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

laden with fruit and bottles, behind it a barman, and in front

the backs of passengers who had come up for refreshments. When

Nekhludoff had risen and sat gradually collecting his thoughts,

he noticed that everybody in the room was inquisitively looking

at something that was passing by the open doors.

He also looked, and saw a group of people carrying a chair on

which sat a lady whose head was wrapped in a kind of airy fabric.

Nekhludoff thought he knew the footman who was supporting the

chair in front. And also the man behind, and a doorkeeper with

gold cord on his cap, seemed familiar. A lady’s maid with a

fringe and an apron, who was carrying a parcel, a parasol, and

something round in a leather case, was walking behind the chair.

Then came Prince Korchagin, with his thick lips, apoplectic neck,

and a travelling cap on his head; behind him Missy, her cousin

Misha, and an acquaintance of Nekhludoff’s—the long-necked

diplomat Osten, with his protruding Adam’s apple and his

unvarying merry mood and expression. He was saying something very

emphatically, though jokingly, to the smiling Missy. The

Korchagins were moving from their estate near the city to the

estate of the Princess’s sister on the Nijni railway. The

procession—the men carrying the chair, the maid, and the

doctor—vanished into the ladies’ waiting-room, evoking a feeling

of curiosity and respect in the onlookers. But the old Prince

remained and sat down at the table, called a waiter, and ordered

food and drink. Missy and Osten also remained in the

refreshment-room and were about to sit down, when they saw an

acquaintance in the doorway, and went up to her. It was Nathalie

Rogozhinsky. Nathalie came into the refreshment-room accompanied

by Agraphena Petrovna, and both looked round the room. Nathalie

noticed at one and the same moment both her brother and Missy.

She first went up to Missy, only nodding to her brother; but,

having kissed her, at once turned to him.

“At last I have found you,” she said. Nekhludoff rose to greet

Missy, Misha, and Osten, and to say a few words to them. Missy

told him about their house in the country having been burnt down,

which necessitated their moving to her aunt’s. Osten began

relating a funny story about a fire. Nekhludoff paid no

attention, and turned to his sister.

“How glad I am that you have come.”

“I have been here a long time,” she said. “Agraphena Petrovna is

with me.” And she pointed to Agraphena Petrovna, who, in a

waterproof and with a bonnet on her head, stood some way off, and

bowed to him with kindly dignity and some confusion, not wishing

to intrude.

“We looked for you everywhere.”

“And I had fallen asleep here. How glad I am that you have come,”

repeated Nekhludoff. “I had begun to write to you.”

“Really?” she said, looking frightened. “What about?”

Missy and the gentleman, noticing that an intimate conversation

was about to commence between the brother and sister, went away.

Nekhludoff and his sister sat down by the window on a

velvet-covered sofa, on which lay a plaid, a box, and a few other

things.

“Yesterday, after I left you, I felt inclined to return and

express my regret, but I did not know how he would take it,” said

Nekhludoff. “I spoke hastily to your husband, and this tormented

me.”

“I knew,” said his sister, “that you did not mean to. Oh, you

know!” and the tears came to her eyes, and she touched his hand.

The sentence was not clear, but he understood it perfectly, and

was touched by what it expressed. Her words meant that, besides

the love for her husband which held her in its sway, she prized

and considered important the love she had for him, her brother,

and that every misunderstanding between them caused her deep

suffering.

“Thank you, thank you. Oh! what I have seen to-day!” he said,

suddenly recalling the second of the dead convicts. “Two

prisoners have been done to death.”

“Done to death? How?”

“Yes, done to death. They led them in this heat, and two died of

sunstroke.”

“Impossible! What, to-day? just now?”

“Yes, just now. I have seen their bodies.”

“But why done to death? Who killed them?” asked Nathalie.

“They who forced them to go killed them,” said Nekhludoff, with

irritation, feeling that she looked at this, too, with her

husband’s eyes.

“Oh, Lord!” said Agraphena Petrovna, who had come up to them.

“Yes, we have not the slightest idea of what is being done to

these unfortunate beings. But it ought to be known,” added

Nekhludoff, and looked at old Korchagin, who sat with a napkin

tied round him and a bottle before him, and who looked round at

Nekhludoff.

“Nekhludoff,” he called out, “won’t you join me and take some

refreshment? It is excellent before a journey.”

Nekhludoff refused, and turned away.

“But what are you going to do?” Nathalie continued.

“What I can. I don’t know, but I feel I must do something. And I

shall do what I am able to.”

“Yes, I understand. And how about them?” she continued, with a

smile and a look towards Korchagin. “Is it possible that it is

all over?”

“Completely, and I think without any regret on either side.”

“It is a pity. I am sorry. I am fond of her. However, it’s all

right. But why do you wish to bind yourself?” she added shyly.

“Why are you going?”

“I go because I must,” answered Nekhludoff, seriously and dryly,

as if wishing to stop this conversation. But he felt ashamed of

his coldness towards his sister at once. “Why not tell her all I

am thinking?” he thought, “and let Agraphena Petrovna also hear

it,” he thought, with a look at the old servant, whose presence

made the wish to repeat his decision to his sister even stronger.

“You mean my intention to marry Katusha? Well, you see, I made up

my mind to do it, but she refuses definitely and firmly,” he

said, and his voice shook, as it always did when he spoke of it.

“She does not wish to accept my sacrifice, but is herself

sacrificing what in her position means much, and I cannot accept

this sacrifice, if it is only a momentary impulse. And so I am

going with her, and shall be where she is, and shall try to

lighten her fate as much as I can.”

Nathalie said nothing. Agraphena Petrovna looked at her with a

questioning look, and shook her head. At this moment the former

procession issued from the ladies’ room. The same handsome

footman (Philip). and the doorkeeper were carrying the Princess

Korchagin. She stopped the men who were carrying her, and

motioned to Nekhludoff to approach, and, with a pitiful,

languishing air, she extended her white, ringed hand, expecting

the firm pressure of his hand with a sense of horror.

“Epouvantable!” she said, meaning the heat. “I cannot stand it!

Ce climat me tue!” And, after a short talk about the horrors of

the Russian climate, she gave the men a sign to go on.

“Be sure and come,” she added, turning her long face towards

Nekhludoff as she was borne away.

The procession with the Princess turned to the right towards the

first-class carriages. Nekhludoff, with the porter who was

carrying his things, and Taras with his bag, turned to the left.

“This is my companion,” said Nekhludoff to his sister, pointing

to Taras, whose story he had told her before.

“Surely not third class?” said Nathalie, when Nekhludoff stopped

in front of a third-class carriage, and Taras and the porter with

the things went in.

“Yes; it is more convenient for me to be with Taras,” he said.

“One thing more,” he added; “up to now I have not given the

Kousminski land to the peasants; so that, in case of my death,

your children will inherit it.”

“Dmitri, don’t!” said Nathalie.

“If I do give it away, all I can say is that the rest will be

theirs, as it is not likely I shall marry; and if I do marry I

shall have no children, so that—”

“Dmitri, don’t talk like that!” said Nathalie. And yet Nekhludoff

noticed that she was glad to hear him say it.

Higher up, by the side of a first-class carriage, there stood a

group of people still looking at the carriage into which the

Princess Korchagin had been carried. Most of the passengers were

already seated. Some of the late comers hurriedly clattered along

the boards of the platform, the guard was closing the doors and

asking the passengers to get in and those who were seeing them

off to come out.

Nekhludoff entered the hot, smelling carriage, but at once

stepped out again on to the small platform at the back of the

carriage. Nathalie stood opposite the carriage, with her

fashionable bonnet and cape, by the side of Agraphena Petrovna,

and was evidently trying to find something to say.

She could not even say ecrivez, because they had long ago laughed

at this word, habitually spoken by those about to part. The short

conversation about money matters had in a moment destroyed the

tender brotherly and sisterly feelings that had taken hold of

them. They felt estranged, so that Nathalie was glad when the

train moved; and she could only say, nodding her head with a sad

and tender look, “Goodbye, goodbye, Dmitri.” But as soon as the

carriage had passed her she thought of how she should repeat her

conversation with her brother to her husband, and her face became

serious and troubled.

Nekhludoff, too, though he had nothing but the kindest feelings

for his sister, and had hidden nothing from her, now felt

depressed and uncomfortable with her, and was glad to part. He

felt that the Nathalie who was once so near to him no longer

existed, and in her place was only a slave of that hairy,

unpleasant husband, who was so foreign to him. He saw it clearly

when her face lit up with peculiar animation as he spoke of what

would peculiarly interest her husband, i.e., the giving up of the

land to the peasants and the inheritance.

And this made him sad.

CHAPTER XL.

THE FUNDAMENTAL LAW OF HUMAN LIFE.

The heat in the large third-class carriage, which had been

standing in the burning sun all day, was so great that Nekhludoff

did not go in, but stopped on the little platform behind the

carriage which formed a passage to the next one. But there was

not a breath of fresh air here either, and Nekhludoff breathed

freely only when the train had passed the buildings and the

draught blew across the platform.

“Yes, killed,” he repeated to himself, the words he had used to

his sister. And in his imagination in the midst of all other

impressions there arose with wonderful clearness the beautiful

face of the second dead convict, with the smile of the lips, the

severe expression of the brows, and the small, firm ear below the

shaved bluish skull.

And what seemed terrible was that he had been murdered, and no

one knew who had murdered him. Yet he had been murdered. He was

led out like all the rest of the prisoners by Maslennikoff’s

orders. Maslennikoff had probably given the order in the usual

manner, had signed with his stupid flourish the paper with the

printed heading, and most certainly would not consider himself

guilty. Still less would the careful doctor who examined the

convicts consider himself guilty. He had performed