the cells.

nekhludoff drove that day straight from maslennikoff's to the prison, and went to the inspector's lodging, which he now knew. he was again struck by the sounds of the same piano of inferior quality; but this time it was not a rhapsody that was being played, but exercises by clementi, again with the same vigour, distinctness, and quickness. the servant with the bandaged eye said the inspector was in, and showed nekhludoff to a small drawing-room, in which there stood a sofa and, in front of it, a table, with a large lamp, which stood on a piece of crochet work, and the paper shade of which was burnt on one side. the chief inspector entered, with his usual sad and weary look.

"take a seat, please. what is it you want?" he said, buttoning up the middle button of his uniform.

"i have just been to the vice-governor's, and got this order from him. i should like to see the prisoner maslova."

"markova?" asked the inspector, unable to bear distinctly because of the music.

"maslova!"

"well, yes." the inspector got up and went to the door whence proceeded clementi's roulades.

"mary, can't you stop just a minute?" he said, in a voice that showed that this music was the bane of his life. "one can't hear a word."

the piano was silent, but one could hear the sound of reluctant steps, and some one looked in at the door.

the inspector seemed to feel eased by the interval of silence, lit a thick cigarette of weak tobacco, and offered one to nekhludoff.

nekhludoff refused.

"what i want is to see maslova."

"oh, yes, that can be managed. now, then, what do you want?" he said, addressing a little girl of five or six, who came into the room and walked up to her father with her head turned towards nekhludoff, and her eyes fixed on him.

"there, now, you'll fall down," said the inspector, smiling, as the little girl ran up to him, and, not looking where she was going, caught her foot in a little rug.

"well, then, if i may, i shall go."

"it's not very convenient to see maslova to-day," said the inspector.

"how's that?"

"well, you know, it's all your own fault," said the inspector, with a slight smile. "prince, give her no money into her hands. if you like, give it me. i will keep it for her. you see, you gave her some money yesterday; she got some spirits (it's an evil we cannot manage to root out), and to-day she is quite tipsy, even violent."

"can this be true?"

"oh, yes, it is. i have even been obliged to have recourse to severe measures, and to put her into a separate cell. she is a quiet woman in an ordinary way. but please do not give her any money. these people are so--" what had happened the day before came vividly back to nekhludoff's mind, and again he was seized with fear.

"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.

"where is menshoff?" asked the inspector's assistant.

"the eighth cell to the left."

"and these? are they occupied?" asked nekhludoff.

"yes, all but one."

从玛斯连尼科夫家出来，聂赫留朵夫乘车赶到监狱，往他熟悉的典狱长家里走去。他象上次一样又听到那架蹩脚钢琴的声音，不过今天弹的不是狂想曲，而是克莱曼蒂1的练习曲，但也弹得异常有力、清楚、快速。开门的还是那个一只眼睛用纱布包着的侍女。她说上尉在家，然后把聂赫留朵夫带到小会客室。会客室里摆着一张长沙发、一张桌子和一盏大灯，灯下垫着一块毛线织成的方巾，粉红色的纸灯罩有一角被烧焦了。典狱长走进来，脸上现出惊讶和阴郁的神色。

“请问有何见教？”他一面说，一面扣上制服中间的钮扣。

“我刚才去找了副省长，这是许可证，”聂赫留朵夫把证件交给他，说。“我想看看玛丝洛娃。”

“玛尔科娃？”典狱长因琴声听不清楚，反问道。

“玛丝洛娃。”

“哦，有的！哦，有的！”

典狱长站起来，走到门口，从那里传来克莱曼蒂练习曲的华彩乐段2。

“玛露霞，你就稍微停一下吧，”他说，从口气里听出这种音乐已成了他日常生活中的一大苦恼，“简直什么也听不见。”

--------

1克莱曼蒂（1752—1832）——意大利作曲家，钢琴家。作有钢琴练习曲一百首，是系统的钢琴教材。

2华彩乐段（cadenze）——又译华彩经过句。在一些大型独唱曲、独奏曲和协奏曲中，插于乐曲或乐章末尾的一个结构自由的段落。

钢琴声停了。传来不知谁的不愉快的脚步声。有人往房门里张了一眼。

典狱长仿佛因音乐停止而松了一口气，点上一支淡味的粗烟卷，并且向聂赫留朵夫敬了一支。聂赫留朵夫谢绝了。

“我很想见见玛丝洛娃。”

“玛丝洛娃今天不便会客，”典狱长说。

“为什么？”

“没什么，这得怪您自己不好，”典狱长微微地笑着说。

“公爵，您不要把钱直接交给她。要是您乐意，可以交给我。她的钱还是属于她的。您昨天一定给了她钱，她就弄到了酒——这个恶习她怎么也戒不掉，——今天她喝得烂醉，醉得发酒疯了。”

“真的吗？”

“可不是，我只好采取严厉措施：把她搬到另一间牢房里。这女人本来倒安分守己。您今后再别给她钱了。他们那些人就是这样的……”

聂赫留朵夫清清楚楚地回想起昨天的情景，心里又感到害怕。

“那么，薇拉，那个政治犯，可以见见吗？”聂赫留朵夫沉默了一会儿，问。

“嗯，这可以，”典狱长说。“哎，你来做什么，”他问一个五六岁的女孩子说，她正扭过头，眼睛盯着聂赫留朵夫，向父亲走来。“瞧你要摔交了，”典狱长看见女孩向他这个做父亲的跑来，眼睛不看地面，脚在地毯上绊了一下，就笑着说。

“要是可以，我去看看她。”

“好的，可以，”典狱长抱起那个一直盯住聂赫留朵夫瞧的小女孩说，接着站起身，温柔地把女孩放下，走到前室。

典狱长接过眼睛包纱布的侍女递给他的大衣，还没有穿好，就走出门去。克莱曼蒂练习曲的华彩乐段声又清楚地响了起来。

“她原来在音乐学院里学琴，可是那边的教学法不对头。她这人倒是有才气的，”典狱长一边下楼，一边说。“她想到音乐会上演出呢。”

典狱长陪着聂赫留朵夫走到监狱门口。典狱长一走近边门，那门就立刻开了。看守们都把手举到帽沿上，目送典狱长走过去。四个剃阴阳头的人，抬着满满的便桶，在前室里遇见他们。那几个人一见典狱长，都缩拢身子。其中一个身子弯得特别低，阴沉沉地皱起眉头，一双乌黑的眼睛闪闪发亮。

“当然，有才能应该培养，不应该埋没，但是，不瞒您说，房子小，练琴招来了不少烦恼，”典狱长继续说，根本不理睬那些犯人。他拖着疲劳的步子，同聂赫留朵夫一起走进聚会室。

“您想见谁呀？”典狱长问。

“薇拉。”

“她关在塔楼里。您得等一会儿，”他对聂赫留朵夫说。

“那么我能不能先看看明肖夫母子俩？他们被控犯了纵火罪。”

“明肖夫关在二十一号牢房。行，可以把他们叫出来。”

“我不能到明肖夫牢房里去看他吗？”

“你们还是在这里见面安静些。”

“不，我觉得牢房里见面有意思些。”

“嗐，您居然觉得有意思！”

这时候，衣着讲究的副典狱长从边门走出来。

“好，您把公爵领到明肖夫牢房里。第二十一号牢房，”典狱长对副典狱长说，“然后把公爵带到办公室。我去把她叫来。

她叫什么名子？”

“薇拉，”聂赫留朵夫说。

副典狱长是个青年军官，头发淡黄，小胡子上涂过香油，周身散发出花露水的香味。

“请吧，”他笑容可掬地对聂赫留朵夫说。“您对我们这地方感兴趣吗？”

“是的，我对这个人也感兴趣。据说他落到这里是完全冤枉的。”

副典狱长耸耸肩膀。

“是的，这种事是有的，”他若无其事地说，彬彬有礼地让客人走在前头，来到宽阔而发臭的走廊里。“但有时他们也会撒谎。请。”

牢房门都没有上锁。有几个男犯待在走廊里。副典狱长向看守们点点头，眼睛瞟着犯人。那些犯人，有的身子贴着墙，溜回牢房里，有的双手贴住裤缝，象士兵那样目送长官走过去。副典狱长带着聂赫留朵夫穿过走廊，把他领到由铁门隔开的左边一条走廊里。

这条走廊比刚才那条更狭，更暗，更臭。走廊两边的牢房都上着锁。每个牢门上有个小洞，称为门眼，直径不到一寸。走廊里，除了一个神色忧郁、满脸皱纹的老看守，一个人也没有。

“明肖夫在哪个牢房？”副典狱长问看守。

“左边第八个。”