The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia
“The devil take you, you are really not worth speaking 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, 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 blackguarded 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, nor why they despised
those convicts who were light-hearted, as they seemed to do. I
attributed the anger of the Little Russian 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 no 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 particular 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 condescension; 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 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 speaking 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 convicts 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.
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 discussion 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.”
“Give us our tasks, Ivan Matveitch,” said one of the “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, 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. “Go on at once.”
“It is never any use being in a hurry, Ivan Matveitch.”
“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.”
“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-justification. It was
impossible, then, they suggested, to work in such a manner. What was to
be done? A long discussion 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 listened quietly to what the
convicts had to say, declared that the task he gave them was to get off
four rivets 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