"May I look in?" asked Nekhludoff.
"If you please," the assistant said with a pleasant smile, and began
to make inquiries of the warden. Nekhludoff looked through one of the
openings. A tall young man with a small black beard, clad only in his
linen, walked rapidly up and down the floor of his cell. Hearing a
rustle at the door, he looked up, frowned, and continued to walk.
Nekhludoff looked into the second opening. His eye met another large,
frightened eye. He hastily moved away. Looking into the third, he saw
a small-sized man sleeping curled up on a cot, his head covered with
his prison coat. In the fourth cell a broad-faced, pale-looking man
sat with lowered head, his elbows resting on his knees. Hearing steps,
this man raised his head and looked up. In his face and eyes was an
expression of hopeless anguish. He was apparently unconcerned about
who it was that looked into his cell. Whoever it might be, he
evidently hoped for no good from any one. Nekhludoff was seized with
fear, and he hastened to Number 21--Menshov's cell. The warden
unlocked and opened the door. A young, muscular man with a long neck,
kindly, round eyes and small beard, stood beside his cot, hastily
donning his prison coat and, with frightened face, looking at the two
men who had entered. Nekhludoff was particularly struck by the kindly,
round eyes whose wondering and startled look ran from him to the
warden and back.
"This gentleman wishes to ask you about your case."
"Thank you."
"Yes, I was told about your case," said Nekhludoff, going into the
depth of the cell and stopping at the barred, dirty window, "and would
like to hear it from yourself."
Menshov also drew near the window and immediately began to relate the
particulars of his case--at first timidly, from time to time glancing
at the warden, then growing bolder and bolder. And when the warden
had left the cell to give some orders, his timidity left him entirely.
Judging by his speech and manner, his was a story of a simple, honest
peasant, and it seemed very strange to Nekhludoff to hear it from the
lips of a prisoner in the garb of disgrace and in prison. While
listening to him, Nekhludoff examined the low cot, with its straw
mattress, the window, with its thick iron bars, the damp, plastered
walls, the pitiful face and the figure of the unfortunate, mutilated
peasant in bast shoes and prison coat, and he became sad; he would not
believe that what this kind-hearted man told him was true. And it was
still harder to think that this truthful story should be false, and
that kindly face should deceive him. His story, in short, was that
soon after his wedding a tapster enticed away his wife. He had
recourse to the law everywhere, and the tapster was everywhere
acquitted. Once he took her away by force, but she ran away the
following day. He went to the seducer, demanding his wife. The tapster
told him that she was not there, although he saw her when coming in,
and ordered him to depart. He would not go. Then the tapster and
another workman beat him until he bled, and the following day the
tapster's house took fire. He and his mother were charged with
incendiarism, although at the time the fire broke out he was visiting
a friend.
"And you really did not set the fire?"
"I never even thought of such a thing, master. The villain must have
done it himself. They say that he had just insured his house. And he
said that I and my mother came and threatened him. It is true, I
abused him at that time--couldn't help it--but I did not set the fire,
and was not even in the neighborhood when the fire started. He set the
fire purposely on the day I was there with my mother. He did it for
the insurance money, and threw it on us."
"Is it possible?"
"As true as there is a living God, master. Do help us!" He was about
to bow to the ground, but Nekhludoff forcibly prevented him. "Release
me. I am suffering here innocently," he continued. His face suddenly
began to twitch; tears welled up in his eyes, and, rolling up the
sleeve of his coat, he began to wipe his eyes with the dirty sleeve
of his shirt.
"Have you finished?" asked the warden.
"Yes. Cheer up; I will do what I can for you," Nekhludoff said, and
walked out. Menshov stood in the door, so that when the warden closed
it he pushed him in. While the warden was locking the door, Menshov
looked through the hole.