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

faces were to be seen at the open windows of the eating-houses which Nekhlúdoff passed. By the dirty tables on which stood tea things and bottles, and between which waiters dressed in white shirts were rushing hither and thither, sat shouting and singing red, perspiring men with stupefied faces. One sat by the window with lifted brows and pouting lips and fixed eyes as if trying to remember something.

“And why are they all gathered here?” Nekhlúdoff thought, breathing in together with the dust which the cold wind blew towards him the air filled with the smell of rank oil and fresh paint.

In one street he met a row of carts loaded with something made of iron, that rattled so on the uneven pavement that it made his ears and head ache. He started walking still faster in order to pass the row of carts, when he heard himself called by name. He stopped and saw an officer with sharp pointed moustaches and shining face who sat in the trap of a swell isvóstchik and waved his hand in a friendly manner, his smile disclosing unusually long, white teeth.

“Nekhlúdoff! Can it be you?”

Nekhlúdoff’s first feeling was one of pleasure. “Ah, Schönbock!” he exclaimed joyfully; but he knew the next moment that there was nothing to be joyful about.

This was that Schönbock who had been in the house of Nekhlúdoff’s aunts that day, and whom Nekhlúdoff had quite lost out of sight, but about whom he had heard that in spite of his debts he had somehow managed to remain in the cavalry, and by some means or other still kept his place among the rich. His gay, contented appearance corroborated this report.

“What a good thing that I have caught you. There is no one in town. Ah, old fellow; you have grown old,” he said, getting out of the trap and moving his shoulders about. “I only knew you by your walk. Look here, we must dine together. Is there any place where they feed one decently?”

“I don’t think I can spare the time,” Nekhlúdoff answered, thinking only of how he could best get rid of his companion without hurting him.

“And what has brought you here?” he asked.

“Business, old fellow. Guardianship business. I am a guardian now. I am managing Samánoff’s affairs⁠—the millionaire, you know. He has softening of the brain, and he’s got 54,000 desiatins of land,” he said, with peculiar pride, as if he had himself made all these desiatins. “The affairs were terribly neglected. All the land was let to the peasants. They did not pay anything. There were more than 80,000 roubles debts. I changed it all in one year, and have got seventy percent more out of it. What do you think of that?” he asked proudly.

Nekhlúdoff remembered having heard that this Schönbock, just because, he had spent all he had, had attained by some special influence the post of guardian to a rich old man who was squandering his property⁠—and was now evidently living by this guardianship.

“How am I to get rid of him without offending him?” thought Nekhlúdoff, looking at this full, shiny face with the stiffened moustache and listening to his friendly, good-humoured chatter about where one gets fed best, and his bragging about his doings as a guardian.

“Well, then, where do we dine?”

“Really, I have no time to spare,” said Nekhlúdoff, glancing at his watch.

“Then, look here. Tonight, at the races⁠—will you be there?”

“No, I shall not be there.”

“Do come. I have none of my own now, but I back Grísha’s horses. You remember; he has a fine stud. You’ll come, won’t you? And we’ll have some supper together.”

“No, I cannot have supper with you either,” said Nekhlúdoff with a smile.

“Well, that’s too bad! And where are you off to now? Shall I give you a lift?”

“I am going to see an advocate, close to here round the corner.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You have got something to do with the prisons⁠—have turned into a prisoners’ mediator, I hear,” said Schönbock, laughing. “The Korchágins told me. They have left town already. What does it all mean? Tell me.”

“Yes, yes, it is quite true,” Nekhlúdoff answered; “but I cannot tell you about it in the street.”

“Of course; you always were a crank. But you will come to the races?”

“No. I neither can nor wish to come. Please do not be angry with me.”

“Angry? Dear me, no. Where do you live?” And suddenly his face became serious, his eyes fixed, and he drew up his brows. He seemed to be trying to remember something, and Nekhlúdoff noticed the same dull expression as that of the man with the raised brows and pouting lips whom he had seen at the window of the eating-house.

“How cold it is! Is it not? Have you got the parcels?” said Schönbock, turning to the isvóstchik.

“All right. Goodbye. I am very glad indeed to have met you,” and warmly pressing Nekhlúdoff’s hand, he jumped into the trap and waved his white-gloved hand in front of his shiny face, with his usual smile, showing his exceptionally white teeth.

“Can I have also been like that?” Nekhlúdoff thought, as he continued his way to the advocate’s. “Yes, I wished to be like that, though I was not quite like it. And I thought of living my life in that way.”

XI

Nekhlúdoff was admitted by the advocate before his turn. The advocate at once commenced to talk about the Menshóffs’ case, which he had read with indignation at the inconsistency of the accusation.

“This case is perfectly revolting,” he said; “it is very likely that the owner himself set fire to the building in order to get the insurance money, and the chief thing is that there is no evidence to prove the Menshóffs’ guilt. There are no proofs whatever. It is all owing to the special zeal of the examining magistrate and the carelessness of the prosecutor. If they are tried here, and not in a provincial court,