Chapter 54 Part One - Fifty One

After leaving Maslennikov's house, Nekhludoff drove to the prison and went to the house of the warden, whom he knew well.He heard the sound of the poor piano again as before, but today, instead of a rhapsody, he played an etude by Clementine, but also with extraordinary force, clarity, and rapidity.It was the maid who opened the door with one eye wrapped in gauze.She said the captain was at home, and took Nekhludoff into the small drawing room.In the drawing-room there was a couch, a table, and a large lamp with a pink paper lampshade burnt at one corner under a woolen square.The warden entered with a look of surprise and gloom on his face.

"What can I tell you?" he said, buttoning the middle button of his uniform. "I just went to the deputy governor, and here is the permit," said Nekhludoff, handing him the paper. "I want to see Maslova." "Markova?" The warden asked back because he couldn't hear the sound of the piano. "Maslova." "Oh yes! Oh yes!" The warden got up and went to the door, from which came the cadenza of the Clementine etude. "Just stop for a while, Marussia," he said, and he could tell from his tone that the music had become a great torment in his daily life. "I can't hear anything at all."

-------- ① Clementi (1752-1832) - Italian composer and pianist.There are one hundred piano etudes, which are systematic piano teaching materials. ②Cadenze (cadenze)——also translated as Cadenze.In some large-scale solos, recitals and concertos, a free-structured paragraph inserted at the end of a piece or movement. The piano sound stopped.There was the sound of someone's unpleasant footsteps.Someone glanced at the door. The warden, as if relieved that the music had ceased, lit a light cigarette and offered one to Nekhludoff.Nekhludoff declined. "I would like to see Maslova very much."

"Maslova will not have visitors today," said the warden. "why?" "Nothing, it's your own fault," said the warden with a slight smile. "Duke, don't give her the money directly. You can give it to me if you like. Her money is still hers. You must have given her the money yesterday, and she got the drink--a habit she will never give up." No,—today she was so drunk, she was so drunk that she went crazy." "Really?" "No, I'll have to take drastic measures: move her to another cell. The woman keeps her own life. Don't give her any more money. That's how they are..."

Nekhludoff recalled vividly what had happened the day before, and felt afraid again. "Well, Vera, may I see the political prisoner?" Nekhludoff asked after a moment's silence. "Well, that's all right," said the warden. "Well, what are you doing here," he asked a girl of five or six, who was walking towards her father, turning her head and staring at Nekhludoff. "Look you're going to fall," said the warden, laughing, seeing the girl running towards him, the father, without looking at the ground, and tripping her foot on the carpet. "I'll go see her if I can."

"Yes, yes," said the superintendent, picking up the little girl who had been staring at Nekhludoff, then he got up, put the girl down gently, and went into the antechamber. The warden took the overcoat handed to him by the maid with gauze around his eyes, and went out the door before he put it on.The cadenza of the Clementine etude resounded clearly. "She used to learn the piano at the Conservatory, but the teaching method there was not right. She has a talent," said the warden as he went downstairs. "She wants to play at a concert." The warden accompanied Nekhludoff to the prison door.The side door opened as soon as the warden approached it.The guards raised their hands to their hat brims and watched the warden go by.Four men with shaved heads, carrying a full commode, met them in the front room.When those people saw the warden, they all shrank.One of them was bent very low, frowning sullenly, and his dark eyes gleamed.

"Of course, talents should be cultivated and not buried, but, to tell you the truth, the house is small, and practicing the piano has caused a lot of trouble," the warden continued, ignoring the prisoners at all.With tired steps he walked into the meeting room with Nekhludoff. "Who do you want to see?" asked the warden. "Vera." "She's in the tower. You'll have to wait a while," he said to Nekhludoff. "Then can I see the Minshoff mother and son first? They are charged with arson." "Menshoff is in cell 21. All right, you can call them out."

"Can't I go and see him in Minshoff's cell?" "It's better for you to meet here quietly." "No, I think it's more interesting to meet in the cell." "Hey, you actually find it interesting!" At this time, the well-dressed deputy warden came out from the side door. "Well, take the prince to the Minshov cell. Cell No. 21," said the warden to the deputy warden, "and then take the prince to the office. I'll fetch her. What's her name? " "Vera," said Nekhludoff. The deputy warden is a young military officer with light yellow hair, sesame oil painted on his mustache, and the fragrance of toilet water exuding from his whole body.

"Please," he said to Nekhludoff, smiling. "Are you interested in our place?" "Yes, I am also interested in this man. It is said that he is completely wronged to end up here." The deputy warden shrugged. "Yes, there are such things," he said nonchalantly, and politely let the guest go ahead into the wide, smelly corridor. "But sometimes they lie too. Please." The cell doors were not locked.Several male prisoners were in the corridor.The deputy warden nodded to the guards and glanced at the prisoner.Some of the prisoners leaned against the wall and slipped back into the cell, and some put their hands on the seams of their trousers, watching the officer pass by like soldiers.The deputy warden led Nekhludoff through the corridor and led him into a corridor on the left separated by an iron gate.

This corridor was narrower, darker, and smellier than the previous one.The cells on either side of the corridor were locked.Each cell door has a small hole, called the eyelet, less than an inch in diameter.There was no one in the corridor except an old warden with a sad, wrinkled face. "Which cell is Minshov in?" the deputy warden asked the guard. "Eighth from the left."