Resurrection, Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy [books to read this summer .txt] 📗

can,” said Nekhludoff, feeling that a man once

near and dear to him had, by this brief conversation, suddenly

become strange, distant, and incomprehensible, if not hostile to

him.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.

 

THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR.

 

When Nekhludoff knew Selenin as a student, he was a good son, a

true friend, and for his years an educated man of the world, with

much tact; elegant, handsome, and at the same time truthful and

honest. He learned well, without much exertion and with no

pedantry, receiving gold medals for his essays. He considered the

service of mankind, not only in words but in acts, to be the aim

of his young life. He saw no other way of being useful to

humanity than by serving the State. Therefore, as soon as he had

completed his studies, he systematically examined all the

activities to which he might devote his life, and decided to

enter the Second Department of the Chancellerie, where the laws

are drawn up, and he did so. But, in spite of the most scrupulous

and exact discharge of the duties demanded of him, this service

gave no satisfaction to his desire of being useful, nor could he

awake in himself the consciousness that he was doing “the right

thing.”

 

This dissatisfaction was so much increased by the friction with

his very small-minded and vain fellow officials that he left the

Chancellerie and entered the Senate. It was better there, but the

same dissatisfaction still pursued him; he felt it to be very

different from what he had expected, and from what ought to be.

 

And now that he was in the Senate his relatives obtained for him

the post of Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and he had to go in a

carriage, dressed in an embroidered uniform and a white linen

apron, to thank all sorts of people for having placed him in the

position of a lackey. However much he tried he could find no

reasonable explanation for the existence of this post, and felt,

more than in the Senate, that it was not “the right thing,” and

yet he could not refuse it for fear of hurting those who felt

sure they were giving him much pleasure by this appointment, and

because it flattered the lowest part of his nature. It pleased

him to see himself in a mirror in his gold-embroidered uniform,

and to accept the deference paid him by some people because of

his position.

 

Something of the same kind happened when he married. A very

brilliant match, from a worldly point of view, was arranged for

him, and he married chiefly because by refusing he would have had

to hurt the young lady who wished to be married to him, and those

who arranged the marriage, and also because a marriage with a

nice young girl of noble birth flattered his vanity and gave him

pleasure. But this marriage very soon proved to be even less “the

right thing” than the Government service and his position at

Court.

 

After the birth of her first child the wife decided to have no

more, and began leading that luxurious worldly life in which he

now had to participate whether he liked or not.

 

She was not particularly handsome, and was faithful to him, and

she seemed, in spite of all the efforts it cost her, to derive

nothing but weariness from the life she led, yet she

perseveringly continued to live it, though it was poisoning her

husband’s life. And all his efforts to alter this life was

shattered, as against a stone wall, by her conviction, which all

her friends and relatives supported, that all was as it should

be.

 

The child, a little girl with bare legs and long golden curls,

was a being perfectly foreign to him, chiefly because she was

trained quite otherwise than he wished her to be. There sprung up

between the husband and wife the usual misunderstanding, without

even the wish to understand each other, and then a silent

warfare, hidden from outsiders and tempered by decorum. All this

made his life at home a burden, and became even less “the right

thing” than his service and his post.

 

But it was above all his attitude towards religion which was not

“the right thing.” Like every one of his set and his time, by the

growth of his reason he broke without the least effort the nets

of the religious superstitions in which he was brought up, and

did not himself exactly know when it was that he freed himself of

them. Being earnest and upright, he did not, during his youth and

intimacy with Nekhludoff as a student, conceal his rejection of

the State religion. But as years went on and he rose in the

service, and especially at the time of the reaction towards

conservatism in society, his spiritual freedom stood in his way.

 

At home, when his father died, he had to be present at the masses

said for his soul, and his mother wished him to go to confession

or to communion, and it was in a way expected, by public opinion,

but above all, Government service demanded that he should be

present at all sorts of services, consecrations, thanksgivings,

and the like. Hardly a day passed without some outward religious

form having to be observed.

 

When present at these services he had to pretend that he believed

in something which he did not believe in, and being truthful he

could not do this. The alternative was, having made up his mind

that all these outward signs were deceitful, to alter his life in

such a way that he would not have to be present at such

ceremonials. But to do what seemed so simple would have cost a

great deal. Besides encountering the perpetual hostility of all

those who were near to him, he would have to give up the service

and his position, and sacrifice his hopes of being useful to

humanity by his service, now and in the future. To make such a

sacrifice one would have to be firmly convinced of being right.

 

And he was firmly convinced he was right, as no educated man of

our time can help being convinced who knows a little history and

how the religions, and especially Church Christianity,

originated.

 

But under the stress of his daily life he, a truthful man,

allowed a little falsehood to creep in. He said that in order to

do justice to an unreasonable thing one had to study the

unreasonable thing. It was a little falsehood, but it sunk him

into the big falsehood in which he was now caught.

 

Before putting to himself the question whether the orthodoxy in

which he was born and bred, and which every one expected him to

accept, and without which he could not continue his useful

occupation, contained the truth, he had already decided the

answer. And to clear up the question he did not read Voltaire,

Schopenhauer, Herbert Spencer, or Comte, but the philosophical

works of Hegel and the religious works of Vinet and Khomyakoff,

and naturally found in them what he wanted, i.e., something like

peace of mind and a vindication of that religious teaching in

which he was educated, which his reason had long ceased to

accept, but without which his whole life was filled with

unpleasantness which could all be removed by accepting the

teaching.

 

And so he adopted all the usual sophistries which go to prove

that a single human reason cannot know the truth, that the truth

is only revealed to an association of men, and can only be known

by revelation, that revelation is kept by the church, etc. And so

he managed to be present at prayers, masses for the dead, to

confess, make signs of the cross in front of icons, with a quiet

mind, without being conscious of the lie, and to continue in the

service which gave him the feeling of being useful and some

comfort in his joyless family life. Although he believed this, he

felt with his entire being that this religion of his, more than

all else, was not “the right thing,” and that is why his eyes

always looked sad.

 

And seeing Nekhludoff, whom he had known before all these lies

had rooted themselves within him, reminded him of what he then

was. It was especially after he had hurried to hint at his

religious views that he had most strongly felt all this “not the

right thing,” and had become painfully sad. Nekhludoff felt it

also after the first joy of meeting his old friend had passed,

and therefore, though they promised each other to meet, they did

not take any steps towards an interview, and did not again see

each other during this stay of Nekhludoff’s in Petersburg.

 

CHAPTER XXIV.

 

MARIETTE TEMPTS NEKHLUDOFF.

 

When they left the Senate, Nekhludoff and the advocate walked on

together, the advocate having given the driver of his carriage

orders to follow them. The advocate told Nekhludoff the story of

the chief of a Government department, about whom the Senators had

been talking: how the thing was found out, and how the man, who

according to law should have been sent to the mines, had been

appointed Governor of a town in Siberia. Then he related with

particular pleasure how several high-placed persons stole a lot

of money collected for the erection of the still unfinished

monument which they had passed that morning; also, how the

mistress of So-and-so got a lot of money at the Stock Exchange,

and how So-and-so agreed with So-and-so to sell him his wife. The

advocate began another story about a swindle, and all sorts of

crimes committed by persons in high places, who, instead of being

in prison, sat on presidential chairs in all sorts of Government

institutions. These tales, of which the advocate seemed to have

an unending supply, gave him much pleasure, showing as they did,

with perfect clearness, that his means of getting money were

quite just and innocent compared to the means which the highest

officials in Petersburg made use of. The advocate was therefore

surprised when Nekhludoff took an isvostchik before hearing the

end of the story, said goodbye, and left him. Nekhludoff felt

very sad. It was chiefly the rejection of the appeal by the

Senate, confirming the senseless torments that the innocent

Maslova was enduring, that saddened him, and also the fact that

this rejection made it still harder for him to unite his fate

with hers. The stories about existing evils, which the advocate

recounted with such relish, heightened his sadness, and so did

the cold, unkind look that the once sweet-natured, frank, noble

Selenin had given him, and which kept recurring to his mind.

 

On his return the doorkeeper handed him a note, and said, rather

scornfully, that some kind of woman had written it in the hall.

It was a note from Shoustova’s mother. She wrote that she had

come to thank her daughter’s benefactor and saviour, and to

implore him to come to see them on the Vasilievsky, Sth Line,

house No. —. This was very necessary because of Vera Doukhova.

He need not be afraid that they would weary him with expressions

of gratitude. They would not speak their gratitude, but be simply

glad to see him. Would he not come next morning, if he could?

 

There was another note from Bogotyreff, a former fellow-officer,

aide-de-camp to the Emperor, whom Nekhludoff had asked to hand

personally to the Emperor his petition on behalf of the

sectarians. Bogotyreff wrote, in his large, firm hand, that he

would put the petition into the Emperor’s own hands, as he had

promised; but that it had occurred to him that it might be better

for Nekhludoff first to go and see the person on