The Awakening / The Resurrection

by Лев Толстой

  "Why, then, did he not do it?"

  "That is just what I would like to know myself," said Fanirin, laughing.

  "So the Senate will correct the mistake."

  "That will depend on who will be sitting there when the case is heard."

  "Well, and then we continue: 'Under these circumstances the court erred in imposing on Maslova punishment, and the application to her of section 3, chapter 771 of the Code was a serious violation of the basic principles of the criminal law. Wherefore applicant demands, etc., etc., be revised in accordance with chs. 909, 910, s. 2, 912 and 928 of the Code, etc., etc., and referring the case back for a new trial to a different part of the same court.' Well, now, everything that could be done was done. But I will be frank with you; the probabilities of success are slight. However, everything depends on who will be sitting in the Senate. If you know any one among them, bestir yourself."

  "Yes, I know some."

  "Then you must hasten, for they will soon be gone on their vacation, and won't return for three months. In case of failure, the only recourse will be to petition the Czar. I shall be at your service also in that contingency."

  "I thank you. And now as to your honorarium?"

  "My clerk will hand you the petition and also my bill."

  "One more question I would like to ask you. The prosecutor gave me a pass for the prison, but I was told there that it was necessary to obtain the Governor's permission to visit the prison on other than visitors' days. Is it necessary?"

  "I think so. But he is away, and the lieutenant is in his place."

  "You mean Maslenikoff?"

  "Yes."

  "I know him," said Nekhludoff, rising to leave.

  At that moment the lawyer's wife, an extremely ugly, pug-nosed and bony woman, rushed into the room. Not only was her attire unusually original—she was fairly loaded down with plush and silk things, bright yellow and green—but her oily hair was done up in curls, and she triumphantly rushed into the reception-room, accompanied by a tall, smiling man with an earth-colored face, in a cut-away coat with silk facings and a white tie. This was an author. He knew Nekhludoff by sight.

  "Anatal," she said, opening the door, "come here. Semion Ivanovitch promised to read to us his poem, and you must read something from Garshin."

  Nekhludoff was preparing to go, but the lawyer's wife whispered something to her husband and turned to him:

  "I know you, Prince, and consider an introduction unnecessary. Won't you please attend our literary breakfast? It will be very interesting. Anatal is an excellent reader."

  "You see what variety of duties I have," said Anatal, smiling and pointing at his wife, thereby expressing the impossibility of resisting that bewitching person.

  With a sad and grave face and with the greatest politeness, Nekhludoff thanked the lawyer's wife for the invitation, pleaded other engagements and went into the reception-room.

  "What faces he makes!" the lawyer's wife said of him, when he had left the room.

  In the reception-room the clerk handed him the petition, and in answer to Nekhludoff's question about the honorarium, said that Anatal Semionovitch set his fee at a thousand rubles; that he really does not take such cases, but does it for Nekhludoff.

  "And who is to sign the petition?" asked Nekhludoff.

  "The prisoner may sign it herself, and if that be troublesome, she may empower Anatal Semionovitch."

  "No, I will go to the prison and obtain her signature," said Nekhludoff, rejoicing at the opportunity of seeing Katiousha before the appointed day.

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  At the usual hour the jailers' whistles were heard in the corridors of the prison; with a rattling of irons the doors of the corridors and cells opened, and the patter of bare feet and the clatter of prison shoes resounded through the corridors; the men and women prisoners washed and dressed, and after going through the morning inspection, proceeded to brew their tea.

  During the tea-drinking animated conversations were going on among the prisoners in the cells and corridors. Two prisoners were to be flogged that day. One of these was a fairly intelligent young clerk who, in a fit of jealousy, had killed his mistress. He was loved by his fellow-prisoners for his cheerfulness, liberality and firmness in dealing with the authorities. He knew the laws and demanded compliance with them. Three weeks ago the warden struck one of the chambermen for spilling some soup on his new uniform. The clerk, Vasilieff, took the chamberman's part, saying that there was no law permitting an official to beat prisoners. "I will show you the law," said the warden, reviling Vasilieff. The latter answered in kind. The warden was about to strike him, but Vasilieff caught hold of his hands and held him fast for about three minutes and then pushed him out of the door. The warden complained and the inspector ordered Vasilieff placed in solitary confinement.

  These cells for solitary confinement were dark closets iron-bolted from the outside. In these cold, damp cells, devoid of bed, table or chair, the prisoners were obliged to sit or lie on the dirty floor. The rats, of which there was a large number, crawled all over them, and were so bold that they devoured the prisoner's bread and often attacked the prisoners themselves when they remained motionless. Vasilieff resisted, and with the aid of two other prisoners, tore himself loose from the jailers, but they were finally overcome and all three were thrust into cells. It was reported to the Governor that something like a mutiny occurred, and in answer came a document ordering that the two chief culprits, Vasilieff and the tramp Don'tremember (an application given to some tramps and jail birds who, to conceal the identity, with characteristic ingenuity and stupidity make that answer to all questions relating to their names), be given thirty lashes each.

  The flogging was to take place in the women's reception-room.

  This was known to all the inmates of the prison since the previous evening, and every one was talking of the coming flogging.

  Korableva, Miss Dandy, Theodosia and Maslova, flushed and animated, for they had already partaken of vodka which Maslova now had in abundance, were sitting in their corner, talking of the same thing.

  "Why, he has not misbehaved," Korableva said of Vasilieff, biting off a piece of sugar with her strong teeth. "He only sided with a comrade. Fighting, you know, is not allowed nowadays."

  "They say he is a fine fellow," added Theodosia, who was sitting on a log on which stood a tea-pot.

  "If you were to tell him, Michaelovna," the watch-woman said to Maslova, meaning Nekhludoff.

  "I will. He will do anything for me," Maslova answered, smiling and shaking her head.

  "It will be too late; they are going to fetch him now," said Theodosia. "It is awful," she added, sighing.

  "I have seen once a peasant flogged in the town hall. My father-in-law had sent me to the Mayor of the borough, and when I came there I was surprised to see him——" The watch-woman began a long story.

  Her story was interrupted by voices and steps on the upper corridor.

  The women became silent, listening.

  "They are bringing him, the fiends," said Miss Dandy. "Won't he get it now! The jailers are very angry, for he gave them no rest."

  It became quiet in the upper corridor, and the watch-woman finished her story, how she was frightened when she saw the peasant flogged, and how it turned her stomach. Miss Dandy told how Schezloff was flogged with a lash while he never uttered a word. Theodosia then removed the pots and bowls; Korableva and the watch-woman took to their sewing, while Maslova, hugging her knees, became sad from ennui. She was about to lay down to sleep when the matron called her into the office, where a visitor was waiting for her.

  "Don't fail to tell him about us," said the old Menshova, while Maslova was arranging her headgear before a looking-glass half void of mercury. "It was not me who set the fire, but he, the villain, himself did it, and the laborer saw it. He would not kill a man. Tell him to call Dmitry. Dmitry will explain to him everything. They locked us up here for nothing, while the villain is living with another man's w
ife and sits around in dram-shops."

  "That's wrong!" affirmed Korableva.

  "I will tell him—yes, I will," answered Maslova. "Suppose we have a drink, for courage?" she added, winking one eye.

  Korableva poured out half a cup for her. Maslova drank it and wiped her mouth. Her spirits rose, and repeating the words "for courage," shaking her head and smiling, she followed the matron.

  CHAPTER XLV.

  Nekhludoff had been waiting for a long time in the vestibule.

  Arriving at the prison he rang the front-door bell and handed his pass to the warden on duty.

  "What do you want?"

  "I wish to see the prisoner Maslova."

  "Can't see her now; the inspector is busy."

  "In the office?" asked Nekhludoff.

  "No, here in the visitors' room," the warden answered, somewhat embarrassed, as it seemed to Nekhludoff.

  "Why, are visitors admitted to-day?"

  "No—special business," he answered.

  "Where can I see him, then?"

  "He will come out presently. Wait."

  At that moment a sergeant-major in bright crown-laced uniform, his face radiant, and his mustache impregnated with smoke, appeared from a side door.

  "Why did you admit him here? What is the office for?" he said sternly, turning to the warden.

  "I was told that the inspector was here," said Nekhludoff, surprised at the embarrassment noticeable on the officer's face.

  At that moment the inner door opened and Petroff, flushed and perspiring, came out.

  "He will remember it," he said, turning to the sergeant-major.

  The latter pointed with his eyes to Nekhludoff, and Petroff became silent, frowned and walked out through the rear door.

  "Who will remember? What? Why are they all so embarrassed? Why did the sergeant make that sign?" thought Nekhludoff.

  "You cannot wait here; please walk into the office," the sergeant-major turned to Nekhludoff, who was about to go out when the inspector came in through the inner door, more embarrassed even than his assistants. He was sighing incessantly. Seeing Nekhludoff, he turned to the warden:

  "Fedotoff, call Maslova."

  "Follow me, please," he said to Nekhludoff. They passed up a winding stairway leading into a small room with one window and containing a writing table and a few chairs. The inspector sat down.

  "Mine are disagreeable duties," he said, turning to Nekhludoff and lighting a thick cigarette.

  "You seem tired," said Nekhludoff.

  "I am very tired of all this business; my duties are very onerous. I am trying my best to alleviate the condition of the prisoners and things are getting only worse. I am very anxious to get away from here; the duties are very, very unpleasant."

  Nekhludoff could not understand what it was that made it so unpleasant for the inspector, but to-day he noticed on the inspector's face an expression of despondency and hopelessness which was pitiful to behold.

  "Yes, I think they are very trying," he said. "But why do you not resign?"

  "I have a family and am without means."

  "But if it is difficult——"

  "Well, you see, I manage to improve somewhat their lot after all. Another one in my place would hardly exert himself as I do. It is no easy matter to handle two thousand people. They are also human and one feels pity for them, and yet they can't be allowed to have all their own way."

  And the inspector related the case of a recent fight among the prisoners which ended in murder.

  His story was interrupted by the entrance of Maslova, who was preceded by the warden.

  Nekhludoff got sight of her when she appeared on the threshold and before she saw the inspector. Her face was red, and she walked briskly behind the warden, smiling and shaking her head. Noticing the inspector she gazed at him with frightened face, but immediately recovered herself and boldly and cheerfully turned to Nekhludoff.

  "How do you do?" she said, drawlingly, smiling and vigorously shaking his hand, not as on the former occasion.

  "Here I have brought you the petition to sign," said Nekhludoff, somewhat surprised at the forward manner in which she accosted him. "The lawyer wrote it. It must be signed and sent to St. Petersburg."

  "Why, certainly. I will do anything," she said, winking one eye and smiling.

  "May she sign it here?" Nekhludoff asked of the inspector.

  "Come here and sit down," said the inspector. "Here is a pen for you. Can you write?"

  "I could write once," she said, smiling, and, arranging her skirt and waist-sleeve, sat down, clumsily took the pen into her small, energetic hand, began to laugh and looked round at Nekhludoff.

  He pointed out to her where to sign.

  Diligently dipping and shaking the pen she signed her name.

  "Do you wish anything else?" she asked, looking now at Nekhludoff, now at the inspector, and depositing the pen now on the ink-stand, now on the paper.

  "I wish to tell you something," said Nekhludoff, taking the pen from her hand.

  "Very well; go on," she uttered, and suddenly, as though meditating or growing sleepy, her face became grave.

  The inspector rose and walked out, leaving Nekhludoff with her alone.

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  The warden who brought Maslova to the office seated himself on the window-sill, away from the table. This was a decisive moment for Nekhludoff. He had been constantly reproaching himself for not telling her at their first meeting of his intention to marry her, and was now determined to do so. She was sitting on one side of the table, and Nekhludoff seated himself on the other side, opposite her. The room was well lighted, and for the first time Nekhludoff clearly saw her face from a short distance, and noticed wrinkles around the eyes and lips and a slight swelling under her eyes, and he pitied her even more than before.

  Resting his elbows on the table so that he should not be heard by the warden, whose face was of a Jewish type, with grayish side-whiskers, he said:

  "If this petition fails we will appeal to His Majesty. Nothing will be left undone."

  "If it had been done before—if I had had a good lawyer"—she interrupted him. "That lawyer of mine was such a little fool. He was only making me compliments," she said, and began to laugh. "If they had only known that I was your acquaintance, it would have been different. They think that everybody is a thief."

  "How strange she is to-day," thought Nekhludoff, and was about to tell her what he had on his mind when she again began to speak.

  "I wanted to tell you. There is an old woman here—we are even surprised—such a good little woman, but there she is—she and her son, both in prison, and everybody knows that they are innocent. They are accused of setting fire, so they are in prison. She learned, you know, that I am acquainted with you," said Maslova, turning her head and casting glances at him, "and she says to me: 'Tell him,' she says, 'to call my son; he will tell him the whole story.' Menshoff is his name. Well, will you do it? Such a good little woman. You can see for yourself that she is not guilty. You will help them, dear, won't you?" she said, glancing at him; then she lowered her eyes and smiled.

  "Very well; I will do it," said Nekhludoff, his surprise at her easy manner growing, "but I would like to talk to you about my own affair. Do you remember what I told you that time?"

  "You have spoken so much. What did you say that time?" she said, continuing to smile and turning her head now to one side, now to the other.

  "I said that I came to ask your forgiveness," he said.

  "Oh! Forgiveness, forgiveness! That is all nonsense. You had better——"

  "That I wish to atone for my sin," continued Nekhludoff, "and to atone not by words but by deed. I have decided to marry you."

  Her face suddenly showed fright. Her squinting eyes became fixed, and they looked and did not look at him.

  "What is that for?" And she frowned maliciously.

  "I feel that before God I must do it."

  "What God, now, are you talking about? You a
re not talking to the point. God? What God? Why didn't you think of God then?" she said, and opening her mouth, stopped short.

  Nekhludoff only now smelled a strong odor of liquor and understood the cause of her excitement.

  "Be calm," he said.

  "I have nothing to be calm about. You think I am drunk? Yes, I am drunk, but I know what I am talking about," she said quickly, and her face became purple. "I am a convict, while you are a lord, a prince, and needn't stay here to soil your hands. Go to your princesses——"

  "You cannot be too cruel to me; you do not know how I feel," he said in a low voice, his whole body trembling. "You cannot imagine how strongly I feel my guilt before you!"

  "Feel my guilt," she mocked him maliciously. "You did not feel it then, but thrust a hundred rubles in my hands. 'That's your price——'"

  "I know, I know, but what am I to do now? I have decided not to leave you," he repeated; "and what I say I will do."

  "And I say that you will not!" she said, and laughed aloud.

  "Katinsha!" he began.

  "Leave me. I am a convict, and you are a prince; and you have no business here," she shrieked, violently releasing her hand from his, her wrath knowing no limit.

  "You wish to save yourself through me," she continued, hastening to pour out all that had accumulated in her soul. "You have made me the means of your enjoyment in life, and now you wish to make me the means of saving you after death! You disgust me, as do your eye-glasses and that fat, dirty face of yours. Go, go away!" she shrieked, energetically springing to her feet.

  The warden approached them.

  "Don't you make so much noise! You know whom——"

  "Please desist," said Nekhludoff.

  "She must not forget herself," said the warden.

  "Please wait a while," said Nekhludoff.

  The warden returned to his seat on the window-sill.

  Maslova again seated herself, her eyes downcast and her little hands clutching each other.