by Leo Tolstoy
The general bowed his head.
"That does not affect me," said Nekhludoff. "I have seen so much real misfortune to-day that----"
"Sit down and tell us what you have seen."
The husband listened, and ironically smiled with his eyes.
"I went to see that woman who has been released. She is entirely broken down."
"That is the woman of whom I have spoken to you," Mariette said to her husband.
"Yes; I was very glad that she could be released," he calmly said, nodding his head and smiling ironically, as it seemed to Nekhludoff, under his mustache. "I will go to the smoking-room."
Nekhludoff waited, expecting that Mariette would tell him that something which she said she had to tell him, but instead she only jested and talked of the performance, which, she thought, ought to affect him particularly.
Nekhludoff understood that the only purpose for which she had brought him to the theatre was to display her evening toilet with her shoulders and mole, and he was both pleased and disgusted. Now he saw what was under the veil of the charm that at first attracted him. Looking on Mariette, he admired her, but he knew that she was a prevaricator who was living with her career-making husband; that what she had said the other day was untrue, and that she only wished--and neither knew why--to make him love her. And, as has been said, he was both pleased and disgusted. Several times he attempted to leave, took his hat but still remained. But finally, when the general, his thick mustache reeking with tobacco, returned to the box and glanced at Nekhludoff patronizingly disdainful, as if he did not recognize him, Nekhludoff walked out before the door closed behind the general, and, finding his overcoat, left the theatre.
On his way home he suddenly noticed before him a tall, well-built, loudly-dressed woman. Every passer-by turned to look at her. Nekhludoff walked quicker than the woman, and also involuntarily looked her in the face. Her face, probably rouged, was pretty; her eyes flashed at him, and she smiled. Nekhludoff involuntarily thought of Mariette, for he experienced the same feeling of attraction and disgust which took hold of him in the theatre. Passing her hastily, Nekhludoff turned the corner of the street, and, to the surprise of the policeman, began to walk up and down the water-front.
"That one in the theatre also smiled that way when I entered," he thought, "and the smile of the former conveyed the same meaning as that of the latter. The only difference between them is that this one speaks openly and plainly, while the other pretends to be exercising higher and refined feelings. But in reality they are alike. This one is at least truthful, while the other is lying." Nekhludoff recalled his relations with the wife of the district commander, and a flood of shameful recollections came upon him. "There is a disgusting bestiality in man," he thought; "but when it is in a primitive state, one looks down upon and despises it, whether he is carried away with or withstands it. But when this same bestiality hides itself under a so-called aesthetic, poetic cover, and demands to be worshiped, then, deifying the beast, one gives himself up to it, without distinguishing between the good and the bad. Then it is horrible."
As there was no soothing, rest-giving darkness that night, but instead there was a hazy, cheerless, unnatural light, so even was there no rest-giving darkness--ignorance--for Nekhludoff's soul. Everything was clear. It was plain that all that is considered important and useful is really insignificant and wicked, and that all that splendor and luxury were hiding old crimes, familiar to every one, and not only stalking unpunished, but triumphing and adorned with all the allurements man is capable of conceiving.
Nekhludoff wished to forget it, not to see it, but he could no longer help seeing it. Although he did not see the source of the light which revealed these things to him, as he did not see the source of the light which spread over St. Petersburg, and though this light seemed to him hazy, cheerless and unnatural, he could not help seeing that which the light revealed to him, and he felt at the same time both joy and alarm.
CHAPTER XVII.
Immediately upon his arrival in Moskow, Nekhludoff made his way to the prison hospital, intending to make known to Maslova the Senate's decision and to tell her to prepare for the journey to Siberia.
Of the petition which he brought for Maslova's signature, he had little hope. And, strange to say, he no longer wished to succeed. He had accustomed himself to the thought of going to Siberia, and living among the exiles and convicts, and it was difficult for him to imagine how he should order his life and that of Maslova if she were freed.
The door-keeper at the hospital, recognizing Nekhludoff, immediately informed him that Maslova was no longer there.
"Where is she, then?"
"Why, again in the prison."
"Why was she transferred?" asked Nekhludoff.
"Your Excellency knows their kind," said the door-keeper, with a contemptuous smile. "She was making love to the assistant, so the chief physician sent her back."
Nekhludoff did not suspect that Maslova and her spiritual condition were so close to him. This news stunned him. The feeling he experienced was akin to that which people experience when hearing suddenly of some great misfortune. He was deeply grieved. The first feeling he experienced was that of shame. His joyful portraying of her spiritual awakening now seemed to him ridiculous. Her reluctance to accept his sacrifice, the reproaches and the tears, were the mere cunning, he thought, of a dissolute woman who wished to make the most use of him. It seemed to him now that at his last visit he had seen in her the symptoms of incorrigibility which were now evident. All this flashed through his mind at the time he instinctively donned his hat and left the hospital.
"But what's to be done now?" he asked himself. "Am I bound to her? Am I not released now by this, her act?"
But no sooner did he form the question than he understood that in considering himself released and leaving her to her fate he would be punishing not her, which he desired, but himself, and he was terrified.
"No! That will not alter my decision--it will only strengthen it. Let her do whatever her soul prompts her to do; if she would make love to the assistant, let her do so. It is her business. It is my business to do what my conscience demands," he said to himself. "And my conscience demands that I sacrifice my liberty in expiation of my sin, and my decision to marry her, although but fictitiously, and follow her wherever she may be sent, remains unaltered," he said to himself, with spiteful obstinacy, and, leaving the hospital, he made his way with resolute step to the prison gate.
Coming to the gate, he asked the officer on duty to tell the inspector that he wished to see Maslova. The officer knew Nekhludoff, and told him an important piece of prison news. The captain had resigned, and another man, who was very strict, had taken his place.
The inspector, who was in the prison at the time, soon made his appearance. He was tall, bony, very slow in his movements, and gloomy.
"Visitors are allowed only on certain days," he said, without looking at Nekhludoff.
"But I have a petition here which she must sign."
"You may give it to me."
"I must see the prisoner myself. I was always permitted to see her before."
"That was before," said the inspector, glancing at Nekhludoff.
"I have a pass from the Governor," Nekhludoff insisted, producing his pocket-book.
"Let me see it," said the inspector, without looking in Nekhludoff's eyes, and taking the document with his skinny, long, white hand, on the index finger of which there was a gold ring, he slowly read it. "Walk into the office, please," he said.
On this occasion there was no one in the office. The inspector seated himself at the table, looking through the papers that lay on it, evidently intending to stay through the meeting. When Nekhludoff asked him if Bogodukhovskaia could be seen, he answered: "Visiting the politicals is not allowed," and again buried his head in the papers.
When Maslova entered the room, the inspector raised his eyes, and, without looking either at Maslova or Nekhludoff, said: "You may go ahead," and cont
inued to busy himself with his papers.
Maslova was again dressed in a white skirt, waist and 'kerchief. Coming near Nekhludoff and seeing his cold, angry face, her own turned a purple color, and, with downcast eyes, she began to pick a corner of her waist. Her confusion Nekhludoff considered as confirmation of the hospital porter's words.
So abhorent was she to him now that he could not extend his hand to her, as he desired.
[Illustration: WARDEN AND MATRON.]
"I bring you bad news," he said in an even voice, without looking at her. "The Senate affirmed the verdict."
"I knew it would be so," she said in a strange voice, as if choking.
If it had happened before, Nekhludoff would have asked her why she knew it; now he only looked at her. Her eyes were filled with tears, but this not only did not soften him, but made him even more inflamed against her.
The inspector rose and began to walk up and down the room.
Notwithstanding the abhorence Nekhludoff felt for Maslova, he thought it proper to express his regret at the Senate's action.
"Do not despair," he said. "This petition may be more successful, and I hope that----"
"Oh, it is not that," she said, looking at him with the tearful and squinting eyes.
"What, then?"
"You have been in the hospital, and they must have told you there about me."
"What of it? That is your business," frowning, Nekhludoff said with indifference. The cruel feeling of offended pride rose in him with greater force at her mention of the hospital. "I, a man of the world, whom any girl of the upper class would be only too happy to marry, offered to become the husband of that woman, and she could not wait, but made love to the assistant surgeon," he thought, looking at her with hatred.
"Sign this petition," he said, and, taking from his pocket a large envelope, placed it on the table. She wiped her tears with a corner of her 'kerchief, seated herself at the table, and asked him where to sign.
He showed her where, and she, seating herself, smoothed with her left hand the sleeve of the right. He stood over her, silently looking at her back bent over the table, and now and then shaking from the sobs she tried to suppress, and his soul was convulsed by a struggle between good and evil, between offended pride and pity for her sufferings. The feeling of pity conquered.
Whether it was the feeling of pity that first asserted itself, or the recollection of his own deeds of the same character for which he reproached her, he scarcely knew, but suddenly he felt himself guilty and pitied her.
Having signed the petition and wiped her soiled fingers on her skirt, she rose and glanced at him.
"Whatever the result, and no matter what happens, I shall keep my word," said Nekhludoff.
The thought that he was forgiving her strengthened in him the feeling of pity and tenderness for her, and he wished to console her.
"I will do what I said. I will be with you wherever you may be."
"That's no use," she hastened to say, and her face became radiant.
"Make note of what you need for the road."
"Nothing particular, I think. Thank you."
The inspector approached them, and Nekhludoff, without waiting to be told that the time was up, took leave of her, experiencing a new feeling of quiet happiness, calmness and love for all mankind. It was the consciousness that no act of Maslova could alter his love for her that raised his spirit and made him feel happy. Let her make love to the assistant--that was her business. He loved her not for himself, but for her and for God.
* * * * *
The love-making for which Maslova was expelled from the hospital, and to which Nekhludoff gave credence, consisted only in that, when Maslova, coming to the drug department for some pectoral herbs, prescribed by her superior, she found there an assistant, named Ustinoff. This Ustinoff had been pursuing her with his attentions for a long time, and as he tried to embrace her she pushed him away with such force that he struck the shelving, and two bottles came crashing to the floor.
The chief physician was passing at the time, and, hearing the sound of the breaking glass, and seeing Maslova running out, all flushed, he angrily shouted to her:
"Well, girl, if you begin to flirt here, I will send you back. What is the matter?" he turned to the assistant, sternly looking over his spectacles.
The assistant, smiling, began to apologize. The doctor, without hearing him to the last, raised his head so that he began to look through the glasses, and walked into the ward. On the same day he asked the inspector to send a more sedate nurse in place of Maslova. Maslova's expulsion from the hospital on the ground of flirting was particularly painful to her by reason of the fact that, after her meeting with Nekhludoff, all association with men, which had been so repugnant to her, became even more disgusting.
The fact that, judging her by her past and present condition, everybody, including the pimpled assistant, thought that they had the right to insult her, and were surprised when she refused their attentions, was very painful to her and called forth her tears and pity for herself. Now, coming out to see Nekhludoff, she wished to explain the injustice of the charge which he had probably heard. But as she attempted to do so, she felt that he would not believe her; that her explanation would only tend to corroborate the suspicion, and her tears welled up in her throat, and she became silent.
Maslova was still thinking, and continued to assure herself that, as she had told him on his second visit, she had not forgiven him; that she hated him, but, in reality, she had long since begun to love him again, and loved him so that she involuntarily carried out his wishes. She ceased to drink and smoke, she gave up flirting, and willingly went as servant to the hospital. All this she did because she knew he wished it. Her repeated refusal to accept his sacrifice was partly due to the fact that she wished to repeat those proud words which she had once told him, and mainly because she knew that their marriage would make him unhappy. She was firmly resolved not to accept his sacrifice, and yet it was painful for her to think that he despised her; that he thought her to be the same as she had been, and did not see the change she was undergoing. The fact that he was at that moment thinking that she did something wrong in the hospital pained her more than the news that she was finally sentenced to hard labor.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Maslova might be sent away with the first party of exiles; hence Nekhludoff was preparing for departure. But he had so many things to attend to that he felt that he could never get through with them, no matter how much time there might be left for preparations. It was different in former times. Then it was necessary to devise something to do, and the interest in all his affairs centered in Dmitri Ivanovich Nekhludoff. But though all interest in life centered in Dmitri Ivanovich, he always suffered from ennui. Now, however, all his affairs related to people other than Dmitri Ivanovich, and were all interesting and attractive, as well as inexhaustible.
Besides, formerly the occupation with the affairs of Dmitri Ivanovich always caused vexation and irritation; while these affairs of others for the most part put him in a happy mood.
Nekhludoff's affairs were now divided into three parts. He himself, in his habitual pedantism, thus divided them, and according placed them in three different portfolios.
The first was that of Maslova. This consisted in efforts to obtain a successful result in the pending petition, and preparations for departure to Siberia.
The second part related to the settlement of his estates. The Panov land was granted to the peasants on condition of their paying a rent to be used for common necessities. But, in order to complete that arrangement, it was necessary to sign an agreement and also make his will. The arrangement made for the Kusminskoie estate was to remain in force, only there remained to be determined what part of the rent he was to appropriate to himself, and what was to be left for the benefit of the peasants. Without knowing what his necessary disbursements would be on his trip to Siberia, he could not make up his mind to deprive himself of his income, although he redu
ced it by one-half.
The third part related to aid to prisoners, who were now applying to him more and more frequently.
At first, when written to for aid, he proceeded immediately to intercede for the applicants, endeavoring to relieve their condition, but in the end their number became so great that he found it impossible to help every one, and was involuntarily brought to a fourth matter, which had of late occupied him more than either of the others.
His fourth concern consisted in solving the question, Why, how and whence came that remarkable institution called the Criminal Court, to which was due the existence of that prison, with the inmates of which he had become somewhat familiar, and all those places of confinement, beginning with the fortress dedicated to two saints, Peter and Paul, and ending with the island of Saghalin, where hundreds and thousands of victims of that wonderful criminal law were languishing?
From personal contact with prisoners, and from information received from the lawyer, the prison chaplain, the inspector, and from the prison register, Nekhludoff came to the conclusion that the prisoners, so-called criminals, could be divided into five classes. The first class consisted of people entirely innocent, victims of judicial mistakes, such as that would-be incendiary, Menshov, or Maslova, and others. There were comparatively few people of this class, according to the observations of the chaplain--about seven per cent.--but their condition attracted particular attention. The second class consisted of people convicted for offenses committed under exceptional circumstances, such as anger, jealousy, drunkenness, etc.--offenses which, under similar circumstances, would almost invariably have been committed by all those who judged and punished them. This class made up, according to Nekhludoff's observations, more than one-half of all the prisoners. To the third class belonged those who committed, according to their own ideas, the most indifferent or even good acts, but which were considered criminal by people--entire strangers to them--who were making the laws. To this class belonged all those who carried on a secret trade in wine, or were bringing in contraband goods, or were picking herbs, or gathering wood, in private or government forests. To this class also belonged the predatory mountaineers.
