CHAPTER LII.
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.
