THE AWAKENING.
"Shameful and stupid, horrid and shameful!" Nekhludoff kept saying to himself, as he walked home along the familiar streets. The depression he had felt whilst speaking to Missy would not leave him. He felt that, looking at it externally, as it were, he was in the right, for he had never said anything to her that could be considered binding, never made her an offer; but he knew that in reality he had bound himself to her, had promised to be hers. And yet to-day he felt with his whole being that he could not marry her.
"Shameful and horrid, horrid and shameful!" he repeated to himself, with reference not only to his relations with Missy but also to the rest. "Everything is horrid and shameful," he muttered, as he stepped into the porch of his house. "I am not going to have any supper," he said to his manservant Corney, who followed him into the dining-room, where the cloth was laid for supper and tea. "You may go."
"Yes, sir," said Corney, yet he did not go, but began clearing the supper off the table. Nekhludoff looked at Corney with a feeling of ill-will. He wished to be left alone, and it seemed to him that everybody was bothering him in order to spite him. When Corney had gone away with the supper things, Nekhludoff moved to the tea urn and was about to make himself some tea, but hearing Agraphena Petrovna's footsteps, he went hurriedly into the drawing-room, to avoid being seen by her, and shut the door after him. In this drawing-room his mother had died three months before. On entering the room, in which two lamps with reflectors were burning, one lighting up his father's and the other his mother's portrait, he remembered what his last relations with his mother had been. And they also seemed shameful and horrid. He remembered how, during the latter period of her illness, he had simply wished her to die. He had said to himself that he wished it for her sake, that she might be released from her suffering, but in reality he wished to be released from the sight of her sufferings for his own sake.
Trying to recall a pleasant image of her, he went up to look at her portrait, painted by a celebrated artist for 800 roubles. She was depicted in a very low-necked black velvet dress. There was something very revolting and blasphemous in this representation of his mother as a half-nude beauty. It was all the more disgusting because three months ago, in this very room, lay this same woman, dried up to a mummy. And he remembered how a few days before her death she clasped his hand with her bony, discoloured fingers, looked into his eyes, and said: "Do not judge me, Mitia, if I have not done what I should," and how the tears came into her eyes, grown pale with suffering.
"Ah, how horrid!" he said to himself, looking up once more at the half-naked woman, with the splendid marble shoulders and arms, and the triumphant smile on her lips. "Oh, how horrid!" The bared shoulders of the portrait reminded him of another, a young woman, whom he had seen exposed in the same way a few days before. It was Missy, who had devised an excuse for calling him into her room just as she was ready to go to a ball, so that he should see her in her ball dress. It was with disgust that he remembered her fine shoulders and arms. "And that father of hers, with his doubtful past and his cruelties, and the bel-esprit her mother, with her doubtful reputation." All this disgusted him, and also made him feel ashamed. "Shameful and horrid; horrid and shameful!"
"No, no," he thought; "freedom from all these false relations with the Korchagins and Mary Vasilievna and the inheritance and from all the rest must be got. Oh, to breathe freely, to go abroad, to Rome and work at my picture!" He remembered the doubts he had about his talent for art. "Well, never mind; only just to breathe freely. First Constantinople, then Rome. Only just to get through with this jury business, and arrange with the advocate first."
Then suddenly there arose in his mind an extremely vivid picture of a prisoner with black, slightly-squinting eyes, and how she began to cry when the last words of the prisoners had been heard; and he hurriedly put out his cigarette, pressing it into the ash-pan, lit another, and began pacing up and down the room. One after another the scenes he had lived through with her rose in his mind. He recalled that last interview with her. He remembered the white dress and blue sash, the early mass. "Why, I loved her, really loved her with a good, pure love, that night; I loved her even before: yes, I loved her when I lived with my aunts the first time and was writing my composition." And he remembered himself as he had been then. A breath of that freshness, youth and fulness of life seemed to touch him, and he grew painfully sad. The difference between what he had been then and what he was now, was enormous--just as great, if not greater than the difference between Katusha in church that night, and the prostitute who had been carousing with the merchant and whom they judged this morning. Then he was free and fearless, and innumerable possibilities lay ready to open before him; now he felt himself caught in the meshes of a stupid, empty, valueless, frivolous life, out of which he saw no means of extricating himself even if he wished to, which he hardly did. He remembered how proud he was at one time of his straightforwardness, how he had made a rule of always speaking the truth, and really had been truthful; and how he was now sunk deep in lies: in the most dreadful of lies--lies considered as the truth by all who surrounded him. And, as far as he could see, there was no way out of these lies. He had sunk in the mire, got used to it, indulged himself in it.
How was he to break off his relations with Mary Vasilievna and her husband in such a way as to be able to look him and his children in the eyes? How disentangle himself from Missy? How choose between the two opposites--the recognition that holding land was unjust and the heritage from his mother? How atone for his sin against Katusha? This last, at any rate, could not be left as it was. He could not abandon a woman he had loved, and satisfy himself by paying money to an advocate to save her from hard labour in Siberia. She had not even deserved hard labour. Atone for a fault by paying money? Had he not then, when he gave her the money, thought he was atoning for his fault?
And he clearly recalled to mind that moment when, having caught her up in the passage, he thrust the money into her bib and ran away. "Oh, that money!" he thought with the same horror and disgust he had then felt. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! how disgusting," he cried aloud as he had done then. "Only a scoundrel, a knave, could do such a thing. And I am that knave, that scoundrel!" He went on aloud: "But is it possible?"--he stopped and stood still--"is it possible that I am really a scoundrel? . . . Well, who but I?" he answered himself. "And then, is this the only thing?" he went on, convicting himself. "Was not my conduct towards Mary Vasilievna and her husband base and disgusting? And my position with regard to money? To use riches considered by me unlawful on the plea that they are inherited from my mother? And the whole of my idle, detestable life? And my conduct towards Katusha to crown all? Knave and scoundrel! Let men judge me as they like, I can deceive them; but myself I cannot deceive."
And, suddenly, he understood that the aversion he had lately, and particularly to-day, felt for everybody--the Prince and Sophia Vasilievna and Corney and Missy--was an aversion for himself. And, strange to say, in this acknowledgement of his baseness there was something painful yet joyful and quieting.
More than once in Nekhludoff's life there had been what he called a "cleansing of the soul." By "cleansing of the soul" he meant a state of mind in which, after a long period of sluggish inner life, a total cessation of its activity, he began to clear out all the rubbish that had accumulated in his soul, and was the cause of the cessation of the true life. His soul needed cleansing as a watch does. After such an awakening Nekhludoff always made some rules for himself which he meant to follow forever after, wrote his diary, and began afresh a life which he hoped never to change again. "Turning over a new leaf," he called it to himself in English. But each time the temptations of the world entrapped him, and without noticing it he fell again, often lower than before.
Thus he had several times in his life raised and cleansed himself. The first time this happened was during the summer he spent with his aunts; that was his most vital and rapturous awakening, and its effects had lasted some time. Another awakening was when he gave up civil service and joined the army at war time, ready to sacrifice his life. But here the choking-up process was soon accomplished. Then an awakening came when he left the army and went abroad, devoting himself to art.
From that time until this day a long period had elapsed without any cleansing, and therefore the discord between the demands of his conscience and the life he was leading was greater than it had ever been before. He was horror-struck when he saw how great the divergence was. It was so great and the defilement so complete that he despaired of the possibility of getting cleansed. "Have you not tried before to perfect yourself and become better, and nothing has come of it?" whispered the voice of the tempter within. "What is the use of trying any more? Are you the only one?--All are alike, such is life," whispered the voice. But the free spiritual being, which alone is true, alone powerful, alone eternal, had already awakened in Nekhludoff, and he could not but believe it. Enormous though the distance was between what he wished to be and what he was, nothing appeared insurmountable to the newly-awakened spiritual being.
"At any cost I will break this lie which binds me and confess everything, and will tell everybody the truth, and act the truth," he said resolutely, aloud. "I shall tell Missy the truth, tell her I am a profligate and cannot marry her, and have only uselessly upset her. I shall tell Mary Vasilievna. . . Oh, there is nothing to tell her. I shall tell her husband that I, scoundrel that I am, have been deceiving him. I shall dispose of the inheritance in such a way as to acknowledge the truth. I shall tell her, Katusha, that I am a scoundrel and have sinned towards her, and will do all I can to ease her lot. Yes, I will see her, and will ask her to forgive me.
"Yes, I will beg her pardon, as children do." . . . He stopped---"will marry her if necessary." He stopped again, folded his hands in front of his breast as he used to do when a little child, lifted his eyes, and said, addressing some one: "Lord, help me, teach me, come enter within me and purify me of all this abomination."
He prayed, asking God to help him, to enter into him and cleanse him; and what he was praying for had happened already: the God within him had awakened his consciousness. He felt himself one with Him, and therefore felt not only the freedom, fulness and joy of life, but all the power of righteousness. All, all the best that a man could do he felt capable of doing.
His eyes filled with tears as he was saying all this to himself, good and bad tears: good because they were tears of joy at the awakening of the spiritual being within him, the being which had been asleep all these years; and bad tears because they were tears of tenderness to himself at his own goodness.
He felt hot, and went to the window and opened it. The window opened into a garden. It was a moonlit, quiet, fresh night; a vehicle rattled past, and then all was still. The shadow of a tall poplar fell on the ground just opposite the window, and all the intricate pattern of its bare branches was clearly defined on the clean swept gravel. To the left the roof of a coach-house shone white in the moonlight, in front the black shadow of the garden wall was visible through the tangled branches of the trees.
Nekhludoff gazed at the roof, the moonlit garden, and the shadows of the poplar, and drank in the fresh, invigorating air.
"How delightful, how delightful; oh, God, how delightful" he said, meaning that which was going on in his soul.
“又可耻又可憎，又可憎又可耻，”聂赫留朵夫沿着熟悉的街道步行回家，一路上反复想着。刚才他同米西谈话时的沉重心情到现在始终没有消除。他觉得，表面上看来——如果可以这样说的话，——他对她并没有什么过错：他从没有对她说过什么对自己有约束力的话，也没有向她求过婚，但他觉得实际上他已经同她联系在一起，已经答应过她了。然而今天他从心里感觉到，他无法同她结婚。“又可耻又可憎，又可憎又可耻，”他反复对自己说，不仅指他同米西的关系，而且指所有的事。“一切都是又可憎又可耻，”他走到自己家的大门口，又暗自说了一遍。
“晚饭我不吃了，”他对跟着他走进餐厅（餐厅里已经准备好餐具和茶了）的侍仆柯尔尼说，“你去吧。”
“是，”柯尔尼说，但他没有走，却动手收拾桌上的东西。聂赫留朵夫瞧着柯尔尼，觉得他很讨厌。他希望谁也别来打扰他，让他安静一下，可是大家似乎都有意跟他作对，偏偏缠住他不放。等到柯尔尼拿着餐具走掉，聂赫留朵夫刚要走到茶炊旁去斟茶，忽然听见阿格拉芬娜的脚步声，他慌忙走到客厅里，随手关上门，免得同她见面。这个做客厅的房间就是三个月前他母亲去世的地方。这会儿，他走进这个灯光明亮的房间，看到那两盏装有反光镜的灯，一盏照着他父亲的画像，另一盏照着他母亲的画像，他不禁想起了他同母亲最后一段时间的关系。他觉得这关系是不自然的，令人憎恶的。这也是又可耻又可憎。他想到，在她害病的后期他简直巴不得她死掉。他对自己说，他这是希望她早日摆脱痛苦，其实是希望自己早日摆脱她，免得看见她那副痛苦的模样。
他存心唤一起自己对她美好的回忆，就瞧了瞧她的画像，那是花五千卢布请一位名家画成的。她穿着黑丝绒连衣裙，袒露着胸部。画家显然有意要充分描绘高一耸的胸部、双一乳一之间的肌肤和美丽迷人的肩膀和脖子。这可实在是又可耻又可憎。把他的母亲画成半一裸一美一女，这就带有令人难堪和亵渎的味道。尤其令人难堪的是，三个月前这女人就躺在这个房间里，她当时已干瘪得象一具木乃伊，却还散发出一股极难闻的味道。这股味道不仅充溢这个房间，而且弥漫在整座房子里，怎么也无法消除。他仿佛觉得至今还闻到那股味道。于是他想起，在她临终前一天，她用她那枯瘦发黑的手抓住他强壮白净的手，同时盯住他的眼睛说：“米哈伊尔，要是我有什么不对的地方，你不要责怪我，”说着她那双痛苦得失去光辉的眼睛里涌一出了泪水。“多么可憎！”他望了望那长着象大理石一般美丽的肩膀和胳膊、露出得意扬扬的笑容的半一裸一美一女，又一次自言自语。画像上袒露的胸部使他想起了另一个年轻得多的女人，几天前他看到她也这样一裸一露着胸部和肩膀。那个女人就是米西。那天晚上她找了一个借口把他叫去，为的是让他看看她去赴舞会时穿上舞会服装的模样。他想到她那白一嫩的肩膀和胳膊，不禁有点反感。此外还有她那个粗一鲁好色的父亲、他可耻的经历和残忍的行为，以及声名可疑的一爱一说俏皮话的母亲。这一切都很可憎，同时也很可耻。真是又可耻又可憎，又可憎又可耻。
“不行，不行，必须摆脱……必须摆脱同柯察金一家人和玛丽雅的虚伪关系，抛弃遗产，抛弃一切不合理的东西……
对，要自一由自在地生活。到国外去，到罗马去，去学绘画……”他想到他怀疑自己有这种才能。“哦，那也没关系，只要能自一由自在地生活就行。先到君士坦丁堡，再到罗马，但必须赶快辞去陪审员职务。还得同律师商量好这个案件。”
于是他的头脑里突然浮起了那个女犯的异常真切的影子，出现了她那双斜睨的乌黑眼睛。在被告最后陈述时，她哭得多么伤心！他匆匆把吸完的香烟在烟灰缸里捻灭，另外点上一支，开始在房间里来回踱步。于是，他同她一起度过的景象一幕又一幕地呈现在眼前。他想起他同她最后一次的相逢，想起当时支配他的兽一性一的欲一望，以及欲一望满足后的颓丧情绪。他想起了雪白的连衣裙和浅蓝色的腰带，想起了那次晨祷。“唉，我一爱一她，在那天夜里我对她确实怀着美好而纯洁的一爱一情，其实在这以前我已经一爱一上她了，还在我第一次住到姑一妈一家里，写我的论文时就深深地一爱一上她了！”于是他想起了当年他自己是个怎样的人。他浑身焕发着朝气，充满了青春的活力。想到这里他感到伤心极了。
当时的他和现在的他，实在相差太远了。这个差别，比起教堂里的卡秋莎和那个陪商人酗酒而今天上午受审的一妓一女之间的差别，即使不是更大，至少也一样大。当年他生气蓬勃，自一由自在，前途未可限量，如今他却觉得自己落在愚蠢、空虚、苟安、平庸的生活罗网里，看不到任何出路，甚至不想摆脱这样的束缚。他想起当年他以一性一格直爽自豪，立誓要永远说实话，并且恪守这个准则，可如今他完全掉进虚伪的泥淖里，掉进那种被他周围一切人认为真理的虚伪透顶的泥淖里。在这样的虚伪泥淖里没有任何出路，至少他看不到任何出路。他深陷在里面，越陷越深，不能自拔，甚至还扬扬自得。
怎样解决跟玛丽雅的关系，解决跟她丈夫的关系，使自己看到他和他孩子们的眼睛不至于害臊？怎样才能诚实地了结同米西的关系？他一面认为土地私有制不合理，一面又继承母亲遗下的领地，这个矛盾该怎样解决？怎样在卡秋莎面前赎自己的罪？总不能丢开她不管哪！“不能把一个我一爱一过的女人抛开不管，不能只限于出钱请律师，使她免除本来就不该服的苦役。不能用金钱赎罪，就象当年我给了她一笔钱，自以为尽了责任那样。”
于是他清清楚楚地回忆起当时的情景：他在走廊里追上她，把钱塞在她手里，就跑掉了。“哦，那笔钱！”他回想当时的情景，心里也象当时一样又恐惧又嫌恶。“唉，多么卑鄙！”他也象当时一样骂出声来。“只有流一氓，无赖，才干得出这种事来！我……我就是无赖，就是流一氓！”他大声说。“难道我真的是……”他停了停，“难道我真的是无赖吗？如果我不是无赖，那还有谁是呢？”他自问自答。“难道只有这一件事吗？”他继续揭发自己。“难道你同玛丽雅的关系，同她丈夫的关系就不卑鄙，不下流吗？还有你对财产的态度呢？你借口钱是你母亲遗留下来的，就享用你自己也认为不合理的财产。你的生活整个儿都是游手好闲、卑鄙无一耻的。而你对卡秋莎的行为可说是登峰造极了。无赖，流一氓！人家要怎样评判我就怎样评判我好了，我可以欺骗他们，可是我欺骗不了我自己。”
他恍然大悟，近来他对人，特别是今天他对公爵，对沙斐雅公爵夫人，对米西和对柯尔尼的憎恶，归根到底都是对他自己的憎恶。说也奇怪，这种自认堕一落的心情是既痛苦又欣慰的。
聂赫留朵夫生平进行过好多次“灵魂的净化”。他所谓“灵魂的净化”是指这样一种一精一神状态：他生活了一段时期，忽然觉得内心生活迟钝，甚至完全停滞。他就着手把灵魂里堆积着的污垢清除出去，因为这种污垢是内心生活停滞的原因。
在这种觉醒以后，聂赫留朵夫总是订出一些日常必须遵守的规则，例如写日记，开始一种他希望能坚持下去的新生活，也就是他自己所说的“翻开新的一页”①。但每次他总是经不住尘世的诱一惑，不知不觉又堕一落下去，而且往往比以前陷得更深。
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①原文是英语。
他这样打扫灵魂，振作一精一神，已经有好几次了。那年夏天他到姑一妈一家去，正好是第一次做这样的事。这次觉醒使他生气蓬勃、一精一神奋发，而且持续了相当久。后来，在战争时期，他辞去文职，参加军队，甘愿以身殉国，也有过一次这样的觉醒。但不久灵魂里又积满了污垢。后来还有过一次觉醒，那是他辞去军职，出国学画的时候。
从那时起到现在，他有好久没有净化灵魂了，因此一精一神上从来没有这样肮脏过，他良心上的要求同他所过的生活太不协调了。他看到这个矛盾，不由得心惊胆战。
这个差距是那么大，积垢是那么多，以致他起初对净化丧失了信心。“你不是尝试过修身，希望变得高尚些，但毫无结果吗？”魔鬼在他心里说，“那又何必再试呢？又不是光你一个人这样，人人都是这样的，生活就是这样的，”魔鬼那么说。但是，那个自一由的一精一神的人已经在聂赫留朵夫身上觉醒了，他是真实、强大而永恒的。聂赫留朵夫不能不相信他。不管他所过的生活同他的理想之间差距有多大，对一个觉醒了的一精一神的人来说，什么事情都是办得到的。
“我要冲破束缚我一精一神的虚伪罗网，不管这得花多大代价。我要承认一切，说老实话，做老实事，”他毅然决然地对自己说。“我要老实告诉米西，我是个生活放一荡的人，不配同她结婚，这一阵我只给她添了麻烦。我要对玛丽雅（首席贵族妻子）说实话。不过，对她也没有什么话可说，我要对她丈夫说，我是个无赖，我欺骗了他。我要合理处置遗产。我要对她，对卡秋莎说，我是个无赖，对她犯了罪，我要尽可能减轻她的痛苦。对，我要去见她，要求她饶恕我。对，我将象孩子一样要求她的饶恕。”他站住了。“必要时，我就同她结婚。”
他站住，象小时候那样双臂一交一叉在胸前，抬起眼睛仰望着上苍说：
“主哇，你帮助我，引导我，来到我的心中，清除我身上的一切污垢吧！”
他做祷告，请求上帝帮助他，到他心中来，清除他身上的一切污垢。他的要求立刻得到了满足。存在于他心中的上帝在他的意识中觉醒了。他感觉到上帝的存在，因此不仅感觉到自一由、勇气和生趣，而且感觉到善的全部力量。凡是人能做到的一切最好的事，他觉得如今他都能做到。
他对自己说这些话的时候，眼睛里饱含一着泪水，又有好的泪水，又有坏的泪水。好的泪水是由于这些年来沉睡在他心里的一精一神的人终于觉醒了；坏的泪水是由于他自怜自一爱一，自以为有什么美德。
他感到浑身发一热。他走到窗口，打开窗子。窗子通向花园。这是一个空气清新而没有风的月夜，街上响起一阵辘辘的马车声，然后是一片寂静。窗外有一棵高大的杨树，那光秃的树枝纵横一交一错，把影子清楚地投落在广场干净的沙地上。左边是仓房的房顶，在明亮的月光下显得白忽忽的。前面是一片一交一织的树枝，在树枝的掩映下看得见一堵黑魆魆的矮墙。聂赫留朵夫望着月光下的花园和房顶，望着杨树的一陰一影，吸着沁人心脾的空气。
“太好了！哦，太好了，我的上帝，太好了！”他为自己灵魂里的变化而不断欢呼。