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

by Leo Tolstoy

  During this period, because of Maslova's transfer to the politicals, Nekhludoff became acquainted with many political prisoners. On closer acquaintance he was convinced that they were not all villains, as many people imagined them to be, nor all heroes, as some of them considered the members of their party, but that they were ordinary people, among whom, as in other parties, some were good, some bad, the others indifferent.

  He became particularly attached to a consumptive young man who was on his way to a life term at hard labor. The story of the young man was a very short one. His father, a rich Southern landlord, died while he was a child. He was the only son, and was brought up by his mother. He was the best scholar in the university, making his specialty mathematics. He was offered a chair in the university and a course abroad. But he hesitated. There was a girl of whom he became enamored, so he contemplated marriage and political activity. He wished everything, but resolved on nothing. At that time his college chums asked him for money for a common cause. He knew what that common cause was, and at the time took no interest in it whatever, but from a feeling of fellowship and egoism gave the money, that it might not be thought that he was afraid. Those who took the money were arrested; a note was found from which it was learned that the money had been given by Kryltzoff. He was arrested, taken to the police station, then to the prison.

  After his discharge he traveled now South, now to St. Petersburg, then abroad, and again to Kieff and to Odessa. He was denounced by a man in whom he placed great faith. He was arrested, tried, kept in prison two years and finally death sentence was imposed on him, but was afterward commuted to hard labor for life.

  He was stricken with consumption while in prison, and under the present circumstances had but a few months to live, and he knew it.

  CHAPTER V.

  At last Nekhludoff succeeded in obtaining permission to visit Maslova in her cell among the politicals.

  While passing the dimly-lighted court-yard from the officers' headquarters to "No. 5," escorted by a messenger, he heard a stir and buzzing of voices coming from the one-story dwelling occupied by the prisoners. And when he came nearer and the door was opened, the buzzing increased and turned into a Babel of shouting, cursing and laughing. A rattling of chains was heard, and a familiar noisome air was wafted from the doorway. The din of voices with the rattle of chains, and the dreadful odor always produced in Nekhludoff the tormenting feeling of some moral nausea, turning into physical nausea. These two impressions, mingling, strengthened each other.

  The apartment occupied by the political prisoners consisted of two small cells, the doors of which opened into the corridor, partitioned off from the rest. As Nekhludoff got beyond the partition he noticed Simonson feeding a billet of pine wood into the oven.

  Spying Nekhludoff he looked up without rising and extended his hand.

  "I am glad you came; I want to see you!" he said, with a significant glance, looking Nekhludoff straight in the eyes.

  "What is it?" asked Nekhludoff.

  "I will tell you later; I am busy now."

  And Simonson again occupied himself with making the fire, which he did according to his special theory of the greatest conservation of heat energy.

  Nekhludoff was about to enter the first door when Maslova, broom in hand, and sweeping a heap of dirt and dust toward the oven, emerged from the second door. She wore a white waist and white stockings and her skirt was tucked up under the waist. A white 'kerchief covered her head to her very eyebrows. Seeing Nekhludoff, she unbent herself and, all red and animated, put aside the broom, and wiping her hands on her skirt, she stood still.

  "You are putting things in order?" asked Nekhludoff, extending his hand.

  "Yes, my old occupation," she answered and smiled. "There is such dirt here; there is no end to our cleaning."

  "Well, is the plaid dry?" she turned to Simonson.

  "Almost," said Simonson, glancing at her in a manner which struck Nekhludoff as very peculiar.

  "Then I will fetch the furs to dry. All our people are there," she said to Nekhludoff, going to the further room and pointing to the nearest door.

  Nekhludoff opened the door and walked into a small cell, dimly lighted by a little metallic lamp standing on a low bunk. The cell was cold and there was an odor of dust, dampness and tobacco. The tin lamp threw a bright light on those around it, but the bunks were in the shade and vacillating shadows moved along the walls. In the small room were all the prisoners, except two men who had gone for boiling water and provisions. There was an old acquaintance of Nekhludoff, the yellow-faced and thin Vera Efremovna, with her large, frightened eyes and a big vein on her forehead. She was sitting nervously rolling cigarettes from a heap of tobacco lying on a newspaper in front of her.

  In the far corner there was also Maria Pablovna.

  "How opportune your coming! How you seen Katia?" she asked Nekhludoff.

  There was also Anatolie Kryltzoff. Pale and wasted, his legs crossed under him, bending forward and shivering, he sat in the far corner, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his fur jacket, and with feverish eyes looked at Nekhludoff. Nekhludoff was about to approach him, but to the right of the entrance, sorting something in a bag and talking to the pretty and smiling Grabetz, sat a man with curly red hair, in a rubber jacket and with spectacles. His name was Novodvoroff, and Nekhludoff hastened to greet him. Of all political prisoners, Nekhludoff liked him best. Novodvoroff glanced over his spectacles at Nekhludoff and, frowning, he extended his thin hand.

  "Well, are you enjoying your journey?" he said, evidently in irony.

  "Yes, there are many interesting things," answered Nekhludoff, pretending not to see the irony, and treating it as a civility. Then he went over to Kryltzoff. In appearance Nekhludoff seemed to be indifferent, but in reality he was far from being so to Novodvoroff. These words of Novodvoroff, and his evident desire to say something unpleasant, jarred upon his kindly sentiments, and he became gloomy and despondent.

  "Well, how is your health?" he said, pressing Kryltzoff's cold and trembling hand.

  "Pretty fair, only I cannot get warm; I am all wet," said Kryltzoff, hastily hiding his hand in the sleeve of his coat. "Those windows are broken." He pointed to the windows behind the iron gratings. "Why did you not come before?"

  Expecting to have a private conversation with Katiousha, Nekhludoff sat conversing with Kryltzoff. Kryltzoff listened attentively, fixedly gazing at Nekhludoff.

  "Yes," he said, suddenly, "I have often thought that we were going into exile with those very people on account of whom we were banished. And yet we not only do not know them, but do not wish to know them. And, worse of all, they hate us and consider us their enemies. This is dreadful."

  "There is nothing dreadful about it," said Novodvoroff, overhearing the conversation. "The masses are always churlish and ignorant."

  At that moment there was an outburst of curses behind the partition wall, followed by a jostling and banging against walls, a clatter of chains, screaming and shouting. Some one was being beaten; some one shouted "Help!"

  "See those beasts! What have they in common with us?" calmly asked Novodvoroff.

  "You call them beasts, but you should have heard Nekhludoff telling of the conduct of one of them," Kryltzoff said excitedly.

  "You are sentimental!" Novodvoroff said, ironically. "It is hard for us to understand the emotions of these people and the motives of their acts. Where you see magnanimity, there may only be envy."

  "Why is it you do not wish to see good in others?" said Maria Pablovna, suddenly becoming excited.

  "I cannot see that which does not exist."

  "How can you say it does not exist when a man risks a terrible death?"

  "I think," said Novodvoroff, "that if we wish to serve our cause effectively it is necessary that we stop dreaming and look at things as they are. We must do everything for the masses, and expect nothing from them. The masses are the object of our activity, but they cannot be our collaborators while they are as in
ert as they are now. And it is, therefore, perfectly illusive to expect aid from them before they have gone through the process of development--that process of development for which we are preparing them."

  "What process of development?" said Kryltzoff, becoming red in the face. "We say that we are against the use of force, but is this not force in its worst form?"

  "There is no force here," calmly said Novodvoroff. "I only said that I know the path the people must follow, and can point it out."

  "But how do you know that yours is the right path? Is it not the same despotism which gave rise to the Inquisition and the executions of the Great Revolution? They, too, knew the only scientific path."

  "The fact that people erred does not prove that I am erring. Besides, there is a great difference between the ravings of ideologists and the data of positive economic science."

  Novodvoroff's voice filled the entire cell. He alone was speaking; all the others were silent.

  "Those eternal discussions!" said Maria Pablovna at a momentary lull.

  "And what do you think of it?" Nekhludoff asked Maria Pablovna.

  "I think that Anatolie is right--that we have no right to force our ideas on the people."

  "That is a strange conception of our ideas," said Novodvoroff, and he began to smoke angrily.

  "I cannot talk to them," Kryltzoff said in a whisper, and became silent.

  "And it is much better not to talk," said Nekhludoff.

  CHAPTER VI.

  An officer entered the cell and announced that the time for departing had arrived. He counted every prisoner, pointing at every one with his finger. When he reached Nekhludoff he said, familiarly:

  "It is too late to remain now, Prince; it is time to go."

  Nekhludoff, knowing what that meant, approached him and thrust three rubles into his hand.

  "Nothing can be done with you--stay here a while longer."

  Simonson, who was all the while silently sitting on his bunk, his hands clasped behind his head, firmly arose, and carefully making his way through those sitting around the bunk, went over to Nekhludoff.

  "Can you hear me now?" asked Simonson.

  "Certainly," said Nekhludoff, also rising to follow him.

  Maslova saw Nekhludoff rising, and their eyes meeting, she turned red in the face and doubtfully, as it seemed, shook her head.

  "My business with you is the following," began Simonson, when they reached the corridor. "Knowing your relations toward Catherine Michaelovna," and he looked straight into Nekhludoff's face, "I consider it my duty----" But at the very door two voices were shouting at the same time.

  "I tell you, heathen, they are not mine," shouted one voice.

  "Choke yourself, you devil!" the other said, hoarsely.

  At that moment Maria Pablovna entered the corridor.

  "You cannot talk here," she said. "Walk in here; only Verotchka is there." And she opened the door of a tiny cell, evidently intended for solitary confinement, and now at the disposal of the political prisoners. On one of the bunks lay Vera Efremovna, with her head covered.

  "She is ill and asleep; she cannot hear you, and I will go," said Maria Pablovna.

  "On the contrary, stay here," said Simonson. "I keep nothing secret, especially from you."

  "Very well," said Maria Pablovna, and childishly moving her whole body from side to side, and thus getting into a snug corner of the bunks, she prepared to listen, at the same time looking somewhere in the distance with her beautiful, sheepish eyes.

  "Well, then, knowing your relations toward Catherine Michaelovna, I consider it my duty to let you know my relations to her."

  "Well, go on," said Nekhludoff, involuntarily admiring Simonson's simplicity and straightforwardness.

  "I wished to tell you that I would like to marry Catherine Michaelovna----"

  "Remarkable!" exclaimed Maria Pablovna, fixing her gaze on Simonson.

  "And I have decided to ask her to be my wife," continued Simonson.

  "What, then, can I do? It depends on her," said Nekhludoff.

  "Yes; but she would not decide the matter without you."

  "Why?"

  "Because, while the question of your relations remains undecided, she cannot choose."

  "On my part the question is definitely decided. I only wished to do that which I considered it my duty to do, and also to relieve her condition, but in no case did I intend to influence her choice."

  "Yes; but she does not wish your sacrifice."

  "There is no sacrifice."

  "And I also know that her decision is irrevocable."

  "Why, then, talk to me?" said Nekhludoff.

  "It is necessary for her that you should also approve of it."

  "I can only say that I am not free, but she is free to do what she wishes."

  Simonson began to ponder.

  "Very well, I will tell her so. Do not think that I am in love with her," he continued. "I admire her as a good, rare person who has suffered much. I wish nothing from her, but I would very much like to help her, to relieve her----"

  Simonson's trembling voice surprised Nekhludoff.

  "To relieve her condition," continued Simonson. "If she does not wish to accept your help, let her accept mine. If she consented, I would ask permission to join her in prison. Four years is not an eternity. I would live near her, and perhaps lighten her fate----" His emotion again compelled him to stop.

  "What can I say?" said Nekhludoff. "I am glad that she has found such a protector."

  "That is just what I wanted to know," continued Simonson. "I wished to know whether you, loving her and seeking her good, could approve of her marrying me?"

  "Oh, yes," Nekhludoff answered, decisively.

  "It is all for her; all I wish is that that woman, who had suffered so much, should have some rest," said Simonson, with a childlike gentleness that no one would expect from a man of such gloomy aspect.

  Simonson rose, took Nekhludoff's hand, smiled bashfully and embraced him.

  "Well, I will so tell her," he said, and left the room.

  CHAPTER VII.

  "What do you think of him?" said Maria Pablovna. "In love, and earnestly in love! I never thought that Vladimir Simonson could fall in love in such a very stupid, childish fashion. It is remarkable, and to tell the truth, sad," she concluded, sighing.

  "But Katia? How do you think she will take it?" asked Nekhludoff.

  "She?" Maria Pablovna stopped, evidently desiring to give a precise answer. "She? You see, notwithstanding her past, she is naturally of a most moral character. And her feelings are so refined. She loves you--very much so--and is happy to be able to do you the negative good of not binding you to herself. Marriage with you would be a dreadful fall to her, worse than all her past. For this reason she would never consent to it. At the same time, your presence perplexes her."

  "Ought I then to disappear?" asked Nekhludoff.

  Maria Pablovna smiled in her pleasant, childish way.

  "Yes, partly."

  "How can I partly disappear?"

  "I take it back. But I will tell you that she probably sees the absurdity of that exalted love of his (he has not spoken to her about it), is flattered by it, and fears it. You know that I am not competent in these matters, but I think that his love is that of the ordinary man, although it is masked. He says that it rouses his energy and that it is a platonic love; but it has nothing but nastiness for its basis."

  "But what am I to do?" asked Nekhludoff.

  "I think it is best that you have a talk with her. It is always better to make everything clear. Shall I call her?" said Maria Pablovna.

  "If you please," answered Nekhludoff, and Maria Pablovna went out.

  Nekhludoff was seized with a strange feeling when, alone in the small cell, he listened to the quiet breathing of Vera Efremovna, interrupted by an occasional moan, and the constant din coming from the cells of the convicts.

  That which Simonson had told him freed him from his self-imposed obligation,
which, in a moment of weakness, seemed to him burdensome and dreadful; and yet it was not only unpleasant, but painful. The offer of Simonson destroyed the exclusiveness of his act, minimized in his own and other people's eyes the value of the sacrifice he was making. If such a good man as Simonson, who was under no obligation to her, wished to join his fate to hers, then his own sacrifice was no longer so important. Maybe there was also the ordinary feeling of jealousy; he was so used to her love that he could not think that she was capable of loving any one else. Besides, his plans were now shattered, especially the plan of living near her while she served her sentence. If she married Simonson, his presence was no longer necessary, and that required a rearrangement of his projects. He could scarcely collect his thoughts, when Katiousha entered the cell.