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

“at-home” day, to which he had been invited. At the moment Nekhlúdoff drove up there was a carriage in front of the door, and a footman in livery, with a cockade in his hat, was helping a lady down the doorstep. She was holding up her train, and showing her thin ankles, black stockings, and slippered feet. Among the carriages was a closed landau, which he knew to be the Korchágins’.

The grey-haired, red-cheeked coachman took off his hat and bowed in a respectful yet friendly manner to Nekhlúdoff, as to a gentleman he knew well. Nekhlúdoff had not had time to inquire for Máslennikoff, when the latter appeared on the carpeted stairs, accompanying a very important guest not only to the first landing but to the bottom of the stairs. This very important visitor, a military man, was speaking in French about a lottery for the benefit of children’s homes that were to be founded in the city, and expressed the opinion that this was a good occupation for the ladies. “It amuses them, and the money comes.”

“Qu’elles s’amusent et que le bon dieu les benisse. M. Nekhlúdoff! How d’you do? How is it one never sees you?” he greeted Nekhlúdoff. “Allez presenter vos devoirs à Madame. And the Korchágins are here et Nadine Bukshévden. Toutes les jolies femmes de la ville,” said the important guest, slightly raising his uniformed shoulders as he presented them to his own richly liveried servant to have his military overcoat put on. “Au revoir, mon cher.” And he pressed Máslennikoff’s hand.

“Now, come up; I am so glad,” said Máslennikoff, grasping Nekhlúdoff’s hand. In spite of his corpulency Máslennikoff hurried quickly up the stairs. He was in particularly good spirits, owing to the attention paid him by the important personage. Every such attention gave him the same sense of delight as is felt by an affectionate dog when its master pats it, strokes it, or scratches its ears. It wags its tail, cringes, jumps about, presses its ears down, and madly rushes about in a circle. Máslennikoff was ready to do the same. He did not notice the serious expression on Nekhlúdoff’s face, paid no heed to his words, but pulled him irresistibly towards the drawing-room, so that it was impossible for Nekhlúdoff not to follow. “Business afterwards. I shall do whatever you want,” said Máslennikoff, as he drew Nekhlúdoff through the dancing hall. “Announce Prince Nekhlúdoff,” he said to a footman, without stopping on his way. The footman started off at a trot and passed them.

“Vous n’avez qu’ á ordonner. But you must see my wife. As it is, I got it for letting you go without seeing her last time.”

By the time they reached the drawing-room the footman had already announced Nekhlúdoff, and from between the bonnets and heads that surrounded it the smiling face of Anna Ignátievna, the Vice-Governor’s wife, beamed on Nekhlúdoff. At the other end of the drawing-room several ladies were seated round the tea-table, and some military men and some civilians stood near them. The clatter of male and female voices went on unceasingly.

“Enfin! you seem to have quite forgotten us. How have we offended?” With these words, intended to convey an idea of intimacy which had never existed between herself and Nekhlúdoff, Anna Ignátievna greeted the newcomer.

“You are acquainted?⁠—Madame Tilyáevsky, M. Chernóff. Sit down a bit nearer. Missy venez donc á notre table on vous apportera votre thè⁠—. And you,” she said, having evidently forgotten his name, to an officer who was talking to Missy, “do come here. A cup of tea, Prince?”

“I shall never, never agree with you. It’s quite simple; she did not love,” a woman’s voice was heard saying.

“But she loved tarts.”

“Oh, your eternal silly jokes!” put in, laughingly, another lady resplendent in silks, gold, and jewels.

“C’est excellent these little biscuits, and so light. I think I’ll take another.”

“Well, are you moving soon?”

“Yes, this is our last day. That’s why we have come. Yes, it must be lovely in the country; we are having a delightful spring.”

Missy, with her hat on, in a dark-striped dress of some kind that fitted her like a skin, was looking very handsome. She blushed when she saw Nekhlúdoff.

“And I thought you had left,” she said to him.

“I am on the point of leaving. Business is keeping me in town, and it is on business I have come here.”

“Won’t you come to see mamma? She would like to see you,” she said, and knowing that she was saying what was not true, and that he knew it also, she blushed still more.

“I fear I shall scarcely have time,” Nekhlúdoff said gloomily, trying to appear as if he had not noticed her blush. Missy frowned angrily, shrugged her shoulders, and turned towards an elegant officer, who grasped the empty cup she was holding, and knocking his sword against the chairs, manfully carried the cup across to another table.

“You must contribute towards the Home fund.”

“I am not refusing, but only wish to keep my bounty fresh for the lottery. There I shall let it appear in all its glory.”

“Well, look out for yourself,” said a voice, followed by an evidently feigned laugh.

Anna Ignátievna was in raptures; her “at-home” had turned out a brilliant success. “Micky tells me you are busying yourself with prison work. I can understand you so well,” she said to Nekhlúdoff. “Micky” (she meant her fat husband, Máslennikoff) “may have other defects, but you know how kindhearted he is. All these miserable prisoners are his children. He does not regard them in any other light. Il est d’une bonté⁠—” and she stopped, finding no words to do justice to this bonté of his, and quickly turned to a shrivelled old woman with bows of lilac ribbon all over, who came in just then.

Having said as much as was absolutely necessary, and with as little meaning as conventionality required, Nekhlúdoff rose and