Resurrection - Leo Tolstoy (me reader TXT) 📗

The officer gave Nekhlúdoff a frightened look.

“Won’t you take some more tea?” he said.

“No, thank you.”

“Bernóff!” the officer called, “take the gentleman to Vakoúloff. Tell him to let him into the separate political room. He may remain there till the inspection.”

Accompanied by the orderly, Nekhlúdoff went out into the courtyard, which was dimly lit up by the red light of the lamps.

“Where to?” asked the convoy sergeant, addressing the orderly.

“Into the separate cell, No. 5.”

“You can’t pass here; the boss has gone to the village and taken the keys.”

“Well, then, pass this way.”

The soldier led Nekhlúdoff along a board to another entrance. While still in the yard Nekhlúdoff could hear the din of voices and general commotion going on inside as in a beehive when the bees are preparing to swarm; but when he came nearer and the door opened the din grew louder, and changed into distinct sounds of shouting, abuse and laughter. He heard the clatter of chairs and smelt the well-known foul air. This din of voices and the clatter of the chairs, together with the close smell, always flowed into one tormenting sensation, and produced in Nekhlúdoff a feeling of moral nausea which grew into physical sickness, the two feelings mingling with and heightening each other.

The first thing Nekhlúdoff saw, on entering, was a large, stinking tub. A corridor into which several doors opened led from the entrance. The first was the family room, then the bachelors’ room, and at the very end two small rooms were set apart for the political prisoners.

The buildings, which were arranged to hold 150 prisoners, now that there were 450 inside, were so crowded that the prisoners could not all get into the rooms, but filled the passage, too. Some were sitting or lying on the floor, some were going out with empty teapots, or bringing them back filled with boiling water. Among the latter was Tarás. He overtook Nekhlúdoff and greeted him affectionately. The kind face of Tarás was disfigured by dark bruises on his nose and under his eye.

“What has happened to you?” asked Nekhlúdoff.

“Yes, something did happen,” Tarás said, with a smile.

“All because of the woman,” added a prisoner, who followed Tarás; “he’s had a row with Blind Fédka.”

“And how’s Theodosia?”

“She’s all right. Here I am bringing her the water for her tea,” Tarás answered, and went into the family room.

Nekhlúdoff looked in at the door. The room was crowded with women and men, some of whom were on and some under the bedsteads; it was full of steam from the wet clothes that were drying, and the chatter of women’s voices was unceasing. The next door led into the bachelors’ room. This room was still more crowded; even the doorway and the passage in front of it were blocked by a noisy crowd of men, in wet garments, busy doing or deciding something or other.

The convoy sergeant explained that it was the prisoner appointed to buy provisions, paying off out of the food money what was owing to a sharper who had won from or lent money to the prisoners, and receiving back little tickets made of playing cards. When they saw the convoy soldier and a gentleman, those who were nearest became silent, and followed them with looks of ill-will. Among them Nekhlúdoff noticed the criminal Fédoroff, whom he knew, and who always kept a miserable lad with a swelled appearance and raised eyebrows beside him, and also a disgusting, noseless, pockmarked tramp, who was notorious among the prisoners because he killed his comrade in the marshes while trying to escape, and had, as it was rumoured, fed on his flesh. The tramp stood in the passage with his wet cloak thrown over one shoulder, looking mockingly and boldly at Nekhlúdoff, and did not move out of the way. Nekhlúdoff passed him by.

Though this kind of scene had now become quite familiar to him, though he had during the last three months seen these 400 criminal prisoners over and over again in many different circumstances; in the heat, enveloped in clouds of dust which they raised as they dragged their chained feet along the road, and at the resting places by the way, where the most horrible scenes of barefaced debauchery had occurred, yet every time he came among them, and felt their attention fixed upon him as it was now, shame and consciousness of his sin against them tormented him. To this sense of shame and guilt was added an unconquerable feeling of loathing and horror. He knew that, placed in a position such as theirs, they could not be other than they were, and yet he was unable to stifle his disgust.

“It’s well for them grub-suckers,” Nekhlúdoff heard someone say in a hoarse voice as he approached the room of the political prisoners. Then followed a word of obscene abuse, and spiteful, mocking laughter.

When they had passed the bachelors’ room the sergeant who accompanied Nekhlúdoff left him, promising to come for him before the inspection would take place. As soon as the sergeant was gone a prisoner, quickly stepping with his bare feet and holding up the chains, came close up to Nekhlúdoff, enveloping him in the strong, acid smell of perspiration, and said in a mysterious whisper: “Help the lad, sir; he’s got into an awful mess. Been drinking. Today he’s given his name as Karmánoff at the inspection. Take his part, sir. We dare not, or they’ll kill us,” and looking uneasily round he turned away.

This is what had happened. The criminal Karmánoff had persuaded a young fellow who resembled him in appearance and was sentenced to exile to change names with him and go to the mines instead of him, while he only went to exile. Nekhlúdoff knew all this. Some convict had told him about this exchange the week before. He nodded as a sign that he understood and would do what was in