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

and even felt that this

applied to him personally, when he drove up to the prison and

entered its walls.

 

The doorkeeper recognised Nekhludoff, and told him at once that

Maslova was no longer there.

 

“Where is she, then?”

 

“In the cell again.”

 

“Why has she been removed?” Nekhludoff asked.

 

“Oh, your excellency, what are such people?” said the doorkeeper,

contemptuously. “She’s been carrying on with the medical

assistant, so the head doctor ordered her back.”

 

Nekhludoff had had no idea how near Maslova and the state of her

mind were to him. He was stunned by the news.

 

He felt as one feels at the news of a great and unforeseen

misfortune, and his pain was very severe. His first feeling was

one of shame. He, with his joyful idea of the change that he

imagined was going on in her soul, now seemed ridiculous in his

own eyes. He thought that all her pretence of not wishing to

accept his sacrifice, all the reproaches and tears, were only the

devices of a depraved woman, who wished to use him to the best

advantage. He seemed to remember having seen signs of obduracy at

his last interview with her. All this flashed through his mind as

he instinctively put on his hat and left the hospital.

 

“What am I to do now? Am I still bound to her? Has this action of

hers not set me free?” And as he put these questions to himself

he knew at once that if he considered himself free, and threw her

up, he would be punishing himself, and not her, which was what he

wished to do, and he was seized with fear.

 

“No, what has happened cannot alter—it can only strengthen my

resolve. Let her do what flows from the state her mind is in. If

it is carrying on with the medical assistant, let her carry on

with the medical assistant; that is her business. I must do what

my conscience demands of me. And my conscience expects me to

sacrifice my freedom. My resolution to marry her, if only in

form, and to follow wherever she may be sent, remains

unalterable.” Nekhludoff said all this to himself with vicious

obstinacy as he left the hospital and walked with resolute steps

towards the big gates of the prison. He asked the warder on duty

at the gate to inform the inspector that he wished to see

Maslova. The warder knew Nekhludoff, and told him of an important

change that had taken place in the prison. The old inspector had

been discharged, and a new, very severe official appointed in his

place.

 

“They are so strict nowadays, it’s just awful,” said the jailer.

“He is in here; they will let him know directly.”

 

The new inspector was in the prison and soon came to Nekhludoff.

He was a tall, angular man, with high cheek bones, morose, and

very slow in his movements.

 

“Interviews are allowed in the visiting room on the appointed

days,” he said, without looking at Nekhludoff.

 

“But I have a petition to the Emperor, which I want signed.”

 

“You can give it to me.”

 

“I must see the prisoner myself. I was always allowed to before.”

 

“That was so, before,” said the inspector, with a furtive glance

at Nekhludoff.

 

“I have a permission from the governor,” insisted Nekhludoff, and

took out his pocket-book.

 

“Allow me,” said the inspector, taking the paper from Nekhludoff

with his long, dry, white fingers, on the first of which was a

gold ring, still without looking him in the eyes. He read the

paper slowly. “Step into the office, please.”

 

This time the office was empty. The inspector sat down by the

table and began sorting some papers that lay on it, evidently

intending to be present at the interview.

 

When Nekhludoff asked whether he might see the political

prisoner, Doukhova, the inspector answered, shortly, that he

could not. “Interviews with political prisoners are not

permitted,” he said, and again fixed his attention on his papers.

With a letter to Doukhova in his pocket, Nekhludoff felt as if he

had committed some offence, and his plans had been discovered and

frustrated.

 

When Maslova entered the room the inspector raised his head, and,

without looking at either her or Nekhludoff, remarked: “You may

talk,” and went on sorting his papers. Maslova had again the

white jacket, petticoat and kerchief on. When she came up to

Nekhludoff and saw his cold, hard look, she blushed scarlet, and

crumbling the hem of her jacket with her hand, she cast down her

eyes. Her confusion, so it seemed to Nekhludoff, confirmed the

hospital doorkeeper’s words.

 

Nekhludoff had meant to treat her in the same way as before, but

could not bring himself to shake hands with her, so disgusting

was she to him now.

 

“I have brought you had news,” he said, in a monotonous voice,

without looking at her or taking her hand. “The Senate has

refused.”

 

“I knew it would,” she said, in a strange tone, as if she were

gasping for breath.

 

Formerly Nekhludoff would have asked why she said she knew it

would; now he only looked at her. Her eyes were full of tears.

But this did not soften him; it roused his irritation against her

even more.

 

The inspector rose and began pacing up and down the room.

 

In spite of the disgust Nekhludoff was feeling at the moment, he

considered it right to express his regret at the Senate’s

decision.

 

“You must not despair,” he said. “The petition to the Emperor may

meet with success, and I hope–”

 

“I’m not thinking of that,” she said, looking piteously at him

with her wet, squinting eyes.

 

“What is it, then?”

 

“You have been to the hospital, and they have most likely told

you about me—”

 

“What of that? That is your affair,” said Nekhludoff coldly, and

frowned. The cruel feeling of wounded pride that had quieted down

rose with renewed force when she mentioned the hospital.

 

“He, a man of the world, whom any girl of the best families would

think it happiness to marry, offered himself as a husband to this

woman, and she could not even wait, but began intriguing with the

medical assistant,” thought he, with a look of hatred.

 

“Here, sign this petition,” he said, taking a large envelope from

his pocket, and laying the paper on the table. She wiped the

tears with a corner of her kerchief, and asked what to write and

where.

 

He showed her, and she sat down and arranged the cuff of her

right sleeve with her left hand; he stood behind her, and

silently looked at her back, which shook with suppressed emotion,

and evil and good feelings were fighting in his breast—feelings

of wounded pride and of pity for her who was suffering—and the

last feeling was victorious.

 

He could not remember which came first; did the pity for her

first enter his heart, or did he first remember his own sins—his

own repulsive actions, the very same for which he was condemning

her? Anyhow, he both felt himself guilty and pitied her.

 

Having signed the petition and wiped her inky finger on her

petticoat, she got up and looked at him.

 

“Whatever happens, whatever comes of it, my resolve remains

unchanged,” said Nekhludoff. The thought that he had forgiven her

heightened his feeling of pity and tenderness for her, and he

wished to comfort her. “I will do what I have said; wherever they

take you I shall be with you.”

 

“What’s the use?” she interrupted hurriedly, though her whole

face lighted up.

 

“Think what you will want on the way—”

 

“I don’t know of anything in particular, thank you.”

 

The inspector came up, and without waiting for a remark from him

Nekhludoff took leave, and went out with peace, joy, and love

towards everybody in his heart such as he had never felt before.

The certainty that no action of Maslova could change his love for

her filled him with joy and raised him to a level which he had

never before attained. Let her intrigue with the medical

assistant; that was her business. He loved her not for his own

but for her sake and for God’s.

 

And this intrigue, for which Maslova was turned out of the

hospital, and of which Nekhludoff believed she was really guilty,

consisted of the following:

 

Maslova was sent by the head nurse to get some herb tea from the

dispensary at the end of the corridor, and there, all alone, she

found the medical assistant, a tall man, with a blotchy face, who

had for a long time been bothering her. In trying to get away

from him Maslova gave him such a push that he knocked his head

against a shelf, from which two bottles fell and broke. The head

doctor, who was passing at that moment, heard the sound of

breaking glass, and saw Maslova run out, quite red, and shouted

to her:

 

“Ah, my good woman, if you start intriguing here, I’ll send you

about your business. What is the meaning of it?” he went on,

addressing the medical assistant, and looking at him over his

spectacles.

 

The assistant smiled, and began to justify himself. The doctor

gave no heed to him, but, lifting his head so that he now looked

through his spectacles, he entered the ward. He told the

inspector the same day to send another more sedate

assistant-nurse in Maslova’s place. And this was her “intrigue”

with the medical assistant.

 

Being turned out for a love intrigue was particularly painful to

Maslova, because the relations with men, which had long been

repulsive to her, had become specially disgusting after meeting

Nekhludoff. The thought that, judging her by her past and present

position, every man, the blotchy assistant among them, considered

he had a right to offend her, and was surprised at her refusal,

hurt her deeply, and made her pity herself and brought tears to

her eyes.

 

When she went out to Nekhludoff this time she wished to clear

herself of the false charge which she knew he would certainly

have heard about. But when she began to justify herself she felt

he did not believe her, and that her excuses would only

strengthen his suspicions; tears choked her, and she was silent.

 

Maslova still thought and continued to persuade herself that she

had never forgiven him, and hated him, as she told him at their

second interview, but in reality she loved him again, and loved

him so that she did all he wished her to do; left off drinking,

smoking, coquetting, and entered the hospital because she knew he

wished it. And if every time he reminded her of it, she refused

so decidedly to accept his sacrifice and marry him, it was

because she liked repeating the proud words she had once uttered,

and because she knew that a marriage with her would be a

misfortune for him.

 

She had resolutely made up her mind that she would not accept his

sacrifice, and yet the thought that he despised her and believed

that she still was what she had been, and did not notice the

change that had taken place in her, was very painful. That he

could still think she had done wrong while in the hospital

tormented her more than the news that her sentence was confirmed.

 

CHAPTER XXX.

 

THE ASTONISHING INSTITUTION CALLED CRIMINAL LAW.

 

Maslova might be sent off with the first gang of prisoners,

therefore Nekhludoff got ready for his departure. But there was

so much to be done that he felt that he