MASLOVA RECALLS THE PAST.
That night Maslova lay awake a long time with her eyes open looking at the door, in front of which the deacon's daughter kept passing. She was thinking that nothing would induce her to go to the island of Sakhalin and marry a convict, but would arrange matters somehow with one of the prison officials, the secretary, a warder, or even a warder's assistant. "Aren't they all given that way? Only I must not get thin, or else I am lost."
She thought of how the advocate had looked at her, and also the president, and of the men she met, and those who came in on purpose at the court. She recollected how her companion, Bertha, who came to see her in prison, had told her about the student whom she had "loved" while she was with Kitaeva, and who had inquired about her, and pitied her very much. She recalled many to mind, only not Nekhludoff. She never brought back to mind the days of her childhood and youth, and her love to Nekhludoff. That would have been too painful. These memories lay untouched somewhere deep in her soul; she had forgotten him, and never recalled and never even dreamt of him. To-day, in the court, she did not recognise him, not only because when she last saw him he was in uniform, without a beard, and had only a small moustache and thick, curly, though short hair, and now was bald and bearded, but because she never thought about him. She had buried his memory on that terrible dark night when he, returning from the army, had passed by on the railway without stopping to call on his aunts. Katusha then knew her condition. Up to that night she did not consider the child that lay beneath her heart a burden. But on that night everything changed, and the child became nothing but a weight.
His aunts had expected Nekhludoff, had asked him to come and see them in passing, but he had telegraphed that he could not come, as he had to be in Petersburg at an appointed time. When Katusha heard this she made up her mind to go to the station and see him. The train was to pass by at two o'clock in the night. Katusha having helped the old ladies to bed, and persuaded a little girl, the cook's daughter, Mashka, to come with her, put on a pair of old boots, threw a shawl over her head, gathered up her dress, and ran to the station.
It was a warm, rainy, and windy autumn night. The rain now pelted down in warm, heavy drops, now stopped again. It was too dark to see the path across the field, and in the wood it was pitch black, so that although Katusha knew the way well, she got off the path, and got to the little station where the train stopped for three minutes, not before, as she had hoped, but after the second bell had been rung. Hurrying up the platform, Katusha saw him at once at the windows of a first-class carriage. Two officers sat opposite each other on the velvet-covered seats, playing cards. This carriage was very brightly lit up; on the little table between the seats stood two thick, dripping candles. He sat in his closefitting breeches on the arm of the seat, leaning against the back, and laughed. As soon as she recognised him she knocked at the carriage window with her benumbed hand, but at that moment the last bell rang, and the train first gave a backward jerk, and then gradually the carriages began to move forward. One of the players rose with the cards in his hand, and looked out. She knocked again, and pressed her face to the window, but the carriage moved on, and she went alongside looking in. The officer tried to lower the window, but could not. Nekhludoff pushed him aside and began lowering it himself. The train went faster, so that she had to walk quickly. The train went on still faster and the window opened. The guard pushed her aside, and jumped in. Katusha ran on, along the wet boards of the platform, and when she came to the end she could hardly stop herself from falling as she ran down the steps of the platform. She was running by the side of the railway, though the first-class carriage had long passed her, and the second-class carriages were gliding by faster, and at last the third-class carriages still faster. But she ran on, and when the last carriage with the lamps at the back had gone by, she had already reached the tank which fed the engines, and was unsheltered from the wind, which was blowing her shawl about and making her skirt cling round her legs. The shawl flew off her head, but still she ran on.
"Katerina Michaelovna, you've lost your shawl!" screamed the little girl, who was trying to keep up with her.
Katusha stopped, threw back her head, and catching hold of it with both hands sobbed aloud. "Gone!" she screamed.
"He is sitting in a velvet arm-chair and joking and drinking, in a brightly lit carriage, and I, out here in the mud, in the darkness, in the wind and the rain, am standing and weeping," she thought to herself; and sat down on the ground, sobbing so loud that the little girl got frightened, and put her arms round her, wet as she was.
"Come home, dear," she said.
"When a train passes--then under a carriage, and there will be an end," Katusha was thinking, without heeding the girl.
And she made up her mind to do it, when, as it always happens, when a moment of quiet follows great excitement, he, the child--his child--made himself known within her. Suddenly all that a moment before had been tormenting her, so that it had seemed impossible to live, all her bitterness towards him, and the wish to revenge herself, even by dying, passed away; she grew quieter, got up, put the shawl on her head, and went home.
Wet, muddy, and quite exhausted, she returned, and from that day the change which brought her where she now was began to operate in her soul. Beginning from that dreadful night, she ceased believing in God and in goodness. She had herself believed in God, and believed that other people also believed in Him; but after that night she became convinced that no one believed, and that all that was said about God and His laws was deception and untruth. He whom she loved, and who had loved her--yes, she knew that--had thrown her away; had abused her love. Yet he was the best of all the people she knew. All the rest were still worse. All that afterwards happened to her strengthened her in this belief at every step. His aunts, the pious old ladies, turned her out when she could no longer serve them as she used to. And of all those she met, the women used her as a means of getting money, the men, from the old police officer down to the warders of the prison, looked at her as on an object for pleasure. And no one in the world cared for aught but pleasure. In this belief the old author with whom she had come together in the second year of her life of independence had strengthened her. He had told her outright that it was this that constituted the happiness of life, and he called it poetical and aesthetic.
Everybody lived for himself only, for his pleasure, and all the talk concerning God and righteousness was deception. And if sometimes doubts arose in her mind and she wondered why everything was so ill-arranged in the world that all hurt each other, and made each other suffer, she thought it best not to dwell on it, and if she felt melancholy she could smoke, or, better still, drink, and it would pass.
这天夜里，玛丝洛娃久久不能入睡。她睁大眼睛躺在板铺上，望着那不时被来回踱步的诵经士女儿身子遮住的门，听着红头发女人的鼾声，想着心事。
她想，她到了萨哈林岛①后绝不能嫁个苦役犯，总要另外找个归宿，或者嫁个长官，嫁个文书，至少也得嫁个看守或者副看守。他们都是色鬼。“只是人不能再瘦下去，要不然就完了。”她想起那个辩护人怎样盯住她，庭长怎样盯住她，法庭上遇见她和故意在她身边走过的男人怎样盯住她。她想起别尔塔到监狱里来探望她时说起，她在基塔耶娃妓院里爱上的那个大学生问起过她，对她的遭遇很表同情。她想起红头发女人同人打架的事，她很怜悯这个红头发女人。她想起面包店老板怎样多给了她一个白面包。她想到许许多多人，就是没有想到聂赫留朵夫。她的童年，她的少女时代，特别是她对聂赫留朵夫的爱情，她从来不回想，因为回想起来太痛苦了。这些往事原封不动地深埋在她的心底。她连一次也没有梦见过聂赫留朵夫。今天她在法庭上没有认出他来，倒不是因为她最后一次看见他时，他还是个军人，没有留胡须，只蓄着两撇小胡子，鬈曲的头发很短很浓密，如今却留着大胡子，显得很老成，主要是因为她从来没有想到过他。在他从军队回来、却没有拐到姑母家去的那个可怕的黑夜，她在心里把她同他发生过的事全部埋葬掉了。
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①即库页岛。
在那个夜晚以前，她满心希望他回来，因此不仅不讨厌心口下的娃娃，而且常常对她肚子里时而温柔、时而剧烈地蠕动的小生命感到亲切。但在那个夜晚以后一切都变了。未来的孩子纯粹成了累赘。
两位姑妈都盼望聂赫留朵夫，要求他顺路来一次，可是他回电说不能来，因为要如期赶回彼得堡。卡秋莎知道了这事，决定到火车站去同他见面。火车将在夜间两点钟经过当地车站。卡秋莎服侍两个老姑娘上床睡了，怂恿厨娘的女儿玛莎陪她一起去。她穿上一双旧的半统靴，戴上头巾，把衣服收拾了一下，就跟玛莎一起往火车站跑去。
这是一个黑暗的风雨交作的秋夜。温暖的大颗雨点时下时停。田野里，看不清脚下的路；树林里象炕里一样黑魆魆的。卡秋莎虽然熟悉这条路，但在树林里还是迷失了方向。火车在那个小站上只停三分钟。她原希望能提早赶到车站，可是当她到达时已铃响第二遍了。卡秋莎一跑上站台，立刻从头等车厢的窗子里看见了他。这节车厢里的灯光特别明亮。有两个军官面对面坐在丝绒座椅上，没有穿上装，正在打牌。靠窗的小桌上点着几支淌油的粗蜡烛。聂赫留朵夫穿着紧身的马裤和雪白的衬衫，坐在软椅扶手上，臂肘靠在椅背，不知在笑些什么。卡秋莎一认出他，就用冻僵的手敲敲窗子。但就在这当儿，第三遍铃响了，火车缓缓开动了。它先往后一退，接着，车厢一节碰着一节依次向前移动。有一个军官手里拿着纸牌站起来，往窗外张望。卡秋莎又敲了一下窗子，把脸贴在窗玻璃上。这时她面前的那节车厢也猛地一震，动了起来。她跟着那节车厢走去，眼睛往窗子里张望。那个军官想放下窗子，可是怎么也放不下。聂赫留朵夫站起来，推开那个军官，动手把窗子放下。火车加快了速度。卡秋莎也加快脚步跟住火车，可是火车越开越快。就在窗子放下的一刹那，一个列车员走过来把她推开，自己跳上火车。卡秋莎落在后头，但她仍一个劲儿地在湿漉漉的站台上跑着。她跑到站台尽头，好容易才收住脚步免得摔倒，然后从台阶上跑下地面。她还在跑着，但头等车厢已经离得很远了。接着二等车厢也一节节从她旁边驶过，然后三等车厢以更快的速度掠过，但她还是跑个不停。等尾部挂着风灯的最后一节车厢驶过去，她已经越过水塔，周围一点遮拦也没有了。风迎面刮来，掀起她头上的头巾，吹得衣服裹紧她的双腿。她的头巾被风吹落了，但她还是一个劲儿地跑着。
“阿姨！卡秋莎阿姨！”玛莎喊着，好容易才追上她。“您的头巾掉了！”
“他在灯光雪亮的车厢里，坐在丝绒软椅上，有说有笑，喝酒玩乐，可我呢，在这儿，在黑暗的泥地里，淋着雨，吹着风，站着哭！”卡秋莎想着站住了，身子往后一仰，双手抱住头，放声痛哭起来。
“他走啦！”卡秋莎叫道。
玛莎害怕了，搂住卡秋莎湿淋淋的衣服。
“阿姨，我们回家去。”
“等一列火车开过来，往轮子底下一钻，就完事了，”卡秋莎想着，没有回答小姑娘的话。
她打定主意这样做。但就在这当儿，如同通常在激动以后乍一平静下来那样，她肚子里的孩子，他的孩子，突然颤动了一下，使劲一撞，慢慢地伸开四肢，然后用一种又细又软又尖的东西顶了一下。忽然间，那在一分钟前还那么折磨她、使她觉得几乎无法活下去的重重苦恼，她对聂赫留朵夫的满腔愤恨，她不惜一死来向他报复的念头，——这一切顿时都烟消云散了。她平静下来，理了理衣服，扎好头巾，匆匆走回家去。
她浑身湿透，溅满泥浆，筋疲力尽地回到家里。从那天起，她心灵上发生了一场大变化，结果就变成了现在这个样子。自从那个可怕的夜晚起，她不再相信善了。以前她自己相信善，并且以为别人也相信善，但从那一晚起，她断定谁也不相信善，人人嘴里说着上帝说着善，无非只是为了骗骗人罢了。她知道，他爱过她，她也爱过他，可是他亵渎了她的感情，拿她玩够了，又把她抛弃了。而他还是她所认识的人中最好的一个呢。其他的人就更坏了。她的全部遭遇都证实了这一点。他那两位姑妈，两位虔诚的老婆子，看到她不能象以前那样服侍她们，就把她从家里撵走。她遇到的一切人，凡是女人都把她当作摇钱树；凡是男人，从上了年纪的警察局长到监狱看守，个个都把她看成玩物。不论什么人，除了寻欢作乐，除了肉体的婬乐，活在世界上就没有别的事了。在她过自由生活的第二年，她跟一个老作家同居，那个作家也证实了这一点。他直截了当地对她说，这种欢乐富有诗意，充满美感，是人生的全部幸福。
人人活着都为了自己，为了自己的欢乐，一切有关上帝和善的话都是骗骗人的。如果她心里发生疑问：为什么人间安排得如此糟糕，为什么人们互相欺凌，受苦受难；那么，最好就是不要去想它。如果她感到苦闷，那就抽抽烟，喝喝酒，同男人谈谈爱情，这样也就会把苦闷忘掉。