Nekhludoff passed by and approached one of the windows of the third

car, pointed out to him by one of the guards. Overheated air,

impregnated with a thick odor of perspiration, assailed his nostrils,

and shrill women's voices were distinctly heard. All the benches were

occupied by flushed, perspiring women in waists and coats, loudly

conversing. His approach attracted their attention. Those sitting

nearest to the grated window became silent. Maslova, in a waist and

without headgear, was sitting near the opposite window. The smiling

Theodosia, who was sitting near Maslova, seeing Nekhludoff, pushed her

with her elbow and pointed to Nekhludoff. Maslova hurriedly rose,

threw a 'kerchief over her black hair, and, with an animated, red,

perspiring and smiling face, came near the window and placed her hands

on the grating.

"But how warm it is!" she said, smiling joyously.

"Did you get the things?"

"I did, thank you."

"Do you need anything?" asked Nekhludoff, feeling the heat issuing

from the window as from a steam bath.

"I do not need anything. Thank you."

"If we could only get some water," said Theodosia.

"Yes, some water," repeated Maslova.

"I will ask one of the guards," said Nekhludoff. "We will not meet now

until we reach Nijhni."

"Why, are you going there?" she said, as if she did not know it, but

joyously glancing at Nekhludoff.

"I am going on the next train."

Maslova was silent for a few moments; then sighed deeply.

"Is it true, master, that twelve people have died from the heat?" said

a churlish old woman in a hoarse voice.

It was Korableva.

"I don't know that twelve have died. I have seen two," said

Nekhludoff.

"They say twelve. They ought to be punished for it, the devils!"

"How is it with the women?" asked Nekhludoff.

"Women are stronger," said another prisoner, smiling. "Only there is

one who has taken it into her head to give birth to a child. Listen to

her wailing," she said, pointing to the adjacent car, from which the

moaning proceeded.

"You asked if anything was needed," said Maslova, endeavoring to

restrain a happy smile. "Could not that woman be taken off the train?

She suffers so. Won't you tell the authorities?"

"Yes, I will."

"Another thing--could you not get her to see her husband, Tarass?" she

added, pointing to the smiling Theodosia. "He is going with you, isn't

he?"

At this point the voice of a sergeant was heard reminding Nekhludoff

that talking with the prisoners was prohibited. It was not the

sergeant who passed Nekhludoff.

Nekhludoff walked off to find the captain, intending to see him about

the sick woman and Tarass, but for a long time could not find him, the

guards being too busy to answer his inquiries. Some were leading away

one of the convicts; others were hurrying away to buy their

provisions; still others were attending a lady who was traveling with

the captain of the convoy.

Nekhludoff found the captain after the second bell. The captain,

wiping his thick moustache with his short hand and raising his

shoulders, was reprimanding one of the sergeants.

"What is it you want?" he asked Nekhludoff.

"There is a woman giving birth to a child, so I thought it would be

well----"

"Well, let her. When the child is born we will see to it," said the

captain, passing to his car.

The conductor came with a whistle in his hand. The third bell

sounded, and a loud wailing rose among the female prisoners and their

friends and relatives on the platform. Nekhludoff was standing beside

Tarass, and watched the cars passing before him, with the grated

windows and the shaved heads seen through them. As the one in which

Maslova was passed, he saw her standing with others at the window,

looking at him and smiling piteously.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote F: Early in the eighties five prisoners died from sunstroke

while being transferred from the Boutyr prison to the Nijhni railroad

station.--L. T.]

CHAPTER XXIV.

The passenger train which was to carry away Nekhludoff was to start in

two hours. Nekhludoff at first thought of utilizing these two hours in

visiting his sister, but after the impressions of the morning he felt

so excited and exhausted that he seated himself on a sofa in the

saloon for first-class passengers. But he unexpectedly felt so drowsy

that he turned on his side, placed his palm under his cheek, and

immediately fell asleep.

He was awakened by a servant in dress-coat holding a napkin in his

hand.

"Mister, mister, are you not Prince Nekhludoff? A lady is looking for

you."

Nekhludoff quickly raised himself, rubbing his eyes, and the incidents

of the morning passed before his mind's eye--the procession of the

convicts, the men who had died from the heat, the grated windows of

the cars, and the women huddled behind them, one of whom was laboring

in child-birth without aid, and another piteously smiling to him from

behind the iron grating. But in reality he saw a table covered with

bottles, vases, chandeliers, and fruit stands; nimble servants

bustling around the table, and in the depth of the saloon, before the

lunch-counter, loaded with viands and fruits, the backs of passengers

leisurely eating their luncheon.

While Nekhludoff was raising himself and shaking off the slumber, he

noticed that everybody in the saloon was curiously watching the

entrance. He turned his eyes in the same direction, and saw a

procession of people who bore an arm-chair in which was seated a lady,

her head covered with tulle. The first bearer was a lackey who seemed

familiar to Nekhludoff. The one behind was also a familiar porter,

with white crown lace around his cap. Behind the arm-chair came an

elegantly dressed maid-servant with curly hair, carrying a round

leather box and a sunshade. Further behind came the short-necked

Prince Korchagin, his shoulders thrown back; then Missy, Misha, their

cousin, and a diplomat Osten, unfamiliar to Nekhludoff, with his long

neck and prominent Adam's apple and an ever cheerful appearance. He

walked impressively, but evidently jestingly talking to the smiling

Missy. Behind them came the doctor, angrily smoking a cigarette.

The Korchagins were moving from their estate to the Prince's sister,

whose estate was situated on the Nijhni road.

The procession passed into the ladies' room. The old Prince, however,

seating himself at the table, immediately called over a waiter and

began to order something. Missy with Osten also stopped in the

dining-room, and were about to sit down when they saw an acquaintance

in the doorway and went to meet her. It was Natalia Ivanovna. She was

escorted by Agrippina Petrovna, and as she entered the dining-room she

looked around. At almost the same moment she noticed Missy and her

brother. She first approached Missy, only nodding her head to

Nekhludoff. But after kissing Missy she immediately turned to him.

"At last I have found you," she said.

After greeting his sister, Nekhludoff entered into conversation with

Missy, who told him that their house had burned down, necessitating

their removal to her aunt's. Osten began to relate a droll anecdote

anent the fire. Nekhludoff, without listening to Osten, turned to his

sister:

"How glad I am that you came!"

In the course of their conversation he told her how sorry he felt for

having fallen out with her husband; that he had intended to return and

confess that he was at fault, but that he knew not how her husband

would take it.

"I spoke improperly to him, and it tortured me," he said.

"I knew it. I was sure you didn't intend it," said his sister. "Don't

you know----"

The tears welled up in her eyes, and she touched her brother's hand.

It was spoken tenderly; he understood her, and was affected. The

meaning of her words was that, besides her love for her husband, her

love for her brother was dear and important to her, and that any

disagreement with him caused her suffering.

"Thank you, thank you. Oh, what I have seen to-day!" he said, suddenly

recalling the two dead convicts. "Two convicts have been killed."

"How killed?"

"So, simply killed. They have been brought here in this heat, and two

of them died from sunstroke."

"Impossible! How? To-day? Just now?"

"Yes, just now. I have seen their corpses."

"Why were they killed? Who killed them?" asked Natalia Ivanovna.

"Those who forcibly brought them here," said Nekhludoff excitedly,

feeling that she took the same view of this as her husband.

"Oh, my God!" said Agrippina Petrovna, coming nearer to them.

"Yes, we have no conception of the life these unfortunates are

leading, and it is necessary to know it," Nekhludoff added, looking at

the old Prince, who, sitting at the table with a napkin tucked under

his chin and a large glass before him, at that moment glanced at

Nekhludoff.

"Nekhludoff," he shouted. "Won't you take sauce to cool off? It is

excellent stuff."

Nekhludoff refused and turned away.

"But what will you do?" continued Natalia Ivanovna.

"I will do what I can. I do not know what, but I feel that I must do

something. And I will do what I can."

"Yes, yes, I understand that. And what about him?" she said, smiling

and nodding in the direction of Korchagin. "Is it really all over?"

"Yes, it is and I think without regret on either side."

"I am very sorry. I like her. But I suppose it must be so. But why

should you bind yourself? Why are you following her?"

"Because it is proper that I should," Nekhludoff said dryly, as

though desiring to change the subject.

But he immediately felt ashamed of his coldness to his sister. "Why

should I not tell her what I think?" he thought; "and let Agrippina

Petrovna also know it," he said to himself, looking at the old

servant.

The presence of Agrippina Petrovna only encouraged him to repeat his

decision to his sister.

"You are speaking of my intention to marry Katiusha. You see, I have

decided to do it, but she firmly and decidedly refused me," he said,

and his voice trembled, as it always did when he spoke of it. "She

does not desire my sacrifice, and in her position she sacrifices very

much, and I could not accept her sacrifice, even if it were only

momentary. That is why I am following her, and I will be near her, and

will endeavor to relieve her condition as far as I am able."

Natalia Ivanovna was silent. Agrippina Petrovna looked inquiringly at

Natalia Ivanovna, shaking her head. At that moment the procession

started again from the ladies' room. The same handsome Phillip and the

porter were bearing the Princess. She stopped the bearers, beckoned

Nekhludoff to her side, and in a piteously languid manner extended her

white, ring-bedecked hand, with horror anticipating the hard pressure

of his.

"_Epouvantable!_" she said of the heat. "It is unbearable. _Ce climat

me tue._" And having said a few words of the horrors of the Russian

climate, and invited Nekhludoff to visit them, she gave a sign to the

bearers. "Don't fail to come, now," she added, turning her long face

to Nekhludoff.

Nekhludoff went out on the platform. The procession turned to the

right, toward the first-class coaches. Nekhludoff, with a porter who

carried his baggage, and Tarass, with his bags, turned to the left.

"That is my comrade," Nekhludoff said to his sister, pointing to

Tarass, whose story he had told her before.

"What, are you taking the third class?" asked Natalia Ivanovna, when

Nekhludoff stopped before a third-class car and the porter, with

Tarass, entered it.

"Yes, I will have it more convenient then. Tarass is with me. Another

thing," he added. "I have not yet given the Kusminskoie land to the

peasants. So that, in case of my death, your children will inherit

it."

"Dmitri, don't talk that way," said Natalia Ivanovna.

"And if I do give it away, then all I have to tell you is that the

remainder will be theirs, for I shall hardly marry. And if I do, there

will be no children--so that----"

"Dmitri, please stop it," said Natalia Ivanovna; but Nekhludoff saw

that she was glad to hear what he was saying.

The time for parting had come. The conductors were closing the doors,

inviting the passengers to take seats, others to leave the cars.

Nekhludoff entered the heated and ill-smelling car and immediately

appeared on its platform. Natalia Ivanovna was standing opposite, and

evidently wished to say something, but could not find words. She could

not say "_ecrivez_," because they had long been ridiculing the

customary phrase of parting friends. The conversation about financial

affairs and the inheritance at once destroyed the tender relations

they had resumed. They now felt themselves estranged from each other.

So that Natalia Ivanovna was glad when the train began to move and she

could say, with a smile: "Well, Dmitri, good-by!" As soon as the train

left she began to think how to tell her husband of her conversation

with her brother, and her face became grave and worried.

And though Nekhludoff entertained the best sentiments toward his

sister, and he concealed nothing from her, he now felt estranged from

her, and was glad to be rid of her. He felt that the Natasha of old

was no more; that there was only a slave of an unpleasant, dark, hairy

man with whom he had nothing in common. He plainly saw this, because

her face became illumined with peculiar animation only when he spoke

of that which interested her husband--of the distribution of the land

among the peasants, and of the inheritance. This made him sad.

CHAPTER XXV.

The heat in the large car of the third class, due to its exposure to

the scorching sun rays and the large crowd within, was so suffocating

that Nekhludoff remained on the platform. But there was no relief even

there, and he drew in long breaths when the train rolled out beyond

the houses and the movement of the train created a draught. "Yes,

killed," he repeated to himself. And to his imagination appeared with

unusual vividness the beautiful face of the second dead convict, with

a smile on his lips, the forbidding expression of his forehead, and

the small, strong ear under the shaved, bluish scalp. "And the worst

part of it is that he was killed, and no one knows who killed him. Yet

he was killed. He was forwarded, like the others, at the order of

Maslenikoff. Maslenikoff probably signed the usual order with his

foolish flourish, on a printed letter-head, and, of course, does not

consider himself guilty. The prison physician, who inspected the

convicts, has still less reason for considering himself guilty. He

carefully fulfilled his duties, separated the weak ones, and could not

possibly foresee either the terrible heat, or that they would be taken

away so late and in such a crowd. The inspector? But the inspector

only carried out the order that on such a day so many men and women

prisoners should be sent away. No more guilty was the officer of the

convoy, whose duty consisted in receiving so many people at such a

place and delivering them at another place. He led the party in the

usual way, according to instructions, and could not possibly foresee

that such strong men, like the two whom Nekhludoff had seen, would

succumb and die. No one was guilty, and yet the men were killed by

these very people who were innocent of their death.

"All this happened," thought Nekhludoff, "because all those

people--the governor, inspector and the other officers--saw before

them, not human beings and their duties toward them, but the service

and its requirements. Therein lies the difficulty."

In his meditation Nekhludoff did not notice how the weather had

changed. The sun had hidden behind a low strip of cloud, and from the

southern sky a light-gray mass, from which a slanting rain was already

pouring in the distance over the fields and forests, was coming on.

Now and then a flash of lightning rent the clouds, and the rattle of

the train mingled with the rattle of thunder. The clouds came nearer

and nearer, the slanting drops of rain, driven by the wind, pattered

on the platform of the car and stained Nekhludoff's overcoat. He moved

to the other side, and drawing in the fresh, humid air and the odor of

the wheat coming from the parched ground, he looked on the passing

gardens, forests; the rye fields just turning yellow, the emerald

streaks of oats, and the furrows of the dark-green, flowering potato.

Everything looked as if covered with varnish: the green and yellow

colors became brighter; the black became blacker.

"More, more," said Nekhludoff, rejoicing at the reviving fields and

gardens under the abundant rain.

The heavy rain did not last long. The clouds partly dissipated, and

the last fine shower fell straight on the wet ground. The sun came

forth again, the earth brightened, and a low but brilliant violet

tinged rainbow, broken at one end, appeared in the eastern horizon.

"What was I thinking of?" Nekhludoff asked himself, when all these

changes of nature came to an end and the train descended into a vale.

"Yes, I was thinking that all those people--the inspector, the guard

and all those servants, for the most part gentle, kind people--have

become wicked."

He recalled the indifference of Maslenikoff when he told the latter of

what was going on in the prison, of the severity of the inspector, the

cruelty of the sergeant who refused the use of the wagons to the weak

convicts and paid no attention to the suffering of the woman in

child-birth. All those people were evidently proof against the feeling

of sympathy, "as is this paved ground against rain," he thought,

looking at the incline paved with multi-colored stone, from which the

water streamed off. "May be it is necessary to lay the stones on the

incline, but it is sad to see the soil deprived of vegetation when it

could be made to grow grain, grass, shrubs and trees like those seen

on those heights. It is the same with people," thought Nekhludoff.

"The whole trouble lies in that people think that there are conditions

excluding the necessity of love in their intercourse with man, but

such conditions do not exist. Things may be treated without love; one

may chop wood, make bricks, forge iron without love, but one can no

more deal with people without love than one can handle bees without

care. The nature of bees is such that if you handle them carelessly

you will harm them as well as yourself. It is the same with people.

And it cannot be different, because mutual love is the basic law of

human life. True, man cannot compel himself to love, as he can compel

himself to work, but it does not follow from this that in his dealings

with men he can leave love out of consideration, especially if he

wants something from them. If you feel no love for people, then keep

away from them," Nekhludoff said to himself. "Occupy yourself with

things, yourself--anything; only keep away from people. As it is

harmful to eat except when one is hungry, so is it harmful to have

intercourse with people when one does not love them. If one permits

himself to deal with people without having any love for them, as I did

yesterday with my brother-in-law, there is no limit to the cruelty and

brutality one is liable to display toward others, as I have seen

to-day, and there is no limit to one's own suffering, as I have

learned from all the experiences of my own life. Yes, yes, that is

so," thought Nekhludoff, experiencing the double pleasure of a cool

breeze after the intolerable heat, and the consciousness of having

reached the highest degree of lucidity in the question which had so

long occupied him.

PART THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

The party of convicts to which Maslova belonged had gone about

thirty-five hundred miles. It was not until Perm was reached that

Nekhludoff succeeded in obtaining Maslova's transfer to the contingent

of politicals, as he was advised to do by Bogodukhovskaia, who was

among them.

The journey to Perm was very burdensome to Maslova, both physically

and morally--physically because of the crowded condition of their

quarters, the uncleanliness and disgusting insects, which gave her no

rest; morally because of the equally loathsome men who, though they

changed at every stopping place, were like the insects, always

insolent, intrusive and gave her little rest. The cynicism prevailing

among the convicts and their overseers was such that every woman,

especially the young women, had to be on the alert. Maslova was

particularly subject to these attacks because of her attractive looks

and her well-known past. This condition of constant dread and struggle

was very burdensome to her. The firm repulse with which she met the

impertinent advances of the men was taken by them as an insult and

exasperated them. Her condition in this respect was somewhat relieved

by the presence of Theodosia and Tarass, who, learning that his wife

was subjected to these insults, had himself included among the

prisoners, and riding as such from Nijhni, was able to protect her to

some extent.

Maslova's transfer to the division of the politicals bettered her

situation in every respect. Besides the improvement in the quarters,

food and treatment, her condition was also made easier by the fact

that the persecution of the men ceased and she was no longer reminded

of her past, which she was so anxious to forget now. The principal

advantage of the transfer, however, lay in the acquaintance she made

of some people who exerted a decisive influence over her.

At stopping places she was permitted to mingle with the politicals,

but, being a strong woman, she was compelled to walk with the other

prisoners. She thus walked from Tomsk. There were two politicals who

traveled on foot with her--Maria Pablovna Stchetinina, the same pretty

girl with the sheepish eyes who had attracted Nekhludoff's attention

when visiting Bogodukhovskaia, and one Simonson, banished to

Yakoutsk--that same shaggy man with deep-set eyes whom Nekhludoff had

noticed on the same occasion. Maria Pablovna walked, because she

yielded her place on the wagon to a pregnant woman; Simonson, because

he would not profit by class advantages. These three started on foot

with the other convicts in the early morning, the politicals following

them later in wagons. It was at the last stopping place, near a large

city, where the party was handed over to another convoy officer.

It was a chill September morning. Snow and rain fell alternately

between cold blasts of wind. All the prisoners--400 men and 50

women--were already in the court-yard, some crowding around the chief

officer of the convoy, who was paying out money to the overseers for

the day's rations; others were buying food of the hucksters who had

been admitted into the court-yard. There were a din of prisoners'

voices counting money and the shrill conversation of the hucksters.

Katiousha and Maria Pablovna, both in boots and short fur coats and

girdled with 'kerchiefs, came into the court-yard from the house and

walked toward the hucksters, who were sitting under the northern wall

and calling out their wares--fresh meat-pies, fish, boiled shred

paste, buckwheat mush, meat, eggs, milk; one woman even offered

roasted pig.

Simonson, in rubber jacket and similar galoshes, bound with whip-cord

over woolen socks (he was a vegetarian and did not use the skin of

animals), was also awaiting the departure of the party. He stood near

the entrance of the house, writing down in a note-book a thought that

occurred to him. "If," he wrote, "a bacterium were to observe and

analyze the nail of a man, it would declare him an inorganic being.

Similarly, from an observation of the earth's surface, we declare it

to be inorganic. That is wrong."

Having bought eggs, buns, fish and fresh wheat bread, Maslova packed

them away in a bag while Maria Pablovna settled for the food, when

among the prisoners there arose a commotion. Every one became silent,

and the prisoners began to form into ranks. An officer came forth and

gave final orders.

Everything proceeded as usual--the prisoners were counted over, the

chains were examined and men were handcuffed in pairs.

CHAPTER II.

After six years of luxurious and pampered life in the city and two

months in prison among the politicals, her present life,

notwithstanding the hard conditions, seemed to Katiousha very

satisfactory. The journeys of fifteen or twenty miles on foot between

stopping places, the food and day's rest after two days' tramp,

strengthened her physically, while her association with her new

comrades opened up to her new phases of life of which she had formerly

no conception.

She was charmed with all her new comrades. But above all, with Maria

Pablovna--nay, she even came to love her with a respectful and

exulting love. She was struck by the fact that a beautiful girl of a

rich and noble family, and speaking three languages, should conduct

herself like a common workingwoman, distribute everything sent her by

her rich brother, dress herself not only simply, but poorly, and pay

no attention to her appearance. This entire absence of coquetry

surprised and completely captivated Maslova. She saw that Maria

Pablovna knew, and that it even pleased her to know, that she was

pretty, but that so far from rejoicing at the impression she was

making on the men, she only feared it, and rather looked at love with

disgust and dread. If her male comrades, who knew her, felt any

attraction toward her they never showed it. But strangers often

attempted familiarities with her, and in such cases her great physical

strength stood her in good stead. "Once," she laughingly related, "I

was approached by a stranger on the street, whom I could not get rid

of. I then gave him such a shaking up that he ran away in fright."

She also said that from childhood she had felt an aversion for the

life of the gentry, but loved the common folks, and was often chidden

for staying in the servants' quarters, the kitchen and the stable,

instead of the parlor.

"But among the cooks and drivers I was always cheerful, while our

ladies and gentlemen used to worry me. Afterward, when I began to

understand, I saw that we were leading a wicked life. I had no mother,

and I did not like my father. At nineteen I left the house with a girl

friend and went to work in a factory," she said.

From the factory she went to the country, then returned to the city,

where she was arrested and sentenced to hard labor. Maria Pablovna

never related it herself, but Katiousha learned from others that she

was sentenced to hard labor because she assumed the guilt of another.

Since Katiousha came to know her she saw that Maria Pablovna,

everywhere and under all circumstances, never thought of herself, but

was always occupied in helping some one else. One of her present

comrades, jesting, said of her that she had given herself up to the

sport of charity. And that was true. Like a sportsman looking for

game, her entire activity consisted in finding occasion for serving

others. And this sport became a habit with her, her life's aim. And

she did it so naturally that all those that knew her ceased to

appreciate it, and demanded it as by right.

When Maslova entered their ranks, Maria Pablovna felt a disgust and

loathing for her. Katiousha noticed it. But she also noticed afterward

that Maria Pablovna, making some effort, became particularly kind and

gentle toward her. The kindness and gentleness of such an uncommon

person so affected Maslova that she gave herself up to her with her

whole soul, unconsciously acquired her glance and involuntarily

imitated her in everything.

They were also drawn together by that disgust which both felt toward

physical love. The one hated it, because she had experienced all the

horror of it; the other, because not having experienced it, she looked

upon it as something strange and at the same time disgusting and

offensive to human dignity.

CHAPTER III.

The influence exerted by Maria Pablovna over Katiousha was due to the

fact that Katiousha loved Maria Pablovna. There was another

influence--that of Simonson, and that was due to the fact that

Simonson loved Katiousha.

Simonson decided everything by the light of his reason, and having

once decided upon a thing, he never swerved. While yet a student he

made up his mind that the wealth of his father, who was an officer of

the Commissary Department, was dishonestly accumulated. He then

declared to him that his wealth ought to be returned to the people.

And when he was reprimanded he left the house and refused to avail

himself of his father's means. Having come to the conclusion that all

evil can be traced to the people's ignorance, he joined the Democrats,

on leaving the university, and obtaining the position of village

teacher, he boldly preached before his pupils and the peasants that

which he considered to be just, and denounced that which he considered

unjust and false.

He was arrested and prosecuted.

During the trial he decided that the court had no right to judge him,

and said so. The judges disagreeing with him and proceeding with the

trial, he concluded not to answer their questions and remained silent.

He was sentenced to exile in the Government of Archangel. There he

formulated a religious creed defining all his actions. According to

this religious teaching nothing in the world is dead, there is life in

everything; all those things which we consider dead, inorganic, are

but parts of a huge organic body which we cannot embrace, and that, as

a part of a huge organism, man's aim should be to conserve the life of

that organism and the lives of all its parts. He therefore considered

it a crime to destroy life; was against war, executions, the killing

in any manner not only of human beings, but of animals. He also had

his theory of marriage, according to which the breeding of people was

man's lower function, his higher function consisting in conserving

life already existing. He found confirmation of this idea in the

existence of phagocites in the blood. Bachelors, according to him,

were the same phagocites whose function was to help the weak, sickly

parts of the organism. And true to his convictions, he had been

performing this function since he became convinced of the truth of the

theory, although as a youth he had led a different life. He called

himself, as well as Maria Pablovna, a phagocite of the world.

His love for Katiousha did not violate this theory, since it was

purely platonic. He assumed that such love not only did not prevent

his phagocite activity, but aided it.

And it was this man who, falling in love with Katiousha, had a

decisive influence over her. With the instincts of a woman, Maslova

soon discovered it, and the consciousness that she could arouse the

feeling of love in such a remarkable man raised her in her own

estimation. Nekhludoff offered to marry her out of magnanimity, and

the obligation for the past, but Simonson loved her as she was now,

and loved her simply because he loved her. She felt, besides, that he

considered her an unusual woman, distinguished from all other women,

and possessing high moral qualities. She did not know exactly what

those qualities were, but, at all events, not to deceive him, she

endeavored with all her power to call forth her best qualities and,

necessarily, be as good as she could be.

CHAPTER IV.

Nekhludoff managed to see Maslova only twice between Nijhni and

Perm--once in Nijhni while the prisoners were being placed on a

net-covered lighter, and again in the office of the Perm prison. On

both occasions he found her secretive and unkind. When he asked her

about her prison conditions, or whether she wanted anything, she

became confused and answered evasively and, as it seemed to him, with

that hostile feeling of reproach which she had manifested before. And

this gloomy temper, due only to the persecutions to which she was

being subjected by the men, tormented him.

But at their very first meeting in Tomsk she became again as she was

before her departure. She no longer frowned or became confused when

she saw him, but, on the contrary, met him cheerfully and simply,

thanking him for what he had done for her, especially for bringing her

in contact with her present company.

After two months of journey from prison to prison, this change also

manifested itself in her appearance. She became thin, sun-burnt and

apparently older; wrinkles appeared on her temples and around her

mouth; she no longer curled her hair on her forehead, but wore a

'kerchief on her head, and neither in her dress, coiffure, nor in her

conduct were there any signs of her former coquetry. And this change

called forth in Nekhludoff a particularly joyous feeling. The feeling

he now experienced toward her was unlike any he had experienced

before. It had nothing in common with his first poetic impulse, nor

with that sentimental love which he felt afterward, nor even with that

consciousness of a duty performed, coupled with self-admiration, which

impelled him, after the trial, to resolve on marrying her. It was that

same simple feeling of pity and contrition which he experienced at

their first meeting in the prison and afterward, with greater force,

when he conquered his disgust and forgave her conduct with the

physician's assistant in the hospital (the injustice he had done her

had subsequently become plain). It was the same feeling with the

difference that, while it was temporary then, now it was permanent.

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 inert 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.

With quick step she approached him.

"Maria Pablovna sent me," she said, stopping near him.

"Yes, I would like to talk with you. Take a seat. Vladimir Ivanovitch

spoke to me."

She seated herself, crossed her hands on her knees, and seemed calm.

But as soon as Nekhludoff pronounced Simonson's name, her face turned

a purple color.

"What did he tell you?" she asked.

"He told me that he wishes to marry you."

Her face suddenly became wrinkled, evidencing suffering, but she

remained silent, only looking at the floor.

"He asked my consent or advice. I told him that it all rests with you;

that you must decide."

"Oh, what is it all for?" she said, and looked at Nekhludoff with that

squinting glance that always peculiarly affected him. For a few

seconds they looked silently at each other. That glance was

significant to both.

"You must decide," repeated Nekhludoff.

"Decide what?" she said. "It has all been decided long ago. It is you

who must decide whether you will accept the offer of Vladimir

Ivanovitch," she continued, frowning.

"But if a pardon should come?" said Nekhludoff.

"Oh, leave me alone. It is useless to talk any more," she answered,

and, rising, left the cell.

Gaining the street, Nekhludoff stopped, and, expanding his chest, drew

in the frosty air.

The following morning a soldier brought him a note from Maria

Pablovna, in which she said that Kryltzoff's condition was worse than

they thought it to be.

"At one time we intended to remain here with him, but they would not

allow it. So we are taking him with us, but we fear the worst. Try to

so arrange in town that if he is left behind some one of us shall

remain with him. If it is necessary for that purpose that I should

marry him, then, of course, I am ready to do it."

Nekhludoff obtained horses and hastened to catch up with the party of

prisoners. He stopped his team near the wagon carrying Kryltzoff on a

bed of hay and pillows. Beside Kryltzoff sat Maria Pablovna.

Kryltzoff, in a fur coat and lambskin cap, seemed thinner and more

pale than before. His beautiful eyes seemed particularly larger and

sparkling. Weakly rolling from side to side from the jostling of the

wagon, he steadily looked at Nekhludoff, and in answer to questions

about his health, he only closed his eyes and angrily shook his head.

It required all his energy to withstand the jostling of the wagon.

Maria Pablovna exchanged glances with Nekhludoff, expressing

apprehension concerning Kryltzoff's condition.

"The officer seems to have some shame in him," she shouted, so as to

be heard above the rattling of the wheels. "He removed the handcuffs

from Bouzovkin, who is now carrying his child. With him are Katia,

Simonson and, in my place, Verotchka."

Kryltzoff, pointing at Maria Pablovna, said something which could not,

however, be heard. Nekhludoff leaned over him in order to hear him.

Then Kryltzoff removed the handkerchief, which was tied around his

mouth, and whispered:

"Now I am better. If I could only keep from catching cold."

Nekhludoff nodded affirmatively and glanced at Maria Pablovna.

"Have you received my note, and will you do it?" asked Maria Pablovna.

"Without fail," said Nekhludoff, and seeing the dissatisfied face of

Kryltzoff, went over to his own team, climbed into the wagon, and

holding fast to the sides of it, drove along the line of gray-coated

and fettered prisoners which stretched for almost a mile.

Nekhludoff crossed the river to a town, and his driver took him to a

hotel, where, notwithstanding the poor appointments, he found a

measure of comfort entirely wanting in the inns of his stopping

places. He took a bath, dressed himself in city clothes and drove to

the governor of the district. He alighted at a large, handsome

building, in front of which stood a sentry and a policeman.

The general was ill, and did not receive. Nekhludoff, nevertheless,

asked the porter to take his card to the general, and the porter

returned with a favorable answer:

"You are asked to step in."

The vestibule, the porter, the messenger, the shining floor of the

hall--everything reminded him of St. Petersburg, only it was somewhat

dirtier and more majestic. Nekhludoff was admitted to the cabinet.

The general, bloated, with a potato nose and prominent bumps on his

forehead, hairless pate and bags under his eyes, a man of sanguine

temperament, was reclining in a silk morning gown, and with a

cigarette in his hand, was drinking tea from a silver saucer.

"How do you do, sir? Excuse my receiving you in a morning gown; it is

better than not receiving at all," he said, covering his stout,

wrinkled neck with the collar of his gown. "I am not quite well, and

do not go out. What brought you into these wilds?"

"I was following a party of convicts, among whom is a person near to

me," said Nekhludoff. "And now I come to see Your Excellency about

that person, and also another affair."

The general inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, took a sip of tea,

placed his cigarette in a malachite ash-holder, and steadily gazing

with his watery, shining eyes at Nekhludoff, listened gravely. He only

interrupted Nekhludoff to ask him if he wished to smoke.

Nekhludoff told the general that the person in whom he was interested

was a woman, that she was unjustly convicted, and that His Majesty's

clemency had been appealed to.

"Yes. Well?" said the general.

"I was promised in St. Petersburg that the news of this woman's fate

would be sent to this place not later than this month."

Looking steadily at Nekhludoff, the general asked:

"Anything else?"

"My second request would be concerning the political prisoner who is

going to Siberia with this detachment."

"Is that so?" said the general.

"He is very sick--he is a dying man. And he will probably be left here

in the hospital; for this reason one of the female prisoners would

like to remain with him."

"Is she a relative of his?"

"No. But she wishes to marry him, if it will allow her to stay with

him."

The general looked sharply at Nekhludoff from his shining eyes, and,

smoking continually, he kept silence, as if wishing to confound his

companion.

When Nekhludoff had finished he took a book from the table, and

frequently wetting the fingers with which he turned the leaves, he

lighted on the chapter treating of marriage and perused it.

"What's her sentence?" he asked, lifting his eyes from the book.

"Hers? Hard labor."

"If this is the case, the sentence cannot be changed by marriage."

"But----"

"I beg your pardon! If a free man would marry her she would have to

serve her sentence all the same. Whose sentence is harder, his or

hers?"

"Both are sentenced to hard labor."

"So they are quits," the general said, laughing. "An equal share for

both of them. He may be left here on account of his sickness," he

continued, "and, of course, everything will be done to ameliorate his

condition, but she, even if she should marry him, cannot remain here.

Anyhow, I will think it over. What are their names? Write them down

here."

Nekhludoff did as he was asked.

"And this I cannot do either," said the general, concerning his

request to see the patient. "Of course I don't suspect you, but you

are interested in them and in others. You have money, and the people

here are corrupt. How, then, is it possible for me to watch a person

who is five thousand miles distant from me? There he is king, as I am

here," and he began to laugh. "You have surely seen the political

prisoners. You have surely given them money," he added, smiling.

"Isn't it so?"

"Yes, it is true."

"I understand that you must act in this way. You want to see the

political prisoner, and you all sorrow for him, and the soldier on

guard will surely take money, because he has a family, and his salary

amounts to something less than nothing; he cannot afford to refuse. I

would do the same were I in yours or his place. But, being situated as

I am now, I cannot permit myself to disobey one iota of the law, for

the very reason that I, too, am no more than a man, and am liable to

yield to pity. They confide in me under certain conditions, and I, by

my actions, must prove that I am trustworthy. So this question is

settled. Well, now tell me what is going on at the metropolis?"

Then the general put various questions, as if he would like to learn

some news.

"Well, tell me now whom you are stopping with--at Duke's? It is

unpleasant there. Come to us to dinner," he said, finally, dismissing

Nekhludoff, "at five. Do you speak English?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that is good. You see, there is an English traveler here. He is

studying the exile system, and the prisons in Siberia. So he will dine

with us, and you come, too. We dine at five, and madam wants us to be

punctual. I will let you know what will be done with that woman, and

also with the patient. Maybe it will be possible to leave somebody

with him."

Having taken leave of the general, Nekhludoff drove to the

postoffice. Receiving his mail, he walked up to a wooden bench, on

which a soldier was sitting, probably waiting for something; he sat

down beside him, and started to look through the letters. Among them

he found a registered letter in a beautiful, large envelope, with a

large seal of red wax on it. He tore open the envelope, and, seeing a

letter from Selenin with some official document, he felt the blood

mounting to his cheeks, and his heart grow weak. This document was the

decision concerning Katiousha's trial. What was it? Was it possible

that it contained a refusal? Nekhludoff hastily ran over the letter,

written in small, hardly legible, broken handwriting, and breathed

freely. The decision was a favorable one.

"Dear friend," wrote Selenin, "our last conversation made a strong

impression upon me. You were right concerning Maslova. I have looked

through the accusation. This could be corrected only through the

Commission for Petitions, to which you sent your petition. They let me

have a copy of the pardon, and here I send it to you, to the address

which the Countess Catherine Ivanovna gave me. I press your hand in

friendship."

The news was pleasant and important. All that Nekhludoff could wish

for Katiousha and himself was realized. True, those changes in his

life changed his relations to her. But now, he thought, all that was

most important was to see her as quick as possible and bring her the

good news of her freedom. He thought that the copy he had in his hand

was sufficient for that. So he bade the cabman drive at once to the

prison.

The superintendent of the prison told him that he could not admit him

without a permit from the general. The copy of the petition from their

majesty's bureau also did not prevail with the superintendent. He

positively refused admittance. He also refused to admit him to see

Kryltzoff.

CHAPTER VIII.

After the disappointment at the prison, Nekhludoff drove down to the

Governor's Bureau to find out whether they had received there any news

concerning the pardon of Maslova. There was no news there, so he drove

back to his hotel, and wrote at once to the lawyer and to Selenin

concerning it. Having finished the letters, he glanced at his watch;

it was already time to go to the general.

On the way he thought again of how he might hand over the pardon to

Katiousha; of the place she would be sent to, and how he would live

with her.

At dinner in the general's house all were not only very friendly to

Nekhludoff, but, as it seemed, very favorably inclined to him, as he

was a new, interesting personality. The general, who came in to dinner

with a white cross on his breast, greeted Nekhludoff like an old

friend. On the general's inquiry as to what he had done since he saw

him in the morning, Nekhludoff answered that he had been at the

postoffice, that he had found out the facts concerning the pardoning

of the person they were talking of in the morning, and he asked

permission to visit her.

The general seemed displeased, began to frown and said nothing.

"Will you have some whisky?" he said in French to the Englishman who

had walked up to him. The Englishman took some, and related that he

had been to see the cathedral of the city, and the factory, and

expressed the desire to see the great jail in which criminals were

confined on their way to Siberia.

"This idea is excellent!" exclaimed the general, turning to

Nekhludoff. "You may go together. Give them a pass!" he added, turning

to his lieutenant.

"What time do you wish to go?" Nekhludoff asked the Englishman.

"I prefer to visit prisons in the evening," the Englishman replied.

"All are then at home, and there are no preparations."

After dinner, Nekhludoff followed her into the ante-chamber, where

the Englishman was already waiting for him to visit the prison, as

they had agreed. Having taken leave of the whole family, he walked

out, followed by the Englishman.

The sombre looking prison, the soldier on guard, the lantern behind

the gate, notwithstanding the pure white layer of snow which had

covered everything--the sidewalk, the roof and the walls--made a

gloomy impression. The proud looking superintendent, walking out to

the gate and glancing at Nekhludoff's pass in the light of the

lantern, shrugged his broad shoulders, but obeyed the order and

invited the visitors to follow him. He first led them to the yard, and

then to a door on the right hand and up the stairs leading to the

office. Offering them seats, he asked them in what way he could serve

them, and learning from Nekhludoff that he wished to see Maslova, he

sent the jailer for her and prepared himself to answer the questions

which the Englishman wished to ask him, before going to the cell.

Nekhludoff translated the Englishman's questions. While they were

conversing they heard approaching footsteps, the door opened and the

jailer entered, followed by Katiousha in her prison garb, with a scarf

tied around her head.

Nekhludoff rose and made a few steps toward her. She said nothing, but

her excited expression surprised him. Her face was lit up with a

wonderful decision. He had never seen her look like that. Now the

blood rushed to her face, and now she turned pale; now her fingers

twisted convulsively the edges of her jacket, now she looked at him,

and now she dropped her eyes.

"You know what I called you for?" asked Nekhludoff.

"Yes, he told me. But now I am decided. I will ask permission to go

with Vladimir Ivanovitch." She said this quickly, as if she had made

up her mind before what to say.

"How with Vladimir Ivanovitch?" asked Nekhludoff. But she interrupted

him.

"But if he wants me to live with him?" Here she stopped in fear, and

added, "I mean to stay with him. I could expect nothing better, and

perhaps I may be useful to him and others. What difference does it

make to me?"

One of the two things had happened--either she had fallen in love

with Simonson and did not wish his sacrifice, which weighed so heavily

on him, or she was still in love with Nekhludoff and renounced him for

his own good, burning all bridges behind her, and throwing her

fortunes in the same scale with those of Simonson. Nekhludoff

understood it, and felt ashamed.

"If you are in love with him," he said.

"I never knew such people, you know. It is impossible not to love

them. And Vladimir is entirely unlike any person I have ever known."

"Yes, certainly," said Nekhludoff. "He is an excellent man, and I

think----"

Here she interrupted him, as if she were afraid that he would speak

too much, or she would not say everything.

"You will forgive me for doing that which you did not wish. You, too,

must love."

She said the very thing that he had just said to himself.

But now he was no longer thinking so, but felt altogether different.

He felt not only shame, but pity.

"Is it possible that all is at an end between us?" he said.

"Yes, it looks like it," she answered, with a strange smile.

"But nevertheless I would like to be useful to you."

"To us," she said, glancing at Nekhludoff. "We don't need anything. I

am very much obliged to you. If it were not for you"--she wished to

say something, but her voice began to tremble.

"I don't know which of us is under greater obligation to the other.

God will settle our accounts," said Nekhludoff.

"Yes, God will settle them," she whispered.

"Are you ready?" asked the Englishman.

"Directly," answered Nekhludoff, and then he inquired of her what she

knew of Kryltzoff.

She quieted down and calmly told him:

"Kryltzoff became very weak on the road and was taken to the hospital.

Maria Pablovna wanted to become a nurse, but there is no answer yet."

"Well, may I go?" she asked, noticing the Englishman who was waiting

for him.

"I am not yet taking leave of you," said Nekhludoff, holding out his

hand to her.

"Pardon me," she said in a low tone.

Their eyes met, and in that strange, stern look, and in that pitiful

smile, with which she said not "good-by," but "pardon me," Nekhludoff

understood, that of the two suppositions concerning her decision the

latter was the right one. She still loved him and thought she would

mar his life by a union with him, and would free him by living with

Simonson.

She pressed his hand, turned quickly, and left the room.

CHAPTER IX.

Passing through the hall and the ill-smelling corridors, the

superintendent passed into the first building of the prison in which

those condemned to hard labor were confined. Entering the first room

in that building they found the prisoners stretched on their berths,

which occupied the middle of the room. Hearing the visitors enter they

all jumped down, and, clinking their chains, placed themselves beside

their berths, while their half-shaven heads were distinctly set off

against the gloom of the prison. Only two of the prisoners remained at

their places. One of them was a young man whose face was evidently

heated with fever; the other was an old man, who never left off

groaning.

The Englishman asked whether the young man had been sick for a long

time. The superintendent replied that he had been taken sick that very

same morning, that the old man had had convulsions for a long time,

and that they kept him in prison because there was no place for him in

the hospital.

The Englishman shook his head discontentedly, said that he would like

to say a few words to the prisoners, and asked Nekhludoff to translate

his remarks. It turned out that, besides the aim of his journey, which

was the description of the exile system--he had another one--the

preaching of the gospel, of salvation through faith.

"Tell them that Christ pitied and loved them," he said to Nekhludoff,

"and that He died for them. He who will believe in Him will be saved."

While he was saying this, all the prisoners were standing erect with

their hands by their sides.

"Tell them," continued the Englishman, "that all I said will be found

in this book. Are there any among them who can read?" It turned out

that there were more than twenty who could.

The Englishman took out a few leather-bound Bibles from his traveling

bag, and soon a number of muscular hands, terminating in long black

nails, were stretched out toward him, pushing each other aside in

order to reach the Testaments. He left two Testaments in this room,

and went to the next one.

There the same thing occurred. There prevailed the same dampness and

ill-smells. But in this room, between the windows, an image of the

Virgin, before which a small lamp burned dimly, was hung up. To the

left side of the door stood the large vat. Here the prisoners were

stretched out on their berths, and in the same way they rose and

placed themselves in a row. Three of them remained in their places.

Two of these three lifted themselves and sat up, but the third one

remained stretched out, and did not even look at the visitors. These

latter ones were sick. The Englishman addressed them in the same

manner, and left two Testaments.

From the cells in which those condemned to hard labor were imprisoned,

they passed over to the cells of the exiles, and finally those in

which the relatives who escorted the prisoners to Siberia were

awaiting the day appointed to start hence.

Everywhere the same cold, hungry, idling, sickly, degraded, brutalized

human beings could be seen.

The Englishman distributed his Bibles, and, being tired out, he walked

through the rooms saying "All right" to whatever the superintendent

told him concerning the prisons.

They went out into the corridor.

The Englishman, pointing to an open door, asked what that room was

for.

"This is the prison morgue."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Englishman, and he expressed a desire to enter.

This room was an ordinary room. A small lamp, fastened to the wall,

lit up the four bodies which were stretched on berths, with their

heads toward the wall and the feet protruding toward the door. The

first body, in a plain shirt, was that of a tall young man, with a

small, pointed beard and half-shaven head. The corpse was already

chilled, and its blue hands were folded over the breast. Beside him,

in a white dress and jacket, lay a bare-footed old woman, with thin

hair and wrinkled, yellowish face. Beside this old woman lay a corpse,

attired in blue.

This color recalled something in Nekhludoff's memory.

"And who is this third one?" he asked, mistrusting his own eyesight.

"This one is a gentleman who was sent hither from the hospital,"

replied the superintendent.

Nekhludoff walked up to the body and touched the icy cold feet of

Kryltzoff.

CHAPTER X.

Nekhludoff, after parting with the Englishman, went straight to his

hotel, and walked about his room for a long time. The affair with

Katiousha was at an end. There was something ugly in the very memory

of it. But it was not that which grieved him. Some other affair of his

was yet unsettled--an affair which tortured him and required his

attention. In his imagination rose the gloomy scenes of the hundreds

and thousands of human beings pent up in the pestiferous air. The

laughter of the prisoners resounded in his ears. He saw again among

the dead bodies the beautiful, angry, waxen face of the dead

Kryltzoff; and the question whether he was mad, or all those who

commit those evils and think themselves wise were mad, bore in upon

his mind with renewed power, and he found no answer to it. The

principal difficulty consisted in finding an answer to the principal

question, which was: What should be done with those who became

brutalized in the struggle for life?

When he became tired walking about the room he sat down on the

lounge, close by the lamp, and mechanically opened the Bible which the

Englishman had presented him, and which he had thrown on the table

while emptying his pockets. They say, he thought, that this Bible

contains the solution to all questions. So, opening it, he began to

read at the place at which it opened itself--Matt. x., 8. After a

while he inclined close to the lamp and became like one petrified. An

exultation, the like of which he had not experienced for a long time,

took possession of his soul, as though, after long suffering and

weariness, he found at last liberty and rest. He did not sleep the

whole night. As is the case with many who read the Bible for the first

time, he now, on reading it again, grasped the full meaning of words

which he had known long ago, but which he had not understood before.

Like a sponge that absorbs everything, so he absorbed everything that

was important, necessary and joyful.

"That is the principal thing," thought Nekhludoff. "We all live in the

silly belief that we ourselves are the lords of our world, that this

world has been given us for our enjoyment. But this is evidently

untrue. Somebody must have sent us here for some reason. And for this

reason it is plain that we will suffer like those laborers suffer who

do not fulfill the wishes of their Master. The will of the Lord is

expressed in the teachings of Christ. Let man obey Him, and the

Kingdom of the Lord will come on earth, and man will derive the

greatest possible good.

"_Seek the truth and the Kingdom of God, and the rest will come of

itself._ We seek that which is to come, and do not find it, and not

only do we not build the Kingdom of God, but we destroy it.

"So this will henceforth be the task of my life!"

And indeed, from that night a new life began for Nekhludoff; not so

much because he had risen into a new stage of existence, but because

all that had happened to him till then assumed for him an altogether

new meaning.

THE END.

* * * * *

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

(Not part of the original book.)

Below are listed the spelling inconsistencies in the names of certain

characters. The names were transcribed to match the original text

except where typos are assumed to have caused the variations. Changes

from the original are noted below, except for minor punctuation

corrections.

Absence changed to absent from original sentence (Part 1, Ch. VI,

Pg. 25):

He was postponing the case against the Skoptzy, although

the absence witness was an entirely unnecessary one.

Birukova (Theodosia) (1 time)

Brinkova (Theodosia) (1 time)

Borki (village) (1 time)

Borkoff (village) (1 time)

Barkoff (village) (1 time)

Chapter (3 times)

Chepter (1 time), changed to Chapter from original sentence (Part 1,

Ch. XLIII, Pg. 153):

"To the Department of Cassation, etc., etc., Katherine, etc.

Petition. By the decision, etc., of the etc., rendered, etc.,

a certain Maslova was found guilty of taking the life, by

poisoning, of a certain merchant Smelkoff, and in pursuance

of Chepter 1,454 of the Code, was sentenced to etc., with

hard labor, etc."

Daus changed to dans, from original sentence (Part 2, Ch. IX, Pg. 229):

Il donne daus le spiritisme.

Dmitri (22 times)

Dimitri (3 times)

Dvorianskaia (1 time)

Dvorinskaia (1 time)

Fanarin (11 times)

Fanirin (19 times)

Fomer changed to former, from original sentence (Part 1, Ch. XLIII,

Pg. 151):

Not only was the old arrangement of things continued, but,

as in fomer times, the house received a general cleaning.

Gerasimovich (7 times)

Gerasimovitch (8 times)

Ivanova (Bochkova) (1 time)

Ivanovna (Bochkova) (1 time)

Ivanovich (Dmitri) (14 times)

Ivanovitch (Dmitri) (3 time)

Kamensky (2 times)

Kanesky (1 time)

Katherine (Michaelovna Maslova) (15 times)

Catherine (Michaelovna Maslova) (3 times)

Katiousha (122 times)

Katiusha (3 times)

Korableva (39 times)

Korabeva (1 time), changed to Korableva from original sentence (Part 1,

Ch. XLVI, Pg. 164):

"Well, girl, good times are coming," said Korabeva to

Maslova when the latter returned to the cell.

Kornei (8 times)

Kornci (1 time), changed to Kornei from original sentence (Part 2,

Ch. VI, Pg. 215):

The odor of camphor still hung in the air through all the

rooms, and Agrippina, Petrovna and Kornci seemed tired out

and dissatisfied, and even quarreled about the packing of

the things, the use of which seemed to consist chiefly in

being hung out, dried and packed away again.

Kryltzoff (22 times)

Kyrltzoff (1 time), changed to Kryltzoff from original sentence

(Part 3, Ch. V, Pg. 301):

"I cannot talk to them," Kyrltzoff said in a whisper, and

became silent.

Kusminskoie (8 times)

Kusminskoi (1 time), changed to Kusminskoie from original sentence

(Part 2, Ch. V, Pg. 215):

Recalling now the feeling of pity over the loss of his

property which he had experienced in Kusminskoi, Nekhludoff

wondered how he could have done so.

Kusminskoe (1 time), changed to Kusminskoie from original sentence

(Part 2, Ch. XXIV, Pg. 286):

"I have not yet given the Kusminskoe land to the peasants."

Maslova (294 times)

Moslova (3 times)

Two occurrences of Moslova kept as in original, as they could be

interpreted as her name misspelled on the prison list, and Nekhludoff

asking for her by that name. The third was considered a typo and

changed from the original sentence (Part 1, Ch. XI, Pg. 41):

"What took place?" suddenly said Moslova.

Menshov (9 times)

Menshova (5 times)

Menshoff (1 time)

Michaelovna (5 times)

Michaelova (1 time), changed to Michaelovna from original sentence

(Part 1, Ch. XXIII, Pg. 82):

3. Is the burgess Katherine Michaelova Maslova, twenty-seven

years of age, guilty of the crime mentioned in the first

question?

Natalie (15 times)

Natalia (10 times)

Natasha (3 times)

Nekhludoff (970 times)

Nekludoff (1 time), changed to Nekhludoff from original sentence

(Part 1, Ch. XXV, Pg. 90):

Nekludoff called to mind these two well-known lawyers.

Nekhuldoff (1 time), changed to Nekhludoff from original sentence

(Part 1, Ch. XLII, Pg. 149):

Nekhuldoff expected that at the first meeting Katiousha,

learning of his intention to serve her, and of his

repentance, would be moved to rejoicing, would become again

Katiousha, but to his surprise and horror, he saw that

Katiousha was no more; that only Maslova remained.

Nikiforovitch (26 times)

Nikiforvitch (1 time), changed to Nikiforovitch from original sentence

(Part 2, Ch. XX, Pg. 269):

"In the first place, the Ministry will not refer to the

Senate," and Ignatius Nikiforvitch smiled condescendingly,

"but will call for all the documents in the case, and, if it

finds an error, will so decide."

Panov (5 times)

Panovo (1 time)

Panoff (1 time)

Petrovna (25 times)

Petrovana (1 time), changed to Petrovna from original sentence (Part 1,

Ch. III, Pg. 15):

"Then I will bid her wait," and Agrippina Petrovana glided

out of the dining-room, first replacing the crumb-brush,

which lay on the table, in its holder.

Replusive was changed to repulsive from the original sentence (Part 1,

Ch. XLI, Pg. 148):

"Because I wish to efface, to expiate my sin. Katiousha----"

he began, and was about to tell her that he would marry her,

but he met her eyes in which he read something so terrible,

rude and replusive that he could not finish.

Selenin (21 times)

Selinin (1 time), changed to Selenin from original sentence (Part 3,

Ch. VIII, Pg. 311):

There was no news there, so he drove back to his hotel, and

wrote at once to the lawyer and to Selinin concerning it.

Silenin (3 times), changed to Selenin from original sentences (Part 2,

Ch. XII, Pg. 239 and Part 3, Ch. VII, Pg. 310):

"Is the associate's name Silenin?" he asked the lawyer.

He tore open the envelope, and, seeing a letter from Silenin

with some official document, he felt the blood mounting to

his cheeks, and his heart grow weak.

"Dear friend," wrote Silenin, "our last conversation made a

strong impression upon me."

Shouleds was changed to shoulders from the original sentence (Part 2,

Ch. XVI, Pg. 252):

In the box he found Mariette and a strange lady with a red

mantle over her shouleds and high head-dress, and two men--a

general, Mariette's husband, a handsome, tall man with a

high, artificial, military breast, and a flaxen haired,

bald-headed man with shaved chin and solemn side-whiskers.

Simonson (31 times)

Simsonson (1 time), changed to Simonson from the original sentence

(Part 3, Ch. VII, Pg. 304):

I never thought that Vladimir Simsonson could fall in love in

such a very stupid, childish fashion.

Smelkoff (34 times)

Smeldoff (1 time), changed to Smelkoff from the original sentence

(Part 1, Ch. XI, Pg. 39):

"You are charged, together with Euphemia Bochkova and

Katherine Maslova, with stealing from the trunk of the

merchant Smeldoff money belonging to him, and subsequently

brought arsenic and induced Maslova to administer it to

Smelkoff, by reason of which he came to his death."

Smothly changed to smoothly from the original sentence

(Part 1, Ch. LIII, Pg. 183):

At first everything went on smothly, but afterward one of

the party was caught, the papers were seized, and then all

were taken in a police drag-net.

Tarass (7 times)

Taras (1 time), changed to Tarass from original sentence (Part 3,

Ch. 1, Pg. 290):

Her condition in this respect was somewhat relieved by the

presence of Theodosia and Taras, who, learning that his wife

was subjected to these insults, had himself included among

the prisoners, and riding as such from Nijhni, was able to

protect her to some extent.

Therapout (1 time)

Therapont (1 time)

TOLSTOY (Count Leo, author) (correct spelling) (0 times)

TOLSTOI (Count Leo, author) (2 times) left variation as in original.

Tourgenieff (1 time) (correct spelling.)

Tourgeniff (1 time) Could be misquoted by character, left as original.

Vasilevna (Maria) (1 time)

Vasilieona (Maria) (1 time)

Vodk changed to vodka from original sentence (Part 1, Ch. XLIV,

Pg. 157):

Korableva, Miss Dandy, Theodosia and Maslova, flushed and

animated, for they had already partaken of vodk which Maslova

now had in abundance, were sitting in their corner, talking

of the same thing.

Maslenikoff, Nekhludoff character error:

Nekhludoff was kept in the following sentence to match the original,

and because it wasn't a simple printer's typo. It should have been

Maslenikoff speaking in place of Nekhludoff as can be seen by the

surrounding paragraphs (Part 1, Ch. LVI, Pg. 190):

"How did you come to know it?" asked Nekhludoff, and his

face showed disquietude and displeasure.

"I was visiting a prisoner, and these people surrounded me

and asked----"

"What prisoner were you visiting?"

"The peasant who is innocently accused, and for whom I have

obtained counsel. But that is not to the point. Is it

possible that these innocent people are kept in prison only

because they failed to renew their passports?"