Resurrection - Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (interesting novels in english .TXT) 📗
- Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy
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was a communist. He wanted, as it seemed to him, nothing for
himself and contented himself with very little, but demanded very
much for the group of his comrades, and could work for it either
physically or mentally day and night, without sleep or food. As a
peasant he had been industrious, observant, clever at his work,
and naturally self-controlled, polite without any effort, and
attentive not only to the wishes but also the opinions of others.
His widowed mother, an illiterate, superstitious, old peasant
woman, was still living, and Nabatoff helped her and went to see
her while he was free. During the time he spent at home he
entered into all the interests of his mother’s life, helped her
in her work, and continued his intercourse with former
playfellows; smoked cheap tobacco with them in so-called “dog’s
feet,” [a kind of cigarette that the peasants smoke, made of a
bit of paper and bent at one end into a hook] took part in their
fist fights, and explained to them how they were all being
deceived by the State, and how they ought to disentangle
themselves out of the deception they were kept in. When he
thought or spoke of what a revolution would do for the people he
always imagined this people from whom he had sprung himself left
in very nearly the same conditions as they were in, only with
sufficient land and without the gentry and without officials. The
revolution, according to him, and in this he differed from
Novodvoroff and Novodvoroff’s follower, Markel Kondratieff,
should not alter the elementary forms of the life of the people,
should not break down the whole edifice, but should only alter
the inner walls of the beautiful, strong, enormous old structure
he loved so dearly. He was also a typical peasant in his views on
religion, never thinking about metaphysical questions, about the
origin of all origin, or the future life. God was to him, as
also to Arago, an hypothesis, which he had had no need of up to
now. He had no business with the origin of the world, whether
Moses or Darwin was right. Darwinism, which seemed so important
to his fellows, was only the same kind of plaything of the mind
as the creation in six days. The question how the world had
originated did not interest him, just because the question how it
would be best to live in this world was ever before him. He never
thought about future life, always bearing in the depth of his
soul the firm and quiet conviction inherited from his
forefathers, and common to all labourers on the land, that just
as in the world of plants and animals nothing ceases to exist,
but continually changes its form, the manure into grain, the
grain into a food, the tadpole into a frog, the caterpillar into
a butterfly, the acorn into an oak, so man also does not perish,
but only undergoes a change. He believed in this, and therefore
always looked death straight in the face, and bravely bore the
sufferings that lead towards it, but did not care and did not
know how to speak about it. He loved work, was always employed in
some practical business, and put his comrades in the way of the
same kind of practical work.
The other political prisoner from among the people, Markel
Kondratieff, was a very different kind of man. He began to work
at the age of fifteen, and took to smoking and drinking in order
to stifle a dense sense of being wronged. He first realised he
was wronged one Christmas when they, the factory children, were
invited to a Christmas tree, got up by the employer’s wife, where
he received a farthing whistle, an apple, a gilt walnut and a
fig, while the employer’s children had presents given them which
seemed gifts from fairyland, and had cost more than fifty
roubles, as he afterwards heard.
When he was twenty a celebrated revolutionist came to their
factory to work as a working girl, and noticing his superior
qualities began giving books and pamphlets to Kondratieff and to
talk and explain his position to him, and how to remedy it. When
the possibility of freeing himself and others from their
oppressed state rose clearly in his mind, the injustice of this
state appeared more cruel and more terrible than before, and he
longed passionately not only for freedom, but also for the
punishment of those who had arranged and who kept up this cruel
injustice. Kondratieff devoted himself with passion to the
acquirement of knowledge. It was not clear to him how knowledge
should bring about the realisation of the social ideal, but he
believed that the knowledge that had shown him the injustice of
the state in which he lived would also abolish that injustice
itself. Besides knowledge would, in his opinion, raise him above
others. Therefore he left off drinking and smoking, and devoted
all his leisure time to study. The revolutionist gave him
lessons, and his thirst for every kind of knowledge, and the
facility with which he took it in, surprised her. In two years he
had mastered algebra, geometry, history—which he was specially
fond of—and made acquaintance with artistic and critical, and
especially socialistic literature. The revolutionist was
arrested, and Kondratieff with her, forbidden books having been
found in their possession, and they were imprisoned and then
exiled to the Vologda Government. There Kondratieff became
acquainted with Novodvoroff, and read a great deal more
revolutionary literature, remembered it all, and became still
firmer in his socialistic views. While in exile he became leader
in a large strike, which ended in the destruction of a factory
and the murder of the director. He was again arrested and
condemned to Siberia.
His religious views were of the same negative nature as his views
of the existing economic conditions. Having seen the absurdity of
the religion in which he was brought up, and having gained with
great effort, and at first with fear, but later with rapture,
freedom from it, he did not tire of viciously and with venom
ridiculing priests and religious dogmas, as if wishing to revenge
himself for the deception that had been practised on him.
He was ascetic through habit, contented himself with very little,
and, like all those used to work from childhood and whose muscles
have been developed, he could work much and easily, and was quick
at any manual labour; but what he valued most was the leisure in
prisons and halting stations, which enabled him to continue his
studies. He was now studying the first volume of Karl Marks’s,
and carefully hid the book in his sack as if it were a great
treasure. He behaved with reserve and indifference to all his
comrades, except Novodvoroff, to whom he was greatly attached,
and whose arguments on all subjects he accepted as unanswerable
truths.
He had an indefinite contempt for women, whom he looked upon as a
hindrance in all necessary business. But he pitied Maslova and
was gentle with her, for he considered her an example of the way
the lower are exploited by the upper classes. The same reason
made him dislike Nekhludoff, so that he talked little with him,
and never pressed Nekhludoff’s hand, but only held out his own to
be pressed when greeting him.
CHAPTER XIII.
LOVE AFFAIRS OF THE EXILES.
The stove had burned up and got warm, the tea was made and poured
out into mugs and cups, and milk was added to it; rusks, fresh
rye and wheat bread, hard-boiled eggs, butter, and calf’s head
and feet were placed on the cloth. Everybody moved towards the
part of the shelf beds which took the place of the table and sat
eating and talking. Rintzeva sat on a box pouring out the tea.
The rest crowded round her, only Kryltzoff, who had taken off his
wet cloak and wrapped himself in his dry plaid and lay in his own
place talking to Nekhludoff.
After the cold and damp march and the dirt and disorder they had
found here, and after the pains they had taken to get it tidy,
after having drunk hot tea and eaten, they were all in the best
and brightest of spirits.
The fact that the tramp of feet, the screams and abuse of the
criminals, reached them through the wall, reminding them of their
surroundings, seemed only to increase the sense of coziness. As
on an island in the midst of the sea, these people felt
themselves for a brief interval not swamped by the degradation
and sufferings which surrounded them; this made their spirits
rise, and excited them. They talked about everything except their
present position and that which awaited them. Then, as it
generally happens among young men, and women especially, if they
are forced to remain together, as these people were, all sorts of
agreements and disagreements and attractions, curiously blended,
had sprung up among them. Almost all of them were in love.
Novodvoroff was in love with the pretty, smiling Grabetz. This
Grabetz was a young, thoughtless girl who had gone in for a
course of study, perfectly indifferent to revolutionary
questions, but succumbing to the influence of the day, she
compromised herself in some way and was exiled. The chief
interest of her life during the time of her trial in prison and
in exile was her success with men, just as it had been when she
was free. Now on the way she comforted herself with the fact that
Novodvoroff had taken a fancy to her, and she fell in love with
him. Vera Doukhova, who was very prone to fall in love herself,
but did not awaken love in others, though she was always hoping
for mutual love, was sometimes drawn to Nabatoff, then to
Novodvoroff. Kryltzoff felt something like love for Mary
Pavlovna. He loved her with a man’s love, but knowing how she
regarded this sort of love, hid his feelings under the guise of
friendship and gratitude for the tenderness with which she
attended to his wants. Nabatoff and Rintzeva were attached to
each other by very complicated ties. Just as Mary Pavlovna was a
perfectly chaste maiden, in the same way Rintzeva was perfectly
chaste as her own husband’s wife. When only a schoolgirl of
sixteen she fell in love with Rintzeff, a student of the
Petersburg University, and married him before he left the
university, when she was only nineteen years old. During his
fourth year at the university her husband had become involved in
the students’ rows, was exiled from Petersburg, and turned
revolutionist. She left the medical courses she was attending,
followed him, and also turned revolutionist. If she had not
considered her husband the cleverest and best of men she would
not have fallen in love with him; and if she had not fallen in
love would not have married; but having fallen in love and
married him whom she thought the best and cleverest of men, she
naturally looked upon life and its aims in the way the best and
cleverest of men looked at them. At first he thought the aim of
life was to learn, and she looked upon study as the aim of life.
He became a revolutionist, and so did she. She could 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
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