 Book 1, Chapter 13 of Resurrection. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Louise Maud, read by David Barnes. Book 1, Chapter 13, Life in the Army. After that, Neklodov did not see Ketusha for more than three years. When he saw her again, he had just been promoted to the rank of officer, and was going to join his regiment. On the way he came to spend a few days with his aunts, being now a very different young man from the one who had spent the summer with them three years before. He then had been an honest, unselfish lad, ready to sacrifice himself for any good cause. Now he was depraved and selfish, and thought only of his own enjoyment. Then God's world seemed a mystery which he tried enthusiastically and joyfully to solve. Now everything in life seemed clear and simple, defined by the conditions of the life he was leading. Then he had felt the importance of and had need of intercourse with nature, and with those who had lived and thought and felt before him, philosophers and poets. What he now considered necessary and important were human institutions and intercourse with his comrades. Then women seemed mysterious and charming, charming by the very mystery that enveloped them. Now the purpose of women, all women, except those of his own family and the wives of his friends, was a very definite one. Women were the best means towards an already experienced enjoyment. Then money was not needed, and he did not require even one-third of what his mother allowed him, but now this allowance of one thousand five hundred rubles a month did not suffice, and he had already had some unpleasant talks about it with his mother. Then he had looked on his spirit as the eye. Now it was his healthy, strong, animal eye that he looked upon as himself. And all this terrible change had come about because he had ceased to believe himself and had taken to believing others. This he had done because it was too difficult to live believing oneself. Believing oneself one had to decide every question not in favour of one's own animal life, which is always seeking for easy gratifications, but almost in every case against it. Believing others there was nothing to decide, everything had been decided already, and decided always in favour of the animal eye and against the spiritual, nor was this all. Believing in his own self he was always exposing himself to the censure of those around him, believing others he had their approval. So when Neclerdorff had talked of the serious matters of life, of God, truth, riches and poverty, all around him thought it out of place and even rather funny, and his mother and aunts called him, with kindly irony, Notre-Sherf philosoph. But when he read novels, told improper anecdotes, went to see funny vaudevilles in the French theatre and gaily repeated the jokes, everybody admired and encouraged him. When he considered it right to limit his needs, wore an overcoat, took no wine, everybody thought it strange and looked upon it as a kind of showing off. But when he spent large sums on hunting, or on furnishing a peculiar and luxurious study for himself, everybody admired his taste and gave him expensive presents to encourage his hobby. While he kept pure, and meant to remain so till he married, his friends prayed for his health, and even his mother was not grieved but rather pleased when she found out that he'd become a real man and had gained over some French woman from his friend. As to the episode with Catoosha, the princess could not without horror think that he might possibly have married her. In the same way, when Nekludov came of age and gave the small estate he'd inherited from his father to the peasants, because he considered the holding of private property and land wrong, this step filled his mother and relations with dismay, and served as an excuse for making fun of him to all his relatives. He was continually told that these peasants, after they had received the land, got no richer, but on the contrary poorer, having opened three public houses and left off doing any work. But when Nekludov entered the guards and spent and gambled away so much with his aristocratic companions that Elena Ivanovna, his mother, had to draw on her capital, she was hardly pained, considering it quite natural and even good that wild oats should be sown at an early age and in good company, as her son was doing. At first Nekludov struggled, but all that he had considered good while he had faith in himself was considered bad by others, and what he had considered evil was looked upon as good by those among whom he lived, and the struggle grew too hard, and at last Nekludov gave in, that is, he left off believing himself and began believing others. At first this giving up of faith in himself was unpleasant, but it did not long continue to be so. At that time he acquired the habit of smoking and drinking wine, and soon got over this unpleasant feeling and even felt great relief. Nekludov with his passionate nature gave himself thoroughly to the new way of life so approved of by all those around, and he entirely stifled the inner voice which demanded something different. This began after he moved to St. Petersburg and reached its highest point when he entered the army. Military life in general depraves men. It places them in conditions of complete idleness, that is, absence of all useful work, frees them of their common human duties which it replaces by merely conventional ones, to the honour of the regiment, the uniform, the flag, and while giving them on the one hand absolute power over other men also puts them into conditions of servile obedience to those of higher rank than themselves. But when, to the usual depraving influence of military service with its honours, uniforms, flags, its permitted violence and murder, there is added the depraving influence of riches, and nearness to and intercourse with members of the imperial family, as is the case in the chosen regiment of the guards in which all the officers are rich and of good family, then this depraving influence creates in the men who succumb to it a perfect mania of selfishness. And this mania of selfishness attacked Nekludov from the moment he entered the army and began living in the way his companions lived. He had no occupation whatever except to dress in a uniform, splendidly made and well brushed by other people, and with arms also made and cleaned and handed to him by others, ride to reviews on a fine horse which had been bred, broken in, and fed by others. There, with other men like himself, he had to wave a sword, shoot off guns, and teach others to do the same. He had no other work, and the highly placed persons, young and old, the Tsar and those near him, not only sanctioned his occupation but praised and thanked him for it. After this was done it was thought important to eat, and particularly to drink, in officers' clubs or the salons of the best restaurants, squandering large sums of money, which came from some invisible source, then theatres, ballets, women, then again riding on horseback, waving of swords and shooting, and again the squandering of money, the wine, cards, and women. This kind of life acts on military men even more depravingly than on others, because if any other than a military man leads such a life, he cannot help being ashamed of it in the depth of his heart. A military man is, on the contrary, proud of the life of this kind, especially at time of war, and Nekledov had entered the army just after war with the Turks had been declared. We are prepared to sacrifice ourselves at the wars, and therefore a gay, reckless life is not only pardonable, but absolutely necessary for us, and so we lead it. Such were Nekledov's confused thoughts at this period of his existence, and he felt all the time the delight of being free of the moral barriers he had formally set himself, and the state he lived in was that of a chronic mania of selfishness. He was in this state when, after three years' absence, he came again to visit his aunt's. CHAPTER XIV THE SECOND MEETING Nekledov went to visit his aunt's because their estate lay near the road he had to travel in order to join his regiment which had gone forward, because they had very warmly asked him to come, and especially because he wanted to see Kutusha. Perhaps in his heart he had already formed those evil designs against Kutusha which his now uncontrolled animal self suggested to him, but he did not acknowledge this as his intention, but only wished to go back to the spot where he had been so happy, to see his rather funny but dear kind-hearted old aunt's, who always without his noticing it surrounded him with an atmosphere of love and admiration, and to see sweet Kutusha, of whom he had retained so pleasant a memory. He arrived at the end of March, on Good Friday, after the thaw had set in. It was pouring with rain, so that he had not a dry thread on him, and was feeling very cold, but yet vigorous and full of spirits as always at that time. Is she still with them, he thought, as he drove into the familiar old-fashioned courtyard surrounded by a low brick wall, and now filled with snow off the roofs? He expected she would come out when she heard the sledge-bells, but she did not. Two bare-footed women with pales and tuck-top skirts, who had evidently been scrubbing the floors, came out of the side door. She was not at the front door, either, and only Tikhon, the man-servant, with his apron on, evidently also busy cleaning, came out into the front porch. His aunt Sophia Ivanovna alone met him in the ante-room. She had a silk dress on, and a cap on her head. Both aunts had been to church, and had received communion. Well, this is nice of you to come, said Sophia Ivanovna, kissing him. Mary is not well, got tired in church. We've been to communion. I congratulate you, Aunt Sophia." It is usually in Russia to congratulate those who've received communion. I congratulate you, Aunt Sophia," said Nekludov, kissing Sophia Ivanovna's hand. Oh! I beg your pardon. I've made you wet. Go to your room. Why, you're soaking wet! Dear me! You've got moustaches! Kutusha! Kutusha! Get him some coffee! Be quick! Directly came the sound of a well-known, pleasant voice from the passage. And Nekludov's heart cried out, She's here! And it was if the sun had come out from behind the clouds. Nekludov, followed by Tikhon, went gaily to his old room to change his things. He felt inclined to ask Tikhon about Kutusha, how she was, what she was doing, and was she not going to be married. But Tikhon was so respectful, and at the same time so severe, insisted so firmly on pouring the water out of the jog for him, that Nekludov could not make up his mind to ask him about Kutusha, but only inquired about Tikhon's grandsons, about the old, so-called brother's horse, and about the dog Polkan. All were alive except Polkan, who had gone mad the summer before. When he had taken off all his wet things and just begun to dress again, Nekludov heard quick, familiar footsteps and a knock at the door. Nekludov knew the steps and also the knock. No one but she walked and knocked like that. Having thrown his wet greatcoat over his shoulders, he opened the door. Come in! It was she, Kutusha, the same, only sweeter than before. The slightly squinting, naive black eyes looked up in the same old way. Now as then she had on a white apron. She brought him from his aunts a piece of scented soap with the wrapper just taken off, and two towels, one a long Russian embroidered one, the other a bath towel. The unused soap with the stamped inscription, the towels and her own self all were equally clean, fresh, undefiled and pleasant. The irrepressible smile of joy at the sight of him made the sweet firm lips pucker up as a vault. How do you do, Dmitriy Ivanovich? She uttered with difficulty, her face suffused with a rosy blush. Good morning! How do you do, he said, also blushing, alive and well? Yes, the Lord be thanked. And here is your favourite pink soap and towels from your aunts, she said, putting the soap on the table and hanging the towels over the back of a chair. There is everything here, said Tikhon, defending the visitor's independence and pointing to Nekledov's open dressing-case, filled with brushes, perfume, fixer-toir, a great many bottles with silver lids and all sorts of toilet appliances. Thank my aunts, please. Oh, how glad I am to be here, said Nekledov, his heart filling with light and tenderness as of old. She only smiled in answer to these words and went out. The aunts, who had always loved Nekledov, welcomed him this time more warmly than ever. Dmitriy was going to the war, where he might be wounded or killed, and this touched the old aunts. Nekledov had arranged to stay only a day and night with his aunts. But when he had seen Kutusha, he agreed to stay over Easter with them, and telegraphed to his friend Schoenbach, whom he was to have joined in Odessa, that he should come and meet him at his aunts instead. As soon as he had seen Kutusha, Nekledov's old feelings toward her awoke again. Now, just as then, he could not see her white apron without getting excited. He could not listen to her steps, her voice, her laugh, without a feeling of joy. He could not look at her eyes, black as slows, without a feeling of tenderness, especially when she smiled. And above all, he could not notice without agitation how she blushed when they met. He felt he was in love, but not as before, when this love was a kind of mystery to him, and he would not own even to himself that he loved, and when he was persuaded that one could love only once. Now he knew he was in love, and was glad of it, and knew dimly what this love consisted of, and what it might lead to, though he sought to conceal it, even from himself. In Nekledov, as in every man there were two beings, one the spiritual, seeking only that kind of happiness for himself, which should tend towards the happiness of all, the other, the animal man, seeking only his own happiness, and ready to sacrifice to it the happiness of the rest of the world, at this period of his mania of self-love brought on by life in Petersburg and in the army, this animal man ruled supreme, and completely crushed the spiritual man in him. But when he saw Kutusha, and experienced the same feelings as he had three years before, the spiritual man in him raised its head once more, and began to assert its rights, and up to Easter, during two whole days, an unconscious, ceaseless inner struggle went on in him. He knew, in the depths of his soul, that he ought to go away, that there was no real reason for staying on with his aunt, knew that no good could come of it, and yet it was so pleasant, so delightful, that he did not honestly acknowledge the facts to himself, and stayed on. On Easter Eve, the priest and the deacon who came to the house to say mass, had had, so they said, the greatest difficulty in getting over the three miles that lay between the church and the old lady's house, coming across the puddles and the bare earth in a sledge. Kekludov attended the mass with his aunts and the servants, and kept looking at Kutusha, who was near the door, and brought in the censors for the priests. Then having given the priests and his aunts the Easter kiss, though it was not midnight, and therefore not Easter yet, he was already going to bed when he heard the old servant Matrona Pavlovna, preparing to go to the church, to get the Kulich and Pasky Easter cakes, blessed after the midnight service, I shall go too, he thought. The road to the church was impassable, either on a sledge or on wheels, so Kledov, who behaved in his aunts' house just as he did at home, ordered the old horse, the brother's horse, to be saddled, and instead of going to bed he put on his gay uniform, a pair of tight-fitting riding-breaches and his overcoat, and got on the old over-fed and heavy horse which nade continually all the way as he rode in the dark through the puddles and snow to the church. CHAPTER XIV THE EARLY MASS For Kledov this early mass remained forever after one of the brightest and most vivid memories of his life. When he rode out of the darkness, broken only here and there by patches of white snow, into the church-yard illuminated by a row of lamps around the church, the service had already begun. The peasants, recognizing Mary Ivanovna's nephew, led his horse, which was pricking up its ears at the sight of the lights, to a dry place where he could get off, put it up for him and showed him into the church, which was full of people. On the right stood the peasants, the old men in homespun coats and clean white linen bands wrapped around their legs, long strips of linen aworn by the peasants instead of stockings, the young men in new cloth coats, bright-coloured belts around their waists and top boots. On the left stood the women, with red silk kerchiefs on their heads, black velveteen sleeveless jackets, bright red shirt sleeves, gay-coloured green-blue and red skirts and thick leather boots. The old women, dressed more quietly, stood behind them with white kerchiefs, homespun coats, old-fashioned skirts of dark homespun material, and shoes on their feet. Gaeli dressed children, their hair well oiled, went in and out among them. The men, making the sign of the cross, bowed down and raised their heads again, shaking back their hair. The women, especially the old ones, fixed their eyes on an icon surrounded with candles and made the sign of the cross, firmly pressing their folded fingers to the kerchief on their foreheads, to their shoulders and their stomachs, and whispering something stooped or knelt down. The children, imitating the grown-up people, prayed earnestly when they knew that they were being observed. The gilt case containing the icon glittered, illuminated on all sides by tall candles ornamented with golden spirals. The candelabra was filled with tapers, and from the choir sounded most merry tunes, sung by amateur choristers, with bellowing bass and shrill boys' voices among them. Neklodov passed up to the front. In the middle of the church stood the aristocracy of the place, a landed proprietor with his wife and son, the latter dressed in a sailor's suit, the police officer, the telegraph clerk, a tradesman in top boots, and the village elder with a medal on his breast. And to the right of the ambo, just behind the landed proprietor's wife, stood Matrona Pavlovna in a lilac dress and fringed shawl, and ketusha in a white dress with a tucked bodice, blue sash, and red bow in her black hair. Everything seemed festive, solemn, bright, and beautiful. The priest in his silver cloth vestments with gold crosses, the deacon, the clerk, and chanter in their silver and gold surpluses, the amateur choristers in their best clothes with their well-oiled hair, the merry tunes of the holiday hymns that sounded like dance music, and the continual blessing of the people by the priests, who held candles decorated with flowers, and repeated the cry of Christ is risen, Christ is risen. All was beautiful. But above all, ketusha, in her white dress, blue sash, and the red bow on her black head, her eyes beaming with rapture. Nekludov knew that she felt his presence without looking at him. He noticed this as he passed her, walking up to the altar. He had nothing to tell her, but he invented something to say, and whispered as he passed her, Aunt told me that she would break her fast after the late mass. The young blood rushed up to ketusha's sweet face, as it always did when she looked at him. The black eyes, laughing and full of joy, gazed naively up, and remained fixed on Nekludov. I know, she said, with a smile. At this moment the clerk was going out with a copper coffee-pot of holy water in his hand. Coffee-pots are often used for holy water in Russia. Not noticing ketusha brushed her with his surplus. Evidently he brushed against ketusha through wishing to pass Nekludov at a respectful distance. And Nekludov was surprised that he, the clerk, did not understand that everything here, yes, and in all the world, only existed for ketusha, and that everything else might remain unheeded, only not she, because she was the center of all. For her the gold glittered round the icons. For her all these candles in candelabra and candlesticks were alight. For her were sung these joyful hymns. Behold the Passover of the Lord, rejoice, O ye people! All, all that was good in the world, was for her. And it seemed to him that ketusha was aware that it was all for her, when he looked at her well-shaped figure, the tucked white dress, the rapt joyous expression of her face, by which he knew that just exactly the same that was singing in his soul was also singing in hers. In the interval between the early and the late mass Nekludov left the church. The people stood aside to let him pass and bowed. Some knew him, others asked who he was. He stopped on the steps. The beggars standing there came clamouring round him, and he gave them all the change he had in his purse, and went down. It was dawning, but the sun had not yet risen. The people grouped around the graves in the churchyard. Ketusha had remained inside. Nekludov stood waiting for her. The people continued coming out, clattering with their nailed boots on the stone steps, and dispersing over the churchyard. A very old man with shaking head, his aunt's cook, stopped Nekludov in order to give him the Easter kiss. His old wife took an egg, died yellow out of her handkerchief, and gave it to Nekludov, and a smiling young peasant in a new coat and green belt also came up. Christ is risen, he said, with laughing eyes, and coming close to Nekludov he enveloped him in his peculiar but pleasant peasant smell, and tickling him with his curly beard kissed him three times, straight on the mouth with his firm fresh lips. While the peasant was kissing Nekludov and giving him a dark brown egg, the lilac dress of Matrona Pavlovna and the dear black head with the red bow appeared. Ketusha caught sight of him over the heads of those in front of her, and he saw how her face brightened up. She had come out with Matrona Pavlovna onto the porch, and stopped there, distributing arms to the beggars. A beggar with a red scab in place of a nose came up to Ketusha. She gave him something, drew nearer him, and, evincing no sign of disgust, but her eyes still shining with joy, kissed him three times. And while she was doing this, her eyes met Nekludov's with a look as if she were asking, Is this that I'm doing right? Yes, dear, yes, it is right. Everything is right. Everything is beautiful. I love." They came down the steps of the porch, and he came up to them. He did not mean to give them the Easter kiss, but only to be nearer to her. Matrona Pavlovna bowed her head, and said with a smile, Christ is risen! And her tone implied, Today we are all equal. She wiped her mouth with handkerchief, rolled into a ball, and stretched her lips towards him. He is indeed, answered Nekludov, kissing her. Then he looked at Ketusha. She blushed and drew nearer. Christ is risen, Dmitriy Ivanovich. He is risen indeed, answered Nekludov, and they kissed twice. Then paused, as if considering whether a third kiss was necessary, and having decided that it was, kissed a third time, and smiled. You are going to the priests, asked Nekludov. No, we shall sit out here a bit, Dmitriy Ivanovich, said Ketusha with effort, as if she had accomplished some joyous task, and her whole chest heaving with a deep sigh, she looked straight in his face with a look of devotion, verge in purity and love, in her very slightly squinting eyes. In the love between a man and a woman, there always comes a moment when this love has reached its zenith, a moment when it is unconscious, unreasoning, and with nothing sensual about it. Such a moment had come for Nekludov on that Easter eve. When he brought Ketusha back to his mind now, this moment veiled all else. The smooth, glossy black head, the white, tucked dress, closely fitting her graceful, maidenly form, her as yet undeveloped bosom, the blushing cheeks, the tender shining black eyes with their slight squint, heightened by the sleepless night, and her whole being stamped with those two marked features, purity and chaste love. Love not only for him, he knew that, but for everybody and everything, not for the good alone, but for all that is in the world, even for that beggar whom she had kissed. He knew she had that love in her, because on that night and morning he was conscious of it in himself, and conscious that in this love he became one with her. Ah, if it had all stopped there, at the point it had reached that night. Yes, all that horrible business had not yet happened on that Easter eve, he thought, as he sat by the window of the jury men's room. End of Book 1, Chapter 15. Book 1, Chapter 16 of Resurrection. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Louise Maud. Read by David Barnes. Book 1, Chapter 16. The First Step. When he returned from church, Neklodov broke the fast with his aunts, and took a glass of spirits and some wine, having got into that habit while with his regiment, and when he reached his room, fell asleep at once, dressed as he was. He was awakened by a knock at the door. He knew it was her knock, and got up, rubbing his eyes and stretching himself. "'Coutuchia, is it you? Come in,' said he. "'Dinner is ready,' she said. She still had on the same white dress, but not the bow in her hair. She looked at him with a smile, as if she had communicated some very good news to him. "'I'm coming,' he answered, as he rose, taking his comb to arrange his hair. She stood still for a minute. And he, noticing, threw down his comb and made a step towards her. But at that very moment she turned suddenly, and went with quick light steps along the strip of carpet in the middle of the passage. "'Dear me, what a fool I am,' thought Neklodov. "'Why did I not stop her?' What he wanted her for he did not know himself, but he felt that when she came into his room something should have been done, something that is generally done on such occasions, and that he had left it undone. "'Cutusha, wait,' he said. "'What do you want?' she said, stopping. Nothing, only—and with an effort, remembering how men in his position generally behave, he put his arm round her waist. She stood still and looked into his eyes. "'Don't, Dmitri Ivanovitch, you must not,' she said, blushing to tears, and pushing away his arm with her strong, hard hand. Neklodov let her go, and for a moment he felt not only confused and ashamed, but disgusted with himself. He should now have believed himself, and then he would have known that this confusion and shame were caused by the best feelings of his soul demanding to be set free. But he thought it was only his stupidity, and that he ought to behave as everyone else did. He caught her up and kissed her on the neck. This kiss was very different from that first thoughtless kiss behind the lilac bush, and very different to the kiss this morning in the churchyard. This was a dreadful kiss, and she felt it. "'Oh, what are you doing?' she cried, in atone as if he had irreparably broken something of priceless value, and ran quickly away. He came into the dining-room, his aunts elegantly dressed, their family doctor, and a neighbour were already there. Everything seemed so very ordinary, but in Neklodov a storm was raging. He understood nothing of what was being said, and gave wrong answers, thinking only of Katusha. The sound of her steps in the passage brought back the thrill of that last kiss, and he could think of nothing else. When she came into the room he, without looking round, felt her presence with his whole being, and had to force himself not to look at her. After dinner he at once went into his bedroom, and for a long time walked up and down in great excitement, listening to every sound in the house, and expecting to hear her footsteps. The animal man inside him had now not only lifted its head, but had succeeded in trampling underfoot the spiritual man of the days of his first visit, and even of that very morning. That dreadful animal man alone now ruled over him. Though he was watching for her all day, he could not manage to meet her alone. She was probably trying to evade him. In the evening, however, she was obliged to go into the room next to his. The doctor had been asked to stay the night, and she had to make his bed. When he heard her go in, Nicodof followed her, treading softly, and holding his breath as if he were going to commit a crime. She was putting a clean pillow-case on the pillow, holding it by two of its corners with her arms inside the pillow-case. She turned round and smiled, not a happy joyful smile as before, but in a frightened, piteous way. The smile seemed to tell him that what he was doing was wrong. He stopped for a moment. There was still the possibility of a struggle. The voice of his real love for her, though feebly, was still speaking of her, her feelings, her life. Another voice was saying, Take care I don't let the opportunity of your own happiness, your own enjoyment, slip by. And this second voice completely stifled the first. He went up to her with determination, and a terrible, ungovernable animal passion took possession of him. With his arm round her he made her sit down on the bed, and feeling that there was something more to be done, he sat down beside her. Dmitri Ivanovich, dear, please let me go, she said, with a piteous voice. Matrona Pavlovna is coming, she cried, tearing herself away. Someone was really coming to the door. Well, then, I'll come to you in the night, he whispered. You'll be alone? What are you thinking of? On no account, no, no, she said, but only with her lips. The tremulous confusion of her whole being said something very different. It was Matrona Pavlovna who had come to the door. She came in with a blanket over her arm, looking reproachfully at Neklodov, and began scolding Katusha for having taken the wrong blanket. Neklodov went out in silence, but he did not even feel ashamed. He could see by Matrona Pavlovna's face that she was blaming him. He knew that she was blaming him with reason, and he felt that he was doing wrong. But this novel, low animal excitement, having freed itself of all the old feelings of real love for Katusha, ruled supreme, leaving room for nothing else. He went about as if demented all the evening, now into his aunts, then back into his own room, then out into the porch, thinking all the time how he would meet her alone. But she avoided him, and Matrona Pavlovna watched her closely. CHAPTER XII Neklodov and Katusha. And so the evening passed, and night came. The doctor went to bed, Neklodov's aunts had also retired, and he knew that Matrona Pavlovna was now with them in their bedroom, so that Katusha was sure to be alone in the maid's sitting-room. He again went out into the porch. It was dark, damp, and warm out of doors, and that white spring mist which drives away the last snow, or is diffused by the thawing of the last snow, filled the air. From the river under the hill, about a hundred steps from the front door came a strange sound. It was the ice-breaking. Neklodov came down the steps, and went up to the window of the maid's-room, stepping over the puddles on the bits of glazed snow. His heart was beating so fiercely in his breast that he seemed to hear it. His laboured breath came and went in a burst of long-drawn size. In the maid's-room a small lamp was burning, and Katusha sat alone by the table, looking thoughtfully in front of her. Neklodov stood a long time without moving, and waited to see what she, not knowing that she was observed, would do. For a minute or two she did not move. When she lifted her eyes, smiled, and shook her head as if chiding herself, then changed her pose, and dropped both her arms on the table, and again began gazing down in front of her. He stood and looked at her, involuntarily listening to the beating of his own heart and the strange sounds from the river. There on the river, beneath the white mist, the unceasing labour went on, and sounds as if something sobbing, cracking, dropping, being shattered to pieces, mixed with the tinkling of the thin bits of ice as they broke against each other, like glass. There he stood, looking at Katusha's serious, suffering face, which betrayed the inner struggle of her soul, and he felt pity for her. Not strange though it may seem, this pity only confirmed him in his evil intention. He knocked at the window. She started as if she had received an electric shock, her whole body trembled, and a look of horror came into her face. Then she jumped up, approached the window, and brought her face up to the pain. The look of terror did not leave her face even when holding her hands up to her eyes like blinkers, and peering through the glass she recognized him. Her face was unusually grave, he'd never seen it so before. She returned his smile, but only in submission to him. There was no smile in her soul, only fear. He beckoned her with his hand to come out into the yard to him, but she shook her head and remained by the window. She brought his face close to the pain and was going to call out to her, but at that moment she turned to the door. Evidently someone inside had called her. Nekledov moved away from the window. The fog was so dense that five steps from the house the windows could not be seen, but the light from the lamp shone red and huge out of a shapeless black mass, and on the river the same strange sounds went on, sobbing and rustling and cracking and tinkling. Somewhere in the fog, not far off, a cock crowed. Another answered, and then others, far in the village, took up the cry till the sound of the crowing blended into one, while all around was silent except the river. It was the second time the cocks crowed that night. Nekledov walked up and down behind the corner of the house, and once or twice got into a puddle. Then again came up to the window. The lamp was still burning, and she was again sitting alone by the table as if uncertain what to do. He had hardly approached the window when she looked up. He knocked. Without looking who it was she at once ran out of the room, and he heard the outside door open with a snap. He waited for her near the side porch and put his arms round her without saying a word. She clung to him, put up her face, and met his kiss with her lips. Then the door again gave the same sort of snap and opened, and the voice of Matrona Pavlovna called out angrily, "'Katusha!' she tore herself away from him, and returned into the maedrum. He heard the latch click, and then all was quiet. The red light disappeared, and only the mist remained, and the bustle on the river went on. Nekledov went up to the window. Nobody was to be seen. He knocked, but got no answer. He went back into the house by the front door, but could not sleep. He got up, and went with bare feet along the passage to her door, next to Matrona Pavlovna's room. He heard Matrona Pavlovna snoring quietly, and was about to go on when she coughed and turned on her creaking bed, and his heart fell, and he stood immovable for about five minutes. When all was quiet, and she began to snore peacefully again, he went on, trying to step on the boards that did not creak, and came to Katusha's door. There was no sound to be heard. She was probably awake, or else he would have heard her breathing. But as soon as he had whispered, Katusha, she jumped up and began to persuade him, as if angrily, to go away. Open! Let me in, just for a moment, I implore you." He hardly knew what he was saying. When she left him, trembling and silent, giving no answer to his words, he again went out into the porch, and stood, trying to understand the meaning of what had happened. It was getting lighter. From the river below, the creaking and tinkling and sobbing of the breaking ice came still louder, and a gurgling sound could now also be heard. The mist had begun to sink, and from above it the waning moon dimly lighted up something black and weird. What was the meaning of it all? Was it a great joy, or a great misfortune that had befallen him? He asked himself. End of book 1, chapter 17, book 1, chapter 18, of Resurrection. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Louise Maud, read by David Barnes. Book 1, Chapter 18, Afterwards The next day the gay, handsome and brilliant Schoenbach joined necked off at his aunt's house, and quite won their hearts by his refined and amiable manner, his high spirits, his generosity, and his affection for Demetri. But though the old lady's admired his generosity, it rather perplexed them, for it seemed exaggerated. He gave a ruble to some blind beggars who came to the gate, gave fifteen rubles in tips to the servants, and when Sophia Ivanovna's pet dog hurt his paw and it bled, he tore his hemstitched Cambridge handkerchief into strips. Sophia Ivanovna knew that such handkerchiefs cost at least fifteen rubles a dozen, and bandaged the dog's foot. The old ladies had never met people of this kind, and did not know that Schoenbach owed two hundred thousand rubles which he was never going to pay, and that therefore twenty-five rubles more or less did not matter a bit to him. Schoenbach stayed only one day, and he had necked off both left at night. They could not stay away from their regiment any longer, for their leave was fully up. At the stage which neckled off selfish mania had now reached, he could think of nothing but himself. He was wondering whether his conduct, if found out, would be blamed much or at all, but he did not consider what Cattouche was now going through, and what was going to happen to her. He saw that Schoenbach guessed his relations to her, and this flattered his vanity. Ah, I see how it is that you have taken such a sudden fancy to your ounce that you've been living nearly a week with him. Schoenbach remarked when he'd seen Cattouche, well, I don't wonder, and should have done the same. She's charming. Necked off was also thinking that, though it was a pity to go away before having fully gratified the cravings of his love for her, yet the absolute necessity of parting had its advantages, because it put a sudden stop to relations it would have been very difficult for him to continue. Then he thought that he ought to give her some money—not for her, not because she might need it, but because it was the thing to do. So he gave her what seemed to him a liberal amount, considering his and her station. On the day of his departure, after dinner, he went out and waited for her at the side entrance. She flushed up when she saw him, and wished to pass by, directing his attention to the open door of the maids room by a look, but he stopped her. I've come to say good-bye," he said, crumbling in his hand an envelope with a one hundred ruble note inside. There I—she guessed what he meant. Knit her brows, and, shaking her head, pushed his hand away. Take it! Oh, you must! he stammered, and thrust the envelope into the bib of her apron, and ran back to his room, groaning and frowning as if he'd hurt himself. And for a long time he went up and down, writhing as in pain, and even stamping and groaning aloud, as he thought of this last scene. But what else could I have done? Is it not what happens to every one? And if every one does the same—well, I suppose it can't be helped. In this way he tried to get peace of mind, but in vain the recollection of what had passed burned his conscience. In his soul, in the very depths of his soul, he knew that he had acted in a base, cruel and cowardly manner, and that the knowledge of this act of his must prevent him not only from finding fault with anyone else, but even from looking straight into other people's eyes, not to mention the impossibility of considering himself a splendid, noble, high-minded fellow, as he did and had to do to go on living his life boldly and merrily. There was only one solution of the problem—that is, not to think about it. He succeeded in doing so. The life he now entered upon, the new surroundings, new friends, the war, all helped him to forget, and the longer he lived the less he thought about it, until at last he forgot it completely. Only once, when after the war he went to see his aunts in hopes of meeting Kattusha, and heard that soon after his last visit she had left, and that his aunts had heard she'd been confined somewhere or other, and had gone quite to the bad, his heart ached. According to the time of her confinement the child might or might not have been his. His aunts said she'd gone wrong, that she'd inherited her mother's depraved nature, and he was pleased to hear this opinion of his aunts. It seemed to acquit him. At first he thought of trying to find her and her child, but then, just because in the depths of his soul he felt so ashamed and pained when thinking about her, he did not make the necessary effort to find her, but tried to forget his sin again and ceased to think about it. And now this strange coincidence brought it all back to his memory, and demanded from him the acknowledgment of the heartless, cruel cowardice which had made it possible for him to live these nine years with such a sin on his conscience. But he was still far from such an acknowledgment, and his only fear was that everything might now be found out, and that she, or her advocate, might recount it all, and put him to shame before every one present. End of Book 1, Chapter 18 Book 1, Chapter 19 of Resurrection This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Maud Read by David Barnes Book 1, Chapter 19 The Trial Resumption In this state of mind, Neklodov left the court, and went into the jury-men's room. He sat by the window, smoking all the while, and hearing what was being said around him. The merry merchant seemed with all his heart to sympathize with Smelkov's way of spending his time. There, old fellow, that was something like real Siberian fashion. He knew what he was about. No fear. That's the sort of wench for me. The foreman was stating his conviction that, in some way or other, the expert's conclusions were the important thing. Peter Gerasimovich was joking about something with the Jewish clerk, and they burst out laughing. Neklodov answered all the questions addressed to him in monosyllables and longed only to be left in peace. When the Osher, with his sideways gate, called the jury back to the court, Neklodov was seized with fear, as if he were not going to judge but to be judged. In the depth of his soul he felt that he was a scoundrel who ought to be ashamed to look people in the face. But by sheer force of habit he stepped onto the platform in his usual self-possessed manner, and sat down, crossing his legs and playing with his pins-nay. The prisoners had also been led out, and were now brought in again. There were some new faces in the court-witnesses, and Neklodov noticed that Maslova could not take her eyes off a very fat woman who sat in the row in front of the grating, very showily dressed in silk and velvet, a high hat with a large bow on her head, and an elegant little reticule on her arm, which was bare to the elbow. This was, as he subsequently found out, one of the witnesses, the mistress of the establishment to which Maslova had belonged. The examination of the witnesses commenced. They were asked their names, religion, etc. Then, after some consultation as to whether the witnesses were to be sworn in or not, the old priest came in again, dragging his legs with difficulty, and again arranging the golden cross on his breast, swore the witnesses and the expert in the same quiet manner, and with the same assurance that he was doing something useful and important. The witnesses, having been sworn, all but Kitaeva, the keeper of the house, were led out again. She was asked what she knew about this affair. Kitaeva nodded her head, and a big hat at every sentence, and smiled effectively. She gave a very full and intelligent account, speaking with a strong German accent. First of all, the hotel-servant Simeon, whom she knew, came to her establishment, on behalf of a rich Siberian merchant, and she sent Lubov back with him. After a time, Lubov returned with the merchant. The merchant was already somewhat intoxicated. She smiled, as she said this, and went on drinking and treating the girls. He was short of money. He sent this same Lubov to his lodgings. He'd taken a pre-delection to her. She looked at the prisoner, as she said this. Nektodov thought he saw massliver smile here, and this seemed disgusting to him. The strange, indefinite feeling of loathing, mingled with suffering, arose in him. And what was your opinion of massliver, asked the blushing and confused applicant for a judicial post, appointed to act as massliver's advocate. Ziveri pesht, answered Kitaeva, Ziyongvomen is educated and elegant. She was pro-top in a good family, and can read French. She did have a trope too much sometimes, but she never forgot herself, a fairy-good girl. Katusha looked at the woman, then suddenly turned her eyes on the jury, and fixed them on Nektodov. And her face grew serious, and even severe. One of her serious eyes squinted, and those two strange eyes for some time gazed at Nektodov, who, in spite of the terrors that seized him, could not take his look off those squinting eyes with their bright, clear whites. He thought of that dreadful night with its mist, the ice breaking on the river below, and when the waning moon with horns turned upwards that had risen towards morning, lit up something black and weird, these two black eyes now looking at him reminded him of this weird black something. She has recognized me, he thought, and Nektodov shrank as if expecting a blow, but she had not recognized him. She sighed quietly, and again looked at the president, Nektodov also sighed, or if it would only get on quicker, he thought. He now felt the same loathing and pity and vexation as when out-shooting he was obliged to kill a wounded bird. The wounded bird struggles in the game-bag, one is disgusted and yet feels pity, and one is in a hurry to kill the bird and forget it. Such mixed feelings filled Nektodov's breast as he sat listening to the examination of the witnesses. CHAPTER XX. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Louise Maud, read by David Barnes. CHAPTER XX. But as if despite him the case dragged out to a great length. After each witness had been examined separately, and the expert last of all, and a great number of useless questions had been put, with the usual air of importance, by the public prosecutor, and by both advocates, the president invited the jury to examine the objects offered as material evidence. They consisted of an enormous diamond ring, which had evidently been worn on the first finger, and a test tube in which the poison had been analysed. These things had seals and labels attached to them. Just as the witnesses were about to look at these things, the public prosecutor rose and demanded that, before they did this, the results of the doctor's examination of the body should be read. The president, who was hurrying the business through as fast as he could in order to visit his Swiss friend, though he knew that the reading of this paper could have no other effect than that of producing weariness, and putting off the dinner-hour, and that the public prosecutor wanted it read simply because he knew he had a right to demand it, had no option but to express his consent. The secretary got out the doctor's report, and again began to read, in his weary, lisping voice, making no distinction between the R's and L's. The external examination proved that, one, Theropont Smelkov's height was six feet five inches. Not so bad that, a very good size, whispered the merchant, with interest into Nekledovsia. Two, he looked about forty years of age. Three, the body was of a swollen appearance. Four, the flesh was of a greenish color, with dark spots in several places. Five, the skin was raised in blisters of different sizes, and in places had come off in large pieces. Six, the hair was chestnut. It was thick, and separated easily from the skin when touched. Seven, the eyeballs protruded from their sockets, and the cornea had grown dim. Eight, out of the nostrils both ears and the mouth oozed serous liquid. The mouth was half open. Nine, the neck had almost disappeared, owing to the swelling of the face and chest. And so on and so on. Four pages were covered with the twenty-seven paragraphs, describing all the details of the external examination of the enormous, fat, swollen, and decomposing body of the merchant, who had been making merry in the town. The indefinite loathing that Nekledov felt was increased by the description of the corpse. Katusha's life, and the scrum oozing from the nostrils of the corpse, and the eyes that protruded out of their sockets, and his own treatment of her, all seemed to belong to the same order of things, and he felt surrounded and wholly absorbed by things of the same nature. When the reading of the report of the external examination was ended, the President heaved a sigh and raised his hand, hoping it was finished, but the Secretary at once went on to the description of the internal examination. The President's head again dropped into his hand, and he shot his eyes. The merchant, next to Nekledov, could hardly keep awake, and now and then his body swayed to and fro. The prisoners and the gendarmes sat perfectly quiet. The internal examination showed that, one, the skin was easily detachable from the bones of the skull, and there was no coagulated blood. Two, the bones of the skull were of average thickness and in sound condition. Three, on the membrane of the brain there were two discoloured spots about four inches long, the membrane itself being of a dull white, and so on, for thirteen paragraphs more. Then followed the names and signatures of the assistants, and the doctor's conclusion, showing that the change is observed in the stomach and to a lesser degree in the bowels and kidneys at the post-mortem examination, and described in the official report, gave great probability to the conclusion that Smelkov's death was caused by poison, which had entered his stomach mixed with alcohol. To decide from the state of the stomach what poison had been introduced was difficult, but it was necessary to suppose that the poison entered the stomach mixed with alcohol, since a great quantity of the latter was found in Smelkov's stomach. He could drink a no-mistake, again whispered the merchant, who had just woken up. The reading of this report had taken a full hour, but it had not satisfied the public prosecutor, for when it had been read through and the President turned to him, saying, I suppose it is superfluous to read the report of the examination of the internal organs, he answered in a severe tone, without looking at the President, I shall ask to have it read. He raised himself a little, and showed by his manner that he had a right to have this report read, and would claim this right, and that if that were not granted it would serve as a cause of appeal. The member of the court with the big beard, who suffered from guitar of the stomach, feeling quite done up, turned to the President, what is the use of reading all this? It's only dragging it out. These new brooms do not sweep clean. They only take a long while doing it. The member with the gold spectacle said nothing, but only looked gloomily in front of him, expecting nothing good, either from his wife or life in general. The reading of the report commenced. In the year 1880, on February 15, I, the undersigned, commissioned by the medical department, made an examination, number 638. The Secretary began again with firmness, and raising the pitch of his voice, as if to dispel the sleepiness that had overtaken all present, in the presence of the assistant medical inspector of the internal organs, one, the right lung and a heart contained in a six-pound glass jar, two, the contents of the stomach in a six-pound glass jar, three, the stomach itself in a six-pound glass jar, four, the liver, the spleen, and the kidneys in a nine-pound glass jar, five, the intestines. In a nine-pound earthenware jar, the President here whispered to one of the members, then stooped to the other, and having received their consent, he said, the court considers the reading of this report superfluous. The Secretary stopped reading and folded the paper, and the public prosecutor angrily began to write down something. The gentlemen of the jury may now examine the articles of material evidence, said the President. The foreman and several of the others rose and went to the table, not quite knowing what to do with their hands. They looked in turn at the glass, the test tube, and the ring. The merchant even tried on the ring. Ah! That was a finger, he said, returning to his place. Like a cucumber, he added, evidently the image he had formed in his mind of the gigantic merchant amused him. End of Book 1, Chapter 20 Book 1, Chapter 21 of Resurrection Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Louise Maud, read by David Barnes. Book 1, Chapter 21, The Trial, The Prosecutor, and The Advocates When the examination of the articles of material evidence was finished, the President announced that the investigation was now concluded, and immediately called on the prosecutor to proceed. Hoping that, as the latter was also a man, he too might feel inclined to smoke or dine, and show some mercy on the rest. But the public prosecutor showed mercy neither to himself nor to anyone else. He was very stupid by nature, but besides this he had had the misfortune of finishing school with a gold medal, and of receiving a reward for his essay on servitude when studying Roman law at the university, and was therefore self-confident and self-satisfied in the highest degree. His success with the ladies also conducing to this, and his stupidity had become extraordinary. When the word was given to him, he got up slowly, showing the whole of his graceful figure in his embroidered uniform. Putting his hand on the desk, he looked around the room, slightly bowing his head, and, avoiding the eyes of the prisoners, began to read the speech he had prepared while the reports were being read. Gentlemen of the jury, the business that now lies before you is, if I may so express myself, very characteristic. The speech of a public prosecutor, according to his views, should always have a social importance, like the celebrated speeches made by the advocates who have become distinguished. True, the audience consisted of three women, a seamstress, a cook and simian sister, and a coachman. But this did not matter. The celebrities had begun in the same way. To be always at the height of his position, that is to penetrate into the depths of the psychological significance of crime, and to discover the wounds of society, was one of the prosecutor's principles. You see before you, gentlemen of the jury, a crime characteristic, if I may so express myself, of the end of our century, bearing so to say, the specific features of that very painful phenomenon, the corruption to which those elements of our present day society, which are, so to say, particularly exposed to the burning rays of this process, are subject. The public prosecutor spoke at great length, trying not to forget any of the notions he'd formed in his mind, and on the other hand, never to hesitate, and let his speech flow on for an hour and a quarter without a break. Only once he stopped, and for some time stood swallowing his saliva, but he soon mastered himself and made up for the interruption by heightened eloquence. He spoke, now with a tender, insinuating accent, stepping from foot to foot and looking at the jury, now in quiet business-like tones, glancing into his notebook, then with a loud accusing voice, looking from the audience to the advocates. But he avoided looking at the prisoners, who were all three fixedly gazing at him. Every new craze, then in vogue among his set, was alluded to in his speech, everything that then was, and some things that still are, considered to be the last words of scientific wisdom, the laws of heredity and inborn criminality, evolution and the struggle for existence, hypnotism and hypnotic influence. According to his definition, the merchant Smelkov was of the genuine Russian type, and had perished in consequence of his generous, trusting nature, having fallen into the hands of deeply degraded individuals. Simeon Kartinkin was the atavistic production of serfdom, a stupefied, ignorant, unprincipled man who had not even any religion. Euphemia was his mistress and a victim of heredity. All the signs of degeneration were noticeable in her. The chief wire-puller in this affair was Maslova, presenting the phenomenon of decadence in its lowest form. This woman, he said, looking at her, has, as we have today heard from her mistress in this court, received an education. She cannot only read and write, but she knows French. She is illegitimate, and probably carries in her the germs of criminality. She was educated in an enlightened, noble family, and might have lived by honest work, but she deserts her benefactress, gives herself up to a life of shame in which she is distinguished from her companions by her education, and, chiefly, gentlemen of the jury, as you have heard from her mistress, by her power of acting on the visitors by means of that mysterious capacity lately investigated by science, especially by the School of Chaco, known by the name of hypnotic influence. By these means she gets hold of this Russian, this kind-hearted sad-co, sad-co being the hero of a legend, the rich guest, and uses his trust, in order first to rob and then piteously to murder him. Well, he's piling it on now, isn't he? said the president with a smile, bending towards the serious member. A fearful blockhead, said the serious member. Meanwhile, the public prosecutor went on with his speech. Gentlemen of the jury, gracefully swaying his body, the fate of society is to a certain extent in your power. Your verdict will influence it. Grasp the full meaning of this crime, the danger that awaits society, from those whom I may perhaps be permitted to call pathological individuals, such as Maslova, guard it from infection, guard the innocent and strong elements of society from contagion, or even destruction. And as if himself overcome by the significance of the expected verdict, the public prosecutor sank into his chair, highly delighted with his speech. The sense of the speech, when divested of all its flowers of rhetoric, was that Maslova, having gained the merchant's confidence, hypnotized him, and went to his lodgings with his key, meaning to take all the money herself, but having been caught in the act by Simeon and Euphemia, had to share it with them. Then, in order to hide the traces of the crime, she had returned to the lodgings with the merchant, and there poisoned him. After the prosecutor had spoken, a middle-aged man in swallow-tail coat and low-cut waistcoat, showing a large half-circle of starched white shirt, rose from the advocate's bench, and made a speech in defense of Kartinkin and Bochkova. This was an advocate engaged by them for three hundred rubles. He acquitted them both, and put all the blame on Maslova. He denied the truth of Maslova's statements that Bochkova and Kartinkin were with her when she took the money, laying great stress on the point that her evidence could not be accepted, she being charged with poisoning. The two thousand five hundred rubles, the advocate said, could have been easily earned by two honest people getting from three to five rubles per day in tips from the lodgers. The merchant's money was stolen by Maslova and given away, or even lost, as she was not in a normal state. The poisoning was committed by Maslova alone, therefore he begged the jury to acquit Kartinkin and Bochkova of stealing the money, or if they could not acquit them of the theft, at least to admit that it was done without any participation in the poisoning. In conclusion, the advocate remarked with a thrust at the public prosecutor that the brilliant observations of that gentleman on heredity, while explaining scientific facts concerning heredity, were inapplicable in this case, as Bochkova was of unknown parentage. The public prosecutor put something down on paper, with an angry look, and shrugged his shoulders in contemptuous surprise. Then Maslova's advocate rose, and timidly and hesitatingly began his speech in her defense. Without denying that she had taken part in the stealing of the money, he insisted on the fact that she had had no intention of poisoning Smelkov, but had given him the powder only to make him fall asleep. He tried to go in for a little eloquence in giving a description of how Maslova was led into a life of debauchery by a man who had remained unpunished, while she had to bear all the weight of her fall. But this excursion into the domain of psychology was so unsuccessful that it made everybody feel uncomfortable. When he muttered something about men's cruelty and women's helplessness, the president tried to help him by asking him to keep closer to the facts of the case. When he had finished, the public prosecutor got up to reply. He defended his position against the first advocate, saying that even if Bochkova was of unknown parentage, the truth of the doctrine of heredity was thereby in no way invalidated, since the laws of heredity were so far proved by science that we can not only deduce the crime from heredity, but heredity from the crime. As to the statement made in defense of Maslova that she was the victim of an imaginary, he laid a particularly venomous stress on the word imaginary, betrayer, he could only say that from the evidence before them it was much more likely that she had played the part of temptress to many and many a victim who had fallen into her hands. Having said this he sat down in triumph. Then the prisoners were offered permission to speak in their own defense. Shefemia Bochkova repeated once more that she knew nothing about it and had taken part in nothing, and firmly laid the whole blame on Maslova. Simeon Kartinkin only repeated several times, it's your business, but I'm innocent, it's unjust. Maslova said nothing in her defense. Told she might do so, by the president, she only lifted up her eyes to him, cast a look around the room like a haunted animal, and dropping her head began to cry, sobbing aloud. What's the matter? the mochant asked Netlidov, hearing him utter a strange sound. This was the sound of weeping, fiercely kept back. Netlidov had not yet understood the significance of his present position, and attributed the sobs he could hardly keep back and the tears that filled his eyes to the weakness of his nerves. He put on his pinsnay in order to hide the tears, then got out his handkerchief and began blowing his nose. Fear of the disgrace that would befall him, if everyone in the court knew of his conduct, stifled the inner working of his soul. This fear was, during this first period, stronger than all else. CHAPTER XXII. THE TRILE. THE SOMING UP. After the last words of the prisoners had been heard, the form in which the questions were to be put to the jury was settled, which also took some time. At last the questions were formulated, and the president began the summing up. Before putting the case to the jury, he spoke to them for some time in a pleasant, homely manner, explaining that burglary was burglary, and theft was theft, and that stealing from a place which was under lock and key was stealing from a place under lock and key. While he was explaining this, he looked several times at Necladoff as if wishing to impress upon him these important facts, in hopes that, having understood it, Necladoff would make his fellow jurymen also understand it. When he considered that the jury were sufficiently imbued with these facts, he proceeded to enunciate another truth, namely that a murder is an action which has the death of a human being as its consequence, and that poisoning could therefore also be termed murder. When, according to his opinion, this truth had also been received by the jury, he went on to explain that if theft and murder had been committed at the same time, the combination of the crimes was theft with murder. Although he was himself anxious to finish as soon as possible, although he knew that his Swiss friend would be waiting for him, he had grown so used to his occupation that, having begun to speak, he could not stop himself, and therefore he went on to impress on the jury with much detail that if they found the prisoner's guilty they would have the right to give a verdict of guilty, and if they found them not guilty, to give a verdict of not guilty, and if they found them guilty of one of the crimes and not of the other, they might give a verdict of guilty on the one count and of not guilty on the other. Then he explained that, though this right was given them, they should use it with reason. He was going to add that if they gave an affirmative answer to any question that was put to them, they would thereby affirm everything included in the question, so that if they did not wish to affirm the whole of the question, they should mention the part of the question they wished to be accepted. But glancing at the clock and seeing it was already five minutes to three, he resolved to trust to their being intelligent enough to understand this without further comment. The facts of this case are the following, began the President, and repeated all that had already been said several times by the advocates, the public prosecutor, and the witnesses. The President spoke, and the members on each side of him listened with deeply attentive expressions, but looked from time to time at the clock, for they considered the speech too long, though very good, that is, such as it ought to be. The public prosecutor, the lawyers, and in fact everyone in the court, shared the same impression. The President finished the summing up, then he found it necessary to tell the jury what they all knew, or might have found out by reading it up, that is, how they were to consider the case, count the votes, in case of a tie to acquit the prisoners, and so on. Everything seemed to have been told, but no, the President could not forego his right of speaking as yet. It was so pleasant to hear the impressive tones of his own voice, and therefore he found it necessary to say a few words more about the importance of the rights given to the jury, how carefully they should use the rights, and how they ought not to abuse them, about their being on their oath, that they were the conscience of society, that the secrecy of the debating-room should be considered sacred, etcetera. From the time the President commenced his speech, Maslova watched him without moving her eyes, as if afraid of losing a single word, so that Necladoff was not afraid of meeting her eyes, and kept looking at her all the time. And his mind passed through those phases in which a face, which we have not seen for many years, first strikes us with the outward changes brought about during the time of separation, and then gradually becomes more and more like its old self, when the changes made by time seem to disappear, and before our spiritual eyes rises only the principal expression of one exceptional, unique individuality. Yes, though dressed in a prison-cloak, and in spite of the developed figure, the fullness of the bosom and lower part of the face, in spite of a few wrinkles on the forehead and temples, and the swollen eyes, this was certainly the same Kutusha, who on that Easter eve had so innocently looked up to him whom she loved, with her fond, laughing eyes full of joy and life. Not a strange coincidence, that after ten years during which I never saw her, this case should have come up to-day when I am on the jury, and that it is in the prisoner's-dock that I see her again. And how will it end? Oh, dear, if they would only get on quicker! Still he would not give in to the feelings of repentance which began to arise within him. He tried to consider it all as a coincidence, which would pass without infringing his manner of life. He felt himself in the position of a poppy, when its master, taking it by the scruff of its neck, rubs its nose in the mess it has made. The poppy whines, draws back, and wants to get away as far as possible from the effects of its misdeed, but the pitiless master does not let go. And so, neckled off, feeling all the repulsiveness of what he had done, felt also the powerful hand of the master, but he did not feel the whole significance of his action yet, and would not recognize the master's hand. He did not wish to believe that it was the effect of his deed that lay before him, but the pitiless hand of the master held him, and he felt he could not get away. He was still keeping up his courage, and sat on his chair in the first row, in his usual self-possessed pose, one leg carelessly thrown over the other, and playing with his pin's-nay. Yet all the while, in the depths of his soul, he felt the cruelty, cowardice, and baseness, not only of this particular action of his, but of his whole, self-willed, depraved, cruel, idle life. And that dreadful veil which had in some unaccountable manner hidden from him this sin of his, and the whole of his subsequent life, was beginning to shake, and he caught glimpses of what was covered by that veil. End of book 1, chapter 22, book 1, chapter 23 of Resurrection. At last the President finished his speech, and lifting the list of questions with a graceful movement of his arm, he handed it to the foreman who came up to take it. The jury, glad to be able to get into the debating court, got up one after the other, and left the room, looking as if a bit ashamed of themselves, and again not knowing what to do with their hands. As soon as the door was closed behind them a gendarm came up to it, pulled his sword out of the scabbard, and holding it up against his shoulder stood at the door. The judges got up and went away. The prisoners were also led out. When the jury came into the debating room the first thing they did was to take out their cigarettes as before and begin smoking. The sense of the unnaturalness and falseness of their position, which all of them had experienced while sitting in their places in the court, passed when they entered the debating room and started smoking, and they settled down with a feeling of relief, and at once began an animated conversation. "'Tisn't the girl's fault. She's got mixed up in it,' said the kindly merchant. "'We must recommend her to mercy. "'That's just what we're going to consider,' said the foreman. "'We must not give way to our personal impressions.' "'The president's summing up was good,' remarked the colonel. "'Good? Why, it nearly sent me to sleep.' "'The chief point is that the servants could have known nothing about the money if Maslover had not been in accord with them,' said the clerk of Jewish extraction. "'Well, do you think it was she who stole the money?' asked one of the jury. "'I will never believe it,' cried the kindly merchant. "'It was all that red-eyed hag's doing.' "'There are a nice lot, all of them,' said the colonel. "'But she says she never went into the room. "'Oh, believe her by all means. "'I should not believe that, Jade, not for the world. "'Whether you believe her or not does not settle the question,' said the clerk. "'The girl had the key,' said the colonel. "'And what if she had?' retorted the merchant, and the ring. "'But didn't she say all about it?' Again,' cried the merchant, the fellow had a temper of his own, and had had a drop too much besides, and gave the girl a licking. "'What could be simpler?' "'Well, then he's sorry, quite naturally. "'There, never mind,' says he, take this. "'Why, I've heard them say he was six-foot-five high. "'I should think he must have weighed about twenty stones.' "'That's not the point,' said Peter Gerasimovich. "'The question is whether she was the instigator and insider in this affair or the servants. "'It was not possible for the servants to do it alone. She had the key.' This kind of random talk went on for a considerable time. At last the foreman said, "'I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but had we not better take our places at the table and discuss the matter, come, please?' And he took the chair. The questions were expressed in the following manner. One. Is the peasant of the village Borky, Krapivinskaya district, Simeon Petrovka Tinkin, thirty-three years of age, guilty of having, in agreement with other persons, given the merchant Smelkov, on the seventeenth of January, 1880, in the town of N., with intent to deprive him of life, for the purpose of robbing him, poisoned Brandy, which caused Smelkov's death, and of having stolen from him about two thousand five hundred rubles in money and a diamond ring. Two. Is the Mshanka Euphemia Ivanovna Bochkova, forty-three years of age, guilty of the crimes described above? Three. Is the Mshanka Katarina Mikhailovna Maslova, twenty-seven years of age, guilty of the crimes described in the first question? Four. If the prisoner Euphemia Bochkova is not guilty, according to the first question, is she not guilty of having, on the seventeenth of January, in the town of N., while in service at the hotel Mauritania, stolen from a locked portmanteau, belonging to the merchant Smelkov, a lodger in that hotel, and which was in the room occupied by him, two thousand five hundred rubles, for which object she unlocked the portmanteau, with a key she had brought, and fitted to the lock. The foreman read the first question. Well, gentlemen, what do you think? The question was quickly answered. All agreed to say guilty, as if convinced that Kartinkin had taken part both in the poisoning and the robbery, and all'd Artelschik, a member of an Artel, an association of workmen in which the members share profits and liabilities, whose answers were all in favour of acquittal, was the only exception. The foreman thought he did not understand, and began to point out to him that everything tended to prove Kartinkin's guilt. The old man answered that he did understand, but still thought it better to have pity on him. We are not saints ourselves," and he kept to his opinion. The answer to the second question concerning Bochkova was, after much dispute and many exclamations answered by the words Not Guilty, there being no clear proofs of her having taken part in the poisoning, a fact her advocate had strongly insisted on. The merchant, anxious to acquit Maslova, insisted that Bochkova was the chief instigator of it all. Many of the jury shared this view, but the foreman, wishing to be in strict accord with the law, declared they had no grounds to consider her as an accomplice in the poisoning, after much disputing the foreman's opinion triumphed. To the fourth question concerning Bochkova the answer was Guilty, but on the Artelschik's insistence she was recommended to mercy. The third question concerning Maslova raised a fierce dispute. The foreman maintained she was Guilty both of the poisoning and the theft, to which the merchant would not agree. The colonel, the clerk and the old Artelschik sided with the merchant. The rest seemed shaky, and the opinion of the foreman began to gain ground, chiefly because all the jury men were getting tired, and preferred to take up the view that would bring them sooner to a decision and thus liberate them. From all that had passed, and from his former knowledge of Maslova, Nekledov was certain that she was innocent of both the theft and the poisoning, and he felt sure that all the others would come to the same conclusion, when he saw that the merchant's awkward defence, evidently based on his physical admiration for her, which he didn't even try to hide, and the foreman's insistence, and especially everybody's weariness, were all tending to her condemnation, he longed to state his objections, yet dared not, lest his relations with Maslova should be discovered. He felt he could not allow things to go on without stating his objection, and blushing and growing pale again was about to speak when Peter Gerysimovich, irritated by the authoritative manner of the foreman, began to raise his objections, and said the very things Nekledov was about to say. Allow me one moment, he said, using to think that her having the key proves she is guilty of the theft, but what could be easier than for the servants to open the portmanteau with a false key after she was gone? Of course, of course, said the merchant. She could not have taken the money, because in her position she would hardly know what to do with it. That's just what I say, remarked the merchant. But it is very likely that her coming put the idea into the servant's heads, and that they grasped the opportunity and shoved all the blame on her. Peter Gerysimovich spoke so irritably that the foreman became irritated, too, and went on obstinately defending the opposite views. But Peter Gerysimovich spoke so convincingly that the majority agreed with him, and decided that Maslova was not guilty of stealing the money, and that the ring was given to her. But when the question of her having taken part in the poisoning was raised, her zealous defender, the merchant, declared that she must be acquitted, because she could have no reason for the poisoning. The foreman, however, said that it was impossible to acquit her, because she herself had pleaded guilty to having given the powder. Yes, but thinking it was opium, said the merchant. Opium can also deprive one of life, said the Colonel, who was fond of wandering from the subject, and he began telling how his brother-in-law's wife would have died of an overdose of opium if there had not been a doctor near at hand to take the necessary measures. The Colonel told his story so impressively, with such self-possession and dignity that no one had the courage to interrupt him. Only the clerk, infected by his example, decided to break in with the story of his own. There are some who get so used to it that they can take forty drops. I have a relative, but the Colonel would not stand the interruption, and went on to relate what effects the opium had on his brother-in-law's wife. But, gentlemen, do you know it is getting on towards five o'clock, said one of the jury? Well, gentlemen, what are we to say, then, inquired the foreman? Shall we say she is guilty, but without intent to rob, and without stealing any property? Will that do?" Peter Garasimovich, pleased with his victory, agreed. But she must be recommended to mercy, said the merchant. All agreed. Only the old Artelschik insisted that they should say not guilty. It comes to the same thing, explained the foreman, without intent to rob, and without stealing any property, therefore not guilty. That's evident. All right, that'll do, and we recommend her to mercy, said the merchant gaily. They were all so tired, so confused by the discussions, that nobody thought of saying that she was guilty of giving the powder, but without the intent of taking life. Nekledov was so excited that he didn't notice this omission, and so the answers were written down in the form agreed upon, and taken to the court. Abelay says that a lawyer who was trying a case, quoted all sorts of laws, read twenty pages of judicial senseless Latin, and then proposed to the judges to throw dice, and if the numbers proved odd, the defendant would be right, if not the plaintiff. It was much the same in this case. The resolution was taken, not because everybody agreed upon it, but because the president, who had been summing up at such length, omitted to say what he always said on such occasions, that the answer might be, yes, guilty, but without the intent of taking life, because the colonel had related the story of his brother-in-law's wife at such great length, because Nekledov was too excited to notice that the proviso without intent to take life had been omitted, and thought that the words without intent nullified the conviction. Because Peter Gerasimovich had retired from the room while the questions and answers were being read, and chiefly because, being tired, and wishing to get away as soon as possible, all were ready to agree with the decision which would bring matters to an end soonest. The jurymen rang the bell. The gendarm, who had stood outside the door with his sword drawn, put the sword back into the scabbard, and stepped aside. The judges took their seats, and the jury came out one by one. The foreman brought in the paper with an air of solemnity, and handed it to the president, who looked at it, and, spreading out his hands in astonishment, turned to consult his companion. The president was surprised that the jury, having put in a proviso without intent to rob, did not put in a second proviso without intent to take life. Upon the decision of the jury, it followed that Maslova had not stolen nor robbed, and yet poisoned a man without any apparent reason. Just see what an absurd decision they have come to! He whispered to the member on his left, this means penile servitude in Siberia, and she is innocent. Surely you do not mean to say she is innocent, answered the serious member. Yes, she is positively innocent. I think this is a case for putting Article 817 into practice. Article 817 states that if the court considers the decision of the jury unjust, it may set it aside. What do you think, said the president, turning to the other member? The kindly member did not answer at once. He looked at the number on a paper before him, and added up the figures. The sum would not divide by three. He had settled in his mind that if it did divide by three, he would agree to the president's proposal. But though the sum would not so divide, his kindness made him agree all the same. I too think it should be done, he said. And you, asked the president, turning to the serious member? On no account, he answered firmly. As it is, the papers accuse the jury of acquitting prisoners. What will they say if the court does it? I shall not agree to that on any account. The president looked at his watch. It's a pity, but what's to be done? And handed the questions to the foreman to read out. All got up, and the foreman, stepping from foot to foot, coughed, and read the questions and the answers. All the court, secretary, advocates, and even the public prosecutor expressed surprise. The prisoners sat impassive, evidently not understanding the meaning of the answers. Everybody sat down again, and the president asked the prosecutor what punishments the prisoners were to be subjected to. The prosecutor, glad of his unexpected success in getting Maslova convicted, and attributing the success entirely to his own eloquence, looked up the necessary information, rose, and said, With Simeon Kartinkin I should deal according to statute 1452, paragraph 93. Euphemia Bochkova according to statute, et cetera. Katarina Maslova according to statute, et cetera. All three punishments were the heaviest that could be inflicted. The court will adjourn to consider the sentence, said the president, rising. Everybody rose after him, and with the pleasant feeling of a task well done began to leave the room or move about in it. But you know, sirs, we've made a shameful hash of it, said Pichar Gerysimovich, approaching Nekledov, to whom the foreman was relating something. Why, we've got her to Siberia. What are you saying, exclaimed Nekledov? This time he did not notice the teacher's familiarity. Why, we did not put in our answer guilty, but without intent of causing death. The secretary just told me the public prosecutor is for condemning her to fifteen years' penal servitude. Well, but it was decided so, said the foreman. Peter Gerysimovich began to dispute this, saying that since she did not take the money it followed naturally that she could not have had any intention of committing murder. But I read the answer before going out, said the foreman, defending himself, and nobody objected. I had just then gone out of the room, said Peter Gerysimovich, turning to Nekledov, and your thoughts must have been wall-gathering to let the thing pass. I never imagined this, Nekledov replied. Oh, you didn't? Oh, well, we can get it put right, said Nekledov. Oh, dear no, it's finished. Nekledov looked at the prisoners. They, whose fate was being decided, still sat motionless behind the grating in front of the soldiers. Maslevo was smiling. Another feeling stirred in Nekledov's soul, up to now, expecting her acquittal and thinking she would remain in the town, he was uncertain how to act towards her. Any kind of relations with her would be so very difficult. But Siberia, and Penal Servitude, at once cut off every possibility of any kind of relations with her. The wounded bird would stop struggling in the game-bag, and no longer remind him of its existence. End of Book 1, Chapter 23, Book 1, Chapter 24, of Resurrection. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy, translated by Louise Maud, read by David Barnes. Book 1, Chapter 24, The Trial, The Sentence. Peter Gerasimovich's assumption was correct. The President came back from the debating room with a paper, and read as follows. April 28, 1880, by his Imperial Majesty's UK's number, The Criminal Court on the Strength of the Decision of the Jury, in accordance with Section 3 of Statute 771, Section 3 of Statute 770, and 777, Decrees that the peasant, Simeon Kartinkin, 33 years of age, And the Meshanka, Katarina Maslova, 27 years of age, Are to be deprived of all property rights, and to be sent to Penal Servitude in Siberia, Kartinkin for eight Maslova for four years. The consequence is stated in Statute 25 of the Code. The Meshanka Bochkova, 43 years of age, to be deprived of all special personal and acquired rights, and to be imprisoned for three years, with consequences in accord with Statute 48 of the Code. The costs of the case to be borne equally by the prisoners, and in the case of their being without sufficient property, the costs to be transferred to the Treasury. Because of material evidence to be sold, the ring to be returned, the files destroyed. Bochkova was condemned to prison, Simeon Kartinkin and Katarina Maslova, to the loss of all special rights and privileges, and to Penal Servitude in Siberia, he for eight and she for four years. Kartinkin stood holding his arms close to his sides and moving his lips. Maslova seemed perfectly calm. Maslova, when she heard the sentence, blushed scarlet, I'm not guilty, not guilty, she suddenly cried, so that it resounded through the room. It is a sin, I'm not guilty, I never wished, I never thought. It's the truth, I'm saying, the truth. And sinking on the bench, she burst into tears and sobbed aloud. When Kartinkin and Bochkova went out she still sat crying, so that a gendarm had to touch the sleeve of her cloak. No, it is impossible to leave it as it is, said Knäcklodov to himself, utterly forgetting his bad thoughts. He did not know why he wished to look at her once more, but hurried out into the corridor. There was quite a crowd at the door. The advocates and jury were going out, pleased to have finished the business, and he was obliged to wait a few seconds, and when he at last got out into the corridor she was far in front. He hurried along the corridor after her, regardless of the attention he was arousing. Caught her up, passed her, and stopped. She had ceased crying, and only sobbed, wiping her red, discoloured face with the end of the kerchief on her head. She passed without noticing him. Then he hurried back to see the president. The latter had already left the court, and Knäcklodov followed him into the lobby, and he went up to him, just as he had put on his light grey overcoat, and was taking the silver-mounted walking-stick, which an attendant was handing him. Sir, may I have a few words with you concerning some business I have just decided upon, said Knäcklodov? I am one of the jury. Oh, certainly, Prince Knäcklodov, I shall be delighted. I think we have met before, said the president, pressing Knäcklodov's hand, and recalling with pleasure the evening when he first met Knäcklodov, and when he had danced so gaily better than all the young people. What can I do for you? There is a mistake in the answer concerning Maslova. She's not guilty of the poisoning, and yet she's condemned to penal servitude, said Knäcklodov, with the preoccupied and gloomy air. The court passed the sentence in accordance with the answers you yourselves gave, said the president, moving towards the front door, though they did not seem to be quite in accord. And he remembered that he'd been going to explain to the jury that a verdict of guilty meant guilty of intentional murder, unless the words without intent to take life were added, but had, in his hurry to get the business over, omitted to do so. Yes, but could not the mistake be rectified? A reason for an appeal can always be found. You'll have to speak to an advocate, said the president, putting on his hat a little to one side, and continuing to move towards the door. But this is terrible. Well, you see, there were two possibilities before Maslova, said the president, evidently wishing to be as polite and pleasant to Knäcklodov as he could. Then having arranged his whiskers over his coat-collar, he put his hand lightly under Knäcklodov's elbow, and still directing his steps towards the door. He said, You're going to? Yes, said Knäcklodov, quickly getting his coat and following him. They went out into the bright, merry sunlight, and had to raise their voices because of the rattling of the wheels on the pavement. The situation is a curious one, you see, said the president. What lay before this Maslova was one of two things, either to be almost acquitted and only imprisoned for a short time, or taking the preliminary confinement into consideration perhaps not at all, or Siberia? There is nothing between. Had you but added the words, without intent to cause death, she would have been acquitted. Yes, it was inexcusable of me to omit that, said Knäcklodov. That's where the whole matter lies, said the president with a smile, and looked at his watch. He had only three-quarters of an hour left before the time appointed by his Clara would elapse. Now, if you like to speak to the advocates, you'll have to find a reason for an appeal. That can be easily done. Then, turning to an his Vostchik, he called out to the Dvoranskaya thirty-copex, I never give more. All right, Your Honor, here you are. Good afternoon. If I can be of any use, my address is Haus Dvornikov on the Dvoranskaya. It's easy to remember, and he bowed in a friendly manner as he got into the trap and drove off. His conversation with the president and the fresh air quieted Knäcklodov a little. He now thought that the feelings experienced by him had been exaggerated by the unusual surroundings in which he had spent the whole of the morning, and by that wonderful and startling coincidence. Still, it was absolutely necessary to take some steps to lighten Maslava's fate and to take them quickly. Yes, at once, it will be best to find out here in the court where the advocate Fannerin or Mikyshin lives. These were two well-known advocates who Knäcklodov called to mind. He returned to the court, took off his overcoat, and went upstairs. In the first corridor he met Fannerin himself. He stopped him, and told him that he was just going to look him up on a matter of business. Fannerin knew Knäcklodov by sight and name, and said he would be very glad to be of service to him. Though I am rather tired, still if your business will not take very long, perhaps you might tell me what it is now, will you step in here? And he led Knäcklodov into a room, probably some judge's cabinet. They sat down by the table. Well, and what is your business? First of all, I must ask you to keep the business private. I do not want it known that I take an interest in the affair. Oh, that, of course. Well, I was on the jury to-day, and we have condemned a woman to Siberia, an innocent woman. This bothers me very much. Knäcklodov, to his own surprise, blushed and became confused. Fannerin glanced at him rapidly, and looked down again, listening. Well, we have condemned a woman, and I should like to appeal to a higher court. To the Senate, you mean, said Fannerin, correcting him. Yes, and I should like to ask you to take the case in hand. Knäcklodov wanted to get the most difficult part over, and added, I shall take the costs of the case on myself, whatever they may be. Oh, we shall settle all that, said the advocate, smiling with condescension at Knäcklodov's inexperience in these matters. What is the case? Knäcklodov stated what had happened. All right, I shall look the case through tomorrow or the day after. No, better on Thursday. If you will come to me at six o'clock, I will give you an answer. Well, and now let us go. I have to make a few inquiries here. Knäcklodov took leave of him, and went out. This talk with the advocate, and the fact that he had taken measures for Maslova's defence, quieted him still further. He went out into the street. The weather was beautiful, and he joyfully drew in a long breath of spring air. He was at once surrounded by his Vostchiks, offering their services, but he went on foot. A whole swarm of pictures and memories of Katusha, and his conduct to her, began swirling in his brain, and he felt depressed, and everything appeared gloomy. No, I shall consider all this later on. I must now get rid of all these disagreeable impressions, he thought to himself. He remembered the Korshagin's dinner, and looked at his watch. It was not yet too late to get there in time. He heard the ring of a passing tram-car, ran to catch it, and jumped on. He jumped off again when they got to the marketplace, took a goody's Vostchik, and, ten minutes later, was at the entrance of the Korshagin's big house.