Resurrection
railway embankment paved with stones of different colours, down which
the water was running in streams instead of soaking into the earth.
“Perhaps it is necessary to pave the banks with stones, but it is sad
to look at the ground, which might be yielding corn, grass, bushes, or
trees in the same way as the ground visible up there is doing--deprived
of vegetation, and so it is with men,” thought Nekhludoff. “Perhaps
these governors, inspectors, policemen, are needed, but it is terrible
to see men deprived of the chief human attribute, that of love and
sympathy for one another. The thing is,” he continued, “that these
people consider lawful what is not lawful, and do not consider the
eternal, immutable law, written in the hearts of men by God, as law.
That is why I feel so depressed when I am with these people. I am
simply afraid of them, and really they are terrible, more terrible than
robbers. A robber might, after all, feel pity, but they can feel
no pity, they are inured against pity as these stones are against
vegetation. That is what makes them terrible. It is said that the
Pougatcheffs, the Razins [leaders of rebellions in Russia: Stonka Razin
in the 17th and Pougatcheff in the 18th century] are terrible. These are
a thousand times more terrible,” he continued, in his thoughts. “If
a psychological problem were set to find means of making men of our
time--Christian, humane, simple, kind people--perform the most horrible
crimes without feeling guilty, only one solution could be devised: to
go on doing what is being done. It is only necessary that these people
should he governors, inspectors, policemen; that they should be fully
convinced that there is a kind of business, called government service,
which allows men to treat other men as things, without human brotherly
relations with them, and also that these people should be so linked
together by this government service that the responsibility for the
results of their actions should not fall on any one of them separately.
Without these conditions, the terrible acts I witnessed to-day would be
impossible in our times. It all lies in the fact that men think there
are circumstances in which one may deal with human beings without love;
and there are no such circumstances. One may deal with things without
love. One may cut down trees, make bricks, hammer iron without love; but
you cannot deal with men without it, just as one cannot deal with bees
without being careful. If you deal carelessly with bees you will injure
them, and will yourself be injured. And so with men. It cannot be
otherwise, because natural love is the fundamental law of human life. It
is true that a man cannot force another to love him, as he can force
him to work for him; but it does not follow that a man may deal with men
without love, especially to demand anything from them. If you feel no
love, sit still,” Nekhludoff thought; “occupy yourself with things, with
yourself, with anything you like, only not with men. You can only eat
without injuring yourself when you feel inclined to eat, so you can only
deal with men usefully when you love. Only let yourself deal with a man
without love, as I did yesterday with my brother-in-law, and there are
no limits to the suffering you will bring on yourself, as all my life
proves. Yes, yes, it is so,” thought Nekhludoff; “it is good; yes, it is
good,” he repeated, enjoying the freshness after the torturing heat, and
conscious of having attained to the fullest clearness on a question that
had long occupied him.
CHAPTER XLI.
TARAS’S STORY.
The carriage in which Nekhludoff had taken his place was half filled
with people. There were in it servants, working men, factory hands,
butchers, Jews, shopmen, workmen’s wives, a soldier, two ladies, a
young one and an old one with bracelets on her arm, and a severe-looking
gentleman with a cockade on his black cap. All these people were sitting
quietly; the bustle of taking their places was long over; some sat
cracking and eating sunflower seeds, some smoking, some talking.
Taras sat, looking very happy, opposite the door, keeping a place for
Nekhludoff, and carrying on an animated conversation with a man in
a cloth coat who sat opposite to him, and who was, as Nekhludoff
afterwards found out, a gardener going to a new situation. Before
reaching the place where Taras sat Nekhludoff stopped between the seats
near a reverend-looking old man with a white beard and nankeen coat, who
was talking with a young woman in peasant dress. A little girl of about
seven, dressed in a new peasant costume, sat, her little legs dangling
above the floor, by the side of the woman, and kept cracking seeds.
The old man turned round, and, seeing Nekhludoff, he moved the lappets
of his coat off the varnished seat next to him, and said, in a friendly
manner:
“Please, here’s a seat.”
Nekhludoff thanked him, and took the seat. As soon as he was seated the
woman continued the interrupted conversation.
She was returning to her village, and related how her husband, whom she
had been visiting, had received her in town.
“I was there during the carnival, and now, by the Lord’s help, I’ve been
again,” she said. “Then, God willing, at Christmas I’ll go again.”
“That’s right,” said the old man, with a look at Nekhludoff, “it’s the
best way to go and see him, else a young man can easily go to the bad,
living in a town.”
“Oh, no, sir, mine is not such a man. No nonsense of any kind about him;
his life is as good as a young maiden’s. The money he earns he sends
home all to a copeck. And, as to our girl here, he was so glad to see
her, there are no words for it,” said the woman, and smiled.
The little girl, who sat cracking her seeds and spitting out the shells,
listened to her mother’s words, and, as if to confirm them, looked up
with calm, intelligent eyes into Nekhludoff’s and the old man’s faces.
“Well, if he’s good, that’s better still,” said the old man. “And none
of that sort of thing?” he added, with a look at a couple, evidently
factory hands, who sat at the other side of the carriage. The husband,
with his head thrown back, was pouring vodka down his throat out of a
bottle, and the wife sat holding a bag, out of which they had taken the
bottle, and watched him intently.
“No, mine neither drinks nor smokes,” said the woman who was conversing
with the old man, glad of the opportunity of praising her husband once
more. “No, sir, the earth does not hold many such.” And, turning to
Nekhludoff, she added, “That’s the sort of man he is.”
“What could be better,” said the old man, looking at the factory worker,
who had had his drink and had passed the bottle to his wife. The wife
laughed, shook her head, and also raised the bottle to her lips.
Noticing Nekhludoff’s and the old man’s look directed towards them, the
factory worker addressed the former.
“What is it, sir? That we are drinking? Ah, no one sees how we work,
but every one sees how we drink. I have earned it, and I am drinking and
treating my wife, and no one else.”
“Yes, yes,” said Nekhludoff, not knowing what to say.
“True, sir. My wife is a steady woman. I am satisfied with my wife,
because she can feel for me. Is it right what I’m saying, Mavra?”
“There you are, take it, I don’t want any more,” said the wife,
returning the bottle to him. “And what are you jawing for like that?”
she added.
“There now! She’s good--that good; and suddenly she’ll begin squeaking
like a wheel that’s not greased. Mavra, is it right what I’m saying?”
Mavra laughed and moved her hand with a tipsy gesture.
“Oh, my, he’s at it again.”
“There now, she’s that good--that good; but let her get her tail over
the reins, and you can’t think what she’ll be up to. . . . Is it right
what I’m saying? You must excuse me, sir, I’ve had a drop! What’s to be
done?” said the factory worker, and, preparing to go to sleep, put his
head in his wife’s lap.
Nekhludoff sat a while with the old man, who told him all about himself.
The old man was a stove builder, who had been working for 53 years, and
had built so many stoves that he had lost count, and now he wanted to
rest, but had no time. He had been to town and found employment for the
young ones, and was now going to the country to see the people at home.
After hearing the old man’s story, Nekhludoff went to the place that
Taras was keeping for him.
“It’s all right, sir; sit down; we’ll put the bag here,” said the
gardener, who sat opposite Taras, in a friendly tone, looking up into
Nekhludoff’s face.
“Rather a tight fit, but no matter since we are friends,” said Taras,
smiling, and lifting the bag, which weighed more than five stone, as if
it were a feather, he carried it across to the window.
“Plenty of room; besides, we might stand up a bit; and even under
the seat it’s as comfortable as you could wish. What’s the good of
humbugging?” he said, beaming with friendliness and kindness.
Taras spoke of himself as being unable to utter a word when quite sober;
but drink, he said, helped him to find the right words, and then he
could express everything. And in reality, when he was sober Taras kept
silent; but when he had been drinking, which happened rarely and only on
special occasions, he became very pleasantly talkative. Then he spoke
a great deal, spoke well and very simply and truthfully, and especially
with great kindliness, which shone in his gentle, blue eyes and in the
friendly smile that never left his lips. He was in such a state to-day.
Nekhludoff’s approach interrupted the conversation; but when he had put
the bag in its place, Taras sat down again, and with his strong hands
folded in his lap, and looking straight into the gardener’s face,
continued his story. He was telling his new acquaintance about his wife
and giving every detail: what she was being sent to Siberia for, and why
he was now following her. Nekhludoff had never heard a detailed account
of this affair, and so he listened with interest. When he came up, the
story had reached the point when the attempt to poison was already an
accomplished fact, and the family had discovered that it was Theodosia’s
doing.
“It’s about my troubles that I’m talking,” said Taras, addressing
Nekhludoff with cordial friendliness. “I have chanced to come across
such a hearty man, and we’ve got into conversation, and I’m telling him
all.”
“I see,” said Nekhludoff.
“Well, then in this way, my friend, the business became known. Mother,
she takes that cake. ‘I’m going,’ says she, ‘to the police officer.’ My
father is a just old man. ‘Wait, wife,’ says he, ‘the little woman is
a mere child, and did not herself know what she was doing. We must have
pity. She may come to her senses.’ But, dear me, mother would not hear
of it. ‘While we keep her here,’ she says, ‘she may destroy us all like
cockroaches.’ Well, friend, so she goes off for the police officer. He
bounces in upon us at once. Calls for witnesses.”
“Well, and you?” asked the gardener.
“Well, I, you see, friend, roll about with the pain in my stomach, and
vomit. All my inside is turned inside out; I can’t even speak. Well, so
father he goes and harnesses the mare, and puts Theodosia into the cart,
and is off to the police-station, and then to the magistrate’s. And she,
you know, just as she had done from the first, so also there, confesses
all to the magistrate--where she got the arsenic, and how she kneaded
the cake. ‘Why did you do it?’ says he. ‘Why,’ says she, ‘because he’s
hateful to me. I prefer Siberia to a life with him.’ That’s me,” and
Taras smiled.
“Well, so she confessed all. Then, naturally--the prison, and father
returns alone. And harvest time just coming, and mother the only woman
at home, and she no longer strong. So we think what we are to do. Could