For Nekhludoff this early mass remained for ever after one of the
brightest and most vivid memories of his life. When he rode out
of the darkness, broken only here and there by patches of white
snow, into the churchyard illuminated by a row of lamps around
the church, the service had already begun.
The peasants, recognising Mary Ivanovna's nephew, led his horse,
which was pricking up its ears at the sight of the lights, to a
dry place where he could get off, put it up for him, and showed
him into the church, which was full of people. On the right stood
the peasants; the old men in home-spun coats, and clean white
linen bands [long strips of linen are worn by the peasants instead
of stockings] wrapped round their legs, the young men in new
cloth coats, bright-coloured belts round their waists, and
top-boots.
On the left stood the women, with red silk kerchiefs on their
heads, black velveteen sleeveless jackets, bright red
shirt-sleeves, gay-coloured green, blue, and red skirts, and
thick leather boots. The old women, dressed more quietly, stood
behind them, with white kerchiefs, homespun coats, old-fashioned
skirts of dark home-spun material, and shoes on their feet.
Gaily-dressed children, their hair well oiled, went in and out
among them.
The men, making the sign of the cross, bowed down and raised
their heads again, shaking back their hair.
The women, especially the old ones, fixed their eyes on an icon
surrounded with candies and made the sign of the cross, firmly
pressing their folded fingers to the kerchief on their foreheads,
to their shoulders, and their stomachs, and, whispering
something, stooped or knelt down. The children, imitating the
grown-up people, prayed earnestly when they knew that they were
being observed. The gilt case containing the icon glittered,
illuminated on all sides by tall candles ornamented with golden
spirals. The candelabra was filled with tapers, and from the
choir sounded most merry tunes sung by amateur choristers, with
bellowing bass and shrill boys' voices among them.
Nekhludoff passed up to the front. In the middle of the church
stood the aristocracy of the place: a landed proprietor, with his
wife and son (the latter dressed in a sailor's suit), the police
officer, the telegraph clerk, a tradesman in top-boots, and the
village elder, with a medal on his breast; and to the right of
the ambo, just behind the landed proprietor's wife, stood Matrona
Pavlovna in a lilac dress and fringed shawl and Katusha in a
white dress with a tucked bodice, blue sash, and red bow in her
black hair.
Everything seemed festive, solemn, bright, and beautiful: the
priest in his silver cloth vestments with gold crosses; the
deacon, the clerk and chanter in their silver and gold surplices;
the amateur choristers in their best clothes, with their
well-oiled hair; the merry tunes of the holiday hymns that
sounded like dance music; and the continual blessing of the
people by the priests, who held candles decorated with flowers,
and repeated the cry of "Christ is risen!" "Christ is risen!" All
was beautiful; but, above all, Katusha, in her white dress, blue
sash, and the red bow on her black head, her eyes beaming with
rapture.