Resurrection by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (i love reading .TXT) 📖

Vasiliev a

scolding. Vasiliev replied in like manner, and the jailer was

going to hit him, but Vasiliev seized the jailer’s hands, held

them fast for about three minutes, and, after giving the hands a

twist, pushed the jailer out of the door. The jailer complained

to the inspector, who ordered Vasiliev to be put into a solitary

cell.

 

The solitary cells were a row of dark closets, locked from

outside, and there were neither beds, nor chairs, nor tables in

them, so that the inmates had to sit or lie on the dirty floor,

while the rats, of which there were a great many in those cells,

ran across them. The rats were so bold that they stole the bread

from the prisoners, and even attacked them if they stopped

moving. Vasiliev said he would not go into the solitary cell,

because he had not done anything wrong; but they used force. Then

he began struggling, and two other prisoners helped him to free

himself from the jailers. All the jailers assembled, and among

them was Petrov, who was distinguished for his strength. The

prisoners got thrown down and pushed into the solitary cells.

 

The governor was immediately informed that something very like a

rebellion had taken place. And he sent back an order to flog the

two chief offenders, Vasiliev and the tramp, Nepomnishy, giving

each thirty strokes with a birch rod. The flogging was appointed

to take place in the women’s interviewing-room.

 

All this was known in the prison since the evening, and it was

being talked about with animation in all the cells.

 

Korableva, Khoroshevka, Theodosia, and Maslova sat together in

their corner, drinking tea, all of them flushed and animated by

the vodka they had drunk, for Maslova, who now had a constant

supply of vodka, freely treated her companions to it.

 

“He’s not been a-rioting, or anything,” Korableva said, referring

to Vasiliev, as she bit tiny pieces off a lump of sugar with her

strong teeth. “He only stuck up for a chum, because it’s not

lawful to strike prisoners nowadays.”

 

“And he’s a fine fellow, I’ve heard say,” said Theodosia, who sat

bareheaded, with her long plaits round her head, on a log of wood

opposite the shelf bedstead on which the teapot stood.

 

“There, now, if you were to ask him,” the watchman’s wife said

to Maslova (by him she meant Nekhludoff).

 

“I shall tell him. He’ll do anything for me,” Maslova said,

tossing her head, and smiling.

 

“Yes, but when is he coming? and they’ve already gone to fetch

them,” said Theodosia. “It is terrible,” she added, with a sigh.

 

“I once did see how they flogged a peasant in the village.

Father-in-law, he sent me once to the village elder. Well, I

went, and there” … The watchman’s wife began her long story,

which was interrupted by the sound of voices and steps in the

corridor above them.

 

The women were silent, and sat listening.

 

“There they are, hauling him along, the devils!” Khoroshavka

said. “They’ll do him to death, they will. The jailers are so

enraged with him because he never would give in to them.”

 

All was quiet again upstairs, and the watchman’s wife finished

her story of how she was that frightened when she went into the

barn and saw them flogging a peasant, her inside turned at the

sight, and so on. Khoroshevka related how Schegloff had been

flogged, and never uttered a sound. Then Theodosia put away the

tea things, and Korableva and the watchman’s wife took up their

sewing. Maslova sat down on the bedstead, with her arms round her

knees, dull and depressed. She was about to lie down and try to

sleep, when the woman warder called her into the office to see a

visitor.

 

“Now, mind, and don’t forget to tell him about us,” the old woman

(Menshova) said, while Maslova was arranging the kerchief on her

head before the dim looking-glass. “We did not set fire to the

house, but he himself, the fiend, did it; his workman saw him do

it, and will not damn his soul by denying it. You just tell to

ask to see my Mitri. Mitri will tell him all about it, as plain

as can be. Just think of our being locked up in prison when we

never dreamt of any ill, while he, the fiend, is enjoying himself

at the pub, with another man’s wife.”

 

“That’s not the law,” remarked Korableva.

 

“I’ll tell him—I’ll tell him,” answered Maslova. “Suppose I have

another drop, just to keep up courage,” she added, with a wink;

and Korableva poured out half a cup of vodka, which Maslova

drank. Then, having wiped her mouth and repeating the words “just

to keep up courage,” tossing her head and smiling gaily, she

followed the warder along the corridor.

 

CHAPTER XLVII.

 

NEKHLUDOFF AGAIN VISITS MASLOVA.

 

Nekhludoff had to wait in the hall for a long time. When he had

arrived at the prison and rung at the entrance door, he handed

the permission of the Procureur to the jailer on duty who met

him.

 

“No, no,” the jailer on duty said hurriedly, “the inspector is

engaged.”

 

“In the office?” asked Nekhludoff.

 

“No, here in the interviewing-room.”.

 

“Why, is it a visiting day to-day?”

 

“No; it’s special business.”

 

“I should like to see him. What am I to do?” said Nekhludoff.

 

“When the inspector comes out you’ll tell him—wait a bit,” said

the jailer.

 

At this moment a sergeant-major, with a smooth, shiny face and

moustaches impregnated with tobacco smoke, came out of a side

door, with the gold cords of his uniform glistening, and

addressed the jailer in a severe tone.

 

“What do you mean by letting any one in here? The office… .”

 

“I was told the inspector was here,” said Nekhludoff, surprised

at the agitation he noticed in the sergeant-major’s manner.

 

At this moment the inner door opened, and Petrov came out, heated

and perspiring.

 

“He’ll remember it,” he muttered, turning to the sergeant major.

The latter pointed at Nekhludoff by a look, and Petrov knitted

his brows and went out through a door at the back.

 

“Who will remember it? Why do they all seem so confused? Why did

the sergeant-major make a sign to him?” Nekhludoff thought.

 

The sergeant-major, again addressing Nekhludoff, said: “You

cannot meet here; please step across to the office.” And

Nekhludoff was about to comply when the inspector came out of the

door at the back, looking even more confused than his

subordinates, and sighing continually. When he saw Nekhludoff he

turned to the jailer.

 

“Fedotoff, have Maslova, cell 5, women’s ward, taken to the

office.”

 

“Will you come this way, please,” he said, turning to Nekhludoff.

They ascended a steep staircase and entered a little room with

one window, a writing-table, and a few chairs in it. The

inspector sat down.

 

“Mine are heavy, heavy duties,” he remarked, again addressing

Nekhludoff, and took out a cigarette.

 

“You are tired, evidently,” said Nekhludoff.

 

“Tired of the whole of the service—the duties are very trying.

One tries to lighten their lot and only makes it worse; my only

thought is how to get away. Heavy, heavy duties!”

 

Nekhludoff did not know what the inspector’s particular

difficulties were, but he saw that to-day he was in a peculiarly

dejected and hopeless condition, calling for pity.

 

“Yes, I should think the duties were heavy for a kind-hearted

man,” he said. “Why do you serve in this capacity?”

 

“I have a family.”

 

“But, if it is so hard—”

 

“Well, still you know it is possible to be of use in some

measure; I soften down all I can. Another in my place would

conduct the affairs quite differently. Why, we have more than

2,000 persons here. And what persons! One must know how to manage

them. It is easier said than done, you know. After all, they are

also men; one cannot help pitying them.” The inspector began

telling Nekhludoff of a fight that had lately taken place among

the convicts, which had ended by one man being killed.

 

The story was interrupted by the entrance of Maslova, who was

accompanied by a jailer.

 

Nekhludoff saw her through the doorway before she had noticed the

inspector. She was following the warder briskly, smiling and

tossing her head. When she saw the inspector she suddenly

changed, and gazed at him with a frightened look; but, quickly

recovering, she addressed Nekhludoff boldly and gaily.

 

“How d’you do?” she said, drawling out her words, and

Resurrection smilingly took his hand and shook it vigorously, not

like the first time.

 

“Here, I’ve brought you a petition to sign,” said Nekhludoff,

rather surprised by the boldness with which she greeted him

to-day.

 

“The advocate has written out a petition which you will have to

sign, and then we shall send it to Petersburg.”

 

“All right! That can be done. Anything you like,” she said, with

a wink and a smile.

 

And Nekhludoff drew a folded paper from his pocket and went up to

the table.

 

“May she sign it here?” asked Nekhludoff, turning to the

inspector.

 

“It’s all right, it’s all right! Sit down. Here’s a pen; you can

write?” said the inspector.

 

“I could at one time,” she said; and, after arranging her skirt

and the sleeves of her jacket, she sat down at the table, smiled

awkwardly, took the pen with her small, energetic hand, and

glanced at Nekhludoff with a laugh.

 

Nekhludoff told her what to write and pointed out the place where

to sign.

 

Sighing deeply as she dipped her pen into the ink, and carefully

shaking some drops off the pen, she wrote her name.

 

“Is it all?” she asked, looking from Nekhludoff to the inspector,

and putting the pen now on the inkstand, now on the papers.

 

“I have a few words to tell you,” Nekhludoff said, taking the pen

from her.

 

“All right; tell me,” she said. And suddenly, as if remembering

something, or feeling sleepy, she grew serious.

 

The inspector rose and left the room, and Nekhludoff remained

with her.

 

CHAPTER XLVIII.

 

MASLOVA REFUSES TO MARRY.

 

The jailer who had brought Maslova in sat on a windowsill at some

distance from them.

 

The decisive moment had come for Nekhludoff. He had been

incessantly blaming himself for not having told her the principal

thing at the first interview, and was now determined to tell her

that he would marry her. She was sitting at the further side of

the table. Nekhludoff sat down opposite her. It was light in the

room, and Nekhludoff for the first time saw her face quite near.

He distinctly saw the crowsfeet round her eyes, the wrinkles

round her mouth, and the swollen eyelids. He felt more sorry than

before. Leaning over the table so as not to be beard by the

jailer—a man of Jewish type with grizzly whiskers, who sat by

the window—Nekhludoff said:

 

“Should this petition come to nothing we shall appeal to the

Emperor. All that is possible shall be done.”

 

“There, now, if we had had a proper advocate from the first,” she

interrupted. “My defendant was quite a silly. He did nothing but

pay me compliments,” she said, and laughed. “If it had then been

known that I was acquainted with you, it would have been another

matter. They think every one’s a thief.”

 

“How strange she is to-day,” Nekhludoff thought, and was just

going to say what he had on his mind when she began again:

 

“There’s something I want to say. We have