Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

life been ruined for?” said the aunt. “What is especially painful to me is that I am the involuntary cause of it.”

“She will recover in the country, with God’s help,” said the mother. “We shall send her to her father.”

“Yes, if it were not for you she would have perished altogether,” said the aunt. “Thank you. But what I wished to see you for is this: I wished to ask you to take a letter to Véra Doúkhova,” and she got the letter out of her pocket.

“The letter is not closed; you may read and tear it up, or hand it to her, according to how far it coincides with your principles,” she said. “It contains nothing compromising.”

Nekhlúdoff took the letter, and, having promised to give it to Véra Doúkhova, he took his leave and went away. He sealed the letter without reading it, meaning to take it to its destination.

XXVII

The last thing that kept Nekhlúdoff in Petersburg was the case of the sectarians, whose petition he intended to get his former fellow-officer, Aide-de-camp Bogotyréff, to hand to the Tsar. He came to Bogotyréff in the morning, and found him about to go out, though still at breakfast. Bogotyréff was not tall, but firmly built and wonderfully strong (he could bend a horseshoe), a kind, honest, straight, and even liberal man. In spite of these qualities, he was intimate at Court, and very fond of the Tsar and his family, and by some strange method he managed, while living in that highest circle, to see nothing but the good in it and to take no part in the evil and corruption. He never condemned anybody nor any measure, and either kept silent or spoke in a bold, loud voice, almost shouting what he had to say, and often laughing in the same boisterous manner. And he did not do it for diplomatic reasons, but because such was his character.

“Ah, that’s right that you have come. Would you like some breakfast? Sit down, the beefsteaks are fine! I always begin with something substantial⁠—begin and finish, too. Ha! ha! ha! Well, then, have a glass of wine,” he shouted, pointing to a decanter of claret. “I have been thinking of you. I will hand on the petition. I shall put it into his own hands. You may count on that, only it occurred to me that it would be best for you to call on Toporóff.”

Nekhlúdoff made a wry face at the mention of Toporóff.

“It all depends on him. He will be consulted, anyhow. And perhaps he may himself meet your wishes.”

“If you advise it I shall go.”

“That’s right. Well, and how does Petersburg agree with you?” shouted Bogotyréff. “Tell me. Eh?”

“I feel myself getting hypnotised,” replied Nekhlúdoff.

“Hypnotised!” Bogotyréff repeated, and burst out laughing. “You won’t have anything? Well, just as you please,” and he wiped his moustaches with his napkin. “Then you’ll go? Eh? If he does not do it, give the petition to me, and I shall hand it on tomorrow.” Shouting these words, he rose, crossed himself just as naturally as he had wiped his mouth, and began buckling on his sword.

“And now goodbye; I must go. We are both going out,” said Nekhlúdoff, and shaking Bogotyréff’s strong, broad hand, and with the sense of pleasure which the impression of something healthy and unconsciously fresh always gave him, Nekhlúdoff parted from Bogotyréff on the doorsteps.

Though he expected no good result from his visit, still Nekhlúdoff, following Bogotyréff’s advice, went to see Toporóff, on whom the sectarians’ fate depended.

The position occupied by Toporóff, involving as it did an incongruity of purpose, could only be held by a dull man devoid of moral sensibility. Toporóff possessed both these negative qualities. The incongruity of the position he occupied was this. It was his duty to keep up and to defend, by external measures, not excluding violence, that Church which, by its own declaration, was established by God Himself and could not be shaken by the gates of hell nor by anything human. This divine and immutable God-established institution had to be sustained and defended by a human institution⁠—the Holy Synod, managed by Toporóff and his officials. Toporóff did not see this contradiction, nor did he wish to see it, and he was therefore much concerned lest some Romish priest, some pastor, or some sectarian should destroy that Church which the gates of hell could not conquer.

Toporóff, like all those who are quite destitute of the fundamental religious feeling that recognises the equality and brotherhood of men, was fully convinced that the common people were creatures entirely different from himself, and that the people needed what he could very well do without, for at the bottom of his heart he believed in nothing, and found such a state very convenient and pleasant. Yet he feared lest the people might also come to such a state, and looked upon it as his sacred duty, as he called it, to save the people therefrom.

A certain cookery book declares that some crabs like to be boiled alive. In the same way he thought and spoke as if the people liked being kept in superstition; only he meant this in a literal sense, whereas the cookery book did not mean its words literally.

His feelings towards the religion he was keeping up were the same as those of the poultry-keeper towards the carrion he fed his fowls on. Carrion was very disgusting, but the fowls liked it; therefore it was right to feed the fowls on carrion. Of course all this worship of the images of the Iberian, Kazán and Smolénsk Mothers of God was a gross superstition, but the people liked it and believed in it, and therefore the superstition must be kept up.

Thus thought Toporóff, not considering that the people only liked superstition because there always have been, and still are, men like himself who, being enlightened, instead of using their light to help others to struggle out of their dark ignorance,