100-rouble note
The 100-rouble note appears at two decisive moments in Resurrection, each time as an object that crystallizes the reduction of a human bond to a monetary transaction. In both instances the note is given by a man to a woman in circumstances that strip the relationship of any remaining moral content, and in both instances the note later becomes evidence in a legal proceeding that is itself a travesty of justice.
The First Appearance: Nekhludoff's Payment to Katusha
The first and most consequential appearance of the 100-rouble note occurs at the moment of Nekhludoff's final departure from his aunts' estate after he has seduced Katusha. On the day of his departure, after dinner, he waits for her at the side entrance. When she appears, flushed and trying to avoid him, he stops her and crumbles an envelope containing a 100-rouble note in his hand. "I have come to say good-bye," he says, and then, stammering, "There, I..." She guesses his meaning immediately, knits her brows, shakes her head, and pushes his hand away. He insists, thrusting the envelope into the bib of her apron, and then runs back to his room, groaning and frowning as if he had hurt himself. For a long time afterward he paces up and down, writhing as in pain, stamping and groaning aloud at the memory of this last scene. He tries to justify himself with the thought that "every one does the same," but the recollection burns his conscience. The 100-rouble note is not merely a payment; it is the instrument by which Nekhludoff attempts to buy off his own guilt, to convert a sin into a settled account. The note's denomination—a substantial sum for a servant girl in 1880s Russia—underscores the asymmetry of power between the two: Nekhludoff can afford to forget, while Katusha must live with the consequences.
The Note in the Trial: Evidence of a Corrupted System
The 100-rouble note reappears in the trial as part of the indictment against Maslova. The indictment states that after the merchant Smelkoff's death, only 312 roubles and 16 copecks were found from the 3,800 roubles he had withdrawn from the bank. The missing money, including packets of 100-rouble notes, is alleged to have been stolen by Maslova, Botchkova, and Kartinkin. The 100-rouble note thus becomes a piece of material evidence in a case where the real crime—Nekhludoff's betrayal—remains invisible to the law. The court, which is supposed to administer justice, instead processes the 100-rouble note as a token of theft, while the far more profound theft of Katusha's dignity and future goes unexamined. The note's journey from a private token of shame to a public exhibit in a courtroom mirrors the novel's broader critique of a legal system that prosecutes the symptoms of social evil while ignoring its causes.
The Note as a Symbol of Moral Transaction
Beyond its plot function, the 100-rouble note operates as a symbol of the transactional logic that governs human relations in the world of the novel. Nekhludoff himself later reflects on this when he recalls the moment he thrust the money into her bib: "Oh, that money!" he thinks, with the same horror and disgust he had felt then. He recognizes that he had tried to atone for his fault by paying money, and the thought fills him with self-loathing. The note thus becomes a measure of his moral failure: he had treated a human being as a debt to be settled. The 100-rouble note is also a precursor to the larger sums that circulate in the novel—the 3,800 roubles of Smelkoff, the 1,800 roubles Botchkova deposits in the bank, the 10,000 acres of land Nekhludoff inherits—all of which represent the same underlying principle: that wealth, acquired and deployed without regard for human suffering, is the currency of a corrupt social order.
The Note's Afterlife: Memory and Repentance
The 100-rouble note does not disappear after the trial. It haunts Nekhludoff's memory, resurfacing in his moments of moral awakening. When he begins to confront the full extent of his guilt, the note stands as a concrete emblem of his sin. He cannot undo the past, but the note's persistent presence in his thoughts drives him toward the only possible response: not a payment, but a transformation of his entire way of life. The note thus serves as a kind of moral touchstone, a material object that, precisely because it is so ordinary, so easily exchanged, reveals the extraordinary depth of the betrayal it represents. In the end, the 100-rouble note is not redeemed; it remains what it always was—a piece of paper that could never compensate for what it was meant to buy off.