The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia
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 forgive me for my reproach. Meanwhile other men
laughed at him and teased him whenever the opportunity presented 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 significance 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 upon me was one
of unmitigated sadness. What contributed 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 without
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 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
enjoyments, for the satisfaction of which he was ready to assassinate
anyone. 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.
During the first three days I did nothing but wander about the convict
prison, when I did not remain stretched 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 manufactured 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
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
unheard-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.
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 unhappy personality.
Finally, they run some risk when they give themselves 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 has 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 astonishment 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 convulsion. 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 indifference to them whether this manifestation be important 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.