Resurrection

"And Doukhova, a political prisoner; might I see her?"

"Yes, if you like," said the inspector. He embraced the little

girl, who was still looking at Nekhludoff, got up, and, tenderly

motioning her aside, went into the ante-room. Hardly had he got

into the overcoat which the maid helped him to put on, and before

he had reached the door, the distinct sounds of Clementi's

roulades again began.

"She entered the Conservatoire, but there is such disorder there.

She has a great gift," said the inspector, as they went down the

stairs. "She means to play at concerts."

The inspector and Nekhludoff arrived at the prison. The gates

were instantly opened as they appeared. The jailers, with their

fingers lifted to their caps, followed the inspector with their

eyes. Four men, with their heads half shaved, who were carrying

tubs filled with something, cringed when they saw the inspector.

One of them frowned angrily, his black eyes glaring.

"Of course a talent like that must be developed; it would not do

to bury it, but in a small lodging, you know, it is rather hard."

The inspector went on with the conversation, taking no notice of

the prisoners.

"Who is it you want to see?"

"Doukhova."

"Oh, she's in the tower. You'll have to wait a little," he said.

"Might I not meanwhile see the prisoners Menshoff, mother and

son, who are accused of incendiarism?"

"Oh, yes. Cell No. 21. Yes, they can be sent for."

"But might I not see Menshoff in his cell?"

"Oh, you'll find the waiting-room more pleasant."

"No. I should prefer the cell. It is more interesting."

"Well, you have found something to be interested in!"

Here the assistant, a smartly-dressed officer, entered the side

door.

"Here, see the Prince into Menshoff's cell, No. 21," said the

inspector to his assistant, "and then take him to the office. And

I'll go and call--What's her name? Vera Doukhova."

The inspector's assistant was young, with dyed moustaches, and

diffusing the smell of eau-de-cologne. "This way, please," he

said to Nekhludoff, with a pleasant smile. "Our establishment

interests you?"

"Yes, it does interest me; and, besides, I look upon it as a duty

to help a man who I heard was confined here, though innocent."

The assistant shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, that may happen," he said quietly, politely stepping aside

to let the visitor enter, the stinking corridor first. "But it

also happens that they lie. Here we are."

The doors of the cells were open, and some of the prisoners were

in the corridor. The assistant nodded slightly to the jailers,

and cast a side glance at the prisoners, who, keeping close to

the wall, crept back to their cells, or stood like soldiers, with

their arms at their sides, following the official with their

eyes. After passing through one corridor, the assistant showed

Nekhludoff into another to the left, separated from the first by

an iron door. This corridor was darker, and smelt even worse than

the first. The corridor had doors on both sides, with little

holes in them about an inch in diameter. There was only an old

jailer, with an unpleasant face, in this corridor.