kryltzoff's story.

nekhludoff grew especially fond of kryltzoff, a consumptive young man condemned to hard labour, who was going with the same gang as katusha. nekhludoff had made his acquaintance already in ekaterinburg, and talked with him several times on the road after that. once, in summer, nekhludoff spent nearly the whole of a day with him at a halting station, and kryltzoff, having once started talking, told him his story and how he had become a revolutionist. up to the time of his imprisonment his story was soon told. he lost his father, a rich landed proprietor in the south of russia, when still a child. he was the only son, and his mother brought him up. he learned easily in the university, as well as the gymnasium, and was first in the mathematical faculty in his year. he was offered a choice of remaining in the university or going abroad. he hesitated. he loved a girl and was thinking of marriage, and taking part in the rural administration. he did not like giving up either offer, and could not make up his mind. at this time his fellow-students at the university asked him for money for a common cause. he did not know that this common cause was revolutionary, which he was not interested in at that time, but gave the money from a sense of comradeship and vanity, so that it should not be said that he was afraid. those who received the money were caught, a note was found which proved that the money had been given by kryltzoff. he was arrested, and first kept at the police station, then imprisoned.

"the prison where i was put," kryltzoff went on to relate (he was sitting on the high shelf bedstead, his elbows on his knees, with sunken chest, the beautiful, intelligent eyes with which he looked at nekhludoff glistening feverishly)--"they were not specially strict in that prison. we managed to converse, not only by tapping the wall, but could walk about the corridors, share our provisions and our tobacco, and in the evenings we even sang in chorus. i had a fine voice--yes, if it had not been for mother it would have been all right, even pleasant and interesting. here i made the acquaintance of the famous petroff--he afterwards killed himself with a piece of glass at the fortress--and also of others. but i was not yet a revolutionary. i also became acquainted with my neighbours in the cells next to mine. they were both caught with polish proclamations and arrested in the same cause, and were tried for an attempt to escape from the convoy when they were being taken to the railway station. one was a pole, lozinsky; the other a jew, rozovsky. yes. well, this rozovsky was quite a boy. he said he was seventeen, but he looked fifteen--thin, small, active, with black, sparkling eyes, and, like most jews, very musical. his voice was still breaking, and yet he sang beautifully. yes. i saw them both taken to be tried. they were taken in the morning. they returned in the evening, and said they were condemned to death. no one had expected it. their case was so unimportant; they only tried to get away from the convoy, and had not even wounded any one. and then it was so unnatural to execute such a child as rozovsky. and we in prison all came to the conclusion that it was only done to frighten them, and would not be confirmed. at first we were excited, and then we comforted ourselves, and life went on as before. yes. well, one evening, a watchman comes to my door and mysteriously announces to me that carpenters had arrived, and were putting up the gallows. at first i did not understand. what's that? what gallows? but the watchman was so excited that i saw at once it was for our two. i wished to tap and communicate with my comrades, but was afraid those two would hear. the comrades were also silent. evidently everybody knew. in the corridors and in the cells everything was as still as death all that evening. they did not tap the wall nor sing. at ten the watchman came again and announced that a hangman had arrived from moscow. he said it and went away. i began calling him back. suddenly i hear rozovsky shouting to me across the corridor: 'what's the matter? why do you call him?' i answered something about asking him to get me some tobacco, but he seemed to guess, and asked me: 'why did we not sing to-night, why did we not tap the walls?' i do not remember what i said, but i went away so as not to speak to him. yes. it was a terrible night. i listened to every sound all night. suddenly, towards morning, i hear doors opening and somebody walking--many persons. i went up to my window. there was a lamp burning in the corridor. the first to pass was the inspector. he was stout, and seemed a resolute, self-satisfied man, but he looked ghastly pale, downcast, and seemed frightened; then his assistant, frowning but resolute; behind them the watchman. they passed my door and stopped at the next, and i hear the assistant calling out in a strange voice: 'lozinsky, get up and put on clean linen.' yes. then i hear the creaking of the door; they entered into his cell. then i hear lozinsky's steps going to the opposite side of the corridor. i could only see the inspector. he stood quite pale, and buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, shrugging his shoulders. yes. then, as if frightened of something, he moved out of the way. it was lozinsky, who passed him and came up to my door. a handsome young fellow he was, you know, of that nice polish type: broad shouldered, his head covered with fine, fair, curly hair as with a cap, and with beautiful blue eyes. so blooming, so fresh, so healthy. he stopped in front of my window, so that i could see the whole of his face. a dreadful, gaunt, livid face. 'kryltzoff, have you any cigarettes?' i wished to pass him some, but the assistant hurriedly pulled out his cigarette case and passed it to him. he took out one, the assistant struck a match, and he lit the cigarette and began to smoke and seemed to be thinking. then, as if he had remembered something, he began to speak. 'it is cruel and unjust. i have committed no crime. i--' i saw something quiver in his white young throat, from which i could not take my eyes, and he stopped. yes. at that moment i hear rozovsky shouting in his fine, jewish voice. lozinsky threw away the cigarette and stepped from the door. and rozovsky appeared at the window. his childish face, with the limpid black eyes, was red and moist. he also had clean linen on, the trousers were too wide, and he kept pulling them up and trembled all over. he approached his pitiful face to my window. 'kryltzoff, it's true that the doctor has prescribed cough mixture for me, is it not? i am not well. i'll take some more of the mixture.' no one answered, and he looked inquiringly, now at me, now at the inspector. what he meant to say i never made out. yes. suddenly the assistant again put on a stern expression, and called out in a kind of squeaking tone: 'now, then, no nonsense. let us go.' rozovsky seemed incapable of understanding what awaited him, and hurried, almost ran, in front of him all along the corridor. but then he drew back, and i could hear his shrill voice and his cries, then the trampling of feet, and general hubbub. he was shrieking and sobbing. the sounds came fainter and fainter, and at last the door rattled and all was quiet. yes. and so they hanged them. throttled them both with a rope. a watchman, another one, saw it done, and told me that lozinsky did not resist, but rozovsky struggled for a long time, so that they had to pull him up on to the scaffold and to force his head into the noose. yes. this watchman was a stupid fellow. he said: 'they told me, sir, that it would be frightful, but it was not at all frightful. after they were hanged they only shrugged their shoulders twice, like this.' he showed how the shoulders convulsively rose and fell. 'then the hangman pulled a bit so as to tighten the noose, and it was all up, and they never budged."' and kryltzoff repeated the watchman's words, "not at all frightful," and tried to smile, but burst into sobs instead.

for a long time after that he kept silent, breathing heavily, and repressing the sobs that were choking him.

"from that time i became a revolutionist. yes," he said, when he was quieter and finished his story in a few words. he belonged to the narodovoltzy party, and was even at the head of the disorganising group, whose object was to terrorise the government so that it should give up its power of its own accord. with this object he travelled to petersburg, to kiev, to odessa and abroad, and was everywhere successful. a man in whom he had full confidence betrayed him. he was arrested, tried, kept in prison for two years, and condemned to death, but the sentence was mitigated to one of hard labour for life.

he went into consumption while in prison, and in the conditions he was now placed he had scarcely more than a few months longer to live. this he knew, but did not repent of his action, but said that if he had another life he would use it in the same way to destroy the conditions in which such things as he had seen were possible.

this man's story and his intimacy with him explained to nekhludoff much that he had not previously understood.

聂赫留朵夫特别喜爱一个叫克雷里卓夫的害痨病的青年。克雷里卓夫跟玛丝洛娃在同一个队里，被流放去服苦役。聂赫留朵夫早在叶卡捷琳堡就认识他，在途中又同他见过几面，还同他谈过话。夏天里，有一次在旅站上休息，聂赫留朵夫跟他几乎消磨了一整天。克雷里卓夫兴致勃勃地把自己的身世讲给他听，还讲了他怎样成为革命者。他入狱前的经历很简单：父亲是个富有的南方地主，他小时候父亲就去世了。他是个独子，由母亲抚养长大。他念中学和念大学都很轻松，大学数学系毕业时名列第一，得硕士学位。学校要他留校，以后还要送他出国深造。他犹豫不决。他爱上了一个姑娘，想同她结婚，并且进地方自治会工作。他什么事都想做，可就是拿不定主意。这时候，有几个同学要他给公共事业捐点钱。他知道，这种公共事业就是革命事业，但那时他对它还毫无兴趣，只是出于同学的情谊和自尊心，唯恐人家说他胆小怕事，就捐了钱。收钱的人被捕了，搜出一张字条，知道钱是克雷里卓夫捐的。他因此也被捕，先是关在警察分局，后来进了监狱。

“我坐的那个监狱，”克雷里卓夫对聂赫留朵夫讲道（他胸部凹陷，两肘撑住膝盖，坐在高高的板铺上，偶尔用他那双害热病的聪明、善良、好看的亮晶晶眼睛对聂赫留朵夫瞧瞧），“那个监狱不算太严，我们不仅可以敲敲墙壁互通音讯，而且可以在过道里来回走动，随便交谈，相互分送食物和烟草，到了晚上甚至可以齐声唱歌。我原来有一副好嗓子。真的，要不是我妈过分伤心，我待在牢里也还不错，甚至很愉快。我在这里认识了赫赫有名的彼得罗夫（他后来在要塞里用碎玻璃割破喉咙自杀了），还有别的人。但那时我还不是个革命者。我还认识了隔壁牢房里的两个人。他们都是因携带波兰宣言1案被捕，后来又在押往车站途中企图逃跑而受审。一个是波兰人，姓洛靖斯基；另一个是犹太人，姓罗卓夫斯基。是啊，那个罗卓夫斯基简直还是个孩子。他说他十七岁，可是看上去只有十五岁。他又瘦又小，两只黑眼睛亮晶晶的，人挺机灵，也象一切犹太人那样赋有音乐才能。他还在变嗓，但唱起歌来很好听。是啊！他们被提审我是看到的。他们一早被带出去，傍晚回来，说是被判了死刑。这事谁也没料到。他们的案情实在轻得很，只不过企图从押解兵手里逃走，也没有伤什么人。再说，把罗卓夫斯基这样一个孩子判处死刑，实在太不近人情。我们关在牢里的人，个个都认为这只是吓唬吓唬他们，上级是不会批准的。开头大家激动了一阵，后来平静了，又象原来那样过日子。是啊！不料有一天晚上，看守来到我的门边，鬼鬼祟祟地告诉我说，来了几个木匠，正在搭绞架。我开头没弄懂是怎么一回事，什么绞架不绞架的。但看守老头十分激动，我瞅了他一眼，这才明白是为我们那两个人预备的。我想敲敲墙壁，把这事告诉大伙，可是又怕被那两个人听见。大伙也都不作声，显然全知道了。那天晚上，过道里和牢房里一直象死一般地安静。我们没有敲墙壁，也没有唱歌。十点钟光景，看守又走来告诉我说，从莫斯科调来了一名刽子手。他说完就走开了。我唤他，要他回来。忽然听见罗卓夫斯基从他那过道对面的牢房里对我叫道：‘您怎么了？您叫他有什么事？’我支支吾吾地说，他给我送烟草来了，但罗卓夫斯基似乎猜到是什么事，就问我为什么我们不唱歌，不敲墙壁。我不记得当时对他说了些什么，但我赶快走开，免得他再问我什么。是啊！那真是个可怕的夜晚。我通宵留神听着各种声音。第二天一早，忽然听见过道的门开了，进来了好几个人。我站在窗洞旁。过道里点着一盏灯。第一个进来的是典狱长。他是个胖子，平时神气活现，行动果断，但这会儿脸色惨白，垂头丧气，仿佛吓破了胆。他后面是副典狱长，皱着眉头，神情严峻；再后面是一个卫兵。他们经过我的门口，在旁边那个牢房门前站住。我听见副典狱长声音古怪地叫道：‘洛靖斯基，起来，穿上干净衣服！’是啊！然后听见牢门吱嘎响了一声，他们走到他跟前，接着就听见洛靖斯基的脚步声。他向过道另一头走去。我只能看见典狱长一个人。他站在那儿，脸色苍白，忽而解开胸前的钮扣，忽而又扣上，还耸耸肩膀。是啊！忽然他仿佛害怕什么似的闪开身子。原来是洛靖斯基从他身边走过，来到我门外。他是个漂亮的小伙子，生有一副好看的波兰人脸型：前额开阔平直，一头细密的淡黄鬈发，一双美丽的天蓝色眼睛。是个身强力壮、血气方刚的小伙子。他站在我的窗洞前面，因此我看见了他的整个脸庞。他的脸瘦削、灰白，怪可怕的。他问我：‘克雷里卓夫，有烟吗？’我刚要拿出烟来给他，可是副典狱长仿佛怕耽误时间，掏出烟盒递给他。他拿了一支烟，副典狱长给他划亮火柴，点上烟。他抽起烟来，仿佛在想心事。后来忽然想到什么事似的，开口说：‘太残酷，太不讲理了！我什么罪也没有。我……’我的眼睛一直盯住他那白嫩的脖子，看见他喉咙里有样东西在抖动，他说不下去。是啊！这当儿，我听见罗卓夫斯基在过道里用尖细的犹太人嗓子嚷着什么。洛靖斯基丢掉烟头，从我的牢门口走开去。于是，罗卓夫斯基就出现在我的窗洞口。他那张孩子气的脸涨得通红，还在冒汗，眼睛泪汪汪的。他也穿着一身干净的衬衣，但裤子太大，他老是用两手把它往上提，整个身子直打哆嗦。他把他那张可怜的脸凑近我的窗洞，说：‘克雷里卓夫，医生给我开了润肺汤，是不是？我觉得不舒服，还要再喝一点润肺汤。’谁也没有理他，他就用询问的目光对我瞧瞧，又对典狱长瞧瞧。他说这话是什么用意，我始终没有弄懂。是啊！副典狱长顿时板起脸，又尖声尖气地嚷道：‘开什么玩笑？快走。’罗卓夫斯基显然弄不懂有什么事在等着他，急急地沿着过道走去，简直抢在所有人的前头。但接着他站住不肯走，我听见他尖声大叫和嚎哭。传来一片喧闹，还有顿脚的声音。他刺耳地嚎叫，痛哭。后来，声音越去越远，过道的门哗啦响了一声，接下来就一片肃静……是啊！他们就这样被绞死了。两个都被绳子勒死了。有个看守看见这景象，告诉我，说洛靖斯基没有反抗，罗卓夫斯基却挣扎了好半天，因此他们只好把他拖上绞架，硬把他的脑袋塞进绳套里。是啊！那看守傻乎乎的。他对我说：‘老爷，人家都说这事很可怕。其实一点不可怕。他们被绞死的时候，只这么耸了两下肩膀，’他装出肩膀猛一下往上耸，然后又耷拉下来的样子，‘后来刽子手把绳子一拉，喏，就是把绳套拉得紧些，这就完了，他们再也不动了。’哼，‘一点也不可怕，’”克雷里卓夫把看守的话又说了一遍，他想笑，没有笑成，却放声痛哭起来。

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1指十九世纪六十年代起波兰反对沙皇专制的运动宣言。

随后他沉默了好一阵，吃力地喘着气，把涌到喉咙里的哽咽硬压下去。

“从那时起我就成了革命者。是啊，”他平静下来说，简短地讲完了他的身世。

他参加了民意党，还当上破坏小组的组长，专门对政府官员采用恐怖手段，强迫他们放弃政权，让人民掌权。他为这个目的到处奔走，一会儿去彼得堡，一会儿出国，一会儿到基辅，一会儿到敖德萨，一次又一次取得成功。后来却被一个他十分信任的人出卖了。他被捕了，受审讯，在监狱里关了两年，被判死刑，后来改为终身苦役。

他在狱中得了痨病。在现在这种条件下，看来他只能再活几个月。他知道这一点，但对自己的行为并不后悔。他说，要是让他再活一辈子，他还是会那么干，也就是破坏他目睹的那种罪恶累累的社会制度。

克雷里卓夫的身世和同他的接触，使聂赫留朵夫懂得了许多以前不懂的事。