Resurrection
The next morning Nekhludoff awoke, conscious that something had happened
to him, and even before he had remembered what it was he knew it to be
something important and good.
“Katusha--the trial!” Yes, he must stop lying and tell the whole truth.
By a strange coincidence on that very morning he received the
long-expected letter from Mary Vasilievna, the wife of the Marechal
de Noblesse, the very letter he particularly needed. She gave him full
freedom, and wished him happiness in his intended marriage.
“Marriage!” he repeated with irony. “How far I am from all that at
present.”
And he remembered the plans he had formed the day before, to tell
the husband everything, to make a clean breast of it, and express his
readiness to give him any kind of satisfaction. But this morning this
did not seem so easy as the day before. And, then, also, why make a man
unhappy by telling him what he does not know? Yes, if he came and
asked, he would tell him all, but to go purposely and tell--no! that was
unnecessary.
And telling the whole truth to Missy seemed just as difficult this
morning. Again, he could not begin to speak without offence. As in many
worldly affairs, something had to remain unexpressed. Only one thing he
decided on, i.e., not to visit there, and to tell the truth if asked.
But in connection with Katusha, nothing was to remain unspoken. “I shall
go to the prison and shall tell her every thing, and ask her to forgive
me. And if need be--yes, if need be, I shall marry her,” he thought.
This idea, that he was ready to sacrifice all on moral grounds, and
marry her, again made him feel very tender towards himself. Concerning
money matters he resolved this morning to arrange them in accord with
his conviction, that the holding of landed property was unlawful. Even
if he should not be strong enough to give up everything, he would still
do what he could, not deceiving himself or others.
It was long since he had met the coming day with so much energy. When
Agraphena Petrovna came in, he told her, with more firmness than he
thought himself capable of, that he no longer needed this lodging nor
her services. There had been a tacit understanding that he was keeping
up so large and expensive an establishment because he was thinking of
getting married. The giving up of the house had, therefore, a special
meaning. Agraphena Petrovna looked at him in surprise.
“I thank you very much, Agraphena Petrovna, for all your care for me,
but I no longer require so large a house nor so many servants. If you
wish to help me, be so good as to settle about the things, put them away
as it used to be done during mamma’s life, and when Natasha comes she
will see to everything.” Natasha was Nekhludoff’s sister.
Agraphena Petrovna shook her head. “See about the things? Why, they’ll
be required again,” she said.
“No, they won’t, Agraphena Petrovna; I assure you they won’t be
required,” said Nekhludoff, in answer to what the shaking of her head
had expressed. “Please tell Corney also that I shall pay him two months’
wages, but shall have no further need of him.”
“It is a pity, Dmitri Ivanovitch, that you should think of doing this,”
she said. “Well, supposing you go abroad, still you’ll require a place
of residence again.”
“You are mistaken in your thoughts, Agraphena Petrovna; I am not going
abroad. If I go on a journey, it will be to quite a different place.”
He suddenly blushed very red. “Yes, I must tell her,” he thought; “no
hiding; everybody must be told.”
“A very strange and important thing happened to me yesterday. Do you
remember my Aunt Mary Ivanovna’s Katusha?”
“Oh, yes. Why, I taught her how to sew.”
“Well, this Katusha was tried in the Court and I was on the jury.”
“Oh, Lord! What a pity!” cried Agraphena Petrovna. “What was she being
tried for?”
“Murder; and it is I have done it all.”
“Well, now this is very strange; how could you do it all?”
“Yes, I am the cause of it all; and it is this that has altered all my
plans.”
“What difference can it make to you?”
“This difference: that I, being the cause of her getting on to that
path, must do all I can to help her.”
“That is just according to your own good pleasure; you are not
particularly in fault there. It happens to every one, and if one’s
reasonable, it all gets smoothed over and forgotten,” she said,
seriously and severely. “Why should you place it to your account?
There’s no need. I had already heard before that she had strayed from
the right path. Well, whose fault is it?”
“Mine! that’s why I want to put it right.”
“It is hard to put right.”
“That is my business. But if you are thinking about yourself, then I
will tell you that, as mamma expressed the wish--”
“I am not thinking about myself. I have been so bountifully treated by
the dear defunct, that I desire nothing. Lisenka” (her married niece)
“has been inviting me, and I shall go to her when I am not wanted any
longer. Only it is a pity you should take this so to heart; it happens
to everybody.”
“Well, I do not think so. And I still beg that you will help me let this
lodging and put away the things. And please do not be angry with me. I
am very, very grateful to you for all you have done.”
And, strangely, from the moment Nekhludoff realised that it was he who
was so bad and disgusting to himself, others were no longer disgusting
to him; on the contrary, he felt a kindly respect for Agraphena
Petrovna, and for Corney.
He would have liked to go and confess to Corney also, but Corney’s
manner was so insinuatingly deferential that he had not the resolution
to do it.
On the way to the Law Courts, passing along the same streets with the
same isvostchik as the day before, he was surprised what a different
being he felt himself to be. The marriage with Missy, which only
yesterday seemed so probable, appeared quite impossible now. The day
before he felt it was for him to choose, and had no doubts that she
would be happy to marry him; to-day he felt himself unworthy not only of
marrying, but even of being intimate with her. “If she only knew what
I am, nothing would induce her to receive me. And only yesterday I was
finding fault with her because she flirted with N---. Anyhow, even if
she consented to marry me, could I be, I won’t say happy, but at peace,
knowing that the other was here in prison, and would to-day or to-morrow
he taken to Siberia with a gang of other prisoners, while I accepted
congratulations and made calls with my young wife; or while I count the
votes at the meetings, for and against the motion brought forward by the
rural inspection, etc., together with the Marechal de Noblesse, whom I
abominably deceive, and afterwards make appointments with his wife
(how abominable!) or while I continue to work at my picture, which will
certainly never get finished? Besides, I have no business to waste
time on such things. I can do nothing of the kind now,” he continued
to himself, rejoicing at the change he felt within himself. “The first
thing now is to see the advocate and find out his decision, and then
. . . then go and see her and tell her everything.”
And when he pictured to himself how he would see her, and tell her all,
confess his sin to her, and tell her that he would do all in his power
to atone for his sin, he was touched at his own goodness, and the tears
came to his eyes.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE ABSURDITY OF LAW--REFLECTIONS OF A JURYMAN.
On coming into the Law Courts Nekhludoff met the usher of yesterday, who
to-day seemed to him much to be pitied, in the corridor, and asked him
where those prisoners who had been sentenced were kept, and to whom one
had to apply for permission to visit them. The usher told him that the
condemned prisoners were kept in different places, and that, until they
received their sentence in its final form, the permission to visit them
depended on the president. “I’ll come and call you myself, and take you
to the president after the session. The president is not even here at
present. After the session! And now please come in; we are going to
commence.”
Nekhludoff thanked the usher for his kindness, and went into the
jurymen’s room. As he was approaching the room, the other jurymen were
just leaving it to go into the court. The merchant had again partaken
of a little refreshment, and was as merry as the day before, and greeted
Nekhludoff like an old friend. And to-day Peter Gerasimovitch did not
arouse any unpleasant feelings in Nekhludoff by his familiarity and his
loud laughter. Nekhludoff would have liked to tell all the jurymen about
his relations to yesterday’s prisoner. “By rights,” he thought, “I ought
to have got up yesterday during the trial and disclosed my guilt.”
He entered the court with the other jurymen, and witnessed the same
procedure as the day before.
“The judges are coming,” was again proclaimed, and again three men,
with embroidered collars, ascended the platform, and there was the same
settling of the jury on the high-backed chairs, the same gendarmes, the
same portraits, the same priest, and Nekhludoff felt that, though he
knew what he ought to do, he could not interrupt all this solemnity.
The preparations for the trials were just the same as the day before,
excepting that the swearing in of the jury and the president’s address
to them were omitted.
The case before the Court this day was one of burglary. The prisoner,
guarded by two gendarmes with naked swords, was a thin, narrow-chested
lad of 20, with a bloodless, sallow face, dressed in a grey cloak.
He sat alone in the prisoner’s dock. This boy was accused of having,
together with a companion, broken the lock of a shed and stolen several
old mats valued at 3 roubles [the rouble is worth a little over two
shillings, and contains 100 copecks] and 67 copecks. According to the
indictment, a policeman had stopped this boy as he was passing with his
companion, who was carrying the mats on his shoulder. The boy and
his companion confessed at once, and were both imprisoned. The boy’s
companion, a locksmith, died in prison, and so the boy was being tried
alone. The old mats were lying on the table as the objects of material
evidence. The business was conducted just in the same manner as the day
before, with the whole armoury of evidence, proofs, witnesses, swearing
in, questions, experts, and cross-examinations. In answer to every
question put to him by the president, the prosecutor, or the advocate,
the policeman (one of the witnesses) in variably ejected the words:
“just so,” or “Can’t tell.” Yet, in spite of his being stupefied, and
rendered a mere machine by military discipline, his reluctance to speak
about the arrest of this prisoner was evident. Another witness, an old
house proprietor, and owner of the mats, evidently a rich old man, when
asked whether the mats were his, reluctantly identified them as such.
When the public prosecutor asked him what he meant to do with these
mats, what use they were to him, he got angry, and answered: “The devil
take those mats; I don’t want them at all. Had I known there would be
all this bother about them I should not have gone looking for them, but
would rather have added a ten-rouble note or two to them, only not to
be dragged here and pestered with questions. I have spent a lot
on isvostchiks. Besides, I am not well. I have been suffering from
rheumatism for the last seven years.” It was thus the witness spoke.
The accused himself confessed everything, and looking round stupidly,
like an animal that is caught, related how it had all happened. Still
the public prosecutor, drawing up his shoulders as he had done the day
before, asked subtle questions calculated to catch a cunning criminal.
In his speech he proved that the theft had been committed from a