Resurrection

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.