Resurrection

Nekhludoff left home early. A peasant from the country was still

driving along the side street and calling out in a voice peculiar

to his trade, "Milk! milk! milk!"

The first warm spring rain had fallen the day before, and now

wherever the ground was not paved the grass shone green. The

birch trees in the gardens looked as if they were strewn with

green fluff, the wild cherry and the poplars unrolled their long,

balmy buds, and in shops and dwelling-houses the double

window-frames were being removed and the windows cleaned.

In the Tolkoochi [literally, jostling market, where second-hand

clothes and all sorts of cheap goods are sold] market, which

Nekhludoff had to pass on his way, a dense crowd was surging

along the row of booths, and tattered men walked about selling

top-boots, which they carried under their arms, and renovated

trousers and waistcoats, which hung over their shoulders.

Men in clean coats and shining boots, liberated from the

factories, it being Sunday, and women with bright silk kerchiefs

on their heads and cloth jackets trimmed with jet, were already

thronging at the door of the traktir. Policemen, with yellow

cords to their uniforms and carrying pistols, were on duty,

looking out for some disorder which might distract the ennui that

oppressed them. On the paths of the boulevards and on the

newly-revived grass, children and dogs ran about, playing, and

the nurses sat merrily chattering on the benches. Along the

streets, still fresh and damp on the shady side, but dry in the

middle, heavy carts rumbled unceasingly, cabs rattled and

tramcars passed ringing by. The air vibrated with the pealing and

clanging of church bells, that were calling the people to attend

to a service like that which was now being conducted in the

prison. And the people, dressed in their Sunday best, were

passing on their way to their different parish churches.

The isvostchik did not drive Nekhludoff up to the prison itself,

but to the last turning that led to the prison.

Several persons--men and women--most of them carrying small

bundles, stood at this turning, about 100 steps from the prison.

To the right there were several low wooden buildings; to the

left, a two-storeyed house with a signboard. The huge brick

building, the prison proper, was just in front, and the visitors

were not allowed to come up to it. A sentinel was pacing up and

down in front of it, and shouted at any one who tried to pass

him.

At the gate of the wooden buildings, to the right, opposite the

sentinel, sat a warder on a bench, dressed in uniform, with gold

cords, a notebook in his hands. The visitors came up to him, and

named the persons they wanted to see, and he put the names down.

Nekhludoff also went up, and named Katerina Maslova. The warder

wrote down the name.