THE AWAKENING
(The Resurrection)
by
COUNT LEO TOLSTOI
Author of
"War and Peace," "The Kreutzer Sonata,"
"Anna Karenina," Etc.
Translated by William E. Smith
[Illustration: COUNT LEO TOLSTOI.]
New York
Street & Smith, Publishers
238 William Street
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1900
By Street & Smith
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.
"Then came Peter to Him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my
brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven
times?" - _Matthew, c. xviii.; v. 21._
"Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven
times: but until seventy times seven." - _Idem, v. 22._
"And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's
eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own
eye!" - _Idem, c. vii.; v. 3._
"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a
stone at her." - _John, c. viii.; v. 7._
"The disciple is not above his master: but every one that is
perfect shall be as his master." - _Luke, c. vi.; v. 40._
THE AWAKENING.
PART FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
All the efforts of several hundred thousand people, crowded in a small
space, to disfigure the land on which they lived; all the stone they
covered it with to keep it barren; how so diligently every sprouting
blade of grass was removed; all the smoke of coal and naphtha; all the
cutting down of trees and driving off of cattle could not shut out the
spring, even from the city. The sun was shedding its light; the grass,
revivified, was blooming forth, where it was left uncut, not only on
the greenswards of the boulevard, but between the flag-stones, and the
birches, poplars and wild-berry trees were unfolding their viscous
leaves; the limes were unfolding their buds; the daws, sparrows and
pigeons were joyfully making their customary nests, and the flies were
buzzing on the sun-warmed walls. Plants, birds, insects and children
were equally joyful. Only men - grown-up men - continued cheating and
tormenting themselves and each other. People saw nothing holy in this
spring morning, in this beauty of God's world - a gift to all living
creatures - inclining to peace, good-will and love, but worshiped their
own inventions for imposing their will on each other.
The joy of spring felt by animals and men did not penetrate the office
of the county jail, but the one thing of supreme importance there was
a document received the previous evening, with title, number and seal,
which ordered the bringing into court for trial, this 28th day of
April, at nine o'clock in the morning, three prisoners - two women and
one man. One of the women, as the more dangerous criminal, was to be
brought separately. So, in pursuance of that order, on the 28th day of
April, at eight o'clock in the morning, the jail warden entered the
dingy corridor of the woman's ward. Immediately behind him came a
woman with weary countenance and disheveled gray hair, wearing a
crown-laced jacket, and girdled with a blue-edged sash. She was the
matron.
"You want Maslova?" she asked the warden, as they neared one of the
cells opening into the corridor.
The warden, with a loud clanking of iron, unlocked and opened the door
of the cell, releasing an even fouler odor than permeated the
corridor, and shouted:
"Maslova to the court!" and again closing the door he waited for her
appearance.
The fresh, vivifying air of the fields, carried to the city by the
wind, filled even the court-yard of the jail. But in the corridor the
oppressive air, laden with the smell of tar and putrescence, saddened
and dejected the spirit of every new-comer. The same feeling was
experienced by the jail matron, notwithstanding she was accustomed to
bad air. On entering the corridor she suddenly felt a weariness coming
over her that inclined her to slumber.
There was a bustling in the cell; women's voices and steps of bare
feet were heard.
"Hurry up, Maslova! Come on, I say!" shouted the warden into the
cell-door.
Presently at the cell-door appeared a middle-sized, full-breasted
young woman, dressed in a long, gray coat over a white waist and
skirt. She approached with firm step, and, facing about, stood before
the warden. Over her linen stockings she wore jail shoes; her head was
covered with a white 'kerchief, from under which black curls were
evidently purposely brushed over the forehead. The face of the woman
was of that whiteness peculiar to people who have been a long time in
confinement, and which reminds one of potato-sprouts in a cellar. Her
small, wide hands, her white, full neck, showing from under the large
collar of the coat, were of a similar hue. On the dull pallor of that
face the most striking feature was the black, sparkling eyes, somewhat
swollen, but very bright eyes, one of which slightly squinted. She
held herself erect, putting forth her full chest. Emerging into the
corridor, throwing her head back a little, she looked into the eyes of
the warden and stood ready to do his bidding. The warden was about to
shut the door, when a pale, severe, wrinkled face of an old woman with
disheveled hair was thrust out. The old woman began to say something
to Maslova. But the warden pressed the door against the head of the
woman, and she disappeared. In the cell a woman's voice burst into
laughter. Maslova also smiled, and turned to the grated little opening
in the door. The old woman pressed her forehead to the grating, and
said in a hoarse voice:
"Above all, don't speak too much; stick to one thing, and that is
all."
"Of course. It cannot be any worse," said Maslova.
"You certainly cannot stick to two things," said the chief warden,
with official assurance of his own wit. "Follow me, now! Forward!
March!"
The eye looking from behind the grating disappeared, and Maslova took
to the middle of the corridor, and with short, but rapid strides,
followed the warden. They descended the stone stairway, and as they
passed the men's ward, noisy and more noisome even than the woman's
ward, scores of eyes followed them from behind the gratings. They
entered the office, where an armed escort of two soldiers stood. The
clerk handed one of the soldiers a document, reeking of tobacco smoke,
and, pointing to the prisoner, said:
"Take her."
The soldier, a Nijhni peasant with a red and pock-marked face, placed
the paper into the cuff of his coat sleeve, and, smiling, winked to
his muscular comrade. The soldiers and prisoner descended the stairs
and went in the direction of the main entrance.
A small door in the gate opened, and, crossing the threshold, they
passed through the inclosure and took the middle of the paved street.
Drivers, shop-keepers, kitchen maids, laborers and officials halted
and gazed with curiosity at the prisoner. Some shook their heads and
thought: "There is the result of evil conduct - how unlike ours!"
Children looked with horror at the cut-throat, but the presence of the
soldiers reassured them, for she was now powerless to do harm. A
villager, returning from the mart, where he had disposed of his
charcoal and visited an inn, offered her a kopeck. The prisoner
blushed, drooped her head and murmured something.
Conscious of the attention that was shown her, without turning her
head she looked askance at the onlookers and rather enjoyed it. She
also enjoyed the comparatively pure spring air, but the walking on the
cobblestones was painful to her feet, unused as they were to walking,
and shod in clumsy prison shoes. She looked at her feet and endeavored
to step as lightly as possible. Passing by a food store, in front of
which some pigeons were picking grain, she came near striking with her
foot a dove-colored bird. It rose with a flutter of its wings, and
flew past the very ear of the prisoner, fanning her face with its
wings. She smiled, then sighed deeply, remembering her own condition.
CHAPTER II.
The history of the prisoner Maslova was a very common one. Maslova was
the daughter of an unmarried menial who lived with her mother, a
cowherd, on the estate of two spinsters. This unmarried woman gave
birth to a child every year, and, as is the custom in the villages,
baptized them; then neglected the troublesome newcomers, and they
finally starved to death.
Thus five children died. Every one of these was baptized, then it
starved and finally died. The sixth child, begotten of a passing
gypsy, was a girl, who would have shared the same fate, but it
happened that one of the two old maidens entered the cow-shed to
reprimand the milkmaids for carelessness in skimming the cream, and
there saw the mother with the healthy and beautiful child. The old
maiden chided them for the cream and for permitting the woman to lie
in the cow-shed, and was on the point of departing, but noticing the
child, was moved to pity, and afterward consented to stand godmother
to the child. She baptized the child, and in pity for her
god-daughter, furnished her with milk, gave the mother some money,
and the babe thrived. Wherefore the old maidens called it "the saved
one."
The child was three years old when the mother fell ill and died. She
was a great burden to her grandmother, so the old maidens adopted her.
The dark-eyed girl became unusually lively and pretty, and her
presence cheered them.
Of the two old maidens, the younger one - Sophia Ivanovna - was the
kindlier, while the older one - Maria Ivanovna - was of austere
disposition. Sophia Ivanovna kept the girl in decent clothes, taught
her to read and intended to give her an education. Maria Ivanovna said
that the girl ought to be taught to work that she might become a
useful servant, was exacting, punished, and even beat her when in bad
humor. Under such conditions the girl grew up half servant, half lady.
Her position was reflected even in her name, for she was not called by
the gentle Katinka, nor yet by the disdainful Katka, but Katiousha,
which stands sentimentally between the two. She sewed, cleaned the
rooms, cleaned the ikons with chalk, ground, cooked and served coffee,
washed, and sometimes she read for the ladies.
She was wooed, but would marry no one, feeling that life with any one
of her wooers would be hard, spoiled, as she was, more or less, by the
comparative ease she enjoyed in the manor.
She had just passed her sixteenth year when the ladies were visited by
their nephew, a rich student, and Katiousha, without daring to confess
it to him, or even to herself, fell in love with him. Two years
afterward, while on his way to the war, he again visited his aunts,
and during his four days' stay, consummated her ruin. Before his
departure he thrust a hundred ruble bill into her hand.
Thenceforward life ceased to have any charms for her, and her only
thought was to escape the shame which awaited her, and not only did
she become lax in her duties, but - and she did not know herself how it
happened - all of a sudden she gave vent to her ill temper. She said
some rude things to the ladies, of which she afterward repented, and
left them.
Dissatisfied with her behavior, they did not detain her. She then
obtained employment as servant in the house of the commissary of rural
police, but was obliged to give up the position at the end of the
third month, for the commissary, a fifty-year old man, pursued her
with his attentions, and when, on one occasion, he became too
persistent, she flared up, called him an old fool, and threw him to
the ground. Then she was driven from the house. She was now so far
advanced on the road to maternity that to look for a position was out
of the question. Hence she took lodgings with an old midwife, who was
also a wine dealer. The confinement came off painlessly. But the
midwife was attending a sick woman in the village, infected Katiousha
with puerperal fever, and the child, a boy, was taken to a foundling
asylum where, she was told, he died immediately after his arrival
there.
When Katiousha took lodgings with the midwife she had 127 rubles; 27
rubles of which she had earned, and 100 rubles which had been given
her by her seducer. When she left her she had but six rubles left. She
was not economical, and spent on herself as well as others. She paid
40 rubles to the midwife for two months' board; 25 rubles it cost her
to have the child taken away; 40 rubles the midwife borrowed of her to
buy a cow with; the balance was spent on dresses, presents, etc., so
that after the confinement she was practically penniless, and was
compelled to look for a position. She was soon installed in the house
of a forester who was married, and who, like the commissary, began to
pay court to her. His wife became aware of it, and when, on one
occasion, she found them both in the room, she fell on Katiousha and
began to beat her. The latter resented it, and the result was a
scrimmage, after which she was driven out of the house, without being
paid the wages due her. Katiousha went to the city, where she stopped
with her aunt. Her aunt's husband was a bookbinder. Formerly he used
to earn a competence, but had lost his customers, and was now given to
drink, spending everything that came into his hands.
With the aid of a small laundry she was keeping, her aunt supported
her children as well as her husband. She offered Maslova work as a
washerwoman, but seeing what a hard life the washerwomen at her
aunt's establishment were leading, she searched through the
intelligence offices for a position as servant. She found such a place
with a lady who was living with her two student boys. A week after she
had entered upon her duties, the oldest son neglected his studies and
made life miserable for Maslova. The mother threw all blame upon
Maslova and discharged her. She was some time without any occupation.
In one of these intelligence offices she once met a lady richly
dressed and adorned with diamonds. This lady, learning of the
condition of Maslova, who was looking for a position, gave her her
card and invited her to call. The lady received Maslova
affectionately, treated her to choice cakes and sweet wine, while she
dispatched her servant somewhere with a note. In the evening a tall
man with long hair just turning gray, and gray beard, came into the
room. The old man immediately seated himself beside Maslova and began
to jest. The hostess called him into an adjoining room, and Maslova
overheard her say: "As fresh as a rose; just from the country." Then
the hostess called in Maslova and told her that the man was an author,
very rich, _and will be very generous if he takes a liking to her_. He
did take a liking to her, gave her twenty-five rubles, and promised to
call on her often. The money was soon spent in settling for her board
at her aunt's, for a new dress, hat and ribbons. A few days afterward
the author sent for her a second time. She called. He gave her another
twenty-five ruble bill and offered to rent apartments for her where
she could reside separately.
While living in the apartments rented by the author, Maslova became
infatuated with a jolly clerk living in the same house. She herself
told the author of her infatuation, and moved into a smaller
apartment. The clerk, who had promised to marry her, without saying
anything, left for Nijhni, evidently casting her off, and Maslova
remained alone. She wished to remain in the apartment, but the
landlord would not permit a single woman to occupy it, and she
returned to her aunt. Her fashionable dress, cape and hat won her the
respect of her aunt, who no longer dared to offer her work as a
washerwoman, considering her present position far above it. The
question of working in the laundry did not even occur to Maslova now.
She looked with compassion on the life of drudgery led by these pale,
emaciated washerwomen, some of whom showed symptoms of consumption,
washing and ironing in a stifling, steam-laden atmosphere with the
windows open summer and winter, and she was horrified at the thought
that she, too, might be driven to such drudgery.
Maslova had for a long time been addicted to cigarette smoking, but of
late she had been getting more and more accustomed to drink. The wine
attracted her, not because of its taste, but because it enabled her to
forget her past life, to comfort herself with ease, and the confidence
of her own worth that it gave her. Without wine she was despondent and
abashed. There was the choice of two things before her; either the
humiliating occupation of a servant, with the certain unwelcome
attentions of the men, or a secure, quiet and legitimatized position
of everybody's mistress. She wished to revenge herself on her seducer,
as well as the clerk, and all those that brought misfortune upon her.
Besides, she could not withstand the temptation of having all the
dresses her heart desired - dresses made of velvet, gauze and
silk - ball dresses, with open neck and short sleeves. And when Maslova
imagined herself in a bright yellow silk dress, with velvet trimmings,
decolette, she made her choice.
From this day on Maslova began to lead a life to which hundreds of
thousands of women are driven, and which, in nine cases out of ten,
ends in painful disease, premature decrepitude and death.
After a night's orgies there would come a deep slumber till three or
four o'clock in the afternoon; then the weary rising from a dirty
couch; seltzer-water to remove the effect of excessive drinking,
coffee. Then came the sauntering through the rooms in dressing-gown,
looking through the windows; the languid quarrels; then the perfuming
of her body and hair, the trying on of dresses, and the quarrels with
the mistress which they occasioned; contemplating herself in the
mirror, rouging her face, darkening her eyebrows. Then came the sweet,
rich food, the bright silk dress, the entry into the brightly lighted
parlor, the arrival of the guests, music, dancing, confectionery, wine
and cigarettes.
Thus Maslova lived for seven years. On the eighth, when she had
reached her twenty-sixth year, there happened that for which she had
been jailed, and for which she was now led to the court, after six
months of confinement among thieves and murderers.
CHAPTER III.
At the time when Maslova, exhausted by the long walk, was approaching
with the armed convoy the building in which court was held, the same
nephew of the ladies that brought her up, Prince Dmitri Ivanovitch
Nekhludoff, who deceived her, lay on his high, soft, spring
feather-bed, in spotless Holland linen, smoking a cigarette. He was
gazing before him, contemplating the events of the previous day and
considering what he had before him for that day. As he thought of the
previous evening, spent at the Korchagins, a wealthy and influential
family, whose daughter, rumor had it, he was to marry, he sighed, and
throwing away the butt of his cigarette, he was on the point of taking
another from the silver cigarette holder, but changed his mind. Half
rising, he slipped his smooth, white feet into the slippers, threw a
silk morning gown over his broad shoulders, and with quick and heavy
stride, walked into the adjoining dressing-room, which was permeated
with the artificial odors of elixirs, perfumes, cosmetics. There he
washed his partly gold-filled teeth with a tooth-powder, rinsed them
with a perfumed mouth-wash, then began to sponge himself and dry his
body with Turkish towels. After washing his hands with perfumed soap,
carefully brushing his trimmed nails and washing his face and stout
neck in a marble basin, he walked into a third room, where a
shower-bath was ready. Here he received a cold-water douche, and after
rubbing his white and muscular body with coarse towels and donning his
white linen, he seated himself before the mirror and began to brush
his short, curly beard and the thinning curls of his forehead.
Everything used by him - the linen, clothing, shoes, scarfs,
scarf-pins, cuff-buttons, were of the very best quality, simple,
tasteful and expensive.
He then picked out the first of a dozen scarfs and pins that came into
his hand - it was no more novel and amusing, as it used to be - and he
was quite indifferent as to which he put on. He dressed himself in his
brushed clothes which lay on the chair and went out, though not quite
refreshed, yet clean and fragrant. In the oblong dining-room, the
inlaid floor of which had been polished by three of his men the day
before, and containing a massive oaken sideboard and a similar
extension table, the legs of which were carved in the shape of lion's
paws, giving it a pompous appearance, breakfast stood ready for him. A
fine, starched cloth with large monograms was spread on the table, on
which stood a silver coffee-pot, containing fragrant, steaming coffee,
a sugar bowl and cream pitcher to match, fresh rolls and various kinds
of biscuits. Beside them lay the last number of the "Revue des deux
Mondes," newspapers and his mail. Nekhludoff was about to open the
letters, when a middle-aged woman, with a lace head-gear over her
unevenly parted hair, glided into the room. This was Agrippina
Petrovna, servant of his mother, who died in this very house. She was
now stewardess to the son.
Agrippina Petrovna had traveled many years abroad with Nekhludoff's
mother, and had acquired the manners of a lady. She had lived in the
house of the Nekhludoffs since childhood, and knew Dmitri Ivanovitch
when he was called by the diminutive Mitenka.
"Good-morning, Dmitri Ivanovitch."
"How do you do, Agrippina Petrovna? What's the news?" asked
Nekhludoff, jesting.
"A letter from the old Princess, or the young one, perhaps. The maid
brought it long ago, and is now waiting in my room," said Agrippina
Petrovna, handing him the letter with a significant smile.
"Very well; I will attend to it immediately," said Nekhludoff, taking
the letter and then, noticing the smile on Agrippina's face, he
frowned.
The smile on Agrippina's face signified that the letter came from
Princess Korchagin, whom, according to Agrippina Petrovna, he was to
marry. And this supposition, expressed by her smile, displeased
Nekhludoff.
"Then I will bid her wait," and Agrippina Petrovna glided out of the
dining-room, first replacing the crumb-brush, which lay on the table,
in its holder.
Nekhludoff opened the perfumed letter and began to read:
"In fulfillment of the duty I assumed of being your memory,"
the letter ran, "I call to your mind that you have been
summoned to serve as juror to-day, the 28th of April, and
that, therefore, you cannot accompany us and Kolosoff to the
art exhibition, as you promised yesterday in your customary
forgetfulness; à moins que vous ne soyez disposé à payer Ã
la cour d'assises les 300 rubles d'amende que vous vous
refusez pour votre cheval, for your failure to appear in
time. I remembered it yesterday, when you had left. So keep
it in mind.
"PRINCESS M. KORCHAGIN."
On the other side was a postscript:
"Maman vous fait dire que votre couvert vous attendra jusqu'
à la nuit. Venez absolument à quelle heure que cela soit. M. K."
Nekhludoff knit his brows. The note was the continuation of a skillful
strategem whereby the Princess sought, for the last two months, to
fasten him with invisible bonds. But Nekhludoff, besides the usual
irresoluteness before marriage of people of his age, and who are not
passionately in love, had an important reason for withholding his
offer of marriage for the time being. The reason was not that ten
years before he had ruined and abandoned Katiousha, which incident he
had entirely forgotten, but that at this very time he was sustaining
relations with a married woman, and though he now considered them at
an end, they were not so considered by her.
In the presence of women, Nekhludoff was very shy, but it was this
very shyness that determined the married woman to conquer him. This
woman was the wife of the commander of the district in which
Nekhludoff was one of the electors. She led him into relations with
her which held him fast, and at the same time grew more and more
repulsive to him. At first Nekhludoff could not resist her wiles,
then, feeling himself at fault, he could not break off the relations
against her will. This was the reason why Nekhludoff considered that
he had no right, even if he desired, to ask for the hand of Korchagin.
A letter from the husband of that woman happened to lay on the table.
Recognizing the handwriting and the stamp, Nekhludoff flushed and
immediately felt an influx of that energy which he always experienced
in the face of danger. But there was no cause for his agitation; the
husband, as commander of the district where Nekhludoff's estates were
situated, informed the latter of a special meeting of the local
governing body, and asked him to be present without fail, and donner
un coup d'épaule in the important measures to be submitted concerning
the schools and roads, and that the reactionary party was expected to
offer strong opposition.
The commander was a liberal-minded man, entirely absorbed with the
struggles, and knew nothing about his wretched family life.
Nekhludoff recalled all the tortures this man had occasioned him; how
on one occasion he thought that the husband had discovered all, and he
was preparing to fight a duel with him, intending to use a blank
cartridge, and the ensuing scene where she, in despair, ran to the
pond, intending to drown herself, while he ran to search for her. "I
cannot go now, and can undertake nothing until I have heard from her,"
thought Nekhludoff. The preceding week he had written to her a
decisive letter, acknowledging his guilt, and expressing his readiness
to redeem it in any manner she should suggest, but for her own good,
considered their relations ended. It is to this letter that he
expected a reply. He considered it a favorable sign that no reply
came. If she had not consented to a separation, she would have
answered long ago, or would have come personally, as she often did
before. Nekhludoff had heard that an army officer was courting her,
and while he was tormented by jealousy, he was at the same time
gladdened by the hope of release from the oppressive lie.
The other letter was from the steward in charge of his estates.
Nekhludoff was requested to return and establish his right to the
inheritance and also to decide on the future management of the
estates; whether the same system of letting out to the peasants, which
prevailed during the lifetime of his mother, was to be continued, or,
as the steward had strongly advised the deceased Princess, and now
advised the young Prince, to augment the stock and work all the land
himself. The steward wrote that the land could thus best be exploited.
He also apologized for his failure to send the three thousand rubles
due on the first of the month, which he would send by the next mail,
explaining it by the difficulty of collecting the rents from the
peasants whose bad faith had reached a point where it became necessary
to resort to the courts to collect them. This letter was partly
agreeable and partly disagreeable to Nekhludoff. It was agreeable to
feel the power of authority over so vast an estate, and it was
disagreeable, because in his youth he was an enthusiastic adherent of
Herbert Spencer, and being himself a large land owner, was struck by
the proposition in _Social Statics_ that private ownership of land is
contrary to the dictates of justice. With the frankness and boldness
of youth, he not only _then_ spoke of the injustice of private
ownership of land; not only did he compose theses in the university on
the subject, but he actually distributed among the peasants the few
hundred acres of land left him by his father, not desiring to own land
contrary to his convictions. Now that he found himself the owner of
vast estates, he was confronted by two alternatives: either to waive
his ownership in favor of the peasants, as he did ten years ago with
the two hundred acres, or, by tacit acquiescence, confess that all his
former ideas were erroneous and false.
He could not carry out the first, because he possessed no resources
outside of the land. He did not wish to go into service, and yet he
had luxurious habits of life which he thought he could not abandon.
Indeed, there was no necessity of abandoning these habits, since he
had lost the strength of conviction as well as the resolution, the
vanity and the desire to astonish people that he had possessed in his
youth. The other alternative - to reject all the arguments against
private ownership of land which he gathered from Spencer's _Social
Statics_, and of which he found confirmation in the works of Henry
George - he could follow even less.
For this reason the steward's letter was disagreeable to him.
CHAPTER IV.
Having breakfasted, Nekhludoff went to the cabinet to see for what
hour he was summoned to appear at court, and to answer the Princess'
note. In the work-room stood an easel with a half-finished painting
turned face downward, and on the wall hung studies in drawing. On
seeing that painting, on which he had worked two years, and those
drawings, he called to mind the feeling of impotence, which he
experienced of late with greatest force, to make further advance in
the art. He explained this feeling by the development of a fine
aesthetic taste, and yet this consciousness caused him unpleasant
sensations.
Seven years before he had retired from active service he decided that
his true vocation in life was painting, and from the height of his
artistic activity he looked down upon all other occupations. And now
it appeared that he had no right to do so, and every recollection of
it was disagreeable to him. He looked on all the luxurious
appointments of the work-room with heavy heart, and walked into the
cabinet in ill humor. The cabinet was a high room, profusely
ornamented, and containing every imaginable device of comfort and
necessity.
He produced from one of the drawers of a large table the summons, and,
ascertaining that he must appear at eleven o'clock, he sat down and
wrote to the Princess, thanking her for the invitation, and saying
that he should try to call for dinner. The tone of the note seemed to
him too intimate, and he tore it up; he wrote another, but that was
too formal, almost offensive. Again he tore it up, and touched a
button on the wall. A servant, morose, with flowing side-whiskers and
in a gray apron, entered.
"Please send for a carriage."
"Yes, sir."
"And tell the Korchagins' maid that I thank them; I will try to call."
"Yes, sir."
"It is impolite, but I cannot write. But I will see her to-day,"
thought Nekhludoff, and started to dress himself.
When he emerged from the house a carriage with rubber tires awaited
him.
"You had scarcely left Prince Korchagin's house yesterday when I
called for you," said the driver, half-turning his stout, sun-burned
neck in the white collar of his shirt, "and the footman said that you
had just gone."
"Even the drivers know of my relations to the Korchagins," thought
Nekhludoff, and the unsolved question which continually occupied his
mind of late - whether or not he ought to marry Princess
Korchagin - again occurred to him, and, like most questions that he was
called upon to decide at that time, it remained unsolved.
He had many reasons for, and as many against, marriage. There was the
pleasure of domestic life, which made it possible to lead a moral
life, as he called married life; then, and principally, the family and
children would infuse his present aimless life with a purpose. This
was for marriage generally. On the other hand there was, first, the
loss of freedom which all elderly bachelors fear so much; and, second,
an unconscious awe of that mysterious creature, woman.
However, in favor of marrying Missy in particular (Korchagin's name
was Maria, but, as usual in families of the higher classes, she
received a nickname) there was, first, the fact that she came of good
stock, and was in everything, from her dress to her manner of
speaking, walking and laughing, distinguished not by any exceptional
qualities, but by "good breeding" - he knew no other expression for the
quality which he prized very highly. Second, she valued him above all
other men, hence, he thought she understood him. And this appreciation
of him, that is, acknowledging his high qualities, was proof to
Nekhludoff of her intelligence and correct judgment. Finally, against
marrying Missy in particular, was, first, the extreme probability of
his finding a girl of much better qualities than Missy, and,
consequently, more worthy of him; and, second, Missy was twenty-seven
years old and had probably loved other men before him. This thought
tormented him. His pride could not reconcile itself to the thought
that she could love some one else, even in the past. Of course, she
could not be expected to know that she would meet him, but the very
thought that she could have loved some one else before offended him.
So that there were as many reasons for as there were against marriage
in general and marrying Missy in particular. At all events the
arguments were equally strong on both sides, and Nekhludoff laughed as
he compared himself to the ass in the fable who, while deciding which
of the two bales of hay before him he should have his meal from,
starved himself.
"However, until I have heard from Maria Vasilieona, the wife of the
commander, and have done with her for good, I can do nothing," he said
to himself.
And the consciousness that he could and must defer his decision
pleased him.
"Ah, but I will consider it all later," he said to himself, as his
cabriolet silently approached the asphalt pavement of the court-house.
"And now I must do my duty to the community conscientiously, as I
always do, and think it one's duty to do. Besides, it is often
interesting," he said, and went past the door-keeper into the
vestibule of the court.
CHAPTER V.
There was great commotion in the corridors of the court when
Nekhludoff entered.
The attendants flitted to and fro breathlessly, delivering orders and
documents. Police captains, lawyers and clerks passed now one way, now
the other; complainants and defendants under bail leaned sadly against
the walls, or were sitting and waiting.
"Where is the Circuit Court?" asked Nekhludoff of one of the
attendants.
"Which one? There is a civil division and a criminal one."
"I am a juror."
"Criminal division. You should have said so. This way, to the right,
then turn to your left. The second door."
Nekhludoff went as directed.
At the door two men stood waiting. One was a tall, stout merchant, a
good-natured man, who had evidently partaken of some liquor and was in
very high spirits; the other was a clerk of Jewish extraction. They
were talking about the price of wool when Nekhludoff approached them
and asked if that was the jury's room.
"Here, sir, here. Are you also one of the jurymen?" mirthfully winking
his eyes, the good-natured merchant asked.
"Well, we will drudge together, I suppose," he continued in response
to Nekhludoff's affirmative answer. "My name is Baklashoff, merchant
of the second guild," he introduced himself, extending his soft, broad
hand; "we must do our duty. Whom have I the honor of addressing?"
Nekhludoff gave his name and passed into the jury-room.
In the small jury-room there were about ten men of every description.
They had just arrived; some were sitting, others walked about, eyeing,
and making each other's acquaintance. One was a retired officer in
uniform; others were in short coats, and but one in peasant garb.
Notwithstanding that they were all complaining that the jury duty was
burdensome, and was taking them away from their business, they all
seemed to be pleased with the consciousness of performing an important
civic duty.
The jurymen talked among themselves of the weather, of the premature
spring, of the business before them. Those who were not acquainted
with Nekhludoff hastened to become so, evidently considering it an
honor. And Nekhludoff, as was usual with him among strangers, received
it as his due. If he were asked why he considered himself above the
majority of people he would not be able to answer, as there was
nothing in his life transcending the commonplace. The fact that he
spoke English, French and German fluently; that his linen, clothing,
scarf and cuff-buttons were of superior make would not be sufficient
reason for assuming his superiority, as he himself well understood.
And yet he doubtless acknowledged in himself this superiority, and
regarded the respect shown him as his due, and was offended when it
was not forthcoming. It just happened that in the jury-room Nekhludoff
experienced this disagreeable feeling of being treated with
disrespect. Among the jurymen there was an acquaintance of Nekhludoff.
This was Peter Gerasimovitch (Nekhludoff never knew, and even boasted
of the fact that he did not know his surname), who was at one time
tutor to his sister's children. Peter Gerasimovitch was now teacher in
a college. Nekhludoff could never bear his familiarity, his
self-satisfied laughter - in a word, his "communizing," as Nekhludoff's
sister used to put it.
"Ha, ha! So you are also trapped?" he greeted Nekhludoff with a loud
burst of laughter. "You did not escape it?"
"I never intended to evade my duty," sternly and gloomily said
Nekhludoff.
"That I call civic virtue. But wait till you are hungry and sleepy,
you will sing another tune," Peter Gerasimovitch said, laughing still
louder.
"This son of an archdeacon will soon begin to 'thou' me," thought
Nekhludoff, with an expression of sadness on his face, as though he
had just learned of a grievous loss in his family. He turned from the
ex-tutor and approached a group of people that had formed around a
clean-faced, tall man, of dignified carriage, who were holding a
spirited conversation. The man was speaking of a case that was being
tried in the civil division, showing his familiarity with the judges
and the famous lawyers by referring to them by name. He was telling
them of the remarkable turn given to the probable result of the case
by the dexterity of a famous lawyer, by which an old lady, who was in
the right, would be obliged to pay an enormous sum to the adverse
side.
"He is a most ingenious attorney," he said.
He was listened to with respect, and some attempted to interrupt him
with some remarks, but he cut them short as if he alone knew the true
facts.
Although Nekhludoff arrived late, there was a long wait before him,
which was caused by the failure of one of the judges to appear.
CHAPTER VI.
The presiding justice arrived early. He was a tall, stout man, with
long, grayish side-whiskers. He was married, but, like his wife, led a
very dissolute life. They did not interfere with each other. On the
morning in question he received a note from a Swiss governess, who had
lived in his house during the summer, and was now passing on her way
from the South to St. Petersburg. She wrote that she would be in town
between three and six o'clock p.m., and wait for him at the "Hotel
Italia." He was, therefore, anxious to end his day's sitting before