Resurrection | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Jim Tinsley

RESURRECTION
BY LEO TOLSTOY

Translated by
MRS. LOUISE MAUDE
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
Opinions about Tolstoy and his work differ, but on one point there
surely might be unanimity. A writer of world-wide reputation should be
at least allowed to know how to spell his own name. Why should any
one insist on spelling it "Tolstoi" (with one, two or three dots over the
"i"), when he himself writes it "Tolstoy"? The only reason I have ever
heard suggested is, that in England and America such outlandish views
are attributed to him, that an outlandish spelling is desirable to match
those views.
This novel, written in the rough by Tolstoy some years ago and
founded upon an actual occurrence, was completely rewritten by him
during the last year and a half, and all the proceeds have been devoted
by him to aiding the Doukhobors, a sect who were persecuted in the
Caucasus (especially from 1895 to 1898) for refusing to learn war.
About seven thousand three hundred of them are settled in Canada, and
about a hundred of the leaders are exiled to the remote parts of Siberia.
Anything I may receive for my work in translating the book will go to

the same cause. "Prevention is better than cure," and I would rather
help people to abstain from killing and wounding each other than
devote the money to patch up their wounds after the battle.
LOUISE MAUDE

RESURRECTION


CHAPTER I
.
MASLOVA IN PRISON.
Though hundreds of thousands had done their very best to disfigure the
small piece of land on which they were crowded together, by paying
the ground with stones, scraping away every vestige of vegetation,
cutting down the trees, turning away birds and beasts, and filling the air
with the smoke of naphtha and coal, still spring was spring, even in the
town.
The sun shone warm, the air was balmy; everywhere, where it did not
get scraped away, the grass revived and sprang up between the
paving-stones as well as on the narrow strips of lawn on the boulevards.
The birches, the poplars, and the wild cherry unfolded their gummy and
fragrant leaves, the limes were expanding their opening buds; crows,
sparrows, and pigeons, filled with the joy of spring, were getting their
nests ready; the flies were buzzing along the walls, warmed by the
sunshine. All were glad, the plants, the birds, the insects, and the
children. But men, grown-up men and women, did not leave off
cheating and tormenting themselves and each other. It was not this
spring morning men thought sacred and worthy of consideration not the
beauty of God's world, given for a joy to