NEKHLUDOFF ENDEAVOURS TO VISIT MASLOVA.
From the Procureur Nekhludoff went straight to the preliminary detention *. However, no Maslova was to be found there, and the inspector explained to Nekhludoff that she would probably be in the old temporary *. Nekhludoff went there.
Yes, Katerina Maslova was there.
The distance between the two *s was enormous, and Nekhludoff only reached the old * towards evening. He was going up to the door of the large, gloomy building, but the sentinel stopped him and rang. A warder came in answer to the bell. Nekhludoff showed him his order of admittance, but the warder said he could not let him in without the inspector's permission. Nekhludoff went to see the inspector. As he was going up the stairs he heard distant sounds of some complicated bravura, played on the piano. When a cross servant girl, with a bandaged eye, opened the door to him, those sounds seemed to escape from the room and to strike his car. It was a rhapsody of Liszt's, that everybody was tired of, splendidly played but only to one point. When that point was reached the same thing was repeated. Nekhludoff asked the bandaged maid whether the inspector was in. She answered that he was not in.
"Will he return soon?"
The rhapsody again stopped and recommenced loudly and brilliantly again up to the same charmed point.
"I will go and ask," and the servant went away.
"Tell him he is not in and won't be to-day; he is out visiting. What do they come bothering for?" came the sound of a woman's voice from behind the door, and again the rhapsody rattled on and stopped, and the sound of a chair pushed back was heard. It was plain the irritated pianist meant to rebuke the tiresome visitor, who had come at an untimely hour. "Papa is not in," a pale girl with crimped hair said, crossly, coming out into the ante-room, but, seeing a young man in a good coat, she softened.
"Come in, please. . . . What is it you want?"
"I want to see a *er in this *."
"A political one, I suppose?"
"No, not a political one. I have a permission from the Procureur."
"Well, I don't know, and papa is out; but come in, please," she said, again, "or else speak to the assistant. He is in the office at present; apply there. What is your name?"
"I thank you," said Nekhludoff, without answering her question, and went out.
The door was not yet closed after him when the same lively tones recommenced. In the courtyard Nekhludoff met an officer with bristly moustaches, and asked for the assistant-inspector. It was the assistant himself. He looked at the order of admittance, but said that he could not decide to let him in with a pass for the preliminary *. Besides, it was too late. "Please to come again to-morrow. To morrow, at 10, everybody is allowed to go in. Come then, and the inspector himself will be at home. Then you can have the interview either in the common room or, if the inspector allows it, in the office."
And so Nekhludoff did not succeed in getting an interview that day, and returned home. As he went along the streets, excited at the idea of meeting her, he no longer thought about the Law Courts, but recalled his conversations with the Procureur and the inspector's assistant. The fact that he had been seeking an interview with her, and had told the Procureur, and had been in two *s, so excited him that it was long before he could calm down. When he got home he at once fetched out his diary, that had long remained untouched, read a few sentences out of it, and then wrote as follows:
"For two years I have not written anything in my diary, and thought I never should return to this childishness. Yet it is not childishness, but converse with my own self, with this real divine self which lives in every man. All this time that I slept there was no one for me to converse with. I was awakened by an extraordinary event on the 28th of April, in the Law Court, when I was on the jury. I saw her in the *ers' dock, the Katusha betrayed by me, in a *er's cloak, condemned to penal servitude through a strange mistake, and my own fault. I have just been to the Procureur's and to the *, but I was not admitted. I have resolved to do all I can to see her, to confess to her, and to atone for my sin, even by a marriage. God help me. My soul is at peace and I am full of joy."
聂赫留朵夫从检察官那里出来，乘车直奔拘留所。可是那里根本没有玛丝洛娃这个人。所长对聂赫留朵夫说，她准是在老的解犯*。聂赫留朵夫就上那里去。
玛丝洛娃果然在那里。检察官忘记了，大约六个月以前发生过一次政治案件，宪兵夸大其词，把它说得极其严重，弄得拘留所所有的牢房里都关满大学生、医生、工人、高等女校学生和女医士。
解犯*离拘留所很远，聂赫留朵夫傍晚才到那里。他想走近那座一陰一森森的大楼门口。哨兵不让他过去，只拉了拉铃。看守听见铃声走出来。聂赫留朵夫出示许可证，但看守说没有典狱长的准许不能放他进去。聂赫留朵夫就去找典狱长。他在楼梯上听见房间里传出一阵钢琴声。有人在弹奏一首复杂而雄壮的短曲。一个侍女一只眼睛上包着纱布，怒气冲冲地给他开了门。这当儿，琴声从房里冲出来，直灌到他的耳朵里。那是一首听腻了的李斯特狂想曲，虽然弹得很好，但弹到一个地方就停下来，然后又从头弹起。聂赫留朵夫问侍女典狱长在不在家。
侍女说他不在家。
“快回来了吗？”
狂想曲又停下了，接着又生气勃勃地从头弹起，直到那个仿佛被魔法停住的地方。
“让我去问问。”
侍女走了。
狂想曲刚刚又热情奔放地弹奏起来，还没有弹到那个被魔法停住的地方，突然中断了。传来了说话声。
“对他说，典狱长不在家，今天不会回来。他出去做客了。干吗纠缠不清啊！”门里传出来一个女人的声音。接着又响起狂想曲，又突然停止了。传来挪动椅子的声音。准是弹钢琴的女人发火了，要亲自训斥一下这个纠缠不清的不速之客。“爸爸不在家，”一个头发蓬松、面容忧郁的姑一娘一走出来，生气地说。她脸色苍白，眼睛疲乏无神，眼圈发青。一看见一个身穿讲究大衣的年轻人，口气马上变得一温一和了。“请进来……您有什么事啊？”
“我要到*里去探望一个囚犯。”
“大概是个政治犯吧？”
“不，不是政治犯。我有检察官的许可证。”
“嗯，我不知道，爸爸不在家。您请进来！”她又从狭小的前室里招呼他。“不然您去找副典狱长吧，他此刻在办公室里，您去同他谈一谈。您贵姓？”
“谢谢您，”聂赫留朵夫说，没有回答她的问题就走了。
他一走，房门还没有关上，就又响起雄壮而欢乐的琴声。这声音同弹琴的地点和面容忧郁而顽强地学琴的姑一娘一都是很不相称的。聂赫留朵夫在院子里遇见一个两撇小一胡一子抹过油的年轻军官，就向他打听副典狱长在什么地方。原来他就是副典狱长。他接过许可证，看了看说，这是拘留所的许可证，他不敢让聂赫留朵夫到*探望。再说时间也已经晚了……
“您明天来吧。明天十点钟人人都可以探望。您到那时来吧，典狱长本人也将在家。明天您可以在大间里探望；要是典狱长许可，也可以在办公室里同她见面。”
这天聂赫留朵夫探监始终没有成功，就回家了。想到明天将同玛丝洛娃见面，聂赫留朵夫心情十分激动。他此刻在街上走着，不去回想法庭上的情景，而回想着他同检察官和副典狱长的谈话。想到他怎样努力要同她见面，怎样把他的愿望告诉检察官，怎样到拘留所和解犯*去，准备见她，他内心好半天不能平静。他一回到家里，立刻拿出他好久没有动过的日记本，念了几段，就写了下面这些话：“两年没有记日记，原以为再也不会干这种孩子气的玩意儿了。其实这并不是什么孩子气的玩意儿，而是同自己谈话，同人人身上都存在的真正的圣洁的我谈话。这个我长期沉睡不醒，因此我没有一个人可以一交一谈。四月二十八日我当陪审员，在那次法庭上，那个非同寻常的事件把我惊醒了。我看见了她，看见了被我玩一弄过的卡秋莎，身穿囚袍，坐在被告席上。由于荒唐的误会和我的过错，她被判服苦役。我刚才去找了检察官，去过*。他们不让我进去，但我决定要尽一切力量同她见面，向她认罪，甚至同她结婚来赎我的罪。主哇，你帮助我！
我感到很快乐，心里充满喜悦。”
