Resurrection
came back to Nekhludoff’s mind; but, above all, the joyous sense of
health, strength, and freedom from care: the lungs breathing in the
frosty air so deeply that the fur cloak is drawn tightly on his chest,
the fine snow drops off the low branches on to his face, his body
is warm, his face feels fresh, and his soul is free from care,
self-reproach, fear, or desire. How beautiful it was. And now, O God!
what torment, what trouble!
Evidently Vera Doukhova was a revolutionist and imprisoned as such. He
must see her, especially as she promised to advise him how to lighten
Maslova’s lot.
CHAPTER L.
THE VICE-GOVERNOR OF THE PRISON.
Awaking early the next morning, Nekhludoff remembered what he had done
the day before, and was seized with fear.
But in spite of this fear, he was more determined than ever to continue
what he had begun.
Conscious of a sense of duty, he left the house and went to see
Maslennikoff in order to obtain from him a permission to visit Maslova
in prison, and also the Menshoffs--mother and son--about whom Maslova
had spoken to him. Nekhludoff had known this Maslennikoff a long time;
they had been in the regiment together. At that time Maslennikoff was
treasurer to the regiment.
He was a kind-hearted and zealous officer, knowing and wishing to know
nothing beyond the regiment and the Imperial family. Now Nekhludoff
saw him as an administrator, who had exchanged the regiment for an
administrative office in the government where he lived. He was married
to a rich and energetic woman, who had forced him to exchange military
for civil service. She laughed at him, and caressed him, as if he were
her own pet animal. Nekhludoff had been to see them once during the
winter, but the couple were so uninteresting to him that he had not gone
again.
At the sight of Nekhludoff Maslennikoff’s face beamed all over. He had
the same fat red face, and was as corpulent and as well dressed as in
his military days. Then, he used to be always dressed in a well-brushed
uniform, made according to the latest fashion, tightly fitting his chest
and shoulders; now, it was a civil service uniform he wore, and that,
too, tightly fitted his well-fed body and showed off his broad chest,
and was cut according to the latest fashion. In spite of the difference
in age (Maslennikoff was 40), the two men were very familiar with one
another.
“Halloo, old fellow! How good of you to come! Let us go and see my wife.
I have just ten minutes to spare before the meeting. My chief is away,
you know. I am at the head of the Government administration,” he said,
unable to disguise his satisfaction.
“I have come on business.”
“What is it?” said Maslennikoff, in an anxious and severe tone, putting
himself at once on his guard.
“There is a person, whom I am very much interested in, in prison” (at
the word “prison” Maslennikoff’s face grew stern); “and I should like to
have an interview in the office, and not in the common visiting-room. I
have been told it depended on you.”
“Certainly, mon cher,” said Maslennikoff, putting both hands on
Nekhludoff’s knees, as if to tone down his grandeur; “but remember, I am
monarch only for an hour.”
“Then will you give me an order that will enable me to see her?”
“It’s a woman?”
“Yes.”
“What is she there for?”
“Poisoning, but she has been unjustly condemned.”
“Yes, there you have it, your justice administered by jury, ils n’en
font point d’autres,” he said, for some unknown reason, in French. “I
know you do not agree with me, but it can’t be helped, c’est mon opinion
bien arretee,” he added, giving utterance to an opinion he had for the
last twelve months been reading in the retrograde Conservative paper. “I
know you are a Liberal.”
“I don’t know whether I am a Liberal or something else,” Nekhludoff
said, smiling; it always surprised him to find himself ranked with a
political party and called a Liberal, when he maintained that a man
should be heard before he was judged, that before being tried all men
were equal, that nobody at all ought to be ill-treated and beaten, but
especially those who had not yet been condemned by law. “I don’t know
whether I am a Liberal or not; but I do know that however had the
present way of conducting a trial is, it is better than the old.”
“And whom have you for an advocate?”
“I have spoken to Fanarin.”
“Dear me, Fanarin!” said Meslennikoff, with a grimace, recollecting how
this Fanarin had examined him as a witness at a trial the year before
and had, in the politest manner, held him up to ridicule for half an
hour.
“I should not advise you to have anything to do with him. _Fanarin est
un homme tare_.”
“I have one more request to make,” said Nekhludoff, without answering
him. “There’s a girl whom I knew long ago, a teacher; she is a very
pitiable little thing, and is now also imprisoned, and would like to see
me. Could you give me a permission to visit her?”
Meslennikoff bent his head on one side and considered.
“She’s a political one?”
“Yes, I have been told so.”
“Well, you see, only relatives get permission to visit political
prisoners. Still, I’ll give you an open order. _Je sais que vous
n’abuserez pas_. What’s the name of your protegee? Doukhova? _Elle est
jolie?_”
“Hideuse.”
Maslennikoff shook his head disapprovingly, went up to the table, and
wrote on a sheet of paper, with a printed heading: “The bearer, Prince
Dmitri Ivanovitch Nekhludoff, is to be allowed to interview in the
prison office the meschanka Maslova, and also the medical assistant,
Doukhova,” and he finished with an elaborate flourish.
“Now you’ll be able to see what order we have got there. And it is
very difficult to keep order, it is so crowded, especially with people
condemned to exile; but I watch strictly, and love the work. You will
see they are very comfortable and contented. But one must know
how to deal with them. Only a few days ago we had a little
trouble--insubordination; another would have called it mutiny, and would
have made many miserable, but with us it all passed quietly. We must
have solicitude on one hand, firmness and power on the other,” and he
clenched the fat, white, turquoise-ringed fist, which issued out of
the starched cuff of his shirt sleeve, fastened with a gold stud.
“Solicitude and firm power.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Nekhludoff. “I went there twice,
and felt very much depressed.”
“Do you know, you ought to get acquainted with the Countess Passek,”
continued Maslennikoff, growing talkative. “She has given herself up
entirely to this sort of work. Elle fait beaucoup de bien. Thanks to
her--and, perhaps I may add without false modesty, to me--everything has
been changed, changed in such a way that the former horrors no longer
exist, and they are really quite comfortable there. Well, you’ll see.
There’s Fanarin. I do not know him personally; besides, my social
position keeps our ways apart; but he is positively a bad man, and
besides, he takes the liberty of saying such things in the court--such
things!”
“Well, thank you,” Nekhludoff said, taking the paper, and without
listening further he bade good-day to his former comrade.
“And won’t you go in to see my wife?”
“No, pray excuse me; I have no time now.”
“Dear me, why she will never forgive me,” said Maslennikoff,
accompanying his old acquaintance down to the first landing, as he was
in the habit of doing to persons of not the greatest, but the second
greatest importance, with whom he classed Nekhludoff; “now do go in, if
only for a moment.”
But Nekhludoff remained firm; and while the footman and the door-keeper
rushed to give him his stick and overcoat, and opened the door, outside
of which there stood a policeman, Nekhludoff repeated that he really
could not come in.
“Well, then; on Thursday, please. It is her ‘at-home.’ I will tell her
you will come,” shouted Maslennikoff from the stairs.
CHAPTER LI.
THE CELLS.
Nekhludoff drove that day straight from Maslennikoff’s to the prison,
and went to the inspector’s lodging, which he now knew. He was again
struck by the sounds of the same piano of inferior quality; but this
time it was not a rhapsody that was being played, but exercises by
Clementi, again with the same vigour, distinctness, and quickness. The
servant with the bandaged eye said the inspector was in, and showed
Nekhludoff to a small drawing-room, in which there stood a sofa and,
in front of it, a table, with a large lamp, which stood on a piece of
crochet work, and the paper shade of which was burnt on one side. The
chief inspector entered, with his usual sad and weary look.
“Take a seat, please. What is it you want?” he said, buttoning up the
middle button of his uniform.
“I have just been to the vice-governor’s, and got this order from him. I
should like to see the prisoner Maslova.”
“Markova?” asked the inspector, unable to bear distinctly because of the
music.
“Maslova!”
“Well, yes.” The inspector got up and went to the door whence proceeded
Clementi’s roulades.
“Mary, can’t you stop just a minute?” he said, in a voice that showed
that this music was the bane of his life. “One can’t hear a word.”
The piano was silent, but one could hear the sound of reluctant steps,
and some one looked in at the door.
The inspector seemed to feel eased by the interval of silence, lit a
thick cigarette of weak tobacco, and offered one to Nekhludoff.
Nekhludoff refused.
“What I want is to see Maslova.”
“Oh, yes, that can be managed. Now, then, what do you want?” he said,
addressing a little girl of five or six, who came into the room and
walked up to her father with her head turned towards Nekhludoff, and her
eyes fixed on him.
“There, now, you’ll fall down,” said the inspector, smiling, as the
little girl ran up to him, and, not looking where she was going, caught
her foot in a little rug.
“Well, then, if I may, I shall go.”
“It’s not very convenient to see Maslova to-day,” said the inspector.
“How’s that?”
“Well, you know, it’s all your own fault,” said the inspector, with a
slight smile. “Prince, give her no money into her hands. If you like,
give it me. I will keep it for her. You see, you gave her some money
yesterday; she got some spirits (it’s an evil we cannot manage to root
out), and to-day she is quite tipsy, even violent.”
“Can this be true?”
“Oh, yes, it is. I have even been obliged to have recourse to severe
measures, and to put her into a separate cell. She is a quiet woman in
an ordinary way. But please do not give her any money. These people are
so--” What had happened the day before came vividly back to Nekhludoff’s
mind, and again he was seized with fear.
“And Doukhova, a political prisoner; might I see her?”
“Yes, if you like,” said the inspector. He embraced the little girl,
who was still looking at Nekhludoff, got up, and, tenderly motioning
her aside, went into the ante-room. Hardly had he got into the overcoat
which the maid helped him to put on, and before he had reached the door,
the distinct sounds of Clementi’s roulades again began.
“She entered the Conservatoire, but there is such disorder there. She
has a great gift,” said the inspector, as they went down the stairs.
“She means to play at concerts.”
The inspector and Nekhludoff arrived at the prison. The gates were
instantly opened as they appeared. The jailers, with their fingers
lifted to their caps, followed the inspector with their eyes. Four
men, with their heads half shaved, who were carrying tubs filled with
something, cringed when they saw the inspector. One of them frowned
angrily, his black eyes glaring.
“Of course a talent like that must be developed; it would not do to bury
it, but in a small lodging, you know, it is rather hard.” The inspector