"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, car
essing 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, slapped him on the shoulder, and said: "I say, old fellow, is it true that Karmanoff wishes to exchange?"
Bousovkin's kindly, gentle face turned suddenly sad and a veil seemed to dim his eyes.
"We have heard nothing--hardly," he said, and with the same dimness still over his eyes he turned to the child.
"Well, Aksutka, it seems you're to make yourself comfortable with the ladies," and he hurried away.
"It's true about the exchange, and he knows it very well," said
Nabatoff.
"What are you going to do?"
"I shall tell the authorities in the next town. I know both prisoners by sight," said Nekhludoff.
All were silent, fearing a recommencement of the dispute.
Simonson, who had been lying with his arms thrown back behind his head, and not speaking, rose, and determinately walked up to Nekhludoff, carefully passing round those who were sitting.
"Could you listen to me now?"
"Of course," and Nekhludoff rose and followed him.
Katusha looked up with an expression of suspense, and meeting
Nekhludoff's eyes, she blushed and shook her head.
"What I want to speak to you about is this," Simonson began, when they had come out into the passage. In the passage the din of the criminal's voices and shouts sounded louder. Nekhludoff made a face, but Simonson did not seem to take any notice.
"Knowing of your relations to Katerina Maslova," he began seriously and frankly, with his kind eyes looking straight into Nekhludoff's face, "I consider it my duty"--He was obliged to stop because two voices were heard disputing and shouting, both at once, close to the door.
"I tell you, blockhead, they are not mine," one voice shouted.
"May you choke, you devil," snorted the other.
At this moment Mary Pavlovna came out into the passage.
"How can one talk here?" she said; "go in, Vera is alone there," and she went in at the second door, and entered a tiny room, evidently meant for a solitary cell, which was now placed at the disposal of the political women prisoners, Vera Doukhova lay covered up, head and all, on the bed.
"She has got a headache, and is asleep, so she cannot hear you, and I will go away," said Mary Pavlovna.
"On the contrary, stay here," said Simonson; "I have no secrets from any one, certainly none from you."
"All right," said Mary Pavlovna, and moving her whole body from side to side, like a child, so as to get farther back on to the bed, she settled down to listen, her beautiful hazel eyes seeming to look somewhere far away.
"Well, then, this is my business," Simonson repeated. "Knowing of your relations to Katerina Maslova, I consider myself bound to explain to you my relations to her."
Nekhludoff could not help admiring the simplicity and truthfulness with which Simonson spoke to him.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I should like to marry Katerina Maslova--"
"How strange!" said Mary Pavlovna, fixing her eyes on Simonson.
"--And so I made up my mind to ask her to be my wife," Simonson continued.
"What can I do? It depends on her," said Nekhludoff.
"Yes; but she will not come to any decision without you."
"Why?"
"Because as long as your relations with her are unsettled she cannot make up her mind."
"As far as I am concerned, it is finally settled. I should like to do what I consider to be my duty and also to lighten her fate, but on no account would I wish to put any restraint on her."
"Yes, but she does not wish to accept your sacrifice."
"It is no sacrifice."
"And I know that this decision of hers is final."
"Well, then, there is no need to speak to me," said Nekhludoff.
"She wants you to acknowledge that you think as she does."
"How can I acknowledge that I must not do what I consider to be my duty? All I can say is that I am not free, but she is."
Simonson was silent; then, after thinking a little, he said: "Very well, then, I'll tell her. You must not think I am in love with her," he continued; "I love her as a splendid, unique, human being who has suffered much. I want nothing from her. I have only an awful longing to help her, to lighten her posi--"
Nekhludoff was surprised to hear the trembling in Simonson's voice.
"--To lighten her position," Simonson continued. "If she does not wish to accept your help, let her accept mine. If she consents, I shall ask to be sent to the place where she will be imprisoned. Four years are not an eternity. I would live near her, and perhaps might lighten her fate--" and he again stopped, too agitated to continue.
"What am I to say?" said Nekhludoff. "I am very glad she has found such a protector as you--"
"That's what I wanted to know," Simonson interrupted.
"I wanted to know if, loving her and wishing her happiness, you would consider it good for her to marry me?"
"Oh, yes," said Nekhludoff decidedly.
"It all depends on her; I only wish that this suffering soul should find rest," said Simonson, with such childlike tenderness as no one could have expected from so morose-looking a man.
Simonson rose, and stretching his lips out to Nekhludoff, smiled shyly and kissed him.
"So I shall tell her," and he went away.
CHAPTER XVII.
"I HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY."
"What do you think of that?" said Mary Pavlovna. "In love--quite in love. Now, that's a thing I never should have expected, that Valdemar Simonson should be in love, and in the silliest, most boyish manner. It is strange, and, to say the truth, it is sad," and she sighed.
"But she? Katusha? How does she look at it, do you think?"
Nekhludoff asked.
"She?" Mary Pavlovna waited, evidently wishing to give as exact an answer as possible. "She? Well, you see, in spite of her past she has one of the most moral natures--and such fine feelings. She loves you--loves you well, and is happy to be able to do you even the negative good of not letting you get entangled with her. Marriage with you would be a terrible fall for her, worse than all that's past, and therefore she will never consent to it. And yet your presence troubles her."
"Well, what am I to do? Ought I to vanish?"
Mary Pavlovna smiled her sweet, childlike smile, and said, "Yes, partly."
"How is one to vanish partly?"
"I am talking nonsense. But as for her, I should like to tell you that she probably sees the silliness of this rapturous kind of love (he has not spoken to her), and is both flattered and afraid of it. I am not competent to judge in such affairs, you know, still I believe that on his part it is the most ordinary man's feeling, though it is masked. He says that this love arouses his energy and is Platonic, but I know that even if it is exceptional, still at the bottom it is degrading."
Mary Pavlovna had wandered from the subject, having started on her favourite theme.
"Well, but what am I to do?" Nekhludoff asked.
"I think you should tell her everything; it is always best that everything should be clear. Have a talk with her; I shall call her. Shall I?" said Mary Pavlovna.
"If you please," said Nekhludoff, and Mary Pavlovna went.
A strange feeling overcame Nekhludoff when he was alone in the little room with the sleeping Vera Doukhova, listening to her soft breathing, broken now and then by moans, and to the incessant dirt that came through the two doors that separated him from the criminals. What Simonson had told him freed him from the self-imposed duty, which had seemed hard and strange to him in his weak moments, and yet now he felt something that was not merely unpleasant but painful.
He had a feeling that this offer of Simonson's des
troyed the exceptional character of his sacrifice, and thereby lessened its value in his own and others' eyes; if so good a man who was not bound to her by any kind of tie wanted to join his fate to hers, then this sacrifice was not so great. There may have also been an admixture of ordinary jealousy. He had got so used to her love that he did not like to admit that she loved another.
Then it also upset the plans he had formed of living near her while she was doing her term. If she married Simonson his presence would be unnecessary, and he would have to form new plans.
Before he had time to analyse his feelings the loud din of the prisoners' voices came in with a rush (something special was going on among them to-day) as the door opened to let Katusha in.
She stepped briskly close up to him and said, "Mary Pavlovna has sent me."
"Yes, I must have a talk with you. Sit down. Valdemar Simonson has been speaking to me."
She sat down and folded her hands in her lap and seemed quite calm, but hardly had Nekhludoff uttered Simonson's name when she flushed crimson.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"He told me he wanted to marry you."
Her face suddenly puckered up with pain, but she said nothing and only cast down her eyes.
"He is asking for my consent or my advice. I told him that it all depends entirely on you--that you must decide."
"Ah, what does it all mean? Why?" she muttered, and looked in his eyes with that peculiar squint that always strangely affected Nekhludoff.
They sat silent for a few minutes looking into each other's eyes, and this look told much to both of them.
"You must decide," Nekhludoff repeated.
"What am I to decide? Everything has long been decided."
"No; you must decide whether you will accept Mr. Simonson's offer," said Nekhludoff.
"What sort of a wife can I be--I, a convict? Why should I ruin
Mr. Simonson, too?" she said, with a frown.
"Well, but if the sentence should be mitigated."
"Oh, leave me alone. I have nothing more to say," she said, and rose to leave the room.
CHAPTER XVIII.
NEVEROFF'S FATE.