The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia
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 disgusting 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 explained it by a
desire to have them grease his palm 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
satisfaction. 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. “I’ve 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 aforethought; 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 fête-day. For some days
everything had been brilliantly clean, washed with great precision. The
convicts 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.
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 politeness. 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 complexion 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 General nodded, and left the jail in a couple of minutes more. The
convicts were dazzled and disappointed, 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 diversion to the
convicts than the visit of 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
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 convicts being
together, horses that were on sale were brought in. It was left to the
prisoners to choose an animal, for there were some thorough experts
among them, and it would have been difficult to take in 250 men, with
whom horse-dealing had been a speciality. Tsigans, Lesghians,
professional horse-dealers, townsmen, came in to deal. The convicts were
exceedingly eager about the matter as each fresh horse was brought up,
and were as amused as children about it all. It seemed to tickle their
fancy very much, that they had to buy a horse like free men, just as if
it was for themselves and the money was to come out of their own
pockets. Three horses were brought and taken away before purchase; the
fourth was settled on. The horse-dealers seemed astonished and a little
awed at the soldiers of the escort who watched the business. Two hundred
men, clean shaven, branded as they were, with chains on their feet, were
well calculated to inspire respect, all the more as they were in their
own place, at home so to speak, in their own convict’s den, where nobody
was ever allowed to come.
Our fellows seemed to be up to no end of tricks for finding out the real
value of a horse brought up; they carefully examined it, handled it with
the most serious demeanour, went on as if the welfare of the
establishment was bound up with the purchase of this beast. The
Circassians took the liberty of jumping upon his back: their eyes shone
wildly, they chatted rapidly in their incomprehensible dialect, showed
their white teeth, dilating the nostrils of their hooked copper-coloured
noses. There were some Russians who paid the most lively attention to
their discussion, and seemed ready to jump down their throats; they did
not understand a word, but it was plain they did what they could to
gather from the expression of the eyes of the fellows whether 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 convicts--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 Koulikoff’s 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 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