CHAPTER XLIX.
VERA DOUKHOVA.
"So this is what it means, this," thought Nekhludoff as he left
the prison, only now fully understanding his crime. If he had not
tried to expiate his guilt he would never have found out how
great his crime was. Nor was this all; she, too, would never have
felt the whole horror of what had been done to her. He only now
saw what he had done to the soul of this woman; only now she saw
and understood what had been done to her.
Up to this time Nekhludoff had played with a sensation of
self-admiration, had admired his own remorse; now he was simply
filled with horror. He knew he could not throw her up now, and
yet he could not imagine what would come of their relations to
one another.
Just as he was going out, a jailer, with a disagreeable,
insinuating countenance, and a cross and medals on his breast,
came up and handed him a note with an air of mystery.
"Here is a note from a certain person, your honour," he said to
Nekhludoff as he gave him the envelope.
"What person?"
"You will know when you read it. A political prisoner. I am in
that ward, so she asked me; and though it is against the rules,
still feelings of humanity--" The jailer spoke in an unnatural
manner.
Nekhludoff was surprised that a jailer of the ward where
political prisoners were kept should pass notes inside the very
prison walls, and almost within sight of every one; he did not
then know that this was both a jailer and a spy. However, he took
the note and read it on coming out of the prison.
The note was written in a bold hand, and ran as follows: Having
heard that you visit the prison, and are interested in the case
of a criminal prisoner, the desire of seeing you arose in me. Ask
for a permission to see me. I can give you a good deal of
information concerning your protegee, and also our group.--Yours
gratefully, VERA DOUKHOVA."
Vera Doukhova had been a school-teacher in an out-of-the-way
village of the Novgorod Government, where Nekhludoff and some
friends of his had once put up while bear hunting. Nekhludoff
gladly and vividly recalled those old days, and his acquaintance
with Doukhova. It was just before Lent, in an isolated spot, 40
miles from the railway. The hunt had been successful; two bears
had been killed; and the company were having dinner before
starting on their return journey, when the master of the hut
where they were putting up came in to say that the deacon's
daughter wanted to speak to Prince Nekhludoff. "Is she pretty?"
some one asked. "None of that, please," Nekhludoff said, and rose
with a serious look on his face. Wiping his mouth, and wondering
what the deacon's daughter might want of him, he went into the
host's private hut.
There he found a girl with a felt hat and a warm cloak on--a
sinewy, ugly girl; only her eyes with their arched brows were
beautiful.
"Here, miss, speak to him," said the old housewife; "this is the
prince himself. I shall go out meanwhile."
"In what way can I be of service to you?" Nekhludoff asked.
"I--I--I see you are throwing away your money on such
nonsense--on hunting," began the girl, in great confusion. "I
know--I only want one thing--to be of use to the people, and I
can do nothing because I know nothing--" Her eyes were so
truthful, so kind, and her expression of resoluteness and yet
bashfulness was so touching, that Nekhludoff, as it often
happened to him, suddenly felt as if he were in her position,
understood, and sympathised.
"What can I do, then?"
"I am a teacher, but should like to follow a course of study; and
I am not allowed to do so. That is, not that I am not allowed to;
they'd allow me to, but I have not got the means. Give them to
me, and when I have finished the course I shall repay you. I am
thinking the rich kill bears and give the peasants drink; all
this is bad. Why should they not do good? I only want 80 roubles.
But if you don't wish to, never mind," she added, gravely.
"On the contrary, I am very grateful to you for this opportunity.
. . I will bring it at once," said Nekhludoff.
He went out into the passage, and there met one of his comrades,
who had been overhearing his conversation. Paying no heed to his
chaffing, Nekhludoff got the money out of his bag and took it to
her.
"Oh, please, do not thank me; it is I who should thank you," he
said.
It was pleasant to remember all this now; pleasant to remember
that he had nearly had a quarrel with an officer who tried to
make an objectionable joke of it, and how another of his comrades
had taken his part, which led to a closer friendship between
them. How successful the whole of that hunting expedition had
been, and how happy he had felt when returning to the railway
station that night. The line of sledges, the horses in tandem,
glide quickly along the narrow road that lies through the forest,
now between high trees, now between low firs weighed down by the
snow, caked in heavy lumps on their branches. A red light flashes
in the dark, some one lights an aromatic cigarette. Joseph, a
bear driver, keeps running from sledge to sledge, up to his knees
in snow, and while putting things to rights he speaks about the
elk which are now going about on the deep snow and gnawing the
bark off the aspen trees, of the bears that are lying asleep in
their deep hidden dens, and his breath comes warm through the
opening in the sledge cover. All this came back to Nekhludoff's
mind; but, above all, the joyous sense of health, strength, and
freedom from care: the lungs breathing in the frosty air so
deeply that the fur cloak is drawn tightly on his chest, the fine
snow drops off the low branches on to his face, his body is warm,
his face feels fresh, and his soul is free from care,
self-reproach, fear, or desire. How beautiful it was. And now, O
God! what torment, what trouble!
Evidently Vera Doukhova was a revolutionist and imprisoned as
such. He must see her, especially as she promised to advise him
how to lighten Maslova's lot.
