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
“Come, now, they are going to fight. When men have not been able to
conduct themselves properly they should keep silent. They are too glad
to come and eat the Government bread, the rascals!”
They were soon separated. Let them fight with the tongue as much as they
wish. That is permitted. It is a diversion at the service of every one;
but no blows. It is, indeed, only in extraordinary cases that blows were
exchanged. If a fight took place, information was given to the Major,
who ordered an inquiry or directed one himself; and then woe to the
convicts. Accordingly they set their faces against anything like a
serious quarrel; besides, they insulted one another chiefly to pass the
time, as an oratorical exercise. They get excited; the quarrel takes a
furious, ferocious character; they seem about to slaughter one another.
Nothing of the kind takes place. As soon as their anger has reached a
certain pitch they separate.
That astonished me much, and if I relate some of the conversations
between the convicts, I do so with a purpose. Could I have imagined that
people could have insulted one another for pleasure, that they could
find enjoyment in it?
We must not forget the gratification of vanity. A dialectician, who
knows how to insult artistically, is respected. A little more, and he
would be applauded like an actor.
Already, the night before, I noticed some glances in my direction. On
the other hand, several convicts hung around me as if they had suspected
that I had brought money with me. They endeavoured to get into my good
graces by teaching me how to carry my irons without being incommoded.
They also gave me--of course in return for money--a box with a lock, in
order to keep safe the things which had been entrusted to me by the
administration, and the few shirts that I had been allowed to bring with
me to the convict prison. Not later than next morning these same
prisoners stole my box, and drank the money which they had taken out of
it.
One of them became afterwards a great friend of mine, though he robbed
me whenever an opportunity offered itself. He was, all the same, vexed
at what he had done. He committed these thefts almost unconsciously, as
if in the way of a duty. Consequently I bore him no grudge.
These convicts let me know that one could have tea, and that I should do
well to get myself a teapot. They found me one, which I hired for a
certain time. They also recommended me a cook, who, for thirty kopecks a
month, would arrange the dishes I might desire, if it was my intention
to buy provisions and take my meals apart. Of course they borrowed money
from me. The day of my arrival they asked me for some at three different
times.
The noblemen degraded from their position, here incarcerated in the
convict prison, were badly looked upon by their fellow prisoners;
although they had lost all their rights like the other convicts, they
were not looked upon as comrades.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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