The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia
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, 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 Governor-General, 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 applying 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?”
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 getting up something or other.
That’s a Petersburg trick,” he said, as he inspected 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.
“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 property,” 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 Russia. 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 department. 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. 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 convicts 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 addicted 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 our detested Major. That came about a
month 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 G--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
concerned, 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 G--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
authorities that we were to be sent back to hard labour as 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
undergone 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, but 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_,”[10] 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: “_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