Nekhludoff left the house early. A peasant was driving along a side
alley, shouting in a strange voice: "Milk! milk! milk!"
The first warm, spring rain had fallen the evening before. Wherever
there was a patch of unpaved ground the green grass burst forth; the
lindens were covered with green nap; the fowl-cherry and poplar
unfolded their long, fragrant leaves. In the market-place, through
which Nekhludoff had to pass, dense crowds in rags swarmed before the
tents, some carrying boots under their arms, others smoothly pressed
trousers and vests on their shoulders.
The working people were already crowding near the traktirs
(tea-houses), the men in clean, long coats gathered in folds in the
back of the waist, and in shining boots; the women in bright-colored
silk shawls and cloaks with glass-bead trimmings. Policemen, with
pistols attached to yellow cords fastened around their waists, stood
at their posts. Children and dogs played on the grass-plots, and gay
nurses sat chatting on the benches.
On the streets, the left sides of which were yet cool, moist and
shady, heavy carts and light cabs rumbled and jostled, the tram-cars
rang their bells. The air was agitated by the pealing of the
church-bells summoning the people to mass.
The driver stopped at a turn some distance from the prison. A few men
and women stood around, most of them with bundles in their hands. To
the right stood a few frame houses; to the left a two-story building
over which hung a large sign. The large prison itself was directly in
front. An armed soldier walked to and fro challenging every one
attempting to pass him.
At the gate of the frame buildings sat the warden in uniform, with an
entry booklet in his hand. He made entries of visitors and those whom
they wished to see. Nekhludoff approached him, gave his name and that
of Moslova, and the officer entered them in his book.
"Why don't they open the door?" asked Nekhludoff.
"The morning service is on. As soon as it is over you will be
admitted."
Nekhludoff returned among the waiting crowd.
A man in threadbare clothing, rumpled hat and slippers on his bare
feet, and his face full of red lines, pushed his way through the crowd
and walked toward the prison door.
"Where are you going?" shouted the soldier.
"What are you bawling about?" answered the man, entirely undisturbed
by the soldier's challenge. "If I can't go in, I will wait. No use
bawling as if you were a general."
The crowd laughed approvingly. Most of the visitors were poorly
dressed, even ragged, but, judging by outward appearance, there were
also some decent men and women among them. Beside Nekhludoff stood a
well-dressed man, clean shaven, stout and with rosy cheeks, who
carried a bundle of what looked like linen. Nekhludoff asked him if
that was his first visit. The man answered that he came there every
Sunday, and they entered into conversation. He was an employee of a
bank, whose brother was under indictment for forgery. This
kind-hearted man told Nekhludoff all his story, and was about to ask
him about his own when their attention was attracted by a rubber-tired
carriage drawn by a blooded chestnut horse. The carriage was occupied
by a student and a lady whose face was hidden under a veil. The
student alighted, holding in his hand a large bundle. He approached
Nekhludoff and asked him where and how he should deliver the loaves of
bread he had brought for the prisoners. "I brought them at the request
of my bride. That is my bride. Her parents advised us to bring some
alms for the prisoners."
"I really don't know, for I am here for the first time, but I think
that that officer will tell you," said Nekhludoff, pointing to the
warden in the crown-laced uniform.
While Nekhludoff was talking to the student the large iron gate of the
prison opened and a uniformed officer with another warden came out.
The one with the booklet in his hand announced that the prison was
open for visitors. The guard stood aside, and all the visitors, as if
fearing to be late, with quick step, and some even running, pressed
toward the prison gate. One of the wardens stationed himself at the
gate, and in a loud voice counted the passing visitors--16, 17, 18,
etc. The other warden, within the gate, touching each with his hand,
also counted the visitors as they entered another door. This was to
make sure that at their departure no visitor remained in prison, and
no prisoner made his way out. The tallying officer, without regard to
the person of the visitor, slapped Nekhludoff on the back. This at
first offended the latter, but he immediately remembered his mission,
and he became ashamed that his feelings should be thus wounded.
The second door opened into a large, vaulted room with small
iron-grated windows. In this room, which was called the meeting-room,
Nekhludoff saw in a niche a large image of the Crucifixion.
Nekhludoff went on slowly, letting the hurrying visitors pass before,
and experienced a mingled feeling of horror at the malefactors
imprisoned in this jail, compassion for those innocent people who,
like the boy and Katiousha, must be here, and timidity and tenderness
before the meeting that was before him. When he reached the end of the
room the warden said something, but Nekhludoff, who was absorbed in
his thoughts, paid no attention to it, and followed in the direction
led by the crowd, that is, to the men's ward instead of the women's.
Letting the hurrying visitors pass, he walked into the next room
designated for interviews. On opening the door he was struck by the
deafening shouts of a hundred throats turned into a continuous humming
noise. Only as he neared the people, who, like flies swarming on sugar
pressed their faces against a net which divided the room in two, did
Nekhludoff understand the cause of the noise. This room with windows
in the rear wall was divided in two not by one, but by two wire nets
which stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Two wardens walked
between the nets. The prisoners were on the other side of the nets,
between which there was a space of about seven feet for visitors, so
that not only was it difficult to converse with them but a
short-sighted man could not even see the face of the prisoner he was
visiting. In order to be heard, it was necessary to shout at the top
of one's voice. On both sides, pressing against the nets, were the
faces of wives, husbands, fathers, mothers, children, who endeavored
to see and speak to each other. But as every one tried to speak so
that he could be heard by the person spoken to, and his neighbor did
the same, their voices interfered with each other, and each tried to
outcry the other. The result was the noise which astonished Nekhludoff
when he entered the room. It was absolutely impossible to understand
the conversations. Only by the expression of the people's faces could
one judge what they were speaking about, and what relation the
speakers sustained toward each other. Near Nekhludoff was an old woman
with a small 'kerchief on her head, who, with trembling chin, shouted
to a pale young man with head half shaven. The prisoner, knitting his
brow, was listening to her with raised eyebrows. Beside the old woman
stood a young man in a long coat, who was nodding his head while
listening to a prisoner with a weary face and beard turning gray, who
greatly resembled him. Further on stood a ragamuffin waving his hand,
shouting and laughing. On the floor beside this man sat a woman in a
good woolen dress, with a child in her arms. She wept bitterly,
evidently seeing for the first time that gray-haired man on the other
side of the net, manacled, in a prison jacket, and with head half
shaven. Over this woman stood the bank employee shouting at the top of
his voice to a bald-headed prisoner with shining eyes.
Nekhludoff remained in this room about five minutes, experiencing a
strange feeling of anguish, a consciousness of his impotence at the
discord in the world, and he was seized with a sensation like a
rocking on board of a ship.
"But I must fulfill my mission," he said to himself, taking heart.
"What am I to do?"
As he looked around for some officer, he saw a middle-sized man with
mustache, wearing epaulets, who was walking behind the crowd.
"Sir, could you not tell me where the women are kept, and where it is
permitted to see them?" he asked, making a particular effort to be
polite.
"You wish to go to the women's ward?"
"Yes; I would like to see one of the women prisoners," Nekhludoff
said, with the same strained politeness.
"You should have said so in the meeting-room. Whom do you wish to see,
then?"
"I wish to see Katherine Maslova."
"Has she been sentenced?"
"Yes, she was sentenced the other day," he said humbly, as if fearing
to ruffle the temper of the officer, who seemed to be interested in
him.
"Then this way, please," said the inspector, who had evidently
decided from Nekhludoff's appearance that he deserved attention.
"Sidoroff!" he turned to a warrant-officer wearing a mustache, and
medals on his breast. "Show this gentleman to the women's ward."
"All right, sir."
At that moment heart-rending cries came from the direction of the
grating.
All this seemed strange to Nekhludoff, and strangest of all was that
he was obliged to thank and feel himself under obligation to the
inspector and warden.
The warden led Nekhludoff from the men's ward into the corridor, and
through the open door opposite admitted him to the women's
meeting-room.