NO. 21.
“May I look in?” asked Nekhludoff.
“Oh, certainly,” answered the assistant, smiling, and turned to the
jailer with some question.
Nekhludoff looked into one of the little holes, and saw a tall young man
pacing up and down the cell. When the man heard some one at the door he
looked up with a frown, but continued walking up and down.
Nekhludoff looked into another hole. His eye met another large eye
looking out of the hole at him, and he quickly stepped aside. In the
third cell he saw a very small man asleep on the bed, covered, head and
all, with his prison cloak. In the fourth a broad-faced man was sitting
with his elbows on his knees and his head low down. At the sound of
footsteps this man raised his head and looked up. His face, especially
his large eyes, bore the expression of hopeless dejection. One could see
that it did not even interest him to know who was looking into his
cell. Whoever it might be, he evidently hoped for nothing good from him.
Nekhludoff was seized with dread, and went to Menshoff’s cell, No. 21,
without stopping to look through any more holes. The jailer unlocked the
door and opened it. A young man, with long neck, well-developed muscles,
a small head, and kind, round eyes, stood by the bed, hastily putting
on his cloak, and looking at the newcomers with a frightened face.
Nekhludoff was specially struck by the kind, round eyes that were
throwing frightened and inquiring glances in turns at him, at the
jailer, and at the assistant, and back again.
“Here’s a gentleman wants to inquire into your affair.”
“Thank you kindly.”
“Yes, I was told about you,” Nekhludoff said, going through the cell up
to the dirty grated window, “and I should like to hear all about it from
yourself.”
Menshoff also came up to the window, and at once started telling his
story, at first looking shyly at the inspector’s assistant, but growing
gradually bolder. When the assistant left the cell and went into the
corridor to give some order the man grew quite bold. The story was told
with the accent and in the manner common to a most ordinary good peasant
lad. To hear it told by a prisoner dressed in this degrading clothing,
and inside a prison, seemed very strange to Nekhludoff. Nekhludoff
listened, and at the same time kept looking around him--at the low
bedstead with its straw mattress, the window and the dirty, damp wall,
and the piteous face and form of this unfortunate, disfigured peasant
in his prison cloak and shoes, and he felt sadder and sadder, and would
have liked not to believe what this good-natured fellow was saying. It
seemed too dreadful to think that men could do such a thing as to take
a man, dress him in convict clothes, and put him in this horrible place
without any reason only because he himself had been injured. And yet the
thought that this seemingly true story, told with such a good-natured
expression on the face, might be an invention and a lie was still
more dreadful. This was the story: The village public-house keeper had
enticed the young fellow’s wife. He tried to get justice by all sorts
of means. But everywhere the public-house keeper managed to bribe the
officials, and was acquitted. Once, he took his wife back by force, but
she ran away next day. Then he came to demand her back, but, though he
saw her when he came in, the public-house keeper told him she was not
there, and ordered him to go away. He would not go, so the public-house
keeper and his servant beat him so that they drew blood. The next day
a fire broke out in the public-house, and the young man and his mother
were accused of having set the house on fire. He had not set it on fire,
but was visiting a friend at the time.
“And it is true that you did not set it on fire?”
“It never entered my head to do it, sir. It must be my enemy that did
it himself. They say he had only just insured it. Then they said it was
mother and I that did it, and that we had threatened him. It is true I
once did go for him, my heart couldn’t stand it any longer.”
“Can this be true?”
“God is my witness it is true. Oh, sir, be so good--” and Nekhludoff had
some difficulty to prevent him from bowing down to the ground. “You see
I am perishing without any reason.” His face quivered and he turned
up the sleeve of his cloak and began to cry, wiping the tears with the
sleeve of his dirty shirt.
“Are you ready?” asked the assistant.
“Yes. Well, cheer up. We will consult a good lawyer, and will do what we
can,” said Nekhludoff, and went out. Menshoff stood close to the door,
so that the jailer knocked him in shutting it, and while the jailer was
locking it he remained looking out through the little hole.