The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia
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 anything. 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 us;
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 raising
ourselves on to the benches, by passing over the 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 receiving the money, which Petroff held tight in his hand, and
which he had prudently provided himself with beforehand, 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 populace 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 dressing-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 destination. 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 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 the first
person he happened to see, that the people around him were constantly in
a roar. He was a professed 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.
“From 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 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 could 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.