 Book 2 Chapter 23 The Public Prosecution When Nekladov knew Selenin as a student, he was a good son, a true friend, and for his years an educated man of the world, with much tact, elegant, handsome, and at the same time truthful and honest. He learned well, without much exertion, and with no pedantry, receiving gold medals for his essays. He considered the service of mankind, not only in words but in acts, to be the aim of his young life. He saw no other way of being useful to humanity than by serving the state. Therefore, as soon as he had completed his studies, he systematically examined all the activities to which he might devote his life, and decided to enter the second department of the chancellery, where the laws are drawn up, and he did so. But in spite of the most scrupulous and exact discharge of the duties demanded of him, this service gave no satisfaction to his desire of being useful, nor could he awaken himself the consciousness that he was doing the right thing. This dissatisfaction was so much increased by the friction with his very small-minded and vain fellow officials, that he left the chancellery and entered the senate. It was better there, but the same dissatisfaction still pursued him. He felt it to be very different from what he had expected, and from what ought to be. And now that he was in the senate, his relatives obtained for him the post of gentleman of the bed-chamber, and he had to go in a carriage, dressed in an embroidered uniform, and a white linen apron, to thank all sorts of people for having placed him in the position of a lackey. After much he tried, he could find no reasonable explanation for the existence of this post, and felt, more than in the senate, that it was not the right thing. And yet he could not refuse it for fear of hurting those who felt sure they were giving him much pleasure by this appointment, and because it flattered the lowest part of his nature. It pleased him to see himself in a mirror in his gold embroidered uniform, and to accept the deference paid him by some people because of his position. Something of the same kind happened when he was married. A very brilliant match, from a worldly point of view, was arranged for him, and he married chiefly because, by refusing, he would have had to hurt the young lady who wished to be married to him, and those who arranged the marriage, and also because a marriage with a nice young girl of noble birth flattered his vanity, and gave him pleasure. But this marriage very soon proved to be even less the right thing, than the government's service and his position at court. After the birth of her first child, the wife decided to have no more, and began leading that luxurious worldly life in which he now had to participate, whether he liked or not. She was not particularly handsome, and was faithful to him, and she seemed, in spite of all the efforts it cost her, to derive nothing but weariness from the life she led, yet she perseveringly continued to live it, though it was poisoning her husband's life. And all his efforts to alter this life was shattered as against the stone wall by her conviction, which all her friends and relatives supported, that all was as it should be. The child, a little girl, with bare legs and long golden curls, was a being perfectly foreign to him, chiefly because she was trained quite otherwise than he wished her to be. There sprung up between the husband and wife the usual misunderstanding, without even the wish to understand each other, and then a silent warfare, hidden from outsiders and tempered by decorum. All this made his life at home a burden, and became even less the right thing than his service and his post. But it was above all his attitude towards religion which was not the right thing. Like every one of his set and his time, by the growth of his reason, he broke without the least effort the nets of the religious superstitions in which he was bought up, and did not himself exactly know when it was that he freed himself of them. Being earnest and upright, he did not, during his youth and intimacy with Nekhladov as a student, conceal his rejection of the state religion. But as years went on and he rose in the service, and especially at the time of the reaction towards conservatism in society, his spiritual freedom stood in his way. At home when his father died, he had to be present at the masses said for his soul, and his mother wished him to go to confession or to communion, and it was in a way expected by public opinion, but above all government service demanded that he should be present at all sorts of services, consecrations, thanksgivings, and alike. Hardly a day passed without some outward religious form having to be observed. When present at these services he had to pretend that he believed in something which he did not believe in, and being truthful he could not do this. The alternative was, having made up his mind that all these outward signs were deceitful, to alter his life in such a way that he would not have to be present at such ceremonials. But to do what seemed so simple would have cost a great deal. Besides encountering the perpetual hostility of all those who were near to him, he would have to give up the service and his position, and sacrifice his hopes of being useful to humanity by his service now and in the future. To make such a sacrifice one would have to be firmly convinced of being right. And he was firmly convinced he was right, as no educated man of our time can help being convinced who knows little history and how the religions and especially church Christianity originated. But under the stress of his daily life he, a truthful man, allowed a little falsehood to creep in. He said that in order to do justice to an unreasonable thing one had to study the unreasonable thing. It was a little falsehood, but it sunk him into the big falsehood in which he was now caught. Before putting to himself the question whether the orthodoxy in which he was born and bred, and which everyone expected him to accept, and without which he could not continue his useful occupation, contained the truth, he had already decided the answer. And to clear up the question he did not read Voltaire, Schopenhauer, Herbert Spencer or Comte, but the philosophical works of Hegel, and the religious works of Vinay and Komyakov, and naturally found in them what he wanted, i.e., something like peace of mind and a vindication of that religious teaching in which he was educated, which his reason had long ceased to accept, but without which his whole life was filled with unpleasantness, which could all be removed by accepting the teaching. And so he adopted all the usual sophistries which go to prove that a single human reason cannot know the truth, that the truth is only revealed to association of men, and can only be known by revelation, that revelation is kept by the church, etc. And so he managed to be present at prayers, masses for the dead, to confess, make signs of the cross in front of icons, with a quiet mind, without being conscious of the lie, and to continue in the service which gave him the feeling of being useful, and some comfort in his joyless family life. Although he believed this, he felt with his entire being that this religion of his, more than all else, was not the right thing, and that is why his eyes always looked sad. And seeing Nekladov, whom he had known before all these lies had rooted themselves within him, reminded him of what he then was. It was especially after he had hurried to hint, at his religious views, that he had most strongly felt all this not the right thing, and had become painfully sad. Nekladov felt it also, after the first joy of meeting his old friend had passed, and therefore, though they promised each other to meet, they did not take any steps towards an interview, and did not again see each other during the stay of Nekladovs in Petersburg. End of Book 2, Chapter 23 Book 2, 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. Recording by Philip Griffiths Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Mould Book 2, Chapter 24 Mariette Temps Nekladov When they left the senate, Nekladov and the Advocate walked on together, the Advocate having given the driver of his carriage orders to follow them. The Advocate told Nekladov the story of the chief of a government department about whom the senators had been talking, how the thing was found out, and how the man who, according to law, should have been sent to the mines, had been appointed governor of a town in Siberia. Then he related with particular pleasure how several high-placed persons stole a lot of money collected for the erection of the still unfinished monument which they had passed that morning. Also how the mistress of so-and-so got a lot of money at the stock exchange, and how so-and-so agreed with so-and-so to sell him his wife. The Advocate began another story about a swindle and all sorts of crimes committed by persons in high places, who instead of being imprisoned, sat on presidential chairs in all sorts of government institutions. These tales, of which the Advocate seemed to have an unending supply, gave him much pleasure, showing as they did with perfect clearness, that his means of getting money were quite just and innocent compared to the means which the highest officials in Petersburg made use of. The Advocate was therefore surprised when Nekladov took on his Voschik before hearing the end of the story, said good-bye, and left him. Nekladov felt very sad. It was chiefly the rejection of the appeal by the Senate, confirming the senseless torments that the innocent Maslova was enduring that saddened him, and also the fact that this rejection made it still harder for him to unite his fate with hers. The stories about existing evils which the Advocate recounted with such relish heightened his sadness, and so did the cold, unkind look that the once sweet-natured Frank Nobor Selenin had given him, and which kept recurring to his mind. On his return the doorkeeper handed him a note, and said, rather scornfully, that some kind of woman had written it in the hall. It was a note from Shostova's mother. She wrote that she had come to thank her daughter's benefactor and saviour, and to implore him to come to see them on the Vasilevsky Fifth Line, House Number M. This was very necessary, because of Vera de Kovar. He'd need not be afraid that they would weary him with expressions of gratitude. They would not speak their gratitude, but be simply glad to see him. Would he not come next morning, if he could? There was another note from Bogotryev, a former fellow officer, aid to camp to the emperor, whom Neklodov had asked to hand personally to the emperor, his petition on behalf of the sectarians. Bogotryev wrote, in his large, firm hand, that he would put the petition into the emperor's own hands, as he had promised, but that it had occurred to him that it might be better for Neklodov first to go and see the person on whom the matter depended. After the impressions received during the last few days, Neklodov felt perfectly hopeless of getting anything done. The plans he had formed in Moscow seemed now something like the dreams of youth which were inevitably followed by disillusion when life comes to be faced. Still, being now in Petersburg, he considered it his duty to do all he had intended, and he resolved, next day, after consulting Bogotryev, to act on his advice and see the person on whom the case of the sectarians depended. He got out the sectarian's petition from his portfolio, and began reading it over, when there was a knock at his door, and a footman came in, with a message, from the Countess Katarina Ivanovna, who asked him to come up, and have a cup of tea with her. Neklodov said he would come at once, and having put the papers back into the portfolio, he went up to his aunt's. She looked out of a window on his way, and saw Mariette's pair of bays standing in front of the house, and he suddenly brightened, and felt inclined to smile. Mariette, with a hat on her head, not in black, but with a light dress of many shades, sat with a cup in her hand, beside the Countess's easy chair, prattling about something, while her beautiful laughing eyes glistened. She had said something funny, something indecently funny, just as Neklodov entered the room. He knew it by the way she laughed, and by the way the good-natured Countess Katarina Ivanovna's fat body was shaking with laughter. While Mariette, her smiling mouth slightly drawn to one side, her head a little bent, a peculiarly mischievous expression in her merry, energetic face, sat silently looking at her companion. From a few words which he overheard, Neklodov guessed that they were talking of the second piece of Petersburg news, the episode of the Siberian governor, and that it was in reference to this subject that Mariette had said something so funny that the Countess could not control herself for a long time. You will kill me, she said, coughing. After saying how do you do, Neklodov sat down. He was about to censure Mariette in his mind for her levity, when, noticing the serious and even slightly dissatisfied look in his eyes, she suddenly, to please him, changed not only the expression of her face, but also the attitude of her mind, for she felt the wish to please him as soon as she looked at him. She suddenly turned serious, dissatisfied with her life. As if seeking and striving after something. It was not that she pretended, but she really reproduced in herself the very same state of mind that he was in, although it would have been impossible for her to express in words what was the state of Neklodov's mind at that moment. She asked him how he had accomplished his tasks. He told her about his failure in the Senate and his meeting Selenin. Oh, what a pure soul! He is indeed a chivalier-sampur, a samra-prosh. A pure soul, said both ladies, using the epithet, commonly applied to Selenin in Petersburg society. What is his wife like, Neklodov asked. His wife? Well, I do not wish to judge, but she does not understand him. Is it possible that he too was for rejecting the appeal, Mariette asked, with real sympathy? It is dreadful how sorry I am for her, she added, with a sigh. He frowned, and in order to change the subject began to speak about Shostova, who had been imprisoned in the fortress, and was now set free through the influence of Mariette's husband. He thanked her for her trouble, and was going on to say how dreadful he thought it, that this woman and the whole of her family had suffered merely because no one had reminded the authorities about them. But Mariette interrupted him, and expressed her own indignation. Say nothing about it to me, she said. When my husband told me she could be set free, it was this that struck me. What was she kept in prison for if she was innocent? She went on expressing what Neklodov was about to say. It is revolting. Revolting. Countess Katarina Ivanovna noticed that Mariette was coquettin' with her nephew, and this amused her. What do you think, she said, when they were silent, supposing you come to A-lines to-morrow night? Kizaveta will be there. And you too, she said, turning to Mariette, you'll view our remark. She went on to her nephew. He told me that what you say, I repeated it all to him, is a very good sign, and that you will certainly come to Christ. You must come absolutely. Tell him to, Mariette, and come yourself. Countess, in the first place I have no right whatever to give any kind of advice to the prince, said Mariette, and gave Neklodov a look that somehow established a full comprehension between them of their attitude in relation to the Countess's words and the evangelism in general. Secondly, I do not much care, you know? Yes, I know you always do things the wrong way round, and according to your own ideas, my own ideas, I have faith, like the most simple peasant woman, said Mariette with a smile, and thirdly, I am going to the French theatre tomorrow night. Ah, and have you seen that, what's her name, asked Countess Caterina Ivanovna, Mariette gave the name of a celebrated French actress. You must go, most decidedly. She is wonderful. Whom am I to see first, my taunt? The actress or the preacher, Neklodov said with a smile. Please don't catch at my words. I should think the preacher first, and then the actress, or else the desire for the sermon might vanish altogether, said Neklodov. No, better begin with the French theatre, and do penance afterwards. Now then, you are not to hold me up for ridicule. The preacher is the preacher, and the theatre is the theatre. One need not weep in order to be saved. One must have faith, and then one is sure to be gay. You, my taunt, preach better than any preacher. Do you know what, said Mariette, come into my box, to-morrow. I am afraid I shall not be able to. The footman interrupted the conversation by announcing a visitor. It was the secretary of a philanthropic society, of which the Countess was president. Oh, that is the dullest of men. I think I shall receive him out there, and return to you later on. Mariette, give him his tea, said the Countess, and left the room with her quick, wriggling walk. Mariette took the glove off her firm, rather flat hand, the fourth finger of which was covered with rings. Want any, she said, taking hold of the silver teapot, under which a spirit lamp was burning, and extending her little finger curiously. Her face looked sad and serious. It is always terribly painful to me to notice that people whose opinion I value, confound me with the position I am placed in. She seemed ready to cry, as she said these last words. And though these words had no meaning, or at any rate a very indefinite meaning, they seemed to be of exceptional depth, meaning, or goodness to Necladob. So much was he attracted by the look of the bright eyes which accompanied the words of this young, beautiful, and well-dressed woman. Necladob looked at her in silence, and could not take his eyes from her face. You think I do not understand, you and all that goes on in you? Why, everybody knows what you are doing. S'il c'est cur de policinelle. And I am delighted with your work, and think highly of you. Really, there is nothing to be delighted with, and I have done so little as yet. No matter, I understand your feelings, and I understand her. All right, all right, I will say nothing more about it," she said, noticing this pleasure on his face. But I also understand that after seeing all the suffering and the horror in the prisons, Mariette went on, her only desire that of attracting him, and guessing with her woman's instinct what was dear and important to him. You wish to help the sufferers, those who are made to suffer so terribly by other men, and their cruelty and indifference. I understand the willingness to give one's life, and could give mine in such a cause, but we each have our own fate. Are you then dissatisfied with your fate? I, she asked, as if struck with surprise, that such a question could be put to her. I have to be satisfied, and am satisfied, but there is a worm that wakes up. And he must not be allowed to fall asleep again. It is a voice that must be obeyed, Nekladov said, falling into the trap. Many a time later on Nekladov remembered with shame his talk with her. He remembered her words, which were not so much lies as imitations of his own, and her face, which seemed looking at him with sympathetic attention, when he told her about the terrors of the prison, and of his impressions in the country. When the Countess returned they were talking not merely like old, but like exclusive friends, who alone understood one another. They were talking about the injustice of power, of the sufferings of the unfortunate, the poverty of the people, yet in reality in the midst of the sound of their talk their eyes gazing at each other kept asking, Can you love me? And answering, I can, and the sex-feeling, taking the most unexpected and brightest forms, drew them to each other. As she was going away she told him she would always be willing to serve him in any way she could, and asked him to come and see her, if only for a moment, in the theatre next day, as she had a very important thing to tell him about. Yes, and when shall I see you again? she added with a sigh, carefully drawing the glove over her dueled hand. Say you will come. Nekladov promised. That night, when Nekladov was alone in his room and lay down after putting out his candle, he could not sleep. He thought of Maslova, of the decision of the Senate, of his resolve to follow her in any case, of his having given up the land. The face of Mariette appeared to him as if in answer to those thoughts, her look, her sigh, her words, when shall I see you again? And her smile seemed vivid, as if he really saw her, and he also smiled. Shall I be doing right in going to Siberia, and have I done right in divesting myself of my wealth? And the answers to the questions on this Petersburg night, on which the daylight streamed into the window from under the blind, were quite indefinite. All seemed mixed in his head. He recalled his former state of mind, and the former sequence of his thoughts, but they had no longer their former power or validity. And supposing I have invented all this, and am unable to live it through, supposing I repent of having acted right, he thought, and unable to answer he was seized with such anguish and despair as he had long not felt. Unable to free himself from this perplexity, he fell into a heavy sleep, such as he had slept after heavy loss at cards. RECORDING by Philip Griffiths RESURRECTION by Leo Tolstoy TRANSLATED BY LOUIS MORD BOOK II CHAPTER XXV LIDIA SHOESTOVA'S HOME Nekladov awoke next morning, feeling as if he had been guilty of some iniquity the day before. He began considering. He could not remember having done anything wrong. He had committed no evil act, but he had had evil thoughts. He had thought that all his present resolutions to marry Catoosha and to give up his land were unachievable dreams, that he should be unable to bear it, that it was artificial, unnatural, and that he would have to go on living as he lived. He had committed no evil action, but what was far worse than an evil action he had entertained evil thoughts whence all evil actions proceed. An evil action may not be repeated and can be repented of, but evil thoughts generate all evil actions. An evil action only smooths the path for other evil acts. Evil thoughts uncontrollably drag one along that path. When Nekladov repeated in his mind the thoughts of the day before, he was surprised that he could for a moment have believed these thoughts. However new and difficult that which he had decided to do might be, he knew that it was the only possible way of life for him now, and however easy and natural it might have been to return to his former state, he knew that state to be death. Yesterday's temptation seemed like the feeling when one awakes from deep sleep, and without feeling sleepy wants to lie comfortably in a bed a little longer, yet knows that it is time to rise and commence the glad and important work that awaits one. On that his last day in Petersburg he went in the morning to the Valeevsky Ostrov to see Shostova. Shostova lived on the second floor, and having been shown the back stairs, Nekladov entered straight into the hot kitchen, which smelled strongly of food. An elderly woman, with turned up sleeves, with an apron and spectacles, stood by the fire stirring something in a steaming pan. "'Whom do you want?' she asked severely, looking at him over her spectacles. Before Nekladov had time to answer, an expression of fright and joy appeared on her face. "'Oh, Prince!' she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. "'But why have you come the back way? Our benefactor! I am her mother. They have nearly killed my little girl. You have saved us,' she said, catching hold of Nekladov's hand and trying to kiss it. "'I went to see you yesterday,' my sister asked me to. "'She is here. This way, this way, please,' said Shostova's mother, as she led the way through a narrow door and a dark passage, arranging her hair and pulling at her tucked-up skirt. "'My sister's name is Kornelova. You must have heard of her,' she added, stopping before a closed door. She was mixed up in a political affair, an extremely clever woman." Shostova's mother opened the door and showed Nekladov into a little room, where on a sofa with a table before it sat a plump, short girl with fair hair that curled round her pale round face, which was very like her mother's. She had a striped cotton blouse on. Opposite her, in an armchair, leaning forward so that he was nearly bent double, sat a young fellow with a slight black beard and moustaches. "'Lydia, Prince Nekladov,' he said. The pale girl jumped up, nervously pushing back a lock of hair behind her ear, and gazing at the newcomer with a frightened look in her large gray eyes. "'So you are that dangerous woman whom Vera Dukova wished me to intercede for,' Nekladov asked with a smile. "'Yes, I am,' said Lydia Shostova, her broad, kind, childlike smile, disclosing a row of beautiful teeth. "'It was Aunt who was so anxious to see you.' "'Aunt,' she called out, in a pleasant, tender voice through the door. "'Your imprisonment grieved Vera Dukova very much,' said Nekladov. "'Take a seat here, or better here,' said Shostova, pointing to a battered easy chair from which the young man had just risen. "'My cousin, Zakharov,' she said, noticing that Nekladov looked at the young man.' The young man greeted the visitor with a smile as kindly as Shostova's, and when Nekladov sat down he brought himself another chair and sat by his side. A fair-haired schoolboy of about ten also came into the room and silently sat down on the windowsill. "'Vera Dukova is a great friend of my aunt's, but I hardly know her,' said Shostova. Then a woman with a very pleasant face, with a white blouse and leather belt, came in from the next room. "'How do you do? Thanks for coming,' she began, as soon as she had taken the place next to Shostova's on the sofa. "'Well, and how is Vera? You have seen her? How does she bear her fate?' "'She does not complain,' said Nekladov. She says she feels perfectly happy.' "'Ah, that's like Vera. I know her,' said the aunt, smiling and shaking her head. One must know her. She has a fine character. Everything for others, nothing for herself.' "'No,' she asked nothing for herself, but only seemed concerned about your niece. What seemed to trouble her most was, as she said, that your niece was imprisoned for nothing. "'Yes, that's true,' said the aunt. "'It is a dreadful business. She suffered, in reality, because of me. "'Not at all, aunt. I should have taken the papers without you all the same. "'Allow me to know better,' said the aunt. "'You see,' she went on to Nekladov. "'It all happened because a certain person asked me to keep his papers for a time, and I, having no house at the time, bought them to her. And that very night the police searched her room and took her and the papers, and have kept her up to now, demanding that she should say from whom she had them.' "'But I never told them,' said Justova quickly, pulling nervously at a lock that was not even out of place. "'I never said you did,' answered the aunt. "'If they took Mitten up, it was certainly not through me,' said Justova, blushing, and looking round uneasily. "'Don't speak about it, Lydia dear,' said her mother. "'Why not? I should like to relate it,' said Justova, no longer smiling nor pulling her lock. But twisting it round her finger and getting redder. "'Don't forget what happened yesterday when you began talking about it.' "'Not at all. Leave me alone, Mama. I did not tell. I only kept quiet. When he examined me about Mitten and about aunt, I said nothing, and told him I would not answer. Then this Petrov—' Petrov is a spy, a gendarm, and a black-ard, put in the aunt, to explain her niece's words to Nekladov. "'Then he began persuading,' continued Justova, excitedly and hurriedly. "'Anything you tell me,' he said, "'can harm no one. On the contrary, if you tell me, we may be able to set free innocent people whom we may be uselessly tormenting. Well, I still said I would not tell.' Then he said, "'All right, don't tell, but do not deny what I am going to say,' and he named Mitten. "'Don't talk about it,' said the aunt.' "'Oh, aunt, don't interrupt!' And she went on pulling the lock of hair and looking around. And then, only fancy, the next day I hear, they let me know by knocking at the wall, that Mitten is arrested. Well, I think I'd betrayed him, and this tormented me so. It tormented me so that I nearly went mad.' And it turned out that it was not at all because of you he was taking up. "'Yes, but I didn't know. I think there now I've betrayed him. I walk and walk up and down from wall to wall, and cannot help thinking. I think I've betrayed him. I lie down and cover myself up and hear something whispering, Betrayed, betrayed, Mitten, Mitten, betrayed. I know it is an hallucination, but cannot help listening. I wish to fall asleep. I cannot. I wish not to think and cannot cease. That is terrible.' As Shazdova spoke, she got more and more excited and twisted and untwisted the lock of hair around her finger. "'Lydia dear, be calm,' the mother said, touching her shoulder, but Shazdova could not stop herself. "'It is all the more terrible,' she began again, but did not finish, and jumping up with a cry rushed out of the room. Her mother turned to follow her. "'They ought to be hanged, the rascals,' said the schoolboy who was sitting on the windowsill. "'What's that?' said the mother. "'I only said, oh, it's nothing,' the schoolboy answered, and taking a cigarette that lay on the table, he began to smoke.' CHAPTER XXV. Philip Griffiths Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Mord Book II. CHAPTER XXVI. Lydia's Aunt "'Yes, that solitary confinement is terrible for the young,' said the aunt, shaking her head and also lighting a cigarette. "'I should say for every one,' Nekladov replied. "'No, not for all,' answered the aunt. "'For the real revolutionists, I have been told, it is rest and quiet. A man who is wanted by the police lives in continual anxiety, material want, and fear for himself and others, and for his cause, and at last, when he is taken up, and it is all over, and all responsibility is off his shoulders, he can sit and rest. I have been told they actually feel joyful when taken up. But the young and innocent, they always first arrest the innocent, like Lydia. For them the first shock is terrible. It is not that they deprive you of freedom, and the bad food and bad air, oh, that is nothing, three times as many privations would be easily borne, if it were not for the moral shock when one is first taken. Have you experienced it? I? I was twice in prison, she answered, with a sad, gentle smile. When I was arrested for the first time, I had done nothing. I was twenty-two, had a child, and was expecting another. Though the loss of freedom and the parting with my child and husband were hard, they were nothing when compared with what I felt when I found out that I had ceased being a human creature and had become a thing. I wished to say good-bye to my little daughter. I was told to go and get into the trap. I asked where I was being taken to. The answer was that I should know when I got there. I asked what I was accused of, but got no reply. After I had been examined, and after they had undressed me and put numbered prison clothes on me, they led me to a vault, opened a door, pushed me in, and left me alone. A sentinel with a loaded gun paced up and down in front of my door, and every now and then looked in through a crack. I felt terribly depressed. What struck me most at the time was that the gendarm officer who examined me offered me a cigarette. So he knew that people liked smoking, and must know that they liked freedom and light, and that mothers love their children and children know mothers. Then how could they tear me, pitilessly, from all that was dear to me, and lock me up in prison like a wild animal? That sort of thing could not be born without evil effects. Anyone who believes in God and men, and believes that men love one another, will cease to believe it after all that. I have ceased to believe in humanity since then, and have grown embittered," she finished with a smile. Just over's mother came in at the door through which her daughter had gone out, and said that Lydia was very much upset, and would not come in again. And what has this young life been ruined for? said the aunt. What is especially painful to me, is that I am the involuntary cause of it. She will recover in the country, with God's help, said the mother. We shall send her to her father. Yes, if it were not for you, she would have perished altogether, said the aunt. Thank you. But what I wish to see you for is this. I wish to ask you to take a letter to Vera de Kovar, and she got the letter out of her pocket. The letter is not closed. You may read and tear it up, or hand it to her, according to how far it coincides with your principles, she said. It contains nothing compromising. Nekladov took the letter, and having promised to give it to Vera de Kovar, he took his leave and went away. She sealed the letter without reading it, meaning to take it to its destination. End of Book 2, Chapter 26. Book 2, Chapter 27 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 Philip Griffiths. The Last Thing That Kept Nekladov in Petersburg was the case of the Sectarians, whose petition he intended to get his former fellow-officer, Aida Kamp Bogotarev, to hand to the Tsar. He came to Bogotarev in the morning, and found him about to go out, though still at breakfast. Bogotarev was not tall, but firmly built and wonderfully strong. He could bend a horseshoe. A kind, honest, straight and even liberal man. In spite of these qualities he was intimate at court, and very fond of the Tsar and his family, and by some strange method he managed, while living in that highest circle, to see nothing but the good in it, and to take no part in the evil and the corruption. He never condemned anybody nor any measure, and either kept silent or spoke in a bold, loud voice, almost shouting what he had to say, and often laughing in the same boisterous manner. And he did not do it for diplomatic reasons, but because such was his character. Ah, that's right that you have come. Would you like some breakfast? Sit down, the beef steaks are fine. I always begin with something substantial. Begin and finish too, ha ha ha. Well then, have a glass of wine, he shouted, pointing to a decanter of claret. I have been thinking of you. I will hand on the petition. I shall put it into his own hands. You may count on that. Only it occurred to me that it would be best for you to call on topper off. Necladov made a wry face at the mention of topper off. It all depends on him. He will be consulted anyhow, and perhaps he may himself meet your wishes. If you advise it, I shall go. That's right. Well, and how does Petersburg agree with you? shouted Bogotayev. Tell me, eh? I feel myself getting hypnotised, replied Necladov. Hypnotised, Bogotayev repeated, and burst out laughing. You want to have anything? Well, just as you please. And he wiped his moustaches with his napkin. Then you'll go, eh? If he does not do it, give the petition to me, and I shall hand it on tomorrow. Shouting these words, he rose, crossed himself, just as naturally as he had wiped his mouth, and began buckling on his sword. And now, good-bye, I must go. We are both going out, said Necladov, and shaking Bogotayev's strong, broad hand, and with the sense of pleasure, which the impression of something healthy and unconsciously fresh always gave him, Necladov parted from Bogotayev on the doorsteps. Though he expected no good result from his visit, still Necladov, following Bogotayev's advice, went to see Toporov, on whom the sectarian's fate depended. The position occupied by Toporov, involving as it did an incongruity of purpose, could only be held by a dull man devoid of moral sensibility. Toporov possessed both these negative qualities. The incongruity of the position he occupied was this. It was his duty to keep up and to defend, by external measures, not excluding violence, that church which, by its own declaration, was established by God himself, and could not be shaken by the gates of hell, nor by anything human. This divine and immutable God-established institution had to be sustained and defended by a human institution, the holy synod, managed by Toporov and his officials. Toporov did not see this contradiction, nor did he wish to see it, and he was therefore much concerned, lest some Romish priest, some pastor, or some sectarian, should destroy that church which the gates of hell could not conquer. Toporov, like all those who are quite destitute of the fundamental religious feeling that recognizes the equality and brotherhood of men, was fully convinced that the common people were creatures entirely different from himself, and that the people needed what he could very well do without, for at the bottom of his heart he believed in nothing, and found such a state very convenient and pleasant. Since he feared lest the people might also come to such a state, and looked upon it as his sacred duty, as he called it, to save the people therefrom. A certain cookery-book declares that some crabs like to be boiled alive, in the same way he thought and spoke as if the people liked being kept in superstition, only he meant this in a literal sense, whereas the cookery-book did not mean its words literally. His feelings towards the religion he was keeping up were the same as those of the poultry-keeper towards the carrion he fed his fowls on. Carrion was very disgusting, but the fowls liked it, therefore it was right to feed the fowls on carrion. Of course, all this worship of the images of the Iberian, Cassan, and Smolensk mothers of God was a gross superstition, but the people liked it, and believed in it, and therefore the superstition must be kept up. Thus thought Toporov, not considering that the people only liked superstition because there always have been, and still are, men like himself who, being enlightened, instead of using their light to help others to struggle out of their dark ignorance, use it to plunge them still deeper into it. When Nekledov entered the reception room, Toporov was in his study, talking with Nabes, a lively and aristocratic lady who was spreading the Greek Orthodox faith in Western Russia among the Unites, who acknowledged the Pope of Rome, and who have the Greek religion enforced on them. An official who was in the reception room inquired what Nekledov wanted, and when he heard that Nekledov meant to hand in a petition to the emperor, he asked him if he would allow the petition to be read first. Nekledov gave it to him, and the official took it into the study. The Abes, with her hood and flowing veil, and her long train trailing behind, left the study and went out, her white hands, with their well-tended nails, holding a topaz rosary. Nekledov was not immediately asked to come in, Toporov was reading the petition and shaking his head. He was unpleasantly surprised by the clear and emphatic wording of it. If it gets into the hands of the emperor, it may cause misunderstandings, and unpleasant questions may be asked, he thought as he read. Then he put the petition on the table, rang, and ordered Nekledov to be asked in. He remembered the case of the sectarians. He had had a petition from them before. The case was this. These Christians, fallen away from the Greek Orthodox Church, were first exhorted and then tried by law, but were acquitted. Then the Archdeacon and the Governor arranged, on the plea that their marriages were illegal, to exile these sectarians, separating the husband's wives and children. These fathers and wives were now petitioning that they should not be parted. Nekledov recollected the first time the case came to his notice. He had at that time hesitated whether he had not better put a stop to it. But then he thought no harm could result from his confirming the decision to separate and exile the different members of the sectarian families, whereas allowing the peasant sect to remain where it was, might have a bad effect on the rest of the inhabitants of the place, and cause them to fall away from orthodoxy. And then the affair also proved the zeal of the Archdeacon, and so he let the case proceed along the lines it had taken. But now that they had a defender such as Nekledov, who had some influence in Petersburg, the case might be specially pointed out to the Emperor as something cruel, or it might get into the foreign papers. Therefore, he at once took an unexpected decision. How do you do, he said, with the air of a very busy man, receiving Nekledov standing, and at once starting on the business. I know this case. As soon as I saw the names I recollected this unfortunate business, he said, taking up the petition, and showing it to Nekledov, and I am much indebted to you for reminding me of it. It is the overzealousness of the provincial authorities. Nekledov stood silent, looking with no kindly feelings at the immovable pale mask of a face before him. And I shall give orders that these measures should be revoked, and the people reinstated in their homes. So that I need not make use of this petition? I promise you most assuredly, answered Toporov, laying a stress on the word I, as if quite convinced that his honesty, his word, was the best guarantee. It will be best if I write at once. Take a seat, please." He went up to the table and began to write. As Nekledov sat down, he looked at the narrow, bold skull, at the fat, blue-veined hand that was swiftly guiding the pen, and wondered why this evidently indifferent man was doing what he did, and why he was doing it with such care. Well, here you are, said Toporov, sealing the envelope. You may let your clients know, and he stretched his lips to imitate a smile. Then what did these people suffer for, Nekledov asked, as he took the envelope. Toporov raised his head and smiled, as if Nekledov's question gave him pleasure. That I cannot tell. All I can say is that the interests of the people guarded by us are so important that too great a zeal in matters of religion is not so dangerous or so harmful as the indifference which is now spreading. But how is it that in the name of religion the very first demands of righteousness are violated, families are separated? Toporov continued to smile patronizingly, evidently thinking what Nekledov said very pretty. Thinking that Nekledov could say he would have considered very pretty and very one-sided from the height of what he considered his far-reaching office in the state. It may seem so from the point of view of a private individual, he said, but from an administrative point of view it appears in a rather different light. However, I must bid you goodbye now, said Toporov, bowing his head and holding out his hand, which Nekledov pressed. The interests of the people, your interests is what you mean, thought Nekledov as he went out, and he ran over in his mind the people in whom is manifested the activity of the institutions that uphold religion and educate the people. He began with the woman punished for the illicit sale of spirits, the boy for theft, the tramp for tramping, the incendiary for setting a house on fire, the banker for fraud, and that unfortunate Lydia Shostova imprisoned only because they hoped to get such information as they required from her. Then he thought of the sectarians punished for violating orthodoxy, and Gorkovich for wanting constitutional government, and Nekledov clearly saw that all these people were arrested, locked up, exiled, not really because they transgressed against justice, or behaved unlawfully, but only because they were an obstacle hindering the officials and the rich from enjoying the property they had taken away from the people, and the woman who sold wine without having a licence, and the thief knocking about the town, and Lydia Shostova hiding proclamations, and the sectarians upsetting superstitions, and Gorkovich desiring a constitution were a real hindrance. It seemed perfectly clear to Nekledov that all these officials, beginning with his aunt's husband, the senators and Toporov, down to those clean and correct gentlemen who sat at the tables in the ministry office, were not at all troubled by the fact that in such a state of things the innocent had to suffer, but were only concerned how to get rid of the really dangerous, so that the rule that ten guilty should escape rather than that one innocent should be condemned was not observed, but on the contrary, for the sake of getting rid of one really dangerous person, ten who seemed dangerous were punished, as when cutting a rotten piece out of anything, one has to cut away some that is good. This explanation seemed very simple and clear to Nekledov, but its very simplicity and clearness made him hesitate to accept it. Was it possible that so complicated a phenomenon could have so simple and terrible an explanation? Was it possible that all these words about justice, law, religion, God, and so on were mere words, hiding the course's cupidity and cruelty? CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVIII Nekledov would have left Petersburg on the evening of the same day, but he had promised Mariette to meet her at the theatre, and though he knew that he ought not to keep that promise, he deceived himself into the belief that it would not be right to break his word. Am I capable of withstanding these temptations? He asked himself, not quite honestly, I shall try for the last time. He dressed in his evening clothes, and arrived at the theatre during the second act of the Eternal Dam au Chamelias, in which a foreign actress once again, and in a novel manner, showed how women die of consumption. The theatre was quite full, Mariette's box was at once and with great deference shown to Nekledov at his request. A livered servant stood in the corridor outside, he bowed to Nekledov, as to one whom he knew, and opened the door of the box. All the people who sat and stood in the boxes on the opposite side, those who sat near and those who were in the parterre, with their gray, grizzly, bold, or curly heads, all were absorbed in watching the thin, bony actress, who dressed in silks and laces, was wriggling before them, and speaking in an unnatural voice. Someone called Hush, when the door opened, and two streams, one of cool, the other of hot air, touched Nekledov's face. Mariette and a lady whom he did not know, with a red cape and a big heavy headdress, were in the box, and two men also, Mariette's husband the general, a tall, handsome man with a severe, inscrutable countenance, a Roman nose, and a uniform padded round the chest, and a fair man with a bit of shaved chin between pompous whiskers. Mariette, graceful, slight, elegant, her low-neck dress showing her firm, shapely, planting shoulders, with a little black mole where they joined her neck, immediately turned and pointed with her face to a chair behind her in an engaging manner, and smiled a smile that seemed full of meaning to Nekledov. The husband looked at him in the quiet way in which he did everything, and bowed. In the look he exchanged with his wife, the master, the owner of a beautiful woman, was to be seen at once. When the monologue was over the theatre resounded with the clapping of hands. Mariette rose, and holding up her rustling silk skirt, went into the back of the box, and introduced Nekledov to her husband. The general, without ceasing to smile with his eyes, said he was very pleased, and then sat, inscrutably silent. I ought to have left today had I not promised, said Nekledov to Mariette. If you do not care to see me, said Mariette, in answer to what his words implied, you will see a wonderful actress. Was she not splendid in the last scene? She asked, turning to her husband. The husband bowed his head. This sort of thing does not touch me, said Nekledov. I have seen so much real suffering lately that— Yes, sit down and tell me. The husband listened, his eyes smiling more and more ironically. I have been to see that woman whom they have set free, and who has been kept in prison for so long. She is quite broken down. That is the woman I spoke to you about, Mariette said to her husband. Oh yes, I was very pleased that she could be set free, said the husband quietly, nodding and smiling under his moustache, with evident irony, so it seemed to Nekledov. I shall go and have a smoke. Nekledov sat waiting to hear what the something was that Mariette had to tell him. She said nothing, and did not even try to say anything, but joked and spoke about the performance, which she thought ought to touch Nekledov. Nekledov saw that she had nothing to tell, but only wished to show herself to him in all the splendour of her evening toilet, with her shoulders and little mole, and this was pleasant and yet repulsive to him. The charm that had veiled all this sort of thing from Nekledov was not removed, but it was as if he could see what lay beneath. Looking at Mariette, he admired her, and yet he knew that she was a liar, living with a husband who was making his career by means of the tears and lives of hundreds and hundreds of people, and that she was quite indifferent about it, and that all she had said the day before was untrue. What she wanted, neither he nor she knew why, was to make him fall in love with her. This both attracted and disgusted him. Four times, on the point of going away, he took up his hat and then stayed on. But at last, when the husband returned with a strong smell of tobacco in his thick moustache, and looked at Nekledov with a patronising, contemptuous air as if not recognising him, Nekledov left the box before the door was closed again, found his overcoat, and went out of the theatre. As he was walking home along the Nevsky, he could not help noticing a well-shaped and aggressively finely dressed woman, who was quietly walking in front of him, along the broad asphalt pavement. The consciousness of her detestable power was noticeable in her face and the whole of her figure. All who met or passed that woman looked at her. Nekledov walked faster than she did, and involuntarily also looked her in the face. The face, which was probably painted, was handsome, and the woman looked at him with a smile, and her eyes sparkled. And curiously enough, Nekledov was suddenly reminded of Mariette, because he again felt both attracted and disgusted, just as when in the theatre. Being hurriedly past her, Nekledov turned off onto the Morskaya, and passed on to the embankment, where, to the surprise of a policeman, he began pacing up and down the pavement. The other one gave me just such a smile when I entered the theatre, he thought, and the meaning of the smile was the same. The only difference is that this one said plainly, if you want me, take me, if not, go your way. And the other one pretended that she was not thinking of this, but living in some high and refined state, while this was really at the root. Besides this one was driven to it by necessity, while the other amused herself by playing with that enchanting, disgusting, frightful passion. This woman of the street was like stagnant, smelling water offered to those whose thirst was greater than their disgust. That other one in the theatre was like the poison which, unnoticed, poisons everything it gets into. Nekledov recalled his liaison with the Morskaya's wife, and shameful memories rose before him. The animalism of the brute nature in man is disgusting, thought he, but as long as it remains in its naked form, we observe it from the height of our spiritual life and despise it. And whether one has fallen or resisted, one remains what one was before. But when that same animalism hides under a cloak of poetry and aesthetic feeling and demands our worship, then we are swallowed up by it completely and worship animalism, no longer distinguishing good from evil, then it is awful. Nekledov perceived all this now, as clearly as he saw the palace, the sentinels, the fortress, the river, the boats, and the stock exchange. And just as on this northern summer night there was no restful darkness on the earth, but only a dismal, dull light coming from an invisible source. So in Nekledov's soul there was no longer the restful darkness, ignorance. Everything seemed clear. It was clear that everything considered important and good was insignificant and repulsive, and that all the glamour and luxury hid the old well-known crimes, which not only remained unpunished, but were adorned with all the splendour which men were capable of inventing. Nekledov wished to forget all this, not to see it, but he could no longer help seeing it, though he could not see the source of the light which revealed it to him, any more than he could see the source of the light which lay over Petersburg. And though the light appeared him dull, dismal, and unnatural, yet he could not help seeing what it revealed, and he felt both joyful and anxious. RECORDING by Philip Griffiths Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Maud Book 2 Chapter 29 For Her Sake and For Gods On his return to Moscow, Nekledov went at once to the prison hospital to bring Maslova the sad news that the senate had confirmed the decision of the court, and that she must prepare to go to Siberia. He had little hope of the success of his petition to the emperor, which the advocate had written for him, and which he now bought with him from Maslova to sign. And strange to say, he did not at present even wish to succeed. He had got used to the thoughts of going to Siberia, and living among the Exard and the convicts, and he could not easily picture to himself how his life and Maslova's would shape if she were acquitted. He remembered the thought of the American writer, Theroux, who at the time when slavery existed in America said that, under a government that imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison. Nekledov, especially after his visit to Petersburg, and all he discovered then, thought in the same way. Yes, the only place befitting an honest man in Russia at the present time is a prison, he thought, and even felt that this applied to him personally when he drove up to the prison and entered its walls. The doorkeeper recognized Nekledov, and told him at once that Maslova was no longer there. Where is she then? In the cell again. Why has she been removed? Nekledov asked. Oh, your Excellency, what are such people? said the doorkeeper contemptuously. She's been carrying on with the medical assistant. But the head doctor ordered her back. Nekledov had had no idea how dear Maslova and the state of her mind were to him. He was stunned by the news. He felt as one feels at the news of a great and unforeseen misfortune, and his pain was very severe. His first feeling was one of shame. He, with his joyful idea of the change that he imagined was going on in her soul, now seemed ridiculous in his own eyes. He thought that all her pretence of not wishing to accept his sacrifice, or the reproaches and tears were only the devices of a depraved woman who wished to use him to the best advantage. He seemed to remember having seen signs of obtracy at his last interview with her. All this flashed through his mind as he instinctively put on his hat and left the hospital. What am I to do now? Am I still bound to her? Has this action of hers not set me free? And as he put these questions to himself, he knew at once that if he considered himself free, and threw her up, he would be punishing himself and not her, which was what he wished to do. And he was seized with fear. Now what has happened cannot alter, it can only strengthen my resolve. Let her do what flows from the state her mind is in. If it is carrying on with the medical assistant, let her carry on with the medical assistant. That is her business. I must do what my conscience demands of me, and my conscience expects me to sacrifice my freedom. My resolution to marry her, if only in form, and to follow wherever she may be sent, remains unalterable. Nekladov said all this to himself with vicious obstinacy, as he left the hospital and walked with resolute steps towards the big gates of the prison. He asked the warder on duty at the gate to inform the inspector that he wished to see Maslova. The warder knew Nekladov and told him of an important change that had taken place in the prison. The old inspector had been discharged, and a new, very severe official appointed in his place. They are so strict nowadays it is just awful, said the jailer. He is in here. They will let him know directly. The new inspector was in the prison and soon came to Nekladov. He was a tall, angular man with high cheekbones, morose, and very slow in his movements. Interviews are allowed in the visiting room on the appointed days, he said, without looking at Nekladov. But I have a petition to the emperor which I want signed. You can give it to me. I must see the prisoner myself. I was always allowed to before. That was so before, said the inspector, with a furative glance at Nekladov. I have a permission from the governor, insisted Nekladov, and took out his pocket book. Allow me, said the inspector, taking the paper from Nekladov with his long, dry, white fingers, on the first of which was a gold ring, still without looking him in the eyes. He read the paper slowly. Step into the office, please. This time the office was empty. The inspector sat down by the table and began sorting some papers that lay on it, evidently intending to be present at the interview. When Nekladov asked whether he might see the political prisoner, Dukovar, the inspector answered shortly that he could not. Interviews with political prisoners are not permitted, he said, and again fixed his attention on his papers. With a letter to Dukovar in his pocket, Nekladov felt as if he had committed some offence, and his plans had been discovered and frustrated. When Maslova entered the room, the inspector raised his head, and without looking at either her or Nekladov remarked, You may talk, and went on sorting his papers. Maslova had again the white jacket, petticoat and kerchief on. When she came up to Nekladov and saw his cold hard look, she blushed scarlet, and crumbling the hem of her jacket with her hand, she cast down her eyes. Her confusion, so it seemed to Nekladov, confirmed the hospital doorkeeper's words. Nekladov had meant to treat her in the same way as before, but could not bring himself to shake hands with her, so disgusting was she to him now. I have bought you bad news," he said in a monotonous tone, without looking at her or taking her hand. The Senate has refused. I knew it would, she said, in a strange tone, as if she were gasping for breath. Formerly Nekladov would have asked why she said she knew it would. Now he only looked at her. Her eyes were full of tears, but this did not soften him. It roused his irritation against her even more. The Inspector rose and began pacing up and down the room. In spite of the disgust Nekladov was feeling at the moment, he considered it right to express his regret of the Senate's decision. You must not despair, he said. The petition to the Emperor may meet with success, and I hope— I'm not thinking of that, she said, looking piteously at him with her wet, squinting eyes. What is it then? You've been to the hospital, and they have most likely told you about me. What of that? That is your affair," said Nekladov coldly, and frowned. The cruel feeling of wounded pride that had quieted down rose with renewed force when she mentioned the hospital. He, a man of the world whom any girl of the best families would think its happiness to marry, offered himself as husband to this woman, and she could not even wait, but began intriguing with a medical assistant, thought he with a look of hatred. Here, sign this petition, he said, taking a large envelope from his pocket and laying the paper on the table. She wiped the tears with a corner of her kerchief and asked what to write and where. He showed her, and she sat down and arranged the cuff of her right sleeve with her left hand. He stood behind her, and silently looking at her back, which shook with suppressed emotion, and evil and good feelings were fighting in his breast, feelings of wounded pride and of pity for her who was suffering, and the last feeling was victorious. He could not remember which came first. Did the pity for her first enter his heart, or did he first remember his own sins, his own repulsive actions, the very same for which he was condemning her? Anyhow, he both felt himself guilty and pitted her. Having signed the petition and wiped her inky finger on her petticoat, she got up and looked at him. Whatever happens, whatever comes of it, my resolve remains unchanged, said Nekladov. The thought that he had forgiven her heightened his feeling of pity and tenderness for her, and he wished to comfort her. I will do what I have said, wherever they take you, I shall be with you. What's the use, she interrupted hurriedly, though her whole face lighted up. Think what you will want on the way. I don't know of anything in particular, thank you. The inspector came up, and without waiting for a remark from him, Nekladov took leave, and went out with peace, joy and love towards everybody in his heart, such as he had never felt before. The certainty that no action of Muslova could change his love for her filled him with joy, and raised him to a level which he had never before attained. Let her intrigue with the medical assistant. That was her business. He loved her not for his own, but for her sake and for God's. And this intrigue for which Muslova was turned out of the hospital, and of which Nekladov believed she was really guilty, consisted of the following. Muslova was sent by the head nurse to get some herb tea from the dispensary at the end of the corridor. And there, all alone, she found the medical assistant, a tall man with a blotchy face who had for a long time been bothering her. In trying to get away from him, Muslova gave him such a push that he knocked his head against a shelf from which two bottles fell and broke. The head doctor, who was passing at that moment, heard the sound of breaking glass, and saw Muslova run out, quite red, and shouted to her, Ah, my good woman, if you start intriguing here, I'll send you about your business. What is the meaning of it? He went on, addressing the medical assistant, and looking at him over his spectacles. The assistant smiled, and began to justify himself. The doctor gave no heed to him, but lifting his head so that he now looked through his spectacles, he entered the ward. He told the inspector the same day to send another, more sedate assistant nurse in Muslova's place. And this was her intrigue with the medical assistant. Being turned out for a love intrigue was particularly painful to Muslova, because the relations with men, which had long been repulsive to her, had become especially disgusting after meeting Nekledov. The thought that, judging her by her past and present position, every man, the blotchy assistant among them, considered he had a right to offend her and were surprised at her refusal, hurt her deeply, and made her pity herself, and brought tears to her eyes. When she went out to Nekledov this time, she wished to clear herself of the false charge, which she knew he would certainly have heard about. But when she began to justify herself, she felt he did not believe her, and that her excuses would only strengthen his suspicions. Tears choked her, and she was silent. Muslova still thought, and continued to persuade herself, that she had never forgiven him and hated him, as she told him at their second interview. But in reality she loved him again, and loved him so that she did all he wished her to do, left off drinking, smoking, cocketing, and entered the hospital, because she knew he wished it. And if every time he reminded her of it, she refused so decidedly to accept his sacrifice and marry him, it was because she liked repeating the proud words she had once uttered, and because she knew that a marriage with her would be a misfortune for him. She had resolutely made up her mind that she would not accept his sacrifice, and yet the thought that he despised her, and believed that she still was what she had been, and did not notice the change that had taken place in her, was very painful, that he could still think she had done wrong while in the hospital, tormented her more than the news that her sentence was confirmed. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Maud Book 2, Chapter 30 The Astonishing Institution Called Criminal Law Maslova might be sent off with the first gang of prisoners, therefore, Nekladov got ready for his departure, but there was so much to be done that he felt that he could not finish it however much time he might have. It was quite different now from what it had been. Formerly he used to be obliged to look for an occupation, the interest of which always centered in one person, i.e. Dmitri Ivanovich Nekladov, and yet, though every interest of his life was thus centered, all these occupations were very wearisome. Now all his occupations related to other people are not to Dmitri Ivanovich, and they were all interesting and attractive, and there was no end to them. Nor was this all. Formerly Dmitri Ivanovich Nekladov's occupations always made him feel vexed and irritable. Now they produced a joyful state of mind. The business at present occupying Nekladov could be divided under three headings. He himself, with his usual pedantry, divided it in that way, and accordingly kept the papers referring to it in three different portfolios. The first referred to Maslova and was chiefly that of taking steps to get her petition to the emperor attended to and preparing for her probable journey to Siberia. The second was about his estates. In Panovo he had given the land to the peasants on condition of their paying rent to be put to their own communal use, but he had to confirm this transaction by a legal deed and to make his will in accordance with it. In Kuzminski the state of things was still as he had first arranged it, i.e. he was to receive the rent, but the terms had to be fixed, and also how much of the money he would use to live on and how much he would leave for the peasants' use. As he did not know what his journey to Siberia would cost him, he could not decide to lose this revenue altogether, though he reduced the income from it by half. The third part of his business was to help the convicts who applied more and more often to him. At first when he came in contact with the prisoners and they appealed to him for help, he at once began interceding for them, hoping to lighten their fate. But he soon had so many applications about the impossibility of attending to all of them, and that naturally led him to take up another piece of work, which at last roused his interest even more than the three first. This new part of his business was finding an answer to the following questions. What was this astonishing institution called criminal law of which the results were that in the prison with some of the inmates of which he had lately become acquainted? And in all those other places of confinement, from the Peter and Paul Fortress in Petersburg to the island of Sakhalin, hundreds and thousands of victims were pining. What did this strange criminal law exist for? How had it originated? From his personal relations with the prisoners, from notes by some of those in confinement, and by questioning the advocate and the prison priest, Nekladov came to the conclusion that the convicts, the so-called criminals, could be divided into five classes. The first were quite innocent people, condemned by judicial blunder. Such were the men-shofs, supposed to be incendiaries, Maslova, and others. There were not many of these, according to the priest's words, only seven percent, but their condition excited particular interest. To the second class belonged persons condemned for actions done under peculiar circumstances, i.e. in a fit of passion, jealousy, or drunkenness, circumstances under which those who judged them would surely have committed the same actions. The third class consisted of people punished for having committed actions which, according to their understanding, were quite natural and even good, which those other people, the men who made the laws, considered to be crimes. Such were the persons who sold spirits without a license, smugglers, those who gathered grass and wood on larger states and in the forest belonging to the crown, the thieving miners, and those unbelieving people who robbed churches. To the fourth class belonged those who were imprisoned morally higher than the average level of society. Such were the sectarians, the Poles, the Circassians, rebelling in order to regain their independence, the political prisoners, the socialists, the strikers condemned forwithstanding the authorities. There was, according to Necladov's observations, a very large percentage belonging to this class, among them some of the best of men. The fifth class consisted of persons who had been far more sinned against by society than they had sinned against it. These were castaways, stupefied by continual oppression and temptation, such as the boy who had stolen the rugs and hundreds of others whom Necladov had seen in the prison and out of it. The conditions under which they lived seemed to lead on systematically to those actions which had termed crimes. A great many thieves and murderers with whom he had lately come in contact, according to Necladov's estimate, belonged to this class. To this class Necladov also reckoned those depraved, demoralized creatures whom the new school of criminology classifies the criminal type, and the existence of which is considered to be the chief proof of the necessity of criminal law and punishment. This demoralized, depraved, abnormal type was, according to Necladov, exactly the same as that against whom society had sinned, only here society had sinned not directly against them, but against their parents and forefathers. Among this latter class, Necladov was specially struck by one Okotin, an inveterate thief, the illegitimate son of a prostitute, brought up in a Doss house, who, up to the age of thirty, had apparently never met with anyone whose morality was above that of a policeman, and who had got into a band of thieves when quite young. He was gifted with an extraordinary sense of humour, by means of which he made himself very attractive. He asked Necladov for protection, at the same time making fun of himself, the lawyers, the prison, and law's human and divine. Another was the handsome Fedorov, who, with a band of robbers of whom he was the chief, had robbed and murdered an old man, an official. Fedorov was a peasant, whose father had been unlawfully deprived of his house, and who, later on, when serving as a soldier, had suffered much because he had fallen in love with an officer's mistress. He had a fascinating, passionate nature that longed for enjoyment at any cost. He had never met anybody who restrained himself for any cause whatever and had never heard a word about any aim in life other than enjoyment. Necladov distinctly saw that both these men were richly endowed by nature, but had been neglected and crippled like uncared for plants. He had also met a tramp and a woman who had repelled him by their dullness and seeming cruelty. But even in them he could find no trace of the type written about by the Italian school, but only saw in them people who were repulsive to him personally, just in the same way as some he had met outside the prison, in swallowtail coats wearing epaulets or bedecked with lace. And so the investigation of the reasons why all these very different persons were put in prison, while others, just like them, were going about free and even judging them, was the fourth task for Necladov. He hoped to find an answer to this question in books and bought all that referred to it. He got the works of Lombroso, Garofalo, Ferry, List, Maudsley, Tard and read them carefully. But as he read he became more and more disappointed. It happened to him as it always happens to those who turn to science not in order to play a part in it nor to write, nor to dispute, nor to teach but simply for an answer to an everyday question of life. Science answered thousands of different, very subtle and ingenious questions touching criminal law but not the one he was trying to solve. He asked a very simple question why and with what right do some people lock up, torment, exile, flog and kill others while they are themselves just like those whom they torment, flog and kill? And in answer he got deliberations as to whether human beings had free will or not whether signs of criminality could be detected by measuring the skulls or not what part heredity played in crime whether immorality could be inherited what madness is what degeneration is and what temperament is how climate, food, ignorance, imitativeness, hypnotism or passion act what society is what are its duties etc etc These disquisitions reminded him of the answer he once got from a little boy whom he met coming home from school Nekledov asked him if he had learned his spelling I have answered the boy well then tell me how do you spell leg a dog's leg or what kind of leg the boy answered with a sly look answers in the form of new questions like the boys was all that Nekledov got in reply to his one primary question he found much that was clever learned much that was interesting but what he did not find was an answer to the principal question by what right some people punish others not only did he not find any answer but all the arguments were brought forward in order to explain and vindicate punishment the necessity of which was taken as an axiom Nekledov read much but only in snatches and putting down his failure to this superficial way of reading hoped to find the answer later on he would not allow himself to believe in the truth of the answer which began more and more often to present itself to him End of Book 2, Chapter 30 Book 2, Chapter 31 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 Philip Griffiths Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise Mould Book 2, Chapter 31 Nekledov's sister and her husband The gang of prisoners with Maslova among them was to start on the 5th of July Nekledov arranged to start on the same day The day before Nekledov's sister and her husband came to town to see him Nekledov's sister, Natalie Ivanovna Rogazinski was ten years older than her brother She had been very fond of him when he was a boy and later on, just before her marriage they grew very close to each other as if they were equals She being a young woman of twenty-five he a lad of fifteen At that time she was in love with his friend Nikolanka Idtenev since dead They both loved Nikolanka and loved in him and in themselves that which is good and which unites all men Since then they had both been depraved He by military service and a vicious life She by marriage with a man whom she loved with essential love who did not care for the things that had once been so dear and holy to her and to her brother nor even understand the meaning of those aspirations toward moral perfection and the service of mankind which once constituted her life and put them down to ambition and the wish to show off that being the only explanation comprehensible to him Natalie's husband had been a man without a name and without means but cleverly steering towards liberalism or conservatism according to which best suited his purpose he managed to make a comparatively brilliant judicial career some peculiarity which made him attractive to women assisted him when he was no longer in his first youth While travelling abroad he made Nekledov's acquaintance and managed to make Natalie who was also no longer a girl fall in love with him rather against her mother's wishes who considered a marriage with him to be a misalliance for her daughter Nekledov though he tried to hide it from himself though he fought against it hated his brother-in-law Nekledov had a strong antipathy towards him because of the vulgarity of his feelings his assurance and narrowness but chiefly because of Natalie who managed to love him in spite of the narrowness of his nature and loved him so selfishly so sensually and stifled for his sake all the good that had been in her it always hurt Nekledov to think of Natalie as the wife of that hairy, self-assured man with a shiny, bold patch on his head he could not even master a feeling of revulsion toward their children and when he heard that she was again going to have a baby he felt something like sorrow that she had once more been infected with something bad by this man who was so foreign to him The Rogazinskys had come to Moscow alone having left their two children a boy and a girl at home and stopped in the best rooms of the best hotel Natalie at once went to her mother's old house but hearing from Agrafina Petrovna that her brother had left and was living in a lodging-house she drove there The dirty servant met her in the stuffy passage dark but for a lamp which burnt there all day he told her that the prince was not in Natalie asked to be shown into his rooms as she wished to leave a note for him and the man took her up Natalie carefully examined her brother's two little rooms she noticed in everything the love of cleanliness and order she knew so well in him and was struck by the novel simplicity of the surroundings on his writing-table she saw the paperweight with a bronze dog on the top which she remembered the tidy way in which his different portfolios and writing utensils were placed on the table was also familiar and so was the large crooked ivory paper knife which marked the place in a French book by Tard which lay with other volumes on punishment and a book in English by Henry George she sat down at the table and wrote a note asking him to be sure to come that same day and shaking her head in surprise at what she saw she returned to her hotel two questions regarding her brother now interested in Natalie his marriage with Catoosha which she had heard spoken about in their town for everybody was speaking about it and his giving away the land to the peasants which was also known and struck many as something of a political nature and dangerous the marriage with Catoosha pleased her in a way she admired that resoluteness which was so like him and herself as they used to be in those happy times before her marriage and yet she was horrified when she thought her brother was going to marry such a dreadful woman the latter was the stronger feeling of the two and she decided to use all her influence to prevent him from doing it though she knew how difficult this would be the other matter the giving up of the land to the peasants did not touch her so nearly but her husband was very indignant about it and expected her to influence her brother against it Rogazinski said that such an action was the height of inconsistency, flightiness and pride the only possible explanation of which was the desire to appear original, to brag to make oneself talked about what sense could there be letting the land to the peasants on condition that they pay the rent to themselves he said if he was resolved to do such a thing the land to them through the peasants' bank there might have been some sense in that in fact this act verges on insanity and Rogazinski began seriously thinking about putting Netladov under guardianship and demanded of his wife that she should speak seriously to her brother about his curious intention End of book 2, chapter 31 Book 2, chapter 32 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 Philip Griffiths Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy translated by Louise Maud Book 2, chapter 32 Netladov's Anarchism As soon as Netladov returned that evening and saw his sister's note on the table he started to go and see her he found Natalie alone her husband having gone to take a rest in the next room she wore a tightly fitting black silk dress with a red bow in front her black hair was crimped and arranged according to the latest fashion the pains she took to appear young for the sake of her husband or she was in years were very obvious when she saw her brother she jumped up and hurried towards him with a silk dress rustling they kissed and looked smilingly at each other they passed between them that mysterious exchange of looks full of meaning in which all was true and which cannot be expressed in words then came words which were not true they had not met since their mother's death you have grown stouter and younger, he said and her lips puckered up with pleasure and you have grown thinner well, and how is your husband, Netladov asked he is taking a rest he did not sleep all night there was much to say but it was not said in words only their looks expressed what their words failed to say I went to see you yes, I know I moved because the house is too big for me I was lonely there and dull I want nothing of all that is there so that you had better take it all the furniture, I mean, and things yes, Agrofina Petrovna told me I went there thanks very much, but at this moment the hotel waiter bought in a silver tea set while he set the table they were silent then Natalie sat down at the table and made the tea still in silence Netladov also said nothing at last Natalie began resolutely well, Dmitri, I know all about it and she looked at him what of that? I'm glad you know how can you hope to reform her after the life she has led, she asked he sat quite straight on a small chair and listened attentively trying to understand her and to answer rightly the state of mind called forth in him by his last interview with Maslova still filled his soul with quiet joy and goodwill to all men it is not her but myself I wish to reform he replied Natalie sighed there are other means besides marriage to do that but I think it is the best besides, it leads me into that world in which I can be of use I cannot believe you will be happy said Natalie it's not my happiness that is the point of course, but if she has a heart she cannot be happy cannot even wish it she does not wish it I understand but life yes, life demands something different it demands nothing but that we should do what is right said Nekladov looking into her face still handsome though slightly wrinkled round eyes and mouth I do not understand she said and sighed poor darling how could she change so he thought calling back to his mind Natalie as she had been before her marriage and feeling towards her attenderness woven out of innumerable memories of childhood at that moment Rogozinski entered the room with head thrown back and expanded chest and stepping lightly and softly in his usual manner his spectacles, his bold patch and his black beard all glistening how do you do how do you do, he said laying on natural and intentional stress on his words though soon after the marriage they had tried to be more familiar with each other they had never succeeded they shook hands and Rogozinski sank softly into an easy chair am I not interrupting your conversation no, I do not wish to hide what I am saying or doing from anyone as soon as Nekladov saw the hairy hands and heard the patronising self assured tones his meekness left him in a moment yes, we were talking about his intentions said Natalie shall I give you a cup of tea she added are you making the tea pot yes please what particular intentions do you mean that of going to Siberia with a gang of prisoners among whom is the woman I consider myself to have wronged uttered Nekladov I hear not only to accompany her but more than that yes, and to marry her if she wishes it dear me but if you do not object I should like to ask you to explain your motives I do not understand them my motives are that this woman that this woman's first step on her way to degradation Nekladov got angry with himself and was unable to find the right expression my motives are that I am the guilty one and she gets the punishment if she is being punished she cannot be innocent either she is quite innocent and Nekladov related the whole incident yes, that was a case of carelessness on the part of the president the result of which was a thoughtless answer on the part of the jury but there is the senate for cases like that the senate has rejected the appeal well, if the senate has rejected it there cannot have been sufficient reasons for an appeal said Rogozinski evidently sharing the prevailing opinion that truth is the product of judicial decrees the senate cannot enter into the question on its merits if there is a real mistake the emperor should be petitioned that has been done but there is no probability of success they will apply to the department of the ministry the department will consult the senate the senate will repeat its decision and as usual the innocent will get punished in the first place the department of the ministry won't consult the senate said Rogozinski with a condescending smile it will give orders for the original deeds to be sent from the law court and if it discovers a mistake it will decide accordingly and secondly the innocent are never punished or at least in very rare exceptional cases it is the guilty who are punished Rogozinski said deliberately and smiled self complacently and I have become fully convinced that most of those condemned by law are innocent how's that? innocent in the literal sense just as this woman is innocent of poisoning anyone as innocent as a peasant I have just come to know of the murder he never committed as a mother and son who were on the point of being condemned for incendiarism which was committed by the owner of the house that was set on fire well of course there always have been and always will be judicial errors human institutions cannot be perfect and besides there are great many people convicted who are innocent of doing anything considered wrong by the society they have grown up in excuse me this is not so every thief knows that stealing is wrong and that we should not steal that it is immoral said Rogozinski with his quiet self assured slightly contemptuous smile which specially irritated Necladov no he does not know it they say to him don't steal and he knows that the master of the factory steals his labour by keeping back his wages that the government with its officials robs him continually by taxation why this is anarchism Rogozinski said quietly defining his brother in law's words I don't know what it is I am only telling you the truth Necladov continued he knows that the government is robbing him knows that we landed proprietors have robbed him long since robbed him of the land which should be the common property of all and then if he picks up dry wood to light his fire on that land stolen from him we put him in jail and tried to persuade him that he is a thief of course he knows that not he but those who robbed him of the land are thieves and that to get any restitution of what has been robbed is his duty towards his family I don't understand or if I do I cannot agree with it the land must be somebody's property began Rogozinski quietly and convinced that Necladov was a socialist and that socialism demands that all the land should be divided equally that such a division would be very foolish and that he could easily prove it to be so he said if you divided it equally today it would tomorrow be again in the hands of the most industrious and clever nobody is thinking of dividing the land equally the land must not be anybody's property must not be a thing to be bought and sold or rented the rights of property are inborn in man without them the cultivation of land would present no interest destroy the rights of property and relapse into barbarism Rogozinski uttered this authoritatively repeating the usual argument in favour of private ownership of land which is supposed to be irrefutable based on the assumption that people desire to possess land proves that they need it on the contrary only when the land is nobody's property will it cease to lie idle as it does now while the landlords like dogs in the manger unable themselves to put it to use will not let those use it who are able but Dmitriy Ivanovich what you are saying is sheer madness is it possible to abolish property in our land in our age I know it is your old hobby but allow me to tell you straight and Rogozinski grew pale and his voice trembled it was evident that this question touched him very nearly I should advise you to consider this question well before attempting to solve it practically are you speaking of my personal affairs yes I hold that we who are placed in special circumstances should bear the responsibilities which spring from those circumstances should uphold the conditions in which we were born and which we have inherited from our predecessors and which we ought to pass on to our descendants I consider it my duty wait a bit said Rogozinski not permitting the interruption I am not speaking for myself or my children the position of my children is assured and I earn enough for us to live comfortably and I expect my children will live so too so that my interest in your action which if you will allow me to say so is not well considered is not based on personal motives it is on principle that I cannot agree with you I should advise you to think it well over to read please allow me to settle my affairs and to choose what to read and what not to read myself said Nikolaydov, turning pale feeling his hands grow cold and that he was no longer master of himself he stopped and began drinking his tea end of book 2, chapter 32