Resurrection
an unreasonable thing one had to study the unreasonable thing. It was a
little falsehood, but it sunk him into the big falsehood in which he was
now caught.
Before putting to himself the question whether the orthodoxy in which
he was born and bred, and which every one expected him to accept, and
without which he could not continue his useful occupation, contained the
truth, he had already decided the answer. And to clear up the question
he did not read Voltaire, Schopenhauer, Herbert Spencer, or Comte, but
the philosophical works of Hegel and the religious works of Vinet and
Khomyakoff, and naturally found in them what he wanted, i.e., something
like peace of mind and a vindication of that religious teaching in which
he was educated, which his reason had long ceased to accept, but without
which his whole life was filled with unpleasantness which could all be
removed by accepting the teaching.
And so he adopted all the usual sophistries which go to prove that
a single human reason cannot know the truth, that the truth is only
revealed to an association of men, and can only be known by revelation,
that revelation is kept by the church, etc. And so he managed to be
present at prayers, masses for the dead, to confess, make signs of the
cross in front of icons, with a quiet mind, without being conscious of
the lie, and to continue in the service which gave him the feeling of
being useful and some comfort in his joyless family life. Although he
believed this, he felt with his entire being that this religion of his,
more than all else, was not “the right thing,” and that is why his eyes
always looked sad.
And seeing Nekhludoff, whom he had known before all these lies had
rooted themselves within him, reminded him of what he then was. It was
especially after he had hurried to hint at his religious views that he
had most strongly felt all this “not the right thing,” and had become
painfully sad. Nekhludoff felt it also after the first joy of meeting
his old friend had passed, and therefore, though they promised each
other to meet, they did not take any steps towards an interview, and did
not again see each other during this stay of Nekhludoff’s in Petersburg.
CHAPTER XXIV.
MARIETTE TEMPTS NEKHLUDOFF.
When they left the Senate, Nekhludoff and the advocate walked on
together, the advocate having given the driver of his carriage orders
to follow them. The advocate told Nekhludoff the story of the chief of a
Government department, about whom the Senators had been talking: how the
thing was found out, and how the man, who according to law should
have been sent to the mines, had been appointed Governor of a town
in Siberia. Then he related with particular pleasure how several
high-placed persons stole a lot of money collected for the erection of
the still unfinished monument which they had passed that morning; also,
how the mistress of So-and-so got a lot of money at the Stock Exchange,
and how So-and-so agreed with So-and-so to sell him his wife. The
advocate began another story about a swindle, and all sorts of crimes
committed by persons in high places, who, instead of being in prison,
sat on presidential chairs in all sorts of Government institutions.
These tales, of which the advocate seemed to have an unending supply,
gave him much pleasure, showing as they did, with perfect clearness,
that his means of getting money were quite just and innocent compared
to the means which the highest officials in Petersburg made use of.
The advocate was therefore surprised when Nekhludoff took an isvostchik
before hearing the end of the story, said good-bye, and left him.
Nekhludoff felt very sad. It was chiefly the rejection of the appeal by
the Senate, confirming the senseless torments that the innocent Maslova
was enduring, that saddened him, and also the fact that this rejection
made it still harder for him to unite his fate with hers. The stories
about existing evils, which the advocate recounted with such relish,
heightened his sadness, and so did the cold, unkind look that the
once sweet-natured, frank, noble Selenin had given him, and which kept
recurring to his mind.
On his return the doorkeeper handed him a note, and said, rather
scornfully, that some kind of woman had written it in the hall. It was
a note from Shoustova’s mother. She wrote that she had come to thank
her daughter’s benefactor and saviour, and to implore him to come to see
them on the Vasilievsky, 5th Line, house No. --. This was very necessary
because of Vera Doukhova. He need not be afraid that they would weary
him with expressions of gratitude. They would not speak their gratitude,
but be simply glad to see him. Would he not come next morning, if he
could?
There was another note from Bogotyreff, a former fellow-officer,
aide-de-camp to the Emperor, whom Nekhludoff had asked to hand
personally to the Emperor his petition on behalf of the sectarians.
Bogotyreff wrote, in his large, firm hand, that he would put the
petition into the Emperor’s own hands, as he had promised; but that it
had occurred to him that it might be better for Nekhludoff first to go
and see the person on whom the matter depended.
After the impressions received during the last few days, Nekhludoff felt
perfectly hopeless of getting anything done. The plans he had formed
in Moscow seemed now something like the dreams of youth, which are
inevitably followed by disillusion when life comes to be faced. Still,
being now in Petersburg, he considered it his duty to do all he had
intended, and he resolved next day, after consulting Bogotyreff, to
act on his advice and see the person on whom the case of the sectarians
depended.
He got out the sectarians’ petition from his portfolio, and began
reading it over, when there was a knock at his door, and a footman came
in with a message from the Countess Katerina Ivanovna, who asked him to
come up and have a cup of tea with her.
Nekhludoff said he would come at once, and having put the papers back
into the portfolio, he went up to his aunt’s. He looked out of a window
on his way, and saw Mariette’s pair of bays standing in front of the
house, and he suddenly brightened and felt inclined to smile.
Mariette, with a hat on her head, not in black but with a light dress
of many shades, sat with a cup in her hand beside the Countess’s easy
chair, prattling about something while her beautiful, laughing
eyes glistened. She had said something funny--something indecently
funny--just as Nekhludoff entered the room. He knew it by the way she
laughed, and by the way the good-natured Countess Katerina Ivanovna’s
fat body was shaking with laughter; while Mariette, her smiling mouth
slightly drawn to one side, her head a little bent, a peculiarly
mischievous expression in her merry, energetic face, sat silently
looking at her companion. From a few words which he overheard,
Nekhludoff guessed that they were talking of the second piece of
Petersburg news, the episode of the Siberian Governor, and that it was
in reference to this subject that Mariette had said something so funny
that the Countess could not control herself for a long time.
“You will kill me,” she said, coughing.
After saying “How d’you do?” Nekhludoff sat down. He was about to
censure Mariette in his mind for her levity when, noticing the serious
and even slightly dissatisfied look in his eyes, she suddenly, to please
him, changed not only the expression of her face, but also the attitude
of her mind; for she felt the wish to please him as soon as she looked
at him. She suddenly turned serious, dissatisfied with her life, as if
seeking and striving after something; it was not that she pretended, but
she really reproduced in herself the very same state of mind that he was
in, although it would have been impossible for her to express in words
what was the state of Nekhludoff’s mind at that moment.
She asked him how he had accomplished his tasks. He told her about his
failure in the Senate and his meeting Selenin.
“Oh, what a pure soul! He is, indeed, a chevalier sans peur et sans
reproche. A pure soul!” said both ladies, using the epithet commonly
applied to Selenin in Petersburg society.
“What is his wife like?” Nekhludoff asked.
“His wife? Well, I do not wish to judge, but she does not understand
him.”
“Is it possible that he, too, was for rejecting the appeal?” Mariette
asked with real sympathy. “It is dreadful. How sorry I am for her,” she
added with a sigh.
He frowned, and in order to change the subject began to speak about
Shoustova, who had been imprisoned in the fortress and was now set free
through the influence of Mariette’s husband. He thanked her for her
trouble, and was going on to say how dreadful he thought it, that this
woman and the whole of her family had suffered merely, because no one
had reminded the authorities about them, but Mariette interrupted him
and expressed her own indignation.
“Say nothing about it to me,” she said. “When my husband told me she
could be set free, it was this that struck me, ‘What was she kept in
prison for if she is innocent?’” She went on expressing what Nekhludoff
was about to say.
“It is revolting--revolting.”
Countess Katerina Ivanovna noticed that Mariette was coquetting with her
nephew, and this amused her. “What do you think?” she said, when they
were silent. “Supposing you come to Aline’s to-morrow night. Kiesewetter
will be there. And you, too,” she said, turning to Mariette. “_Il vous a
remarque_,” she went on to her nephew. “He told me that what you say (I
repeated it all to him) is a very good sign, and that you will certainly
come to Christ. You must come absolutely. Tell him to, Mariette, and
come yourself.”
“Countess, in the first place, I have no right whatever to give any kind
of advice to the Prince,” said Mariette, and gave Nekhludoff a look that
somehow established a full comprehension between them of their attitude
in relation to the Countess’s words and evangelicalism in general.
“Secondly, I do not much care, you know.”
“Yes, I know you always do things the wrong way round, and according to
your own ideas.”
“My own ideas? I have faith like the most simple peasant woman,” said
Mariette with a smile. “And, thirdly, I am going to the French Theatre
to-morrow night.”
“Ah! And have you seen that--What’s her name?” asked Countess Katerina
Ivanovna. Mariette gave the name of a celebrated French actress.
“You must go, most decidedly; she is wonderful.”
“Whom am I to see first, ma tante--the actress or the preacher?”
Nekhludoff said with a smile.
“Please don’t catch at my words.”
“I should think the preacher first and then the actress, or else the
desire for the sermon might vanish altogether,” said Nekhludoff.
“No; better begin with the French Theatre, and do penance afterwards.”
“Now, then, you are not to hold me up for ridicule. The preacher is the
preacher and the theatre is the theatre. One need not weep in order to
be saved. One must have faith, and then one is sure to be gay.”
“You, ma tante, preach better than any preacher.”
“Do you know what?” said Mariette. “Come into my box to-morrow.”
“I am afraid I shall not be able to.”
The footman interrupted the conversation by announcing a visitor. It
was the secretary of a philanthropic society of which the Countess was
president.
“Oh, that is the dullest of men. I think I shall receive him out there,
and return to you later on. Mariette, give him his tea,” said the
Countess, and left the room, with her quick, wriggling walk.
Mariette took the glove off her firm, rather flat hand, the fourth
finger of which was covered with rings.
“Want any?” she said, taking hold of the silver teapot, under which a
spirit lamp was burning, and extending her little finger curiously. Her