Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (portable ebook reader txt) 📕

to him in the night again raised its voice, trying to lead him

out of the realm of his inner into the realm of his outer life,

away from the question of what he should do to the question of

what the consequences would be, and what would he practical.

“You can do nothing with this woman,” said the voice; “you will

only tie a stone round your neck, which will help to drown you

and hinder you from being useful to others.

“Is it not better to give her all the money that is here, say

goodbye, and finish with her forever?” whispered the voice.

But here he felt that now, at this very moment, something most

important was taking place in his soul—that his inner life was,

as it were, wavering in the balance, so that the slightest effort

would make it sink to this side or the other. And he made this

effort by calling to his assistance that God whom he had felt in

his soul the day before, and that God instantly responded. He

resolved to tell her everything now—at once.

“Katusha, I have come to ask you to forgive me, and you have

given me no answer. Have you forgiven me? Will you ever forgive

me?” he asked.

She did not listen to him, but looked at his hand and at the

inspector, and when the latter turned she hastily stretched out

her hand, grasped the note, and hid it under her belt.

“That’s odd, what you are saying there,” she said, with a smile

of contempt, as it seemed to him.

Nekhludoff felt that there was in her soul one who was his enemy

and who was protecting her, such as she was now, and preventing

him from getting at her heart. But, strange to say, this did not

repel him, but drew him nearer to her by some fresh, peculiar

power. He knew that he must waken her soul, that this was

terribly difficult, but the very difficulty attracted him. He now

felt towards her as he had never felt towards her or any one else

before. There was nothing personal in this feeling: he wanted

nothing from her for himself, but only wished that she might not

remain as she now was, that she might awaken and become again

what she had been.

“Katusha, why do you speak like that? I know you; I remember

you—and the old days in Papovo.”

“What’s the use of recalling what’s past?” she remarked, drily.

“I am recalling it in order to put it right, to atone for my sin,

Katusha,” and he was going to say that he would marry her, but,

meeting her eyes, he read in them something so dreadful, so

coarse, so repellent, that he could not go on.

At this moment the visitors began to go. The inspector came up to

Nekhludoff and said that the time was up.

“Goodbye; I have still much to say to you, but you see it is

impossible to do so now,” said Nekhludoff, and held out his hand.

“I shall come again.”

“I think you have said all.”

She took his hand but did not press it.

“No; I shall try to see you again, somewhere where we can talk,

and then I shall tell you what I have to say-something very

important.”

“Well, then, come; why not?” she answered, and smiled with that

habitual, inviting, and promising smile which she gave to the men

whom she wished to please.

“You are more than a sister to me,” said Nekhludoff.

“That’s odd,” she said again, and went behind the grating.

CHAPTER XLIV.

MASLOVA’S VIEW OF LIFE.

Before the first interview, Nekhludoff thought that when she saw

him and knew of his intention to serve her, Katusha would be

pleased and touched, and would be Katusha again; but, to his

horror, he found that Katusha existed no more, and there was

Maslova in her place. This astonished and horrified him.

What astonished him most was that Katusha was not ashamed of her

position—not the position of a prisoner (she was ashamed of

that), but her position as a prostitute. She seemed satisfied,

even proud of it. And, yet, how could it be otherwise? Everybody,

in order to be able to act, has to consider his occupation

important and good. Therefore, in whatever position a person is,

he is certain to form such a view of the life of men in general

which will make his occupation seem important and good.

It is usually imagined that a thief, a murderer, a spy, a

prostitute, acknowledging his or her profession as evil, is

ashamed of it. But the contrary is true. People whom fate and

their sin-mistakes have placed in a certain position, however

false that position may be, form a view of life in general which

makes their position seem good and admissible. In order to keep

up their view of life, these people instinctively keep to the

circle of those people who share their views of life and their

own place in it. This surprises us, where the persons concerned

are thieves, bragging about their dexterity, prostitutes vaunting

their depravity, or murderers boasting of their cruelty. This

surprises us only because the circle, the atmosphere in which

these people live, is limited, and we are outside it. But can we

not observe the same phenomenon when the rich boast of their

wealth, i.e., robbery; the commanders in the army pride themselves

on victories, i.e., murder; and those in high places vaunt their

power, i.e., violence? We do not see the perversion in the views

of life held by these people, only because the circle formed by

them is more extensive, and we ourselves are moving inside of it.

And in this manner Maslova had formed her views of life and of

her own position. She was a prostitute condemned to Siberia, and

yet she had a conception of life which made it possible for her

to be satisfied with herself, and even to pride herself on her

position before others.

According to this conception, the highest good for all men

without exception—old, young, schoolboys, generals, educated and

uneducated, was connected with the relation of the sexes;

therefore, all men, even when they pretended to be occupied with

other things, in reality took this view. She was an attractive

woman, and therefore she was an important and necessary person.

The whole of her former and present life was a confirmation of

the correctness of this conception.

With such a view of life, she was by no means the lowest, but a

very important person. And Maslova prized this view of life more

than anything; she could not but prize it, for, if she lost the

importance that such a view of life gave her among men, she would

lose the meaning of her life. And, in order not to lose the

meaning of her life, she instinctively clung to the set that

looked at life in the same way as she did. Feeling that

Nekhludoff wanted to lead her out into another world, she

resisted him, foreseeing that she would have to lose her place in

life, with the self-possession and self-respect it gave her. For

this reason she drove from her the recollections of her early

youth and her first relations with Nekhludoff. These

recollections did not correspond with her present conception of

the world, and were therefore quite rubbed out of her mind, or,

rather, lay somewhere buried and untouched, closed up and

plastered over so that they should not escape, as when bees, in

order to protect the result of their labour, will sometimes

plaster a nest of worms. Therefore, the present Nekhludoff was

not the man she had once loved with a pure love, but only a rich

gentleman whom she could, and must, make use of, and with whom

she could only have the same relations as with men in general.

“No, I could not tell her the chief thing,” thought Nekhludoff,

moving towards the front doors with the rest of the people. “I

did not tell her that I would marry her; I did not tell her so,

but I will,” he thought.

The two warders at the door let out the visitors, counting them

again, and touching each one with their hands, so that no extra

person should go out, and none remain within. The slap on his

shoulder did not offend Nekhludoff this time; he did not even

notice it.

CHAPTER XLV.

FANARIN, THE ADVOCATE—THE PETITION.

Nekhludoff meant to rearrange the whole of his external life, to

let his large house and move to an hotel, but Agraphena Petrovna

pointed out that it was useless to change anything before the

winter. No one would rent a town house for the summer; anyhow, he

would have to live and keep his things somewhere. And so all his

efforts to change his manner of life (he meant to live more

simply: as the students live) led to nothing. Not only did

everything remain as it was, but the house was suddenly filled

with new activity. All that was made of wool or fur was taken out

to be aired and beaten. The gate-keeper, the boy, the cook, and

Corney himself took part in this activity. All sorts of strange

furs, which no one ever used, and various uniforms were taken out

and hung on a line, then the carpets and furniture were brought

out, and the gate-keeper and the boy rolled their sleeves up

their muscular arms and stood beating these things, keeping

strict time, while the rooms were filled with the smell of

naphthaline.

When Nekhludoff crossed the yard or looked out of the window and

saw all this going on, he was surprised at the great number of

things there were, all quite useless. Their only use, Nekhludoff

thought, was the providing of exercise for Agraphena Petrovna,

Corney, the gate-keeper, the boy, and the cook.

“But it’s not worth while altering my manner of life now,” he

thought, “while Maslova’s case is not decided. Besides, it is too

difficult. It will alter of itself when she will be set free or

exiled, and I follow her.”

On the appointed day Nekhludoff drove up to the advocate

Fanarin’s own splendid house, which was decorated with huge palms

and other plants, and wonderful curtains, in fact, with all the

expensive luxury witnessing to the possession of much idle money,

i.e., money acquired without labour, which only those possess who

grow rich suddenly. In the waiting-room, just as in a doctor’s

waiting-room, he found many dejected-looking people sitting round

several tables, on which lay illustrated papers meant to amuse

them, awaiting their turns to be admitted to the advocate. The

advocate’s assistant sat in the room at a high desk, and having

recognised Nekhludoff, he came up to him and said he would go and

announce him at once. But the assistant had not reached the door

before it opened and the sounds of loud, animated voices were

heard; the voice of a middleaged, sturdy merchant, with a red

face and thick moustaches, and the voice of Fanarin himself.

Fanarin was also a middleaged man of medium height, with a worn

look on his face. Both faces bore the expression which you see on

the faces of those who have just concluded a profitable but not

quite honest transaction.

“Your own fault, you know, my dear sir,” Fanarin said, smiling.

“We’d all be in ‘eaven were it not for hour sins.”

“Oh. yes, yes; we all know that,” and both laughed unnaturally.

“Oh, Prince Nekhludoff! Please to step in,” said Fanarin, seeing

him, and, nodding once more to