healthy, uncultivated
peasant stem.
The governor of the distant Siberian town was that same man who
had been so much talked about in Petersburg at the time
Nekhludoff was there. He was plump, with thin, curly hair, soft
blue eyes, carefully-tended white hands, with rings on the
fingers, a pleasant smile, and very big in the lower part of his
body. The master of the house valued this governor because of all
the officials he was the only one who would not be bribed. The
mistress of the house, who was very fond of music and a very good
pianist herself, valued him because he was a good musician and
played duets with her.
Nekhludoff was in such good humour that even this man was not
unpleasant to him, in spite of what he knew of his vices. The
bright, energetic aide-de-camp, with his bluey grey chin, who was
continually offering his services, pleased Nekhludoff by his good
nature. But it was the charming young couple, the General’s
daughter and her husband, who pleased Nekhludoff best. The
daughter was a plain-looking, simple-minded young woman, wholly
absorbed in her two children. Her husband, whom she had fallen in
love with and married after a long struggle with her parents, was
a Liberal, who had taken honours at the Moscow University, a
modest and intellectual young man in Government service, who made
up statistics and studied chiefly the foreign tribes, which he
liked and tried to save from dying out.
All of them were not only kind and attentive to Nekhludoff, but
evidently pleased to see him, as a new and interesting
acquaintance. The General, who came in to dinner in uniform and
with a white cross round his neck, greeted Nekhludoff as a
friend, and asked the visitors to the side table to take a glass
of vodka and something to whet their appetites. The General asked
Nekhludoff what he had been doing since he left that morning, and
Nekhludoff told him he had been to the post-office and received
the news of the mitigation of that person’s sentence that he had
spoken of in the morning, and again asked for a permission to
visit the prison.
The General, apparently displeased that business should be
mentioned at dinner, frowned and said nothing.
“Have a glass of vodka” he said, addressing the Englishman, who
had just come up to the table. The Englishman drank a glass, and
said he had been to see the cathedral and the factory, but would
like to visit the great transportation prison.
“Oh, that will just fit in,” said the General to Nekhludoff.
“You will he able to go together. Give them a pass,” he added,
turning to his aide-de-camp.
“When would you like to go?” Nekhludoff asked.
“I prefer visiting the prisons in the evening,” the Englishman
answered. “All are indoors and there is no preparation; you find
them all as they are.”
“Ah, he would like to see it in all its glory! Let him do so. I
have written about it and no attention has been paid to it. Let
him find out from foreign publications,” the General said, and
went up to the dinner table, where the mistress of the house was
showing the visitors their places. Nekhludoff sat between his
hostess and the Englishman. In front of him sat the General’s
daughter and the ex-director of the Government department in
Petersburg. The conversation at dinner was carried on by fits and
starts, now it was India that the Englishman talked about, now
the Tonkin expedition that the General strongly disapproved of,
now the universal bribery and corruption in Siberia. All these
topics did not interest Nekhludoff much.
But after dinner, over their coffee, Nekhludoff and the
Englishman began a very interesting conversation about Gladstone,
and Nekhludoff thought he had said many clever things which were
noticed by his interlocutor. And Nekhludoff felt it more and more
pleasant to be sipping his coffee seated in an easy-chair among
amiable, well-bred people. And when at the Englishman’s request
the hostess went up to the piano with the ex-director of the
Government department, and they began to play in well-practised
style Beethoven’s fifth symphony, Nekhludoff fell into a mental
state of perfect self-satisfaction to which he had long been a
stranger, as though he had only just found out what a good fellow
he was.
The grand piano was a splendid instrument, the symphony was well
performed. At least, so it seemed to Nekhludoff, who knew and
liked that symphony. Listening to the beautiful andante, he felt
a tickling in his nose, he was so touched by his many virtues.
Nekhludoff thanked his hostess for the enjoyment that he had been
deprived of for so long, and was about to say goodbye and go when
the daughter of the house came up to him with a determined look
and said, with a blush, “You asked about my children. Would you
like to see them?”
“She thinks that everybody wants to see her children,” said her
mother, smiling at her daughter’s winning tactlessness. “The
Prince is not at all interested.”
“On the contrary, I am very much interested,” said Nekhludoff,
touched by this overflowing, happy mother-love. “Please let me
see them.”
“She’s taking the Prince to see her babies,” the General shouted,
laughing from the card-table, where he sat with his son-in-law,
the mine owner and the aide-de-camp. “Go, go, pay your tribute.”
The young woman, visibly excited by the thought that judgment was
about to be passed on her children, went quickly towards the
inner apartments, followed by Nekhludoff. In the third, a lofty
room, papered with white and lit up by a shaded lamp, stood two
small cots, and a nurse with a white cape on her shoulders sat
between the cots. She had a kindly, true Siberian face, with its
high cheek-bones.
The nurse rose and bowed. The mother stooped over the first cot,
in which a two-year-old little girl lay peacefully sleeping with
her little mouth open and her long, curly hair tumbled over the
pillow.
“This is Katie,” said the mother, straightening the white and
blue crochet coverlet, from under which a little white foot
pushed itself languidly out.
“Is she not pretty? She’s only two years old, you know.”
“Lovely.”
“And this is Vasiuk, as ‘grandpapa’ calls him. Quite a different
type. A Siberian, is he not?”
“A splendid boy,” said Nekhludoff, as he looked at the little
fatty lying asleep on his stomach.
“Yes,” said the mother, with a smile full of meaning.
Nekhludoff recalled to his mind chains, shaved heads, fighting
debauchery, the dying Kryltzoff, Katusha and the whole of her
past, and he began to feel envious and to wish for what he saw
here, which now seemed to him pure and refined happiness.
After having repeatedly expressed his admiration of the children,
thereby at least partially satisfying their mother, who eagerly
drank in this praise, he followed her back to the drawing-room,
where the Englishman was waiting for him to go and visit the
prison, as they had arranged. Having taken leave of their hosts,
the old and the young ones, the Englishman and Nekhludoff went
out into the porch of the General’s house.
The weather had changed. It was snowing, and the snow fell
densely in large flakes, and already covered the road, the roof
and the trees in the garden, the steps of the porch, the roof of
the trap and the back of the horse.
The Englishman had a trap of his own, and Nekhludoff, having told
the coachman to drive to the prison, called his isvostchik and
got in with the heavy sense of having to fulfil an unpleasant
duty, and followed the Englishman over the soft snow, through
which the wheels turned with difficulty.
CHAPTER XXV.
MASLOVA’S DECISION.
The dismal prison house, with its sentinel and lamp burning under
the gateway, produced an even more dismal impression, with its
long row of lighted windows, than it had done in the morning, in
spite of the white covering that now lay over everything—the
porch, the roof and the walls.
The imposing inspector came up to the gate and read the pass that
had been given to Nekhludoff and the Englishman by the light of
the lamp, shrugged his fine shoulders in surprise, but, in
obedience to the order, asked the visitors to follow him in. He
led them through the courtyard and then in at a door to the right
and up a staircase into the office. He offered them a seat and
asked what he could do for them, and when he heard that
Nekhludoff would like to see Maslova at once, he sent a jailer to
fetch her. Then he prepared himself to answer the questions which
the Englishman began to put to him, Nekhludoff acting as
interpreter.
“How many persons is the prison built to hold?” the Englishman
asked. “How many are confined in it? How many men? How many
women? Children? How many sentenced to the mines? How many
exiles? How many sick persons?”
Nekhludoff translated the Englishman’s and the inspector’s words
without paying any attention
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