The house of the dead : $b or, Prison life in SiberiaDostoyevsky, Fyodor
General
The house of the dead : $b or, Prison life in Siberia
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor
Exiles -- Fiction; Siberia (Russia) -- Fiction
The two prisoners, whom I had found in the entrance hall, went to the
left of the corridor, while I entered a room. Before the padlocked door
walked a sentinel, musket on shoulder; and not far off was the soldier
who was to replace him. The sergeant of the hospital guard ordered him
to let me pass, and suddenly I found myself in the middle of a long
narrow room, with beds to the number of twenty-two arranged against the
walls. Three or four of them were still unoccupied. These wooden beds
were painted green, and, as is notoriously the case with all hospital
beds in Russia, were doubtless inhabited by bugs. I went into a corner
by the side of the windows. There were very few prisoners dangerously
ill and confined to their beds.
The inmates of the hospital were, for the most part, convalescents, or
men who were slightly indisposed. My new companions were stretched out
on their couches, or walking about up and down between the rows of beds.
There was just space enough for them to come and go. The atmosphere of
the ward was stifling with the odour peculiar to hospitals. It was
composed of various emanations, each more disagreeable than the other,
and of the smell of drugs; though the stove was kept well heated all day
long, my bed was covered with a counterpane, which I took off. The bed
itself consisted of a cloth blanket lined with linen, and coarse sheets
of more than doubtful cleanliness. By the side of the bed was a little
table with a pitcher and a pewter mug, together with a diminutive
napkin, which had been given to me. The table could, moreover, hold a
tea-urn for those patients who were rich enough to drink tea. These men
of means, however, were not very numerous. The pipes and the tobacco
pouches--for all the patients smoked, even the consumptive ones--could
be concealed beneath the mattress. The doctors and the other officials
scarcely ever made searches, and when they surprised a patient with a
pipe in his mouth, they pretended not to see. The patients, however,
were very prudent, and smoked always at the back of the stove. They
never smoked in their beds except at night, when no rounds were made by
the officers commanding the hospital.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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