Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

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!” Khoroshávka 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. Khoroshávka related how Scheglóff had been flogged, and never uttered a sound. Then Theodosia put away the tea things, and Korabléva and the watchman’s wife took up their sewing. Máslova 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 (Menshóva) said, while Máslova 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 Mítri. Mítri 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 Korabléva.

“I’ll tell him⁠—I’ll tell him,” answered Máslova. “Suppose I have another drop, just to keep up courage,” she added, with a wink; and Korabléva poured out half a cup of vodka, which Máslova 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.

XLVII

Nekhlúdoff 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 Nekhlúdoff.

“No, here in the interviewing-room.”

“Why, is it a visiting day today?”

“No; it’s special business.”

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

“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 anyone in here? The office⁠—”

“I was told the inspector was here,” said Nekhlúdoff, surprised at the agitation he noticed in the sergeant-major’s manner.

At this moment the inner door opened, and Petróv came out, heated and perspiring.

“He’ll remember it,” he muttered, turning to the sergeant-major. The latter pointed at Nekhlúdoff by a look, and Petróv 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?” Nekhlúdoff thought.

The sergeant-major, again addressing Nekhlúdoff, said: “You cannot meet here; please step across to the office.” And Nekhlúdoff 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 Nekhlúdoff he turned to the jailer.

“Fedótoff, have Máslova, cell 5, women’s ward, taken to the office.”

“Will you come this way, please,” he said, turning to Nekhlúdoff. 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 Nekhlúdoff, and took out a cigarette.

“You are tired, evidently,” said Nekhlúdoff.

“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!”

Nekhlúdoff did not know what the inspector’s particular difficulties were, but he saw that today he was in a peculiarly dejected and hopeless condition, calling for pity.

“Yes, I should think the duties were heavy for a kindhearted 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 Nekhlúdoff 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 Máslova, who was accompanied by a jailer.

Nekhlúdoff 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 Nekhlúdoff boldly and gaily.

“How d’you do?” she said, drawling out her words, and smilingly took his hand and shook it vigorously, not like the first time.

“Here, I’ve brought you a petition to sign,” said Nekhlúdoff, rather surprised by the boldness with which she greeted him today.

“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 Nekhlúdoff drew a folded paper from his