Resurrection - Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (interesting novels in english .TXT) 📗
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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Such were Nekhludoff’s confused thoughts at this period of his
existence, and he felt all the time the delight of being free of
the moral barriers he had formerly set himself. And the state he
lived in was that of a chronic mania of selfishness. He was in
this state when, after three years’ absence, he came again to
visit his aunts.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SECOND MEETING WITH MASLOVA.
Nekhludoff went to visit his aunts because their estate lay near
the road he had to travel in order to join his regiment, which
had gone forward, because they had very warmly asked him to come,
and especially because he wanted to see Katusha. Perhaps in his
heart he had already formed those evil designs against Katusha
which his now uncontrolled animal self suggested to him, but he
did not acknowledge this as his intention, but only wished to go
back to the spot where he had been so happy, to see his rather
funny, but dear, kind-hearted old aunts, who always, without his
noticing it, surrounded him with an atmosphere of love and
admiration, and to see sweet Katusha, of whom he had retained so
pleasant a memory.
He arrived at the end of March, on Good Friday, after the thaw
had set in. It was pouring with rain so that he had not a dry
thread on him and was feeling very cold, but yet vigorous and
full of spirits, as always at that time. “Is she still with
them?” he thought, as he drove into the familiar, old-fashioned
courtyard, surrounded by a low brick wall, and now filled with
snow off the roofs.
He expected she would come out when she heard the sledge bells
but she did not. Two barefooted women with pails and tucked-up
skirts, who had evidently been scrubbing the floors, came out of
the side door. She was not at the front door either, and only
Tikhon, the manservant, with his apron on, evidently also busy
cleaning, came out into the front porch. His aunt Sophia Ivanovna
alone met him in the anteroom; she had a silk dress on and a cap
on her head. Both aunts had been to church and had received
communion.
“Well, this is nice of you to come,” said Sophia Ivanovna,
kissing him. “Mary is not well, got tired in church; we have been
to communion.”
“I congratulate you, Aunt Sophia,” [it is usual in Russia to
congratulate those who have received communion] said Nekhludoff,
kissing Sophia Ivanovna’s hand. “Oh, I beg your pardon, I have
made you wet.”
“Go to your room—why you are soaking wet. Dear me, you have got
moustaches! … Katusha! Katusha! Get him some coffee; be
quick.”
“Directly,” came the sound of a well-known, pleasant voice from
the passage, and Nekhludoff’s heart cried out “She’s here!” and
it was as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds.
Nekhludoff, followed by Tikhon, went gaily to his old room to
change his things. He felt inclined to ask Tikhon about Katusha;
how she was, what she was doing, was she not going to be married?
But Tikhon was so respectful and at the same time so severe,
insisted so firmly on pouring the water out of the jug for him,
that Nekhludoff could not make up his mind to ask him about
Katusha, but only inquired about Tikhon’s grandsons, about the
old so-called “brother’s” horse, and about the dog Polkan. All
were alive except Polkan, who had gone mad the summer before.
When he had taken off all his wet things and just begun to dress
again, Nekhludoff heard quick, familiar footsteps and a knock at
the door. Nekhludoff knew the steps and also the knock. No one
but she walked and knocked like that.
Having thrown his wet greatcoat over his shoulders, he opened the
door.
“Come in.” It was she, Katusha, the same, only sweeter than
before. The slightly squinting naive black eyes looked up in the
same old way. Now as then, she had on a white apron. She brought
him from his aunts a piece of scented soap, with the wrapper just
taken off, and two towels—one a long Russian embroidered one,
the other a bath towel. The unused soap with the stamped
inscription, the towels, and her own self, all were equally
clean, fresh, undefiled and pleasant. The irrepressible smile of
joy at the sight of him made the sweet, firm lips pucker up as of
old.
“How do you do, Dmitri Ivanovitch?” she uttered with difficulty,
her face suffused with a rosy blush.
“Good-morning! How do you do?” he said, also blushing. “Alive and
well?”
“Yes, the Lord be thanked. And here is your favorite pink soap and
towels from your aunts,” she said, putting the soap on the table
and hanging the towels over the back of a chair.
“There is everything here,” said Tikhon, defending the visitor’s
independence, and pointing to Nekhludoff’s open dressing case
filled with brushes, perfume, fixatoire, a great many bottles
with silver lids and all sorts of toilet appliances.
“Thank my aunts, please. Oh, how glad I am to be here,” said
Nekhludoff, his heart filling with light and tenderness as of
old.
She only smiled in answer to these words, and went out. The
aunts, who had always loved Nekhludoff, welcomed him this time
more warmly than ever. Dmitri was going to the war, where he
might be wounded or killed, and this touched the old aunts.
Nekhludoff had arranged to stay only a day and night with his
aunts, but when he had seen Katusha he agreed to stay over Easter
with them and telegraphed to his friend Schonbock, whom he was to
have joined in Odessa, that he should come and meet him at his
aunts’ instead.
As soon as he had seen Katusha Nekhludoff’s old feelings toward
her awoke again. Now, just as then, he could not see her white
apron without getting excited; he could not listen to her steps,
her voice, her laugh, without a feeling of joy; he could not look
at her eyes, black as sloes, without a feeling of tenderness,
especially when she smiled; and, above all, he could not notice
without agitation how she blushed when they met. He felt he was
in love, but not as before, when this love was a kind of mystery
to him and he would not own, even to himself, that he loved, and
when he was persuaded that one could love only once; now he knew
he was in love and was glad of it, and knew dimly what this love
consisted of and what it might lead to, though he sought to
conceal it even from himself. In Nekhludoff, as in every man,
there were two beings: one the spiritual, seeking only that kind
of happiness for him self which should tend towards the happiness
of all; the other, the animal man, seeking only his own
happiness, and ready to sacrifice to it the happiness of the rest
of the world. At this period of his mania of self-love brought on
by life in Petersburg and in the army, this animal man ruled
supreme and completely crushed the spiritual man in him.
But when he saw Katusha and experienced the same feelings as he
had had three years before, the spiritual man in him raised its
head once more and began to assert its rights. And up to Easter,
during two whole days, an unconscious, ceaseless inner struggle
went on in him.
He knew in the depths of his soul that he ought to go away, that
there was no real reason for staying on with his aunts, knew that
no good could come of it; and yet it was so pleasant, so
delightful, that he did not honestly acknowledge the facts to
himself and stayed on. On Easter eve, the priest and the deacon
who came to the house to say mass had had (so they said) the
greatest difficulty in getting over the three miles that lay
between the church and the old ladies’ house, coming across the
puddles and the bare earth in a sledge.
Nekhludoff attended the mass with his aunts and the servants, and
kept looking at Katusha, who was near the door and brought in the
censers for the priests. Then having given the priests and his
aunts the Easter kiss, though it was not midnight and therefore
not Easter yet, he was already going to bed when he heard the old
servant Matrona Pavlovna preparing to go to the church to get the
koulitch and paski [Easter cakes] blest after the midnight
service. “I shall go too,” he thought.
The road to the church was impassable either in a sledge or on
wheels, so Nekhludoff, who behaved in his aunts’ house just as he
did at home, ordered the old horse, “the brother’s horse,” to be
saddled, and instead of going to bed he put on his gay uniform, a
pair of tight-fitting riding breeches and his overcoat, and got
on the old overfed and heavy horse, which neighed continually
all the way as he rode in the dark through the puddles and snow
to the church.
CHAPTER XV.
THE EARLY MASS.
For Nekhludoff this early mass remained for ever after one of the
brightest and most vivid memories of his life. When he rode out
of the darkness, broken only here and there by patches of white
snow, into the churchyard illuminated by a row of lamps around
the church, the service had already begun.
The peasants, recognising Mary Ivanovna’s nephew, led his horse,
which was pricking up its cars at the sight of the lights, to a
dry place where he could get off, put it up for him, and showed
him into the church, which was full of people. On the right stood
the peasants; the old men in homespun coats, and clean white
linen bands [long strips of linen are worn by the peasants instead
of stockings] wrapped round their legs, the young men in new
cloth coats, bright-coloured belts round their waists, and
top-boots.
On the left stood the women, with red silk kerchiefs on their
heads, black velveteen sleeveless jackets, bright red
shirt-sleeves, gay-coloured green, blue, and red skirts, and
thick leather boots. The old women, dressed more quietly, stood
behind them, with white kerchiefs, homespun coats, old-fashioned
skirts of dark homespun material, and shoes on their feet.
Gaily-dressed children, their hair well oiled, went in and out
among them.
The men, making the sign of the cross, bowed down and raised
their heads again, shaking back their hair.
The women, especially the old ones, fixed their eyes on an icon
surrounded with candies and made the sign of the cross, firmly
pressing their folded fingers to the kerchief on their foreheads,
to their shoulders, and their stomachs, and, whispering
something, stooped or knelt down. The children, imitating the
grown-up people, prayed earnestly when they knew that they were
being observed. The gilt case containing the icon glittered,
illuminated on all sides by tall candles ornamented with golden
spirals. The candelabra was filled with tapers, and from the
choir sounded most merry tunes sung by amateur choristers, with
bellowing bass and shrill boys’ voices among them.
Nekhludoff passed up to the front. In the middle of the church
stood the aristocracy of the place: a landed proprietor, with his
wife and son (the latter dressed in a sailor’s suit), the police
officer, the telegraph clerk, a tradesman in top-boots, and the
village elder, with a medal on his breast; and to the right of
the ambo, just behind the landed proprietor’s wife, stood Matrona
Pavlovna in a lilac dress and fringed shawl and
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