Resurrection
demonstrate very clearly that the existing state of things could not go
on, and that it was everybody’s duty to fight this state of things and
to try to bring about conditions in which the individual could develop
freely, etc. And she imagined that she really thought and felt all
this, but in reality she only regarded everything her husband thought
as absolute truth, and only sought for perfect agreement, perfect
identification of her own soul with his which alone could give her full
moral satisfaction. The parting with her husband and their child, whom
her mother had taken, was very hard to bear; but she bore it firmly and
quietly, since it was for her husband’s sake and for that cause which
she had not the slightest doubt was true, since he served it. She was
always with her husband in thoughts, and did not love and could not love
any other any more than she had done before. But Nabatoff’s devoted and
pure love touched and excited her. This moral, firm man, her husband’s
friend, tried to treat her as a sister, but something more appeared in
his behaviour to her, and this something frightened them both, and yet
gave colour to their life of hardship.
So that in all this circle only Mary Pavlovna and Kondratieff were quite
free from love affairs.
CHAPTER XIV.
CONVERSATIONS IN PRISON.
Expecting to have a private talk with Katusha, as usual, after tea,
Nekhludoff sat by the side of Kryltzoff, conversing with him. Among
other things he told him the story of Makar’s crime and about his
request to him. Kryltzoff listened attentively, gazing at Nekhludoff
with glistening eyes.
“Yes,” said Kryltzoff suddenly, “I often think that here we are going
side by side with them, and who are they? The same for whose sake we
are going, and yet we not only do not know them, but do not even wish to
know them. And they, even worse than that, they hate us and look upon us
as enemies. This is terrible.”
“There is nothing terrible about it,” broke in Novodvoroff. “The masses
always worship power only. The government is in power, and they worship
it and hate us. To-morrow we shall have the power, and they will worship
us,” he said with his grating voice. At that moment a volley of abuse
and the rattle of chains sounded from behind the wall, something was
heard thumping against it and screaming and shrieking, some one was
being beaten, and some one was calling out, “Murder! help!”
“Hear them, the beasts! What intercourse can there be between us and
such as them?” quietly remarked Novodvoroff.
“You call them beasts, and Nekhludoff was just telling me about such an
action!” irritably retorted Kryltzoff, and went on to say how Makar was
risking his life to save a fellow-villager. “That is not the action of a
beast, it is heroism.”
“Sentimentality!” Novodvoroff ejaculated ironically; “it is difficult
for us to understand the emotions of these people and the motives on
which they act. You see generosity in the act, and it may be simply
jealousy of that other criminal.”
“How is it that you never wish to see anything good in another?” Mary
Pavlovna said suddenly, flaring up.
“How can one see what does not exist!”
“How does it not exist, when a man risks dying a terrible death?”
“I think,” said Novodvoroff, “that if we mean to do our work, the first
condition is that” (here Kondratieff put down the book he was reading by
the lamplight and began to listen attentively to his master’s words) “we
should not give way to fancy, but look at things as they are. We should
do all in our power for the masses, and expect nothing in return.
The masses can only be the object of our activity, but cannot be our
fellow-workers as long as they remain in that state of inertia they are
in at present,” he went on, as if delivering a lecture. “Therefore, to
expect help from them before the process of development--that process
which we are preparing them for--has taken place is an illusion.”
“What process of development?” Kryltzoff began, flushing all over. “We
say that we are against arbitrary rule and despotism, and is this not
the most awful despotism?”
“No despotism whatever,” quietly rejoined Novodvoroff. “I am only saying
that I know the path that the people must travel, and can show them that
path.”
“But how can you be sure that the path you show is the true path?
Is this not the same kind of despotism that lay at the bottom of the
Inquisition, all persecutions, and the great revolution? They, too, knew
the one true way, by means of their science.”
“Their having erred is no proof of my going to err; besides, there is a
great difference between the ravings of idealogues and the facts based
on sound, economic science.” Novodvoroff’s voice filled the room; he
alone was speaking, all the rest were silent.
“They are always disputing,” Mary Pavlovna said, when there was a
moment’s silence.
“And you yourself, what do you think about it?” Nekhludoff asked her.
“I think Kryltzoff is right when he says we should not force our views
on the people.”
“And you, Katusha?” asked Nekhludoff with a smile, waiting anxiously for
her answer, fearing she would say something awkward.
“I think the common people are wronged,” she said, and blushed scarlet.
“I think they are dreadfully wronged.”
“That’s right, Maslova, quite right,” cried Nabatoff. “They are terribly
wronged, the people, and they must not be wronged, and therein lies the
whole of our task.”
“A curious idea of the object of revolution,” Novodvoroff remarked
crossly, and began to smoke.
“I cannot talk to him,” said Kryltzoff in a whisper, and was silent.
“And it is much better not to talk,” Nekhludoff said.
CHAPTER XV.
NOVODVOROFF.
Although Novodvoroff was highly esteemed of all the revolutionists,
though he was very learned, and considered very wise, Nekhludoff
reckoned him among those of the revolutionists who, being below the
average moral level, were very far below it. His inner life was of a
nature directly opposite to that of Simonson’s. Simonson was one of
those people (of an essentially masculine type) whose actions follow
the dictates of their reason, and are determined by it. Novodvoroff
belonged, on the contrary, to the class of people of a feminine type,
whose reason is directed partly towards the attainment of aims set by
their feelings, partly to the justification of acts suggested by their
feelings. The whole of Novodvoroff’s revolutionary activity, though
he could explain it very eloquently and very convincingly, appeared
to Nekhludoff to be founded on nothing but ambition and the desire
for supremacy. At first his capacity for assimilating the thoughts of
others, and of expressing them correctly, had given him a position of
supremacy among pupils and teachers in the gymnasium and the university,
where qualities such as his are highly prized, and he was satisfied.
When he had finished his studies and received his diploma he suddenly
altered his views, and from a modern liberal he turned into a rabid
Narodovoletz, in order (so Kryltzoff, who did not like him, said) to
gain supremacy in another sphere.
As he was devoid of those moral and aesthetic qualities which call
forth doubts and hesitation, he very soon acquired a position in the
revolutionary world which satisfied him--that of the leader of a party.
Having once chosen a direction, he never doubted or hesitated, and was
therefore certain that he never made a mistake. Everything seemed quite
simple, clear and certain. And the narrowness and one-sidedness of his
views did make everything seem simple and clear. One only had to be
logical, as he said. His self-assurance was so great that it either
repelled people or made them submit to him. As he carried on his work
among very young people, his boundless self-assurance led them to
believe him very profound and wise; the majority did submit to him,
and he had a great success in revolutionary circles. His activity was
directed to the preparation of a rising in which he was to usurp the
power and call together a council. A programme, composed by him, should
be proposed before the council, and he felt sure that this programme of
his solved every problem, and that it would be impossible not to carry
it out.
His comrades respected but did not love him. He did not love any one,
looked upon all men of note as upon rivals, and would have willingly
treated them as old male monkeys treat young ones if he could have done
it. He would have torn all mental power, every capacity, from other men,
so that they should not interfere with the display of his talents. He
behaved well only to those who bowed before him. Now, on the journey he
behaved well to Kondratieff, who was influenced by his propaganda; to
Vera Doukhova and pretty little Grabetz, who were both in love with him.
Although in principle he was in favour of the woman’s movement, yet in
the depth of his soul he considered all women stupid and insignificant
except those whom he was sentimentally in love with (as he was now in
love with Grabetz), and such women he considered to be exceptions, whose
merits he alone was capable of discerning.
The question of the relations of the sexes he also looked upon as
thoroughly solved by accepting free union. He had one nominal and
one real wife, from both of whom he was separated, having come to the
conclusion that there was no real love between them, and now he thought
of entering on a free union with Grabetz. He despised Nekhludoff
for “playing the fool,” as Novodvoroff termed it, with Maslova, but
especially for the freedom Nekhludoff took of considering the defects
of the existing system and the methods of correcting those defects in a
manner which was not only not exactly the same as Novodvoroff’s, but was
Nekhludoff’s own--a prince’s, that is, a fool’s manner. Nekhludoff felt
this relation of Novodvoroff’s towards him, and knew to his sorrow that
in spite of the state of good will in which he found himself on this
journey he could not help paying this man in his own coin, and could not
stifle the strong antipathy he felt for him.
CHAPTER XVI.
SIMONSON SPEAKS TO NEKHLUDOFF.
The voices of officials sounded from the next room. All the prisoners
were silent, and a sergeant, followed by two convoy soldiers, entered.
The time of the inspection had come. The sergeant counted every one, and
when Nekhludoff’s turn came he addressed him with kindly familiarity.
“You must not stay any longer, Prince, after the inspection; you must go
now.”
Nekhludoff knew what this meant, went up to the sergeant and shoved a
three-rouble note into his hand.
“Ah, well, what is one to do with you; stay a bit longer, if you like.”
The sergeant was about to go when another sergeant, followed by a
convict, a spare man with a thin beard and a bruise under his eye, came
in.
“It’s about the girl I have come,” said the convict.
“Here’s daddy come,” came the ringing accents of a child’s voice, and a
flaxen head appeared from behind Rintzeva, who, with Katusha’s and Mary
Pavlovna’s help, was making a new garment for the child out of one of
Rintzeva’s own petticoats.
“Yes, daughter, it’s me,” Bousovkin, the prisoner, said softly.
“She is quite comfortable here,” said Mary Pavlovna, looking with pity
at Bousovkin’s bruised face. “Leave her with us.”
“The ladies are making me new clothes,” said the girl, pointing to
Rintzeva’s sewing--“nice red ones,” she went on, prattling.
“Do you wish to sleep with us?” asked Rintzeva, caressing the child.
“Yes, I wish. And daddy, too.”
“No, daddy can’t. Well, leave her then,” she said, turning to the
father.
“Yes, you may leave her,” said the first sergeant, and went out with the
other.
As soon as they were out of the room Nabatoff went up to Bousovkin,