The Awakening | Page 2

the cell; women's voices and steps of bare feet
were heard.
"Hurry up, Maslova! Come on, I say!" shouted the warden into the
cell-door.
Presently at the cell-door appeared a middle-sized, full-breasted young
woman, dressed in a long, gray coat over a white waist and skirt. She

approached with firm step, and, facing about, stood before the warden.
Over her linen stockings she wore jail shoes; her head was covered
with a white 'kerchief, from under which black curls were evidently
purposely brushed over the forehead. The face of the woman was of
that whiteness peculiar to people who have been a long time in
confinement, and which reminds one of potato-sprouts in a cellar. Her
small, wide hands, her white, full neck, showing from under the large
collar of the coat, were of a similar hue. On the dull pallor of that face
the most striking feature was the black, sparkling eyes, somewhat
swollen, but very bright eyes, one of which slightly squinted. She held
herself erect, putting forth her full chest. Emerging into the corridor,
throwing her head back a little, she looked into the eyes of the warden
and stood ready to do his bidding. The warden was about to shut the
door, when a pale, severe, wrinkled face of an old woman with
disheveled hair was thrust out. The old woman began to say something
to Maslova. But the warden pressed the door against the head of the
woman, and she disappeared. In the cell a woman's voice burst into
laughter. Maslova also smiled, and turned to the grated little opening in
the door. The old woman pressed her forehead to the grating, and said
in a hoarse voice:
"Above all, don't speak too much; stick to one thing, and that is all."
"Of course. It cannot be any worse," said Maslova.
"You certainly cannot stick to two things," said the chief warden, with
official assurance of his own wit. "Follow me, now! Forward! March!"
The eye looking from behind the grating disappeared, and Maslova
took to the middle of the corridor, and with short, but rapid strides,
followed the warden. They descended the stone stairway, and as they
passed the men's ward, noisy and more noisome even than the woman's
ward, scores of eyes followed them from behind the gratings. They
entered the office, where an armed escort of two soldiers stood. The
clerk handed one of the soldiers a document, reeking of tobacco smoke,
and, pointing to the prisoner, said:
"Take her."

The soldier, a Nijhni peasant with a red and pock-marked face, placed
the paper into the cuff of his coat sleeve, and, smiling, winked to his
muscular comrade. The soldiers and prisoner descended the stairs and
went in the direction of the main entrance.
A small door in the gate opened, and, crossing the threshold, they
passed through the inclosure and took the middle of the paved street.
Drivers, shop-keepers, kitchen maids, laborers and officials halted and
gazed with curiosity at the prisoner. Some shook their heads and
thought: "There is the result of evil conduct--how unlike ours!"
Children looked with horror at the cut-throat, but the presence of the
soldiers reassured them, for she was now powerless to do harm. A
villager, returning from the mart, where he had disposed of his charcoal
and visited an inn, offered her a kopeck. The prisoner blushed, drooped
her head and murmured something.
Conscious of the attention that was shown her, without turning her head
she looked askance at the onlookers and rather enjoyed it. She also
enjoyed the comparatively pure spring air, but the walking on the
cobblestones was painful to her feet, unused as they were to walking,
and shod in clumsy prison shoes. She looked at her feet and endeavored
to step as lightly as possible. Passing by a food store, in front of which
some pigeons were picking grain, she came near striking with her foot a
dove-colored bird. It rose with a flutter of its wings, and flew past the
very ear of the prisoner, fanning her face with its wings. She smiled,
then sighed deeply, remembering her own condition.

CHAPTER II.
The history of the prisoner Maslova was a very common one. Maslova
was the daughter of an unmarried menial who lived with her mother, a
cowherd, on the estate of two spinsters. This unmarried woman gave
birth to a child every year, and, as is the custom in the villages,
baptized them; then neglected the troublesome newcomers, and they
finally starved to death.

Thus five children died. Every one of these was baptized, then it
starved and finally died. The sixth child, begotten of a passing gypsy,
was a girl, who would have shared the same fate, but it happened that
one of the two old maidens entered the