 Book 1, Chapter 51 of Resurrection. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Maud. Book 1, Chapter 51. THE CELLS Nekliudov drove that day straight from Moslenikov's to the prison and went to the inspector's lodging, which he now knew. He was again struck by the sounds of the same piano of inferior quality, but this time it was not a rhapsody that was being played, but exercises by Clemente, again with the same vigour, distinctness, and quickness. The servant with the bandaged eye said the inspector was in, and showed Nekliudov to a small drawing-room in which there stood a sofa, and in front of it a table with a large lamp which stood on a piece of crochet work, and the paper shade of which was burnt on one side. The chief inspector entered with his usual sad and weary look. "'Take a seat, please.' "'What is it you want?' he said, buttoning up the middle button of his uniform. "'I have just been to the vice-governors and got this order from him. I should like to see the prisoner, Mazlava.' "'Marcava!' asked the inspector, unable to hear distinctly because of the music. "'Mazlava!' "'Well, yes.' The inspector got up and went to the door, whence proceeded Clemente's roulades. "'Mary, can't you stop just a minute?' he said, in a voice that showed that this music was the bane of his life. One can't hear a word.' The piano was silent, but one could hear the sound of reluctant steps, and someone looked in at the door. The inspector seemed to feel eased by the inter-full of silence, lit a thick cigarette of weak tobacco, and offered one to Nekliudov. Nekliudov refused. "'What I want is to see Mazlava.' "'Oh, yes, that can be managed.' "'Now, then, what do you want?' he said, addressing a little girl of five or six, who came into the room and walked up to her father with her head turned towards Nekliudov and her eyes fixed on him. "'There now, you'll fall down,' said the inspector, smiling, as the little girl ran up to him, and not looking where she was going, caught her foot in a little rug. "'Well, then, if I may, I shall go.' "'It's not very convenient to see Mazlava today,' said the inspector. "'How's that?' "'Well, you know, it's all your own fault,' said the inspector, with a slight smile. "'Prince, give her no money into her hands. If you like, give it to me. I will keep it for her. You see, you gave her some money yesterday. She got some spirits. It's an evil we cannot manage to root out. And today she is quite tipsy, even violent. Can this be true?' "'Oh, yes, it is. I have even been obliged to have recourse to severe measures, and to put her into a separate cell. She is a quiet woman in an ordinary way. But please do not give her any money. These people are so... What had happened the day before came vividly back to Nekliudov's mind, and again he was seized with fear. And Dukovar, a political prisoner, might I see her?' "'Yes, if you like,' said the inspector. He embraced the little girl, who was still looking at Nekliudov, got up, and tenderly motioning her aside, went into the ante-room. Hardly had he got into the overcoat which the maid helped him to put on, and before he had reached the door, the distinct sounds of Clemente's roulades again began. She entered the conservatoire, but there is such disorder there. She has a great gift,' said the inspector, as they went down the stairs. She means to play at concerts. The inspector and Nekliudov arrived at the prison. The gates were instantly opened as they appeared. The jailers, with their fingers lifted to their caps, followed the inspector with their eyes. Four men, with their heads half-shaved, who were carrying tubs filled with something, cringed when they saw the inspector. One of them frowned angrily, his black eyes glaring. "'Of course, a talent like that must be developed. It would not do to bury it. But in a small lodging, you know, it is rather hard,' the inspector went on with the conversation, taking no notice of the prisoners. "'Who—who is it you want—who is it you want to see?' Dukovar. Dukovar. "'Oh, she's in the tower. You'll have to wait a little,' he said. "'Might I not, meanwhile, see the prisoners' Menzov, mother and son, who are accused of incendiaryism?' "'Oh, yes, cell twenty-one. Yes, they can be sent for. But might I not see Menzov in his cell?' "'Oh, you'll find the waiting-room more pleasant.' "'No, I should prefer the cell. It is more interesting.' "'Well, you have found something to be interested in.' "'Here, the assistant, a smartly-dressed officer, entered the side-door. "'Here, see the prince into Menzov's cell, number twenty-one,' said the inspector, to his assistant, and then take him to the office. "'Now go and call—' "'What's her name?' "'Avirah Dukovar.' The inspector's assistant was young, with dyed mustaches and diffusing the smell of odour cologne. "'This way, please,' he said, who necklured off with a pleasant smile. "'Our establishment interests you?' "'Yes, it does interest me, and besides, I look upon it as a duty to help a man who I heard was confined here, though innocent.' The assistant shrugged his shoulders. "'Yes, that may happen,' he said quietly, politely stepping aside to let the visitor enter the stinking corridor first. But it also happens that they lie. "'Here we are.' The doors of the cells were opened and some of the prisoners were in the corridor. The assistant nodded slightly to the jailers and cast aside glance at the prisoners, who, keeping close to the wall, get back to their cells, or stood like soldiers, with their arms at their sides, following the official with their eyes. After passing through one corridor, the assistant showed necklured off into another to the left, separated from the first by an iron door. This corridor was darker and smelled even worse than the first. The corridor had doors on both sides, with little holes in them about an inch in diameter. There was only an old jailer with an unpleasant face in this corridor. "'Where is Mentov?' asked the inspector's assistant. "'The eighth cell to the left.' "'And these? Are they occupied?' said necklured off. "'Yes, all but one.' And of Book I, Chapter 51.' Book I, Chapter 52, of Resurrection. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Louise Maud. Book I, Chapter 52. Number 21. May I look in?' asked necklured off. Oh! certainly answered the assistant, smiling, and turned to the jailer with some question. Necklured off looked into one of the little holes, and saw a tall young man pacing up and down the cell. When the man heard someone at the door, he looked up with a frown, but continued walking up and down. Necklured off looked into another hole. His eye met another large eye, looking out of the hole at him, and he quickly stepped aside. In the third cell he saw a very small man asleep on the bed, covered, head and all, with his prison cloak. In the fourth, a broad-faced man was sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head low down. At the sound of footsteps this man raised his head and looked up. His face, especially his large eyes, bore the expression of hopeless dejection. One could see that he did not even interest him to know who was looking into his cell. Whoever it might be, he evidently hoped for nothing good from him. Necklured off was seized with dread, and went to Menchoff's cell No. 21, without stopping to look through any more holes. The jailer unlocked the door and opened it. A young man with long neck, well-developed muscles, a small head, and kind, round eyes stood by the bed, hastily putting on his cloak, and looking at the newcomers with a frightened face. Necklured off was especially struck by the kind, round eyes that were throwing frightened and inquiring glances in terms at him, at the jailer, and at the assistant, and back again. Here's a gentleman who wants to inquire into your affair. Thank you kindly. Yes, I was told about you, Necklured off said, going through the cell up to the dirty-grated window, and I should like to hear all about it from yourself. Menchoff also came up to the window, and at once started telling his story, at first looking sharply at the inspector's assistant, but growing gradually bolder. When the assistant left the cell and went into the corridor to give some order, the man grew quite bold. The story was told with the accent and in the manner common to a most ordinary good peasant lad. To hear it told by a prisoner dressed in this degrading clothing, and inside a prison seemed very strange to Necklured off. Necklured off listened, and at the same time kept looking around him. At the low bedstead with its straw mattress, the window and the dirty, damp wall, and the piteous face and form of this unfortunate, disfigured peasant in his prison cloak and shoes, and he felt sadder and sadder, and would have liked not to believe what this good-natured fellow was saying. It seemed too dreadful to think that men could do such a thing as to take a man, dress him in convict clothes, and put him in this horrible place without any reason, only because he himself had been injured. And yet the thought that this seemingly true story, told with such a good-natured expression on his face, might be an invention and a lie was still more dreadful. This was the story. The village public housekeeper had enticed the young fellow's wife. He tried to get justice by all sorts of means, but everywhere the public housekeeper managed to bribe the officials and was acquitted. Once he took his wife back by force, but she ran away next day. Then he came to demand her back, but though he saw her when he came in, the public housekeeper told him she was not there and ordered him to go away. He would not go, so the public housekeeper and his servant beat him so that they drew blood. The next day a fire broke out in the public house, and the young man and his mother were accused of having set the house on fire. He had not set it on fire, but was visiting a friend at the time, and it is true that you did not set it on fire? It never entered my head to do it, sir. It must be my enemy that did it himself. They say he had only just insured it. Then they said it was mother and I that did it, and that we had threatened him. It was true I once did go for him. My heart couldn't stand it any longer. Can this be true? God is my witness, it is true. Oh, sir, be so good! And Necladoff had some difficulty to prevent him from bowing down to the ground. You see I am perishing without any reason. His face quivered, and he turned up the sleeve of his cloak and began to cry, wiping the tears with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. Are you ready, asked the assistant? Yes. Well, cheer up. We will consult a good lawyer, and we'll do what we can, said Necladoff, and went out. Menchoff stood close to the door, so that the jailer knocked him in shutting it, and while the jailer was locking it, he remained looking out through the little hole. End of Book 1, Chapter 52 Book 1, Chapter 53 of Resurrection Book 1, Chapter 53 Victims of Government Passing back along the broad corridor, it was dinner time, and the cell doors were open, among the men dressed in their light yellow cloaks, short wide trousers, and prison shoes, who were looking eagerly at him, Necladoff felt a strange mixture of sympathy for them, and horror and perplexity at the conduct of those who put and kept them here, and besides, he felt he knew not why, ashamed of himself, calmly examining it all. In one of the corridors, some one ran, clattering with his shoes, in at the door of a cell. Several men came out from here, and stood in Necladoff's way, bowing to him. Please, your honour, we don't know what to call you. Get our affair settled somehow? I'm not an official, I know nothing about it. Well, anyway, you come from the outside, tell somebody, one of the authorities, if need be, said an indignant voice. Show some pity on us as a human being. Here we are suffering the second month for nothing. What do you mean? Why? said Necladoff. Why? We ourselves don't know why, but are sitting here the second month. Yes, it is quite true, and it is owing to an accident, said the inspector. These people were taken up because they had no passports, and not to have been sent back to their native government. But the prison there is burnt, and the local authorities have written asking us not to send them on, so we have sent all the other passportless people to their different governments but are keeping these. What? For no other reason than that? Necladoff exclaimed, stopping at the door. A crowd of about forty men, all dressed in prison clothes, surrounded him, and the assistant and several began talking at once. The assistant stopped them. Let some one of you speak! A tall, good-looking peasant, a stone mason of about fifty, stepped out from the rest. He told Necladoff that all of them had been ordered back to their homes, and were now being kept in prison because they had no passports, yet they had passports which were only a fortnight overdue. The same thing had happened every year. They had many times omitted to renew their passports till they were overdue, and nobody ever said anything, but this year they had been taken up and were being kept in prison the second month as if they were criminals. We are all masons and belong to the same artel. We are told that the prison in our government is burnt, but this is not our fault. Do help us. Necladoff listened, but hardly understood what the good-looking old man was saying, because his attention was riveted to a large, dark gray, many-legged louse that was creeping along the good-looking man's cheek. How's that? Is it possible for such a reason? Necladoff said, turning to the assistant. Yes, they should have been sent off and taken back to their homes, calmly said the assistant, but they seemed to have forgotten or something. Before the assistant had finished, a small, nervous man, also in prison-dress, came out of the crowd and strangely, contorting his mouth, began to say that they were being ill-used for nothing. Worse than dogs, he began. Oh, now, not too much of this. Hold your tongue, or you know. What do I know? screamed the little man desperately. What is our crime? Silence! shouted the assistant, and the little man was silent. But what is the meaning of all this? Necladoff thought to himself as he came out of the cell, while a hundred eyes were fixed upon him through the openings of the cell doors and from the prisoners that met him, making him feel as if he were running the gauntlet. Is it really possible that perfectly innocent people are kept here? Necladoff uttered when they left the corridor. What would you have us do? They lie so. To hear them talk, they are all of them innocent, said the inspector's assistant, but it does happen that some are really imprisoned for nothing. Well, these have done nothing? Yes, we must admit it. Still, the people are fearfully spoiled. There are such types, desperate fellows with whom one has to look sharp. Today, two of that sort had to be punished. Punished? How? Flawed with the birch-rod, by order. But corporal punishment is abolished. Not for such eyes are deprived of their rights. They are still liable to it. Necladoff thought of what he had seen the day before while waiting in the hall, and now understood that the punishment was then being inflicted, and the mixed feeling of curiosity, depression, perplexity, and moral issues that grew into physical sickness took hold of him more strongly than ever before. Without listening to the inspector's assistant or looking round, he hurriedly left the corridor and went to the office. The inspector was in the office, occupied with other business, and had forgotten to send for Dukovar. He only remembered his promise to have her called when Necladoff entered the office. Sit down, please. Now send for her at once," said the inspector. End of Book 1, Chapter 53 Book 1, Chapter 54, of Resurrection This is a LibberWalks recording. All LibberWalks recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibberWalks.org, recorded by Ajay Kumar. Prisoners and Friends The office consisted of two rooms, the first room with a large dilapidated stove and two dirty windows, had a black measure for measuring the prisoners in one corner, and in another corner hung a large image of Christ, as is usual in places where the tortured people in this room stood several jailers. In the next room sat about 20 persons, men and women in groups and in pairs, talking in low voices. There was a writing table by the window. The inspector sat down by the table and offered Necladoff a chair beside him. Necladoff sat down and looked at the people in the room. The first who drew his attention was a young man with a pleased face, dressed in a short jacket, standing in front of a middle-aged woman with dark eyebrows, and he was eagerly telling her something and gesticulating with his hands. Beside them sat an old man with blue spectacles holding the hand of a young woman in prisoners' clothes, who was telling him something. A schoolboy with a fixed frightened look on his face was gazing at the old man. In one corner sat a pair of flowers. She was quite young and pretty, and had short, fair hair, looked energetic, and was elegantly dressed. He had fine features, wavy hair, and wore a rubber jacket. They sat in their corner and seemed stupefied with love. Nearest to the table sat a gray-haired woman dressed in black, evidently the mother of a young, consumptive-looking fellow in the same kind of jacket. Her head lay on his shoulder. She was trying to say something, but the tears prevented her from speaking. She began several times, but had to stop. The young man held a paper in his hand and, apparently not knowing what to do, kept folding and pressing it with an angry look on his face. Beside them was a short-haired, stout, rosy girl with very prominent eyes, dressed in a gray dress and a cape. She sat beside the weeping mother, tenderly stroking her. Everything about this girl was beautiful. Her large white hands, her short wavy hair, her firm nose and lips, but the chief charm of her face lay in her kind, truthful, hazel eyes. The beautiful eyes turned away from the mother for a moment when Nekledov came in and met his look, but she turned back at once and said something to the mother. Not far from the lovers, a dark, dishevelled man with a gloomy face sat angrily talking to a beardless visitor, who looked as if he belonged to the Skopci sect. At the very door stood a young man in a rubber jacket, who seemed more concerned about the imprision he produced on the onlooker than about what he was saying. Nekledov, sitting by the inspector's side, looked round with strained curiosity. A little boy with closely cropped hair came up to him and addressed him in a tiny little voice. And whom are you waiting for? Nekledov was surprised at the question. But looking at the boy and seeing the serious little face with its bright, attentive eyes fixed on him, answered him seriously that he was waiting for a woman of his acquaintance. Is she then your sister? The boy asked. No, not my sister. Nekledov answered in surprise. And with whom are you here? He inquired of the boy. I? With mama. She is a political one. He replied. Mary Pavlovna, take Koliya, said the inspector, evidently considering Nekledov's conversation with the boy illegal. Mary Pavlovna, the beautiful girl who had attracted Nekledov's attention, rose tall and erect and with firm almost manly steps approached Nekledov and the boy. What is he asking you? Who you are? She inquired with a slight smile and looking straight into his face with a truthful look in her kind prominent eyes and as simply as if there could be no doubt whatever that she was and must be on sisterly terms with everybody. He likes to know everything. She said, looking at the boy with so sweet and kind a smile that both the boy and Nekledov were obligated to smile back. He was asking me whom I have come to see. Mary Pavlovna, it is against the rules to speak to strangers. You know it is, said the inspector. All right, all right. She said and went back to the consumptive lad's mother holding Koliya's little hand in her large white one while he continued gazing up into her face. Who sees this little boy? Nekledov asked of the inspector. His mother is a political prisoner and he was born in prison, said the inspector. In a pleased tone, as if glad to point out how exceptional his establishment was. Is it possible? Yes, and now he is going to Siberia with her and that young girl, I can't answer your question, said the inspector, shrugging his shoulders, besides her, is Dukovar. MEDWAY MASSATURSITS RESURRECTION by Leo Tolstoy TRANSLATED BY LOUIS MORD BOOK 1 CHAPTER 55 Vira Dukovar explains. Through a door, at the back of the room, entered, with a wriggling gate, the thin yellow Vira Dukovar, with her large kind eyes. Thanks for having come, she said, pressing Nekledov's hands. Do you remember me? Let her sit down. I did not expect to see you like this. Oh, I am very happy. It is so delightful, so delightful, that I desire nothing better, said Vira Dukovar, with the usual expression of fright in the large kind round eyes fixed on Nekledov, and twisting the terribly thin, sinewy neck, surrounded by the shabby, crumpled, dirty collar of her body. Nekledov asked her how she came to be in prison. In answer, she began relating all about her affairs with great animation. Her speech was intermingled with the great many long words, such as propaganda, disorganization, social groups, sections and subsections, about which she seemed to think everybody knew, but which Nekledov had never heard of. She told him all the secrets of Leonardo Valtzvo, literally people's freedom, a revolutionary movement, evidently convinced that he was pleased to hear them. Nekledov looked at her miserable little neck, her thin, unkempt hair, and wondered why she had been doing all these strange things, and why she was now telling all this to him. He pitted her, but not as he had pitted Menshoff, the peasant, kept for no fault of his own in the stinking prison. She was pitiable because of the confusion that filled her mind. It was clear that she considered herself a heroine, and was ready to give her life for a cause, though she could hardly have explained what that cause was, and in what its success would lie. The business that Vera de Ková wanted to see Nekledov about was the following. A friend of hers, who had not even belonged to their subgroup, as she expressed it, had been arrested with her about five months before, and imprisoned in the Petropolovsky Fortress, became some prohibited books and papers, which she had been asked to keep, had been found in her possession. Vera de Ková felt in some measure to blame for her friend's arrest, and implored Nekledov, who had connections among influential people, to door all he could in order to set this friend free. Besides this, de Ková asked him to try to get permission for another friend of hers, Gorkiewicz, who was also imprisoned in the Petropolovsky Fortress, to see his parents, and to procure some scientific books, which he required for his studies, Nekledov to promise to do what he could when he went to Petersburg. As to her own story, this is what she said, having finished a course of midwifery, she became connected with a group of adherents, the Nardo-Valspo, and made up her mind to agitate in the revolutionary movement. At first all went on smoothly. She wrote proclamations and occupied herself with propaganda work in the factories. Then an important member having been arrested. Their papers were seized, and all concerned were arrested. I was also arrested, and shall be exiled. But what does it matter? I feel perfectly happy. She concluded her story with a pittiest smile. Nekledov made some inquiries concerning the girl with the prominent eyes. Vera de Ková told him that this girl was the daughter of a general, and had been long attached to the revolutionary party, and was arrested because she had pleaded guilty by having shot a gendarm. She arrived in a house with some conspirators, where they had a secret printing press. One night, when the police came to search this house, the occupiers resolved to defend themselves, put out the light, and began destroying the things that might incriminate them. The police forced their way in, and one of the conspirators fired, and mortally wounded the gendarm. When an inquiry was instituted, this girl said that it was she who had fired, although she had never had a revolver in her hands, and would not have her to fly. And she kept to it, and was now condemned to peevinal servitude in Siberia. An altruistic, fine character said Vera de Ková approvingly. The third business that Vera de Ková wanted to talk about concerned Maslova. She knew, as everybody does know in prison, the story of Maslova's life and his connection with her, and advised him to take steps to get her removed into the political prisoner's ward, or into the hospital to help denerce the sick, of which there were very many at that time, so that extra nurses were needed. Nekladov thanked her for the advice, and said he would try to act upon it. End of Book 1, Chapter 55 Book 1, Chapter 56 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. Recording by David Cole, Medway, Massachusetts. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Louise Maud. Book 1, Chapter 56. Nekladov and the Prisoners Their conversation was interrupted by the inspector, who said that the time was up, and the prisoners and their friends must part. Nekladov took leave of Viridakova, and went to the door, where he stopped to watch what was going on. The inspector's order called forth only heightened animation among the prisoners in the room, but no one seemed to think of going. Some rose and continued to talk standing, some went on talking without rising. A few began crying and taking leave of each other. The mother and her consumptive son seemed especially pathetic. The young fellow kept twisting his bit of paper, and his face seemed angry, so great were his efforts, not to be infected by his mother's emotion. The mother, hearing that it was time to part, put her head on his shoulder and sobbed and sniffed aloud. The girl with the prominent eyes, Nekladov could not help watching her, was standing opposite the sobbing mother, and saying something to her in a soothing tone. The old man with the blue spectacles stood holding his daughter's hand, and nodding in answer to what she said. The young lovers rose, and holding each other's hands, looked silently into one another's eyes. They are the only two who are merry, said a young man, with a short coat, who stood by Nekladov's side, also looking at those who were about to part, and pointed to the lovers, feeling Nekladov's and the young man's eyes fixed on them, the lovers, the young man with the rubber coat, and the pretty girl, stretched out their arms, and with their hands clasped in each other's, danced round and round again. Tonight they are going to be married here in prison, and she will follow him to Siberia, said the young man. What is he? A convict condemned to penal servitude. Let those two at least have a little joy, or else it is too painful, the young man added, listening to the sobs of the consumptive lad's mother. Now, my good people, please, please, do not oblige me to have recourse to stern measures, the inspector said, repeating the same word several times over. Do please, he went on in a weak, hesitating manner. It is high time. What do you mean by it? This sort of thing is quite impossible. I am now asking you for the last time, he repeated wearily, now putting out his cigarette and then lighting another. It was evident that, artful, old and common, as were the devices enabling men to do evil to others, without feeling responsible for it, the inspector could not but feel conscious that he was one of those who were guilty of causing the sorrow which manifested itself in this room. And it was apparent that this troubled him sorely. At length the prisoners and their visitors began to go. The first out of the inner, the latter out of the outer door, the man with the rubber jacket passed out among them, and the consumptive youth and the dishevelled man, Mary Palovner, went out with a boy born in prison. The visitors went out, too. The old man with the blue spectacles, stepping heavily, went out, followed by Nekledov. Yes, a strange state of things this, said the talkative young man, as if continuing an interrupted conversation, as he descended the stairs side by side with Nekledov. Yet we have reason to be grateful to the inspector, who does not keep strictly to the rules, kind-hearted fellow. If they can get a talk, it does relieve their hearts a bit, after all. While talking to the young man, who introduced himself as Medinzef, Nekledov reached the hall. There the inspector came up to them with weary step. If you wish to see Maslova, he said, apparently desiring to be polite to Nekledov, please come to-morrow. Very well answered Nekledov, and hurried away, experiencing more than ever that sensation of moral nausea, which he always felt on entering the prison. The sufferings of the evidently innocent Menshoff seemed terrible, and not so much his physical suffering, as the perplexity, the distrust in the good and in God which he must feel, seeing the cruelty of the people who tormented him without any reason. Terrible were the disgrace and sufferings cast on these hundreds of guiltless people, simply because something was not written on paper as it should have been. Terrible were the brutalized jailers, whose occupation was to torment their brothers, and who were certain that they were fulfilling an important and useful duty, but most terrible of all seemed this sickly, elderly, kind-hearted inspector, who was obliged to part mother and son, father and daughter, who were just the same sort of people as he and his own children. What is it all for, Nekledov asked himself, and could not find an answer. End of Book 1, Chapter 56, Book 1, Chapter 57 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. Recording by David Cole, Medway, Massachusetts. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Louise Mord. Book 1, Chapter 57, The Vice-Governors At Home. The next day Nekledov went to see the advocate, and spoke to him about the Manchev's case, begging him to undertake their defense. The advocate promised to look into the case, and if it turned out to be, as Nekledov said, he would in all probability undertake the defense free of charge. Then Nekledov told him of the 130 men who were kept in prison owing to a mistake. On whom did it depend, whose fault was it? The advocate was silent for a moment, evidently anxious to give a correct reply. Whose fault is it? No one's, he said decidedly. Ask the procurer. He'll say it is the governor's. Ask the governor. He'll say it is the procurer's fault. No one is at fault. I am just going to see the Vice-Governor. I shall tell him. Oh, that's quite useless, said the advocate, with a smile. He is such a— He is not a relation or friend of yours. Such a blockhead, if I may say so. And yet a crafty animal at the same time. Nekledov remembered what Maslennikov had said about the advocate and did not answer, but took leave and went on to Maslennikov's. He had to ask Maslennikov two things. About Maslova's removal to the prison hospital, and about the 130 passportless men innocently imprisoned. Though it was very hard to petition a man whom he did not respect, and by whose orders men were flogged, yet it was the only means of gaining his end, and he had to go through with it. As he drove up to Maslennikov's house, Nekledov saw a number of different carriages by the front door, and remembered that it was Maslennikov's wife's at-home day, to which he had been invited. At the moment Nekledov drove up, there was a carriage in front of the door, and a footman in livery, with a carcade in his hat, was helping a lady down the doorstep. She was holding up her train and showing her thin ankles, black stockings, and slippered feet. Among the carriages was a closed landow, which he knew to be the Koshagins. The grey-haired, red-checked coachman took off his hat, and bowed in respectful, yet friendly manner to Nekledov, as to a gentleman he knew well. Nekledov had not had time to enquire for Maslennikov, when the latter appeared on the carpeted stairs, accompanying a very important guest, not only to the first landing, but to the bottom of the stairs. This very important visitor, a military man, was speaking in French about a lottery for the benefit of children's homes that were to be founded in the city, and expressed the opinion that this was a good occupation for the ladies. It amuses them, and the money comes. How do you do? How is it one never sees you, he greeted Nekledov. Allé prérente no devoir à madame, and the Koshagins are here, et Nadine Bocchevden. Tous les jolis femmes de la vie, said the important guest, slightly raising his uniformed shoulders, as he presented them to his own richly-livered servant to have his military overcoat put on. And he pressed Maslennikov's hand. Now come up, I am so glad, said Maslennikov, grasping Nekledov's hand. In spite of his corpulency, Maslennikov hurried quickly up the stairs. He was in particularly good spirits, owing to the attention paid him by the important personage. Every such attention gave him the same sense of delight, as is felt by an affectionate dog, when its master pats it, strokes it, or scratches its ears. It wags its tail, cringes, jumps about, presses its ears down, and madly rushes about in a circle. Maslennikov was ready to do the same. He did not notice the serious expression on Nekledov's face, paid no heed to his words, but pulled him irresistibly towards the drawing-room, so that it was impossible for Nekledov not to follow. Business afterwards, I shall do whatever you want, said Maslennikov, as he drew Nekledov through the dancing-hole. Announced Prince Nekledov, he said to a footman, without stopping on his way. The footman started off at a trot, and passed them. Fou navai k'a'a'a donai, but you must see my wife. As it is, I got it for letting you go, without seeing her last time. By the time they reached the drawing-room, the footman had already announced Nekledov, and from between the bonnets and heads that surrounded it, the smiling face of Ignatievna, the vice-governor's wife, beamed on Nekledov. At the other end of the drawing-room, several ladies were seated round the tea-table, and some military men and some civilians stood near them. The clatter of male and female voices went on unceasingly. Amfam, you seem to have quite forgotten us. How have we offended? Were these words intended to convey an idea of intimacy, which had never existed between herself and Nekledov? Anna Ignatievna greeted the newcomer. You are acquainted? Madame Tilievsky wants your shirt off. Sit down a bit nearer. Missy, then donk a notra taba, an vu apote votra the and you. She said, having evidently forgotten his name, to an officer who was talking to Missy. Do come here, a cup of tea-prints. I shall never, never agree with you. It's quite simple. She did not love. A woman's voice was heard saying, But she loved tarts. Oh, your eternal silly jokes put in laughingly. Another lady, respendant in silks, golds, and jewels. Say, excellent, these little biscuits, and so light, I think, I'll take another. Well, are you moving soon? Yes, this is our last day. That's why we have come. Yes, it must be lovely in the country. We are having a delightful spring. Missy, with a hat on, in a dark striped dress of some kind, that fitted her like a skin, was looking very handsome. She blushed when she saw a necklace off. And I thought you had left, she said to him. I am on the point of leaving. Business is keeping me in town, and it is on business I have come here. Once you come to see Mamar, she would like to see you, she said, and knowing that she was saying what was not true, and that he knew it also, she blushed still more. I fear I shall scarcely have time, neckled off, said gloomily, trying to appear as if he had not noticed her blush. Missy frowned angrily, shrugged her shoulders, and turned towards an elegant officer, who grasped the empty cup she was holding, and knocking his sword across the chairs, manfully carried the cup across to another table. You must contribute towards the home fund. I am not refusing, but only wish to keep my bounty fresh for the lottery. There I shall let it appear in all its glory. Well, look out for yourselves, her voice, followed by an evidently feigned laugh. Anna Ignatievna was in raptures. Her at home had turned out a brilliant success. Micky tells me you are busying yourself with prison work. I can understand you so well, she said to neckled off. Micky. She meant her fat husband, as Lenikov. May have other defects, but you know how kind-hearted he is. All these miserable prisoners are his children. He does not regard them in any other light. Ilya dun bant, and she stopped, finding no words to do justice to this bant of his, and quickly turned to a shriveled old woman, with bolus of lilac ribbon all over, who came in just then. Having said as much, it was as absolutely necessary, and with as little meaning as conventionality required, neckled off Rose and went up to Maslenikov. Can you give me a few minutes' hearing, please? Oh yes, what is it then? Let us come in here. They entered a small Japanese sitting-room, and sat down by the window. End of Book 1, Chapter 57. Book 1, Chapter 58 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. Read by Bob Newfound. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Louise Maud. Book 1, Chapter 58. The Vice Governor, suspicious. Well, je suis à vous. Will you smoke? But wait a bit. We must be careful and not make a mess here, said Maslenikov, and brought an ashpan. Well, there are two matters I wish to ask you about. Dear me! An expression of gloom and dejection came over Maslenikov's countenance. And every trace of the excitement, like that of the dogs whom its master has scratched behind the ears, vanished completely. The sound of voices reached them from the drawing-room. A woman's voice was heard saying Jamais Junkovalet, and a man's voice from the other side relating something in which the names of Lakontes Voronzov and Viktor Aproxen kept occurring. A hum of voices, mixed with laughter, came from another side. Maslenikov tried to listen to what was going on in the drawing-room and to what Nekliudov was saying at the same time. I am again come about that same woman, said Nekliudov. Oh yes, I know, the one innocently condemned. I would like to ask that she should be appointed to serve in the prison hospital. I have been told that this could be arranged. Maslenikov compressed his lips and meditated. That will be scarcely possible, he said. However, I shall see what can be done, and shall wire you an answer tomorrow. I have been told that there were many sick and health was needed. All right, all right, I shall let you know in any case. Please do, said Nekliudov. The sound of a general and even a natural laugh came from the drawing-room. That's all that, Viktor. He is wonderfully sharp when he is in the right vein, said Maslenikov. The next thing I wanted to tell you, said Nekliudov, is that 130 persons are imprisoned only because their passports are over to you. They have been kept here for a month. And he related the circumstances of the case. How have you come to know of this, said Maslenikov, looking uneasy and dissatisfied. I went to see a prisoner, and these men came and surrounded me in the corridor and asked, what prisoner did you go to see? A peasant, who is kept in prison, though innocent. I have put his case into the hands of a lawyer, but that is not the point. Is it possible that people who have done no wrong are imprisoned only because their passports are over to you? That's the procurer's business, Maslenikov interrupted angrily. There! Now you see what it is you call a prompt and just form of trial. It is the business of the public prosecutor to visit the prison and find out if the prisoners are kept there lawfully. But that set plays cards. That's all they do. Am I to understand that you can do nothing? Neklirov said despondently, remembering that the advocate had foretold that the governor would put the blame on the procurer. Oh, yes, I can. I shall see about it at once. So much the worse for her. Set our souffre douleur! came the voice of a woman, evidently indifferent to what she was saying from the drawing-room. So much the better. I shall take it also. A man's voice was heard to say from the other side, followed by the playful laughter of a woman who was apparently trying to prevent the man from taking something away from her. No, no, not on any account, the woman's voice said. All right then, I shall do all this, Maslenikov repeated, and put out the cigarette he held in his white turquoise-ringed hand. And now let us join the ladies. Wait a moment, Neklirov said, stopping at the door of the drawing-room. I was told that some men had received corporal punishment in the prison yesterday. Is this true? Maslenikov blushed. Oh, that's what you're after? No, Moshe decidedly it won't do to let you in there. You want to get at everything? Come, come! Anna is calling us, he said, catching Neklirov by the arm, and again becoming as excited as after the attention paid him by the important person. Only now his excitement was not joyful, but anxious. Neklirov pulled his arm away, and without taking leave of anyone and without saying a word, he passed through the drawing-room with a dejected look, went down into the hall, past the footman, who sprang towards him and out the street door. What is the matter with him? What have you done to him? asked Anna, her husband. This is à la Française, remarked someone. À la Française, indeed, it is à la Zulu. Oh, but he's always been like that. Someone rose, someone came in, and the clatter went on its course. The company used this episode with Neklirov as a convenient topic of conversation for the rest of the at-home. On the day following his visit to Moslenikov, Neklirov received a letter from him, written in a fine, firm hand on thick, glazed paper with a coat of arms and sealed with sealing wax. Moslenikov said that he had written to the doctor concerning Moslov's removal to the hospital, and hoped Neklirov's wish would receive attention. The letter was signed, your affectionate elder comrade, and the signature ended with a large, firm and artistic flourish. Fool! Neklirov could not refrain from saying, especially because in the word comrade he felt Moslenikov's condescension towards him. That is, while Moslenikov was filling this position morally most dirty and shameful, he still thought himself a very important man and wished, if not exactly to flatter Neklirov, at least to show that he was not too proud to call him comrade. Book I Chapter 59 Neklirov's third interview with Moslovar in prison One of the most widespread superstitions is that every man has his own special definite qualities—that a man is kind, cruel, wise, stupid, energetic, apathetic, etc. Men are not like that. We may say of a man that he is more often kind than cruel, oftener wise than stupid, oftener energetic than apathetic, or the reverse, but it would be false to say of one man that he is kind and wise, of another that he is wicked and foolish, and yet we always classify mankind in this way, and this is untrue. Men are like rivers, the water is the same in each and alike in all, but every river is narrow here, is more of a rapid there, here slower, there broader, now clear, now cold, now dull, now warm. It is the same with men. Every man carries in himself the germs of every human quality, and sometimes one manifests itself, sometimes another, and the man often becomes unlike himself while still remaining the same man. In some people these changes are very rapid, and Nekliudov was such a man. These changes in him were due to physical and to spiritual causes. At this time he experienced such a change. That feeling of triumph and joy at the renewal of life which he had experienced after the trial and after the first interview with Katusha vanished completely, and after the last interview fear and revulsion took the place of that joy. He was determined not to leave her and not to change his decision of marrying her if she wished it, but it seemed very hard and made him suffer. On the day after his visit to Maslenikov, he again went to the prison to see her. The inspector allowed him to speak to her, only not in the advocate's room nor in the office, but in the women's visiting room. In spite of his kindness the inspector was more reserved with Nekliudov than hitherto. An order for greater caution had apparently been sent as a result of his conversation with Maslenikov. You may see her, the inspector said, but please remember what I said as regards money, and as to her removal to the hospital that his excellently wrote to me about, it can be done. The doctor would agree. Only she herself does not wish it. She says, much need have I to carry out the slops for the scurvy beggars. You don't know what these people are, Prince, he added. Nekliudov did not reply, but asked to have the interview. The inspector called a jailer, whom Nekliudov followed into the women's visiting room, where there was no one but Maslava waiting. She came from behind the grating, quiet and timid, close up to him, and said, without looking at him, Forgive me, Dimitri Ivanovich. I spoke hastily the day before yesterday. It's not for me to forgive you, Nekliudov began. But all the same, you must leave me, she interrupted, and in the terribly squinting eyes with which she looked at him, Nekliudov read the former strained, angry expression. Why should I leave you? So. But why so? She again looked up, as it seemed to him, with the same angry look. Well then, thus it is, she said. You must leave me. It is true what I am saying. I cannot. You must give it up altogether. Her lips trembled, and she was silent for a moment. It is true. I'd rather hang myself. Nekliudov felt in this refusal there was hatred and unforgiving resentment. But there was also something besides, something good. This confirmation of the refusal in cold blood at once quenched all the doubts in Nekliudov's bosom, and brought back the serious triumphant emotion he had felt in relation to Katusha. Katusha, what I have said I will again repeat, he uttered, very seriously. I ask you to marry me. If you do not wish it, and for as long as you do not wish it, I shall only continue to follow you, and shall go where you are taken. That is your business. I shall not say anything more, she answered, and her lips began to tremble again. He too was silent, feeling unable to speak. I shall now go to the country, and then to Petersburg, he said, when he was quieter again. I shall do my utmost to get your—our case, I mean, reconsidered, and by the help of God the sentence may be revoked. And if it is not revoked, never mind. I have deserved it. If not in this case, in other ways, she said. And he saw how difficult was for her to keep down her tears. Well, have you seen Menshoff, she suddenly asked, to hide her emotion? It's true, they are innocent, isn't it? Yes, I think so. Such a splendid old woman, she said. There was another pause. Well, and as to the hospital, she suddenly said, and looking at him with her squinting eyes, if you like, I will go, and I shall not drink any spirits, either. Nekliudov looked into her eyes. They were smiling. Yes, yes, she is quite a different being, Nekliudov thought. After all his former doubts, he now felt something he had never before experienced. The certainty that love is invincible. When Mazlava returned to her noisome cell after this interview, she took off her cloak and sat down in her place on the shelf-bedstead with her hands folded on her lap. In the cell were only the consumptive woman, the Vladimir woman with her baby, Menshoff's old mother, and the watchman's wife. The deacon's daughter had the day before been declared mentally diseased and removed to the hospital. The rest of the women were away, washing clothes. The old woman was asleep, the cell door stood open, and the watchman's children were in the corridor outside. The Vladimir woman with her baby in her arms and the watchman's wife with the stocking she was knitting with deft fingers came up to Mazlava. Well, have you had a chat? they asked. Mazlava sat silent on the high-bedstead, swinging her legs, which did not reach to the floor. What's the good of snivelling? said the watchman's wife. The chief thing is not to get down into the dumps, eh, Katusha? Now, then. And she went on, quickly moving her fingers. Mazlava did not answer. And our women have all gone to wash, said the Vladimir woman. I heard them say much has been given in arms today. Quite a lot has been brought. Finashka called out the watchman's wife. Where's that little imp gone to? She took a knitting needle, stuck it through both the ball and the stocking, and went out into the corridor. At this moment the sound of women's voices was heard from the corridor, and the inmates of the cell entered with their prison shoes, but no stockings on their feet. Each was carrying a roll, some even two. Theodosia came at once up to Mazlava. What's the matter? Is anything wrong? Theodosia asked, looking lovingly at Mazlava with her clear blue eyes. This is for our tea. And she put the rolls on a shelf. Why, surely he has not changed his mind about marrying? asked Koroblava. No, he has not. But I don't wish to, said Mazlava. And so I told him, more fool you, muttered Koroblava in her deep tones. If one's not to live together, what's the use of marrying? said Theodosia. There's your husband. He's going with you, said the watchman's wife. Well, of course, we're married, said Theodosia. But why should he go through the ceremony if he is not to live with her? Why, indeed, don't be a fool. You know if he marries her, she'll roll in wealth, said Koroblava. He says, wherever they take you, I'll follow, said Mazlava. If he does, it's well. If he does not, well, also. I am not going to ask him to. Now he is going to try and arrange the matter in Petersburg. He is related to all the ministers there. But all the same, I have no need of him, she continued. I, of course, not, suddenly agreed Koroblava, evidently thinking about something else as she sat examining her bag. Well, shall we have a drop? You have some, replied Mazlava. I want. End of Book One, Chapter 59. End of Book One.