Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy - The Awakening

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THE AWAKENING

(The Resurrection)

by

COUNT LEO TOLSTOI

Author of

"War and Peace," "The Kreutzer Sonata,"
"Anna Karenina," Etc.

Translated by William E. Smith

[Illustration: COUNT LEO TOLSTOI.]

New York
Street & Smith, Publishers
238 William Street
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1900
By Street & Smith
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.

"Then came Peter to Him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my
brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven
times?"--_Matthew, c. xviii.; v. 21._

"Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven
times: but until seventy times seven."--_Idem, v. 22._

"And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's
eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own
eye!"--_Idem, c. vii.; v. 3._

"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a
stone at her."--_John, c. viii.; v. 7._

"The disciple is not above his master: but every one that is
perfect shall be as his master."--_Luke, c. vi.; v. 40._

THE AWAKENING.

PART FIRST.

CHAPTER I.

All the efforts of several hundred thousand people, crowded in a small
space, to disfigure the land on which they lived; all the stone they
covered it with to keep it barren; how so diligently every sprouting
blade of grass was removed; all the smoke of coal and naphtha; all the
cutting down of trees and driving off of cattle could not shut out the
spring, even from the city. The sun was shedding its light; the grass,
revivified, was blooming forth, where it was left uncut, not only on
the greenswards of the boulevard, but between the flag-stones, and the
birches, poplars and wild-berry trees were unfolding their viscous
leaves; the limes were unfolding their buds; the daws, sparrows and
pigeons were joyfully making their customary nests, and the flies were
buzzing on the sun-warmed walls. Plants, birds, insects and children
were equally joyful. Only men--grown-up men--continued cheating and
tormenting themselves and each other. People saw nothing holy in this
spring morning, in this beauty of God's world--a gift to all living
creatures--inclining to peace, good-will and love, but worshiped their
own inventions for imposing their will on each other.

The joy of spring felt by animals and men did not penetrate the office
of the county jail, but the one thing of supreme importance there was
a document received the previous evening, with title, number and seal,
which ordered the bringing into court for trial, this 28th day of
April, at nine o'clock in the morning, three prisoners--two women and
one man. One of the women, as the more dangerous criminal, was to be
brought separately. So, in pursuance of that order, on the 28th day of
April, at eight o'clock in the morning, the jail warden entered the
dingy corridor of the woman's ward. Immediately behind him came a
woman with weary countenance and disheveled gray hair, wearing a
crown-laced jacket, and girdled with a blue-edged sash. She was the
matron.

"You want Maslova?" she asked the warden, as they neared one of the
cells opening into the corridor.

The warden, with a loud clanking of iron, unlocked and opened the door
of the cell, releasing an even fouler odor than permeated the
corridor, and shouted:

"Maslova to the court!" and again closing the door he waited for her
appearance.

The fresh, vivifying air of the fields, carried to the city by the
wind, filled even the court-yard of the jail. But in the corridor the
oppressive air, laden with the smell of tar and putrescence, saddened
and dejected the spirit of every new-comer. The same feeling was
experienced by the jail matron, notwithstanding she was accustomed to
bad air. On entering the corridor she suddenly felt a weariness coming
over her that inclined her to slumber.

There was a bustling in the cell; women's voices and steps of bare
feet were heard.

"Hurry up, Maslova! Come on, I say!" shouted the warden into the
cell-door.

Presently at the cell-door appeared a middle-sized, full-breasted
young woman, dressed in a long, gray coat over a white waist and
skirt. She approached with firm step, and, facing about, stood before
the warden. Over her linen stockings she wore jail shoes; her head was
covered with a white 'kerchief, from under which black curls were
evidently purposely brushed over the forehead. The face of the woman
was of that whiteness peculiar to people who have been a long time in
confinement, and which reminds one of potato-sprouts in a cellar. Her
small, wide hands, her white, full neck, showing from under the large
collar of the coat, were of a similar hue. On the dull pallor of that
face the most striking feature was the black, sparkling eyes, somewhat
swollen, but very bright eyes, one of which slightly squinted. She
held herself erect, putting forth her full chest. Emerging into the
corridor, throwing her head back a little, she looked into the eyes of
the warden and stood ready to do his bidding. The warden was about to
shut the door, when a pale, severe, wrinkled face of an old woman with
disheveled hair was thrust out. The old woman began to say something
to Maslova. But the warden pressed the door against the head of the
woman, and she disappeared. In the cell a woman's voice burst into
laughter. Maslova also smiled, and turned to the grated little opening
in the door. The old woman pressed her forehead to the grating, and
said in a hoarse voice:

"Above all, don't speak too much; stick to one thing, and that is
all."

"Of course. It cannot be any worse," said Maslova.

"You certainly cannot stick to two things," said the chief warden,
with official assurance of his own wit. "Follow me, now! Forward!
March!"

The eye looking from behind the grating disappeared, and Maslova took
to the middle of the corridor, and with short, but rapid strides,
followed the warden. They descended the stone stairway, and as they
passed the men's ward, noisy and more noisome even than the woman's
ward, scores of eyes followed them from behind the gratings. They
entered the office, where an armed escort of two soldiers stood. The
clerk handed one of the soldiers a document, reeking of tobacco smoke,
and, pointing to the prisoner, said:

"Take her."

The soldier, a Nijhni peasant with a red and pock-marked face, placed
the paper into the cuff of his coat sleeve, and, smiling, winked to
his muscular comrade. The soldiers and prisoner descended the stairs
and went in the direction of the main entrance.

A small door in the gate opened, and, crossing the threshold, they
passed through the inclosure and took the middle of the paved street.

Drivers, shop-keepers, kitchen maids, laborers and officials halted
and gazed with curiosity at the prisoner. Some shook their heads and
thought: "There is the result of evil conduct--how unlike ours!"
Children looked with horror at the cut-throat, but the presence of the
soldiers reassured them, for she was now powerless to do harm. A
villager, returning from the mart, where he had disposed of his
charcoal and visited an inn, offered her a kopeck. The prisoner
blushed, drooped her head and murmured something.

Conscious of the attention that was shown her, without turning her
head she looked askance at the onlookers and rather enjoyed it. She
also enjoyed the comparatively pure spring air, but the walking on the
cobblestones was painful to her feet, unused as they were to walking,
and shod in clumsy prison shoes. She looked at her feet and endeavored
to step as lightly as possible. Passing by a food store, in front of
which some pigeons were picking grain, she came near striking with her
foot a dove-colored bird. It rose with a flutter of its wings, and
flew past the very ear of the prisoner, fanning her face with its
wings. She smiled, then sighed deeply, remembering her own condition.

CHAPTER II.

The history of the prisoner Maslova was a very common one. Maslova was
the daughter of an unmarried menial who lived with her mother, a
cowherd, on the estate of two spinsters. This unmarried woman gave
birth to a child every year, and, as is the custom in the villages,
baptized them; then neglected the troublesome newcomers, and they
finally starved to death.

Thus five children died. Every one of these was baptized, then it
starved and finally died. The sixth child, begotten of a passing
gypsy, was a girl, who would have shared the same fate, but it
happened that one of the two old maidens entered the cow-shed to
reprimand the milkmaids for carelessness in skimming the cream, and
there saw the mother with the healthy and beautiful child. The old
maiden chided them for the cream and for permitting the woman to lie
in the cow-shed, and was on the point of departing, but noticing the
child, was moved to pity, and afterward consented to stand godmother
to the child. She baptized the child, and in pity for her
god-daughter, furnished her with milk, gave the mother some money,
and the babe thrived. Wherefore the old maidens called it "the saved
one."

The child was three years old when the mother fell ill and died. She
was a great burden to her grandmother, so the old maidens adopted her.
The dark-eyed girl became unusually lively and pretty, and her
presence cheered them.

Of the two old maidens, the younger one--Sophia Ivanovna--was the
kindlier, while the older one--Maria Ivanovna--was of austere
disposition. Sophia Ivanovna kept the girl in decent clothes, taught
her to read and intended to give her an education. Maria Ivanovna said
that the girl ought to be taught to work that she might become a
useful servant, was exacting, punished, and even beat her when in bad
humor. Under such conditions the girl grew up half servant, half lady.
Her position was reflected even in her name, for she was not called by
the gentle Katinka, nor yet by the disdainful Katka, but Katiousha,
which stands sentimentally between the two. She sewed, cleaned the
rooms, cleaned the ikons with chalk, ground, cooked and served coffee,
washed, and sometimes she read for the ladies.

She was wooed, but would marry no one, feeling that life with any one
of her wooers would be hard, spoiled, as she was, more or less, by the
comparative ease she enjoyed in the manor.

She had just passed her sixteenth year when the ladies were visited by
their nephew, a rich student, and Katiousha, without daring to confess
it to him, or even to herself, fell in love with him. Two years
afterward, while on his way to the war, he again visited his aunts,
and during his four days' stay, consummated her ruin. Before his
departure he thrust a hundred ruble bill into her hand.

Thenceforward life ceased to have any charms for her, and her only
thought was to escape the shame which awaited her, and not only did
she become lax in her duties, but--and she did not know herself how it
happened--all of a sudden she gave vent to her ill temper. She said
some rude things to the ladies, of which she afterward repented, and
left them.

Dissatisfied with her behavior, they did not detain her. She then
obtained employment as servant in the house of the commissary of rural
police, but was obliged to give up the position at the end of the
third month, for the commissary, a fifty-year old man, pursued her
with his attentions, and when, on one occasion, he became too
persistent, she flared up, called him an old fool, and threw him to
the ground. Then she was driven from the house. She was now so far
advanced on the road to maternity that to look for a position was out
of the question. Hence she took lodgings with an old midwife, who was
also a wine dealer. The confinement came off painlessly. But the
midwife was attending a sick woman in the village, infected Katiousha
with puerperal fever, and the child, a boy, was taken to a foundling
asylum where, she was told, he died immediately after his arrival
there.

When Katiousha took lodgings with the midwife she had 127 rubles; 27
rubles of which she had earned, and 100 rubles which had been given
her by her seducer. When she left her she had but six rubles left. She
was not economical, and spent on herself as well as others. She paid
40 rubles to the midwife for two months' board; 25 rubles it cost her
to have the child taken away; 40 rubles the midwife borrowed of her to
buy a cow with; the balance was spent on dresses, presents, etc., so
that after the confinement she was practically penniless, and was
compelled to look for a position. She was soon installed in the house
of a forester who was married, and who, like the commissary, began to
pay court to her. His wife became aware of it, and when, on one
occasion, she found them both in the room, she fell on Katiousha and
began to beat her. The latter resented it, and the result was a
scrimmage, after which she was driven out of the house, without being
paid the wages due her. Katiousha went to the city, where she stopped
with her aunt. Her aunt's husband was a bookbinder. Formerly he used
to earn a competence, but had lost his customers, and was now given to
drink, spending everything that came into his hands.

With the aid of a small laundry she was keeping, her aunt supported
her children as well as her husband. She offered Maslova work as a
washerwoman, but seeing what a hard life the washerwomen at her
aunt's establishment were leading, she searched through the
intelligence offices for a position as servant. She found such a place
with a lady who was living with her two student boys. A week after she
had entered upon her duties, the oldest son neglected his studies and
made life miserable for Maslova. The mother threw all blame upon
Maslova and discharged her. She was some time without any occupation.
In one of these intelligence offices she once met a lady richly
dressed and adorned with diamonds. This lady, learning of the
condition of Maslova, who was looking for a position, gave her her
card and invited her to call. The lady received Maslova
affectionately, treated her to choice cakes and sweet wine, while she
dispatched her servant somewhere with a note. In the evening a tall
man with long hair just turning gray, and gray beard, came into the
room. The old man immediately seated himself beside Maslova and began
to jest. The hostess called him into an adjoining room, and Maslova
overheard her say: "As fresh as a rose; just from the country." Then
the hostess called in Maslova and told her that the man was an author,
very rich, _and will be very generous if he takes a liking to her_. He
did take a liking to her, gave her twenty-five rubles, and promised to
call on her often. The money was soon spent in settling for her board
at her aunt's, for a new dress, hat and ribbons. A few days afterward
the author sent for her a second time. She called. He gave her another
twenty-five ruble bill and offered to rent apartments for her where
she could reside separately.

While living in the apartments rented by the author, Maslova became
infatuated with a jolly clerk living in the same house. She herself
told the author of her infatuation, and moved into a smaller
apartment. The clerk, who had promised to marry her, without saying
anything, left for Nijhni, evidently casting her off, and Maslova
remained alone. She wished to remain in the apartment, but the
landlord would not permit a single woman to occupy it, and she
returned to her aunt. Her fashionable dress, cape and hat won her the
respect of her aunt, who no longer dared to offer her work as a
washerwoman, considering her present position far above it. The
question of working in the laundry did not even occur to Maslova now.
She looked with compassion on the life of drudgery led by these pale,
emaciated washerwomen, some of whom showed symptoms of consumption,
washing and ironing in a stifling, steam-laden atmosphere with the
windows open summer and winter, and she was horrified at the thought
that she, too, might be driven to such drudgery.

Maslova had for a long time been addicted to cigarette smoking, but of
late she had been getting more and more accustomed to drink. The wine
attracted her, not because of its taste, but because it enabled her to
forget her past life, to comfort herself with ease, and the confidence
of her own worth that it gave her. Without wine she was despondent and
abashed. There was the choice of two things before her; either the
humiliating occupation of a servant, with the certain unwelcome
attentions of the men, or a secure, quiet and legitimatized position
of everybody's mistress. She wished to revenge herself on her seducer,
as well as the clerk, and all those that brought misfortune upon her.
Besides, she could not withstand the temptation of having all the
dresses her heart desired--dresses made of velvet, gauze and
silk--ball dresses, with open neck and short sleeves. And when Maslova
imagined herself in a bright yellow silk dress, with velvet trimmings,
decolette, she made her choice.

From this day on Maslova began to lead a life to which hundreds of
thousands of women are driven, and which, in nine cases out of ten,
ends in painful disease, premature decrepitude and death.

After a night's orgies there would come a deep slumber till three or
four o'clock in the afternoon; then the weary rising from a dirty
couch; seltzer-water to remove the effect of excessive drinking,
coffee. Then came the sauntering through the rooms in dressing-gown,
looking through the windows; the languid quarrels; then the perfuming
of her body and hair, the trying on of dresses, and the quarrels with
the mistress which they occasioned; contemplating herself in the
mirror, rouging her face, darkening her eyebrows. Then came the sweet,
rich food, the bright silk dress, the entry into the brightly lighted
parlor, the arrival of the guests, music, dancing, confectionery, wine
and cigarettes.

Thus Maslova lived for seven years. On the eighth, when she had
reached her twenty-sixth year, there happened that for which she had
been jailed, and for which she was now led to the court, after six
months of confinement among thieves and murderers.

CHAPTER III.

At the time when Maslova, exhausted by the long walk, was approaching
with the armed convoy the building in which court was held, the same
nephew of the ladies that brought her up, Prince Dmitri Ivanovitch
Nekhludoff, who deceived her, lay on his high, soft, spring
feather-bed, in spotless Holland linen, smoking a cigarette. He was
gazing before him, contemplating the events of the previous day and
considering what he had before him for that day. As he thought of the
previous evening, spent at the Korchagins, a wealthy and influential
family, whose daughter, rumor had it, he was to marry, he sighed, and
throwing away the butt of his cigarette, he was on the point of taking
another from the silver cigarette holder, but changed his mind. Half
rising, he slipped his smooth, white feet into the slippers, threw a
silk morning gown over his broad shoulders, and with quick and heavy
stride, walked into the adjoining dressing-room, which was permeated
with the artificial odors of elixirs, perfumes, cosmetics. There he
washed his partly gold-filled teeth with a tooth-powder, rinsed them
with a perfumed mouth-wash, then began to sponge himself and dry his
body with Turkish towels. After washing his hands with perfumed soap,
carefully brushing his trimmed nails and washing his face and stout
neck in a marble basin, he walked into a third room, where a
shower-bath was ready. Here he received a cold-water douche, and after
rubbing his white and muscular body with coarse towels and donning his
white linen, he seated himself before the mirror and began to brush
his short, curly beard and the thinning curls of his forehead.

Everything used by him--the linen, clothing, shoes, scarfs,
scarf-pins, cuff-buttons, were of the very best quality, simple,
tasteful and expensive.

He then picked out the first of a dozen scarfs and pins that came into
his hand--it was no more novel and amusing, as it used to be--and he
was quite indifferent as to which he put on. He dressed himself in his
brushed clothes which lay on the chair and went out, though not quite
refreshed, yet clean and fragrant. In the oblong dining-room, the
inlaid floor of which had been polished by three of his men the day
before, and containing a massive oaken sideboard and a similar
extension table, the legs of which were carved in the shape of lion's
paws, giving it a pompous appearance, breakfast stood ready for him. A
fine, starched cloth with large monograms was spread on the table, on
which stood a silver coffee-pot, containing fragrant, steaming coffee,
a sugar bowl and cream pitcher to match, fresh rolls and various kinds
of biscuits. Beside them lay the last number of the "Revue des deux
Mondes," newspapers and his mail. Nekhludoff was about to open the
letters, when a middle-aged woman, with a lace head-gear over her
unevenly parted hair, glided into the room. This was Agrippina
Petrovna, servant of his mother, who died in this very house. She was
now stewardess to the son.

Agrippina Petrovna had traveled many years abroad with Nekhludoff's
mother, and had acquired the manners of a lady. She had lived in the
house of the Nekhludoffs since childhood, and knew Dmitri Ivanovitch
when he was called by the diminutive Mitenka.

"Good-morning, Dmitri Ivanovitch."

"How do you do, Agrippina Petrovna? What's the news?" asked
Nekhludoff, jesting.

"A letter from the old Princess, or the young one, perhaps. The maid
brought it long ago, and is now waiting in my room," said Agrippina
Petrovna, handing him the letter with a significant smile.

"Very well; I will attend to it immediately," said Nekhludoff, taking
the letter and then, noticing the smile on Agrippina's face, he
frowned.

The smile on Agrippina's face signified that the letter came from
Princess Korchagin, whom, according to Agrippina Petrovna, he was to
marry. And this supposition, expressed by her smile, displeased
Nekhludoff.

"Then I will bid her wait," and Agrippina Petrovna glided out of the
dining-room, first replacing the crumb-brush, which lay on the table,
in its holder.

Nekhludoff opened the perfumed letter and began to read:

"In fulfillment of the duty I assumed of being your memory,"
the letter ran, "I call to your mind that you have been
summoned to serve as juror to-day, the 28th of April, and
that, therefore, you cannot accompany us and Kolosoff to the
art exhibition, as you promised yesterday in your customary
forgetfulness; a moins que vous ne soyez dispose a payer a
la cour d'assises les 300 rubles d'amende que vous vous
refusez pour votre cheval, for your failure to appear in
time. I remembered it yesterday, when you had left. So keep
it in mind.

"PRINCESS M. KORCHAGIN."

On the other side was a postscript:

"Maman vous fait dire que votre couvert vous attendra jusqu'
a la nuit. Venez absolument a quelle heure que cela soit. M. K."

Nekhludoff knit his brows. The note was the continuation of a skillful
strategem whereby the Princess sought, for the last two months, to
fasten him with invisible bonds. But Nekhludoff, besides the usual
irresoluteness before marriage of people of his age, and who are not
passionately in love, had an important reason for withholding his
offer of marriage for the time being. The reason was not that ten
years before he had ruined and abandoned Katiousha, which incident he
had entirely forgotten, but that at this very time he was sustaining
relations with a married woman, and though he now considered them at
an end, they were not so considered by her.

In the presence of women, Nekhludoff was very shy, but it was this
very shyness that determined the married woman to conquer him. This
woman was the wife of the commander of the district in which
Nekhludoff was one of the electors. She led him into relations with
her which held him fast, and at the same time grew more and more
repulsive to him. At first Nekhludoff could not resist her wiles,
then, feeling himself at fault, he could not break off the relations
against her will. This was the reason why Nekhludoff considered that
he had no right, even if he desired, to ask for the hand of Korchagin.
A letter from the husband of that woman happened to lay on the table.
Recognizing the handwriting and the stamp, Nekhludoff flushed and
immediately felt an influx of that energy which he always experienced
in the face of danger. But there was no cause for his agitation; the
husband, as commander of the district where Nekhludoff's estates were
situated, informed the latter of a special meeting of the local
governing body, and asked him to be present without fail, and donner
un coup d'epaule in the important measures to be submitted concerning
the schools and roads, and that the reactionary party was expected to
offer strong opposition.

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