The house of the dead : $b or, Prison life in SiberiaDostoyevsky, Fyodor
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The house of the dead : $b or, Prison life in Siberia
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor
Exiles -- Fiction; Siberia (Russia) -- Fiction
That was the light in which he looked upon his new position. I think of
this disgusting creature as of some monstrous phenomenon. During the
many years I have lived in the midst of murderers, debauchees, and
proved rascals, never in my life did I meet a case of such complete
moral abasement, determined corruption, and shameless baseness. Among us
there was a parricide of noble birth. I have already spoken of him; but
I could see by several signs that he was much better and more humane
than A----f. During the whole time of my punishment, he was never
anything more in my eyes than a piece of flesh furnished with teeth and
a stomach, greedy for the most offensive and ferocious animal
enjoyments, for the satisfaction of which he was ready to assassinate
anyone. I do not exaggerate in the least; I recognised in A----f one of
the most perfect specimens of animality, restrained by no principles, no
rule. How much I was disgusted by his eternal smile! He was a monster--a
moral Quasimodo. He was at the same time intelligent, cunning,
good-looking, had received some education, and possessed a certain
capacity. Fire, plague, famine, no matter what scourge, is preferable to
the presence of such a man in human society. I have already said that in
the convict prison espionage and denunciation flourished as the natural
product of degradation, without the convicts thinking much of it. On the
contrary, they maintained friendly relations with A----f. They were more
affable with him than with any one else. The kindly attitude towards him
of our drunken friend, the Major, gave him a certain importance, and
even a certain worth in the eyes of the convicts. Later on, this
cowardly wretch ran away with another convict and the soldier in charge
of them; but of this I shall speak in proper time and place. At first,
he hung about me, thinking I did not know his history. I repeat that he
poisoned the first days of my imprisonment so as to drive me nearly to
despair. I was terrified by the mass of baseness and cowardice in the
midst of which I had been thrown. I imagined that every one else was as
foul and cowardly as he. But I made a mistake in supposing that every
one resembled A----f.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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