SUNDAY IN PRISON--PREPARING FOR MASS.
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.
After the women came the men condemned to banishment, those serving their term in the prison, and those exiled by their Communes; and, coughing loudly, they took their stand, crowding the left side and the middle of the church.
On one side of the gallery above stood the men sentenced to penal servitude in Siberia, who had been let into the church before the others. Each of them had half his head shaved, and their presence was indicated by the clanking of the chains on their feet. On the other side of the gallery stood those in preliminary confinement, without chains, their heads not shaved.
The prison church had been rebuilt and ornamented by a rich merchant, who spent several tens of thousands of roubles on it, and it glittered with gay colours and gold. For a time there was silence in the church, and only coughing, blowing of noses, the crying of babies, and now and then the rattling of chains, was heard. But at last the convicts that stood in the middle moved, pressed against each other, leaving a passage in the centre of the church, down which the prison inspector passed to take his place in front of every one in the nave.
第二天，星期日，清晨五点钟，女监里照例响起哨子声，柯拉勃列娃早已起床，这时就把玛丝洛娃叫醒。
“我是一个苦役犯，”玛丝洛娃恐怖地想。她揉揉眼睛，不由自主地吸着室内到早晨臭不堪闻的空气，想再睡一会儿，重返茫茫睡乡，可是心惊胆战的习惯驱除了睡意。她一骨碌爬起来，盘腿坐好，向四下里打量着。女人都已起床，只有孩子们还在睡觉。贩卖私酒的女人鼓着一双暴眼睛，小心翼翼地抽出孩子们身下的囚袍，唯恐把他们弄醒。反抗募兵的女人把包孩子用的破布晾在火炉旁边。她的娃娃在蓝眼睛的费多霞怀里拚命啼哭。费多霞把他摇荡着，柔声柔气地给他唱催眠曲。患痨病的女人揪住胸口，脸涨得通红，拚命咳嗽；在咳嗽的间歇大声喘气，简直象叫嚷一样。红头发女人醒了，仰天躺在床上，曲着两条肥大的腿，津津有味地大声讲着她的梦景。犯纵火罪的老太婆又站在圣像前，反复叨念着同一套祷词，画着十字，鞠着躬。诵经士的女儿一动不动地坐在板铺上，她那双睡意未消的呆滞眼睛茫然瞧着前方。俏娘们把她那抹过油的粗硬黑发缠在一个手指上，想把它弄鬈曲。
走廊里传来大棉鞋走路的啪哒啪哒声，接着铁锁哐啷一响，进来两个倒便桶的男犯。他们身穿短上衣和裤脚管高出踝骨一大截的灰色裤子，板着脸，怒气冲冲地用扁担挑起臭气熏天的便桶，把它送到牢房外面。女人纷纷到走廊里水龙头旁洗脸。红头发女人在水龙头旁同隔壁牢房一个女人争吵起来。又是辱骂，叫嚷，诉怨……
“你们是不是想蹲单人牢房！”男看守大声喝道，他啪地一声朝红头发女人肥胖的光脊背上打了一巴掌，声音响得整个走廊里都听得见。“小心别再让我听见你的声音！”
“你看，老头子又来劲了，”红头发女人把这举动当作抚爱，说。
“喂，快一点！收拾好去做礼拜。”
玛丝洛娃还没有梳好头，典狱长就带着卫兵来了。
“点名了！”典狱长吆喝道。
从另一个牢房里又出来一批女犯。所有的女犯在走廊里站成两排，后排女人照规矩必须把手搭在前排女人的肩上。全体点名完毕。
点好名以后，女看守走来把女犯人领到教堂里。从各个牢房里出来的女犯有一百多名，她们排成一个纵队。玛丝洛娃和费多霞就在队伍中间。她们个个包着囚犯的白头巾，穿着白衣白裙，只有少数几个穿着自己的花衣服。这几个女人带着孩子，是跟随丈夫去流放的。整座楼梯都被这个队伍挤得满满的。只听得穿大棉鞋走路的脚步声，说话声，间或还有笑声。在拐弯的地方，玛丝洛娃看见自己的冤家包奇科娃凶相毕露地走在前头，就指给费多霞看。女人们走下楼梯，不再作声，画着十字，鞠着躬，开始走进还很空的金碧辉煌的教堂。给她们规定的位置在右边。她们互相拥挤着，停住脚步。紧接着女人之后进来的是穿灰色囚袍的男犯，其中有解犯，有监犯，有经村社判决的流放犯。他们大声咳嗽着，紧挤在教堂左边和中间。在教堂上边的敞廊里站着许多先进来的男犯，一边是剃陰陽头、脚镣哐啷作响的苦役犯；另一边是没有剃头、不戴脚镣的拘留犯。
这座监狱教堂是一个富商花了几万卢布重建的，显得色泽鲜艳，金碧辉煌。
教堂里一片肃静，只听得擤鼻涕声、咳嗽声、婴儿的哭声，偶尔还有铁链的哐啷声。接着站在教堂中央的男犯忽然挪动身子，彼此挤紧，在正当中让出一条路来。典狱长就从这条路走到教堂正当中全体犯人前面。