Resurrection
kept spitting in the direction of the doctor.
Nekhludoff went down into the yard and out of the gate past the
firemen’s horses and the hens and the sentinel in his brass helmet, and
got into the trap, the driver of which had again fallen asleep.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CONVICT TRAIN.
When Nekhludoff came to the station, the prisoners were all seated in
railway carriages with grated windows. Several persons, come to see
them off, stood on the platform, but were not allowed to come up to the
carriages.
The convoy was much troubled that day. On the way from the prison to the
station, besides the two Nekhludoff had seen, three other prisoners
had fallen and died of sunstroke. One was taken to the nearest police
station like the first two, and the other two died at the railway
station. [In Moscow, in the beginning of the eighth decade of this
century, five convicts died of sunstroke in one day on their way from
the Boutyrki prison to the Nijni railway station.] The convoy men were
not troubled because five men who might have been alive died while in
their charge. This did not trouble them, but they were concerned lest
anything that the law required in such cases should be omitted. To
convey the bodies to the places appointed, to deliver up their papers,
to take them off the lists of those to be conveyed to Nijni--all this
was very troublesome, especially on so hot a day.
It was this that occupied the convoy men, and before it could all be
accomplished Nekhludoff and the others who asked for leave to go up to
the carriages were not allowed to do so. Nekhludoff, however, was soon
allowed to go up, because he tipped the convoy sergeant. The sergeant
let Nekhludoff pass, but asked him to be quick and get his talk over
before any of the authorities noticed. There were 15 carriages in all,
and except one carriage for the officials, they were full of prisoners.
As Nekhludoff passed the carriages he listened to what was going on in
them. In all the carriages was heard the clanging of chains, the sound
of bustle, mixed with loud and senseless language, but not a word was
being said about their dead fellow-prisoners. The talk was all about
sacks, drinking water, and the choice of seats.
Looking into one of the carriages, Nekhludoff saw convoy soldiers taking
the manacles off the hands of the prisoners. The prisoners held out
their arms, and one of the soldiers unlocked the manacles with a key and
took them off; the other collected them.
After he had passed all the other carriages, Nekhludoff came up to the
women’s carriages. From the second of these he heard a woman’s groans:
“Oh, oh, oh! O God! Oh, oh! O God!”
Nekhludoff passed this carriage and went up to a window of the third
carriage, which a soldier pointed out to him. When he approached his
face to the window, he felt the hot air, filled with the smell of
perspiration, coming out of it, and heard distinctly the shrill sound
of women’s voices. All the seats were filled with red, perspiring,
loudly-talking women, dressed in prison cloaks and white jackets.
Nekhludoff’s face at the window attracted their attention. Those nearest
ceased talking and drew closer. Maslova, in her white jacket and her
head uncovered, sat by the opposite window. The white-skinned, smiling
Theodosia sat a little nearer. When she recognised Nekhludoff, she
nudged Maslova and pointed to the window. Maslova rose hurriedly, threw
her kerchief over her black hair, and with a smile on her hot, red face
came up to the window and took hold of one of the bars.
“Well, it is hot,” she said, with a glad smile.
“Did you get the things?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Is there anything more you want?” asked Nekhludoff, while the air came
out of the hot carriage as out of an oven.
“I want nothing, thank you.”
“If we could get a drink?” said Theodosia.
“Yes, if we could get a drink,” repeated Maslova.
“Why, have you not got any water?”
“They put some in, but it is all gone.”
“Directly, I will ask one of the convoy men. Now we shall not see each
other till we get to Nijni.”
“Why? Are you going?” said Maslova, as if she did not know it, and
looked joyfully at Nekhludoff.
“I am going by the next train.”
Maslova said nothing, but only sighed deeply.
“Is it true, sir, that 12 convicts have been done to death?” said a
severe-looking old prisoner with a deep voice like a man’s.
It was Korableva.
“I did not hear of 12; I have seen two,” said Nekhludoff.
“They say there were 12 they killed. And will nothing be done to them?
Only think! The fiends!”
“And have none of the women fallen ill?” Nekhludoff asked.
“Women are stronger,” said another of the prisoners--a short little
woman, and laughed; “only there’s one that has taken it into her head to
be delivered. There she goes,” she said, pointing to the next carriage,
whence proceeded the groans.
“You ask if we want anything,” said Maslova, trying to keep the smile
of joy from her lips; “could not this woman be left behind, suffering as
she is? There, now, if you would tell the authorities.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And one thing more; could she not see her husband, Taras?” she added,
pointing with her eyes to the smiling Theodosia.
“He is going with you, is he not?”
“Sir, you must not talk,” said a convoy sergeant, not the one who had
let Nekhludoff come up. Nekhludoff left the carriage and went in search
of an official to whom he might speak for the woman in travail and about
Taras, but could not find him, nor get an answer from any of the convoy
for a long time. They were all in a bustle; some were leading a prisoner
somewhere or other, others running to get themselves provisions, some
were placing their things in the carriages or attending on a lady
who was going to accompany the convoy officer, and they answered
Nekhludoff’s questions unwillingly. Nekhludoff found the convoy officer
only after the second bell had been rung. The officer with his short
arm was wiping the moustaches that covered his mouth and shrugging his
shoulders, reproving the corporal for something or other.
“What is it you want?” he asked Nekhludoff.
“You’ve got a woman there who is being confined, so I thought best--”
“Well, let her be confined; we shall see later on,” and briskly swinging
his short arms, he ran up to his carriage. At the moment the guard
passed with a whistle in his hand, and from the people on the platform
and from the women’s carriages there arose a sound of weeping and words
of prayer.
Nekhludoff stood on the platform by the side of Taras, and looked how,
one after the other, the carriages glided past him, with the shaved
heads of the men at the grated windows. Then the first of the women’s
carriages came up, with women’s heads at the windows, some covered with
kerchiefs and some uncovered, then the second, whence proceeded the same
groans, then the carriage where Maslova was. She stood with the others
at the window, and looked at Nekhludoff with a pathetic smile.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
BROTHER AND SISTER.
There were still two hours before the passenger train by which
Nekhludoff was going would start. He had thought of using this interval
to see his sister again; but after the impressions of the morning he
felt much excited and so done up that, sitting down on a sofa in the
first-class refreshment-room, he suddenly grew so drowsy that he turned
over on to his side, and, laying his face on his hand, fell asleep at
once. A waiter in a dress coat with a napkin in his hand woke him.
“Sir, sir, are you not Prince Nekhludoff? There’s a lady looking for
you.”
Nekhludoff started up and recollected where he was and all that had
happened in the morning.
He saw in his imagination the procession of prisoners, the dead bodies,
the railway carriages with barred windows, and the women locked up in
them, one of whom was groaning in travail with no one to help her, and
another who was pathetically smiling at him through the bars.
The reality before his eyes was very different, i.e., a table with
vases, candlesticks and crockery, and agile waiters moving round the
table, and in the background a cupboard and a counter laden with fruit
and bottles, behind it a barman, and in front the backs of passengers
who had come up for refreshments. When Nekhludoff had risen and sat
gradually collecting his thoughts, he noticed that everybody in the
room was inquisitively looking at something that was passing by the open
doors.
He also looked, and saw a group of people carrying a chair on which sat
a lady whose head was wrapped in a kind of airy fabric.
Nekhludoff thought he knew the footman who was supporting the chair in
front. And also the man behind, and a doorkeeper with gold cord on his
cap, seemed familiar. A lady’s maid with a fringe and an apron, who was
carrying a parcel, a parasol, and something round in a leather case,
was walking behind the chair. Then came Prince Korchagin, with his thick
lips, apoplectic neck, and a travelling cap on his head; behind him
Missy, her cousin Misha, and an acquaintance of Nekhludoff’s--the
long-necked diplomat Osten, with his protruding Adam’s apple and his
unvarying merry mood and expression. He was saying something very
emphatically, though jokingly, to the smiling Missy. The Korchagins were
moving from their estate near the city to the estate of the Princess’s
sister on the Nijni railway. The procession--the men carrying the
chair, the maid, and the doctor--vanished into the ladies’ waiting-room,
evoking a feeling of curiosity and respect in the onlookers. But the old
Prince remained and sat down at the table, called a waiter, and ordered
food and drink. Missy and Osten also remained in the refreshment-room
and were about to sit down, when they saw an acquaintance in the
doorway, and went up to her. It was Nathalie Rogozhinsky. Nathalie came
into the refreshment-room accompanied by Agraphena Petrovna, and both
looked round the room. Nathalie noticed at one and the same moment both
her brother and Missy. She first went up to Missy, only nodding to her
brother; but, having kissed her, at once turned to him.
“At last I have found you,” she said. Nekhludoff rose to greet Missy,
Misha, and Osten, and to say a few words to them. Missy told him about
their house in the country having been burnt down, which necessitated
their moving to her aunt’s. Osten began relating a funny story about a
fire. Nekhludoff paid no attention, and turned to his sister.
“How glad I am that you have come.”
“I have been here a long time,” she said. “Agraphena Petrovna is with
me.” And she pointed to Agraphena Petrovna, who, in a waterproof and
with a bonnet on her head, stood some way off, and bowed to him with
kindly dignity and some confusion, not wishing to intrude.
“We looked for you everywhere.”
“And I had fallen asleep here. How glad I am that you have come,”
repeated Nekhludoff. “I had begun to write to you.”
“Really?” she said, looking frightened. “What about?”
Missy and the gentleman, noticing that an intimate conversation was
about to commence between the brother and sister, went away. Nekhludoff
and his sister sat down by the window on a velvet-covered sofa, on which
lay a plaid, a box, and a few other things.
“Yesterday, after I left you, I felt inclined to return and express my
regret, but I did not know how he would take it,” said Nekhludoff. “I
spoke hastily to your husband, and this tormented me.”
“I knew,” said his sister, “that you did not mean to. Oh, you know!” and
the tears came to her eyes, and she touched his hand. The sentence was
not clear, but he understood it perfectly, and was touched by what it
expressed. Her words meant that, besides the love for her husband which
held her in its sway, she prized and considered important the love she