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

“What is it, sir? That we are drinking? Ah, no one sees how we

work, but every one sees how we drink. I have earned it, and I am

drinking and treating my wife, and no one else.”

“Yes, yes,” said Nekhludoff, not knowing what to say.

“True, sir. My wife is a steady woman. I am satisfied with my

wife, because she can feel for me. Is it right what I’m saying,

Mavra?”

“There you are, take it, I don’t want any more,” said the wife,

returning the bottle to him. “And what are you jawing for like

that?” she added.

“There now! She’s good—that good; and suddenly she’ll begin

squeaking like a wheel that’s not greased. Mavra, is it right

what I’m saying?”

Mavra laughed and moved her hand with a tipsy gesture.

“Oh, my, he’s at it again.”

“There now, she’s that good—that good; but let her get her tail

over the reins, and you can’t think what she’ll be up to… .

Is it right what I’m saying? You must excuse me, sir, I’ve had a

drop! What’s to be done?” said the factory worker, and, preparing

to go to sleep, put his head in his wife’s lap.

Nekhludoff sat a while with the old man, who told him all about

himself. The old man was a stove builder, who had been working

for 53 years, and had built so many stoves that he had lost

count, and now he wanted to rest, but had no time. He had been to

town and found employment for the young ones, and was now going

to the country to see the people at home. After hearing the old

man’s story, Nekhludoff went to the place that Taras was keeping

for him.

“It’s all right, sir; sit down; we’ll put the bag here,” said the

gardener, who sat opposite Taras, in a friendly tone, looking up

into Nekhludoff’s face.

“Rather a tight fit, but no matter since we are friends,” said

Taras, smiling, and lifting the bag, which weighed more than five

stone, as if it were a feather, he carried it across to the

window.

“Plenty of room; besides, we might stand up a bit; and even under

the seat it’s as comfortable as you could wish. What’s the good

of humbugging?” he said, beaming with friendliness and kindness.

Taras spoke of himself as being unable to utter a word when quite

sober; but drink, he said, helped him to find the right words,

and then he could express everything. And in reality, when he was

sober Taras kept silent; but when he had been drinking, which

happened rarely and only on special occasions, he became very

pleasantly talkative. Then he spoke a great deal, spoke well and

very simply and truthfully, and especially with great kindliness,

which shone in his gentle, blue eyes and in the friendly smile

that never left his lips. He was in such a state to-day.

Nekhludoff’s approach interrupted the conversation; but when he

had put the bag in its place, Taras sat down again, and with his

strong hands folded in his lap, and looking straight into the

gardener’s face, continued his story. He was telling his new

acquaintance about his wife and giving every detail: what she was

being sent to Siberia for, and why he was now following her.

Nekhludoff had never heard a detailed account of this affair, and

so he listened with interest. When he came up, the story had

reached the point when the attempt to poison was already an

accomplished fact, and the family had discovered that it was

Theodosia’s doing.

“It’s about my troubles that I’m talking,” said Taras, addressing

Nekhludoff with cordial friendliness. “I have chanced to come

across such a hearty man, and we’ve got into conversation, and

I’m telling him all.”

“I see,” said Nekhludoff.

“Well, then in this way, my friend, the business became known.

Mother, she takes that cake. ‘I’m going,’ says she, ‘to the

police officer.’ My father is a just old man. ‘Wait, wife,’ says

he, ‘the little woman is a mere child, and did not herself know

what she was doing. We must have pity. She may come to her

senses.’ But, dear me, mother would not hear of it. ‘While we

keep her here,’ she says, ‘she may destroy us all like

cockroaches.’ Well, friend, so she goes off for the police

officer. He bounces in upon us at once. Calls for witnesses.”

“Well, and you?” asked the gardener.

“Well, I, you see, friend, roll about with the pain in my

stomach, and vomit. All my inside is turned inside out; I can’t

even speak. Well, so father he goes and harnesses the mare, and

puts Theodosia into the cart, and is off to the police-station,

and then to the magistrate’s. And she, you know, just as she had

done from the first, so also there, confesses all to the

magistrate—where she got the arsenic, and how she kneaded the

cake. ‘Why did you do it?’ says he. ‘Why,’ says she, ‘because

he’s hateful to me. I prefer Siberia to a life with him.’ That’s

me,” and Taras smiled.

“Well, so she confessed all. Then, naturally—the prison, and

father returns alone. And harvest time just coming, and mother

the only woman at home, and she no longer strong. So we think

what we are to do. Could we not bail her out? So father went to

see an official. No go. Then another. I think he went to five of

them, and we thought of giving it up. Then we happened to come

across a clerk—such an artful one as you don’t often find. ‘You

give me five roubles, and I’ll get her out,’ says he. He agreed

to do it for three. Well, and what do you think, friend? I went

and pawned the linen she herself had woven, and gave him the

money. As soon as he had written that paper,” drawled out Taras,

just as if he were speaking of a shot being fired, “we succeeded

at once. I went to fetch her myself. Well, friend, so I got to

town, put up the mare, took the paper, and went to the prison.

‘What do you want?’ ‘This is what I want,’ say I, ‘you’ve got my

wife here in prison.’ ‘And have you got a paper?’ I gave him the

paper. He gave it a look. ‘Wait,’ says he. So I sat down on a

bench. It was already past noon by the sun. An official comes

out. ‘You are Vargoushoff?’ ‘I am.’ ‘Well, you may take her.’ The

gates opened, and they led her out in her own clothes quite all

right. ‘Well, come along. Have you come on foot?’ ‘No, I have the

horse here.’ So I went and paid the ostler, and harnessed, put in

all the hay that was left, and covered it with sacking for her to

sit on. She got in and wrapped her shawl round her, and off we

drove. She says nothing and I say nothing. Just as we were coming

up to the house she says, ‘And how’s mother; is she alive?’ ‘Yes,

she’s alive.’ ‘And father; is he alive? ‘Yes, he is.’ ‘Forgive

me, Taras,’ she says, ‘for my folly. I did not myself know what I

was doing.’ So I say, ‘Words won’t mend matters. I have forgiven

you long ago,’ and I said no more. We got home, and she just fell

at mother’s feet. Mother says, ‘The Lord will forgive you.’ And

father said, ‘How d’you do?’ and ‘What’s past is past. Live as

best you can. Now,’ says he, ‘is not the time for all that;

there’s the harvest to be gathered in down at Skorodino,’ he

says. ‘Down on the manured acre, by the Lord’s help, the ground

has borne such rye that the sickle can’t tackle it. It’s all

interwoven and heavy, and has sunk beneath its weight; that must

be reaped. You and Taras had better go and see to it tomorrow.’

Well, friend, from that moment she took to the work and worked so

that every one wondered. At that time we rented three desiatins,

and by God’s help we had a wonderful crop both of oats and rye. I

mow and she binds the sheaves, and sometimes we both of us reap.

I am good at work and not afraid of it, but she’s better still at

whatever she takes up. She’s a smart woman, young, and full of

life; and as to work, friend, she’d grown that eager that I had

to stop her. We get home, our fingers swollen, our arms aching,

and she, instead of resting, rushes off to the barn to make

binders for the sheaves for next day. Such a change!”

“Well, and to you? Was she kinder, now?” asked the gardener.

“That’s beyond question. She clings to me as if we were one soul.

Whatever I think she understands. Even mother, angry as she was,

could not help saying: ‘It’s as if our Theodosia had been

transformed; she’s quite a different woman now!’ We were once

going to cart the sheaves with two carts. She and I were in the

first, and I say, ‘How could you think of doing that, Theodosia?’

and she says, ‘How could I think of it? just so, I did not wish

to live with you. I thought I’d rather die than live with you!’ I

say, ‘And now?’ and she says, ‘Now you’re in my heart!’” Taras

stopped, and smiled joyfully, shook his head as if surprised.

“Hardly had we got the harvest home when I went to soak the hemp,

and when I got home there was a summons, she must go to be tried,

and we had forgotten all about the matter that she was to be

tried for.”

“It can only be the evil one,” said the gardener. “Could any man

of himself think of destroying a living soul? We had a fellow

once—” and the gardener was about to commence his tale when the

train began to stop.

“It seems we are coming to a station,” he said. “I’ll go and have

a drink.”

The conversation stopped, and Nekhludoff followed the gardener

out of the carriage onto the wet platform of the station.

CHAPTER XLII.

LE VRAI GRAND MONDE.

Before Nekhludoff got out he had noticed in the station yard

several elegant equipages, some with three, some with four,

well-fed horses, with tinkling bells on their harness. When he

stepped out on the wet, dark-coloured boards of the platform, he

saw a group of people in front of the first-class carriage, among

whom were conspicuous a stout lady with costly feathers on her

hat, and a waterproof, and a tall, thin-legged young man in a

cycling suit. The young man had by his side an enormous, well-fed

dog, with a valuable collar. Behind them stood footmen, holding

wraps and umbrellas, and a coachman, who had also come to meet

the train.

On the whole of the group, from the fat lady down to the coachman

who stood holding up his long coat, there lay the stamp of wealth

and quiet self-assurance. A curious and servile crowd rapidly

gathered round this group—the station-master, in his red cap, a

gendarme, a thin young lady in a Russian costume, with beads

round her neck, who made a point of seeing the trains come in all

through the summer, a telegraph clerk, and passengers, men and

women.

In the young man with the dog Nekhludoff recognised young

Korchagin, a gymnasium student. The fat lady was the Princess’s

sister, to whose estate the Korchagins were now moving. The

guard, with his gold cord and shiny top-boots, opened the carriage

door and stood holding