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
“Of Gazin. He is a prisoner who sells spirits. When he has gained a
little money by his trade, he drinks it to the last kopeck; a cruel,
malicious animal when he has been drinking. When sober, he is quiet
enough, but when he is in drink he shows himself in his true character.
He attacks people with the knife until it is taken from him.”
“How do they manage that?”
“Ten men throw themselves upon him and beat him like a sack without
mercy until he loses consciousness. When he is half dead with the
beating, they lay him down on his plank bedstead, and cover him over
with his pelisse.”
“But they might kill him.”
“Any one else would die of it, but not he. He is excessively robust; he
is the strongest of all the convicts. His constitution is so solid, that
the day after one of these punishments he gets up perfectly sound.”
“Tell me, please,” I continued, speaking to the Pole, “why these people
keep their food to themselves, and at the same time seem to envy me my
tea.”
“Your tea has nothing to do with it. They are envious of you. Are you
not a gentleman? You in no way resemble them. They would be glad to pick
a quarrel with you in order to humiliate you. You don’t know what
annoyances you will have to undergo. It is martyrdom for men like us to
be here. Our life is doubly painful, and great strength of character can
alone accustom one to it. You will be vexed and tormented in all sorts
of ways on account of your food and your tea. Although the number of men
who buy their own food and drink tea daily is large enough, they have a
right to do so, you have not.”
He got up and left the table a few minutes later. His predictions were
already being fulfilled.
CHAPTER IV.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS (_continued_).
Hardly had M. --cki--the Pole to whom I had been speaking--gone out when
Gazin, completely drunk, threw himself all in a heap into the kitchen.
To see a convict drunk in the middle of the day, when every one was
about to be sent out to work--given the well-known severity of the
Major, who at any moment might come to the barracks, the watchfulness of
the under officer who never left the prison, the presence of the old
soldiers and the sentinels--all this quite upset the ideas I had formed
of our prison; and a long time passed before I was able to understand
and explain to myself the effects, which in the first instance were
enigmatic indeed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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