The Awakening (Illustrated Edition) E-Book

Lev Tolstoj

• Herausgeber: Bauer Books
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Tolstoy is equally known for his complicated and paradoxical persona and for his extreme moralistic and ascetic views, which he adopted after a moral crisis and spiritual awakening in the 1870s, after which he also became noted as a moral thinker and social reformer.

Leseprobe

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Table of contents

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 blueedged 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. “Take her.” “Good-morning, Dmitri Ivanovitch.” “How do you do, Agrippina Petrovna? What’s the news?” asked Nekhludoff, jesting. Nekhludoff opened the perfumed letter and began to read: “Princess M. Korchagin.” On the other side was a postscript: “Maman vous fait dire que votre couvert vous attendra jusqu’ à la nuit. Venez absolument à quelle heure que cela soit. M. K.” The commander was a liberal-minded man, entirely absorbed with the struggles, and knew nothing about his wretched family life. For this reason the steward’s letter was disagreeable to him. CHAPTER IV. “Please send for a carriage.” “Yes, sir.” “And tell the Korchagins’ maid that I thank them; I will try to call.” “Yes, sir.” “It is impolite, but I cannot write. But I will see her to-day,” thought Nekhludoff, and started to dress himself. When he emerged from the house a carriage with rubber tires awaited him. And the consciousness that he could and must defer his decision pleased him. There was great commotion in the corridors of the court when Nekhludoff entered. “Where is the Circuit Court?” asked Nekhludoff of one of the attendants. “Which one? There is a civil division and a criminal one.” “I am a juror.” “Criminal division. You should have said so. This way, to the right, then turn to your left. The second door.” Nekhludoff went as directed. “Here, sir, here. Are you also one of the jurymen?” mirthfully winking his eyes, the good-natured merchant asked. “He is a most ingenious attorney,” he said. Although Nekhludoff arrived late, there was a long wait before him, which was caused by the failure of one of the judges to appear. CHAPTER VI. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “Matvei Nikitich is late again,” said the newcomer, with an air of displeasure. The secretary entered and handed the presiding justice a document. “Thank you,” he said, and lighted a cigarette. “Which case shall be taken up first?” “The poison case, I think,” the secretary answered, with feigned indifference. “Not yet.” “Is Breae here?” “Yes,” answered the secretary. “Michael Petrovich desires to know if you are ready,” said the secretary. “Certainly; I am always ready,” said the assistant prosecutor; “which is the first case?” “The poisoning case.” “And what about the Skoptzy?”[A] “But you don’t need——” “I cannot,” said the assistant prosecutor, and waving his hand, ran to his office. “How can it be? Great heavens! I don’t understand it!” The lawyer did not listen to her, but looked at the flowers on her hat, making mental calculations. “Never mind your expressions of devotion,” and brushed past the crowd. FOOTNOTES: [A] A sect of eunuchs. CHAPTER VII. “Are you all here, gentlemen?” he asked, putting on his pince-nez and looking through it. “I think so,” said the cheerful merchant. “Counsilor of State E. M. Nikiforoff.” “Here,” said the portly gentleman, who was familiar with all the litigations. “Retired Colonel Ivan Semionovich Ivanoff.” “Present,” answered a lank man in the uniform of a retired officer. “Merchant of the second guild, Peter Baklashoff.” “Here,” said the good-natured merchant, smiling from ear to ear. “We are ready.” “Lieutenant of the Guards, Prince Dmitri Nekhludoff.” “Captain Uri Dmitrievich Danchenko; merchant Gregory Ephimovich Kouleshoff,” etc., etc., etc. There were but two missing from the panel. “You will now, gentlemen, walk into the court,” said the usher, pointing to the door with a polite sweep of the hand. They all rose from their seats, and passing each other through the door, made their way through the corridor to the court-room. Soon after the jurymen came the usher, who, walking sidewise to the middle of the room, shouted, as if he meant to frighten those present: “So that, it seems, we will have to dine at an inn,” said the brotherin-law, laughing. “What is there droll about it?” said the gloomy member of the court, and sank into a still deeper gloom. The third prisoner was Maslova. The presiding justice waited until all the prisoners took their places, and as soon as Maslova was seated, he turned to the secretary. The jury rose and, crowding each other, came forward. After he had finished the instructions, the presiding justice turned to the prisoners. “Simon Kartinkin, rise!” he said. Simon sprang up nervously. The muscles of his cheeks began to twitch still quicker. “What is your name?” “Simon Petroff Kartinkin,” he said quickly, in a sharp voice, evidently prepared for the question. “What estate?” “Peasant.” “What government, district?” “Government of Tula, district of Krapivensk, Kupian township, village of Borki.” “How old are you?” “Thirty-four; born in eighteen hundred——” “What faith?” “Of the Russian orthodox faith.” “Are you married?” “O, no!” “What is your occupation?” “I was employed in the Hotel Mauritania.” “Were you ever arrested before?” “I was never arrested before, because where I lived——” “You were not arrested?” “God forbid! Never!” “Have you received a copy of the indictment?” “Yes.” “Sit down. Euphemia Ivanovna Bochkova!” The presiding justice turned to the next prisoner. But Simon remained standing in front of Bochkova. “Kartinkin, sit down!” Kartinkin still remained standing. “Kartinkin, sit down!” But Kartinkin stood still until the usher, his head leaning to the side, and with wide-open eyes, whispered to him in a tragic tone: “Sit down, sit down!” Kartinkin sat down as quickly as he rose, and wrapping himself in his coat began to move his cheeks. “Yes, Bochkova, Euphemia, have received a copy, and am proud of it, and will permit no one to laugh at me.” Without waiting to be told to sit down, Bochkova sat down immediately after the questioning ceased. “What are you called?” “They used to call me Lubka,” she answered, rapidly. Meanwhile Nekhludoff put on his pince-nez and examined the prisoners while they were questioned. “It is impossible,” he thought, looking intently at the prisoner. “But her name is Lubka,” he thought, as he heard her answer. “You say ‘Lubka,’ but a different name is entered here.” The prisoner was silent. “I ask you what is your real name?” “What name did you receive at baptism?” asked the angry member. “Formerly I was called Katherine.” “You should have said so,” again very gently said the presiding justice. “What is your patronymic?” “I am illegitimate,” said Maslova. “But yet you were named after your godfather?” “Michailova.” “What crime could she have committed?” Nekhludoff thought meanwhile, his breath almost failing him. “What is your surname—your family name?” continued the presiding justice. “Maslova—after my mother.” “Your estate?” “Burgess.” “Of the orthodox faith?” “Yes.” “Your occupation? What was your occupation?” Maslova was silent. “What was your occupation?” repeated the justiciary. “You know!” said Maslova. She smiled and quickly glanced around, then looked squarely at the justiciary. “Were you ever arrested?” “No.” Maslova said in an undertone, sighing. “Have you received a copy of the indictment?” “Yes.” The indictment read as follows: “The local police physician certified that the cause of death of said Smelkoff was rupture of the heart, caused by excessive use of liquor. “The body of Smelkoff was interred. At this point Maslova shuddered, and with open mouth looked at Bochkova. The indictment wound up as follows: “Simon Kartinkin,” he called, leaning to the left. Simon Kartinkin rose, put out his chest, incessantly moving his cheeks. “It is impossible, because our business is to attend the guests——” “You will speak afterwards. Are you guilty or not?” “No, indeed. I only——” “You can speak later. Do you admit that you are guilty?” calmly but firmly repeated the justiciary. “I cannot do it because——” Again the usher sprang toward Simon and with a tragic whisper stopped him. “You will speak afterwards,” again said the justiciary, with the same gentleness and firmness. “So you are not guilty?” “I did not take the money, did not give him the poison, did not go into the room. If I were in the room I should have thrown her out.” “You are not guilty, then?” “Never.” “Very well.” “I say I didn’t take anything but forty rubles.” “And do you plead guilty to the charge of giving the merchant Smelkoff powders in his wine?” Maslova, still looking straight at the justiciary, was silent. “Tell us what took place.” “What then?” “What then? Then I remained there awhile and went home.” At this point the assistant public prosecutor half rose from his seat, uncomfortably resting on one elbow. “Do you wish to question the prisoner?” asked the justiciary, and receiving an affirmative answer, motioned his assent. And having asked the question he pressed his lips and frowned. The justiciary repeated the question. Maslova looked with frightened eyes at the prosecutor. “With Simon? I was,” she said. “I would like to know now, what was the character of the acquaintance that existed between them. Have they met often?” “Then the prisoner denies that she had intimate relations with Kartinkin? Very well. I have no more questions to ask.” “What followed?” the justiciary continued. “And you went. Well, what else?” he asked. “In their presence I took four ten ruble bills,” she continued. “And while taking this money, did the prisoner see how much money there was?” asked the prosecutor. Maslova shuddered as soon as the prosecutor began to speak. She could not tell why, but she felt that he was her enemy. “I did not count it, but I saw that it was all hundred ruble bills.” “The prisoner saw hundred ruble bills. I have no other questions.” “Well, did you bring back the money?” asked the justiciary, looking at the clock. “I did.” “Well, what then?” “Then he again took me with him,” said Maslova. “And how did you give him the powder in the wine?” asked the justiciary. “How? Poured it into the wine and gave it to him.” “Why did you give it to him?” Without answering, she sighed deeply. After a short silence she said: “And how did you come by the ring?” asked the justiciary. “He presented it to me.” “When did he present it to you?” “I would like to know how long was the prisoner in the room with Smelkoff?” “I do not remember how long.” “And does the prisoner remember entering another part of the hotel after she had left Smelkoff?” Maslova was thinking. “To wait for a cabriolet.” “Was not Kartinkin in the room with the prisoner?” “He also came in.” “Why did he come in?” “There was the merchant’s feen-champagne left, and we drank it together.” “Oh, drank together. Very well.” “And did the prisoner have any conversation with Simon, and what was the subject of the conversation?” Maslova suddenly frowned, her face turned red, and she quickly answered: There was a short silence. “Have you anything else to say?” Nekhludoff walked into the jury-room and took a seat near the window. CHAPTER XII. Yes, it was Katiousha. The relations of Nekhludoff to Katiousha were the following: “You could not catch them.” Katiousha, her black eyes beaming with joy, ran toward him. They met and caught each others’ hands. “I did not know there was a ditch,” he said, also smiling, and still keeping her hand in his. She uttered an exclamation, and with a swift movement, releasing her hand, she ran in the direction of the crowd. “Good-by, Katiousha. I thank you for everything,” he said, over the cap of Sophia Ivanovna, and seated himself in the cabriolet. He was in this condition when, three years afterward, he visited his aunts. CHAPTER XIV. “How do you do, Dmitri Ivanovich?” she said, with difficulty, her face becoming flushed. In answer to this she only smiled and left the room. FOOTNOTES: [B] Diminutive of Maria. [C] Diminutive of Sophia. That morning service formed the brightest and most impressive reminiscence of Nekhludoff’s after life. “Auntie said that she would receive the sacrament after mass.” “I know it,” she said, smiling. No sooner did she catch sight of him over the heads of those in front of her, than her face brightened up. “Yes, yes, darling; it is right; everything is beautiful. I love you.” As they descended the stairs he came near her. He did not wish to kiss her, but merely wished to be by her side. “He has risen, indeed,” answered Nekhludoff, and they kissed each other. He turned to look at Katiousha. She flushed and at the same moment approached him. “Christ has risen, Dmitri Ivanovich.” “Is it you, Katiousha? Come in,” he said, rising. She opened the door. “You are wanted to breakfast,” she said. She was in the same white dress, but without the bow in her hair. As she looked in his eyes she brightened up, as if she had announced something unusually pleasant. “I shall come immediately,” he answered, taking a comb to rearrange his hair. “What a fool I am!” Nekhludoff said to himself. “Why did I not detain her?” And he ran after her. “Wait, Katiousha,” he said. She looked around. “What is it?” she said, stopping. “Nothing. I only——” She stopped and looked in his eyes. “Don’t, Ivanovich, don’t,” she said, blushing until her eyes filled with tears. Then with her rough, strong hands she removed his arm. PRINCE NEKHLUDOFF. CHAPTER XVIII. “I came to bid you farewell,” he said, crumpling an envelope containing a hundred ruble bill. “How is——” She suspected it, frowned, shook her head and thrust aside his hand. “Yes, take it,” he murmured, thrusting the envelope in the bosom of her waist, and, as if it had burned his fingers, he ran to his room. The cheerful merchant evidently sympathized with Merchant Smelkoff’s manner of passing his time. “Well, well! He went on his spree just like a Siberian! Seems to have known a good thing when he saw it. What a beauty!” The prisoners, who had also been removed from the court, were brought in again. Such mingled feelings filled Nekhludoff’s breast as he sat listening to the examination of the witnesses. FOOTNOTES: [E] A contemptuous diminutive of Liuba. Tr. CHAPTER XX. The external examination disclosed: 1. The height of Therapout Smelkoff was six feet five inches. “But what a huge fellow,” the merchant whispered in Nekhludoff’s ear with solicitude. 2. From external appearances he seemed to be about forty years of age. 3. The body had a swollen appearance. 4. The color of the pall was green, streaked with dark spots. 7. The eyes came out of their orbits, and the pupils were dull. 8. A frothy, serous fluid flowed continuously from the cavity of the mouth, the nostrils and ears. The mouth was half open. 9. The neck almost disappeared in the swelling of the face and breast, et cetera, et cetera. The internal examination disclosed: “He must have drank like a fish,” again whispered the awakened merchant. “I suppose it is superfluous to read the record of the examination of the intestines.” The associate with the long beard and kind, drooping eyes, who was suffering from catarrh, feeling very weak, turned to the justiciary: “1. The right lung and heart (contained in a five-pound glass vial). “2. The contents of the stomach (contained in a five-pound glass vial). “3. The stomach itself (contained in a five-pound glass vial). “4. The kidneys, liver and spleen (contained in a two-and-a-halfpound glass vial). “5. The entrails (contained in a five-pound earthen jar).” “The Court finds the reading of the report superfluous,” he said. The secretary closed reading and gathered up his papers, while the prosecutor angrily began to make notes. “The gentlemen of the jury may now view the exhibits,” said the justiciary. “What an awful blockhead!” said the stern associate. The prosecutor, growling, began to make notes, and shrugged his shoulders in contemptuous surprise. The prisoners were then allowed to make any statements they wished in their behalf. “Do what you please with me, only it is all for nothing.” “What is the matter?” asked the merchant of Nekhludoff, hearing a strange sound escaping the latter’s lips. It was a suppressed sob. “The girl is not guilty, she was confused,” said the kind-hearted merchant. “That is what we are going to consider,” retorted the foreman. “We must not yield to our personal impressions.” “The judge’s summing up was good,” said the colonel. “Do you call it good? It nearly sent me to sleep.” “So you think that she stole it?” asked one of the jury. “I will never believe that,” shouted the kind-hearted merchant. “It is all the work of that red-eyed wench.” “They are all alike,” said the colonel. “But she said that she did not go into the room.” “Do you believe her more than the other? I should never believe that worthless woman.” “That does not decide the question,” said the clerk. “She had the key.” “What if she had?” answered the merchant. “And the ring?” “That is not the point,” interrupted Peter Gerasimovich. “The question is, Was she the instigator, or were the servants?” “The servants could not have done it without her. She had the key.” This incoherent conversation lasted for a long time. As a case in point the colonel related the bolder theft of a silver . “Gentlemen, let us take up the questions,” said the foreman, rapping on the table with a pencil. They became silent. The questions submitted were: 2. Is the burgess Euphemia Ivanovna Bochkova, forty-seven years of age, guilty of the crime mentioned in the first question? 3. Is the burgess Katherine Michaelovna Maslova, twenty-seven years of age, guilty of the crime mentioned in the first question? The foreman read the first question. “Well, gentlemen, what do you think?” “Of course, of course,” the merchant came to his support. “She could not have taken the money because she would have nowhere to hide it.” “That is what I said,” the merchant encouraged him. “But she thought that it was opium,” said the merchant. “Some people get so accustomed to opium,” he began, “that they can take forty drops at a time. A relative of mine——” But the colonel would brook no interruption, and went on to tell of the effect of the opium on his brother-in-law’s wife. “It is five o’clock, gentlemen,” said one of the jury. Peter Gerasimovich, pleased with the victory he had gained, agreed to the verdict. “And we recommend her to the mercy of the court,” added the merchant. Every one agreed except the laborer, who insisted on a verdict of “Not guilty.” They rang the bell. The gendarme sheathed his sword and stood aside. The judges, one by one, took their seats and the jury filed out. “What do you think?” he asked the kind associate. “I agree with you.” “And you?” he asked the choleric associate. The justiciary looked at the clock. “It is a pity, but what can I do?” and he handed the questions to the foreman. “The court will retire to consider their decision,” said the justiciary, rising. Everybody then rose, and, with a relieved and pleasant feeling of having fulfilled an important duty, walked around the court-room. “Is it possible?” exclaimed Nekhludoff, taking no notice at all this time of the unpleasant familiarity of the tutor. “But that was our verdict,” said the foreman. “But I read the questions before we left the room,” the foreman justified himself, “and no one objected.” “I was leaving the room at the time,” said Peter Gerasimovitch. “But how did you come to miss it?” “I did not think of it,” answered Nekhludoff.