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

any one of them separately. Without these conditions, the terrible acts I witnessed today would be impossible in our times. It all lies in the fact that men think there are circumstances in which one may deal with human beings without love; and there are no such circumstances. One may deal with things without love. One may cut down trees, make bricks, hammer iron without love; but you cannot deal with men without it, just as one cannot deal with bees without being careful. If you deal carelessly with bees you will injure them, and will yourself be injured. And so with men. It cannot be otherwise, because natural love is the fundamental law of human life. It is true that a man cannot force another to love him, as he can force him to work for him; but it does not follow that a man may deal with men without love, especially to demand anything from them. If you feel no love, sit still,” Nekhlúdoff thought; “occupy yourself with things, with yourself, with anything you like, only not with men. You can only eat without injuring yourself when you feel inclined to eat, so you can only deal with men usefully when you love. Only let yourself deal with a man without love, as I did yesterday with my brother-in-law, and there are no limits to the suffering you will bring on yourself, as all my life proves. Yes, yes, it is so,” thought Nekhlúdoff; “it is good; yes, it is good,” he repeated, enjoying the freshness after the torturing heat, and conscious of having attained to the fullest clearness on a question that had long occupied him. XLI

The carriage in which Nekhlúdoff had taken his place was half filled with people. There were in it servants, working men, factory hands, butchers, Jews, shopmen, workmen’s wives, a soldier, two ladies, a young one and an old one with bracelets on her arm, and a severe-looking gentleman with a cockade on his black cap. All these people were sitting quietly; the bustle of taking their places was long over; some sat cracking and eating sunflower seeds, some smoking, some talking.

Tarás sat, looking very happy, opposite the door, keeping a place for Nekhlúdoff, and carrying on an animated conversation with a man in a cloth coat who sat opposite to him, and who was, as Nekhlúdoff afterwards found out, a gardener going to a new situation. Before reaching the place where Tarás sat Nekhlúdoff stopped between the seats near a reverend-looking old man with a white beard and nankeen coat, who was talking with a young woman in peasant dress. A little girl of about seven, dressed in a new peasant costume, sat, her little legs dangling above the floor, by the side of the woman, and kept cracking seeds.

The old man turned round, and, seeing Nekhlúdoff, he moved the lappets of his coat off the varnished seat next to him, and said, in a friendly manner:

“Please, here’s a seat.”

Nekhlúdoff thanked him, and took the seat. As soon as he was seated the woman continued the interrupted conversation.

She was returning to her village, and related how her husband, whom she had been visiting, had received her in town.

“I was there during the carnival, and now, by the Lord’s help, I’ve been again,” she said. “Then, God willing, at Christmas I’ll go again.”

“That’s right,” said the old man, with a look at Nekhlúdoff, “it’s the best way to go and see him, else a young man can easily go to the bad, living in a town.”

“Oh, no, sir, mine is not such a man. No nonsense of any kind about him; his life is as good as a young maiden’s. The money he earns he sends home all to a copeck. And, as to our girl here, he was so glad to see her, there are no words for it,” said the woman, and smiled.

The little girl, who sat cracking her seeds and spitting out the shells, listened to her mother’s words, and, as if to confirm them, looked up with calm, intelligent eyes into Nekhlúdoff’s and the old man’s faces.

“Well, if he’s good, that’s better still,” said the old man. “And none of that sort of thing?” he added, with a look at a couple, evidently factory hands, who sat at the other side of the carriage. The husband, with his head thrown back, was pouring vodka down his throat out of a bottle, and the wife sat holding a bag, out of which they had taken the bottle, and watched him intently.

“No, mine neither drinks nor smokes,” said the woman who was conversing with the old man, glad of the opportunity of praising her husband once more. “No, sir, the earth does not hold many such.” And, turning to Nekhlúdoff, she added, “That’s the sort of man he is.”

“What could be better,” said the old man, looking at the factory worker, who had had his drink and had passed the bottle to his wife. The wife laughed, shook her head, and also raised the bottle to her lips.

Noticing Nekhlúdoff’s and the old man’s look directed towards them, the factory worker addressed the former.

“What is it, sir? That we are drinking? Ah, no one sees how we work, but everyone sees how we drink. I have earned it, and I am drinking and treating my wife, and no one else.”

“Yes, yes,” said Nekhlúdoff, 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, Mávra?”

“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. Mávra, is it right what I’m saying?”

Mávra laughed and moved her hand with a tipsy gesture.

“Oh, my, he’s at it again.”

“There now,