by Лев Толстой
CHAPTER X.
The man in whose power it was to lighten the condition of the prisoners in St. Petersburg had earned a great number of medals, which, except for a white cross in his button-hole, he did not wear, however. The old general was of the German barons, and, as it was said of him, had become childish. He had served in the Caucasus, where he had received this cross; then in Poland and in some other place, and now he held the office which gave him good quarters, maintenance and honor. He always strictly carried out the orders of his superiors, and considered their execution of great importance and significance, so much so that while everything in the world could be changed, these orders, according to him, were above the possibility of any alteration.
As Nekhludoff was approaching the old general's house the tower clock struck two. The general was at the time sitting with a young artist in the darkened reception-room, at a table, the top of which was of inlaid work, both of them turning a saucer on a sheet of paper. Holding each others fingers over the saucer, placed face downward, they pulled in different directions over the paper on which were printed all the letters of the alphabet. The saucer was answering the general's question. How would souls recognize each other after death?
At the moment one of the servants entered with Nekhludoff's card, the soul of Jeanne D'Arc was speaking through the saucer. The soul had already said, "They will recognize each other," which was duly entered on a sheet of paper. When the servant entered, the saucer, stopping first on the letter p, then on the letter o, reached the letter s and began to jerk one way and another. That was because, as the general thought, the next letter was to be l, that is to say, Jeanne D'Arc, according to his idea, intended to say that souls would recognize each other only after they had been purged of everything mundane, or something to that effect, and that therefore the next letter ought to be l (posl, i. e., after); the artist, on the other hand, thought that the next letter would be v; that the soul intended to say that souls would recognize each other by the light—posv (ietu) that would issue from the ethereal body of the souls. The general, gloomily knitting his brow, gazed fixedly on the hands, and imagining that the saucer moved itself, pulled it toward the letter l. The young, anaemic artist, with his oily hair brushed behind his ears, looked into the dark corner of the room, with his blue, dull eyes, and nervously twitching his lips, pulled toward the letter v. The general frowned at the interruption, and, after a moment's silence, took the card, put on his pince-nez and, groaning from pain in his loins, rose to his full height, rubbing his benumbed fingers.
"Show him into the cabinet."
"Permit me, Your Excellency, to finish it myself," said the artist, rising. "I feel a presence."
"Very well; finish it," said the general with austerity, and went, with firm, long strides, into the cabinet.
"Glad to see you," said the general in a rough voice to Nekhludoff, pointing to an arm-chair near the desk. "How long have you been in St. Petersburg?"
Nekhludoff said that he had but lately arrived.
"Is your mother, the Princess, well?"
"My mother is dead."
"Beg pardon; I was very sorry. My son told me that he had met you."
The general's son was making the same career as his father, and was very proud of the business with which he was entrusted.
"Why, I served with your father. We were friends, comrades. Are you in service?"
"No, I am not."
The general disapprovingly shook his head.
"I have a request to make of you, general," said Nekhludoff.
"Very glad. What can I do for you?"
"If my request be out of season, please forgive me. But I must state it."
"What is it?"
"There is a man, Gurkevitch, kept in prison under your jurisdiction. His mother asks to be permitted to visit him, or, at least to send him books."
The general expressed neither satisfaction nor dissatisfaction at Nekhludoff's request, but, inclining his head to one side, seemed to reflect. As a matter of fact he was not reflecting; Nekhludoff's question did not even interest him, knowing very well that his answer would be as the law requires. He was simply resting mentally without thinking of anything.
"That is not in my discretion, you know," he said, having rested awhile. "There is a law relating to visits, and whatever that law permits, that is permitted. And as to books, there is a library, and they are given such books as are allowed."
"Yes, but he wants scientific books; he wishes to study."
"Don't believe that." The general paused. "It is not for study that they want them, but so, it is simply unrest."
"But their time must be occupied somehow?"
"They are always complaining," retorted the general. "We know them."
He spoke of them in general as of some peculiar race of people.
"They have such conveniences here as is seldom seen in a prison," he continued.
And as though justifying himself, he began to recount all the conveniences enjoyed by the prisoners in a manner to make one believe that the chief aim of the institution consisted in making it a pleasant place of abode.
"Formerly, it is true, the regulations were very harsh, but now their condition is excellent. They get three dishes, one of which is always of meat—chopped meat or cutlet. Sundays they get a fourth dish—dessert. May God grant that every Russian could feed so well."
The general, like all old men, evidently having committed to memory the oft-repeated words, proceeded to prove how exacting and ungrateful the prisoners were by repeating what he had told many times before.
"They are furnished books on spiritual topics, also old journals. We have a library of suitable books, but they seldom read them. At first they appear to be interested, and then it is found that the pages of all the new books are barely half cut, and of the old ones there is no evidence of any thumb-marks at all. We even tried," with a remote semblance of a smile the general continued, "to put a piece of paper between the pages, and it remained untouched. Writing, too, is allowed. A slate is given them, also a slate-pencil, so that they may write for diversion. They can wipe it out and write again. And yet they don't write. No, they become quiet very soon. At first they are uneasy, but afterward they even grow stout and become very quiet."
Nekhludoff listened to the hoarse, feeble voice; looked on that fleshless body, those faded eyes under the gray eyebrows, those sunken, shaved cheeks, supported by a military collar, that white cross, and understood that to argue and explain to him the meaning of those words were futile. But, making another effort, he asked him about the prisoner, Shustova, whose release, he had received information, had been ordered, through the efforts of Mariette.
"Shustova? Shustova—I don't remember them all by name. There are so many of them," he said, evidently reproving them for being so numerous. He rang the bell and called for the secretary.
While a servant was going after the secretary he admonished Nekhludoff to go into service, saying that the country was in need of honest, noble men.
"I am old, and yet I am serving to the extent of my ability."
The secretary came and reported that there were no papers received relating to Shustova, who was still in prison.
"As soon as we receive an order we release them the very same day. We do not keep them; we do not particularly value their presence," said the general, again with a waggish smile, which had the effect only of making his face wry.
"Good-by, my dear," he continued. "Don't be offended for advising you, for I do so only because I love you. Have nothing to do with the prisoners. You will never find innocent people among them. They are the most immoral set. We know them," he said, in a tone of voice which did not permit the possibility of doubt. "You had better take an office. The Emperor and the country need honest people. What if I and such as you refused to serve? Who would be left? We are complaining of conditions, but refuse to aid the government."
Nekhludoff sighed deeply, made a low bow, pressed the bony hand conde
scendingly extended, and departed.
The general disapprovingly shook his head, and, rubbing his loins, went to the reception-room, where the artist awaited him with the answer of Jeanne D'Arc. The general put on his pince-nez and read: "They will recognize each other by the light issuing from the ethereal bodies."
"Ah!" said the general, approvingly, closing his eyes. "But how will one recognize another when all have the same light?" he asked, and again crossing his fingers with those of the artist, seated himself at the table.
Nekhludoff's driver drove up to the gate.
"It is very dull here, sir," he said, turning to Nekhludoff. "It was very tiresome, and I was about to drive away."
"Yes, tiresome," assented Nekhludoff with a deep sigh, resting his eyes on the clouds and the Neva, dotted with variegated boats and steamers.
CHAPTER XI.
With a note from Prince Ivan Michaelovitch, Nekhludoff went to Senator Wolf—un homme très comme il faut, as the Prince had described him.
Wolf had just breakfasted and, as usual, was smoking a cigar, to aid his digestion, when Nekhludoff arrived. Vladimir Vasilievitch Wolf was really un homme très comme il faut, and this quality he placed above all else; from the height of it he looked upon all other people, and could not help valuing this quality, because, thanks to it, he had gained a brilliant career—the same career he strove for; that is to say, through marriage he obtained a fortune, which brought him a yearly income of eighteen thousand rubles, and by his own efforts he obtained a senatorship. He considered himself not only un homme très comme il faut, but a man of chivalric honesty. By honesty he understood the refusal to take bribes from private people. But to do everything in his power to obtain all sorts of traveling expenses, rents and disbursements he did not consider dishonest. Nor did he consider it dishonest to rob his wife and sister-in-law of their fortunes. On the contrary, he considered that a wise arrangement of his family affairs.
The home circle of Vladimir Vasilievitch consisted of his characterless wife, her sister, whose fortune he managed to get into his own hands by selling her property and depositing the money in his own name, and his gentle, scared, homely daughter, who was leading a solitary, hard life, and whose only diversion consisted in visiting the religious meetings at Aline's and Countess Catherine Ivanovna's.
The son of Vladimir Vasilievitch, a good-natured, bearded boy of fifteen, who at that age had already commenced to drink and lead a depraved life which lasted till he was twenty years old, was driven from the house for the reason that he did not pass examinations in any school, and keeping bad company, and, running into debt, he had compromised his father. The father paid once for his son two hundred and thirty rubles, and paid six hundred rubles a second time, but declared that that was the last time, and if the son did not reform he would drive him from the house and have nothing to do with him. Not only did the son not reform, but contracted another debt of a thousand rubles, and told his father that he did not care if he was driven from the house, since life at home was torture to him. Then Vladimir Vasilievitch told his son that he could go where he pleased; that he was no longer his son. Since then no one in the house dared to speak of his son to him. And Vladimir Vasilievitch was quite certain that he had arranged his family affairs in the best possible manner.
Wolf, with a flattering and somewhat derisive smile—it was an involuntary expression of his consciousness of his comme il faut superiority—halted in his exercise long enough to greet Nekhludoff and read the note.
"Please take a seat, but you must excuse me. If you have no objection I will walk," he said, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and treading lightly up and down the diagonal of the large cabinet, furnished in an austere style. "Very glad to make your acquaintance, and, of course, to please the Count Ivan Michaelovitch," emitting the fragrant, blue smoke, and carefully removing the cigar from his mouth so as not to lose the ashes.
"I would like to ask you to hasten the hearing of the appeal, because if the prisoner is to go to Siberia, it would be desirable that she go as soon as possible," said Nekhludoff.
"Yes, yes, with the first steamer from Nijhni; I know," said Wolf, with his condescending smile, who always knew everything in advance, whatever the subject mentioned to him. "What is the name of the prisoner?"
"Maslova."
Wolf walked to the table and looked into the papers.
"That's right—Maslova. Very well; I will ask my associates. We will hear the case Wednesday."
"May I wire my lawyer?"
"So you have a lawyer? What for? But if you wish it, all right."
"The grounds of appeal may be insufficient," said Nekhludoff, "but I think it may be seen from the case that the sentence was the result of a misunderstanding."
"Yes, yes; that may be so, but the Senate cannot enter into the merits of the case," said Vladimir Vasilievitch, sternly, glancing at the ashes of his cigar. "The Senate only looks after the proper interpretation and application of the law."
"This, I think, is an exceptional case."
"I know; I know. All cases are exceptional. We will do what the law requires. That is all." The ashes were still intact, but had already cracked and were in danger of collapse. "And do you often visit St. Petersburg?" asked Wolf, holding the cigar so that the ashes would not fall. The ashes were unstable, however, and Wolf carefully carried them to the ash-holder, into which they were finally precipitated.
"What an awful catastrophe Kamensky met with," said Wolf. "A fine young man, and an only son. Especially the condition of the mother"—he went on repeating almost word for word the story of a duel of which all St. Petersburg was talking at the time. After a few more words about Countess Catherine Ivanovna and her passion for the new religious tendency which Vladimir Vasilievitch neither praised nor condemned, but which, for un homme très comme il faut, was evidently superfluous, he rang the bell.
Nekhludoff bowed himself out.
"If it is convenient for you, come to dinner," said Wolf, extending his hand, "say on Wednesday. I will then give you a definite answer."
It was already late, and Nekhludoff drove home, that is, to his aunt's.
CHAPTER XII.
Maslova's case was to be heard the following day, and Nekhludoff went to the Senate. He met Fanirin at the entrance to the magnificent Senate building, where several carriages were already waiting. Walking up the grand, solemn staircase to the second floor, the lawyer, who was familiar with all the passages, turned into a room to the left, on the door of which was carved the year of the institution of the Code. The lawyer removed his overcoat, remaining in his dress-coat and black tie on a white bosom, and with cheerful self-confidence walked into the next room. There were about fifteen spectators present, among whom were a young woman in a pince-nez, and a gray-haired lady. A gray-haired old man of patriarchal mien, wearing a box-coat and gray trousers, and attended by two men, attracted particular attention. He crossed the room and entered a wardrobe.
An usher, a handsome man with red cheeks and in a pompous uniform, approached Fanirin with a piece of paper in his hand and asked him in what case he appeared. Being told that in Maslova's case, the usher made a note of something and went away. At that time the door of the wardrobe opened and the patriarchal looking old man came forth, no longer in the coat, but in a brilliant uniform which made him resemble a bird. His uniform evidently embarrassed the old man, and he walked into the room opposite the entrance with quicker than his ordinary step.
Fanirin pointed him out to Nekhludoff as Bé, "a most honorable gentleman." The spectators, including Fanirin, went into the next room and seated themselves behind the grating on benches reserved for spectators. Only the St. Petersburg lawyer took a seat behind a desk on the other side of the grating.
The session room of the Senate was smaller than the room of the Circuit Court, was furnished in simpler style, only the table behind which the Senators sat was of crimson plush instead of green cloth, bordered with gold lace.
; There were four Senators. The President, Nikitin, with a closely shaved, narrow face and steel-gray eyes; Wolf, with thin lips and small white hands, with which he was turning over the papers before him; then Skovorodnikoff, stout, massive and pock-marked, and a very learned jurist, and finally, Bé, the same partriarchal old man, who was the last to arrive. Immediately behind the Senators came the Chief Secretary and Associate Attorney General. He was a young man of medium height, shaved, lean, with a very dark face and black, sad eyes. Nekhludoff recognized him, notwithstanding his strange uniform and the fact that he had not seen him for about six years, as one of his best friends during his student life.
"Is the associate's name Selenin?" he asked the lawyer.
"Yes, why?"
"I know him very well; he is an excellent man——"
"And a good associate of the Attorney General—very sensible. It would have been well to see him," said Fanirin.
"At all events, he will follow the dictates of his conscience," said Nekhludoff, remembering his close relations with and friendship for Selenin, and the latter's charming qualities of purity, honesty and good breeding, in the best sense of the word.
The first case before the Senate was an appeal from the decision of the Circuit Court of Appeals affirming a judgment in favor of the publisher of a newspaper in a libel suit brought against him.
Nekhludoff listened and tried to understand the arguments in the case, but as in the Circuit Court, the chief difficulty in understanding what was going on was found in the fact that the discussion centered not on what appeared naturally to be the main point, but on side issues.
