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EVEfWAAN. 

I- WILL  GO -WITH 

•THEE. 
£•  BE-THY- GVIDE 
•JN-THY-MO5TNEED' 
ITO-6O-BY-THY5JDE 


EVERYMAN'S    LIBRARY 
EDITED    BY    ERNEST    RHYS 


FICTION 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DEAD 
WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY  JULIUS  BRAMONT 


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TRAVEL     ^     SCIENCE     ^     FICTION 

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BIOGRAPHY 

REFERENCE 

ROMANCE 


IN  FOUR  STYLES  OF  BINDING;  CLOTH, 
FLAT  BACK,  COLOURED  TOP ;  LEATHER, 
ROUND  CORNERS,  GILT  TOP;  LIBRARY 
BINDING  IN  CLOTH,  &  QUARTER  PIGSKIN 

LONDON  :  J.  M.  DENT  &  SONS,  LTD. 
NEW  YORK:  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  CO. 


^SIRrPHILIP'SIDNEY 


THE  HOUSE 
of  ifie  DEAD 

®  orPrisonfife 
in  Si  fieri  a  <^ 

BY^  FEDOR 
DOSTOIEFRSKY 


LONDON:PUBL4SHED 


AND  IN  NEW  YORK 
BYE-PDUTTC^ISCO 


FIRST  ISSUE  OF  THIS^EDITION     .     1911 
REPRINTED      .         .          ...     1914 


INTRODUCTION 

"THE  Russian  nation  is  a  new  and  wonderful  phenomenon 
in  the  history  of  mankind.  The  character  of  the  people  differs 
to  such  a  degree  from  that  of  the  other  Europeans  that  their 
neighbours  find  it  impossible  to  diagnose  them."  This  affirma- 
tion by  Dostoieffsky,  the  prophetic  journalist,  offers  a  key 
to  the  treatment  in  his  novels  of  the  troubles  and  aspirations 
of  his  race.  He  wrote  with  a  sacramental  fervour  whether 
he  was  writing  as  a  personal  agent  or  an  impersonal,  novelist 
or  journalist.  Hence  his  rage  with  the  calmer  men,  more 
gracious  interpreters  of  the  modern  Sclav,  who  like  Ivan 
Tourguenieff  were  able  to  see  Russia  on  a  line  with  the 
western  nations,  or  to  consider  her  maternal  throes  from  the 
disengaged  safe  retreat  of  an  arm-chair  exile  in  Paris.  Not 
so  was  I'dme  Russe  to  be  given  her  new  literature  in  the  eyes 
of  M.  Dostoieffsky,  strained  with  watching,  often  red  with 
tears  and  anger. 

Those  other  nations,  he  said — proudly  looking  for  the 
symptoms  of  the  world-intelligence  in  his  own — those  other 
nations  of  Europe  may  maintain  that  they  have  at  heart 
a  common  aim  and  a  common  ideal.  In  fact  they  are  divided 
among  themselves  by  a  thousand  interests,  territorial  or 
other.  Each  pulls  his  own  way  with  ever-growing  determina- 
tion. It  would  seem  that  every  individual  nation  aspires 
to  the  discovery  of  the  universal  ideal  for  humanity,  and  is 
bent  on  attaining  that  ideal  by  force  of  its  own  unaided 
strength.  Hence,  he  argued,  each  European  nation  is  an 
enemy  to  its  own  welfare  and  that  of  the  world  in  general. 

To  this  very  disassociation  he  attributed,  without  quite 
understanding  the  rest  of  us,  our  not  understanding  the 
Russian  people,  and  our  taxing  them  with  "  a  lack  of  person- 
ality." We  failed  to  perceive  their  rare  synthetic  power 
— that  faculty  of  the  Russian  mind  to  read  the  aspirations 
of  the  whole  of  human  kind.  Among  his  own  folk,  he 
avowed,  we  would  find  none  of  the  imperviousness,  the 

vii 


viii  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

intolerance,  of  the  average  European.  The  Russian  adapts 
himself  with  ease  to  the  play  of  contemporary  thought  and 
has  no  difficulty  in  assimilating  any  new  idea.  He  sees 
where  it  will  help  his  fellow-creatures  and  where  it  fails  to 
be  of  value.  He  divines  the  process  by  which  ideas,  even 
the  most  divergent,  the  most  hostile  to  one  another,  may 
meet  and  blend. 

Possibly,  recognising  this,  M.  Dostoieffsky  was  the  more 
concerned  not  to  be  too  far  depolarised,  or  say  de-Russified, 
in  his  own  works  of  fiction.  But  in  truth  he  had  no  need 
to  fear  any  weakening  of  his  natural  fibre  and  racial  pro- 
clivities, or  of  the  authentic  utterance  wrung  out  of  him  by 
the  hard  and  cruel  thongs  of  experience.  We  see  the  rigorous 
sincerity  of  his  record  again  in  the  sheer  autobiography 
contained  in  the  present  work,  The  House  of  the  Dead.  It 
was  in  the  fatal  winter  of  1849  when  he  was  with  many  others, 
mostly  very  young  men  like  himself,  sentenced  to  death  for 
his  liberal  political  propaganda;  a  sentence  which  was  at 
the  last  moment  commuted  to  imprisonment  in  the  Siberian 
prisons.  Out  of  that  terror,  which  turned  youth  grey,  was 
distilled  the  terrible  reality  of  The  House  of  the  Dead.  If 
one  would  truly  fathom  how  deep  that  reality  is,  and  what 
its  phenomenon  in  literature  amounts  to,  one  should  turn 
again  to  that  favourite  idyllic  book  of  youth,  by  my  country- 
woman Mme.  Cottin,  Elizabeth,  or  the  Exiles  of  Siberia, 
and  compare,  for  example,  the  typical  scene  of  Elizabeth's 
sleep  in  the  wooden  chapel  in  the  snow,  where  she  ought  to 
have  been  frozen  to  death  but  fared  very  comfortably,  with 
the  Siberian  actuality  of  Dostoieffsky. 

But  he  was  no  idyllist,  though  he  could  be  tender  as  Mme. 
Cottin  herself.  What  he  felt  about  these  things  you  can  tell 
from  his  stories.  If  a  more  explicit  statement  in  the  theoretic 
side  be  asked  of  him,  take  this  plain  avowal  from  his  confession 
books  of  1870-77: — 

"  There  is  no  denying  that  the  people  are  morally  ill,  with 
a  grave,  although  not  a  mortal,  malady,  one  to  which  it  is 
dimcult  to  assign  a  name.  May  we  call  it  '  An  unsatisfied 
thirst  for  truth '  ?  The  people  are  seeking  eagerly  and 
untiringly  for  truth  and  for  the  ways  that  lead  to  it,  but 
hitherto  they  have  failed  in  their  search.  After  the  liberation 
of  the  serfs,  this  great  longing  for  truth  appeared  among  the 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

people — for  truth  perfect  and  entire,  and  with  it  the  resurrec- 
tion of  civic  life.  There  was  a  clamouring  for  a  '  new  Gospel ' ; 
new  ideas  and  feelings  became  manifest;  and  a  great  hope  rose 
up  among  the  people  believing  that  these  great  changes  were 
precursors  of  a  state  of  things  which  never  came  to  pass." 

There  is  the  accent  of  his  hope  and  his  despair.  Let  it  prove 
to  you  the  conviction  with  which  he  wrote  these  tragic  pages, 
one  that  is  affecting  at  this  moment  the  destiny  of  Russia 
and  the  spirit  of  us  who  watch  her  as  profoundly  moved 
spectators. 

JULIUS  BRAMONT. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

(Dostoieffsky's  works,  so  far  as  they  have  appeared  in  English.) 

Translations  of  Dostoiefisky's  novels  have  appeared  as  follows: — 
Buried  Alive;  or,  Ten  Years  of  Penal  Servitude  in  Siberia,  translated 
by  Marie  v.  Thilo,  1881.  In  Vizetelly's  One  Volume  Novels:  Crime  and 
Punishment,  vol.  13;  Injury  and  Insult,  translated  by  F.  Whishaw, 
vol.  17;  The  Friend  of  the  Family  and  the  Gambler,  etc.,  vol.  22.  In 
Vizetelly's  Russian  Novels:  The  Idiot,  by  F.  Whishaw,  1887;  Uncle's 
Dream;  and,  The  Permanent  Husband,  etc.,  1888.  Prison  Life  in  Siberia, 
translated  by  H.  S.  Edwards,  1888;  Poor  Folk,  translated  by  L.  Milman, 

I&>4. 

See  D.  S.  Merezhkovsky,  Tolstoi  as  Man  and  Artist,  with  Essay  on 
Dostoievsky,  translated  from  the  Russian,  1902;  M.  Baring,  Landmarks 
in  Russian  Literature  (chapter  on  Dostoieffsky),  1910. 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  TEN  YEARS  A  CONVICT i 

II.  THE  DEAD-HOUSE    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  7 

III.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS   ........  24 

IV.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  (continued)    ......  43 

V.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  (continued)    ......  61 

VI.  THE  FIRST  MONTH 80 

VII.  THE  FIRST  MONTH  (continued) 95 

VIII.  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES — PETROFF no 

IX.  MEN  OF  DETERMINATION — LUKA          .....  125 

X.  ISAIAH  FOMITCH — THE  BATH — BAKLOUCHIN          .         .         .  133 

XI.  THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS          ......  152 

XII.  THE  PERFORMANCE 171 


PART  II 

I.  THE  HOSPITAL           ........  194 

II.  THE  HOSPITAL  (continued) .          .         .         .         .         .          .  209 

III.  THE  HOSPITAL  (continued) 225 

IV.  THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA        ......  248 

V.  THE  SUMMER  SEASON         .......  264 

VI.  THE  ANIMALS  AT  THE  CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT    .         .         .  286 

VII.  GRIEVANCES     .........  302 

VIII.  MY  COMPANIONS        ........  325 

IX.  THE  ESCAPE      .........  344 

X.  FREEDOM  1         .         .         .         .         .         »         .         .         .363 


XI 


PKISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA. 


fart  £ 

CHAPTER   I. 

TEN   YEARS   A    CONVICT 

IN  the  midst  of  the  steppes,  of  the  mountains, 
of  the  impenetrable  forests  of  the  desert 
regions  of  Siberia,  one  meets  from  time  to 
time  with  little  towns  of  a  thousand  or  two 
inhabitants,  built  entirely  of  wood,  very  ugly, 
with  two  churches — one  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  the 
other  in  the  cemetery — in  a  word,  towns  which  bear  much 
more  resemblance  to  a  good-sized  village  in  the  suburbs 
of  Moscow  than  to  a  town  properly  so  called.  In  most 
cases  they  are  abundantly  provided  with  police-master, 
assessors,  and  other  inferior  officials.  If  it  is  cold  in 
Siberia,  the  great  advantages  of  the  Government  service 
compensate  for  it.  The  inhabitants  are  simple  people, 
without  liberal  ideas.  Their  manners  are  antique,  solid, 
and  unchanged  by  time.  The  officials  who  form,  and 
with  reason,  the  nobility  in  Siberia,  either  belong  to  the 
country,  deeply-rooted  Siberians,  or  they  have  arrived 
there  from  Russia.  The  latter  come  straight  from  the 
capitals,  tempted  by  the  high  pay,  the  extra  allowance 
for  travelling  expenses,  and  by  hopes  not  less  seductive 
for  the  future.  Those  who  know  how  to  resolve  the 
problem  of  life  remain  almost  always  in  Siberia;  the 
abundant  and  richly-flavoured  fruit  which  they  gather 
there  recompenses  them  amply  for  what  they  lose. 


2  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

As  for  the  others,  light-minded  persons  who  are 
unable  to  deal  with  the  problem,  they  are  soon  bored  in 
Siberia,  and  ask  themselves  with  regret  why  they  com- 
mitted the  folly  of  coming.  They  impatiently  kill  the 
three  years  which  they  are  obliged  by  rule  to  remain, 
and  as  soon  as  their  time  is  up,  they  beg  to  be  sent  back, 
and  return  to  their  original  quarters,  running  down 
Siberia,  and  ridiculing  it.  They  are  wrong,  for  it  is  a 
happy  country,  not  only  as  regards  the  Government 
service,  but  also  from  many  other  points  of  view. 

The  climate  is  excellent,  the  merchants  are  rich  and 
hospitable,  the  Europeans  in  easy  circumstances  are 
numerous ;  as  for  the  young  girls,  they  are  like  roses 
and  their  morality  is  irreproachable.  Game  is  to  bo 
found  in  the  streets,  and  throws  itself  upon  the  sportsman's 
gun.  People  drink  champagne  in  prodigious  quantities. 
The  caviare  is  astonishingly  good  and  most  abundant. 
In  a  word,  it  is  a  blessed  land,  out  of  which  it  is  onlv 
necessary  to  be  able  to  make  profit ;  and  much  profit  is 
really  made. 

It  is  in  one  of  these  little  towns — gay  and  perfectly 
satisfied  with  themselves,  the  population  of  which  has 
left  upon  me  the  most  agreeable  impression — that  I  met 
an  exile,  Alexander  Petrovitch  Goriantchikoff,  formerly  a 
landed  proprietor  in  Russia.  He  had  been  condemned 
to  hard  labour  of  the  second  class  for  assassinating  his 
wife.  After  undergoing  his  punishment — ten  years  of 
hard  labour — he  lived  quietly  and  unnoticed  as  a  colonist 

in   the   little    town  of   K .     To   tell   the   truth,   he 

was    inscribed    in    one    of    the   surrounding    districts; 

but  he  resided  at  K ,  where  he  managed  to  get  a 

living  by  giving  lessons  to  children.  In  the  towns  of 
Siberia  one  often  meets  with  exiles  who  are  occupied 
with  instruction.  They  are  not  looked  down  upon,  for 
they  teach  the  French  language,  so  necessary  in  life,  and 
of  which  without  them  one  would  not,  in  the  distant 
parts  of  Siberia,  have  the  least  idea. 

I  saw  Alexander  Petrovitch  the  first  time  at  the  house 
of  an  official,  Ivan  Ivanitch  Gvosdikof,  a  venerable  old 
man,  very  hospitable,  and  the  father  of  five  daughters, 


TEN  YEARS  A    OONVIOT  3 

of  whom  the  greatest  hopes  were  entertained.  Four 
times  a  week  Alexander  Petrovitch  gave  them  lessons,  at 
the  rate  of  thirty  kopecks  silver  a  lesson.  His  external 
appearance  interested  me.  He  was  excessively  pale  and 
thin,  still  young — about  thirty-five  years  of  age — short 
and  weak,  always  very  neatly  dressed  in  the  European 
style.  When  you  spoke  to  him  he  looked  at  you  in  a 
very  attentive  manner,  listening  to  your  words  with 
strict  politeness,  and  with  a  reflective  air,  as  though  you 
had  placed  before  him  a  problem  or  wished  to  extract 
from  him  a  secret.  He  replied  clearly  and  shortly  ;  but 
in  doing  so,  weighed  each  word,  so  that  one  felt  ill  at 
ease  without  knowing  why,  and  was  glad  when  the 
conversation  came  to  an  end.  I  put  some  questions  to 
Ivan  Gvosdikof  in  regard  to  him.  He  told  me  that 
Groriantchikoff:  was  of  irreproachable  morals,  otherwise 
Gvosdikof  would  not  have  entrusted  him  with  the  educa- 
tion of  his  children ;  but  that  he  was  a  terrible  misan- 
thrope, who  kept  apart  from  all  society ;  that  he  was 
very  learned,  a  great  reader,  and  that  he  spoke  but  little, 
and  never  entered  freely  into  a  conversation.  Certain 
persons  told  him  that  he  was  mad ;  but  that  was  not 
looked  upon  as  a  very  serious  defect.  Accordingly,  the 
most  important  persons  in  the  town  were  ready  to  treat 
Alexander  Petrovitch  with  respect,  for  he  could  be  useful 
to  them  in  writing  petitions.  It  was  believed  that  he 
was  well  connected  in  Russia.  Perhaps,  among  his  rela- 
tions, there  were  some  who  were  highly  placed ;  but  it 
was  known  that  since  his  exile  he  had  broken  off  all 
relations  with  them.  In  a  word — he  injured  himself. 
Every  one  knew  his  story,  and  was  aware  that  he  had 
killed  his  wife,  through  jealousy,  less  than  a  year  after 
his  marriage;  and  that  he  had  given  himself  up  to  justice; 
which  had  made  his  punishment  much  less  severe.  Such 
crimes  are  always  looked  upon  as  misfortunes,  which 
must  be  treated  with  pity.  Nevertheless,  this  original 
kept  himself  obstinately  apart,  and  never  showed  himself 
except  to  give  lessons.  In  the  first  instance  I  paid  no 
attention  to  him ;  then,  without  knowing  why,  I  found 
myself  interested  by  him.  He  was  rather  enigmatic; 


4  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

to  talk  with  him  was  quite  impossible.  Certainly  he 
replied  to  all  my  questions ;  he  seemed  to  make  it  a  duty 
to  do  so ;  but  when  once  he  had  answered,  I  was  afraid 
to  interrogate  him  any  longer. 

After  such  conversations  one  could  observe  on  his 
countenance  signs  of  suffering  and  exhaustion.  I  re- 
memberj  that,  one  fine  summer  evening,  I  went  out  with 
him  from  the  house  of  Ivan  Gvosdikof.  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  me  to  invite  him  to  come  in  with  me  and 
smoke  a  cigarette.  I  can  scarcely  describe  the  fright 
which  showed  itself  in  his  countenance.  He  became  con- 
fused, muttered  incoherent  words,  and  suddenly,  after 
looking  at  me  with  an  angry  air,  took  to  flight  in  an  op- 
posite direction.  I  was  very  much  astonished  afterwards, 
when  he  met  me.  He  seemed  to  experience,  on  seeing 
me,  a  sort  of  terror ;  but  I  did  not  lose  courage.  There 
was  something  in  him  which  attracted  me. 

A  month  afterwards  I  went  to  see  Petrovitch  without 
any  pretext.  It  is  evident  that,  in  doing  so,  I  behaved 
foolishly,  and  without  the  least  delicacy.  He  lived  at  one 
of  the  extreme  points  of  the  town  with  an  old  woman 
whose  daughter  was  in  a  consumption.  The  latter  had  a 
little  child  about  ten  years  old,  very  pretty  and  very 
lively. 

When  I  went  in  Alexander  Petrovitch  was  seated 
by  her  side,  and  was  teaching  her  to  read.  When  he  saw 
me  he  became  confused,  as  if  I  had  detected  him  in  a 
crime.  Losing  ah1  self-command,  he  suddenly  stood  up 
and  looked  at  me  with  awe  and  astonishment.  Then  we 
both  of  us  sat  down.  He  followed  attentively  all  my 
looks,  as  if  I  had  suspected  him  of  some  mysterious 
intention.  I  understood  he  was  horribly  mistrustful.  He 
looked  at  me  as  a  sort  of  spy,  and  he  seemed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  saying,  ' '  Are  you  not  soon  going  away  ?  " 

I  spoke  to  him  of  our  little  town,  of  the  news  of  the 
day,  but  he  was  silent,  or  smiled  with  an  air  of  dis- 
pleasure. I  could  see  that  he  was  absolutely  ignorant  of 
all  that  was  taking  place  in  the  town,  and  that  he  was  in 
no  way  curious  to  know.  I  spoke  to  him  afterwards  of 
the  country  generally,  and  of  its  men.  He  listened  to  me 


TEN  YEARS  A  OONVIOT  5 

atill  in  silence,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  me  in  such  a  strange 
way  that  I  became  ashamed  of  what  I  was  doing.  I  was 
very  nearly  offending  him  by  offering  him  some  books  and 
newspapers  which  I  had  just  received  by  post.  He  cast 
a  greedy  look  upon  them ;  he  then  seemed  to  alter  his  mind, 
and  declined  my  offer,  giving  his  want  of  leisure  as  a 
pretext. 

At  last  I  wished  him  good-bye,  and  I  felt  a  weight 
fall  from  my  shoulders  as  I  left  the  house.  I  regretted  to 
have  harassed  a  man  whose  tastes  kept  him  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  world.  But  the  fault  had  been  committed.  I 
had  remarked  that  he  possessed  very  few  books.  It  was 
not  true,  then,  that  he  read  so  much.  Nevertheless,  on 
two  occasions  when  I  drove  past,  I  saw  a  light  in  his 
lodging.  What  could  make  him  sit  up  so  late  ?  Was  he 
writing,  and  if  that  were  so,  what  was  he  writing  ? 

I  was  absent  from  our  town  for  about  three  months. 
When  I  returned  home  in  the  winter,  I  learned  that  Petro- 
vitch  was  dead,  and  that  he  had  not  even  sent  for  a  doctor. 
He  was  even  now  already  forgotten,  and  his  lodging  was 
unoccupied.  I  at  once  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  land- 
lady, in  the  hope  of  learning  from  her  what  her  lodger 
h^d  been  writing.  For  twenty  kopecks  she  brought  me  a 
basket  full  of  papers  left  by  the  defunct,  and  confessed  to 
me  that  she  had  already  employed  four  sheets  in  lighting 
her  fire.  She  was  a  morose  and  taciturn  old  woman.  I 
could  not  get  from  her  anything  that  was  interesting.  She 
could  tell  me  nothing  about  her  lodger.  She  gave  me  to 
understand  all  the  same  that  he  scarcely  ever  worked, 
and  that  he  remained  for  months  together  without  opening 
a  book  or  touching  a  pen.  On  the  other  hand,  he  walked 
all  night  up  and  down  his  room,  given  up  to  his  reflec- 
tions. Sometimes,  indeed,  he  spoke  aloud.  He  was  very 
fond  of  her  little  grandchild,  Katia,  above  all  when  he  knew 
her  name ;  on  her  nameVday — the  day  of  St.  Catherine — 
he  always  had  a  requiem  said  in  the  church  for  some  one's 
soul.  He  detested  receiving  visits,  and  never  went  out 
except  to  give  lessons.  Even  his  landlady  he  looked 
upon  with  an  unfriendly  eye  when,  once  a  week,  she  came 
into  his  room  to  put  it  in  order. 


6  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

During  the  three  years  he  had  passed  with  her,  he 
had  scarcely  ever  spoken  to  her.  I  asked  Katia  if  she 
remembered  him.  She  looked  at  me  in  silence,  and 
turned  weeping  to  the  wall.  This  man,  then,  was  loved  by 
some  one  !  I  took  away  the  papers,  and  passed  the  day 
in  examining  them.  They  were  for  the  most  part  of  no 
importance,  merely  children's  exercises.  At  last  I  came 
to  a  rather  thick  packet,  the  sheets  of  which  were  covered 
with  delicate  handwriting,  which  abruptly  ceased.  It 
had  perhaps  been  forgotten  by  the  writer.  It  was  the 
narrative — incoherent  and  fragmentary — of  the  ten  years 
Alexander  Petrovitch  had  passed  in  hard  labour.  This 
narrative  was  interrupted,  here  and  there,  either  by 
anecdotes,  or  by  strange,  terrible  recollections  thrown  in 
convulsively  as  if  torn  from  the  writer.  I  read  some  of 
these  fragments  again  and  again,  and  I  began  to  doubt 
whether  they  had  not  been  written  in  moments  of  madness; 
but  these  memories  of  the  convict  prison — "  Recollections 
of  the  Dead-House/'  as  he  himself  called  them  some- 
where in  his  manuscript — seemed  to  me  not  without 
interest.  They  revealed  quite  a  new  world  unknown 
till  then;  and  in  the  strangeness  of  his  facts,  together 
with  his  singular  remarks  on  this  fallen  people,  there 
was  enough  to  tempt  me  to  go  on.  I  may  perhaps  be 
wrong,  but  I  will  publish  some  chapters  from  this  narrative, 
and  the  public  shall  judge  for  itself. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   DEAD-HOUSE 

OU  R  prison  was  at  the  end  of  the  citadel  behind 
the  ramparts.  Looking  through  the  crevices 
between  the  palisade  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
something,  one  sees  nothing  but  a  little 
corner  of  the  sky,  and  a  high  earthwork,  covered 
with  the  long  grass  of  the  steppe.  Night  and  day  sentries 
walk  to  and  fro  upon  it.  Then  one  perceives  from  the 
first,  that  whole  years  will  pass  during  which  one  will 
see  by  the  same  crevices  between  the  palisades,  upon  the 
same  earthwork,  always  the  same  sentinels  and  the  same 
little  corner  of  the  sky,  not  just  above  the  prison,  but 
far  and  far  away.  Represent  to  yourself  a  court-yard,  two 
hundred  feet  long,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  broad, 
enclosed  by  an  irregular  hexagonal  palisade,  formed  of 
stakes  thrust  deep  into  the  earth.  So  muck  for  the 
external  surroundings  of  the  prison.  On  one  side  of 
the  palisade  is  a  great  gate,  solid,  and  always  shut ; 
watched  perpetually  by  the  sentinels,  and  never  opened, 
except  when  the  convicts  go  out  to  work.  Beyond  this, 
there  are  light  and  liberty,  the  life  of  free  people ! 
Beyond  the  palisade,  one  thought  of  the  marvellous 
world,  fantastic  as  a  fairy  tale.  It  was  not  the  same  on 
our  side.  Here,  there  was  no  resemblance  to  anything. 
Habits,  customs,  laws,  were  all  precisely  fixed.  It  was 
the  house  of  living  death.  It  is  this  corner  that  I  under- 
take to  describe. 


8  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

On  penetrating  into  the  enclosure  one  sees  a  few 
buildings.  On  each  side  of  a  vast  court  are  stretched  forth 
two  wooden  constructions,  made  of  trunks  of  trees,  and 
only  one  storey  high.  These  are  convicts'  barracks.  Here 
the  prisoners  are  confined,  divided  into  several  classes. 
At  the  end  of  the  enclosure  may  be  seen  a  house,  which 
serves  as  a  kitchen,  divided  into  two  compartments. 
Behind  it  is  another  building,  which  serves  at  once  as 
cellar,  loft,  and  barn.  The  centre  of  the  enclosure,  com- 
pletely barren,  is  a  large  open  space.  Here  the  prisoners 
are  drawn  up  in  ranks,  three  times  a  day.  They  are 
identified,  and  must  answer  to  their  names,  morning, 
noon,  and  evening,  besides  several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  day  if  the  soldiers  on  guard  are  suspicious  and  clever 
at  counting.  All  around,  between  the  palisades  and  the 
buildings  there  remains  a  sufficiently  large  space,  where 
some  of  the  prisoners  who  are  misanthropes,  or  of  a 
sombre  turn  of  mind,  like  to  walk  about  when  they  are 
not  at  work.  There  they  go  turning  over  their  favourite 
thoughts,  shielded  from  all  observation. 

When  I  meb  them  during  those  walks  of  theirs,  I 
took  pleasure  in  observing  their  sad,  deeply-marked 
countenances,  and  in  guessing  their  thoughts.  The 
favourite  occupation  of  one  of  the  convicts,  during  the 
moments  of  liberty  left  to  him  from  his  hard  labour,  was 
to  count  the  palisades.  There  were  fifteen  hundred  of 
them.  He  had  counted  them  all,  and  knew  them  nearly 
by  heart.  Every  one  of  them  represented  to  him  a 
day  of  confinement;  but,  counting  them  daily  in  this 
manner,  he  knew  exactly  the  number  of  days  that  he 
had  still  to  pass  in  the  prison.  He  was  sincerely 
happy  when  he  had  finished  one  side  of  the  hexagon ; 
yet  he  had  to  wait  for  his  liberation  many  long  years. 
But  one  learns  patience  in  a  prison. 

One  day  I  saw  a  prisoner,  who  had  undergone  his 
punishment,  take  leave  of  his  comrades.  He  had  had 
twenty  years'  hard  labour.  More  than  one  convict  re- 
membered seeing  him  arrive,  quite  young,  careless, 
thinking  neither  of  his  crime  nor  of  his  punishment.  He 
was  now  an  old  man  with  gray  hairs,  with  a  sad  and 


TED  DEAD-HOUSE  9 

morose  countenance.  He  walked  in  silence  through  our 
six  barracks.  When  he  entered  each  of  them  he  prayed 
before  the  holy  image,  made  a  deep  bow  to  his  former 
companions,  and  begged  them  not  to  keep  a  bad  recol- 
lection of  him. 

I  also  remember  one  evening,  a  prisoner,  who  had  been 
formerly  a  well-to-do  Siberian  peasant,  so  called.  Six  years 
before  he  had  had  news  of  his  wife's  remarrying,  which 
had  caused  him  great  pain.  That  very  evening  she  had 
come  to  the  prison,  and  had  asked  for  him  in  order  to 
make  him  a  present !  They  talked  together  for  two 
minutes,  wept  together,  and  then  separated  never  to 
meet  again.  I  saw  the  expression  of  this  prisoner's 
countenance  when  he  re-entered  the  barracks.  There, 
indeed,  one  learns  to  support  everything. 

When  darkness  set  in  we  had  to  re-enter  the  barrack, 
where  we  were  shut  up  for  all  the  night.  It  was  always 
painful  for  me  to  leave  the  court-yard  for  the  barrack. 
Think  of  a  long,  low,  stifling  room,  scarcely  lighted  by 
tallow  candles,  and  full  of  heavy  and  disgusting  odours.  I 
cannot  now  understand  how  I  lived  there  for  ten  entire 
years.  My  camp  bedstead  was  made  of  three  boards. 
This  was  the  only  place  in  the  room  that  belonged  to 
me.  In  one  single  room  we  herded  together,  more  than 
thirty  men.  It  was,  above  all,  no  wonder  that  we  were 
shut  up  early.  Four  hours  at  least  passed  before  every 
one  was  asleep,  and,  until  then,  there  was  a  tumult  and 
uproar  of  laughter,  oaths,  rattling  of  chains,  a  poisonous 
vapour  of  thick  smoke;  a  confusion  of  shaved  heads, 
stigmatised  foreheads,  and  ragged  clothes  disgustingly 
filthy. 

Yes,  man  is  a  pliable  animal — he  must  be  so  defined— 
a  being  who  gets  accustomed  to  everything !  That 
would  be,  perhaps,  the  best  definition  that  could  be  given 
of  him.  There  were  altogether  two  hundred  and  fifty  of 
us  in  the  same  prison.  This  number  was  almost  invari- 
ably the  same.  Whenever  some  of  them  had  undergone 
their  punishment,  other  criminals  arrived,  and  a  few  of 
them  died.  Among  them  there  were  all  sorts  of  people. 
I  believe  that  each  region  of  Russia  had  furnished  its 


10  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

representatives.  There  were  foreigners  there,  and  even 
mountaineers  from  the  Caucasus. 

All  these  people  were  divided  into  different  classes, 
according  to  the  importance  of  the  crime  ;  and  conse- 
quently the  duration  of  the  punishment  for  the  crime, 
whatever  it  might  be,  was  there  represented.  The  popu- 
lation of  the  prison  was  composed  for  the  most  part 
of  men  condemned  to  hard  labour  of  the  civil  class — 
"  strongly  condemned,"  as  the  prisoners  used  to  say. 
They  were  criminals  deprived  of  all  civil  rights,  men 
rejected  by  society,  vomited  forth  by  it,  and  whose  faces 
were  marked  by  the  iron  to  testify  eternally  to  their 
disgrace.  They  were  incarcerated  for  different  periods 
of  time,  varying  from  eight  to  ten  years.  At  the  expira- 
tion of  their  punishment  they  were  sent  to  the  Siberian 
districts  in  the  character  of  colonists. 

As  to  the  criminals  of  the  military  section,  they  were 
not  deprived  of  their  civil  rights — as  is  generally  the 
case  in  Russian  disciplinary  companies  —  but  were 
punished  for  a  relatively  short  period.  As  soon  as  they 
had  undergone  their  punishment  they  had  to  return  to 
the  place  whence  they  had  come,  and  became  soldiers  in 
the  battalions  of  the  Siberian  Line.* 

Many  of  them  came  back  to  us  afterwards,  for  serious 
crimes,  this  time  not  for  a  small  number  of  years,  but  for 
twenty  at  least.  They  then  formed  part  of  the  section 
called  "  for  perpetuity."  Nevertheless,  the  perpetuals 
were  not  deprived  of  their  right.  There  was  another 
section  sufficiently  numerous,  composed  of  the  worst  male- 
factors, nearly  all  veterans  in  crime,  and  which  was  called 
the  special  section.  There  were  sent  convicts  from  all  the 
Russias.  They  looked  upon  one  another  with  reason  as 
imprisoned  for  ever,  for  the  term  of  their  confinement 
had  not  been  indicated.  The  law  required  them  to 
receive  double  and  treble  tasks.  They  remained  in 
prison  until  work  of  the  most  painful  character  had  to  be 
undertaken  in  Siberia. 

"  You  are  only  here  for  a  fixed  time,"  they  said  to  the 

*  Goriantchikoff  became  himself  a  soldier  in  Siberia,  when  he  had 
finished  his  term  of  imprisonment. 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  11 

other  convicts ;  "  we,  on  the  contrary,  are  here  for  all  our 
life." 

I  have  heard  that  this  section  has  since  been  abolished. 
At  the  same  time,  civil  convicts  are  kept  apart,  in  order 
that  the  military  convicts  may  be  organised  by  them- 
selves into  a  homogeneous  "  disciplinary  company."  The 
administration,  too,  has  naturally  been  changed ;  conse- 
quently what  I  describe  are  the  customs  and  practices  of 
another  time,  and  of  things  which  have  since  been 
abolished.  Yes,  it  was  a  long  time  ago ;  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  is  all  a  dream.  I  remember  entering  the  convict 
prison  one  December  evening,  as  night  was  falling.  The 
convicts  were  returning  from  work.  The  roll-call  was 
about  to  be  made.  An  under  officer  with  large  mous- 
taches opened  to  me  the  gate  of  this  strange  house,  where 
I  was  to  remain  so  many  years,  to  endure  so  many 
emotions,  and  of  which  I  could  not  form  even  an  approxi- 
mate idea,  if  I  had  not  gone  through  them.  Thus,  for 
example,  could  I  ever  have  imagined  the  poignant  and 
terrible  suffering  of  never  being  alone  even  for  one 
minute  during  ten  years  ?  Working  under  escort  in  the 
barracks  together  with  two  hundred  "  companions ;  " 
never  alone,  never ! 

However,  I  was  obliged  to  get  accustomed  to  it. 
Among  them  there  were  murderers  by  imprudence,  and 
murderers  by  profession,  simple  thieves,  masters  in  the 
art  of  finding  money  in  the  pockets  of  the  passers-by,  or 
of  wiping  off  no  matter  what  from  the  table.  It  would 
have  been  difficult,  however,  to  say  why  and  how  certain 
prisoners  found  themselves  among  the  convicts.  Each  of 
them  had  his  history,  confused  and  heavy,  painful  as  the 
morning  after  a  debauch. 

The  convicts,  as  a  rule,  spoke  very  little  of  their  past 
life,  which  they  did  not  like  to  think  of.  They  endea- 
voured, even,  to  dismiss  it  from  their  memory. 

Amongst  my  companions  of  the  chain  I  have  known 
murderers  who  were  so  gay  and  so  free  from  care,  that 
one  might  have  made  a  bet  that  their  conscience  never 
made  them  the  least  reproach.  But  there  were  also  men 
of  sombre  countenance  who  remained  almost  always 


12  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

silent.  It  was  very  rarely  any  one  told  his  history.  This 
sort  of  thing  was  not  the  fashion.  Let  us  say  at  once  that 
it  was  not  received.  Sometimes,  however,  from  time  to 
time,  for  the  sake  of  change,  a  prisoner  used  to  tell  his  life 
to  another  prisoner,  who  would  listen  coldly  to  the  narra- 
tive. No  one,  to  tell  the  truth,  could  have  said  anything  to 
astonish  his  neighbour.  "  We  are  not  ignoramuses,"  they 
would  sometimes  say  with  singular  pride. 

I  remember  one  day  a  ruffian  who  had  got  drunk — it 
was  sometimes  possible  for  the  convicts  to  get  drink — 
relating  how  he  had  killed  and  cut  up  a  child  of  five.  He 
had  first  tempted  the  child  with  a  plaything,  and  then 
taking  it  to  a  loft,  had  cut  it  up  to  pieces.  The  entire 
barrack,  which,  generally  speaking,  laughed  at  his  jokes, 
uttered  one  unanimous  cry.  The  ruffian  was  obliged  to 
be  silent.  But  if  the  convicts  had  interrupted  him,  it  was 
not  by  any  means  because  his  recital  had  caused  their 
indignation,  but  because  it  was  not  allowed  to  speak  of 
such  things. 

I  must  here  observe  that  the  convicts  possessed  a 
certain  degree  of  instruction.  Half  of  them,  if  not  more, 
knew  how  to  read  and  write.  Where  in  Russia,  in  no 
matter  what  population,  could  two  hundred  and  fifty  men 
be  found  able  to  read  and  write  ?  Later  on  I  have  heard 
people  say,  and  conclude  on  the  strength  of  these  abuses, 
that  education  demoralises  the  people.  This  is  a  mistake. 
Education  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  moral  dete- 
rioration. It  must  be  admitted,  nevertheless,  that  it 
develops  a  resolute  spirit  among  the  people.  But  this  is 
far  from  being  a  defect. 

Each  section  had  a  different  costume.  The  uniform 
of  one  was  a  cloth  vest,  half  brown  and  half  gray, 
and  trousers  with  one  leg  brown,  the  other  gray.  One 
day  while  we  were  at  work,  a  little  girl  who  sold  scones 
of  white  bread  came  towards  the  convicts.  She  looked 
at  them  for  a  time  and  then  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Oh, 
how  ugly  they  are  ! "  she  cried ;  "  they  have  not  even 
enough  gray  cloth  or  brown  cloth  to  make  their  clothes/' 
Every  convict  wore  a  vest  made  of  gray  cloth,  except  the 
sleeves,  which  were  brown.  Their  heads,  too,  were  shaved 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  13 

in  different  styles.  The  crown  was  bared  sometimes 
longitudinally,  sometimes  latitudinally,  from  the  nape  of 
the  neck  to  the  forehead,  or  from  one  ear  to  another. 

This  strange  family  had  a  general  likeness  so  pro- 
nounced that  it  could  be  recognised  at  a  glance. 

Even  the  most  striking  personalities,  those  who  domi- 
nated involuntarily  the  other  convicts,  could  not  help 
taking  the  general  tone  of  the  house. 

Of  the  convicts — with  the  exception  of  a  few  who 
enjoyed  childish  gaiety,  and  who  by  that  alone  drew  upon 
themselves  general  contempt — all  the  convicts  were 
morose,  envious,  frightfully  vain,  presumptuous,  sus- 
ceptible, and  excessively  ceremonious.  To  be  astonished 
at  nothing  was  in  their  eyes  the  first  and  indispensable 
quality.  Accordingly,  their  first  aim  was  to  bear  them- 
selves with  dignity.  But  often  the  most  composed  de- 
meanour gave  way  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  With 
the  basest  humility  some,  however,  possessed  genuine 
strength  ;  these  were  naturally  all  sincere.  But  strangely 
enough,  they  were  for  the  most  part  excessively  and 
morbidly  vain.  Vanity  was  always  their  salient  quality. 

The  majority  of  the  prisoners  were  depraved  and 
perverted,  so  that  calumnies  and  scandal  rained  amongst 
them  like  hail.  Our  life  was  a  constant  hell,  a  perpetual 
damnation  ;  but  no  one  would  have  dared  to  raise  a  voice 
against  the  internal  regulations  of  the  prison,  or  against 
established  usages.  Accordingly,  willingly  or  unwillingly, 
they  had  to  be  submitted  to.  Certain  indomitable 
characters  yielded  with  difficulty,  but  they  yielded  all 
the  same.  Prisoners  who  when  at  liberty  had  gone 
beyond  all  measure,  who,  urged  by  their  over-excited 
vanity,  had  committed  frightful  crimes  unconsciously,  as 
if  in  a  delirium,  and  had  been  the  terror  of  entire  towns, 
were  put  down  in  a  very  short  time  by  the  system  of  our 
prison.  The  "  new  man/'  when  he  began  to  reconnoitre, 
soon  found  that  he  could  astonish  no  one,  and  insensibly 
he  submitted,  took  the  general  tone,  and  assumed  a  sort 
of  personal  dignity  which  almost  every  convict  main- 
tained, just  as  if  the  denomination  of  convict  had  been  a 
title  of  honour.  Not  the  least  sign  of  shame  or  of 


14  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

repentance,  but  a  kind  of  external  submission  which 
seemed  to  have  been  reasoned  out  as  the  line  of  conduct 
to  be  pursued.  "  We  are  lost  men,"  they  said  to  them- 
selves. "  We  were  unable  to  live  in  liberty ;  we  must 
now  go  to  Green  Street."* 

"  You  would  not  obey  your  father  and  mother ;  you 
will  now  obey  thongs  of  leather."  "  The  man  who  would 
not  sow  must  now  break  stones." 

These  things  were  said,  and  repeated  in  the  way  of 
morality,  as  sentences  and  proverbs,  but  without  any  one 
taking  them  seriously.  They  were  but  words  in  the  air. 
There  was  not  one  man  among  them  who  admitted  his 
iniquity.  Let  a  stranger  not  a  convict  endeavour  to 
reproach  him  with  his  crime,  and  the  insults  directed 
against  him  would  be  endless.  And  how  refined  are  con- 
victs in  the  matter  of  insults !  They  insult  delicately,  like 
artists ;  insult  with  the  most  delicate  science.  They  en- 
deavour not  so  much  to  offend  by  the  expression  as  by  the 
meaning,  the  spirit  of  an  envenomed  phrase.  Their 
incessant  quarrels  developed  greatly  this  special  art. 

As  they  only  worked  under  the  threat  of  an  immense 
stick,  they  were  idle  and  depraved.  Those  who  were  not 
already  corrupt  when  they  arrived  at  the  convict  establish- 
ment, became  perverted  very  soon.  Brought  together  in 
spite  of  themselves,  they  were  perfect  strangers  to  one 
another.  "  The  devil  has  worn  out  three  pairs  of  sandals 
before  he  got  us  together,"  they  would  say.  Intrigues, 
calumnies,  scandal  of  all  kinds,  envy,  and  hatred  reigned 
above  everything  else.  In  this  life  of  sloth,  no  ordinary 
spiteful  tongue  could  make  head  against  these  murderers, 
with  insults  constantly  in  their  mouths. 

As  I  said  before,  there  were  found  among  them  men 
of  open  character,  resolute,  intrepid,  accustomed  to  self- 
command.  These  were  held  involuntarily  in  esteem. 
Although  they  were  very  jealous  of  their  reputation, 

*  An  allusion  to  the  two  rows  of  soldiers,  armed  with  green  rods, 
between  which  convicts  condemned  to  corporal  punishment  had  and 
still  have  to  pass.  But  this  punishment  now  exists  only  for  convicts 
deprived  of  all  their  civil  rights.  This  subject  will  be  returned  to 
further  on. 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  15 

they  endeavoured  to  annoy  no  one,  and  never  insulted 
one  another  without  a  motive.  Their  conduct  was  on 
all  points  full  of  dignity.  They  were  rational,  and  almost 
always  obedient,  not  by  principle,  or  from  any  respect 
for  duty,  but  as  if  in  virtue  of  a  mutual  convention 
between  themselves  and  the  administration — a  con- 
vention of  which  the  advantages  were  plain  enough. 

The  officials,  moreover,  behaved  prudently  towards 
them.  I  remember  that  one  prisoner  of  the  resolute  and 
intrepid  class,  known  to  possess  the  instincts  of  a  wild 
beast,  was  summoned  one  day  to  be  whipped.  It  was 
during  the  summer,  no  work  was  being  done.  The 
Adjutant,  the  direct  and  immediate  chief  of  the  convict 
prison,  was  in  the  orderly-room,  by  the  side  of  the 
principal  entrance,  ready  to  assist  at  the  punishment. 
This  Major  was  a  fatal  being  for  the  prisoners,  whom  he 
had  brought  to  such  a  state  that  they  trembled  before 
him.  Severe  to  the  point  of  insanity,  "  he  threw  himself 
upon  them,"  to  use  their  expression.  But  it  was  above 
all  that  his  look,  as  penetrating  as  that  of  a  lynx,  was 
feared.  It  was  impossible  to  conceal  anything  from  him. 
He  saw,  so  to  say,  without  looking.  On  entering  the 
prison,  he  knew  at  once  what  was  being  done.  Accord- 
ingly, the  convicts,  one  and  all,  called  him  the  man 
with  the  eight  eyes.  His  system  was  bad,  for  it  had  the 
effect  of  irritating  men  who  were  already  irascible.  But 
for  the  Commandant,  a  well-bred  and  reasonable  man, 
who  moderated  the  savage  onslaughts  of  the  Major,  the 
latter  would  have  caused  sad  misfortunes  by  his  bad 
administration.  I  do  not  understand  how  he  managed 
to  retire  from  the  service  safe  and  sound.  It  is  true  that 
he  left  after  being  called  before  a  court-martial. 

The  prisoner  turned  pale  when  he  was  called ; 
generally  speaking,  he  lay  down  courageously,  and 
without  uttering  a  word,  to  receive  the  terrible  rods, 
after  which  he  got  up  and  shook  himself.  He  bore  the 
misfortune  calmly,  philosophically,  it  is  true,  though  he 
was  never  punished  carelessly,  nor  without  all  sorts  of 
precautions.  But  this  time  he  considered  himself  innocent. 
He  turned  pale,  and  as  he  walked  quietly  towards  the 


16  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

escort  of  soldiers  he  managed  to  conceal  in  his  sleeve  a 
shoemaker's  awl.  The  prisoners  were  severely  forbidden 
to  carry  sharp  instruments  about  them.  Examinations 
were  frequently,  minutely,  and  unexpectedly  made,  and 
all  infractions  of  the  rule  were  severely  punished.  But 
as  it  is  difficult  to  take  away  from  the  criminal  what  he 
is  determined  to  conceal,  and  as,  moreover,  sharp  instru- 
ments are  necessarily  used  in  the  prison,  they  were  never 
destroyed.  If  the  official  succeeded  in  taking  them 
away  from  the  convicts,  the  latter  procured  new  ones 
very  soon. 

On  the  occasion  in  question,  all  the  convicts  had  now 
thrown  themselves  against  the  palisade,  with  palpitating 
hearts,  to  look  through  the  crevices.  It  was  known  that 
this  time  Petroff  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  flogged, 
that  the  end  of  the  Major  had  come.  But  at  the  critical 
moment  the  latter  got  into  his  carriage,  and  went  away, 
leaving  the  direction  of  the  punishment  to  a  subaltern. 
"  God  has  saved  him  ! "  said  the  convicts.  As  for  Petroff, 
he  underwent  his  punishment  quietly.  Once  the  Major 
had  gone,  his  anger  fell.  The  prisoner  is  submissive  and 
obedient  to  a  certain  point,  but  there  is  a  limit  which 
must  not  be  crossed.  Nothing  is  more  curious  than 
these  strange  outbursts  of  disobedience  and  rage.  Often 
a  man  who  has  supported  for  many  years  the  most  cruel 
punishment,  will  revolt  for  a  trifle,  for  nothing  at  all. 
He  might  pass  for  a  madman ;  that,  in  fact,  is  what  is 
said  of  him. 

I  have  already  said  that  during  many  years  I  never 
remarked  the  least  sign  of  repentance,  not  even  the 
slightest  uneasiness  with  regard  to  the  crime  committed ; 
and  that  most  of  the  convicts  considered  neither  honour 
nor  conscience,  holding  that  they  had  a  right  to  act  as  they 
thought  fit.  Certainly  vanity,  evil  examples,  deceitful- 
ness,  and  false  shame  were  responsible  for  much.  On 
the  other  hand,  who  can  claim  to  have  sounded  the  depths 
of  these  hearts,  given  over  to  perdition,  and  to  have 
found  them  closed  to  all  light  ?  It  would  seem  all  the 
same  that  during  so  many  years  I  ought  to  have  been 
able  to  notice  some  indication,  even  the  most  fugitive, 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  17 

o!  some  regret,  some  moral  suffering.  I  positively  saw 
nothing  of  the  kind.  With  ready-made  opinions  one 
cannot  judge  of  crime.  Its  philosophy  is  a  little  more 
complicated  than  people  think.  It  is  acknowledged  that 
neither  convict  prisons,  nor  the  hulks,  nor  any  system  of 
hard  labour  ever  cured  a  criminal.  These  forms  of  chas- 
tisement only  punish  him  and  reassure  society  against 
the  offences  he  might  commit.  Confinement,  regulation, 
and  excessive  work  have  no  effect  but  to  develop  with 
these  men  profound  hatred,  a  thirst  for  forbidden  enjoy- 
ment, and  frightful  recalcitrations.  On  the  other  hand  I 
am  convinced  that  the  celebrated  cellular  system  gives 
results  which  are  specious  and  deceitful.  It  deprives  a 
criminal  of  his  force,  of  his  energy,  enervates  his  soul  by 
weakening  and  frightening  it,  and  at  last  exhibits  a  dried 
up  mummy  as  a  model  of  repentance  and  amendment. 

The  criminal  who  has  revolted  against  society,  hates 
it,  and  considers  himself  in  the  right ;  society  was  wrong, 
not  he.  Has  he  not,  moreover,  undergone  his  punish- 
ment ?  Accordingly  he  is  absolved,  acquitted  in  his  own 
eyes.  In  spite  of  different  opinions,  every  one  will 
acknowledge  that  there  are  crimes  which  everywhere, 
always,  under  no  matter  what  legislation,  are  beyond 
discussion  crimes,  and  should  be  regarded  as  such  as 
long  as  man  is  man.  It  is  only  at  the  convict  prison 
that  I  have  heard  related,  with  a  childish,  unrestrained 
laugh,  the  strangest,  most  atrocious  offences.  I  shall 
never  forget  a  certain  parricide,  formerly  a  nobleman 
and  a  public  functionary.  He  had  given  great  grief  to 
his  father — a  true  prodigal  son.  The  old  man  endeavoured 
in  vain  to  restrain  him  by  remonstrance  on  the  fatal  slope 
down  which  he  was  sliding.  As  he  was  loaded  with 
debts,  and  his  father  was  suspected  of  having,  besides 
an  estate,  a  sum  of  ready  money,  he  killed  him  in  order 
to  enter  more  quickly  into  his  inheritance.  This  crime 
was  not  discovered  until  a  month  afterwards.  During 
all  this  time  the  murderer,  who  meanwhile  had  informed 
the  police  of  his  father's  disappearance,  continued  his 
debauches.  At  last,  during  his  absence,  the  police  dis- 
covered the  old  man's  corpse  in  a  drain.  The  gray  head 


18  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

was  severed  from  the  trunk,  but  replaced  in  its  original 
position.  The  body  was  entirely  dressed.  Beneati,  as 
if  by  derision,  the  assassin  had  placed  a  cushion. 

The  young  man  confessed  nothing.  He  was  degraded, 
deprived  of  his  nobiliary  privileges,  and  condemned 
to  twenty  years'  hard  labour.  As  long  as  I  knew  him  I 
always  found  him  to  be  careless  of  his  position.  He  was 
the  most  light-minded,  inconsiderate  man  that  I  ever  met, 
although  he  was  far  from  being  a  fool.  I  never  observed 
in  him  any  great  tendency  to  cruelty.  The  other  convicts 
despised  him,  not  on  account  of  his  crime,  of  which  there 
was  never  any  question,  but  because  he  was  without  dignity. 
He  sometimes  spoke  of  his  father.  One  day  for  instance, 
boasting  of  the  hereditary  good  health  of  his  family,  he 
said  :  ' '  My  father,  for  example,  until  his  death  was  never 
ill." 

Animal  insensibility  carried  to  such  a  point  is  most 
remarkable — it  is,  indeed,  phenomenal.  There  must  have 
been  in  this  case  an  organic  defect  in  the  man,  some 
physical  and  moral  monstrosity  unknown  hitherto  to 
science,  and  not  simply  crime.  I  naturally  did  not 
believe  in  so  atrocious  a  crime ;  but  people  of  the  same 
town  as  himself,  who  knew  all  the  details  of  his  history, 
related  it  to  me.  The  facts  were  so  clear  that  it  would 
have  been  madness  not  to  accept  them.  The  prisoners 
once  heard  him  cry  out  during ,  his  sleep:  "Hold  him! 
hold  him  !  Cut  his  head  off,  his  head,  his  head  ! " 

Nearly  all  the  convicts  dreamed  aloud,  or  were 
delirious  in  their  sleep.  Insults,  words  of  slang,  knives, 
hatchetSj  seemed  constantly  present  in  their  dreams. 
"  We  are  crushed  !  "  they  would  say ;  "  we  are  without 
entrails  ;  that  is  why  we  shriek  in  the  night." 

Hard  labour  in  our  fortress  was  not  an  occupation, 
but  an  obligation.  The  prisoners  accomplished  their 
task,  they  worked  the  number  of  hours  fixed  by  the  law, 
and  then  returned  to  the  prison.  They  hated  their 
liberty.  If  the  convict  did  not  do  some  work  on  his  own 
account  voluntarily,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
support  his  confinement.  How  could  these  persons,  all 
strongly  constituted,  who  had  lived  sumptuously,  and 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  19 

desired  so  to  live  again,  who  had  been  brought  together 
against  their  will,  after  society  had  cast  them  up — how 
could  they  live  in  a  normal  and  natural  manner  ?  Man 
cannot  exist  without  work,  without  legal,  natural  property. 
Depart  from  these  conditions,  and  he  becomes  perverted 
and  changed  into  a  wild  beast.  Accordingly,  every 
convict,  through  natural  requirements  and  by  the  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  had  a  trade — an  occupation  of  some 
kind. 

The  long  days  of  summer  were  taken  up  almost 
entirely  by  our  hard  labour.  The  night  was  so  short  that 
we  had  only  just  time  to  sleep.  It  was  not  the  same  in 
winter.  According  to  the  regulations,  the  prisoners  had 
to  be  shut  up  in  the  barracks  at  nightfall.  What  was  to 
be  done  during  these  long,  sad  evenings  but  work  ? 
Consequently  each  barrack,  though  locked  and  bolted, 
assumed  the  appearance  of  a  large  workshop.  The  work 
was  not,  it  is  true,  strictly  forbidden,  but  it  was  forbidden 
'to  have  tools,  without  which  work  is  evidently  impossible. 
But  we  laboured  in  secret,  and  the  administration  seemed 
to  shut  its  eyes.  Many  prisoners  arrived  without  knowing 
how  to  make  use  of  their  ten  fingers  ;  but  they  learnt  a 
trade  from  some  of  their  companions,  and  became  ex- 
cellent workmen. 

We  had  among  us  cobblers,  bootmakers,  tailors, 
masons,  locksmiths,  and  gilders.  A  Jew  named  Esau 
Boumstein  was  at  the  same  time  a  jeweller  and  a  usurer. 
Every  one  worked,  and  thus  gained  a  few  pence — for 
many  orders  came  from  the  town.  Money  is  a  tangible 
resonant  liberty,  inestimable  for  a  man  entirely  deprived 
of  true  liberty.  If  he  feels  some  money  in  his  pocket,  he 
consoles  himself  a  little,  even  though  he  cannot  spend 
it — but  one  can  always  and  everywhere  spend  money, 
the  more  so  as  forbidden  fruit  is  doubly  sweet.  One 
can  often  buy  spirits  in  the  convict  prison.  Although 
pipes  are  severely  forbidden,  every  one  smokes.  Money 
and  tobacco  save  the  convicts  from  the  scurvy,  as  work 
saves  them  from  crime — for  without  work  they  would 
mutually  have  destroyed  one  another  like  spiders  shut  up 
in  a  close  bottle.  Work  and  money  were  all  the  same 


20  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

forbidden.  Often  during  the  night  severe  examinations 
were  made,  during  which  everything  that  was  not  legally 
authorised  was  confiscated.  However  successfully  the 
little  hoards  had  been  concealed,  they  were  sometimes 
discovered.  That  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  they  were 
not  kept  very  long.  They  were  exchanged  as  soon  as 
possible  for  drink,  which  explains  how  it  happened  that 
spirits  penetrated  into  the  convict  prison.  The  delinquent 
was  not  only  deprived  of  his  board,  but  was  also  cruelly 
flogged. 

A  short  time  after  each  examination  the  convicts  pro- 
cured again  the  objects  which  had  been  confiscated,  and 
everything  went  on  as  before.  The  administration  knew 
it ;  and  although  the  condition  of  the  convicts  was  a  good 
deal  like  that  of  the  inhabitants  of  Vesuvius,  they  never 
murmured  at  the  punishment  inflicted  for  these  pecca- 
dilloes. Those  who  had  no  manual  skill  did  business 
somehow  or  other.  The  modes  of  buying  and  selling  were 
original  enough.  Things  changed  hands  which  no  one' 
expected  a  convict  would  ever  have  thought  of  selling  or 
buying,  or  even  of  regarding  as  of  any  value  whatever. 
The  least  rag  had  its  value,  and  might  be  turned  to 
account.  In  consequence,  however,  of  the  poverty  of  the 
convicts,  money  acquired  ii  their  eyes  a  superior  value  to 
that  really  belonging  to  it. 

Long  and  painful  tasks,  sometimes  of  a  very  compli- 
cated kind,  brought  back  a  few  kopecks.  Several  of  the 
prisoners  lent  by  the  week,  and  did  good  business  that 
way.  The  prisoner  who  was  ruined  and  insolvent  carried 
to  the  usurer  the  few  things  belonging  to  him  and 
pledged  them  for  some  halfpence,  which  were  lent  to 
him  at  a  fabulous  rate  of  interest.  If  he  did  not  redeem 
them  at  the  fixed  time  the  usurer  sold  them  pitilessly  by 
auction,  and  without  the  least  delay. 

Usury  flourished  so  well  in  our  convict  prison  that 
money  was  lent  even  on  things  belonging  to  the  Govern- 
ment :  linen,  boots,  etc. — things  that  were  wanted  at  every 
moment.  When  the  lender  accepted  such  pledges  the 
affair  took  an  unexpected  turn.  The  proprietor  went, 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  21 

immediately  after  lie  had  received  his  money,  and  told 
the  under  officer — chief  superintendent  of  the  convict 
prison — that  objects  belonging  to  the  State  were  being 
concealed,  on  which  everything  was  taken  away  from  the 
nsurer  without  even  the  formality  of  a  report  to  the 
superior  administration.  But  never  was  there  any 
quarrel — and  that  is  very  curious  indeed — between  the 
usurer  and  the  owner.  The  first  gave  up  in  silence, 
with  a  morose  air,  the  things  demanded  from  him,  as  if  he 
had  been  waiting  for  the  request.  Sometimes,  perhaps, 
he  confessed  to  himself  that,  in  the  place  of. the  bor- 
rower, he  would  not  have  acted  differently.  Accordingly, 
if  he  was  insulted  after  this  restitution,  it  was  less  from 
hatred  than  simply  as  a  matter  of  conscience. 

The  convicts  robbed  one  another  without  shame. 
Each  prisoner  had  his  little  box  fitted  with  a  padlock,  in 
which  he  kept  the  things  entrusted  to  him  by  the  ad- 
ministration. Although  these  boxes  were  authorised,  that 
did  not  prevent  them  from  being  broken  into.  The  reader 
can  easily  imagine  what  clever  thieves  were  found  among 
us.  A  prisoner  who  was  sincerely  devoted  to  me — I  say  it 
without  boasting — stole  my  Bible  from  me,  the  only  book 
allowed  in  the  convict  prison.  He  told  me  of  it  the  same 
day,  not  from  repentance,  but  because  he  pitied  me  when 
he  saw  me  looking  for  it  everywhere.  We  had  among 
our  companions  of  the  chain  several  convicts  called  t(  inn- 
keepers," who  sold  spirits,  and  became  comparatively  rich 
by  doing  so.  I  shall  speak  of  this  further  on,  for  the 
liquor  traffic  deserves  special  study. 

A  great  number  of  prisoners  had  been  deported  for 
smuggling,  which  explains  how  it  was  that  drink  was 
brought  secretly  into  the  convict  prison,  under  so  severe  a 
surveillance  as  ours  was.  In  passing  it  may  be  remarked 
that  smuggling  is  an  offence  apart.  Would  it  be  be- 
lieved that  money,  the  solid  profit  from  the  affair,  pos- 
sesses often  only  secondary  importance  for  the  smuggler  ? 
It  is  all  the  same  an  authentic  fact.  He  works  by 
vocation.  In  his  style  he  is  a  poet.  He  risks  all  he  pos- 
sesses, exposes  himself  to  terrible  dangers,  intrigues, 


22  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

invents,  gets  out  of  a  scrape,  and  brings  everything  to  a 
happy  end  by  a  sort  of  inspiration.  This  passion  is  as 
violent  as  that  of  play. 

I  knew  a  prisoner  of  colossal  stature  who  was  the 
mildest,  the  most  peaceable,  and  most  manageable  man  it- 
was  possible  to  see.  We  often  asked  one  another  how  he 
had  been  deported.  He  had  such  a  calm,  sociable  cha- 
racter, that  during  the  whole  time  that  he  passed  at  the 
convict  prison,  he  never  quarrelled  with  any  one.  Born 
in  Western  Russia,  where  he  lived  on  the  frontier,  he  had 
been  sent  to  hard  labour  for  smuggling.  Naturally,  then, 
he  could  not  resist  his  desire  to  smuggle  spirits  into  the 
prison.  How  many  times  was  he  not  punished  for  it,  and 
heaven  knows  how  much  he  feared  the  rods.  This 
dangerous  trade  brought  him  in  but  slender  profits.  It 
was  the  speculator  who  got  rich  at  his  expense.  Bach 
time  he  was  punished  he  wept  like  an  old  woman,  and 
swore  by  all  that  was  holy  that  he  would  never  be  caught 
at  such  things  again.  He  kept  his  vow  for  an  entire  month, 
but  he  ended  by  yielding  once  more  to  his  passion. 
Thanks  to  these  amateurs  of  smuggling,  spirits  were 
always  to  be  had  in  the  convict  prison. 

Another  source  of  income  which,  without  enriching  the 
prisoners,  was  constantly  and  beneficently  turned  to 
account,  was  alms-giving.  The  upper  classes  of  our 
Russian  society  do  not  know  to  what  an  extent  merchants, 
shopkeepers,  and  our  people  generally,  commiserate  the 
"  unfortunate  !  "*  Alms  were  always  forthcoming,  and 
consisted  generally  of  little  white  loaves,  sometimes  of 
money,  but  very  rarely.  Without  alms,  the  existence  of 
the  convicts,  and  above  all  that  of  the  accused,  who  are 
badly  fed,  would  be  too  painful.  These  alms  are  shared 
equally  between  all  the  prisoners.  If  the  gifts  are  not 
sufficient,  the  little  loaves  are  divided  into  halves,  and 
sometimes  into  six  pieces,  so  that  each  convict  may  have 
his  share.  I  remember  the  first  alms,  a  small  piece  of 
money,  that  I  received.  A  short  time  after  my  arrival,  one 
morning,  as  I  was  coming  back  from  work  with  a  soldier 

*  Men  condemned  to  hard  labour,  and  exiles  generally,  are  so  called 
by  the  Russian  peasantry. 


THE  DEAD-HOUSE  23 

escort,  I  met  a  mother  and  her  daughter,  a  child  of  ten, 
as  beautiful  as  an  angel.  I  had  already  seen  them  once 
before. 

The  mother  was  the  widow  of  a  poor  soldier,  who, 
while  still  young,  had  been  sentenced  by  a  court-martial, 
and  had  died  in  the  infirmary  of  the  convict  prison  while 
I  was  there.  They  wept  hot  tears  when  they  came  to  bid 
him  good-bye.  On  seeing  me  the  little  girl  blushed,  and 
murmured  a  few  words  into  her  mother's  ear,  who  stopped, 
and  took  from  a  basket  a  kopeck  which  she  gave  to  the 
little  girl.  The  little  girl  ran  after  me. 

"  Here,  poor  man,"  she  said,  "  take  this  in  the  name  of 
Christ/'  I  took  the  money  which  she  slipped  into  my 
hand.  The  little  girl  returned  joyfully  to  her  mother.  I 
preserved  that  kopeck  a  considerable  time. 


CHAPTER    III. 

FIKST   IMPEESSIONS 

DURING  the  first  weeks,  and  naturally  the  early 
part  of  my  imprisonment,  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  my  imagination.     The  following  years 
on  the  other  hand  are  all  mixed  up  together, 
and  leave  but  a  confused  recollection.     Cer- 
tain  epochs    of    this   life    are    even    effaced    from    my 
memory.     I   have   kept   one   general   impression   of   it, 
always  the  same ;  painful,  monotonous,  stifling.    What  I 
saw  in  experience  during  the  first  days  of  my  imprison- 
ment seems  to  me  as  if  it  had  all  taken  place  yesterday. 
Such  was  sure  to  be  the  case.     I  remember  perfectly 
that  in  the  first  place  this  life  astonished  me  by  the  very 
fact  that  it  offered  nothing   particular,   nothing   extra- 
ordinary, or  to  express  myself  better,  nothing  unexpected. 
It  was  not  until  later  on,  when  I  had  lived  some  time  in 
the  convict  prison,  that  I  understood  all  that  was  excep- 
tional and  unforeseen  in  such  a  life.    I  was  astonished  at 
the    discovery.     I    will    avow    that    this    astonishment 
remained  with  me  throughout  my  term  of  punishment; 
I  could  not  decidedly  reconcile  myself  to  this  existence. 

First  of  all,  I  experienced  an  invincible  repugnance  on 
arriving;  but  oddly  enough  the  life  seemed  to  me  less 
painful  than  I  had  imagined  on  the  journey. 

Indeed,  prisoners,  though  embarrassed  by  their  irons 
went  to  and  fro  in  the  prison  freely  enough.  They 
insulted  one  another,  sang,  worked,  smoked  pipes,  and 


FIE8T  IMPRESSIONS  25 

drank  spirits.  There  were  not  many  drinkers  all  the 
same.  There  were  also  regular  card  parties  during  the 
night.  The  labour  did  not  seem  to  me  very  trying  ;  I 
fancied  that  it  could  not  be  the  real  "  hard  labour."  I 
did  not  understand  till  long  afterwards  why  this  labour 
was  really  hard  and  excessive.  It  was  less  by  reason 
of  its  difficulty,  than  because  it  was  forced,  imposed, 
obligatory;  and  it  was  only  done  through  fear  of  the 
stick.  Thepeasantworkscertainlyharderthantheconvict, 
for,  during  the  summer,  he  works  night  and  day.  But  it 
is  in  his  own  interest  that  he  fatigues  himself.  His  aim 
is  reasonable,  so  that  he  suffers  less  than  the  convict 
who  performs  hard  labour  from  which  he  derives  no 
profit.  It  once  came  into  my  head  that  if  it  were  desired 
to  reduce  a  man  to  nothing — to  punish  him  atrociously,  to 
crush  him  in  such  a  manner  that  the  most  hardened 
murderer  would  tremble  before  such  a  punishment,  and 
take  fright  beforehand — it  would  be  necessary  to  give  to 
his  work  a  character  of  complete  uselessness,  even  to 
absurdity. 

Hard  labour,  as  it  is  now  carried  on,  presents  no 
interest  to  the  convict;  but  it  has  its  utility.  The  convict 
makes  bricks,  digs  the  earth,  builds ;  and  all  his  occupa- 
tions have  a  meaning  and  an  end.  Sometimes,  even  the 
prisoner  takes  an  interest  in  what  he  is  doing.  He  then 
wishes  to  work  more  skilfully,  more  advantageously.  But 
let  him  be  constrained  to  pour  water  from  one  vessel  into 
another,  or  to  transport  a  quantity  of  earth  from  one  place 
to  another,  in  order  to  perform  the  contrary  operation 
immediately  afterwards,  then  I  am  persuaded  that  at  the 
end  of  a  few  days  the  prisoner  would  strangle  himself  or 
commit  a  thousand  crimes,  punishable  with  death,  rather 
than  live  in  such  an  abject  condition  and  endure  such  tor- 
ments. It  is  evident  that  such  punishment  would  bo 
rather  a  torture,  an  atrocious  vengeance,  than  a  correction. 
It  would  be  absurd,  for  it  would  have  no  natural  end. 

I  did  not,  however,  arrive  until  the  winter — in  the 
month  of  December — and  the  labour  was  then  unim- 
portant in  our  fortress.  I  had  no  idea  of  the  summer 
labour — five  times  as  fatiguing.  The  prisoners,  during 


26  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  winter  season,  broke  up  on  the  Irtitch  some  old  boats 
belonging  to  the  Government,  found  occupation  in  the 
workshops,  took  away  the  snow  blown  by  hurricanes 
against  the  buildings,  or  burned  and  pounded  alabaster. 
As  the  day  was  very  short,  the  work  ceased  at  an  early 
hour,  and  every  one  returned  to  the  convict  prison, 
where  there  was  scarcely  anything  to  do,  except  the 
supplementary  work  which  the  convicts  did  for  them- 
selves. 

Scarcely  a  third  of  the  convicts  worked  seriously,  the 
others  idled  their  time  and  wandered  about  without  aim 
in  the  barracks,  scheming  and  insulting  one  another. 
Those  who  had  a  little  money  got  drunk  on  spirits,  or 
lost  what  they  had  saved  at  gambling.  And  all  this 
from  idleness,  weariness,  and  want  of  something  to  do. 

I  learned,  moreover,  to  know  one  suffering  which  is 
perhaps  the  sharpest,  the  most  painful  that  can  be  ex- 
perienced in  a  house  of  detention  apart  from  laws  and 
liberty.  I  mean,  "forced  cohabitation. "  Cohabitation  is 
more  or  less  forced  everywhere  and  always ;  but  nowhere 
is  it  so  horrible  as  in  a  prison.  There  are  men  there  with 
whom  no  one  would  consent  to  live.  I  am  certain  that 
every  convict,  unconsciously  perhaps,  has  suffered  from 
this. 

The  food  of  the  prisoners  seemed  to  me  passable; 
some  declared  even  that  it  was  incomparably  better  than 
in  any  Russian  prison.  I  cannot  certify  to  this,  for  I  was 
never  in  prison  anywhere  else.  Many  of  us,  besides, 
were  allowed  to  procure  whatever  nourishment  we 
wanted.  As  fresh  meat  cost  only  three  kopecks  a 
pound,  those  who  always  had  money  allowed  themselves 
the  luxury  of  eating  it.  The  majority  of  the  prisoners 
were  contented  with  the  regular  ration. 

When  they  praised  the  diet  of  the  convict  prison,  they 
were  thinking  only  of  the  bread,  which  was  distributed 
at  the  rate  of  so  much  per  room,  and  not  individually  or 
by  weight.  This  last  condition  would  have  frightened 
the  convicts,  for  a  third  of  them  at  least  would  have 
constantly  suffered  from  hunger;  while,  with  the  system 
in  vogue,  every  one  was  satisfied.  Our  bread  was  particu- 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  27 

larly  nice,  and  was  even  renowned  in  the  town.  Its  good 
quality  was  attributed  to  the  excellent  construction  of 
the  prison  ovens.  As  for  our  cabbage-soup,  it  was 
cooked  and  thickened  with  flour.  It  had  not  an  appe- 
tising appearance.  On  working  days  it  was  clear  and 
thin;  but  what  particularly  disgusted  me  was  the 
way  it  was  served.  The  prisoners,  however,  paid  no 
attention  to  that. 

During  the  three  days  that  followed  my  arrival,  I  did 
not  go  to  work.  Some  respite  was  always  given  to 
prisoners  just  arrived,  in  order  to  allow  them  to  recover 
from  their  fatigue.  The  second  day  I  had  to  go  out  of 
the  convict  prison  in  order  to  be  ironed.  My  chain  was 
not  of  the  regulation  pattern ;  it  was  composed  of  rings, 
which  gave  forth  a  clear  sound,  so  I  heard  other  convicts 
say.  I  had  to  wear  them  externally  over  my  clothes, 
whereas  my  companions  had  chains  formed,  not  of  rings, 
but  of  four  links,  as  thick  as  the  finger,  and  fastened 
together  by  three  links  which  were  worn  beneath  the 
trousers.  To  the  central  ring  was  fastened  a  strip  of 
leather,  tied  in  its  turn  to  a  girdle  fastened  over  the 
shirt. 

I  can  see  again  the  first  morning  that  I  passed  in  the 
convict  prison.  The  drum  sounded  in  the  orderly  room, 
near  the  principal  entrance.  Ten  minutes  afterwards 
the  under  officer  opened  the  barracks.  The  convicts 
woke  up  one  after  another  and  rose  trembling  with  cold 
from  their  plank  bedsteads,  by  the  dull  light  of  a  tallow 
candle.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  morose  ;  they  yawned 
and  stretched  themselves.  Their  foreheads,  marked  by 
the  iron,  were  contracted.  Some  made  the  sign  of  the 
Cross ;  others  began  to  talk  nonsense.  The  cold  air 
from  outside  rushed  in  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened. 
Then  the  prisoners  hurried  round  the  pails  full  of  water, 
one  after  another,  and  took  water  in  their  mouths,  and, 
letting  it  out  into  their  hands,  washed  their  faces.  Those 
pails  had  been  brought  in  the  night  before  by  a  prisoner 
specially  appointed,  according  to  the  rules,  to  clean  the 
barracks. 

The  convicts  chose  him  themselves.    He  did  not  work 


28  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

with  the  others,  for  it  was  his  business  to  examine  the 
camp  bedsteads  and  the  floors,  to  fetch  and  carry  water. 
This  water  served  in  the  morning  for  the  prisoners'  ablu- 
tions, and  the  rest  during  the  day  for  ordinary  drinking. 
That  very  morning  there  were  disputes  on  the  subject 
of  one  of  the  pitchers. 

"What  are  you  doing  therewith  your  marked  fore- 
head ?  "  grumbled  one  of  the  prisoners,  tall,  dry,  and 
sallow. 

He  attracted  attention  by  the  strange  protuberances 
with  which  his  skull  was  covered.  He  pushed  against 
another  convict  round  and  small,  with  a  lively  rubicund 
countenance. 

"  Just  wait." 

"  What  are  you  crying  out  about  ?  You  know  that 
a  fine  must  be  paid  when  the  others  are  kept  waiting. 
Off  with  you.  What  a  monument,  my  brethren  !  " 

"  A  little  calf/'  he  went  on  muttering.  ' '  See,  the 
white  bread  of  the  prison  has  fattened  him." 

"  For  what  do  you  take  yourself  ?  A  fine  bird, 
indeed." 

"  You  are  about  right." 

"  What  bird  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  don't  require  to  be  told." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"Find  out." 

They  devoured  one  another  with  their  eyes.  The  little 
man,  waiting  for  a  reply,  with  clenched  fists,  was  apparently 
ready  to  fight.  I  thought  that  an  encounter  would  take 
place.  It  was  all  quite  new  to  me  ;  accordingly  I 
watched  the  scene  with  curiosity.  Later  on  I  learnt  that 
such  quarrels  were  very  innocent,  that  they  served  for 
entertainment.  Like  an  amusing  comedy,  it  scarcely  ever 
ended  in  blows.  This  characteristic  plainly  informed  me 
of  the  manners  of  the  prisoners. 

The  tall  prisoner  remained  calm  and  majestic.  He 
felt  that  some  answer  was  expected  from  him,  if  he  was 
not  to  be  dishonoured,  covered  with  ridicule.  It  was  ne- 
cessary for  him  to  show  that  he  was  a  wonderful  bird,  a 
personage.  Accordingly,  he  cast  a  side  look  on  his 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  29 

adversary,  endeavouring,  with  inexpressible  contempt,  to 
irritate  him  by  looking  at  him  over  his  shoulders,  up  and 
down,  as  he  would  have  done  with  an  insect.  At  last  the 
little  fat  man  was  so  irritated  that  he  would  have  thrown 
himself  upon  his  adversary  had  not  his  companions  sur- 
rounded the  combatants  to  prevent  a  serious  quarrel  from 
taking  place. 

"  Fight  with  your  fists,  not  with  your  tongues,"  cried 
a  spectator  from  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"  No,  hold  them,"  answered  another,  "  they  are  going 
to  fight.  We  are  fine  fellows,  one  against  seven  is  our 
style." 

Fire  fighting  men !  One  was  here  for  having 
sneaked  a  pound  of  bread,  the  other  is  a  pot-stealer ; 
he  was  whipped  by  the  executioner  for  stealing  a  pot  of 
curdled  milk  from  an  old  woman. 

"  Enough,  keep  quiet, "  cried  a  retired  soldier,  whose 
business  it  was  to  keep  order  in  the  barrack,  and  who 
slept  in  a  corner  of  the  room  on  a  bedstead  of  his  own. 

"  Water,  my  children,  water  for  Nevalid  Petrovitch, 
water  for  our  little  brother,  who  has  just  woke  up." 

"  Your  brother !  Am  I  your  brother  ?  Did  we  ever 
drink  a  roublesworth  of  spirits  together  ?  "  muttered  the 
old  soldier  as  he  passed  his  arms  through  the  sleeves  of 
his  great- coat. 

The  roll  was  about  to  be  called,  for  it  was  already  late. 
The  prisoners  were  hurrying  towards  the  kitchen.  They 
had  to  put  on  their  pelisses,  and  were  to  receive  in  their  bi- 
coloured  caps  the  bread  which  one  of  the  cooks — one  of 
the  bakers,  that  is  to  say — was  distributing  among  them. 
These  cooks,  like  those  who  did  the  household  work,  were 
chosen  by  the  prisoners  themselves.  There  were  two  for 
the  kitchen,  making  four  in  all  for  the  convict  prison. 
They  had  at  their  disposal  the  only  kitchen-knife  au- 
thorised in  the  prison,  which  was  used  for  cutting  up  the 
bread  and  meat.  The  prisoners  arranged  themselves  in 
groups  around  the  tables  as  best  they  could  in  caps  and 
pelisses,  with  leather  girdles  round  their  waists,  all  ready 
to  begin  work.  Some  of  the  convicts  had  kvas  before 
them,  in  which  they  steeped  pieces  of  bread.  The  noise 


30  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

was  insupportable.  Many  of  the  convicts,  however,  were 
talking  together  in  corners  with  a  steady,  tranquil  air. 

"  Good-morning  and  good  appetite,  Father  Antonitch," 
said  a  young  prisoner,  sitting  down  by  the  side  of  an  old 
man,  who  had  lost  his  teeth. 

f '  If  you  are  not  joking,  well,  good-morning,"  said  the 
latter,  without  raising  his  eyes,  and  endeavouring  to 
masticate  a  piece  of  bread  with  his  toothless  gums. 

"  I  declare  I  fancied  you  were  dead,  Antonitch." 

"  Die  first,  I  will  follow  you." 

I  sat  down  beside  them.     On  my  right  two  convicts 
were  conversing  with  an  attempt  at  dignity. 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  be  robbed,"  said  one  of  them.  "  I 
am  more  afraid  of  stealing  myself." 

"  It  would  not  be  a  good  idea  to  rob  me.  The  devil ! 
I  should  pay  the  man  out." 

"  But  what  would  you  do,  you  are  only  a  convict  ? 
We  have  no  other  name.  You  will  see  that  she  will  rob 
you,  the  wretch,  without  even  saying,  'Thank  you/ 
The  money  I  gave  her  was  wasted.  Just  fancy,  she  was 
here  a  few  days  ago !  Where  were  we  to  go  ?  Shall 
I  ask  permission  to  go  into  the  house  of  Theodore,  the 
executioner  ?  He  has  still  his  house  in  the  suburb,  the  one 
he  bought  from  that  Solomon,  you  know,  that  scurvy 
Jew  who  hung  himself  not  long  since." 

"  Yes,  I  know  him,  the  one  who  sold  liquor  here  three 
years  ago,  and  who  was  called  Grichka — the  secret- 
drinking  shop." 

"  I  know." 

"  All  brag.  You  don't  know.  In  the  first  place  it  is 
another  drinking  shop." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  another  ?  You  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  I  will  bring  you  as  many  wit- 
nesses as  you  like." 

"  Oh,  you  will  bring  them,  will  you  ?  Who  are  you  ? 
Do  you  know  to  whom  you  are  speaking  ?  " 

II  Yes,  indeed." 

"  I  have  often  thrashed  you,  though  I  don't  boast  of 
it.  Do  not  give  yourself  airs  then." 

"  You  have  thrashed  me  ?     The  man  who  will  thrash 


fIRST  IMPRESSIONS  31 

me  is  not  yet  born  j  and  the  man  who  did  thrash  me  ia 
six  feet  beneath  the  ground." 

t(  Plague-stricken  rascal  of  Bender  ?  n 

"  May  the  Siberian  leprosy  devour  you  with  ulcers  !  " 

"  May  a  chopper  cleave  your  dog  of  a  head/' 

Insults  were  falling  about  like  rain. 

"  Come,  now,  they  are  going  to  fight.  When  men 
have  not  been  able  to  conduct  themselves  properly  they 
should  keep  silent.  They  are  too  glad  to  come  and  eat 
the  Government  bread,  the  rascals  !  " 

They  were  soon  separated.  Let  them  fight  with  the 
tongue  as  much  as  they  wish.  That  is  permitted.  It  is 
a  diversion  at  the  service  of  every  one ;  but  no  blows.  It 
is,  indeed,  only  in  extraordinary  cases  that  blows  were 
exchanged.  If  a  fight  took  place,  information  was  given 
to  the  Major,  who  ordered  an  inquiry  or  directed  one 
himself;  and  then  woe  to  the  convicts.  Accordingly 
they  set  their  faces  against  anything  like  a  serious  quarrel; 
besides,  they  insulted  one  another  chiefly  to  pass  the 
time,  as  an  oratorical  exercise.  They  get  excited ;  the 
quarrel  takes  a  furious,  ferocious  character ;  they  seem 
about  to  slaughter  one  another.  Nothing  of  the  kind 
takes  place.  As  soon  as  their  anger  has  reached  a 
certain  pitch  they  separate. 

That  astonished  me  much,  and  if  I  relate  some  of  the 
conversations  between  the  convicts,  I  do  so  with  a  pur- 
pose. Could  I  have  imagined  that  people  could  have 
insulted  one  another  for  pleasure,  that  they  could  find 
enjoyment  in  it  ? 

We  must  not  forget  the  gratification  of  vanity.  A 
dialectician,  who  knows  how  to  insult  artistically,  is  re- 
spected. A  little  more,  and  he  would  be  applauded  like 
an  actor. 

Already,  the  night  before,  I  noticed  some  glances  in  my 
direction.  On  the  other  hand,  several  convicts  hung  around 
me  as  if  they  had  suspected  that  I  had  brought  money 
with  me.  They  endeavoured  to  get  into  my  good  graces  by 
teaching  me  how  to  carry  my  irons  without  being  incom- 
moded. They  also  gave  me — of  course  in  return  for  money 
box  with  a  lock,  in  order  to  keep  safe  the  things  which 


32  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

had  been  entrusted  to  me  by  the  administration,  and  the 
few  shirts  that  I  had  been  allowed  to  bring  with  me  to 
the  convict  prison.  Not  later  than  next  morning  these 
same  prisoners  stole  my  box,  and  drank  the  money  which 
they  had  taken  out  of  it. 

One  of  them  became  afterwards  a  great  friend  of 
mine,  though  he  robbed  me  whenever  an  opportunity 
offered  itself.  He  was,  all  the  same,  vexed  at  what  he  had 
done.  He  committed  these  thefts  almost  unconsciously, 
as  if  in  the  way  of  a  duty.  Consequently  I  bore  him  no 
grudge* 

These  convicts  let  me  know  that  one  could  have  tea, 
and  that  I  should  do  well  to  get  myself  a  teapot.  They 
found  me  one,  which  I  hired  for  a  certain  time.  They 
also  recommended  me  a  cook,  who,  for  thirty  kopecks  a 
month,  would  arrange  the  dishes  I  might  desire,  if  it  was 
my  intention  to  buy  provisions  and  take  my  meals 
apart.  Of  course  they  borrowed  money  from  me.  The 
day  of  my  arrival  they  asked  me  for  some  at  three  dif- 
ferent times. 

The  noblemen  degraded  from  their  position,  here 
incarcerated  in  the  convict  prison,  were  badly  looked  upon 
by  their  fellow  prisoners;  although  they  had  lost  all 
their  rights  like  the  other  convicts,  they  were  not 
looked  upon  as  comrades. 

In  this  instinctive  repugnance  there  was  a  sort  of 
reason.  To  them  we  were  always  gentlemen,  although 
they  often  laughed  at  our  fall. 

"  Ah  !  it's  all  over  now.  Mossieu's  carriage  formerly 
crushed  the  passers-by  at  Moscow.  Now  Mossieu  picks 
hemp ! » 

They  knew  our  sufferings,  though  we  hid  them  as 
much  as  possible.  It  was,  above  all,  when  we  were  all 
working  together  that  we  had  most  to  endure,  for  our 
strength  was  not  so  great  as  theirs,  and  we  were  really 
not  of  much  assistance  to  them.  Nothing  is  more 
difficult  than  to  gain  the  confidence  of  the  common 
people  ;  above  all,  such  people  as  these  ! 

There  were  only  a  few  of  us  who  were  of  noble  birth 
in  the  whole  prison.  First,  there  were  five  Poles — of 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  33 

whom  further  on  I  shall  speak  in  detail — they  were 
detested  by  the  convicts  more,  perhaps,  than  the  Russian 
nobles.  The  Poles — I  speak  only  of  the  political  convicts 
— always  behaved  to  them  with  a  constrained  and 
offensive  politeness,  scarcely  ever  speaking  to  them,  and 
making  no  endeavour  to  conceal  the  disgust  which  they 
experienced  in  such  company.  The  convicts  understood 
all  this,  and  paid  them  back  in  their  own  coin. 

Two  years  passed  before  I  could  gain  the  good-will 
of  my  companions ;  but  the  greater  part  of  them  were 
attached  to  me,  and  declared  that  I  was  a  good  fellow. 

There  were  altogether — counting  myself — five  Russian 
nobles  in  the  convict  prison.  I  had  heard  of  one  of 
them  even  before  my  arrival  as  a  vile  and  base  creature, 
horribly  corrupt,  doing  the  work  of  spy  and  informer. 
Accordingly,  from  the  very  first  day  I  refused  to  enter 
into  relations  with  this  man.  The  second  was  the 
parricide  of  whom  I  have  spoken  in  these  memoirs. 
The  third  was  Akimitch.  I  have  scarcely  ever  seen  such 
an  original ;  and  I  have  still  a  lively  recollection  of  him. 

Tall,  thin,  weak-minded,  and  terribly  ignorant,  he  was 
as  argumentative  and  as  particular  about  details  as  a 
German.  The  convicts  laughed  at  him  ;  but  they  feared 
him,  on  account  of  his  susceptible,  excitable,  and  quarrel- 
some disposition.  As  soon  as  he  arrived,  he  was  on  a  foot- 
ing of  perfect  equality  with  them.  He  insulted  them  and 
beat  them.  Phenomenally  just,  it  was  sufficient  for  him 
that  there  was  injustice,  to  interfere  in  an  affair  which  did 
not  concern  him.  He  was,  moreover,  exceedingly  simple. 
When  he  quarrelled  with  the  convicts,  he  reproached 
them  with  being  thieves,  and  exhorted  them  in  all  sincerity 
to  steal  no  more.  He  had  served  as  a  sub-lieutenant  in 
the  Caucasus.  I  made  friends  with  him  the  first  day, 
and  he  related  to  me  his  "  affair."  He  had  begun  as  a 
cadet  in  a  Line  regiment.  After  waiting  some  time  to  be 
appointed  to  his  commission  as  sub-lieutenant,  he  at 
last  received  it,  and  was  sent  into  the  mountains  to 
command  a  small  fort.  A  small  tributary  prince  in  the 
neighbourhood  set  fire  to  the  fort,  and  made  a  night 
attack,  which  had  no  success. 


34  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Akimitch  was  very  cunning,  and  pretended  not  to 
know  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  attack,  which  he 
attributed  to  some  insurgents  wandering  about  the 
mountains.  After  a  month  he  invited  the  prince,  in  a 
friendly  way,  to  come  and  see  him.  The  prince  arrived 
on  horseback,  without  suspecting  anything.  Akimitch 
drew  up  his  garrison  in  line  of  battle,  and  exposed  to  the 
soldiers  the  treason  and  villainy  of  his  visitor.  He  re- 
proached him  with  his  conduct;  proved  to  him  that  to 
set  fire  to  the  fort  was  a  shameful  crime ;  explained  to 
him  minutely  the  duties  of  a  tributary  prince ;  and  then, 
by  way  of  peroration  to  his  harangue,  had  him  shot.  He 
at  once  informed  his  superior  officers  of  this  execution, 
wi  th  all  the  details  necessary.  Thereupon  Akimitch  was 
brought  to  trial.  He  appeared  before  a  court-martial, 
and  was  condemned  to  death ;  but  his  sentence  was  com- 
muted, and  he  was  sent  to  Siberia  as  a  convict  of  the 
second  class — condemned,  that  is  to  say,  to  twelve  years' 
hard  labour  and  imprisonment  in  a  fortress.  He  admitted 
willingly  that  he  had  acted  illegally,  and  that  the  prince 
ought  to  have  been  tried  in  a  civil  court,  and  not  by  a 
court-martial.  Nevertheless,  he  could  not  understand 
that  his  action  was  a  crime. 

"  He  had  burned  my  fort ;  what  was  I  to  do  ?  Was 
I  to  thank  him  for  it  ?  "  he  answered  to  my  objections. 

Although  the  convicts  laughed  at  Akimitch,  and  pre- 
tended that  he  was  a  little  mad,  they  esteemed  him  all  the 
same  by  reason  of  his  cleverness  and  his  precision. 

He  knew  all  possible  trades,  and  could  do  whatever 
you  wished.  He  was  cobbler,  bootmaker,  painter, 
carver,  gilder,  and  locksmith.  He  had  acquired  these 
talents  at  the  convict  prison,  for  it  was  sufficient  for  him 
to  see  an  object,  in  order  to  imitate  it.  He  sold  in  the 
town,  or  caused  to  be  sold,  baskets,  lanterns,  and  toys. 
Thanks  to  his  work,  he  had  always  some  money,  which 
he  employed  in  buying  shirts,  pillows,  and  so  on.  He 
had  himself  made  a  mattress,  and  as  he  slept  in  the  same 
room  as  myself  he  was  very  useful  to  me  at  the  beginning 
of  my  imprisonment.  Before  leaving  prison  to  go  to 
work,  the  convicts  were  drawn  up  in  two  ranks  before 


FIRST  IMPRESSION'S  35 

the  orderly-room,  surrounded  by  an  escort  of  soldiers 
with  loaded  muskets.  An  officer  of  Engineers  then 
arrived,  with  the  superintendent  of  the  works  and  a  few 
soldiers,  who  watched  the  operations.  The  superin- 
tendent counted  the  convicts,  and  sent  them  in  bands  to 
the  places  where  they  were  to  be  occupied. 

I  went  with  some  other  prisoners  to  the  workshop  of 
the  Engineers — a  low  brick  house  built  in  the  midst  of  a 
large  court-yard  full  of  materials.  There  was  a  forge 
there,  and  carpenters',  locksmiths',  and  painters'  work- 
shops. Akimitch  was  assigned  to  the  last.  He  boiled 
the  oil  for  the  varnish,  mixed  the  colours,  and  painted 
tables  and  other  pieces  of  furniture  in  imitation  walnut. 

While  I  was  waiting  to  have  additional  irons  put  on, 
I  communicated  to  him  my  first  impressions. 

"  Yes/'  he  said,  "  they  do  not  like  nobles,  above  all 
those  who  have  been  condemned  for  political  offences, 
and  they  take  a  pleasure  in  wounding  their  feelings.  Is 
it  not  intelligible  ?  We  do  not  belong  to  them,  we  do 
not  suit  them.  They  have  all  been  serfs  or  soldiers. 
Tell  me  what  sympathy  can  they  have  for  us.  The  life 
here  is  hard,  but  it  is  nothing  in  comparison  with  that  of 
the  disciplinary  companies  in  Russia.  There  it  is  hell. 
The  men  who  have  been  in  them  praise  our  convict 
prison.  It  is  paradise  compared  to  their  purgatory.  Not 
that  the  work  is  harder.  It  is  said  that  with  the  convicts 
of  the  first  class  the  administration — it  is  not  exclusively 
military  as  it  is  here — acts  quite  differently  from  what  it 
does  towards  us.  They  have  their  little  houses  there  I 
have  been  told,  for  I  have  not  seen  for  myself.  They 
wear  no  uniform,  their  heads  are  not  shaved,  though,  in 
my  opinion,  uniforms  and  shaved  heads  are  not  bad 
things ;  it  is  neater,  and  also  it  is  more  agreeable  to  the 
eye,  only  these  men  do  not  like  it.  Oh,  what  a  Babel 
this  place  is !  Soldiers,  Circassians,  old  believers, 
peasants  who  have  left  their  wives  and  families,  Jews, 
Gypsies,  people  come  from  Heaven  knows  where,  and  all 
this  variety  of  men  are  to  live  quietly  together  side  by  side, 
eat  from  the  same  dish,  and  sleep  on  the  same  planks. 
Not  a  moment's  liberty,  no  enjoyment  except  in  secret ; 


36  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

they  must  hide  their  money  in  their  boots  ;  and  then 
always  the  convict  prison  at  every  moment — perpetually 
convict  prison  !  Involuntarily  wild  ideas  come  to 
one." 

As  I  already  knew  all  this,  I  was  above  all  anxious  to 
question  Akimitch  in  regard  to  our  Major.  He  concealed 
nothing,  and  the  impression  which  his  story  left  upon  me 
was  far  from  being  an  agreeable  one. 

I  had  to  live  for  two  years  under  the  authority  of  this 
officer.  All  that  Akimitch  had  told  me  about  him  was 
strictly  true.  He  was  a  spiteful,  ill-regulated  man, 
terrible  above  all  things,  because  he  possessed  almost 
absolute  power  over  two  hundred  human  beings.  He 
looked  upon  the  prisoners  as  his  personal  enemies — 
first,  and  very  serious  fault.  His  rare  capacities,  and, 
perhaps,  even  his  good  qualities,  were  perverted  by  his 
intemperance  and  his  spitefulness.  He  sometimes  fell 
like  a  bombshell  into  the  barracks  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  If  he  noticed  a  prisoner  asleep  on  his  back  or  his 
left  side,  he  awoke  him  and  said  to  him  :  "  You  must 
sleep  as  I  ordered !  "  The  convicts  detested  him  and 
feared  him  like  the  plague.  His  repulsive,  crimson  counte- 
nance made  every  one  tremble.  We  all  knew  that  the 
Major  was  entirely  in  the  hands  of  his  servant  Fedka, 
and  that  he  had  nearly  gone  mad  when  his  dog 
"  Treasure "  fell  ill.  He  preferred  this  dog  to  every 
other  living  creature. 

When  Fedka  told  him  that  a  convict,  who  had  picked 
up  some  veterinary  knowledge,  made  wonderful  cures,  he 
sent  for  him  directly  and  said  to  him,  "  I  entrust  my  dog 
to  your  care.  If  you  cure  '  Treasure '  I  will  reward  you 
royally/'  The  man,  a  very  intelligent  Siberian  peasant, 
was  indeed  a  good  veterinary  surgeon,  but  he  was  above 
all  a  cunning  peasant.  He  used  to  tell  his  comrades  long 
after  the  affair  had  taken  place  the  story  of  his  visit  to 
the  Major. 

"  I  looked  at  '  Treasure/  he  was  lying  down  on  a  sofa 
with  his  head  on  a  white  cushion.  I  saw  at  once  that  he 
had  inflammation,  and  that  he  wanted  bleeding.  I  think 
I  could  have  cured  him,  but  I  said  to  myself,  '  What  will 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  37 

happen  if  the  dog  dies?  It  will  be  my  fault.'  'No, 
your  noble  highness,'  I  said  to  him,  '  you  have  called  me 
too  late.  If  I  had  seen  your  dog  yesterday  or  the  day 
before,  he  would  now  be  restored  to  health ;  but  at  the 
present  moment  I  can  do  nothing.  He  will  die.'  And 
'  Treasure  'died." 

I  was  told  one  day  that  a  convict  had  tried  to  kill 
the  Major.  This  prisoner  had  for  several  years  been 
noticed  for  his  submissive  attitude  and  also  his  silence. 
He  was  regarded  even  as  a  madman.  As  he  possessed 
some  instruction  he  passed  his  nights  reading  the  Bible. 
When  everybody  was  asleep  he  rose,  climbed  up  on  to 
the  stove,  lit  a  church  taper,  opened  his  Grospel  and  began 
to  read.  He  did  this  for  an  entire  year. 

One  fine  day  he  left  the  ranks  and  declared  that  he 
would  not  go  to  work.  He  was  reported  to  the  Major, 
who  flew  into  a  rage,  and  hurried  to  the  barracks.  The 
convict  rushed  forward  and  hurled  at  him  a  brick,  which 
he  had  procured  beforehand;  but  it  missed  him.  The 
prisoner  was  seized,  tried,  and  whipped — it  was  a  matter 
of  a  few  moments — carried  to  the  hospital,  and  died  there 
three  days  afterwards.  He  declared  during  his  last 
moments  that  he  hated  no  one ;  but  that  he  had  wished 
to  suffer.  He  belonged  to  no  sect  of  fanatics.  After- 
wards, when  people  spoke  of  him  in  the  barracks,  it  was 
always  with  respect. 

At  last  they  put  new  irons  on  me.  While  they  were 
being  soldered  a  number  of  young  women,  selling  little 
white  loaves,  came  into  the  forge  one  after  another. 
They  were,  for  the  most  part,  quite  little  girls  who  came 
to  sell  the  loaves  that  their  mothers  had  baked.  As  they 
got  older  they  still  continued  to  hang  about  us,  but  they 
no  longer  brought  bread.  There  were  always  some  of 
them  about.  There  were  also  married  women.  Each  roll 
cost  two  kopecks.  Nearly  all  the  prisoners  used  to  have 
them.  I  noticed  a  prisoner  who  worked  as  a  carpenter. 
He  was  already  getting  gray,  but  he  had  a  ruddy, 
smiling  complexion.  He  was  joking  with  the  vendors 
of  rolls.  Before  they  arrived  he  had  tied  a  red  hand- 
kerchief round  his  neck.  A  fat  woman,  much  marked 


38  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

with,  the  small-pox,  put  down  her  basket  on  the  carpen- 
ter's table.     They  began  to  talk. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  yesterday  ? "  said  the 
convict,  with  a  self-satisfied  smile. 

"  I  did  come  ;  but  you  had  gone,"  replied  the  woman 
boldly. 

"Yes;  they  made  us  go  away,  otherwise  we  should  have 
met.  The  day  before  yesterday  they  all  came  to  see  me." 

"Who  came?" 

"  Why,  Mariashka,  Khavroshka,  Tchekunda,  Dougro- 
chva  "  (the  woman  of  four  kopecks). 

"What,"  I  said  to  Akimitch,  "is  it  possible 
that ?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  happens  sometimes,"  he  replied,  lowering 
his  eyes,  for  he  was  a  very  proper  man. 

Yes;  it  happened  sometimes,  but  rarely,  and  with 
unheard  of  difficulties.  The  convicts  preferred  to  spend 
their  money  in  drink.  It  was  very  difficult  to  meet 
these  women.  It  was  necessary  to  come  to  an  agree- 
ment about  the  place,  and  the  time ;  to  arrange  a  meeting, 
to  find  solitude,  and,  what  was  most  difficult  of  all,  to 
avoid  the  escorts — almost  an  impossibility — and  to  spend 
relatively  prodigious  sums.  I  have  sometines,  however, 
witnessed  love  scenes.  One  day  three  of  us  were  heat- 
ing a  brick-kiln  on  the  banks  of  the  Irtitch.  The 
soldiers  of  the  escort  were  good-natured  fellows.  Two 
ft  blowers  "  (they  were  so-called)  soon  appeared. 

"  Where  were  you  staying  so  long  ?  "  said  a  prisoner  to 
them,  who  had  evidently  been  expecting  them.  "  Was 
it  at  the  Zvierkoffs  that  you  were  detained  ?  " 

"  At  the  Zvierkoffs  ?  It  will  be  fine  weather,  and  the 
fowls  will  have  teeth,  when  I  go  to  see  them,"  replied  one 
of  the  women. 

She  was  the  dirtiest  woman  imaginable.  She  was 
called  Tchekunda,  and  had  arrived  in  company  with  her 
friend,  the  "four  kopecks,"  who  was  beneath  all  de- 
scription. 

"  It's  a  long  time  since  we  have  seen  anything  of 
you,"  says  the  gallant  to  her  of  the  four  kopecks  ;  "  you 
seem  to  have  grown  thinner." 


FIE8T  IMPRESSIONS  39 

"  Perhaps ;  formerly  I  was  good-looking  and  plump, 
whereas  now  one  might  fancy  I  had  swallowed  eels." 

"  And  you  still  run  after  the  soldiers,  is  that  so  ?  " 

"  All  calumny  on  the  part  of  wicked  people ;  and  after 
all,  if  I  was  to  be  flogged  to  death  for  it,  I  like  soldiers." 

"  Never  mind  your  soldiers,  we're  the  people  to  love ; 
we  have  money." 

Imagine  this  gallant  with  his  shaved  crown,  with 
fetters  on  his  ankles,  dressed  in  a  coat  of  two  colours,  and 
watched  by  an  escort. 

As  I  was  now  returning  to  the  prison,  my  irons  had 
been  put  on.  I  wished  Akimitch  good-bye  and  went 
away,  escorted  by  a  soldier.  Those  who  do  task  work 
return  first,  and,  when  I  got  back  to  the  barracks,  a  good 
number  of  convicts  were  already  there. 

As  the  kitchen  could  not  have  held  the  whole  barrack- 
full  at  once,  we  did  not  all  dine  together.  Those  who 
came  in  first  were  first  served.  I  tasted  the  cabbage 
soup,  but,  not  being  used  to  it,  could  not  eat  it,  and 
I  prepared  myself  some  tea.  I  sat  down  at  one  end  of 
the  table,  with  a  convict  of  noble  birth  like  myself.  The 
prisoners  were  going  in  and  out.  There  was  no  want  of 
room,  for  there  were  not  many  of  them.  Five  of  them 
sat  down  apart  from  the  large  table.  The  cook  gave 
them  each  two  ladles  full  of  soup,  and  brought  them  a 
plate  of  fried  fish.  These  men  were  having  a  holiday. 
They  looked  at  us  in  a  friendly  manner.  One  of  the 
Poles  came  in  and  took  his  seat  by  our  side. 

"  1  was  not  with  you,  but  I  know  that  you  are  having 
a  feast,"  exclaimed  a  tall  convict  who  now  came  in. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  fifty  years,  thin  and  muscular. 
His  face  indicated  cunning,  and,  at  the  same  time,  liveli- 
ness. His  lower  lip,  fleshy  and  pendant,  gave  him  a 
soft  expression. 

"Well,  have  you  slept  well?  Why  don't  you  say 
how  do  you  do  ?  Well,  now  my  friend  of  Kursk,"  he 
said,  sitting  down  by  the  side  of  the  feasters,  "good 
appetite  ?  Here's  a  new  guest  for  you." 

"  We  are  not  from  the  province  of  Kursk." 

"  Then  my  friends  from  Tambof,  let  me  say  ?  " 


40  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"  We  are  not  from  Tambof  either.  You  have  nothing 
to  claim  from  us  j  if  you  want  to  enjoy  yourself  go  to 
some  rich  peasant." 

"I  have  Maria  Ikotishna  [from  "ikot,"  hiccough] 
in  my  belly,  otherwise  I  should  die  of  hunger.  But 
where  is  your  peasant  to  be  found  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  we  mean  Gazin  j  go  to  him." 

"  Gazin  is  on  the  drink  to-day,  he's  devouring  his 
capital/'* 

"  He  has  at  least  twenty  roubles,"  says  another  con- 
vict. "  It  is  profitable  to  keep  a  drinking  shop." 

"  You  won't  have  me  ?  Then  I  must  eat  the  Govern- 
ment food." 

"  Will  you  have  some  tea  ?  If  so,  ask  these  noblemen 
for  some." 

"  Where  do  you  see  any  noblemen  ?  They're  noble- 
men no  longer.  They're  not  a  bit  better  than  us,"  said 
in  a  sombre  voice  a  convict  who  was  seated  in  the  corner, 
who  hitherto  had  not  risked  a  word. 

"  I  should  like  a  cup  of  tea,  but  I  am  ashamed  to  ask 
for  it.  I  have  self-respect,"  said  the  convict  with  the 
heavy  lip,  looking  at  me  with  a  good-humoured  air. 

"  I  will  give  you  some  if  you  like,"  I  said.  "  Will 
you  have  some  ?" 

"What  do  you  mean — will  I  have  some  ?  Who  would 
not  have  some  ?"  he  said,  coming  towards  the  table. 

"  Only  think  !  When  he  was  free  he  ate  nothing  but 
cabbage  soup  and  black  bread,  but  now  he  is  in  prison 
he  must  have  tea  like  a  perfect  gentleman,"  continued 
the  convict  with  the  sombre  air. 

"  Does  no  one  here  drink  tea  ?  "  I  asked  him ;  but 
he  did  not  think  me  worthy  of  a  reply. 

"  White  rolls,  white  rolls ;  who'll  buy  ?  " 

A  young  prisoner  was  carrying  in  a  net  a  load  of 
calachi  (scones),  which  he  proposed  to  sell  in  the  prison. 
For  every  ten  that  he  sold,  the  baker  gave  him  one  for 
his  trouble.  It  was  precisely  on  this  tenth  scone  that  he 
counted  for  his  dinner. 

"  White  rolls,  white  rolls,"  he  cried,  as  he  entered 
the  kitchen,  "  white  Moscow  rolls,  all  hot.  I  would  eat 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  41 

the  whole  of  them,  but  I  want  money,  lots  of  money, 
Gome,  lads,  there  is  only  one  left  for  any  of  you  who  has 
had  a  mother." 

This  appeal  to  filial  love  made  every  one  laugh,  and 
.several  of  his  white  rolls  were  purchased. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  f '  G-azin  has  drunk  in  such  a  style, 
it  is  quite  a  sin.  He  has  chosen  a  nice  moment  too.  If 
nhe  man  with  the  eight  eyes  should  arrive — we  shall 
hide  him." 

"  Is  he  very  drunk  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  ill-tempered  too — unmanageable." 

"  There  will  be  some  fighting,  then  ?  " 

"  Whom  are  they  speaking  of  ?  "  I  said  to  the  Pole, 
my  neighbour. 

"Of  Gazin.  He  is  a  prisoner  who  sells  spirits. 
When  he  has  gained  a  little  money  by  his  trade,  he 
drinks  it  to  the  last  kopeck ;  a  cruel,  malicious  animal 
when  he  has  been  drinking.  When  sober,  he  is  quiet 
enough,  but  when  he  is  in  drink  he  shows  himself  in 
his  true  character.  He  attacks  people  with  the  knife 
until  it  is  taken  from  him/' 

"  How  do  they  manage  that  ?  " 

"  Ten  men  throw  themselves  upon  him  and  beat  him 
like  a  sack  without  mercy  until  he  loses  consciousness. 
When  he  is  half  dead  with  the  beating,  they  lay  him 
down  on  his  plank  bedstead,  and  cover  him  over  with 
his  pelisse." 

"  But  they  might  kill  him." 

"  Any  one  else  would  die  of  it,  but  not  he.  He  is  ex- 
cessively robust ;  he  is  the  strongest  of  all  the  convicts. 
His  constitution  is  so  solid,  that  the  day  after  one  of 
these  punishments  he  gets  up  perfectly  sound." 

"  Tell  me,  please,"  I  continued,  speaking  to  the  Pole, 
"  why  these  people  keep  their  food  to  themselves,  and  at 
the  same  time  seem  to  envy  me  rny  tea." 

"Your  tea  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  They  are 
envious  of  you.  Are  you  not  a  gentleman  ?  You  in 
no  way  resemble  them.  They  would  be  glad  to  pick  a 
quarrel  with  you  in  order  to  humiliate  you.  You  don't 
know  what  annoyances  you  will  have  to  undergo.  It  ia 


42  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

martyrdom  for  men  like  us  to  be  here.  Our  life  is 
doubly  painful,  and  great  strength  of  character  can  alone 
accustom  one  to  it.  You  will  be  vexed  and  tormented  in 
all  sorts  of  ways  on  account  of  your  food  and  your  tea. 
Although  the  number  of  men  who  buy  their  own  food 
and  drink  tea  daily  is  large  enough,  they  have  a  right  to 
do  so,  you  have  not." 

He  got   up  and  left  the  table  a  few  minutes  later. 
His  predictions  were  already  being  fulfilled. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  (continued). 

HARDLY  had  M.  — -cki— the  Pole  to  whom  I 
had  been  speaking — gone  out  when  Grazin, 
completely  drunk,  threw  himself  all  in  a  heap 
into  the  kitchen. 

To  see  a  convict  drunk  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  when  every  one  was  about  to  be  sent  out  to 
work — given  the  well-known  severity  of  the  Major,  who 
at  any  moment  might  come  to  the  barracks,  the  watch- 
fulness of  the  under  officer  who  never  left  the  prison,  the 
presence  of  the  old  soldiers  and  the  sentinels — all  this 
quite  upset  the  ideas  I  had  formed  of  our  prison ; 
and  a  long  time  passed  before  I  was  able  to  understand 
and  explain  to  myself  the  effects,  which  in  the  first 
instance  were  enigmatic  indeed. 

I  have  already  said  that  all  the  convicts  had  a  private 
occupation,  and  that  this  occupation  was  for  them  a 
natural  and  imperious  one.  They  are  passionately  fond  of 
money,  and  think  more  of  it  than  of  anything  else — 
almost  as  much  as  of  liberty.  The  convict  is  half- 
consoled  if  he  can  ring  a  few  kopecks  in  his  pocket.  On 
the  contrary,  he  is  sad,  restless,  and  despondent  if  he  has 
no  money.  He  is  ready  then  to  commit  no  matter  what 
crime  in  order  to  get  some.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the 
importance  it  possesses  for  the  convicts,  money  does  not 
remain  long  in  their  pockets.  It  is  difficult  to  keep  it. 


44  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Sometimes  it  is  confiscated,  sometimes  stolen.  When 
the  Major,  in  a  sudden  perquisition,  discovered  a  small 
sum  amassed  with  great  trouble,  he  confiscated  it.  It 
may  be  that  he  laid  it  out  in  improving  the  food  of 
the  prisoners,  for  all  the  money  taken  from  them 
went  into  his  hands.  But  generally  speaking  it  was 
stolen.  A  means  of  preserving  it  was,  however,  dis- 
covered. An  old  man  from  Starodoub,  one  of  the  "  old 
believers/'  took  upon  himself  to  conceal  the  convicts' 
savings. 

I  cannot  resist  my  desire  to  say  some  words  about 
this  man,  although  it  takes  me  away  from  my  story.  He 
was  about  sixty  years  old,  thin,  and  getting  very  gray. 
He  excited  my  curiosity  the  first  time  I  saw  him,  for  he 
was  not  like  any  of  the  others ;  his  look  was  so  tranquil 
and  mild,  and  I  always  saw  with  pleasure  his  clear  and 
limpid  eyes,  surrounded  by  a  number  of  little  wriukles. 
I  often  talked  with  him,  and  rarely  have  I  met  with  so 
kind,  so  benevolent  a  being.  He  had  been  consigned  to 
hard  labour  for  a  serious  crime.  A  certain  number  of 
the  "  old  believers  "  at  Starodoub  had  been  converted  to 
the  orthodox  religion.  The  Government  had  done  every- 
thing to  encourage  them,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
convert  the  other  dissenters.  The  old  man  and  some 
other  fanatics  had  resolved  to  "  defend  the  faith/'  When 
the  orthodox  church  was  being  constructed  in  their  town 
they  set  fire  to  the  building.  This  offence  had  brought 
upon  its  author  the  sentence  of  deportation.  This  well-to- 
do  shopkeeper — he  was  in  trade — had  left  a  wife  and 
family  whom  he  loved,  and  had  gone  off  courageously 
into  exile,  believing  in  his  blindness  that  he  was  "  suffer- 
ing for  the  faith." 

When  one  had  lived  some  time  by  the  side  of  this 
kind  old  man,  one  could  not  help  asking  the  question, 
how  could  he  have  rebelled  ?  I  spoke  to  him  several 
times  about  his  faith.  He  gave  up  none  of  his  con- 
victions, but  in  his  answers  I  never  noticed  the  slightest 
hatred;  and  yet  he  had  destroyed  a  church,  and  was 
far  from  denying  it.  In  his  view,  the  offence  he  had 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  45 

committed  and  his  martyrdom  were  things  to  be  proud 
of. 

There  were  other  tf  old  believers  "  among  the  convicts 
— Siberians  for  the  most  part — men  of  well-developed 
intelligence,  and  as  cunning  as  all  peasants.  Dialec- 
ticians in  their  way,  they  followed  blindly  their  law,  and 
delighted  in  discussing  it.  But  they  had  great  faults ; 
they  were  haughty,  proud,  and  very  intolerant.  The 
old  man  in  no  way  resembled  them.  With  full  more 
belief  in  religious  exposition  than  others  of  the 
same  faith,  he  avoided  all  controversy.  As  he  was  of 
a  gay  and  expansive  disposition  he  often  laughed — not 
with  the  coarse  cynical  laugh  of  the  other  convicts,  but 
with  a  laugh  of  clearness  and  simplicity,  in  which  there 
was  something  of  the  child,  and  which  harmonised 
perfectly  with  his  gray  head.  I  may  perhaps  be  in 
error,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  a  man  may  be  known 
by  his  laugh  alone.  If  the  laugh  of  a  man  you  are  •;!• 
acquainted  with  inspires  you  with  sympathy,  be  assured  • 
that  he  is  an  honest  man. 

The  old  man  had  acquired  the  respect  of  all  the 
prisoners  without  exception ;  but  he  was  not  proud  of  it. 
The  convicts  called  him  grandfather,  and  he  took  no 
offence.  I  then  understood  what  an  influence  he  must 
have  exercised  on  his  co-religionists. 

In  spite  of  the  firmness  with  which  he  supported  his 
prison  life,  one  felt  that  he  was  tormented  by  a  profound, 
incurable  melancholy.  I  slept  in  the  same  barrack  with 
him.  One  night,  towards  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
I  woke  up ;  I  heard  a  slow,  stifling  sob.  The  old  man 
was  sitting  upon  the  stove — the  same  place  where  the 
convict  who  had  wished  to  kill  the  Major  was  in  the 
habit  of  praying — and  was  reading  from  his  manuscript 
prayer-book.  As  he  wept  I  heard  him  repeating : 
"  Lord,  do  not  forsake  me.  Master,  strengthen  me.  My 
poor  little  children,  my  dear  little  children,  we  shall 
never  see  one  another  again.-"  I  cannot  say  how  much 
this  moved  me. 

We  used  to  give  our  money  then  to  this  old  man. 


46  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Heaven  knows  how  the  idea  got  abroad  in  our  barrack 
that  he  could  not  be  robbed.  It  was  well  known  that 
he  hid  somewhere  the  savings  deposited  with  him,  but 
no  one  had  been  able  to  discover  his  secret.  He  revealed 
it  to  ns  ;  to  the  Poles,  and  myself.  One  of  the  stakes  of 
the  palisade  bore  a  branch  which  apparently  belonged 
to  it,  but  it  could  be  taken  away,  and  then  replaced 
in  the  stake.  When  the  branch  was  removed  a  hole 
could  be  seen.  This  was  the  hiding-place  in  question. 

I  now  resume  the  thread  of  my  narrative.  Why  does 
not  the  convict  save  up  his  money?  Not  only  is  it 
difficult  for  him  to  keep  it,  but  the  prison  life,  moreover, 
is  so  sad  that  the  convict  by  his  very  nature  thirsts  for 
freedom  of  action.  By  his  position  in  society  he  is  so 
irregular  a  being  that  the  idea  of  swallowing  up  his 
capital  in  orgies,  of  intoxicating  himself  with  revelry, 
seems  to  him  quite  natural  if  only  he  can  procure  him- 
self one  moment's  forgetfulness.  It  was  strange  to  see 
certain  individuals  bent  over  their  labour  only  with  the 
object  of  spending  in  one  day  all  their  gains,  even  to  the 
last  kopeck.  Then  they  would  go  to  work  again  until  a 
new  debauch,  looked  forward  to  months  beforehand. 
Certain  convicts  were  fond  of  new  clothes,  more  or  less 
singular  in  style,  such  as  fancy  trousers  and  waistcoats  ; 
bnt  it  was  above  all  for  the  coloured  shirts  that  the 
convicts  had  a  pronounced  taste;  also  for  belts  with 
metal  clasps. 

On  holidays  the  dandies  of  the  prison  put  on  their 
Sunday  best.  They  were  worth  seeing  as  they  strutted 
about  their  part  of  the  barracks.  The  pleasure  of 
feeling  themselves  well  dressed  amounted  with  them  to 
childishness ;  indeed,  in  many  things  convicts  are  only 
children.  Their  fine  clothes  disappeared  very  soon,  often 
the  evening  of  the  very  day  on  which  they  had  been 
bought.  Their  owners  pledged  them  or  sold  them  again 
for  a  trifle. 

The  feasts  were  generally  held  at  fixed  times.  They 
coincided  with  religious  festivals,  or  with  the  name's 
day  of  the  drunken  convict.  On  getting  up  in  the 


FIEST  IMPRESSIONS  47 

morning  lie  would  place  a  wax  taper  before  the  holy 
image,  then  he  said  his  prayer,  dressed,  and  ordered  his 
dinner.  He  had  bought  beforehand  meat,  fish,  and  little 
patties ;  then  he  gorged  like  an  ox,  almost  always  alone. 
It  was  very  rare  to  see  a  convict  invite  another  convict 
to  share  his  repast.  At  dinner  the  vodka  was  produced. 
The  convict  would  suck  it  up  like  the  sole  of  a  boot,  and 
then  walk  through  the  barracks  swaggering  and  tottering. 
It  was  his  desire  to  show  all  his  companions  that  he  was 
drunk,  that  he  was  carrying  on,  and  thus  obtain  their 
particular  esteem. 

The  Russian  people  feel  always  a  certain  sympathy 
for  a  drunken  man ;  among  us  it  amounted  really  to 
esteem.  In  the  convict  prison  intoxication  was  a  sort  of 
aristocratic  distinction. 

As  soon  as  he  felt  himself  in  spirits  the  convict 
ordered  a  musician.  We  had  among  us  a  little  fellow — 
a  deserter  from  the  army — very  ugly,  but  who  was  the 
happy  possessor  of  a  violin  on  which  he  could  play.  As 
he  had  no  trade  he  was  always  ready  to  follow  the 
festive  convict  from  barrack  to  barrack  grinding  him 
out  dance  tunes  with  all  his  strength.  His  countenance 
often  expressed  the  fatigue  and  disgust]  which  his  music 
— always  the  same — caused  him ;  but  when  the  prisoner 
called  out  to  him,  "  Go  on  playing,  are  you  not  paid  for 
it  ?  "  he  attacked  his  violin  more  violently  than  ever. 
These  drunkards  felt  sure  that  they  would  be  taken  care 
of,  and  in  case  of  the  Major  arriving  would  be  con- 
cealed from  his  watchful  eyes.  This  service  we  rendered 
in  the  most  disinterested  spirit.  On  their  side  the  under 
officer,  and  the  old  soldiers  who  remained  in  the  prison 
to  keep  order,  were  perfectly  reassured.  The  drunkard 
would  cause  no  disturbance.  At  the  least  scare  of  revolt 
or  riot  he  would  have  been  quieted  and  then  bound. 
Accordingly  the  inferior  officers  closed  their  eyes ;  they 
knew  that  if  vodka  was  forbidden  all  would  go  wrong. 
How  was  this  vodka  procured  ? 

It  was  bought  in  the  convict  prison  itself  from  the 
drink- sellers,  as  they  were  called,  who  followed  this  trade 


48  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

— a  very  lucrative  one — although  the  tipplers  were  not 
very  numerous,  for  revelry  was  expensive,  especially  when 
it  is  considered  how  hardly  money  was  earned.  The 
drink  business  was  begun,  continued,  and  ended  in 
rather  an  original  manner.  The  prisoner  who  knew  no 
trade,  would  not  work,  and  who,  nevertheless,  desired  to 
get  speedily  rich,  made  up  his  mind,  when  he  possessed  a 
little  money,  to  buy  and  sell  vodka.  The  enterprise 
was  risky,  it  required  great  daring,  for  the  speculator 
hazarded  his  skin  as  well  as  liquor.  But  the  drink- 
seller  hesitated  before  no  obstacles.  At  the  outset  he 
brought  the  vodka  himself  to  the  prison  and  got  rid  of 
it  on  the  most  advantageous  terms.  He  repeated  this 
operation  a  second  and  a  third  time.  If  he  had  not  been 
discovered  by  the  officials,  Jie  now  possessed  a  sum  which 
enabled  him  to  extend  his  business.  He  became  a 
capitalist  with  agents  and  assistants,  he  risked  much  less 
and  gained  much  more.  Then  his  assistants  incurred 
risk  in  place  of  him. 

Prisons  are  always  abundantly  inhabited  by  ruined 
men  without  the  habit  of  work,  but  endowed  with  skill 
^  and  daring;  their  only  capital  is  their  back.  They  often 
decide  to  put  it  into  circulation,  and  propose  to  the 
drink-seller  to  introduce  vodka  into  the  barracks.  There 
is  always  in  the  town  a  soldier,  a  shopkeeper,  or  some 
loose  woman  who,  for  a  stipulated  sum — rather  a  small 
one — buys  vodka  with  the  drink-seller's  money,  hides  it 
in  a  place  known  to  the  convict-smuggler,  near  the  work- 
shop where  he  is  employed.  The  person  who  supplies 
the  vodka,  tastes  the  precious  liquid  almost  always  as  he 
is  carrying  it  to  the  hiding-place,  and  replaces  relentlessly 
what  he  has  drunk  by  pure  water.  The  purchaser  may 
take  it  or  leave  it,  but  he  cannot  give  himself  airs.  He 
thinks  himself  very  lucky  that  his  money  has  not  been 
stolen  from  him,  and  that  he  has  received  some  kind  of 
vodka  in  exchange.  The  man  who  is  to  take  it  into  the 
prison — to  whom  the  drink-seller  has  indicated  the  hiding- 
place — goes  to  the  supplier  with  bullock's  intestines 
which  after  being  washed,  have  been  filled  with  water, 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  49 

and  which  thus  preserves  their  softness  and  suppleness. 
Y/"hen  the  intestines  have  been  filled  with  vodka,  the 
smuggler  rolls  them  round  his  body.  Now,  all  the 
cunning,  the  adroitness  of  this  daring  convict  is  shown. 
Tae  man's  honour  is  at  stake.  It  is  necessary  for  him  to 
take  in  the  escort  and  the  man  on  guard;  and  he  will 
take  them  in.  If  the  carrier  is  artful,  the  soldier  of  the 
escort — sometimes  a  recruit — does  not  notice  anything 
particular ;  for  the  prisoner  has  studied  him  thoroughly, 
besides  which  he  has  artfully  combined  the  hour  and  the 
place  of  meeting.  If  the  convict — a  bricklayer  for 
example — climbs  up  on  the  wall  that  he  is  building,  the 
escort  will  certainly  not  climb  up  after  him  to  watch  his 
movements.  Who  then,  will  see  what  he  is  about  ?  On 
getting  near  the  prison,  he  g£ts  ready  a  piece  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  kopecks,  and  waits  at  the  gate  for  the  corporal 
on  guard. 

The  corporal  examines,  feels,  and  searches  each 
convict  on  his  return  to  the  barracks,  and  then  opens 
the  gate  to  him.  The  carrier  of  the  vodka  hopes  that  he 
will  be  ashamed  to  examine  him  too  much  in  detail ;  but 
if  the  corporal  is  a  cunning  fellow,  that  is  just  what  he  will 
do;  and  in  that  case  he  finds  the  contraband  vodka. 
The  convict  has  now  only  one  chance  of  salvation.  He 
slips  into  the  hand  of  the  under  officer  the  piece  of 
money  he  holds  in  readiness,  and  often,  thanks  to  this 
manoeuvre,  the  vodka  arrives  safely  in  the  hands  of  the 
drink-seller.  But  sometimes  the  trick  does  not  succeed, 
and  it  is  then  that  the  sole  capital  of  the  smuggler 
enters  really  into  circulation.  A  report  is  made  to  the 
Major,  who  sentences  the  unhappy  culprit  to  a  thorough 
flogging.  As  for  the  vodka,  it  is  confiscated.  The 
smuggler  undergoes  his  punishment  without  betraying 
the  speculator,  not  because  such  a  denunciation  would 
disgrace  him,  but  because  it  would  bring  him  nothing. 
He  would  be  flogged  all  the  same,  the  only  consolation 
he  could  have  would  be  that  the  drink-seller  would  share 
his  punishment;  but  as  he  needs  him,  he  does  not  denounce 
him,  although  having  allowed  himself  to  be  surprised,  he 
will  receive  no  payment  from  him. 


50  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Denunciation,  however,  flourishes  in  the  convict 
prison.  Far  from  hating  spies  or  keeping  apart  fro|i2i 
them,  the  prisoners  often  make  friends  of  them.  If  afty 
one  had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  prove  to  the  convicts 
all  the  baseness  of  mutual  denunciation,  no  one  in  tjie 
prison  would  have  understood.  The'former  nobleman  of 
whom  I  have  already  spoken,  that  cowardly  and  violent 
creature  with  whom  I  had  already  broken  off  all  relations 
immediately  after  my  arrival  in  the  fortress,  was  the 
friend  of  Fedka,  the  Major's  body-servant.  He  used  to 
tell  him  everything  that  took  place  in  the  convict  prison, 
and  this  was  naturally  carried  back  to  the  servant's 
master.  Every  one  knew  it,  but  no  one  had  the  idea  of 
showing  any  ill-will  against  the  man,  or  of  reproaching 
him  with  his  conduct.  When  the  vodka  arrived  without 
accident  at  the  prison,  the  speculator  paid  the  smuggler 
and  made  up  his  accounts.  His  merchandise  had  already 
cost  him  sufficiently  dear ;  and  that  the  profit  might  be 
greater,  he  diluted  it  by  adding  fifty  per  cent,  of  pure 
water.  He  was  ready,  and  had  only  to  wait  for 
customers. 

The  first  holiday,  perhaps  even  on  a  week-day,  a 
convict  would  turn  up.  He  had  been  working  like  a 
negro  for  many  months  in  order  to  save  up,  kopeck  by 
kopeck,  a  small  sum  which  he  was  resolved  to  spend  all 
at  once.  These  days  of  rejoicing  had  been  looked 
forward  to  long  beforehand.  He  had  dreamt  of  them 
during  the  endless  winter  nights,  during  his  hardest 
labour,  and  the  perspective  had  supported  him  under 
his  severest  trials.  The  dawn  of  this  day  so  impatiently 
awaited,  has  just  appeared.  He  has  some  money  in  his 
pocket.  It  has  been  neither  stolen  from  him  nor  con- 
fiscated. He  is  free  to  spend  it.  Accordingly  he  takes 
his  savings  to  the  drink-seller,  who,  to  begin  with,  gives 
vodka  which  is  almost  pure — it  has  been  only  twice 
baptized — but  gradually,  as  the  bottle  gets  more  and 
more  empty,  he  fills  it  up  with  water.  Accordingly  the 
convict  pays  for  his  vodka  five  or  six  times  as  much  as 
he  would  in  a  tavern. 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  51 

It  may  be  imagined  how  many  glasses,  and,  above  all, 
what  sums  of  money  are  required  before  the  convict  is 
drink.  However,  as  he  has  lost  the  habit  of  drinking, 
the  little  alcohol  which  remains  in  the  liquid  intoxicates 
him  rapidly  enough ;  he  goes  on  drinking  until  there  is 
nothing  left ;  he  pledges  or  sells  all  his  new  clothes — for 
the  drink-seller  is  at  the  same  time  a  pawnbroker.  As 
his  personal  garments  are  not  very  numerous  he  next 
pledges  the  clothes  supplied  to  him  by  the  Government. 
When  the  drink  has  made  away  with  his  last  shirt,  his 
last  rag,  he  lies  down  and  wakes  up  the  next  morning 
with  a  bad  headache.  In  vain  he  begs  the  drink-seller 
to  give  him  credit  for  a  drop  of  vodka  in  order  to  remove 
his  depression ;  he  experiences  a  direct  refusal.  That 
very  day  he  sets  to  work  again.  For  several  months 
together,  he  will  weary  himself  out  while  looking  for- 
ward to  such  a  debauch  as  the  one  which  has  now 
disappeared  in  the  past.  Little  by  little  he  regains 
courage  while  waiting  for  such  another  day,  still  far  off, 
but  which  ultimately  will  arrive.  As  for  the  drink- 
seller,  if  he  has  gained  a  large  sum — some  dozen  of 
roubles — he  procures  some  more  vodka,  but  this  time  he 
does  not  baptize  it,  because  he  intends  it  for  himself. 
Enough  of  trade  !  it  is  time  for  him  to  amuse  himself. 
Accordingly  he  eats,  drinks,  pays  for  a  little  music — his 
means  allow  him  to  grease  the  palm  of  the  inferior 
officers  in  the  convict  prison.  This  festival  lasts  some- 
times for  several  days.  When  his  stock  of  vodka  is 
exhausted,  he  goes  and  drinks  with  the  other  drink- 
sellers  who  are  waiting  for  him ;  he  then  drinks  up  his 
last  kopeck. 

However  careful  the  convicts  may  be  in  watching 
over  their  companions  in  debauchery,  it  sometimes 
happens  that  the  Major  or  the  officer  on  guard  notices 
what  is  going  on.  The  drunkard  is  then  dragged  to 
the  orderly-room,  his  money  is  confiscated  if  he  has  any 
left,  and  he  is  flogged.  The  convict  shakes  himself  like 
a  beaten  dog,  returns  to  barracks,  and,  after  a  few 
days,  resumes  his  trade  as  drink-seller. 


52  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

It  sometimes  happens  that  among  the  convicts  there 
are  admirers  of  the  fair  sex.  For  a  sufficiently  large  sum 
of  money  they  sncceed,  accompanied  by  a  soldier  whom 
they  have  corrupted,  in  getting  secretly  out  of  the 
fortress  into  a  suburb  instead  of  going  to  work.  There 
in  an  apparently  quiet  house  a  banquet  is  held  at  which 
large  sums  of  money  are  spent.  The  convicts'  money  is 
not  to  be  despised,  accordingly  the  soldiers  will  some- 
times arrange  these  temporary  escapes  beforehand,  sure 
as  they  are  of  being  generously  recompensed.  Generally 
speaking  these  soldiers  are  themselves  candidates  for 
the  convict  prison.  The  escapades  are  scarcely  ever 
discovered.  I  must  add  that  they  are  very  rare,  for 
they  are  very  expensive,  and  the  admirers  of  the  fair 
sex  are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  other  less  costly 
means. 

At  the  beginning  of  my  stay,  a  young  convict  with 
very  regular  features  excited  my  curiosity ;  his  name  was 
Sirotkin,  he  was  in  many  respects  an  enigmatic  being. 
His  face  had  struck  me,  he  was  not  more  than  twenty- 
three  years  of  age,  and  he  belonged  to  the  special  section  ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  was  condemned  to  hard  labour  in  per- 
petuity. He  accordingly  was  to  be  looked  upon  as  one 
of  the  most  dangerous  of  military  criminals.  Mild  and 
tranquil,  he  spoke  little  and  rarely  laughed;  his  blue 
eyes,  his  clear  complexion,  his  fair  hair  gave  him  a  soft 
expression,  which  even  his  shaven  crown  did  not  destroy. 
Although  he  had  no  trade,  he  managed  to  get  himself 
money  from  time  to  time.  He  was  remarkably  lazy,  and 
always  dressed  like  a  sloven ;  but  if  any  one  was  generous 
enough  to  present  him  with  a  red  shirt,  he  was  beside 
himself  with  joy  at  having  a  new  garment,  and  he  ex- 
hibited it  everywhere.  Sirotkin  neither  drank  nor  played, 
and  he  scarcely  ever  quarrelled  with  the  other  convicts. 
He  walked  about  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  peacefully, 
and  with  a  pensive  air.  What  he  was  thinking  of  I 
cannot  say.  When  any  one  called  to  him,  to  ask  him 
a  question,  he  replied  with  deference,  precisely,  without 
chattering  like  the  others.  He  had  in  his  eyes  the 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  53 

expression  of  a  child  of  ten;  when  he  had  money  he 
bought  nothing  of  what  the  others  looked  upon  as  indis- 
pensable. His  vest  might  be  torn,  he  did  not  get  it 
mended,  any  more  than  he  bought  himself  new  boots. 
What  particularly  pleased  him  were  the  little  white  rolls 
and  gingerbread,  which  he  would  eat  with  the  satisfaction 
of  a  child  of  seven.  When  he  was  not  at  work  he 
wandered  about  the  barracks ;  when  every  one  else  was 
occupied,  he  remained  with  his  arms  by  his  sides ;  if  any 
one  joked  with  him,  or  laughed  at  him — which  happened 
often  enough — he  turned  on  his  heel  without  speaking 
and  went  elsewhere.  If  the  pleasantry  was  too  strong 
he  blushed.  I  often  asked  myself  for  what  crime  he 
could  have  been  condemned  to  hard  labour.  One  day 
when  I  was  ill,  and  lying  in  the  hospital,  Sirotkin  was 
also  there,  stretched  out  on  a  bedstead  not  far  from  me. 
I  entered  into  conservation  with  him;  he  became  animated, 
and  told  me  freely  how  he  had  been  taken  for  a  soldier, 
how  his  mother  had  followed  him  in  tears,  and  what 
treatment  he  had  endured  in  military  service.  He  added 
that  he  had  never  been  able  to  accustom  himself  to  this 
life ;  every  one  was  severe  and  angry  with  him  about 
nothing,  his  officers  were  always  against  him. 

"  But  why  did  they  send  you  here  ? — and  into  the 
special  section  above  all !  Ah,  Sirotkin !  " 

"  Yes,  Alexander  Petrovitch,  although  I  was  only  one 
year  with  the  battalion,  I  was  sent  here  for  killing  my 
captain,  Gregory  Petrovitch." 

"  I  heard  about  that,  but  I  did  not  believe  it ;  how 
was  it  that  you  killed  him  ?  " 

"All  that  was  told  you  was  true;  my  life  was 
insupportable." 

"  But  the  other  recruits  supported  it  well  enough.  It 
is  very  hard  at  the  beginning,  but  men  get  accustomed 
to  it  and  end  by  becoming  excellent  soldiers.  Your 
mother  must  have  pampered  you  and  spoiled  you.  I  am 
sure  that  she  fed  you  with  gingerbread  and  with  sweet 
milk  until  you  were  eighteen." 

"  My  mother,  it  is  true,  was  very  fond  of  me.     When 


64  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

I  left  her  she  took  to  her  bed  and  remained  there.  How 
painful  to  me  everything  in  my  military  life  was ;  after 
that  all  went  wrong.  I  was  perpetually  being  punished, 
and  why  ?  I  obeyed  every  one,  I  was  exact,  careful.  I 
did  not  drink,  I  borrowed  from  no  one — it's  all  up  with  a 
man  when  he  begins  to  borrow — and  yet  every  one 
around  me  was  harsh  and  cruel.  I  sometimes  hid  myself 
in  a  corner  and  did  nothing  but  sob.  One  day*,  or  rather 
one  night,  I  was  on  guard.  It  was  autumn  :  there  was  a 
strong  wind,  and  it  was  so  dark  that  you  could  not  see  a 
speck,  and  I  was  sad,  so  sad!  I  took  the  bayonet 
from  the  end  of  my  musket  and  placed  it  by  my  side. 
Then  I  put  the  barrel  to  my  breast  and  with  my  big  toe 
— I  had  taken  my  boot  off — pressed  the  trigger.  It 
missed  fire.  I  looked  at  my  musket  and  loaded  it  with  a 
charge  of  fresh  powder.  Then  I  broke  off  the  corner  of 
my  flint,  and  once  more  I  placed  the  muzzle  against  my 
breast.  Again  there  was  a  misfire.  What  was  I  to  do  ? 
I  said  to  myself.  I  put  my  boot  on,  I  fastened  my 
bayonet  to  the  barrel,  and  walked  up  and  down  with  my 
musket  on  my  shoulder.  Let  them  do  what  they  like,  I 
said  to  myself ;  but  I  will  not  be  a  soldier  any  longer. 
Half-an-hour  afterwards  the  captain  arrived,  making 
his  rounds.  He  came  straight  upon  me.  '  Is  that  the 
way  you  carry  yourself  when  you  are  on  guard  ? '  I 
seized  my  musket,  and  stuck  the  bayonet  into  his  body. 
Then  I  had  to  walk  forty-six  versts.  That  is  how  I 
came  to  be  in  the  special  section." 

He  was  telling  no  falsehood,  yet  I  did  not  understand 
how  they  could  have  sent  him  there  ;  such  crimes  deserve 
a  much  less  severe  punishment.  Sirotkin  was  the  only 
one  of  the  convicts  who  was  really  handsome.  As  for 
his  companions  of  the  special  section — to  the  number  of 
fifteen — they  were  frightful  to  behold  with  their  hideous, 
disgusting  physiognomies.  Gray  heads  were  plentiful 
among  them.  I  shall  speak  of  these  men  further  on. 
Sirotkin  was  often  on  good  terms  with  Gazin,  the  drink- 
seller,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken  at  the  beginning 
of  this  chapter. 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  55 

This  Gazin  was  a  terrible  being ;  the  impression  that 
he  produced  on  every  one  was  confusing  or  appalling. 
It- seemed  to  me  that  a  more  ferocious,  a  more  monstrous 
creature  could  not  exist.  Yet  I  have  seen  at  Tobolsk, 
Kameneff,  the  brigand,  celebrated  for  his  crimes.  Later, 
I  saw  Sokoloff,  the  escaped  convict,  formerly  a  deserter, 
who  was  a  ferocious  creature;  but  neither  of  them  inspired 
me  with  so  much  disgust  as  Gazin.  I  often  fancied  that 
I  had  before  my  eyes  an  enormous,  gigantic  spider  of  the 
size  of  a  man.  He  was  a  Tartar,  and  there  was  no 
convict  so  strong  as  he  was.  It  was  less  by  his  great 
height  and  his  herculean  construction,  than  by  his 
enormous  and  deformed  head,  that  he  inspired  terror 
The  strangest  reports  were  current  about  him.  Some 
said  that  he  had  been  a  soldier,  others  that  he  had 
escaped  from  Nertchinsk,  and  that  he  had  been  exiled 
several  times  to  Siberia,  but  had  always  succeeded  in 
getting  away.  Landing  at  last  in  our  convict  prison,  he 
belonged  there  to  the  special  section.  It  appeared  that 
he  had  taken  a  pleasure  in  killing  little  children  when  he 
had  attracted  them  to  some  deserted  place;  then  he 
frightened  them,  tortured  them,  and  after  having  fully 
enjoyed  the  terror  and  the  convulsions  of  the  poor  little 
things,  he  killed  them  resolutely  and  with  delight. 
These  horrors  had  perhaps  been  imagined  by  reason  of 
the  painful  impression  that  the  monster  produced  upon 
us ;  but  they  seemed  probable,  and  harmonised  with  his 
physiognomy.  Nevertheless,  when  Gazin  was  not  drunk, 
he  conducted  himself  well  enough. 

He  was  always  quiet,  never  quarrelled,  avoided  all 
disputes  as  if  from  contempt  for  his  companions,  just  as 
though  he  had  entertained  a  high  opinion  of  himself. 
He  spoke  very  little,  all  his  movements  were  measured, 
calm,  resolute.  His  look  was  not  without  intelligence, 
but  its  expression  was  cruel  and  derisive  like  his  smile. 
Of  all  the  convicts  who  sold  vodka,  he  was  the  richest. 
Twice  a  year  he  got  completely  drunk,  and  it  was  then 
that  all  his  brutal  ferocity  exhibited  itself.  Little  by 
little  he  got  excited,  and  began  to  tease  the  prisoners 


56  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

with  venomous  satire  prepared  long  beforehand.  Finally 
when  he  was  quite  drunk,  he  had  attacks  of  furious  rage, 
and,  seizing  a  knife,  would  rush  upon  his  companions. 
The  convicts  who  knew  his  herculean  vigour,  avoided 
him  and  protected  themselves  against  him,  for  he  would 
throw  himself  on  the  first  person  he  met.  A  means  of 
disarming  him  had  been  discovered.  Some  dozen 
prisoners  would  rush  suddenly  upon  Gazin,  and  give 
him  violent  blows  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  in  the  belly, 
and  generally  beneath  the  region  of  the  heart,  until  he 
lost  consciousness.  Any  one  else  would  have  died  under 
such  treatment,  but  Gazin  soon  got  well.  When  he  had 
been  well  beaten  they  would  wrap  him  up  in  his  pelisse, 
and  throw  him  upon  his  plank  bedstead,  leaving  him  to 
digest  his  drink.  The  next  day  he  woke  up  almost  well, 
and  went  to  his  work  silent  and  sombre.  Every  time 
that  Gazin  got  drunk,  all  the  prisoners  knew  how  his 
day  would  finish.  He  knew  also,  but  he  drank  all  the 
same.  Several  years  passed  in  this  way.  Then  it  was 
noticed  that  Gazin  had  lost  his  energy,  and  that  he  was 
beginning  to  get  weak.  He  did  nothing  but  groan, 
complaining  of  all  kinds  of  illnesses.  His  visits  to  the 
hospital  became  more  and  more  frequent.  "  He  is  giving 
in,"  said  the  prisoners. 

At  one  time  Gazin  had  gone  into  the  kitchen 
followed  by  the  little  fellow  who  scraped  the  violin, 
and  whom  the  convicts  in  their  festivities  used  to 
hire  to  play  to  them.  He  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  the  hall  silently  examining  his  companions  one 
after  another.  No  one  breathed  a  word.  When  he 
saw  me  with  my  companions,  he  looked  at  us  in  his 
malicious,  jeering  style,  and  smiled  horribly  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  was  satisfied  with  a  good  joke  that 
he  had  just  thought  of.  He  approached  our  table, 
tottering. 

"  Might  I  ask,"  he  said,  t€  where  you  get  the  money 
which  allows  you  to  drink  tea  ?  " 

I  exchanged  a  look  with  my  neighbour.  I  under- 
stood that  the  best  thing  for  us  was  to  be  silent,  and  not 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  57 

to  answer.   The  least  contradiction  would  have  put  Gazin 
in  a  passion. 

"You  must  have  money,"  he  continued,  "you  must 
have  a  good  deal  of  money  to  drink  tea ;  but,  tell  me, 
are  you  sent  to  hard  labour  to  drink  tea  ?  I  say,  did  you 
come  here  for  that  purpose  ?  Please  answer,  I  should 
like  to  know." 

Seeing  that  we  were  resolved  on  silence,  and  that  we  had 
determined  not  to  pay  any  attention  to  him,  he  ran  towards 
us,  livid  and  trembling  with  rage.  At  two  steps'  distance, 
he  saw  a  heavy  box,  which  served  to  hold  the  bread  given 
for  the  dinner  and  supper  of  the  convicts.  Its  contents 
were  sufficient  for  the  meal  of  half  the  prisoners.  At  this 
moment  it  was  empty.  He  seized  it  with  both  hands 
and  brandished  it  above  our  heads.  Although  murder, 
or  attempted,  was  an  inexhaustible  source  of  trouble 
for  the  convicts — examinations,  counter-examinations, 
and  inquiries  without  end  would  be  the  natural  con- 
sequence— and  though  quarrels  were  generally  cut  short, 
when  they  did  not  lead  to  such  serious  results,  yet  every 
one  remained  silent  and  waited. 

Not  one  word  in  our  favour,  not  one  cry  against 
Gazin.  The  hatred  of  all  the  prisoners  for  all  who  were 
of  gentle  birth  was  so  great  that  every  one  of  them  was 
evidently  pleased  to  see  that  we  were  in  danger.  But  a 
fortunate  incident  terminated  this  scene,  which  must  have 
become  tragic.  Gazin  was  about  to  let  fly  the  enormous 
box,  which  he  was  turning  and  twisting  above  his  head, 
when  a  convict  ran  in  from  the  barracks,  and  cried 
out : 

"  Gazin,  they  have  stolen  your  vodka ! " 

The  horrible  brigand  let  fall  the  box  with  a  frightful 
oath,  and  ran  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"  Well,  God  has  saved  them/7  said  the  prisoners 
among  themselves,  repeating  the  words  several  times. 

I  never  knew  whether  his  vodka  had  been  stolen, 
or  whether  it  was  only  a  stratagem  invented  to  save 
us. 

That  same  evening,  before  the  closing  of  the  barracks, 


58  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

when  it  was  already  dark,  I  walked  to  the  side  of  the 
palisade.  A  heavy  feeling  of  sadness  weighed  upon  my 
soul.  During  all  the  time  that  I  passed  in  the  convict 
prison  I  never  felt  myself  so  miserable  as  on  that 
evening,  though  the  first  day  is  always  the  hardest, 
whether  at  hard  labour  or  in  the  prison.  One  thought 
in  particular  had  left  me  no  respite  since  my  deporta- 
tion— a  question  insoluble  then  and  insoluble  now.  I 
reflected  on  the  inequality  of  the  punishments  inflicted 
for  the  same  crimes.  Often,  indeed,  one  crime  cannot 
be  compared  even  approximately  to  another.  Two 
murderers  kill  a  man  under  circumstances  which  in 
each  case  are  minutely  examined  and  weighed.  They 
each  receive  the  same  punishment ;  and  yet  by  what  an 
abyss  are  their  two  actions  separated  !  One  has  com- 
mitted a  murder  for  a  trifle — for  an  onion.  He  has 
killed  on  the  high-road  a  peasant  who  was  passing,  and 
found  on  him  an  onion,  and  nothing  else. 

"  Well,  I  was  sent  to  hard  labour  for  a  peasant  who 
had  nothing  but  an  onion ! " 

"  Fool  that  you  are !  an  onion  is  worth  a  kopeck. 
If  you  had  killed  a  hundred  peasants  you  would  have  had 
a  hundred  kopecks,  or  one  rouble/7  The  above  is  a 
prison  joke. 

Another  criminal  has  killed  a  debauchee  who  was 
oppressing  or  dishonouring  his  wife,  his  sister,  or  his 
daughter. 

A  third,  a  vagabond,  half  dead  with  hunger,  pursued 
by  a  whole  band  of  police,  was  defending  his  liberty, 
his  life.  He  is  to  be  regarded  as  on  an  equality  with 
the  brigand  who  assassinates  children  for  his  amuse- 
ment, for  the  pleasure  of  feeling  their  warm  blood 
flow  over  his  hands,  of  seeing  them  shudder  in  a  last 
bird-like  palpitation  beneath  the  knife  which  tears  their 


They  will  all  alike  be  sent  to  hard  labour;  though 
the  sentence  will  perhaps  not  be  for  the  same  number  of 
years.  But  the  variations  in  the  punishment  are  not 
very  numerous,  whereas  different  kinds  of  crimes  may  be 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  59 

reckoned  by  thousands.  As  many  characters,  so  many 
crimes. 

Let  us  admit  that  it  is  impossible  to  get  rid  of  this 
first  inequality  in  punishment,  that  the  problem  is  in- 
soluble, and  that  in  connection  with  penal  matters  it  is 
the  squaring  of  the  circle.  Let  all  that  be  admitted ; 
but  even  if  this  inequality  cannot  be  avoided,  there  is 
another  thing  to  be  thought  of — the  consequences  of  the 
punishment.  Here  is  a  man  who  is  wasting  away  like  a 
candle ;  there  is  another  one,  on  the  contrary,  who  had 
no  idea  before  going  into  exile  that  there  could  be  such 
a  gay,  such  an  idle  life,  where  he  would  find  a  circle  of 
such  agreeable  friends.  Individuals  of  this  latter  class 
are  to  be  found  in  the  convict  prison. 

Now  take  a  man  of  heart,  of  cultivated  mind,  and  of 
delicate  conscience.  What  he  feels  kills  him  more 
certainly  than  the  material  punishment.  The  judgment 
which  he  himself  pronounces  on  his  crime  is  more  pitiless 
than  that  of  the  most  severe  tribunal,  the  most  Draconian 
law.  He  lives  by  the  side  of  another  convict,  who  has 
not  once  reflected  on  the  murder  he  is  expiating, 
during  the  whole  time  of  his  sojourn  in  the  convict 
prison.  He,  perhaps,  even  considers  himself  innocent. 
Are  there  not,  also,  poor  devils  who  commit  crimes  in 
order  to  be  sent  to  hard  labour,  and  thus  to  escape  the 
liberty  which  is  much  more  painful  than  confinement  ? 
A  man's  life  is  miserable,  he  has  never,  perhaps,  been 
able  to  satisfy  his  hunger.  He  is  worked  to  death  in 
order  to  enrich  his  master.  In  the  convict  prison  his 
work  will  be  less  severe,  less  crushing.  He  will  eat  as 
much  as  he  wants,  better  than  he  could  ever  have  hoped 
to  eat,  had  he  remained  free.  On  holidays  he  will  have 
meat,  and  fine  people  will  give  him  alms,  and  his  even- 
ing's work  will  bring  him  in  some  money.  And  the 
society  one  meets  with  in  the  convict  prison,  is  that 
to  be  counted  for  nothing?  The  convicts  are  clever, 
wide-awake  people,  who  are  up  to  everything.  The  new 
arrival  can  scarcely  conceal  the  admiration  he  feels  for 
his  companions  in  labour.  He  has  seen  nothiog  like  it 


60  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

before,  and  lie  will  consider  himself  in  the  best  company 
possible. 

Is  it  possible  that  men  so  differently  situated  can 
feel  in  an  equal  degree  the  punishment  inflicted  ?  But 
why  think  about  questions  that  are  insoluble  ?  The  drum 
beat?,  let  us  go  back  to  barracks. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS 


WE  were  between  walls  once  more.  The  doors 
of  the  barracks  were  locked,  each  with  a  par- 
ticular padlock,  and  the  prisoners  remained 
shut  up  till  the  next  morning. 

The  verification  was  made  by  a  non-com- 
missioned officer  accompanied  by  two  soldiers.  When 
by  chance  an  officer  was  present,  the  convicts  were  drawn 
up  in  the  court-yard,  but  generally  speaking  they  were 
identified  in  the  buildings.  As  the  soldiers  often  made 
mistakes,  they  went  out  and  came  back  in  order  to  count 
us  again  and  again,  until  their  reckoning  was  satisfactory, 
then  the  barracks  were  closed.  Each  one  contained 
about  thirty  prisoners,  and  we  were  very  closely  packed 
in  our  camp  bedsteads.  As  it  was  too  soon  to  go  to 
sleep,  the  convicts  occupied  themselves  with  work. 

Besides  the  old  soldier  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  who 
slept  in  our  dormitory,  and  represented  there  the 
administration  of  the  prison,  there  was  in  our  barrack 
another  old  soldier  wearing  a  medal  as  rewarded  for 
good  conduct.  It  happened  often  enough,  however,  that 
the  good-conduct  men  themselves  committed  offences  for 
which  they  were  sentenced  to  be  whipped.  They  then 
lost  their  rank,  and  were  immediately  replaced  by  com- 
rades whose  conduct  was  considered  satisfactory. 

Our   good-conduct   man   was   no   other   than   Akim 


62  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Akimitcli.  To  my  great  astonishment,  he  was  very 
rough  with  the  prisoners,  but  they  only  replied  by  jokes. 
The  other  old  soldier,  more  prudent,  interfered  with  no 
one,  and  if  he  opened  his  mouth,  it  was  only  as  a  matter 
of  form,  as  an  affair  of  duty.  For  the  most  part  he 
remained  silent,  seated  on  his  little  bedstead,  occupied 
in  mending  his  own  boots. 

That  day  I  could  not  help  making  to  myself  an 
observation,  the  accuracy  of  which  became  afterwards 
apparent :  that  all  those  who  are  not  convicts  and  who 
have  to  deal  with  them,  whoever  they  may  be — beginning 
with  the  soldiers  of  the  escort  and  the  sentinels — look 
upon  the  convicts  in  a  false  and  exaggerated  light, 
expecting  that  for  a  yes  or  a  no,  these  men  will  throw 
themselves  upon  them  knife  in  hand.  The  prisoners,  per- 
fectly conscious  of  the  fear  they  inspire,  show  a  certain 
arrogance.  Accordingly,  the  best  prison  director  is  the 
one  who  experiences  no  emotion  in  their  presence.  In 
spite  of  the  airs  they  give  themselves,  the  convicts  pre- 
fer that  confidence  should  be  placed  in  them.  By  such 
means,  indeed,  they  may  be  conciliated.  I  have  more 
than  once  had  occasion  to  notice  their  astonishment  at  an 
official  entering  their  prison  without  an  escort,  and  cer- 
tainly their  astonishment  was  not  unflattering.  A  visitor 
who  is  intrepid  imposes  respect.  If  anything  unfor- 
tunate happens,  it  will  not  be  in  his  presence.  The 
terror  inspired  by  the  convicts  is  general,  and  yet  I  saw 
no  foundation  for  it.  Is  it  the  appearance  of  the  prisoner, 
his  brigand-like  look,  that  causes  a  certain  repugnance  ? 
Is  it  not  rather  the  feeling  that  invades  you  directly  you 
enter  the  prison,  that  in  spite  of  all  efforts,  all  precau- 
tions, it  is  impossible  to  turn  a  living  man  into  a  corpse, 
to  stifle  his  feelings,  his  thirst  for  vengeance  and  for  life, 
his  passions,  and  his  imperious  desire  to  satisfy  them  ? 
However  that  may  be,  I  declare  that  there  is  no  reason 
for  fearing  the  convicts.  A  man  does  not  throw  himself 
so  quickly  nor  so  easily  upon  his  fellow-man,  knife  in 
hand.  Few  accidents  happen ;  sometimes  they  are  so  rare 
that  the  danger  may  be  looked  upon  as  non-existent. 
I  speak,  it  must  be  understood,  only  of  prisoners  already 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  63 

condemned,  who  are  undergoing  their  punishment,  and 
some  of  whom  are  almost  happy  to  find  themselves  in  the 
convict  prison  ;  so  attractive  under  all  circumstances  is  a 
new  form  of  life.  These  latter  live  quiet  and  contented. 
As  for  the  turbulent  ones,  the  convicts  themselves  keep 
them  in  restraint,  and  their  arrogance  never  goes  too  far. 
The  prisoner,  audacious  and  reckless  as  he  may  be,  is  afraid 
of  every  official  connected  with  the  prison.  It  is  by  no 
means  the  same  with  the  accused  whose  fate  has  not 
been  decided.  Such  a  one  is  quite  capable  of  attacking, 
no  matter  whom,  without  any  motive  of  hatred,  and  solely 
because  he  is  to  be  whipped  the  next  day.  If,  indeed,  he 
commits  a  fresh  crime  his  offence  becomes  complicated. 
Punishment  is  delayed,  and  he  gains  time.  The  act  of 
aggression  is  explained  ;  it  has  a  cause,  an  object.  The 
convict  wishes  at  all  hazards  to  change  his  fate,  and  that 
as  soon  as  possible.  In  connection  with  this,  I  myself 
have  witnessed  a  physiological  fact  of  the  strangest  kind. 
In  the  section  of  military  convicts  was  an  old  soldier 
who  had  been  condemned  to  two  years'  hard  labour,  a 
great  boaster,  and  at  the  same  time  a  coward.  Generally 
speaking,  the  Russian  soldier  does  not  boast.  He  has  no 
time  for  doing  so,  even  had  he  the  inclination.  When 
such  a  one  appears  among  a  multitude  of  others,  he  is 
always  a  coward  and  a  rogue.  Cutoff — that  was  the 
name  of  the  prisoner  of  whom  I  am  speaking — under- 
went his  punishment,  and  then  went  back  to  the  same 
battalion  in  the  Line ;  but,  like  all  who  are  sent  to  the 
convict  prison  to  be  corrected,  he  had  been  thoroughly 
corrupted.  A  "  return  horse  "  re-appears  in  the  convict 
prison  after  two  or  three  weeks'  liberty,  not  for  a  com- 
paratively short  time,  but  for  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  So 
it  happened  in  the  case  of  Dutoff.  Three  weeks  after 
he  had  been  set  at  liberty,  he  robbed  one  of  his  comrades, 
and  was,  moreover,  mutinous.  He  was  taken  before  a 
court-martial  and  sentenced  to  a  severe  form  of  corporal 
punishment.  Horribly  frightened,  like  the  coward  that 
he  was,  at  the  prospect  of  punishment,  he  threw  himself, 
knife  in  hand,  on  to  the  officer  of  the  guard,  as  he 
entered  his  dungeon  on  the  eve  of  tke  day  that  he  was  to 


64  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

run  the  gauntlet  through  the  men  of  his  company.  He 
quite  understood  that  he  was  aggravating  his  offence, 
and  that  the  duration  of  his  punishment  would  be 
increased ;  but  all  he  wanted  was  to  postpone  for  some 
days,  or  at  least  for  some  hours,  a  terrible  moment. 
He  was  such  a  coward  that  he  did  not  even  wound  the 
officer  whom  he  had  attacked.  He  had,  indeed,  only  com- 
mitted this  assault  in  order  to  add  a  new  crime  to  the 
last  already  against  him,  and  thus  defer  the  sentence. 

The  moment  preceding  the  punishment  is  terrible  for 
the  man  condemned  to  the  rods.  I  have  seen  many  of 
them  on  the  eve  of  the  fatal  day.  I  generally  met  with 
them  in  the  hospital  when  I  was  ill,  which  happened 
often  enough.  In  Russia  the  people  who  show  most 
compassion  for  the  convicts  are  certainly  the  doctors, 
who  never  make  between  the  prisoners  the  distinctions 
observed  by  other  persons  brought  mto  direct  relations 
with  them.  In  this  respect  the  common  people  can  alone 
be  compared  with  the  doctors,  for  they  never  reproach  a 
criminal  with  the  crime  that  he  has  committed,  whatever 
it  may  be.  They  forgive  him  in  consideration  of  the 
sentence  passed  upon  him. 

Is  it  not  known  that  the  common  people  through- 
out Russia  call  crime  a  "  misfortune, "  and  the  criminal 
an  "  unfortunate  "  ?  This  definition  is  expressive,  pro- 
found, and,  moreover,  unconscious,  instinctive.  To  the 
doctor  the  convicts  have  naturally  recourse,  above  all 
when  they  are  to  undergo  corporal  punishment.  The 
prisoner  who  has  been  before  a  court-martial  knows  pretty 
well  at  what  moment  his  sentence  will  be  executed.  To 
escape  it  he  gets  himself  sent  to  the  hospital,  in  order  to 
postpone  for  some  days  the  terrible  moment.  When  he 
is  declared  restored  to  health,  he  knows  that  the  day 
after  he  leaves  the  hospital  this  moment  will  arrive. 
Accordingly,  on  quitting  the  hospital  the  convict  is 
always  in  a  state  of  agitation.  Some  of  them  may 
endeavour  from  vanity  to  conceal  their  anxiety,  but  no 
one  is  taken  in  by  that ;  every  one  understands  the  cruelty 
of  such  a  moment,  and  is  silent  from  humane  motives. 

I  knew  one  young  convict,  an  ex-soldier,  sentenced 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  65 

for  murder,  who  was  to  receive  the  maximum  of  rods. 
The  eve  of  the  day  on  which  he  was  to  be  flogged,  he  had 
resolved  to  drink  a  bottle  of  vodka  in  which  he  had 
infused  a  quantity  of  snuff. 

The  prisoner  condemned  to  the  rods  always  drinks, 
before  the  critical  moment  arrives,  a  certain  amount  of 
spirits  which  he  has  procured  long  beforehand,  and  often 
at  a  fabulous  price.  He  would  deprive  himself  of  the 
necessaries  of  life  for  six  months  rather  than  not  be  in  a 
position  to  swallow  half  a  pint  of  vodka  before  the 
flogging.  The  convicts  are  convinced  that  a  drunken  man 
suffers  less  from  the  sticks  or  whip  than  one  who  is  in 
cold  blood. 

I  will  return  to  my  narrative.  The  poor  devil  felt  ill 
a  few  moments  after  he  had  swallowed  his  bottle  of 
vodka.  He  vomited  blood,  and  was  carried  in  a  state  of 
unconsciousness  to  the  hospital.  His  lungs  were  so  much 
injured  by  this  accident  that  phthisis  declared  itself,  and 
carried  off  the  soldier  in  a  few  months.  The  doctors  who 
had  attended  him  never  knew  the  origin  of  his  illness. 

If  examples  of  cowardice  are  not  rare  among  the 
prisoners,  it  must  be  added  that  there  are  some  whose  in- 
trepidity is  quite  astounding.  I  remember  many  instances 
of  courage  pushed  to  the  extreme.  The  arrival  in 
the  hospital  of  a  terrible  bandit  remains  fixed  in  my 
memory. 

One  fine  summer  day  the  report  was  spread  in  the 
infirmary  that  the  famous  prisoner,  Orloff,  was  to  be 
flogged  the  same  evening,  and  that  he  would  be  brought 
afterwards  to  the  hospital.  The  prisoners  who  were 
already  there  said  that  the  punishment  would  be  a  cruel 
one,  and  every  one — including  myself  I  must  admit — was 
awaiting  with  curiosity  the  arrival  of  this  brigand,  about 
whom  the  most  unheard-of  things  were  told.  He  was  a 
malefactor  of  a  rare  kind,  capable  of  assassinating  in  cold 
blood  old  men  and  children.  He  possessed  an  indomit- 
able force  of  will,  and  was  fully  conscious  of  his  power. 
As  he  had  been  guilty  of  several  crimes,  they  had  con- 
demned him  to  be  flogged  through  the  ranks. 

He  was  brought,  or,  rather  carried,  in  towards  evening. 


66  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

The  place  was  already  dark.  Candles  were  lighted. 
Orloff  was  excessively  pale,  almost  unconscious,  with  his 
thick  curly  hair  of  dull  black  without  the  least  brilliancy. 
His  back  was  skinned  and  swollen,  blue,  and  stained 
with  blood.  The  prisoners  nursed  him  throughout  the 
night;  they  changed  his  poultices,  placed  him  on  his 
side,  prepared  for  him  the  lotion  ordered  by  the  doctor ; 
in  a  word,  showed  as  much  solicitude  for  him  as  for  a 
relation  or  benefactor. 

Next  day  he  had  fully  recovered  his  faculties,  and 
took  one  or  two  turns  round  the  room.  I  was  much 
astonished,  for  he  was  broken  down  and  powerless  when 
he  was  brought  in.  He  had  received  half  the  number  of 
blows  ordered  by  the  sentence.  The  doctor  had  stopped 
the  punishment,  convinced  that  if  it  were  continued 
Orloff's  death  would  inevitably  ensue. 

This  criminal  was  of  a  feeble  constitution,  weakened 
by  long  imprisonment.  Whoever  has  seen  prisoners 
after  having  been  flogged,  will  remember  their  thin, 
drawn-out  features  and  their  feverish  looks.  Orloff  soon 
recovered  his  powerful  energy,  which  enabled  him  to  get 
over  his  physical  weakness.  He  was  no  ordinary  man. 
From  curiosity  I  made  his  acquaintance,  and  was  able  to 
study  him  at  leisure  for  an  entire  week.  Never  in  my 
life  did  I  meet  a  man  whose  will  was  more  firm  or  in- 
flexible. 

I  had  seen  at  Tobolsk  a  celebrity  of  the  same  kind — 
a  former  chief  of  brigands.  This  man  was  a  veritable 
wild  beast ;  by  being  near  him,  without  even  knowing 
him,  it  was  impossible  not  to  recognise  in  him  a 
dangerous  creature.  What  above  all  frightened  me  was 
his  stupidity.  Matter,  in  this  man,  had  taken  such  an 
ascendant  over  mind,  that  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that 
he  cared  for  nothing  in  the  world  but  the  brutal  satisfac- 
tion of  his  physical  wants.  I  was  certain,  however,  that 
Kareneff — that  was  his  name — would  have  fainted  on 
being  condemned  to  such  rigorous  corporal  punishment 
as  Orloff  had  undergone;  and  that  he  would  have 
murdered  the  first  man  near  him  without  blinking. 

Orloff,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  brilliant  example  of  the 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  67 

victory  of  spirit  over  matter.  He  had  a  perfect  command 
over  himself.  He  despised  punishment,  and  feared 
nothing  in  the  world.  His  dominant  characteristic  was 
boundless  energy,  a  thirst  for  vengeance,  and  an  im- 
movable will  when  he  had  some  object  to  attain. 

I  was  not  astonished  at  his  haughty  air.  He  looked 
down  upon  all  around  him  from  the  height  of  his 
grandeur.  Not  that  he  took  the  trouble  to  pose;  his 
pride  was  an  innate  quality.  I  don't  think  that  anything, 
had  the  least  influence  over  him.  He  looked  upon  every- 
thing with  the  calmest  eye,  as  if  nothing  in  the  world 
could  astonish  him.  He  knew  well  that  the  other  prisoners 
respected  him ;  but  he  never  took  advantage  of  it  to  give 
himself  airs. 

Nevertheless,  vanity  and  conceit  are  defects  from 
which  scarcely  any  convict  is  exempt.  He  was  intelligent 
and  strangely  frank  in  talking  too  much  about  him- 
self. He  replied  point-blank  to  all  the  questions  I  put 
to  him,  and  confessed  to  me  that  he  was  waiting  im- 
patiently for  his  return  to  health  in  order  to  take  the 
remainder  of  the  punishment  he  was  to  undergo. 

"  Now/'  he  said  to  me  with  a  wink,  "  it  is  all  over.  I 
shall  have  the  remainder,  and  shall  be  sent  to  Nertchinsk 
with  a  convoy  of  prisoners.  I  shall  profit  by  it  to  escape. 
I  shall  get  away  beyond  doubt.  If  only  my  back  would 
heal  a  little  quicker  !  " 

For  five  days  he  was  burning  with  impatience  to  be 
in  a  condition  for  leaving  the  hospital.  At  times  he  was 
gay  and  in  the  best  of  humours.  I  profited  by  these 
rare  occasions  to  question  him  about  his  adventures. 

Then  he  would  contract  his  eyebrows  a  little ;  but  he 
always  answered  my  questions  in  a  straightforward 
manner.  When  he  understood  that  I  was  endeavouring 
to  see  through  him,  and  to  discover  in  him  some  trace 
of  repentance,  he  looked  at  me  with  a  haughty  and 
contemptuous  air,  as  if  I  were  a  foolish  little  boy,  to 
whom  he  did  too  much  honour  by  conversing  with  him. 

I  detected  in  his  countenance  a  sort  of  compassion 
for  me.  After  a  moment's  pause  he  laughed  out  loud, 
but  without  the  least  irony.  I  fancy  he  must,  more  than 


68  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

once,  have  laughed  in  the  same  manner,  when  my  words 
returned  to  his  memory.  At  last  he  wrote  down  his 
name  as  cured,  although  his  back  was  not  yet  entirely 
healed.  As  I  also  was  almost  well,  we  left  the  infirmary 
together  and  returned  to  the  convict  prison,  while  he  was 
shut  up  in  the  guard-room,  where  he  had  been  imprisoned 
before.  When  he  left  me  he  shook  me  by  the  hand, 
which  in  his  eyes  was  a  great  mark  of  confidence.  I 
fancy  he  did  so,  because  at  that  moment  he  was  in  a 
good  humour.  But  in  reality  he  must  have  despised  me, 
for  I  was  a  feeble  being,  contemptible  in  all  respects,  and 
guilty  above  all  of  resignation.  The  next  day  he  under- 
went the  second  half  of  his  punishment. 

When  the  gates  of  the  barracks  had  been  closed,  it 
assumed,  in  less  than  no  time,  quite  another  aspect — that 
of  a  private  house,  of  quite  a  home.  Then  only  did  I 
see  my  convict  comrades  at  their  ease.  During  the  day 
the  under  officers,  or  some  of  the  other  authorities,  might 
suddenly  arrive,  so  that  the  prisoners  were  then  always 
on  the  look-out.  They  were  only  half  at  their  ease.  As 
soon,  however,  as  the  bolts  had  been  pushed  and  the  gates 
padlocked,  every  one  sat  down  in  his  place  and  began  to 
work.  The  barrack  was  lighted  up  in  an  unexpected 
manner.  Each  convict  had  his  candle  and  his  wooden 
candlestick.  Some  of  them  stitched  boots,  others  sewed 
different  kinds  of  garments.  The  air,  already  mephitic, 
became  more  and  more  impure. 

Some  of  the  prisoners,  huddled  together  in  a  corner, 
played  at  cards  on  a  piece  of  carpet.  In  each  barrack 
there  was  a  prisoner  who  possessed  a  small  piece  of 
carpet,  a  candle,  and  a  pack  of  horribly  greasy  cards. 
The  owner  of  the  cards  received  from  the  players  fifteen 
kopecks  [about  sixpence]  a  night.  They  generally  played 
at  the  "  three  leaves  " — Grorka,  that  is  to  say  :  a  game 
of  chance.  Each  player  placed  before  him  a  pile  of  copper 
money — all  that  he  possessed — and  did  not  get  up  until 
he  had  lost  it  or  had  broken  the  bank. 

Playing  was  continued  until  late  at  night ;  sometimes 
the  dawn  found  the  gamblers  still  at  their  game.  Often, 
indeed,  it  did  not  cease  until  a  few  minutes  before  the 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  69 

opening  of  the  gates.  In  our  room — as  in  all  the  others 
— there  were  beggars  ruined  by  drink  and  play,  or  rather 
beggars  innate — I  say  innate,  and  maintain  my  expres- 
sion. Indeed,  in  our  country,  and  in  all  classes,  there  are, 
and  always  will  be,  strange  easy-going  people  whose 
destiny  it  is  to  remain  always  beggars.  They  are  poor 
devils  all  their  lives;  quite  broken  down,  they  remain 
under  the  domination  or  guardianship  of  some  one,  gene- 
rally a  prodigal,  or  a  man  who  has  suddenly  made  his 
fortune.  All  initiative  is  for  them  an  insupportable 
burden.  They  only  exist  on  condition  of  undertaking 
nothing  for  themselves,  and  by  serving,  always  living 
under  the  will  of  another.  They  are  destined  to  act  by 
and  through  others.  Under  no  circumstances,  even  of  the 
most  unexpected  kind,  can  they  get  rich;  they  are  always 
beggars.  I  have  met  these  persons  in  all  classes  of 
society,  in  all  coteries,  in  all  associations,  including  the 
literary  world. 

As  soon  as  a  party  was  made  up,  one  of  these 
beggars,  quite  indispensable  to  the  game,  was  sum- 
moned. He  received  five  kopecks  for  a  whole  night's 
employment ;  and  what  employment  it  was  !  His  duty 
was  to  keep  guard  in  the  vestibule,  with  thirty  degrees 
(Reaumur)  of  frost,  in  total  darkness,  for  six  or  seven 
hours.  The  man  on  watch  had  to  listen  for  the 
slightest  noise,  for  the  Major  or  one  of  the  other 
officers  of  the  guard  would  sometimes  make  a  round 
rather  late  in  the  night.  They  arrived  secretly,  and 
sometimes  discovered  the  players  and  the  watchers  in 
the  act — thanks  to  the  light  of  the  candles,  which 
could  be  seen  from  the  court- yard. 

When  the  key  was  heard  grinding  in  the  padlock 
which  closed  the  gate,  it  was  too  late  to  put  the  lights 
out  and  lie  down  on  the  plank  bedsteads.  Such  sur- 
prises were,  however,  rare.  Five  kopecks  was  a  ridicu- 
lous payment  even  in  our  convict  prison,  and  the 
exigency  and  hardness  of  the  gamblers  astonished  me 
in  this  as  in  many  cases  :  "  You  are  paid,  you  must  do 
what  you  are  told."  This  was  the  argument,  and  it 
admitted  of  no  reply.  To  have  paid  a  few  kopecks  to 


70  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

any  one  gave  the  right  to  turn  him  to  the  best  possible 
account,  and  even  to  claim  his  gratitude.  More  than 
once  it  happened  to  me  to  see  the  convicts  spend  their 
money  extravagantly,  throwing  it  away  on  all  sides, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  cheat  the  man  employed  to  watch, 
I  have  seen  this  in  several  barracks  on  many  occasions. 

I  have  already  said  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
gamblers,  every  one  worked.  Five  only  of  the  convicts 
remained  completely  idle,  and  went  to  bed  on  the  first 
opportunity.  My  sleeping  place  was  near  the  door. 
Next  to  me  was  Akim  Akimitch,  and  when  we  were 
lying  down  our  heads  touched.  He  used  to  work 
until  ten  or  eleven  at  making,  by  pasting  together 
pieces  of  paper,  multicolour  lanterns,  which  some  one 
living  in  the  town  had  ordered  from  him,  and  for 
which  he  used  to  be  well  paid.  He  excelled  in  this 
kind  of  work,  and  did  it  methodically  and  regularly. 
When  he  had  finished  he  put  away  carefully  his 
tools,  unfolded  his  mattress,  said  his  prayers,  and  went 
to  sleep  with  the  sleep  of  the  just.  He  carried  his 
love  of  order  even  to  pedantry,  and  must  have  thought 
himself  in  his  inner  heart  a  man  of  brains,  as  is  gene- 
rally the  case  with  narrow,  mediocre  persons.  I  did  not 
like  him  the  first  day,  although  he  gave  me  much  to 
think  of.  I  was  astonished  that  such  a  man  could  be 
found  in  a  convict  prison.  I  shall  speak  of  Akimitch 
further  on  in  the  course  of  this  book. 

But  I  must  now  continue  to  describe  the  persons  with 
whom  I  was  to  live  a  number  of  years.  Those  who  sur- 
rounded me  were  to  be  my  companions  every  minute, 
and  it  will  be  understood  that  I  looked  upon  them  with 
anxious  curiosity. 

On  my  left  slept  a  band  of  mountaineers  from  the 
Caucasus,  nearly  all  exiled  for  brigandage,  but  con- 
demned to  different  punishments.  There  were  two 
Lesghians,  a  Circassian,  and  three  Tartars  from 
Daghestan.  The  Circassian  was  a  morose  and  sombre 
person.  He  scarcely  ever  spoke,  and  looked  at  you  side- 
ways with  a  sly,  sulky,  wild-beast-like  expression.  One 
of  the  Lesghians,  an  old  man  with  an  aquiline  nose,  tall 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  71 

and  thin,  seemed  to  be  a  true  brigand ;  but  the  other 
Lesghian,  Nourra  by  name,  made  a  most  favourable 
impression  upon  me.  Of  middle  height,  still  young, 
built  like  a  Hercules,  with  fair  hair  and  violet  eyes  ;  he 
had  a  slightly  turned  up  nose,  while  his  features  were 
somewhat  of  a  Finnish  cast.  Like  all  horsemen,  he  walked 
with  his  toes  in.  His  body  was  striped  with  scars, 

Eloughed  by  bayonet  wounds  and  bullets.  Although  he 
elonged  to  the  conquered  part  of  the  Caucasus,  he  had 
joined  the  rebels,  with  whom  he  used  to  make  continual 
incursions  into  our  territory.  Every  one  liked  him  in  the 
prison  by  reason  of  his  gaiety  and  affability.  He  worked 
without  murmuring,  always  calm  and  peaceful.  Thieving, 
cheating,  and  drunkenness  filled  him  with  disgust,  or 
put  him  in  a  rage — not  that  he  wished  to  quarrel  with 
any  one ;  he  simply  turned  away  with  indignation.  During 
his  confinement  he  committed  no  breach  of  the  rules. 
Fervently  pious,  he  said  his  prayers  religiously  every 
evening,  observed  all  the  Mohammedan  fasts  like  a  true 
fanatic,  and  passed  whole  nights  in  prayer.  Every  one 
liked  him,  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  thoroughly  honest 
man.  "  Nourra  is  a  lion,"  said  the  convicts ;  and  the 
name  of  "  Lion  "  stuck  to  him.  He  was  quite  convinced 
that  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  sentence  he  would  be 
sent  to  the  Caucasus.  Indeed,  he  only  lived  by  this 
hope,  and  I  believe  he  would  have  died  had  he  been 
deprived  of  it.  I  noticed  it  the  very  day  of  my  arrival. 
How  was  it  possible  not  to  distinguish  this  calm,  honest 
face  in  the  midst  of  so  many  sombre,  sardonic,  repulsive 
countenances ! 

Before  I  had  been  half-an-hour  in  the  prison,  he 
passed  by  my  side  and  touched  me  gently  on  the  shoulder, 
smiling  at  the  same  time  with  an  innocent  air.  I  did  not 
at  first  understand  what  he  meant,  for  he  spoke  Russian 
very  badly  ;  but  soon  afterwards  he  passed  again,  arid, 
with  a  friendly  smile,  again  touched  me  on  the  shoulder. 
For  three  days  running  he  repeated  this  strange  pro- 
ceeding. As  I  soon  found  out,  he  wanted  to  show  me 
that  he  pitied  me,  and  that  he  felt  how  painful  the 
first  moment  of  imprisonment  must  be.  He  wanted  to 


72  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

testify  his  sympathy,  to  keep  up  my  spirits,  and  to  assure 
me  of  his  good-will.  Kind  and  innocent  Nourra ! 

Of  the  three  Tartars  from  Daghestan,  all  brothers, 
the  two  eldest  were  well-developed  men,  while  the 
youngest,  Ali,  was  not  more  than  twenty-two,  and  looked 
younger.  He  slept  by  my  side,  and  when  I  observed  his 
frank,  intelligent  countenance,  thoroughly  natural,  I 
was  at  once  attracted  to  him,  and  thanked  my  fate 
that  I  had  him  for  a  neighbour  in  place  of  some  other 
prisoner.  His  whole  soul  could  be  read  in  his  beaming 
countenance.  His  confident  smile  had  a  certain  childish 
simplicity  ;  his  large  black  eyes  expressed  such  friendli- 
ness, such  tender  feeling,  that  I  always  took  a  pleasure 
in  looking  at  him.  It  was  a  relief  to  me  in  moments  of 
sadness  and  anguish.  One  day  his  eldest  brother — he 
had  five,  of  whom  two  were  working  in  the  mines  of 
Siberia — had  ordered  him  to  take  his  yataghan,  to  get  on 
horseback,  and  follow  him.  The  respect  of  the  moun- 
taineers for  their  elders  is  so  great  that  young  Ali  did 
not  dare  to  ask  the  object  of  the  expedition.  He 
probably  knew  nothing  about  it,  nor  did  his  brothers  con- 
sider it  necessary  to  tell  him.  They  were  going  to  plunder 
the  caravan  of  a  rich  Armenian  merchant,  and  they 
succeeded  in  their  enterprise.  They  assassinated  the 
merchant  and  stole  his  goods.  Unhappily  for  them, 
their  act  of  brigandage  was  discovered.  They  were  tried, 
flogged,  and  then  sent  to  hard  labour  in  Siberia.  The 
Court  admitted  no  extenuating  circumstances,  except  in 
the  case  of  Ali.  He  was  condemned  to  the  minimum 
punishment — four  years'  confinement.  These  brothers 
loved  him,  their  affection  being  paternal  rather  than 
fraternal.  He  was  the  only  consolation  of  their  exile. 
Dull  and  sad  as  a  rule,  they  had  always  a  smile  for  him 
when  they  spoke  to  him,  which  they  rarely  did — for  they 
looked  upon  him  as  a  child  to  whom  it  would  be  useless 
to  speak  seriously — their  forbidding  countenances 
lightened  up.  I  fancied  they  always  spoke  to  him  in  a 
jocular  tone,  as  to  an  infant.  When  he  replied,  the 
brothers  exchanged  glances,  and  smiled  good-naturedly. 

He  would  not  have  dared  to  speak  to  them  first  by 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  73 

reason  of  his  respect  for  them.  How  this  young  man 
preserved  his  tender  heart,  his  native  honesty,  his  frank 
cordiality  without  getting  perverted  and  corrupted  during 
his  period  of  hard  labour,  is  quite  inexplicable.  In  spite 
of  his  gentleness,  he  had  a  strong  stoical  nature,  as  I 
afterwards  saw.  Chaste  as  a  young  girl,  everything  that 
was  foul,  cynical,  shameful,  or  unjust  filled  his  fine  black 
eyes  with  indignation,  and  made  them  finer  than  ever. 
Without  being  a  coward,  he  would  allow  himself  to  be 
insulted  with  impunity.  He  avoided  quarrels  and  insults, 
and  preserved  all  his  dignity.  With  whom,  indeed,  was 
he  to  quarrel  ?  Every  one  loved  him,  caressed  him. 

At  first  he  was  only  polite  to  me  ;  but  little  by  little 
we  got  into  the  habit  of  talking  together  in  the  evening, 
and  in  a  few  months  he  had  learnt  to  speak  Russian  per- 
fectly, whereas  his  brothers  never  gained  a  correct  know- 
ledge of  the  language.  He  was  intelligent,  and  at  the 
same  time  modest  and  full  of  delicate  feeling. 

Ali  was  an  exceptional  being,  and  I  always  think  of 
my  meeting  him  as  one  of  the  lucky  things  in  my  life. 
There  are  some  natures  so  spontaneously  good  and 
endowed  by  God  with  such  great  qualities  that  the  idea 
of  their  getting  perverted  seems  absurd.  One  is  always 
at  ease  about  them.  Accordingly  I  had  never  any  fears 
about  Ali.  Where  is  he  now  ? 

One  day,  a  considerable  time  after  my  arrival  at  the 
convict  prison,  I  was  stretched  out  on  my  camp-bed- 
stead agitated  by  painful  thoughts.  Ali,  always  in- 
dustrious, was  not  working  at  this  moment.  His  time 
for  going  to  bed  had  not  arrived.  The  brothers  were 
celebrating  some  Mussulman  festival,  and  were  not  work- 
ing. Ali  was  lying  down  with  his  head  between  his 
hands  in  a  state  of  reverie.  Suddenly  he  said  to  me  : 

"  Well,  you  are  very  sad  !  " 

I  looked  at  him  with  curiosity.  Such  a  remark 
from  Ali,  always  so  delicate,  so  full  of  tact,  seemed 
strange.  But  I  looked  at  him  more  attentively,  and  saw 
so  much  grief,  so  much  repressed  suffering  in  his  counte- 
nance— of  suffering  caused  no  doubt  by  sudden  recol- 
lections— that  I  understood  in  what  pain  he  must  be,  and 


74  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

said  so  to  him.  He  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and  smiled  with 
a  melancholy  air.  I  always  liked  his  graceful,  agreeable 
smile.  When  he  laughed,  he  showed  two  rows  of  teeth 
which  the  first  beauty  in  the  world  would  have  envied 
him, 

"  You  were  probably  thinking,  Ali,  how  this  festival 
is  celebrated  in  Daghestan.  Ah,  you  were  happy 
there ! " 

"Yes,"  he  replied  with  enthusiasm,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled.  "  How  did  you  know  I  was  thinking  of  such 
things  ?  " 

"  How  was  I  not  to  know  ?  You  were  much  better 
off  than  you  are  here." 

"Why  do  you  say  that  ?" 

"  What  beautiful  flowers  there  are  in  your  country  ! 
Is  it  not  so  ?  It  is  a  true  paradise." 

"  Be  silent,  please/' 

He  was  much  agitated. 

"  Listen,  Ali.     Had  you  a  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 

"  She  must  have  been  very  beautiful  if  she  is  like 
you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  comparison  to  make  between  us. 
In  all  Daghestan  no  such  beautiful  girl  is  to  be  seen.  My 
sister  is,  indeed,  charming.  I  am  sure  that  you  have 
never  seen  any  one  like  her.  My  mother  also  is  very 
handsome." 

"And  your  mother  was  fond  of  you  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?  Certainly  she  was.  I  am 
sure  that  she  has  died  of  grief,  she  was  so  fond  of  me. 
I  was  her  favourite  child.  Yes,  she  loved  me  more  than 
my  sister,  more  than  all  the  others.  This  very  night  she 
has  appeared  to  me  in  a  dream,  she  shed  tears  for  me." 

He  was  silent,  and  throughout  the  rest  of  the  night  did 
not  open  his  mouth ;  but  from  this  very  moment  he  sought 
my  company  and  my  conversation ;  although  very  respect- 
ful, he  never  allowed  himself  to  address  me  first.  On  the 
other  hand  he  was  happy  when  I  entered  into  conversa- 
tion with  him.  He  spoke  often  of  the  Caucasus,  and  of 
his  past  life.  His  brothers  did  not  forbid  him  to  converse 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  75 

with  me;  I  think  even  that  they  encouraged  him  to  do  so. 
When  they  saw  that  I  had  formed  an  attachment  to  him, 
they  became  more  affable  towards  me. 

AH  often  helped  me  in  my  work.  In  the  barrack  he 
did  whatever  he  thought  would  be  agreeable  to  me,  and 
would  save  me  trouble.  In  his  attentions  to  me  there 
was  neither  servility  nor  the  hope  of  any  advantage,  but 
only  a  warm,  cordial  feeling,  which  he  did  not  try  to  hide. 
He  had  an  extraordinary  aptitude  for  the  mechanical 
arts.  He  had  learnt  to  sew  very  tolerably,  and  to  mend 
boots ;  he  even  understood  a  little  carpentering — every- 
thing in  short  that  could  be  learnt  at  the  convict  prison. 
His  brothers  were  proud  of  him. 

"  Listen,  All,"  I  said  to  him  one  day,  "  why  don't  you 
learn  to  read  and  write  the  Eussian  language,  it  might 
be  very  useful  to  you  here  in  Siberia  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  do  so,  but  who  would  teach  me  ?  " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  people  here  who  can  read  and 
write.  I  myself  will  teach  you  if  you  like." 

"Oh,  do  teach  me,  I  beg  of  you/'  said  Ali,  raising 
himself  up  in  bed  ;  he  joined  his  hands  and  looked  at  me 
with  a  suppliant  air. 

We  went  to  work  the  very  next  evening.  I  had  with 
me  a  Russian  translation  of  the  New  Testament,  the 
only  book  that  was  not  forbidden  in  the  prison.  With 
this  book  alone,  without  an  alphabet,  Ali  learnt  to  read  in 
a  few  weeks,  and  after  a  few  months  he  could  read 
perfectly.  He  brought  to  his  studies  extraordinary  zeal 
and  warmth. 

One  day  we  were  reading  together  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  I  noticed  that  he  read  certain  passages  with 
much  feeling ;  and  I  asked  him  if  he  was  pleased  with 
what  he  read.  He  glanced  at  me,  and  his  face  suddenly 
lighted  up. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Jesus  is  a  holy  prophet.  He  speaks  the 
language  of  God.  How  beautiful  it  is  ! " 

"But  tell  me  what  it  is  that  particularly  pleases 
you." 

"  The  passage  in  which  it  is  said,  ( Forgive  those  that 
hate  you  ! '  Ah  !  how  divinely  He  speaks  !  " 


76  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

He  turned  towards  his  brothers,  who  were  listening 
to  our  conversation,  and  said  to  them  with  warmth  a  few 
words.  They  talked  together  seriously  for  some  time, 
giving  their  approval  of  what  their  young  brother  had 
said  by  a  nodding  of  the  head.  Then  with  a  grave, 
kindly  smile,  quite  a  Mussulman  smile  (I  liked  the  gravity 
of  this  smile),  they  assured  me  that  Isu  [Jesus]  was  a 
great  prophet.  He  had  done  great  miracles.  He  had 
created  a  bird  with  a  little  clay  on  which  he  breathed  the 
breath  of  life,  and  the  bird  had  then  flown  away.  That, 
they  said,  was  written  in  their  books.  They  were 
convinced  that  they  would  please  me  much  by  praising 
Jesus.  As  for  Ali,  he  was  happy  to  see  that  his  brothers 
approved  of  our  friendship,  and  that  they  were  giving 
me,  what  he  thought  would  be,  grateful  words.  The 
success  I  had  with  my  pupil  in  teaching  him  to  write, 
was  really  extraordinary.  Ali  had  bought  paper  at  his 
own  expense,  for  he  would  not  allow  me  to  purchase  any, 
also  pens  and  ink  j  and  in  less  than  two  months  he  had 
learnt  to  write.  His  brothers  were  astonished  at  such  rapid 
progress.  Their  satisfaction  and  their  pride  were  without 
bounds.  They  did  not  know  how  to  show  me  enough 
gratitude.  At  the  workshop,  if  we  happened  to  be 
together,  there  were  disputes  as  to  which  of  them  should 
help  me.  I  do  not  speak  of  Ali,  he  felt  for  me  more 
affection  than  even  for  his  brothers.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  day  on  which  he  was  liberated.  He  went  with  me 
outside  the  barracks,  threw  himself  on  my  neck  and 
sobbed.  He  had  never  embraced  me  before,  and  had 
never  before  wept  in  my  presence. 

' '  You  have  done  so  much  for  me/'  he  said  ;  "  neither 
my  father  nor  my  mother  have  ever  been  kinder.  You 
have  made  a  man  of  me.  God  will  bless  you,  I  shall  never 
forget  you,  never  1 " 

Where  is  he  now,  where  is  my  good,  kind,  dear  Ali  ? 

Besides  the  Circassians,  we  had  a  certain  number  of 
Poles,  who  formed  a  separate  group.  They  had  scarcely 
any  relations  with  the  other  convicts.  I  have  already 
said  that,  thanks  to  their  hatred  for  the  Russian  prisoners, 
they  were  detested  by  every  one.  They  were  of  a  restless, 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  77 

morbid  disposition :  there  were  six  of  them,  some  of  them 
men  of  education,  of  whom  I  shall  speak  in  detail  further 
on.  It  was  from  them  that  during  the  last  days  of  my 
imprisonment  I  obtained  a  few  books.  The  first  work  I 
read  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me.  I  shall  speak 
further  on  of  these  sensations,  which  I  look  upon  as  very 
curious,  though  it  will  be  difficult  to  understand  them. 
Of  this  I  am  certain,  for  there  are  certain  things  as  to 
which  one  cannot  judge  without  having  experienced  them 
oneself.  It  will  be  enough  for  me  to  say  that  intellectual 
privations  are  more  difficult  to  support  than  the  most 
frightful,  physical  tortures. 

A  common  man  sent  to  hard  labour  finds  himself  in 
kindred  society,  perhaps  even  in  a  more  interesting  society 
than  he  has  been  accustomed  to.  He  loses  his  native  place, 
his  family;  but  his  ordinary  surroundings  are  much  the 
same  as  before.  A  man  of  education,  condemned  by  law 
to  the  same  punishment  as  the  common  man,  suffers  in- 
comparably more.  He  must  stifle  all  his  needs,  all  his 
habits,  he  must  descend  into  a  lower  sphere,  must  breathe 
another  air.  He  is  like  a  fish  thrown  upon  the  sand. 
The  punishment  that  he  undergoes,  equal  for  all  criminals 
according  to  the  law,  is  ten  times  more  severe  and  more 
painful  for  him  than  for  the  common  man.  This  is  an 
incontestable  truth,  even  if  one  thinks  only  of  the  material 
habits  that  have  to  be  sacrificed. 

I  was  saying  that  the  Poles  formed  a  group  by  them- 
selves. They  lived  together,  and  of  all  the  convicts  in 
the  prison,  they  cared  only  for  a  Jew,  and  for  no  other 
reason  than  because  he  amused  them.  Our  Jew  was 
generally  liked,  although  every  one  laughed  at  him.  We 
only  had  one,  and  even  now  I  cannot  think  of  him  with- 
out laughing.  Whenever  I  looked  at  him  I  thought  of  the 
Jew  Jankel,  whom  Gogol  describes  in  his  Tarass  Boulba, 
and  who,  when  undressed  and  ready  to  go  to  bed  with  his 
Jewess  in  a  sort  of  cupboard,  resembled  a  fowl;  but  Isaiah 
Fomitch  Bumstein  and  a  plucked  fowl  were  as  like  one 
another  as  two  drops  of  water.  He  was  already  of  a 
certain  age — about  fifty — small,  feeble,  cunning,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  very  stupid,  bold,  and  boastful,  though 


78  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

a  horrible  coward.  His  face  was  covered  with  wrinkles, 
his  forehead  and  cheeks  were  scarred  from  the  burning  he 
had  received  in  the  pillory.  I  never  understood  how  he 
had  been  able  to  support  the  sixty  strokes  he  received. 

He  had  been  sentenced  for  murder.  He  carried  on 
his  person  a  medical  prescription  which  had  been  given 
to  him  by  other  Jews  immediately  after  his  exposure  in 
the  pillory.  Thanks  to  the  ointment  prescribed,  the  scars 
were  to  disappear  in  less  than  a  fortnight.  He  had  been 
afraid  to  use  it.  He  was  waiting  for  the  expiration  of  his 
twenty  years  (after  which  he  would  become  a  colonist)  in 
order  to  utilise  his  famous  remedy. 

"  Otherwise  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  married,"  he 
would  say  ;  "  and  I  must  absolutely  marry/' 

We  were  great  friends :  his  good-humour  was  inex- 
haustible. The  life  of  the  convict  prison  did  not  seem  to 
disagree  with  him.  A  goldsmith  by  trade,  he  received  more 
orders  than  he  could  execute,  for  there  was  no  jeweller's 
shop  in  our  town.  He  thus  escaped  his  hard  labour.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  he  lent  money  on  pledges  to  the  convicts, 
who  paid  him  heavy  interest.  He  arrived  at  the  prison 
before  I  did.  One  of  the  Poles  related  to  me  his 
triumphal  entry.  It  is  quite  a  history,  which  I  shall  relate 
further  on,  for  I  shall  often  have  to  speak  of  Isaiah 
Fomitch  Bumstein. 

As  for  the  other  prisoners  there  were,  first  of  all,  four 
"old  believers,"  among  whom  was  the  old  man  from 
Starodoub,  two  or  three  Little  Kussians,  very  morose 
persons,  and  a  young  convict  with  delicate  features  and  a 
finely- chiselled  nose,  about  twenty-three  years  of  age,  who 
had  already  committed  eight  murders  ;  besides  a  band  of 
coiners,  one  of  whom  was  the  buffoon  of  our  barracks ; 
and,  finally,  some  sombre,  sour-tempered  convicts,  shorn 
and  disfigured,  always  silent,  and  full  of  envy.  They 
looked  askance  at  all  who  came  near  them,  and 
must  have  continued  to  do  so  during  a  long  course 
of  years.  I  saw  all  this  superficially  on  the  first 
night  of  my  arrival,  in  the  midst  of  thick  smoke,  in  a 
mephitic  atmosphere,  amid  obscene  oaths,  accompanied 
by  the  rattling  of  chains,  by  insults,  and  cynical  laughter. 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  79 

I  stretched  myself  out  on  the  bare  planks,  my  head 
resting  on  my  coat,  rolled  up  to  do  duty  in  lieu  of  a 
pillow,  not  yet  supplied  to  me.  Then  I  covered  myself 
with  my  sheepskin,  but,  thanks  to  the  painful  impression 
of  this  evening,  I  was  unable  for  some  time  to  get  to 
sleep.  My  new  life  was  only  just  beginning.  The  future 
reserved  for  me  many  things  which  I  had  not  foreseen, 
and  of  which  I  had  never  the  least  idea. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    FIRST   MONTH 

THREE  days  after  my  arrival  I  was  ordered  to 
go  to  work.     The  impression  left  upon  me  to 
this  day  is  still  very  clear,  although  there 
was    nothing    very    striking    in    it,    unless 
one  considers  that  my  position  was  in  itself  extraordinary. 
The  first  sensations  count  for  a  good  deal,  and  I  as  yet 
looked  upon  everything  with  curiosity.     My  first  three 
days  were  certainly  the  most  painful  of  all  my  terms  of 
imprisonment. 

My  wandering  is  at  an  end,  I  said  to  myself  every 
moment.  I  am  now  in  the  convict  prison,  my  resting- 
place  for  many  years.  Here  is  where  I  am  to  live.  I 
come  here  full  of  grief,  who  knows  that  when  I  leave  it 
I  shall  not  do  so  with  regret  ?  I  said  this  to  myself  as 
one  touches  a  wound,  the  better  to  feel  its  pain.  The 
idea  that  I  might  regret  my  stay  was  terrible  to  me. 
Already  I  felt  to  what  an  intolerable  degree  man  is  a 
creature  of  habit,  but  this  was  a  matter  of  the  future. 
The  present,  meanwhile,  was  terrible  enough. 

The  wild  curiosity  with  which  my  convict  companions 
examined  me,  their  harshness  towards  a  former  noble- 
man now  entering  into  their  corporation,  a  harshness 
which  sometimes  took  the  form  of  hatred — all  this 
tormented  me  to  such  a  degree  that  I  felt  obliged  of  my 
own  accord  to  go  to  work  in  order  to  measure  at  one 
stroke  the  whole  extent  of  my  misfortune,  that  I  might  at 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  81 

once  begin  to  live  like  the  others,  and  fall  with  them  into 
the  same  abyss. 

But  convicts  differ,  and  I  had  not  yet  disentangled 
from  the  general  hostility  the  sympathy  here  and 
there  manifested  towards  me. 

After  a  time  the  affability  and  good- will  shown  to 
me  by  certain  convicts  gave  me  a  little  courage,  and 
restored  my  spirits.  Most  friendly  among  them  was 
Akim  Akimitch.  I  soon  noticed  some  kind,  good- 
natured  faces  in  the  dark  and  hateful  crowd.  Bad 
people  are  to  be  found  everywhere,  but  even  among  the 
worst  there  may  be  something  good,  I  began  to  think, 
by  way  of  consolation.  Who  knows  ?  These  persons  are 
perhaps  not  worse  than  others  who  are  free.  While 
making  these  reflections  I  felt  some  doubts,  and,  never- 
theless, how  much  I  was  in  the  right ! 

The  convict  Suchiloff,  for  example;  a  man  whose 
acquaintance  I  did  not  make  until  long  afterwards, 
although  he  was  near  me  during  nearly  the  whole  period 
of  my  confinement.  Whenever  I  speak  of  the  convicts 
who  are  not  worse  than  other  men,  my  thoughts  turn 
involuntarily  to  him.  He  acted  as  my  servant,  together 
with  another  prisoner  named  Osip,  whom  Akim  Akimitch 
had  recommended  to  me  immediately  after  my  arrival. 
For  thirty  kopecks  a  month  this  man  agreed  to  cook  me 
a  separate  dinner,  in  case  I  should  not  be  able  to  put  up 
with  the  ordinary  prison  fare,  and  should  be  able  to  pay 
for  my  own  food.  Osip  was  one  of  the  four  cooks  chosen 
by  the  prisoners  in  our  two  kitchens.  I  may  observe 
that  they  were  at  liberty  to  refuse  these  duties,  and  give 
them  up  whenever  they  might  think  fit.  The  cooks 
were  men  from  whom  hard  labour  was  not  expected. 
They  had  to  bake  bread  and  prepare  the  cabbage  soup. 
They  were  called  "  cook-maids,"  not  from  contempt,  for 
the  men  chosen  were  always  the  most  intelligent,  but 
merely  in  fun.  The  name  given  to  them  did  not  annoy 
them. 

For  many  years  past  Osip  had  been  constantly 
selected  as  "cook-maid."  He  never  refused  the  duty 
except  when  he  was  out  of  sorts,  or  when  he  saw  an 


82  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

opportunity  of  getting  spirits  into  the  barracks.  Although 
he  had  been  sent  to  the  convict  prison  as  a  smuggler, 
he  was  remarkably  honest  and  good-tempered  (I  have 
spoken  of  him  before) ;  at  the  same  time  he  was  a  dreadful 
coward,  and  feared  the  rod  above  all  things.  Of  a  peaceful, 
patient  disposition,  affable  with  everybody,  he  never  got 
into  quarrels  ;  but  he  could  never  resist  the  temptation 
of  bringing  spirits  in,  notwithstanding  his  cowardice,  and 
simply  from  his  love  of  smuggling.  Like  all  the  other 
cooks  he  dealt  in  spirits,  but  on  a  much  less  extensive 
scale  than  Gazin,  because  he  was  afraid  of  running  the 
same  risks.  I  always  lived  on  good  terms  with  Osip. 
To  have  a  separate  table  it  was  not  necessary  to  be  very 
rich  ;  it  cost  me  only  one  rouble  a  month  apart  from  the 
bread,  which  was  given  to  us.  Sometimes  when  I  was 
very  hungry  I  made  up  my  mind  to  eat  the  cabbage  soup, 
in  spite  of  the  disgust  with  which  it  generally  filled  me. 
After  a  time  this  disgust  entirely  disappeared.  I 
generally  bought  one  pound  of  meat  a  day,  which  cost 
me  two  kopecks— ^[5  kopecks  =  2  pence.] 

The  old  soldiers,  who  watched  over  the  internal 
discipline  of  the  barracks,  were  ready,  good-naturedly,  to 
go  every  day  to  the  market  to  make  purchases  for  the 
convicts.  For  this  they  received  no  pay, except  from  time  to 
time  a  trifling  present.  They  did  it  for  the  sake  of  their 
peace;  their  life  in  the  convict  prison  would  have  been  a 
perpetual  torment  had  they  refused.  They  used  to  bring 
in  tobacco,  tea,  meat — everything,  in  short,  that  was 
desired,  always  excepting  spirits. 

For  many  years  Osip  prepared  for  me  every  day  a 
piece  of  roast  meat.  How  he  managed  to  get  it  cooked 
was  a  secret.  What  was  strangest  in  the  matter  was, 
that  during  all  this  time  I  scarcely  exchanged  two  words 
with  him.  I  tried  many  times  to  make  him  talk,  but  he 
was  incapable  of  keeping  up  a  conversation.  He  would 
only  smile  and  answer  my  questions  by  "  yes  "  or  "  no."  He 
was  a  Hercules,  but  he  had  no  more  intelligence  than  a 
child  of  seven. 

Suchiloff  was  also  one  of  those  who  helped  me.  I 
had  never  asked  him  to  do  so,  he  attached  himself  to  me 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  83 

on  his  own  account,  and  I  scarcely  remember  when  he 
began  to  do  so.  His  principal  duty  consisted  in  washing 
my  linen.  For  this  purpose  there  was  a  basin  in  the 
middle  of  the  court-yard,  round  which  the  convicts 
washed  their  clothes  in  prison  buckets. 

Suchiloff  had  found  means  for  rendering  me  a  number 
of  little  services.  He  boiled  my  tea-urn,  ran  right  and 
left  to  perform  various  commissions  for  me,  got  me  all 
kinds  of  things,  mended  my  clothes,  and  greased  my 
boots  four  times  a  month.  He  did  all  this  in  a  zealous 
manner,  with  a  business-like  air,  as  if  he  felt  all  the 
weight  of  the  duties  he  was  performing.  He  seemed 
quite  to  have  joined  his  fate  to  mine,  and  occupied  him- 
self with  all  my  affairs.  He  never  said :  "  You  have  so 
many  shirts,  or  your  waistcoat  is  torn  ; "  but,  "  We  have 
so  many  shirts,  and  our  waistcoat  is  torn."  I  had  some- 
how inspired  him  with  admiration,  and  I  really  believe 
that  I  had  become  his  sole  care  in  life.  As  he  knew  no 
trade  whatever  his  only  source  of  income  was  from  me, 
and  it  must  be  understood  that  I  paid  him  very  little ; 
but  he  was  always  pleased,  whatever  he  might  receive. 
He  would  have  been  without  means  had  he  not  been  a 
servant  of  mine,  and  he  gave  me  the  preference  because 
I  was  more  affable  than  the  others,  and,  above  all,  more 
equitable  in  money  matters.  He  was  one  of  those  beings 
who  never  get  rich,  and  never  know  how  to  manage 
their  affairs ;  one  of  those  in  the  prison  who  were  hired 
by  the  gamblers  to  watch  all  night  in  the  ante-chamber, 
listening  for  the  least  noise  that  might  announce  the 
arrival  of  the  Major.  If  there  was  a  night  visit  they 
received  nothing,  indeed  their  back  paid  for  their  want 
of  attention.  One  thing  which  marks  this  kind  of  men 
is  their  entire  absence  of  individuality,  which  they  seem 
entirely  to  have  lost. 

Suchiloff  was  a  poor,  meek  fellow;  all  the  courage 
seemed  to  have  been  beaten  out  of  him,  although  he 
had  in  reality  been  born  meek.  For  nothing  in  the 
world  would  he  have  raised  his  hand  against  any  one  in 
the  prison.  I  always  pitied  him  without  knowing  why. 
I  could  not  look  at  him  without  feeling  the  deepest 


84  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

compassion  for  him.  If  asked  to  explain  this,  I  should 
find  it  impossible  to  do  so.  I  could  never  get  him  to 
talk,  and  he  never  became  animated,  except  when,  to  put 
an  end  to  all  attempts  at  conversation,  I  gave  him 
something  to  do,  or  told  him  to  go  somewhere  for  me. 
I  soon  found  that  he  loved  to  be  ordered  about.  Neither 
tall  nor  short,  neither  ugly  nor  handsome,  neither  stupid 
nor  intelligent,  neither  old  nor  young,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  describe  in  any  definite  manner  this  man, 
except  that  his  face  was  slightly  pitted  with  the  small- 
pox, and  that  he  had  fair  hair.  He  belonged,  as  far  as 
I  could  make  out,  to  the  same  company  as  Sirotkin. 
The  prisoners  sometimes  laughed  at  him  because  he 
had  "exchanged."  During  the  march  to  Siberia  he 
had  exchanged  for  a  red  shirt  and  a  silver  rouble.  It 
was  thought  comical  that  he  should  have  sold  himself 
for  such  a  small  sum,  to  take  the  name  of  another 
prisoner  in  place  of  his  own,  and  consequently  to  accept 
the  other's  sentence.  Strange  as  it  may  appear  it  was 
nevertheless  true.  This  custom,  which  had  become 
traditional,  and  still  existed  at  the  time  I  was  sent  to 
Siberia,  I,  at  first,  refused  to  believe,  but  found  after- 
wards that  it  really  existed.  This  is  how  the  exchange 
was  effected  : 

A  company  of  prisoners  started  for  Siberia.  Among 
them  there  are  exiles  of  all  kinds,  some  condemned  to  hard 
labour,  others  to  labour  in  the  mines,  others  to  simple 
colonisation.  On  the  way  out,  no  matter  at  what  stage 
of  the  journey,  in  the  Government  of  Perm,  for  instance, 
a  prisoner  wishes  to  exchange  with  another  man,  who—- 
we will  say  he  is  named  Mikhailoff — has  been  condemned 
to  hard  labour  for  a  capital  offence,  and  does  not  like  the 
prospect  of  passing  long  years  without  his  liberty.  He 
knows,  in  his  cunning,  what  to  do.  He  looks  among  his 
comrades  for  some  simple,  weak-minded  fellow,  whose 
punishment  is  less  severe,  who  has  been  condemned  to  a 
few  years  in  the  mines,  or  to  hard  labour,  or  has  perhaps 
been  simply  exiled.  At  last  he  finds  such  a  man  as 
Suchiloff,  a  former  serf,  sentenced  only  to  become  a 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  85 

colonist.  The  man  has  made  fifteen  hundred  versts 
[about  one  thousand  miles]  without  a  kopeck,  for  the 
good  reason  that  a  Suchiloff  is  always  without  money ; 
fatigued,  exhausted,  he  can  get  nothing  to  eat  beyond 
the  fixed  rations,  nothing  to  wear  in  addition  to  the 
convict  uniform. 

Mikhailoff  gets  into  conversation  with  Suchiloff,  they 
suit  one  another,  and  they  strike  up  a  friendship.  At  last 
at  some  station  Mikhailoff  makes  his  comrade  drunk,  then 
he  will  ask  him  if  he  will  "  exchange." 

"My  uame  is  Mikhailoff,"  he  says  to  him,  "con- 
demned to  what  is  called  hard  labour,  but  which,  in  my 
own  case,  will  be  nothing  of  the  kind,  as  I  am  to  enter  a 
particular  special  section.  I  am  classed  with  the  hard- 
labour  men,  but  in  my  special  division  the  labour  is  not 
so  severe/' 

Before  the  special  section  was  abolished,  many  persons 
in  the  official  world,  even  at  St.  Petersburg,  were  unaware 
even  of  its  existence.  It  was  in  such  a  retired  corner  of 
one  of  the  most  distant  regions  of  Siberia,  that  it  was 
difficult  to  know  anything  about  it.  It  was  insignificant, 
moreover,  from  the  number  of  persons  belonging  to  it. 
In  my  time  they  numbered  altogether  only  seventy.  I 
have  since  met  men  who  have  served  in  Siberia,  and  know 
the  country  well,  and  yet  have  never  heard  of  the  "  special 
section."  In  the  rules  and  regulations  there  are  only  six 
lines  about  this  institution.  Attached  to  the  convict 

prison  of is  a  special  section  reserved  for  the  most 

dangerous  criminals,  while  the  severest  labours  are  being 
prepared  for  them.  The  prisoners  themselves  knew 
nothing  of  this  special  section.  Did  it  exist  temporarily 
or  constantly  ?  Neither  Suchiloff  nor  any  of  the  prisoners 
being  sent  out,  not  Mikhailoff  himself  could  guess  the 
significance  of  those  two  words.  Mikhailoff,  however, 
had  his  suspicion  as  to  the  true  character  of  this  section. 
He  formed  his  opinion  from  the  gravity  of  the  crime  for 
which  he  was  made  to  march  three  or  four  thousand 
versts  on  foot.  It  was  certain  that  he  was  not  being  sent 
to  a  place  where  he  would  be  at  his  ease.  Suchiloff  was 


86  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

to  be  a  colonist.  What  could  Mikhail  off  desire  better 
than  that  ? 

"  Won't  you  change  ?  "  he  asks.  Suchiloff  is  a  little 
drunk,  he  is  a  simple-minded  man,  full  of  gratitude  to 
the  comrade  who  entertains  him,  and  dare  not  refuse ;  he 
has  heard,  moreover,  from  other  prisoners,  that  these  ex- 
changes are  made,  and  understands,  therefore,  that  there 
is  nothing  extraordinary,  unheard-of,  in  the  proposition 
made  to  him.  An  agreement  is  come  to,  the  cunning 
Mikhailoff,  profiting  by  Suchiloff' s  simplicity,  buys  his 
name  for  a  red  shirt,  and "  a  silver  rouble,  which  are 
given  before  witnesses.  The  next  day  Suchiloff  is  sober  ; 
but  more  liquor  is  given  to  him.  Then  he  drinks  up  his 
own  rouble,  and  after  a  while  the  red  shirt  has  the  same 
fate. 

"If  you  don't  like  the  bargain  we  made,  give  me 
back  my  money,"  says  Mikhailoff.  But  where  is 
Suchiloff  to  get  a  rouble  ?  If  he  does  not  give  it  back,, 
the  "artel"  [i.e.,  the  association — in  this  case  of  convicts] 
will  force  him  to  keep  his  promise.  The  prisoners  are 
very  sensitive  on  such  points :  he  must  keep  his  promise. 
The  "  artel "  requires  it,  and,  in  case  of  disobedience,  woe 
to  the  offender !  He  will  be  killed,  or  at  least  seriously 
intimidated.  If  indeed  the  "artel"  once  showed  mercy 
to  the  men  who  had  broken  their  word,  there  would  be 
an  end  to  its  existence.  If  the  given  word  can  be  re- 
called, and  the  bargain  put  an  end  to  after  the  stipulated 
sum  has  been  paid,  who  would  be  bound  by  such  an 
agreement?  It  is  a  question  of  life  or  death  for  the 
"  artel."  Accordingly  the  prisoners  are  very  severe  on 
the  point. 

Suchiloff  then  finds  that  it  is  impossible  to  go  back, 
that  nothing  can  save  him,  and  he  accordingly  agrees  to 
all  that  is  demanded  of  him.  The  bargain  is  then  made 
known  to  all  the  convoy,  and  if  denunciations  are  feared, 
the  men  looked  upon  as  suspicious  are  entertained. 
What,  moreover,  does  it  matter  to  the  others  whether 
Mikhailoff  or  Suchiloff  goes  to  the  devil  ?  They  have 
had  gratuitous  drinks,  they  have  been  feasted  for  nothing, 
and  the  secret  is  kept  by  all. 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  87 

At  the  next  station  the  names  are  called.  When 
Mikhailoff's  turn  arrives,  Suchiloff  answers  "present," 
Mikhailoff  replies  "present"  for  Suchiloff,  and  the 
journey  is  continued.  The  matter  is  not  now  even 
talked  about.  At  Tobolsk  the  prisoners  are  told  off. 
Mikhailoff  will  become  a  colonist,  while  Suchiloff  is  sent 
to  the  special  section  under  a  double  escort.  It 
would  be  useless  now  to  cry  out,  to  protest,  for 
what  proof  could  be  given  ?  How  many  years  would 
it  take  to  decide  the  affair,  what  benefit  would  the 
complainant  derive?  Where,  moreover,  are  the  wit- 
nesses ?  They  would  deny  everything,  even  if  they  could 
be  found. 

That  is  how  Suchiloff,  for  a  silver  rouble  and  a  red 
shirt,  came  to  be  sent  to  the  special  section.  The 
prisoners  laughed  at  him,  not  because  he  had  exchanged 
— though  in  general  they  despised  those  who  had  been 
foolish  enough  to  exchange  a  work  that  was  easy  for  a 
work  that  was  hard — but  simply  because  he  had  received 
nothing  for  the  bargain  except  a  red  shirt  and  a  rouble 
— certainly  a  ridiculous  compensation. 

Generally  speaking,  the  exchanges  are  made  for 
relatively  large  sums  ;  several  ten-rouble  notes  sometimes 
change  hands.  But  Suchiloff  was  so  characterless,  so 
insignificant,  so  null,  that  he  could  scarcely  even  be 
laughed  at.  We  lived  a  considerable  time  together,  he 
and  I ;  I  had  got  accustomed  to  him,  and  he  had  formed 
an  attachment  for  me.  One  day,  however — I  can  never 
forgive  myself  for  what  I  did — he  had  not  executed  my 
orders,  and  when  he  came  to  ask  me  for  his  money  I  had 
the  cruelty  to  say  to  him,  "You  don't  forget  to  ask  for 
your  money,  but  you  don't  do  what  you  are  told." 
Suchiloff  remained  silent  and  hastened  to  do  as  he  was 
ordered,  but  he  suddenly  became  very  sad.  Two  days 
passed.  I  could  not  believe  that  what  I  had  said 
to  him  could  affect  him  so  much.  I  knew  that  a 
person  named  Vassilieff  was  claiming  from  him  in  a 
morose  manner  payment  of  a  small  debt.  Suchiloff 
was  probably  short  of  money,  and  did  not  dare  to  ask 
me  for  any. 


88  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"  Suchiloff,  you  wish,  I  think,  to  ask  me  for  some 
money  to  pay  Vassilieff ;  take  this." 

I  was  seated  on  my  camp- bedstead.  Suchiloff  remained 
standing  up  before  me,  much  astonished  that  I  myself 
should  propose  to  give  him  money,  and  that  I  remem- 
bered his  difficult  position ;  the  more  so  as  latterly  he 
had  asked  me  several  times  for  money  in  advance,  and 
could  scarcely  hope  that  I  should  give  him  any  more. 
He  looked  at  the  paper  I  held  out  to  him,  then  looked  at 
me,  turned  sharply  on  his  heel  and  went  out.  I  was  as 
astonished  as  I  could  be.  I  went  out  after  him,  and 
found  him  at  the  back  of  the  barracks.  He  was  stand- 
ing up  with  his  face  against  the  palisade  and  his  arms 
resting  on  the  stakes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Suchiloff?"  I  asked  him. 

He  made  no  reply,  and  to  my  stupefaction  I  saw  that 
he  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears. 

"You  think,  Alexander  Petrovitch,"  he  said,  in  a 
trembling  voice,  in  endeavouring  not  to  look  at  me, 
"  that  I  care  only  for  your  money,  but  I " 

He  turned  away  from  me,  and  struck  the  palisade 
with  his  forehead  and  began  to  sob.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  the  convict  prison  that  I  had  seen  a  man  weep. 
I  had  much  trouble  in  consoling  him,  and  he  afterwards 
served  me,  if  possible,  with  more  zeal  than  ever.  He 
watched  for  my  orders,  but  by  almost  imperceptible 
indications  I  could  see  that  his  heart  would  never  for- 
give me  for  my  reproach.  Meanwhile  other  men  laughed 
at  him  and  teased  him  whenever  the  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself,  and  even  insulted  him  without  his  losing 
his  temper;  on  the  contrary,  he  still  remained  on 
good  terms  with  them.  It  is  indeed  difficult  to 
know  a  man,  even  after  having  lived  long  years  with 
him. 

The  convict  prison  had  not  at  first  for  me  the  signifi- 
cance it  was  afterwards  to  assume.  I  was  at  first,  in 
spite  of  my  attention,  unable  to  understand  many  facts 
which  were  staring  me  in  the  face.  I  was  naturally  first 
struck  by  the  most  salient  points,  but  I  saw  them  from  a 
false  point  of  view,  and  the  only  impression  they  made 


THE  FIE8T  MONTH  89 

upon  me  was  one  of  unmitigated  sadness.  What  con- 
tributed above  all  to  this  result  was  my  meeting  with 

A f,  the  convict  who  had  come  to  the  prison  before 

me,  and  who  had  astonished  me  in  such  a  painful  manner 
during  the  first  few  days.  The  effect  of  his  baseness 
was  to  aggravate  my  moral  suffering,  already  sufficiently 
cruel.  He  offered  the  most  repulsive  example  of  the 
kind  of  degradation  and  baseness  to  which  a  man  may 
fall  when  all  feeling  of  honour  has  perished  within  him. 
This  young  man  of  noble  birth — I  have  spoken  of  him 
before — used  to  repeat  to  the  Major  all  that  was  done  in 
the  barracks,  and  in  doing  so  through  the  Major's  body- 
servant  Fedka.  Here  is  the  man's  history. 

Arrived  at  St.  Petersburg  before  he  had  finished  his 
studies,  after  a  quarrel  with  his  parents,  whom  his  life  of 
debauchery  had  terrified,  he  had  not  shrunk  for  the  sake  of 
money  from  doing  the  work  of  an  informer.  He  did  not 
hesitate  to  sell  the  blood  of  ten  men  in  order  to  satisfy 
his  insatiable  thirst  for  the  grossest  and  most  licentious 
pleasures.  At  last  he  became  so  completely  perverted 
in  the  St.  Petersburg  taverns  and  houses  of  ill-fame,  that 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  take  part  in  an  affair  which  he 
knew  to  be  conceived  in  madness — for  he  was  not  with- 
out intelligence.  He  was  condemned  to  exile  and  ten 
years'  hard  labour  in  Siberia.  One  might  have  thought 
that  such  a  frightful  blow  would  have  shocked  him,  that 
it  would  have  caused  some  reaction  and  brought  about  a 
crisis;  but  he  accepted  his  new  fate  without  the  least 
confusion.  It  did  not  frighten  him;  all  that  he  feared  in 
it  was  the  necessity  of  working,  and  of  giving  up  for 
ever  his  habits  of  debauchery.  The  name  of  convict  had 
no  effect  but  to  prepare  him  for  new  acts  of  baseness,  and 
more  hideous  villainies  than  any  he  had  previously 
perpetrated. 

"  I  am  now  a  convict,  and  can  crawl  at  ease,  without 
shame." 

That  was  the  light  in  which  he  looked  upon  his  new 
position.  I  think  of  this  disgusting  creature  as  of  some 
monstrous  phenomenon.  During  the  many  years  I  have 
lived  in  the  midst  of  murderers,  debauchees,  and  proved 


90  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

rascals,  never  in  my  life  did  I  meet  a  case  of  such 
complete  moral  abasement,  determined  corruption,  and 
shameless  baseness.  Among  us  there  was  a  parricide  of 
noble  birth.  I  have  already  spoken  of  him ;  but  I  could 
see  by  several  signs  that  he  was  much  better  and  more 

humane  than  A f.     During  the  whole  time  of  my 

punishment,  he  was  never  anything  more  in  my  eyes  than 
a  piece  of  flesh  furnished  with  teeth  and  a  stomach, 
greedy  for  the  most  offensive  and  ferocious  animal  en- 
joyments, for  the  satisfaction  of  which  he  was  ready  to 
assassinate  any  one.  I  do  not  exaggerate  in  the  least ; 

I  recognised  in  A f  one  of  the  most  perfect  specimens 

of  animality,  restrained  by  no  principles,  no  rule.  How 
much  I  was  disgusted  by  his  eternal  smile !  He  was  a 
monster — a  moral  Quasimodo.  He  was  at  the  same  time 
intelligent,  cunning,  good-looking,  had  received  some 
education,  and  possessed  a  certain  capacity.  Fire, 
plague,  famine,  no  matter  what  scourge,  is  preferable 
to  the  presence  of  such  a  man  in  human  society.  I 
have  already  said  that  in  the  convict  prison  espionage 
and  denunciation  flourished  as  the  natural  product  of 
degradation,  without  the  convicts  thinking  much  of  it. 
On  the  contrary,  they  maintained  friendly  relations  with 

A f.     They  were  more  affable  with  him  than  with 

any  one  else.  The  kindly  attitude  towards  him  of  our 
drunken  friend,  the  Major,  gave  him  a  certain  importance, 
and  even  a  certain  worth  in  the  eyes  of  the  convicts. 
Later  on,  this  cowardly  wretch  ran  away  with  another 
convict  and  the  soldier  in  charge  of  them ;  but  of  this  I 
shall  speak  in  proper  time  and  place.  At  first,  he  hung 
about  me,  thinking  I  did  not  know  his  history.  I  repeat 
that  he  poisoned  the  first  days  of  my  imprisonment  so  as 
to  drive  me  nearly  to  despair.  I  was  terrified  by  the 
mass  of  baseness  and  cowardice  in  the  midst  of  which  I 
had  been  thrown.  I  imagined  that  every  one  else  was  as 
foul  and  cowardly  as  he.  But  I  made  a  mistake  in 

supposing  that  every  one  resembled  A f . 

Daring  the  first  three  days  I  did  nothing  but  wander 
about  the  convict  prison,  when  I  did  not  remain  stretched 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  91 

out  on  my  camp-bedstead.  I  entrusted  to  a  prisoner  of 
whom  I  was  sure,  the  piece  of  linen  which  had  been 
delivered  to  me  by  the  administration,  in  order  that  he 
might  make  me  some  shirts.  Always  on  the  advice  of 
Akim  Akimitch,  I  got  myself  a  folding  mattress.  It  was 
in  felt,  covered  with  linen,  as  thin  as  a  pancake,  and 
very  hard  to  any  one  who  was  not  accustomed  to  it. 
Akim  Akimitch  promised  to  get  me  all  the  most  essential 
things,  and  with  his  own  hands  made  me  a  blanket  out 
of  a  piece  of  old  cloth,  cut  and  sewn  together  from  all 
the  old  trousers  and  waistcoats  which  I  had  bought  from 
various  prisoners.  The  clothes  delivered  to  them,  when 
they  have  been  worn  the  regulation  time,  become  the 
property  of  the  prisoners.  They  at  once  sell  them,  for 
however  much  worn  an  article  of  clothing  may  be,  it 
always  possesses  a  certain  value.  I  was  very  much 
astonished  by  all  this,  above  all  at  the  outset,  during  my 
first  relations  with  this  world.  I  became  as  low  as  my 
companions,  as  much  a  convict  as  they.  Their  customs, 
their  habits,  their  ideas  influenced  me  thoroughly,  and 
externally  became  my  own,  without  affecting  my  inner 
self.  I  was  astonished  and  confused  as  though  I  had 
never  heard  or  suspected  anything  of  the  kind  before, 
and  yet  I  knew  what  to  expect,  or  at  least  what  had 
been  told  me.  The  thing  itself,  however,  produced  on 
me  a  different  impression  from  the  mere  description  of 
it.  How  could  I  suppose,  for  instance,  that  old  rags 
possessed  still  some  value  ?  And,  nevertheless,  my  blanket 
was  made  up  entirely  of  tatters.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
describe  the  cloth  out  of  which  the  clothes  of  the  convicts 
were  made.  It  was  like  the  thick,  gray  cloth  manu- 
factured for  the  soldiers,  but  as  soon  as  it  had  been  worn 
some  little  time  it  showed  the  threads  and  tore  with 
abominable  ease.  The  uniform  ought  to  have  lasted  for 
a  whole  year,  but  it  never  went  so  long  as  that.  The 
prisoner  labours,  carries  heavy  burdens,  and  the  cloth 
naturally  wears  out,  and  gets  into  holes  very  quickly. 
Our  sheepskins  were  intended  to  be  worn  for  three  years. 
During  the  whole  of  that  time  they  served  as  outer 


92  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

garments,  blankets,  and  pillows,  but  they  were  very  solid. 
Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  the  third  year,  it  was  not  rare 
to  see  them  mended  with  ordinary  linen.  Although  they 
were  now  very  much  worn,  it  was  always  possible  to  sell 
them  at  the  rate  of  forty  kopecks  a  piece,  the  best 
preserved  ones  even  at  the  price  of  sixty  kopecks,  which 
was  a  great  sum  for  the  convict  prison. 

Money,  as  I  have  before  said,  has  a  sovereign  value  in 
such  a  place.  It  is  certain  that  a  prisoner  who  has  some 
pecuniary  resources  suffers  ten  times  less  than  the  one 
who  has  nothing. 

"  When  the  Government  supplies  all  the  wants  of  the 
convict,  what  need  can  he  have  for  money  ?  "  reasoned 
our  chief. 

Nevertheless,  I  repeat  that  if  the  prisoners  had  been 
deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  possessing  something  of 
their  own,  they  would  have  lost  their  reason,  or  would 
have  died  like  flies.  They  would  have  committed  un- 
heard-of crimes ;  some  from  wearisomeness  or  grief,  the 
others,  in  order  to  get  sooner  punished,  and,  according  to 
their  expression,  "  have  a  change."  If  the  convict  who 
has  gained  some  kopecks  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  who 
has  embarked  in  perilous  undertakings  in  order  to 
conquer  them,  if  he  spends  this  money  recklessly,  with 
childish  stupidity,  that  does  not  the  least  in  the  world 
prove  that  he  does  not  know  its  value,  as  might  at  first 
sight  be  thought.  The  convict  is  greedy  for  money,  to 
the  point  of  losing  his  reason,  and,  if  he  throws  it  away, 
he  does  so  in  order  to  procure  what  he  places  far  above 
money — liberty,  or  at  least  a  semblance  of  liberty. 

Convicts  are  great  dreamers ;  I  will  speak  of  that 
further  on  with  more  detail.  At  present  I  will  confine 
myself  to  saying  that  I  have  heard  men,  who  had  been 
condemned  to  twenty  years'  hard  labour,  say,  with  a  quiet 
air,  "when  I  have  finished  my  time,  if  God  wishes, 

then "     The   very   words    hard    labour,    or    forced 

labour,  indicate  that  the  man  has  lost  his  freedom ;  and 
when  this  man  spends  his  money  he  is  carrying  out  his 
own  will. 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  93 

In  spite  of  the  branding  and  the  chains,  in  spite  of 
the  palisade  which  hides  from  his  eyes  the  free  world, 
and  encloses  him  in  a  cage  like  a  wild  beast,  he  can  get 
himself  spirits  and  other  delights ;  sometimes  even  (not 
always),  corrupt  his  immediate  superintendents,  the  old 
soldiers  and  non-commissioned  officers,  and  get  them  to 
close  their  eyes  to  his  infractions  of  discipline  within  the 
prison.  He  can,  moreover — what  he  adores — swagger; 
that  is  to  say,  impress  his  companions  and  persuade 
himself  for  a  time,  that  he  enjoys  more  liberty  than  he 
really  possesses.  The  poor  devil  wishes,  in  a  word,  to 
convince  himself  of  what  he  knows  to  be  impossible. 
This  is  why  the  prisoners  take  such  pleasure  in  boasting 
and  exaggerating  in  burlesque  fashion  their  own  un- 
happy personality. 

Finally,  they  run  some  risk  when  they  give  them- 
selves up  to  this  boasting ;  in  which  again  they  find  a 
semblance  of  life  and  liberty — the  only  thing  they  care 
for.  Would  not  a  millionaire  with  a  rope  round  his  neck 
give  all  his  millions  for  one  breath  of  air  ?  A  prisoner 
lias  lived  quietly  for  several  years  in  succession,  his 
conduct  has  been  so  exemplary  that  he  has  been  rewarded 
by  special  exemptions.  Suddenly,  to  the  great  astonish- 
ment of  his  chiefs,  this  man  becomes  mutinous,  plays  the 
very  devil,  and  does  not  recoil  from  a  capital  crime  such 
as  assassination,  violation,  etc.  Every  one  is  astounded 
at  the  cause  of  this  unexpected  explosion  on  the  part  of 
a  man  thought  incapable  of  such  a  thing.  It  is  the 
convulsive  manifestation  of  his  personality,  an  instinctive 
melancholia,  an  uncontrollable  desire  for  self-assertion,  all 
of  which  obscures  his  reason.  It  is  a  sort  of  epileptic 
attack,  a  spasm.  A  man  buried  alive  who  suddenly 
wakes  up  must  strike  in  a  similar  manner  against  the 
lid  of  his  coffin.  He  tries  to  rise  up,  to  push  it  from  him, 
although  his  reason  must  convince  him  of  the  uselessness 
of  his  efforts. 

Reason,  however,  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  convul- 
sion. It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  almost  every 
voluntary  manifestation  on  the  part  of  a  convict  is  looked 
upon  as  a  crime.  Accordingly,  it  is  a  perfect  matter  of 


94  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

indifference  to  them  whether  this  manifestation  be  im- 
portant or  insignificant,  debauch  for  debauch,  danger 
for  danger.  It  is  just  as  well  to  go  to  the  end,  even  as 
far  as  a  murder.  The  only  difficulty  is  the  first  step. 
Little  by  little  the  man  becomes  excited,  intoxicated,  and 
can  no  longer  contain  himself.  For  that  reason  it  would 
be  better  not  to  drive  him  to  extremities.  Everybody 
would  be  much  better  for  it. 

But  how  can  this  be  managed  ? 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  FIEST  MONTH  (continued) 

WHEN  I  entered  the  convict  prison  I  possessed 
a  small  sum  of  money;  but  I  carried  very 
little  of  it  about  with  me,  lest  it  should  be 
confiscated.     I   had    gummed    some   bank- 
notes into  the  binding  of  my  New  Testament 
— the  only  book  authorised  in  the  convict  prison.     This 
New  Testament  had  been  given  to  me  at  Tobolsk,  by  a 
person  who  had  been  exiled  some  dozens  of  years,  and 
who  had  got  accustomed  to  see  in  other  "  unfortunates  " 
a  brother. 

There  are  in  Siberia  people  who  pass  their  lives  in 
giving  brotherly  assistance  to  the  "  unfortunates."  They 
feel  the  same  sympathy  for  them  that  they  would  have 
for  their  own  children.  Their  compassion  is  something 
sacred  and  quite  disinterested.  I  cannot  help  here  relating 
in  some  words  a  meeting  which  I  had  at  this  time. 

In  the  town  where  we  were  then  imprisoned  lived  a 
widow,  Nastasia  Ivanovna.  Naturally,  none  of  us  were 
in  direct  relations  with  this  woman.  She  had  made  it 
the  object  of  her  life  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  all  the 
exiles;  but,  above  all,  of  us  convicts.  Had  there  been 
some  misfortune  in  her  family  ?  Had  some  person  dear  to 
her  undergone  a  punishment  similar  to  ours  ?  I  do  not 
know.  In  any  case,  she  did  for  us  whatever  she  could.  It 
is  true  she  could  do  very  little,  for  she  was  very  poor.  But 
we  felt  when  we  were  shut  up  in  the  convict  prison  that, 


96  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

outside,  we  had  a  devoted  friend.  She  often  brought  us 
news,  which  we  were  very  glad  to  hear,  for  nothing  of  the 
kind  reached  us. 

When  I  left  the  prison  to  be  taken  to  another 
town,  I  had  the  opportunity  of  calling  upon  her  and 
making  her  acquaintance.  She  lived  in  one  of  the  sub- 
urbs, at  the  house  of  a  near  relation. 

Nastasia  Ivanovna  was  neither  old  nor  young,  neither 
pretty  nor  ugly.  It  was  difficult,  impossible  even,  to 
know  whether  she  was  intelligent  and  well-bred.  But 
in  her  actions  could  be  seen  infinite  compassion,  an 
irresistible  desire  to  please,  to  solace,  to  be  in  some  way 
agreeable.  All  this  could  be  read  in  the  sweetness  of  her 
smile. 

I  passed  an  entire  evening  at  her  house,  with  other 
companions  of  my  imprisonment.  She  looked  us  straight 
in  the  face,  laughed  when  we  laughed,  did  everything  we 
asked  her,  in  conversation  was  always  of  our  opinion, 
and  did  her  best  in  every  way  to  entertain  us.  She  gave 
us  tea  and  various  little  delicacies.  If  she  had  been 
rich  we  felt  sure  she  would  have  been  pleased,  if  only  to 
be  able  to  entertain  us  better  and  offer  for  us  some  solid 
consolation. 

When  we  wished  her  "  good-bye,"  she  gave  us  each  a 
present  of  a  cardboard  cigar-case  as  a  souvenir.  She  had 
made  them  herself — Heaven  knows  how — with  coloured 
paper,  the  paper  with  which  school-boys'  copy-books  are 
covered.  All  round  this  cardboard  cigar-case  she  had 
gummed,  by  way  of  ornamentation,  a  thin  edge  of  gilt 
paper. 

"  As  you  smoke,  these  cigar-cases  will  perhaps  be  of 
use  to  you,"  she  said,  as  if  excusing  herself  for  making 
such  a  present. 

There  are  people  who  say,  as  I  have  read  and  heard, 
that  a  great  love  for  one's  neighbour  is  only  a  form  of 
selfishness.  What  selfishness  could  there  be  in  this  ? 
That  I  could  never  understand. 

Although  I  had  hot  much  money  when  I  entered  the 
convict  prison,  I  could  not  nevertheless  feel  seriously  an- 
noyed with  convicts  who,  immediately  on  my  arrival,  after 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  97 

having  deceived  me  once,  came  to  borrow  of  me  a  second, 
a  third  time,  and  even  oftener.  But  I  admitted  frankly 
that  what  did  annoy  me  was  the  thought  that  all  these 
people,  with  their  smiling  knavery,  must  take  me  for  a 
fool,  and  laugh  at  me  just  because  I  lent  the  money  for 
the  fifth  time.  It  must  have  seemed  to  them  that  I  was 
the  dupe  of  their  tricks  and  their  deceit.  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, I  had  refused  them  and  sent  them  away,  I  am 
certain  that  they  would  have  had  much  more  respect  for 
me.  Still,  though  it  vexed  me  very  much,  I  could  not 
refuse  them. 

I  was  rather  anxious  during  the  first  days  to  know 
what  footing  I  should  hold  in  the  convict  prison,  and 
what  rule  of  conduct  I  should  follow  with  my  companions. 
I  felt  and  perfectly  understood  that  the  place  being  in 
every  way  new  to  me,  I  was  walking  in  darkness,  and  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  live  for  ten  years  in  darkness. 
I  decided  to  act  frankly,  according  to  the  dictates  of  my 
conscience  and  my  personal  feeling.  But  I  also  knew 
that  this  decision  might  be  very  well  in  theory,  and  that 
I  should,  in  practice,  be  governed  by  unforeseen  events. 
Accordingly,  in  addition  to  all  the  petty  annoyances 
caused  to  me  by  my  confinement  in  the  convict  prison, 
one  terrible  anguish  laid  hold  of  me  and  tormented  me 
more  and  more. 

0  The  dead-house  !  "  I  said  to  myself  when  night  fell, 
and  I  looked  from  the  threshold  of  our  barracks  at  the 
prisoners  just  returned  from  their  labours  and  walking 
about  in  the  court-yard,  from  the  kitchen  to  the  barracks, 
and  vice  versa.  As  I  examined  their  movements  and 
their  physiognomies  I  endeavoured  to  guess  what  sort  of 
men  they  were,  and  what  their  disposition  might  be. 

They  lounged  about  in  front  of  me,  some  with  lowered 
brows,  others  full  of  gaiety — one  of  these  expressions  was 
seen  on  every  convict's  face — exchanged  insults  or  talked 
on  indifferent  matters.  Sometimes,  too,  they  wandered 
about  in  solitude,  occupied  apparently  with  their  own 
reflections  ;  some  of  them  with  a  worn-out,  pathetic  look, 
others  with  a  conceited  air  of  superiority.  Yes,  here, 
even  here  ! — their  cap  balanced  on  the  side  of  their  head, 

E 


98  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

their  sheepskin  coat  picturesquely  over  the  shoulder,  in- 
solence in  their  eyes  and  mockery  on  their  lips. 

"  Here  is  the  world  to  which  I  am  condemned,  in 
which,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  must  somehow  live/'  I  said 
to  myself. 

I  endeavoured  to  question  Akim  Akimitch,  with  whom 
I  liked  to  take  my  tea,  in  order  not  to  be  alone,  for  I 
wanted  to  know  something  about  the  different  convicts. 
In  parenthesis  I  must  say  that  the  tea,  at  the  beginning 
of  my  imprisonment,  was  almost  my  only  food.  Akim 
Akimitch  never  refused  to  take  tea  with  me,  and  he  him- 
self heated  our  tin  tea-urns,  made  in  the  convict  prison 
and  let  out  to  me  by  M . 

Akim  Akimitch  generally  drank  a  glass  of  tea  (he  had 
glasses  of  his  own)  calmly  and  silently,  then  thanked  me 
when  he  had  finished,  and  at  once  went  to  work  on  my 
blanket;  but  he  had  not  been  able  to  tell  me  what  I 
wanted  to  know,  and  did  not  even  understand  my  desire 
to  know  the  dispositions  of  the  people  surrounding  me. 
He  listened  to  me  with  a  cunning  smile  which  I  have 
still  before  my  eyes.  No,  I  thought,  I  must  find  out  for 
myself;  it  is  useless  to  interrogate  others. 

The  fourth  day,  the  convicts  were  drawn  up  in  two 
ranks,  early  in  the  morning,  in  the  court-yard  before  the 
guard-house,  close  to  the  prison  gates.  Before  and 
behind  them  were  soldiers  with  loaded  muskets  and  fixed 
bayonets. 

The  soldier  has  the  right  to  fire  on  the  convict  if  he 
tries  to  escape.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  answerable 
for  his  shot,  if  there  was  no  absolute  necessity  for  him  to 
fire.  The  same  thing  applies  to  revolts.  But  who  would 
think  of  openly  taking  to  flight  ? 

The  Engineer  officer  arrived  accompanied  by  the  so- 
called  ''conductor"  and  by  some  non-commissioned 
officers  of  the  Line,  together  with  sappers  and  soldiers 
told  off  to  superintend  the  labours  of  the  convicts. 

The  roll  was  called.  Then  the  convicts  who  were 
going  to  the  tailors'  workshop  started  first.  These  men 
worked  inside  the  prison,  and  made  clothes  for  all  the 
inmates.  The  other  exiles  went  into  the  outer  workshops, 


TEE  FIRST  MONTH  99 

until  at  last  arrived  the  turn  of  the  prisoners  destined  for 
field  labour.  I  was  of  this  number — there  were  altogether 
twenty  of  us.  Behind  the  fortress  on  the  frozen  river 
were  two  barges  belonging  to  the  Government,  which 
were  not  worth  anything,  but  which  had  to  be  taken 
to  pieces  in  order  that  the  wood  might  not  be  lost.  The 
wood  was  in  itself  all  but  valueless,  for  firewood  can  be 
bought  in  the  town  at  a  nominal  price.  The  whole 
country  is  covered  with  forests. 

This  work  was  given  to  us  in  order  that  we  might  not 
remain  with  our  arms  crossed.  This  was  understood  on 
both  sides.  Accordingly,  we  went  to  it  apathetically; 
though  just  the  contrary  happened  when  work  had  to  be 
done,  which  would  be  profitable,  or  when  a  fixed  task  was 
assigned  to  us.  In  this  latter  case,  although  prisoners 
were  to  derive  no  profit  from  their  work,  they  tried  to  get 
it  over  as  soon  as  possible,  and  took  a  pride  in  doing  it 
quickly.  When  such  work  as  I  am  speaking  of  had  to 
be  done  as  a  matter  of  form,  rather  than  because  it  was 
necessary,  task  work  could  not  be  asked  for.  We  had  to 
go  on  until  the  beating  of  the  dram  at  eleven  o'clock 
called  back  the  convicts. 

The  day  was  warm  and  foggy,  the  snow  was  on  the 
point  of  melting.  Oar  entire  band  walked  towards  the 
bank  behind  the  fortress,  shaking  lightly  their  chains 
hid  beneath  their  garments :  the  sound  came  forth  clear 
and  ringing.  Two  or  three  convicts  went  to  get  their 
tools  from  the  dep6t. 

I  walked  on  with  the  others.  I  had  become  a  little 
animated,  for  I  wanted  to  see  and  know  in  what  this 
field  labour  consisted,  to  what  sort  of  work  I  was  con- 
demned, and  how  I  should  do  it  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life. 

I  remember  the  smallest  particulars.  We  met,  as  we 
were  walking  along,  a  townsman  with  a  long  beard,  who 
stopped  and  slipped  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  A  prisoner 
left  our  party,  took  off  his  cap  and  received  alms — to  the 
extent  of  five  kopecks — then  came  back  hurriedly  towards 
us.  The  townsman  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  went 
his  way.  The  five  kopecks  were  spent  the  same  morning 


100  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

in  buying  cakes  of  white  bread  which  were  shared  equally 
among  us.  In  my  squad  some  were  gloomy  and  taciturn, 
others  indifferent  and  indolent.  There  were  some  who 
talked  in  an  idle  manner.  One  of  these  men  was  ex- 
tremely gay,  heaven  knows  why.  He  sang  and  danced 
as  we  went  along,  shaking  and  ringing  his  chains  at  each 
step.  This  fat  and  corpulent  convict  was  the  very  one 
who,  on  the  very  day  of  my  arrival  during  the  general 
washing,  had  a  quarrel  with  one  of  his  companions  about 
the  water,  and  had  ventured  to  compare  him  to  some  sort 
of  bird.  His  name  was  Scuratoff.  He  finished  by  shout- 
ing out  a  lively  song  of  which  I  remember  the  burden : 

They  married  me  without  my  consent, 
When  I  was  at  the  mill. 

Nothing  was  wanting  but  a  balalaika  [the  Russian 
banjo] . 

His  extraordinary  good-humour  was  justly  reproved 
by  several  of  the  prisoners,  who  were  offended  by  it. 

a  Listen  to  his  hallooing,"  said  one  of  the  convicts, 
' '  though  it  doesn't  become  him." 

"  The  wolf  has  but  one  song ;  this  Tuliak  [inhabitant 
of  Tula]  is  stealing  it  from  him,"  said  another,  who  could 
be  recognised  by  his  accent  as  a  Little  Russian. 

"  Of  course  I  am  from  Tula,"  replied  Scuratoff ; 
"  but  we  don't  stuff  ourselves  to  bursting  as  you  do  in 
your  Pultava." 

"  Liar  !  what  did  you  eat  yourself  ?  Bark  shoes  and 
cabbage  soup  ?  " 

"  You  talk  as  if  the  devil  fed  you  on  sweet  almonds," 
broke  in  a  third. 

"I  admit,  my  friend,  that  I  am  an  effeminate  man,"  said 
Scuratoff  with  a  gentle  sigh,  as  though  he  were  really 
reproaching  himself  for  his  effeminacy.  "From  my 
most  tender  infancy  I  was  brought  up  in  luxury,  fed 
on  plums  and  delicate  cakes.  My  brothers  even  now 
have  a  large  business  at  Moscow.  They  are  wholesale 
dealers  in  the  wind  that  blows ;  immensely  rich  men,  as 
you  may  imagine." 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  101 

"  And  what  did  you  sell  ?  " 

"  I  was  very  successful,  and  when  I  received  my  first 
two  hundred " 

"  Koubles  ?  impossible !  "  interrupted  one  of  the 
prisoners,  struck  with  amazement  at  hearing  of  so  large 
a  sum. 

"  No,  my  good  fellow,  not  two  hundred  roubles,  two 
hundred  blows  of  the  stick.  Luka;  I  say  Luka!  " 

"  Some  have  the  right  to  call  me  Luka,  but  for  you  I 
am  Luka  Kouzmitch,"  replied  rather  ill-temp  eredly  a 
small,  feeble  convict  with  a  pointed  nose. 

"  The  devil  take  you,  you  are  really  not  worth  speak- 
ing to ;  yet  I  wanted  to  be  civil  to  you.  But  to  continue 
my  story ;  this  is  how  it  happened  that  I  did  not  remain 
any  longer  at  Moscow.  I  received  my  fifteen  last  strokes 
and  was  then  sent  off,  and  was  at " 

"  But  what  were  you  sent  for  ?  "  asked  a  convict  who 
had  been  listening  attentively. 

"Don't  ask  stupid  questions.  I  was  explaining  to 
you  how  it  was  I  did  not  make  my  fortune  at  Moscow ; 
and  yet  how  anxious  I  was  to  be  rich,  you  could  scarcely 
imagine  how  much." 

Many  of  the  prisoners  began  to  laugh.  Scuratoff 
was  one  of  those  lively  persons,  full  of  animal  spirits, 
who  take  a  pleasure  in  amusing  their  graver  companions, 
and  who,  as  a  matter  of  course,  received  no  reward 
except  insults.  He  belonged  to  a  type-of  men,  to  whose 
characteristics  I  shall,  perhaps,  have  to  return. 

"  And  what  a  fellow  he  is  now  ! "  observed  Luka 
Kouzmitch.  "  His  clothes  alone  must  be  worth  a 
hundred  roubles." 

Scuratoff  had  the  oldest  and  greasiest  sheepskin  that 
could  be  seen.  It  was  mended  in  many  different  places 
with  pieces  that  scarcely  hung  together.  He  looked  at 
Luka  attentively  from  head  to  foot. 

"It  is  my  head,  friend,"  he  said,  "my  head  that 
is  worth  money.  When  I  took  farewell  of  Moscow, 
I  was  half  consoled,  because  my  head  was  to  make 
the  journey  on  my  shoulders.  Farewell,  Moscow, 


102  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

I  shall  never  forget  your  free  air,  nor  the  tremendous 
flogging  I  got.  As  for  my  sheepskin,  you  are  not  obliged 
to  look  at  it." 

"You  would  like  me,  perhaps,  to  look  at  your 
head?" 

"  If  it  was  really  his  own  natural  property,  but  it  was 
given  him  in  charity,"  cried  Luka  Kouzmitch.  "  It  was 
a  gift  made  to  him  at  Tumen,  when  the  convoy  was 
passing  through  the  town." 

"  Scuratoff,  had  you  a  workshop  ?  " 

"  What  workshop  could  he  have  ?  He  was  only  a 
cobbler,"  said  one  of  the  convicts. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Scuratoff,  without  noticing  the 
caustic  tone  of  the  speaker.  "I  tried  to  mend  boots, 
but  I  never  got  beyond  a  single  pair." 

' '  And  were  you  paid  for  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  found  a  fellow  who  certainly  neither  feared 
God  nor  honoured  either  his  father  or  his  mother,  and  as 
a  punishment,  Providence  made  him  buy  the  work  of  my 
hands." 

The  men  around  Scuratoff  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  I  also  worked  once  at  the  convict  prison,"  continued 
Scuratoff,  with  imperturbable  coolness.  "  I  did  up  the 
boots  of  Stepan  Fedoritch,  the  lieutenant." 

"  And  was  he  satisfied  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  fellows,  indeed  he  was  not ;  he  black- 
guarded me  enough  to  last  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 
He  also  pushed  me  from  behind  with  his  knee.  What  a 
rage  he  was  in !  Ah  !  my  life  has  deceived  me.  I  see 
no  fun  in  the  convict  prison  whatever."  He  began  to 
sing  again. 

Akolina's  husband  is  in  the  court-yard. 
There  he  waits. 

Again  he  sang,  and  again  he  danced  and  leaped. 

"  Most  unbecoming  !  "  murmured  the  Little  Russian, 
who  was  walking  by  my  side. 

"  Frivolous  man  !  "  said  another  in  a  serious,  decided 
tone. 

I  could  not  make  out  why  they  insulted  Scuratoff, 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  103 

nor  why  they  despised  those  convicts  who  were  light- 
hearted,  as  they  seemed  to  do.  I  attributed  the  anger 
of  the  Little  Kussian  and  the  others  to  a  feeling  of 
personal  hostility,  but  in  this  I  was  wrong.  They  were 
vexed  that  Scuratoff  had  not  that  puffed-up  air  of  false 
dignity  with  which  the  whole  of  the  convict  prison  was 
impregnated. 

They  did  not,  however,  get  annoyed  with  all  the 
jokers,  nor  treat  them  all  like  Scuratoff.  Some  of  them 
were  men  who  would  stand  no  nonsense,  and  forgive 
110  one  voluntarily  or  involuntarily.  It  was  necessary  to 
treat  them  with  respect.  There  was  in  our  band  a 
convict  of  this  very  kind,  a  good-natured,  lively  fellow, 
whom  I  did  not  see  in  his  true  light  until  later  on.  He 
was  a  tall  young  fellow,  with  pleasant  manners,  and  not 
without  good  looks.  There  was  at  the  same  time  a  very 
comic  expression  on  his  face. 

He  was  called  the  Sapper,  because  he  had  served  in 
the  Engineers.  He  belonged  to  the  special  section. 

But  all  the  serious-minded  convicts  were  not  so  par- 
ticular as  the  Little  Russian,  who  could  not  bear  to  see 
people  gay. 

We  had  in  our  prison  several  men  who  aimed  at 
a  certain  pre-eminence,  either  in  virtue  of  skill  at 
their  work,  of  their  general  ingenuity,  of  their  character, 
or  their  wit.  Many  of  them  were  intelligent  and 
energetic,  and  reached  the  point  they  were  aiming  at — 
pre-eminence,  that  is  to  say,  and  moral  influence  over 
their  companions.  They  often  hated  one  another,  and 
they  excited  general  envy.  They  looked  upon  other 
convicts  with  a  dignified  air,  that  was  full  of  condescen- 
sion ;  and  they  never  quarrelled  without  a  cause. 
Favourably  looked  upon  by  the  administration,  they  in 
some  measure  directed  the  work,  and  none  of  them  would 
have  lowered  himself  so  far  as  to  quarrel  with  a  man 
about  his  songs.  All  these  men  were  very  polite  to  me 
during  the  whole  time  of  my  imprisonment,  but  not  at 
all  communicative. 

At  last  we  reached  the  bank  ;  a  little  lower  down  was 
the  old  hulk,  which  we  were  to  break  up,  stuck  fast  in 


104  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  ice.  On  the  other  side  of  the  water  was  the  blue 
steppe  and  the  sad  horizon.  I  expected  to  see  every 
one  go  to  work  at  once.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Some  of 
the  convicts  sat  down  negligently  on  wooden  beams  that 
were  lying  near  the  shore,  and  nearly  all  took  from  their 
pockets  pouches  containing  native  tobacco— which  was 
sold  in  leaf  at  the  market  at  the  rate  of  three  kopecks  a 
pound — and  short  wooden  pipes.  They  lighted  them 
while  the  soldiers  formed  a  circle  around  them,  and 
began  to  watch  us  with  a  tired  look. 

"  Who  the  devil  had  the  idea  of  sinking  this  barque  ?" 
asked  one  of  the  convicts  in  a  loud  voice,  without  speak- 
ing to  any  one  in  particular. 

"  Were  they  very  anxious,  then,  to  have  it  broken 
up?" 

"  The  people  were  not  afraid  to  give  us  work,"  said 
another. 

"  Where  are  all  those  peasants  going  to  work  ?  "  said 
the  first,  after  a  short  silence. 

He  had  not  even  heard  his  companion's  answer.  He 
pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  distance,  where  a  troop 
of  peasants  were  marching  in  file  across  the  virgin 
snow. 

All  the  convicts  turned  negligently  towards  this  side, 
and  began  from  mere  idleness  to  laugh  at  the  peasants  as 
they  approached  them.  One  of  them,  the  last  of  the  line, 
walked  very  comically  with  his  arms  apart,  and  his  head 
on  one  side.  He  wore  a  tall  pointed  cap.  His  shadow 
threw  itself  in  clear  lines  on  the  white  snow. 

"  Look  how  our  brother  Petrovitch  is  dressed,"  said 
one  of  my  companions,  imitating  the  pronunciation  of  the 
peasants  of  the  locality.  One  amusing  thing — the  con- 
victs looked  down  on  peasants,  although  they  were  for 
the  most  part  peasants  by  origin. 

"  The  last  one,  too,  above  all,  looks  as  if  he  were 
planting  radishes/' 

"  He  is  an  important  personage,  he  has  lots  of  money," 
said  a  third. 

They  all  began  to  laugh  without,  however,  seeming 
genuinely  amused. 


THE  FIRST  MONTH  105 

During  this  time  a  woman  selling  cakes  came  up.  She 
was  a  brisk,  lively  person,  and  it  was  with  her  that  the 
five  kopecks  given  by  the  townsman  were  spent. 

The  young  fellow  who  sold  white  bread  in  the  convict 
prison  took  two  dozen  of  her  cakes,  and  had  a  long  dis- 
cussion with  the  woman  in  order  to  get  a  reduction  in 
price.  She  would  not,  however,  agree  to  his  terms. 

At  last  the  non-commissioned  officer  appointed  to 
superintend  the  work  came  up  with  a  cane  in  his 
hand. 

"  What  are  you  sitting  down  for  ?     Begin  at  once." 

ft  Give  us  our  tasks,  Ivan  Matveitch,"  said  one  of  the 
t(  foremen  "  among  us,  as  he  slowly  got  up. 

"  What  more  do  you  want  ?  Take  out  the  barque, 
that  is  your  task." 

Then  ultimately  the  convicts  got  up  and  went  to  the 
river,  but  very  slowly.  Different  "  directors  "  appeared, 
"  directors,"  at  least,  in  words.  The  barque  was  not  to  be 
broken  up  anyhow.  The  latitudinal  and  longitudinal 
beams  were  to  be  preserved,  and  this  was  not  an  easy 
thing  to  manage. 

"  Draw  this  beam  out,  that  is  the  first  thing  to  do," 
cried  a  convict  who  was  neither  a  director  nor  a  foreman, 
but  a  simple  workman.  This  man,  very  quiet  and  a  little 
stupid,  had  not  previously  spoken.  He  now  bent  down, 
took  hold  of  a  heavy  beam  with  both  hands,  and  waited 
for  some  one  to  help  him.  No  one,  however,  seemed 
inclined  to  do  so. 

"  Not  you,  indeed,  you  will  never  manage  it ;  not  even 
your  grandfather,  the  bear,  could  do  it,"  muttered  some 
one  between  his  teeth. 

"  Well,  my  friend,  are  we  to  begin  ?  As  for  me,  I  can 
do  nothing  alone,"  said,  with  a  morose  air,  the  man 
who  had  put  himself  forward,  and  who  now,  quitting 
the  beam,  held  himself  upright. 

"  Unless  you  are  going  to  do  all  the  work  by  yourself, 
what  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  about  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  speaking,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  excusing 
himself  for  his  forwardness. 

(<  Must  you  have  blankets  to  keep  yourselves  warm, 


106  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

or  are  you  to  be  heated  for  the  winter  ?  "  cried  a  non- 
commissioned officer  to  the  twenty  men  who  seemed  to 
loathe  to  begin  work.  "  Gro  on  at  once." 

"  It  is  never  any  use  being  in  a  hurry,  Ivan  Mat- 
veitch." 

"  But  you  are  doing  nothing  at  all,  Savelieff .  What 
are  you  casting  your  eyes  about  for  ?  Are  they  for  sale, 
by  chance  ?  Come,  go  on." 

"What  can  I  do  alone  ?" 

"  Set  us  tasks,  Ivan  Matveitch." 

1 '  I  told  you  before  that  I  had  no  task  to  give  you. 
Attack  the  barque,  and  when  you  have  finished  we  will 
go  back  to  the  house.  Come,  begin." 

The  prisoners  began  work,  but  with  no  good- will,  and 
very  indolently.  The  irritation  of  the  chief  at  seeing 
these  vigorous  men  remain  so  idle  was  intelligible 
enough.  While  the  first  rivet  was  being  removed  it 
suddenly  snapped. 

"  It  broke  to  pieces,"  said  the  convict  in  self -justi- 
fication. It  was  impossible,  then,  they  suggested,  to  work 
in  such  a  manner.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  A  long  dis- 
cussion took  place  between  the  prisoners,  and  little  by 
little  they  came  to  insults  ;  nor  did  this  seem  likely  to  be 
the  end  of  it.  The  under  officer  cried  out  again  as  he 
agitated  his  stick,  but  the  second  rivet  snapped  like  the 
first.  It  was  then  agreed  that  hatchets  were  of  no  use, 
and  that  other  tools  must  be  procured.  Accordingly,  two 
prisoners  were  sent  under  escort  to  the  fortress  to  get 
the  proper  instruments.  Waiting  their  return,  the  other 
convicts  sat  down  on  the  bank  as  calmly  as  possible, 
pulled  out  their  pipes  and  began  again  to  smoke.  Finally, 
the  under  officer  spat  with  contempt. 

"  Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "  the  work  you  are  doing  will 
not  kill  you.  Oh,  what  people,  what  people ! "  he 
grumbled,  with  an  ill-natured  air.  He  then  made  a 
gesture,  and  went  away  to  the  fortress,  brandishing 
his  cane. 

After  an  hour  the  " conductor"  arrived.  He  lis- 
tened quietly  to  what  the  convicts  had  to  say,  declared 
that  the  task  he  gave  them  was  to  get  off  four  rivets 


TEE  FIRST  MONTH  107 

unbroken,  and  to  demolish  a  good  part  of  the  barque.  As 
soon  as  this  was  done  the  prisoners  could  go  back  to  the 
house.  The  task  was  a  considerable  one,  but,  good 
heavens  !  how  the  convicts  now  went  to  work  !  Where 
now  was  their  idleness,  their  want  of  skill  ?  The  hatchets 
soon  began  to  dance,  and  soon  the  rivets  were  sprung. 
Those  who  had  no  hatchets  made  use  of  thick  sticks  to 
push  beneath  the  rivets,  and  thus  in  due  time  and  in 
artistic  fashion,  they  got  them  out.  The  convicts  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  become  intelligent  in  their  conversation. 
No  more  insults  were  heard.  Every  one  knew  perfectly 
what  to  say,  to  do,  to  advise.  Just  half-an-hour  before 
the  beating  of  the  drum,  the  appointed  task  was  executed, 
and  the  prisoners  returned  to  the  convict  prison  fatigued, 
but  pleased  to  have  gained  half-an-hour  from  the  working 
time  fixed  by  the  regulations. 

As  regards  myself,  I  have  only  one  thing  to  say. 
Wherever  I  stood  to  help  the  workers  I  was  never  in  my 
place ;  they  always  drove  me  away,  and  generally  insulted 
me.  Any  one  of  the  ragged  lot,  any  miserable  workman 
who  would  not  have  dared  to  say  a  syllable  to  the  other 
convicts,  all  more  intelligent  and  skilful  than  he,  assumed 
the  right  of  swearing  at  me  if  I  went  near  him,  under 
pretext  that  I  interfered  with  him  in  his  work.  At 
last  one  of  the  best  of  them  said  to  me  frankly,  but 
coarsely : 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?  Be  off  with  you  !  Why 
do  you  come  when  no  one  calls  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  it,"  added  another. 

' '  You  would  do  better  to  take  a  pitcher,"  said  a  third, 
"  and  carry  water  to  the  house  that  is  being  built,  or  go 
to  the  tobacco  factory.  You  are  no  good  here." 

I  was  obliged  to  keep  apart.  To  remain  idle  while 
others  were  working  seemed  a  shame ;  but  when  I  went 
to  the  other  end  of  the  barque  I  was  insulted  anew. 

"  What  men  we  have  to  work !  "  was  the  cry.  "  What 
can  be  done  with  fellows  of  this  kind  ?  " 

All  this  was  said  spitefully.  They  were  pleased  to 
have  the  opportunity  of  laughing  at  a  gentleman. 

It  will  now  be  understood  that  my  first  thought  on 


108  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

entering  the  convict  prison  was  to  ask  myself  how  I 
should  ever  get  on  with  such  people.  I  foresaw  that 
such  incidents  would  often  be  repeated ;  but  I  resolved 
not  to  change  my  conduct  in  any  way,  whatever  might  be 
the  result.  I  had  decided  to  live  simply  and  intelligently, 
without  manifesting  the  least  desire  to  approach  my 
companions ;  but  also  without  repelling  them,  if  they 
themselves  desired  to  approach  me ;  in  no  way  to  fear 
their  threats  or  their  hatred ;  and  to  pretend  as  much  as 
possible  not  to  be  affected  by  them.  Such  was  my  "plan. 
I  saw  from  the  first  that  they  would  despise  me,  if  I 
adopted  any  other  course. 

When  I  returned  in  the  evening  to  the  convict  prison, 
having  finishedmy  afternoon's  work,  fatigued  and  harassed, 
a  deep  sadness  took  possession  of  me.  "How  many 
thousands  of  days  have  I  to  pass  like  this  one  ?  "  Always 
the  same  thought.  I  walked  about  alone  and  meditated 
as  night  fell,  when,  suddenly,  near  the  palisade  behind 
the  barracks,  I  saw  my  friend,  Bull,  who  ran  towards  me. 

Bull  was  the  dog  of  the  prison ;  for  the  prison  has  its 
dog  as  companies  of  infantry,  batteries  of  artillery,  and 
squadrons  of  cavalry  have  theirs.  He  had  been  there 
for  a  long  time,  belonged  to  no  one,  looked  upon  every 
one  as  his  master,  and  lived  on  the  remains  from  the 
kitchen.  He  was  a  good-sized  black  dog,  spotted  with 
white,  not  very  old,  with  intelligent  eyes,  and  a  bushy 
tail.  No  one  caressed  him  or  paid  the  least  attention 
to  him.  As  soon  as  I  arrived  I  made  friends  with  him 
by  giving  him  a  piece  of  bread.  When  I  patted  him  on 
the  back  he  remained  motionless,  looked  at  me  with  a 
pleased  expression,  and  gently  wagged  his  tail. 

That  evening,  not  having  seen  me  the  whole  day — 
me,  the  first  person  who  in  so  many  years  had  thought  of 
caressing  him — he  ran  towards  me,  leaping  and  barking. 
It  had  such  an  effect  on  me  that  I  could  not  help  em- 
bracing him.  I  placed  his  head  against  my  body.  He 
placed  his  paws  on  my  shoulders  and  looked  me  in  the 
face. 

"  Here  is  a  friend  sent  to  me  by  destiny,"  I  said  to 
myself,  and  during  the  first  weeks,  so  full  of  pain,  every 


TEE  FIRST  MONTH  109 

time  that  I  came  back  from  work  I  hastened,  before  doing 
anything  else,  to  go  to  the  back  of  the  barracks  with 
Bull,  who  leaped  with  joy  before  me.  I  took  his  head  in 
my  hands  and  kissed  it.  At  the  same  time  a  troubled, 
bitter  feeling  pressed  my  heart.  I  well  remember  think- 
ing— and  taking  pleasure  in  the  thought — that  this  was 
my  one,  my  only  friend  in  the  world — my  faithful  dog, 
Bull 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NEW    ACQUAINTANCES — PETEOFS" 

TIME  went  on,  and  little  by  little  I  accus- 
tomed myself  to  my  new  life.  The  scenes  I 
had  daily  before  me  no  longer  afflicted  me  so 
much.  In  a  word,  the  convict  prison,  its 
inhabitants,  and  its  manners,  left  me  indifferent.  To  get 
reconciled  to  this  life  was  impossible,  but  I  had  to  accept 
it  as  an  inevitable  fact.  I  had  driven  entirely  away  from 
me  all  the  anxiety  by  which  I  had  at  first  been  troubled. 
I  no  longer  wandered  through  the  convict  prison  like  a 
lost  soul,  and  no  longer  allowed  myself  to  be  subjugated 
by  my  anxiety.  The  wild  curiosity  of  the  convicts  had 
had  its  edge  taken  off,  and  I  was  no  longer  looked  upon 
with  that  affectation  of  insolence  previously  displayed. 
They  had  become  indifferent  to  me,  and  I  was  very  glad 
of  it.  I  began  to  feel  at  home  in  the  barracks.  I  knew 
where  to  go  and  sleep  at  night;  gradually  I  became 
accustomed  to  things  the  very  idea  of  which  would  for- 
merly have  been  repugnant  to  me.  I  went  every  week 
regularly  to  have  my  head  shaved.  We  were  called 
every  Saturday  one  after  another  to  the  guard-house. 
The  regimental  barbers  lathered  our  skulls  with  cold 
water  and  soap,  and  scraped  us  afterwards  with  their 
saw-like  razors. 

Merely   the    thought    of    this    torture   gives    me   a 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES— PETROFJT  111 

shudder.  I  soon  found  a  remedy  for  it — Akim  Aki- 
mitch  pointed  it  out  to  me — a  prisoner  in  the  military 
section  who  for  one  kopeck  shaved  those  who  paid  for  it 
with  his  own  razor.  This  was  his  trade.  Many  of  the 
prisoners  were  his  customers  merely  to  avoid  the  military 
barberc,  yet  these  were  not  men  of  weak  nerves.  Our 
barber  was  called  the  "  major,"  why,  I  cannot  say.  As  far 
as  I  know  he  possessed  no  points  of  resemblance  with 
any  major.  As  I  write  these  lines  I  see  clearly  before  me 
the  "  major  "  and  his  thin  face.  He  was  a  tall  fellow, 
silent,  rather  stupid,  absorbed  entirely  by  his  business ; 
he  was  never  to  be  seen  without  a  strop  in  his  hand,  on 
which  day  and  night  he  sharpened  a  razor,  which  was 
always  in  admirable  condition.  He  had  certainly  made 
this  work  the  supreme  object  of  his  life;  he  was  really 
happy  when  his  razor  was  quite  sharp  and  his  services 
were  in  request ;  his  soap  was  always  warm,  and  he  had  a 
very  light  hand — a  hand  of  velvet.  He  was  proud  of  his 
skill,  and  used  to  take  with  a  careless  air  the  kopeck  he 
received ;  one  might  have  thought  that  he  worked  from 
love  of  his  art,  and  not  in  order  to  gain  money. 

A f  was  soundly  corrected  by  our  real  Major  one 

day,  because  he  had  the  misfortune  to  say  the  "  major  " 
when  he  was  speaking  of  the  barber  who  shaved  him. 
The  real  Major  was  in  a  violent  rage. 

"Blackguard,"  he  cried,  "do  you  know  what  a  major 

is?"  and  according  to  his  habit  he  shook  A f  violently. 

"  The  idea  of  calling  a  scoundrel  of  a  convict  a  '  major ' 
in  my  presence." 

From  the  first  day  of  my  imprisonment  I  began  to 
dream  of  my  liberation.  My  favourite  occupation  was  to 
count  thousands  and  thousands  of  times  in  a  thousand 
different  manners  the  number  of  days  that  I  should  have 
to  pass  in  prison.  I  thought  of  that  only,  and  every  one 
deprived  of  his  liberty  for  a  fixed  time  does  the  same ;  of 
that  I  am  certain.  I  cannot  say  that  all  the  convicts 
had  the  same  degree  of  hopefulness,  but  their  sanguine 
character  often  astonished  me.  The  hopefulness  of  a 
prisoner  differs  essentially  from  that  of  a  free  man.  The 


112  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

latter  may  desire  an  amelioration  in  his  position,  or  a 
realisation  of  some  enterprise  which  he  has  undertaken, 
but  meanwhile  he  lives,  he  acts ;  he  is  swept  away  in  the 
whirlwind  of  real  life.  Nothing  of  the  kind  takes  place 
in  the  case  of  the  convict  for  life.  He  lives  also  in  a  way, 
but  not  being  condemned  to  a  fixed  number  of  years,  he 
takes  a  vaguer  view  of  his  situation  than  the  one  who  is 
imprisoned  for  a  definite  term.  The  man  condemned  for 
a  comparatively  short  period  feels  that  he  is  not  at  home ; 
he  looks  upon  himself,  so  to  say,  as  on  a  visit;  he  regards 
the  twenty  years  of  his  punishment  as  two  years  at  most ; 
he  is  sure  that  at  fifty,  when  he  has  finished  his  sentence, 
he  will  be  as  young  and  as  lively  as  at  thirty-five.  "  We 
have  time  before  us,"  he  thinks,  and  he  strives  obsti- 
nately to  dispel  discouraging  thoughts.  Even  a  man 
sentenced  for  life  thinks  that  some  day  an  order  may 
arrive  from  St.  Petersburg — "  Transport  such  a  one  to 
the  mines  at  Nertchinsk  and  fix  a  term  for  his  detention." 
It  would  be  famous,  first  because  it  takes  six  months  to 
get  to  Nertchinsk,  and  the  life  on  the  road  is  a  hundred 
times  preferable  to  the  convict  prison.  He  would  finish 
his  time  at  Nertchinsk,  and  then — more  than  one  gray- 
haired  old  man  speculates  in  this  way. 

At  Tobolsk  I  have  seen  men  fastened  to  the  wall  by  a 
chain  about  two  yards  long;  by  their  side  they  have  their 
bed.  They  are  thus  chained  for  some  terrible  crime  com- 
mitted after  their  transportation  to  Siberia;  they  are 
kept  chained  up  for  five,  ten  years.  They  are  nearly  all 
brigands,  and  I  only  saw  one  of  them  who  looked  like  a 
man  of  good  breeding ;  he  had  been  in  some  branch  of 
the  Civil  Service,  and  spoke  in  a  soft,  lisping  way ;  his 
smile  was  sweet  but  sickly ;  he  showed  us  his  chain,  and 
pointed  out  to  us  the  most  convenient  way  of  lying 
down.  He  must  have  been  a  nice  person !  All  these 
poor  wretches  are  perfectly  well-behaved ;  they  all  seem 
satisfied,  and  yet  their  desire  to  finish  their  period  of 
chains  devours  them.  Why  ?  it  will  be  asked.  Because 
then  they  will  leave  their  low,  damp,  stifling  cells  for  the 
court-yard  of  the  convict  prison,  that  is  all.  These  last 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES— PETROFF  113 

places  of  confinement  they  will  never  leave  ;  they  know 
that  those  who  have  once  been  chained  up  will  never  be 
liberated,  and  they  will  die  in  irons.  They  know  all 
this,  and  yet  they  are  very  anxious  to  be  no  longer 
chained  up.  Without  this  hope  could  they  remain  five 
or  six  years  fastened  to  a  wall,  and  not  die  or  go 
mad? 

I  soon  understood  that  work  alone  could  save  me,  by 
fortifying  my  health  and  my  body,  whereas  incessant 
restlessness  of  mind,  nervous  irritation,  and  the  close  air 
of  the  barracks  would  ruin  them  completely.  I  should 
go  out  vigorous  and  full  of  elasticity.  I  did  not  deceive 
myself,  work  and  movement  were  very  useful  to  me. 

I  saw  one  of  my  comrades,  to  my  terror,  melt  away 
like  a  piece  of  wax ;  and  yet,  when  he  was  with  me  in 
the  convict  prison,  he  was  young,  handsome,  and  vigorous ; 
when  he  left  his  health  was  ruined,  and  his  legs  could  no 
longer  support  him.  His  chest,  too,  was  oppressed  by 
asthma. 

' '  No/'  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  gazed  upon  him  j  "  I 
wish  to  live,  and  I  will  live." 

My  love  for  work  exposed  me  in  the  first  place  to  the 
contempt  and  bitter  laughter  of  my  comrades  ;  but  I 
paid  no  attention  to  them,  and  went  away  with  a  light 
heart  wherever  I  was  sent.  Sometimes,  for  instance,  to 
break  and  pound  alabaster.  This  work,  the  first  that 
was  given  to  me,  is  easy.  The  engineers  did  their 
utmost  to  lighten  the  task-work  of  all  the  gentlemen ;  this 
was  not  indulgence,  but  simple  justice.  Would  it  not 
have  been  strange  to  require  the  same  work  from  a 
labourer  as  from  a  man  whose  strength  was  less  by 
half,  and  who  had  never  worked  with  his  hands  ?  But 
we  were  not  "  spoilt "  in  this  way  for  ever,  and  we  were 
only  spared  in  secret,  for  we  were  severely  watched.  As 
real  severe  work  was  by  no  means  rare,  it  often  happened 
that  the  task  given  to  us  was  beyond  the  strength  of  the 
gentlemen,  who  thus  suffered  twice  as  much  as  their 
comrades. 

Generally  three  or  four  men  were  sent  to  pound  the 


114  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

alabaster,  and  nearly  always  old  men  or  feeble  ones  were 
chosen.  We  were  of  the  latter  class.  A  man  skilled  in 
this  particular  kind  of  work  was  sent  with  us.  For  several 
years  it  was  always  the  same  man,  Almazoff  by  name. 
He  was  severe,  already  in  years,  sunburnt,  and  very  thin, 
by  no  means  communicative,  moreover,  and  difficult  to 
get  on  with.  He  despised  us  profoundly ;  but  he  was 
of  such  a  reserved  disposition  that  he  never  broke  it 
sufficient  to  call  us  names.  The  shed  in  which  we  calcined 
the  alabaster  was  built  on  a  sloping  and  deserted  bank 
of  the  river.  In  winter,  on  a  foggy  day,  the  view  was 
sad,  both  on  the  river  and  on  the  opposite  shore,  even  to 
a  great  distance.  There  was  something  heartrending  in 
this  dull,  naked  landscape,  but  it  was  still  sadder  when  a 
brilliant  sun  shone  above  the  boundless  white  plain. 
How  one  would  have  liked  to  fly  away  beyond  this 
steppe,  which  began  on  the  opposite  shore  and  stretched 
out  for  fifteen  hundred  versts  to  the  south  like  an 
immense  table-cloth. 

Almazoff  went  to  work  silently,  with  a  disagreeable 
air.  We  were  ashamed  not  to  be  able  to  help  him 
more  effectually,  but  he  managed  to  do  his  work  without 
our  assistance,  and  seemed  to  wish  to  make  us  under- 
stand that  we  were  acting  unjustly  towards  him,  and 
that  we  ought  to  repent  our  uselessness.  Our  work 
consisted  in  heating  the  oven  in  order  to  calcine  the 
alabaster  that  we  had  got  together  in  a  heap. 

The  day  following,  when  the  alabaster  was  entirely 
calcined,  we  turned  it  out.  Bach  one  filled  a  box  of 
alabaster,  which  he  afterwards  crushed.  This  work  was 
not  disagreeable.  The  fragile  alabaster  soon  became  a 
white,  brilliant  dust.  We  brandished  our  heavy  hammers, 
and  dealt  such  formidable  blows,  that  we  admired  our 
own  strength.  When  we  were  tired  we  felt  lighter,  our 
cheeks  were  red,  the  blood  circulated  more  rapidly  in 
our  veins.  Almazoff  would  then  look  at  us  in  a  con- 
descending manner,  as  he  would  have  looked  at  little 
children.  He  smoked  his  pipe  with  an  indulgent  air, 
unable,  however,  to  prevent  himself  from  grumbling. 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES— PETROFF  115 

When  he  opened  his  mouth  he  was  never  otherwise,  and 
lie  was  the  same  with  every  one.  At  bottom  I  believe  he 
was  a  kind  man. 

They  gave  me  another  kind  of  labour,  which  consisted 
in  working  the  turning  wheel.  This  wheel  was  high 
and  heavy,  and  great  efforts  were  necessary  to  make  it 
go  round,  above  all  when  the  workmen  from  the  work- 
shop of  the  engineers  used  to  make  the  balustrade  of  a 
staircase  or  the  foot  of  a  large  table,  which  required 
almost  the  whole  trunk.  No  one  man  could  have  done 
the  work  alone.  To  two  convicts,  B  (formerly  gen- 

tleman) and  myself,  this  work  was  given  nearly  always 
for  several  years,  whenever  there  was  anything  to  turn. 

B was  weak,  even  still  young,  and  somewhat 

sympathetic.  He  had  been  sent  to  prison  a  year  before 
me,  with  two  companions  who  were  also  of  noble 
birth.  One  of  them,  an  old  man,  used  to  pray  day 
and  night.  The  prisoners  respected  him  greatly  for  it. 
He  died  in  prison.  The  other  one  was  quite  a  young 
man,  fresh-coloured,  strong,  and  courageous.  He  had 

carried  his  companion  B for  several  hundred  versts, 

seeing  that  at  the  end  of  the  first  half-stage  he  had  fallen 
down  from  fatigue.  Their  friendship  for  one  another 
was  something  to  see. 

B was  a  perfectly  well-bred  man,  of  noble  and 

generous  disposition,  but  spoiled  and  irritated  by  illness. 
We  used  to  turn  the  wheel  well  together,  and  the  work 
interested  us.  As  for  me,  I  found  the  exercise  most 
salutary, 

I  was  very — too — fond  of  shovelling  away  the  snow, 
which  we  generally  did  after  the  hurricanes,  so  frequent 
in  the  winter.  When  the  hurricane  had  been  raging  for 
an  entire  day,  more  than  one  house  would  be  buried  up 
to  the  windows,  even  if  it  was  not  covered  over  entirely. 
The  hurricane  ceased,  the  sun  reappeared,  and  we  were 
ordered  to  disengage  the  houses,  barricaded  as  they  were 
by  heaps  of  snow. 

We  were  sent  in  large  bands,  sometimes  the  whole  of 
the  convicts  together.  Each  of  us  received  a  shovel  and 


116  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBEEIA 

had  an  appointed  task  to  do,  which  it  sometimes  seemed 
impossible  to  get  through.  But  we  all  went  to  work 
with  a  good- will.  The  light  dust-like  snow  had  not  yet 
congealed,  and  was  frozen  only  on  the  surface.  We 
removed  it  in  enormous  shovelfuls,  which  were  dispersed 
around  us.  In  the  air  the  snow- dust  was  as  brilliant  as 
diamonds.  The  shovel  sank  easily  into  the  white  glittering 
mass.  The  convicts  did  this  work  almost  always  with 
gaiety,  the  cold  winter  air  and  the  exercise  animated 
them.  Every  one  felt  himself  in  better  spirits,  laughter 
and  jokes  were  heard,  snowballs  were  exchanged,  which 
after  a  time  excited  the  indignation  of  the  serious- minded 
convicts,  who  liked  neither  laughter  nor  gaiety.  Accord- 
ingly these  scenes  finished  almost  always  in  showers  of 
insults. 

Little  by  little  the  circle  of  my  acquaintances  in- 
creased, although  I  never  thought  of  making  new  ones. 
I  was  always  restless,  morose,  and  mistrustful.  Ac- 
quaintances, however,  were  made  involuntarily.  The 
first  who  came  to  visit  me  was  the  convict  Petroff.  I 
say  visit,  and  I  retain  the  word,  for  he  lived  in  the 
special  division  which  was  at  the  farthest  end  of  the 
barracks  from  mine.  It  seemed  as  if  no  relations  could 
exist  between  him  and  me,  for  we  had  nothing  in 
common. 

Nevertheless,  during  the  first  period  of  my  stay, 
Petroff  thought  it  his  duty  to  come  towards  me  nearly 
every  day,  or  at  least  to  stop  me  when,  after  work,  I 
went  for  a  stroll  at  the  back  of  the  barracks  as  far  as 
possible  from  observation.  His  persistence  was  disagree- 
able to  me;  but  he  managed  so  well  that  his  visits 
became  at  last  a  pleasing  diversion,  although  he  was  by 
no  means  of  a  communicative  disposition.  He  was  short, 
strongly  built,  agile,  and  skilful.  He  had  rather  an 
agreeable  voice,  and  high  cheek-bones,  a  bold  look,  and 
white,  regular  teeth.  He  had  always  a  quid  of  tobacco 
in  his  mouth  between  the  lower  lip  and  the  gums.  Many 
of  the  convicts  had  the  habit  of  chewing.  He  seemed  to 
me  younger  than  he  really  was,  for  he  did  not  appear  to  be 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES— PETROFF  117 

more  than  thirty,  and  he  was  really  forty.  He  spoke  to 
me  without  any  ceremony,  and  behaved  to  me  on  a 
footing  of  equality  with  civility  and  attention.  If,  for 
instance,  he  saw  that  I  wished  to  be  alone,  he  would  talk 
to  me  for  about  two  minutes  and  then  go  away.  He 
thanked  me,  moreover,  each  time  for  my  kindness  in 
conversing  with  him,  which  he  never  did  to  any  one  else. 
I  must  add  that  his  relations  underwent  no  change  not 
only  during  the  first  period  of  my  story,  but  for  several 
years,  and  that  they  never  became  more  intimate,  although 
he  was  really  my  friend.  I  never  could  say  exactly  what 
he  looked  for  in  my  society,  nor  why  he  came  every  day 
to  see  me.  He  robbed  me  sometimes,  but  almost  involun- 
tarily. He  never  came  to  me  to  borrow  money;  so  that 
what  attracted  him  was  not  personal  interest. 

It  seemed  to  me,  I  know  not  why,  that  this  man  did 
not  live  in  the  same  prison  with  me,  but  in  another 
house  in  the  town,  far  away.  It  appeared  as  though  he 
had  come  to  the  convict  prison  by  chance  in  order  to 
pick  up  news,  to  inquire  for  me,  in  short,  to  see  how 
I  was  getting  on.  He  was  always  in  a  hurry,  as  though 
he  had  left  some  one  for  a  moment  who  was  waiting  for 
him,  or  as  if  he  had  given  up  for  a  time  some  matter  of 
business.  And  yet  he  never  hurried  himself.  His  look 
was  strongly  fixed,  with  a  slight  air  of  levity  and  irony. 
He  had  a  habit  of  looking  into  the  distance  above  the 
objects  near  him,  as  though  he  were  endeavouriag  to 
distinguish  something  behind  the  person  to  whom  he 
was  talking.  He  always  seemed  absent-minded.  I 
sometimes  asked  myself  where  he  went  when  he  left  me, 
where  could  Petroff  be  so  anxiously  expected?  He 
would  simply  go  with  a  light  step  to  one  of  the  barracks 
or  to  the  kitchen,  and  sit  down  to  hear  the  conversation. 
He  listened  attentively,  and  joined  in  with  animation ; 
after  which  he  would  suddenly  become  silent.  But 
whether  he  spoke  or  kept  silent,  one  could  always  see  on 
his  countenance  that  he  had  business  somewhere  else, 
and  that  some  one  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  town,  not 
very  far  away.  The  most  astonishing  thing  was  that  ha 


118  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

never  had  any  business — apart,  of  course,  from  the  hard 
labour  assigned  to  him.  He  knew  no  trade,  and  had 
scarcely  ever  any  money.  But  that  did  not  seem  to  grieve 
him.  Why  did  he  speak  to  me  ?  His  conversation  was 
as  strange  as  he  himself  was  singular.  When  he  noticed 
that  I  was  walking  alone  at  the  back  of  the  barracks  he 
made  a  stand,  and  turned  towards  me.  He  walked  very 
fast,  and  when  I  turned  he  was  suddenly  on  his  heel. 
He  approached  me  walking,  but  so  quickly  that  he 
seemed  to  be  going  at  a  run. 

"  Good-morning." 

"  Good-morning." 

1 1 1  am  not  disturbing  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"I  wish  to  ask  you  something  about  Napoleon.  1 
wanted  to  ask  you  if  he  is  not  a  relation  of  the  one  who 
came  to  us  in  the  year  1812." 

Petroff  was  a  soldier's  son,  and  knew  how  to  read 
and  write, 

"  Of  course  he  is." 

"  People  say  he  is  President.  What  President — and 
of  what?" 

His  questions  were  always  rapid  and  abrupt,  as 
though  he  wished  to  know  as  soon  as  possible  what 
he  asked.  I  explained  to  him  of  what  Napoleon  was 
President,  and  I  added  that  perhaps  he  would  become 
Emperor. 

"  How  will  that  be  ?  " 

I  explained  it  to  him  as  well  as  I  could ;  Petroff  listened 
with  attention.  He  understood  perfectly  all  I  told  him, 
and  added,  as  he  leant  his  ear  towards  me  : 

"  Hem  !  Ah,  I  wished  to  ask  you,  Alexander  Petro- 
vitch,  if  there  are  really  monkeys  who  have  hands  instead 
of  feet,  and  are  as  tall  as  a  man  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  are  they  like?" 

I  described  them  to  him,  and  told  him  what  1  knew 
on  the  subject. 

"  And  where  do  they  live  ?  " 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES-PETEOFF  119 

"  In  warm  climates.  There  are  some  to  be  found  in 
the  island  of  Sumatra/' 

"  Is  that  in  America  ?  I  have  heard  that  people  there 
walk  with  their  heads  downwards." 

"No,  no;  you  are  thinking  of  the  Antipodes/'  I 
explained  to  him  as  well  as  I  could  what  America  was, 
and  what  the  Antipodes.  He  listened  to  me  as  attentively 
as  if  the  question  of  the  Antipodes  had  alone  caused  him 
to  approach  me. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  I  read  last  year  the  story  of  the  Countess 
de  la  Vallie're.  Arevieff  had  bought  this  book  from  the 
Adjutant.  Is  it  true  or  is  it  an  invention  ?  The  work  is 
by  Dumas/' 

"  It  is  an  invention,  no  doubt/' 

"Ah,  indeed.  Good-bye.  I  am  much  obliged  to 
you." 

And  Petroff  disappeared.  The  above  may  be  taken 
as  a  specimen  of  our  ordinary  conversation. 

I  made  inquiries  about  him.  M thought  he  had 

better  speak  to  me  on  the  subject,  when  he  learnt  what 
an  acquaintance  I  had  made.  He  told  me  that  many 
convicts  had  excited  his  horror  on  their  arrival ;  but  not 
one  of  them,  not  even  Grazin,  had  produced  upon  him 
such  a  frightful  impression  as  this  Petroff. 

"  He  is  the  most  resolute,  most  to  be  feared  of  all  the 

convicts,"  said  M .  "  He  is  capable  of  anything, 

nothing  stops  him  if  he  has  a  caprice.  He  will  assassinate 
you,  if  the  fancy  takes  him,  without  hesitation  and  with- 
out the  least  remorse.  I  often  think  he  is  not  in  his 
right  senses." 

This  declaration  interested  me  extremely ;  but  M 

was  never  able  to  tell  me  why  he  had  such  an  opinion  of 
Petroff.  Strangely  enough,  for  many  years  together  I 
saw  this  man  and  talked  with  him  nearly  every  day. 
He  was  always  my  sincere  friend,  though  I  could  not  at 
the  time  tell  why,  and  during  the  whole  time  he  lived 
very  quietly,  and  did  nothing  extreme.  I  am  moreover 
convinced  that  M was  right,  and  that  he  was  per- 
haps a  most  intrepid  man  and  the  most  difficult  to 


120  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

restrain  in  the  whole  prison.    And  why  so,  I  can  scarcely 
explain. 

This  Petroff  was  that  very  convict  who,  when  he  was 
called  up  to  receive  his  punishment,  had  wished  to  kill 
the  Major.  I  have  told  you  the  latter  was  saved  by  a 
miracle — that  he  had  gone  away  one  minute  before  the 
punishment  was  inflicted. 

Once  when  he  was  still  a  soldier — before  his  arrival 
at  the  convict  prison — his  Colonel  had  struck  him  on 
parade.  Probably  he  had  often  been  beaten  before,  but 
that  day  he  was  not  in  a  humour  to  bear  an  insult,  in 
open  day,  before  the  battalion  drawn  up  in  line.  He 
killed  his  Colonel.  I  don't  know  all  the  details  of  the 
story,  for  he  never  told  it  to  me  himself.  It  must  be 
understood  that  these  explosions  only  took  place  when  the 
nature  within  him  spoke  too  loudly,  and  these  occasions 
were  rare;  as  a  rule  he  was  serious  and  even  quiet.  His 
strong,  ardent  passions  were  not  burnt  out,  but  smoulder- 
ing, like  burning  coals  beneath  ashes. 

I  never  noticed  that  he  was  vain,  or  given  to  bragging 
like  so  many  other  convicts.  He  hardly  ever  quarrelled, 
but  he  was  on  friendly  relations  with  scarcely  any  one, 
except,  perhaps,  Sirotkin,  and  then  only  when  he  had 
need  of  him.  I  saw  him,  however,  one  day  seriously 
irritated.  Some  one  had  offended  him  by  refusing  him 
something  he  wanted.  He  was  disputing  on  the  point 
with  a  tall  convict,  as  vigorous  as  an  athlete,  named 
Vassili  Antonoff,  known  for  his  nagging,  spiteful  disposi- 
tion. The  man,  however,  who  belonged  to  the  class  of 
civil  convicts,  was  far  from  being  a  coward.  They 
shouted  at  one  another  for  some  time,  and  I  thought  the 
quarrel  would  finish  like  so  many  others  of  the  same 
kind,  by  simple  interchange  of  abuse.  The  affair  took  an 
unexpected  turn.  Petroff  only  suddenly  turned  pale,  his 
lips  trembled,  and  turned  blue,  his  respiration  became 
difficult.  He  got  up,  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  and  with 
imperceptible  steps — he  liked  to  walk  about  with  his  feet 
naked — approached  Antonoff ;  at  once  the  noise  of  shout- 
ing gave  place  to  a  death-like  silence — a  fly  passing 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES— PETROFF  121 

through  the  air  might  have  been  heard — every  one 
anxiously  awaited  the  event.  Antonoff  pointed  to  his 
adversary.  His  face  was  no  longer  human.  I  was 
unable  to  endure  the  scene,  and  I  left  the  prison.  I  was 
certain  that  before  I  got  to  the  staircase  I  should  hear 
the  shrieks  of  a  man  who  was  being  murdered ;  but 
nothing  of  the  kind  took  place.  Before  Petroff  had 
succeeded  in  getting  up  to  Antonoff,  the  latter  threw  him 
the  object  which  had  caused  the  quarrel — a  miserable 
rag,  a  worn-out  piece  of  lining. 

Of  course  afterwards,  Antonoff  did  not  fail  to  call 
Petroff  names,  merely  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  and  from 
a  feeling  of  what  was  right,  in  order  to  show  that  he  had 
not  been  too  much  afraid ;  but  Petroff  paid  no  attention 
to  his  insults,  he  did  not  even  answer  him.  Everything 
had  ended  to  his  advantage,  and  the  insults  scarcely 
affected  him ;  he  was  glad  to  have  got  his  piece  of  rag. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  was  strolling  about  the 
barracks  quite  unoccupied,  looking  for  some  group  whose 
conversation  might  possibly  gratify  his  curiosity.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  interest  him,  and  yet  he  remained  ap- 
parently indifferent  to  all  he  heard.  He  might  have 
been  compared  to  a  workman,  a  vigorous  workman, 
whom  the  work  fears;  but  who,  for  the  moment,  has 
nothing  to  do,  and  condescends  meanwhile  to  put  out 
his  strength  in  playing  with  his  children.  I  did  not 
understand  why  he  remained  in  prison,  why  he  did  not 
escape.  He  would  not  have  hesitated  to  get  away  if  he 
had  really  desired  to  do  so.  Reason  has  no  power  on 
people  like  Petroff  unless  they  are  spurred  on  by  will. 
When  they  desire  something  there  are  no  obstacles  in 
their  way.  I  am  certain  that  he  would  have  been  clever 
enough  to  escape,  that  he  would  have  deceived  every 
one,  that  he  would  have  remained  for  a  time  without 
eating,  hid  in  a  forest,  or  in  the  bulrushes  of  the  river ; 
but  the  idea  had  evidently  not  occurred  to  him.  I  never 
noticed  in  him  much  judgment  or  good  sense.  People 
like  him  are  born  with  one  idea,  which,  without  being 
aware  of  it,  pursues  them  all  their  life.  They  wander 


122  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

until  they  meet  with  some  object  which  apparently  ex- 
cites their  desire,  and  then  they  do  not  mind  risking 
their  head.  I  was  sometimes  astonished  that  a  man  who 
had  assassinated  his  Colonel  for  having  been  struck,  would 
lie  down  without  opposition  beneath  the  rods,  for  he  was 
always  flogged  when  he  was  detected  introducing  spirits 
into  the  prison.  Like  all  those  who  had  no  settled 
occupation,  he  smuggled  in  spirits ;  then,  if  caught,  he 
would  allow  himself  to  be  whipped  as  though  he  con- 
sented to  the  punishment,  and  confessed  himself  in  the 
wrong.  Otherwise  they  would  have  killed  him  rather 
than  make  him  lie  down  More  than  once  I  was  as- 
tonished to  see  that  he  was  robbing  me  in  spite  of  his 
affection  for  me;  but  he  did  so  from  time  to  time. 
Thus  he  stole  my  Bible,  which  I  had  asked  him  to  carry 
to  its  place.  He  had  only  a  few  steps  to  go;  but  on 
his  way  he  met  with  a  purchaser,  to  whom  he  sold  the 
book,  at  once  spending  the  money  he  had  received  on 
vodka.  Probably  he  felt  that  day  a  violent  desire  for  drink, 
and  when  he  desired  something  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  have  it.  A  man  like  Petroff  will  assassinate  any 
one  for  twenty-five  kopecks,  simply  to  get  himself  a  pint 
of  vodka.  On  any  other  occasion  he  will  disdain  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  roubles.  He  told  me  the  same  evening 
of  the  theft  he  had  committed,  but  without  showing  the 
least  sign  of  repentance  or  confusion,  in  a  perfectly  in- 
different tone,  as  though  he  were  speaking  of  an  ordinary 
incident.  I  endeavoured  to  reprove  him  as  he  deserved, 
for  I  regretted  the  loss  of  my  Bible.  He  listened  to  me 
without  hesitation  very  calmly.  He  agreed  that  the 
Bible  was  a  very  useful  book,  and  sincerely  regretted  that 
I  had  it  no  longer ;  but  he  was  not  for  one  moment 
sorry,  though  he  had  stolen  it.  He  looked  at  me  with 
such  assurance  that  I  gave  up  scolding  him.  He  bore 
my  reproaches  because  he  thought  I  could  not  do  other- 
wise than  I  was  doing.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to  be 
punished  for  such  an  action,  and  consequently  thought  I 
ought  to  abuse  him  for  my  own  satisfaction,  and  to 
console  myself  for  my  loss.  But  in  his  inner  heart  he 


NEW  ACQUAINTANCES— PETROFF  123 

considered  that  it  was  all  nonsense,  to  which  a  serious 
man  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  descend.  I  believe  even 
that  he  looked  upon  me  as  a  child,  an  infant,  who  does 
not  yet  understand  the  simplest  things  in  the  world.  If 
I  spoke  to  him  of  anything,  except  books  and  matters  of 
knowledge,  he  would  answer  me,  but  only  from  polite- 
ness, and  in  laconic  phrases.  I  wondered  what  made  him 
question  me  so  much  on  the  subject  of  books.  I  looked 
at  him  carefully  during  our  conversation  to  assure 
myself  that  he  was  not  laughing  at  me;  but  no,  he 
listened  seriously,  and  with  an  attention  which  was 
genuine,  though  not  always  maintained.  This  latter 
circumstance  irritated  me  sometimes.  The  questions  he 
put  to  me  were  clear  and  precise,  and  he  always  seemed 
prepared  for  the  answer.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  once 
for  all  that  it  was  no  use  speaking  to  me  as  to  other  matters, 
and  that,  apart  from  books,  I  understood  nothing.  I 
am  certain  that  he  was  attached  to  me,  and  much  that 
fact  astonished  me ;  but  he  looked  upon  me  as  a  child, 
or  as  an  imperfect  man.  He  felt  for  me  that  sort  of  com- 
passion which  every  stronger  being  feels  for  a  weaker ; 
he  took  me  for — I  do  not  know  what  he  took  me  for. 
Although  this  compassion  did  not  prevent  him  from 
robbing  me,  I  am  sure  that  in  doing  so  he  pitied  me. 

"  What  a  strange  person  !  "  he  must  have  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  lay  hands  on  my  property ;  "  he  does  not  even 
know  how  to  take  care  of  what  he  possesses."  That,  I 
think,  is  why  he  liked  me.  One  day  he  said  to  me  as  if 
involuntarily  : 

"You  are  too  good-natured,  you  are  so  simple,  so 
simple  that  one  cannot  help  pitying  you.  Do  Hot  be 
offended  at  what  I  was  saying  to  you,  Alexander  Petro- 
vitch,"  he  added  a  minute  afterwards,  "it  is  not  ill- 
meant." 

People  like  Petroff  will  sometimes,  in  times  of  trouble 
and  excitement,  manifest  themselves  in  a  forcible  manner; 
then  they  find  the  kind  of  activity  which  suits  them; 
they  are  not  men  of  words  ;  they  could  not  be  instigators 
and  chiefs  of  insurrections,  but  they  are  the  men  who 


124  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

execute  and  act ;  they  act  simply  without  any  fuss,  and 
run  just  to  throw  themselves  against  an  obstacle  with 
bared  breast,  neither  thinking  nor  fearing.  Every  one 
follows  them  to  the  foot  of  the  wall,  where  they  generally 
leave  their  life.  I  do  not  think  Petroff  can  have  ended 
well,  he  was  marked  for  a  violent  end ;  and  if  he  is  not 
yet  dead,  that  only  means  that  the  opportunity  has  not 
yet  presented  itself.  Who  knows,  however  ?  He  will, 
perhaps,  die  of  extreme  old  age,  quite  quietly,  after 
having  wandered  through  life,  here  and  there,  without  an 

object ;  but  I  believe  M was  right,  and  that  Petroff 

was  the  most  determined  man  in  the  whole  convict 
prison. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MEN    OF   DETERMINATION — LUKA 

IT  is  difficult  to  speak  of  these  men  of  deter- 
mination.    In  the   convict  prison,  as   else- 
where, they  are  rare.      They  can  be  known 
by  the  fear  they  inspire ;  people  beware  of 
them.     An  irresistible  feeling  urged  me  first 
of  all  to  turn  away  from  them,  but  I  afterwards  changed 
my  point  of  view,  even  ih  regard  to  the  most  frightful 
murderers.      There  are  men  who  have  never  killed  any 
one,  and  who,  nevertheless,  are  more  atrocious  than  those 
who  have  assassinated  six  persons.      It  is  impossible  to 
form  an  idea  of  certain  crimes,  of  so  strange  a  nature  are 
they. 

A  type  of  murderers  that  one  often  meets  with  is  the 
following  :  A  man  lives  calmly  and  peacefully.  His  fate 
is  a  hard  one,  but  he  puts  up  with  it.  He  is  a  peasant 
attached  to  the  soil,  a  domestic  serf,  a  shopkeeper,  or  a 
soldier.  Suddenly  he  finds  something  give  way  within 
him ;  what  he  has  hitherto  suffered  he  can  bear  no 
longer,  and  he  plunges  his  knife  into  the  breast  of  his 
oppressor  or  his  enemy.  He  then  goes  beyond  all 
measure.  He  has  killed  his  oppressor,  his  enemy.  That 
can  be  understood — there  was  cause  for  that  crime  ;  but 
afterwards  he  does  not  assassinate  his  enemies  alone,  but 
the  first  person  he  happens  to  meet  he  kills  for  the 
pleasure  of  killing — for  an  abusive  word,  for  a  look,  to 
make  an  equal  number,  or  only  because  some  one  is 


126  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

standing  in  his  way.  He  behaves  like  a  drunken  man— 
a  man  in  a  delirium.  When  once  he  has  passed  the  fatal 
line,  he  is  himself  astonished  to  find  that  nothing  sacred 
exists  for  him.  He  breaks  through  all  laws,  defies  all 
powers,  and  gives  himself  boundless  license.  He  enjoys 
the  agitation  of  his  own  heart  and  the  terror  that  he 
inspires.  He  knows  all  the  same  that  a  frightful  punish- 
ment  awaits  him.  His  sensations  are  probably  like  those 
of  a  man  who,  looking  down  from  a  high  tower  on  to  the 
abyss  yawning  at  his  feet,  would  be  happy  to  throw  him- 
self head  first  into  it  in  order  to  bring  everything  to  an 
end.  That  is  what  happens  with  even  the  most  quiet,  the 
most  commonplace  individuals.  There  are  some  even 
who  give  themselves  airs  in  this  extremity.  The  more 
they  were  quiet,  self-effacing  before,  the  more  they  now 
swagger  and  seek  to  inspire  fear.  The  desperate  men 
enjoy  the  horror  they  cause ;  they  take  pleasure  in  the 
disgust  they  excite ;  they  perform  acts  of  madness  from 
despair,  and  care  nothing  how  it  must  all  end,  or  seem 
impatient  that  it  should  end  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
most  curious  thing  is  that  their  excitement,  their  exalta- 
tion, will  last  until  the  pillory.  After  that  the  thread  is 
cut,  the  moment  is  fatal,  and  the  man  becomes  suddenly 
calm,  or,  rather,  he  becomes  extinct,  a  thing  without 
feeling.  In  the  pillory  all  his  strength  fails  him,  and  he 
begs  pardon  of  the  people.  Once  at  the  convict  prison, 
he  is  quite  different.  No  one  would  ever  imagine  that 
this  white-livered  chicken  had  killed  five  or  six  men. 

There  are  some  men  whom  the  convict  prison  does 
not  easily  subdue.  They  preserve  a  certain  swagger,  a 
spirit  of  bravado. 

"  I  say,  I  am  not  what  you  take  me  for ;  I  have  sent 
six  fellows  out  of  the  world/'  you  will  hear  them  boast ; 
but  sooner  or  later  they  have  all  to  submit.  From  time 
to  time,  the  murderer  will  amuse  himself  by  recalling  his 
audacity,  his  lawlessness  when  he  was  in  a  state  of  des- 
pair. He  likes  at  these  moments  to  have  some  silly 
fellow  before  whom  he  can  brag,  and  to  whom  he  will 
relate  his  heroic  deeds,  by  pretending  not  to  have  the 


MEN  OF  DETERMINATION— LUKA  127 

least  wish  to  astonish  him.  "  That  is  the  sort  of  man  I 
am/'  he  says. 

And  with  what  a  refinement  of  prudent  conceit  ha 
watches  him  while  he  is  delivering  his  narrative !  In 
his  accent,  in  every  word,  this  can  be  perceived.  Where 
did  he  acquire  this  particular  kind  of  artfulness  ? 

During  the  long  evening  of  one  of  the  first  days  of 
my  confinement,  I  was  listening  to  one  of  these  conver- 
sations. Thanks  to  my  inexperience  I  took  the  narrator 
for  the  malefactor,  a  man  with  an  iron  character,  a  man  to 
whom  Petroff  was  nothing.  The  narrator,  Luka  Kouz- 
mitch,  had  "knocked  over  "  a  Major,  for  no  other  reason 
but  that  it  pleased  him  to  do  so.  This  Luka  Kouzmitch 
was  the  smallest  and  thinnest  man  in  all  the  barracks. 
He  was  from  the  South.  He  had  been  a  serf,  one  of  those 
not  attached  to  the  soil,  but  who  serve  their  masters  as 
domestics.  There  was  something  cutting  and  haughty  in 
his  demeanour.  He  was  a  little  bird,  but  had  a  beak 
and  nails.  The  convicts  sum  up  a  man  instinctively. 
They  thought  nothing  of  this  one,  he  was  too  susceptible 
and  too  full  of  conceit. 

That  evening  he  was  stitching  a  shirt,  seated  on  his 
camp-bedstead.  Close  to  him  was  a  narrow-minded, 
stupid,  but  good-natured  and  obliging  fellow,  a  sort  of 
Colossus,  Kobylin  by  name.  Luka  often  quarrelled 
with  him  in  a  neighbourly  way,  and  treated  him  with  a 
haughtiness  which,  thanks  to  his  good-nature,  Kobylin 
did  not  notice  in  the  least.  He  was  knitting  a  stocking, 
and  listening  to  Luka  with  an  indifferent  air.  Luka 
spoke  in  a  loud  voice  and  very  distinctly.  He  wished 
every  one  to  hear  him,  though  he  was  apparently  speak- 
ing only  to  Kobylin. 

"  I  was  sent  away/'  said  Luka,  sticking  his  needle  in 
the  shirt,  "  as  a  brigand." 

"  How  long  ago  ?  "  asked  Kobylin. 

"  When  the  peas  are  ripe  it  will  be  just  a  year.  Well, 

we  got  to  K v,  and  I  was  put  into  the  convict  prison. 

Around  me  there  were  a  dozen  men  from  Little  Russia, 
•well-built,  solid,  robust  fellows,  like  oxen,  and  how  quiet ! 


128  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

The  food  was  bad,  the  Major  of  the  prison  did  what  he 
liked.  One  day  passed,  then  another,  and  I  soon  saw 
that  all  these  fellows  were  cowards. 

" t  You  are  afraid  of  such  an  idiot  ? '  I  said  to 
them. 

"  '  Gro  and  talk  to  him  yourself/  and  they  burst  out 
laughing  like  brutes  that  they  were.  I  held  my  tongue. 

"  There  was  one  fellow  so  droll,  so  droll,"  added  the 
narrator,  now  leaving  Kobylin  to  address  all  who  chose 
to  listen. 

"  This  droll  fellow  was  telling  them  how  he  had  been 
tried,  what  he  had  said,  and  how  he  had  wept  with  hot 
tears. 

" '  There  was  a  dog  of  a  clerk  there/  he  said,  '  who 
did  nothing  but  write  and  take  down  every  word  I  said. 
I  told  him  I  wished  him  at  the  devil,  and  he  actually 
wrote  that  down.  He  troubled  me  so,  that  I  quite  lost 
my  head.'" 

"  Give  me  some  thread,  Vasili ;  the  house  thread  is 
bad,  rotten." 

"  There  is  some  from  the  tailor's  shop/'  replied  Vassili, 
handing  it  over  to  him. 

"  Well,  but  about  this  Major  ?  "  said  Kobylin,  who  had 
been  quite  forgotten. 

Luka  was  only  waiting  for  that.  He  did  not  go  on 
at  once  with  his  story,  as  though  Kobylin  were  not  worth 
such  a  mark  of  attention.  He  threaded  his  needle 
quietly,  bent  his  legs  lazily  beneath  him,  and  at  last 
continued  as  follows : 

"  I  excited  the  fellows  to  such  an  extent  that  they 
all  called  out  against  the  Major.  That  same  morning  I  had 
borrowed  the  *  rascal '  [prison  slang  for  knife]  from  my 
neighbour,  and  had  hid  it,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  anything. 
When  the  Major  arrived,  he  was  as  furious  as  a  mad- 
man. '  Come  now,  you  Little  Russians,'  I  whispered  to 
them,  'this  is  not  the  time  for  fear.'  But,  dear  me, 
all  their  courage  had  slipped  down  to  the  soles  of  their 
feet,  they  trembled  !  The  Major  came  in,  he  was  quite 
drunk. 


MEN  OF  DETERMINATION— LUKA  129 

" '  What  is  this,  how  do  you  dare  ?  I  am  your  Tzar, 
your  God/  he  cried. 

"  When  he  said  that  he  was  the  Tzar  and  God,  I  went 
up  to  him  with  my  knife  in  my  sleeve. 

" '  No/  I  said  to  him,  'your  high  nobility/  and  I  got 
nearer  and  nearer  to  him,  ( that  cannot  be.  Your  "  high 
nobility  "  cannot  be  our  Tzar  and  our  God/ 

"'  Ah,  you  are  the  man,  it  is  you/  cried  the  Major; 
'  you  are  the  leader  of  them/ 

" '  No/  I  answered,  and  I  got  still  nearer  to  him  ; 
"  'no,  your  "high  nobility,"  as  every  one  knows,  and  as 
you  yourself  know,  the  all-powerful  God  present  every- 
where is  alone  in  heaven.  And  we  have  only  one  Tzar  placed 
above  every  one  else  by  God  himself.  He  is  our  monarch, 
your  "  high  nobility/'  And,  your  "  high  nobility,"  you 
are  as  yet  only  Major,  and  you  are  our  chief  only  by  the 
grace  of  the  Tzar,  and  by  your  merits/ 

"'How?  how?  how?'  stammered  the  Major.  He 
could  not  speak,  so  astounded  was  he. 

"  This  is  how  I  answered,  and  I  threw  myself  upon 
him  and  thrust  my  knife  into  his  belly  up  to  the  hilt.  It 
had  been  done  very  quickly ;  the  Major  tottered,  turned, 
and  fell. 

"  I  had  thrown  my  life  away. 

" ( Now,  you  fellows/  I  cried,  ( it  is  for  you  to  pick 
him  up.' » 

I  will  here  make  a  digression  from  my  narrative. 
The  expression,  "  I  am  the  Tzar  1  I  am  God  1 "  and  other 
similar  ones  were  once,  unfortunately,  too  often  employed 
in  the  good  old  times  by  many  commanders.  I  must 
admit  that  their  number  has  seriously  diminished,  and 
perhaps  even  the  last  has  already  disappeared.  Let  me 
observe  that  those  who  spoke  in  this  way  were,  above  all, 
men  promoted  from  the  ranks.  The  grade  of  officer  had 
turned  their  brain  upside  down.  After  having  laboured 
long  years  beneath  the  knapsack,  they  suddenly  found 
themselves  officers,  commanders,  and  nobles  above  all. 
Thanks  to  their  not  being  accustomed  to  it,  and  to  the  first 
excitement  caused  by  their  promotion,  they  contracted 
an  exaggerated  idea  of  their  power  and  importance 


130  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

relatively  to  their  subordinates.  Before  their  superiors 
such  men  are  revolfcingly  servile.  The  most  fawning  of 
them  will  even  say  to  their  superiors  that  they  have  been 
common  soldiers,  and  that  they  do  not  forget  their 
place.  But  towards  their  inferiors  they  are  despots 
without  mercy.  Nothing  irritates  the  convicts  so  much 
as  such  abuses.  These  overweening  opinions  of  their 
own  greatness  ;  this  exaggerated  idea  of  their  immunity, 
causes  hatred  in  the  hearts  of  the  most  submissive  men, 
and  drives  the  most  patient  to  excesses.  Fortunately, 
all  this  dates  from  a  time  that  is  almost  forgotten,  and 
even  then  the  superior  authorities  used  to  deal  very 
severely  with  abuses  of  power.  I  know  more  than  one 
example  of  it.  What  exasperates  the  convicts  above  all 
is  disdain  or  repugnance  manifested  by  any  one  in  deal- 
ing with  them.  Those  who  think  that  it  is  only  necessary 
to  feed  and  clothe  the  prisoner,  and  to  act  towards  him 
in  all  things  according  to  the  law,  are  much  mistaken. 
However  much  debased  he  may  be,  a  man  exacts 
instinctively  respect  for  his  character  as  a  man.  Every 
prisoner  knows  perfectly  that  he  is  a  convict  and  a 
reprobate,  and  knows  the  distance  which  separates  him 
from  his  superiors ;  but  neither  the  branding  irons  nor 
chains  will  make  him  forget  that  he  is  a  man.  He  must, 
therefore,  be  treated  with  humanity.  Humane  treatment 
may  raise  up  one  in  whom  the  divine  image  has  long  been 
obscured.  It  is  with  the  "  unfortunate,"  above  all,  that 
humane  conduct  is  necessary.  It  is  their  salvation,  their 
only  joy.  I  have  met  with  some  chiefs  of  a  kind  and 
noble  character,  and  I  have  seen  what  a  beneficent 
influence  they  exercised  over  the  poor,  humiliated  men 
entrusted  to  their  care.  A  few  affable  words  have  a 
wonderful  moral  effect  upon  the  prisoners.  They  render 
them  as  happy  as  children,  and  make  them  sincerely 
grateful  towards  their  chiefs.  One  other  remark — they 
do  not  like  their  chiefs  to  be  familiar  and  too  much  hail- 
fellow-well-met  with  them.  They  wish  to  respect  them, 
and  familiarity  would  prevent  this.  The  prisoners  will 
feel  proud,  for  instance,  if  their  chief  has  a  number  of 
decorations ;  if  he  has  good  manners ;  if  he  is  well-con- 


MEN  OF  DETERMINATION— LUKA  131 

sidered  by  a  powerful  superior ;  if  he  is  severe,  but  at 
the  same  time  just,  and  possesses  a  consciousness  of 
dignity.  The  convicts  prefer  such  a  man  to  all  others. 
He  knows  what  he  is  worth,  and  does  not  insult  others. 
Everything  then  is  for  the  best. 

"You  gat  well  skinned  for  that,  I  suppose/'  asked 
Kobylin. 

"  As  for  being  skinned,  indeed,  there  is  no  denying 
it.  Ali,  give  me  the  scissors.  But,  what  next ;  are  we 
not  going  to  play  at  cards  to-night  ?  " 

"  The  cards  we  drank  up  long  ago,"  remarked  Vassili. 
"  If  we  had  not  sold  them  to  get  drink  they  would  be  here 
now." 

"  If  f If s  fetch  a  hundred  roubles  a  piece  on  the 

Moscow  market." 

"  Well,  Luka,  what  did  you  get  for  sticking  him  ?  " 
asked  Kobylin. 

"  It  brought  me  five  hundred  strokes,  my  friend.  It 
did  indeed.  They  did  all  but  kill  me,"  said  Luka,  once 
more  addressing  the  assembly  and  without  heeding  his 
neighbour  Kobylin.  "  When  they  gave  me  those  five 
hundred  strokes,  I  was  treated  with  great  ceremony.  I 
had  never  before  been  flogged.  What  a  mass  of  people 
came  to  see  me !  The  whole  town  had  assembled  to  see 
the  brigand,  the  murderer,  receive  his  punishment.  How 
stupid  the  populace  is  ! — I  cannot  tell  you  to  what  extent. 
Timoshka  the  executioner  undressed  me  and  laid  me  down 
and  cried  out,  'Look  out,  I  am  going  to  grill  you ! '  I  waited 
for  the  first  stroke.  I  wanted  to  cry  out,  but  could  not. 
It  was  no  use  opening  my  mouth,  my  voice  had  gone. 
When  he  gave  me  the  second  stroke — you  need  not 
believe  me  unless  you  please — I  did  not  hear  when  they 
counted  two.  I  returned  to  myself  and  heard  them  count 
seventeen.  Four  times  they  took  me  down  from  the 
board  to  let  me  breathe  for  half-an-hour,  and  to  souse 
me  with  cold  water.  I  stared  at  them  with  my  eyes 
starting  from  my  head,  and  said  to  myself,  ( I  shall  die 
here.'"' 

"  But  you  did  not  die,"  remarked  Kobylin  innocently. 


132  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Luka  looked  at  him  with  disdain,  and  every  one  burst 
out  laughing. 

"What  an  idiot !  Is  he  wrong  in  the  upper  storey  ?  " 
said  Luka,  as  if  he  regretted  that  he  had  condescended 
to  speak  to  such  an  idiot. 

"  He  is  a  little  mad,"  said  Vassili  on  his  side. 

Although  Luka  had  killed  six  persons,  no  one  was 
ever  afraid  of  him  in  the  prison.  He  wished,  however,  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  terrible  person. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ISAIAH   FOMITCH — THE   BATH BAKLOUCHTN. 

BUT  the  Christmas  holidays  were  approaching, 
and  the  convicts  looked  forward  to  them  with 
solemnity.  From  their  mere  appearance  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  something  extraordinary 
was  about  to  arrive.  Four  days  before  the  holidays 
they  were  to  be  taken  to  the  bath ;  every  one  was  pleased, 
and  was  making  preparations.  We  were  to  go  there 
after  dinner.  On  this  occasion  there  was  no  work  in 
the  afternoon,  and  of  all  the  convicts  the  one  who  was 
most  pleased,  and  showed  the  greatest  activity,  was  a 
certain  Isaiah  Fomitch  Bumstein,  a  Jew,  of  whom  I  spoke 
in  my  fifth  chapter.  He  liked  to  remain  stewing  in  the 
bath  until  he  became  unconscious.  Whenever  I  think 
of  the  prisoner's  bath,  which  is  a  thing  not  to  be  forgotten, 
the  first  thought  that  presents  itself  to  my  memory  is  of 
that  very  glorious  and  eternally  to  be  remembered,  Isaiah 
Fomitch  Bumstein,  my  prison  companion.  Good  Lord ! 
what  a  strange  man  he  was !  I  have  already  said  a  few 
words  about  his  face.  He  was  fifty  years  of  age,  his  face 
wrinkled,  with  frightful  scars  on  his  cheeks  and  on  his 
forehead,  and  the  thin,  weak  body  of  a  fowl.  His  face 
expressed  perpetual  confidence  in  himself,  and,  I  may 
almost  say,  perfect  happiness.  I  do  not  think  he  was 
at  all  sorry  to  be  condemned  to  hard  labour.  He  was  a 
jeweller  by  trade,  and  as  there  was  no  other  in  the  town, 


134  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBEBIA 

he  had  always  plenty  of  work  to  do,  and  was  more  or  less 
well  paid.  He  wanted  nothing,  and  lived,  so  to  say, 
sumptuously,  without  spending  all  that  he  gained,  for  he 
saved  money  and  lent  it  out  to  the  other  convicts  at 
interest.  He  possessed  a  tea-urn,  a  mattress,  a  tea-cup, 
and  a  blanket.  The  Jews  of  the  town  did  not  refuse  him 
their  patronage.  Every  Saturday  he  went  under  escort 
to  the  synagogue  (which  was  authorised  by  the  law) ;  and 
he  lived  like  a  fighting  cock.  Nevertheless,  he  looked 
forward  to  the  expiration  of  his  term  of  imprisonment  in 
order  to  get  married.  He  was  the  most  comic  mixture  of 
simplicity,  stupidity,  cunning,  timidity,  and  bashfulness; 
but  the  strangest  thing  was  that  the  convicts  never 
laughed,  or  seriously  mocked  him — they  only  teased  him 
for  amusement.  Isaiah  Fomitch  was  a  subject  of  dis- 
traction and  amusement  for  every  one. 

"We  have  only  one  Isaiah  Fomitch,  we  will  take 
care  of  him,"  the  convicts  seemed  to  say ;  and  as  if  he 
understood  this,  he  was  proud  of  his  own  importance. 
From  the  account  given  to  me  it  appeared  he  had 
entered  the  convict  prison  in  the  most  laughable  manner 
(it  took  place  before  my  arrival).  Suddenly  one  evening 
a  report  was  spread  in  the  convict  prison  that  a  Jew  had 
been  brought  there,  who  at  that  moment  was  being  shaved 
in  the  guard-house,  and  that  he  was  immediately  after- 
wards to  be  taken  to  the  barracks.  As  there  was  not  a 
single  Jew  in  the  prison,  the  convicts  looked  forward  to 
his  entry  with  impatience,  and  surrounded  him  as  soon 
as  he  passed  the  great  gates.  The  officer  on  service  took 
him  to  the  civil  prison,  and  pointed  out  the  place  where 
his  plank  bedstead  was  to  be. 

Isaiah  Fomitch  held  in  his  hand  a  bag  containing  the 
things  given  to  him,  and  some  other  things  of  his  own. 
He  put  down  his  bag,  took  his  place  at  the  plank  bed- 
stead, and  sat  down  there  with  his  legs  crossed,  without 
daring  to  raise  his  eyes.  People  were  laughing  all  round 
him.  The  convicts  ridiculed  him  by  reason  of  his  Jewish 
origin.  Suddenly  a  young  convict  left  the  others,  and 
came  up  to  him,  carrying  in  his  hand  an  old  pair  of 
summer  trousers,  dirty,  torn,  and  mended  with  old  rags. 


ISAIAH  FOMITCH— THE  BATH—BAKLOUGHIN    135 

He  sat  down  by  the  side  of  Isaiah  Fomitch,  and  struck 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  waiting 
for  the  last  six  years ;  look  up  and  tell  me  how  much  you 
will  give  for  this  article,"  holding  up  his  rags  before  him. 

Isaiah  Fomitch  was  so  dumbfounded  that  he  did  not 
dare  to  look  at  the  mocking  crowd,  with  mutilated  and 
frightful  countenances,  now  grouped  around  him,  and 
did  not  speak  a  single  word,  so  frightened  was  he.  When 
he  saw  who  was  speaking  to  him  he  shuddered,  and 
began  to  examine  the  rags  carefully.  Every  one  waited 
to  hear  his  first  words. 

"  Well,  cannot  you  give  me  a  silver  rouble  for  it  ?  It 
is  certainly  worth  that/'  said  the  would-be  vendor 
smiling,  and  looking  towards  Isaiah  Fomitch  with  a  wink. 

"  A  silver  rouble !  no ;  but  I  will  give  you  seven 
kopecks." 

These  were  the  first  words  pronounced  by  Isaiah 
Fomitch  in  the  convict  prison.  A  loud  laugh  was  heard 
from  all  sides. 

"  Seven  kopecks  !  Well,  give  them  to  me  ;  you  are 
lucky,  you  are  indeed.  Look  !  Take  care  of  the  pledge, 
you  answer  for  it  with  your  head." 

"  With  three  kopecks  for  interest ;  that  will  make  ten 
kopecks  you  will  owe  me,"  said  the  Jew,  at  the  same  time 
slipping  his  hand  into  his  pocket  to  get  out  the  sum 
agreed  upon. 

"  Three  kopecks  interest — for  a  year  ?  " 

"  No,  not  for  a  year,  for  a  month." 

"  You  are  a  terrible  screw,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Isaiah  Fomitch." 

"  Well,  Isaiah  Fomitch,  you  ought  to  get  on.  Good- 
bye." 

The  Jew  examined  once  more  the  rags  on  which  he 
had  lent  seven  kopecks,  folded  them  up,  and  put  them 
carefully  away  in  his  bag.  The  convicts  continued  to 
laugh  at  him. 

In  reality  every  one  laughed  at  him,  but,  although 
every  prisoner  owed  him  money,  no  one  insulted  him ; 


136  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

and  when  lie  saw  that  every  one  was  well  disposed 
towards  him,  he  gave  himself  haughty  airs,  but  so  comic 
that  they  were  at  once  forgiven. 

Luka,  who  had  known  many  Jews  when  he  was  at 
liberty,  often  teased  him,  less  from  malice  than  for  amuse- 
ment, as  one  plays  with  a  dog  or  a  parrot.  Isaiah 
Fomitch  knew  this  and  did  not  take  offence. 

"  You  will  see,  Jew,  how  I  will  flog  you." 

"  If  you  give  me  one  blow  I  will  return  you  ten/' 
replied  Isaiah  Fomitch  valiantly. 

"  Scurvy  Jew." 

"  As  scurvy  as  you  like ;  I  have  in  any  case  plenty  of 
money." 

"  Bravo !  Isaiah  Fomitch.  We  must  take  care  of 
you.  You  are  the  only  Jew  we  have ;  but  they  will  send 
you  to  Siberia  all  the  same." 

"  I  am  already  in  Siberia." 

"  They  will  send  you  farther  on." 

"  Is  not  the  Lord  God  there  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  he  is  everywhere." 

"  Well,  then !  With  the  Lord  God,  and  money,  one 
has  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  What  a  fellow  he  is !  "  cries  every  one  around  him. 

The  Jew  sees  that  he  is  being  laughed  at,  but  does 
not  lose  courage.  He  gives  himself  airs.  The  flattery 
addressed  to  him  causes  him  much  pleasure,  and  with  a 
high,  squealing  falsetto,  which  is  heard  throughout  the 
barracks,  he  begins  to  sing,  "  la,  la,  la,  la,"  to  an  idiotic 
and  ridiculous  tune ;  the  only  song  he  was  heard  to  sing 
during  his  stay  at  the  convict  prison.  When  he  made 
my  acquaintance,  he  assured  me  solemnly  that  it  was  the 
song,  and  the  very  air,  that  was  sung  by  600,000  Jews, 
small  and  great,  when  they  crossed  the  Eed  Sea,  and 
that  every  Israelite  was  ordered  to  sing  it  after  a  victory 
gained  over  an  enemy. 

The  eve  of  each  Saturday  the  convicts  came  from  the 
other  barracks  to  ours,  expressly  to  see  Isaiah  Fomitch 
celebrating  his  Sabbath.  He  was  so  vain,  so  innocently 
conceited,  that  this  general  curiosity  flattered  him 
immensely.  He  covered  the  table  in  his  little  corner 


ISAIAH  FOMITCH-^THE  BATH-SAKLOUCHIN    137 

with  a  pedantic  air  of  importance,  opened  a  book,  lighted 
two  candles,  muttered  some  mysterious  words,  and  clothed 
himself  in  a  kind  of  chasuble,  striped,  and  with  sleeves, 
which  he  preserved  carefully  at  the  bottom  of  his  trunk. 
He  fastened  to  his  hands  leather  bracelets,  and  finally 
attached  to  his  forehead,  by  means  of  a  ribbon,  a  little 
box,  which  made'  it  seem  as  if  a  horn  were  starting  from 
his  head.  He  then  began  to  pray.  He  read  in  a  drawling 
voice,  cried  out,  spat,  and  threw  himself  about  with  wild 
and  comic  gestures.  All  this  was  prescribed  by  the 
ceremonies  of  his  religion.  There  was  nothing  laughable 
or  strange  in  it,  except  the  airs  which  Isaiah  Fomitch 
gave  himself  before  us  in  performing  his  ceremonies. 
Then  he  suddenly  covered  his  head  with  both  hands,  and 
began  to  read  with  many  sobs.  His  tears  increased,  and 
in  his  grief  he  almost  lay  down  upon  the  book  his  head 
with  the  ark  upon  it,  howling  as  he  did  so ;  but  suddenly 
in  the  midst  of  his  despondent  sobs  he  burst  into  a  laugh, 
and  recited  with  a  nasal  twang  a  hymn  of  triumph,  as  if 
he  were  overcome  by  an  excess  of  happiness. 

"  Impossible  to  understand  it/'  the  convicts  would 
sometimes  say  to  one  another.  One  day  I  asked  Isaiah 
Fomitch  what  these  sobs  signified,  and  why  he  passed  so 
suddenly  from  despair  to  triumphant  happiness.  Isaiah 
Fomitch  was  very  pleased  when  I  asked  him  these 
questions.  He  explained  to  me  directly  that  the  sobs 
and  tears  were  provoked  by  the  loss  of  Jerusalem,  and 
that  the  law  ordered  the  pious  Jew  to  groan  and  strike 
his  breast ;  but  at  the  moment  of  his  most  acute  grief  he 
was  suddenly  to  remember  that  a  prophecy  had  foretold 
the  return  of  the  Jews  to  Jerusalem,  and  he  was  then  to 
manifest  overflowing  joy,  to  sing,  to  laugh,  and  to  recite 
his  prayers  with  an  expression  of  happiness  in  his  voice 
and  on  his  countenance.  This  sudden  passage  from  one 
phase  of  feeling  to  another  delighted  Isaiah  Fomitch, 
and  he  explained  to  me  this  ingenious  prescription  of  his 
faith  with  the  greatest  satisfaction. 

One  evening,  in  the  midst  of  his  prayers,  the  Major 
entered,  followed  by  the  officer  of  the  guard  and  an 
escort  of  soldiers.  All  the  prisoners  got  immediately 


138  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

into  line  "before  their  camp-bedsteads.  Isaiah  Fomitch 
alone  continued  to  shriek  and  gesticulate.  He  knew  that 
his  worship  was  authorised,  and  that  no  one  could 
interrupt  him,  so  that  in  howling  in  the  presence  of  the 
Major  he  ran  no  risk.  It  pleased  him  to  throw  himself 
about  beneath  the  eyes  of  the  chief. 

The  Major  approached  within  a  few  steps.  Isaiah 
Fomitch  turned  his  back  to  the  table,  and  just  in  front 
of  the  officer  began  to  sing  his  hymn  of  triumph,  ges- 
ticulating and  drawling  out  certain  syllables.  When  he 
came  to  the  part  where  he  had  to  assume  an  expression 
of  extreme  happiness,  he  did  so  by  blinking  with  his 
eyes,  at  the  same  time  laughing  and  nodding  his  head 
in  the  direction  of  the  Major.  The  latter  was  at  first 
much  astonished ;  then  he  burst  into  a  laugh,  called  out, 
"  Idiot ! "  and  went  away,  while  the  Jew  still  continued 
to  shriek.  An  hour  later,  when  he  had  finished,  I  asked 
him  what  he  would  have  done  if  the  Major  had  been 
wicked  enough  and  foolish  enough  to  lose  his  temper. 

"  What  Major  ?  " 

"  What  Major  !  Did  you  not  see  him  ?  He  was  only 
two  steps  from  you,  and  was  looking  at  you  all  the  time." 
But  Isaiah  Fomitch  assured  me  as  seriously  as  possible 
that  he  had  not  seen  the  Major,  for  while  he  was  saying 
his  prayers  he  was  in  such  a  state  of  ecstasy  that  he 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  that  was  taking  place 
around  him. 

I  can  see  Isaiah  Fomitch  wandering  about  on  Saturday 
throughout  the  prison,  endeavouring  to  do  nothing,  as 
the  law  prescribes  to  every  Jew.  What  improbable 
anecdotes  he  told  me!  Every  time  he  returned  from 
the  synagogue  he  always  brought  me  some  news  of 
St.  Petersburg,  and  the  most  absurd  rumours  imaginable 
from  his  fellow  Jews  of  the  town,  who  themselves  had 
received  them  at  first  hand.  But  I  have  already  spoken 
too  much  of  Isaiah  Fomitch. 

In  the  whole  town  there  were  only  two  public  baths. 
The  first,  kept  by  a  Jew,  was  divided  into  compartments, 
for  which  one  paid  fifty  kopecks.  It  was  frequented  by 
the  aristocracy  of  the  town. 


ISAIAH  FOMITGH—THE  BATH-BAKLOUCHIN    139 

The  other  bath,  old,  dirty,  and  close,  was  destined 
for  the  people.  It  was  there  that  the  convicts  were 
taken.  The  air  was  cold  and  clear.  The  prisoners  were 
delighted  to  get  out  of  the  fortress  and  have  a  walk 
through  the  town.  During  the  walk  their  laughter  and 
jokes  never  ceased.  A  platoon  of  soldiers,  with  muskets 
loaded,  accompanied  us.  It  was  quite  a  sight  for  the 
town's-people.  When  we  had  reached  our  destination, 
the  bath  was  so  small  that  it  did  not  permit  us  all  to 
enter  at  once.  We  were  divided  into  two  bands,  one 
of  which  waited  in  the  cold  room  while  the  other  one 
bathed  in  the  hot  one.  Even  then,  so  narrow  was  the 
room  that  it  was  difficult  for  us  to  understand  how  half 
of  the  convicts  could  stand  together  in  it. 

Petroff  kept  close  to  me.  He  remained  by  my  side 
without  my  having  begged  him  to  do  so,  and  offered  to 
rub  me  down.  Baklouchin,  a  convict  of  the  special 
section,  offered  me  at  the  same  time  his  services.  I 
recollect  this  prisoner,  who  was  called  the  "  Sapper/'  as 
the  gayest  and  most  agreeable  of  all  my  companions. 
We  had  become  intimate  friends.  Petroff  helped  me  to 
undress,  because  I  was  generally  a  long  time  getting  my 
things  off,  not  being  yet  accustomed  to  the  operation  ; 
and  it  was  almost  as  cold  in  the  dressing-room  as  outside 
the  doors. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  a  convict  who  is  still  a  novice 
to  get  his  things  off,  for  he  must  know  how  to  undo  the 
leather  straps  which  fasten  on  the  chains.  These  leather 
straps  are  buckled  over  the  shirt,  just  beneath  the  ring 
which  encloses  the  leg.  One  pair  of  straps  costs  sixty 
kopecks,  and  each  convict  is  obliged  to  get  himself  a  pair, 
for  it  would  be  impossible  to  walk  without  their  assistance. 
The  ring  does  not  enclose  the  leg  too  tightly.  One  can 
pass  the  finger  between  the  iron  and  the  flesh ;  but  the 
ring  rubs  against  the  calf,  so  that  in  a  single  day  the 
convict  who  walks  without  leather  straps,  gets  his  skin 
broken. 

To  take  off  the  straps  presents  no  difficulty.  It  is 
not  the  same  with  the  clothes.  To  get  the  trousers  off 
is  in  itself  a  prodigious  operation,  and  the  same  may  be 


140  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

said  of  the  shirt  whenever  it  has  to  be  changed.  The 
first  who  gave  us  lessons  in  this  art  was  Koreneff,  a 
former  chief  of  brigands,  condemned  to  be  chained  up 
for  five  years.  The  convicts  are  very  skilful  at  the 
work,  and  do  it  readily. 

I  gave  a  few  kopecks  to  Petroff  to  buy  soap  and  a 
bunch  of  the  twigs  with  which  one  rubs  oneself  in  the 
bath.  Bits  of  soap  were  given  to  the  convicts,  but  they 
were  not  larger  than  pieces  of  two  kopecks.  The  soap 
was  sold  in  the  dressing-room,  as  well  as  mead,  cakes  of 
white  flour,  and  boiling  water ;  for  each  convict  received 
but  one  pailful,  according  to  the  agreement  made  between 
the  proprietor  of  the  bath  and  the  administration  of  the 
prison.  The  convicts  who  wished  to  make  themselves 
thoroughly  clean,  could  for  two  kopecks  buy  another 
pailful,  which  the  proprietor  handed  to  them  through  a 
window  pierced  in  the  wall  for  that  purpose.  As  soon 
as  I  was  undressed,  Petroff  took  me  by  the  arm  and 
observed  to  me  that  I  should  find  it  difficult  to  walk  with 
my  chains. 

"  Drag  them  up  on  to  your  calves/'  he  said  to  me, 
holding  me  by  the  arms  at  the  same  time,  as  if  I  were 
an  old  man.  I  was  ashamed  at  his  care,  and  assured  him 
that  I  could  walk  well  enough  by  myself,  but  he  did  not 
believe  me.  He  paid  me  the  same  attention  that  one 
gives  to  an  awkward  child.  Petroff  was  not  a  servant  in 
any  sense  of  the  word.  If  I  had  offended  him,  he  would 
have  known  how  to  deal  with  me.  I  had  promised  him 
nothing  for  his  assistance,  nor  had  he  asked  me  for  any- 
thing. What  inspired  him  with  so  much  solicitude 
for  me  ? 

Represent  to  yourself  a  room  of  twelve  feet  long  by 
as  many  broad,  in  which  a  hundred  men  are  all  crowded 
together,  or  at  least  eighty,  for  we  were  in  all  two 
hundred  divided  into  two  sections.  The  steam  blinded 
as  ;  the  sweat,  the  dirt,  the  want  of  space,  were  such  that 
we  did  not  know  where  to  put  a  foot  down.  I  was 
frightened  and  wished  to  go  out.  Petroff  hastened  to 
reassure  me.  With  great  trouble  we  succeeded  in  rais- 
ing ourselves  on  to  the  benches,  by  passing  over  the 


ISAIAH  FOMITCH—THE  BATR—BAKLOUGHIN    141 

heads  of  the  convicts,  whom  we  begged  to  bend  down, 
in  order  to  let  us  pass ;  but  all  the  benches  were  already 
occupied.  Petroff  informed  me  that  I  must  buy  a 
place,  and  at  once  entered  into  negotiations  with  the 
convict  who  was  near  the  window.  For  a  kopeck 
this  man  consented  to  cede  me  his  place.  After  receiv- 
ing the  money,  which  Petroff  held  tight  in  his  hand, 
and  which  he  had  prudently  provided  himself  with  before- 
hand, the  man  crept  just  beneath  me  into  a  dark  and 
dirty  corner.  There  was  there,  at  least,  half  an  inch  of 
filth ;  even  the  places  above  the  benches  were  occupied, 
the  convicts  swarmed  everywhere.  As  for  the  floor 
there  was  not  a  place  as  big  as  the  palm  of  the  hand 
which  was  not  occupied  by  the  convicts.  They  sent  the 
water  in  spouts  out  of  their  pails.  Those  who  were 
standing  up  washed  themselves  pail  in  hand,  and  the 
dirty  water  ran  all  down  their  body  to  fall  on  the  shaved 
heads  of  those  who  were  sitting  down.  On  the  upper 
bench,  and  the  steps  which  led  to  it,  were  heaped 
together  other  convicts  who  washed  themselves  more 
thoroughly,  but  these  were  in  small  number.  The  popu- 
lace does  not  care  to  wash  with  soap  and  water,  it  prefers 
stewing  in  a  horrible  manner,  and  then  inundating  itself 
with  cold  water.  That  is  how  the  common  people  take 
their  bath.  On  the  floor  could  be  seen  fifty  bundles  of 
rods  rising  and  falling  at  the  same  time,  the  holders 
were  whipping  themselves  into  a  state  of  intoxication. 
The  steam  became  thicker  and  thicker  every  minute,  so 
that  what  one  now  felt  was  not  a  warm  but  a  burning 
sensation,  as  from  boiling  pitch.  The  convicts  shouted 
and  howled  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  hundred  chains 
shaking  on  the  floor.  Those  who  wished  to  pass  from 
one  place  to  another  got  their  chains  mixed  up  with 
those  of  their  neighbours,  and  knocked  against  the  heads 
of  the  men  who  were  lower  down  than  they.  Then  there 
were  volleys  of  oaths  as  those  who  fell  dragged  down  the 
ones  whose  chains  had  become  entangled  in  theirs.  They 
were  all  in  a  state  of  intoxication  of  wild  exultation. 
Cries  and  shrieks  were  heard  on  all  sides.  There  was 
much  crowding  and  crushing  at  the  window  of  the  dress- 


142  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

ing-room  through  which  the  hot  water  was  delivered, 
and  much  of  it  got  spilt  over  the  heads  of  those  who 
were  seated  on  the  floor  before  it  arrived  at  its  destina- 
tion. We  seemed  to  be  fully  at  liberty ;  and  yet  from 
time  to  time,  behind  the  window  of  the  dressing-room,  or 
through  the  open  door,  could  be  seen  the  moustached  face 
of  a  soldier,  with  his  musket  at  his  feet,  watching  that  no 
serious  disorder  took  place. 

The  shaved  heads  of  the  convicts,  and  their  red 
bodies,  which  the  steam  made  the  colour  of  blood, 
seemed  more  monstrous  than  ever.  On  their  backs, 
made  scarlet  by  the  steam,  stood  out  in  striking  relief 
the  scars  left  by  the  whips  and  the  rods,  made  long 
before,  but  so  thoroughly  that  the  flesh  seemed  to  have 
been  quite  recently  torn.  Strange  scars.  A  shudder 
passed  through  me  at  the  mere  sight  of  them.  Again 
the  volume  of  steam  increased,  and  the  bath-room 
was  now  covered  with  a  thick,  burning  cloud,  covering 
agitation  and  cries.  From  this  cloud  stood  out  torn  backs, 
shaved  heads ;  and,  to  complete  the  picture,  Isaiah 
Fomitch  howling  with  joy  on  the  highest  of  the  benches. 
He  was  saturating  himself  with  steam.  Any  other 
man  would  have  fainted  away,  but  no  temperature  is  too 
high  for  him ;  he  engages  the  services  of  a  rubber  for  a 
kopeck,  but  after  a  few  moments  the  latter  is  unable  to 
continue,  throws  away  his  bunch  of  twigs,  and  runs  to 
inundate  himself  with  cold  water.  Isaiah  Fomitch  does 
not  lose  courage,  he  runs  to  hire  a  second  rubber, 
then  a  third;  on  these  occasions  he  thinks  nothing  of 
expense,  and  changes  his  rubber  four  or  five  times. 
"He  stews  well,  the  gallant  Isaiah  Fomitch,"  cry  the 
convicts  from  below.  The  Jew  feels  that  he  goes  beyond 
all  the  others,  he  has  beaten  them ;  he  triumphs  with  his 
hoarse  falsetto  voice,  and  sings  out  his  favourite  air 
which  rises  above  the  general  hubbub.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  if  ever  we  met  in  hell  we  should  be  reminded  of 
the  place  where  we  then  were.  I  could  not  resist  a  wish 
to  communicate  this  idea  to  Petroff.  He  looked  all 
round  him,  but  made  no  answer. 

I  wished  to  buy  a  place  for  him  on  the  bench  by  my 


ISAIAH  FOMITCH—THE  BATH— BAKLOUCHIN    143 

side ;  but  he  sat  down  at  my  feet  and  declared  that  he 
felt  quite  at  his  ease.  Baklouchin  meanwhile  bought  us 
some  hot  water  which  he  would  bring  to  us  as  soon  as 
we  wanted  it.  Petroff  offered  to  clean  me  from  head  to 
foot,  and  he  begged  me  to  go  through  the  preliminary 
stewing  process.  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  it. 
At  last  he  rubbed  me  all  over  with  soap.  I  wished  to 
make  him  understand  that  I  could  wash  myself,  but  it 
was  no  use  contradicting  him  and  I  gave  myself  up  to  him. 

When  he  had  done  with  me  he  took  me  back  to  the 
dressing-room,  holding  me  up,  and  telling  me  at  each 
step  to  take  care,  as  if  I  had  been  made  of  porcelain. 
He  helped  me  to  put  on  my  clothes,  and  when  he  had 
finished  his  kindly  work  he  rushed  back  to  the  bath  to 
have  a  thorough  stewing. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  barracks  I  offered  him  a 
glass  of  tea,  which  he  did  not  refuse.  He  drank  it  and 
thanked  me.  I  wished  to  go  to  the  expense  of  a  glass  of 
vodka  in  his  honour,  and  I  succeeded  in  getting  it  on  the 
spot.  Petroff  was  exceedingly  pleased.  He  swallowed 
his  vodka  with  a  murmur  of  satisfaction,  declared  that  I 
had  restored  him  to  life,  and  then  suddenly  rushed  to  the 
kitchen,  as  if  the  people  who  were  talking  there  could 
not  decide  anything  important  without  him. 

Now  another  man  came  up  for  a  talk.  This  was 
Baklouchin,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  and  whom 
I  had  also  invited  to  take  tea. 

I  never  knew  a  man  of  a  more  agreeable  disposition 
than  Baklouchin.  It  must  be  admitted  that  he  never 
forgave  a  wrong,  and  that  he  often  got  into  quarrels. 
He  could  not,  above  all,  endure  people  interfering 
with  his  affairs.  He  knew,  in  a  word,  how  to  take  care 
of  himself;  but  his  quarrels  never  lasted  long,  and  I 
believe  that  all  the  convicts  liked  him.  Wherever  he 
went  he  was  well  received.  Even  in  the  town  he  was 
looked  upon  as  the  most  amusing  man  in  the  world.  He 
was  a  man  of  lofty  stature,  thirty  years  old,  with  a  frank, 
determined  countenance,  and  rather  good-looking,  with 
his  tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin.  He  possessed  the  art  of 
changing  his  face  in  such  a  comic  manner  by  imitating 


144  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  first  person  he  happened  to  see,  that  the  people 
around  him  were  constantly  in  a  roar.  He  was  a  pro- 
fessed joker,  but  he  never  allowed  himself  to  be  slighted 
by  those  who  did  not  enjoy  his  fun.  Accordingly,  no  one 
spoke  disparagingly  of  him.  He  was  full  of  life  and  fire. 
He  made  my  acquaintance  at  the  very  beginning  of  my 
imprisonment,  and  related  to  me  his  military  career, 
when  he  was  a  sapper  in  the  Engineers,  where  he  had 
been  placed  as  a  favour  by  people  of  influence.  He  put 
a  number  of  questions  to  me  about  St.  Petersburg; 
he  even  read  books  when  he  came  to  take  tea  with 
me.  He  amused  the  whole  company  by  relating  how 

roughly  Lieutenant  K had   that  morning  handled 

the  Major.  He  told  me,  moreover,  with  a  satisfied  air, 
as  he  took  his  seat  by  my  side,  that  we  should  probably 
have  a  theatrical  representation  in  the  prison.  The 
convicts  proposed  to  get  up  a  play  during  the  Christmas 
holidays.  The  necessary  actors  were  found,  and,  little  by 
little,  the  scenery  was  prepared.  Some  persons  in  the 
town  had  promised  to  lend  women's  clothes  for  the 
performance.  Some  hopes  were  even  entertained  of 
obtaining,  through  the  medium  of  an  officer's  servant,  a 
uniform  with  epaulettes,  provided  only  the  Major  did  not 
take  it  into  his  head  to  forbid  the  performance,  as  he  had 
done  the  previous  year.  He  was  at  that  time  in  ill- 
humour  through  having  lost  at  cards,  and  he  had  been 
annoyed  at  something  that  had  taken  place  in  the  prison. 
Accordingly,  in  a  fit  of  ill-humour,  he  had  forbidden  the 
performance.  It  was  possible,  however,  that  this  year  he 
would  not  prevent  it.  Baklouchin  was  in  a  state  of 
exultation.  It  could  be  seen  that  he  would  be  one  of  the 
principal  supporters  of  the  meditated  theatre.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  be  present  at  the  performance.  The 
ingenuous  joy  which  Baklouchin  manifested  in  speaking 
of  the  undertaking  was  quite  touching.  From  whispering, 
we  gradually  got  to  talk  of  the  matter  quite  openly.  He 
told  me,  among  other  things,  that  he  had  not  served  at 

St.  Petersburg  alone.     He  had  been  sent  to  R with 

the  rank  of  non-commissioned  officer  in  a  garrison 
battalion. 


ISAIAH  FOMITGH—THE  BATH—SAKLOUGHIN    145 

"  Trom  there  they  sent  me  on  here,"  added 
Baklouchin. 

"  And  why  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"Why?  You  would  never  guess,  Alexander 
Petrovitch.  Because  I  was  in  love." 

"  Come,  now.  A  man  is  not  exiled  for  that,"  I  said, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  I  should  have  added,"  continued  Baklouchin,  "  that 
it  made  me  kill  a  German  with  a  pistol-shot.  Was  it 
worth  while  to  send  me  to  hard  labour  for  killing  a 
German  ?  Only  think." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  Tell  me  the  story.  It  must 
be  a  strange  one." 

"  An  amusing  story  indeed,  Alexander  Petrovitch." 
"  So  much  the  better.     Tell  me." 
"  You  wish  me  to  do  so  ?     Well,  then,  listen." 
And  he  told  me  the  story  of  his  murder.     It  was  not 
"  amusing,"  but  it  was  indeed  strange. 

"  This  is  how  it  happened,"  began  Baklouchin ;  "  I 
had  been  sent  to  Riga,  a  fine,  handsome  city,  which  has 
only  one  fault,  there  are  too  many  Germans  there.  I 
was  still  a  young  man,  and  I  had  a  good  character  with 
my  officers.  I  wore  my  cap  cocked  on  the  side  of  my 
head,  and  passed  my  time  in  the  most  agreeable  manner. 
I  made  love  to  the  German  girls.  One  of  them,  named 
Luisa,  pleased  me  very  much.  She  and  her  aunt  were 
getters-up  of  fine  linen.  The  old  woman  was  a  true 
caricature;  but  she  had  money.  First  of  all  I  merely 
passed  under  the  young  girl's  windows;  but  I  soon 
made  her  acquaintance.  Luisa  spoke  Russian  well 
enough,  though  with  a  slight  accent.  She  was  charming. 
I  never  saw  any  one  like  her.  I  was  most  pressing  in 
my  advances;  but  she  only  replied  that  she  would 
preserve  her  innocence,  that  as  a  wife  she  might  prove 
worthy  of  me.  She  was  an  affectionate,  smiling  girl, 
and  wonderfully  neat.  In  fact,  I  assure  you,  I  never  saw 
any  one  like  her.  She  herself  had  suggested  that  I 
should  marry  her,  and  how  was  I  not  to  marry  her  ? 
Suddenly  Luisa  did  not  come  to  her  appointment. 
This  happened  once,  then  twice,  then  a  third  time.  I 


146  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

sent  her  a  letter,  but  she  did  not  reply.  'What  is  to  be 
done  ?  '  I  said  to  myself.  If  she  had  been  deceiving  me 
she  could  easily  have  taken  me  in.  She  coull  have 
answered  my  letter  and  come  all  the  same  to  the 
appointment;  but  she  was  incapable  of  falsehood.  She 
had  simply  broken  off  with  me.  '  This  is  a  trick  of  the 
aunt/  I  said  to  myself.  I  was  afraid  to  go  to  her  house. 

"  Even  though  she  was  aware  of  our  engagement,  we 
acted  as  if  she  were  ignorant  of  it.  I  wrote  a  fine  letter 
in  which  I  said  to  Luisa,  *  If  you  don't  come,  I  will 
come  to  your  aunt's  for  you.'  She  was  afraid  and  came. 
Then  she  began  to  weep,  and  told  me  that  a  German 
named  Schultz,  a  distant  relation  of  theirs,  a  clockmaker 
by  trade,  and  of  a  certain  age,  but  rich,  had  shown  a 
wish  to  marry  her — in  order  to  make  her  happy,  as  he 
said,  and  that  he  himself  might  not  remain  without  a 
wife  in  his  old  age.  He  had  loved  her  a  long  time,  so 
she  told  me,  and  had  been  nourishing  this  idea  for  years, 
but  he  had  kept  it  a  secret,  and  had  never  ventured  to 
speak  out.  '  You  see,  Sasha/  she  said  to  me,  '  that  it  is 
a  question  of  my  happiness;  for  he  is  rich,  and  would 
you  prevent  my  happiness  ?  '  I  looked  her  in  the  face, 
she  wept,  embraced  me,  clasped  me  in  her  arms. 

" '  Well,  she  is  quite  right/  I  said  to  myself,  '  what 
good  is  there  in  marrying  a  soldier — even  a  non- 
commissioned officer  ?  Come,  farewell,  Luisa.  God  pro- 
tect you.  I  have  no  right  to  prevent  your  happiness/ 

" f  And  what  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?  Is  he  good- 
looking  ? ' 

" '  No,  he  is  old,  and  he  has  such  a  long  nose/ 

"  She  here  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  I  left  her.  'It  was 
my  destiny/  I  said  to  myself.  The  next  day  I  passed  by 
Schultz'  shop  (she  had  told  me  where  he  lived).  I 
looked  through  the  window  and  saw  a  German,  who  was 
arranging  a  watch,  forty-five  years  of  age,  an  aquiline 
nose,  swollen  eyes,  a  dress-coat  with  a  very  high  collar. 
I  spat  with  contempt  as  I  looked  at  him.  At  that  moment 
I  was  ready  to  break  the  shop  windows,  but  '  What  is 
the  use  of  it  ?  '  I  said  to  myself ;  '  there  is  nothing  more  to 
be  done :  it  is  over,  all  over/  I  got  back  to  the  barracks  as 


ISAIAH  FOMITGH—THE  BATH—BAKLOUCHIN    147 

the  night  was  falling,  and  stretched  myself  out  on  my  bed, 
and — will  you  believe  it,  Alexander  Petrovitch? — began 
to  sob — yes,  to  sob.  One  day  passed,  then  a  second,  then 
a  third.  I  saw  Luisa  no  more.  I  had  learned,  however, 
from  an  old  woman  (she  was  also  a  washerwoman,  and 
the  girl  I  loved  used  sometimes  to  visit  her),  that  this 
German  knew  of  our  relations,  and  that  for  that  reason 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  possible, 
otherwise  he  would  have  waited  two  years  longer.  He 
had  made  Lusia  swear  that  she  would  see  me  no  more. 
It  appeared  that  on  account  of  me  he  had  refused  to 
loosen  his  purse-strings,  and  kept  Lusia  and  her  aunt 
very  close.  Perhaps  he  would  yet  change  his  idea,  for 
he  was  not  very  resolute.  The  old  woman  told  me  that 
he  had  invited  them  to  take  coffee  with  him  the  next  day, 
a  Sunday,  and  that  another  relation,  a  former  shop- 
keeper, now  very  poor,  and  an  assistant  in  some  liquor 
store,  would  also  come.  When  I  found  that  the  business 
was  to  be  settled  en  Sunday,  I  was  so  furious  that  I 
could  not  recover  my  cold  blood,  and  the  following  day 
I  did  nothing  but  reflect.  I  believe  I  could  have  devoured 
that  German.  On  Sunday  morning  I  had  not  come  to 
any  decision.  As  soon  as  the  service  was  over  I  ran  out, 
got  into  my  great-coat,  and  went  to  the  house  of  this 
German.  I  thought  I  should  find  them  all  there.  Why  I 
went  to  the  German,  and  what  I  meant  to  say  to  him,  I 
did  not  know  myself. 

"I  slipped  a  pistol  into  my  pocket  to  be  ready  for 

everything;  a  little  pistol  which  was  not  worth  a  curse, 

with  an  old-fashioned  lock — a  thing  I  had  used  when  I 

was  a  boy,  and   which  was  really  fit   for   nothing.     I 

loaded  it,  however,  because  I  thought  they  would  try  to 

kick  me  out,  and  that  the  German  would  insult  me,  in 

which  case  I  would  pull  out  my  pistol  to  frighten  them 

all.     I  arrived.     There  was  no  one  on  the  staircase ;  they 

j  were  all  in  the  work-room.     No  servant.     The  one  girl 

who   waited   upon    them    was    absent.     I   crossed    the 

I  shop   and  saw  that   the  door  was  closed — an  old  door 

i  fastened  from  the  inside.     My  heart  beat ;  I  stopped  and 

listened.     They  were  speaking  German.     I  broke  open 


148  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  door  with  a  kick.  I  looked  round.  The  table  was 
laid;  there  was  a  large  coffee-pot  on  it,  with  a  spirit  lamp 
underneath,  and  a  plate  of  biscuits.  On  a  tray  there 
was  a  small  decanter  of  brandy,  herrings,  sausages,  and 
a  bottle  of  some  wine.  Luisa  and  her  aunt,  both  in  their 
Sunday  best,  were  seated  on  a  sofa.  Opposite  them,  the 
German  was  exhibiting  himself  on  a  chair,  got  up  like  a 
bridegroom,  and  in  his  coat  with  the  high  collar,  and  with 
his  hair  carefully  combed.  On  the  other  side,  there  was 
another  German,  old,  fat,  and  gray.  He  was  taking  no 
part  in  the  conversation.  When  I  entered,  Luisa  turned 
very  pale.  The  aunt  sprang  up  with  a  bound  and  sat 
down  again.  The  German  became  angry.  What  a  rage 
he  was  in  !  He  got  up,  and  walking  towards  me,  said : 

"'What  do  you  want?' 

"  I  should  have  lost  my  self-possession  if  anger  had 
not  supported  me. 

"'What  do  I  want?  Is  this  the  way  to  receive  a 
guest  ?  Why  do  you  not  offer  him  something  to  drink  ? 
I  have  come  to  pay  you  a  visit/ 

"  The  German  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said,  '  Sit 
down/ 

"  I  sat  down. 

" '  Here  is  some  vodka.     Help  yourself,  I  beg/ 

" '  And  let  it  be  good,1  I  cried,  getting  more  and  more 
into  a  rage. 

"'It  is  good.' 

"  I  was  enraged  to  see  him  looking  at  me  from  top  to 
toe.  The  most  frightful  part  of  it  was,  that  Luisa  was 
looking  on.  I  took  a  drink  and  said  to  him : 

" '  Look  here,  German,  what  business  have  you  to 
speak  rudely  to  me?  Let  us  be  better  acquainted.  I 
have  come  to  see  you  as  friends/ 

"  '  I  cannot  be  your  friend/  he  replied.  '  You  are  a 
private  soldier.' 

"  Then  I  lost  all  self-command. 

" '  Oh,  you  German  !  You  sausage-seller !  You  know 
how  much  you  are  in  my  power.  Look  here;  do  you 
wish  me  to  break  your  head  with  this  pistol  ? ' 

"  I  drew  out  my  pistol,  got  up,  and  struck  him  on  the 


ISAIAH  FOMITCH—THE  BATH—SAKLOUCHIN    149 

forehead.  The  women  were  more  dead  than  alive ;  they 
were  afraid  to  breathe.  The  eldest  of  the  two  men,  quite 
white,  was  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

"  The  German  seemed  much  astonished.  But  he  soon 
recovered  himself. 

"'I  am  not  afraid  of  you/  he  said,  'and  I  beg  of 
you,  as  a  well-bred  man,  to  put  an  end  to  this  pleasantry. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  you ! ' 

" '  You  are  afraid !  You  dare  not  move  while  this  pistol 
is  presented  at  you/ 

" '  You  dare  not  do  such  a  thing ! '  he  cried. 

"  '  And  why  should  I  not  dare  ? ' 

" '  Because  you  would  be  severely  punished.' 

0  May  the  devil  take  that  idiot  of  a  German  !  If  he  had 
not  urged  me  on,  he  would  have  been  alive  now. 

"  *  So  you  think  I  dare  not  ? ' 

"'No/ 

€t '  I  dare  not,  you  think  ?  * 

"  *  You  would  not  dare ! ' 

" '  Wouldn't  I,  sausage-maker  ? '  I  fired  the  pistol,  and 
down  he  sank  on  his  chair.  The  others  uttered  shrieks. 
I  put  back  my  pistol  in  my  pocket,  and  when  I  returned 
to  the  fortress,  threw  it  among  some  weeds  near  the 
principal  entrance. 

"  Inside  the  barracks  I  laid  on  my  bed,  and  said  to 
myself,  '  I  shall  be  taken  away  soon/  One  hour  passed, 
then  another,  but  I  was  not  arrested. 

"Towards  evening  I  felt  so  sad,  I  went  out  at  all 
hazards  to  see  Luisa ;  I  passed  before  the  house  of  the 
clock  maker's.  There  were  a  number  of  people  there, 
including  the  police.  I  ran  on  to  the  old  woman's  and  said : 

"'Call  Luisa!' 

"I  had  only  a  moment  to  wait.  She  came  imme- 
diately, and  threw  herself  on  my  neck  in  tears. 

" '  It  is  my  fault/  she  said.  '  I  should  not  have 
listened  to  my  aunt.' 

"  She  then  told  me  that  her  aunt,  immediately  after  the 
scene,  had  gone  back  home.  She  was  in  such  a  fright 
that  she  fell  and  did  not  speak  a  word;  she  had  uttered 


150  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

nothing.  On  the  contrary,  she  ordered  her  niece  to  be  as 
silent  as  herself. 

"  '  No  one  has  seen  her  since/  said  Luisa. 

"  The  clockmaker  had  previously  sent  his  servant  away, 
for  he  was  afraid  of  her.  She  was  jealous,  and  would 
have  scratched  his  eyes  out  had  she  known  that  he 
wished  to  get  married. 

"  There  were  no  workmen  in  the  house,  he  had  sent 
them  all  away ;  he  had  himself  prepared  the  coffee  and 
collation.  As  for  the  relation,  who  had  scarcely  spoken 
a  word  all  his  life,  he  took  his  hat,  and,  without  opening 
his  mouth,  went  away. 

" ( He  is  quite  sure  to  be  silent/  added  Luisa. 

"  So,  indeed,  he  was.  For  two  weeks  no  one  arrested 
me  nor  suspected  me  the  least  in  the  world. 

"You  need  not  believe  me  unless  you  choose, 
Alexander  Petrovitch. 

"These  two  weeks  were  the  happiest  in  my  life.  I 
gaw  Luisa  every  day.  And  how  much  she  had  become 
attached  to  me ! 

"  She  said  to  me  through  her  tears :  '  If  you  are 
exiled,  I  will  go  with  you.  I  will  leave  everything  to 
follow  you/ 

"I  thought  of  making  away  with  myself,  so  much 
had  she  moved  me ;  but  after  two  weeks  I  was  arrested. 
The  old  man  and  the  aunt  had  agreed  to  denounce  me." 

"  But,"  I  interrupted,  "  Baklouchin,  for  that  they 
would  only  have  given  you  from  ten  to  twelve  years'  hard 
labour,  and  in  the  civil  section ;  yet  you  are  in  the 
special  section.  How  does  that  happen  ?  " 

"  That  is  another  affair,"  said  Baklouchin.  "  When  I 
was  taken  before  the  Council  of  War,  the  captain  ap- 
pointed to  conduct  the  case  began  by  insulting  me,  and 
calling  me  names  before  the  Tribunal.  I  could  not 
stand  it,  and  shouted  out  to  him :  f  Why  do  you  insult 
me  ?  Don't  you  see,  you  scoundrel !  that  you  are 
only  looking  at  yourself  in  the  glass  ?  ' 

"  This  brought  a  new  charge  against  me.  I  was 
tried  a  second  time,  and  for  the  two  things  was  con- 


ISAIAH  FOMITCH-THE  SATH—BAKLOUGHIN    151 

demned  to  four  thousand  strokes,  and  to  the  special 
section.  When  I  was  taken  out  to  receive  my  punish- 
ment in  the  Green  Street,  the  captain  was  at  the  same  time 
sent  away.  He  had  been  degraded  from  his  rank,  and 
was  despatched  to  the  Caucasus  as  a  private  soldier. 
Good-bye,  Alexander  Petrovitch.  Don't  fail  to  come  to 
our  performance/' 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE   CHRISTMAS   HOLIDAYS 

THE  holidays  were  approaching.  On  the  eve 
of  the  great  day  the  convicts  scarcely  ever 
went  to  work.  Those  who  had  been  as- 
signed to  the  sewing  workshops,  and  a  few 
others,  went  to  work  as  usual ;  but  they 
went  back  almost  immediately  to  the  convict  prison, 
separately,  or  in  parties.  After  dinner  no  one  worked. 
From  the  early  morning  the  greater  part  of  the  convicts 
were  occupied  with  their  own  affairs,  and  not  with  those 
of  the  administration.  Some  were  making  arrangements 
for  bringing  in  spirits,  while  others  were  seeking  per- 
mission to  see  their  friends,  or  to  collect  small  accounts 
due  to  them  for  the  work  they  had  already  executed. 
Baklouchin,  and  the  convicts  who  were  to  take  part  in 
the  performance,  were  endeavouring  to  persuade  some 
of  their  acquaintances,  nearly  all  officers'  servants,  to 
procure  for  them  the  necessary  costumes.  Some  of 
them  came  and  went  with  a  business-like  air,  solely 
because  others  were  really  occupied.  They  had  no 
money  to  receive,  and  yet  seemed  to  expect  a  payment. 
Every  one,  in  short,  seemed  to  be  looking  for  a  change 
of  some  kind.  Towards  evening  the  old  soldiers,  who 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  153 

executed  the  convicts'  commissions,  brought  them  all 
kinds  of  victuals — meat,  sucking-pigs,  and  geese.  Many 
prisoners,  even  the  most  simple  and  most  economical, 
after  saving  up  their  kopecks  throughout  the  year, 
thought  they  ought  to  spend  some  of  them  that  day,  so 
as  to  celebrate  Christmas  Eve  in  a  worthy  manner.  The 
day  afterwards  was  for  the  convicts  a  still  greater 
festival,  one  to  which  they  had  a  right,  as  it  was 
recognised  by  law.  The  prisoners  could  not  be  sent 
to  work  that  day.  There  were  not  three  days  like  it  in 
all  the  year. 

And,  moreover,  what  recollections  must  have  been 
agitating  the  souls  of  those  reprobates  at  the  approach 
of  such  a  solemn  day !  The  common  people  from  their 
childhood  kept  the  great  festival  in  their  memory.  They 
must  have  remembered  with  anguish  and  torments  these 
days  which,  work  being  laid  aside,  are  passed  in  the 
bosom  of  the  family.  The  respect  of  the  convicts  for 
that  day  had  something  imposing  about  it.  The 
drunkards  were  not  at  all  numerous ;  nearly  every  one 
was  serious,  and,  so  to  say,  preoccupied,  though  they  had 
for  the  most  part  nothing  to  do.  Even  those  who  feasted 
most  preserved  a  serious  air.  Laughter  seemed  to  be 
forbidden.  A  sort  of  intolerant  susceptibility  reigned 
throughout  the  prison;  and  if  any  one  interfered  with 
the  general  repose,  even  involuntarily,  he  was  soon  put 
in  his  proper  place,  with  cries  and  oaths.  He  was  con- 
demned as  though  he  had  been  wanting  in  respect  to  the 
festival  itself. 

This  disposition  of  the  convicts  was  remarkable,  and 
even  touching.  Besides  the  innate  veneration  they  have 
for  this  great  day,  they  foresee  that  in  observing  the 
festival  they  are  in  communion  with  the  rest  of  the  world  ; 
that  they  are  not  altogether  reprobates  lost  and  cast  off 
by  society.  The  usual  rejoicings  took  place  in  the 
convict  prison  as  well  as  outside.  They  felt  all  that.  I 
saw  it,  and  understood  it  myself. 

Akim  Akimitch  had  made  great  preparations  for  the 
festival.  He  had  no  family  recollections,  being  an 


154  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

orphan,  born  in  a  strange  house,  and  put  into  the  army  at 
the  age  of  fifteen.  He  could  never  have  experienced 
any  great  joys,  having  always  lived  regularly  and 
uniformly  in  the  fear  of  infringing  the  rules  imposed 
upon  him,  nor  was  he  very  religious;  for  his  acquired 
formality  had  stifled  in  him  all  human  feeling,  all  passions 
and  likings,  good  or  bad.  He  accordingly  prepared  to 
keep  Christmas  without  exciting  himself  about  it.  He 
was  saddened  by  no  painful,  useless  recollection.  He 
did  everything  with  the  punctuality  imposed  upon  him 
in  the  execution  of  his  duties,  and  in  order  once  for  all 
to  get  through  the  ceremony  in  a  becoming  manner. 
Moreover,  he  did  not  care  to  reflect  upon  the  importance 
of  the  day,  had  never  troubled  his  brain  about  it,  even 
while  he  was  executing  his  prescribed  duties  with  re- 
ligious minuteness.  If  he  had  been  ordered  the  day 
following  to  do  contrary  to  what  he  had  done  the 
evening  before  he  would  have  done  it  with  equal  sub- 
mission. Once  in  life,  once,  and  once  only,  he  had 
wished  to  act  by  his  own  impulse — and  he  had  been  sent 
to  hard  labour  for  it. 

This  lesson  had  not  been  lost  upon  him,  although  it 
was  written  that  he  was  never  to  understand  his  fault. 
He  had  yet  become  impressed  with  this  salutary  moral 
principle:  never  to  reason  in  any  matter  because  his 
mind  was  not  equal  to  the  task  of  judging.  Blindly 
devoted  to  ceremonies,  he  looked  with  respect  at  the 
sucking-pig  which  he  had  stuffed  with  millet-seed,  and 
which  he  had  roasted  himself  (for  he  had  some  culinary 
skill),  just  as  if  it  had  not  been  an  ordinary  sucking-pig 
which  could  have  been  bought  and  rcasted  at  any  time, 
but  a  particular  kind  of  animal  born  specially  for  Christ- 
mas Day.  Perhaps  he  had  been  accustomed  from  his 
tender  infancy  to  see  that  day  a  sucking-pig  on  the 
table,  and  he  may  have  concluded  that  a  sucking-pig 
was  indispensable  for  the  proper  celebration  of  the 
festival.  I  am  certain  that  if  by  ill-luck  he  had  not 
eaten  this  particular  kind  of  meat  on  that  day,  he  would 
have  been  troubled  with  remorse  all  his  life  for  not 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  155 

having  done  his  duty.  Until  Christmas  morning  he 
wore  his  old  vest  and  his  old  trousers,  which  had  long 
been  threadbare.  I  then  learned  that  he  kept  carefully 
in  his  box  his  new  clothes  which  had  been  given  to  him 
four  months  before,  and  that  he  had  not  put  them  on 
once,  in  order  that  he  might  wear  them  for  the  first 
time  on  Christmas  Day.  He  did  so.  The  evening 
before  he  took  his  new  clothes  out  of  his  trunk,  unfolded, 
examined  them,  cleaned  them,  blew  on  them  to  remove 
the  dust,  and  when  he  was  convinced  that  they  were 
perfect,  probably  tried  them  on.  The  dress  became  him. 
perfectly ;  all  the  different  garments  suited  one  another. 
The  waistcoat  buttoned  up  to  the  neck,  the  collar, 
straight  and  stiff  like  cardboard,  kept  his  chin  in  its 
proper  place.  There  was  a  military  cut  about  the  dress ; 
and  Akim  Akimitch,  as  he  wore  it,  smiled  with  satis- 
faction, turning  himself  round  and  round,  not  without 
swagger,  before  a  little  mirror  adorned  with  a  gilt 
border. 

One  of  the  waistcoat-buttons  alone  seemed  out  of 
place;  Akim  Akimitch  remarked  it,  and  at  once  set  it 
right.  He  tried  on  the  vest  again  and  found  it  irre- 
proachable. Then  he  folded  up  his  things  as  before,  and 
with  a  satisfied  mind  locked  them  up  in  his  box  until  the 
next  day.  His  skull  was  sufficiently  shaved ;  but,  after 
careful  examination,  Akim  Akimitch  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  was  not  in  good  condition,  his  hair  had 
imperceptibly  sprung  up.  He  accordingly  went  imme- 
diately to  the  "  Major  "  to  be  properly  shaved  according 
to  the  rules.  In  reality  no  one  would  have  dreamed 
of  looking  at  him  next  day,  but  he  was  acting  con- 
scientiously in  order  to  fulfil  all  his  duties.  This  care 
lest  the  smallest  button,  the  least  thread  of  an  epaulette, 
the  slightest  string  of  a  tassel  should  go  wrong,  was 
engraved  in  his  mind  as  an  imperious  duty,  and  in 
hrs  heart  as  the  image  of  the  most  perfect  order  that 
could  possibly  be  attained.  As  one  of  the  <e  old  hands  " 
in  the  barracks,  he  saw  that  hay  was  brought  and  strewed 
about  on  the  floor ;  the  same  thing  was  done  in  the  other 


156  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

barracks.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  hay  was  always 
strewed  on  the  ground  at  Christmas  time. 

As  soon  as  Akim  Akimitch  had  finished  his  work  he 
said  his  prayers,  stretched  himself  on  his  bed,  and  went 
to  sleep,  with  the  sleep  of  a  child,  in  order  to  wake  up  as 
early  as  possible  the  next  day.  The  other  convicts  did 
the  same.  It  must  be  added  that  all  of  them  went  to  bed, 
but  sooner  than  usual.  They  gave  up  their  ordinary  even- 
ing work  that  day.  As  for  playing  cards,  no  one  would 
have  dared  even  to  speak  of  such  a  thing ;  every  one  was 
anxiously  expecting  the  next  morning. 

At  last  this  morning  arrived.  At  an  early  hour, 
even  before  it  was  light,  the  drum  was  sounded,  and  the 
under  officer,  whose  duty  it  was  to  count  the  convicts, 
wished  them  a  happy  Christmas.  The  prisoners  answered 
him  in  an  affable  and  amiable  tone  by  expressing  a  like 
wish.  Akim  Akimitch,  and  many  others,  who  had  their 
geese  and  their  sucking-pigs,  went  to  the  kitchen, 
after  saying  their  prayers,  in  a  hurried  manner  to  see 
where  their  victuals  were  and  how  they  were  being 
cooked. 

Through  the  little  windows  of  our  barracks,  half  hidden 
by  the  snow  and  the  ice,  could  be  seen,  flaring  in  the 
darkness,  the  bright  fire  of  the  two  kitchens  where  six 
stoves  had  been  lighted.  In  the  court-yard,  where  it  was 
still  dark,  the  convicts,  each  with  a  half  pelisse  round 
his  shoulders,  or  perhaps  fully  dressed,  were  hurrying 
towards  the  kitchen.  Some  of  them,  meanwhile — a  very 
small  number — had  already  visited  the  drink-sellers. 
They  were  the  impatient  ones,  but  they  behaved 
becomingly,  possibly  much  better  than  on  ordinary  days ; 
neither  quarrels  nor  insults  were  heard,  every  one  under- 
stood that  it  was  a  great  day,  a  great  festival.  The 
convicts  went  even  to  visit  the  other  barracks  in  order 
to  wish  the  inmates  a  happy  Christmas ;  that  day  a  sort 
of  friendship  seemed  to  exist  between  them  all.  I  will 
remark  in  passing  that  the  convicts  have  scarcely  ever 
any  intimate  friendships.  It  was  very  rare  to  see  a  man 
on  confidential  terms  with  any  other  man,  as,  in  the  outer 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  157 

world.  We  were  generally  harsh  and  abrupt  in  our 
mutual  relations.  With  some  rare  exceptions  this  was 
the  general  tone  adopted  and  maintained. 

I  went  out  of  the  barracks  like  the  others.  It  was 
beginning  to  get  late.  The  stars  were  paling,  a  light, 
icy  mist  was  rising  from  the  earth,  and  spirals  of  smoke 
were  ascending  in  curls  from  the  chimneys.  Several 
convicts  whom  I  met  wished  me,  with  affability,  a  happy 
Christmas.  I  thanked  them  and  returned  their  wishes. 
Some  of  them  had  never  spoken  to  me  before. 

Near  the  kitchen,  a  convict  from  the  military 
barracks,  with  his  sheepskin  on  his  shoulder,  came  up  to 
me.  Recognising  me,  he  called  out  from  the  middle  of 
the  court-yard,  "Alexander  Petrovitch."  He  ran  towards 
me.  I  waited  for  him.  He  was  a  young  fellow,  with  a 
round  face  and  soft  eyes,  and  not  at  all  communicative  as 
a  rule.  He  had  not  spoken  to  me  since  my  arrival,  and 
seemed  never  to  have  noticed  me.  I  did  not  know  on 
my  side  what  his  name  was.  When  he  came  up,  he 
remained  planted  before  me,  smiling  with  a  vacuous 
smile,  but  with  a  happy  expression  of  countenance. 

"What  do  you  want?"  I  asked,  not  without  astonish- 
ment. * 

He  remained  standing  before  me,  still  smiling  and 
staring,  but  without  replying  to  my  question. 

"  Why,  it  is  Christmas  Day,"  he  muttered. 

He  understood  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  say,  and 
now  hastened  into  the  kitchen. 

I  must  add  that,  after  this  we  scarcely  ever  met,  and 
that  we  never  spoke  to  one  another  again. 

Bound  the  flaming  stoves  of  the  kitchen  the  convicts 
were  rubbing  and  pushing  against  one  another.  Every 
one  was  watching  his  own  property.  The  cooks  were 
preparing  the  dinner,  which  was  to  take  place  a  little 
earlier  than  usual.  No  one  began  to  eat  before  the  time, 
though  a  good  many  wished  to  do  so;  but  it  was 
necessary  to  be  well-behaved  before  the  others.  We 
were  waiting  for  the  priest,  and  the  fast  preceding 
Christmas  would  not  be  at  an  end  until  his  arrival. 


158  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

It  was  not  yet  perfectly  light,  when  the  corporal  was 
already  heard  shouting  out  from  behind  the  principal 
gate  of  the  prison : 

"  The  kitchen ;  the  kitchen." 

These  calls  were  repeated  without  interruption  for  about 
two  hours.  The  cooks  were  wanted  in  order  to  receive 
gifts  brought  from  all  parts  of  the  town  in  enormous 
numbers ;  loaves  of  white  bread,  scones,  rusks,  pancakes, 
and  pastry  of  various  kinds.  I  do  not  think  there  was  a 
shop-keeper  in  the  whole  town  who  did  not  send  some- 
thing to  the  "  unfortunates/'  Amongst  these  gifts  there 
were  some  magnificent  ones,  including  a  good  many 
cakes  of  the  finest  flour.  There  were  also  some  very 
poor  ones,  such  as  rolls  worth  two  kopecks  a  piece, 
and  a  couple  of  brown  rolls,  covered  lightly  over 
with  sour  cream.  These  were  the  offerings  of  the 
poor  to  the  poor,  on  which  a  last  kopeck  had  often 
been  spent. 

All  these  gifts  were  accepted  with  equal  gratitude, 
without  reference  to  the  value  or  the  giver.  The  con- 
victs, on  receiving  the  offerings,  took  off  their  caps  and 
thanked  the  donors  with  low  bows,  wishing  them 
a  happy  Christmas,  and  then  carried  the  things  to  the 
kitchen. 

When  a  number  of  loaves  and  cakes  had  been  col- 
lected, the  elders  of  each  barrack  were  called,  and  it  was 
for  them  to  divide  the  whole  in  equal  portions  among  all 
the  sections.  The  division  excited  neither  protest  nor 
annoyance.  It  was  made  honestly,  equitably.  Akim 
Akimitch,  helped  by  another  prisoner,  divided  between 
the  convicts  of  our  barracks  Jbhe  share  assigned  to  us,  and 
gave  to  each  of  us  what  came  to  him.  Every  one  was 
satisfied.  No  objection  was  made  by  any  one.  There 
was  not  the  least  manifestation  of  envy,  and  it  occurred 
to  no  one  to  deceive  another. 

When  Akim  Akimitch  had  finished  at  the  kitchen,  he 
proceeded  religiously  to  dress  himself,  and  did  so  with 
a  solemn  air.  He  buttoned  up  his  waistcoat  button  by 
button,  in  the  most  punctilious  manner.  Then,  when  he 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  159 

had  got  his  new  clothes  on,  he  went  to  pray,  which 
occupied  him  a  considerable  time.  Numbers  of  convicts 
fulfilled  their  religious  duties,  but  these  were  for  the 
most  part  old  men.  The  young  men  scarcely  ever  prayed. 
The  most  they  did  was  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross 
when  they  rose  from  table,  and  that  happened  only  on 
festival  days. 

Akim  Akimitch  came  up  to  me  as  soon  as  he  had 
finished  his  prayer,  to  express  to  me  the  usual  good 
wishes.  I  invited  him  to  have  some  tea,  and  he  returned 
my  politeness  by  offering  me  some  of  his  sucking-pig. 
After  some  time  Petroff  came  up  to  address  to  me  the 
usual  compliments.  I  think  he  had  been  already  drinking, 
and  although  he  seemed  to  have  much  to  say,  he  scarcely 
spoke.  He  stood  up  before  me  for  some  seconds,  and 
then  went  back  to  the  kitchen.  The  priest  was  now 
expected  in  the  military  section  of  the  barracks.  This 
section  was  not  constructed  like  the  others.  The  camp- 
bedsteads  were  arranged  all  along  the  wall,  and  not  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  as  in  all  the  others,  so  that  it  was 
the  only  one  in  which  the  middle  was  not  obstructed. 
It  had  been  probably  arranged  in  this  manner  so  that  in 
case  of  necessity  it  might  be  easier  to  assemble  the 
convicts.  A  small  table  had  been  prepared  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  a  holy  image  placed  upon  it,  before 
which  burned  a  little  lamp. 

At  last  the  priest  arrived,  with  the  cross  and  holy 
water.  He  prayed  and  chanted  before  the  image,  and 
then  turned  towards  the  convicts,  who  one  after  the 
other  came  and  kissed  the  cross.  The  priest  then  walked 
through  all  the  barracks,  sprinkling  them  with  holy 
water.  When  he  got  to  the  kitchen  he  praised  the  bread 
of  the  convict  prison,  which  had  quite  a  reputation  in 
town.  The  convicts  at  once  expressed  a  desire  to  send 
him  two  loaves  of  new  bread,  still  hot,  which  an  old 
soldier  was  ordered  to  take  to  his  house  forthwith.  The 
convicts  walked  back  after  the  cross  with  the  same 
respect  as  they  had  received  it.  Almost  immediately 
afterwards,  the  Major  and  the  Commandant  arrived. 


160  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

The  Commandant  was  liked,  and  even  respected.  He 
made  the  tour  of  the  barracks  in  company  with  the 
Major,  wished  the  convicts  a  happy  Christmas,  went  into 
the  kitchen,  and  tasted  the  cabbage  soup.  It  was 
excellent  that  day.  Each  convict  was  entitled  to  nearly 
a  pound  of  meat,  besides  which  there  was  millet-seed  in 
it,  and  certainly  the  butter  had  not  been  spared.  The 
Major  saw  the  Commandant  to  the  door,  and  then 
ordered  the  convicts  to  begin  dinner.  Bach  endeavoured 
not  to  be  under  the  Major's  eyes.  They  did  not  like  his 
spiteful,  inquisitorial  look  from  behind  his  spectacles  as 
he  wandered  from  right  to  left,  seeking  apparently  some 
disorder  to  repress,  some  crime  to  punish. 

We  dined.  Akim  Akimitch's  sucking-pig  was  ad- 
mirably roasted.  I  could  never  understand  how,  five 
minutes  after  the  Major  left,  there  was  a  mass  of  drunken 
prisoners,  whereas  as  long  as  he  remained  every  one  was 
perfectly  calm.  Ked,  radiant  faces  were  now  numerous, 
and  the  balalaiki  [Russian  banjoes]  soon  appeared.  Then 
came  the  little  Pole,  playing  his  violin,  a  convivial 
prisoner  having  engaged  him  for  the  whole  day  to  play 
lively  dance-tunes.  The  conversation  became  more 
animated  and  more  noisy,  but  the  dinner  ended  without 
great  disorders.  Every  one  had  had  enough.  Some  of 
the  old  men,  serious-minded  convicts,  went  immediately 
to  bed.  So  did  Akim  Akimitch,  who  probably  thought 
it  was  a  duty  to  go  to  sleep  after  dinner  on  festival 
days. 

The  "old  believer "  from  Starodoub,  after  having 
slumbered  a  little,  climbed  up  on  to  the  top  of  the  stove, 
opened  his  book,  and  prayed  the  entire  day  until  late  in 
the  evening  without  interruption.  The  spectacle  of  so 
shameless  an  orgie  was  painful  to  him,  he  said.  All  the 
Circassians  left  the  table.  They  looked  with  curiosity, 
but  with  a  touch  of  disgust,  at  this  drunken  society.  I 
met  Nourra. 

"  Aman,  aman,"  he  said,  with  a  burst  of  honest  indig- 
nation, and  shaking  his  head.  "  What  an  offence  to  Allah ! " 
Isaiah  Fomitch  lighted,  with  an  arrogant  and  obstinate 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  161 

air,  a  candle  in  his  favourite  corner,  and  went  to  work  in 
order  to  show  that  in  his  eyes  this  was  no  holiday.  Here 
and  there  card  parties  were  arranged.  The  convicts  did 
not  fear  the  old  soldiers,  but  men  were  placed  on  the 
look-out  in  case  the  under  officer  should  suddenly  come  in. 
He  made  a  point,  however,  of  seeing  nothing.  The  officer 
of  the  guard  made  altogether  three  rounds.  The 
prisoners,  if  they  were  drunk,  hid  themselves  at  once. 
The  cards  disappeared  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I 
fancy  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  notice  any 
contraventions  of  an  unimportant  kind.  Drunkenness  was 
not  an  offence  that  day.  Little  by  little  every  one 
became  more  or  less  gay.  Then  there  were  some  quarrels. 
The  greater  number  of  the  prisoners,  however,  remained 
calm,  amusing  themselves  with  the  spectacle  of  those 
who  were  intoxicated.  Some  of  these  drank  without 
limit. 

Gazin  was  triumphant.  He  walked  about  with  a 
self-satisfied  air,  by  the  side  of  his  camp  bedstead, 
beneath  which  he  had  concealed  his  spirits,  previously 
buried  beneath  the  snow  behind  the  barracks,  in  a  secret 
place.  He  smiled  knowingly  when  he  saw  customers 
arrive  in  crowds.  He  was  perfectly  calm.  He  had 
drunk  nothing  at  all;  for  it  was  his  intention  to  regale 
himself  the  last  day  of  the  holidays,  after  he  had  emptied 
the  pockets  of  the  other  prisoners.  Throughout  the 
barracks  the  drunkenness  was  becoming  infernal.  Sing- 
ing was  heard,  and  the  songs  were  giving  way  to  tears. 
Some  of  the  prisoners  walked  about  in  bands,  sheepskin 
on  shoulder,  striking  with  a  haughty  air  the  strings  of 
their  balalaiki.  A  chorus  of  from  eight  to  ten  men  had 
been  formed  in  the  special  section.  The  singing  here 
was  excellent,  with  its  accompaniments  of  balalaiki  and 
guitars. 

Songs  of  a  truly  popular  kind  were  rare.  I  remember 
one  which  was  admirably  sung : 

Yesterday,  I,  a  young  girl, 
Went  to  the  feast. 


162  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

A  variation  was  introduced  previously  unknown  to 
me.  At  the  end  of  the  song  these  lines  were  added : 

At  my  hcuse,  the  house  of  a  young  girl, 

Everything  is  in  order. 

I  have  washed  the  spoons, 

I  have  turned  out  the  cabbage- soup, 

I  have  wiped  down  the  panels  of  the  door, 

I  have  cooked  the  patties. 

What  they  chiefly  sang  were  prison  songs ;  one  of 
them,  called  *'  As  it  happened,"  was  very  humorous.  It 
related  how  a  man  amused  himself,  and  lived  like  a 
prince  until  he  was  sent  to  the  convict  prison,  where  he 
fared  very  differently.  Another  song,  only  too  popular, 
set  forth  how  the  hero  of  it  had  formerly  possessed  capital, 
but  had  now  nothing  but  captivity.  Here  is  a  true 
convict's  song : 

The  day  breaks  in  the  heavens, 

We  are  waked  up  by  the  drum. 

The  old  man  opens  the  door, 

The  warder  comes  and  calls  us. 

No  one  sees  us  behind  the  prison  walls, 

Nor  how  we  live  in  this  place. 

But  God,  the  Heavenly  Creator,  is  with  us 

He  will  not  let  us  perish. 

Another  still  more  melancholy,  but  with  a  superb 
melody,  was  sung  to  tame  and  incorrect  words.  I  can 
remember  a  few  of  the  verses : 

My  eyes  no  more  will  see  the  land, 

Where  I  was  born; 

To  suffer  torments  undeserved, 

Will  be  my  punishment. 

The  owl  will  shriek  upon  the  roof, 

And  raise  the  echoes  of  the  forest. 

My  heart  is  broken  down  with  grief. 

No,  never  more  shall  I  return. 

This  song  is  often  sung  ;  not  as  a  chorus,  but  always  as 
a  solo.  When  the  work  is  over,  a  prisoner  goes  out  of  the 
barracks,  sits  down  on  the  threshold,  meditates  with  his 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  163 

chin  resting  on  his  hand,  and  then  drawls  out  his  song  in 
a  high  falsetto.  One  listens  to  him,  and  the  effect  is 
heart-breaking.  Some  of  our  convicts  had  beautiful 
voices. 

Meanwhile  it  was  getting  dusk.  Wearisomeness 
and  general  depression  were  making  themselves  felt 
through  the  drunkenness  and  the  debauchery.  The 
prisoner,  who  an  hour  beforehand  was  holding  his  sides 
with  laughter,  now  sobbed  in  a  corner,  exceedingly  drunk ; 
others  were  fighting,  or  wandering  in  a  tottering  manner 
through  the  barracks,  pale,  very  pale,  and  seeking  whom 
to  quarrel  with.  These  poor  people  had  wished  to  pass 
the  great  festival  in  the  most  joyous  manner,  but,  gracious 
heaven,  how  painful  the  day  was  for  all  of  them  !  They 
had  passed  it  in  the  vague  hope  of  a  happiness  that  was 
not  to  be  realised.  Petroff  came  up  to  me  twice.  As  he 
had  drunk  very  little  he  was  calm;  but  until  the  last 
moment  he  expected  something  which  he  made  sure 
would  happen,  something  extraordinary,  and  highly 
diverting.  Although  he  said  nothing  about  it,  this  could 
be  seen  from  his  looks.  He  ran  from  barrack  to  barrack 
without  fatigue.  Nothing,  however,  happened ;  nothing 
except  general  intoxication,  idiotic  insults  from  drunkards, 
and  general  giddiness  of  heated  heads. 

Sirotkin  wandered  about  also,  dressed  in  a  brand-new 
red  shirt,  going  from  barrack  to  barrack,  and  good-looking 
as  usual.  He  also  was  on  the  watch  for  something  to 
happen.  The  spectacle  became  insupportably  repulsive, 
indeed  nauseating.  There  were  some  laughable  things,  but 
I  was  too  sad  to  be  amused  by  them.  I  felt  a  deep  pity  for 
all  these  men,  and  felt  strangled,  stifled,  in  the  midst  of 
them.  Here  two  convicts  were  disputing  as  to  which  should 
treat  the  other.  The  dispute  lasts  a  long  time ;  they  have 
almost  come  to  blows.  One  of  them  has,  for  a  long  time 
past,  had  a  grudge  against  the  other.  He  complains, 
stammering  as  he  does  so,  and  tries  to  prove  to  his  com- 
panion that  he  acted  unjustly  when,  a  year  before,  he  sold 
a  pelisse  and  concealed  the  money.  There  was  more 
than  this  too.  The  complainant  is  a  tall  young  fellow, 


164  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

with  good  muscular  development,  quiet,  by  no  means 
stupid,  but  who,  when  he  is  drunk,  wishes  to  make  friends 
with  every  one,  and  to  pour  out  his  grief  into  their  bosom. 
He  insults  his  adversary  with  the  intention  of  becoming 
reconciled  to  him  later  on.  The  other  man,  a  big,  massive 
person,  with  a  round  face,  as  cunning  as  a  fox,  had  per- 
haps drunk  more  than  his  companion,  but  appeared  only 
slightly  intoxicated.  This  convict  has  character,  and 
passes  for  a  rich  man ;  he  has  probably  no  interest  in 
irritating  his  companion,  and  he  accordingly  leads  him  to 
one  of  the  drink-sellers.  The  expansive  friend  declares 
that  his  companion  owes  him  money,  and  that  he  is  bound 
to  stand  him  a  drink  "if  he  has  any  pretensions  to  be 
considered  an  honest  man." 

The  drink-seller,  not  without  some  respect  for  his 
customer,  and  with  a  touch  of  contempt  for  the  expansive 
friend  (for  he  was  drinking  at  the  expense  of  another 
man),  took  a  glass  and  filled  it  with  vodka. 

"No,  Stepka,  you  must  pay,  because  you  owe  me 
money/' 

"I  won't  tire  my  tongue  talking  to  you  any  longer," 
replied  Stepka. 

"No,  Stepka,  you  lie/'  continues  his  friend,  taking  up 
a  glass  offered  to  him  by  the  drink-seller.  "  You  owe  me 
money,  and  you  must  be  without  conscience.  You  have 
not  a  thing  about  you  that  you  have  not  borrowed, 
and  I  don't  believe  your  very  eyes  are  your  own.  In 
a  word,  Stepka,  you  are  a  blackguard." 

"  What  are  you  whining  about  ?  Look,  you  are  spilling 
your  vodka." 

"  If  you  are  being  treated,  why  don't  you  drink  ?  " 
cries  the  drink-seller,  to  the  expansive  friend.  "  I  cannot 
wait  here  until  to-morrow." 

"  I  will  drink,  don't  be  frightened.  What  are  you 
crying  out  about  ?  My  best  wishes  for  the  day.  My  best 
wishes  for  the  day,  Stepan  Doroveitch,"  replies  the  latter 
politely,  as  he  bows,  glass  in  hand,  towards  Stepka, 
whom  the  moment  before  he  had  called  a  blackguard. 
"  Good  health  to  you,  and  may  you  live  a  hundred  years 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  165 

in  addition  to  what  you  have  lived  already/*  He  drinks, 
gives  a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  and  wipes  his  mouth. 
"  What  quantities  of  brandy  I  have  drunk/'  he  says, 
gravely  speaking  to  every  one,  without  addressing  any 
one  in  particular,  "but  I  have  finished  now.  Thank  me, 
Stepka  Doroveitch." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  thank  you  for." 

"Ah  !  you  won't  thank  me.  Then  I  will  tell  every 
one  how  you  have  treated  me,  and,  moreover,  that  you 
are  a  blackguard." 

"  Then  I  shall  have  something  to  tell  you,  drunkard 
that  you  are,"  interrupts  Stepka,  who  at  last  loses 
patience.  "  Listen  and  pay  attention.  Let  us  divide  the 
world  in  two.  You  shall  take  one  half,  I  the  other.  Then 
I  shall  have  peace." 

"  Then  you  will  not  give  me  back  my  money  ?  " 

"  What  money  do  you  want,  drunkard  ?  " 

"  My  money.  It  is  the  sweat  of  my  brow  ;  the  labour 
of  my  hands.  You  will  be  sorry  for  it  in  the  other 
world.  You  will  be  roasted  for  those  five  kopecks." 

"  Go  to  the  devil." 

"  What  are  you  driving  me  for  ?     Am  I  a  horse  ?  " 

"  Be  off,  be  off." 

"  Blackguard!" 

"  Convict ! " 

And  the  insults  exchanged  were  worse  than  they  had 
been  before  the  visit  to  the  drink-seller. 

Two  friends  are  seated  separately  on  two  camp- 
bedsteads.  One  is  tall,  vigorous,  fleshy,  with  a  red  face 
— a  regular  butcher.  He  is  on  the  point  of  weeping  ;  for 
he  has  been  much  moved.  The  other  is  tall,  thin, 
conceited,  with  an  immense  nose,  which  always  seems 
to  have  a  cold,  and  little  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
ground.  He  is  a  clever,  well-bred  man,  and  was 
formerly  a  secretary.  He  treats  his  friend  with  a  little 
disdain,  which  the  latter  cannot  stand.  They  have  been 
drinking  together  all  day. 

"  You  have  taken  a  liberty  with  me/'  cries  the  stout 
one,  as  with  his  left  hand  he  shakes  the  head  of  his  com- 


166  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

panion.  To  take  a  liberty  signifies,  in  convict  language, 
to  strike.  This  convict,  formerly  a  non-commissioned 
officer,  envies  in  secret  the  elegance  of  his  neighbour, 
and  endeavours  to  make  up  for  his  material  grossness  by 
refined  conversation. 

"  I  tell  you,  you  are  wrong,"  says  the  secretary,  in  a 
dogmatic  tone,  with  his  eyes  obstinately  fixed  on  the 
ground,  and  without  looking  at  his  companion. 

"  You  struck  me.  Do  you  hear  ? "  continues  the 
other,  still  shaking  his  dear  friend.  "  You  are  the  only 
man  in  the  world  I  care  for;  but  you  shall  not  take  a 
liberty  with  me/' 

"  Confess,  my  dear  fellow,"  replies  the  secretary, 
"  that  all  this  is  the  result  of  too  much  drink." 

The  corpulent  friend  falls  back  with  a  stagger,  looks 
stupidly  with  his  drunken  eyes  at  the  secretary,  and 
suddenly,  with  all  his  might,  sends  his  fist  into  the 
secretary's  thin  face.  Thus  terminates  the  day's  friend- 
ship. 

The  dear  friend  disappears  beneath  the  camp- 
bedstead  unconscious. 

One  of  my  acquaintances  enters  the  barracks.  He  is 
a  convict  of  the  special  section,  very  good-natured, 
and  gay,  far  from  stupid,  and  jocular  without  malice. 
He  is  the  man  who,  on  my  arrival  at  the  convict  prison, 
was  looking  out  for  a  rich  peasant,  who  spoke  so  much  of 
his  self-respect,  and  ended  by  drinking  my  tea.  He  was 
forty  years  old,  had  enormous  lips,  and  a  fat,  fleshy, 
red  nose.  He  held  a  balalaika,  and  struck  negligently  its 
strings.  He  was  followed  by  a  little  convict,  with  a 
large  head,  whom  I  knew  very  little,  and  to  whom  no 
one  paid  any  attention.  Now  that  he  was  drunk  he  had 
attached  himself  to  Vermaloff,  and  followed  him  like  his 
shadow,  at  the  same  time  gesticulating  and  striking  with 
his  fist  the  wall  and  the  camp-bedsteads.  He  was  almost 
in  tears.  Vermaloff  did  not  notice  him  any  more  than 
if  he  had  not  existed.  The  most  curious  point  was  that 
these  two  men  in  no  way  resembled  one  another,  neither 
by  their  occupations  nor  by  their  disposition.  They 


THE   CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  167 

belonged   to   different   sections,   and   lived   in   separate 
barracks.     The  little  convict  was  named  Bulkin. 

Vermaloff  smiled  when  he  saw  me  seated  by  the 
stove.  He  stopped  at  some  distance  from  me,  reflected 
for  a  moment,  tottered,  and  then  came  towards  me  with 
an  affected  swagger.  Then  he  swept  the  strings  of  his 
instrument,  and  sung,  or  recited,  tapping  at  the  same 
time  with  his  boot  on  the  ground,  the  following  chant : 

My  darling ! 

With  her  full,  fair  face, 

Sings  like  a  nightingale ; 

In  her  satin  dress, 

With  its  brilliant  trimming, 

She  is  very  fair. 

This  song  excited  Bulkin  in  an  extraordinary  manner. 
He  agitated  his  arms,  and  shrieked  out  to  every  one : 
"  He  lies,  my  friends  ;  he  lies  like  a  quack  doctor.  There 
is  not  a  shadow  of  truth  in  what  he  sings." 

"  My  respects  to  the  venerable  Alexander  Petrovitch," 
said  Vermaloff,  looking  at  me  with  a  knowing  smile.  I 
fancied  even  he  wished  to  embrace  me.  He  was  drunk. 
As  for  the  expression,  "  My  respects  to  the  venerable 
so-and-so/'  it  is  employed  by  the  common  people 
throughout  Siberia,  even  when  addressed  to  a  young  man 
of  twenty.  To  call  a  man  old  is  a  sign  of  respect,  and 
may  amount  even  to  flattery. 

"  Well,  Vermaloff,  how  are  you  ?  "  I  replied. 

"  So,  so.  Nothing  to  boast  of.  Those  who  really 
enjoy  the  holiday  have  been  drinking  since  early 
morning." 

Vermaloff  did  not  speak  very  distinctly. 

"  He  lies ;  he  lies  again,"  said  Bulkin,  striking  the 
camp-bedsteads  with  a  sort  of  despair. 

One  might  have  sworn  that  Vermaloff  had  given  his 
word  of  honour  not  to  pay  any  attention  to  him.  That 
was  really  the  most  comic  thing  about  it ;  for  Bulkin  had 
not  quitted  him  for  one  moment  since  the  morning. 
Always  with  him,  he  quarrelled  with  Vermaloff  about 
every  word ;  wringing  his  hands,  and  striking  with  his 


168  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

fists  against  the  wall  and  the  camp  bedsteads  till  he 
made  them  bleed,  he  suffered  visibly  from  his  conviction 
that  Vermaloff  "lied  like  a  quack  doctor."  If  Bulkin 
had  had  hair  on  his  head,  he  would  certainly  have  torn  it 
in  his  grief,  in  his  profound  mortification.  One  might 
have  thought  that  he  had  made  himself  responsible  for 
Vermaloff's  actions,  and  that  all  Vermaloff's  faults 
troubled  his  conscience.  The  amusing  part  of  it  was 
that  Vermaloff  continued. 

"  He  lies  !     He  lies !     He  lies ! "  cried  Bulkin. 

"  What  can  it  matter  to  you  ?  "  replied  the  convicts, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  Alexander  Petrovitch,  that  I  was 
very  good-looking  when  I  was  a  young  man,  and  the 
young  girls  were  very  fond  of  me/'  said  Vermaloff 
suddenly. 

"  He  lies  !  He  lies  !  "  again  interrupted  Bulkin,  with 
a  groan.  The  convicts  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  And  well  I  got  myself  up  to  please  them.  I  had  a 
red  shirt,  and  broad  trousers  of  cotton  velvet.  I  was 
happy  in  those  days.  I  got  up  when  I  liked ;  did  what- 
ever I  pleased.  In  fact " 

"  He  lies/'  declared  Bulkin. 

"I  inherited  from  my  father  a  stone  house,  two 
storeys  high.  Within  two  years  I  made  away  with  the 
two  storeys ;  nothing  remained  to  me  but  the  street  door. 
Well,  what  of  that.  Money  comes  and  goes  like  a  bird." 

"  He  lies ! "  declared  Bulkin,  more  resolutely  than 
before. 

"  Then  when  I  had  spent  all,  I  sent  a  letter  to  my 
relations,  that  they  might  send  me  some  money.  They 
said  that  I  had  set  their  will  at  naught,  that  I  was  dis- 
respectful. It  is  now  seven  years  since  I  sent  off  my 
letter." 

"  And  any  answer  ?  "  I  asked,  with  a  smile. 

t '  No,"  he  replied,  also  laughing,  and  almost  putting 
his  nose  in  my  face. 

He  then  informed  me  that  he  had  a  sweetheart. 

"  You  a  sweetheart  ?  " 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  169 

ft  Onufriel  said  to  me  the  other  day :  '  My  young 
woman  is  marked  with  small-pox,  and  as  ugly  as  you 
like ;  but  she  has  plenty  of  dresses,  while  yours.,  though 
she  may  be  pretty,  is  a  beggar/  " 

«  Is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  she  is  a  beggar,"  he  answered. 

He  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  the  others  laughed  with 
him.  Every  one  indeed  knew  that  he  had  a  liaison  with 
a  beggar  woman,  to  whom  he  gave  ten  kopecks  every 
six  months. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  "  I  said  to  him, 
wishing  at  last  to  get  rid  of  him. 

He  remained  silent,  and  then,  looking  at  me  in  the 
most  insinuating  manner,  said : 

"  Could  not  you  let  me  have  enough  money  to  buy 
half-a-pint?  I  have  drunk  nothing  but  tea  the  whole 
day,"  he  added,  as  he  took  from  me  the  money  I  offered 
him;  "and  tea  affects  me  in  such  a  manner  that 
I  am  afraid  of  becoming  asthmatic.  It  gives  me 
the  wind." 

When  he  took  the  money  I  offered  him,  the  despair 
of  Bulkin  went  beyond  all  bounds.  He  gesticulated  like 
a  man  possessed. 

"  Good  people  all,"  he  cried,  "  the  man  lies.  Every- 
thing he  says — everything  is  a  lie." 

"  What  can  it  matter  to  you  ? "  cried  the  convicts, 
astonished  at  his  goings  on.  "  You  are  possessed." 

"I  will  not  allow  him  to  lie,"  continued  Bulkin, 
rolling  his  eyes,  and  striking  his  fist  with  energy  on  the 
boards.  "  He  shall  not  lie." 

Every  one  laughed.  Vermaloff  bowed  to  me  after 
receiving  the  money,  and  hastened,  with  many  grimaces, 
to  go  to  the  drink-seller.  Then  only  he  noticed  Bulkin. 

"  Come  ! "  he  said  to  him,  as  if  the  latter  were  indis- 
pensable for  the  execution  of  some  design.  "  Idiot ! "  he 
added,  with  contempt,  as  Bulkin  passed  before  him. 

But  enough  about  this  tumultuous  scene,  which,  at 
last,  came  to  an  end.  The  convicts  went  to  sleep  heavily 
on  their  camp-bedsteads.  They  spoke  and  raged  during 


170  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

their  sleep  more  than  on  the  other  nights.  Here  and 
there  they  still  continued  to  play  at  cards.  The  festival 
looked  forward  to  with  such  impatience  was  now  over, 
and  to-morrow  the  daily  work,  the  hard  labour,  will 
begin  again. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   PERFORMANCE. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  third  day  of  the  holidays 
took  place  our  first  theatrical  performance. 
There  had  been  much  trouble  about  or- 
ganising it.  But  those  who  were  to  act  had 
taken  everything  upon  themselves,  and  the 
other  convicts  knew  nothing  about  the  representation 
except  that  it  was  to  take  place.  We  did  not  even  know 
what  was  to  be  played.  The  actors,  while  they  were  at 
work,  were  always  thinking  how  they  could  get  together 
the  greatest  number  of  costumes.  Whenever  I  met 
Baklouchin  he  snapped  his  fingers  with  satisfaction,  but 
told  me  nothing.  I  think  the  Major  was  in  a  good 
humour;  but  we  did  not  know  for  certain  whether  he 
knew  what  was  going  on  or  not,  whether  he  had  authorised 
it,  or  whether  he  had  determined  to  shut  his  eyes  and  be 
silent,  after  assuring  himself  that  everything  would  take 
place  quietly.  He  had  heard,  I  fancy,  of  the  meditated 
representation,  and  said  nothing  about  it,  lest  he  should 
spoil  everything.  The  soldiers  would  be  disorderly,  or 
would  get  drunk,  unless  they  had  something  to  divert 
them.  Thus  I  think  the  Major  must  have  reasoned,  for 
it  will  be  only  natural  to  do  so.  I  may  add  that  if  the 
convicts  had  not  got  up  a  performance  during  the 


172  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBEBIA 

holidays,  or  done  something  of  the  kind,  the  administra- 
tion would  have  been  obliged  to  organise  some  sort  of 
amusement;  but  as  our  Major  was  distinguished  by  ideas 
directly  opposed  to  those  of  other  people,  I  take  a  great 
responsibility  on  myself  in  saying  that  he  knew  of  our 
project  and  authorised  it.  A  man  like  him  must  always 
be  crushing  and  stifling  some  one,  taking  something 
away,  depriving  some  one  of  a  right — in  a  word,  for 
establishing  order  of  this  character  he  was  known  through- 
out the  town. 

It  mattered  nothing  to  him  that  his  exactions  made 
the  men  rebellious.  For  such  offences  there  were  suitable 
punishments  (there  are  some  people  who  reason  in  this 
way),  and  with  these  rascals  of  convicts  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  treat  them  very  severely,  deal  with  them 
strictly  according  to  law.  These  incapable  executants 
of  the  law  did  not  in  the  least  understand  that  to  apply 
the  law  without  understanding  its  spirit  is  to  provoke 
resistance.  They  are  quite  astonished  that,  in  addition  to 
the  execution  of  the  law,  good  sense  and  a  sound  head 
should  be  expected  from  them.  The  last  condition  would 
appear  to  them  quite  superfluous ;  to  require  such  a  thing 
is  vexatious,  intolerant. 

However  this  may  be,  the  Sergeant-Major  made  no 
objection  to  the  performance,  and  that  was  all  the 
convicts  wanted.  I  may  say  in  all  truth  that  if  through- 
out the  holidays  there  were  no  disorders  in  the  convict 
prison,  no  sanguinary  quarrels,  no  robberies,  that  must 
be  attributed  to  the  convicts  being  permitted  to  organise 
their  performance.  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  how  they 
got  out  of  the  way  of  those  of  their  companions  who  had 
drunk  too  much,  and  how  they  prevented  quarrels  on  the 
ground  that  the  representation  would  be  forbidden.  The 
non-commissioned  officer  made  the  prisoners  give  their 
word  of  honour  that  they  would  behave  well,  and  that  all 
would  go  off  quietly.  They  gave  it  with  pleasure,  and  kept 
their  promise  religiously.  They  were  much  flattered  at 
finding  their  word  of  honour  accepted.  Let  me  add  that 
the  representation  cost  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  to  the 


THE  PERFORMANCE  173 

authorities,  who  were  not  called  upon  to  spend  a  farthing. 
The  theatre  could  be  put  up  and  taken  down  within  a 
quarter  of  an  hour ;  and,  in  case  an  order  stopping  the 
performance  suddenly  arrived,  the  scenery  could  have 
been  put  away  in  a  second.  The  costumes  were  concealed 
in  the  convicts'  boxes  :  but  first  of  all  let  me  say  how 
our  theatre  was  constructed,  what  were  the  costumes, 
and  what  the  bill,  that  is  to  say,  the  pieces  that  were  to 
be  played.  To  tell  the  truth,  there  was  no  written 
playbill,  not,  at  least,  for  the  first  representation.  It  was 
ready  only  for  the  second  and  third.  Baklouchin  com- 
posed it  for  the  officers  and  other  distinguished  visitors 
who  might  deign  to  honour  the  performance  with  their 
presence,  including  the  officer  of  the  guard,  the  officer  of 
the  watch,  and  an  Engineer  officer.  It  was  in  honour  of 
these  that  the  playbill  was  written  out. 

It  was  supposed  that  the  reputation  of  our  theatre 
would  extend  to  the  fortress,  and  even  to  the  town, 

especially  as  there  was  no  theatre  at  N :  a  few 

amateur  performances,  but  nothing  more.  The  convicts 
delighted  in  the  smallest  success,  and  boasted  of  it  like 
children. 

"  Who  knows ?"  they  said  to  one  another;  "  when  our 
chiefs  hear  of  it  they  will  perhaps  come  and  see.  Then 
they  will  know  what  convicts  are  worth,  for  this  is  not  a 
performance  given  by  soldiers,  but  a  genuine  piece  played 
by  genuine  actors ;  nothing  like  it  could  be  seen  any- 
where in  the  town.  General  Abrosimoff  had  a  represen- 
tation at  his  house,  and  it  is  said  he  will  have  another. 
Well,  they  may  beat  us  in  the  matter  of  costumes,  but  as 
for  the  dialogue  that  is  a  very  different  thing.  The 
Governor  himself  will  perhaps  hear  of  it,  and  —  who 
knows  ? — he  may  come  himself." 

They  had  no  theatre  in  the  town.  In  a  word,  the 
imagination  of  the  convicts,  above  all  after  their  first 
success,  went  so  far  as  to  make  them  think  that  rewards 
would  be  distributed  to  them;  and  that  their  period  of 
hard  labour  would  be  shortened.  A  moment  afterwards 
they  were  the  first  to  laugh  at  this  fancy.  In  a  word, 


174  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

they  were  children,  true  children,  when  they  were  forty 
years  of  age.  I  knew  in  a  general  way  the  subjects  of 
the  pieces  that  were  to  be  represented,  although  there 
was  no  bill.  The  title  of  the  first  was  Philatka  and 
Miroshka  Rivals.  Baklouchin  boasted  to  me,  at 
least  a  week  before  the  performance,  that  the  part  of 
Philatka,  which  he  had  assigned  to  himself,  would  be 
played  in  such  a  manner  that  nothing  like  it  had  ever 
been  seen,  even  on  the  St.  Petersburg  stage.  He  walked 
about  in  the  barracks  puffed  up  with  boundless  import- 
ance. If  now  and  then  he  declaimed  a  speech  from  his 
part  in  the  theatrical  style,  every  one  burst  out  laughing, 
whether  the  speech  was  amusing  or  not ;  they  laughed 
because  he  had  forgotten  himself.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  the  convicts,  as  a  body,  were  self-contained  and 
full  of  dignity ;  the  only  ones  who  got  enthusiastic  at 
Baklouchin's  tirades  were  the  young  ones,  who  had  no 
false  shame,  or  those  who  were  much  looked  up  to,  and 
whose  authority  was  so  firmly  established  that  they  were 
not  afraid  to  commit  themselves.  The  others  listened 
silently,  without  blaming  or  contradicting,  but  they  did 
their  best  to  show  that  the  performance  left  them  indif- 
ferent, i 

It  Was  not  until  the  very  last  moment,  the  very 
day  of  the  representation,  that  every  one  manifested 
genuine  interest  in  what  our  companions  had  under- 
taken. "  What,"  was  the  general  question,  "  would  the 
Major  say  ?  Would  the  performance  succeed  as  well  as 
the  one  given  two  years  before  ?  "  etc.,  etc.  Baklouchin 
assured  me  that  all  the  actors  would  be  quite  at  home  on 
the  stage,  and  that  there  would  even  be  a  curtain. 
Sirotkin  was  to  play  a  woman's  part.  "You  will  see 
how  well  I  look  in  women's  clothes/'  he  said.  The 
Lady  Bountiful  was  to  have  a  dress  with  skirts  and 
trimmings,  besides  a  parasol ;  while  her  husband,  the 
Lord  of  the  Manor,  was  to  wear  an  officer's  uniform,  with 
epaulettes,  and  a  cane  in  his  hand. 

The  second  piece  that  was  to  be  played  was  entitled, 
Kedril,  the  Glutton.  The  title  puzzled  me  much,  but 


THE  PEBFOBMANGE  175 

it  was  useless  to  ask  any  questions  about  it.  I  could 
only  learn  that  the  piece  was  not  printed ;  it  was  a 
manuscript  copy  obtained  from  a  retired  non-com- 
missioned officer  in  the  town,  who  had  doubtless 
formerly  participated  in  its  representation  on  some 
military  stage.  We  have,  indeed,  in  the  distant  towns 
and  governments,  a  number  of  pieces  of  this  kind, 
which,  I  believe,  are  perfectly  unknown  and  have  never 
been  printed,  but  which  appear  to  have  grown  up  of 
themselves,  in  connection  with  the  popular  theatre,  in 
certain  zones  of  Russia.  I  have  spoken  of  the  popular 
theatre.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  our  investigators 
of  popular  literature  would  take  the  trouble  to  make 
careful  researches  as  to  this  popular  theatre  which  exists, 
and  which,  perhaps,  is  not  so  insignificant  as  may  be 
thought. 

I  cannot  think  that  everything  I  saw  on  the  stage  of 
our  convict  prison  was  the  work  of  our  convicts.  It 
must  have  sprung  from  old  traditions  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation,  and  preserved  among  the 
soldiers,  the  workmen  in  industrial  towns,  and  even  the 
shopkeepers  in  some  poor,  out-of-the-way  places.  These 
traditions  have  been  preserved  in  some  villages  and  some 
Government  towns  by  the  servants  of  the  large  landed 
proprietors.  I  even  believe  that  copies  of  many  old 
pieces  have  been  multiplied  by  these  servants  of  the 
nobility. 

The  old  Muscovite  proprietors  and  nobles  had  their 
own  theatres,  in  which  their  servants  used  to  play. 
Thence  comes  our  popular  theatre,  the  originals  of  which 
are  beyond  discussion.  As  for  Kedril,  the  Glutton,  in 
spite  of  my  lively  curiosity,  I  could  learn  nothing  about 
it,  except  that  demons  appeared  on  the  stage  and  carried 
Kedril  away  to  hell.  What  did  the  name  of  Kedril 
signify  ?  Why  was  he  called  Kedril  and  not  Cyril  ? 
Was  the  name  Russian  or  foreign  ?  I  could  not  resolve 
this  question.  . 

It  was  announced  that  the  representation  would 
terminate  with  a  musical  pantomime.  All  this  promised 


176  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA. 

to  be  very  curious.  The  actors  were  fifteen  in  number, 
all  vivacious  men.  They  were  very  energetic,  got  up  a 
number  of  rehearsals  which  sometimes  took  place 
behind  the  barracks,  kept  away  from  the  others,  and 
gave  themselves  mysterious  airs.  They  evidently  wished 
to  surprise  us  with  something  extraordinary  and  unex- 
pected. 

On  work  days  the  barracks  were  shut  very  early  as 
night  approached,  but  an  exception  was  made  during  the 
Christmas  holidays,  when  the  padlocks  were  not  put  to 
the  gates  until  the  evening  retreat — nine  o'clock.  This 
favour  had  been  granted  specially  in  view  of  the  play. 
During  the  whole  duration  of  the  holidays  a  deputation 
was  sent  every  evening  to  the  officer  of  the  guard  very 
humbly  "  to  permit  the  representation  and  not  to  shut 
at  the  usual  hour."  It  was  added  that  there  had  been 
previous  representations,  and  that  nothing  disorderly  had 
occurred  at  any  of  them. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  must  have  reasoned  as 
follows :  There  was  no  disorder,  no  infraction  of  dis- 
cipline at  the  previous  performance,  and  the  moment 
they  give  their  word  that  to-night's  performance  shall 
take  place  in  the  same  manner,  they  mean  to  be  their 
own  police — the  most  rigorous  police  of  all.  Moreover, 
he  knew  well  that  if  he  took  it  upon  himself  to  forbid 
the  representation,  these  fellows  (who  knows,  and  with 
convicts  ? )  would  have  committed  some  offence  which 
would  have  placed  the  officer  of  the  guard  in  a  very 
difficult  position.  One  final  reason  insured  his  consent : 
To  mount  guard  is  horribly  tiresome,  and  if  he  authorised 
the  performance  he  would  see  the  play  acted,  not  by 
soldiers,  but  by  convicts,  a  curious  set  of  people.  It 
would  certainly  be  interesting,  and  he  had  a  right  to  be 
present  at  it. 

In  case  the  superior  officer  arrived  and  asked  for  the 
officer  of  the  guard,  he  would  be  told  that  the  latter  had 
gone  to  count  the  convicts  and  close  the  barracks ;  an 
answer  which  could  easily  be  made,  and  which  could  not 
be  disproved.  That  is  why  our  superintendents  authorised 


THE  PERFORMANCE  177 

the  performance;  and  throughout  the  holidays  the 
barracks  were  kept  open  each  evening  until  the  retreat. 
The  convicts  had  known  beforehand  that  they  would 
meet  with  no  opposition  from  the  officer  of  the  guard. 
They  were  quite  quiet  about  him. 

Towards  six  o'clock  Petroff  came  to  look  for  me,  and 
we  went  together  to  the  theatre.  Nearly  all  the  prisoners 
of  our  barracks  were  there,  with  the  exception  of  the 
"old  believer"  from  Tchernigoff,  and  the  Poles.  The 
latter  did  not  decide  to  be  present  until  the  last  day  of 
the  representation,  the  4th  of  January,  after  they  had 
been  assured  that  everything  would  be  managed  in  a 
becoming  manner.  The  haughtiness  of  the  Poles  irri- 
tated our  convicts.  Accordingly  they  were  received  on 
the  4th  of  January  with  formal  politeness,  and  conducted 
to  the  best  places.  As  for  the  Circassians  and  Isaiah 
Fomitch,  the  play  was  for  them  a  genuine  delight. 
Isaiah  Fomitch  gave  three  kopecks  each  time,  except  the 
last,  when  he  placed  ten  kopecks  on  the  plate ;  and  how 
happy  he  looked  ! 

The  actors  had  decided  that  each  spectator  should 
give  what  he  thought  fit.  The  receipts  were  to  cover 
the  expenses,  and  anything  beyond  was  to  go  to  the 
actors.  Petroff  assured  me  that  I  should  be  allowed  to 
have  one  of  the  best  places,  however  full  the  theatre 
might  be;  first,  because  being  richer  than  the  others, 
there  was  a  probability  of  my  giving  more ;  and,  secondly, 
because  I  knew  more  about  acting  than  any  one  else. 
What  he  had  foreseen  took  place.  But  let  me  first 
describe  the  theatre. 

The  barrack  of  the  military  section,  which  had  been 
turned  into  the  theatre,  was  fifteen  feet  long.  From  the 
court-yard  one  entered,  first  an  ante- chamber,  and  after- 
wards the  barrack  itself.  The  building  was  arranged,  as 
I  have  already  mentioned,  in  a  particular  manner,  the 
beds  being  placed  against  the  wall,  so  as  to  leave  an 
open  space  in  the  middle.  One  half  of  the  barrack 
was  reserved  for  the  spectators,  while  the  other,  which 
communicated  with  the  second  building,  formed  the 


178  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

stage.  What  astonished  me  directly  I  entered,  was  the 
curtain,  which  was  about  ten  feet  long,  and  divided 
the  barrack  into  two.  It  was  indeed  a  marvel,  for  it 
was  painted  in  oil,  and  represented  trees,  tunnels,  ponds, 
and  stars. 

It  was  made  of  pieces  of  linen,  old  and  new,  given  by 
the  convicts;  shirts,  the  bandages  which  our  peasants 
wrap  round  their  feet  in  lieu  of  socks,  all  sewn  together 
well  or  ill,  and  forming  together  an  immense  sheet. 
Where  there  was  not  enough  linen,  it  had  been  replaced 
by  writing  paper,  taken  sheet  by  sheet  from  the  various 
office  bureaus.  Our  painters  (among  whom  we  had  our 
Bruloff)  had  painted  it  all  over,  and  the  effect  was  very 
remarkable. 

This  luxurious  curtain  delighted  the  convicts,  even 
the  most  sombre  and  most  morose.  These,  however, 
like  the  others,  as  soon  as  the  play  began,  showed  them- 
selves mere  children.  They  were  all  pleased  and  satis- 
fied with  a  certain  satisfaction  of;  vanity.  The  theatre 
was  lighted  with  candle  ends.  Two  benches,  which  had 
been  brought  from  the  kitchen,  were  placed  before  the 
curtain,  together  with  three  or  four  large  chairs,  borrowed 
from  the  non-commissioned  officers'  room.  These  chairs 
were  for  the  officers,  should  they  think  fit  to  honour  the 
performance.  As  for  the  benches,  they  were  for  the 
non-commissioned  officers,  engineers,  clerks,  directors  of 
the  works,  and  all  the  immediate  superiors  of  the  convicts 
who  had  not  officer's  rank,  and  who  had  come  perhaps  to 
take  a  look  at  the  representation.  In  fact,  there  was  no 
lack  of  visitors.  According  to  the  days,  they  came  in 
greater  or  smaller  numbers,  while  for  the  last  representa- 
tion there  was  not  a  single  place  unoccupied  on  the 
benches. 

At  the  back  the  convicts  stood  crowded  together; 
standing  up  out  of  respect  to  the  visitors,  and  dressed  in 
their  vests,  or  in  their  short  pelisses,  in  spite  of  the 
suffocating  heat.  As  might  have  been  expected,  the 
place  was  too  small;  so  all  the  prisoners  stood  up, 
heaped  together — above  all  in  the  last  rows.  The  camp- 


THE  PERFORMANCE  179 

bedsteads  were  all  occupied;  and  there  were  some 
amateurs  who  disputed  constantly  behind  the  stage  in 
the  other  barrack,  and  who  viewed  the  performance  from 
the  back.  I  was  asked  to  go  forward,  and  Petroff  with 
me,  close  to  the  benches,  whence  a  good  view  could  be 
obtained.  They  looked  upon  me  as  a  good  judge,  a  con- 
noisseur, who  had  seen  many  other  theatres.  The  convicts 
remarked  that  Baklouchin  had  often  consulted  me, 
and  that  he  had  shown  deference  to  my  advice.  Conse- 
quently they  thought  that  I  ought  to  be  treated  with 
honour,  and  to  have  one  of  the  best  places.  These  men 
are  vain  and  frivolous,  but  only  on  the  surface.  They 
laughed  at  me  when  I  was  at  work,  because  I  was  a  poor 
workman.  Almazoff  had  a  right  to  despise  us  gentle- 
men, and  to  boast  of  his  superior  skill  in  pounding  the 
alabaster.  His  laughter  and  raillery  were  directed  against 
our  origin,  for  we  belonged  by  birth  to  the  caste  of  his 
former  masters,  of  whom  he  could  not  preserve  a  good 
recollection;  but  here  at  the  theatre  these  same  men 
made  way  for  me ;  for  they  knew  that  about  this  matter 
I  knew  more  than  they  did.  Those,  even,  who  were  not 
at  all  well  disposed  towards  me,  were  glad  to  hear  me 
praise  the  performance,  and  gave  way  to  me  without  the 
least  servility.  I  judged  now  by  my  impressions  of  that 
time.  I  understood  that  in  this  new  view  of  theirs  there 
was  no  lowering  of  themselves ;  rather  a  sentiment  of 
their  own  dignity. 

The  most  striking  characteristic  of  our  people  is 
its  conscientiousness,  and  its  love  of  justice;  no  false 
vanity/  no  sly  ambition  to  reach  the  first  rank  without 
being  entitled  to  do  so;  such  faults  are  foreign  to 
our  people.  Take  it  from  its  rough  shell,  and  you  will 
perceive,  if  you  study  it  without  prejudice,  attentively, 
and  close  at  hand,  qualities  which  you  would  never  have 
suspected.  Our  sages  have  very  little  to  teach  our  people. 
I  will  even  say  more ;  they  might  take  lessons  from  it. 

Petroff  had  told  me  innocently,  on  taking  me  into  the 
theatre,  that  they  would  pass  me  to  the  front,  because 
they  expected  more  money  from  me.  There  were  no 


180  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

fixed  prices  for  the  places.  Bach  one  gave  what  he 
liked,  and  what  he  could.  Nearly  every  one  placed  a 
piece  of  money  in  the  plate  when  it  was  handed  round. 
Even  if  they  had  passed  me  forward  in  the  hope  that  I 
should  give  more  than  others,  was  there  not  in  that  a 
certain  feeling  of  personal  dignity  ? 

"You  are  richer  than  I  am.  Go  to  the  first  row. 
We  are  all  equal  here,  it  is  true ;  but  you  pay  more,  and 
the  actors  prefer  a  spectator  like  you.  Occupy  the  first 
place  then,  for  we  are  not  here  with  money,  and  must 
arrange  ourselves  anyhow." 

What  noble  pride  in  this  mode  of  action !  In  final 
analysis  not  love  of  money,  but  self-respect.  There 
was  little  esteem  for  money  among  us.  I  do  not  re- 
member that  one  of  us  ever  lowered  himself  to  obtain 
money.  Some  men  used  to  make  up  to  me,  but  from 
love  of  cunning  and  of  fun  rather  than  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  any  benefit.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  explain 
myself  clearly.  I  am,  in  any  case,  forgetting  the  per- 
formance. Let  me  return  to  it. 

Before  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  the  room  presented  a 
strange  and  animated  look.  In  the  first  place,  the  crowd 
pressed,  crushed,  jammed  together  on  all  sides,  but 
impatient,  full  of  expectation,  every  face  glowing  with 
delight.  In  the  last  ranks  was  the  grovelling,  confused 
mass  of  convicts.  Many  of  them  had  brought  with  them 
logs  of  wood,  which  they  placed  against  the  wall,  on  which 
they  climbed  up.  In  this  fatiguing  position  they  paused 
to  rest  themselves  by  placing  both  hands  on  the  shoulders 
of  their  companions,  who  seemed  quite  at  ease.  Others 
stood  on  their  toes,  with  their  heels  against  the  stove,  and 
thus  remained  throughout  the  representation,  supported  by 
those  around  them.  Massed  against  the  camp-bedsteads 
was  another  compact  crowd ;  for  here  were  some  of  the 
best  places  of  all.  Five  convicts  had  hoisted  themselves 
up  to  the  top  of  the  stove,  whence  they  had  a  command- 
ing view.  These  fortunate  ones  were  extremely  happy. 
Elsewhere  swarmed  the  late  arrivals,  unable  to  find  good 
places. 


THE  PERFORMANCE  181 

Every  one  conducted  himself  in  a  becoming  manner, 
without  making  any  noise.  Each  one  wished  to  show 
advantageously  before  the  distinguished  persons  who 
were  visiting  us.  Simple  and  natural  was  the  expression 
of  these  red  faces,  damp  with  perspiration,  as  the  rise  of 
the  curtain  was  eagerly  expected.  What  a  strange  look 
of  infinite  delight,  of  unmixed  pleasure,  was  painted 
on  these  scarred  faces,  these  branded  foreheads,  so 
dark  and  menacing  at  ordinary  times !  They  were  all 
without  their  caps,  and  as  I  looked  back  at  them  from 
my  place,  it  seemed  to  me  that  their  heads  were  entirely 
shaved. 

Suddenly  the  signal  is  given,  and  the  orchestra  begins 
to  play.  This  orchestra  deserves  a  special  mention.  It 
consisted  of  eight  musicians :  two  violins,  one  of  which 
was  the  property  of  a  convict,  while  the  other  had  been 
borrowed  from  outside ;  three  balalaiki,  made  by  the 
convicts  themselves ;  two  guitars,  and  a  tambourine. 
The  violins  sighed  and  shrieked,  and  the  guitars  were 
worthless,  but  the  balalaiki  were  remarkably  good ;  and 
the  agile  fingering  of  the  artists  would  have  done  honour 
to  the  cleverest  executant. 

They  played  scarcely  anything  but  dance  tunes.  At 
the  most  exciting  passages  they  struck  with  their  fingers 
on  the  body  of  their  instruments.  The  tone,  the  execu- 
tion of  the  motive,  were  always  original  and  distinctive. 
One  of  the  guitarists  knew  his  instrument  thoroughly. 
It  was  the  gentleman  who  had  killed  his  father.  As 
for  the  tambourinist,  he  really  did  wonders.  Now  he 
whirled  round  the  disk,  balanced  on  one  of  his  fingers ; 
now  he  rubbed  the  parchment  with  his  thumb,  and 
brought  from  it  a  countless  multitude  of  notes,  now 
dull,  now  brilliant. 

At  last  two  harinonigers  join  the  orchestra.  I  had  no 
idea  until  then  of  all  that  could  be  done  with  these 
popular  and  vulgar  instruments.  I  was  astonished.  The 
harmony,  but,  above  all,  the  expression,  the  very  con- 
ception of  the  motive,  were  admirably  rendered.  I  then 
understood  perfectly,  and  for  the  first  time,  the  remark- 


182  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

able  boldness,  the  striking  abandonment,  which  are 
expressed  in  our  popular  dance  tunes,  and  our  village 
songs. 

At  last  the  curtain  rose.  Every  one  made  a  move- 
ment. Those  who  were  at  the  back  raised  themselves 
upon  the  point  of  their  feet ;  some  one  fell  down  from 
his  log.  At  once  there  were  looks  that  enjoined  silence. 
The  performance  now  began. 

I  was  seated  not  far  from  Ali,  who  was  in  the  midst 
of  the  group  formed  by  his  brothers  and  the  other 
Circassians.  They  had  a  passionate  love  of  the  theatre, 
and  did  not  miss  one  of  our  evenings.  I  have  remarked 
that  all  the  Mohammedans,  Circassians,  and  so  on,  are 
fond  of  all  kinds  of  representations.  Near  them  was  Isaiah 
Fomitch,  quite  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  As  soon  as  the 
curtain  rose  he  was  all  ears  and  eyes ;  his  countenance 
expressed  an  expectation  of  something  marvellous.  I 
should  have  been  grieved  had  he  been  disappointed. 
The  charming  face  of  Ali  shone  with  a  childish  joy,  so 
pure  that  I  was  quite  happy  to  behold  it.  Involuntarily, 
whenever  a  general  laugh  echoed  an  amusing  remark,  I 
turned  towards  him  to  see  his  countenance.  He  did  not 
notice  it,  he  had  something  else  to  do. 

Near  him,  placed  on  the  left,  was  a  convict,  already 
old,  sombre,  discontented,  and  always  grumbling.  He 
also  had  noticed  Ali,  and  I  saw  him  cast  furtive  glances 
more  than  once  towards  him,  so  charming  was  the  young 
Circassian.  The  prisoners  always  called  him  Ali  Simeo- 
nitch,  without  my  knowing  why. 

In  the  first  piece,  Philatka  and  Miroslika, 
Baklouchin,  in  the  part  of  Philatka,  was  really  mar- 
vellous. He  played  his  r61e  to  perfection.  It  could 
be  seen  that  he  had  weighed  each  speech,  each  movement. 
He  managed  to  give  to  each  word,  each  gesture,  a 
meaning  which  responded  perfectly  to  the  character  of 
the  personage.  Apart  from  the  conscientious  study  he 
had  made  of  the  character,  he  was  gay,  simple,  natural, 
irresistible.  If  you  had  seen  Baklouchin  you  would 
certainly  have  said  that  he  was  a  genuine  actor,  an  actor 


THE  PERFORMANCE  183 

by  vocation,  and  of  great  talent.  I  have  seen  Philatka 
several  times  at  the  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  theatres, 
and  I  declare  that  none  of  our  celebrated  actors  was  equal 
to  Baklouchin  in  this  part.  They  were  peasants,  from  no 
matter  what  country,  and  not  true  Russian  moujiks. 
Moreover,  their  desire  to  be  peasant-like  was  too  ap- 
parent. Baklouchin  was  animated  by  emulation ;  for  it 
was  known  that  the  convict  Potsiakin  was  to  play  the 

rrt  of  Kedril  in  the  second  piece,  and  it  was  assumed — 
io  not  know  why — that  the  latter  would  show  more 
talent  than  Baklouchin.  The  latter  was  as  vexed  by  this 
preference  as  a  child.  How  many  times  did  he  not  come 
to  me  during  the  last  days  to  tell  me  all  he  felt !  Two 
hours  before  the  representation  he  was  attacked  by  fever. 
When  the  audience  burst  out  laughing,  and  called  out 
"  Bravo,  Baklouchin !  what  a  fellow  you  are ! "  his 
figure  shone  with  joy,  and  true  inspiration  could  be 
read  in  his  eyes.  The  scene  of  the  kisses  between 
Kiroshka  and  Philatka,  in  which  the  latter  calls  out  to 
the  daughter,  "Wife,  your  mouth,"  and  then  wipes 
his  own,  was  wonderfully  comic.  Every  one  burst  out 
laughing. 

What  interested  me  was  the  spectators.  They  were 
all  at  their  ease,  and  gave  themselves  up  frankly  to  their 
mirth.  Cries  of  approbation  became  more  and  more 
numerous.  A  convict  nudged  his  companion  with  his 
elbow,  and  hastily  communicated  his  impressions,  without 
even  troubling  himself  to  know  who  was  by  his  side. 
When  a  comic  song  began,  one  man  might  be  seen 
agitating  his  arms  violently,  as  if  to  engage  his  com- 
panions to  laugh  ;  after  which  he  turned  suddenly  towards 
the  stage.  A  third  smacked  his  tongue  against  his 
palate,  and  could  not  keep  quiet  a  moment;  but  as  there 
was  not  room  for  him  to  change  his  position,  he  hopped 
first  on  one  leg,  then  on  the  other ;  towards  the  end  of 
the  piece  the  general  gaiety  attained  its  climax.  I 
exaggerate  nothing.  Imagine  the  convict  prison, 
chains,  captivity,  long  years  of  confinement,  of  task- 
work, of  monotonous  life,  falling  away  drop  by  drop 


184  PEI80N  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

like  rain  on  an  autumn  day;  imagine  all  this  despair 
in  presence  of  permission  given  to  the  convicts  to 
amuse  themselves,  to  breathe  freely  for  an  hour,  to 
forget  their  nightmare,  and  to  organise  a  play — and 
what  a  play  !  one  that  excited  the  envy  and  admiration 
of  our  town. 

"  Fancy  those   convicts  !  "  people   said :    everythin 
interested   them,    take   the   costumes   for   instance, 
seemed  very  strange,  but  then  to  see,  Nietsvitaeff,  or 
Baklouchin,  in  a  different  costume  from  the   one  they 
had  worn  for  so  many  years. 

He  is  a  convict,  a  genuine  convict,  whose  chains  ring 
when  he  walks ;  and  there  he  is,  out  on  the  stage  with  a 
frock-coat,  and  a  round  hat,  and  a  cloak,  like  any  ordinary 
civilian.  He  has  put  on  hair,  moustaches.  He  takes  a 
red  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  shakes  it,  like  a 
real  nobleman.  What  enthusiasm  is  created  !  The  "  good 
landlord"  arrives  in  an  aide-de-camp  uniform,  a  very  old 
one,  it  is  true,  but  with  epaulettes,  and  a  cocked  hat.  The 
effect  produced  was  indescribable.  There  had  been  two 
candidates  for  this  costume,  and — will  it  be  believed  ? — 
they  had  quarrelled  like  two  little  schoolboys  as  to  which 
of  them  should  play  the  part.  Both  wanted  to  appear  in 
military  uniform  with  epaulettes.  The  other  actors 
separated  them,  and,  by  a  majority  of  voices,  the  part 
was  entrusted  to  Nietsvitaeff;  not  because  he  was 
more  suited  to  it  than  the  other,  and  that  he  bore  a 
greater  resemblance  to  a  nobleman,  but  only  because  he 
had  assured  them  all  that  he  would  have  a  cane,  and  that 
he  would  twirl  it  and  rap  it  out  grand,  like  a  true  noble- 
man— a  dandy  of  the  latest  fashion — which  was  more 
than  Vanka  and  Ospiety  could  do,  seeing  they  have 
never  known  any  noblemen.  In  fact,  when  Nietsvitaeff 
went  to  the  stage  with  his  wife,  he  did  nothing  but  draw 
circles  on  the  floor  with  his  light  bamboo  cane,  evidently 
thinking  that  this  was  the  sign  of  the  best  breeding,  of 
supreme  elegance.  Probably  in  his  childhood,  when  he 
was  still  a  barefooted  child,  he  had  been  attracted  by 
the  skill  of  some  proprietor  in  twirling  his  cane,  and  this 


THE  PERFORMANCE  185 

impression  had  remained  in  his  memory,  although  thirty 
years  afterwards. 

Nietsvitaeff  was  so  occupied  with  his  process  that 
he  saw  no  one,  he  gave  the  replies  in  his  dialogue 
without  even  raising  his  eyes.  The  most  important 
thing  for  him  was  the  end  of  his  cane,  and  the  circles 
he  drew  with  it.  The  Lady  Bountiful  was  also  very 
remarkable ;  she  came  on  in  an  old  worn-out  muslin 
dress,  which  looked  like  a  rag.  Her  arms  and  neck  were 
bare.  She  had  a  little  calico  cap  on  her  head,  with  strings 
under  her  chin,  an  umbrella  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
a  fan  of  coloured  paper,  with  which  she  constantly  fanned 
herself.  This  great  lady  was  welcomed  with  a  wild  laugh ; 
she  herself,  too,  was  unable  to  restrain  herself,  and  burst 
out  more  than  once.  The  part  was  filled  by  the  convict 
Ivanoff.  As  for  Sirotkin,  in  his  girl's  dress,  he  looked 
exceedingly  well.  The  couplets  were  all  well  sung.  In 
a  word,  the  piece  was  played  to  the  satisfaction  of  every 
one ;  not  the  least  hostile  criticism  was  passed — who,  in- 
deed, was  there  to  criticise  ?  The  air,  "  Sieni  moi  Sieni," 
was  played  again  by  way  of  overture,  and  the  curtain 
again  went  up. 

Kedril,  the  Glutton,  was  now  to  be  played.  Kedril 
is  a  sort  of  Don  Juan.  This  comparison  may  justly  be 
made,  for  the  master  and  the  servant  are  both  carried 
away  by  devils  at  the  end  of  the  piece ;  and  the  piece, 
as  the  convicts  had  it,  was  played  quite  correctly ;  but 
the  beginning  and  the  end  must  have  been  lost,  for  it 
had  neither  head  nor  tail.  The  scene  is  laid  in  an  inn 
somewhere  in  Russia.  The  innkeeper  introduces  into  a 
room  a  nobleman  wearing  a  cloak  and  a  battered  round 
hat ;  the  valet,  Kedril,  follows  his  master ;  he  carries  a 
valise,  and  a  fowl  rolled  up  in  blue  paper ;  he  wears  a 
short  pelisse  and  a  footman's  cap.  It  is  this  fellow  who 
is  the  glutton.  The  convict  Potsiakin,  the  rival  of  Bak- 
Iquchin,  played  this  part,  while  the  part  of  the  nobleman 
was  filled  by  Ivanoff,  the  same  who  played  the  great 
lady  in  the  first  piece.  The  innkeeper  (Nietsvitaeff) 
warns  the  nobleman  that  the  room  is  haunted  by  demons, 


186  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

and  goes  away;  the  nobleman  is  interested  and  pre- 
occupied; he  murmurs  aloud  that  he  has  known  that  for 
a  long  time,  and  orders  Kedril  to  unpack  his  things  and 
to  get  supper  ready. 

Kedril  is  a  glutton  and  a  coward.  When  he 
hears  of  devils  he  turns  pale  and  trembles  like  a  leaf ; 
he  would  like  to  run  away,  but  is  afraid  of  his 
master ;  besides,  he  is  hungry,  he  is  voluptuous,  he  is 
sensual,  stupid,  though  cunning  in  his  way,  and,  as 
before  said,  a  poltroon;  he  cheats  his  master  every 
moment,  though  he  fears  him  like  fire.  This  type  of 
servant  is  a  remarkable  one  in  which  may  be  recognised 
the  principal  features  of  the  character  of  Leporello,  but 
indistinct  and  confused.  The  part  was  played  in  really 
superior  style  by  Potsiakin,  whose  talent  was  beyond 
discussion,  surpassing  as  it  did  in  my  opinion  that  of 
Baklouchin  himself.  But  when  the  next  day  I  spoke  to 
Baklouchin  I  concealed  my  impression  from  him,  know- 
ing that  it  would  give  him  bitter  pain. 

As  for  the  convict  who  played  the  part  of  the  noble- 
man, it  was  not  bad.  Everything  he  said  was  without 
meaning,  incomparable  to  anything  I  had  ever  heard 
before ;  but  his  enunciation  was  pure  and  his  gestures 
becoming.  While  Kedril  occupies  himself  with  the  valise, 
his  master  walks  up  and  down,  and  announces  that  from 
that  day  forth  he  means  to  lead  a  quiet  life.  Kedril 
listens,  makes  grimaces,  and  amuses  the  spectators  by 
his  reflections  "  aside."  He  has  no  pity  for  his  master, 
but  he  has  heard  of  devils,  would  like  to  know  what  they 
are  like,  and  thereupon  questions  him.  The  nobleman 
replies  that  some  time  ago,  being  in  danger  of  death,  he 
asked  succour  from  hell.  Then  the  devils  aided  and 
delivered  him,  but  the  term  of  his  liberty  has  expired; 
and  if  the  devils  come  that  evening,  it  will  be  to  exact 
his  soul,  as  has  been  agreed  in  their  compact.  Kedril 
begins  to  tremble  in  earnest,  but  his  master  does  not 
lose  courage,  and  orders  him  to  prepare  the  supper. 
Hearing  of  victuals,  Kedril  revives.  Taking  out  a  bottle 
of  wine,  he  taps  it  on  hia  own  account.  The  audience 


THE  PERFORMANCE  187 

expands  with  laughter;  but  the  door  grates  on  its 
hinges,  the  winds  shakes  the  shutters,  Kedril  trembles, 
and  hastily,  almost  without  knowing  what  he  is 
doing,  puts  into  his  mouth  an  enormous  piece  of 
fowl,  which  he  is  unable  to  swallow.  There  is  another 
gust  of  wind. 

"  Is  it  ready  ?  "  cries  the  master,  still  walking  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  his  room. 

"  Directly,  sir.  I  am  preparing  it,"  says  Kedril,  who 
sits  down,  and,  taking  care  that  his  master  does  not  see 
him,  begins  to  eat  the  supper  himself.  The  audience  is 
evidently  charmed  with  the  cunning  of  the  servant,  who 
so  cleverly  makes  game  of  the  nobleman  ;  and  it  must  be 
admitted  that  Poseikin,  the  representative  of  the  part, 
deserved  high  praise.  He  pronounced  admirably  the 
words  :  "  Directly,  sir.  I — am — preparing — it." 

Kedril  eats  gradually,  and  at  each  mouthful  trembles 
lest  his  master  shall  see  him.  Every  time  that  the 
nobleman  turns  round  Kedril  hides  under  the  table, 
holding  the  fowl  in  his  hand.  When  he  has  appeased 
his  hunger,  he  begins  to  think  of  his  master. 

"Kedril,  will  it  soon  be  ready ?"  cries  the  noble- 
man. 

"  It  is  ready  now,"  replies  Kedril  boldly,  when  all  at 
once  he  perceives  that  there  is  scarcely  anything  left. 
Nothing  remains  but  one  leg.  The  master,  still  sombre 
and  pre-occupied,  notices  nothing,  and  takes  his  seat, 
while  Kedril  places  himself  behind  him  with  a  napkin  on 
his  arm.  Every  word,  every  gesture,  every  grimace  from 
the  servant,  as  he  turns  towards  the  audience  to  laugh  at 
his  master's  expense,  excites  the  greatest  mirth  among 
the  convicts.  Just  at  the  moment  when  the  young 
nobleman  begins  to  eat,  the  devils  arrive.  They  resemble 
nothing  human  or  terrestrial.  The  side-door  opens,  and 
the  phantom  appears  dressed  entirely  in  white,  with  a 
lighted  lantern  in  lieu  of  a  head,  and  with  a  scythe  in  its 
hand.  Why  the  white  dress,  scythe,  and  lantern  ?  No 
one  could  tell  me,  and  the  matter  did  not  trouble  the 
convicts.  They  were  sure  that  this  was  the  way  it  ought 


188  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

to  be  done.  The  master  comes  forward  courageously  to 
meet  the  apparitions,  and  calls  out  to  them  that  he  is 
ready,  and  that  they  can  take  him.  But  Kedril,  as 
timid  as  a  hare,  hides  under  the  table,  not  forgetting,  in 
spite  of  his  fright,  to  take  a  bottle  with  him.  The  devils 
disappear,  Kedril  comes  out  of  his  hiding-place,  and  the 
master  begins  to  eat  his  fowl.  Three  devils  enter  the 
room,  and  seize  him  to  take  him  to  hell. 

"  Save  me,  Kedril,"  he  cries.  But  Kedril  has  some- 
thing else  to  think  of.  He  has  now  with  him  in 
his  hiding-place  not  only  the  bottle,  but  also  the  plate 
of  fowl  and  the  bread.  He  is  now  alone.  The  demons 
are  far  away,  and  his  master  also.  Kedril  gets  from 
under  the  table,  looks  all  round,  and  suddenly  his  face 
beams  with  joy.  He  winks,  like  the  rogue  he  is,  sits 
down  in  his  master's  place,  and  whispers  to  the  audience : 
"  I  have  now  no  master  but  myself/' 

Every  one  laughs  at  seeing  him  masterless ;  and  he 
says,  always  in  an  under-tone  and  with  a  confidential  air : 
"  The  devils  have  carried  him  off  !  " 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  spectators  is  now  without 
limits.  The  last  phrase  was  uttered  with  such  roguery, 
with  such  a  triumphant  grimace,  that  it  was  impossible 
not  to  applaud.  But  Kedril's  happiness  does  not  last 
long.  Hardly  has  he  taken  up  the  bottle  of  wine,  and 
poured  himself  out  a  large  glass,  which  he  carries  to  his 
lips,  than  the  devils  return,  slip  behind,  and  seize  him. 
Kedril  howls  like  one  possessed,  but  he  dare  not  turn 
round.  He  wishes  to  defend  himself,  but  cannot,  for  in 
his  hands  he  holds  the  bottle  and  the  glass,  from  which 
he  will  not  separate.  His  eyes  starting  from  his  head, 
his  mouth  gaping  with  horror,  he  remains  for  a  moment 
looking  at  the  audience  with  a  comic  expression  of 
cowardice  that  might  have  been  painted.  At  last  he  is 
dragged,  carried  away.  His  arms  and  legs  are  agitated 
in  every  direction,  but  he  still  sticks  to  his  bottle.  He 
also  shrieks,  and  his  cries  are  still  heard  when  he  has 
been  carried  from  the  stage. 

The  curtain  falls  amid  general  laughter,  and  every 


THE  PERFORMANCE  18S 

one  is  delighted.  The  orchestra  now  attacks  the  famous 
dance  tune  Kamarinskaia.  First  it  is  played  softly, 
pianissimo;  but  little  by  little,  the  motive  is  developed 
and  played  more  lightly.  The  time  is  quickened,  and  the 
wood,  as  well  as  the  strings  of  the  balalaiki,  is  made  to 
sound.  The  musicians  enter  thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of 
the  dance.  Grlinka  [who  has  arranged  the  Kamarinskaia 
in  the  most  ingenious  manner,  and  with  harmonies  of  his 
own  devising,  for  full  orchestra]  should  have  heard  it  as  it 
was  executed  in  our  Convict  Prison. 

The  pantomimic  musical  accompaniment  is  begun; 
and  throughout  the  Kamarinskaia  is  played.  The  stage 
represents  the  interior  of  a  hut.  A  miller  and  his  wife 
are  sitting  down,  one  mending  clothes,  the  other  spinning 
flax.  Sirotkin  plays  the  part  of  the  wife,  and  Niets- 
vitaeff  that  of  the  husband.  Our  scenery  was  very  poor. 
In  this  piece,  as  in  the  preceding  ones,  imagination  had 
to  supply  what  was  wanting  in  reality.  Instead  of  a 
wall  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  there  was  a  carpet  or  a 
blanket ;  on  the  right,  shabby  screens ;  while  on  the  left, 
where  the  stage  was  not  closed,  the  camp-bedsteads  could 
be  seen ;  but  the  spectators  were  not  exacting,  and  were 
willing  to  imagine  all  that  was  wanting.  It  was  an  easy 
task  for  them ;  all  convicts  are  great  dreamers.  Directly 
they  are  told  "this  is  a  garden/7  it  is  for  them  a  garden. 
Informed  that  "  this  is  a  hut,"  they  accept  the  definition 
without  difficulty.  To  them  it  is  a  hut.  Sirotkin  was 
charming  in  a  woman's  dress.  The  miller  finishes  his  work, 
takes  his  cap  and  his  whip,  goes  up  to  his  wife,  and  gives 
her  to  understand  by  signs,  that  if  during  his  absence  she 
makes  the  mistake  of  receiving  any  one,  she  will  have  to 
deal  with  him — and  he  shows  her  his  whip.  The  wife 
listens,  and  nods  affirmatively  her  head.  The  whip  is 
evidently  known  to  her ;  the  hussey  has  often  deserved 
it.  The  husband  goes  out.  Hardly  has  he  turned  upon 
his  heel,  than  his  wife  shakes  her  fist  at  him.  There  is  a 
knock ;  the  door  opens,  and  in  comes  a  neighbour,  miller 
also  by  trade.  He  wears  a  beard,  is  in  a  kuftan,  and  he 
brings  as  a  present  a  red  handkerchief.  The  woman 


190  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

smiles.  Another  knock  is  heard  at  the  door.  Where 
shall  she  hide  him  ?  She  conceals  him  under  the  table, 
and  takes  up  her  distaff  again.  Another  admirer  now 
presents  himself — a  farrier  in  the  uniform  of  a  non- 
commissioned officer. 

Until  now  the  pantomime  had  gone  on  capitally ;  the 
gestures  of  the  actors  being  irreproachable.  It  was 
astounding  to  see  these  improvised  players  going  through 
their  parts  in  so  correct  a  manner ;  and  involuntarily  one 
said  to  oneself : 

"  What  a  deal  of  talent  is  lost  in  our  Russia,  left 
without  use  in  our  prisons  and  places  of  exile !  " 

The  convict  who  played  the  part  of  the  farrier 
had,  doubtless,  taken  part  in  a  performance  at  some 
provincial  theatre,  or  had  played  with  amateurs.  It 
seemed  to  me,  in  any  case,  that  our  actors  knew  nothing 
of  acting  as  an  art,  and  bore  themselves  in  the 
meanest  manner.  When  it  was  his  turn  to  appear,  he 
came  on  like  one  of  the  classical  heroes  of  the  old 
repertory — taking  a  long  stride  with  one  foot  before  he 
raised  the  other  from  the  ground,  throwing  back  his 
head  on  the  upper  part  of  his  body  and  casting  proud 
looks  around  him.  If  such  a  gait  was  ridiculous  on 
the  part  of  classical  heroes,  still  more  so  was  it  when 
the  actor  was  representing  a  comic  character.  But 
the  audience  thought  it  quite  natural,  and  accepted 
the  actor's  triumphant  walk  as  a  necessary  fact,  without 
criticising  it. 

A  moment  after  the  entry  of  the  second  admirer 
there  is  another  knock  at  the  door.  The  wife  loses  her 
head.  Where  is  the  farrier  to  be  concealed  ?  In  her 
big  box.  It  fortunately  is  open.  The  farrier  disappears 
within  it  and  the  lid  falls  upon  him. 

The  new  arrival  is  a  Brahmin,  in  full  costume. 
His  entry  is  hailed  by  the  spectators  with  a  formid- 
able laugh.  This  Brahmin  is  represented  by  the 
convict  Cutchin,  who  plays  the  part  perfectly,  thanks, 
in  a  great  measure,  to  a  suitable  physiognomy.  He 
explains  in  the  pantomime  his  love  of  the  miller's 


THE  PERFORMANCE  191 

wife,  raises  his  hands  to  heaven,  and  then  clasps  them 
on  his  breast. 

There  is  now  another  knock  at  the  door — a  vigorous 
one  this  time.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  It 
is  the  master  of  the  house.  The  miller's  wife  loses  her 
head  ;  the  Brahmin  runs  wildly  on  all  sides,  begging  to 
be  concealed.  She  helps  him  to  slip  behind  the  cupboard, 
and  begins  to  spin,  and  goes  on  spinning  without  think- 
ing of  opening  the  door.  In  her  fright  she  gets  the 
thread  twisted,  drops  the  spindle,  and,  in  her  agitation, 
makes  the  gesture  of  turning  it  when  it  is  lying  on  the 
groun  d.  Sirotkin  represented  perfectly  this  state  of  alarm. 

Then  the  miller  kicks  open  the  door  and  approaches 
his  wife,  whip  in  hand.  He  has  seen  everything,  for  he 
was  spying  outside ;  and  he  indicates  by  signs  to  his 
wife  that  she  has  three  lovers  concealed  in  the  house. 
Then  he  searches  them  out. 

First,  he  finds  the  neighbour,  whom  he  drives  out 
with  his  fist.  The  frightened  farrier  tries  to  escape.  He 
raises,  with  his  head,  the  cover  of  the  chest,  and  is  at 
once  seen.  The  miller  thrashes  him  with  his  whip,  and 
for  once  this  gallant  does  not  march  in  the  classical 
style. 

The  only  one  now  remaining  is  the  Brahmin,  whom 
the  husband  seeks  for  some  time  without  finding  him. 
At  last  he  discovers  him  in  his  corner  behind  the  cup- 
board, bows  to  him  politely,  and  then  draws  him  by  his 
beard  into  the  middle  of  the  stage.  The  Brahmin  tries 
to  defend  himself,  and  cries  out,  "  Accursed,  accursed  !  " 
— the  only  words  pronounced  throughout  the  pantomime. 
But  the  husband  will  not  listen  to  him,  and,  after  settling 
accounts  with  him,  turns  to  his  wife.  Seeing  that  her 
turn  has  come,  she  throws  away  both  wheel  and  spindle, 
and  runs  out,  causing  an  earthen  pot  to  fall  as  she  shakes 
the  room  in  her  fright.  The  convicts  burst  into  a  laugh, 
and  Ali,  without  looking  at  me,  takes  my  hand,  and  calls 
out,  "  See,  see  the  Brahmin  ! "  He  cannot  hold  himself 
upright,  so  overpowering  is  his  laugh.  The  curtain  falls, 
and  another  song  begins 


192  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

There  were  two  or  three  more,  all  broadly  humorous 
and  very  droll.  The  convicts  had  not  composed  them 
themselves,  but  they  had  contributed  something  to  them. 
Every  actor  improvised  to  such  purpose  that  the  part 
was  a  different  one  each  evening.  The  pantomime  ended 
with  a  ballet,  in  which  there  was  a  burial.  The  Brahmin 
went  through  various  incantations  over  the  corpse,  and 
with  effect.  The  dead  man  returns  to  life,  and,  in  their 
joy,  all  present  begin  to  dance.  The  Brahmin  dances  in 
Brahminical  style  with  the  dead  man.  This  was  the  final 
scene.  The  convicts  now  separated,  happy,  delighted, 
and  full  of  praise  for  the  actors  and  gratitude  towards  the 
non-commissioned  officers.  There  was  not  the  least 
quarrel,  and  they  all  went  to  bed  with  peaceful  hearts, 
to  sleep  with  a  sleep  by  no  means  familiar  to  them. 

This  is  no  fantasy  of  my  imagination,  but  the  truth, 
the  very  truth.  These  unhappy  men  had  been  permitted 
to  live  for  some  moments  in  their  own  way,  to  amuse 
themselves  in  a  human  manner,  to  escape  for  a  brief  hour 
from  their  sad  position  as  convicts  j  and  a  moral  change 
was  effected,  at  least  for  a  time. 

The  night  is  already  quite  dark.  Something  makes 
me  shudder,  and  I  awake.  The  "  old  believer  "  is  still  on 
the  top  of  the  high  porcelain  stove  praying,  and  he  will 
continue  to  pray  until  dawn.  Ali  is  sleeping  peacefully 
by  my  side.  I  remember  that  when  he  went  to  bed  he 
was  still  laughing  and  talking  about  the  theatre  with  his 
brothers.  Little  by  little  I  began  to  remember  every- 
thing ;  the  preceding  day,  the  Christmas  holidays,  and 
the  whole  month.  I  raised  my  head  in  fright  and  looked 
at  my  companions,  who  were  sleeping  by  the  trembling 
ight  of  the  candle  provided  by  the  authorities.  I  look 
at  their  unhappy  countenances,  their  miserable  beds ;  I 
view  this  nakedness,  the  wretchedness,  and  then  convince 
myself  that  it  is  not  a  frightful  night  there,  but  a  simple 
reality.  Yes,  it  is  a  reality.  I  hear  a  groan.  Some  one 
has  moved  his  arm  and  made  his  chains  rattle.  Another 
one  is  agitated  in  his  dreams  and  speaks  aloud,  while  the 
old  grandfather  is  praying  for  the  "  Orthodox  Christians." 


THE  PERFORMANCE  193 

I  listened  to  his  prayer,  uttered  with  regularity,  in  soft, 
rather  drawling  tones :  "  Lord  Jesus  Christ  have  mercy 
upon  us." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  here  for  ever,  but  only  for  a  few 
years,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  I  again  laid  my  head  down 
on  my  pillow. 


fart  It 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE   HOSPITAL 

SHORTLY  after  the  Christmas  holidays  I  felt 
ill,  and  had  to  go  to  our  military  hospital, 
which  stood  apart  at  about  half  a  verst  (one- 
third  of  a  mile)  from  the  fortress.  It  was  a 
one-storey  building,  very  long,  and  painted  yellow. 
Every  summer  a  great  quantity  of  ochre  was  expended 
in  brightening  it  up.  In  the  immense  court-yard  stood 
buildings,  including  those  where  the  chief  physicians 
lived,  while  the  principal  building  contained  only  wards 
intended  for  the  patients.  There  were  a  good  many  of 
them,  but  as  only  two  were  reserved  for  the  convicts, 
these  latter  were  nearly  always  full,  above  all  in  summer, 
so  that  it  was  often  necessary  to  bring  the  beds  closer 
together.  These  wards  were  occupied  by  "  unfortunates  " 
of  all  kinds :  first  by  our  own,  then  by  military  prisoners, 
previously  incarcerated  in  the  guard-houses.  There  were 
others,  again,  who  had  not  yet  been  tried,  or  who  were 
passing  through.  In  this  hospital,  too,  were  invalids 
from  the  Disciplinary  Company,  a  melancholy  institution 
for  bringing  together  soldiers  of  bad  conduct,  with  a 
view  to  their  correction.  At  the  end  of  a  year  or  two, 
they  come  back  the  most  thorough-going  rascals  that 
the  earth  can  endure. 


THE  HOSPITAL  195 

When  a  convict  felt  that  he  was  ill,  he  told  the  non- 
commissioned officer,  who  wrote  the  man's  name  down 
on  a  card,  which  he  then  gave  to  him  and  sent  him  to 
the  hospital  under  the  escort  of  a  soldier.  On  his  arrival 
he  was  examined  by  a  doctor,  who  authorised  the  convict 
to  remain  at  the  hospital  if  he  was  really  ill.  My  name 
was  duly  written  down,  and  towards  one  o'clock,  when 
all  my  companions  had  started  for  their  afternoon  work, 
I  went  to  the  hospital.  Every  prisoner  took  with  him 
such  money  and  bread  as  he  could  (for  food  was  not  to 
be  expected  the  first  day),  a  little  pipe,  and  pouch 
containing  tobacco,  with  flint,  steel,  and  match-paper. 
The  convicts  concealed  these  objects  in  their  boots.  On 
entering  the  hospital  I  experienced  a  feeling  of  curiosity, 
for  a  new  aspect  of  life  was  now  presented. 

The  day  was  hot,  cloudy,  sad — one  of  those  days 
when  places  like  a  hospital  assume  a  particularly  dis- 
agreeable and  repulsive  look.  Myself  and  the  soldier 
escorting  me  went  into  the  entrance  room,  where  there 
were  two  copper  baths.  There  were  two  convicts  waiting 
there  with  their  warders.  An  assistant  surgeon  came  in, 
looked  at  us  with  a  careless  and  patronising  air,  and  went 
away  still  more  carelessly  to  announce  our  arrival  to  the 
physician  on  duty.  Soon  the  physician  arrived.  He 
examined  me,  treating  me  in  a  very  affable  manner,  and 
gave  me  a  paper  on  which  my  name  was  inscribed.  The 
ordinary  physician  of  the  wards  reserved  for  the  con- 
victs was  to  make  the  diagnosis  of  my  illness,  to  pre- 
scribe the  fitting  remedies,  together  with  the  necessary 
diet.  I  had  already  heard  the  convicts  say  that  their 
doctors  could  not  be  too  much  praised.  "  They  are 
fathers  to  us/'  they  would  say. 

I  took  my  clothes  off  to  put  on  another  costume.  Our 
clothes  and  linen  were  taken  away,  and  we  were  given 
hospital  linen  instead,  to  which  were  added  long  stock- 
ings, slippers,  cotton  nightcaps,  and  a  dressing-gown  of  a 
very  thick  brown  cloth,  which  was  lined,  not  with  linen, 
but  with  filth.  The  dressing-gown  was  indeed  very  filthy, 
but  I  soon  understood  its  utility.  We  were  afterwards 
taken  to  the  convict  wards,  which  were  at  the  head  of  a 


196  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

long  corridor,  very  high,  and  very  clean.  The  external 
cleanliness  was  quite  satisfactory.  Everything  that  could 
be  seen  shone ;  so,  at  least,  it  seemed  to  me,  after  the 
dirtiness  of  the  convict  prison. 

The  two  prisoners,  whom  I  had  found  in  the  entrance 
hall,  went  to  the  left  of  the  corridor,  while  I  entered  a 
room.  Before  the  padlocked  door  walked  a  sentinel, 
musket  on  shoulder  ;  and  not  far  off  was  the  soldier  who 
was  to  replace  him.  The  sergeant  of  the  hospital  guard 
ordered  him  to  let  me  pass,  and  suddenly  I  found  myself 
in  the  middle  of  a  long  narrow  room,  with  beds  to  the 
number  of  twenty-two  arranged  against  the  walls.  Three 
or  four  of  them  were  still  unoccupied.  These  wooden 
beds  were  painted  green,  and,  as  is  notoriously  the  case 
with  all  hospital  beds  in  Russia,  were  doubtless  inhabited 
by  bugs.  I  went  into  a  corner  by  the  side  of  the  windows. 
There  were  very  few  prisoners  dangerously  ill  and  con- 
fined to  their  beds. 

The  inmates  of  the  hospital  were,  for  the  most  part, 
convalescents,  or  men  who  were  slightly  indisposed.  My 
new  companions  were  stretched  out  on  their  couches,  or 
walking  about  up  and  down  between  the  rows  of  beds. 
There  was  just  space  enough  for  them  to  come  and  go. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  ward  was  stifling  with  the  odour 
peculiar  to  hospitals.  It  was  composed  of  various  ema- 
nations, each  more  disagreeable  than  the  other,  and  of 
the  smell  of  drugs ;  though  the  stove  was  kept  well 
heated  all  day  long,  my  bed  was  covered  with  a  counter- 
pane, which  I  took  off.  The  bed  itself  consisted  of  a  cloth 
blanket  lined  with  linen,  and  coarse  sheets  of  more  than 
doubtful  cleanliness.  By  the  side  of  the  bed  was  a  little 
table  with  a  pitcher  and  a  pewter  mug,  together  with  a 
diminutive  napkin,  which  had  been  given  to  me.  The 
table  could,  moreover,  hold  a  tea-urn  for  those  patients 
who  were  rich  enough  to  drink  tea.  These  men  of 
means,  however,  were  not  very  numerous.  The  pipes 
and  the  tobacco  pouches — for  all  the  patients  smoked, 
even  the  consumptive  ones — could  be  concealed  beneath 
the  mattress.  The  doctors  and  the  other  officials  scarcely 
ever  made  searches,  and  when  they  surprised  a  patient 


THE  HOSPITAL  197 

with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  they  pretended  not  to  see.  The 
patients,  however,  were  very  prudent,  and  smoked  always 
at  the  back  of  the  stove.  They  never  smoked  in  their  beds 
except  at  night,  when  no  rounds  were  made  by  the  officers 
commanding  the  hospital. 

Until  then  I  had  not  been  in  any  hospital  in  the 
character  of  patient,  so  that  everything  was  quite  new 
to  me.  I  noticed  that  my  entry  had  mystified  some  of 
the  prisoners.  They  had  heard  of  me,  and  all  the 
inmates  now  looked  upon  me  with  that  slight  shade  of 
superiority  which  recognised  members  of  no  matter  what 
society  show  to  one  newly  admitted  among  them.  On 
my  right  was  lying  down  a  man  committed  for  trial — an 
ex- secretary  and  the  illegitimate  son  of  a  retired  captain 
— accused  of  having  made  false  money.  He  had  been  in 
the  hospital  nearly  a  year.  He  was  not  in  the  least  ill, 
but  he  assured  the  doctors  that  he  had  an  aneurism,  and 
he  so  thoroughly  convinced  them  that  he  escaped  both 
the  hard  labour  and  the  corporal  punishment  to  which 
he  had  been  sentenced.  He  was  sent  a  year  later  to 

T k,  where  he  was  attached  to  an  asylum.  He  was  a 

vigorous  young  fellow  of  eight-and-twenty,  cunning,  a 
self-confessed  rogue,  and  something  of  a  lawyer.  He 
was  intelligent,  had  easy  manners,  but  was  very  pre- 
sumptuous, and  suffered  from  morbid  self-esteem.  Con- 
vinced that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  a  bit  more 
honest  or  more  just  than  himself,  he  did  not  consider 
himself  at  all  guilty,  and  never  kept  this  assurance  to 
himself. 

This  personage  was  the  first  to  address  me,  and  he 
questioned  me  with  much  curiosity.  He  initiated  me 
into  the  ways  of  the  hospital ;  and,  of  course,  began 
by  telling  me  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  captain.  He 
was  very  anxious  that  I  should  take  him  for  a  noble,  or 
at  least,  for  some  one  connected  with  the  nobility. 

Soon  afterwards  an  invalid  from  the  Disciplinary 
Company  came  and  told  me  that  he  knew  a  great  many 
nobles  who  had  been  exiled ;  and,  to  convince  me,  he 
repeated  to  me  their  Christian  names  and  their  patronymics. 
It  was  only  necessary  to  see  the  face  of  this  soldier  to 


198  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

understand  that  lie  was  lying  abominably.  He  was  named 
Tchekounoff,  and  came  to  pay  court  to  me,  because  he 
suspected  me  of  having  money.  When  he  saw  a  packet 
of  tea  and  sugar,  he  at  once  offered  me  his  services  to 
make  the  water  boil  and  to  get  me  a  tea-urn.  M.  D.  S. 

K had  promised  to  send  me  my  own  by  one  of  the 

prisoners  who  worked  in  the  hospital,  but  Tchekounoff 
arranged  to  get  me  one  forthwith.  He  got  me  a  tin 
vessel,  in  which  he  made  the  water  boil ;  and,  in  a  word, 
he  showed  such  extraordinary  zeal,  that  it  drew  down  upon 
him  bitter  laughter  from  one  of  the  patients,  a  consump- 
tive man,  whose  bed  was  just  opposite  mine,  Usteantseff 
by  name.  This  was  the  soldier  condemned  to  the  rods, 
who,  from  fear,  had  swallowed  a  bottle  of  vodka,  in 
which  he  had  infused  tobacco,  this  bringing  on  lung 
disease. 

I  have  spoken  of  him  above.  He  had  remained  silent 
until  now,  stretched  out  on  his  bed,  and  breathing  with 
difficulty.  He  looked  at  me  all  the  time  with  a  very 
serious  air.  He  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  Tchekounoff, 
whose  civility  irritated  him.  His  extraordinary  gravity 
rendered  his  indignation  comic.  At  last  he  could  stand 
it  no  longer. 

"  Look  at  this  fellow  !  He  has  found  his  master,"  he 
said,  stammering  out  the  words  with  a  voice  strangled  by 
weakness,  for  he  had  now  not  long  to  live. 

Tchekounoff,  much  annoyed,  turned  round. 

"  Who  is  the  fellow  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  Usteant- 
seff,  with  contempt. 

"  Why,  you  are  a  flunkey,"  replied  Usteantseff,  as  con- 
fidently as  if  he  had  possessed  the  right  of  calling 
Tchekounoff  to  order. 

"I  a  fellow?" 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  flunkey ;  a  true  flunkey.  Listen,  my 
good  friends.  He  won't  believe  me.  He  is  quite 
astonished,  the  brave  fellow/' 

"What  can  that  matter  to  you?  You  see  when 
they  don't  know  how  to  make  use  of  their  hands  that 
they  are  not  accustomed  to  be  without  servants.  Why 
should  I  not  serve  him,  buffoon  with  a  hairy  snout  ?  " 


THE  HOSPITAL  199 

"  Who  has  a  hairy  snout  ?  " 

«  You !  " 

"  I  have  a  hairy  snout  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  certainly  you  have." 

"  You  are  a  nice  fellow,  you  are.  If  I  have  a  hairy 
snout,  you  have  a  face  like  a  crow's  egg." 

"  Hairy  snout  !  The  merciful  Lord  has  settled  your 
account.  You  would  do  much  better  to  keep  quiet  and 
die." 

"  Why  ?  I  would  rather  prostrate  myself  before  a 
boot  than  before  a  slipper.  My  father  never  prostrated 
himself,  and  never  made  me  do  so." 

He  would  have  continued,  but  an  attack  of  coughing 
convulsed  him  for  some  minutes.  He  spat  blood,  and  a 
cold  sweat  broke  out  on  his  low  forehead.  If  his  cough 
had  not  prevented  him  from  speaking,  he  would  have 
continued  to  declaim.  One  could  see  that  from  his  look ; 
but  in  his  powerlessness  he  could  only  move  his  hand, 
the  result  of  which  was  that  Tchekounoff  spoke  no  more 
about  the  matter. 

I  quite  understood  that  the  consumptive  patient 
hated  me  much  more  than  Tchekounoff.  No  one  would 
have  thought  of  beiug  angry  with  him  or  of  looking 
down  upon  him  by  reason  of  the  services  he  was  rendering 
me,  and  the  few  kopecks  that  he  tried  to  get  from  me. 
Every  one  understood  that  he  did  it  all  in  order  to  get 
himself  a  little  money. 

The  Russian  people  are  not  at  all  susceptible  on  such 
points,  and  know  perfectly  well  how  to  take  them. 

I  had  displeased  Usteantseff,  as  my  tea  had  also  dis- 
pleased him.  What  irritated  him  was  that,  in  spite  of  all, 
I  was  a  gentleman,  even  with  my  chains ;  that  I  could 
not  do  without  a  servant,  though  I  neither  asked  for  nor 
desired  one.  In  reality  I  tried  to  do  everything  for  my- 
aelf,  in  order  not  to  appear  a  white-handed,  effeminate 
person,  and  not  to  play  the  part  which  excited  so  much 
envy. 

I  even  felt  a  little  pride  on  this  point ;  but,  in  spite 
of  everything — I  do  not  know  why — I  was  always  sur- 
rounded by  officious,  complaisant  people,  who  attached 


200  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

themselves  to  me  of  their  own  free  will,  and  who  ended 
by  governing  me.  It  was  I  rather  who  was  their 
servant ;  so  that,  whether  I  liked  it  or  not,  I  was  made  to 
appear  to  every  one  a  noble,  who  could  not  do  without 
the  services  of  others,  and  who  gave  himself  airs.  This 
exasperated  me. 

Usteantseff  was  consumptive,  and,  therefore,  irascible. 
The  other  patients  only  showed  me  indifference,  tinged 
with  a  shade  of  contempt.  They  were  occupied  with  a 
circumstance  which  now  presents  itself  to  my  memory. 

I  learned,  as  I  listened  to  their  conversation,  that 
there  was  to  be  brought  into  the  hospital  that  evening  a 
convict  who,  at  that  moment,  was  receiving  the  rods. 
The  prisoners  were  looking  forward  to  this  new  arrival 
with  some  curiosity.  They  said,  however,  that  his  punish- 
ment was  but  slight — only  five  hundred  strokes. 

I  looked  round.  The  greater  number  of  genuine 
patients  were,  as  far  as  I  could  observe,  affected  by 
scurvy  and  diseases  of  the  eyes — both  peculiar  to  this 
country.  The  others  suffered  from  fever,  lung  disease, 
and  other  illnesses.  The  different  illnesses  were  not 
separated;  all  the  patients  were  together  in  the  same 
room. 

I  have  spoken  of  genuine  patients,  for  certain  convicts 
had  come  in  merely  to  get  a  little  rest.  The  doctors  ad- 
mitted them  from  pure  compassion,  above  all,  if  there 
were  any  vacant  beds.  Life  in  the  guard-house  and  in 
the  prison  was  so  hard  compared  with  that  of  the  hospital, 
that  many  persons  preferred  to  remain  lying  down  in 
spite  of  the  stifling  atmosphere  and  the  rules  against 
leaving  the  room. 

There  were  even  men  who  took  pleasure  in  this  kind 
of  life.  They  belonged  nearly  all  to  the  Disciplinary 
Company.  I  examined  my  new  companions  with  curi- 
osity. One  of  them  puzzled  me  very  much.  He  was 
consumptive,  and  was  dying.  His  bed  was  a  little  further 
on  than  that  of  Usteantseff,  and  was  nearly  beside  mine. 
He  was  named  Mikhailoff.  I  had  seen  him  in  the  Convict 
Prison  two  weeks  before,  when  he  was  already  seriously 
ill.  He  ought  to  have  been  under  treatment  long  before, 


THE  HOSPITAL  201 

but  he  bore  up  against  his  malady  with  surprising 
courage.  He  did  not  go  to  the  hospital  until  about  the 
Christmas  holidays,  to  die  three  weeks  afterwards  of  gal- 
loping consumption.  He  seemed  to  have  burned  out  like 
a  candle.  What  astonished  me  most  was  the  terrible 
change  in  his  countenance.  I  had  noticed  him  the  very 
first  day  of  my  imprisonment.  By  his  side  was  lying  a 
soldier  of  the  Disciplinary  Company — an  old  man  with  a 
bad  expression  on  his  face,  whose  general  appearance  was 
disgusting. 

But  I  am  not  going  to  enumerate  all  the  patients.  I 
just  remember  this  old  man  simply  because  he  made  an 
impression  on  me,  and  initiated  me  at  once  into  certain 
peculiarities  of  the  ward.  He  had  a  severe  cold  in  the 
head,  which  made  him  sneeze  at  every  moment,  even 
during  his  sleep,  as  if  firing  salutes,  five  or  six  times  run- 
ning, while  each  time  he  called  out,  "My  God,  what 
torture  \" 

Seated  on  his  bed  he  stuffed  his  nose  eagerly  with 
snuff,  which  he  took  from  a  paper  bag,  in  order  to 
sneeze  more  strongly,  and  with  greater  regularity.  He 
sneezed  into  a  checked  cotton  pocket-handkerchief  which 
belonged  to  him,  and  which  had  lost  its  colour  through 
perpetual  washing.  His  little  nose  then  became  wrinkled 
in  a  most  peculiar  manner  with  a  multitude  of  wrinkles, 
and  his  open  mouth  exhibited  broken  teeth,  decayed  and 
black,  and  red  gums  moist  with  saliva.  When  he 
sneezed  into  his  handkerchief  he  unfolded  it  and  wiped  it 
on  the  lining  of  his  dressing-gown.  His  proceedings 
disgusted  me  so  much  that  involuntarily  I  examined  the 
dressing-gown  I  had  just  put  on  myself.  It  exhaled  a 
most  offensive  odour,  which  contact  with  my  body 
helped  to  bring  out.  It  smelt  of  plasters  and  medica- 
ments of  all  kinds.  It  seemed  as  though  it  had  been  worn 
by  patients  from  time  immemorial.  The  lining  had, 
perhaps,  been  washed  once,  but  I  would  not  swear  to  it. 
Certainly,  at  the  time  I  put  it  on,  it  was  saturated  with 
lotions,  and  stained  by  contact  with  poultices  and  plasters 
of  all  imaginable  kinds. 

The  men  condemned  to  the  rods,  having  undergone 


202  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

their  punishment,  were  brought  straight  to  the  hospital, 
their  backs  still  bleeding.  As  compresses  and  as  poultices 
were  placed  on  their  wounds,  the  dressing-gown  they 
wore  over  their  wet  shirt  received  and  retained  the 
droppings. 

During  all  the  time  of  my  hard  labour  I  had  to  go  to 
the  hospital,  which  often  happened,  I  always  put  on,  with 
mistrust  and  abhorrence,  the  dressing-gown  that  was  de- 
livered to  me.  As  soon  as  Tchekounofi  had  given  me  my 
tea  (I  will  say,  in  parenthesis,  that  the  water  brought  in 
in  the  morning,  and  not  renewed  throughout  the  day,  was 
soon  corrupted,  soon  poisoned  by  the  fetid  air),  the  door 
opened,  and  the  soldier,  who  had  just  received  the  rods, 
was  brought  in  under  a  double  escort.  I  saw,  for  the 
first  time,  a  man  who  had  just  been  whipped.  Later  on 
many  were  brought  in,  and  whenever  this  happened  it 
caused  great  distress  to  the  patients.  These  unfortunate 
men  were  received  with  grave  composure,  but  the  nature 
of  the  reception  depended  nearly  always  on  the  enormity 
of  the  crime  committed,  and,  consequently,  the  number  of 
strokes  administered. 

The  criminals  most  cruelly  whipped,  and  who  were 
celebrated  as  brigands  of  the  first  order,  enjoyed  more 
respect  and  attention  than  a  simple  deserter,  a  recruit, 
like  the  one  who  had  just  been  brought  in.  But  in 
neither  case  was  any  particular  sympathy  manifested,  nor 
were  any  annoying  remarks  made.  The  unhappy  man  was 
attended  to  in  silence,  above  all  if  he  was  incapable  of 
attending  to  himself.  The  assistant-surgeons  knew  that 
they  were  entrusting  their  patients  to  skilful  and 
experienced  hands.  The  usual  treatment  consisted  in 
applying  very  often  to  the  back  of  the  man  who  had  been 
whipped  a  shirt  or  a  piece  of  linen  steeped  in  cold  water. 
It  was  also  necessary  to  withdraw  skilfully  from  the 
wounds  the  twigs  left  by  the  rods  which  had  been 
broken  on  the  criminars  back.  This  last  operation  was 
particularly  painful  to  the  patients.  The  extraordinary 
stoicism  with  which  they  supported  their  sufferings 
astonished  me  greatly. 

I  have  seen  many  convicts  who  had  been  whipped, 


THE  HOSPITAL  203 

and  cruelly,  I  can  tell  you.  Well,  I  do  not  remember 
one  of  them  uttering  a  groan.  Only  after  such  an 
experience,  the  countenance  becomes  pale,  decomposed, 
the  eyes  glitter,  the  look  wanders,  and  the  lips  tremble 
BO  that  the  patient  sometimes  bites  them  till  they  bleed. 

The  soldier  who  had  just  come  in  was  twenty-three 
years  of  age  ;  he  had  a  good  muscular  development,  and 
was  rather  a  fine  man,  tall,  well-made,  with  a  bronzed 
skin.  His  back,  uncovered  down  to  the  waist,  had  been 
seriously  beaten,  and  his  body  now  trembled  with  fever 
beneath  the  damp  sheet  with  which  his  back  was  covered. 
For  about  an  hour  and  a  half  he  did  nothing  but  walk 
backwards  and  forwards  in  the  room.  I  looked  at 
his  face  :  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  nothing ;  his 
eyes  had  a  strange  expression,  at  once  wild  and  timid; 
they  seemed  to  fix  themselves  with  difficulty  on 
the  various  objects.  I  fancied  I  saw  him  looking 
attentively  at  my  hot  tea;  the  steam  was  rising  from 
the  full  cup,  and  the  poor  devil  was  shivering  and 
clattering  his  teeth.  I  invited  him  to  have  some;  he 
turned  towards  me  without  saying  a  word,  and  taking  up 
the  cup,  swallowed  the  tea  at  one  gulp,  without  putting 
sugar  in  it.  He  tried  not  to  look  at  me,  and  when  he  had 
finished  he  put  the  cup  back  in  silence  without  making  a 
sign,  and  then  began  to  walk  up  and  down  as  before.  He 
was  in  too  much  pain  to  think  of  speaking  to  me  or 
thanking  me.  As  for  the  other  prisoners,  they  abstained 
from  questioning  him ;  when  once  they  had  applied  com- 
presses they  paid  no  more  attention  to  him,  thinking 
probably  it  would  be  better  to  leave  him  alone,  and  not 
to  worry  him  by  their  questions  and  compassion.  The 
soldier  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  this  view. 

Meanwhile,  night  came  on  and  the  lamp  was  lighted ; 
some  of  the  patients  possessed  candlesticks  of  their  own, 
but  these  were  not  numerous.  In  the  evening  the  doctor 
came  round,  after  which  a  non-commissioned  officer  on 
guard  counted  the  patients  and  closed  the  room. 

The  prisoners  could  not  speak  in  too  high  terms  of  their 
doctors.  They  looked  upon  them  truly  as  fathers  and 
respected  them.  These  doctors  had  always  something 


204  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

pleasant  to  say,  a  kind  word  even  for  reprobates,  who 
appreciated  it  all  the  more  because  they  knew  it  was  said 
in  all  sincerity. 

Yes,  these  kind  words  were  really  sincere,  for  no  one 
would  have  thought  of  blaming  the  doctors  had  they 
shown  themselves  cross  and  inhuman;  they  were  kind 
purely  from  humanity.  They  understood  perfectly  that 
a  convict  who  is  sick  has  as  much  right  to  breathe  pure 
air  as  any  other  person,  even  though  the  latter  might  be  a 
great  personage.  The  convalescents  there  had  a  right  to 
walk  freely  through  the  corridors  to  take  exercise,  and  to 
breathe  air  less  pestilential  than  that  of  our  infirmary, 
which  was  close  and  saturated  with  deleterious  emana- 
tions. In  our  ward,  when  once  the  doors  had  been  closed 
in  the  evening,  they  had  to  remain  closed  throughout 
the  night,  and  under  no  pretext  was  one  of  the  inmates 
allowed  to  go  out. 

For  many  years  an  inexplicable  fact  troubled  me  like 
an  insoluble  problem.  I  must  speak  of  it  before  going 
on  with  my  description.  I  am  thinking  of  the  chains 
which  every  convict  is  obliged  to  wear,  however  ill  he 
may  be ;  even  consumptives  have  died  beneath  my  eyes 
with  their  legs  loaded  with  irons. 

Everybody  was  accustomed  to  it,  and  regarded  it  as 
an  inevitable  fact.  I  do  not  think  any  one,  even  the 
doctors,  would  have  thought  of  demanding  the  removal  of 
the  irons  from  convicts  who  were  seriously  ill,  not  even 
from  the  consumptive  ones.  The  chains,  it  is  true,  were 
not  exceedingly  heavy ;  they  did  not  in  general  weigh  more 
than  eight  or  ten  pounds,  which  is  a  supportable  burden 
for  a  man  in  good  health.  I  have  been  told,  however, 
that  after  some  years  the  legs  of  the  convicts  dry  up  and 
waste  away.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  true.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  it  is ;  the  weight,  however  light  it  may 
be  (say  not  more  than  ten  pounds),  if  it  is  fixed  to  the  leg 
for  ever,  increases  the  general  weight  in  an  abnormal 
manner,  and  at  the  end  of  a  certain  time  must  have  a 
disastrous  effect  on  its  development. 

For  a  convict  in  good  health  this  is  nothing,  but  the 
same  cannot  be  said  of  one  who  is  sick.  For  the  con- 


THE  HOSPITAL  205 

victs  wlio  were  seriously  ill,  for  the  consumptive  ones 
whose  arms  and  legs  dry  up  of  themselves,  this  last  straw 
is  insupportable.  Even  if  the  medical  authorities  claimed 
alleviation  for  the  consumptive  patients  alone,  it  would 
be  an  immense  benefit,  I  assure  you.  I  shall  be  told 
convicts  are  malefactors,  unworthy  of  compassion;  but 
ought  increased  severity  to  be  shown  towards  him  on 
whom  the  finger  of  God  already  weighs  ?  No  one  will 
believe  that  the  object  of  this  aggravation  is  to  reform 
the  criminal.  The  consumptive  prisoners  are  exempted 
from  corporal  punishment  by  the  tribunal. 

There  must  be  some  mysterious,  important  reason  for 
all  this,  but  what  it  is,  it  is  impossible  to  understand. 
No  one  believes — it  is  impossible  to  believe — that  a  con- 
sumptive man  will  run  away.  Who  can  think  of  such  a 
thing,  especially  if  the  illness  has  reached  a  certain 
degree  of  intensity  ?  It  is  impossible  to  deceive  the  doctors 
and  make  them  mistake  a  convict  in  good  health  for  one 
who  is  in  a  consumption,  for  this  malady  is  one  that  can  be 
recognised  at  the  first  glance.  Moreover,  can  the  irons 
prevent  the  convict  not  in  good  health  from  escaping? 
Not  in  the  least.  The  irons  are  a  degradation  and  shame, 
a  physical  and  moral  burden  ;  but  they  would  not  hinder 
any  one  attempting  to  escape.  The  most  awkward  and 
least  intelligent  convict  can  saw  through  them,  or  break 
the  rivets  by  hammering  at  them  with  a  stone.  Chains, 
then,  are  a  useless  precaution ;  and  if  the  convicts  wear 
them  as  a  punishment,  should  not  this  punishment  be 
spared  to  dying  men  ? 

As  I  write  these  lines,  a  face  stands  out  from  my 
memory :  that  of  a  dying  man,  a  man  who  died  in  con- 
sumption, this  same  Mikhailoff,  whose  bed  was  nearly 
opposite  me,  and  who  expired,  I  think,  four  days  after 
my  arrival  at  the  hospital.  When  I  spoke  above  of  the 
consumptive  patients,  I  was  only  reproducing  involuntarily 
the  sensations  and  ideas  which  occurred  to  me  on  the 
occasion  of  this  death.  I  knew  Mikhailoff  very  little ;  he 
was  a  young  man  of  twenty-five  at  most,  not  very  tall, 
thin,  and  with  a  fine  face ;  he  belonged  to  the  "  special 
section,"  and  was  remarkable  for  his  strange,  but  soft 


99  in  the 

by  the 
member 
I  think 


206  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

and  sad  taciturnity ;  he  seemed  to  have  "dried  up"  in  the 
convict  prison,  to  use  an  expression  employed  by  the 
convicts  who  had  a  good  recollection  of  him.    I  remember 
he  had  very  fine  eyes.      I  really  cannot  tell  why 
of  that. 

He  died  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  on  a 
clear,  dry  day.  The  sun  was  darting  its  brilliant  rays 
obliquely  through  the  greenish,  frozen  panes  of  our 
room.  A  torrent  of  light  inundated  the  unhappy  patient, 
who  had  lost  all  consciousness,  and  was  several  hours 
dying.  From  the  early  morning  his  sight  became  con- 
fused ;  he  was  unable  to  recognise  those  who  approached 
him.  The  convicts  would  gladly  have  done  anything  to 
relieve  him,  for  they  saw  he  was  in  great  suffering.  His 
respiration  was  painful,  deep,  and  irregular;  his  breast 
rose  and  fell  violently,  as  though  he  were  in  want  of  air ; 
he  cast  his  blanket  and  his  clothes  far  from  him.  Then 
he  began  to  tear  up  his  shirt,  which  seemed  to  him  a 
terrible  burden.  It  was  taken  off.  Then  it  was  fright- 
ful to  see  this  immensely  long  body,  with  fleshless  arms 
and  legs,  with  beating  breast,  and  ribs  which  were  as 
clearly  marked  as  those  of  a  skeleton.  There  was  nothing 
now  on  this  skeleton  but  a  cross  and  the  irons,  from 
which  his  dried- up  legs  might  easily  have  freed  them- 
selves. A  quarter  of  an  hour  before  his  death  everything 
was  silent  in  our  ward,  and  the  inmates  spoke  only  in 
whispers.  The  convicts  walked  on  the  tips  of  their  toes. 
From  time  to  time  they  exchanged  remarks  on  other  sub- 
jects, and  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  the  dying  man.  The 
rattling  in  his  throat  grew  more  and  more  painful.  At 
last,  with  a  trembling  hand,  he  felt  the  cross  on  his 
breast  and  endeavoured  to  tear  it  off ;  it  was  also  weigh- 
ing upon  him,  suffocating  him.  It  was  taken  off.  Ten 
minutes  afterwards,  he  died.  Some  one  then  knocked  at  the 
door  in  order  to  give  notice  to  the  sentinel ;  the  warder 
entered,  looked  at  the  dead  man  with  a  vacant  air,  and 
went  away  to  get  the  assistant-surgeon.  The  assistant- 
surgeon  was  a  good  fellow  enough,  but  a  little  too  much 
occupied  with  his  personal  appearance,  otherwise  very 
agreeable;  he  soon  arrived,  went  up  to  the  corpse  with 


THE  HOSPITAL  207 

long  strides  which  made  a  noise  in  the  silent  ward,  and 
felt  the  dead  man's  pulse  with  an  unconcerned  air  which 
seemed  to  have  been  put  on  for  the  occasion.  He  then 
made  a  vague  gesture  with  his  hand  and  went  out. 

Information  was  given  at  the  guard-house ;  for  the 
criminal  was  an  important  one  (he  belonged  to  the 
special  section),  and  in  order  to  register  his  death  it  was 
necessary  to  go  through  some  formalities.  While  we 
were  waiting  for  the  hospital  guard  to  come,  one  of  the 
prisoners  said  in  a  whisper,  "  The  eyes  of  the  defunct 
might  as  well  be  closed/'  Another  one  profited  by  this 
remark,  and  approaching  Mikhailoff  in  silence,  closed  his 
eyes ;  then  perceiving  on  the  pillow  the  cross  which  had 
been  taken  from  his  neck,  he  took  it  and  looked  at  it, 
put  it  down,  and  crossed  himself.  The  face  of  the  dead 
man  was  becoming  ossified;  a  ray  of  white  light  was 
playing  on  the  surface  and  illuminated  two  rows  of  white, 
good  teeth  which  sparkled  between  his  thin  lips,  glued 
to  the  gums  by  the  mouth. 

The  non-commissioned  officer  on  guard  arrived  at 
last,  musket  on  shoulder,  helmet  on  head,  accompanied 
by  two  soldiers;  he  approached  the  corpse,  slackening 
his  pace  with  an  air  of  uncertainty,  Then  he  examined 
with  a  side  glance  the  silent  prisoners,  who  looked  at 
him  with  a  sombre  expression.  At  one  step  from  the 
dead  man  he  stopped  short,  as  if  suddenly  nailed  to  the 
spot;  the  naked,  dried-up  body,  loaded  with  irons,  had 
impressed  him;  he  undid  his  chin-strap,  removed  his 
helmet  (which  was  not  at  all  necessary  for  him  to  do),  and 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross;  he  had  a  gray  head,  the 
head  of  a  soldier  who  had  seen  much  service.  I  remem- 
ber that  by  his  side  stood  Tchekounoff,  an  old  man  who 
was  also  gray.  He  looked  all  the  time  at  the  non-com- 
missioned officer,  and  followed  all  his  movements  with 
strange  attention.  They  glanced  across,  and  I  saw  that 
Tchekounoff  also  trembled.  He  bit  and  closed  his  teeth, 
and  said  to  the  non-commissioned  officer,  as  if  involun- 
tarily, at  the  same  time  nodding  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  dead  man,  "  He  had  a  mother,  too  !  " 

These  words  went  to  my  heart.     Why  had  he  said 


208  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

them  ?  and  how  did  this  idea  occur  to  him  ?  The  corpse 
was  raised  with  the  mattress;  the  straw  creaked,  the 
chains  dragged  along  the  ground  with  a  sharp  ring ;  they 
were  taken  up  and  the  body  was  carried  out.  Suddenly 
all  spoke  once  more  in  a  loud  voice.  The  non-commis- 
sioned officer  in  the  corridor  could  well  be  heard  crying 
out  to  some  one  to  go  for  the  blacksmith.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  take  the  dead  man's  irons  off.  But  I  have 
digressed  from  my  subject. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  HOSPITAL  (continued). 

THE  doctors  used  to  visit  the  wards  in  the 
morning,  towards  eleven  o'clock ;  they  ap- 
peared all  together,  forming  a  procession, 

which  was  headed  by  the  chief  physician. 

An  hour  and  a  half  before,  the  ordinary 
physician  had  made  his  round.  He  was  a  quiet  young  man, 
always  affable  and  kind,  much  liked  by  the  prisoners,  and 
thoroughly  versed  in  his  art ;  they  only  found  one  fault 
with  him,  that  he  was  "  too  soft."  He  was,  in  fact,  by 
no  means  communicative,  he  seemed  confused  in  our 
presence,  blushed  sometimes,  and  changed  the  quantity 
of  food  at  the  first  representation  of  the  patient.  I  think 
he  would  have  consented  to  give  them  any  medicine  they 
desired  :  in  other  respects  an  excellent  young  man. 

A  doctor  in  Russia  often  enjoys  the  affection 
and  respect  of  the  people,  and  with  reason,  as  far 
as  I  have  been  able  to  see.  I  know  that  my  words 
would  seem  a  paradox,  above  all  when  the  mistrust 
of  this  same  people  for  foreign  drugs  and  foreign 
doctors  is  taken  into  account ;  in  fact,  they  prefer, 
even  when  suffering  from  •  a  serious  illness,  to  address 
themselves  year  after  year  to  a  witch,  or  employ 
old  women's  remedies  (which,  however,  ought  not  to  be 
despised),  rather  than  consult  a  doctor,  or  go  into  the 


210  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

hospital.  In  truth,  these  prejudices  may  be  above  all 
attributed  to  causes  which  have  nothing  to  do  with 
medicine,  namely,  the  mistrust  of  the  people  for  anything 
which  bears  an  official  and  administrative  character ;  nor 
must  it  be  forgotten  that  the  common  people  are  frightened 
and  prejudiced  in  regard  to  the  hospitals,  by  the  stories, 
often  absurd,  of  fantastic  horrors  said  to  take  place  with- 
in them.  Perhaps,  however,  these  stories  have  a  basis  of 
truth. 

But  what  repels  them  above  all,  is  the  Germanism  of 
the  hospitals,  the  idea  that  during  their  illness  they  will 
be  attended  to  by  foreigners,  the  severity  of  the  diet, 
the  heartlessness  of  the  surgeons  and  doctors,  the 
dissection  and  autopsy  of  the  bodies,  etc.  The  common 
people  reflect,  moreover,  that  they  will  be  attended  by 
nobles — for  in  their  view  the  doctors  belong  to  the 
nobility.  Once  they  have  made  acquaintance  with  them 
(there  are  exceptions,  no  doubt,  but  they  are  rare),  their 
fears  vanish.  This  success  must  be  attributed  to  our 
doctors,  especially  the  young  ones,  who,  for  the  most 
part,  know  how  to  gain  the  respect  and  affection  of 
the  people.  I  speak  now  of  what  I  myself  have  seen 
and  experienced  in  many  cases  and  in  different  parts, 
and  I  think  matters  are  the  same  everywhere.  In  some 
distant  localities  the  doctors  receive  presents,  make 
profit  out  of  their  hospitals,  and  neglect  the  patients ; 
sometimes  they  forget  even  their  art.  This  happens,  no 
doubt;  but  I  am  speaking  of  the  majority,  inspired  as 
it  is  by  that  spirit,  that  generous  tendency  which  is 
regenerating  the  medical  art.  As  for  the  apostates,  the 
wolves  in  the  sheep-fold,  they  may  excuse  themselves, 
and  cast  the  blame  on  the  circumstances  amid  which  they 
live ;  but  they  are  absurd,  inexcusable,  especially  if  they 
are  no  longer  humane;  it  is  precisely  the  humanity, 
affability,  and  brotherly  compassion  of  the  doctor  which 
prove  most  efficacious  remedies  for  the  patients.  It  is 
time  to  stop  these  apathetic  lamentations  on  the  circum- 
stances surrounding  us.  There  may  be  truth  in  the 
lament,  but  a  cunning  rogue  who  knows  how  to  take 


THE  HOSPITAL  211 

care  of  himself  never  fails  to  blame  the  circumstances 
around  him  when  he  wishes  his  faults  to  be  forgiven — 
above  all,  if  he  writes  or  speaks  with  eloquence. 

I  have  again  departed  from  my  subject ;  I  wish  only 
to  say  that  the  common  people  mistrust  and  dislike 
officialism  and  the  Government  doctors,  rather  than  the 
doctors  themselves ;  but  on  personal  acquaintance  many 
prejudices  disappear. 

Our  doctor  generally  stopped  before  the  bed  of  each 
patient,  questioned  him  seriously  and  attentively,  then 
prescribed  the  remedies,  potions,  etc.  He  sometimes 
noticed  that  the  pretended  invalid  was  not  ill  at  all ;  he 
had  come  to  take  rest  after  his  hard  work,  and  to  sleep 
on  a  mattress  in  a  warm  room,  far  preferable  to  the  naked 
planks  in  a  damp  guard- house  among  a  mass  of  pale, 
broken-down  men,  waiting  for  their  trial.  In  Russia 
the  prisoners  in  the  House  of  Detention  are  almost 
always  broken  down,  which  shows  that  their  moral  and 
material  condition  is  worse  even  than  those  of  the 
convicts. 

In  cases  of  feigned  sickness  our  doctor  would  describe 
the  patient  as  suffering  from  febris  catharalis,  and  some- 
times allowed  him  to  remain  a  week  in  the  hospital. 
Every  one  laughed  at  this  febris  catharalisj  for  it  was 
known  to  be  a  formula  agreed  upon  between  the  doctor 
and  the  patient  to  indicate  no  malady  at  all.  Often  the 
robust  invalid  who  abused  the  doctor's  compassion 
remained  in  the  hospital  until  he  was  turned  out  by 
force.  Our  doctor  was  worth  seeing  then.  Confused 
by  the  prisoner's  obstinacy,  he  did  not  like  to  tell  him 
plainly  that  he  was  cured  and  offer  him  his  leaving 
ticket,  although  he  had  the  right  to  send  him  away 
without  the  least  explanation  on  writing  the  words, 
sanat.  est.  First  he  would  hint  to  him  that  it  was  time 
to  go,  and  then  would  beg  him  to  leave. 

"You  must  go,  you  know  you  are  cured  now,  and 
we  have  no  place  for  you,  we  are  very  much  cramped 
here,  etc." 

At  last,  ashamed  to  remain  any  longer,  the  patient 


212  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

would  consent  to  go.  The  physician-in-chief,  although 
compassionate  and  just  (the  patients  were  much 
attached  to  him),  was  incomparably  more  severe  and 
more  decided  than  our  ordinary  physician.  In  certain 
cases  he  showed  merciless  severity  which  only  gained  for 
him  the  respect  of  the  convicts.  He  always  came  into 
the  room  accompanied  by  all  the  doctors  of  the  hospital, 
when  his  assistants  visited  all  the  beds  and  diagnosed  on 
each  particular  case ;  he  stopped  longest  at  the  beds  of 
those  who  were  seriously  ill,  and  had  an  encouraging 
word  for  them.  He  never  sent  back  the  convicts  who 
arrived  with  febris  catharalis ;  but  if  one  of  them  was 
determined  to  remain  in  the  hospital,  he  certified  that  the 
man  was  cured.  "Come"  he  would  say,  "you  have 
had  your  rest;  now  go,  you  must  not  take  liberties." 

Those  who  insisted  upon  remaining,  were,  above  all, 
the  convicts  who  were  worn  out  by  field  labour,  performed 
during  the  great  summer  heat,  or  prisoners  who  had 
been  sentenced  to  be  whipped.  I  remember  that  they 
were  obliged  to  be  particularly  severe,  merely  in  order  to 
get  rid  of  one  of  them.  He  had  come  to  be  cured  of 
some  disease  of  the  eyes,  which  were  red  all  over;  he 
complained  of  suffering  a  sharp  pain  in  the  eyelids.  He 
was  incurable;  plasters,  blisters,  leeches,  nothing  did 
him  any  good ;  and  the  diseased  organ  remained  in  the 
same  condition. 

Then  it  occurred  to  the  doctors  that  the  illness  was 
feigned,  for  the  inflammation  neither  became  worse  nor 
better;  and  they  soon  understood  that  a  comedy  was 
being  played,  although  the  patient  would  not  admit 
it.  He  was  a  fine  young  fellow,  not  ill-looking,  though 
he  produced  a  disagreeable  impression  upon  all  his 
companions  ;  he  was  suspicious,  sombre,  full  of  dissimu- 
lation, and  never  looked  any  one  straight  in  the  face ;  he 
also  kept  himself  apart  as  if  he  mistrusted  us  all.  I 
remember  that  many  persons  were  afraid  that  he  would 
do  some  one  harm. 

When  he  was  a  soldier  he  had  committed  some 
small  theft,  he  had  been  arrested  and  condemned  to 


THE  HOSPITAL  213 

receive  a  thousand  strokes,  and  afterwards  to  pass  into  a 
disciplinary  company. 

To  put  off  the  moment  of  punishment,  the  prisoners, 
as  I  have  already  said,  will  do  incredible  things.  On  the 
eve  of  the  fatal  day,  they  will  stick  a  knife  into  one  of 
their  chiefs,  or  into  a  comrade,  in  order  that  they  may  be 
tried  again  for  this  new  offence,  which  will  delay  their 
punishment  for  a  month  or  two.  It  matters  little  to 
them  that  their  punishment  be  doubled  or  tripled,  if  they 
can  escape  this  time.  What  they  desire  is  to  put  off 
temporarily  the  terrible  minute  at  whatever  cost,  so 
utterly  does  their  heart  fail  them. 

Many  of  the  patients  thought  the  man  with  the  sore 
eyes  ought  to  be  watched,  lest  in  his  despair  he  should 
assassinate  some  one  during  the  night ;  but  no  precaution 
was  taken,  not  even  by  those  who  slept  next  to  him.  It 
was  remarked,  however,  that  he  rubbed  his  eyes  with 
plaster  from  the  wall,  and  with  something  else  besides,  in 
order  that  they  might  appear  red  when  the  doctor  came 
round ;  at  last  the  doctor-in-ohief  threatened  to  cure  him 
by  means  of  a  seton. 

When  the  malady  resists  all  ordinary  treatment,  the 
doctors  determine  to  try  some  heroic,  however  painful, 
remedy.  But  the  poor  devil  did  not  wish  to  get  well, 
he  was  either  too  obstinate  or  too  cowardly ;  for,  how- 
ever painful  the  proposed  operation  may  be,  it  cannot  be 
compared  to  the  punishment  of  the  rods. 

The  operation  consists  in  seizing  the  patient  by  the 
nape  of  the  neck,  taking  up  the  skin,  drawing  it  back  as 
much  as  possible,  and  making  in  it  a  double  incision, 
through  which  is  passed  a  skein  of  cotton  about  as  thick 
as  the  finger.  Every  day  at  a  fixed  hour  this  skein  is 
pulled  backwards  and  forwards  in  order  that  the  wound 
may  continually  suppurate  and  may  not  heal ;  the  poor 
devil  endured  this  torture  which  caused  him  horrible 
suffering,  for  several  days. 

At  last  he  consented  to  quit  the  hospital.  In  less 
than  a  day  his  eyes  became  quite  well;  and,  as  soon 
as  his  neck  was  healed,  he  was  sent  to  the  guard-house 


214  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

which  he  left  next  day  to  receive  the  first  thousand 
strokes. 

Painful  is  the  minute  which  precedes  such  a  punish- 
ment ;  so  painful,  that  perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  taxing  with 
cowardice  those  convicts  who  fear  it. 

It  must  be  terrible ;  for  the  convicts  to  risk  a  double 
or  triple  punishment,  merely  to  postpone  it.  I  have 
spoken,  however,  of  convicts  who  have  thus  wished  to 
quit  the  hospital  before  the  wounds  caused  by  the  first 
part  of  the  flogging  were  healed,  in  order  to  receive  the 
last  part  and  make  an  end  of  it.  For  life  in  a  guard- 
room is  certainly  worse  than  in  a  convict  prison. 

The  habit  of  receiving  floggings  helps  in  some  cases 
to  give  intrepidity  and  decision  to  convicts.  Those 
who  have  been  often  flogged,  are  hardened  both  in  body 
and  mind,  and  have  at  last  looked  upon  such  a  punish- 
ment as  merely  a  disagreeable  incident  no  longer  to  be 
feared. 

One  of  our  convicts  of  the  special  section  was  a  con- 
verted Tartar,  who  was  named  Alexander,  or  Alexandrina, 
as  they  called  him  in  fun  at  the  convict  prison ;  who  told 
me  how  he  had  received  4,000  strokes.  He  never  spoke  of 
this  punishment  except  with  amusement  and  laughter; 
but  he  swore  very  seriously  that  if  he  had  not  been 
brought  up  in  his  horde,  from  his  most  tender  infancy, 
on  whipping  and  flogging — and  as  the  scars  which  covered 
his  back,  and  which  refused  to  disappear,  were  there  to 
testify — he  would  never  have  been  able  to  support 
those  4,000  strokes.  He  blessed  the  education  of  sticks 
that  he  had  received. 

"I  was  beaten  for  the  least  thing,  Alexander 
Petrovitch,"  he  said  one  evening,  when  we  were  sitting 
down  before  the  fire.  "  I  was  beaten  without  reason  for 
fifteen  years,  as  long  as  I  can  ever  remember,  and 
several  times  a  day.  Any  one  who  liked  beat  me  j 
so  that,  at  last,  it  made  no  impression  upon  me." 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was  he  became  a  soldier,  for 
perhaps  he  lied,  and  had  always  been  a  deserter  and 
vagabond.  But  I  remember  his  telling  me  one  day  of 


TEE  HOSPITAL  215 

the  fright  he  was  seized  with  when  he  was  condemned 
to  receive  4,000  strokes  for  having  killed  one  of  his 
officers. 

"I  know  that  they  will  punish  me  severely/'  he 
said  to  himself,  "  that,  accustomed  as  I  am  to  be  whipped, 
I  shall  perhaps  die  on  the  spot.  The  devil !  4,000 
strokes  is  not  a  trifle;  and  then  all  my  officers  were 
in  a  fearful  temper  with  me  on  account  of  this  affair. 
I  knew  well  that  it  would  not  be  'rose-water/  I 
even  believed  that  I  should  die  under  the  rods.  I  deter- 
mined to  get  baptized.  I  said  to  myself,  that  perhaps 
they  would  not  then  flog  me,  at  any  rate  it  was  worth 
trying  my  comrades  had  told  me  that  it  would  be  of  no 
good.  But/  I  said  to  myself,  '  who  knows  ?  perhaps 
they  will  pardon  me,  they  will  have  more  compassion 
on  a  Christian  than  on  a  Mohammedan.  They  baptized 
me,  and  give  me  the  name  of  Alexander ;  but,  in  spite 
of  that,  I  had  to  take  my  flogging ;  they  did  not  let 
me  off  a  single  stroke;  I  was,  however,  very  savage. 
'  Wait  a  bit/  I  said  to  myself,  '  and  I  will  take  you  all  in '; 
and,  would  you  believe  it,  Alexander  ?  I  did  take  them 
all  in.  I  knew  how  to  look  like  a  dead  man  ;  not  that  I 
appeared  altogether  without  life,  but  I  looked  as  if  I 
were  on  the  point  of  breathing  my  last.  They  led  me  in 
front  of  the  battalion  to  receive  my  first  thousand ;  my 
skin  was  burning,  I  began  to  howl.  They  gave  me  my 
second  thousand,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  It's  all  over 
now/  I  had  lost  my  head,  my  legs  seemed  broken,  so 
I  fell  to  the  ground,  with  the  eyes  of  a  dead  man.  My 
face  blue,  my  mouth  full  of  froth,  I  no  longer  breathed. 
When  the  doctor  came  he  said  I  was  on  the  point  of 
death.  I  was  carried  to  the  hospital,  and  at  once  re- 
turned to  life.  Twice  again  they  flogged  me.  What  a 
rage  they  were  in  !  I  took  them  all  in  on  each  occasion. 
I  received  my  third  thousand,  and  died  again.  On  my 
word,  when  they  gave  me  the  last  thousand  each  stroke 
ought  to  have  counted  for  three,  it  was  like  a  knife  in  my 
heart.  Oh,  how  they  did  beat  me  !  They  were  so  severe 
with  me.  Oh,  that  cursed  fourth  thousand  !  it  was  well 


216  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

worth  three  firsts  put  together.  If  I  had  pretended  to 
be  dead  when  I  had  still  200  to  receive,  I  think  they 
would  have  finished  me ;  but  they  did  not  get  the  better 
of  me.  I  had  them  again  and  again,  for  they  always 
thought  it  was  all  over  with  me,  and  how  could  they  have 
thought  otherwise  ?  The  doctor  was  sure  of  it.  But  as 
for  the  200  which  I  had  still  to  receive,  they  might 
have  struck  as  hard  as  they  liked — they  were  worth 
2,000 ;  I  only  laughed  at  them.  Why  ?  Because,  when 
I  was  a  youngster,  I  had  grown  up  under  the  whip. 
Well,  I  am  well,  and  alive  now ;  but  I  have  been  beaten 
in  the  course  of  my  life,"  he  repeated,  with  a  passive 
air,  as  he  brought  his  story  to  an  end.  As  he  did  so, 
he  seemed  to  recollect  and  count  anew  the  blows  he 
had  received. 

After  a  brief  silence,  he  said :  "  I  cannot  count 
them,  nor  can  any  one  else ;  there  are  not  figures  enough." 
He  looked  at  me,  and  burst  into  a  laugh,  so  simple  and 
natural,  that  I  could  not  help  smiling  in  return. 

"  Do  you  know,  Alexander  Petrovitch,  when  I  dream 
at  night,  I  always  dream  that  I  am  being  flogged.  I 
dream  of  nothing  else."  He,  in  fact,  talked  in  his 
sleep,  and  woke  up  the  other  prisoners. 

"  What  are  you  yelling  about,  you  demon  ? w  they 
would  say  to  him. 

This  strong,  robust  fellow,  short  in  stature,  about 
forty-four  years  of  age,  active,  good-looking,  lived  on  good 
terms  with  every  one,  though  he  was  very  fond  of  taking 
what  did  not  belong  to  him,  and  afterwards  got  beaten 
for  it.  But  each  of  our  convicts  who  stole  got  beaten  for 
their  thefts. 

I  will  add  to  these  remarks  that  I  was  always  sur- 
prised at  the  extraordinary  good-nature,  the  absence  of 
rancour  with  which  these  unhappy  men  spoke  of  their 
punishment,  and  of  the  chiefs  superintending  it.  In 
these  stories,  which  often  gave  me  palpitation  of  the 
heart,  not  a  shadow  of  hatred  or  rancour  could  be 
detected;  they  laughed  at  what  they  had  suffered  like 
children. 


TEE  HOSPITAL  217 

It  was  not  the  same,  however,  with  M — t9ki,  when  he 
told  me  of  his  punishment.  As  he  was  not  a  noble,  he 
had  been  sentenced  to  be  flogged.  He  had  never  spoken 
to  me  of  it,  and  when  I  asked  him  if  it  were  true,  he 
replied  affirmatively  in  two  brief  words,  but  with  evident 
suffering,  and  without  looking  at  me.  He  at  the  same 
time  turned  red,  and  when  he  raised  his  eyes,  I  saw 
flames  burning  in  them,  while  his  lips  trembled  with 
indignation.  I  felt  that  he  would  not  forget,  that  he 
could  never  forget  this  page  of  his  history.  Our  com- 
panions generally  on  the  other  hand  (though  theirs  might 
have  been  exceptions),  looked  upon  their  adventures 
with  quite  another  eye.  It  is  impossible,  I  sometimes 
thought,  that  they  can  be  conscious  of  their  guilt,  and  not 
acknowledge  the  justice  of  their  punishment ;  above  all, 
when  their  off  ences*  were  against  their  companions  and 
not  against  some  chief.  The  greater  part  of  them  did 
not  acknowledge  their  guilt.  I  have  already  said  that  I 
never  observed  in  them  the  least  remorse,  even  when 
the  crime  had  been  committed  against  people  of  their 
own  station.  As  for  the  crimes  committed  against  a 
chief,  they  did  not  even  speak  of  them.  It  seems  to  me 
that  for  those  cases,  they  had  special  views  of  their  own. 
They  looked  upon  them  as  accidents  caused  by  destiny, 
by  fatality,  into  which  they  had  fallen  unconsciously  as 
the  result  of  some  extraordinary  impulse.  The  convict 
always  justifies  the  crimes  he  has  committed  against  his 
chief;  he  does  not  trouble  himself  about  the  matter. 
But  he  admits  that  the  chief  cannot  share  his  view,  and 
consequently,  that  he  must  naturally  be  punished,  and 
then  he  will  be  quits  with  him. 

The  struggle  between  the  administration  and  the 
prisoner  is  of  the  severest  character  on  both  sides. 
What  in  a  great  measure  justifies  the  criminal  in  his  own 
eyes,  is  his  conviction  that  the  people  among  whom  he 
has  been  born  and  has  lived  will  acquit  him.  He  is 
certain  that  the  common  people  will  not  look  upon 
him  as  a  lost  man,  unless,  indeed,  his  crime  has  been 
committed  against  persons  of  his  own  class,  against 


218  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

his  brethren.  He  is  quite  calm  about  that;  supported  by 
his  conscience,  he  will  not  lose  his  moral  tranquillity,  and 
that  is  the  principal  thing.  He  feels  himself  on  firm 
ground,  and  has  no  particular  hatred  for  the  knout,  when 
once  it  has  been  administered  to  him.  He  knows  that  it 
was  inevitable,  and  consoles  himself  by  thinking  that  he 
was  neither  the  first  nor  the  last  to  receive  it.  Does  the 
soldier  detest  the  Turk  whom  he  fights  ?  Not  in  the 
least!  yet  he  sabres  him,  hacks  him  to  pieces,  kills 
him. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  moreover,  that  all  of 
these  stories  were  told  with  indifference  and  in  cold 
blood. 

When  the  name  of  Jerebiatnikof  was  mentioned,  it  was 
always  with  indignation.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  this 
officer  during  my  first  stay  in  the  hospital— only  by  the 
convicts'  stories,  it  must  be  understood.  I  afterwards  saw 
him  one  day  when  he  was  commanding  the  guard  at  the 
convict  prison  ;  he  was  about  thirty  years  old,  very  stout 
and  very  strong,  with  red  cheeks  hanging  down  on  each 
side,  white  teeth,  and  a  formidable  laugh.  One  could 
see  in  a  moment  that  he  was  in  no  way  given  to  reflec- 
tion. He  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  whipping  and 
flogging,  when  he  had  to  superintend  the  punishment.  I 
must  hasten  to  say  that  the  other  officers  looked  upon 
Jerebiatnikof  as  a  monster,  and  the  convicts  did  the 
same.  This  was  in  the  good  old  time,  which  is  not  very 
very  far  off,  but  in  which  it  is  already  difficult  to  believe 
executioners  delighted  in  their  office.  But,  generally 
speaking,  the  strokes  were  administered  without  enthu- 
siasm. 

This  lieutenant  was  an  exception,  and  he  took  a  real 
pleasure  and  delight  in  punishment.  He  had  a  passion 
for  it,  and  liked  it  for  its  own  sake  ;  he  looked  to  this  art 
for  unnatural  delights  in  order  to  tickle  and  excite  his 
base  soul.  A  prisoner  is  conducted  to  the  place  of 
punishment.  Jerebiatnikof  is  the  officer  superintending 
the  execution.  Arranging  a  long  line  of  soldiers,  armed 
with  heavy  rods,  he  walks  along  the  front  with  a  satisfied 


TEE  HOSPITAL  219 

air,  and  encourages  each  one  to  do  his  duty,  con* 
scientiously  or  otherwise — the  soldiers  know  before 
what  "  otherwise"  means.  The  criminal  is  brought 
out.  If  he  does  not  yet  know  Jerebiatnikof,  if  he  is 
not  in  the  secret  of  the  mystery,  the  Lieutenant  plays 
him  the  following  trick — one  of  the  inventions  of 
Jerebiatnikof,  very  ingenious  in  this  style  of  thing. 
The  prisoner,  whose  back  has  been  bared,  and  whom 
the  non-commissioned  officers  have  fastened  to  the 
butt  end  of  a  musket  in  order  to  drag  him  afterwards 
through  the  whole  length  of  the  "Green  Street."  He 
begs  the  officer  in  charge,  with  a  plaintive  and  tearful 
voice,  not  to  have  him  struck  too  hard,  not  to  double  the 
punishment  by  any  undue  severity. 

"  Your  nobility  ! "  cries  the  unhappy  wretch,  "  have 
pity  on  me,  treat  me  fraternally,  so  that  I  may  pray  God 
throughout  my  life  for  you.  Do  not  destroy  me,  show 
mercy  ! " 

Jerebiatnikof  had  waited  for  this.  He  now  suspended 
the  execution,  and  engaged  the  prisoner  in  conversa- 
tion, speaking  to  him  in  a  sentimental,  compassionate 
tone. 

"  But,  my  good  fellow,"  he  would  say,  "  what  am 
I  to  do?  It  is  the  law  that  punishes  you — it  is  the 
law." 

"  Your  nobility  !  You  can  make  it  everything ;  have 
pity  upon  me." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  I  have  no  pity  on  you  ? 
Do  you  think  it  is  any  pleasure  to  me  to  see  you 
whipped  ?  I  am  a  man,  am  I  not  ?  Answer  me,  am 
I  not  a  man  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  your  nobility.  We  know  that  the 
officers  are  our  fathers  and  we  their  children.  Be  to  me 
a  venerable  father,"  the  prisoner  would  cry,  seeing 
gome  possibility  of  escaping  punishment. 

"  Then,  my  friend,  judge  for  yourself.  You  have  a 
brain  to  think  with,  you  know  I  am  human,  I  ought  to 
take  compassion  on  you,  sinner  though  you  be." 

"  Your  nobility  says  the  absolute  truth." 


220  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"  Yes,  I  ought  to  be  merciful  to  you  however  guilty 

ou  may  be.     But  it  is  not  I  who  punish  you,  it  is  the 

aw.     I  serve  God  and  my  country,  and  consequently  I 

commit  a  grave  sin  if  I  mitigate  the  punishment  fixed  by 

the  law.     Only  think  of  that !  " 

«  Your  nobility  !  " 

"Well,  what  am  I  to  do?  Only  think,  I  know  that  I 
am  doing  wrong,  but  it  shall  be  as  you  wish  ;  I  will  have 
mercy  upon  you,  you  shall  be  punished  lightly.  But  if 
I  really  do  this  on  one  occasion,  if  I  show  mercy,  if 
I  punish  you  lightly,  you  will  think  that  at  another  time 
I  shall  be  merciful,  and  you  will  recommence  your  follies. 
What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Your  nobility,  preserve  me  !  Before  the  throne  of 
the  heavenly  Creator,  I " 

"No,  no;  you  swear  that  you  will  behave  your- 
self." 

"  May  the  Lord  cause  me  to  die  this  moment  and  in 
the  next  world." 

"  Do  not  swear  in  that  way,  it  is  a  sin ;  I  shall  believe 
you  if  you  will  give  me  your  word/' 

"  Your  nobility." 

"  Well,  listen,  I  will  have  mercy  on  you  on  account 
of  your  tears,  your  orphan's  tears,  for  you  are  an  orphan, 
are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Orphan  on  both  sides,  your  nobility,  I  am  alone  in 
the  world." 

"  Well,  on  account  of  your  orphan's  tears  I  have  pity 
on  you,"  he  added,  in  a  voice  so  full  of  emotion,  that  the 
prisoner  could  not  sufficiently  thank  God  for  having  sent 
him  so  good  an  officer. 

The  procession  went  out,  the  drum  rolled,  the  soldiers 
brandished  their  arms.  "Flog  him,"  Jerebiafcnikof 
would  roar  from  the  bottom  of  his  lungs,  "  flog  him  !  burn 
him !  skin  him  alive  !  Harder  !  harder  !  Give  it  harder 
to  this  orphan  1  Give  it  him,  the  rogue." 

The  soldiers  lay  on  the  strokes  with  all  their  might 
on  the  back  of  the  unhappy  wretch,  whose  eyes  dart  fire, 
and  who  howls  while  Jerebiatnikof  runs  after  him  in 


THE  HOSPITAL  221 

front  of  the  line,  holding  his  sides  with  laughter — -he 
puffs  and  blows  so  that  he  can  scarcely  hold  himself 
upright.  He  is  happy.  He  thinks  it  droll.  From 
time  to  time  his  formidable  resonant  laugh  is  heard, 
as  he  keeps  on  repeating,  ' '  Flog  him  !  thrash  him  !  this 
brigand !  this  orphan  !  " 

He  had  composed  variation  on  this  motive.  The 
prisoner  has  been  brought  to  undergo  his  punishment. 
He  begs  the  lieutenant  to  have  pity  on  him.  This  time 
Jerebiatnikof  does  not  play  the  hypocrite ;  he  is  frank 
with  the  prisoner. 

"  Look,  my  dear  fellow,  I  will  punish  you  as  you 
deserve,  but  I  can  show  you  one  act  of  mercy.  I  will 
not  attach  you  to  the  butt  end  of  the  musket,  you  shall  go 
along  in  a  new  style,  you  have  only  to  run  as  hard  as  you 
can  along  the  front,  each  rod  will  strike  you  as  a  matter 
of  course,  but  it  will  be  over  sooner.  What  do  you  say 
to  that,  will  you  try  ?  " 

The  prisoner,  who  has  listened,  full  of  mistrust  and 
doubt,  says  to  himself :  Perhaps  this  way  will  not  be  so 
bad  as  the  other.  If  I  run  with  all  my  might,  it  will  not 
last  quiet  so  long,  and  perhaps  all  the  rods  will  not 
touch  me. 

"  Well,  your  nobility,  I  consent." 

"  I  also  consent.  Come,  mind  your  business,"  cries 
the  lieutenant  to  the  soldiers.  He  knew  beforehand  that 
not  one  rod  would  spare  the  back  of  the  unfortunate 
wretch;  the  soldier  who  failed  to  hit  him  would  know 
what  to  expect. 

The  convict  tries  to  run  along  the  "  Green  Street, " 
but  he  does  not  go  beyond  fifteen  men  before  the  rods 
rain  upon  his  poor  spine  like  hail ;  so  that  the  unfortunate 
man  shrieks  out,  and  falls  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by  a 
bullet. 

"No,  your  nobility,  I  prefer  to  be  flogged  in  the 
ordinary  way,"  he  says,  managing  to  get  up,  pale  and 
frightened.  While  Jerebiatnikof,  who  knew  beforehand 
how  this  affair  would  end,  held  his  sides  and  burst  into  a 
laugh. 


222  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

But  I  cannot  relate  all  the  diversions  invented  by 
him,  and  all  that  was  told  about  him. 

My  companions  also  spoke  of  a  Lieutenant  Smekaloff, 
who  fulfilled  the  functions  of  Commandant  before  the 
arrival  of  our  present  Major.  They  spoke  of  Jerebiatnikof 
with  indifference,  without  hatred,  but  also  without 
exalting  his  high  achievements.  They  did  not  praise 
him,  they  simply  despised  him,  whilst  at  the  name  of 
Smekaloff  the  whole  prison  burst  into  a  chorus  of 
laudation.  The  Lieutenant  was  by  no  means  fond  of 
administering  the  rods;  there  was  nothing  in  him  of 
Jerebiatnikof  s  disposition.  How  did  it  happen  that  the 
convicts  remembered  his  punishments,  severe  as  they 
were,  with  sweet  satisfaction  How  did  he  manage  to 
please  them.  How  did  he  gain  the  popularity  he  certainly 
enjoyed  ? 

Our  companions,  like  Russian  people  in  general,  were 
ready  to  forget  their  tortures  if  a  kind  word  was  said  to 
them ;  I  speak  of  the  effect  itself  without  analysing  or 
examining  it.  It  is  not  difficult,  then,  to  gain  the  affec- 
tions of  such  a  people  and  become  popular.  Lieutenant 
Smekaloff  had  gained  such  popularity,  and  when  the 
punishments  he  had  directed  were  spoken  of,  they  were 
always  mentioned  with  a  certain  sympathy. 

"He  was  as  kind  as  a  father/'  the  convicts  would 
sometimes  say,  as,  with  a  sigh,  they  compared  him  with 
their  present  chief,  the  Major  who  had  replaced  him. 

He  was  a  simple-minded  man,  and  kind  in  a  manner. 
There  are  chiefs  who  are  naturally  kind  and  merciful, 
but  who  are  not  at  all  liked  and  are  laughed  at ;  whereas, 
Smekaloff  had  so  managed  that  all  the  prisoners  had  a 
special  regard  for  him ;  this  was  due  to  innate  qualities, 
which  those  who  possess  them  do  not  understand. 
Strange  thing !  There  are  men  who  are  far  from  being 
kind,  and  who  have  yet  the  talent  of  making  themselves 
popular ;  they  do  not  despise  the  people  who  are  beneath 
their  rule.  That,  I  think,  is  the  cause  of  this  popularity. 
They  do  not  give  themselves  lordly  airs ;  they  have  no 
feeling  of  "  caste ; "  they  have  a  certain  odour  of  the 


THE  HOSPITAL 

people ;  they  are  men  of  birth,  and  the  people  at  once 
sniff  it.  They  will  do  anything  for  such  men ;  they  will 
gladly  change  the  mildest  and  most  humane  man  for  a 
very  severe  chief,  if  the  latter  possesses  this  sort  of 
odour,  and  especially  if  the  man  is  also  genial  in  his  way. 
Oh  !  then  he  is  beyond  price. 

Lieutenant  Smekaloff,  as  I  have  said,  ordered  some- 
times very  severe  punishments.  But  he  seemed  to  inflict 
them  in  such  a  way,  that  the  prisoners  felt  no 
rancour  against  him.  On  the  contrary,  they  recalled  hi& 
whipping  affairs  with  laughter;  he  did  not  punish 
frequently,  for  he  had  no  artistic  imagination.  He  had 
invented  only  one  practical  joke,  a  single  one  which 
amused  him  for  nearly  a  year  in  our  convict  prison. 
This  joke  was  dear  to  him,  probably,  because  it  was  hia 
only  one,  and  it  was  not  without  humour. 

Smekaloff  assisted  himself  at  the  executions,  joking 
all  the  time,  and  laughing  at  the  prisoner  as  he  questioned 
him  about  the  most  out-of-the-way  things,  such,  for 
instance,  as  his  private  affairs.  He  did  this  without  any 
bad  motive,  and  simply  because  he  really  wished  to  know 
something  about  the  man's  affairs.  A  chair  wa» 
brought  to  him,  together  with  the  rods  which  were  to  be 
used  for  chastising  the  prisoner.  The  Lieutenant  sat 
down  and  lighted  his  long  pipe;  the  prisoner  implored 
him. 

"No,  comrade,  lie  down.  What  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

The  convict  stretched  himself  on  the  ground  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Can  you  read  fluently  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  your  nobility ;  I  am  baptized,  and  I  was 
taught  to  read  when  I  was  a  child." 

"  Then  read  this." 

The  convict  knows  beforehand  what  he  is  to  read, 
and  knows  how  the  reading  will  end,  because  this  joke 
has  been  repeated  more  than  thirty  times;  but  Smekaloff 
knows  also  that  the  convict  is  not  his  dupe  any  more 
than  the  soldier  who  now  holds  the  rods  suspended  over 


224  PRISON  LIFE  IF  SIBERIA 

the  back  of  the  unhappy  victim.  The  convict  begins  to 
read ;  the  soldiers  armed  with  the  rods  await  motion- 
less. Smekaloff  ceases  even  to  smoke,  raises  his  hand, 
and  waits  for  a  word  fixed  upon  beforehand.  At  the 
word,  which  from  some  double  meaning  might  be  inter- 
preted as  the  order  to  start,  the  Lieutenant  raises  his 
hand,  and  the  flogging  begins.  The  officer  bursts  into  a 
laugh,  and  the  soldiers  around  him  also  laugh ;  the  man 
who  is  whipping  laughs,  and  the  man  who  is  being 
whipped  also. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TEE  HOSPITAL*  (continued). 

I  HAVE  spoken  here  of  punishments  and  of 
those  who  have  administered  them,  because  I 
got  a  very  clear  idea  on  the  subject  during 
my  stay  in  the  hospital.  Until  then  I  knew 
of  them  only  by  general  report*  In  our  room 
were  confined  all  the  prisoners  from  the  battalion  who 
were  to  receive  the  spitzruten  [rods],  as  well  as  those 
from  the  military  establishment  in  our  town  and  in  the 
district  surrounding  it. 

During  my  first  few  days  I  looked  at  all  that 
surrounded  me  with  such  greedy  eyes  that  these  strange 
manners,  these  men  who  had  just  been  flogged  or  were 
about  to  be  flogged,  left  upon  me  a  terrible  impression. 
I  was  agitated,  frightened. 

As  I  listened  to  the  conversation  or  narratives  of  the 
other  prisoners  on  this  subject,  I  put  to  myself  questions 
which  I  endeavoured  in  vain  to  solve.  I  wished  to  know 
all  the  degrees  of  the  sentences ;  the  punishments,  and 
their  shades ;  and  to  learn  the  opinion  of  the  convicts 

*  What  I  relate  about  corporal  punishment  took  place  during  my 
time.     Now,  as  1  am  told,  everything  is  changed,  and  is  changing  stilL 


226  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

themselves.     I  tried  to  represent  to  myself  the  psycho- 
logical condition  of  the  men  flogged. 

It  rarely  happened,  as  I  have  already  said,  that  the 
prisoner  approached  the  fatal  moment  in  cold  blood, 
even  if  he  had  been  beaten  several  times  before.  The 
condemned  man  experiences  a  fear  which  is  very  terrible, 
but  purely  physical — an  unconscious  fear  which  upsets 
his  moral  nature. 

During  my  several  years'  stay  in  the  convict  prison  I 
was  able  to  study  at  leisure  the  prisoners  who  wished  to 
leave  the  hospital,  where  they  had  remained  some  time 
to  have  their  damaged  backs  cured  before  receiving 
the  second  half  of  their  punishment.  This  interruption 
in  the  punishment  is  always  called  for  by  the  doctor 
who  assists  at  the  execution. 

If  the  number  of  strokes  to  be  received  is  too  great 
for  them  to  be  administered  all  at  once,  it  is  divided  ac- 
cording to  advice  given  by  the  doctor  on  the  spot.  It  ia 
for  him  to  see  if  the  prisoner  is  in  a  condition  to 
undergo  the  whole  of  his  punishment,  or  if  his  life 
is  in  danger. 

Five  hundred,  one  thousand,  and  even  one  thousand 
five  hundred  strokes  with  the  stick  are  administered  at 
once.  But  if  it  is  two  or  three  thousand  the  punishment 
is  divided  into  two  or  three  doses. 

Those  whose  back  had  been  cured  after  the  first 
administration,  and  who  are  to  undergo  a  second,  were 
sad,  sombre  and  silent  the  day  they  went  out,  and  the 
evening  before.  They  were  almost  in  a  state  of  torpor. 
They  engaged  in  no  conversation,  and  remained  perfectly 
silent. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  prisoners  avoid 
addressing  those  who  are  about  to  be  punished,  and, 
above  all,  never  make  any  allusion  to  the  subject, 
neither  in  consolation  nor  in  superfluous  words.  No 
attention  whatever  is  paid  to  them,  which  is  certainly  the 
best  thing  for  the  prisoner. 

There  are  exceptions,  however. 

The  convict  Orloff,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken, 


THE  HOSPITAL  227 

was  sorry  that  his  back  did  not  get  more  quickly 
cured,  for  he  was  anxious  to  get  his  leave-ticket  in 
order  that  he  might  take  the  rest  of  his  flogging, 
and  then  be  assigned  to  a  convoy  of  prisoners, 
when  he  meant  to  escape  during  the  journey.  He 
had  a  passionate,  ardent  nature,  and  with  only  that 
object  in  view. 

A  cunning  rascal,  he  seemed  very  pleased  when  he 
first  came ;  but  he  was  in  a  state  of  abnormal  excitement, 
though  he  endeavoured  to  conceal  it.  He  had  been  afraid 
of  being  left  on  the  ground,  and  dying  before  half  of 
his  punishment  had  been  undergone.  He  had  heard 
steps  taken  in  his  case,  by  the  authorities,  when  he  was 
still  being  tried,  and  he  thought  he  could  not  survive  the 
punishment.  But  when  he  had  received  his  first  dose  he 
recovered  his  courage. 

When  he  came  to  the  hospital  I  had  never  seen  such 
wounds  as  his ;  but  he  was  in  the  best  spirits.  He  now 
hoped  to  be  able  to  live.  The  stories  which  had  reached 
him  were  untrue,  or  the  execution  would  not  have  been 
interrupted. 

He  now  began  to  think  of  a  long  Siberian  journey, 
possibly  of  escaping  to  liberty,  fields,  and  forests. 

Two  days  after  he  had  left  the  hospital  he  came  back 
to  die — on  the  very  couch  which  he  had  occupied  duriog 
my  stay  there. 

He  had  been  unable  to  support  the  second  half 
of  his  punishment ;  but  I  have  already  spoken  of  this 
man. 

All  the  prisoners  without  exception,  even  the  most 
pusillanimous,  even  those  who  were  beforehand  tormented 
night  and  day,  supported  it  courageously  when  it 
came.  I  scarcely  ever  heard  groans  during  the  night 
following  the  execution ;  our  people,  as  a  rule,  knew  how 
to  endure  pain. 

I  questioned  my  companion  often  in  reference  to 
this  pain,  that  I  might  know  to  what  kind  of  suffer- 
ing it  might  be  compared.  It  was  no  idle  curiosity 
which  urged  me.  I  repeat  that  I  was  moved  and 


228  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

frightened;  but  it  was  in  vain,  I  could  get  no  satis- 
factory reply. 

"  It  burns  like  fire !  "  was  the  general  answer ;  they 
all  said  the  same  thing. 

First  I  tried  to  question  M tski.  "  It  burns  like 

fire !  like  hell !  It  seems  as  if  one's  back  were  in  a 
furnace." 

I  made  one  day  a  strange  observation,  which  may  or 
may  not  have  been  well  founded,  although  the  opinion 
of  the  convicts  themselves  confirms  my  views ;  namely, 
that  the  rods  are  the  most  terrible  punishment  in  use 
among  us. 

At  first  it  seems  absurd,  impossible,  yet  five  hundred 
strokes  of  the  rods,  four  hundred  even,  are  enough  to 
kill  a  man.  Beyond  five  hundred  death  is  almost 
certain ;  the  most  robust  man  will  be  unable  to  support 
a  thousand  rods,  whereas  five  hundred  sticks  are 
endured  without  much  inconvenience,  and  without  the  least 
risk  in  the  world  of  losing  one's  life.  A  man  of  ordinary 
build  supports  a  thousand  sticks  without  danger ;  even  two 
thousand  sticks  will  not  kill  a  man  of  ordinary  strength 
and  constitution.  All  the  convicts  declared  that  rods 
were  worse  than  sticks  or  ramrods. 

"  Rods  hurt  more  and  torture  more  ! "  they  said. 

They  must  torture  more  than  sticks,  that  is  certain, 
that  is  evident ;  for  they  irritate  much  more  forcibly  the 
nervous  system,  which  they  excite  beyond  measure.  I 
do  not  know  whether  any  person  still  exists,  but  such 
did  a  short  time  ago,  to  whom  the  whipping  of  a  victim 
procured  a  delight  which  recalls  the  Marquis  de  Sade  and 
the  Marchioness  Brinvilliers.  I  think  this  delight  must 
consist  in  the  sinking  of  the  heart,  and  that  these  nobles 
must  have  experienced  pain  and  delight  at  the  same 
time. 

There  are  people  who,  like  tigers,  are  greedy 
for  blood.  Those  who  have  possessed  unlimited  power 
over  the  flesh,  blood,  and  soul  of  their  fellow- 
creatures,  of  their  brethren  according  to  the  law  of 
Christ,  those  who  have  possessed  this  power  and  who 


THE  HOSPITAL  229 

have  been  able  to  degrade  with  a  supreme  degradation, 
another  being  made  in  the  image  of  God ;  these  men 
are  incapable  of  resisting  their  desires  and  their  thirst 
for  sensations.  Tyranny  is  a  habit  capable  of  being 
developed,  and  at  last  becomes  a  disease.  I  declare  that 
the  best  man  in  the  world  can  become  hardened  and 
brutified  to  such  a  point,  that  nothing  will  distinguish 
him  from  a  wild  beast.  Blood  and  power  intoxicate ; 
they  aid  the  development  of  callousness  and  debauchery; 
the  mind  then  becomes  capable  of  the  most  abnormal 
cruelty  in  the  form  of  pleasure ;  the  man  and  the  citizen 
disappear  for  ever  in  the  tyrant  ;  and  then  a  return  to 
human  dignity,  repentance,  moral  resurrection,  becomes 
almost  impossible. 

That  the  possibility  of  such  license  has  a  contagious 
effect  on  the  whole  of  society  there  is  no  doubt.  A 
society  which  looks  upon  such  things  with  an  indifferent 
eye,  is  already  infected  to  the  marrow.  In  a  word,  the 
right  granted  to  a  man  to  inflict  corporal  punishment  on 
his  fellow-men,  is  one  of  the  plague-spots  of  our  society. 
It  is  the  means  of  annihilating  all  civic  spirit.  Such  a 
right  contains  in  germ  the  elements  of  inevitable, 
imminent  decomposition. 

Society  despises  an  executioner  by  trade,  but  not  a 
lordly  executioner.  Every  manufacturer,  every  master  of 
works,  must  feel  an  irritating  pleasure  when  he  reflects 
that  the  workman  he  has  beneath  his  orders  is  dependent 
upon  him  with  the  whole  of  his  family.  A  generation 
does  not,  I  am  sure,  extirpate  so  quickly  what  is  here- 
ditary in  it.  A  man  cannot  renounce  what  is  in  his  blood, 
what  has  been  transmitted  to  him  with  his  mother's 
milk ;  these  revolutions  are  not  accomplished  so  quickly. 
It  is  not  enough  to  confess  one's  fault.  That  is  very 
little !  Very  little  indeed !  It  must  be  rooted  out, 
and  that  is  not  done  so  quickly. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  executioners.  The  instincts  of 
an  executioner  are  in  germ  in  nearly  every  one  of 
our  contemporaries ;  but  the  animal  instincts  of  the 
man  have  not  developed  themselves  in  a  uniform  manner. 


230  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

When  they  stifle  all  other  faculties,  the  man  becomes  a 
hideous  monster. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  executioners,  those  who  of 
their  own  will  are  executioners  and  those  who  are  execu- 
tioners by  duty,  by  reason  of  office.  He  who,  by  his 
own  will,  is  an  executioner,  is  in  all  respects  below  the 
salaried  executioner,  whom,  however,  the  people  look 
upon  with  repugnance,  and  who  inspires  them  with 
disgust,  with  instinctive  mystical  fear.  Whence  comes 
this  almost  superstitious  horror  for  the  latter,  when  one  is 
only  indifferent  and  indulgent  to  the  former  ? 

I  know  strange  examples  of  honourable  men,  kind, 
esteemed  by  all  their  friends,  who  found  it  necessary  that  a 
culprit  should  be  whipped  until  he  would  implore  and  beg 
for  mercy  ;  it  seemed  to  them  a  natural  thing,  a  thing  re- 
cognised as  indispensable.  If  the  victim  did  not  choose 
to  cry  out,  his  executioner,  whom  in  other  respects  I 
should  consider  a  good  man,  looked  upon  it  as  a  personal 
offence ;  he  meant,  in  the  first  instance,  to  inflict  only  a 
light  punishment,  but  directly  he  failed  to  hear  the  ha- 
bitual supplications,  "  Your  nobility  !  "  "  Have  mercy  !  " 
"  Be  a  father  to  me  ! "  "  Let  me  thank  God  all  my  life  !  " 
he  became  furious,  and  ordered  that  fifty  more  blows 
should  be  administered,  hoping  thus,  at  last,  to  obtain 
the  necessary  cries  and  supplications ;  and  at  last  they 
came. 

"  Impossible !  he  is  too  insolent/'  cried  the  man  in 
question,  very  seriously. 

As  for  the  executioner  by  office,  he  is  a  convict  who 
has  been  chosen  for  this  function.  He  passes  an  appren- 
ticeship with  an  old  hand,  and  as  soon  as  he  knows  his 
trade  remains  in  the  convict  prison,  where  he  lives  by 
himself.  He  has  a  room,  which  he  shares  with  no  one. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  he  has  a  separate  establishment,  but 
he  is  always  under  guard.  A  man  is  not  a  machine. 
Although  he  whips  by  virtue  of  his  office,  he  sometimes 
becomes  furious,  and  beats  with  a  certain  pleasure.  Not- 
withstanding he  has  no  hatred  for  his  victim,  a  desire 
to  show  his  skill  in  the  art  of  whipping  may  sharpen  his 


THE  HOSPITAL  231 

vanity.  He  works  as  an  artist;  he  knows  well  that 
he  is  a  reprobate,  and  that  he  excites  everywhere  super- 
stitious dread.  It  is  impossible  that  this  should 
exercise  no  influence  upon  him,  and  not  irritate  his 
brutal  instincts. 

Even  little  children  say  that  this  man  has  neither 
father  nor  mother.  Strange  thing  ! 

All  the  executioners  I  have  known  were  intelligent 
men,  possessing  a  certain  degree  of  conceit.  This  conceit 
became  developed  in  them  through  the  contempt  which 
they  everywhere  met  with,  and  was  strengthened, 
perhaps,  by  the  consciousness  of  the  fear  with  which 
they  inspired  their  victims,  and  of  the  power  over  unfor- 
tunate wretches. 

The  theatrical  paraphernalia  surrounding  them  deve- 
loped, perhaps,  in  them  a  certain  arrogance.  I  had  for 
some  time  an  opportunity  of  meeting  and  observing  at 
close  quarters  an  ordinary  executioner.  He  was  a  man 
about  forty,  muscular,  dry,  with  an  agreeable,  intelligent 
face,  surrounded  by  long  curly  hair.  His  manners  were 
quiet  and  grave,  his  general  demeanour  becoming.  He 
replied  clearly  and  sensibly  to  all  questions  put  to  him, 
but  with  a  sort  of  condescension  as  if  he  were  in  some 
way  my  superior.  The  officers  of  the  guard  spoke  to  him 
with  a  certain  respect,  which  he  fully  appreciated,  for 
which  reason,  in  presence  of  his  chiefs,  he  became  polite, 
and  more  dignified  than  ever. 

He  never  departed  from  the  most  refined  politeness. 
I  am  sure  that,  when  I  was  speaking  to  him,  he  felt 
incomparably  superior  to  the  man  who  was  addressing 
him.  I  could  read  that  in  his  countenance.  Sometimes 
he  was  sent  under  escort,  in  summer,  when  it  was  very  hot, 
to  kill  the  dogs  of  the  town  with  a  long,  very  thin  spear. 
These  wandering  dogs  increased  in  numbers  with  such 
prodigious  rapidity,  and  became  so  dangerous  during  the 
dog  days,  that,  by  the  decision  of  the  authorities,  the 
executioner  was  ordered  to  destroy  them.  This  de- 
grading duty  did  not  in  any  way  humiliate  him.  It 
should  have  been  seen  with  what  gravity  he  walked 


232  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

through  the  streets  of  the  town,  accompanied  by  a  soldier 
escorting  him ;  how,  with  a  single  glance,  he  frightened 
the  women  and  children;  and  how,  from  the  height 
of  his  grandeur,  he  looked  down  upon  the  passers-by 
generally. 

Executioners  live  at  their  ease.  They  have  money  to 
travel  comfortably,  and  drink  vodka.  They  derive  most 
of  their  income  from  presents  which  the  prisoners 
condemned  to  be  flogged  slip  into  their  hands  before  the 
execution.  When  they  have  to  do  with  convicts  who 
are  rich,  they  then  fix  a  sum  to  be  paid  in  proportion  to 
the  means  of  the  victim.  They  will  exact  thirty  roubles, 
sometimes  more.  The  executioner  has  no  right  to  spare 
his  victim ;  and  he  does  so  at  the  risk  of  his  own  back. 
But  for  a  suitable  present  he  agrees  not  to  strike  too 
hard.  People  almost  always  give  what  he  asks  ;  should 
they  in  any  case  refuse,  he  would  strike  like  a  savage ; 
and  it  is  in  his  power  to  do  so.  He  sometimes  exacts 
a  heavy  sum  from  a  man  who  is  very  poor.  Then  all 
the  relations  of  the  victim  are  put  in  movement.  They 
bargain,  try  and  beat  him  down,  supplicate  him ;  but  it 
will  not  be  well  if  they  do  not  succeed  in  satisfying  him. 
In  such  a  case  the  superstitious  fear  inspired  by  the 
executioner  stands  them  in  good  part.  I  had  been  told 
the  most  wonderful  things — that  at  one  blow  the  execu- 
tioner can  kill  his  man. 

"  Is  this  your  experience  ?  "  I  asked. 

Perhaps  so.  Who  knows  ?  Their  tone  seemed  to 
decide,  if  there  could  be  any  doubt  about  it.  They  also 
told  me  that  he  can  strike  a  criminal  in  such  a  way 
that  he  will  not  feel  the  least  pain,  and  without  leaving 
a  scar. 

Even  when  the  executioner  receives  a  present  not  to 
whip  too  severely,  he  gives  the  first  blow  with  all  his 
strength.  It  is  the  custom  !  Then  he  administers  the 
other  blows  with  less  severity,  above  all  if  he  has  been 
well  paid. 

I  do  not  know  why  this  is  done.  Is  it  to  prepare 
the  victim  for  the  succeeding  blows,  which  will  appear 


THE  HOSPITAL  233 

less  painful  after  the  first  cruel  one ;  or  do  they  want  to 
frighten  the  criminal,  so  that  he  may  know  with  whom 
he  has  to  deal ;  or  do  they  simply  wish  to  display  their 
vigour  from  vanity?  In  any  case  the  executioner  is 
slightly  excited  before  the  execution,  and  he  is  conscious 
of  his  strength  and  of  his  power.  He  is  acting  at  the 
time  ;  the  public  admires  him,  and  is  filled  with  terror. 
Accordingly,  it  is  not  without  satisfaction  that  he  cries 
out  to  his  victim,  e(  Look  out !  you  are  going  to  have 
it !  " — customary  and  fatal  words  which  precede  the  first 
blow. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  human  being  degraded  to 
such  a  point. 

The  first  day  of  my  stay  at  the  hospital  I  listened 
attentively  to  the  stories  of  the  convicts,  which  broke 
the  monotony  of  the  long  days. 

In  the  morning,  the  doctor's  visit  was  the  first  diver- 
sion Then  came  dinner,  which  it  will  be  believed  was  the 
most  important  affair  of  oui  daily  life.  The  portions 
were  different  according  to  the  nature  of  the  illness : 
some  of  the  prisoners  received  nothing  but  broth  with 
groats  in  it ;  others  nothing  but  gruel ;  others  a  kind  of 
semolina,  which  was  much  liked.  The  convicts  ended 
by  becoming  effeminate  and  fastidious.  The  con- 
valescents received  a  piece  of  boiled  beef.  The  best 
food,  which  was  reserved  for  the  scorbutic  patients, 
consisted  of  roast  beef  with  onions  horseradish,  and 
sometimes  a  small  glass  of  spirits.  The  bread  was, 
according  to  the  illness,  black  or  brown ;  the  precision 
preserved  in  distributing  the  rations  would  make  the 
patients  laugh 

There  were  some  who  took  absolutely  nothing ;  the 
portions  were  exchanged  in  such  a  way  that  the  food 
intended  for  one  patient  was  eaten  by  another:  those 
who  were  being  kept  on  low  diet,  who  received  only 
small  rations,  bought  those  of  the  scorbutic  patients; 
others  would  give  any  price  for  meat.  There  were  some 
who  ate  two  entire  portions ;  it  cost  them  a  good  deal, 
for  they  were  generally  sold  at  five  kopecks  each.  If  one 


234  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

had  no  meat  to  sell  in  our  room  the  warder  was  sent  to 
another  section,  and  if  he  could  not  find  any  there  he 
was  asked  to  get  some  from  the  military  ' f  infirmary  " — 
the  free  infirmary,  as  we  called  it. 

There  were  always  patients  ready  to  sell  their  rations ; 
poverty  was  general,  and  those  who  possessed  a  few 
kopecks  used  to  send  out  to  buy  cakes  and  white  bread, 
or  other  delicacies,  at  the  market.  Warders  executed 
these  commissions  in  a  disinterested  manner.  The  most 
painful  moment  was  that  which  followed  the  dinner; 
some  went  to  sleep,  if  they  had  no  other  way  of  passing 
their  time;  others  either  wrangled  or  told  stories  in  a 
loud  voice. 

When  no  new  patients  were  brought  in,  everything 
became  very  dull.  The  arrival  of  a  new  patient  caused 
always  a  certain  excitement,  above  all,  if  no  one  knew 
anything  about  him ;  he  was  questioned  about  his  past 
life. 

The  most  interesting  ones  were  the  birds  of  passage : 
they  had  always  something  to  tell. 

Of  course  they  never  spoke  of  their  own  little  faults. 
If  the  prisoner  did  not  enter  upon  this  subject  himself,  no 
one  questioned  him  about  it. 

The  only  thing  he  was  asked  was,  what  quarter  he 
came  from  ?  who  were  with  him  on  the  road  ?  what  state 
the  road  was  in?  where  he  was  being  taken  to?  etc. 
Stimulated  by  the  stories  of  the  new  comers,  our  com- 
rades in  their  turn  began  to  tell  what  they  had  seen  and 
done ;  what  was  most  talked  about  was  the  convoys, 
those  in  command  of  them,  the  men  who  carried  the  sen- 
tences into  execution. 

About  this  time,  too,  towards  evening,  the  con- 
victs who  had  been  scourged  came  up  ;  they  always 
made  a  rather  strong  impression,  as  I  have  said  ;  but 
it  was  not  every  day  that  any  of  these  were  brought 
to  us,  and  everybody  was  bored  to  extinction,  when 
nothing  happened  to  give  a  fillip  to  the  general 
relaxed  and  indolent  state  of  feeling.  It  seemed,  then,  as 
uhough  the  sick  themselves  were  exasperated  at  the  very 


THE  HOSPITAL  235 

sight  of  those  near  them.  Sometimes  they  squabbled 
violently. 

Our  convicts  were  in  high  glee  when  a  madman  was 
taken  off  for  medical  examination  ;  sometimes  those  who 
were  sentenced  to  be  scourged,  feigned  insanity  that 
they  might  get  off.  The  trick  was  found  out,  or  it  would 
sometimes  be  that  they  voluntarily  gave  up  the  pretence. 
Prisoners,  who  during  two  or  three  days  had  done  all 
sorts  of  wild  things,  suddenly  became  steady  and  sensible 
people,  quieted  down,  and,  with  a  gloomy  smile,  asked  to 
be  taken  out  of  the  hospital.  Neither  the  other  convicts 
nor  the  doctors  said  a  word  of  remonstrance  to  them 
about  the  deceit,  or  brought  up  the  subject  of  their  mad 
pranks.  Their  names  were  put  down  on  a  list  without  a 
word  being  said,  and  they  were  simply  taken  elsewhere ; 
after  the  lapse  of  some  days  they  came  back  to  us  with 
their  backs  all  wounds  and  blood. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  arrival  of  a  genuine  lunatic 
was  a  miserable  thing  to  see  all  through  the  place. 
Those  of  the  mentally  unsound  who  were  gay,  lively, 
who  uttered  cries,  danced,  sang,  were  greeted  at  first 
with  enthusiasm  by  the  convicts. 

"  Here's  fun  ! "  said  they,  as  they  looked  on  the 
grins  and  contortions  of  the  unfortunates.  But  the 
sight  was  horribly  painful  and  sad.  I  have  never  been 
able  to  look  upon  the  mad  calmly  or  with  indifference. 
There  was  one  who  was  kept  three  weeks  in  our 
room :  we  would  have  hidden  ourselves,  had  there  been 
any  place  to  do  it.  When  things  were  at  the  worst 
they  brought  in  another.  This  one  affected  me  very 
powerfully. 

In  the  first  year,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  during  the 
first  month  of  my  exile,  I  went  to  work  with  a  gang 
of  kiln  men  to  the  tileries  situate  at  two  versts  from  our 
prison.  We  were  set  to  repairing  the  kiln  in  which  the 
bricks  were  baked  in  summer.  That  morning,  in  which 
M — toki  and  B.  made  me  acquainted  with  the  non-com- 
missioned officer,  superintendent  of  the  works.  This  was 
a  Pole  already  well  on  in  life,  sixty  years  old  at  least,  of 


236  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

high  stature,  lean,  of  decent  and  even  somewhat  impos- 
ing exterior.  He  had  been  a  long  time  in  service  in 
Siberia,  and  although  he  belonged  to  the  lower  orders 
he  had  been  a  soldier,  and  in  the  rising  of  1830 — 
M — toki  and  B.  loved  and  esteemed  him.  He  was 
always  reading  the  Vulgate.  I  spoke  to  him ;  his  talk 
was  agreeable  and  intelligent ;  he  told  a  story  in  a 
most  interesting  way ;  he  was  straightforward  and  of 
excellent  temper.  For  two  years  I  never  saw  him 
again,  all  I  heard  was  that  he  had  become  a  "  case," 
and  that  they  were  inquiring  into  it;  and  then  one 
fine  day  they  brought  him  into  our  room ;  he  had  gone 
quite  mad. 

He  came  in  yelling,  uttering  shouts  of  laughter,  and 
began  to  dance  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  indecent 
gestures  which  recalled  the  dance  known  as  Karna- 
rinskafa. 

The  convicts  were  wild  with  enthusiasm ;  but,  for  my 
part,  account  for  it  as  you  will,  I  felt  utterly  miserable. 
Three  days  after,  we  were  all  of  us  upset  with  it ;  he  got 
into  violent  disputes  with  everybody,  fought,  groaned, 
sang  in  the  dead  of  the  night ;  his  aberrations  were  so 
inordinate  and  disgusting  as  to  bring  our  very  stomachs 
up. 

He  feared  nobody.  They  put  the  strait-waistcoat 
on  him ;  but  we  were  no  whit  better  off  for  it,  for  he  went 
on  quarreling  and  fighting  all  round.  At  the  end  of 
three  weeks,  the  room  put  up  an  unanimous  entreaty  to 
the  head  doctor  that  he  might  be  removed  to  the  other 
apartment  reserved  for  the  convicts.  But  after  two  days, 
at  the  request  of  the  sick  people  in  that  other  room,  they 
brought  him  back  to  our  infirmary.  As  we  had  two  mad- 
men there  at  once,  both  rooms  kept  sending  them  back 
and  forward,  and  ended  by  taking  one  or  the  other  of  the 
two  lunatics,  turn  and  turn  about.  Everybody  breathed 
more  freely  when  they  took  them  away  from  us,  a  good 
way  off,  somewhere  or  other. 

There  was  another  lunatic  whom  I  remember — a 
very  remarkable  creature.  They  had  brought  in,  dur- 


THE  HOSPITAL  237 

ing  the  summer,  a  man  under  sentence,  who  looked 
like  a  solid  and  vigorous  fellow  enough,  of  about 
forty-five  years.  His  face  was  sombre  and  sad,  pitted 
with  small-pox,  with  little  red  and  swollen  eyes.  He 
sat  down  by  my  side.  He  was  extremely  quiet ;  spoke 
to  nobody,  and  seemed  utterly  absorbed  in  his  own 
deep  reflections. 

Night  fell;  then  he  addressed  me,  and,  without  a 
word  of  preface,  told  me  in  a  hurried  and  excited  way 
— as  if  it  were  a  mighty  secret  he  were  confiding — that 
he  was  to  have  two  thousand  strokes  with  the  rod ;  but 
that  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  as  the  daughter  of  Colonel 
G was  taking  steps  on  his  behalf. 

I  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  and  observed  that, 
as  I  saw  the  affair,  the  daughter  of  a  Colonel  could 
be  of  little  use  in  such  a  case.  I  had  not  yet  guessed 
what  sort  of  person  I  had  to  do  with,  for  they  had 
brought  him  to  the  hospital  as  a  bodily  sick  person,  not 
mentally.  I  then  asked  him  what  illness  he  was  suffering 
from. 

He  answered  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it ;  that 
he  had  been  sent  among  us  for  something  or  other ;  but 
that  he  was  in  good  health,  and  that  the  Colonel's 
daughter  had  fallen  in  love  with  him.  Two  weeks  before 
she  had  passed  in  a  carriage  before  the  guard-house, 
where  he  was  looking  through  the  barred  window,  and 
she  had  gone  head  over  ears  in  love  at  the  mere  sight  of 
him. 

After  that  important  moment  she  had  come  three 
times  to  the  guard-house  on  different  pretexts.  The  first 
time  with  her  father,  ostensibly  to  visit  her  brother,  who 
was  the  officer  on  service ;  the  second  with  her  mother, 
to  distribute  alms  to  the  prisoners.  As  she  passed  in 
front  of  him  she  had  muttered  that  she  loved  him  and 
would  get  him  out  of  prison. 

He  told  me  all  this  nonsense  with  minute  and  exact 
details;  all  of  it  pure  figment  of  his  poor  disordered 
head.  He  believed  devoutly  and  implicitly  that  his 
punishment  would  be  graciously  remitted.  He  spoke 


238  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

very  calmly,  and  with  all  assurance  of  the  passionate 
love  he  had  inspired  in  this  young  lady. 

This  odd  and  romantic  delusion  about  the  love  of 
quite  a  young  girl  of  good  breeding,  for  a  man  nearly  fifty 
years  and  afflicted  with  a  face  so  disfigured  and  gloomy, 
simply  showed  the  fearful  effect  produced  by  the  fear  of 
the  punishment  he  was  to  have,  upon  the  poor,  timid 
creature. 

It  may  be  that  he  had  really  seen  some  one  through 
the  bars  of  the  window,  and  the  insanity,  germinating 
under  excess  of  fear,  had  found  shape  and  form  in  the 
delusion  in  question. 

This  unfortunate  soldier,  who,  it  may  be  warranted, 
had  never  given  a  thought  to  young  ladies,  had  got  this 
romance  into  his  diseased  fancy,  and  clung  convulsively 
to  this  wild  hope.  I  heard  him  in  silence,  and  then  told 
the  story  to  the  other  convicts.  When  these  questioned 
him  in  their  natural  curiosity,  he  preserved  a  chastely 
discreet  silence. 

Next  day  the  doctor  examined  him.  As  the  madman 
averred  that  he  was  not  ill,  he  was  put  down  on  the  list 
as  qualified  to  be  sent  out.  We  learned  that  the 
physician  had  scribbled  "  Sanat.  est "  on  the  page,  when 
it  was  quite  too  late  to  give  him  warning.  Besides,  we 
were  ourselves  not  by  any  means  sure  what  was  really  the 
matter  with  the  man. 

The  error  was  with  the  authorities  who  had  sent  him 
to  us,  without  specifying  for  what  reason  it  was  thought 
necessary  to  have  him  come  into  the  hospital — which 
was  unpardonable  negligence. 

However,  two  days  later  the  unhappy  creature  was 
taken  out  to  be  scourged.  We  understood  that  he  was 
dumbfounded  by  finding,  contrary  to  his  fixed  expec- 
tation, that  he  really  was  to  have  the  punishment.  To 
the  last  moment  he  thought  he  would  be  pardoned,  and 
when  conducted  to  the  front  of  the  battalion,  he  began 
to  cry  for  help. 

As  there  was  no  room  or  bedding-place  now  in  our 
apartment  they  sent  him  to  the  infirmary.  I  heard  that 


THE  HOSPITAL  239 

for  eight  entire  days  he  did  not  utter  a  single  word,  and 
remained  in  stupid  and  misery- stricken  mental  confusion. 
When  his  back  was  cared  they  took  him  off.  I  never 
heard  a  single  further  word  about  him. 

As  to  the  treatment  of  the  sick  and  the  remedies 
prescribed,  those  who  were  but  slightly  indisposed  paid 
no  attention  whatever  to  the  directions  of  the  doctors, 
and  never  took  their  medicines ;  while,  speaking  gene- 
rally, those  really  ill  were  very  careful  in  following 
the  doctor's  orders;  they  took  their  mixtures  and 
powders ;  they  took  all  the  possible  care  they  could 
of  themselves;  but  they  preferred  external  to  internal 
remedies. 

Cupping-glasses,  leeches,  cataplasms,  blood-lettings 
— in  all  which  things  the  populace  has  so  blind  a 
confidence — were  held  in  high  honour  in  our  hospital. 
Inflictions  of  that  sort  were  regarded  with  satisfac- 
tion. 

There  was  one  thing  quite  strange,  and  to  me  inter- 
esting. Fellows,  who  stood  without  a  murmur  the 
frightful  tortures  caused  by  the  rods  and  scourges, 
howled,  and  grinned,  and  moaned  for  the  least  little  ail- 
ment. Whether  it  was  all  pretence  or  not,  I  really  cannot 
say. 

We  had  cuppings  of  a  quite  peculiar  kind.  The 
machine  with  which  instantaneous  incisions  in  the  skin 
are  produced,  was  all  out  of  order,  so  they  had  to  use 
the  lancet. 

For  a  cupping,  twelve  incisions  are  necessary  ;  with 
a  machine  these  are  not  painful  at  all,  for  it  makes  them 
instantaneously  ;  with  the  lancet  it  is  a  different  affair 
altogether — that  cuts  slowly,  and  makes  the  patient 
suffer.  If  you  have  to  make  ten  openings  there  will  be 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  pricks,  and  these  very 
painful.  I  had  to  undergo  it  myself ;  besides  the  pain 
itself,  it  caused  great  nervous  irritation ;  but  the  suffer- 
ing was  not  so  great  that  one  could  not  contain  himself 
from  groaning  if  he  tried. 

It   was    laughable    to    see    great,    hulking   fellows 


240  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

wriggling  and  howling.  One  couldn't  help  comparing 
them  to  some  men,  firm  and  calm  enough  in  really  serious 
circumstances,  but  all  ill-temper  or  caprice  in  the  bosom 
of  their  families  for  nothing  at  all ;  if  dinner  is  late  or  the 
like,  then  they'll  scold  and  swear ;  everything  puts  them 
out ;  they  go  wrong  with  everybody  ;  the  more  comfort- 
able they  really  are,  the  more  troublesome  are  they  to 
other  people.  Characters  of  this  sort,  common  enough 
among  the  lower  orders,  were  but  too  numerous  in  our 
prison,  by  reason  of  our  company  being  forced  on  one 
another. 

Sometimes  the  prisoners  chaffed  or  insulted  the 
thin  skins  I  speak  of,  and  then  they  would  leave  off 
complaining  directly;  as  if  they  only  wanted  to  be 
insulted  to  make  them  hold  their  tongues. 

Oustiantsef  was  no  friend  of  grimacings  of  this  kind, 
and  never  let  slip  an  opportunity  of  bringing  that  sort  of 
delinquent  to  his  bearings.  Besides,  he  was  fond  of 
scolding ;  it  was  a  sort  of  necessity  with  him,  engendered 
by  illness  and  also  his  stupidity.  He  would  first  fix  his 
gaze  upon  you  for  some  time,  and  then  treat  you  to  a 
long  speech  of  threatening  and  warning,  and  a  tone  of 
calm  and  impartial  conviction.  It  looked  as  though  he 
thought  his  fuDction  in  this  world  was  to  watch  over 
order  and  morality  in  general. 

"He  must  poke  his  nose  into  everything,"  the 
prisoners  with  a  laugh  used  to  say  ;  for  they  pitied,  and 
did  what  they  could  to  avoid  conflicts  with  him. 

"  Has  he  chattered  enough  ?  Three  waggons 
wouldn't  be  too  much  to  carry  away  all  his  talk." 

"  Why  need  you  put  your  oar  in  ?  One  is  not  going 
to  put  himself  about  for  a  mere  idiot.  What's  there  to 
cry  out  about  at  a  mere  touch  of  a  lancet  ?  " 

"  What  harm  in  the  world  do  you  fancy  that  is  going 
to  do  you  ?  " 

"No,  comrades,"  a  prisoner  strikes  in,  "the 
cuppings  are  a  mere  nothing.  I  know  the  taste  of 
them.  But  th«  most  horrid  thing  is  when  they  pull 


THE  HOSPITAL  241 

your  'ears  for  a  long  time  together.  That  just  shuts 
you  up." 

All  the  prisoners  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Have  you  had  them  pulled  ?  " 

"  By  Jove,  yes,  I  should  think  he  had." 

"  That's  why  they  stick  upright,  like  hop-poles." 

This  convict,  Chapkin  by  name,  really  had  long 
and  quite  erect  ears.  He  had  long  led  a  vagabond 
life,  was  still  quite  young,  intelligent,  and  quiet,  and 
used  to  talk  with  a  dry  sort  of  humour  with  much 
seriousness  on  the  surface,  which  made  his  stories  very 
comical. 

"  How  in  the  world  was  I  to  know  you  had  had  your 
ears  pulled  and  lengthened,  brainless  idiot  ?"  began 
Oustiantsef,  once  more  wrathfully  addressing  Chapkin, 
who,  however,  vouchsafed  no  attention  to  his  com- 
panion's obliging  apostrophe. 

"  Well,  who  did  pull  your  ears  for  you  ?  "  some  one 
asked. 

"  Why,  the  police  superintendent,  by  Jove,  comrades  ! 
Our  offence  was  wandering  about  without  fixed  place  of 

abode.  We  had  just  got  into  K ,  I  and  another 

tramp,  Eptinie ;  he  had  no  family  name,  that  fellow.  On 
the  way  we  had  fixed  ourselves  up  a  little  in  the  hamlet 
of  Tolmina ;  yes,  there  is  a  hamlet  that's  got  just  that 
name — Tolmina.  Well,  we  get  to  the  town,  and  are  just 
looking  about  us  a  little  to  see  if  there's  a  good  stroke  of 
tramp -business  to  do,  after  which  we  mean  to  flit.  You 
know,  out  in  the  open  country  you're  as  free  as  air ;  but 
it's  not  exactly  the  same  thing  in  the  town.  First 
thing,  we  go  into  a  public-house ;  as  we  open  the  door 
we  give  a  sharp  look  all  round.  What's  there  ?  A  sun- 
burnt fellow  in  a  German  coat  all  out  at  elbows,  walks 
right  up  to  us.  One  thing  and  another  comes  up,  when 
he  says  to  us  : 

"  '  Pray  excuse  me  for  asking  if  you  have  any  papers 
[passport]  with  you  ? ' 

"  '  No,  we  haven't/ 


242  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

" (  Nor  have  we  either.  I  have  two  comrades  besides 
these  with  me  who  are  in  the  service  of  General  Cuckoo 
[forest  tramps,  i.e.,  who  hear  the  birds  sing].  We  have 
been  seeing  life  a  bit,  and  just  now  haven't  a  penny  to 
bless  ourselves  with.  May  I  take  the  liberty  of 
requesting  you  to  be  so  obliging  as  to  order  a  quart  of 
brandy  ?  ' 

"  '  With  the  greatest  pleasure/  that's  what  we  say  to 
him.  So  we  drink  together.  Then  they  tell  us  of  a  place 
where  there's  a  real  good  stroke  of  business  to  be  done — 
a  house  at  the  end  of  the  town  belonging  to  a  wealthy 
merchant  fellow;  lots  of  good  things  there,  so  we 
make  up  our  minds  to  try  the  job  during  the  night;  five 
of  us,  and  the  very  moment  we  are  going  at  it  they 
pounce  on  us,  take  us  to  the  station-house,  and  then 
before  the  head  of  the  police.  He  says,  ( I  shall 
examine  them  myself.'  Out  he  goes  with  his  pipe,  and 
they  bring  in  for  him  a  cup  of  tea ;  a  sturdy  fellow  it 
was,  with  whiskers.  Besides  us  five,  there  were  three 
other  tramps,  just  brought  in.  You  know,  comrades, 
that  there's  nothing  in  this  world  more  funny  than  a 
tramp,  because  he  always  forgets  everything  he's  done. 
You  may  thump  his  head  till  you're  tired  with  a  cudgel ; 
all  the  same,  you'll  get  but  one  answer,  that  he  has  for- 
gotten all  about  everything. 

"  The  police  superintendent  then  turns  to  me  and 
asks  me  squarely, 

"  '  Who  may  you  be  ? ' 

t(  I  answer  just  like  all  the  rest  of  them : 

"  '  I've  forgotten  all  about  it,  your  worship/ 

" f  Just  you  wait ;  I've  a  word  or  two  more  to 
say  to  you.  I  know  your  phiz.' 

"Then  he  gives  me  a  good  long  stare.  But  I 
hadn't  seen  him  anywhere  before,  that's  a  fact. 

"  Then  he  asks  another  of  them,  '  Who  are  you  ?  ' 

' ( '  Mizzle-and-scud,  your  worship.' 

"  '  They  call  you  Mizzle-and-scud  ?  * 

"  '  Precisely  that,  your  worship/ 


(S 

(( f 

€(  ( 
t( 


THE  HOSPITAL  243 

"  '  Well    and   good,  you're   Mizzle-and-scud  1      And 
you  ? '  to  a  third. 

"  '  Alohg-of-him,  your  worship/ 
'  But  what's  your  name — your  name  ?  ' 
Me  ?     I'm  called  Along-of-him,  your  worship/ 
Who  gave  you  that  name,  hound  ? ' 
'Very  worthy  people,  your   worship.      There   are 
lots  of  worthy  people  about ;  nobody  knows  that  better 
than  your  worship/ 

" '  And  who  may  these  "  worthy  people  "  be  ? ' 
" f  Oh,  Lord,  it  has  slipped  my  memory,  your  worship. 
Do  be  so  kind  and  gracious  as  to  overlook  it/ 

So   you've   forgotten   them,   all   of    them,  these 
"  worthy  people  "  ? ' 

"  '  Every  mother's  son  of  them,  your  worship/ 
" ( But   you   must   have   had   relations — a   father,   a 
mother.     Do  you  remember  them  ?  ' 

suppose  I  must  have  had,  your  worship;  but 
I've  forgotten  about  'em,  my  memory  is  so  bad.  Now  I 
come  to  think  about  it,  Pm  sure  I  had  some,  your  wor- 
ship/ 

"  '  But  where  have  you  been  living  till  now  ? ' 
"  '  In  the  woods,  your  worship/ 
" '  Always  in  the  woods  ? ' 
' ' '  Always  in  the  woods ! ' 
"<  Winter  too?' 

" '  Never  saw  any  winter,  your  worship/ 
"  l  Get   along   with   you  !      And   you — what's   your 
name  ? ' 

" '  Hatchets-and-axes,  your  worship/ 
"  f  And  yours  ?  ' 

" '  Sharp-and-mum,  your  worship/ 
" '  And  you  ? ' 

"  '  Keen-and-spry,  your  worship/ 
<f '  And  not  a  soul  of  you  remembers  anything  that 
ever  happened  to  you/ 

'  Not  a  mother's  son  of  us  anything  whatever/ 

He  couldn't  help  it ;  he  laughed  out  loud.     All  the 


244  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

rest  began  to  laugh  at  seeing  him  laugh  !  But  the  thing 
does  not  always  go  off  like  that.  Sometimes  they  lay 
about  them,  these  police,  with  their  fists,  till  you  get 
every  tooth  in  your  jaw  smashed.  Devilish  big  and 
strong  these  fellows,  I  can  tell  you. 

" '  Take  them  off  to  the  lock-up/  said  he.  '  I'll  see 
to  them  in  a  bit.  As  for  you,  stop  here ! ' 

•'That's  me. 

"  '  Just  you  go  and  sit  down  there/ 

"  Where  he  pointed  to  there  was  paper,  a  pen,  and 
ink ;  so  thinks  I,  *  What's  he  up  to  now  ?  * 

"  '  Sit  down/  he  says  again ;  '  take  the  pen  and 
write/ 

"  And  then  he  goes  and  clutches  at  my  ear  and  gives 
it  a  good  pull.  I  looked  at  him  in  the  sort  of  way  the 
devil  may  look  at  a  priest. 

"  '  I  can't  write,  your  worship/ 

"  '  Write,  write  ! ' 

"  '  Have  mercy  on  me,  your  worship  ! ' 

" '  Write  your  best ;    write,  write  ! ' 

"And  all  the  while  he  keeps  palling  my  ear,  pull- 
ing and  twisting.  Pals,  I'd  rather  have  had  three 
hundred  strokes  of  the  cat ;  I  tell  you  it  was  hell. 

"  '  Write,  write  !  '  that  was  all  he  said." 

"  Had  the  fellow  gone  mad  ?  What  the  mischief 
was  it  ? 

"  Bless  us,  no !  A  little  while  before,  a  secretary 
had  done  a  stroke  of  business  at  Tobolsk :  he  had 
robbed  the  local  treasury  and  gone  off  with  the  money  ; 
he  had  very  big  ears,  just  as  I  have.  They  had  sent 
the  fact  all  over  the  country.  I  answered  to  that 
description ;  that's  why  he  tormented  me  with  his 
'  Write,  write ! '  He  wanted  to  find  out  if  I  could  write, 
arid  to  see  my  hand. 

" '  A  regular  sharp  chap  that !     Did  it  hurt  ?  ; 

"  '  Oh,  Lord,  don't  say  a  word  about  it,  I  beg.' 

"  Everybody  burst  out  laughing. 

«'  Well,  you  did  write?' 


THE  HOSPITAL  245 

" '  "What  the  deuce  was  there  to  write  ?  I  set  my  pen 
going  over  the  paper,  and  did  it  to  such  good  account 
that  he  left  off  torturing  me.  He  just  gave  me  a  dozen 
thumps,  regulation  allowance,  and  then  let  me  go  about 
my  business  :  to  prison,  that  is.' 

"  ( Do  you  really  know  how  to  write  ?  ' 

"  '  Of  course  I  did.  What  d'ye  mean  ?  Used  to 
very  well ;  forgotten  the  whole  blessed  thing,  though, 
ever  since  they  began  to  use  pens  for  it.'  " 

Thanks  to  the  gossip  talk  of  the  convicts  who  filled 
the  hospital,  time  was  somewhat  quickened  for  us.  But 
still,  Almighty  Grod,  how  wearied  and  bored  we  were ! 
Long,  long  were  the  days,  suffocating  in  their  monotony, 
one  absolutely  the  same  as  another.  If  only  I  had 
had  a  single  book. 

For  all  that  I  went  often  to  the  infirmary, 
especially  in  the  early  days  of  my  banishment,  either 
because  I  was  ill  or  because  I  needed  rest,  just 
to  get  out  of  the  worse  parts  of  the  prison.  In 
those  life  was  indeed  made  a  burden  to  us,  worse 
even  than  in  the  hospital,  especially  as  regards  the 
effect  upon  moral  sentiment  and  good  feeling.  We 
of  the  nobility  were  the  never-ceasing  objects  of 
envious  dislike,  quarrels  picked  with  us  all  the  time, 
something  done  every  moment  to  put  us  in  the 
wrong,  looks  filled  with  menacing  hatred  unceasingly 
directed  on  us !  Here,  in  the  sick-rooms,  one  lived  on 
a  sort  of  footing  of  equality,  there  was  something  of 
comradeship. 

The  most  melancholy  moment  of  the  twenty-four 
hours  was  evening,  when  night  set  in.  We  went  to  bed 
very  early.  A  smoky  lamp  just  gave  us  one  point  of  light 
at  the  very  end  of  the  room,  near  the  door.  In  our 
corner  we  were  almost  in  complete  darkness.  The  air 
was  pestilential,  stifling.  Some  of  the  sick  people  could 
not  get  to  sleep,  would  rise  up,  and  remain  sitting  for  an 
hour  together  on  their  beds,  with  their  heads  bent,  as 
though  they  were  in  deep  reflection.  These  I  would 


246  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

look  at  steadily,  trying  to  guess  what  they  might  be 
thinking  of ;  thus  I  tried  to  kill  time.  Then  I  became 
lost  in  my  own  reveries ;  the  past  came  up  to  me  again, 
showing  itself  to  my  imagination  in  large  powerful 
outlines  filled  with  high  lights  and  massive  shadows, 
details  that  at  any  other  time  would  have  remained 
in  oblivion,  presented  themselves  in  vivid  force,  making 
on  me  an  impression  impossible  under  any  other  cir- 
cumstances. 

Then  I  would  begin  to  muse  dreamily  on  the  future. 
When  shall  I  leave  this  place  of  restraint,  this  dreadful 
prison  ?  Whither  betake  myself  ?  What  will  then  befall 
me  ?  Shall  I  return  to  the  place  of  my  birth  ?  So  I 
brood,  and  brood,  until  hope  lives  once  again  in  my 
soul. 

Another  time  I  would  begin  to  count,  one,  two, 
three,  etc.,  to  see  if  sleep  could  be  won  that  way.  I 
would  set  sometimes  as  far  as  three  thousand,  and 
was  as  wakeful  as  ever.  Then  somebody  would  turn  in 
his  bed. 

Then  there's  Oustiantsef  coughing,  that  cough  of 
the  hopelessly-gone  consumptive,  and  then  he  would 
groan  feebly,  and  stammer,  "  My  Grod,  I've  sinned,  Fve 
sinned !" 

How  frightful  it  was,  that  voice  of  the  sick  man,  that 
broken,  dying  voice,  in  the  midst  of  that  silence  so  dead 
and  complete !  In  a  corner  there  are  some  sick  people 
not  yet  asleep,  talking  in  a  low  voice,  stretched  on  their 
pallets.  One  of  them  is  telling  the  story  of  his  life,  all 
about  things  infinitely  far  off ;  things  that  have  fled  for 
over ;  he  is  talking  of  his  trampings  through  the  world, 
of  his  children,  his  wife,  the  old  ways  of  his  life.  And 
the  very  accent  of  the  man's  voice  tells  you  that  all  those 
things  are  for  ever  over  for  him,  that  he  is  as  a  limb  cut 
off  from  the  world  of  men,  cut  off,  thrown  aside  ;  there 
is  another,  listening  intently  to  what  he  is  saying.  A 
weak,  feeble  sort  of  muttering  and  murmuring  coines  to 
one's  ear  from  far-off  in  the  dreary  room,  a  sound  as  of 


THE  HOSPITAL  247 

far-off  water  flowing  somewhere I  remember  that 

one  time,  during  a  winter  night  that  seemed  as  if  it  would 
never  end,  I  heard  a  story  which  at  first  seemed  as  if  it 
were  the  stammerings  of  a  creature  in  nightmare,  or  the 
delirium  of  fever.  Here  it  is  : 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE    HUSBAND    OF   AKOULEA 


IT    was    late  at  night,  about   eleven   o'clock. 
I  had  been  sleeping  some  time  and  woke  up 
with  a  start.     The  wan  and  weak  light  of 
the  distant  lamp  barely  lit  the  room.   Nearly 
everybody  was  fast  asleep,  even  Oustiantsef ; 
in  the  quiet  of  the  night  I  heard  his  difficult  breathing, 
and  the  rattlings  in  his  throat  with  every  respiration. 
In   the    ante-chamber    sounded  the    heavy  and   distant 
footsteps    of    the    patrol  as  the   men    came    up.      The 
butt  of  a  gun  struck  the  floor  with  its  low  and  heavy 
sound. 

The  door  of  the  room  was  opened,  and  the  corporal 
counted  the  sick,  stepping  softly  about  the  place. 
After  a  minute  or  so  he  closed  the  door  again,  leaving 
a  fresh  sentinel  there ;  the  patrol  went  off,  silence 
reigned  again.  It  was  only  then  that  I  observed  two 
prisoners,  not  far  from  me,  who  were  not  sleeping,  and 
who  seemed  to  be  holding  a  muttered  conversation. 
Sometimes,  in  fact,  it  would  happen  that  a  couple  of 
sick  people,  whose  beds  adjoined  and  who  had  not 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  249 

exchanged  a  word  for  weeks,  would  all  of  a  sudden 
break  out  into  conversation  with  one  another,  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  one  of  them  would  tell  the 
other  his  history. 

Probably  they  had  been  speaking  for  some  consider- 
able time.  I  did  not  hear  the  beginning  of  it,  and 
could  not  at  first  seize  upon  their  words,  but  little 
by  little  I  got  familiar  with  the  muttered  sounds, 
and  understood  all  that  was  going  on.  I  had  not 
the  least  desire  for  sleep  on  me,  so  what  could  I  do  but 
listen. 

One  of  them  was  telling  his  story  with  some 
warmth,  half -lying  on  his  bed,  with  his  head  lifted 
and  stretched  towards  his  companion.  He  was  plainly 
excited  to  no  little  degree  j  the  necessity  of  speech  was 
on  him. 

The  man  listening  was  sitting  up  on  his  pallet,  with 
a  gloomy  and  indifferent  air,  his  legs  stretched  out  flat 
on  the  mattress,  and  now  and  again  murmered  some 
words  in  reply,  more  out  of  politeness  than  interest,  and 
kept  stuffing  his  nose  with  snuff  from  a  horn  box.  This 
was  the  soldier  Tcherevin,  one  of  the  company  of 
discipline  ;  a  morose,  cold-reasoning  pedant,  an  idiot 
full  of  amour  propre ;  while  the  narrator  was  Chichkof, 
about  thirty  years  old  ;  this  was  a  civilian  convict,  whom 
up  to  that  time  I  had  not  at  all  observed ;  and  during 
the  whole  time  I  was  at  the  prison  I  never  could  get  up 
the  smallest  interest  in  him,  for  he  was  a  conceited, 
heady  fellow. 

Sometimes  he  would  hold  his  tongue  for  weeks 
together,  and  look  sulky  and  brutal  enough  for  any- 
thing ;  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  would  strike  into  any- 
thing that  was  going  on,  behave  insufferably,  go  into 
a  white  heat  about  nothing  at  all,  and  tell  you  long 
stories  with  nothing  in  them  whatever  about  one  bar- 
rack or  another,  blowing  abuse  on  all  the  world,  and 
acting  like  a  man  beside  himself.  Then  some  one  would 
give  him  a  hiding,  and  he  would  have  another  fit  of 
silence.  He  was  a  mean  and  cowardly  fellow,  and  the 


250  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

object  of  general  contempt.  His  stature  was  low,  he 
had  little  flesh  on  him,  he  had  wandering  eyes,  though 
they  sometimes  got  mixed  and  seemed  filled  with  a 
stupid  sort  of  thinking.  When  he  told  you  anything 
he  worked  himself  into  a  fever,  gesticulated  wildly, 
suddenly  broke  off  and  went  to  another  subject,  lost 
himself  in  fresh  details,  and  at  last  forgot  altogether 
what  he  was  talking  about.  He  often  got  into  squab- 
bles, this  Chichkof,  and  when  he  poured  insult  on  his 
adversary,  he  spoke  with  a  sentimental  whine  and  was 
affected  nearly  to  tears.  He  was  not  a  bad  hand  at 
playing  the  balalaika,  and  had  a  weakness  for  it ;  on 
fete  days  he  would  show  you  his  dancing  powers  when 
others  set  him  at  it,  and  he  danced  by  no  means  badly. 
You  could  easily  enough  make  him  do  what  you  wanted 
.  .  .  not  that  he  was  of  a  complying  turn,  but  he  liked  to 
please  and  to  get  intimate  with  fellows. 

For  some  considerable  time  I  couldn't  understand 
the  story  Chichkoff  was  telling;  that  night  I  mean. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  though  he  were  constantly  rambling 
from  the  point  to  talk  of  something  else.  Perhaps  he 
had  observed  that  Tcherevine  was  paying  little  attention 
to  the  narrative,  but  I  fancy  that  he  was  minded  to 
overlook  this  indifference,  so  as  not  to  take  offence. 

"  When  he  went  out  on  business,"  he  continued, 
"  every  one  saluted  him  politely,  paid  him  every  respect 
...  a  fellow  with  money  that." 

"  You  say  that  he  was  in  some  trade  or  other." 

"  Yes ;  trade  indeed  !  The  trading  class  in  my 
country  is  wretchedly  ill-off ;  just  poverty-stricken. 
The  women  go  to  the  river  and  fetch  water  from  ever 
such  a  distance  to  water  their  gardens.  They  wear 
themselves  to  the  very  bone,  and,  for  all  that,  when 
winter  comes,  they  haven't  got  enough  to  make  a  mere 
cabbage  soup.  I  tell  you  it's  starvation.  But  that 
fellow  had  a  good  lump  of  land,  which  his  labourers 
cultivated ;  he  had  three.  Then  he  had  hives,  and  sold 
his  honey  ;  he  was  a  cattle-dealer  too ;  a  much  respected 
man  in  our  parts.  He  was  very  old  and  quite  gray,  his 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  251 

seventy  years  lay  heavy  on  his  old  bones.  When  he 
came  to  the  market-place  with  his  fox-skin  pelisse, 
everybody  saluted  him. 

" '  Good-day,  daddy  Aukoudim  Trophimtych  ! ' 

"  <  Good-day/  he'd  return. 

" '  How  are  you  getting  along ; '  he  never  looked 
down  on  any  one. 

" '  God  keep  you,  Aukoudim  Trophimtych  ! ' 

"  '  How  goes  business  with  you  ?  ' 

"  '  Business  is  as  good  as  tallow's  white  with  me  ;  and 
how's  yours,  daddy  ?  ' 

" '  We've  just  got  enough  of  a  livelihood  to  pay 
the  price  of  sin;  always  sweating  over  our  bit  of 
land.' 

" '  Lord  preserve  you,  Aukoudim  Trophimtych  ! ' 

He  never  looked  down  on  anybody.  All  his 
advice  was  always  worth  having;  every  one  of  his 
words  was  worth  a  rouble.  A  great  reader  he  was, 
quite  a  man  of  learning ;  but  he  stuck  to  religious 
books.  He  would  call  his  old  wife  and  say  to  her, 
'  Listen,  woman,  take  well  in  what  I  say ; '  then  he 
would  explain  things.  His  old  Marie  Stepanovna  was 
not  exactly  an  old  woman,  if  you  please;  it  was  his 
second  wife ;  he  had  married  her  to  have  children, 
his  first  wife  had  not  brought  him  any.  He  had 
two  boys  still  quite  young,  for  the  second  of  them  was 
born  when  his  father  was  close  on  sixty ;  Akoulka, 
his  daughter,  was  eighteen  years  old,  she  was  the 
eldest." 

"  Your  wife  ?     Isn't  it  so  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  bit,  wait.  Then  Philka  Marosof  begins  to 
kick  up  a  row.  Says  he  to  Aukoudim  :  *  Let's  split  the 
difference.  Give  me  back  my  four  hundred  roubles. 
I'm  not  your  beast  of  burden ;  I  don't  want  to  do  any 
more  business  with  you,  and  I  don't  want  to  marry  your 
Akoulka.  I  want  to  have  my  fling  now  that  my  parents 
are  dead.  I'll  liquor  away  my  money,  then  I'll  engage 
myself,  'list  for  a  soldier ;  and  in  ten  years  I'll  come  back 
here  a  field-marshal ! '  Aukoudim  gave  him  back  his 


252  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

money — all  lie  had  of  his.  You  see  he  and  Philka' s 
father  had  both  put  in  money  and  done  business 
together. 

"  '  You're  a  lost  man/  that's  what  he  said  to 
Philka. 

"'  Whether  I'm  a  lost  man  or  not,  old  gray-beard, 
you're  the  biggest  cheat  I  know.  You'd  try  to  screw  a 
fortune  out  of  four  farthings,  and  pick  up  all  the  dirt 
about  to  do  it  with.  I  spit  upon  it.  There  you  are 
piling  up  here,  digging  deep  there,  the  devil  only  knows 
why.  I've  got  a  will  of  my  own,  I  tell  you.  All  the 
same  I  won't  take  your  Akoulka ;  I've  slept  with  her 
already.' 

" '  How  dare  you  insult  a  respectable  father  —  a 
respectable  girl?  When  did  you  sleep  with  her,  you 

spawn  of  the  sucker,  you  dog,  you  hound,  you ? '  said 

Aukoudim  shaking  with  passion.  (Philka  told  us  all  this 
later). 

" '  I'll  not  only  not  marry  your  daughter,  but  I'll 
take  good  care  that  nobody  marries  her,  not  even  Mikita 
Grigoritch,  for  she's  a  disreputable  girl.  We  had  a  fine 
time  together,  she  and  I,  all  last  autumn.  I  don't  want 
her  at  any  price.  All  the  money  in  the  world  wouldn't 
make  me  take  her.' 

"  Then  the  fellow  went  and  had  high  jinks  for  a  while. 
All  the  town  was  as  one  man  in  sending  up  a  cry  against 
him.  He  got  a  lot  of  other  fellows  round  him,  for  he 
had  a  heap  of  money.  Three  months  he  had  of  it. 
Such  recklessness  as  you  never  heard  of.  Every  penny 
went. 

"'I  want  to  see  the  end  of  this  money.  I'll  sell 
the  house ;  everything ;  then  I'll  'list  or  go  on  the 
tramp.' 

"  He  was  drunk  from  morning  to  evening,  and  went 
about  with  a  carriage  and  pair. 

"  The  girls  liked  him  well,  I  tell  you,  for  he  played 
the  guitar  very  nicely." 

"  Then  it  is  true  that  he  had  been  too  well  with  this 
Akoulka?" 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  253 

"Wait,  wait,  can't  you?  I  had  just  buried  iny 
father.  My  mother  lived  by  baking  gingerbread.  We 
t  our  livelihood  by  working  for  Aukoudim  ;  barely 
3nough  to  eat,  a  precious  hard  life  it  was.  We  had  a 
3it  of  land  the  other  side  of  the  woods,  and  grew  corn 
there ;  but  when  my  father  died  I  went  on  a  spree.  I 
made  my  mother  give  me  money  ;  but  I  had  to  give  her 
a  good  hiding  first." 

"  You  were  very  wrong  to  beat  her ;  a  great  sin 
that  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  was  drunk  the  whole  blessed  day. 
We  had  a  house  that  was  just  tumbling  to  pieces 
with  dry  rot,  still  it  was  our  own;  we  were  as  near 
famished  as  could  be ;  for  weeks  together  we  had 
nothing  but  rags  to  chew.  Mother  nearly  killed  me  with 
one  stupid  trick  or  another,  but  I  didn't  care  a  curse. 
Philka  Marosof  and  I  were  always  together  day  and  night. 
Play  the  guitar  to  me,'  he'd  say,  '  and  I'll  lie  in  bed  the 
while.  I'll  throw  money  to  you,  for  I'm  the  richest  chap 
in  the  world ! ' '  The  fellow  could  not  speak  without 
lying.  There  was  only  one  thing.  He  wouldn't  touch  a 
thing  if  it  had  been  stolen.  "  I'm  no  thief,  I'm  an  honest 
man.  Let's  go  and  daub  Akoulka's  door  with  pitch,* 
for  I  won't  have  her  marry  Mikita  Grigoritch,  I'll  stick 
to  that.' 

"  The  old  man  had  long  meant  to  give  his  daughter  to 
this  Mikita  Grigoritch.  He  was  a  man  well  on  in  life,  in 
trade  too,  and  wore  spectacles.  When  he  heard  the 
story  of  Akoulka's  bad  conduct,  he  said  to  the  old  father, 
fThat  would  be  a  terrible  disgrace  for  me,  Aukoudim 
Trophimtych ;  on  the  whole,  I've  made  up  my  mind  not 
to  marry ;  it's  to  late.' 

"  So  we  went  and  daubed  Akoulka's  door  all  over  with 
pitch.  When  we'd  done  that  her  folks  beat  her  so  that 
they  nearly  killed  her. 

"  Her  mother,  Marie  Stepanovna,  cried,  { I  shall  die  of 
it,'  while  the  old  man  said,  '  If  we  were  in  the  days  of 

*  Daubing  the  door  of  a  house,  where  a  young  girl  lives,  is  done  to 
show  that  she  is  dishonoured. 


254  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  patriarchs,  I'd  have  hacked  her  to  pieces  on  a  block. 
But  now  everything  is  rottenness  and  corruption  in  this 
world/  Sometimes  the  neighbours  from  one  end  of  the 
street  to  the  other  heard  Akoulka' s  screams.  She  was 
whipped  from  morning  to  evening,  and  Philka  would  cry 
out  in  the  market-place  before  everybody  : 

"  Akoulka's  a  jolly  girl  to  get  drunk  with.  I've  given 
it  those  people  between  the  eyes,  they  won't  forget  me 
in  a  hurry. 

"Well,  one  day,  I  met  Akoulka,  she  was  going  for 
water  with  her  bucket,  so  I  cried  out  to  her :  '  A  fine 
morning,  pet  Akoulka  Koudimovna  !  you're  the  girl  who 
knows  how  to  please  fellows.  Who's  living  with  you  now, 
and  where  do  you  get  your  money  for  your  finery  ? ' 
That's  just  what  I  said  to  her;  she  opened  her  eyes  as  wide 
as  you  please.  No  more  flesh  on  her  than  on  a  log  of  wood. 
She  had  only  just  given  me  a  look,  but  her  mother 
thought  she  was  larking  with  me,  and  cried  from  her 
door-step,  'Impudent  hussy,  what  do  you  mean  by 
talking  with  that  fellow?'  And  from  that  moment 
they  began  to  beat  her  again.  Sometimes  they  hided 
her  for  an  hour  together.  The  mother  said,  "I  give 
her  the  whip  because  she  isn't  my  daughter  any 
more." 

"  She  was  then  as  bad  as  they  said  ?  " 

"  Now  you  just  listen  to  my  story,  nunky,  will 
you?  Well,  we  used  to  get  drunk  all  the  time  with 
Philka.  One  day  when  I  was  abed,  mother  comes  and 


What  d'ye  mean  by  lying  in  bed,  you  hound, 
you  thief  ! '  She  abused  me  for  some  time,  then  she 
said,  *  Marry  Akoulka.  They'll  be  glad  to  give  her 
to  you,  and  they'll  give  three  hundred  roubles  with 
her.' 

"  *  But/  says  I,  '  all  the  world  knows  that  she's  a 
bad  girl ' 

"  *  Hist,  the  marriage  ceremony  cures  all  that ;  be- 
sides, she'll  always  be  in  fear  of  her  life  from  you, 
so  you'll  be  in  clover  together.  Their  money  would 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  255 

make  us  comfortable;  I've  spoken  about  the  marriage 
already  to  Marie  Stepanovna,  we're  of  one  mind  about 
it/ 

"So  I  say,  'Let's  have  twenty  roubles  down  on 
the  spot,  and  I'll  have  her/ 

"  Well,  you  needn't  believe  it  unless  you  please,  but  I 
was  drunk  right  up  to  the  wedding-day.  Then  Philka 
Marosof  kept  threatening  me  all  the  time. 

€€ '  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body,  a  nice  fellow 
you  to  be  engaged,  and  to  Akoulka;  if  I  like  I'll 
sleep  every  blessed  night  with  her  when  she's  your 
wife.' 

"  *  You're  a  hound,  and  a  liar,'  that's  what  I  said 
to  him.  But  he  insulted  me  so  in  the  street,  before 
everybody,  that  I  ran  to  Aukoudim's  and  said,  ( I 
won't  marry  her  unless  I  have  fifty  roubles  down  this 
moment.' 

"  And  they  really  did  give  her  to  you  in  marriage  ?  " 

< '  Me  ?  Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  We  were 
respectable  people  enough.  Father  had  been  ruined  by  a 
fire  a  little  before  he  died ;  he  had  been  a  richer  man  than 
Aukoudim  Trophimtych." 

" '  A  fellow  without  a  shirt  to  his  back  like  you  ought 
to  be  only  too  happy  to  marry  my  daughter;'  that's 
what  old  Aukoudim  said. 

"  '  Just,  you  think  of  your  door,  and  the  pitch  that  went 
on  it,'  I  said  to  him. 

"  '  Stuff  and  nonsense,'  said  he,  '  there's  no  proof  what- 
ever that  the  girl's  gone  wrong.' 

" '  Please  yourself.  There's  the  door,  and  you  can  go 
about  your  business ;  but  give  back  the  money  you've 
had!'" 

"  Then  Philka  Marosof  and  I  settled  it  together  to 
send  Mitri  Bykoff  to  Father  Aukoudim  to  tell  him  that 
we'd  insult  him  to  his  face  before  everybody.  Well,  I 
had  my  skin  as  full  as  it  could  hold  right  up  to  the  wed- 
ding-day. I  wasn't  sober  till  I  got  into  the  church. 
When  they  took  us  home  after  church  the  girl's  uncle, 
Mitrophone  Stepanytch,  said: 


256  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"  '  This  isn't  a  nice  business  ;  but  it's  over  and  done 


"  Old  Aukoudim  was  sitting  there  crying,  the  tears 
rolled  down  on  his  gray  beard.  Comrade,  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  had  done  :  I  had  put  a  whip  into  my 
pocket  before  we  went  to  church,  and  I'd  made  up 
my  mind  to  have  it  out  of  her  with  that,  so  that 
all  the  world  might  know  how  I'd  been  swindled  into 
the  marriage,  and  not  think  me  a  bigger  fool  than 
I  am." 

"  I  see,  and  you  wanted  her  to  know  what  was  in  store 
for  her.  Ah,  was  -  ?  " 

"  Quiet,  nunky,  quiet  !  Among  our  people  I'll  tell 
you  how  it  is  ;  directly  after  the  marriage  ceremony  they 
take  the  couple  to  a  room  apart,  and  the  others  remain 
drinking  till  they  return.  So  I'm  left  alone  with  Akoulka  ; 
she  was  pale,  not  a  bit  of  colour  on  her  cheeks  ; 
frightened  out  of  her  wits.  She  had  fine  hair,  supple 
and  bright  as  flax,  and  great  big  eyes.  She  scarcely  ever 
was  known  to  speak  ;  you  might  have  thought  she  was 
dumb  ;  an  odd  creature,  Akoulka,  if  ever  there  was  one. 
Well,  you  can  just  imagine  the  scene.  My  whip  was  ready 
on  the  bed.  Well,  she  was  as  pure  a  girl  as  ever  was,  not 
a  word  of  it  all  was  true." 
"  Impossible  !  " 

"  True,  I  swear  ;  as  good  a  girl  as  any  good  family 
might  wish." 

"Then,  brother,  why  —  why  —  why  had  she  had  to 
undergo  all  that  torture  ?  Why  had  Philka  Marosof  slan- 
dered her  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why,  indeed  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  got  down  from  the  bed,  and  went  on  my 
knees  before  her,  and  put  my  hands  together  as  if  I  were 
praying,  and  just  said  to  her,  'Little  mother,  pet, 
Akoulka  Koudimovna,  forgive  me  for  having  been  such 
an  idiot  as  to  believe  all  that  slander  ;  forgive  me.  I'm 
a  hound  !  ' 

"  She  was  seated  on  the  bed,  and  gazed  at  me  fixedly. 
She  put  her  two  hands  on  my  shoulders  and  began  to 


THE  HUSBAND   OF  AKOULKA  257 

laugh ;  but  the  tears  were  running  all  down  her  cheeks. 
She  sobbed  and  laughed  all  at  once. 

tf  Then  I  went  out  and  said  to  the  people  in  the  other 
room,  '  Let  Philka  Marosof  look  to  himself.  If  I  come 
across  him  he  won't  be  long  for  this  world/ 

"  The  old  people  were  beside  themselves  with  delight. 
Akoulka' s  mother  was  ready  to  throw  herself  at  her 
daughter's  feet,  and  sobbed. 

"  Then  the  old  man  said,  '  If  we  had  known  really 
how  it  was,  my  dearest  child,  we  wouldn't  have  given  you 
a  husband  of  that  sort/ 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  how  we  were  dressed  the 
first  Sunday  after  our  marriage — when  we  left  church  ! 
I'd  got  a  long  coat  of  fine  cloth,  a  fur  cap,  with  plush 
breeches.  She  had  a  pelisse  of  hares  kin,  quite  new,  and 
a  silk  kerchief  on  her  head.  One  was  as  fine  as  the 
other.  Everybody  admired  us.  I  must  say  I  looked 
well,  and  pet  Akoulka  did  too.  One  oughtn't  to  boast, 
but  one  oughtn't  to  sing  small.  I  tell  you  people  like  us 
are  not  turned  out  by  the  dozen." 

"  Not  a  doubt  about  it." 

"  Just  you  listen,  I  tell  yon.  The  day  after  my 
marriage  I  ran  off  from  my  guests,  drunk  as  I  was,  and 
went  about  the  streets  crying,  '  Where's  that  scoundrel 
of  a  Philka  Marosof  ?  Just  let  him  come  near  me,  the 
hound,  that's  all ! '  I  went  all  over  the  market-place 
yelling  that  out.  I  was  as  drunk  as  a  man  could  be,  and 
stand. 

"  They  went  after  me  and  caught  me  close  to 
VlassoFs  place.  It  took  three  men  to  get  me  back  again 
to  the  house. 

"  Well,  nothing  else  was  spoken  about  all  over  the 
village.  The  girls  said,  when  they  met  in  the  market- 
place, '  Well,  you've  heard  the  news — Akoulka  was  all 
right ! ' 

if  A  little  while  after  I  do  come  across  Philka 
Marosof,  who  said  to  me  before  everybody,  strangers  to 
the  place,  too,  '  Sell  your  wife,  and  spend  the  money  on 
drink,  Jackka  the  soldier  only  married  for  that;  he 

K 


258  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

didn't  sleep  one  night  with  his  wife ;  but  he  got  enough 
to  keep  his  skin  full  for  three  years/ 

"  I  answered  him,  '  Hound ! ' 

"  '  But/  says  he,  '  you're  an  idiot !  You  didn't  know 
what  you  were  about  when  you  married — you  were  drunk. 
How  could  you  tell  all  about  it  ? ' 

"So  off  I  went  to  the  house,  and  cried  out  to  them 
'  You  married  me  when  I  was  drunk.'  , 

"Akoulka's  mother  tried  to  fasten  herself  on  me; 
but  I  cried,  '  Mother,  you  don't  know  about  anything  but 
money.  You  bring  me  Akoulka  ! ' 

"  And  didn't  I  beat  her !  I  tell  you  I  beat  her  for 
two  hours  running,  till  I  rolled  on  the  floor  myself  with 
fatigue.  She  couldn't  leave  her  bed  for  three  weeks." 

"  It's  a  dead  sure  thing,"  said  Tcherevine  phlegmati- 

cally  ;  "  if  you  don't  beat  them  they Did  you  find 

her  with  her  lover  ?  " 

"  No ;  to  tell  the  truth,  I  never  actually  caught  her/' 
said  Chichkoff  after  a  pause,  speaking  with  effort ;  "  but 
I  was  hurt,  a  good  deal  hurt,  for  every  one  made  fun  of 
me.  The  cause  of  it  all  was  Philka.  '  Your  wife  is  just 
made  for  everybody  to  look  at,'  said  he. 

"  One  day  he  invited  us  to  see  him,  and  then  he  went 
at  it.  '  Do  just  look  what  a  good  little  wife  he  has  ! 
Isn't  she  tender,  fine,  nicely  brought  up,  affectionate,  full 
of  kindness  for  all  the  world  ?  I  say,  my  lad,  have  you 
forgotten  how  we  daubed  their  door  with  pitch  ?  '  I 
was  full  at  that  moment,  drunk  as  may  be ;  then  he 
seized  me  by  the  hair  and  had  me  down  upon  the  ground 
before  I  knew  where  I  was.  f  Come  along — dance ; 
aren't  you  Akoulka's  husband  ?  I'll  hold  your  hair  for 
you,  and  you  shall  dance  ;  it  will  be  good  fun.'  f  Dog ! ' 
said  I  to  him.  Til  bring  some  jolly  fellows  to  your 
house,'  said  he,  'and  I'll  whip  your  Akoulka  before 
your  very  eyes  just  as  long  as  I  please.'  Would  you 
believe  it  ?  For  a  whole  month  I  daren't  go  out  of 
the  house,  I  was  so  afraid  he'd  come  to  us  and  drag  my 
wife  through  the  dirt.  And  how  I  did  beat  her  for 
it!" 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  259 

"  What  was  the  use  of  beating  her  ?  You  can  tie  a 
woman's  hands,  but  not  her  tongue.  You  oughtn't  to 
give  them  a  hiding  too  often.  Beat  'em  a  bit,  then  scold 
'em  well,  then  fondle  'em ;  that's  what  a  woman  is  made 
for." 

Chichkoff  remained  quite  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  was  very  much  hurt,"  he  went  on  ;  "I  began  it 
again  just  as  before.  I  beat  her  from  morning  till  night 
for  nothing ;  because  she  didn't  get  up  from  her  seat  the 
way  I  liked ;  because  she  didn't  walk  to  suit  me.  When 
I  wasn't  hiding  her,  time  hung  heavy  on  my  hands. 
Sometimes  she  sat  by  the  window  crying  silently — it 
hurt  my  feelings  sometimes  to  see  her  cry,  but  I  beat 
her  all  the  same.  Sometimes  her  mother  abused  me  for 
it :  '  You're  a  scoundrel,  a  gallows-bird  ! '  '  Don't  say  a 
word  or  I'll  kill  you ;  you  made  me  marry  her  when  I 
was  drunk,  you  swindled  me.'  Old  Aukoudim  wanted  at 
first  to  have  his  finger  in  the  pie.  Said  he  to  me  one 
day :  e  Look  here,  you're  not  such  a  tremendous  fellow 
that  one  can't  put  you  down ; '  but  he  didn't  get  far  on 
that  track.  Marie  Stepanovna  had  become  as  sweet  as 
milk.  One  day  she  came  to  me  crying  her  eyes  out  and 
said :  '  My  heart  is  almost  broken,  Ivan  Semionytch ; 
what  I'm  going  to  ask  of  you  is  a  little  thing  for  you, 
but  it  is  a  good  deal  to  me ;  let  her  go,  let  her  leave  you, 
daddy  Ivan.'  Then  she  throws  herself  at  my  feet.  e  Do 
give  up  being  so  angry  !  Wicked  people  slander  her  ; 
you  know  qiuce  well  she  was  good  when  you  married 
her.'  Then  she  threw  herself  at  my  feet  again  and  cried. 
But  I  was  as  hard  as  nails.  '  I  won't  hear  a  word  you 
have  to  say ;  what  I  choose  to  do,  I  do,  to  you  or  any- 
body, for  I'm  crazed  with  it  all.  As  to  Philka  Marosof, 
he's  my  best  and  dearest  friend.' 

"You'd  begun  to  play  your  pranks  together  again, 
you  and  he  ?  " 

"  No,  by  Jove  !  He  was  out  of  the  way  by  this 
time ;  he  was  killing  himself  with  drink,  nothing  less 
He  had  spent  all  he  had  on  drink,  and  had  'listed  for  a 
soldier,  as  substitute  for  a  citizen  body  in  the  town.  In 


260  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

our  parts,  when  a  lad  makes  up  his  mind  to  be  substitute 
for  another,  he  is  master  of  that  house  and  everybody 
there  till  he's  called  to  the  ranks.  He  gets  the  sum 
agreed  on  the  day  he  goes  off,  but  up  to  then  he  lives  in 
the  house  of  the  man  who  buys  him,  sometimes  six  whole 
months,  and  there  isn't  a  horror  in  the  whole  world 
those  fellows  are  not  guilty  of.  It's  enough  to  make 
folks  take  the  holy  images  out  of  the  house.  From  the 
moment  he  consents  to  be  substitute  for  the  son  of  the 
family  then  he  considers  himself  their  patron  and  bene- 
factor, and  makes  them  dance  as  lie  pipes,  or  else  he  goes 
off  the  bargain. 

"  So  Philka  Marosof  played  the  very  mischief  at  the 
home  of  this  townsman.  He  slept  with  the  daughter, 
pulled  the  master  of  the  house  by  the  beard  after  dinner, 
did  anything  that  came  into  his  head.  They  had  to 
heat  the  bath  for  him  every  day,  and,  what's  more,  give 
him  brandy  fumes  with  the  steam  of  the  bath :  and  he 
would  have  the  women  lead  him  by  the  arms  to  the 
bath  room.* 

"When  he  came  back  to  the  man's  house  after  a 
revel  elsewhere,  he  would  stop  right  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  and  cry  out  : 

" '  I  won't  go  in  by  the  door ;  pull  down  the 
fence  ! ' 

"  And  they  actually  had  to  pull  down  the  fence, 
though  there  was  the  door  right  at  it  to  let  him  in. 
That  all  came  to  an  end  though,  the  day  they  took 
him  to  the  regiment.  That  day  he  was  sobered  suf- 
ficiently. The  crowd  gathered  all  through  the  street. 

"  '  They're  taking  off  Philka  Marosof  ! ' 

"  He  made  a  salute  on  all  sides,  right  and  left. 
Just  at  that  moment  Akoulka  was  returning  from  the 
kitchen-garden.  Directly  Philka  saw  her  he  cried  out 
to  her : 

"  *  Stop  ! '  and  down  he  jumped  from  the  cart  and 
threw  himself  down  at  her  feet. 

*  A  mark  of  respect  paid  in  Russia  formerly,  now  disused. 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  261 

wrMy  soul,  my  sweet  little  strawberry,  I've  loved 
you  two  years  long.  Now  they're  taking  me  off  to  the 
regiment  with  the  band  playing.  Forgive  me,  good 
honest  girl  of  a  good  honest  father,  for  I'm  nothing  but 
a  hound,  and  all  you've  gone  through  is  my  fault/ 

"  Then  he  flings  himself  down  before  her  a  second 
time.  At  first  Akoulka  was  exceedingly  frightened;  but 
she  made  him  a  great  bow,  which  nearly  bent  her 
double. 

"  *  Forgive  me,  too,  my  good  lad  ;  but  I  am  really  not 
at  all  angry  with  you.' 

"  As  she  went  into  the  house  I  was  at  her  heels. 

"  '  What  did  you  say  to  him,  you  she-devil,  you  ? ' 

"  Now  you  may  believe  it  or  not  as  you  like,  but  she 
looked  at  me  as  bold  as  you  please,  and  answered : 

"  '  I  love  him  better  than  anything  or  anybody  in  this 
world/ 

"  '  I  say  ! ' 

"  That  day  I  didn't  utter  one  single  word.  Only 
towards  evening  I  said  to  her  :  '  Akoulka,  I'm  going  to 
kill  you  now/  I  didn't  close  an  eye  the  whole  night.  I 
went  into  the  little  room  leading  to  ours  and  drank 
kwass.  At  daybreak  I  went  into  the  house  again. 
'  Akoulka,  get  ready  and  come  into  the  fields.'  I  had 
arranged  to  go  there  before ;  my  wife  knew  it. 

" '  You  are  right,'  said  she.  *  It's  quite  time  to  begin 
reaping.  Fve  heard  that  our  labourer  is  ill  and  doesn't 
work  a  bit.' 

"  I  put  to  the  cart  without  saying  a  word.  As  you 
go  out  of  the  town  there's  a  forest  fifteen  versts  in 
length.  At  the  end  of  it  is  our  field.  When  we  had 
gone  about  three  versts  through  the  wood  I  stopped  the 
horse. 

"  '  Come,  get  up,  Akoulka ;  your  end  is  come/ 

"  She  looked  at  me  all  in  a  iright,  and  got  up  without 
a  word. 

"'You've  tormented  me  enough.  Say  your 
prayers.' 

"I   seized  her  by   the    hair — she   had   long,  thick 


262  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

tresses — I  rolled  them  round  my  arm.  I  held  her 
between  my  knees ;  took  out  my  knife ;  threw  her  head 
back,  and  cut  her  throat.  She  screamed ;  the  blood 
spurted  out.  Then  I  threw  away  my  knife.  I  pressed 
her  with  all  my  might  in  my  arms.  I  put  her  on  the 
ground  and  embraced  her,  yelling  with  all  my  might. 
She  screamed ;  I  yelled ;  she  struggled  and  struggled. 
The  blood — her  blood — splashed  my  face,  my  hands.  It 
was  stronger  than  I  was — stronger.  Then  I  took  fright. 
I  left  her — left  my  horse  and  began  to  run  ;  ran  back  to 
the  house. 

"  I  went  in  the  back  way,  and  hid  myself  in  the 
old  ramshackle  bath-house,  which  we  never  used 
now.  I  lay  myself  down  under  the  seat,  and  remained 
hid  till  the  dead  of  the  night." 

"  And  Akoulka  ?  " 

"  She  got  up  to  come  back  to  the  house  ;  they  found 
her  later,  a  hundred  steps  from  the  place." 

"  So  you  hadn't  finished  her  ?  " 

"  No."     Chichkoff  stopped  a  while. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tcherevine,  "  there's  a  vein  ;  if  you  don't 
cut  it  at  the  first  the  man  will  go  on  struggling;  the 
blood  may  flow  fast  enough,  but  he  won't  die." 

"  But  she  was  dead  all  the  same.  They  found  her  in 
the  evening,  and  she  was  cold.  They  told  the  police, 
and  hunted  me  up.  They  found  me  in  the  night  in 
the  old  bath. 

"  And  there  you  have  it.  I've  been  four  years  here 
already,"  added  he,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  if  you  don't  beat  'em  you  make  no  way  at  all," 
said  Tcherevine  sententiously,  taking  out  his  snuff-box 
once  more.  He  took  his  pinches  very  slowly,  with  long 
pauses.  "  For  all  that,  my  lad,  you  behaved  like  a  fool. 
Why,  I  myself — I  came  upon  my  wife  with  a  lover.  I 
made  her  come  into  the  shed,  and  then  I  doubled  up  a 
halter  and  said  to  her : 

" '  To  whom  did  you  swear  to  be  faithful  ? — to  whom 
did  you  swear  it  in  church  ?  Tell  me  that  ?  ' 

"  And  then  I  gave  it  her  with  my  halter — beat  her 


THE  HUSBAND  OF  AKOULKA  263 

and  beat  her  for  an  hour  and  a  half ;  till  at  last  she  was 
quite  spent,  and  cried  out : 

"'I'll  wash  your  feet  and  drink  the  water  after- 
wards/ 

"  Her  name  was  Crodotia." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    SUMMER   SEASON 

APRIL    is   come;    Holy  Week  is  not   far  off. 
We  set  about  our  summer  tasks.     The  sun 
becomes    hotter   and    more    brilliant    every 
day;    the  atmosphere  has  the  spring  in  it, 
and  acts  upon  our  nervous   system  power- 
fully.    The  convict,  in  his  chains,  feels  the  trembling 
influence  of   the  lovely  days  like   any   other   creature; 
they  rouse   desires   in   him,  inexpressible  longings  for 
his   home,  and   many    other   things.     I   think    that   he 
misses  his  liberty,  yearns  for  freedom  more  when  the 
day  is  filled  with  sunlight  than   during  the  rainy  and 
melancholy   days   of    autumn   and  winter.      You    may 
observe   this   positively   among    convicts;    if    they    do 
feel  a  little  joy  on  a  beautiful  clear  day,  they  have  a 
reaction  into  greater  impatience  and  irritability. 

I  noticed  that  in  spring  there  was  much  more 
squabbling  in  our  prison;  there  was  more  noise,  the 
yelling  was  greater,  there  were  more  fights ;  during  the 
working  hours  we  would  see  a  man  sometimes  fixed 
in  a  meditative  gaze,  which  seemed  lost  in  the  blue 
distance  somewhere,  the  other  side  of  the  Irtych,  where 
stretched  the  boundless  plain,  with  its  flight  of  hundreds 
of  versts,  the  free  Kirghiz  Steppe.  Long-drawn  sighs 
came  to  one's  ear,  sighs  breathed  from  the  depths  of 
the  chest;  it  might  seem  that  the  air  of  those  wide 
and  free  regions,  haunted  by  their  thought,  forced  tha 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  265 

convicts  to  draw  deep  respirations,  and  was  a  sort  of 
solace  to  their  crushed  and  fettered  souls. 

1 '  Ah  !  "  cries  at  last  the  poor  prisoner  all  at  once, 
with  a  long,  sighing  cry;  then  he  seizes  his  pick 
furiously,  or  picks  up  the  bricks,  which  he  has  to 
carry  from  one  place  to  another.  But  after  a  brief 
minute  he  seems  to  forget  the  passing  impression,  and 
begins  laughing,  or  insulting  people  near,  so  fitful  is  his 
humour;  then  he  attacks  the  work  he  has  to  do  with 
unusual  fire,  labours  with  might  and  main,  as  if  trying 
to  stifle  by  fatigue  the  grief  that  has  him  by  the  throat. 
You  see  they  are  fellows  of  unimpaired  vigour,  all  in  the 
very  flower  of  life,  with  all  their  physical  and  other 
strength  about  them. 

How  heavy  the  irons  are  during  this  season!  All 
this  is  not  sentimentality,  it  is  the  report  of  rigorous 
observation.  During  the  hot  season,  under  a  fiery  sun, 
when  all  one's  being,  all  one's  soul,  is  vividly  conscious 
of,  and  intimately  feels,  the  unspeakably  strong  resurrec- 
tion of  nature  going  on  everywhere,  it  is  more  difficult  to 
support  the  confinement,  the  perpetual  surveillance, 
the  tyranny  of  a  will  other  than  one's  own. 

Besides  this,  it  is  in  spring  with  the  first  song  of 
the  lark  that  throughout  all  Siberia  and  Russia  men 
set  out  on  the  tramp;  God's  creatures,  if  they  can, 
break  their  prison  and  escape  into  the  woods.  After 
the  stifling  ditch  where  they  work,  after  the  boats,  the 
irons,  the  rods  and  whips,  they  go  vagabondizing  where 
they  please,  wherever  they  can  make  it  out  best ;  they 
eat  and  drink  what  they  can  get,  'tis  all  the  time 
pot-luck  with  them ;  and  by  night  they  sleep  undis- 
turbed in  the  woods  or  in  a  field,  without  a  care,  without 
the  agony  of  knowing  themselves  in  prison,  as  if  they 
were  God's  own  birds ;  their  "  good-night "  is  said  to 
the  stars,  and  the  eye  that  watches  them  is  the  eye  of 
God.  Not  altogether  a  rosy  life,  by  any  means;  some- 
times hunger  and  fatigue  are  heavy  on  them  "in  the 
service  of  General  Cuckoo."  Often  enough  the  wan- 
derers have  not  a  morsel  of  bread  to  keep  their  teeth 


266  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

going  for  days  and  days.  They  have  to  hide  from 
everybody,  run  to  earth  like  marmots;  sometimes  they 
are  driven  to  robbery,  pillage — nay,  even  murder. 

"  Send  a  man  there  and  he  becomes  a  child,  and  just 
throws  himself  on  all  he  sees  " ;  that  is  what  people  say 
of  those  transported  to  Siberia.  This  saying  may  be 
applied  even  more  fitly  to  the  tramps.  They  are  almost 
all  brigands  and  thieves,  by  necessity  rather  than  in- 
clination. Many  of  them  are  hardened  to  the  life,  irre- 
claimable; there  are  convicts  who  go  off  after  having 
served  their  time,  even  after  they  have  been  put  on  some 
land  as  their  own.  They  ought  to  be  happy  in  their 
new  state,  with  their  daily  bread  assured  them.  Well, 
it  is  not  so ;  an  irresistible  impulse  sends  them  wander- 
ing off. 

This  life  in  the  woods,  wretched  and  fearful  as  it  is, 
but  still  free  and  adventurous,  has  a  mysterious  seduction 
for  those  who  have  experienced  it;  among  these  fugitives 
you  may  find  to  your  surprise,  people  of  good  habit  of 
mind,  peaceable  temper,  who  had  shown  every  promise 
of  becoming  settled  creatures — good  tillers  of  the  land. 
A  convict  will  marry,  have  children,  live  for  five  years  in 
the  same  place,  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  will  disappear 
one  fine  morning,  abandoning  wife  and  children,  to  the 
stupefaction  of  his  family  and  the  whole  neighbourhood. 

One  day,  I  was  shown  at  the  convict  establishment 
one  of  these  deserters  of  the  family  hearthstone.  He  had 
committed  no  crime — at  least,  he  was  under  suspicion  of 
none — but  all  through  his  life  he  had  been  a  deserter,  a 
deserter  from  every  post.  He  had  been  to  the  southern 
frontier  of  the  empire,  the  other  side  of  the  Danube,  in 
the  Kirghiz  Steppe,  in  Eastern  Siberia,  the  Caucasus,  in  a 
word,  everywhere.  Who  knows  ?  under  other  conditions 
this  man  might  have  been  a  Robinson  Crusoe,  with  the 
passion  of  travel  so  on  him.  These  details  I  have  from 
other  convicts,  for  he  did  not  like  talk,  and  never  opened 
his  mouth  except  when  absolutely  necessary.  He  was  a 
peasant,  of  quite  small  size,  of  some  fifty  years,  very 
quiet  in  demeanour,  with  a  face  so  still  as  to  seem  quite 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  267 

without  any  sort  of  meaning,  impassive  almost  to  idiotcy. 
His  delight  was  to  sit  for  hours  in  the  sun  humming  a 
sort  of  song  between  his  teeth  so  softly,  that  five  steps 
off  he  was  inaudible.  His  features  were,  so  to  speak, 
petrified ;  he  ate  little,  principally  black  bread ;  he  never 
bought  white  bread  or  spirits  ;  my  belief  is,  he  never 
had  had  any  money,  and  that  he  couldn't  have  counted  it 
if  he  had.  He  was  indifferent  to  everything.  Sometimes 
he  fed  the  prison  dogs  with  his  own  hand,  a  thing  no  one 
else  was  known  to  do ;  (speaking  generally,  Russians 
don't  like  giving  dogs  things  to  eat  from  the  hand). 
People  said  that  he  had  been  married,  twice  even,  and 
that  he  had  children  somewhere.  Why  he  had  been  sent 
as  a  convict,  I  have  not  the  least  idea.  We  fellows  were 
always  fancying  that  he  would  escape ;  but  his  hour  did 
not  come,  or  perhaps  had  come  and  gone;  anyhow,  he 
went  through  with  his  punishment  without  resistance. 
He  seemed  an  element  quite  foreign  to  the  medium 
wherein  he  had  his  being,  an  alien,  self-concentrated 
creature.  Still,  there  was  nothing  in  this  deep  surface 
calm  which  could  be  trusted;  yet,  after  all,  what  good 
would  it  have  been  to  him  to  escape  from  the  place  ? 

Compared  with  life  at  the  convict  prison,  the  vaga- 
bond age  of  the  forests  is  as  the  joys  of  Paradise.  The 
tramp's  lot  is  wretched  enough,  but  at  least  free.  So  it 
is  that  every  prisoner  all  over  the  soil  of  Russia,  becomes 
restless  with  the  first  rays  of  the  smiling  spring. 

Comparatively  few  form  auy  settled  plan  for  flight, 
they  fear  the  hindrances  in  the  way  and  the  punishment 
that  may  ensue;  only  one  in  a  hundred,  not  more, 
makes  up  his  mind  to  it,  but  how  to  do  it  is  a  thought 
that  never  ceases  to  haunt  the  minds  of  the  ninety-nine 
others.  Filled  as  they  are  with  this  longing,  anything 
that  looks  like  giving  a  chance  of  success  is  a  comfort  to 
them;  then  they  set  about  comparing  the  facts  with 
cases  of  successful  escape.  I  ^speak  only  of  prisoners 
after  and  under  sentence,  for  prisoners  not  yet  tried 
and  condemned,  are  much  more  ready  to  try  at  an 
escape.  And  those  who  have  been  sentenced,  rarely  get 


268  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

away  unless  they  attempt  it  in  early  days.  When  they 
have  spent  two  or  three  years  of  their  time,  they  put 
them  to  a  sort  of  credit-account  in  their  minds,  and 
conclude  that  it  is  better  to  finish  with  the  law  and  be 
put  on  land  as  a  free  man,  rather  than  forfeit  that  time 
if  they  fail  in  escaping,  which  is  always  a  possibility. 
Certainly  not  more  than  one  convict  in  ten  succeeds  in 
changing  his  lot.  Those  who  do,  are  nearly  always  men 
sentenced  to  an  extremely  long  punishment,  or  for  life. 
Fifteen,  twenty  years  seem  like  an  eternity  to  them. 
Then  there  is  the  branding,  which  is  a  great  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  complete  escape. 

Changing  your  lot  is  a  technical  expression.  When 
a  convict  is  caught  trying  to  escape,  he  is  subjected  to 
formal  interrogatory,  and  will  say  he  wanted  to  change 
his  lot.  This  somewhat  literary  formula  exactly  repre- 
sents the  act  in  question.  No  escaped  prisoner  ever 
hopes  to  become  a  perfectly  free  man,  for  he  knows 
that  it  is  nearly  impossible ;  what  he  looks  for  is  to  be 
sent  to  some  other  convict  establishment,  or  to  be 
put  on  the  land,  or  to  be  tried  again  for  some  offence 
committed  when  on  the  tramp  ;  in  a  word,  to  be  sent 
anywhere  else,  it  matters  not  where,  so  that  he  get  out 
of  his  present  prison  which  has  become  insufferable  to 
him.  All  these  fugitives,  unless  they  find  some  unex- 
pected shelter  for  the  winter,  unless  they  meet  some 
one  interested  in  concealing  them,  or  if — last  resort — 
they  cannot  procure — and  sometimes  a  murder  does  it — 
the  legal  document,  which  enables  them  to  go  about 
unmolested  everywhere;  all  these  fugitives  present 
themselves  in  crowds,  during  the  autumn,  in  the  towns 
and  at  the  prisons;  they  confess  themselves  to  be 
escaped  tramps,  pass  the  winter  in  jail,  and  live  in  the 
secret  hope  of  getting  away  the  following  summer. 

On  me,  as  well  as  others,  the  spring  exercised  its 
influence.  Well  do  I  remember  the  avidity  with  which 
my  gaze  fed  upon  the  horizon  through  the  gaps  in  the 
palisades  ;  long,  long  did  I  stand  with  my  head  glued 
to  the  pickets,  obstinately  and  insatiably  gazing  on  the 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  269 

grass  greening  in  the  ditch  surrounding  the  fortress, 
and  at  the  blue  of  the  distant  sky  as  it  grew  denser 
and  denser.  My  anguish,  my  melancholy,  were  heavier 
on  me  ;  as  each  day  wore  away  the  jail  became  odious, 
detestable.  Hatred  for  me,  as  a  man  of  the  nobility, 
filled  the  hearts  of  the  convicts  during  these  first  years, 
and  this  feeling  of  theirs  simply  poisoned  my  life  for  me. 
Often  did  I  ask  to  be  sent  to  the  hospital,  when  there 
was  no  need  of  it,  merely  to  be  out  of  the  punishment 
part  of  the  place,  to  feel  myself  out  of  the  range  of  this 
unrelenting  and  implacable  hostility. 

"  You  nobles  have  beaks  of  iron,  and  you  tore  us  to 
pieces  with  your  beaks  when  we  were  serfs,"  is  what  the 
convicts  used  to  say  to  us.  How  I  envied  the  people  of 
the  lower  class  who  came  into  the  place  as  prisoners  !  It 
was  different  with  them,  they  were  in  comradeship  with 
all  there  from  the  very  first  moment.  So  was  it  that  in 
the  spring,  Freedom  showing  herself  as  a  sort  of  phantom 
of  the  season,  the  joy  diffused  throughout  all  Nature, 
translated  themselves  within  my  soul  into  a  more  than 
doubled  melancholy  and  nervous  irritability. 

As  the  sixth  week  of  Lent  came  I  had  to  go  through 
my  religious  exercises,  for  the  convicts  were  divided  by 
the  sub-superintendent  into  seven  sections — answering  to 
the  weeks  in  Lent — and  these  had  to  attend  to  their 
devotions  according  to  this  roster.  Each  section  was 
composed  of  about  thirty  men.  This  week  was  a  great 
solace  to  me  ;  we  went  two  or  three  times  a  day  to  the 
church,  which  was  close  to  the  prison.  I  had  not  been 
in  church  for  a  long  time.  The  Lenten  services,  familiar 
to  me  from  early  childhood  in  my  father's  house,  the 
solemn  prayers,  the  prostrations  —  all  stirred  in  me 
the  fibres  of  the  memory  of  things  long,  long  past,  and 
woke  my  earliest  impressions  to  fresh  life.  Well  do  I 
remember  how  happy  I  was  when  at  morn  we  went  into 
God's  house,  treading  the  ground  which  had  frozen  in 
the  night,  under  the  escort  of  soldiers  with  loaded  guns ; 
the  escort  remained  outside  the  church. 

Once  within  we  were  massed  close  to  the  door  so  that 


270  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

we  could  scarcely  hear  anything  except  the  deep  voice  of 
the  ministering  deacon ;  now  and  again  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  black  chasuble  or  the  bare  head  of  the 
priest.  Then  it  came  into  my  mind  how,  when  a  child, 
I  used  to  look  at  the  common  people  who  formed  a 
compact  mass  at  the  door,  and  how  they  would  step 
back  in  a  servile  way  before  some  important  epauletted 
fellow,  or  some  nobleman  with  a  big  paunch,  some  lady 
splendidly  dressed  and  of  high  devotion  who,  in  a  hurry 
to  get  at  the  front  benches,  and  ready  for  a  row  if  there 
was  any  difficulty  as  to  their  being  honoured  with  the  best 
of  places.  As  it  seemed  to  me  then,  it  was  only  there, 
near  the  church  door,  not  far  from  the  entry,  that  prayer 
was  pat  up  with  genuine  fervour  and  humility,  only  there 
that,  when  people  did  prostrate  themselves  on  the  floor 
it  was  done  with  real  abasement  of  self  and  full  sense  of 
unworthiness. 

And  now  I  myself  was  in  that  place  of  the  common 
people,  no,  not  in  their  place,  for  we  who  were  there  were 
in  chains  and  degradation.  Everybody  kept  himself  at 
a  distance  from  us.  We  were  feared,  and  alms  were 
put  in  our  hands  as  if  we  were  beggars ;  I  remember 
that  all  this  gave  me  the  strange  sensation  of  a  refined 
and  subtle  pleasure.  "  Let  it  even  be  so  ! "  such  was  my 
thought.  The  convicts  prayed  with  deep  fervour  ;  every 
one  of  them  had  with  him  his  poor  farthing  for  a  little 
candle,  or  for  their  collection  for  the  church  expenses. 
"  I  too,  I  am  a  man,"  each  one  of  them  perhaps,  said,  as 
he  made  his  offering ;  "  before  God  we  are  all  equal." 

After  the  six  o'clock  mass  we  went  up  to  communion. 
When  the  priest,  ciforium  in  hand,  recited  the  words, 
"  Have  mercy  on  me  as  Thou  hadst  on  the  thief  whom 
Thou  didst  save,"  nearly  all  the  convicts  prostrated  them- 
selves, and  their  chains  clanked ;  I  think  they  took  these 
words  literally  as  applied  to  themselves,  and  not  as  being 
in  Scripture. 

Holy  Week  came.  The  authorities  presented  each  of 
us  with  an  Easter  egg,  and  a  small  piece  of  wheaten 
bread.  The  townspeople  loaded  us  with  benevolences. 


TEE  SUMMER  SEASON  271 

As  at  Christmas  there  was  the  priest's  visitation  with 
the  cross,  inspecting  visit  of  the  heads  of  departments, 
larded  cabbage,  general  enlargement  of  soul,  and  un- 
limited lounging,  the  only  difference  being,  that  one  could 
now  walk  about  in  the  court-yard,  and  warm  oneself  in 
the  sun.  Everything  seemed  filled  with  more  light, 
larger  than  in  the  winter,  but  also  more  fraught  with 
sadness.  The  long,  endless,  summer  days  seemed  peculiarly 
unbearable  on  Church  holidays.  Work  days  were  at  least 
shortened  to  our  sense  by  the  fatigue  of  work. 

Our  summer  labours  were  much  more  trying  than 
the  winter  tasks;  our  business  was  principally  that  of 
carrying  out  engineering  works.  The  convicts  were  set 
to  building,  digging,  bricklaying,  or  repairing  Govern- 
ment buildings,  locksmith's  work,  or  carpentering,  or 
painting.  Others  went  into  the  brick-fields,  and  that 
was  looked  upon  by  us  as  the  hardest  of  all  we  had  laid 
on  us.  The  brick-fields  were  situated  about  four  versts 
from  the  fortress;  through  all  the  summer  they  sent 
there,  every  morning  at  six  o'clock,  a  gang  of  fifty  con- 
victs. For  this  gang  they  used  to  pick  out  workmen 
who  had  learned  no  trade  in  particular.  The  convicts 
took  with  them  their  bread  for  the  day,  the  distance  was 
too  great  for  them  to  come  back,  eight  useless  versts,  for 
dinner  with  the  others,  so  they  had  a  meal  when  they 
returned  in  the  evening. 

Work  was  assigned  to  each  for  the  day,  but  there 
was  so  much  of  it  that  it  was  all  a  man  could  do, 
nay,  more,  to  get  to  the  end  of  it.  First,  we  had  to  dig 
and  carry  the  clay,  moisten  it,  and  mould  it  in  the 
ditch,  and  then  make  a  goodly  quantity  of  bricks,  two 
hundred  or  so,  sometimes  fifty  more  than  that.  I  was 
only  twice  sent  to  the  brick-field.  The  convicts  sent 
to  this  labour  came  back  in  the  evening  dead  tired, 
and  every  one  of  them  complained  of  the  others,  that 
he  had  had  the  worst  of  the  work  put  on  him.  I 
believe  that  reproaches  of  this  kind  were  a  pleasure, 
a  consolation  to  them.  Some  of  them,  however,  liked 
the  brick-field  work,  because  they  got  away  from  the 


272  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

town,  and  to  the  banks  of  the  Irtych  into  open,  agreeable 
country,  with  the  sky  overhead  ;  the  surroundings  were 
more  agreeable  than  those  frightful  Government  build- 
ings. They  were  allowed  to  smoke  there  in  all  freedom, 
and  to  remain  lying  down  for  half-an-hour  or  so,  which 
was  a  great  pleasure. 

As  for  me,  I  was  sent  to  one  of  the  shops,  or  else 
to  pound  up  alabaster,  or  to  carry  bricks,  which  last 
job  I  had  for  two  months  together.  I  had  to  take 
my  tale  of  bricks  from  the  banks  of  the  Irtyoh  to  a 
distance  of  about  140  yards,  and  to  pass  the  ditch 
of  the  fortress  before  getting  to  the  barrack  which  they 
were  putting  up.  This  work  suited  me  well  enough, 
although  the  cord  with  which  I  carried  my  bricks  sawed 
my  shoulders ;  what  particularly  pleased  me  was  that 
my  strength  increased  sensibly.  At  the  outset  I  could 
not  carry  more  than  eight  bricks  at  once ;  each  of  them 
weighed  about  twelve  pounds.  I  got  to  be  able  to 
carry  twelve,  or  even  fifteen,  which  delighted  me 
much.  You  wanted  physical  as  well  as  moral  strength 
to  be  able  to  bear  all  the  discomforts  of  that  accursed 
life. 

There  was  this,  too :  I  wanted,  when  I  left  the 
place,  really  to  live,  not  to  be  half -dead.  I  took 
pleasure  in  carrying  my  bricks,  then;  it  was  not  merely 
that  this  labour  strengthened  my  body,  but  because 
it  took  me  always  to  the  banks  of  the  Irtych.  I 
speak  often  of  this  spot,  it  was  the  only  one  where 
we  saw  God's  own  world,  a  pure  and  bright  horizon,  the 
free  desert  steppes,  whose  bareness  always  produced 
a  strange  impression  on  me.  All  the  other  work- 
yards  were  in  the  fortress  itself,  or  in  its  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  the  fortress,  from  the  earliest  days  I  was 
there,  was  the  object  of  my  hatred,  and,  above  all,  its 
appurtenant  buildings.  The  house  of  the  Major  Com- 
mandant seemed  to  me  a  repulsive,  accursed  place. 
I  never  could  pass  it  without  casting  upon  it  a  look 
of  detestation ;  while  at  the  river-bank  1  could  forget 
my  miserable  self  as  I  sent  my  gaze  over  the  immense 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  273 

desert  space,  just  as  a  prisoner  may  when  he  looks  at 
the  world  of  freedom  through  the  barred  casement 
of  his  dungeon.  Everything  in  that  place  was  dear 
and  gracious  to  my  eyes;  the  sun  shining  in  the 
infinite  blue  of  heaven,  the  distant  song  of  the  Kirghiz 
that  came  from  the  opposite  bank. 

Sometimes  I  would  fix  my  sight  for  a  long  while 
upon  the  poor  smoky  cabin  of  some  baigouch ;  I  would 
study  the  bluish  smoke  as  it  curled  in  the  air,  the 
Kirghiz  woman  busy  with  her  two  sheep.  .  .  .  The  things 
I  saw  were  wild,  savage,  poverty-stricken;  but  they 
were  free.  I  would  follow  the  flight  of  a  bird  threading 
its  way  in  the  pure  transparent  air ;  now  it  skims  the 
water,  now  disappears  in  the  azure  sky,  now  suddenly 
comes  to  view  again,  a  mere  point  in  space.  Even  the 
poor  wee  floweret  fading  in  a  cleft  of  the  bank,  which 
would  show  itself  when  spring  began,  fixed  my  attention 
and  would  draw  my  tears.  .  .  .  The  melancholy  of 
this  first  year  of  convict  life  and  hard  labour  was 
unendurable,  too  much  for  my  strength.  The  anguish 
of  it  was  so  great,  I  could  not  notice  my  immediate 
surroundings  at  all ;  I  merely  shut  my  eyes  and  would 
not  see.  Among  the  creatures  with  spoiled  lives  with 
whom  I  had  to  live,  I  did  not  yet  note  those  who 
were  capable  of  thinking  and  feeling,  in  spite  of 
their  external  repulsiveness.  There  came  not  to  my  ears 
(or  if  there  did  I  knew  it  not)  one  word  of  kindliness 
in  the  midst  of  the  rain  of  poisonous  talk  that  came 
down  all  the  time.  Still  one  such  utterance  there 
was,  simple,  straightforward,  of  pure  motive,  and  it 
came  from  the  heart  of  a  man  who  had  suffered  and 
endured  more  than  myself.  But  it  is  useless  to  enlarge 
on  this. 

The  great  fatigue  I  underwent  was  a  source  of 
satisfaction,  it  gave  me  hope  of  sound  sleep.  During  the 
summer  sleep  was  torment,  more  intolerable  than  the 
closeness  and  infection  winter  brought  with  it.  Some 
of  the  nights  were  certainly  very  beautiful.  The  sun, 
which  had  not  ceased  to  inundate  the  courtyard  all. 


274  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  day,  hid  itself  at  last.  The  air  freshened,  and  the 
night,  the  night  of  the  steppe,  became  comparatively 
cold.  The  convicts,  until  shut  up  in  their  barracks, 
walked  about  in  groups,  especially  on  the  kitchen  side ; 
for  that  was  the  place  where  questions  of  general  interest 
were  by  preference  discussed,  and  comments  were  made 
upon  the  rumours  from  without,  often  absurd  indeed, 
but  always  keenly  exciting  to  these  men  cut  off  from 
the  world.  For  example,  we  suddenly  learn  that  our 
Major  had  been  roughly  dismissed  from  his  post. 
Convicts  are  as  credulous  as  children ;  they  know  the 
news  to  be  false,  or  most  unlikely,  and  that  the  fellow 
who  brings  it  is  a  past  master  in  the  art  of  lying, 
Kvassoff ;  for  all  that  they  clutch  at  the  nonsensical 
story,  go  into  high  delight  over  it,  are  much  consoled, 
and  at  last  quite  ashamed  to  have  been  duped  by 
a  Kvassoff. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who'll  show  him  the  door  ?  " 
cries  one  convict ;  "  don't  you  fear,  he's  a  fellow  who 
knows  how  to  stick  on." 

"  But,"  says  another,  "  he  has  his  superiors  over 
him."  This  one  is  a  warm  controversialist,  and  has  seen 
the  world. 

"  Wolves  don't  feed  on  one  another,"  says  a  third 
gloomily,  half  to  himself.  This  one  is  an  old  fellow, 
growing  gray,  and  he  always  takes  his  sour  cabbage 
soup  into  a  corner,  and  eats  it  there. 

"  Do  you  think  his  superiors  will  take  your  advice 
whether  they  shall  show  him  the  door  or  not  ?  "  adds  a 
fourth,  who  doesn't  seem  to  care  about  it  at  all,  giving  a 
stroke  co  his  balalaika. 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  "  replies  the  second  angrily ;  "  if 
you  are  asked,  answer  what's  in  your  mind.  But 
no,  with  us  fellows  it's  all  mere  cry,  and  when  you 
ought  to  go  at  things  with  a  will,  everybody  sneaks 
out" 

"  That's  so  /  "  says  the  one  playing  with  the  balalaika. 
"  Hard  labour  and  prison  are  just  the  things  to  cause 
hat:' 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  275 

"It  was  like  that  the  other  day/'  says  the  second 
one,  without  hearing  the  remark  made  to  him.  "  There 
was  a  little  wheat  left,  sweepings,  a  mere  nothing  ;  there 
was  some  idea  of  turning  the  refuse  into  money  ;  well, 
look  here,  they  took  it  to  him,  and  he  confiscated  it.  All 
economy,  you  see.  Was  that  so,  and  was  it  right — yes  or 
no?" 

"  But  whom  can  you  complain  to  ?  " 

"  To  whom  ?  Why,  the  'spector  (Inspector)  who's 
coming." 

"  What  'spector  ?  " 

"  It's  true,  pals,  a  'spector  is  coming  soon/'  said  a 
youthful  convict,  who  had  got  some  sort  of  knowledge, 
had  read  the  "  Duchesse  de  la  VallieYe,"  or  some  book  of 
that  sort,  and  who  had  been  Quartermaster  in  a  regiment ; 
a  bit  of  a  wag,  whom,  as  a  man  of  information,  the  con- 
victs held  in  a  sort  of  respect.  Without  paying  the 
least  attention  to  the  exciting  debate,  he  goes  straight 
to  the  cook,  and  asks  him  for  some  liver.  Our  cooks 
often  deal  in  victuals  of  that  kind ;  they  used  to  buy 
a  whole  liver,  cut  it  in  pieces,  and  sell  it  to  the  other 
convicts. 

"  Two  kopecks'  worth,  or  four  ?  "  asks  cook. 

"A  four-kopeck  cut;  I'll  eat,  the  others  shall 
look  on  and  long,"  says  this  convict.  "  Yes,  pals,  a 
general,  a  real  general,  is  coming  from  Petersburg  to 
'spect  all  Siberia;  it's  so,  heard  it  at  the  Governor's 
place." 

This  news  produces  an  extraordinary  effect.  For  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  they  ask  each  other  who  this  General 
can  be?  what's  his  title?  whether  his  grade  is  higher 
than  that  of  the  Generals  of  our  town  ?  The  convicts 
delight  in  discussing  ranks  and  degrees,  in  finding  out 
who's  at  the  head  of  things,  who  can  make  the  other 
officials  crook  their  backs,  and  to  whom  he  crooks 
his  own ;  BO  they  get  up  an  argument  and  quarrel 
about  their  Generals,  and  rude  words  fly  about,  all  in 
honour  of  these  high  officers — fights,  too,  sometimes. 
What  interest  can  they  possibly  have  in  it  ?  When  one 


276  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

hears  convicts  speaking  of  Generals  and  high  officials 
one  gets  a  measure  of  their  intelligence  as  they  were 
while  still  in  the  world  before  the  prison  days.  It 
cannot  be  concealed  that  among  our  people,  even  in 
much  higher  circles,  talk  about  generals  and  high 
officials  is  looked  upon  as  the  most  serious  and  refined 
conversation. 

"  Well,  you  see,  they  have  sent  our  Major  to  the  right 
about,  don't  ye  ? "  observes  Kvassoff,  a  little,  rubicund, 
choleric,  small-brained  fellow,  the  same  who  had 
announced  the  supersession  of  the  Major. 

"  We'll  just  grease  their  palm  for  them,"  this,  in 
staccato  tones  from  the  morose  old  fellow  in  the  corner 
who  had  finished  his  sour  cabbage  soup. 

"I  should  think  he  would  grease  their  palms,  by 
Jove/7  says  another;  "he  has  stolen  money  enough, 
the  brigand.  And,  only  think,  he  was  only  a  regimental 
Major  before  he  came  here.  He's  feathered  his  nest. 
Why,  a  little  while  ago  he  was  engaged  to  the  head 
priest's  daughter." 

"  But  he  didn't  get  married ;  they  turned  him  off, 
and  that  shows  he's  poor.  A  pretty  sort  of  fellow  to 
get  engaged!  He's  got  nothing  but  the  coat  on  his 
back ;  last  year,  Easter  time,  he  lost  all  he  had  at  cards. 
Fedka  told  me  so." 

"  Well,  well,  pals,  Fve  been  married  myself,  but  it's  a 
bad  thing  for  a  poor  devil ;  taking  a  wife  is  soon  done, 
but  the  fun  of  it  is  more  like  an  inch  than  a  mile/' 
observes  Skouratoff,  who  had  just  joined  in  the  general 
talk. 

"Do  you  fancy  we're  going  to  amuse  ourselves 
by  discussing  you  ? "  says  the  ex-quartermaster  in  a 
superior  manner.  "Kvassoff,  I  tell  you  you're  a  big 
idiot !  If  you  fancy  that  the  Major  can  grease  the 
palm  of  an  Inspector- General  you've  got  things  finely 
muddled ;  d'ye  fancy  they  send  a  man  from  Petersburg 
just  to  inspect  your  Major  ?  You're  a  precious  dolt,  my 
lad ;  take  it  from  me  that  it  is  so." 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  277 

"And  you  fancy  because  he's  a  General  he  doesn't 
take  what's  offered  ?  "  said  some  one  in  the  crowd  in  a 
sceptical  tone. 

"  I  should  think  he  did  indeed,  and  plenty  of  it  when- 
ever he  can." 

"  A  dead  sure  thing  that ;  gets  bigger,  and  more,  and 
worse,  the  higher  the  rank." 

"A  General  always  has  his  palm  greased,"  says 
Kvassoff,  sententiously. 

"  Did  you  ever  give  them  money,  as  you're  so  sure  of 
it  ?  "  asks  Baklouchin,  suddenly  striking  in,  in  a  tone  of 
contempt ;  "  come,  now,  did  you  ever  see  a  General  in  all 
your  life  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Liar ! " 

"  Liar,  yourself  ! " 

"  Well,  boys,  as  he  has  seen  a  General,  let  him  say 
which.  Come,  quick  about  it;  I  know  'em  all,  every 
man  jack." 

<f  I've  seen  General  Zibert,"  says  Kvassoff  in  tones 
far  from  sure. 

"  Zibert !  There's  no  General  of  that  name.  That's 
the  General,  perhaps,  who  was  looking  at  your  back  when 
they  gave  you  the  cat.  This  Zibert  was,  perhaps,  a  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel ;  but  you  were  in  such  a  fright  just  then, 
you  took  him  for  a  General." 

"  No  !  Just  hear  me,"  cries  Skouratoff,  "  for  I've  got 
a  wife.  There  was  really  a  General  of  that  name,  a 
German,  but  a  Russian  subject.  He  confessed  to  the 
Pope,  every  year,  all  about  his  peccadilloes  with  gay 
women,  and  drank  water  like  a  duck,  at  least  forty 
glasses  of  Moskva  water  one  after  the  other ;  that  was 
the  way  he  got  cured  of  some  disease.  I  had  it  from  his 
valet." 

"  I  say  !  And  the  carp  didn't  swim  in  his  belly  ?  "  this 
from  the  convict  with  the  balalaika. 

"  Be  quiet,  fellows,  can't  you — one's  talking  seriously, 
and  there  they  are  beginning  their  nonsense  again. 


278  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Who's  the  'specter  that's  coming  ?  "  This  was  put  by  a 
convict  who  always  seemed  full  of  business,  Martinof, 
an  old  man  who  had  been  in  the  Hussars. 

"  Set  of  lying  fellows  ! "  said  one  of  the  doubters. 
f:  Lord  knows  where  they  get  it  all  from ;  it's  all  empty 
talk/' 

"It's  nothing  of  the  sort,"  observes  Koulikoff, 
majestically  silent  hitherto,  in  dogmatic  tones.  '*  The 
man  coming  is  big  and  fat,  about  fifty  years,  with 
regular  features,  and  proud,  contemptuous  manners,  on 
which  he  prides  himself." 

Koulikoff  is  a  Tsigan,  a  sort  of  veterinary  surgeon, 
makes  money  by  treating  horses  in  town,  and  sells  wine 
in  our  prison.  He's  no  fool,  plenty  of  brain,  memory 
well  stocked,  lets  his  words  fall  as  carefully  as  if  every 
one  of  'em  was  worth  a  rouble. 

"  It's  true,"  he  went  on  very  calmly,  "  I  heard  of 
it  only  last  week ;  it's  a  General  with  bigger  epaulettes 
than  most,  and  he's  going  to  inspect  all  Siberia. 
They  grease  his  palm  well  for  him,  that's  sure 
enough;  but  not  our  Major  with  his  eight  eyes  in 
his  head.  He  won't  dare  to  creep  in  about  him,  for 
you  see,  pals,  there  are  Generals  and  Generals,  as  there 
are  fagots  and  fagots.  It's  just  this,  and  you  may  take 
it  from  me,  our  Major  will  remain  where  he  is.  We're 
fellows  with  no  tongue,  we've  no  right  to  speak ;  and 
as  to  our  chiefs  here,  they're  not  going  to  say  a  word 
against  him.  The  'spector  will  come  into  our  jail,  give 
A  look  round,  and  go  off  at  once  ;  he'll  say  it  was  all 
right." 

"  Yes,  but  the  Major's  in  a  fright ;  he's  been  drunk 
since  morning." 

"  And  this  evening  he  had  two  van-loads  of  things 
taken  away  ;  Fedka  says  so." 

"  You  may  scrub  a  nigger,  he'll  never  be  white.  Is 
it  the  first  time  you've  seen  him  drunk,  hey  ?  " 

"  No  !  It  will  be  a  devil  of  a  shame  if  the  General 
does  nothing  to  him,"  said  the  convicts,  who  began  to  get 
highly  excited. 


TEE  SUMMER  SEASON  279 

The  news  of  the  arrival  of  the  Inspector  went  through 
the  prison.  The  prisoners  went  everywhere  about  the 
court-yard  retailing  the  important  fact.  Some  held  their 
tongues  and  kept  cool,  trying  to  look  important ;  some 
were  really  indifferent  to  it.  Some  of  the  convicts  sat 
down  on  the  steps  of  the  doors  to  play  the  balalaika,  while 
some  went  on  with  their  gossip.  Some  groups  were 
singing  in  a  drawling  voice,  but  the  whole  court-yard  was 
upset  and  excited  generally. 

About  nine  o'clock  they  counted  us,  and  quartered  us  in 
our  barracks,  which  were  closed  for  the  night.  A  short 
summer  night  it  was,  so  we  were  roused  up  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  yet  nobody  had  managed  to  sleep  before 
eleven,  for  up  to  that  hour  there  was  conversation  and  all 
sort  of  movement  was  going  on ;  sometimes,  too,  games 
of  cards  were  made  up,  as  in  winter.  The  heat  was 
intolerable,  stifling.  True,  the  open  window  let  in  some 
of  the  cool  night  air,  but  the  convicts  kept  tossing  them- 
selves on  their  wooden  beds  as  if  delirious. 

Fleas  countless.  There  were  enough  of  them  in 
winter ;  but  when  spring  came  they  multiplied  in  propor- 
tions so  formidable  that  I  couldn't  believe  it  before  I  had 
to  endure  them.  And  as  the  summer  went  on  the  worse  it 
was  with  them.  I  found  out  that  one  could  get  used  to 
fleas ;  but  for  all  that,  the  torment  of  them  is  so  great 
that  it  throws  you  into  a  fever;  even  when  you  get 
slumber  you  quite  feel  it  is  not  sleep,  you  are  half 
delirious,  and  know  it. 

At  last,  towards  morning,  when  the  enemy  is  tired  and 
you  are  deliciously  asleep  in  the  freshness  of  the  early 
hours,  suddenly  sounds  the  pitiless  morning  drum-call. 
How  you  curse  as  you  hear  them,  those  sharp,  quick 
strokes ;  you  cower  in  your  semi-pelisse,  and  then — you 
can't  help  it — comes  the  thought  that  it  will  be  so  to- 
morrow, the  day  after,  for  many,  many  years,  till  you  are 
set  at  liberty.  When  will  it  come,  this  freedom, 
freedom  ?  Where  is  it  in  this  world  ?  Where  is  it 
hiding  ?  You  have  to  get  up,  they  are  walking  about 
you  in  all  directions.  The  usual  noisy  row  begins.  The 


280  PE180N  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

convicts  dress,  and  hurry  to  their  work.  It's  true  you 
have  an  hour  you  can  spend  in  sleep  at  noon. 

What  we  had  been  told  about  the  Inspector  was 
really  true.  The  reports  were  more  confirmed  every  day  ; 
and  at  last  it  became  certain  that  a  General,  high  in 
office,  was  coming  from  Petersburg  to  inspect  all  Siberia, 
that  he  was  already  at  Tobolsk.  Every  day  we  learned 
something  fresh  about  it.  These  rumours  came  from  the 
town.  They  told  us  that  there  was  alarm  in  all  quarters, 
and  that  everybody  was  making  preparations  to  show  him- 
self in  as  favourable  a  light  as  might  be.  The  authorities 
were  organising  receptions,  balls,  fetes  of  every  kind. 
Gangs  of  convicts  were  sent  to  level  the  ways  in  the  fort- 
ress, smooth  away  hummocks  in  the  ground,  paint  the 
palings  and  other  wood-work,  to  plaster,  do  up,  and 
generally  repair  everything  that  was  conspicuous. 

Our  prisoners  perfectly  well  understood  the  object  of 
this  labour,  and  their  discussions  became  all  the  more 
animated  and  excited.  Their  imaginations  passed  all 
bounds.  They  even  set  about  formulating  some  demands 
to  be  set  before  the  General  on  his  arrival,  but  that  did  not 
prevent  their  going  on  with  their  quarrels  and  violent 
speeches.  Our  Major  was  on  hot  coals.  He  came  con- 
tinually to  visit  the  jail,  shouted,  and  threw  himself 
angrily  on  the  fellows  more  than  usual,  sent  them  to  the 
guard-room  and  punishment  for  a  mere  nothing,  and 
watched  very  severely  over  the  cleanliness  and  good  order 
of  the  barracks.  Just  then,  there  occurred  a  little  event 
which  did  not  at  all  painfully  affect  this  officer  as  one 
might  have  expected,  but,  on  the  contrary,  caused  him  a 
lively  satisfaction.  One  of  the  convicts  struck  another 
with  an  awl  right  in  the  chest,  in  a  place  quite  near  the 
heart. 

The  delinquent's  name  was  Lomof;  the  name  the 
victim  was  known  by  in  the  jail  was  Gavrilka.  He 
was  one  of  those  seasoned  tramps  I've  spoken  about 
earlier.  Whether  he  had  any  other  name,  I  don't  know  ; 
I  never  heard  any  attributed  to  him,  except  that  one, 
Gavrilka. 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  281 

Lomof  had  been  a  peasant  comfortably  off  in  the 

Government  of    T ,  and  district  of   K .     There 

were  five  of  them  living  together,  two  brothers  Lomof, 
and  three  sons.  They  were  quite  rich  peasants ;  the  talk 
throughout  the  district  was  that  they  had  more  than 
300,000  roubles  in  paper  money.  They  worked  at 
currying  and  tanning  ;  but  their  chief  business  was 
usury,  harbouring  tramps,  and  receiving  stolen  goods ; 
all  sorts  of  petty  irregular  doings.  Half  the  peasants 
of  their  district  owed  them  money,  and  so  were  in  their 
clutches.  They  passed  for  being  intelligent  and  full  of 
cunning,  and  gave  themselves  very  great  airs.  A  great 
personage  of  their  province  had  stopped  on  his  way  once 
at  the  father  Lomof's  house,  and  this  official  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  him,  because  of  his  hardy  and  unscrupulous 
talk.  Then  they  took  it  in  their  heads  they  might  do 
exactly  as  they  pleased,  and  mixed  themselves  up  more 
and  more  with  illegal  doings.  Everybody  had  a  griev- 
ance against  them,  and  would  like  to  have  seen  them  a 
hundred  feet  under  the  ground;  but  they  got  bolder 
and  bolder  every  day.  They  were  not  afraid  of  the 
local  police  or  the  district  tribunals. 

At  last  fortune  betrayed  them ;  their  ruin  came,  not 
out  of  their  secret  crimes,  but  from  an  accusation  which 
was  all  calumny  and  falsehood.  Ten  versts  from  their 
hamlet  they  had  a  farm  where  six  Kirghiz  labourers, 
long  since  brought  down  by  them  to  be  no  better  than 
slaves,  used  to  pass  the  autumn.  One  fine  day  these 
Kirghiz  were  found  murdered.  An  inquiry  was  set  on 
foot  that  lasted  long,  thanks  to  which  no  end  of  atrocious 
things  were  brought  to  light.  The  Lomofs  were  accused 
of  having  assassinated  their  workmen.  They  had  them- 
selves told  their  story  to  the  convicts,  all  the  jail  knew 
it  perfectly ;  they  were  suspected  of  owing  a  great  deal 
of  money  to  the  Kirghiz,  and,  as  they  were  full  of 
greed  and  avarice  in  spite  of  their  large  fortunes,  it 
was  believed  they  had  paid  the  debt  by  taking  the 
lives  of  the  poor  fellows.  While  the  inquiry  and  trial 
went  on,  their  property  melted  away  utterly.  The 


282  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

father  died,  the  sons  were  transported;  one  of  these, 
with  the  uncle,  was  condemned  to  fifteen  years  of  hard 
labour. 

Now,  they  were  'perfectly  innocent  of  the  crime  im- 
puted to  them.  One  fine  day  Gavrilka,  a  thorough- 
paced rascal,  known  as  a  tramp,  but  of  very  gay  and  lively 
turn,  avowed  himself  the  author  of  the  crime.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  I  don't  know  whether  he  actually  made 
this  avowal  himself,  but  what  is  sure  is  that  the  convicts 
held  him  to  be  the  murderer  of  the  Kirghiz. 

This  Gavrilka,  while  still  tramping  about,  had  been 
mixed  up  in  some  way  with  the  Lomofs  (his  confinement 
in  one  jail  was  for  quite  a  short  sentence,  for  desertion 
from  the  army  and  tramping).  He  had  cut  the  throats 
of  the  Kirghiz — three  other  marauding  fellows  had  been 
in  it  with  him — in  the  hope  of  setting  themselves  up  a 
bit  with  the  plunder  of  the  farm. 

The  Lomofs  were  no  favourites  with  us,  I  really 
don't  know  why.  One  of  them,  the  nephew,  was  a 
sturdy  fellow,  intelligent  and  sociable ;  but  his  uncle, 
the  one  that  struck  Gavrilka  with  the  awl,  was  a  choleric, 
stupid  rustic,  always  quarrelling  with  the  convicts,  who 
knocked  him  about  like  plaster.  All  the  jail  liked 
Gavrilka  for  his  gaiety  and  good-humour.  The  Lomofs 
got  to  know,  like  the  rest,  that  he  was  the  man  who 
committed  the  crime  they  were  condemned  for ;  but  they 
never  got  into  any  quarrel  with  him.  Gavrilka  paid  no 
attention  whatever  to  them. 

The  row  with  Uncle  Lomof  began  about  some  dis- 
gusting girl  they  had  quarrelled  over.  Gavrilka  had 
boasted  of  the  favour  she  had  shown  him.  The  peasant, 
mad  with  jealousy,  ended  by  driving  an  awl  into  his 
chest. 

Although  the  Lomofs  had  been  ruined  by  their 
trial  and  sentence,  they  passed  in  the  jail  for  being  very 
rich.  They  had  money,  a  samovar,  and  drank  tea.  Our 
Major  knew  all  about  it,  and  hated  the  two  Lomofs, 
sparing  them  no  vexation.  The  victims  of  his  hate  ex- 
plained it  by  a  desire  to  have  them  grea.se  his  palm 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  283 

well,  but  they  could  not,  or  would  not,  bring  themselves 
to  do  it. 

If  Uncle  Lomof  had  struck  his  awl  one  hair's  breadth 
further  in  Gavrilka's  breast  he  would  certainly  have 
killed  him ;  as  it  was,  the  wound  did  not  much  signify. 
The  affair  was  reported  to  the  Major.  I  think  I  see  him 
now  as  he  came  up  out  of  breath,  but  with  visible  satis- 
faction. He  addressed  Gavrilka  in  an  affable,  fatherly 
way: 

"  Tell  me,  lad,  can  you  walk  to  the  hospital  or  must 
they  carry  you  there  ?  No,  I  think  it  will  be  better  to 
have  a  horse ;  let  them  put  a  horse  to  this  moment !  "  he 
cried  out  to  the  sub-officer  with  a  gasp. 

"  But  I  don't  feel  it  at  all,  your  worship ;  he's  only 
given  me  a  bit  of  a  prick,  your  worship." 

"  You  don't  know,  my  dear  fellow,  you  don't  know  ; 
you'll  see.  A  nasty  place  he's  struck  you  in.  All 
depends  upon  the  place.  He  has  given  it  you  just  below 
the  heart,  the  scoundrel.  Wait,  wait ! "  he  howled  to 
Lomof.  "Fve  got  you  tight;  take  him  to  the  guard- 
house." 

He  kept  his  promise.  Lomof  was  tried,  and,  though 
the  wound  was  slight,  there  was  plainly  malice  afore- 
thought ;  his  sentence  of  hard  labour  was  extended  for 
several  years,  and  they  gave  him  a  thousand  strokes  with 
the  rod.  The  Major  was  delighted. 

The  Inspector  arrived  at  last. 

The  day  after  he  reached  the  town,  he  came  to  the 
convict  establishment  to  make  his  inspection.  It  was  a 
regular  fete-day.  For  some  days  everything  had  been 
brilliantly  clean,  washed  with  great  precision.  The  con- 
victs were  all  just  shaven,  their  linen  quite  white  and 
without  a  stain.  (According  to  the  regulations,  they  wore 
in  summer  waistcoats  and  pantaloons  of  canvas.  Every 
one  had  a  round  black  piece  sown  in  at  the  back,  eight 
centimetres  in  diameter.)  For  a  whole  hour  the  prisoners 
had  been  drilled  as  to  what  they  should  answer,  the  very 
words  to  be  used,  particularly  if  the  high  functionary 
should  take  any  notice  of  them. 


28-4  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

There  had  been  even  regular  rehearsals.  The  Major 
seemed  to  have  lost  his  head.  An  hour  before  the 
coming  in  of  the  Inspector,  all  the  convicts  were  at  their 
posts,  as  stiff  as  statues,  with  their  little  fingers  on  the 
seams  of  their  pantaloons.  At  last,  just  about  one  o'clock 
the  Inspector  made  his  entry.  He  was  a  General,  with  a 
most  self-sufficing  bearing,  so  much  so,  that  the  mere 
sight  of  it  must  have  sent  a  tremor  into  the  hearts  of  all 
the  officials  of  West  Siberia. 

He  came  in  with  a  stern  and  majestic  air,  followed  by  a 
crowd  of  Generals  and  Colonels  doing  service  in  our  town. 
There  was  a  civilian,  too,  of  high  stature  and  regular 
features,  in  frock-coat  and  shoes.  This  personage  bore 
himself  very  independently  and  airily,  and  the  General 
addressed  him  every  moment  with  exquisite  polite- 
ness. This  civilian  also  had  come  from  Petersburg. 
All  the  convicts  were  terribly  curious  as  to  who  he 
could  be,  such  an  important  General  showing  him  such 
deference  ?  We  learned  who  he  was  and  what  his 
office  later,  but  he  was  a  good  deal  talked  about  before 
we  knew. 

Our  Major,  all  spick  and  span,  with  orange-coloured 
collar,  made  no  too  favourable  impression  upon  the 
General ;  the  blood-shot  eyes  and  fiery  rubicund  com- 
plexion plainly  told  their  own  story.  Out  of  respect  for 
his  superior  he  had  taken  off  his  spectacles,  and  stood 
some  way  off,  as  straight  as  a  dart,  in  feverish  expectation 
that  something  would  be  asked  of  him,  that  he  might  run 
and  carry  out  His  Excellency's  wishes ;  but  no  particular 
need  of  his  services  seemed  to  be  felt. 

The  General  went  all  through  the  barracks  without 
saying  a  word,  threw  a  glance  into  the  kitchen,  where  he 
tasted  the  sour  cabbage  soup.  They  pointed  me  out  to 
him,  telling  him  that  I  was  an  ex-nobleman,  who  had 
done  this,  that,  and  the  other. 

"  Ah  !  "  answered  the  General.  "  And  how  does  he 
conduct  himself  ?  " 

"  Satisfactorily  for  the  time  being,  your  Excellency, 
satisfactorily." 


THE  SUMMER  SEASON  285 

The  General  nodded,  and  left  the  jail  in  a  couple  of 
minutes  more.  The  convicts  were  dazzled  and  disap- 
pointed, and  did  not  know  what  to  be  at.  As  to  laying 
complaints  against  the  Major,  that  was  quite  over,  could 
not  be  thought  of.  He  had,  no  doubt,  been  quite  well 
assured  as  to  this  beforehand. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  ANIMALS   AT   THE   CONVICT   ESTABLISHMENT 

GNIEDKO,  a  bay  horse,  was  bought  a  little 
while  afterwards,  and  the  event  furnished  a 
much  more  agreeable  and  interesting  diver 
sion    to    the    convicts    than   the    visit    o 
the   high  personage   I   have   been    talking 
about.      We  required  a  horse   at  the  jail  for  carrying 
water,  refuse  matter,  etc.     He  was  given  to  a  convict 
to   take  care  of  and  use;   this  man   drove  him,  under 
escort,  of  course.     Our  horse  had  plenty  to  do  morning 
and  night;   it  was  a  worthy  sort  of  beast,  but  a  good 
deal  worn,  and   had   been   in   service  for  a  long   time 
already. 

One  fine  morning,  the  eve  of  St.  Peter's  Day, 
Gniedko,  our  bay,  who  was  dragging  a  barrel  of  water, 
fell  all  of  a  heap,  and  gave  up  the  ghost  in  a  few 
minutes.  He  was  much  regretted,  so  all  the  convicts 
gathered  round  him  to  discuss  his  death.  Those  who 
had  served  in  the  cavalry,  the  Tsigans,  the  veterinary 
fellows,  and  others,  showed  a  profound  knowledge  of 
horses  in  general  and  fiercely  argued  the  question ;  but 
all  that  did  not  bring  our  bay  horse  to  life  again ;  there 
he  was  stretched  out  and  dead,  with  his  belly  all  swollen. 
Every  one  thought  it  incumbent  on  him  to  feel  about 
the  poor  thing  with  his  hands;  finally  the  Major  was 


ANIMALS  AT  TEE  CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT   287 

informed  of  what  Providence  had  done  in  the  horse's 
case,  and  it  was  decided  that  another  should  be  bought 
at  once. 

St.  Peter's  Day,  quite  early  after  mass,  all  the 
onvicts  being  together,  horses  that  were  on  sale  were 
Tought  in.  It  was  left  to  the  prisoners  to  choose  an 
iiimal,  for  there  were  some  thorough  experts  among 
hem,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  take  in  250 
ien,  with  whom  horse-dealing  had  been  a  speciality, 
sigans,  Lesghians,  professional  horse-dealers,  townsmen, 
ame  in  to  deal.  The  convicts  were  exceedingly  eager 
bout  the  matter  as  each  fresh  horse  was  brought  up, 
nd  were  as  amused  as  children  about  it  all.  It  seemed 
o  tickle  their  fancy  very  much,  that  they  had  to  buy  a 
orse  like  free  men,  just  as  if  it  was  for  themselves  and 
he  money  was  to  come  out  of  their  own  pockets.  Three 
lorses  were  brought  and  taken  away  before  purchase : 
he  fourth  was  settled  on.  The  horse-dealers  seemed 
stonished  and  a  little  awed  at  the  soldiers  of  the  escort 
who  watched  the  business.  Two  hundred  men,  clean 
haven,  branded  as  they  were,  with  chains  on  their  feet, 
were  well  calculated  to  inspire  respect,  all  the  more  as 
hey  were  in  their  own  place,  at  home  so  to  speak,  in 
heir  own  convict's  den,  where  nobody  was  ever  allowed 
o  come. 

Our  fellows  seemed  to  be  up  to  no  end  of  tricks  for 
inding  out  the  real  value  of  a  horse  brought  up ;  they 
jarefully  examined  it,  handled  it  with  the  most  serious 
demeanour,  went  on  as  if  the  welfare  of  the  establish- 
nent  was  bound  up  with  the  purchase  of  this  beast. 
The  Circassians  took  the  liberty  of  jumping  upon  his 
)ack :  their  eyes  shone  wildly,  they  chatted  rapidly  in 
heir  incomprehensible  dialect,  showed  their  white  teeth, 
dilating  the  nostrils  of  their  hooked  copper-coloured 
oses.  There  were  some  Russians  who  paid  the  most 
lively  attention  to  their  discussion,  and  seemed  ready  to 
ump  down  their  throats ;  they  did  not  understand  a 
vord,  but  it  was  plain  they  did  what  they  could  to  gather 
"rom  the  expression  of  the  eyes  of  the  fellows  whether 


288  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  "horse  was  good  or  not.  But  what  could  it  matter  to 
a  convict,  especially  to  some  of  them,  who  were  creatures 
altogether  down  and  done  for,  who  never  ventured  to 
utter  a  single  word  to  the  others  ?  What  could  it  matter 
to  such  as  these,  whether  one  horse  or  another  was 
bought  ?  Yet  it  seemed  as  if  it  did.  The  Circassians 
appeared  to  be  most  relied  on  for  their  opinion,  and 
besides  these  a  foremost  place  in  the  discussion  was 
given  to  the  Tsigans,  and  those  who  had  formerly  been 
horse-dealers. 

There  was  a  regular  sort  of  duel  between  two  con- 
victs—  the  Tsigan  Koulikoff,  who  had  been  a  horse- 
dealer  and  stealer,  and  another  who  had  been  a 
professional  veterinary,  a  tricky  Siberian  peasant,  who 
had  been  at  the  establishment  and  at  hard  labour  for 
some  time,  and  who  had  succeeded  in  getting  all 
KoulikofFs  practice  in  the  town.  I  ought  to  mention 
that  the  veterinary  practitioners  at  the  prison,  though 
without  diploma,  were  very  much  sought  after,  and  that 
not  only  the  townspeople  and  tradespeople,  but  high 
officials  in  the  city,  took  their  advice  when  their  horses 
fell  ill,  rather  than  that  of  several  regularly  diplomatised 
veterinaries  who  were  at  the  place. 

Till  Jolkin  came,  the  Siberian  peasant  Koulikoff  had 
had  plenty  of  clients  from  whom  he  had  had  fees  in  good 
hard  cash.  He  was  looked  on  as  quite  at  the  head  of  his 
business.  He  was  a  Tsigan  all  over  in  his  doings,  liar 
and  cheat,  and  not  at  all  the  master  of  his  art  he  boasted 
of  being.  The  income  he  made  had  raised  him  to  be  a> 
sort  of  aristocrat  among  our  convicts  ;  he  was  listened  to 
and  obeyed,  but  he  spoke  little,  and  expressed  an  opinion 
only  in  great  emergencies.  He  blew  his  own  trumpet 
loudly,  but  he  really  was  a  fellow  of  great  energy ;  he 
was  of  ripe  age,  and  of  quite  marked  intelligence.  When 
he  spoke  to  us  of  the  nobility,  he  did  so  with  exquisite 
politeness  and  perfect  dignity.  I  am  sure  that  if  he  had 
been  suitably  dressed,  and  introduced  into  a  club  at  the 
capital  with  the  title  of  Count,  he  would  have  lived  up  to 
it;  played  whist,  talked  to  admiration  like  a  man  used 


ANIMALS  AT  THE  CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT  289 

to  command,  and  one  who  knew  when  to  hold  his  tongue. 
I  am  sure  that  the  whole  evening  would  have  passed 
without  any  one  guessing  that  the  "  Count  "  was  nothing 
but  a  vagabond.  He  had  very  probably  had  a  very 
large  and  varied  experience  in  life ;  as  to  his  past,  it 
was  quite  unknown  to  us.  They  kept  him  among  the 
convicts  who  formed  a  special  section  reserved  from  the 
others. 

But  no  sooner  had  Jolkin  come — he  was  a  simple 
peasant,  one  of  the  "old  believers,"  but  just  as  tricky  as  it 
was  possible  for  a  moujik  to  be — the  veterinary  glory  of 
Koulikoff  paled  sensibly.  In  less  than  two  months  the 
Siberian  had  got  from  him  all  his  town  practice,  for  he 
cured  in  a  very  short  time  horses  Koulikoff  had  declared 
incurable,  and  which  had  been  given  up  by  the  regular 
veterinaries.  This  peasant  had  been  condemned  and 
sent  to  hard  labour  for  coining.  It  is  an  odd  thing  he 
should  ever  have  been  tempted  to  go  into  that  line  of 
business.  He  told  us  all  about  it  himself,  and  joked 
about  their  wanting  three  coins  of  genuine  gold  to  make 
one  false. 

Koulikoff  was  not  a  little  put  out  at  this  peasant's 
success,  while  his  own  glory  so  rapidly  declined.  There 
was  he  who  had  had  a  mistress  in  the  suburbs,  who  used 
to  wear  a  plush  jacket  and  top-boots,  and  here  he  was 
now  obliged  to  turn  tavern  -  keeper ;  so  everybody 
looked  out  for  a  regular  row  when  the  new  horse  was 
bought.  The  thing  was  very  interesting,  each  of  them 
had  his  partisans  ;  the  more  eager  among  them  got  to 
angry  words  about  it  on  the  spot.  The  cunning  face  of 
Jolkin  was  all  wrinkled  into  a  sarcastic  smile ;  but  it 
turned  out  quite  differently  from  what  was  expected. 
Koulikoff  had  not  the  least  desire  for  argument  or 
dispute,  he  managed  cunningly  without  that.  At 
first  he  gave  way  on  every  point,  and  listened  de- 
ferentially to  his  rival's  criticisms,  then  he  caught  him 
up  sharply  on  some  remark  or  other,  and  pointed  out 
to  him  modestly  but  firmly  that  he  was  all  wrong. 
In  a  word,  Jolkin  was  utterly  discomfited  in  a  sur- 

L 


290  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

prisingly  clever  way,  so  KoulikoiFs  side  was  quite  we 
pleased. 

"I   say,    boys,    it's  no  use  talking;    you  can't  tri] 
him  up.     He  knows  what  he  is  about/'  said  some. 

"  Jolkin  knows  more  about  the  matter  than  he  does,' 
said  others ;  not  offensively,  however.     Both  sides  wei 
ready  to  make  concessions. 

"  Then,  he's  got  a  lighter  hand,  besides  having  more 
in  his  head.  I  tell  you  that  when  it  comes  to  stock, 
horses,  or  anything  else,  Koulikoff  needn't  duck  under  to 
anybody." 

"  Nor  need  Jolkin,  I  tell  you." 

"  There's  nobody  like  Koulikoff." 

The  new  horse  was  selected  and  bought.  It  was  a 
capital  gelding — young,  vigorous,  and  handsome ;  an 
irreproachable  beast  altogether.  The  bargaining  began. 
The  owner  asked  thirty  roubles ;  the  convicts  wouldn't 
give  more  than  twenty-five.  The  higgling  went  on 
long  and  hotly.  At  length  the  convicts  began  laughing. 

"  Does  the  money  come  out  of  your  own  purse  ?  "  said 
some.  "  What's  the  good  of  all  this  ?  " 

"Do  you  want  to  save  for  the  Government  cash- 
box  ?  "  cried  others. 

"  But  it's  money  that  belongs  to  us  all,  pals,"  said 
one. 

"  Us  all !  It's  plain  enough  that  you  needn't  trouble 
to  grow  idiots,  they'll  come  up  of  themselves  with- 
out it." 

At  last  the  business  was  settled  at  twenty-eight 
roubles.  The  Major  was  informed,  the  purchase  sanc- 
tioned. Bread  and  salt  were  brought  at  once,  and  the 
new  boarder  led  in  triumph  into  the  jail.  There  was  not 
one  of  the  convicts,  I  think,  that  did  not  pat  his  neck  or- 
caress  his  head. 

The  day  we  got  him  he  was  at  once  put  to  fetching 
water.  All  the  convicts  gazed  on  him  curiously  as  he 
pulled  at  his  barrel. 

Our  waterman,  the  convict  Roman,  kept  his  eyes  on 


ANIMALS  AT  THE  CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT  291 

the  beast  with  a  stupid  sort  of  satisfaction.  He  was 
formerly  a  peasant,  about  fifty  years  of  age,  serious  and 
silent,  like  all  the  Russian  coachmen,  whose  behaviour 
would  really  seem  to  acquire  some  extra  gravity  by 
reason  of  their  being  always  with  horses. 

Roman  was  a  quiet  creature,  affable  all  round,  said 
little,  took  snuff  from  a  box.  He  had  taken  care  of  the 
horses  at  the  jail  for  some  time  before  that.  The  one  just 
bought  was  the  third  given  into  his  charge  since  he  came 
to  the  place. 

The  coachman's  office  fell,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to 
Roman ;  nobody  would  have  dreamed  of  contesting  his 
right  to  it.  When  the  bay  horse  dropped  and  died, 
nobody  dreamed  of  accusing  Roman  of  imprudence, 
not  even  the  Major.  It  was  the  will  of  God,  that  was 
all ;  as  to  Roman,  he  knew  his  business. 

That  bay  horse  had  become  the  pet  of  the  jail  at 
once.  The  convicts  were  not  particularly  tender  fellows ; 
but  they  could  not  help  coming  to  pet  him  often. 

Sometimes  when  Roman,  returning  from  the  river, 
shut  the  great  gate  which  the  sub-officer  had  opened, 
Gniedko  would  stand  quite  still  waiting  for  his  driver, 
and  turning  to  him  as  for  orders. 

"  Get  along,  you  know  the  way,"  Roman  would  cry 
to  him.  Then  Gniedko  would  go  off  peaceably  to  the 
kitchen  and  stop  there,  and  the  cooks  and  other  servants 
of  the  place  would  fill  their  buckets  with  water,  which 
Gniedko  seemed  to  know  all  about. 

"  Gniedko,  you're  a  trump  !  He's  brought  his  water- 
barrel  himself.  He's  a  delight  to  see  !  "  they  would  cry 
to  him. 

"That's  true;  he's  only  a  beast,  but  he  knows  all 
that's  said  to  him." 

"  No  end  of  a  horse  is  our  Gniedko  !  " 

Then  the  horse  shook  his  head  and  snorted,  just  as  if 
he  really  understood  all  about  his  being  praised ;  then 
some  one  would  bring  him  bread  and  salt ;  and  when  he 
had  finished  with  them  he  would  shake  his  head  again, 


292  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

as  if  to  say,  "  I  know  you ;  I  know  you.  Fm  a  good 
horse,  and  you're  a  good  fellow." 

I  was  quite  fond  of  regaling  Gniedko  with  bread.  It 
was  quite  a  pleasure  to  me  to  look  at  his  nice  mouth,  and 
to  feel  his  warm,  moist  lips  licking  up  the  crumbs  from 
the  palm  of  my  hand. 

Our  convicts  were  fond  of  live  things,  and  if  they  had 
been  allowed  would  have  filled  the  barracks  with  birds 
and  domestic  animals.  What  could  possibly  have  been 
better  than  attending  to  such  creatures  for  raising  and 
softening  the  wild  temper  of  the  prisoners?  But  it 
was  not  permitted ;  it  was  not  in  the  regulations ; 
and,  truth  to  say,  there  was  no  room  there  for  many 
creatures. 

However,  in  my  time  some  animals  had  established 
themselves  in  the  jail.  Besides  Gniedko,  we  had  some 
dogs,  geese,  a  he-goat — Vaska — and  an  eagle,  which 
remained  only  a  short  time. 

I  think  I  have  said  before  that  our  dog  was  called 
Bull,  and  that  he  and  I  had  struck  up  a  friendship ;  buo 
as  the  lower  orders  regard  dogs  as  impure  animals  un- 
deserving of  attention,  nobody  minded  him.  He  lived 
in  the  jail  itself ;  slept  in  the  court-yard ;  ate  the  leavings 
of  the  kitchen,  and  had  no  hold  whatever  on  the  sympathy 
of  the  convicts ;  all  of  whom  he  knew,  however,  and 
regarded  as  masters  and  owners.  When  the  men 
assigned  to  work  came  back  to  the  jail,  at  the  cry  of 
"  Corporal,"  he  used  to  run  to  the  great  gate  and  gaily 
welcome  the  gang,  wagging  his  tail  and  looking  into 
every  man's  eyes,  as  though  he  expected  a  caress.  But 
for  several  years  his  little  ways  were  as  useless  as  they 
were  engaging.  Nobody  but  myself  did  caress  him ;  so 
I  was  the  one  he  preferred  to  all  others.  Somehow — I 
don't  know  in  what  way — we  got  another  dog.  Snow 
he  was  called.  As  to  the  third,  Koultiapka,  I  brought 
him  myself  to  the  place  when  he  was  but  a  pup. 

Our  Snow  was  a  strange  creature.  A  telega  had 
gone  over  him  and  driven  in  his  spine,  so  that  it  made  a 


ANIMALS  AT  THE   CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT   293 

curve  inside  him.  When  you  saw  him  running  at  a 
distance,  he  looked  like  twin-dogs  born  with  a  liga- 
ment. He  was  very  mangy,  too,  with  bleary  eyes,  and 
his  tail  was  hairless,  and  always  hanging  between  his 
legs. 

Victim  of  ill-fate  as  he  was,  he  seemed  to  have  made 
up  his  mind  to  be  always  as  impassive  as  possible ;  so  he 
never  barked  at  anybody,  for  he  seemed  to  be  afraid  of 
getting  into  some  fresh  trouble.  He  was  nearly  always 
lurking  at  the  back  of  the  buildings ;  and  if  anybody 
came  near  he  rolled  on  his  back  at  once,  as  though  he 
meant  to  say,  "  Do  what  you  like  with  me ;  I've  not  the 
least  idea  of  resisting  you/'  And  every  convict,  when 
the  dog  upset  himself  like  that,  would  give  him  a  passing 
obligatory  kick,  with  "  Ouh  !  the  dirty  brute  !  "  But 
Snow  dared  not  so  much  as  give  a  groan;  and  if  he 
was  too  much  hurt,  would  only  utter  a  little,  dull, 
strangled  yelp.  He  threw  himself  down  just  the  same 
way  before  Bull  or  any  other  dog  when  he  came  to  try 
his  luck  at  the  kitchen  ;  and  he  would  stretch  himself 
out  flat  if  a  mastiff  or  any  other  big  dog  came  barking 
at  him.  Dogs  like  submission  and  humility  in  other 
dogs ;  so  the  angry  brute  quieted  down  at  once,  and 
stopped  short  reflectively  before  the  poor,  humble  beast, 
and  then  sniffed  him  curiously  all  over. 

I  wonder  what  poor  Snow,  trembling  with  fright, 
used  to  think  at  such  moments.  <(  Is  this  brigand  of  a 
fellow  going  to  bite  me?" — no  doubt  something  like 
that.  When  he  had  sniffed  enough  at  him,  the  big 
brute  left  him  at  once,  having  probably  discovered 
nothing  in  particular.  Snow  used  then  to  jump  to 
his  feet,  and  join  a  lot  of  four-footed  fellows  like  him 
who  were  running  down  some  yutchka  or  other. 

Snow  knew  quite  well  that  no  yutchka  would 
ever  condescend  to  the  like  of  him,  that  she  was  too 
proud  for  that,  but  it  was  some  consolation  to  him  in  his 
troubles  to  limp  after  her.  As  to  decent  behaviour,  he 
had  but  a  very  vague  notion  of  any  such  thing.  Being 


294  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

totally  without  any  hope  in  his  future,  his  highest  aim 
was  to  get  a  bellyful  of  victuals,  and  he  was  cynical 
enough  in  showing  that  it  was  so. 

Once  I  tried  to  caress  him.  This  was  such  an  unex- 
pected and  new  thing  to  him  that  he  plumped  down  on 
the  ground  quite  helplessly,  and  quivered  and  whined  in 
his  delight.  As  I  was  really  sorry  for  him  I  used  to  caress 
him  often,  so  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  me  he  began 
to  whine  in  a  plaintive,  tearful  way.  He  came  to  his  end 
at  the  back  of  the  jail,  in  the  ditch ;  some  dogs  tore  him 
to  pieces. 

Koultiapka  was  quite  a  different  style  of  dog.  I  don't 
know  why  I  brought  him  in  from  one  of  the  workshops, 
where  he  was  just  born ;  but  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  feed 
him,  and  see  him  grow  big.  Bull  took  Koultiapka  under 
his  protection,  and  slept  with  him.  When  the  young  dog 
began  to  grow  up,  Bull  was  remarkably  complaisant 
with  him.  He  allowed  the  pup  to  bite  his  ears,  and  pull 
his  skin  with  his  teeth ;  he  played  with  him  as  mature 
dogs  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  with  the  youngsters.  It 
was  a  strange  thing,  but  Koultiapka  never  grew  in  height 
at  all,  only  in  length  and  breadth.  His  hide  was  fluffy 
and  mouse-coloured ;  one  of  his  ears  hung  down,  while 
the  other  was  always  cocked  up.  He  was,  like  all  young 
dogs,  ardent  and  enthusiastic,  yelping  with  pleasure 
when  he  saw  his  master,  and  jumping  up  to  lick  his 
face  precisely  as  if  he  said:  "As  long  as  he  sees  how 
delighted  I  am,  I  don't  care  ;  let  etiquette  go  to  the 
devil !" 

Wherever  I  was,  at  my  call,  "  Koultiapka/'  out  he 
came  from  some  corner,  dashing  towards  me  with 
noisy  satisfaction,  making  a  ball  of  himself,  and  rolling 
over  and  over.  I  was  exceedingly  fond  of  the  little 
wretch,  and  I  used  to  fancy  that  destiny  had  reserved 
for  him  nothing  but  joy  and  pleasure  in  this  world  of 
ours;  but  one  fine  day  the  convict  Neustroief,  who 
made  women's  shoes  and  prepared  skins,  cast  his  eye 
on  him ;  something  had  evidently  struck  him,  for  he 


ANIMALS  AT  THE   GONVIGT  ESTABLISHMENT  295 

called  Koultiapka,  felt  his  skin,  and  turned  him  over 
on  the  ground  in  a  friendly  way.  The  unsuspicious 
dog  barked  with  pleasure,  but  next  day  he  was  nowhere 
to  be  found.  I  hunted  for  him  for  some  time,  but  in 
vain;  at  last,  after  two  weeks,  all  was  explained. 
Koultiapka's  natural  cloak  had  been  too  much  for 
Neustroief,  who  had  flayed  him  to  make  up  with  the 
skin  some  boots  of  fur-trimmed  velvet  ordered  by 
the  young  wife  of  some  official.  He  showed  them  me 
when  they  were  done,  their  inside  lining  was  mag- 
nificent ;  all  Koultiapka,  poor  fellow  ! 

A  good  many  convicts  worked  at  tanning,  and  often 
brought  with  them  to  the  jail  dogs  with  a  nice  skin, 
which  soon  were  seen  no  more.  They  stole  them  or 
bought  them.  I  remember  one  day  I  saw  a  couple  of 
convicts  behind  the  kitchens  laying  their  heads  together. 
One  of  them  held  in  a  leash  a  very  fine  black  dog  of  par- 
ticularly good  breed.  A  scamp  of  a  footman  had  stolen 
it  from  his  master,  and  sold  it  to  our  shoemakers  for  thirty 
kopecks.  They  were  going  to  hang  it ;  that  was  their 
way  of  disposing  of  them ;  then  they  took  the  skin  off, 
and  threw  the  body  into  a  ditch  used  for  ejecta,  which 
was  in  the  most  distant  corner  of  the  court,  and  which 
stank  most  horribly  during  the  summer  heats,  for  it  was 
rarely  seen  to. 

I  think  the  poor  beast  understood  the  fate  in  store  for 
him.  It  looked  at  us  one  after  another  in  a  distressed, 
scrutinising  way ;  at  intervals  it  gave  a  timid  little  wag 
with  its  bushy  tail  between  its  legs,  as  though  trying  to 
reach  our  hearts  by  showing  us  every  confidence.  I 
hastened  away  from  the  convicts,  who  finished  their  vile 
work  without  hindrance. 

As  to  the  geese  of  the  establishment,  they  had  es- 
tablished themselves  there  quite  fortuitously.  Who 
took  care  of  them  ?  To  whom  did  they  belong  ?  I 
really  don't  know ;  but  they  were  a  huge  delight  to 
our  convicts,  and  acquired  a  certain  fame  throughout  the 
town. 


296  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

They  Lad  been  hatched  in  the  convict  establishment 
somewhere,  and  their  head-quarters  was  the  kitchen, 
whence  they  emerged  in  gangs  of  their  own,  when  the 
gangs  of  convicts  went  out  to  their  work.  But  as  soon  as 
the  drum  beat  and  the  prisoners  massed  themselves  at  the 
great  gate,  out  ran  the  geese  after  them,  cackling  and  flap- 
ping their  wings,  then  they  jumped  one  after  the  other  over 
the  elevated  threshold  of  the  gateway  ;  while  the  convicts 
were  at  their  work,  the  geese  pecked  about  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  them.  As  soon  as  they  had  done  and  set  out 
for  the  jail,  again  the  geese  joined  the  procession,  and 
people  who  passed  by  would  cry  out,  "I  say,  there  are 
the  prisoners  with  their  friends,  the  geese ! "  "  How 
did  you  teach  them  to  follow  you  ?  "  some  one  would  ask. 
"Here's  some  money  for  your  geese/'  another  said, 
putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket.  In  spite  of  their  devotion 
to  the  convicts  they  had  their  necks  twisted  to  make  a 
feast  at  the  end  of  the  Lent  of  some  year,  I  forget 
which. 

Nobody  would  ever  have  made  up  his  mind  to  kill  our 
goat  Yaska,  unless  something  particular  had  happened  ;  as 
it  did.  I  don't  know  how  it  got  into  our  prison,  or  who 
had  brought  it.  It  was  a  white  kid,  and  very  pretty.  After 
some  days  it  had  won  all  hearts,  it  was  diverting  and 
winning.  As  some  excuse  was  needed  for  keeping  it  in 
the  jail,  it  was  given  out  that  it  was  quite  necessary 
to  have  a  goat  in  the  stables ;  but  he  didn't  live  there, 
but  in  the  kitchen  principally;  and  after  a  while  he 
roamed  about  all  over  the  place.  The  creature  was  full 
of  grace  and  as  playful  as  could  be,  jumped  on  the  tables, 
wrestled  with  the  convicts,  came  when  it  was  called,  and 
was  always  full  of  spirits  and  fun. 

One  evening,  the  Lesghian  Babaf,  who  was  seated  on 
the  stone  steps  at  the  doors  of  the  barracks  among  a 
crowd  of  other  convicts,  took  it  into  his  head  to  have  a 
wrestling  bout  with  Vaska,  whose  horns  were  pretty 
long. 

They    butted   their  foreheads   against   one  another 


ANIMALS  AT  THE  CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT  297 

— that  was  the  way  the  convicts  amnsed  themselves  with 
him — when  all  of  a  sudden  Vaska  jumped  on  the  highest 
step,  lifted  himself  up  on  his  hind  legs,  drew  his  fore-feet 
to  him  and  managed  to  strike  the  Lesghian  on  the  back 
of  the  neck  with  all  his  might,  and  with  such  effect  that 
Babaf  went  headlong  down  the  steps  to  the  great  delight 
of  all  who  were  by  as  well  as  of  Babai  himself. 

In  a  word,  we  all  adored  our  Vaska.  When  he 
attained  the  age  of  puberty,  a  general  and  serious  con- 
sultation was  held,  as  the  result  of  which,  he  was 
subjected  to  an  operation  which  one  of  the  prison  vete- 
rinaries  executed  in  a  masterly  manner. 

"  Well,"  said  the  prisoners,  "  he  won't  have  any  goat- 
smell  about  him,  that's  one  comfort/' 

Vaska  then  began  to  lay  on  fat  in  the  most  surpris- 
ing way.  I  must  say  that  we  fed  him  quite  unconscionably. 
He  became  a  most  beautiful  fellow,  with  magnificent 
horns,  corpulent  beyond  anything.  Sometimes  as  he 
walked,  he  rolled  over  on  the  ground  heavily  out  of 
sheer  fatness.  He  went  with  us  out  to  work  too, 
which  was  very  diverting  to  the  convicts  and  all  others 
who  saw  ;  and  everybody  got  to  know  Vaska,  the  jail- 
bird. 

When  they  worked  at  the  river  bank,  the  prisoners 
used  to  cut  willow  branches  and  other  foliage,  and  gather 
flowers  in  the  ditches  to  ornament  Vaska.  They  used  to 
twine  the  branches  and  flowers  round  his  horns  and 
decorate  his  body  with  garlands.  Vaska  then  came  back 
at  the  head  of  the  gang  in  a  splendid  state  of  ornamenta- 
tion, and  we  all  came  after  in  high  pride  at  seeing  him 
such  a  beauty. 

This  love  for  our  goat  went  so  far  that  prisoners 
raised  the  question,  not  a  very  wise  one,  whether  Vaska 
ought  not  to  have  his  horns  gilded.  It  was  a  vain  idea ; 
nothing  came  of  it.  I  asked  Akim  Akimitch,  the  best 
gilder  in  the  jail,  whether  you  really  could  gild  a  goat's 
horns.  He  examined  Vaska's  quite  closely,  thought  a 
bit,  and  then  said  that  it  could  be  done,  but  that  it  would 


298  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

not  last,  and  would  be  quite  useless.  So  nothing  came 
of  it.  Vaska  would  have  lived  for  many  years  more,  and, 
no  doubt,  have  died  of  asthma  at  last,  if,  one  day  as  he 
returned  from  work  at  the  head  of  the  convicts,  his  path 
had  not  been  crossed  by  the  Major,  who  was  seated 
in  his  carriage.  Vaska  was  in  particularly  gorgeous 
array. 

"  Halt !  "  yelled  the  Major.     "  Whose  goat  is  that  ?  " 

They  told  him. 

"  What !  a  goat  in  the  prison  !  and  that  without  my 
leave  ?  Sub-officer  !  " 

The  sub-officer  received  orders  to  kill  the  goat  without 
a  moment's  delay ;  flay  him,  and  sell  his  skin  ;  and  put 
the  proceeds  to  the  prisoners'  account.  As  to  the  meat, 
he  ordered  it  to  be  cooked  with  the  convicts'  cabbage 
soup. 

The  occurrence  was  much  discussed;  the  goat  was 
much  mourned ;  but  nobody  dared  to  disobey  the  Major. 
Vaska  was  put  to  death  close  to  the  ditch  I  spoke  of  just 
now.  One  of  the  convicts  bought  the  carcase,  paying  a 
rouble  and  fifty  kopecks.  With  this  money  white  bread 
was  bought  for  everybody.  The  man  who  had  bought 
the  goat  sold  him  at  retail  in  a  roasted  state.  The  meat 
was  delicious. 

We  had  also,  during  some  time,  in  our  prison  a  steppe 
eagle ;  a  quite  small  species.  A  convict  brought  it  in, 
wounded,  half-dead.  Everybody  came  nocking  round  it ; 
it  could  not  fly,  its  right  wing  being  quite  powerless ;  one 
of  its  legs  was  badly  hurt.  It  gazed  on  the  curious 
crowd  wrathf ully,  and  opened  its  crooked  beak,  as  if  pre- 
pared to  sell  its  life  dearly.  When  we  had  looked  at  him 
long  enough,  and  the  crowd  dispersed,  the  lamed  bird 
went  off,  hopping  on  one  paw  and  flapping  his  wing,  and 
hid  himself  in  the  most  distant  part  of  the  place  he  could 
find ;  there  he  huddled  himself  in  a  corner  against  the 
palings. 

During  the  three  months  that  he  remained  in  our 
court-yard  he  never  came  out  of  his  corner.  At  first  we 


ANIMALS  AT  THE   CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT   299 

went  to  look  at  him  pretty  often,  and  sometimes  they  set 
Bull  at  him,  who  threw  himself  forward  with  fury,  but 
was  frightened  to  go  too  near,  which  mightily  amused 
the  convicts.  "  A  wild  chap  that !  He  won't  stand  any 
nonsense ! "  But  Bull  after  a  while  got  over  his 
fright,  and  began  to  worry  him.  When  he  was  roused  to 
it,  the  dog  would  catch  hold  of  the  bird's  bad  wing, 
and  the  creature  defended  itself  with  beak  and 
claws,  and  then  got  up  closer  into  his  corner  with  a 
proud,  savage  sort  of  demeanour,  like  a  wounded  king, 
fixing  his  eyes  steadily  on  the  fellows  looking  at  his 
misery. 

They  tired  of  the  sport  after  a  while,  and  the  eagle 
seemed  quite  forgotten  ;  but  there  was  some  one  who, 
every  day,  put  close  to  him  a  bit  of  fresh  meat  and  a 
vessel  with  some  water.  At  first,  and  for  several  days, 
the  eagle  would  eat  nothing;  at  last,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  take  what  was  left  for  him,  but  he  never  could 
be  got  to  take  anything  from  the  hand,  or  in  public. 
Sometimes  I  succeeded  in  watching  his  proceedings  at 
some  distance. 

When  he  saw  nobody,  and  thought  he  was  alone,  he 
ventured  upon  leaving  his  corner  and  limping  along  the 
palisade  for  a  dozen  steps  or  so,  then  went  back ;  and 
so  forwards  and  backwards,  precisely  as  if  he  were  taking 
exercise  for  his  health  under  medical  orders.  As  soon  as 
ever  he  caught  sight  of  me  he  made  for  his  corner  as 
quickly  as  he  possibly  could,  limping  and  hopping.  Then 
he  threw  his  head  back,  opened  his  mouth,  ruffled  him- 
self, and  seemed  to  make  ready  for  fight. 

In  vain  I  tried  to  caress  him.  He  bit  and  struggled 
as  soon  as  he  was  touched.  Not  once  did  he  take  the 
meat  I  offered  him,  and  all  the  time  I  remained  by  him 
he  kept  his  wicked,  piercing  eye  upon  me.  Lonely  and 
revengeful  he  waited  for  death,  defying,  refusing  to  be 
reconciled  with  everything  and  everybody. 

At  last  the  convicts  remembered  him,  after  two 
months  of  complete  forgetfulness,  and  then  they  showed 


300  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

a  sympathy  I  did  not  expect  of  them.  It  was  unani- 
mously agreed  to  carry  him  out. 

"  Let  him  die,  but  let  him  die  in  freedom,"  said  the 
prisoners. 

"  Sure  enough,  a  free  and  independent  bird  like  that 
will  never  get  used  to  the  prison,"  added  others. 

"  He's  not  like  us,"  said  some  one. 

"  Oh  well,  he's  a  bird,  and  we're  human  beings." 

€t  The  eagle,  pals,  is  the  king  of  the  woods/'  began 
Skouratof ;  but  that  day  noboby  paid  any  attention  to 
him. 

One  afternoon,  when  the  drum  beat  for  beginning 
work,  they  took  the  eagle,  tied  his  beak  (for  he  struck 
a  desperate  attitude),  and  took  him  out  of  the  prison  on 
to  the  ramparts.  The  twelve  convicts  of  the  gang  were 
extremely  anxious  to  know  where  he  would  go  to.  It 
was  a  strange  thing  :  they  all  seemed  as  happy  as  though 
they  had  themselves  got  their  freedom. 

"  Oh,  the  wretched  brute.  One  wants  to  do  him  a 
kindness,  and  he  tears  your  hand  for  you  by  way  of 
thanks/'  said  the  man  who  held  him,  looking  almost 
lovingly  at  the  spiteful  bird. 

"  Let  him  fly  off,  Mikitka !  » 

"  It  doesn't  suit  him  being  a  prisoner ;  give  him  his 
freedom,  his  jolly  freedom/' 

They  threw  him  from  the  ramparts  on  to  the  steppe. 
It  was  just  at  the  end  of  autumn,  a  gray,  cold  day.  The 
wind  whistled  on  the  bare  steppe  and  went  groaning 
through  the  yellow  dried-up  grass.  The  eagle  made 
off  directly,  flapping  his  wounded  wing,  as  if  in  a  hurry 
to  quit  us  and  get  himself  a  shelter  from  our  piercing 
eyes.  The  convicts  watched  him  intently  as  he  went 
along  with  his  head  just  above  the  grass. 

"  Do  you  see  him,  hey  ?  "  said  one  very  pensively. 

"He  doesn't  look  round,"  said  another;  "he  hasn't 
looked  behind  once." 

"  Did  you  happen  to  fancy  he'd  come  back  to  thank 
us  ?  "  said  a  third. 


ANIMALS  AT  THE  CONVICT  ESTABLISHMENT   301 

"  Sure  enough,  he's  free;  he  feels  it.     It's  freedom  !  " 

"  Yes,  freedom." 

"  You  won't  see  him  any  more,  pals." 

"  What  are  you  about  sticking  there  ?  March,  march ! " 

cried  the  escort,  and  all  went  slowly  to  their  work. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

GRIEVANCES 

AT  the  outset  of  this  chapter,  the  editor  of 
the  "  Recollections "  of  the  late  Alexander 
Petrovitch  Goriantchikoff  thinks  it  his  duty 
to  communicate  what  follows  to  his  readers. 
"  In  the  first  chapter  of  the  '  Recollections 
of  the  House  of  the  Dead/  something  was  said  about  a 
parricide,  of  noble  birth,  who  was  put  forward  as  an 
instance  of  the  insensibility  with  whick  the  convicts 
speak  of  the  crimes  they  have  committed.  It  was  also 
stated  that  he  refused  altogether  to  confess  to  the 
authorities  and  the  court;  but  that,  thanks  to  the 
statements  of  persons  who  knew  all  the  details  of  his 
case  and  history,  his  guilt  was  put  beyond  all  doubt. 
These  persons  had  informed  the  author  of  the  '  Recol- 
lections/ that  the  criminal  had  been  of  dissolute  life 
and  overwhelmed  with  debts,  and  that  he  had  murdered 
his  father  to  come  into  the  property.  Besides,  the 
whole  town  where  this  parricide  was  imprisoned  told 
his  story  in  precisely  the  same  way,  a  fact  of  which  the 
editor  of  these  '  Recollections  '  has  fully  satisfied  himself. 
It  was  further  stated  that  this  murderer,  even  when  in 
the  jail,  was  of  quite  a  joyous  and  cheerful  frame  of 
mind,  a  sort  of  inconsiderate  giddy-pated  person,  although 


GRIEVANCES  303 

intelligent,  and  that  the  author  of  the  '  Recollections '  had 
never  observed  any  particular  signs  of  cruelty  about 
him,  to  which  he  added,  '  So  I,  for  my  part,  never  could 
bring  myself  to  believe  him  guilty/ 

"  Some  time  ago  the  editor  of  the  *  Recollections  of 
bhe  House  of  the  Dead/  had  intelligence  from  Siberia  of 
she  discovery  of  the  innocence  of  this  '  parricide,'  and 
that  he  had  undergone  ten  years  of  the  imprisonment 
with  hard  labour  for  nothing ;  this  was  recognised  and 
avowed  by  the  authorities.  The  real  criminals  had 
been  discovered  and  had  confessed,  and  the  unfortunate 
man  in  question  set  at  liberty.  All  this  stands  upon 
unimpeachable  and  authoritative  grounds/' 

To  say  more  would  be  useless.  The  tragical  facts 
speak  too  clearly  for  themselves.  All  words  are  weak 
in  such  a  case,  where  a  life  has  been  ruined  by  such  an 
accusation.  Such  mistakes  as  these  are  among  the 
dreadful  possibilities  of  life,  and  such  possibilities 
impart  a  keener  and  more  vivid  interest  to  the 
"  Recollections  of  the  House  of  the  Dead/'  which  dreadful 
place  we  see  may  contain  innocent  as  well  as  guilty 
men. 

To  continue.  I  have  said  that  I  became  at  last, 
in  some  sense,  accustomed,  if  not  reconciled,  to  the 
conditions  of  convict  life ;  but  it  was  a  long  and 
dreadful  time  before  I  was.  It  took  me  nearly  a  year 
to  get  used  to  the  prison,  and  I  shall  always  regard 
this  year  as  the  most  dreadful  of  my  life,  it  is  graven 
deep  in  my  memory,  down  to  the  very  least  details. 
I  think  that  I  could  minutely  recall  the  events  and 
feelings  of  each  successive  hour  in  it. 

I  have  said  that  the  other  prisoners,  too,  found  it  as 
difficult  as  I  did  to  get  used  to  the  life  they  had  to  lead. 
During  the  whole  of  this  first  year,  I  used  to  ask  myself 
whether  they  were  really  as  calm  as  they  seemed  to  be. 
Questions  of  this  kind  pressed  themselves  upon  me.  As 
I  have  mentioned  before,  all  the  convicts  felt  themselves 
in  an  alien  element  to  which  they  could  not  reconcile 
themselves.  The  sense  of  home  was  an  impossibility; 


304  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

they  felt  as  if  they  were  staying,  as  a  stage  upon  a 
journey,  in  an  evil  sort  of  inn.  These  men,  exiles  for 
and  from  life,  seemed  either  in  a  perpetual  smouldering 
agitation,  or  else  in  deep  depression ;  but  there  was  not 
one  who  had  not  his  ordinary  ideas  of  one  thing  or 
another.  This  restlessness,  which,  if  it  did  not  come  to 
the  surface,  was  still  unmistakable ;  those  vague  hopes  of 
the  poor  creatures  which  existed  in  spite  of  themselves, 
hopes  so  ill-founded  that  they  were  more  like  the  prompt- 
ings of  incipient  insanity  than  aught  else;  all  this  stamped 
the  place  with  a  character,  an  originality,  peculiarly 
its  own.  One  could  not  but  feel  when  one  went  there 
that  there  was  nothing  like  it  anywhere  else  in  the  whole 
world.  There  everybody  went  about  in  a  sort  of  waking 
dream ;  nor  was  there  anything  to  relieve  or  qualify  the 
impressions  the  place  made  on  the  system  of  every  man ; 
so  that  all  seemed  to  suffer  from  a  sort  of  hyperassthetic 
neurosis,  and  this  dreaming  of  impossibilities  gave  to  the 
majority  of  the  convicts  a  sombre  and  morose  aspect,  for 
which  the  word  morbid  is  not  strong  enough.  Nearly 
all  were  taciturn  and  irascible,  preferring  to  keep  to 
themselves  the  hopes  they  secretly  and  vainly  cherished. 
The  result  was,  that  anything  like  ingenuousness  or  frank 
statement  was  the  object  of  general  contempt.  Precisely 
because  these  wild  hopings  were  impossible,  and,  despite 
themselves,  were  felt  to  be  so,  confessed  to  their  more 
lucid  selves  to  be  so,  they  kept  them  jealously  concealed 
in  the  most  secret  recesses  of  their  souls;  while  to 
renounce  them  was  beyond  their  powers  of  self-control. 
It  may  be  they  were  ashamed  of  their  imagination.  God 
knows.  The  Russian  character  is,  in  its  normal  condi- 
tions, so  positive  and  sober  in  its  way  of  looking  at  life, 
so  pitiless  in  criticism  of  its  own  weaknesses. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  inward  misery  of  self -dissatis- 
faction which  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  impatience  and 
intolerance  the  convicts  showed  among  themselves, 
and  of  the  cruel  biting  things  they  said  to  each  other. 
If  one  of  them,  more  nai've  or  impartial  than  the  rest, 


GRIEVANCES  305 

put  into  words  what  every  one  of  them  had  in  his  mind, 
painted  his  castles  in  the  air,  told  his  dreams  of  liberty, 
or  plans  of  escape,  they  shut  him  up  with  brutal 
promptitude,  and  made  the  poor  fellow's  life  a  burden 
to  him  with  their  sarcasms  and  jests.  And  I  think 
those  did  it  most  unscrupulously  who  had  perhaps 
themselves  gone  furthest  in  cherishing  futile  hopes, 
and  indulging  in  senseless  expectations.  I  have  said, 
more  than  once,  that  those  among  them  who  were 
marked  by  simplicity  and  candour  were  looked  on 
rather  as  being  stupid  and  idiotic;  there  was  nothing 
but  contempt  for  them.  The  convicts  were  so  soured 
and,  in  the  wrong  sense,  sensitive,  that  they  positively 
hated  anything  like  amiability  or  unselfishness.  I 
should  be  disposed  to  classify  them  all  broadly,  as 
either  good  or  bad  men,  morose  or  cheerful,  putting 
by  themselves,  as  a  sort  of  separate  creatures,  the 
ingenious  fellows  who  could  not  hold  their  tongues. 
But  the  sour-tempered  were  in  far  the  greatest  majority ; 
some  of  these  were  talkative,  but  these  were  usually 
of  slanderous  and  envious  disposition,  always  poking 
their  noses  into  other  people's  business,  though  they 
took  good  care  not  to  let  anybody  have  a  glimpse  of 
the  secret  thoughts  of  their  own  souls  ;  that  would 
have  been  against  the  fashions  and  conventions  of 
this  strange,  little  world.  A.S  to  the  fellows  who 
were  really  good — very  few  indeed  were  they — these 
were  always  very  quiet  and  peaceable,  and  buried 
their  hopes,  if  they  had  any,  in  strict  silence ;  bat 
more  of  real  faith  went  with  their  hopes  than  was  the 
case  with  the  gloomy-minded  among  the  convicts. 
Stay,  there  was  one  category  further  among  our  convicts, 
which  ought  not  to  be  forgotten;  the  men  who  had 
lost  all  hope,  who  were  despairing  and  desperate,  like 
the  old  man  of  Starodoub;  but  these  were  very  few 
indeed. 

The  old  man  of  Starodoub !     This  was  a  very  sub- 
dued, quiet,  old  man ;   but  there  were  some  indications 


306  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

of  what  went  on  in  him,  which  he  could  not  help 
giving,  and  from  which,  I  could  not  help  seeing,  that  his 
inward  life  was  one  of  intolerable  horror;  still  he  had 
something  to  fall  back  upon  for  help  and  consolation — 
prayer,  and  the  notion  that  he  was  a  martyr.  The 
convict  who  was  always  reading  the  Bible,  of  whom 
I  spoke  earlier,  the  one  that  went  mad  and  threw 
himself,  brick  in  hand,  upon  the  Major,  was  also  probably 
one  of  those  whom  hope  had  altogether  abandoned  ; 
and,  as  it  is  perfectly  impossible  to  go  on  living  with- 
out hope  of  some  sort,  he  threw  away  his  life  as  a 
sort  of  voluntary  sacrifice.  He  declared  that  he  at- 
tacked the  Major  though  he  had  no  grievance  in 
particular ;  all  he  wanted  was  to  have  some  torments 
inflicted  on  himself. 

Now,  what  sort  of  psychological  operation  had  been 
going  on  in  that  man's  soul?  No  man  lives,  can  live, 
without  having  some  object  in  view,  and  making  efforts 
to  attain  that  object.  But  when  object  there  is  none, 
and  hope  is  entirely  fled,  anguish  often  turns  a  man 
into  a  monster.  The  object  we  all  had  in  view  was 
liberty,  and  getting  out  of  our  place  of  confinement 
and  hard  labour. 

So  I  try  to  place  our  convicts  in  separately-defined 
classes  and  categories;  but  it  cannot  well  be  done. 
Reality  is  a  thing  of  infinite  diversity,  and  defies  the 
most  ingenious  deductions  and  definitions  of  abstract 
thought,  nay,  abhors  the  clear  and  precise  classifications 
we  so  delight  in.  Reality  tends  to  infinite  subdivision 
of  things,  and  truth  is  a  matter  of  infinite  shadings 
and  differentiations.  Every  one  of  us  who  were  there 
had  his  own  peculiar,  interior,  strictly  personal  life, 
which  lay  altogether  outside  of  the  world  of  regulations 
and  our  official  superintendence. 

But,  as  I  have  said  before,  I  could  not  penetrate  the 
depths  of  this  interior  life  in  the  early  part  of  my  prison 
career,  for  everything  that  met  my  eyes,  or  challenged 
uiy  attention  in  any  way,  filled  me  with  a  sadness  for 
which  there  are  no  words.  Sometimes  I  felt  nothing 


GRIEVANCES  807 

short  of  hatred  for  poor  creatures  whose  martyrdom  was 
at  least  as  great  as  mine.  In  those  first  days  I  envied 
them,  because  they  were  among  persons  of  their  own 
sort,  and  understood  one  another ;  so  I  thought,  but 
the  truth  was  that  their  enforced  companionship,  the 
comradeship  where  the  word  of  command  went  with  the 
whip  or  the  rod,  was  as  much  an  object  of  aversion 
to  them  as  it  was  to  myself,  and  every  one  of  them 
tried  to  keep  himself  as  much  to  himself  as  possible. 
This  envious  hatred  of  them,  which  came  to  me  in 
moments  of  irritation,  was  not  without  its  reasonable 
cause,  for  those  who  tell  you  so  confidently  that  a 
cultivated  man  of  the  higher  class  does  not  suffer  as  a 
mere  peasant  does,  are  utterly  in  the  wrong.  That  is 
a  thing  I  have  often  heard  said,  and  read  too.  In  the 
abstract,  the  notion  seems  correct,  and  it  is  founded  in 
generous  sentiment,  for  all  convicts  are  human  beings 
ulike;  but  in  reality  it  is  different.  In  the  real  living 
facts  of  the  problem  there  come  in  a  quantity  of  practical 
complications,  and  only  experience  can  pronounce  upon 
these :  experience  which  I  have  had.  I  do  not  mean  to 
lay  it  down  peremptorily,  that  the  nobleman  and  the 
man  of  culture  feel  more  acutely,  sensitively,  deeply, 
because  of  their  more  highly  developed  conditions  of 
being.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  impossible  to  bring 
all  souls  to  one  common  level  or  standard;  neither 
the  grade  of  education,  nor  any  other  thing,  furnishes 
a  standard  according  to  which  punishment  can  be  meted 
out. 

It  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  to  be  able  to  say  that 
among  these  dreadful  sufferers,  in  a  state  of  things 
so  barbarous  and  abject,  I  found  abundant  proof  that 
the  elements  of  moral  development  were  not  wanting. 
In  our  convict  establishment  there  were  men  whom  I 
was  familiar  with  for  several  years,  and  whom  I  looked 
upon  as  wild  beasts  and  abhorred  as  such ;  well,  all  of  a 
sudden,  when  I  least  expected  it,  these  very  men  would 
exhibit  such  an  abundance  of  feeling  of  the  best  kind,  so 
keen  a  comprehension  of  the  sufferings  of  others,  seen  in 


308  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  light  of  the  consciousness  of  their  own,  that  one 
might  almost  fancy  scales  had  fallen  from  their  eyes. 
So  sudden  was  it  as  to  cause  stupefaction;  one  could 
scarcely  believe  one's  eyes  or  ears.  Sometimes  it  was 
just  the  other  way :  educated  men,  well  brought  up, 
would  occasionally  display  a  savage,  cynical  brutality 
which  nearly  turned  one's  stomach,  conduct  of  a  kind 
impossible  to  excuse  or  justify,  however  much  you  might 
be  charitably  inclined  to  do  so. 

I  lay  no  stress  on  the  entire  change  in  the  habits  of 
life,  the  food,  etc.,  as  to  which  there  come  in  points 
where  the  man  of  the  higher  classes  suffers  so  much  more 
keenly  than  the  peasant  or  working  man,  who  often  goes 
hungry  when  free,  while  he  always  has  his  stomach-full 
in  prison.  We  will  leave  all  that  out.  Let  it  be 
admitted  that  for  a  man  with  some  force  of  character 
these  external  things  are  a  trifle  in  comparison  with 
privations  of  a  quite  different  kind  ;  for  all  that,  such 
total  change  of  material  conditions  and  habits  is  neither 
an  easy  nor  a  slight  thing.  But  in  the  convict's  status 
there  are  elements  of  horror  before  which  all  other 
horrors  pale,  even  the  mud  and  filth  everywhere  about, 
the  scantiness  and  uncleanness  of  the  food,  the  irons  on 
your  limbs,  the  suffocating  sense  of  being  always  held 
tight,  as  in  a  vice. 

The  capital,  the  most  important  point  of  all  is,  that 
after  a  couple  of  hours  or  so,  every  new-comer  to  a 
convict  establishment,  who  is  of  the  lower  class,  shakes 
down  into  equality  with  the  rest ;  he  is  at  home  among 
them,  he  has  his  "  freedom  "  of  this  city  of  the  enslaved, 
this  community  of  convicted  scoundrels,  in  which  one 
man  is  superficially  like  every  other  man;  he  under- 
stands and  is  understood,  he  is  looked  upon  by  every- 
body as  one  of  themselves.  Now  all  this  is  not  so  in  the 
case  of  the  nobleman.  However  kindly,  just-minded, 
intelligent  a  man  of  the  higher  class  may  be,  every  soul 
there  will  hate  and  despise  him  during  long  years ; 
they  will  neither  understand  nor  believe  in  him,  not  one 
whit.  He  will  be  neither  friend  nor  comrade  in  their 


GRIEVANCES  309 

eyes ;  if  he  can  get  them  to  stop  insulting  him  it  will  be 
as  much  as  he  can  do,  but  he  will  be  alien  to  them  from 
the  first  to  the  last,  he  will  have  to  feel  the  grief  of  a 
ceaseless,  hopeless,  causeless  solitude  and  sequestration. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  case  that  sheer  ill-will  on  the  part  of 
the  prisoners  has  nothing  to  do  with  bringing  about 
this  state  of  things,  it  simply  cannot  be  helped;  the 
nobleman  is  not  one  of  the  gang,  and  there's  the  whole 
secret. 

There  is  nothing  more  horrible  than  to  live  out  of 
the  social  sphere  to  which  you  properly  belong.  The 
peasant,  transported  from  Taganrog  to  Petropavlosk, 
finds  there  Russian  peasants  like  himself;  between  him 
and  them  there  can  be  mutual  intelligence  ;  in  an  hour 
they  will  be  friends,  and  live  comfortably  together  in  the 
same  izba  or  the  same  barrack.  With  the  nobleman  it 
is  wholly  otherwise ;  a  bottomless  abyss  separates  him 
from  the  lower  classes,  how  deep  and  impassable  is  only 
seen  when  a  nobleman  forfeits  his  position  and  becomes 
as  one  of  the  populace  himself.  You  may  be  your  whole 
life  in  daily  relations  with  the  peasant,  forty  years  you 
may  do  business  with  him  regularly  as  the  day  comes — 
let  us  suppose  it  so,  at  all  events — by  the  calls  of  official 
position  or  administrative  duty;  you  may  be  his  bene- 
factor, all  but  a  father  to  him — well,  you'll  never  know 
what  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  man's  mind  or  heart.  You 
may  think  you  know  something  about  him,  but  it  is  all 
optical  illusion,  nothing  more.  My  readers  will  charge 
me  with  exaggeration,  but  I  am  convinced  I  am  quite 
right.  I  don't  go  on  theory  or  book-reading  in  this ;  in 
my  case  the  realities  of  life  have  given  me  only  too 
ample  time  and  opportunity  for  reviewing  and  cor- 
recting my  theoretic  convictions,  which,  as  to  this,  are 
now  fixed.  Perhaps  everybody  will  some  day  learn  how 
well  founded  I  am  in  what  I  say  about  this. 

All  this  was  theory  when  I  first  went  into  the  convict 
establishment,  but  events,  and  things  observed,  soon 
came  to  confirm  me  in  such  views,  and  what  I  expe- 
rienced so  affected  my  system  as  to  undermine  its 


310  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

health.  During1  the  first  summer  I  wandered  about  the 
place,  so  far  as  I  was  free  to  move,  a  solitary,  friendless 
man.  My  moral  situation  was  such  that  I  could  not 
distinguish  those  among  the  convicts  who,  in  the  sequel, 
managed  to  care  for  me  a  little  in  spite  of  the  distance 
that  always  remained  between  us.  There  were  there 
men  of  my  own  position,  ex-nobles  like  myself,  but  their 
companionship  was  repugnant  to  me. 

Here  is  one  of  the  incidents  which  obliged  me  to 
see  at  the  outset,  how  solitary  a  creature  I  was,  and 
all  the  strangeness  of  my  position  at  the  place.  One 
day  in  August,  a  fine  warm  day,  about  one  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  a  time  when,  as  a  rule,  everybody  took 
a  nap  before  resuming  work,  the  convicts  rose  as  one 
man  and  massed  themselves  in  the  court-yard.  I  had 
not  the  slightest  idea,  up  to  that  moment,  that  anything 
was  going  on.  So  deeply  had  I  been  sunk  in  my  own 
thoughts,  that  I  saw  nearly  nothing  of  what  was 
happening  about  me  of  any  kind.  But  it  seems  that 
the  convicts  had  been  in  a  smouldering  sort  of  unusual 
agitation  for  three  days.  Perhaps  it  had  begun  sooner ; 
so  I  thought  later  when  I  remembered  stray  remarks, 
bits  of  talk  that  had  come  to  my  ears,  the  palpable 
increase  of  ill-humour  among  the  prisoners,  their 
unusual  irritability  for  some  time  past.  I  had  attri- 
buted it  all  to  the  trying  summer  work,  the  insufferably 
long  days;  to  their  dreamings  about  the  woods,  and 
freedom,  which  the  season  brought  up;  to  the  nights 
too  short  for  rest.  It  may  be  that  all  these  things 
came  together  to  form  a  mass  of  discontent,  that 
only  wanted  a  tolerably  good  reason  for  exploding; 
it  was  found  in  the  food. 

For  several  days  the  convicts  had  not  concealed 
their  dissatisfaction  with  it  in  open  talk  in  their  barracks, 
and  they  showed  it  plainly  when  assembled  for  dinner 
or  supper ;  one  of  the  cooks  had  been  changed,  but, 
after  a  couple  of  days,  the  new  comer  was  sent  to  the 
right-about,  and  the  old  one  brought  back.  The  rest- 


GRIEVANCES  311 

essness    and    ill-humour   were   general;    mischief   was 
Brewing. 

Here  are  we  slaving  to  death,  and  they  give 
us  nothing  but  filth  to  eat/'  grumbled  one  in  the 
dtchen. 

"  If  you  don't  like  it,  why  don't  you  order  jellies  and 
alanc-mange  ?  "  said  another. 

"  Sour  cabbage  soup,  why,  that's  good.  I  delight 
in  it ;  there's  nothing  more  juicy,"  exclaimed  a  third. 

"  Well,  if  they  gave  you  nothing  but  beef,  beef, 
jeef ,  for  ever  and  ever,  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"Yes,   yes;   they   ought  to  give  us  meat/'  said  a 
ourth;    "one's  almost  killed  at   the   workshops;    and, 
>y  heaven !  when  one  has  got  through  with  work  there 
one's    hungry,   hungry ;    and   you   don't   get  anything 
to  satisfy  your  hunger." 

"  It's  true,  the  victuals  are  simply  damnable." 
"  He  fills  his  pockets,  don't  you  fear !  " 
"  It  isn't  your  business." 

"Whose  business  is  it?     My  belly's   my  own.     If 
we   were  all  to  make  a   row  about   it  together,  you'd 
n  see." 
"Yes." 

"  Haven't  we  been  beaten  enough  for  complaining, 
dolt  that  you  are  ?  " 

"  True  enough !  What's  done  in  a  hurry  is  never 
well  done.  And  how  would  you  set  about  making  a 
raid  over  it,  tell  me  that  ?  " 

I'll  tell  you,  by  God!  If  everybody  will  go,  I'll 
go  too,  for  I'm  just  dying  of  hunger.  It's  all  very 
well  for  those  who  eat  at  a  better  table,  apart,  to 

keep  quiet ;  but  those  who  eat  the  regulation  food " 

There's  a  fellow  with  eyes  that  do  their  work, 
bursting  with  envy  he  is.  Don't  his  eyes  glisten 
when  he  sees  something  that  doesn't  belong  to  him  ?  " 

Well,  pals,  why  don't  we  make  up  our  minds  ? 
Have  we  gone  through  enough  ?  They  flay  us,  the 
brigands  1  Let's  go  at  them." 


! 


312  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"  What' s  the  good  ?     I  tell  you  ye  must  chew  wha 
they  give  you,  and  stuff  your  mouth  full  of  it.     Loo 
at  the   fellow,  he  wants  people  to   chew  his   food 
him.     We're  in  prison,  and  have  got  to  stand  it." 

"  Yes,  that's  it ;  we're  in  prison." 

"  That's  it  always ;  the  people  die  of  hunger,  and 
the  Government  fills  its  belly." 

"  That's  true.  Our  eight-eyes  (the  Major)  has 
got  finely  fat  over  it ;  he's  bought  a  pair  of  gray 
horses." 

"  He  don't  like  his  glass  at  all,  that  fellow,"  said  a 
convict  ironically. 

"  He  had  a  bout  at  cards  a  little  while  ago  with  the 
vet;  for  two  hours  he  played  without  a  half-penny  in 
his  pocket.  Fedka  told  me  so." 

"That's  why  we  get  cabbage  soup  that's  fit  for 
nothing." 

"  You're  all  idiots  !  It  doesn't  matter ;  nothing 
matters." 

"I  tell  you  if  we  all  join  in  complaining  we  shall 
see  what  he  has  to  say  for  himself.  Let's  make  up 
our  minds." 

"  Say  for  himself  ?  You'll  get  his  fist  on  your  pate ; 
that's  just  all." 

"  I  tell  you  they'll  have  him  up,  and  try  him." 

All  the  prisoners  were  in  great  agitation ;  the  truth 
is,  the  food  was  execrable.  The  general  anguish,  suffer- 
ing, and  suspense  seemed  to  be  coming  to  a  head. 
Convicts  are,  by  disposition,  or,  as  such,  quarrelsome 
and  rebellious ;  but  a  general  revolt  is  rare,  for  they 
can  never  agree  upon  it ;  we  all  of  us  felt  that  since 
there  was,  as  a  rule,  more  violent  talk  than  doing. 

This  time,  however,  the  agitation  did  not  fall  to 
the  ground.  The  men  gathered  in  groups  in  their 
barracks,  talking  things  over  in  a  violent  way,  and 
going  over  all  the  particulars  of  the  Major's  misdoings, 
and  trying  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  them.  In  all  affairs 
of  that  sort  there  are  ringleaders  and  firebrands.  The 
ringleaders  on  such  occasions  are  generally  rather 


GRIEVANCES  313 

remarkable  fellows,  not  only  in  convict  establishments, 
but  among  all  large  organisations  of  workmen,  military 
detachments,  etc.  They  are  always  people  of  a 
peculiar  type,  enthusiastic  men,  who  have  a  thirst 
for  justice,  very  naive,  simple,  and  strong,  convinced 
that  their  desires  are  fully  capable  of  realisation; 
they  have  as  much  sense  as  other  people;  some  are 
of  high  intelligence;  but  they  are  too  full  of  warmth 
and  zeal  to  measure  their  acts.  When  you  come  across 
people  who  really  do  know  how  to  direct  the  masses, 
and  get  what  they  want,  you  find  a  quite  different 
sort  of  popular  leaders,  and  one  excessively  rare  among 
us  Russians.  The  more  usual  type  of  leader,  the  one 
I  first  alluded  to,  do  certainly  in  some  sense  accomplish 
their  object,  so  far  as  bringing  about  a  rising  is  con- 
cerned ;  but  it  all  ends  in  filling  up  the  prisons  and 
convict  establishments.  Thanks  to  their  impetuosity 
they  always  come  off  second-best ;  but  it  is  this  im- 
petuosity that  gives  them  their  influences  over  the 
masses ;  their  ardent,  honest  indignation  does  its  work, 
and  draws  in  the  more  irresolute.  Their  blind  con- 
fidence of  success  seduces  even  the  most  hardened 
sceptics,  although  this  confidence  is  generally  based 
on  such  uncertain,  childish  reasons  that  it  is  wonderful 
how  people  can  put  faith  in  them. 

The  secret  of  their  influence  is  that  they  put  them- 
selves at  the  head,  and  go  ahead,  without  flinching. 
They  dash  forward,  heads  down,  often  without  the  least 
knowledge  worth  the  name  of  what  they  are  about, 
and  have  nothing  about  them  of  the  Jesuitical  practical 
faculty  by  dint  of  which  a  vile  and  worthless  man  often 
hits  his  mark  and  comes  uppermost,  and  will  sometimes 
come  all  white  out  of  a  tub  of  ink.  They  must  dash 
their  skulls  against  stone  walls.  Under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances these  people  are  bilious,  irascible,  intolerant, 
contemptuous,  often  very  warm,  which  really  after  all  is 
part  of  the  secret  of  their  strength.  The  deplorable 
thing  is  that  they  never  go'  at  what  is  the  essential,  the 
vital  part  of  their  task,  they  always  go  off  at  once 


314  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

into  details  instead  of  going  straight  to  their  mark, 
and  this  is  their  ruin.  But  they  and  the  mob  understand 
one  another ;  that  makes  them  formidable. 

I  must  say  a  few  words  about  this  word  "  grievance." 

Some  of  the  convicts  had  been  transported  in  con- 
nection with  a  "  grievance ;  "  these  were  the  most  ex- 
cited among  them,  notably  a  certain  Martinoff,  who 
had  formerly  served  in  the  Hussars,  an  eager,  restless, 
and  choleric,  but  a  worthy  and  truthful,  fellow.  Another, 
Vassili  Antonoff,  could  work  himself  up  into  anger  coolly 
and  collectedly ;  he  had  a  generally  impudent  expression, 
and  a  sarcastic  smile,  but  he,  too,  was  honest,  and  a 
man  of  his  word,  and  of  no  little  education.  I  won't 
enumerate;  there  were  plenty  of  them.  Petroff  went 
about  in  a  hurried  way  from  one  group  to  another. 
He  spoke  few  words,  but  he  was  quite  as  highly  excited 
as  any  one  there,  for  he  was  the  first  to  spring  out  of 
the  barrack  when  the  others  massed  themselves  in  the 
court-yard. 

Our  sergeant,  who  acted  as  sergeant-major,  came 
up  very  soon  in  quite  a  fright.  The  convicts  got  into 
rank,  and  politely  begged  him  to  tell  the  Major  that 
they  wanted  to  speak  with  him  and  put  him  a  few 
questions.  Behind  the  sergeant  came  all  the  invalids, 
who  ranked  themselves  in  face  of  the  convicts.  What 
they  asked  the  sergeant  to  do  frightened  the  man  out 
of  his  wits  almost,  but  he  dared  not  refuse  to  go  and 
report  to  the  Major,  for  if  the  convicts  mutinied,  Grod 
only  knows  what  might  happen.  All  the  men  set 
over  us  showed  themselves  great  poltroons  in  handling 
the  prisoners ;  then,  even  if  nothing  further  worse 
happened,  if  the  convicts  thought  better  of  it  and 
dispersed,  the  sub-officer  was  still  in  duty  bound  to 
inform  the  authorities  of  what  had  been  going  on. 
Pale,  and  trembling  with  fright,  he  went  headlong  to 
the  Major,  without  even  an  effort  to  bring  the  convicts 
to  reason.  He  saw  that  they  were  not  minded  to  put 
up  with  any  of  his  talk,  no  doubt. 


GRIEVANCES  315 

Without  the  least  idea  of  what  was  going  on,  I  went 
nto  rank  myself  (it  was  only  later  that  I  heard  the 
earlier  details  of  the  story).  I  thought  that  the  muster- 
oll  was  to  be  called,  but  I  did  not  see  the  soldiers  who 
rerify  the  lists,  so  I  was  surprised,  and  began  to  look 
bbout  me  a  little.  The  men's  faces  were  working  with 
emotion,  and  some  were  ghostly  pale.  They  were 
iternly  silent,  and  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  what  they 
should  say  to  the  Major.  I  observed  that  many  of  the 
convicts  seemed  to  wonder  at  seeing  me  among  them, 
3ut  they  turned  their  glances  away  from  me.  No  doubt 
ihey  thought  it  strange  that  I  should  come  into  the  ranks 
with  them,  and  join  in  their  remonstrances,  and  could  not 
quite  believe  it.  Then  they  turned  round  to  me  again 
in  a  questioning  sort  of  way. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  said  Vassili  Antonoff, 
in  a  loud,  rude  voice  ;  he  happened  to  be  close  to  me,  and 
little  way  from  the  rest  ;  the  man  had  always  hitherto 
been  scrupulously  polite  to  me. 

I  looked  at  him  in  perplexity,  trying  to  understand 
what  he  meant  by  it  ;  I  began  to  see  that  something 
extraordinary  was  up  in  our  prison. 

Yes,  indeed,  what  are  you  about  here  ?  Go  off  into 
bhe  barrack,"  said  a  young  fellow,  a  soldier-convict,  whom 
I  did  not  know  till  then,  and  who  was  a  good,  quiet  lad, 
"  this  is  none  of  your  business."" 

"  Have  we  not  fallen  into  rank,"  I  answered,  "  aren't 
we  going  to  be  mustered  ?  " 

Why,  he's  come,  too/'  cried  one  of  them. 
Iron-nose,"*  said  another. 

Fly-killer/'  added  a  third,  with  inexpressible  con- 
tempt for  me  in  his  tone.  This  new  nickname  caused  a 
general  burst  of  laughter. 

"  These  fellows  are  in  clover  everywhere.  We  are  in 
prison,  with  hard  labour,  I  rather  fancy  ;  they  get  wheat- 
bread  and  sucking-pig,  like  great  lords  as  they  are. 
Don't  you  get  your  victuals  by  yourself?  What  are 
you  doing  here  ?  " 

*  An  insulting  phrase  which  is  untranslatable. 


" 


316  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"Your  place  is  not  here,"  said  Koulikoff  to  me 
brusquely,  taking  me  by  the  hand  and  leading  me  out 
of  the  ranks. 

He  was  himself  very  pale;  his  dark  eyes  sparkled 
with  fire,  he  had  bitten  his  under  lip  till  the  blood 
came;  he  wasn't  one  of  those  who  expected  the  Major 
without  losing  self-possession. 

I  liked  to  look  at  Koulikoff  when  he  was  in  trying 
circumstances  like  these ;  then  he  showed  himself  just 
what  he  was  in  his  strong  points  and  weak.  He 
attitudinised,  but  he  knew  how  to  act,  too.  I  think 
he  would  have  gone  to  his  death  with  a  certain  affected 
elegance.  While  everybody  was  insulting  me  in  words 
and  tones,  his  politeness  was  greater  than  ever ;  but 
he  spoke  in  a  firm  and  resolved  tone  which  admitted 
of  no  reply. 

"We  are  here  on  business  of  our  own,  Alexander 
Petrovitch,  and  you've  got  to  keep  out  of  it.  Go  where 
you  like  and  wait  till  it's  over  .  .  .  here,  your  people 
are  in  the  kitchens,  go  there." 

"  They're  in  hot  quarters  down  there." 

I  did  in  fact  see  our  Poles  at  the  open  window 
of  the  kitchen,  in  company  with  a  good  many  other 
convicts.  I  did  not  well  know  what  to  be  at ;  but 
went  there  followed  by  laughter,  insulting  remarks, 
and  that  sort  of  muttered  growling  which  is  the  prison 
substitute  for  the  hissings  and  cat-calls  of  the  world 
of  freedom. 

"  He  doesn't  like  it  at  all !  Chu,  chu,  chu  !  Seize 
him ! " 

I  had  never  been  so  bitterly  insulted  since  I  was 
in  the  place.  It  was  a  very  painful  moment,  but  just 
what  was  to  be  expected  in  the  excessive  excitement 
the  men  were  labouring  under.  In  the  ante-room  I 
met  T — vski,  a  young  nobleman  of  not  much  informa- 
tion, but  of  firm,  generous  character;  the  convicts 
excepted  him  from  the  hatred  they  felt  for  the  con- 
victs of  noble  birth;  they  were  almost  fond  of  him; 


GRIEVANCES  317 

every  one  01  his  gestures  denoted  the  brave  and 
energetic  man. 

"What  are  you  about,  Goriantchikoff ? "  he  cried 
to  me  ;  "  come  here,  come  here !  " 

"  But  what  is  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  They  are  going  to  make  a  formal  complaint,  don't 
you  know  it  ?  It  won't  do  them  a  bit  of  good ;  who'll 
pay  any  attention  to  convicts  ?  They'll  try  to  find  out 
the  ringleaders,  and  if  we  are  among  them  they'll  lay 
it  all  on  us.  Just  remember  what  we  have  been  trans- 
ported for.  They'll  only  get  a  whipping,  but  we  shall 
be  put  regularly  to  trial.  The  Major  detests  us  all,  and 
will  be  only  too  happy  to  ruin  us ;  all  his  sins  will  fall 
on  our  shoulders." 

"  The  convicts  would  tie  us  hands  and  feet  and 
sell  us  directly/'  added  M — tski,  when  we  got  into 
the  kitchen. 

(t They'll  never  have  mercy  on  us"  added  T — vski. 

Besides  the  nobles  there  were  in  the  kitchen  about 
thirty  other  prisoners  who  did  not  want  to  join  in  the 
general  complaints,  some  because  they  were  afraid, 
others  because  of  their  conviction  that  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding would  prove  quite  useless.  Akim  Akimitch, 
who  was  a  decided  opponent  of  everything  that  savoured 
of  complaint,  or  that  could  interfere  with  discipline 
and  the  usual  routine,  waited  with  great  phlegm  to 
see  the  end  of  the  business,  about  which  he  did  not 
care  a  jot.  He  was  perfectly  convinced  that  the  autho- 
rities would  put  it  all  down  immediately. 

Isaiah  Fomitch's  nose  drooped  visibly  as  he  listened  in 
a  sort  of  frightened  curiosity  to  what  we  said  about  the 
affair ;  he  was  much  disturbed.  With  the  Polish  nobles 
were  some  inferior  persons  of  the  same  nation,  as  well  as 
some  Russians,  timid,  dull,  silent  fellows,  who  had  not 
dared  to  join  the  rest,  and  who  waited  in  a  melancholy 
way  to  see  what  the  issue  would  be.  There  were  also 
some  morose,  discontented  convicts,  who  remained  in  the 
kitchen,  not  because  they  were  afraid,  bat  that  they 


318  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

thought  this  half-revolt  an  absurdity  which  could  not 
succeed ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  these  were  not  a  little 
disturbed,  and  their  faces  were  quite  unsteady.  They 
saw  clearly  that  they  were  in  the  right,  and  that  the 
issue  of  the  movement  would  be  what  they  had  foretold, 
but  they  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  they  were  traitors 
who  had  sold  their  comrades  to  the  Major.  Jolkin  — 
the  long-headed  Siberian  peasant  sent  to  hard  labour 
for  coining,  the  man  who  got  KoulikofPs  town  practice 
from  him — was  there  also,  as  well  as  the  old  man  of 
Starodoub.  None  of  the  cooks  had  left  their  post,  per- 
haps because  they  looked  upon  themselves  as  belonging 
specially  to  the  authorities  of  the  place,  whom  it  would 
be  unbecoming,  therefore,  to  join  in  opposing. 

"For  all  that,"  said  I  to  M — tski,  "except  these 
fellows,  all  the  convicts  are  in  it,"  and  no  doubt  I  said 
it  in  a  way  that  showed  misgivings. 

"  I  wonder  what  in  the  world  we  have  to  do  with 
it  ?  "  growled  B . 

"  We  should  have  risked  a  good  deal  more  than 
they  had  we  gone  with  them  ;  and  why  ?  Je  hais  ces 
brigands.*  Why,  do  you  think  that  they'll  bring  them- 
selves up  to  the  scratch  after  all  ?  I  can't  see  what 
they  want  putting  their  heads  in  the  lion's  mouth,  the 
fools." 

"It'll  all  come  to  nothing/'  said  some  one,  an 
obstinate,  sour-tempered  old  fellow.  Almazoff,  who 
was  with  us  too,  agreed  heartily  in  this. 

"  Some  fifty  of  them  will  get  a  good  beating,  and 
that's  all  the  good  they'll  all  get  out  of  it." 

"  Here's  the  Major  !  "  cried  one ;  everybody  ran  to 
the  windows. 

The  Major  had  come  up,  spectacles  and  all,  looking 
as  wicked  as  might  be,  towering  with  passion,  red  as 
a  turkey-cock.  He  came  on  without  a  word,  and  in  a 
determined  manner,  right  up  to  the  line  of  the  convicts. 
In  conjunctures  of  this  sort  he  showed  uncommon  pluck 
and  presence  of  mind;  but  it  ought  not  to  be  over- 

*  French  in  the  original  Russian 


GRIEVANCES  319 

looked  that  lie  was  nearly  always  half-seas  over.  Just 
then  his  greasy  cap,  with  its  yellow  border,  and  his 
tarnished  silver  epaulettes,  gave  him  a  Mephistophelic 
look  in  my  excited  fancy.  Behind  him  came  the 
quartermaster,  Diatloff,  who  was  quite  a  personage  in 
the  establishment,  for  he  was  really  at  the  bottom  of 
all  the  authorities  did.  He  was  an  exceedingly  capable 
and  cunning  fellow,  and  wielded  great  influence  with 
the  Major.  He  was  not  by  any  means  a  bad  sort  of 
man,  and  the  convicts  were,  in  a  general  way,  not 
ill-inclined  towards  him.  Our  sergeant  followed  him 
with  three  or  four  soldiers,  no  more ;  he  had  already 
had  a  tremendous  wigging,  and  there  was  plenty  more 
of  the  same  to  come,  if  he  knew  it.  The  convicts,  who 
had  remained  uncovered,  cap  in  hand,  from  the  moment 
they  sent  for  the  Major,  stiffened  themselves,  every 
man  shifting  his  weight  to  the  other  leg;  then  they 
remained  motionless,  and  waited  for  the  first  word,  or 
the  first  shout  rather,  to  come  from  him. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Before  he  had  got 
more  than  one  word  out,  the  Major  began  to  shout  at 
the  top  of  his  voice ;  he  was  beside  himself  with  rage. 
We  saw  him  from  the  windows  running  all  along  the 
line  of  convicts,  dashing  at  them  here  and  there  with 
angry  questions.  As  we  were  a  pretty  good  distance 
off,  we  could  not  hear  what  he  said  or  their  replies. 
We  only  heard  his  shouts,  or  rather  what  seemed 
shouting,  groaning,  and  grunting  beautifully  mingled. 

"  Scoundrels  !  mutineers  !  to  the  cat  with  ye !  Whips 
and  sticks !  The  ringleaders  ?  You're  one  of  the 
ringleaders  ! "  throwing  himself  on  one  of  them. 

We  did  not  hear  the  answer  ;  but  a  minute  after 
we  saw  this  convict  leave  the  ranks  and  make  for  the 
guard-house. 

Another  followed,  then  a  third. 

"  I'll  have  you.  up,  every  man  of  you.  I'll 

Who's  in  the  kitchen  there  ?  "  he  bawled,  as  he  saw  us 
at  the  open  windows.  "  Here  with  all  of  you !  Drive 
/em  all  out,  every  man  1  " 


320  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Diatloff,  the  quartermaster,  came  towards  the 
kitchens.  When  we  had  told  him  that  we  were  not 
complaining  of  any  grievance,  he  returned,  and  reported 
to  the  Major  at  once. 

"  Ah,  those  fellows  are  not  in  it,"  said  he,  lowering 
his  tone  a  bit,  and  much  pleased.  "  Never  mind,  bring 
them  along  here/' 

We  left  the  kitchen.  I  could  not  help  feeling 
humiliation  j  all  of  us  went  along  with  our  heads 
down. 

"  Ah,  Prokofief  !  Jolkin  too ;  and  you,  Almazof  ! 
Here,  come  here,  all  the  lump  of  you ! "  cried  the  Major 
to  us,  with  a  gasp ;  but  he  was  somewhat  softened,  his 
tone  was  even  obliging.  "M — tski,  you're  here  too? 
.  .  .  Take  down  the  names.  Diatloff,  take  down  all 
the  names,  the  grumblers  in  one  list  and  the  contented 
ones  in  another — all,  without  exception;  you'll  give 
me  the  list.  I'll  have  you  all  before  the  Committee  of 
Superintendence.  .  .  .  Fll  .  .  brigands  ! " 

This  word  "list"  told. 

"  We've  nothing  to  complain  of  !  "  cried  one  of  the 
malcontents,  in  a  half-strangled  sort  of  voice. 

"  Ah,  you've  nothing  to  complain  of !  Who's  that  ? 
Let  all  those  who  have  nothing  to  complain  of  step  out 
of  the  ranks." 

"  All  of  us,  all  of  us  !  "  came  from  some  others. 

"  Ah,  the  food  is  all  right,  then  ?  You've  been  put 
up  to  it.  Ringleaders,  mutineers,  eh  ?  So  much  the 
worse  for  them." 

"  But,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  came  from 
a  voice  in  the  crowd. 

"Where  is  the  fellow  that  said  that?"  roared 
the  Major,  throwing  himself  to  where  the  voice  came 
from.  "  It  was  you,  RastorgouYef,  you  ;  to  the  guard- 
house with  you." 

Rastorgou'tef,  a  young,  chubby  fellow  of  high  stature, 
left  the  ranks  and  went  with  slow  steps  to  the  guard- 
house. It  was  not  he  who  had  said  it,  but,  as  he  was 
called  out,  he  did  not  venture  to  contradict. 


QEIEVANGE3  321 

"You  fellows  are  too  fat,  that's  what  makes  you 
unruly  !  "  shouted  the  Major.  "  You  wait,  you  hulking 

rascal,  in  three  days  you'd Wait !  1 11  have  it  out 

with  you  all.  Let  all  those  who  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of  come  out  of  the  ranks,  I  say " 

"  We're  not  complaining  of  anything,  your  worship," 
said  some  of  the  convicts  with  a  sombre  air;  the  rest 
preserved  an  obstinate  silence.  But  the  Major  wanted 
nothing  further;  it  was  his  interest  to  stop  the  thing 
with  as  little  friction  as  might  be. 

"  Ah,  now  I  see  !  Nobody  has  anything  to  complain 
of,"  said  he.  "  I  knew  it,  I  saw  it  all.  It's  ringleaders, 
there  are  ringleaders,  by  God,"  he  went  on,  speaking  to 
Diatloff.  "  We  must  lay  our  hands  on  them,  every  man 
of  them.  And  now — now — it's  time  to  go  to  your  work. 
Drummer,  there ;  drummer,  a  roll !  " 

He  told  them  off  himself  in  small  detachments.  The 
convicts  dispersed  sadly  and  silently,  only  too  glad  to  get 
out  of  his  sight.  Immediately  after  the  gangs  went  oft, 
the  Major  betook  himself  to  the  guard-house,  where  he 
began  to  make  his  dispositions  as  to  the  "  ringleaders," 
but  he  did  not  push  matters  far.  It  was  easy  to  see 
that  he  wanted  to  be  done  with  the  whole  business 
as  soon  as  possible.  One  of  the  men  charged  told  us 
later  that  he  had  begged  for  forgiveness,  and  that 
the  officer  had  let  him  go  immediately.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  our  Major  did  not  feel  firm  in  the 
saddle;  he  had  had  a  fright,  I  fancy,  for  a  mutiny 
is  always  a  ticklish  thing,  and  although  this  complaint 
of  the  convicts  about  the  food  did  not  amount  really 
to  mutiny  (only  the  Major  had  been  reported  to  about 
it,  and  the  Governor  himself),  yet  it  was  an  un- 
comfortable and  dangerous  affair.  What  gave  him 
most  anxiety  was  that  the  prisoners  had  been  unanimous 
in  their  movement,  so  their  discontent  had  to  be  got 
over  somehow,  at  any  price.  The  ringleaders  were 
soon  set  free.  Next  day  the  food  was  passable,  but 
this  improvement  did  not  last  long;  on  the  days  en- 
suing the  disturbance,  the  Major  went  about  the  prison 


322  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

much  more  than  usual,  and  always  found  something 
irregular  to  be  stopped  and  punished.  Our  sergeant 
came  and  went  in  a  puzzled,  dazed  sort  of  way,  as  if 
he  could  not  get  over  his  stupefaction  at  what  had 
happened.  As  to  the  convicts,  it  took  long  for  them 
to  quiet  down  again,  but  their  agitation  seemed  to 
wear  quite  a  different  character ;  they  were  restless 
and  perplexed.  Some  went  about  with  their  heads 
down,  without  saying  a  word;  others  discussed  the 
event  in  a  grumbling,  helpless  kind  of  way.  A  good 
many  said  biting  things  about  their  own  proceedings 
as  though  they  were  quite  out  of  conceit  with  them- 
selves. 

"  I  say,  pal,  take  and  eat !  "  said  one. 

"  Where's  the  mouse  that  was  so  ready  to  bell  the 
cat?" 

"  Let's  think  ourselves  lucky  that  he  did  not  have  us 
all  well  beaten." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  deal  better  if  you  thought  more 
and  chattered  less." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  lecturing  me  ?  Are  you 
schoolmaster  here,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

tf  Oh,  you  want  putting  to  the  right-about." 

"  Who  are  you,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  man  !    What  are  you  ?  " 

"A  man!     You're " 

"You're " 

"  I  say  !  Shut  up,  do  !  What's  the  good  of  all  this 
row  ?  "  was  the  cry  from  all  sides. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  the  (< mutiny"  took 
place,  I  met  Petroff  behind  the  barracks  after  the 
day's  work.  He  was  looking  for  me.  As  he  came 
near  me,  I  heard  him  exclaim  something,  which  I  didn't 
understand,  in  a  muttering  sort  of  way;  then  he  said 
no  more,  and  walked  by  my  side  in  a  listless,  mechanical 
fashion. 

' '  I  say,  Petroff,  your  fellows  are  not  vexed  with  us, 
are  they  ?  " 

"  Who's  vexed  ?  "  he  asked,  as  if  coming  to  himself. 


GRIEVANCES  323 

"  The  convicts  with  us — with  us  nobles." 

"  Why  should  they  be  vexed  ?  " 

"  Well,  because  we  did  not  back  them  up.M 

"Oh,  why  should  you  have  kicked  up  a  dust?"  he 
answered,  as  if  trying  to  enter  into  my  meaning :  "  you 
have  a  table  to  yourselves,  you  fellows." 

"Oh,  well,  there  are  some  of  you,  not  nobles,  who 
don't  eat  the  regulation  food,  and  who  went  in  with  you. 
We  ought  to  back  you  up,  we're  in  the  same  place ;  we 
ought  to  be  comrades." 

"  Oh,  I  say.  Are  you  our  comrades  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
unfeigned  astonishment. 

I  looked  at  him;  it  was  clear  that  he  had  not  the  least 
comprehension  of  my  meaning;  but  I,  on  the  other  hand, 
entered  only  too  thoroughly  into  his.  I  saw  now,  quite 
thoroughly,  something  of  which  I  had  before  only  a  con- 
fused idea ;  what  I  had  before  guessed  at  was  now  sad 
certainty. 

It  was  forced  on  my  perceptions  that  any  sort  of 
real  fellowship  between  the  convicts  and  myself  could 
never  be ;  not  even  were  I  to  remain  in  the  place  as 
long  as  life  should  last.  I  was  a  convict  of  the  "  special 
section,"  a  creature  for  ever  apart.  The  expression  of 
Petroff  when  he  said,  "are  we  comrades,  how  can  that  be?" 
remains,  and  will  always  remain  before  my  eyes.  There 
was  a  look  of  such  frank,  na'fve  surprise  in  it,  such  inge- 
nuous astonishment  that  I  could  not  help  asking  myself  if 
there  was  not  some  lurking  irony  in  the  man,  just  a  little 
spiteful  mockery.  Not  at  all,  it  was  simply  meant.  I 
was  not  their  comrade,  and  could  not  be ;  that  was  all. 
Go  you  to  the  right,  we'll  go  to  the  left !  your  business 
is  yours,  ours  is  ours. 

I  really  fancied  that,  after  the  mutiny,  they  would 
attack  us  mercilessly  so  far  as  they  dared  and  could,  and 
that  our  life  would  become  a  hell.  But  nothing  of  the 
sort  happened;  we  did  not  hear  the  slighest  reproach, 
there  was  not  even  an  unpleasant  allusion  to  what 
had  happened,  it  was  all  simply  passed  over.  They 
went  on  teasing  us  as  before  when  opportunity  served, 


324  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

no  more.  Nobody  seemed  to  bear  malice  against  those 
who  would  not  join  in,  but  remained  in  the  kitchens, 
or  against  those  who  were  the  first  to  cry  out  that 
they  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  It  was  all  passed 
over  without  a  word,  to  my  exceeding  astonishment. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MY    COMPANIONS 

AS  will  be  understood,  those  to  whom  I  was 
most  drawn  were  people  of  my  own  sort, 
that  is,  those  of  "  noble "  birth,  especially 
in  the  early  days;  but  of  the  three  ex- 
nobles  in  the  place,  who  were  Russians, 
I  knew  and  spoke  to  but  one,  Akim  Akimitch;  the 

other    two   were    the    spy   A n,   and   the    supposed 

parricide.  Even  with  Akim  I  never  exchanged  a 
word  except  when  in  extremity,  in  moments  when 
the  melancholy  on  me  was  simply  unendurable,  and 
when  I  thought  I  really  never  should  have  the  chance 
of  getting  close  to  any  other  human  being  again. 

In  the  last  chapter  I  have  tried  to  show  that  the 
convicts  were  of  different  types,  and  tried  to  classify 
them;  but  when  I  think  of  Akim  Akimitch  I  don't 
know  how  to  place  him,  he  was  quite  sui  generis,  so 
far  as  I  could  observe,  in  that  establishment. 

There  may  be,  elsewhere,  men  like  him,  to  whom  it 
seemed  as  absolutely  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  he 
was  a  free  man,  or  in  jail  at  hard  labour  ;  at  that  place 
he  stood  alone  in  this  curious  impartiality  of  temperament. 
He  had  settled  down  in  the  jail  as  if  he  was  going  to  pass 
his  whole  life,  and  didn't  mind  it  at  all.  All  his  belong- 
ings, mattress,  cushions,  utensils,  were  so  ordered  as  to 


326  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

give  the  impression  that  he  was  living  in  a  furnished 
house  of  his  own ;  there  was  nothing  provisional,  tem- 
porary, bivouac-like,  about  him,  or  his  words,  or  his 
habits.  He  had  a  good  many  years  still  to  spend  in 
punishment,  but  I  much  doubt  whether  he  ever  gave  a 
thought  to  the  time  when  he  would  get  out.  He  was 
entirely  reconciled  to  his  condition,  not  because  he  had 
made  any  effort  to  be  so,  but  simply  out  of  natural 
submissiveness ;  but,  as  far  as  his  comfort  went,  it  came  to 
the  same  thing.  He  was  not  at  all  a  bad  fellow,  and  in 
the  early  days  his  advice  and  help  were  quite  useful  to 
me  ;  but  sometimes,  I  can't  help  saying  it,  his  pecu- 
liarities deepened  my  natural  melancholy  until  it  became 
almost  intolerable  anguish. 

When  I  became  desperate  with  silence  and  solitude 
of  soul,  I  would  get  into  talk  with  him;  I  wanted  to 
hear,  and  reply  to  some  words  falling  from  a  living  soul, 
and  the  more  filled  with  gall  and  hatred  with  all  our 
surroundings  they  had  been,  the  more  would  they  have 
been  in  sympathy  with  my  wretched  mood ;  but  he  would 
just  barely  talk,  quietly  go  on  sizing  his  lanterns,  and 
then  begin  to  tell  me  some  story  as  to  how  he  had 
been  at  a  review  of  troops  in  18 — ,  that  their  general  of 
division  was  so-and-so,  that  the  manoeuvring  had  been 
very  pretty,  that  there  had  been  a  change  in  the 
skirmisher's  system  of  signalling,  and  the  like ;  all  of  it 
in  level  imperturbable  tones,  like  water  falling  drop  by 
drop.  He  did  not  put  any  life  into  them  even  when  he 
told  me  of  a  sharp  affair  in  which  he  had  been,  in  the 
Caucasus,  for  which  his  sword  had  got  the  decoration  of 
the  Riband  of  St.  Anne.  The  only  difference  was,  that 
his  voice  became  a  little  more  measured  and  grave ;  he 
lowered  his  tones  when  he  pronounced  the  name  "St. 
Anne/'  as  though  he  were  telling  a  great  secret,  and 
then,  for  three  minutes  at  least,  did  not  utter  a  word,  but 
only  looked  solemn. 

During  all  that  first  year  I  had  strange  passages 
of  feeling,  in  which  I  hated  Akim  Akirnitch  with  a 
bitter  hatred,  I  am  sure  I  cannot  say  why,  moments 


MY  COMPANIONS  327 

when  I  would  despairingly  curse  the  fate  which  made 
him  my  next  neighbour  on  my  camp-bed,  so  close 
indeed  that  our  heads  nearly  touched.  An  hour  after- 
wards I  bitterly  reproached  myself  for  such  extravagance. 
It  was,  however,  only  during  my  first  year  of  confine- 
ment that  these  violent  feelings  overpowered  me.  As 
time  went  on,  I  got  used  to  Akim  Akimitch's  singular 
character,  and  was  ashamed  of  my  former  explosions. 
I  don't  remember  that  he  and  I  ever  got  into  anything 
like  an  open  quarrel. 

Besides  the  three  Russian  nobles  of  whom  I  have 
spoken,  there  were  eight  others  there  during  my  time ; 
with  some  of  whom  I  came  to  be  on  a  footing  of  inti- 
mate friendship.  Even  the  best  of  them  were  morbid  in 
mind,  exclusive,  and  intolerant  to  the  very  last  degree ; 
with  two  of  them  I  was  obliged  to  discontinue  all 
spoken  intercourse.  There  were  only  three  who  had  any 
education,  B — ski,  M — tski,  and  the  old  man,  J — ski^ 
who  had  formerly  been  a  professor  of  mathematics, 
an  excellent  fellow,  highly  eccentric,  and  of  very  narrow 
mental  horizon  in  spite  of  his  learning.  M — tski  and 
B — ski  were  of  a  mould  quite  different  from  his. 
Between  M — tski  and  myself  there  was  an  excellent 
understanding  from  the  first  set-off.  He  and  I  never 
once  got  into  any  sort  of  dispute;  I  respected  him 
highly,  but  could  never  become  sincerely  attached  to 
him,  though  I  tried  to.  He  was  sour,  embittered,  and 
mistrustful,  with  much  self-control ;  this  was  quite 
antipathetic  to  me ;  the  man  had  a  closed  soul,  closed 
to  everybody,  and  he  made  you  feel  it.  I  felt  it  so 
strongly  that  perhaps  I  was  wrong  about  it.  After 
all,  his  character,  I  must  say,  was  stamped  with  both 
nobleness  and  strength.  His  inveterate  scepticism  made 
him  very  prudent  in  his  relations  with  everybody  about 
him,  and  in  conducting  these  he  gave  proof  of  remark- 
able tact  and  skill.  Sceptic  as  he  was,  there  was 
another  and  a  reverse  side  in  his  nature,  for  in  some 
things  he  was  a  profound  and  unalterable  believer  with 
faith  and  hope  unshakable.  In  spite  of  his  tact  in 


328  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

dealing   with   men,   he   got   into   open    hostilities   with 
B — ski  and  his  friend  T — ski. 

The  first  of  these,  B — ski,  was  a  man  of  infirm  health, 
of  consumptive  tendency,  irascible,  and  of  a  weak, 
nervous  system ;  but  a  good  and  generous  man.  His 
nervous  irritability  went  so  far  that  he  was  as  capricious 
as  a  child ;  a  temperament  of  that  kind  was  too  much 
for  me  there,  so  I  soon  saw  as  little  of  B — ski  as  I 
could  possibly  help,  though  I  never  ceased  to  like  him 
much.  It  was  just  the  other  way  so  far  as  M — tski 
was  concerned ;  with  him  I  always  was  on  easy  terms, 
though  I  did  not  like  him  at  all.  When  I  edged  away 
from  B — ski,  I  had  to  break  also,  more  or  less,  with 
T — ski,  of  whom  I  spoke  in  the  last  chapter,  which 
I  much  regretted,  for,  though  of  little  education,  he 
had  an  excellent  heart ;  a  worthy,  very  spiritual  man. 
He  loved  and  respected  B — ski  so  much  that  those 
who  broke  with  that  .friend  of  his  he  regarded  as 
his  personal  enemies.  He  quarrelled  with  M — tski  on 
account  of  B — ski,  and  they  kept  up  the  difference 
a  long  while.  All  these  people  were  as  bilious  as 
they  could  be,  humoursome,  mistrustful,  the  victims 
of  a  moral  and  physical  supersensitiveness.  It  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at ;  their  position  was  trying  indeed, 
much  more  so  than  ours  ;  they  were  all  exiled,  trans- 
ported, for  ten  or  twelve  years  ;  and  what  made  their 
sojourn  in  the  prison  most  distressing  to  them  was 
their  rooted,  ingrained  prejudice,  especially  their  un- 
fortunate way  of  regarding  the  convicts,  which  they 
could  not  get  over;  in  their  eyes  the  unhappy  fellows 
were  mere  wild  beasts,  without  a  single  recognisable 
human  quality.  Everything  in  their  previous  career 
and  their  present  circumstances  combined  to  produce 
this  unhappy  feeling  in  them. 

Their  life  at  the  jail  was  perpetual  torment  to  them. 
They  were  kindly  and  conversible  with  the  Circassians, 
with  the  Tartars,  with  Isaiah  Fomitch;  but  for  the 
other  prisoners  they  had  nothing  but  contempt  and 
aversion.  The  only  one  they  had  any  real  respect 


MY  COMPANIONS  329 

for  was  the  aged  "  old  believer."  For  all  this,  during 
all  the  time  I  spent  at  the  convict  establishment,  I 
never  knew  a  single  prisoner  to  reproach  them  with 
either  their  birth,  or  religious  opinions,  or  convictions, 
as  is  so  usual  with  our  common  people  in  their  relations 
with  people  of  different  condition,  especially  if  these 
happen  to  be  foreigners.  The  fact  is,  they  cannot 
take  the  foreigner  seriously;  to  the  Russian  common 
people  he  seems  a  merely  grotesque,  comical  creature. 
Our  convicts  had  and  showed  much  more  respect  for  the 
Polish  nobles  than  for  us  Russians,  but  I  don't  think 
the  Poles  cared  about  the  matter,  or  took  any  notice  of 
the  difference. 

I  spoke  just  now  of  T — ski,  and  have  something 
more  to  say  of  him.  When  he  had  with  his  friend 
to  leave  the  first  place  assigned  to  them  as  residence 
in  their  banishment  to  come  to  our  fortress,  he  carried 

his  friend  B nearly  the  whole  way.     B was  of 

quite  a  weak  frame,  and  in  bad  health,  and  became 
exhausted  before  half  of  the  first  march  was  ac- 
complished. They  had  first  been  banished  to  Y — gorsk, 
where  they  lived  in  tolerable  comfort;  life  was  much 
less  hard  there  than  in  our  fortress.  But  in  consequence 
of  a  correspondence  with  the  exiles  in  one  of  the 
other  towns — a  quite  innocent  exchange  of  letters — 
it  was  thought  necessary  to  remove  them  to  our  jail 
to  be  under  the  more  direct  surveillance  of  the 
government.  Until  they  came  M — tski  had  been  quite 
alone,  and  dreadful  must  have  been  his  sufferings  in  that 
first  year  of  his  banishment. 

J — ski  was  the  old  man  always  deep  in  prayer,  of 
whom  I  spoke  a  little  earlier.  All  the  political  convicts 
were  quite  young  men  while  J — ski  was  at  least  fifty 
years  old.  He  was  a  worthy,  gentlemanlike  person, 
if  eccentric.  T — ski  and  B — ski  detested  him,  and 
never  spoke  to  him ;  they  insisted  upon  it  that  he  was 
too  obstinate  and  troublesome  to  put  up  with,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  admit  it  was  so.  I  believe  that  at  a 
convict  establishment — as  in  every  place  where  people 


330  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

have  to  be  together,  whether  they  like  it  or  not — 
people  are  more  ready  to  quarrel  with  and  detest  one 
another  than  under  other  circumstances.  Many  causes 
contributed  to  the  squabbles  that  were,  unfortunately, 
always  going  on.  J — ski  was  really  disagreeable  and 
narrow-minded;  not  one  of  those  about  him  was  on 
good  terms  with  him.  He  and  I  did  not  come  to  a 
rupture,  but  we  were  never  on  a  really  friendly  footing. 
I  fancy  that  he  was  a  strong  mathematician.  One  day 
he  explained  to  me  in  his  half-Russian,  half-Polish 
jargon,  a  system  of  astronomy  of  his  own ;  I  have 
been  told  that  he  had  written  a  work  upon  the  subject 
which  the  learned  world  had  received  with  derision ; 
I  fancy  his  reasonings  on  some  things  had  got  twisted. 
He  used  to  be  on  his  knees  praying  for  a  whole  day 
sometimes,  which  made  the  convicts  respect  him  ex- 
ceedingly during  the  remnant  of  life  he  had  to  pass 
there ;  he  died  under  my  eyes  at  the  jail  after  a  very 
trying  illness.  He  had  won  the  consideration  of  the 
prisoners,  from  the  first  moment  of  his  coming  in, 
on  account  of  what  had  happened  with  the  Major  and 
him.  When  they  were  brought  afoot  from  Y — gorsk 
to  our  fortress,  they  were  not  shaved  on  the  road  at 
all,  their  hair  and  beards  had  grown  to  great  lengths 
when  they  were  brought  before  the  Major.  That 
worthy  foamed  like  a  madman;  he  was  wild  with 
indignation  at  such  infraction  of  discipline,  though  it  was 
none  of  their  fault. 

"  My  God !  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it  ? "  he 
roared;  "they  are  vagabonds,  brigands." 

J — ski  knew  very  little  Russian,  and  fancied  that 
he  was  asking  them  if  they  were  brigands  or  vagabonds, 
so  he  answered : 

"  We  are  political  prisoners,  not  rogues  and 
vagabonds." 

"  So-o-o  !  You  mean  impudence  Clod  !  "  howled 
the  Major.  "  To  the  guard-house  with  him ;  a  hundred 
strokes  of  the  rod  at  once,  this  instant,  I  say  ! " 

They  gave   the   old   man  the   punishment;    he   lay 


MY  COMPANIONS  331 

flat  on  the  ground  under  the  strokes  without  the 
slightest  resistance,  kept  his  hand  in  his  teeth,  and 
bore  it  all  without  a  murmur,  and  without  moving  a 
muscle.  B — ski  and  T — ski  arrived  at  the  jail  as  this 
was  all  going  on,  and  M — ski  was  waiting  for  them  at 
the  principal  gate,  knowing  that  they  were  just  coming 
in;  he  threw  himself  on  their  neck,  although  he  had 
never  seen  them  before.  Utterly  disgusted  at  the  way 
the  Major  had  received  them,  they  told  M — ski  all  about 
the  cruel  business  that  had  just  occurred.  M — ski  told 
me  later  that  he  was  quite  beside  himself  with  rage 
when  he  heard  it. 

"I  could  not  contain  myself  for  passion,"  he  said, 
"I  shook  as  though  with  ague.  I  waited  for  J — ski 
at  the  great  gate,  for  he  would  come  straight  that 
way  from  the  guard-house  after  his  punishment.  The 
gate  was  opened,  and  there  I  saw  pass  before  me  J — ski, 
his  lips  all  white  and  trembling,  his  face  pale  as  death  ; 
he  did  not  look  at  a  single  person,  and  passed  through 
the  groups  of  convicts  assembled  in  the  court-yard — 
they  knew  a  noble  had  just  been  subjected  to  punish- 
ment— went  into  the  barrack,  went  straight  to  his 
place,  and,  without  a  word,  dropped  down  on  his  knees 
for  prayer.  The  prisoners  were  surprised  and  even 
affected.  When  I  saw  this  old  man  with  white  hairs, 
who  had  left  behind  him  at  home  a  wife  and  children, 
kneeling  and  praying  after  that  scandalous  treatment, 
I  rushed  away  from  the  barrack,  and  for  a  couple  of 
tiours  felt  as  if  I  had  gone  stark,  staring,  raving  mad, 
or  blind  drunk.  .  .  .  From  that  first  moment  the 
convicts  were  full  of  deference  and  consideration  for 
J — ski;  what  particularly  pleased  them,  was  that  he 
did  not  utter,  a  cry  when  undergoing  the  punishment." 

But  one  must  be  fair  and  tell  the  truth  about  this 
sort  of  thing;  this  sad  story  is  not  an  instance  of 
what  frequently  occurs  in  the  treatment  by  the  authori- 
ties of  transported  noblemen,  Russian  or  Polish  ;  and 
this  isolated  case  affords  no  basis  for  passing  judgment 
upon  that  treatment.  My  anecdote  merely  shows  that 


332  PRISON  'LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

you  may  light  upon  a  bad  man  anywhere  and  every- 
where. And  if  it  happen  that  such  a  one  is  in 
absolute  command  of  a  jail,  and  if  he  happen  to 
have  a  grudge  against  one  of  the  prisoners,  the  lot 
of  such  a  one  will  be  indeed  very  far  from  enviable. 
But  the  administrative  chiefs  who  regulate  and 
supervise  convict  labour  in  Siberia,  and  from  whom 
subordinates  take  their  tone  as  well  as  their  orders, 
are  careful  to  exercise  a  discriminating  treatment  in 
the  case  of  persons  of  noble  birth,  and,  in  some  cases, 
grant  them  special  indulgences  as  compared  with 
the  lot  of  convicts  of  lower  condition.  There  are 
obvious  reasons  for  this;  these  heads  of  departments 
are  nobles  themselves,  they  know  that  men  of  that 
class  must  not  be  driven  to  extremity;  cases  have 
been  known  where  nobles  have  refused  to  submit  to 
corporal  punishment,  and  flung  themselves  desperately 
on  their  tormentors  with  very  grave  and  serious  con- 
sequences indeed;  moreover — and  this,  I  think,  is  the 
leading  cause  of  the  good  treatment — some  time  ago, 
thirty-five  years  at  least,  there  were  transported  to 
Siberia  quite  a  crowd  of  noblemen ;  *  these  were  of 
such  correct  and  irreproachable  demeanour,  and  held 
themselves  so  high,  that  the  heads  of  departments  fell 
into  the  way,  which  they  never  afterwards  left,  of 
regarding  criminals  of  noble  birth  and  ordinary  convicts 
in  quite  a  different  manner ;  and  men  in  lower  place 
took  their  cue  from  them. 

Many  of  these,  no  doubt,  were  little  pleased  with 
that  disposition  in  their  superiors;  such  persons  were 
pleased  enough  when  they  could  do  exactly  as  they 
liked  in  the  matter,  but  this  did  not  often  happen, 
they  were  kept  well  within  bounds;  I  have  reason  to 
be  satisfied  of  this  and  I  will  say  why.  I  was  put  in 
the  second  category,  a  classification  of  those  condemned 
to  hard  labour,  which  was  primarily  and  principally 
composed  of  convicts  who  had  been  serfs,  under  mili- 
tary superintendence ;  now  this  second  category,  or 

*  The  Decembrists. 


MY  COMPANIONS  333 

class,  was  much  harder  than  the  first  (of  the  mines) 
.or  the  third  (manufacturing  work).  It  was  harder, 
not  only  for  the  nobles  but  for  the  other  convicts  too, 
because  the  governing  and  administrative  methods  and 
personnel  in  it  were  wholly  military,  and  were  pretty 
much  the  same  in  type  as  those  of  the  convict  establish- 
ments in  Russia.  The  men  in  official  position  were 
severer,  the  general  treatment  more  rigorous  than  in 
the  two  other  classes ;  the  men  were  never  out  of  irons, 
an  escort  of  soldiers  was  always  present,  you  were 
always,  or  nearly  so,  within  stone  walls ;  and  things 
were  quite  different  in  the  other  classes,  at  least  so 
the  convicts  said,  and  there  were  those  among  them 
who  had  every  reason  to  know.  They  would  all  have 
gladly  gone  off  to  the  mines,  which  the  law  classified 
as  the  worst  and  last  punishment,  it  was  their  constant 
dream  and  desire  to  do  so.  All  those  who  had  been 
in  the  Russian  convict  establishments  spoke  with  horror 
of  them,  and  declared  that  there  was  no  hell  like  them, 
that  Siberia  was  a  paradise  compared  with  confinement 
in  the  fortresses  in  Russia. 

If,  then,  it  is  the  case  that  we  nobles  were  treated 
with  special  consideration  in  the  establishment  I  was 
confined  in,  which  was  under  direct  control  of  the 
Governor-General,  and  administered  entirely  on  mili- 
tary principles,  there  must  have  been  some  greater 
kindliness  in  the  treatment  of  the  convicts  of  the  first 
and  third  category  or  class.  I  think  I  can  speak  with 
some  authority  about  what  went  on  throughout  Siberia  in 
these  respects,  and  I  based  my  views,  as  to  this,  upon  all 
that  I  heard  from  convicts  of  these  classes.  We,  in  our 
prison,  were  under  much  more  rigorous  surveillance  than 
was  elsewhere  practised ;  t  we  were  favoured  with  no  sort 
of  exemptions  from  the 'ordinary  rules  as  regards  work 
and  confinement,  and  the  wearing  of  chains ;  we  could 
not  do  anything  for  ourselves  to  get  immunity  from  the 
rules,  for  I,  at  least,  knew  quite  well  that,  in  the  good  old 
time  which  was  quite  of  yesterday,  there  had  been  so 
much  intriguing  to  undermine  the  credit  of  officials  that 


334  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

the  authorities  were  greatly  afraid  of  informers,  and 
that,  as  things  stood,  to  show  indulgence  to  a  convict 
was  regarded  as  a  crime.  Everybody,  therefore,  autho- 
rities and  convicts  alike,  was  in  fear  of  what  might 
happen ;  we  of  the  nobles  were  thus  quite  down  to  the 
level  of  the  other  convicts;  the  only  point  we  were 
favoured  in  was  in  regard  to  corporal  punishment — but 
I  think  that  we  should  have  had  even  that  inflicted  on 
us  had  we  done  anything  for  which  it  was  prescribed, 
for  equality  as  to  punishment  was  strictly  enjoined  or 
practised ;  what  I  mean  is,  that  we  were  not  wantonly, 
causelessly,  mishandled  like  the  other  prisoners. 

When  the  Governor  got  to  know  of  the  punishment 
inflicted  on  J — ski,  he  was  seriously  angry  with  the 
Major,  and  ordered  him  to  be  more  careful  for  the 
future.  The  thing  got  very  generally  known.  We 
learned  also  that  the  Governor-General,  who  had  great 
confidence  in  our  Major,  and  who  liked  him  because  of 
his  exact  observance  of  legal  bounds,  and  thought  highly 
of  his  qualities  in  the  service,  gave  him  a  sharp  scolding. 
And  our  Major  took  the  lesson  to  heart.  I  have  no 
doubt  it  was  this  prevented  his  having  M — ski  beaten, 
which  he  would  much  have  liked  to  do,  being  much 
influenced  by  the  slanderous  things  A — f  said  about 

M ;  but  the  Major  could  never  get  a  fair  pretext  for 

doing  so,  however  much  he  persecuted  and  set  spies  upon 
his  proposed  victim;  so  he  had  to  deny  himself  that 
pleasure.  The  J — ski  affair  became  known  all  through 
the  town,  and  public  opinion  condemned  the  Major; 
some  persons  reproached  him  openly  for  what  he  had 
done,  and  some  even  insulted  him. 

The  first  occasion  on  which  the  man  crossed  my  path 
may  as  well  be  mentioned.  We  had  alarming  things 
reported  to  us — to  me  and  another  nobleman  under 
sentence — about  the  abominable  character  of  this  man, 
while  we  were  still  at  Tobolsk.  Men  who  had  been 
sentenced  a  long  while  back  to  twenty-five  years  of  the 
misery,  nobles  as  we  were,  and  who  had  visited  us  so 
kindly  during  our  provisional  sojourn  in  the  first  prison, 


MY  COMPANIONS  335 

had  warned  us  what  sort  of  man  we  were  to  be  under ; 
they  had  also  promised  to  do  all  they  could  for  us  with 
their  friends  to  see  that  he  hurt  us  as  little  as  possible. 
And,  in  fact,  they  did  write  to  the  three  daughters  of 
the  G-overnor-Greneral,  who,  I  believe,  interceded  on  our 
behalf  with  their  father.  But  what  could  he  do  ?  No 
more,  of  course,  than  tell  the  Major  to  be  fair  in  apply- 
ing the  rules  and  regulations  to  our  case.  It  was  about 
three  in  the  afternoon  that  my  companion  and  myself 
arrived  in  the  town;  our  escort  took  us  at  once  to  our 
tyrant.  We  remained  waiting  for  him  in  the  ante- 
chamber while  they  went  to  find  the  next-in-command  at 
the  prison.  As  soon  as  the  latter  had  come,  in  walked 
the  Major.  We  saw  an  inflamed  scarlet  face  that  boded 
no  good,  and  affected  us  quite  painfully ;  he  seemed  like 
a  sort  of  spider  about  to  throw  itself  on  a  poor  fly 
wriggling  in  its  web. 

"  What's  your  name,  man  ?"  said  he  to  my  companion. 
He  spoke  with  a  harsh,  jerky  voice,  as  if  he  wanted  to 
overawe  us. 

My  friend  gave  his  name. 

"  And  you  ?  "  said  he,  turning  to  me  and  glaring  at 
me  behind  his  spectacles. 

I  gave  mine. 

"  Sergeant !  take  'em  to  the  prison,  and  let  'em  be 
shaved  at  the  guard-house,  civilian-fashion,  hair  off 
half  their  skulls,  and  let  'em  be  put  in  irons  to-morrow. 
Why,  what  sort  of  cloaks  have  you  got  there p  "  said 
he  brutally,  when  he  saw  the  gray  cloaks  with  yellow 
sewn  at  the  back  which  they  had  given  to  us  at 
Tobolsk.  "Why,  that's  a  new  uniform,  begad — a 
new  uniform !  They're  always  gettiug  up  something 
or  other.  That's  a  Petersburg  trick,"  he  said,  as  he  in- 
spected us  one  after  the  other.  "  Got  anything  with 
them  ?  "  he  said  abruptly  to  the  gendarme  who  escorted  us. 

"  They've  got  their  own  clothes,  your  worship/' 
replied  he;  and  the  man  carried  arms,  just  as  if  on 
parade,  not  without  a  nervous  tremor.  Everybody  knew 
the  fellow,  and  was  afraid  of  him. 


336  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"Take  their  clothes  away  from  them.  They  can't 
keep  anything  but  their  linen,  their  white  things ;  take 
away  all  their  coloured  things  if  they've  got  any,  and 
sell  them  off  at  the  next  sale,  and  put  the  money  to  the 
prison  account.  A  convict  has  no  proper ty,"  said  he, 
looking  severely  at  us.  "  Hark  ye  !  Behave  prettily ; 
don't  let  me  have  any  complaining.  If  I  do — 
cat-o'-nine-tails  !  The  smallest  offence,  and  to  the  sticks 
you  go  !  " 

This  way  of  receiving  me,  so  different  from  anything 
I  had  ever  known,  made  me  nearly  ill  that  night.  It 
was  a  frightful  thing  to  happen  at  the  very  moment  of 
entering  the  infernal  place.  But  I  have  already  told 
that  part  of  my  story. 

Thus  we  had  no  sort  of  exemption  or  immunity  from 
any  of  the  miseries  inflicted  there,  no  lightening  of  our 
labours  when  with  the  other  convicts ;  but  friends  tried 
to  help  us  by  getting  us  sent  for  three  months,  B — ski 
and  me,  to  the  bureau  of  the  Engineers,  to  do  copying 
work.  This  was  done  quietly,  and  as  much  as  possible 
kept  from  being  talked  about  or  observed.  This  piece 
of  kindness  was  done  for  us  by  the  head  engineers, 
during  the  short  time  that  Lieutenant- Colonel  G — kof 
was  Governor  at  our  prison.  This  gentleman  had 
command  there  only  for  six  short  months,  for  he  soon 
went  back  to  Eussia.  He  really  seemed  to  us  all 
like  an  angel  of  goodness  sent  from  heaven,  and  the 
feeling  for  him  among  the  convicts  was  of  the  strongest 
kind;  it  was  not  mere  love,  it  was  something  like 
adoration.  I  cannot  help  saying  so.  How  he  did  it 
I  don't  know,  but  their  hearts  went  out  to  him  from 
the  moment  they  first  set  eyes  on  him. 

"He's  more  like  a  father  than  anything  else,"  the 
prisoners  kept  continually  saying  during  all  the  time 
he  was  there  at  the  head  of  the  engineering  depart- 
ment. He  was  a  brilliant,  joyous  fellow.  He  was  of 
low  stature,  with  a  bold,  confident  expression,  and  he 
was  all  gracious  kindness  to  the  convicts,  for  whom  he 
really  did  seem  to  entertain  a  fatherly  sort  of  affection. 


MY  COMPANIONS  337 

How  was  it  he  was  so  fond  of  them?  It  is  hard  to 
say,  but  he  seemed  never  to  be  able  to  pass  a  prisoner 
without  a  bit  of  pleasant  talk  and  a  little  laughing 
and  joking  together.  There  was  nothing  that  smacked 
of  authority  in  his  pleasantries,  nothing  that  reminded 
them  of  his  position  over  them.  He  behaved  just  as 
if  he  was  one  of  themselves.  In  spite  of  this  kind 
condescension,  I  don't  remember  any  one  of  the  con- 
victs ever  failing  in  respect  to  him  or  taking  the 
slightest  liberty — quite  the  other  way.  The  convict's 
face  would  light  up  in  a  wonderful,  sudden  way  when 
he  met  the  Governor ;  it  was  odd  to  see  how  the  face 
smiled  all  over,  and  the  hand  went  to  the  cap,  when 
the  Governor  was  seen  in  the  distance  making  for  the 
poor  man.  A  word  from  him  was  regarded  as  a  signal 
honour.  There  are  some  people  like  that,  who  know 
how  to  win  all  hearts. 

G — kof  had  a  bold,  jaunty  air,  walked  with  long- 
strides,  holding  himself  very  straight ;  "  a  regular  eagle/' 
the  convicts  used  to  call  him.  He  could  not  do  much 
to  lighten  their  lot  materially,  for  his  office  was  that 
of  superintending  the  engineering  work,  which  had 
to  be  done  in  ways  and  quantities,  settled  absolutely 
and  unalterably  by  the  regulations.  But  if  he  happened 
to  come  across  a  gang  of  convicts  who  had  actually 
got  through  their  work,  he  allowed  them  to  go  back 
to  quarters  before  beat  of  drum,  without  waiting  for 
the  regulation  moment.  The  prisoners  loved  him  for 
the  confidence  he  showed  in  them,  and  because  of  his 
aversion  for  all  mean,  trifling  interferences  with  them, 
which  are  so  irritating  when  prison  superiors  are  ad- 
dicted to  that  sort  of  thing.  I  am  absolutely  certain 
that  if  he  had  lost  a  thousand  roubles  in  notes,  there 
was  not  a  thief  in  the  prison,  however  hardened,  who 
would  not  have  brought  them  to  him,  if  the  man  lit  on 
them.  I  am  sure  of  it. 

How  the  prisoners  all  felt  for  him,  and  with  him 
when  they  learned  that  he  was  at  daggers  drawn 
with  oar  detested  Major.  That  came  about  a  month 


338  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

after  his  arrival.  Their  delight  knew  no  bounds  The 
Major  had  formerly  served  with  him  in  the  same 
detachment ;  so,  when  they  met,  after  a  long  separation, 
they  were  at  first  boon  companions,  but  the  intimacy 
could  not  and  did  not  last.  They  came  to  blows — 
figuratively — and  Gr — kof  became  the  Major's  sworn 
enemy.  Some  would  have  it  that  it  was  more  than 
figuratively,  that  they  came  to  actual  fisticuffs,  a 
likely  thing  enough  as  far  as  the  Major  was  con- 
cerned, for  the  man  had  no  objection  to  a  scrimmage 

When  the  convicts  heard  of  the  quarrel  they  really 
could  not  contain  their  delight. 

"  Old  Eight-eyes  and  the  Commandant  get  on  finely 
together !  He's  an  eagle  ;  but  the  other's  a  bad  *un ! " 

Those  who  believed  in  the  fight  were  mighty  curious 
to  know  which  of  the  two  had  had  the  worst  of  it,  and 
got  a  good  drubbing.  If  it  had  been  proved  there 
had  been  no  fighting  our  convicts,  I  think,  would 
have  been  bitterly  disappointed. 

"The  Commandant  gave  him  fits,  you  may  bet 
your  life  on  it,"  said  they;  "he's  a  little  'un,  but  as 
bold  as  a  lion;  the  other  one  got  into  a  blue  funk, 
and  hid  under  the  bed  from  him." 

But  G — kof  went  away  only  too  soon,  and  keenly 
was  he  regretted  in  the  prison. 

Our  engineers  were  all  most  excellent  fellows;  we 
had  three  or  four  fresh  batches  of  them  while  I  was 
there. 

<(  Our  eagles  never  remain  very  long  with  us,"  said 
the  prisoners;  "especially  when  they  are  good  and 
kind  fellows." 

It  was  this  Gr — kof  who  sent  B — ski  and  myself  to 
work  in  his  bureau,  for  he  was  partial  to  exiled  nobles. 
When  he  left,  our  condition  was  still  fairly  endurable, 
for  there  was  another  engineer  there  who  showed  us 
much  sympathy  and  friendship.  We  copied  reports 
for  some  time,  and  our  handwriting  was  getting  to 
be  very  good,  when  an  order  came  from  the  authori- 
ties that  we  were  to  be  sent  back  to  hard  labour  as 


MY  COMPANIONS  339 

before;  some  spiteful  person  had  been  at  work.  At 
bottom  we  were  rather  pleased,  for  we  were  quite  tired 
of  copying. 

For  two  whole  years  I  worked  in  company  with 
B — ski,  all  the  time  in  the  shops,  and  many  a  gossip 
did  we  have  about  our  hopes  for  the  future  and  our 
notions  and  convictions.  Good  B — ski  had  a  very 
odd  mind,  which  worked  in  a  strange,  exceptional  way. 
There  are  some  people  of  great  intelligence  who  indulge 
in  paradox  unconscionably  ;  but  when  they  have  under- 
gone great  and  constant  sufferings  for  their  ideas  and 
made  great  sacrifices  for  them,  you  can't  drive  their 
notions  out  of  their  heads,  and  it  is  cruel  to  try  it. 
When  you  objected  something  to  B — ski's  propositions, 
he  was  really  hurt,  and  gave  you  a  violent  answer.  He 
was,  perhaps,  more  in  the  right  than  I  was  as  to  some 
things  wherein  we  differed,  bat  we  were  obliged  to 
give  one  another  up,  very  much  to  my  regret,  for  we 
had  many  thoughts  in  common. 

As  years  went  on  M — tski  became  more  and  more 
sombre  and  melancholy;  he  became  a  prey  to  despair. 
During  the  earliest  part  of  my  imprisonment  he  was 
communicative  enough,  and  let  us  see  what  was  going 
on  in  him.  When  I  arrived  at  the  prison  he  had  just 
finished  his  second  year.  At  first  he  took  a  lively 
interest  in  the  news  I  brought,  for  he  knew  nothing 
of  what  had  been  going  on  in  the  outer  world;  he 
put  questions  to  me,  listened  eagerly,  showed  emotion, 
but,  bit  by  bit,  his  reserve  grew  on  him  and  there 
was  no  getting  at  his  thoughts.  The  glowing  coals 
were  all  covered  up  with  ashes.  Yet  it  was  plain  that 
his  temper  grew  sourer  and  sourer.  "  Je  hais  ces 
brigands,"*  he  would  say,  speaking  of  convicts  I  had 
got  to  know  something  of;  I  never  could  make  him 
see  any  good  in  them.  He  really  did  not  seem  to  fully 
enter  into  the  meaning  of  anything  I  said  on  their 
behalf,  though  he  would  sometimes  seem  to  agree  in 
a  listless  sort  of  way.  Next  day  it  was  just  as  before: 
*  French  in  the  original  Uussian. 


340  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

"je  hais  ces  brigands."  (We  used  often  to  speak  French 
with  him ;  so  one  of  the  overseers  of  the  works,  the 
soldier,  Dranichnikof,  used  always  to  call  us  aides 
chirurgiens,  God  knows  why !)  M — tski  never  seemed 
to  shake  off  his  usual  apathy  except  when  he  spoke 
of  his  mother. 

"  She  is  old  and  infirm/'  he  said ;  "  she  loves  me 
better  than  anything  in  the  world,  and  I  don't  even 
know  if  she's  still  living.  If  she  learns  that  I've  been 
whipped " 

M — tski  was  not  a  noble,  and  had  been  whipped 
before  he  was  transported.  When  the  recollection  of 
this  came  up  in  his  mind  he  gnashed  his  teeth,  and 
could  not  look  anybody  in  the  face.  In  the  latest 
days  of  his  imprisonment  he  used  to  walk  to  and  fro, 
quite  alone  for  the  most  part.  One  day,  at  noon,  he 
was  summoned  to  the  Governor,  who  received  him  with 
a  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  Well,  M — tski,  what  were  your  dreams  last  night  ?  " 
asked  the  Governor. 

Said  M — tski  to  me  later,  "When  he  said  that  to 
me  a  shudder  ran  through  me;  I  felt  struck  at  the 
heart." 

His  answer  was,  "  I  dreamed  that  I  had  a  letter 
from  my  mother." 

' ( Better  than  that,  better !  "  replied  the  Governor. 
"  You  are  free ;  your  mother  has  petitioned  the  Emperor, 
and  he  has  granted  her  prayer.  Here,  here's  her  letter, 
and  the  order  for  your  dismissal.  You  are  to  leave  the 
jail  without  delay." 

He  came  to  us  pale,  scarcely  able  to  believe  in  his 
good  fortune. 

We  congratulated  him.  He  pressed  our  hands  with 
his  own,  which  were  quite  cold,  and  trembled  violently. 
Many  of  the  convicts  wished  him  joy ;  they  were  really 
glad  to  see  his  happiness. 

He  settled  in  Siberia,  establishing  himself  in  our  town, 
where  a  little  after  that  they  gave  him  a  place.  He< 
used  often  to  come  to  the  jail  to  bring  us  news,  and 


MY  COMPANIONS  341 

tell  us  all  that  was  going  on,  as  often  as  he  could 
talk  with  us.  It  was  political  news  that  interested  him 
chiefly. 

Besides  the  four  Poles,  the  political  convicts  of 
whom  I  spoke  just  now,  there  were  two  others  of  that 
nation,  who  were  sentenced  for  very  short  periods ;  they 
had  not  much  education,  but  were  good,  simple,  straight- 
forward fellows.  There  was  another,  A — tchoukooski, 
quite  a  colourless  person ;  one  more  I  must  mention, 
B — in,  a  man  well  on  in  years,  who  impressed  us  all 
very  unfavourably  indeed.  I  don't  know  what  he  had 
been  sentenced  for,  although  he  used  to  tell  us  some 
story  or  other  about  it  pretty  frequently.  He  was  a 
person  of  a  vulgar,  mean  type,  with  the  coarse  manner 
of  an  enriched  shopkeeper.  He  was  quite  without 
education,  and  seemed  to  take  interest  in  nothing 
except  what  concerned  his  trade,  which  was  that  of 
a  painter,  a  sort  of  scene-painter  he  was ;  he  showed 
a  good  deal  of  talent  in  his  work,  and  the  authorities 
of  the  prison  soon  came  to  know  about  his  abilities, 
so  he  got  employment  all  through  the  town  in  decorating 
walls  and  ceilings.  In  two  years  he  beautified  the 
rooms  of  nearly  all  the  prison  officials,  who  remunerated 
him  handsomely,  so  he  lived  pretty  comfortably.  He 
was  sent  to  work  with  three  other  prisoners,  two  of 
whom  learned  the  business  thoroughly;  one  of  these, 
T — jwoski,  painted  nearly  as  well  as  B — in  himself. 
Our  Major,  who  had  rooms  in  one  of  the  government 
buildings,  sent  for  B — in,  and  gave  him  a  commission  to 
decorate  the  walls  and  ceilings  there,  which  he  did 
so  effectively,  that  the  suite  of  rooms  of  the  Governor- 
General  were  quite  put  out  of  countenance  by  those 
of  the  Major.  The  house  itself  was  a  ramshackle  old 
place,  while  the  interior,  thanks  to  B — in,  was  as 
gay  as  a  palace.  Our  worthy  Major  was  hugely 
delighted,  went  about  rubbing  his  hands,  and  told 
everybody  that  he  should  look  out  for  a  wife  at  once, 
"a  fellow  can't  remain  single  when  he  lives  in  a  place 
like  that ; "  he  was  quite  serious  about  it.  The  Major's 


342  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SJBERIA 

satisfaction  with  B — in  and  his  assistants  went  on 
increasing.  They  occupied  a  month  in  the  work  at 
the  Major's  house.  During  those  memorable  days 
the  Major  seemed  to  get  into  a  different  frame  of  mind 
about  us,  and  began  to  be  quite  kind  to  us  political 
prisoners.  One  day  he  sent  for  J — ski. 

"  J — ski,"  said  he,  "  Fve  done  you  wrong ;  I  had  you 
beaten  for  nothing.  I'm  very  sorry.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  I'm  very  sorry.  I,  Major " 

J — ski  answered  that  he  understood  perfectly. 

"Do  you  understand?  I,  who  am  set  over  you,  I 
have  sent  for  you  to  ask  your  pardon.  You  can  hardly 
realise  it,  I  suppose.  What  are  you  to  me,  fellow  ?  A 
worm,  less  than  a  crawling  worm;  you're  a  convict,  while 

I,  by  God's  grace,*  am  a  Major;  Major  ,  do  you 

understand  ?  " 

J — ski  answered  that  he  quite  well  understood  it 
all. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  be  friends  with  you.  But  can  you 
appreciate  what  Fm  doing  ?  Can  you  feel  the  greatness 
of  soul  I'm  showing — feel  and  appreciate  it  ?  Just  think 
of  it ;  I,  I,  the  Major !  "  etc.  etc. 

J — ski  told  me  of  this  scene.  There  was,  then,  some 
human  feeling  left  in  this  drunken,  unruly,  and  torment- 
ing brute.  Allowing  for  the  man's  notions  of  things, 
and  feeble  faculties,  one  cannot  deny  that  this  was  a 
generous  proceeding  on  his  part.  Perhaps  he  was  a 
little  less  drunk  than  usual,  perhaps  more;  who  can 
tell? 

The  Major's  glorious  idea  of  marrying  came  to 
nothing;  the  rooms  got  all  their  bravery,  but  the  wife 
was  not  forthcoming.  Instead  of  going  to  the  altar  in 
that  agreeable  way,  he  was  pulled  up  before  the  authori- 
ties and  sent  to  trial.  He  received  orders  to  send  in  his 
resignation.  Some  of  his  old  sins  had  found  him  out,  it 
seems ;  things  done  when  he  had  been  superintendent  of 
police  in  our  town.  This  crushing  blow  came  down  upon 

*  Our  Major  was  not  the  only  officer  who  spoke  of  himself  in  that 
lofty  way  ;  a  good  many  officers  did  the  same,  men  who  had  risen  from 
the  ranks  chiefly. 


MT  COMPANIONS  343 

him  without  notice,  quite  suddenly.  All  the  convicts 
were  greatly  rejoiced  when  they  heard  the  great  news; 
it  was  high  day  and  holiday  all  through  the  jail.  The 
story  went  abroad  that  the  Major  sobbed,  and  cried,  and 
howled  like  an  old  woman.  But  he  was  helpless  in  the 
matter.  He  was  obliged  to  leave  his  place,  sell  his  two 
gray  horses,  and  everything  he  had  in  the  world ;  and  he 
fell  into  complete  destitution.  We  came  across  him 
occasionally  afterwards  in  civilian,  threadbare  clothes, 
and  wearing  a  cap  with  a  cockade;  he  glanced  at  us 
convicts  as  spitefully  and  maliciously  as  you  please.  But 
with  his  Major's  uniform,  all  the  man's  glory  was  gone. 
While  placed  over  us,  he  gave  himself  the  airs  of  a  being 
higher  than  human,  who  had  got  into  coat  and  breeches  ; 
now  it  was  all  over,  he  looked  like  the  lackey  he  was,  and 
a  disgraced  lackey  to  boot. 

With  fellows  of  this  sort,  the  uniform  is  the  only 
saving  grace ;  that  gone,  all's  gone. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE    ESCAPE 


A  LITTLE  while  after  the  Major  resigned,  our 
prison  was  subjected  to  a  thorough  re- 
organization. The  "hard  labour"  hitherto 
inflicted,  and  the  other  regulations,  were 
abolished,  and  the  place  put  upon  the 
footing  of  the  military  convict  establishments  of  Russia. 
As  a  result  of  this,  prisoners  of  the  second  category 
were  no  longer  sent  there ;  this  class  was,  for  the  future, 
to  be  composed  of  prisoners  who  were  regarded  as  still 
on  the  military  footing,  that  is  to  say,  men  who,  in  spite 
of  sentence,  did  not  forfeit  for  ever  their  civic  status. 
They  were  soldiers  still,  but  had  undergone  corporal 
punishment;  they  were  sentenced  for  comparatively 
short  periods,  six  years  at  most ;  when  they  had  served 
their  time,  or  in  case  of  pardon,  they  went  into  the  ranks 
again,  as  before.  Men  guilty  of  a  second  offence  were 
sentenced  to  twenty  years  of  imprisonment.  Up  to  the 
time  I  speak  of,  we  had  a  section  of  soldier-prisoners 
among  us,  but  only  because  they  did  not  know  where 
else  to  dispose  of  them.  Now  the  place  was  to  be 
occupied  by  soldiers  exclusively.  As  to  the  civilian 
convicts,  who  were  stripped  of  all  civic  rights,  branded, 
cropped,  and  shaven,  these  were  to  remain  in  the  fortress 


THE  ESCAPE  845 

to  finish  their  time  ;  but  as  no  fresh  prisoners  of  this  class 
were  to  come  in,  and  those  there  would  get  their  discharge 
successively,  at  the  end  of  ten  years  there  would  be  no 
civilian  convicts  left  in  the  place,  according  to  the 
arrangements.  The  line  of  division  between  the  classes 
of  prisoners  there  was  maintained ;  from  time  to  time 
there  came  in  other  military  criminals  of  high  position, 
sent  to  our  place  for  security,  before  being  forwarded  to 
Eastern  Siberia,  for  the  more  aggravated  penalties  that 
awaited  them  there. 

There  was  no  change  in  our  general  way  of  life.  The 
work  we  had  to  do  and  the  discipline  observed  were 
the  same  as  before ;  but  the  administrative  system  was 
entirely  altered,  and  made  more  complex.  An  officer, 
commandant  of  companies,  was  assigned  to  be  at  the 
head  of  the  prison ;  he  had  under  his  orders  four 
subaltern  officers  who  mounted  guard  by  turns.  The 
"  invalids  "  were  superseded  by  twelve  non-commissioned 
officers,  and  an  arsenal  superintendent.  The  convicts 
were  divided  into  sections  of  ten,  and  corporals  chosen 
among  them ;  the  power  of  these  over  the  others  was, 
as  may  be  supposed,  nominal.  As  might  be  expected, 
Akim  Akimitch  got  this  promotion. 

All  these  new  arrangements  were  confided  to  the 
Governor  to  carry  out,  who  remained  in  superior  com- 
mand over  the  whole  establishment.  The  changes  did 
not  go  further  than  this.  At  first  the  convicts  were  not 
a  little  excited  by  this  movement,  and  discussed  their 
new  guardians  a  good  deal  among  themselves,  trying  to 
make  out  what  sort  of  fellows  they  were ;  but  when  they 
saw  that  everything  went  on  pretty  much  as  usual  they 
quieted  down,  and  things  resumed  their  ordinary  course. 
We  had  got  rid  of  the  Major,  and  that  was  something ; 
everybody  took  fresh  breath  and  fresh  courage.  The 
fear  that  was  in  all  hearts  grew  less;  we  had  some 
assurance  that  in  case  of  need  we  could  go  to  our 
superiors  and  lodge  our  complaint,  and  that  a  man  could 
not  be  punished  without  cause,  and  would  not,  unless  by 
mistake. 


346  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

Brandy  was  brought  in  as  before,  although  we  had 
subaltern  officers  now  where  "  invalids "  were  before. 
These  subalterns  were  all  worthy,  careful  men,  who  knew 
their  place  and  business.  There  were  some  among  them 
who  had  the  idea  that  they  might  give  themselves  grand 
airs,  and  treat  us  like  common  soldiers,  but  they  soon 
gave  it  up  and  behaved  like  the  others.  Those  who  did 
not  seem  to  be  well  able  to  get  into  their  heads  what 
the  ways  of  our  prison  really  were,  had  sharp  lessons 
about  it  from  the  convicts  themselves,  which  led  to  some 
lively  scenes.  One  sub-officer  was  confronted  with 
brandy,  which  was  of  course  too  much  for  him ;  when 
he  was  sober  again  we  had  a  little  explanation  with 
him;  we  pointed  out  that  he  had  been  drinking  with 
the  prisoners,  and  that,  accordingly,  etc.  etc.;  he  be- 
came quite  tractable.  The  end  of  it  was  that  the 
subalterns  closed  their  eyes  to  the  brandy  business. 
They  went  to  market  for  us,  just  as  the  invalids  used, 
and  brought  the  prisoners  white  bread,  meat,  anything 
that  could  be  got  in  without  too  much  risk.  So  I  never 
could  understand  why  they  had  gone  to  the  trouble  of 
turning  the  place  into  a  military  prison.  The  change 
was  made  two  years  before  I  left  the  place ;  I  had  two 
years  to  bear  of  it  still. 

I  see  little  use  in  recording  all  I  saw  and  went 
through  later  at  the  convict  establishment  day  by  day. 
If  I  were  to  tell  it  all,  all  the  daily  and  hourly  occur- 
rences, I  might  write  twice  or  thrice  as  many  chapters 
as  this  book  ought  to  contain,  but  I  should  simply 
tire  the  reader  and  myself.  Substantially  all  that  I 
might  write  has  been  already  embodied  in  the  narrative 
as  it  stands  so  far ;  and  the  reader  has  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  a  tolerable  idea  of  what  the  life  of 
a  convict  of  the  second  class  really  was.  My  wish 
has  been  to  portray  the  state  of  things  at  the  esta- 
blishment, and  as  it  affected  myself,  accurately  and  yefc 
forcibly;  whether  I  have  done  so  others  must  judge. 
I  cannot  pronounce  upon  my  own  work,  but  I  think 
I  may  well  draw  it  to  a  close ;  as  I  move  among  these 


THE  ESCAPE  347 

I  recollections  of  a  dreadful  past,  the  old  suffering  comes 
up  again  and  all  but  strangles  me. 

Besides,  I  cannot  be  sure  of  my  memory  as  to  all 
I  saw  in  these  last  years,  for  the  faculty  seems  blunted 
as  regards  the  later  compared  with  the  earlier  period 
of  my  imprisonment,  there  is  a  good  deal  I  am  sure 
I  have  quite  forgotten.  But  I  remember  only  too  well 
how  very,  very  slow  these  last  two  years  were,  how 
very  sad,  how  the  days  seemed  as  if  they  never  would 
come  to  evening,  something  like  water  falling  drop  by 
drop.  I  remember,  too,  that  I  was  filled  with  a  mighty 
longing  for  my  resurrection  from  that  grave  which  gave 
me  strength  to  bear  up,  to  wait,  and  to  hope.  And  so 
I  got  to  be  hardened  and  enduring ;  I  lived  on  expecta- 
tion, I  counted  every  passing  day;  if  there  were  a 
thousand  more  of  them  to  pass  at  the  prison  I  found 
satisfaction  in  thinking  that  one  of  them  was  gone,  and 
only  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  to  come.  I  remember, 
too,  that  though  I  had  round  me  a  hundred  persons 
in  like  case,  I  felt  myself  more  and  more  solitary,  and 
though  the  solitude  was  awful  I  came  to  love  it. 
Isolated  thus  among  the  convict-crowd  I  went  over 
all  my  earlier  life,  analysing  its  events  and  thoughts 
minutely;  I  passed  my  former  doings  in  review,  and 
sometimes  was  pitiless  in  condemnation  of  myself; 
sometimes  I  went  so  far  as  to  be  grateful  to  fate  for 
the  privilege  of  such  loneliness,  for  only  that  could  have 
caused  me  so  severely  to  scrutinise  my  past,  so  search- 
ingly  to  examine  its  inner  and  outer  life.  What  strong 
and  strange  new  germs  of  hope  came  in  those  memorable 
hours  up  in  my  soul !  I  weighed  and  decided  all  sorts 
of  issues,  I  entered  into  a  compact  with  myself  to  avoid 
the  errors  of  former  years,  and  the  rocks  on  which  I  had 
been  wrecked  ;  I  laid  down  a  programme  for  my  future, 
and  vowed  that  I  would  stick  to  it ;  I  had  a  sort  of 
blind  and  complete  conviction  that,  once  away  from 
that  place,  I  should  be  able  to  carry  out  everything  I 
made  my  mind  up  to ;  I  looked  for  my  freedom  with 
transports  of  eager  desire ;  I  wanted  to  try  my  strength 


348  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

in  a  renewed  struggle  with  life;  sometimes  I  was 
clutched,  as  by  fangs,  by  an  impatience  which  rose  to 
fever  heat.  It  is  painful  to  go  back  to  these  things, 
most  painful;  nobody,  I  know,  can  care  much  about 
it  at  all  except  myself;  but  I  write  because  I  think 
people  will  understand,  and  because  there  are  those 
who  have  been,  those  who  yet  will  be,  like  myself, 
condemned,  imprisoned,  cut  off  from  life,  in  the  flower 
of  their  age,  and  in  the  full  possession  of  all  their 
strength. 

But  all  this  is  useless.  Let  me  end  my  memoirs 
with  a  narrative  of  something  interesting,  for  I  must 
not  close  them  too  abruptly. 

What  shall  it  be  ?  Well,  it  may  occur  to  some 
to  ask  whether  it  was  quite  impossible  to  escape  from 
the  jail,  and  if  during  the  time  I  spent  there  no 
attempt  of  the  kind  was  made.  I  have  already  said 
that  a  prisoner  who  has  got  through  two  or  three 
years  thinks  a  good  deal  of  it,  and,  as  a  rule,  con- 
cludes that  it  is  best  to  finish  his  time  without 
running  more  risks,  so  that  he  may  get  his  settle- 
ment, on  the  land  or  otherwise,  when  set  at  liberty. 
But  those  who  reckon  in  this  way  are  convicts  sen- 
tenced for  comparatively  short  times;  those  who  have 
many  years  to  serve  are  always  ready  to  run  some 
chances.  For  all  that  the  attempts  at  escape  were 
quite  infrequent.  Whether  that  was  attributable  to 
the  want  of  spirit  in  the  convicts,  the  severity  of 
the  military  discipline  enforced,  or,  after  all,  to  the 
situation  of  the  town,  little  favourable  to  escapes,  forr 
it  was  in  the  midst  of  the  open  steppe,  I  really 
cannot  say.  All  these  motives'  no  doubt  contributed 
to  give  pause.  It  was  difficult  enough  to  get  out 
of  the  prison  at  all;  in  my  time  two  convicts  tried 
it;  they  were  criminals  of  importance. 

When  our  Major  had  been  got  rid  of,  A — v,  the 
spy,  was  quite  alone  with  nobody  to  back  him  up.  He 
was  still  quite  young,  but  his  character  grew  in  force 
with  every  year;  he  was  a  bold,  self-asserting  fellow, 


THE  ESCAPE  349 

of  considerable  intelligence.  I  think  if  they  had  set 
lim  at  liberty  he  would  have  gone  on  spying  and 
getting  money  in  every  sort  of  shameful  way,  but 
.  don't  think  he  would  have  let  himself  be  caught 
bgain;  he  would  have  turned  his  experiences  as  a 
convict  to  far  too  much  good  for  that.  One  trick  he 
practised  was  that  of  forging  passports,  at  least  so 
[  heard  from  some  of  the  convicts.  I  think  this 
'ellow  was  ready  to  risk  everything  for  a  change  in 
lis  position.  Circumstances  gave  me  the  opportunity 
of  getting  to  the  bottom  of  this  man's  disposition 
and  seeing  how  ugly  it  was;  he  was  simply  revolting 
in  his  cold,  deep  wickedness,  and  my  disgust  with  him 
was  more  than  I  could  get  over.  I  do  believe  that 
if  he  wanted  a  drink  of  brandy,  and  could  only  have 
t  it  by  killing  some  one,  he  would  not  have 
Hesitated  one  moment  if  it  was  pretty  certain  the 
crime  would  not  come  out.  He  had  learned  there,  in 
that  jail,  to  look  on  everything  in  the  coolest  calculating 
way.  It  was  on  him  that  the  choice  of  Koulikoff — of 
the  special  section — fell,  as  we  are  to  see. 

I  have  spoken  before  of  Koulikoff.  He  was  no  longer 
young,  but  fnll  of  ardour,  life,  and  vigour,  and  endowed 
with  extraordinary  faculties.  He  felt  his  strength,  and 
wanted  still  to  have  a  life  of  his  own  ;  there  are  some 
men  who  long  to  live  in  a  rich,  abounding  life,  even  when 
old  age  has  got  hold  of  them.  I  should  have  been  a  good 
deal  surprised  if  Koulikoff  had  not  tried  to  escape  ;  but  he 
did.  Which  of  the  two,  Koulikoff  and  A — v,  had  the 
greater  influence  over  the  other  I  really  cannot  say ; 
they  were  a  goodly  couple,  and  suited  each  other  to  a 
hair,  so  they  soon  became  as  thick  as  possible.  I  fancy 
that  Kouiikoff  reckoned  on  A — v  to  forge  a  passport 
for  him;  besides,  the  latter  was  of  the  noble  class, 
belonged  to  good  society,  a  circumstance  out  of  which 
a  good  deal  could  be  made  if  they  managed  to  get  back 
into  Russia.  Heaven  only  knows  what  compacts  they 
made,  or  what  plans  and  hopes  they  formed;  if  they 
got  as  far  as  Russia  they  would  at  all  events  leave 


350  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

behind  them  Siberia  and  vagabondage.  Koulikoff  was 
a  versatile  man,  capable  of  playing  many  a  part  on  the 
stage  of  life,  and  had  plenty  of  ability  to  go  upon, 
whatever  direction  his  efforts  took.  To  such  persons 
the  jail  is  strangulation  and  suffocation.  So  the  two 
set  about  plotting  their  escape. 

But  to  get  away  without  a  soldier  to  act  as  escort 
was  impossible;  so  a  soldier  had  to  be  won.  In  one 
of  the  battalions  stationed  at  our  fortress  was  a  Pole 
of  middle  life — an  energetic  fellow  worthy  of  a  better 
fate — serious,  courageous.  When  he  arrived  first  in 
Siberia,  quite  young,  he  had  deserted,  for  he  could  not 
stand  his  sufferings  from  nostalgia.  He  was  captured 
and  whipped.  During  two  years  he  formed  part  of  the 
disciplinary  companies  to  which  offenders  are  sent; 
then  he  rejoined  his  battalion,  and,  showing  himself 
zealous  in  the  service,  had  been  rewarded  by  promotion 
to  the  rank  of  corporal.  He  had  a  good  deal  of  self- 
love,  and  spoke  like  a  man  who  had  no  small  conceit  of 
himself. 

I  took  particular  notice  of  the  man  sometimes  when 
he  was  among  the  soldiers  who  had  charge  of  us,  for  the 
Poles  had  spoken  to  me  about  him ;  and  I  got  the  idea 
that  his  longing  for  his  native  country  had  taken  the 
form  of  a  chill,  fixed,  deadly  hatred  for  those  who  kept 
him  away  from  it.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  to  stick  at 
nothing,  and  Koulikoff  showed  that  his  scent  was  good, 
when  he  pitched  on  this  man  to  be  an  accomplice  in  his 
flight.  This  corporal's  name  was  Kohler.  Koulikoff  and 
he  settled  their  plans  and  fixed  the  day.  It  was  the 
month  of  June,  the  hottest  of  the  year.  The  climate 
of  our  town  and  neighbourhood  was  pretty  equable, 
especially  in  summer,  which  is  a  very  good  thing  for 
tramps  and  vagabonds.  To  make  off  far  after  leaving 
the  fortress  was  quite  out  of  the  question,  it  being 
situated  on  rising  ground  and  in  uncovered  country,  for 
though  surrounded  by  woods,  these  are  a  considerable 
distance  away.  A  disguise  was  indispensable,  and  to 
procure  it  they  must  manage  to  get  into  the  outskirts  of 


THE  ESCAPE  351 

;he  town,  where  Koulikoff  had  taken  care  some  time 
before  to  prepare  a  den  of  some  sort.  I  don't  know 
whether  his  worthy  friends  in  that  part  of  the  town 
were  in  the  secret.  It  may  be  presumed  they  were, 
though  there  is  no  evidence.  That  year,  however,  a 
young  woman  who  led  a  gay  life  and  was  very  pretty, 
settled  down  in  a  nook  of  that  same  part  of  the  city, 
near  the  county  This  young  person  attracted  a  good 
deal  of  notice,  and  her  career  promised  to  be  something 
quite  remarkable ;  her  nickname  was  "  Fire  and  Flame." 
I  think  that  she  and  the  fugitives  concerted  the  plans  of 
escape  together,  for  Koulikoff  had  lavished  a  good  deal 
of  attention  and  money  on  her  for  more  than  a  year. 
When  the  gangs  were  formed  each  morning,  the  two 
fellows,  Koulikoff  and  A — v,  managed  to  get  themselves 
sent  out  with  the  convict  Chilkin,  whose  trade  was 
that  of  stove-maker  and  plasterer,  to  do  up  the  empty 
barracks  when  the  soldiers  went  into  camp.  A — v  and 
Koulikoff  were  to  help  in  carrying  the  necessary  materials. 
Kohler  got  himself  put  into  the  escort  on  the  occasion ; 
as  the  rules  required  three  soldiers  to  act  as  escort  for 
two  prisoners,  they  gave  him  a  young  recruit  whom  he 
was  doing  corporal's  duty  upon,  drilling  and  training 
him.  Our  fugitives  must  have  exercised  a  great  deal  of 
influence  over  Kohler  to  deceive  him,  to  cast  his  lot  in 
with  them,  serious,  intelligent,  and  reflective  man  as 
he  was,  with  so  few  more  years  of  service  to  pass  in  the 
army. 

They  arrived  at  the  barracks  about  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning;  there  was  nobody  with  them.  After 
having  worked  about  an  hour,  Koulikoff  and  A — v  told 
Chilkin  that  they  were  going  to  the  workshop  to  see 
some  one,  and  fetch  a  tool  they  wanted.  They  had 
to  go  carefully  to  work  with  Chilkin,  and  speak  in 
as  natural  a  tone  as  they  could.  The  man  was  from 
Moscow,  by  trade  a  stove-maker,  sharp  and  cunning, 
[keen-sighted,  not  talkative,  fragile  in  appearance, 
with  little  flesh  on  his  bones.  He  was  the  sort  of 
person  who  might  have  been  expected  to  pass  his 


352  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

life  in  honest  working  dress,  in  some  Moscow  shop, 
yet  here  he  was  in  the  "  special  section/'  after  many 
wanderings  and  transfers  among  the  most  formidable 
military  criminals  ;  so  fate  had  ordered. 

What  had  he  done  to  deserve  such  severe  punish- 
ment ?  I  had  not  the  least  idea  ;  he  never  showed  the 
least  resentment  or  sour  feeling,  and  went  on  in  a 
quiet,  inoffensive  way;  now  and  then  he  got  as  drunk 
as  a  lord  ;  but,  apart  from  that,  his  conduct  was  perfectly 
good.  Of  course  he  was  not  in  the  secret,  so  he  had 
to  be  thrown  off  the  scent.  Koulikoff  told  him,  with 
a  wink,  that  they  were  going  to  get  some  brandy, 

the  d 


which  had  been  hidden  the  day  before  in  the  work- 
shop, which  suited  Chilkin's  book  perfectly;  he  had 
not  the  least  notion  of  what  was  up,  and  remained 
alone  with  the  young  recruit,  while  Koulikoff,  A  —  v, 
and  Kohler  betook  themselves  to  the  suburbs  of  the 
town. 

Half-an-hour  passed;  the  men  did  not  come  back. 
Chilkin  began  to  think,  and  the  truth  dawned  upon 
him.  He  remembered  that  Koulikoff  had  not  seemed  at 
all  like  himself,  that  he  had  seen  him  whispering  and 
winking  to  A  —  v  ;  he  was  sure  of  that,  and  the1 
whole  thing  seemed  suspicious  to  him.  Kohler's  be- 
haviour had  struck  him,  too;  when  he  went  off  withi 
the  two  convicts,  the  corporal  had  given  the  recruit 
orders  what  he  was  to  do  in  his  absence,  which  he 
had  never  known  him  do  before.  The  more  Chilkin 
thought  over  the  matter  the  less  he  liked  it.  Time' 
went  on  ;  the  convicts  did  not  return  ;  his  anxiety 
was  great  ;  for  he  saw  that  the  authorities  would  suspect: 
him  of  connivance  with  the  fugitives,  so  that  his  own 
skin  was  in  danger.  If  he  made  any  delay  in  giving. 
information  of  what  had  occurred,  suspicion  of  himseli 
would  grow  into  conviction  that  he  knew  what  the 
men  intended  when  they  left  him,  and  he  would  be 
dealt  with  as  their  accomplice.  There  was  no  time- 
to  lose. 

It   came   into  his   mind,    then,    that   Koulikoff   anc 


THE  ESCAPE  353 

A — v  had  become  markedly  intimate  for  some  time, 
and  that  they  had  been  often  seen  laying  their  heads 
together  behind  the  barracks,  by  themselves.  He 
remembered,  too,  that  he  had  more  than  once  fancied 
that  they  were  up  to  something  together. 

He  looked  attentively  at  the  soldier  with  him 
as  escort;  the  fellow  was  yawning,  leaning  on  his 
gun,  and  scratching  his  nose  in  the  most  innocent 
manner  imaginable;  so  Chilkin  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  speak  of  his  anxieties  to  this  man :  he 
told  him  simply  to  come  with  him  to  the  engineers' 
workshops.  His  object  was  to  ask  if  anybody  there 
had  seen  his  companions;  but  nobody  there  had,  so- 
Chilkin's  suspicions  grew  stronger  and  stronger.  If 
only  he  could  think  that  they  had  gone  to  get  drunk 
and  have  a  spree  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  as 
Koulikoff  often  did.  No,  thought  Chilkin,  that  was 
not  so.  They  would  have  told  him,  for  there  was  no 
need  to  make  a  mystery  of  that.  Chilkin  left  his 
work,  and  went  straight  back  to  the  jail. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  he  reached  the 
sergeant-major,  to  whom  he  mentioned  his  suspicions. 
That  officer  was  frightened,  and  at  first  could  not  believe 
there  was  anything  i  in  it  all.  Chilkin  had,  in  fact, 
expressed  no  more  than  a  vague  misgiving  that  all 
was  not  as  it  should  be.  The  sergeant-major  ran 
to  the  Major,  who  in  his  turn  ran  to  the  Governor. 
In  a  quarter-of-an-hour  ah1  necessary  measures  were 
taken.  The  Governor-General  was  communicated  with. 
As  the  convicts  in  question  were  persons  of  importance, 
it  might  be  expected  that  the  matter  would  be  seriously 
viewed  at  St.  Petersburg.  A — v  was  classed  among 
political  prisoners,  by  a  somewhat  random  official 
proceeding,  it  would  seem;  Koulikoff  was  a  convict  of 
the  "  special  section/'  that  is  to  say,  as  a  criminal  of 
the  blackest  dye,  and,  what  was  worse,  was  an  ex- 
soldier.  It  was  then  brought  to  notice  that  according 
to  the  regulations  each  convicfc  of  the  "  special  section  " 
ought  to  have  two  soldiers  assigned  as  escort  when 


354  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

he  went  fco  work;  the  regulations  had  not  been  ob- 
served as  to  this,  so  that  everybody  was  exposed  to 
serious  troub\e.  Expresses  were  sent  off  to  all  the 
district  offices  of  the  municipality,  and  all  the  little 
neighbouring  towns,  to  warn  the  authorities  of  the 
escape  of  the  two  convicts,  and  a  full  description  fur- 
nished of  their  persons.  Cossacks  were  sent  out  to 
hunt  them  up,  letters  sent  to  the  authorities  of  all 
adjoining  Governmental  districts.  And  everybody  was 
frightened  to  death. 

The  excitement  was  quite  as  great  all  through  the 
prison ;  as  the  convicts  returned  from  work,  they  heard 
the  tremendous  news,  which  spread  rapidly  from  man  to 
man;  all  received  it  with  deep,  though  secret  satisfaction. 
Their  emotion  was  as  natural  as  it  was  great.  The  affair 
broke  the  monotony  of  their  lives,  and  gave  them  some- 
thing to  think  of ;  but,  above  all,  it  was  an  escape,  and 
as  such,  something  to  sympathise  with  deeply,  and  stirred 
fibres  in  the  poor  fellows  which  had  long  been  without 
any  exciting  stimulus ;  something  like  hope  and  a  dis- 
position to  confront  their  fate  set  their  hearts  beating, 
for  the  incident  seemed  to  show  that  their  hard  lot  was 
not  hopelessly  unchangeable. 

"  Well,  you  see  they've  got  off  in  spite  of  them ! 
Why  shouldn't  we  ?  " 

The  thought  came  into  every  man's  mind,  and 
made  him  stiffen  his  back  and  look  at  his  neighbours 
in  a  defiant  sort  of  way.  All  the  convicts  seemed  to 
grow  an  inch  taller  on  the  strength  of  it,  and  to  look 
down  a  bit  upon  the  sub-officers.  The  heads  of  the 
place  soon  came  running  up,  as  you  may  imagine.  The 
Governor  now  arrived  in  person.  We  fellows  looked 
at  them  all  with  some  assurance,  with  a  touch  of 
contempt,  and  with  a  very  set  expression  of  face,  as 
though  to  say:  "Well,  you  there?  We  can  get  out 
of  your  clutches  when  weVe  a  mind  to." 

All  the  men  were  quite  sure  there  would  be  a  general 
searching  of  everything  and  everybody;  so  everything 
that  was  at  all  contraband  was  carefully  hidden ;  for 


TEE  ESOAPB  355 

the  authorities  would  want  to  show  that  precious  wisdom 
of  theirs  which  may  be  reckoned  on  after  the  event. 
The  expectation  was  verified ;  there  was  a  mighty  turn- 
ing of  everything  upside  down  and  topsy-turvy,  a  general 
rummage,  with  the  discovery  of  exactly  nothing-,  as  they 
might  have  known. 

When  the  time  came  for  going  out  to  work  after 
dinner  the  usual  escorts  were  doubled.  When  night  came, 
the  officers  and  sub-officers  on  service  came  pouncing 
on  us  at  every  moment  to  see  if  we  were  off  our  guard, 
and  if  anything  could  be  got  out  of  us ;  the  lists  were 
gone  over  once  more  than  the  usual  number  of  times, 
which  extra  mustering  only  gave  more  trouble  for 
nothing ;  we  were  hunted  out  of  the  court-yard  that  our 
names  might  be  gone  through  again.  Then,  when  in 
barrack,  they  reckoned  us  up  another  time,  as  if  they 
never  could  be  done  with  the  exercise. 

The  convicts  were  not  at  all  disturbed  by  all  this 
bustling  absurdity.  They  put  on  a  very  unconcerned 
demeanour,  and,  as  is  always  the  case  in  such  a  con- 
juncture, behaved  in  the  prettiest  manner  all  that 
evening  and  night.  "  We  won't  give  them  any  handle 
anyhow,"  was  the  general  feeling.  The  question  with 
the  authorities  was  whether  some  among  us  were  not 
in  complicity  with  those  who  had  got  away,  so  a  careful 
watch  was  kept  over  our  doings,  and  a  careful  ear 
for  our  conversations  ;  but  nothing  came  of  it. 

"Not  such  fools,  those  fellows,  as  to  leave  anybody 
behind  who  was  in  the  secret !  " 

"  When  you  go  at  that  sort  of  thing  you  lie  low  and 
play  low !  " 

"  Koulikof?  and  A — v  know  enough  to  have  covered 
up  their  tracks.  They've  done  the  trick  in  first-rate  style, 
keeping  things  to  themselves;  they've  mizzled,  the 
rascals ;  clever  chaps,  those,  they  could  get  through 
shut  doors ! " 

The  glory  of  Koalikoff  and  A — v  had  grown  a 
hundred  cubits  higher  than  it  was.  Everybody  was 
proud  of  them.  Their  exploit,  it  was  felt,  would  be 


356  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

handed  down  to  the  most  distant  posterity,  and  outlive 
the  jail  itself. 

"  Rattling  fellows,  those  !  "  said  one. 

"  Can't  get  away  from  here,  eh  ?  Thatfs  their 
notion,  is  it  ?  Just  look  at  those  chaps  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  a  third,  looking  very  superior,  "  but 
who  is  it  that  has  got  away?  Tip-top  fellows.  You 
can't  hold  a  candle  to  them." 

At  any  other  time  the  man  to  whom  anything  of 
that  sort  was  said  would  have  replied  angrily  enough, 
and  defended  himself;  now  the  observation  was  met 
with  modest  silence. 

"True  enough,"  was  said.  "Everybody's  not  a 
Koulikoff  or  an  A — v,  you've  got  to  show  what 
you're  made  of  before  you've  a  right  to  speak." 

"I  say,  pals,  after  all,  why  do  we  remain  in  the 
place  ? "  struck  in  a  prisoner  seated  by  the  kitchen 
window;  he  spoke  drawlingly,  bub  the  man,  you  could 
see,  enjoyed  it  all;  he  slowly  rubbed  his  cheek  with 
the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  Why  do  we  stop  ?  It's  no 
life  at  all,  we've  been  buried,  though  we're  alive  and 
kicking.  Now  isn't  it  so  ?  " 

"Oh,  curse  it,  you  can't  get  out  of  prison  as 
easy  as  shaking  off  an  old  boot.  I  tell  you  it  sticks 
to  your  calves.  What's  the  good  of  pulling  a  long 
face  over  it  ?  " 

"But,  look  here;  there  is  Koulikoff  now,"  began 
one  of  the  most  eager,  a  mere  lad. 

"  KoulikoS  !  "  exclaimed  another,  looking  askance 
at  the  young  fellow.  "  Koulikoff  !  They  don't  turn 
out  Koulikoffs  by  the  dozen." 

"  And  A — v,  pals,  there's  a  lad  for  you !  " 

"Aye,  aye,  he'll  get  KoulikofE  just  where  he  wants 
him,  as  often  as  he  wants  him.  He's  up  to  every- 
thing, he  is." 

"I  wonder  how  far  they've  got;  that's  what  I 
want  to  know,"  said  one. 

Then  the  talk  went  off  into  details  :  Had  they  got  far 
from  the  town  ?  What  direction  did  they  go  off  in  ? 


THE  ESCAPE  357 

Which  gave  them  the  best  chance  ?  Then  they 
discussed  distances,  and  as  there  were  convicts  who 
knew  the  neighbourhood  well,  these  were  attentively 
listened  to. 

Next,  they  talked  over  the  inhabitants  of  the 
neighbouring  villages,  of  whom  they  seemed  to  think 
as  badly  as  possible.  There  was  nobody  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, the  convicts  believed,  who  would  hesitate 
at  all  as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued;  nothing  would 
induce  them  to  help  the  runaways;  quite  the  other 
way,  these  people  would  hunt  them  down. 

"  If  you  only  knew  what  bad  fellows  these  peasants 
are !  Rascally  brutes  !  " 

"  Peasants,  indeed !     Worthless  scamps  ! " 

"  These  Siberians  are  as  bad  as  bad  can  be.  They 
think  nothing  of  killing  a  man." 

"  Oh,  well,  our  fellows " 

"Yes,  that's  it,  they  may  come  off  second  best. 
Our  fellows  are  as. plucky  as  plucky  can  be." 

"Well,  if  we  live  long  enough,  we  shall  hear 
something  about  them  soon." 

"Well,  now,  what  do  you  think?  Do  you  think 
they  really  will  get  clean  away  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure,  as  I  live,  that  they'll  never  be  caught," 
said  one  of  the  most  excited,  giving  the  table  a  great 
blow  with  his  fist. 

"  Hm  !     That's  as  things  turn  out." 

"I'll  teH  you  what,  friends,"  said  Skouratof,  "if  I 
once  got  out,  I'd  stake  my  life  they'd  never  get  me 
again/' 

"You?" 

Everybody  burst  out  laughing.  They  would  hardly 
condescend  to  listen  to  him;  but  Skouratof  was  not 
to  be  put  down. 

"I  tell  you  I'd  stake  my  life  on  it!"  with  great 
energy.  "Why,  I  made  my  mind  up  to  that  long 
ago.  I'd  find  means  of  going  through  a  key-hole 
rather  than  let  them  lay  hands  on  me." 

'•'Oh,  don't  you   fear,   wheii  your   belly  got    empty 


868  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

you'd  just  go  creeping  to  a  peasant  and  ask  him  foi 
a  morsel  of  something." 

Fresh  laughter. 

' '  I  ask  him  for  victuals  ?     You're  a  liar !  " 

"  Hold  your  jaw,  can't  you  ?  We  know  what  you 
were  sent  here  for.  You  and  your  Uncle  Vacia  killed 
some  peasant  for  bewitching  your  cattle."  * 

More  laughter.  The  more  serious  among  them 
seemed  very  angry  and  indignant. 

"You're  a  liar,"  cried  Skouratof ;  "it's  Mikitka  who 
told  you  that ;  I  wasn't  in  that  at  all,  it  was  Uncle 
Vacia  ;  don't  you  mix  my  name  up  in  it.  I'm  a  Moscow 
man,  and  I've  been  on  the  tramp  ever  since  I  was  a  very 
small  thing.  Look  here,  when  the  priest  taught  me  to 
read  the  liturgy,  he  used  to  pinch  my  ears,  and  say, 
'  Kepeat  this  after  me  :  Have  pity  on  me,  Lord,  out  of  Thy 
great  goodness ; '  and  he  used  to  make  me  say  with  him, 
'They've  taken  me  up  and  brought  me  to  the  police- 
station  out  of  Thy  great  goodness/  and  the  like.  I  tell 
you  that  went  on  when  I  was  quite  a  little  fellow." 

All  laughed  heartily  again ;  that  was  what  Skouratof 
wanted ;  he  liked  playing  clown.  Soon  the  talk  became 
serious  again,  especially  among  the  older  men  and  those 
who  knew  a  good  deal  about  escapes.  Those  among 
the  younger  convicts  who  could  keep  themselves  quiet 
enough  to  listen,  seemed  highly  delighted.  A  great 
crowd  was  assembled  in  and  about  the  kitchen.  There 
were  none  of  the  warders  about ;  so  everybody  could  give 
vent  to  his  feelings  in  talk  or  otherwise.  One  man  I 
noticed  who  was  particularly  enjoying  himself,  a  Tartar, 
a  little  fellow  with  high  cheek-bones,  and  a  remarkably 
droll  face.  His  name  was  Mametka,  he  could  scarcely 
speak  Russian  at  all,  but  it  was  odd  to  see  the  way  he 
craned  his  neck  forward  into  the  crowd,  and  the  childish 
delight  he  showed. 

*  The  expression  of  the  original  is  untranslatable ;  literally  "  you 
killed  a  cattle-kill."  This  phrase  means  murder  of  a  peasant,  male  or 
female,  supposed  to  bewitch  cattle.  We  had  in  our  jail  a  murderer 
who  had  done  this  cattle-kill. — DOSTOIEFFSKY'S  NOTE. 


THE  ESCAPE  359 

"  Well,  Mametka,  my  lad,  iakchi." 

"  lakchi,  ouky  iakchi ! "  said  Mametka  as  well  as  he 
could,  shaking  his  grotesque  head.  "  Iakchi." 

"  They'll  never  catch  them,  eh  ?     lok." 

"  Iokt  iok  I "  and  Mametka  waggled  his  head  and 
threw  his  arms  about. 

t(  You're  a  liar,  then,  and  I  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about.  Hey  ! " 

"That's  it,  that's  it,  iakchi!"  answered  poor 
Mametka. 

"  All  right,  good,  iahchi  it  is  ! " 

Skouratof  gave  him  a  thump  on  the  head,  which 
sent  his  cap  down  over  his  eyes,  and  went  out  in  high 
glee,  and  Mametka  was  quite  chapfallen. 

For  a  week  or  so  a  very  tight  hand  was  kept  on 
everybody  in  the  jail,  and  the  whole  neighbourhood  was 
repeatedly  and  carefully  searched.  How  they  managed 
it  I  cannot  tell,  but  the  prisoners  always  seemed  to  know 
all  about  the  measures  taken  by  the  authorities  for 
recovering  the  runaways.  For  some  days,  according  to 
all  we  heard,  things  went  very  favourably  for  them  ;  no 
traces  whatever  of  them  could  be  found.  Our  convicts 
made  very  light  of  all  the  authorities  were  about,  and 
were  quite  at  their  ease  about  their  friends,  and 
kept  saying  that  nothing  would  ever  be  found  out  about 
them. 

All  the  peasants  round  about  were  roused,  we 
were  told,  and  watching  all  the  likely  places,  woods, 
ravines,  etc. 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  ! "  said  our  fellows,  who  had  a 
grin  on  their  faces  most  of  the  time,  "  they're  hidden  at 
somebody's  place  who's  a  friend." 

"  That's  certain ;  they're  not  the  fellows  to  chance 
things,  they've  made  all  sure." 

The  general  idea  was,  in  fact,  that  they  were  still 
concealed  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  in  a  cellar,  waiting 
till  the  hue  and  cry  was  over,  and  for  their  hair  to  grow ; 
that  they  would  remain  there  perhaps  six  months  at  least, 
and  then  quietly  go  off.  All  the  prisoners  were  in  the 


860  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

most  fanciful  and  romantic  state  of  mind  about  the 
things.  Suddenly,  eight  days  after  the  escape,  a  rumour 
spread  that  the  authorities  were  on  their  track.  This 
rumour  was  at  first  treated  with  contempt,  but  towards 
evening  there  seemed  to  be  more  in  it.  The  convicts 
became  much  excited.  Next  morning  it  was  said  in  the 
town  that  the  runaways  had  been  caught,  and  were  being 
brought  back.  After  dinner  there  were  further  details  ; 
the  story  was  that  they  had  been  seized  at  a  hamlet, 
seventy  versts  away  from  the  town.  At  last  we  had 
fully  confirmed  tidings.  The  sergeant-major  positively 
asserted,  immediately  after  an  interview  with  the  Major, 
that  they  would  be  brought  into  the  guard-house  that 
very  night.  They  were  taken  ;  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  it. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
way  the  convicts  were  affected  by  the  news.  At  first 
their  rage  was  great,  then  they  were  deeply  dejected. 
Then  they  began  to  be  bitter  and  sarcastic,  pouring 
all  their  scorn,  not  on  the  authorities,  but  on  the 
runaways  who  had  been  such  fools  as  to  get  caught. 
A  few  began  this,  then  nearly  all  joined,  except  a  small 
number  of  the  more  serious,  thoughtful  ones,  who  held 
their  tongues,  and  seemed  to  regard  the  thoughtless 
fellows  with  great  contempt. 

Poor  Koulikoff  and  A — v  were  now  just  as  heartily 
abused  as  they  had  been  glorified  before;  the  men 
seemed  to  take  a  delight  in  running  them  down,  as 
though  in  being  caught  they  had  done  something  wan- 
tonly offensive  to  their  mates.  It  was  said,  with  high 
contempt,  that  the  fellows  had  probably  got  hungry 
and  couldn't  stand  it,  and  had  gone  into  a  village  to 
ask  bread  of  the  peasants,  which,  according  to  tramp 
etiquette,  it  appears,  is  to  come  down  very  low  in  the 
world  indeed.  In  this  supposition  the  men  turned  out 
to  be  quite  mistaken;  for  what  had  happened  was 
that  the  tracks  of  the  runaways  out  of  the  town  were 
discovered  and  followed  up ;  they  were  ascertained  to 
have  got  into  a  wood,  which  was  surrounded,  so  that 


THE  ESCAPE  361 

the  fugitives  had  no  recourse  but  to  give  themselves 
up. 

They  were  brought  in  that  night,  tied  hands  and 
feet,  under  armed  escort.  All  the  convicts  ran  hastily 
to  the  palisades  to  see  what  would  be  done  with  them ; 
but  they  saw  nothing  except  the  carriages  of  the 
Governor  and  the  Major,  which  were  waiting  in  front 
of  the  guard-house.  The  fugitives  were  ironed  and 
locked  up  separately,  their  punishment  being  adjourned 
till  the  next  day.  The  prisoners  began  all  to  sympathise 
with  the  unhappy  fellows  when  they  heard  how  they 
had  been  taken,  and  learned  that  they  could  not  help 
themselves,  and  the  anxiety  about  the  issue  was  keen. 

"  They'll  get  a  thousand  at  least." 

"  A  thousand,  is  it  ?  I  tell  you  they'll  have  it  till 
the  life  is  beaten  out  of  them.  A — v  may  get  off 
with  a  thousand,  but  the  other  they'll  kill ;  why,  he's  in 
the  '  special  section.' " 

They  were  wrong.  A — v  was  sentenced  to  five 
hundred  strokes,  his  previous  good  conduct  told  in  his 
favour,  and  this  was  his  first  prison  offence.  Kculikoff, 
I  believe,  had  fifteen  hundred.  The  punishment,  upon 
the  whole,  was  mild  rather  than  severe. 

The  two  men  showed  good  sense  and  feeling,  for 
they  gave  nobody's  name  as  having  helped  them,  and 
positively  declared  that  they  had  made  straight  for 
the  woods  without  going  into  anybody's  house.  I 
was  very  sorry  for  Koulikoff ;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
heavy  beating  he  got,  he  had  thrown  away  all  his 
chances  of  having  his  lot  as  a  prisoner  lightened. 
Later  he  was  sent  to  another  convict  establishment. 
A — v  did  not  get  all  he  was  sentenced  to ;  the 
physicians  interfered,  and  he  was  let  off.  But  as  soon 
as  he  was  safe  in  the  hospital  he  began  blowing  his 
trumpet  again,  and  said  he  would  stick  at  nothing 
now,  and  that  they  should  soon  see  what  he  would 
do.  Koulikoff  was  not  changed  a  bit,  as  decorous  as 
ever,  and  gave  himself  just  the  same  airs  as  ever. 


362  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

manner  or  words  to  show  that  he  had  had  such  an 
adventure.  But  the  convicts  looked  on  him  quite 
differently;  he  seemed  to  have  come  down  a  good 
deal  in  their  estimation,  and  now  to  be  on  their  own 
level  every  way,  instead  of  being  a  superior  creature. 
So  it  was  that  poor  Koulikoff's  star  paled;  success  is 
everything  in  this  world. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FREEDOM  1 

THIS  incident  occurred  during  my  last  year 
of  imprisonment.  My  recollection  of  what 
occurred  this  last  year  is  as  keen  as  of  the 
events  of  the  first  years;  but  I  have  gone 
into  detail  enough.  In  spite  of  my  impatience 
to  be  out,  this  year  was  the  least  trying  of  all  the  years  I 
spent  there.  I  had  now  many  friends  and  acquaintances 
among  the  convicts,  who  had  by  this  time  made  up 
their  minds  very  much  in  my  favour.  Many  of  them, 
indeed,  had  come  to  feel  a  sincere  and  genuine  affection 
for  me.  The  soldier  who  was  assigned  to  accompany 
my  friend  and  myself — simultaneously  discharged — out 
of  the  prison,  very  nearly  cried  when  the  time  for 
leaving  came.  And  when  we  were  at  last  in  full 
freedom,  staying  in  the  rooms  of  the  Government 
building  placed  at  our  disposal  for  the  month  we 
still  spent  in  the  town,  this  man  came  nearly  every 
day  to  see  us.  But  there  were  some  men  whom  I 
could  never  soften  or  win  any  regard  from — Grod  knows 
why — and  who  showed  just  the  same  hard  aversion  for 
me  at  the  last  as  at  the  first ;  something  we  could 
not  get  over  stood  between  us. 

I  had  more  indulgences  during  the  last  year.  I 
found  among  the  military  functionaries  of  our  town  old 
acquaintances,  and  even  some  old  schoolfellows,  and 
the  renewal  of  these  relations  helped  me.  Thanks 
to  them  I  got  permission  to  have  some  money,  to  write 
to  my  family,  and  even  to  have  some  books.  For  some 
years  I  had  not  had  a  single  volume,  and  words  would 
fail  to  tell  the  strange,  deep  emotion  and  excitement 


364  PEISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

which  the  first  book  I  read  at  the  jail  caused  me.  I 
began  to  devour  it  at  night,  when  the  doors  were 
closed,  and  read  it  till  the  break  of  day.  It  was  a 
number  of  a  review,  and  it  seemed  to  me  like  a 
messenger  from  the  other  world.  As  I  read,  my  life 
before  the  prison  days  seemed  to  rise  up  before  me 
in  sharp  definition,  as  of  some  existence  independent 
of  my  own,  which  another  soul  had  had.  Then  I 
tried  to  get  some  clear  idea  of  my  relation  to  current 
events  and  things ;  whether  my  arrears  of  knowledge 
and  experience  were  too  great  to  make  up;  whether 
the  men  and  women  out  of  doors  had  lived  and  gone 
through  many  things  and  great  during  the  time  I 
was  away  from  them ;  and  great  was  my  desire  to 
thoroughly  understand  what  was  now  going  on,  now 
that  I  could  know  something  about  it  all  at  last.  All 
the  words  I  read  were  as  palpable  things,  which  I 
wanted  rather  to  feel  sensibly  than  get  mere  meaning 
out  of;  I  tried  to  see  more  in  the  text  than  could  be 
there.  I  imagined  some  mysterious  meanings  that 
must  be  in  them,  and  tried  at  every  page  to  see 
allusions  to  the  past,  with  which  my  mind  was 
familiar,  whether  they  were  there  or  not ;  at  every 
turn  of  the  leaf  I  sought  for  traces  of  what  had  deeply 
moved  people  before  the  days  of  my  bondage;  and 
deep  was  my  dejection  when  it  was  forced  on  my 
mind  that  a  new  state  of  things  had  arisen ;  a  new 
life,  among  my  kind,  which  was  alien  to  my  know- 
ledge and  my  sentiments.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  a  straggler, 
left  behind  and  lost  in  the  onward  march  of  mankind. 

Yes,  there  were  indeed  arrears,  if  the  word  is  not 
too  weak. 

For  the  truth  is,  that  another  generation  had  come 
up,  and  I  knew  it  not,  and  it  knew  not  me.  At  the 
foot  of  one  article  I  saw  the  name  of  one  who  had 
been  dear  to  me;  with  what  avidity  I  flung  myself 
on  that  paper !  But  the  other  names  were  nearly  all 
new  to  me ;  new  workers  had  come  upon  the  scene, 
and  I  was  eager  to  know  their  doings  and  themselves. 


FREEDOM  i  365 

It  made  me  feel  nearly  desperate  to  "have  so  few 
books,  and  to  know  how  hard  it  would  be  to  get 
more.  At  an  earlier  date,  in  the  old  Major's  time, 
it  was  a  dangerous  thing  indeed  to  bring  books  into 
the  jail.  If  one  was  found  when  the  whole  place  was 
searched,  as  was  regularly  done,  great  was  the  dis- 
turbance, and  no  efforts  were  spared  to  find  out  how 
they  got  in,  and  who  had  helped  in  the  offence.  I 
did  not  want  to  be  subjected  to  insulting  scrutiny, 
and,  if  I  had,  it  would  have  been  useless.  I  had  to 
live  without  books,  and  did,  shut  up  in  myself,  tor- 
menting myself  with  many  a  question  and  problem  on 
which  I  had  no  means  of  throwing  any  light.  But  I 
can  never  tell  it  all. 

It  was  in  winter  that  I  came  in,  so  in  winter  I 
was  to  leave,  on  the  anniversary- day.  Oh,  with  what 
impatience  did  I  look  forward  to  the  thrice-blessed 
winter !  How  gladly  did  I  see  the  summer  die  out, 
the  leaves  turn  yellow  on  the  trees,  the  grass  turn  dry 
over  the  wide  steppe  !  Summer  is  gone  at  last !  the 
winds  of  autumn  howl  and  groan,  the  first  snow  falls 
in  whirling  flakes.  The  winter,  so  long,  long-prayed 
for,  is  come,  come  at  last.  Oh,  how  the  heart  beats 
with  the  thought  that  freedom  was  really,  at  last,  at 
last,  close  at  hand.  Yet  it  was  strange,  as  the  time 
of  times,  the  day  of  days,  grew  nearer  and  nearer,  so 
did  my  soul  grow  quieter  and  quieter.  I  was  annoyed 
at  myself,  reproached  myself  even  with  being  cold, 
indifferent.  Many  of  the  convicts,  as  I  met  them  in 
the  court-yard  when  the  day's  work  was  done,  used  to 
get  out,  and  talk  with  me  to  wish  me  joy. 

"Ah,  little  Father  Alexander  Petrovitch,  you'll  soon  be 
out  now  !  And  here  you'll  leave  us  poor  devils  behind  !  " 

"  Well,  Mertynof,  have  you  long  to  wait  still  ?  "  I 
asked  the  man  who  spoke. 

"  I !  Oh,  good  Lord,  I've  seven  years  of  it  yet  to 
weary  through." 

Then  the  man  sighed  with  a  far-away,  wandering 
look,  as  if  he  was  gazing  into  those  intolerable  lays 


366  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

to  come Yes,  many  of  my  companions  con- 
gratulated me  in  a  way  that  showed  they  really  felt 
what  they  said.  I  saw,  too,  that  there  was  more  dis- 
position to  meet  me  as  man  to  man,  they  drew  nearer 
to  me  as  I  was  to  leave  them ;  the  halo  of  freedom 
began  to  surround  me,  and  caring  for  that  they  cared  more 
for  me.  It  was  in  this  spirit  they  bade  me  farewell. 

K — schniski,  a  young  Polish  noble,  a  sweet  and 
amiable  person,  was  very  fond,  about  this  time, 
walking  in  the  court-yard  with  me.  The  stifling  nights 
in  the  barracks  did  him  much  harm,  so  he  tried  his 
best  to  keep  his  health  by  getting  all  the  exercise  anc 
fresh  air  he  could. 

"I  am  looking  forward  impatiently  to  the  day 
when  you  will  be  set  free/'  he  said  with  a  smile  one 
day,  "  for  when  you  go  I  shall  realise  that  I  have  jusl 
one  year  more  of  it  to  undergo." 

Need  I  say  what  I  can  yet  not  help  saying,  that 
freedom  in  idea  always  seemed  to  us  who  were  there 
something  more  free  than  it  ever  can  be  in  reality  i 
That  was  because  our  fancy  was  always  dwelling  upon 
it.  Prisoners  always  exaggerate  when  they  think  o: 
freedom  and  look  on  a  free  man ;  we  did  certainly ;  the 
poorest  servant  of  .one  of  the  officers  there  seemed  a 
sort  of  king  to  us,  everything  we  could  imagine  in  a 
free  man,  compared  with  ourselves  at  least;  he  had  no 
irons  on  his  limbs,  his  head  was  not  shaven,  he  could 
go  where  and  when  he  liked,  with  no  soldiers  to  watch 
and  escort  him. 

The  day  before  I  was  set  free,  as  night  fell  I  went 
for  the  last  time  all  through  and  all  round  the  prison. 
How  many  a  thousand  times  had  I  made  the  circuit 
of  those  palisades  during  those  ten  years  !  There,  at 
the  rear  of  the  barracks,  had  I  gone  to  and  fro  during 
the  whole  of  that  first  year,  a  solitary,  despairing  man. 
I  remember  how  I  used  to  reckon  up  the  days  I  had 
still  to  pass  there — thousands,  thousands!  God!  how 
long  ago  it  seemed.  There's  the  corner  where  the  poor 
prisoned  eagle  wasted  away ;  Petroff  used  often  to  come 


FREEDOM!  367 

to  me  at  that  place.  It  seemed  as  if  the  man  would 
never  leave  my  side  now ;  he  would  place  himself  by 
my  side  and  walk  along  without  ever  saying  a  word, 
as  though  he  knew  all  my  thoughts  as  well  as  myself, 
and  there  was  always  a  strange,  inexplicable  sort  of 
wondering  look  on  the  man's  face. 

How  many  a  mental  farewell  did  I  take  of  the  black, 
squared  beams  in  our  barracks !  Ah,  me  !  How  much 
joyless  youth,  how  much  strength  for  which  use  there 
was  none,  was  buried,  lost  in  those  walls ! — youth  and 
strength  of  which  the  world  might  surely  have  made 
some  use.  For  I  must  speak  my  thoughts  as  to  this : 
the  hapless  fellows  there  were  perhaps  the  strongest, 
and,  in  one  way  or  another,  the  most  gifted  of  our 
people.  There  was  all  that  strength  of  body  and  of 
mind  lost,  hopelessly  lost.  Whose  fault  is  that  ? 

Yes  ;  whose  fault  is  that  ? 

The  next  day,  at  an  early  hour,  before  the  men 
were  mustered  for  work,  I  went  through  all  the  barracks 
to  bid  the  men  a  last  farewell.  Many  a  vigorous,  horny 
hand  was  held  out  to  me  with  right  good-will.  Some 
grasped  and  shook  my  hand  as  though  all  their  hearts 
went  with  the  act;  but  these  were  the  more  generous 
souls.  Most  of  the  poor  fellows  seemed  so  much  to  feel 
that,  for  them,  I  was  already  a  man  changed  by  what 
was  coming,  that  they  could  feel  scarce  anything  else. 
They  knew  that  I  had  friends  in  the  town,  that  I  was 
going  away  at  once  to  gentlemen,  that  I  should  sit  at 
their  table  as  their  equal.  This  the  poor  fellows  felt ; 
and,  although  they  did  their  best  as  they  took  my  hand, 
that  hand  could  not  be  the  hand  of  an  equal.  No;  I, 
too,  was  a  gentleman  now.  Some  turned  their  backs  on 
me,  and  made  no  reply  to  my  parting  words.  I  think, 
too,  that  I  saw  looks  of  aversion  on  some  faces. 

The  drum  beat;  all  the  convicts  went  to  their 
work  ;  and  I  was  left  to  myself.  Souchiloff  had  got 
up  before  everybody  that  morning,  and  now  set  himself 
tremblingly  to  the  task  of  getting  ready  for  me  a 
last  cup  of  tea.  Poor  Souchiloff  1  How  he  cried 


368  PRISON  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA 

when  I  gave  him  my  clothes,  my  shirts,  my  trouser-straps, 
and  some  money. 

'"Tain't  that,  'tain't  that,"  he  said,  and  he  bit 
his  trembling  lips,  "it's  that  I  am  going  to  lose  you, 
Alexander  Petrovitch  !  What  shall  I  do  without  you  ?  " 

There  was  Akim  Akimitch,  too;  him,  also,  I  bade 
farewell. 

"  Tour  turn  to  go  will  come  soon,  I  pray,"  said  I. 

"Ah,  no!  I  shall  remain  here  long,  long,  very 
long  yet,"  he  just  managed  to  say,  as  he  pressed 
my  hand.  I  threw  myself  on  his  neck ;  we  kissed. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  convicts  had  gone  out,  my 
companion  and  myself  left  the  jail  for  ever.  We  went  to 
the  blacksmith's  shop,  where  our  irons  were  struck  off. 
We  had  no  armed  escort,  we  went  there  attended  by  a 
single  sub-officer.  It  was  convicts  who  struck  off  our 
irons  in  the  engineers'  workshop.  I  let  them  do  it  for 
my  friend  first,  then  went  to  the  anvil  myself.  The 
smiths  made  me  turn  round,  seized  my  leg,  and  stretched 
it  on  the  anvil.  Then  they  went  about  the  business 
methodically,  as  though  they  wanted  to  make  a  very  neat 
job  of  it  indeed. 

"The  rivet,  man,  turn  the  rivet  first,"  I  heard  the 
master  smith  say ;  "  there,  so,  so.  Now,  a  stroke  of  the 
hammer ! " 

The  irons  fell.  I  lifted  them  up.  Some  strange 
impulse  made  me  long  to  have  them  in  my  hands  for  one 
last  time.  I  couldn't  realise  that,  only  a  moment  before, 
they  had  been  on  my  limbs. 

"  Good-bye  !  Good-bye  !  Good-bye  !  "  said  the  con- 
victs in  their  broken  voices ;  but  they  seemed  pleased 
as  they  said  it. 

Tes,  farewell ! 

Liberty !     New  life !     Resurrection  from  the  dead  1 

Unspeakable  moment ! 

THE   END 


THE   TEMPLE    PRESS,    PRINTERS,    LETCHWORTH 


J^7 


EVERYMAN. 
I  WILL  GO -WITH 

•THEE; 
&BETHY-GV1DE 
•JNTHY-MO5T-NEED 
[TO  -GO  BY  -THY-51 DE 


SMC 

Dostoyevsky,  Fyodor, 

1821-1881. 
The  house  of  the  dead  : 

or,  Prison  life  in 
AZE-3324  (mcih) 


•  SH  U  I   J    !i'l  I 

^R'iJil  iii'ir'  I!  pl  II  II