The Awakening Part 55

"What should the court do?" asked Nekhludoff.

"Sentence one of the duelists, as it would a common murderer, to hard labor."

Nekhludoff's hands again turned cold, and he continued with warmth:

"Well, what would be then?"

"Justice would be done."

"As if the aim of courts was to do justice!" said Nekhludoff.

"What else?"

"Their aim is to support cla.s.s interests. Courts, according to my idea, are only instruments for the perpetuation of conditions profitable to our cla.s.s."

"That is an entirely new view," said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, smiling calmly. "Usually somewhat different aims are ascribed to courts."

"In theory, but not in practice, as I have learned. The only aim of the courts is to preserve the existing state of things, and for this reason they persecute and kill all those who are above the common level and who wish to raise it as well as those who are below it."

"I cannot agree with the view that criminals are executed because they are above the level of the average. For the most part they are the excrescence of society, just as perverted, though in a different manner, as are those criminal types whom you consider below the level of the average."

"And I know people who are far above their judges."

But Ignatius Nikiforovitch, not accustomed to being interrupted when speaking, did not listen to Nekhludoff, which was particularly irritating to the latter, and continued to talk while Nekhludoff was talking.

"I cannot agree with you that the aim of courts is to support the existing order of things. The courts have their aims: either the correction----"

"Prisons are great places for correction," Nekhludoff put in.

"Or the removal," persistently continued Ignatius Nikiforovitch, "of those depraved and savage people who threaten the existence of society."

"That is just where the trouble is. Courts can do neither the one nor the other. Society has no means of doing it."

"How is that? I don't understand----" asked Ignatius Nikiforovitch, with a forced smile.

"I mean to say that there are only two sensible modes of punishment--those that have been used in olden times: corporal punishment and capital punishment. But with the advance of civilization they have gone out of existence."

"That is both new and surprising to hear from you."

"Yes, there is sense in inflicting pain on a man that he might not repeat that for which the pain was inflicted; and it is perfectly sensible to cut the head off a harmful and dangerous member of society. But what sense is there in imprisoning a man, who is depraved by idleness and bad example, and keeping him in secure and compulsory idleness in the society of the most depraved people? Or to transport him, for some reason, at an expense to the government of five hundred roubles, from the District of Tula to the District of Irkutsk, or from Kursk----"

"But people seem to fear these journeys at government expense. And were it not for these journeys, we would not be sitting here as we are sitting now."

"Prisons cannot secure our safety, because people are not imprisoned for life, but are released. On the contrary, these inst.i.tutions are the greatest breeders of vice and corruption--_i. e._, they increase the danger."

"You mean to say that the penitentiary system ought to be perfected?"

"It cannot be perfected. Perfected prisons would cost more than is spent on popular education and would be a new burden on the populace."

"But the deficiencies of the penitentiary system do not invalidate the judicial system," Ignatius Nikiforovitch again continued, without listening to his brother-in-law.

"These deficiencies cannot be corrected," said Nekhludoff, raising his voice.

"What then? Would you kill? Or, as a certain statesman suggested, pluck out their eyes?" said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, smiling triumphantly.

"Yes; that would be cruel, but expedient. What we are doing now is both cruel and inexpedient."

"And I am taking part in it," said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, paling.

"That is your business. But I do not understand it."

"I think there are many things you do not understand," said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, with a quiver in his voice.

"I saw a public prosecutor in court trying his utmost to convict an unfortunate boy, who could only arouse compa.s.sion in any unperverted man----"

"If I thought so, I should give up my position," said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, rising.

Nekhludoff noticed a peculiar glitter under his brother-in-law's eye-gla.s.ses. "Can it be tears?" thought Nekhludoff. They really were tears. Ignatius Nikiforovitch was offended. Going toward the window, he drew a handkerchief from his pocket, coughed, and began to wipe his eye-gla.s.ses, and, removing them, he also wiped his eyes. Returning to the couch, Ignatius Nikiforovitch lit a cigar and spoke no more.

Nekhludoff was pained and ashamed at the grief that he had caused his brother-in-law and sister, especially as he was leaving the next day and would not see them again. In great agitation he took leave of them and departed.

"It is quite possible that what I said was true. At any rate, he did not refute me. But it was wrong to speak that way. Little have I changed if I could insult him and grieve poor Natalie," he thought.

CHAPTER XXII.

The party of convicts, which included Maslova, was to leave on the three o'clock train, and in order to see them coming out of the prison and follow them to the railroad station Nekhludoff decided to get to the prison before twelve.

While packing his clothes and papers, Nekhludoff came across his diary and began to read the entry he had made before leaving for St.

Petersburg. "Katiusha does not desire my sacrifice, but is willing to sacrifice herself," it ran. "She has conquered, and I have conquered.

I am rejoicing at that inner change which she seems to me to be undergoing. I fear to believe it, but it appears to me that she is awakening." Immediately after this was the following entry: "I have lived through a very painful and very joyous experience. I was told that she had misbehaved in the hospital. It was very painful to hear it. Did not think it would so affect me. Have spoken to her with contempt and hatred, but suddenly remembered how often I myself have been guilty--am even now, although only in thought, of that for which I hated her, and suddenly I was seized with disgust for myself and pity for her, and I became very joyful. If we would only see in time the beam in our own eye, how much kinder we would be." Then he made the following entry for the day: "Have seen Katiusha, and, because of my self-content, was unkind and angry, and departed with a feeling of oppression. But what can I do? A new life begins to-morrow. Farewell to the old life! My mind is filled with numberless impressions, but I cannot yet reduce them to order."

On awakening the following morning, Nekhludoff's first feeling was one of sorrow for the unpleasant incident with his brother-in-law.

"I must go to see them," he thought, "and smooth it over."

But, looking at the clock, he saw that there was no time left, and that he must hasten to the prison to see the departure of the convicts. Hastily packing up his things and sending them to the depot, Nekhludoff hired a trap and drove to the prison.

The hot July days had set in. The stones of the street, the houses, and the tins of the roofs, failing to cool off during the suffocating night, exhaled their warmth into the hot, still air. There was no breeze, and such as rose every now and then was laden with dust and the stench of oil paint. The few people that were on the streets sought shelter in the shade of the houses. Only sun-burnt street-pavers in bast shoes were sitting in the middle of the street, setting boulders into the hot sand; gloomy policemen in unstarched blouses and carrying revolvers attached to yellow cords, were lazily shuffling about, and tram-cars with drawn blinds on the sides exposed to the sun, and drawn by white-hooded horses, were running up and down the street.

When Nekhludoff arrived at the prison, the formal delivery and acceptance of the departing convicts, which began at four in the morning, were still going on. The party consisted of six hundred and twenty-three men and sixty-four women; all had to be counted, the weak and sick had to be separated, and they were to be delivered to the convoy. The new inspector, two a.s.sistants, a physician, his a.s.sistant, the officer of the convoy and a clerk were sitting in the shade around a table with papers and doc.u.ments, calling and examining each convict and making entries in their books.

One-half of the table was already exposed to the sun. It was getting warm and close from want of air, and from the breathing of the convicts standing near by.

"Will there ever be an end?" said a tall, stout, red-faced captain of the convoy, incessantly smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke through the moustache which covered his mouth. "I am exhausted. Where have you taken so many? How many more are there?"