The Complete Works of Leo Tolstoy (25+ Works with active table of contents)

by Leo Tolstoy

  The fourth class consisted of people who, according to Nekhludoff, were reckoned among the criminals only because they were morally above the average level of society. Among these the percentage of those who resisted interference with their affairs, or were sentenced for resisting the authorities, was very large.

  The fifth class, finally, was composed of people who were more sinned against by society than they sinned themselves. These were the helpless people, blunted by constant oppression and temptation, like that boy with the mats, and hundreds of others whom Nekhludoff saw both in and out of prison, and the conditions of those whose lives systematically drove them to the necessity of committing those acts which are called crimes. To these people belonged, according to Nekhludoff's observations, many thieves and murderers, with some of whom Nekhludoff had come in contact. Among these Nekhludoff found, on close acquaintance, those spoiled and depraved people whom the new school calls the criminal type, and the existence of which in society is given as the reason for the necessity of criminal law and punishment. These so-called depraved types, deviating from the normal, were, according to Nekhludoff, none other than those very people who have sinned less against society than society has sinned against them, and against whom society has sinned, not directly, but through their ancestors.

  Nekhludoff's attention was attracted by a habitual thief, Okhotin, who came under this head. He was the son of a fallen woman; had grown up in lodging-houses, and till the age of thirty had never met a moral man. In childhood he had fallen in with a gang of thieves, but he possessed a humorous vein which attracted people to him. While asking Nekhludoff for aid he jested at himself, the judges, the prison and all the laws, not only criminal, but even divine. There was also a fine-looking man, Fedorff, who, in company with a gang of which he was the leader, had killed and robbed an old official. This one was a peasant whose father's house had been illegally taken from him, and who, while in the army, suffered for falling in love with an officer's mistress. He was attractive and passionate. His sole desire in life was to enjoy himself, and he had never met any people who, out of any consideration, tempered their passions, nor had he ever heard that there was any other aim in life than personal enjoyment. It was plain to Nekhludoff that these two were richly endowed by nature, and were only neglected and mutilated as plants are sometimes neglected and mutilated. He also came across a vagabond, and a woman, whose stupidity and apparent cruelty were repulsive, but he failed to find in them that criminal type spoken of by the Italian school. He only saw in them people who were disagreeable to him personally, like some he had met in dress-coats, uniforms, and laces.

  Thus the investigation of the question: Why are people of such great variety of character confined in prisons, while others, no different than those, enjoy freedom and even judge those people? was the fourth concern of Nekhludoff.

  At first he hoped to find an answer to this question in books, and bought every book bearing on the subject. He bought the works of Lombroso, Garofalo, Ferri, Mandsley and Tard, and read them carefully. But the more he read them, the greater was his disappointment. The same thing happened with him that happens with people who appeal to science with direct, simple, vital questions, and not with a view of playing the part of an expounder, writer or teacher in it. Science solved a thousand and one various abstruse, complicated questions bearing on criminal law, but failed to give an answer to the question he had formed. His question was very simple: Why and by what right do some people confine, torture, exile, flog and kill other people no different than they are themselves? And in answer they argued the questions: Whether or not man is a free agent? Can a criminal be distinguished by the measurements of his cranium? To what extent is crime due to heredity? What is morality? What is insanity? What is degeneracy? What is temperament? How does climate, food, ignorance, emulation, hypnotism, passion affect crime? What is society? What are its duties? etc., etc.

  These arguments reminded Nekhludoff of an answer he had once received from a schoolboy. He asked the boy whether he had learned the declension of nouns. "Yes," answered the boy. "Well, then decline 'Paw.'" "What paw? A dog's paw?" the boy answered, with a sly expression on his face. Similar answers in the form of questions Nekhludoff found in scientific books to his one basic question.

  He found there many wise, learned and interesting things, but there was no answer to his principal question: By what right do some people punish others? Not only was there no answer, but all reasoning tended to explain and justify punishment, the necessity of which was considered an axiom. Nekhludoff read much, but only by fits and starts, and the want of an answer he ascribed to such superficial reading. He, therefore, refused to believe in the justice of the answer which constantly occurred to him.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  The deportation of the party of convicts to which Maslova belonged was set for the fifth of July, and Nekhludoff was prepared to follow her on that day. The day before his departure his sister, with her husband, arrived in town to see him.

  Nekhludoff's sister, Natalie Ivanovna Ragojhinsky, was ten years his senior. He had grown up partly under her influence. She loved him when he was a boy, and before her marriage they treated each other as equals; she was twenty-five and he was fifteen. She had been in love then with his deceased friend, Nikolenka Irtenieff. They both loved Nikolenka, and loved in him and in themselves the good that was in them, and which unifies all people.

  Since that time they had both became corrupted--he by the bad life he was leading; she by her marriage to a man whom she loved sensually, but who not only did not love all that which she and Dimitri at one time considered most holy and precious, but did not even understand it, and all those aspirations to moral perfection and to serving others, to which she had once devoted herself, he ascribed to selfishness and a desire to show off before people.

  Ragojhinsky was a man without reputation or fortune, but a clever fortune hunter, who, by skillful manoeuvering between liberalism and conservatism, availing himself of that dominating tendency which promised bitter results in life, but principally by something peculiar which attracted women to him, he succeeded in making a relatively brilliant judicial career. He was already past his youth when he met Nekhludoff abroad, made Natalie, who was also not very young, to fall in love with him, and married her almost against the wish of her mother, who said that it would be a mésalliance. Nekhludoff, although he concealed it from himself and struggled against the feeling, hated his brother-in-law. He disliked his vulgar feelings, his self-confident narrowness of mind, but, principally, because of his sister, who should so passionately, egotistically and sensually love such a poor nature, and to please whom she should stifle all her noble sentiments. It was always painful to Nekhludoff to think of Natalie as the wife of that hairy, self-confident man, with shining bald head. He could not even suppress his aversion to his children. And whenever he heard that she was about to become a mother, he experienced a feeling of compassion for her being again infected with something bad by the man who was so unlike all of them.

  The Ragojhinskys arrived without their children, and engaged the best suite in the best hotel. Natalie Ivanovna immediately went to the old home of her mother, and learning there that her brother had moved to furnished rooms, she went to his new home. The dirty servant, meeting her in the dark, ill-smelling corridor, which was lit up by a lamp during the day, announced that the Prince was away.

  Desiring to leave a note, Natalie Ivanovna was shown into his apartments. She closely examined the two small rooms. She noticed in every corner the familiar cleanliness and order, and she was struck by the modesty of the appointments. On the writing table she saw a familiar paper-press, with the bronze figure of a dog, neatly arranged portfolios, papers, volumes of the Criminal Code and an English book of Henry George, and a French one by Tard, between the leaves of which was an ivory paper knife.

  She left a note asking him to call on her the same evening, and, shaking her head in wonder at what she had seen, returned to her hotel.


  There were two questions relating to her brother that interested Natalie Ivanovna--his marriage to Katiousha, of which she had heard in her city, where it was a matter of common gossip, and the distribution by him of his land to the peasants, upon which some people looked as something political and dangerous. From one point of view, she rather liked the idea of his marrying Katiousha. She admired his resolution, seeing in it herself and him as they had been before her marriage. At the same time, she was horror-stricken at the thought that her brother was to marry such an awful woman. The latter feeling was the stronger, and she decided to dissuade him from marrying her, although she knew how hard that would be.

  The other affair, that of his parting with his land, she did not take so close to heart, but her husband was indignant at such folly, and demanded that she influence her brother to abandon the attempt. Ignatius Nikiforovitch said that it was the height of inconsistency, foolhardiness and pride; that such an act could only be explained, if at all, by a desire to be odd, to have something to brag about, and to make people talk about one's self.

  "What sense is there in giving the land to the peasants and making them pay rent to themselves?" he said. "If his mind was set on doing it, he could sell them the land through the bank. There would be some sense in that. Taking all in all, his act is very eccentric," said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, already considering the necessity of a guardianship, and he demanded that his wife should seriously speak to her brother of this, his strange intention.

  CHAPTER XX.

  In the evening Nekhludoff went to his sister. Ignatius Nikiforovitch was resting in another room, and Natalie Ivanovna alone met him. She wore a tight-fitting black silk dress, with a knot of red ribbon, and her hair was done up according to the latest fashion. She was evidently making herself look young for her husband. Seeing her brother, she quickly rose from the divan, and, rustling with her silk skirt, she went out to meet him. They kissed and, smiling, looked at each other. There was an exchange of those mysterious, significant glances in which everything was truth; then followed an exchange of words in which that truth was lacking. They had not met since the death of their mother.

  "You have grown stout and young," he said.

  Her lips contracted with pleasure.

  "And you have grown thin."

  "Well, how is Ignatius Nikiforovitch?" asked Nekhludoff.

  "He is resting. He has not slept all night."

  A great deal should have been said here, but their words said nothing, and their glances said that that which interested them most was left unsaid.

  "I have been at your lodging."

  "Yes, I know it. I have moved from the house. I am so lonely and weary. I do not need any of those things, so you take them--the furniture--everything."

  "Yes, Agrippina Petrovna told me. I have been there. I thank you very much. But----"

  At that moment the servant brought in a silver tea service. Natalie Ivanovna busied herself with making the tea. Nekhludoff was silent.

  "Well, Dimitri, I know everything," Natalie said, resolutely, glancing at him.

  "I am very glad that you know."

  "Do you think it possible to reform her after such a life?"

  He was sitting erect on a small chair, attentively listening to her, prepared to answer satisfactorily her every question. He was still in that frame of mind which, after his last meeting with Maslova, filled his soul with tranquil happiness and love for all mankind.

  "It is not her that I intend to reform, but myself," he answered.

  Natalie Ivanovna sighed.

  "There are other means besides marriage."

  "And I think that that is the best. Besides, that will bring me into that world in which I can be useful."

  "I do not think," said Natalie Ivanovna, "that you could be happy."

  "It is not a question of my happiness."

  "Of course; but if she possesses a heart, she cannot be happy--she cannot even desire it."

  "She does not."

  "I understand, but life--demands something different."

  "Life only demands that we do what is right," said Nekhludoff, looking at her face, still beautiful, although covered with fine wrinkles around the eyes and mouth.

  "Poor dear! How she has changed!" thought Nekhludoff, recalling Natalie as she had been before her marriage, and a tender feeling, woven of countless recollections of their childhood, rose in his breast toward her.

  At that moment Ignatius Nikiforovitch, as usual holding his head high and projecting his broad chest, entered the room, with shining eye-glasses, bald head and black beard.

  "How do you do? How do you do?" he greeted Nekhludoff, unnaturally accentuating his words.

  They pressed each other's hand, and Ignatius Nikiforovitch lowered himself into an arm-chair.

  "Am I disturbing you?"

  "No, I do not conceal anything I say or do from anybody."

  As soon as Nekhludoff saw that face, those hairy hands and heard that patronizing tone, his gentle disposition immediately disappeared.

  "Yes, we have been speaking about his intention," said Natalie Ivanovna. "Shall I pour out some tea for you?" she added, taking the tea-pot.

  "Yes, if you please. What intention do you refer to?"

  "My intention of going to Siberia with that party of convicts, among whom there is a woman I have wronged," said Nekhludoff.

  "I heard that you intended more than that."

  "Yes, and marry her, if she only desires it."

  "I see! And may I ask you to explain your motives, if it is not unpleasant to you? I do not understand them."

  "My motives are that that woman--that the first step on her downward career----" Nekhludoff became angry because he could not find the proper expression. "My motives are that I am guilty, while she is punished."

  "If she is punished, then she is also, probably, guilty."

  "She is perfectly innocent."

  And, with unnecessary agitation, Nekhludoff related the whole case.

  "Yes, that was an omission by the presiding justice. But in such cases there is the Senate."

  "The Senate sustained the verdict."

  "Ah, then there were no grounds of appeal," said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, evidently sharing the well-known opinion that truth is the product of court proceedings. "The Senate cannot go into the merits of a case. But if there is really a judicial error, a petition should be made to the Emperor."

  "That was done, but there is no chance of success. Inquiries will be made at the Ministry, which will refer them to the Senate, and the Senate will repeat its decision, and, as usual, the innocent will be punished."

  "In the first place, the Ministry will not refer to the Senate," and Ignatius Nikiforovitch smiled condescendingly, "but will call for all the documents in the case, and, if it finds an error, will so decide. In the second place, an innocent person is never, or, at least, very seldom punished. Only the guilty is punished."

  "And I am convinced that the contrary is true," said Nekhludoff, with an unkind feeling toward his brother-in-law. "I am convinced that the majority of the people convicted by courts are innocent."

  "How so?"

  "They are innocent in the ordinary sense of the word, as that woman was innocent of poisoning; as that peasant is innocent of the murder which he has not committed; as that mother and son are innocent of the arson which was committed by the owner himself, and for which they came near being convicted."

  "Of course, there always have been and always will be judicial errors. Human institutions cannot be perfect."

  "And, then, a large part of the innocent, because they have been brought up amid certain conditions, do not consider the acts committed by them criminal."