Resurrection
this room, he was struck by the deafening roar of a hundred voices
shouting at once, the reason of which he did not at once understand. But
when he came nearer to the people, he saw that they were all pressing
against a net that divided the room in two, like flies settling on
sugar, and he understood what it meant. The two halves of the room,
the windows of which were opposite the door he had come in by, were
separated, not by one, but by two nets reaching from the floor to the
ceiling. The wire nets were stretched 7 feet apart, and soldiers were
walking up and down the space between them. On the further side of the
nets were the prisoners, on the nearer, the visitors. Between them was
a double row of nets and a space of 7 feet wide, so that they could not
hand anything to one another, and any one whose sight was not very
good could not even distinguish the face on the other side. It was also
difficult to talk; one had to scream in order to be heard.
On both sides were faces pressed close to the nets, faces of wives,
husbands, fathers, mothers, children, trying to see each other’s
features and to say what was necessary in such a way as to be
understood.
But as each one tried to be heard by the one he was talking to, and
his neighbour tried to do the same, they did their best to drown each
other’s voices’ and that was the cause of the din and shouting which
struck Nekhludoff when he first came in. It was impossible to understand
what was being said and what were the relations between the different
people. Next Nekhludoff an old woman with a kerchief on her head stood
trembling, her chin pressed close to the net, and shouting something to
a young fellow, half of whose head was shaved, who listened attentively
with raised brows. By the side of the old woman was a young man in
a peasant’s coat, who listened, shaking his head, to a boy very like
himself. Next stood a man in rags, who shouted, waving his arm and
laughing. Next to him a woman, with a good woollen shawl on her
shoulders, sat on the floor holding a baby in her lap and crying
bitterly. This was apparently the first time she saw the greyheaded man
on the other side in prison clothes, and with his head shaved. Beyond
her was the doorkeeper, who had spoken to Nekhludoff outside; he was
shouting with all his might to a greyhaired convict on the other side.
When Nekhludoff found that he would have to speak in similar conditions,
a feeling of indignation against those who were able to make and enforce
these conditions arose in him; he was surprised that, placed in such
a dreadful position, no one seemed offended at this outrage on human
feelings. The soldiers, the inspector, the prisoners themselves, acted
as if acknowledging all this to be necessary.
Nekhludoff remained in this room for about five minutes, feeling
strangely depressed, conscious of how powerless he was, and at variance
with all the world. He was seized with a curious moral sensation like
seasickness.
CHAPTER XLII.
VISITING DAY--THE WOMEN’S WARD.
“Well, but I must do what I came here for,” he said, trying to pick up
courage. “What is to be done now?” He looked round for an official, and
seeing a thin little man in the uniform of an officer going up and down
behind the people, he approached him.
“Can you tell me, sir,” he said, with exceedingly strained politeness of
manner, “where the women are kept, and where one is allowed to interview
them?”
“Is it the women’s ward you want to go to?”
“Yes, I should like to see one of the women prisoners,” Nekhludoff said,
with the same strained politeness.
“You should have said so when you were in the hall. Who is it, then,
that you want to see?”
“I want to see a prisoner called Katerina Maslova.”
“Is she a political one?”
“No, she is simply . . .”
“What! Is she sentenced?”
“Yes; the day before yesterday she was sentenced,” meekly answered
Nekhludoff, fearing to spoil the inspector’s good humour, which seemed
to incline in his favour.
“If you want to go to the women’s ward please to step this way,” said
the officer, having decided from Nekhludoff’s appearance that he was
worthy of attention. “Sideroff, conduct the gentleman to the women’s
ward,” he said, turning to a moustached corporal with medals on his
breast.
“Yes, sir.”
At this moment heart-rending sobs were heard coming from some one near
the net.
Everything here seemed strange to Nekhludoff; but strangest of all was
that he should have to thank and feel obligation towards the inspector
and the chief warders, the very men who were performing the cruel deeds
that were done in this house.
The corporal showed Nekhludoff through the corridor, out of the men’s
into the women’s interviewing-room.
This room, like that of the men, was divided by two wire nets; but it
was much smaller, and there were fewer visitors and fewer prisoners, so
that there was less shouting than in the men’s room. Yet the same thing
was going on here, only, between the nets instead of soldiers there was
a woman warder, dressed in a blue-edged uniform jacket, with gold cords
on the sleeves, and a blue belt. Here also, as in the men’s room, the
people were pressing close to the wire netting on both sides; on the
nearer side, the townspeople in varied attire; on the further side, the
prisoners, some in white prison clothes, others in their own coloured
dresses. The whole length of the net was taken up by the people standing
close to it. Some rose on tiptoe to be heard across the heads of others;
some sat talking on the floor.
The most remarkable of the prisoners, both by her piercing screams and
her appearance, was a thin, dishevelled gipsy. Her kerchief had slipped
off her curly hair, and she stood near a post in the middle of the
prisoner’s division, shouting something, accompanied by quick gestures,
to a gipsy man in a blue coat, girdled tightly below the waist. Next
the gipsy man, a soldier sat on the ground talking to prisoner; next the
soldier, leaning close to the net, stood a young peasant, with a fair
beard and a flushed face, keeping back his tears with difficulty. A
pretty, fair-haired prisoner, with bright blue eyes, was speaking to
him. These two were Theodosia and her husband. Next to them was a tramp,
talking to a broad-faced woman; then two women, then a man, then again a
woman, and in front of each a prisoner. Maslova was not among them. But
some one stood by the window behind the prisoners, and Nekhludoff knew
it was she. His heart began to beat faster, and his breath stopped. The
decisive moment was approaching. He went up to the part of the net where
he could see the prisoner, and recognised her at once. She stood behind
the blue-eyed Theodosia, and smiled, listening to what Theodosia was
saying. She did not wear the prison cloak now, but a white dress,
tightly drawn in at the waist by a belt, and very full in the bosom.
From under her kerchief appeared the black ringlets of her fringe, just
the same as in the court.
“Now, in a moment it will be decided,” he thought.
“How shall I call her? Or will she come herself?”
She was expecting Bertha; that this man had come to see her never
entered her head.
“Whom do you want?” said the warder who was walking between the nets,
coming up to Nekhludoff.
“Katerina Maslova,” Nekhludoff uttered, with difficulty.
“Katerina Maslova, some one to see you,” cried the warder.
CHAPTER XLIII.
NEKHLUDOFF VISITS MASLOVA.
Maslova looked round, and with head thrown back and expanded chest,
came up to the net with that expression of readiness which he well
knew, pushed in between two prisoners, and gazed at Nekhludoff with a
surprised and questioning look. But, concluding from his clothing he was
a rich man, she smiled.
“Is it me you want?” she asked, bringing her smiling face, with the
slightly squinting eyes, nearer the net.
“I, I--I wished to see--” Nekhludoff did not know how to address her. “I
wished to see you--I--” He was not speaking louder than usual.
“No; nonsense, I tell you!” shouted the tramp who stood next to him.
“Have you taken it or not?”
“Dying, I tell you; what more do you want?” some one else was screaming
at his other side. Maslova could not hear what Nekhludoff was saying,
but the expression of his face as he was speaking reminded her of him.
She did not believe her own eyes; still the smile vanished from her face
and a deep line of suffering appeared on her brow.
“I cannot hear what you are saying,” she called out, wrinkling her brow
and frowning more and more.
“I have come,” said Nekhludoff. “Yes, I am doing my duty--I am
confessing,” thought Nekhludoff; and at this thought the tears came in
his eyes, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat, and holding on
with both hands to the net, he made efforts to keep from bursting into
tears.
“I say, why do you shove yourself in where you’re not wanted?” some one
shouted at one side of him.
“God is my witness; I know nothing,” screamed a prisoner from the other
side.
Noticing his excitement, Maslova recognised him.
“You’re like . . . but no; I don’t know you,” she shouted, without
looking at him, and blushing, while her face grew still more stern.
“I have come to ask you to forgive me,” he said, in a loud but
monotonous voice, like a lesson learnt by heart. Having said these words
he became confused; but immediately came the thought that, if he felt
ashamed, it was all the better; he had to bear this shame, and he
continued in a loud voice:
“Forgive me; I have wronged you terribly.”
She stood motionless and without taking her squinting eyes off him.
He could not continue to speak, and stepping away from the net he tried
to suppress the sobs that were choking him.
The inspector, the same officer who had directed Nekhludoff to the
women’s ward, and whose interest he seemed to have aroused, came into
the room, and, seeing Nekhludoff not at the net, asked him why he was
not talking to her whom he wanted to see. Nekhludoff blew his nose, gave
himself a shake, and, trying to appear calm, said:
“It’s so inconvenient through these nets; nothing can be heard.”
Again the inspector considered for a moment.
“Ah, well, she can be brought out here for awhile. Mary Karlovna,”
turning to the warder, “lead Maslova out.”
A minute later Maslova came out of the side door. Stepping softly, she
came up close to Nekhludoff, stopped, and looked up at him from under
her brows. Her black hair was arranged in ringlets over her forehead in
the same way as it had been two days ago; her face, though unhealthy and
puffy, was attractive, and looked perfectly calm, only the glittering
black eyes glanced strangely from under the swollen lids.
“You may talk here,” said the inspector, and shrugging his shoulders he
stepped aside with a look of surprise. Nekhludoff moved towards a seat
by the wall.
Maslova cast a questioning look at the inspector, and then, shrugging
her shoulders in surprise, followed Nekhludoff to the bench, and having
arranged her skirt, sat down beside him.
“I know it is hard for you to forgive me,” he began, but stopped. His
tears were choking him. “But though I can’t undo the past, I shall now
do what is in my power. Tell me--”
“How have you managed to find me?” she said, without answering his
question, neither looking away from him nor quite at him, with her
squinting eyes.
“O God, help me! Teach me what to do,” Nekhludoff thought, looking at
her changed face. “I was on the jury the day before yesterday,” he said.
“You did not recognise me?”
“No, I did not; there was not time for recognitions. I did not even
look,” she said.
“There was a child, was there not?” he asked.
“Thank God! he died at once,” she answered, abruptly and viciously.
“What do you mean? Why?”