Resurrection

On Sunday morning at five o'clock, when a whistle sounded in the

corridor of the women's ward of the prison, Korableva, who was

already awake, called Maslova.

"Oh, dear! life again," thought Maslova, with horror,

involuntarily breathing in the air that had become terribly

noisome towards the morning. She wished to fall asleep again, to

enter into the region of oblivion, but the habit of fear overcame

sleepiness, and she sat up and looked round, drawing her feet

under her. The women had all got up; only the elder children were

still asleep. The spirit-trader was carefully drawing a cloak

from under the children, so as not to wake them. The watchman's

wife was hanging up the rags to dry that served the baby as

swaddling clothes, while the baby was screaming desperately in

Theodosia's arms, who was trying to quiet it. The consumptive

woman was coughing with her hands pressed to her chest, while the

blood rushed to her face, and she sighed loudly, almost

screaming, in the intervals of coughing. The fat, red-haired

woman was lying on her back, with knees drawn up, and loudly

relating a dream. The old woman accused of incendiarism was

standing in front of the image, crossing herself and bowing, and

repeating the same words over and over again. The deacon's

daughter sat on the bedstead, looking before her, with a dull,

sleepy face. Khoroshavka was twisting her black, oily, coarse

hair round her fingers. The sound of slipshod feet was heard in

the passage, and the door opened to let in two convicts, dressed

in jackets and grey trousers that did not reach to their ankles.

With serious, cross faces they lifted the stinking tub and

carried it out of the cell. The women went out to the taps in the

corridor to wash. There the red-haired woman again began a

quarrel with a woman from another cell.

"Is it the solitary cell you want?" shouted an old jailer,

slapping the red-haired woman on her bare, fat back, so that it

sounded through the corridor. "You be quiet."

"Lawks! the old one's playful," said the woman, taking his action

for a caress.

"Now, then, be quick; get ready for the mass." Maslova had hardly

time to do her hair and dress when the inspector came with his

assistants.

"Come out for inspection," cried a jailer.

Some more prisoners came out of other cells and stood in two rows

along the corridor; each woman had to place her hand on the

shoulder of the woman in front of her. They were all counted.

After the inspection the woman warder led the prisoners to

church. Maslova and Theodosia were in the middle of a column of

over a hundred women, who had come out of different cells. All

were dressed in white skirts, white jackets, and wore white

kerchiefs on their heads, except a few who had their own coloured

clothes on. These were wives who, with their children, were

following their convict husbands to Siberia. The whole flight of

stairs was filled by the procession. The patter of softly-shod

feet mingled with the voices and now and then a laugh. When

turning, on the landing, Maslova saw her enemy, Botchkova, in

front, and pointed out her angry face to Theodosia. At the bottom

of the stairs the women stopped talking. Bowing and crossing

themselves, they entered the empty church, which glistened with

gilding. Crowding and pushing one another, they took their places

on the right.