Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

it all happened within his knowledge; but these cases no more touched his conscience than accidents brought on by thunderstorms, floods, etc. These cases occurred as a consequence of the fulfilment of regulations prescribed “from above” by His Imperial Majesty. These regulations had to be carried out without fail, and therefore it was absolutely useless to think of the consequences of their fulfilment. The old General did not even allow himself to think of such things, counting it his patriotic duty as a soldier not to think of them for fear of getting weak in the carrying out of these, according to his opinion, very important obligations. Once a week the old General made the round of the cells, one of the duties of his position, and asked the prisoners if they had any requests to make. The prisoners had all sorts of requests. He listened to them quietly, in impenetrable silence, and never fulfilled any of their requests, because they were all in disaccord with the regulations. Just as Nekhlúdoff drove up to the old General’s house, the high notes of the bells on the belfry clock chimed “Great is the Lord,” and then struck two. The sound of these chimes brought back to Nekhlúdoff’s mind what he had read in the notes of the Decembrists28 about the way this sweet music repeated every hour reechoes in the hearts of those imprisoned for life.

Meanwhile the old General was sitting in his darkened drawing-room at an inlaid table, turning a saucer on a piece of paper with the aid of a young artist, the brother of one of his subordinates. The thin, weak, moist fingers of the artist were pressed against the wrinkled and stiff-jointed fingers of the old General, and the hands joined in this manner were moving together with the saucer over a paper that had all the letters of the alphabet written on it. The saucer was answering the questions put by the General as to how souls will recognise each other after death.

When Nekhlúdoff sent in his card by an orderly acting as footman, the soul of Joan of Arc was speaking by the aid of the saucer. The soul of Joan of Arc had already spelt letter by letter the words⁠—

“They will knew each other,” and these words had been written down. When the orderly came in the saucer had stopped first on b, then on y, and began jerking hither and thither. This jerking was caused by the General’s opinion that the next letter should be b⁠—i.e. Joan of Arc ought to say that the souls will know each other by being cleansed of all that is earthly, or something of the kind, clashing with the opinion of the artist, who thought the next letter should be l⁠—i.e. that the souls should know each other by light emanating from their astral bodies. The General, with his bushy grey eyebrows gravely contracted, sat gazing at the hands on the saucer, and, imagining that it was moving of its own accord, kept pulling the saucer towards b. The pale-faced young artist, with his thin hair combed back behind his cars, was looking with his lifeless blue eyes into a dark corner of the drawing-room, nervously moving his lips and pulling the saucer towards l.

The General made a wry face at the interruption, but after a moment’s pause he took the card, put on his pince-nez, and, uttering a groan, rose, in spite of the pain in his back, to his full height, rubbing his numb fingers.

“Ask him into the study.”

“With your excellency’s permission I will finish it alone,” said the artist, rising. “I feel the presence.”

“All right, finish alone,” the General said, severely and decidedly, and stepped quickly, with big, firm and measured strides, into his study.

“Very pleased to see you,” said the General to Nekhlúdoff, uttering the friendly words in a gruff tone, and pointing to an armchair by the side of the writing-table. “Have you been in Petersburg long?”

Nekhlúdoff replied that he had only lately arrived.

“Is the Princess, your mother, well?”

“My mother is dead.”

“Forgive me; I am very sorry. My son told me he had met you.”

The General’s son was making the same kind of career for himself that the father had done, and, having passed the Military Academy, was now serving in the Inquiry Office, and was very proud of his duties there. His occupation was the management of Government spies.

“Why, I served with your father. We were friends⁠—comrades. And you; are you also in the Service?”

“No, I am not.”

The General bent his head disapprovingly.

“I have a request to make, General.”

“Ver⁠—y pleased. In what way can I be of service to you?”

“If my request is out of place pray pardon me. But I am obliged to make it.”

“What is it?”

“There is a certain Gourkévitch imprisoned in the fortress; his mother asks for an interview with him, or at least to be allowed to send him some books.”

The General expressed neither satisfaction nor dissatisfaction at Nekhlúdoff’s request, but bending his head on one side he closed his eyes as if considering. In reality he was not considering anything, and was not even interested in Nekhlúdoff’s questions, well knowing that he would answer them according to the law. He was simply resting mentally and not thinking at all.

“You see,” he said at last, “this does not depend on me. There is a regulation, confirmed by His Majesty, concerning interviews; and as to books, we have a library, and they may have what is permitted.”

“Yes, but he wants scientific books; he wishes to study.”

“Don’t you believe it,” growled the General. “It’s not study he wants; it is just only restlessness.”

“But what is to be done? They must occupy their time somehow in their hard condition,” said Nekhlúdoff.

“They are always complaining,” said the General. “We know them.”

He spoke of them in a general way, as if they were all a specially bad race of men.