Notes from the House of the Dead. Dead Man's Notes - Kazan rock inspired by Karate VI
In the remote regions of Siberia, among the steppes, mountains or impenetrable forests, occasionally come across small towns, with one, many with two thousand inhabitants, wooden, nondescript, with two churches - one in the city, the other in a cemetery - cities that look more like a good suburban village than in the city. They are usually very adequately equipped with police officers, assessors and all the rest of the subaltern rank. In general, in Siberia, despite the cold, it is extremely warm to serve. People live simple, illiberal; orders are old, strong, consecrated for centuries. Officials who rightly play the part of the Siberian nobility are either natives, hardened Siberians, or strangers from Russia, mostly from the capitals, seduced by the salary that is not set off, double runs and tempting hopes in the future. Of these, those who know how to solve the riddle of life almost always remain in Siberia and take root in it with pleasure. Subsequently, they bear rich and sweet fruits. But others, a frivolous people who do not know how to solve the riddle of life, will soon get bored with Siberia and ask themselves with anguish: why did they come to it? They impatiently serve their legal term of service, three years, and after it has expired, they immediately bother about their transfer and return home, scolding Siberia and laughing at her. They are wrong: not only from official, but even from many points of view, one can be blessed in Siberia. The climate is excellent; there are many remarkably rich and hospitable merchants; many extremely sufficient foreigners. Young ladies bloom with roses and are moral to the last extreme. The game flies through the streets and stumbles upon the hunter itself. Champagne is drunk unnaturally much. Caviar is amazing. Harvest happens in other places fifteen times ... In general, the land is blessed. You just need to know how to use it. In Siberia, they know how to use it.
In one of these cheerful and self-satisfied towns, with the sweetest people, the memory of which will remain indelible in my heart, I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a settler who was born in Russia as a nobleman and landowner, who later became a second-class exile convict for the murder of his wife and, after the expiration of a ten-year term of hard labor determined for him by law, he humbly and inaudibly lived out his life in the town of K. as a settler. He, in fact, was assigned to one suburban volost, but he lived in the city, having the opportunity to get at least some kind of livelihood in it by teaching children. In Siberian cities one often comes across teachers from exiled settlers; they are not shy. They teach primarily French, so necessary in the field of life and about which without them in the remote regions of Siberia they would not even have a clue. For the first time I met Alexander Petrovich in the house of an old, honored and hospitable official, Ivan Ivanovich Gvozdikov, who had five daughters, different years who filed great hopes. Alexander Petrovich gave them lessons four times a week, thirty silver kopecks a lesson. His appearance intrigued me. He was an extremely pale and thin man, not yet old, about thirty-five, small and frail. He was always dressed very cleanly, in a European way. If you spoke to him, he looked at you extremely intently and attentively, listening with strict politeness to your every word, as if pondering it, as if you had asked him a task with your question or wanted to extort some secret from him, and, finally, he answered clearly and briefly, but weighing every word of his answer to such an extent that you suddenly felt awkward for some reason, and you yourself finally rejoiced at the end of the conversation. I then asked Ivan Ivanovich about him and found out that Goryanchikov lives impeccably and morally, and that otherwise Ivan Ivanovich would not have invited him for his daughters; but that he is terribly unsociable, hiding from everyone, extremely learned, reads a lot, but speaks very little, and that in general it is quite difficult to get into conversation with him. Others claimed that he was positively insane, although they found that, in fact, this was not such an important shortcoming, that many of the honorary members of the city were ready to show kindness to Alexander Petrovich in every possible way, that he could even be useful, write requests and so on. It was believed that he must have decent relatives in Russia, maybe not even the last people, but they knew that from the very exile he stubbornly cut off all relations with them - in a word, he hurt himself. In addition, everyone here knew his story, they knew that he had killed his wife in the first year of his marriage, killed him out of jealousy and himself denounced himself (which greatly facilitated his punishment). The same crimes are always looked upon as misfortunes and regretted. But, in spite of all this, the eccentric stubbornly avoided everyone and appeared in public only to give lessons.
At first I did not pay much attention to him, but, I do not know why, he gradually began to interest me. There was something mysterious about him. There was no way to talk to him. Of course, he always answered my questions, and even with an air as if he considered this his first duty; but after his answers I somehow found it hard to question him longer; and on his face, after such conversations, one could always see some kind of suffering and fatigue. I remember walking with him one fine summer evening from Ivan Ivanovich. It suddenly occurred to me to invite him over for a minute to smoke a cigarette. I cannot describe the horror expressed on his face; he was completely lost, began to mutter some incoherent words, and suddenly, looking angrily at me, rushed to run in the opposite direction. I was even surprised. Since then, when meeting with me, he looked at me as if with some kind of fear. But I did not let up; something drew me to him, and a month later, for no apparent reason, I myself went to Goryanchikov. Of course, I acted stupidly and indelicately. He lodged on the very edge of the city, with an old bourgeois woman who had a sick, consumptive daughter, and that illegitimate daughter, a child of ten years old, a pretty and cheerful girl. Alexander Petrovich was sitting with her and teaching her to read the minute I went in to see him. When he saw me, he became so confused, as if I had caught him in some kind of crime. He was completely at a loss, jumped up from his chair and looked at me with all his eyes. We finally sat down; he closely followed my every glance, as if he suspected some special mysterious meaning in each of them. I guessed that he was suspicious to the point of madness. He looked at me with hatred, almost asking: “Will you leave here soon?” I talked to him about our town, current news; he remained silent and smiled maliciously; it turned out that he not only did not know the most ordinary, well-known city news, but was not even interested in knowing them. Then I started talking about our region, about its needs; he listened to me in silence and looked into my eyes so strangely that I finally felt ashamed of our conversation. However, I almost teased him with new books and magazines; I had them in my hands, fresh from the post office, and I offered them uncut to him. He gave them a greedy look, but immediately changed his mind and declined the offer, responding with lack of time. Finally I said goodbye to him and, leaving him, I felt that some unbearable weight had been lifted from my heart. I was ashamed and it seemed extremely stupid to pester a man who sets his main task - to hide as far as possible from the whole world. But the deed was done. I remember that I hardly noticed his books at all, and, therefore, it was unfairly said about him that he reads a lot. However, driving twice, very late at night, past his windows, I noticed a light in them. What did he do, sitting up until dawn? Did he write? And if so, what exactly?
Circumstances removed me from our town for three months. Returning home already in the winter, I learned that Alexander Petrovich died in the autumn, died in seclusion and never even called a doctor to him. The town has almost forgotten about him. His apartment was empty. I immediately made the acquaintance of the mistress of the dead man, intending to find out from her; What was her lodger particularly busy with, and did he write anything? For two kopecks, she brought me a whole basket of papers left over from the deceased. The old woman confessed that she had already used up two notebooks. She was a gloomy and silent woman, from whom it was difficult to get anything worthwhile. She had nothing new to tell me about her tenant. According to her, he almost never did anything and for months did not open a book and did not take a pen in his hands; but whole nights he paced up and down the room and kept thinking something, and sometimes talking to himself; that he was very fond of and very fond of her granddaughter, Katya, especially since he found out that her name was Katya, and that on Catherine's day every time he went to someone to serve a memorial service. Guests could not stand; he went out from the yard only to teach children; he even looked askance at her, the old woman, when she, once a week, came at least a little to tidy up his room, and almost never said a single word to her for three whole years. I asked Katya: does she remember her teacher? She looked at me silently, turned to the wall and began to cry. So, this man could at least make someone love him.
Introduction
I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov in a small Siberian town. Born in Russia as a nobleman, he became a second-class exile convict for the murder of his wife. After serving 10 years of hard labor, he lived out his life in the town of K. He was a pale and thin man of about thirty-five, small and frail, unsociable and suspicious. Driving past his windows one night, I noticed a light in them and thought he was writing something.
Returning to the town about three months later, I learned that Alexander Petrovich had died. His mistress gave me his papers. Among them was a notebook describing the hard labor life of the deceased. These notes - "Scenes from the House of the Dead," as he called them - struck me as curious. I'm choosing a few chapters to try.
I. Dead house
Ostrog stood at the ramparts. The large yard was surrounded by a fence of high pointed pillars. There were strong gates in the fence, guarded by sentries. Here was a special world, with its own laws, clothes, customs and customs.
Along the sides of the wide courtyard stretched two long one-story barracks for prisoners. In the depths of the courtyard - a kitchen, cellars, barns, sheds. In the middle of the courtyard there is a flat platform for checking and roll calls. Between the buildings and the fence there was a large space where some prisoners liked to be alone.
At night we were locked up in the barracks, a long and stuffy room lit by tallow candles. In winter they locked up early, and for four hours in the barracks there was a din, laughter, curses and the ringing of chains. There were about 250 people permanently in prison. Each strip of Russia had its representatives here.
Most of the prisoners are exile-convicts of the civil category, criminals deprived of any rights, with branded faces. They were sent for terms of 8 to 12 years, and then sent across Siberia to the settlement. Military-grade criminals were sent for short periods, and then returned to where they came from. Many of them returned to prison for repeated crimes. This category was called "always". Criminals were sent to the "special department" from all over Rus'. They did not know their term and worked more than the rest of the convicts.
On a December evening I entered this strange house. I had to get used to the fact that I would never be alone. The prisoners did not like to talk about the past. Most were able to read and write. The ranks were distinguished by colorful clothing and differently shaved heads. Most of the convicts were gloomy, envious, vain, boastful and touchy people. Most of all, the ability to be surprised at nothing was valued.
Endless gossip and intrigues were conducted around the barracks, but no one dared to rebel against the internal charters of the prison. There were outstanding characters who obeyed with difficulty. People came to prison who committed crimes out of vanity. Such newcomers quickly realized that there was no one to surprise here, and they fell into the general tone of special dignity that was adopted in prison. Cursing was raised to a science, which was developed by incessant quarrels. Strong people they did not enter into quarrels, they were reasonable and obedient - it was beneficial.
They hated hard labor. Many in the prison had their own business, without which they could not survive. The prisoners were forbidden to have tools, but the authorities turned a blind eye to this. All sorts of crafts met here. Work orders were obtained from the city.
Money and tobacco saved from scurvy, and work saved from crime. Despite this, both work and money were forbidden. Searches were carried out at night, everything forbidden was taken away, so the money was immediately drunk away.
The one who did not know how, became a dealer or usurer. even government items were accepted on bail. Almost everyone had a chest with a lock, but this did not save them from theft. There were also kissers who sold wine. Former smugglers quickly put their skills to good use. There was another constant income - alms, which were always divided equally.
II. First Impressions
I soon realized that the severity of the hard labor of work was that it was forced and useless. In winter, government work was scarce. Everyone returned to prison, where only a third of the prisoners were engaged in their craft, the rest gossiped, drank and played cards.
It was stuffy in the barracks in the mornings. In each barracks there was a prisoner who was called a paratrooper and did not go to work. He had to wash the bunk beds and floors, take out the night tub and bring two buckets of fresh water - for washing and for drinking.
At first they looked at me askance. Former nobles in hard labor will never be recognized as their own. We were especially hit at work, for the fact that we had little strength, and we could not help them. The Polish gentry, of whom there were five people, were not loved even more. There were four Russian nobles. One is a spy and informer, the other is a parricide. The third was Akim Akimych, a tall, thin eccentric, honest, naive and accurate.
He served as an officer in the Caucasus. One neighboring prince, who was considered peaceful, attacked his fortress at night, but unsuccessfully. Akim Akimych shot this prince in front of his detachment. He was sentenced to death, but the sentence was commuted and exiled to Siberia for 12 years. The prisoners respected Akim Akimych for his accuracy and skill. There was no trade that he did not know.
While waiting in the workshop to change the shackles, I asked Akim Akimych about our major. He was dishonest and an evil person. He looked upon the prisoners as if they were his enemies. In prison, they hated him, feared him like the plague, and even wanted to kill him.
Meanwhile, several kalashnits appeared in the workshop. Until adulthood, they sold kalachi baked by their mothers. Growing up, they sold very different services. This was fraught with great difficulties. It was necessary to choose a time, a place, make an appointment and bribe the escorts. But still, I sometimes managed to be a witness to love scenes.
The prisoners ate in shifts. During my first dinner among the prisoners, a conversation came up about some Gazin. The Pole, who was sitting next to him, said that Gazin was selling wine and wasting his earnings on drink. I asked why many prisoners look at me askance. He explained that they were angry with me for being a noble, many of them would like to humiliate me, and added that I would face more trouble and scolding.
III. First Impressions
Prisoners valued money as much as freedom, but it was difficult to keep it. Either the major took the money, or they stole their own. Subsequently, we gave the money for safekeeping to the old Old Believer, who came to us from the Starodubov settlements.
He was a small, gray-haired old man of sixty, calm and quiet, with clear, bright eyes, surrounded by small radiant wrinkles. The old man, along with other fanatics, set fire to the church of the same faith. As one of the instigators, he was exiled to hard labor. The old man was a wealthy tradesman, he left his family at home, but with firmness he went into exile, considering it "torment for the faith." The prisoners respected him and were sure that the old man could not steal.
It was sad in the prison. The prisoners were drawn to go on a spree for all their capital in order to forget their longing. Sometimes a person worked for several months only to spend all his earnings in one day. Many of them liked to make bright new clothes for themselves and go to the barracks on holidays.
The wine trade was a risky but rewarding business. For the first time, the kisser himself brought wine into the prison and sold it profitably. After the second and third time, he established a real trade and got agents and assistants who took risks in his place. The agents were usually squandered revelers.
During the first days of my imprisonment, I became interested in a young prisoner named Sirotkin. He was no more than 23 years old. He was considered one of the most dangerous war criminals. He ended up in jail for killing his company commander, who was always dissatisfied with him. Sirotkin was friends with Gazin.
Gazin was a Tatar, very strong, tall and powerful, with a disproportionately huge head. In prison they said that he was a fugitive military man from Nerchinsk, was exiled to Siberia more than once, and finally ended up in a special department. In prison, he behaved prudently, did not quarrel with anyone and was not sociable. It was obvious that he was not stupid and cunning.
All the brutality of Gazin's nature manifested itself when he got drunk. He flew into a terrible rage, grabbed a knife and rushed at people. The prisoners found a way to deal with it. About ten people rushed at him and started beating him until he lost consciousness. Then he was wrapped in a short fur coat and taken to the bunk. The next morning he got up healthy and went to work.
Bursting into the kitchen, Gazin began to find fault with me and my comrade. Seeing that we had decided to remain silent, he trembled with rage, grabbed a heavy bread tray and swung it. Despite the fact that the murder threatened trouble for the entire prison, everyone quieted down and waited - to such an extent was their hatred for the nobles. Just as he was about to lower the tray, someone called out that his wine had been stolen, and he rushed out of the kitchen.
All evening I was occupied with the thought of the inequality of punishment for the same crimes. Sometimes crimes cannot be compared. For example, one stabbed a man just like that, and the other killed, defending the honor of the bride, sister, daughter. Another difference is in the punished people. An educated person with a developed conscience will judge himself for his crime. The other does not even think about the murder he committed and considers himself right. There are also those who commit crimes in order to get into hard labor and get rid of a hard life in the wild.
IV. First Impressions
After the last verification from the authorities, an invalid remained in the barracks, observing order, and the eldest of the prisoners, appointed by the parade-major for good behavior. Akim Akimych turned out to be the eldest in our barracks. The prisoners paid no attention to the disabled person.
The prison authorities have always been wary of the prisoners. The prisoners were aware that they were afraid, and this gave them courage. The best leader for prisoners is the one who is not afraid of them, and the prisoners themselves are pleased with such trust.
In the evening, our barracks took on a homely look. A bunch of revelers sat around the rug for cards. Each barracks had a convict who rented out a rug, a candle, and greasy cards. All this was called "Maidan". The servant at the Maidan stood on guard all night and warned of the appearance of a parade-major or guards.
My seat was on the bunk by the door. Akim Akimych was placed next to me. On the left was a bunch Caucasian highlanders, convicted of robberies: three Dagestan Tatars, two Lezgins and one Chechen. Dagestan Tatars were siblings. To the youngest, Aley, handsome guy with large black eyes, was about 22 years old. They ended up in hard labor for robbing and slaughtering an Armenian merchant. The brothers loved Alei very much. Despite the outward softness, Alei had a strong character. He was fair, smart and modest, avoiding quarrels, although he knew how to stand up for himself. Within a few months I taught him to speak Russian. Aley mastered several crafts, and the brothers were proud of him. With the help of the New Testament, I taught him to read and write in Russian, which earned him the gratitude of his brothers.
The Poles in hard labor were separate family. Some of them were educated. An educated person in penal servitude must get used to an environment alien to him. Often the same punishment for all becomes ten times more painful for him.
Of all the convicts, the Poles loved only the Jew Isaiah Fomich, a 50-year-old man who looked like a plucked chicken, small and weak. He came on a murder charge. It was easy for him to live in hard labor. As a jeweler, he was inundated with work from the city.
There were also four Old Believers in our barracks; several Little Russians; a young convict of 23 years of age who killed eight people; a bunch of counterfeiters and a few grim personalities. All this flashed before me on the first evening of my new life amid smoke and soot, with the ringing of shackles, amid curses and shameless laughter.
V. First month
Three days later I went to work. At that time, among the hostile faces, I could not discern a single benevolent one. Akim Akimych was the friendliest of all with me. Next to me was another person whom I got to know well only after many years. It was the prisoner Sushilov, who served me. I also had another servant, Osip, one of the four cooks chosen by the prisoners. The cooks did not go to work, and at any moment they could refuse this position. Osip was chosen for several years in a row. He was an honest and meek man, although he came for smuggling. Together with other chefs, he traded wine.
Osip cooked food for me. Sushilov himself began doing laundry for me, running around on various errands and mending my clothes. He could not serve anyone. Sushilov was a pitiful, unrequited and downtrodden man by nature. The conversation was given to him with great difficulty. He was of medium height and of undetermined appearance.
The prisoners laughed at Sushilov because he was replaced on the way to Siberia. To change means to exchange name and fate with someone. This is usually done by prisoners who have a long term of hard labor. They find fools like Sushilov and deceive them.
I looked at the penal servitude with greedy attention, I was struck by such phenomena as the meeting with the prisoner A-vym. He was from the nobility and reported to our parade-major about everything that was happening in the prison. Having quarreled with his relatives, A-ov left Moscow and arrived in St. Petersburg. To get money, he went on a vile denunciation. He was convicted and exiled to Siberia for ten years. Hard labor untied his hands. For the sake of satisfying his brutal instincts, he was ready for anything. It was a monster, cunning, smart, beautiful and educated.
VI. First month
I had several rubles hidden in the binding of the Gospel. This book with money was presented to me in Tobolsk by other exiles. There are people in Siberia who unselfishly help the exiles. In the city where our prison was located, there lived a widow, Nastasya Ivanovna. She could not do much because of poverty, but we felt that there, behind the prison, we had a friend.
During these first days I thought about how I would place myself in prison. I decided to do what my conscience dictates. On the fourth day I was sent to dismantle the old state-owned barges. This old material was worth nothing, and the prisoners were sent in order not to sit idly by, which the prisoners themselves well understood.
They set to work sluggishly, reluctantly, clumsily. An hour later, the conductor came and announced the lesson, after completing which it would be possible to go home. The prisoners quickly got down to business, and went home tired, but satisfied, although they won only some half an hour.
I interfered everywhere, I was almost driven away with abuse. When I stepped aside, they immediately shouted that I was a bad worker. They were glad to mock the former nobleman. Despite this, I decided to keep myself as simple and independent as possible, without being afraid of their threats and hatred.
According to their concepts, I had to behave like a white-handed nobleman. They would scold me for it, but would respect me inwardly. Such a role was not for me; I promised myself not to belittle before them either my education or my way of thinking. If I began to fawn and familiarize with them, they would think that I do it out of fear, and they would treat me with contempt. But I didn't want to close myself in front of them.
In the evening I wandered alone behind the barracks and suddenly saw Sharik, our cautious dog, quite large, black with white spots, with intelligent eyes and a fluffy tail. I petted her and gave her some bread. Now, returning from work, I hurried behind the barracks with Sharik squealing with joy, clasping his head, and a bittersweet feeling ached at my heart.
VII. New acquaintances. Petrov
I got used to it. I no longer wandered about the prison as if lost, the curious glances of the convicts did not stop at me so often. I was struck by the frivolity of convicts. A free man hopes, but he lives, acts. The hope of a prisoner is of a completely different kind. Even terrible criminals, chained to the wall, dream of walking around the prison yard.
For the love of work, the convicts mocked me, but I knew that the work would save me, and did not pay attention to them. The engineering authorities facilitated the work of the nobles, as weak and inept people. Three or four people were appointed to burn and crush the alabaster, headed by the master Almazov, a stern, swarthy and lean man in years, unsociable and grumpy. Another job I was sent to was to turn a grinding wheel in a workshop. If something big was carved, another nobleman was sent to help me. This work remained with us for several years.
Gradually, my circle of acquaintances began to expand. The first to visit me was the prisoner Petrov. He lived in a special section, in the most distant barracks from me. Petrov was not tall, of strong build, with a pleasing broad-cheeked face and a bold look. He was about 40 years old. He spoke to me at ease, behaved decently and delicately. This relationship continued between us for several years and never got closer.
Petrov was the most determined and fearless of all the convicts. His passions, like hot coals, were sprinkled with ashes and quietly smoldered. He rarely quarreled, but he was not friendly with anyone. He was interested in everything, but he remained indifferent to everything and wandered about the prison without doing anything. Such people show themselves sharply at critical moments. They are not the instigators of the case, but its main executors. They are the first to jump over the main obstacle, everyone rushes after them and blindly goes to the last line, where they lay their heads.
VIII. Decisive people. Luchka
There were few decisive people in hard labor. At first I avoided these people, but then I changed my views even on the most terrible killers. It was difficult to form an opinion about some crimes, there was so much strange in them.
The prisoners liked to boast of their "exploits". Once I heard a story about how prisoner Luka Kuzmich killed a major for his own pleasure. This Luka Kuzmich was a small, thin, young Ukrainian prisoner. He was boastful, arrogant, proud, the convicts did not respect him and called him Luchka.
Luchka told his story to a dull and narrow-minded, but kind guy, a neighbor in the bunk, prisoner Kobylin. Luchka spoke loudly: he wanted everyone to hear him. This happened during shipping. With him sat a man of 12 crests, tall, healthy, but meek. The food is bad, but the major twirls them, as his grace pleases. Luchka excited crests, they demanded a major, and he himself took a knife from a neighbor in the morning. The major ran in, drunk, screaming. "I am a king, I am a god!" Luchka crept closer, and stuck a knife in his stomach.
Unfortunately, such expressions as: "I am a king, I am a god" were used by many officers, especially those who came from the lower ranks. Before the authorities they are subservient, but for the subordinates they become unlimited masters. This is very annoying to the prisoners. Each prisoner, no matter how humiliated he may be, demands respect for himself. I saw what effect the noble and kind officers produced on these humiliated ones. They, like children, began to love.
For the murder of an officer, Luchka was given 105 lashes. Although Luchka killed six people, no one was afraid of him in prison, although in his heart he dreamed of being known as a terrible person.
IX. Isai Fomich. Bath. Baklushin's story
Four days before Christmas we were taken to the bathhouse. Isai Fomich Bumshtein rejoiced most of all. It seemed that he did not regret at all that he had ended up in hard labor. He did only jewelry work and lived richly. City Jews patronized him. On Saturdays, he went under escort to the city synagogue and waited for the end of his twelve-year term in order to get married. It was a mixture of naivety, stupidity, cunning, insolence, innocence, timidity, boastfulness and impudence. Isai Fomich served everyone for entertainment. He understood this and was proud of his importance.
There were only two public baths in the city. The first was paid, the other - dilapidated, dirty and cramped. They took us to this bath. The prisoners were glad that they would leave the fortress. In the bath, we were divided into two shifts, but despite this, it was crowded. Petrov helped me to undress - because of the shackles, this was a difficult task. The prisoners were given a small piece of state-owned soap, but right there, in the dressing room, in addition to soap, it was possible to buy sbiten, rolls and hot water.
The bath was like hell. A hundred people crowded into a small room. Petrov bought a place on a bench from some man, who immediately darted under the bench, where it was dark, dirty, and everything was occupied. All this screamed and cackled to the sound of chains dragging along the floor. Mud poured from all sides. Baklushin brought hot water, and Petrov washed me with such ceremonies, as if I were porcelain. When we got home, I treated him to a pigtail. I invited Baklushin to tea.
Everyone loved Baklushin. He was a tall guy, about 30 years old, with a dashing and ingenuous face. He was full of fire and life. Acquainted with me, Baklushin said that he was from the cantonists, served in the pioneers and was loved by some high-ranking persons. He even read books. Coming to me for tea, he announced to me that he would soon theatrical performance, which the prisoners arranged in prison on holidays. Baklushin was one of the main instigators of the theatre.
Baklushin told me that he served as a non-commissioned officer in a garrison battalion. There he fell in love with a German woman, the washerwoman Louise, who lived with her aunt, and decided to marry her. Expressed a desire to marry Louise and her distant relative, a middle-aged and wealthy watchmaker, German Schulz. Louise was not against this marriage. A few days later it became known that Schultz had made Louise swear not to meet Baklushin, that the German was holding them with her aunt in a black body, and that the aunt would meet with Schultz on Sunday in his shop in order to finally agree on everything. On Sunday, Baklushin took a gun, went to the store and shot Schultz. For two weeks after that, he was happy with Louise, and then he was arrested.
X. Feast of the Nativity of Christ
Finally, the holiday came, from which everyone expected something. By evening, the invalids who went to the market brought a lot of provisions. Even the most thrifty prisoners wanted to celebrate Christmas with dignity. On this day, the prisoners were not sent to work, there were three such days a year.
Akim Akimych had no family memories - he grew up as an orphan in a strange house and from the age of fifteen he went to hard service. He was not especially religious, so he prepared to celebrate Christmas not with dreary memories, but with quiet good manners. He did not like to think and lived by the rules established forever. Only once in his life did he try to live with his mind - and ended up in hard labor. He deduced from this a rule - never reason.
In the military barracks, where bunks stood only along the walls, the priest held a Christmas service and consecrated all the barracks. Immediately after that, the parade-major and the commandant arrived, whom we loved and even respected. They walked around all the barracks and congratulated everyone.
Gradually, the people walked around, but there were much more sober ones, and there was someone to look after the drunk. Gazin was sober. He intended to walk at the end of the holiday, having collected all the money from the prisoner's pockets. Songs were heard throughout the barracks. Many walked around with their own balalaikas, in a special department even a choir of eight people was formed.
Meanwhile, dusk was beginning. Among the drunkenness, sadness and longing peeped through. The people wanted to have fun great holiday, - and what a heavy and sad day this day was for almost everyone. In the barracks it became unbearable and disgusting. I felt sad and sorry for all of them.
XI. Performance
On the third day of the holiday, a performance took place in our theater. We did not know whether our parade-major knew about the theatre. For such a person as a parade-major, it was necessary to take away something, deprive someone of the right. The senior non-commissioned officer did not contradict the prisoners, taking their word that everything would be quiet. The poster was written by Baklushin for the gentlemen of the officers and noble visitors who honored our theater with their visit.
The first play was called "Filatka and Miroshka Rivals", in which Baklushin played Filatka, and Sirotkin - Filatka's bride. The second play was called "Kedril the Glutton". In conclusion, a "pantomime to the music" was presented.
The theater was staged in a military barracks. Half of the room was given to the audience, the other half was the stage. The curtain stretched across the barracks was painted oil paint and sewn from canvas. In front of the curtain there were two benches and several chairs for officers and outsiders, which were not moved during the whole holiday. Behind the benches were the prisoners, and there was incredible crowding.
The crowd of spectators, squeezed from all sides, with blissful faces, was waiting for the start of the performance. A gleam of childish joy shone on the branded faces. The prisoners were delighted. They were allowed to have fun, forget about the shackles and long years conclusions.
Part two
I. Hospital
After the holidays, I fell ill and went to our military hospital, in the main building of which there were 2 prison wards. Sick prisoners announced their illness to a non-commissioned officer. They were recorded in a book and sent with an escort to the battalion infirmary, where the doctor recorded the really sick in the hospital.
The appointment of drugs and the distribution of portions was carried out by the intern, who was in charge of the prison wards. We were dressed in hospital linen, I walked along a clean corridor and found myself in a long, narrow room, where there were 22 wooden beds.
There were few seriously ill patients. To my right lay a counterfeiter, a former clerk, the illegitimate son of a retired captain. He was a stocky guy of about 28, not stupid, cheeky, confident in his innocence. He told me in detail about the order in the hospital.
Following him, a patient from the correctional company approached me. It was already a gray-haired soldier named Chekunov. He began to serve me, which caused several poisonous ridicule from a consumptive patient named Ustyantsev, who, frightened of punishment, drank a mug of wine infused with tobacco and poisoned himself. I felt that his anger was directed more at me than at Chekunov.
All diseases were collected here, even venereal ones. There were also a few who came just to “relax”. The doctors let them in out of compassion. Externally, the ward was relatively clean, but we did not show off the internal cleanliness. Patients got used to it and even believed that it was necessary. Those punished by gauntlets were met with us very seriously and silently looked after the unfortunate. The paramedics knew that they were handing over the beaten man to experienced hands.
After an evening visit to the doctor, the ward was locked, bringing into it a night tub. At night, the prisoners were not allowed out of the wards. This useless cruelty was explained by the fact that the prisoner would go out to the toilet at night and run away, despite the fact that there was a window with an iron grate, and an armed sentry accompanied the prisoner to the toilet. And where to run in winter in hospital clothes. From the shackles of a convict, no disease saves. For the sick, the shackles are too heavy, and this heaviness aggravates their suffering.
II. Continuation
The doctors went around the wards in the morning. Before them, our resident, a young but knowledgeable doctor, visited the ward. Many doctors in Rus' enjoy love and respect common people despite the general distrust of medicine. When the intern noticed that the prisoner came to rest from work, he wrote down a non-existent illness for him and left him to lie. The senior doctor was much more severe than the intern, and for this we respected him.
Some patients asked to be discharged with their backs not healed from the first sticks, in order to get out of court as soon as possible. For some, habit helped to endure punishment. The prisoners spoke with unusual good nature about how they were beaten and about those who beat them.
However, not all stories were cold-blooded and indifferent. They talked about Lieutenant Zherebyatnikov with indignation. He was a man in his 30s, tall, fat, with ruddy cheeks, white teeth, and a booming laugh. He loved to whip and punish with sticks. The lieutenant was a refined gourmet in the executive business: he invented various unnatural things in order to pleasantly tickle his fat-swollen soul.
Lieutenant Smekalov, who was the commander at our prison, was remembered with joy and pleasure. The Russian people are ready to forget any torment for one kind word, but Lieutenant Smekalov has gained particular popularity. He was a simple man, even kind in his own way, and we recognized him as our own.
III. Continuation
In the hospital, I got a visual representation of all kinds of punishments. All those punished with gauntlets were reduced to our chambers. I wanted to know all the degrees of sentences, I tried to imagine the psychological state of those going to be executed.
If the prisoner could not withstand the prescribed number of blows, then, according to the doctor's sentence, this number was divided into several parts. The prisoners endured the execution itself courageously. I noticed that rods in large quantities are the most severe punishment. With five hundred rods, a person can be whipped to death, and five hundred sticks can be carried without danger to life.
Almost every person has the properties of an executioner, but they develop unevenly. Executioners are of two types: voluntary and forced. To the forced executioner, the people experience an unaccountable, mystical fear.
A forced executioner is an exiled prisoner who has been apprenticed to another executioner and left forever at the jail, where he has his own household and is under guard. The executioners have money, they eat well, they drink wine. The executioner cannot punish weakly; but for a bribe, he promises the victim that he will not beat her very painfully. If his proposal is not agreed, he punishes barbarously.
Being in the hospital was boring. The arrival of a newcomer has always produced a revival. They even rejoiced at the madmen who were brought to trial. The defendants pretended to be crazy in order to get rid of punishment. Some of them, after playing tricks for two or three days, subsided and asked to be discharged. The real lunatics were the punishment for the whole ward.
The seriously ill loved to be treated. Bloodletting was accepted with pleasure. Our banks were of a special kind. The machine that cuts the skin, the paramedic lost or ruined, and had to make 12 cuts for each jar with a lancet.
The saddest time came late in the evening. It became stuffy, I remembered bright pictures past life. One night I heard a story that seemed to me like a feverish dream.
IV. Akulkin's husband
I woke up late at night and heard two people whispering to each other not far from me. The narrator Shishkov was still young, about 30 years old, a civilian prisoner, an empty, eccentric and cowardly man of small stature, thin, with restless or stupidly thoughtful eyes.
It was about the father of Shishkov's wife, Ankudim Trofimych. He was a wealthy and respected old man of 70 years old, had auctions and a large loan, kept three workers. Ankudim Trofimych was married a second time, had two sons and eldest daughter Akulina. Shishkov's friend Filka Morozov was considered her lover. At that time, Filka's parents died, and he was going to skip the inheritance and join the soldiers. He did not want to marry Akulka. Shishkov then also buried his father, and his mother worked for Ankudim - she baked gingerbread for sale.
One day, Filka persuaded Shishkov to smear Akulka's gates with tar - Filka did not want her to marry an old rich man who wooed her. He heard that there were rumors about Akulka, and he backtracked. Mother advised Shishkov to marry Akulka - now no one took her in marriage, and they gave her a good dowry.
Until the very wedding, Shishkov drank without waking up. Filka Morozov threatened to break all his ribs, and to sleep with his wife every night. Ankudim shed tears at the wedding, he knew that his daughter was being tortured. And Shishkov had a whip with him before the wedding, and decided to make fun of Akulka so that she would know how to get married by dishonorable deceit.
After the wedding, they left them with Akulka in a cage. She sits white, not a blood in her face from fear. Shishkov prepared a whip and laid it by the bed, but Akulka turned out to be innocent. He then knelt before her, asked for forgiveness, and vowed to take revenge on Filka Morozov for the shame.
Some time later, Filka offered Shishkov to sell his wife to him. To force Shishkov, Filka started a rumor that he did not sleep with his wife, because he was always drunk, and at that time his wife accepted others. It was a shame to Shishkov, and since then he began to beat his wife from morning to evening. Old Ankudim came to intercede, and then retreated. Shishkov did not allow his mother to interfere, he threatened to kill her.
Filka, meanwhile, completely drank himself and went as a mercenary to a tradesman, for his eldest son. Filka lived with the tradesman for his own pleasure, drank, slept with his daughters, dragged the owner by the beard. The tradesman endured - Filka had to go to the soldiers for his eldest son. When Filka was being taken to the soldiers to surrender, he saw Akulka along the way, stopped, bowed to her in the ground and asked for forgiveness for his meanness. Akulka forgave him, and then told Shishkov that now more death He loves Filka.
Shishkov decided to kill Akulka. At dawn, he harnessed the cart, went with his wife to the forest, to a remote place, and there he cut her throat with a knife. After that, fear attacked Shishkov, he left both his wife and the horse, and he ran home to his behinds, and huddled in the bathhouse. In the evening they found dead Akulka and found Shishkov in the bathhouse. And now he has been in hard labor for the fourth year.
V. Summertime
Easter was approaching. started summer work. The coming spring excited the shackled man, gave rise to desires and longing in him. At this time, vagrancy began throughout Russia. Life in the woods, free and adventurous, had a mysterious charm to those who experienced it.
One prisoner out of a hundred decides to run away, the remaining ninety-nine only dream about it. Defendants and those convicted for long terms run away much more often. After serving two or three years of hard labor, the prisoner prefers to finish his term and go to the settlement than to risk and die in case of failure. All these runners themselves come to prisons to spend the winter by autumn, hoping to run again in the summer.
My anxiety and longing grew with each passing day. The hatred that I, a nobleman, aroused in the prisoners, poisoned my life. On Easter, we got one egg and a slice of wheat bread from the authorities. Everything was exactly like at Christmas, only now it was possible to walk and bask in the sun.
Summer work was much harder than winter work. The prisoners built, dug the ground, laid bricks, and were engaged in plumbing, carpentry or painting work. I either went to the workshop, or to the alabaster, or was a brick carrier. I got stronger from work. Physical strength in hard labor is necessary, but I wanted to live after prison.
In the evenings, crowds of prisoners walked around the yard, discussing the most ridiculous rumors. It became known that an important general was coming from St. Petersburg to revise the whole of Siberia. At this time, an incident happened in the prison, which did not excite the major, but gave him pleasure. One prisoner in a fight poked another in the chest with an awl.
The prisoner who committed the crime was called Lomov. The victim, Gavrilka, was one of hardened vagabonds. Lomov was from the wealthy peasants of the K-sky district. All the Lomovs lived as a family, and, in addition to legal affairs, were engaged in usury, harboring vagrants and stolen property. Soon the Lomovs decided that there was no justice for them, and they began to take more and more risks in various lawless enterprises. Not far from the village they had a large farm where about six Kirghiz robbers lived. One night they were all slaughtered. The Lomovs were accused of killing their workers. During the investigation and trial, their entire fortune went to dust, and their uncle and nephew Lomov ended up in our penal servitude.
Soon, Gavrilka, a rogue and a vagabond, appeared in the prison, who took the blame for the death of the Kirghiz on himself. The Lomovs knew that Gavrilka was a criminal, but they did not quarrel with him. And suddenly Uncle Lomov stabbed Gavrilka with an awl because of the girl. The Lomovs lived in prison as rich people, for which the major hated them. Lomov was tried, although the wound turned out to be a scratch. The offender was given a term and passed through a thousand. The Major was pleased.
On the second day after our arrival in the city, the inspector came to visit us in the prison. He entered sternly and majestically, followed by a large retinue. In silence, the general walked around the barracks, looked into the kitchen, and tasted the cabbage soup. He was pointed to me: they say, from the nobility. The general nodded his head, and two minutes later he left the prison. The prisoners were blinded, puzzled, and left bewildered.
VI. convict animals
The purchase of Gnedok entertained the prisoners much more than the high visit. In the prison, a horse was supposed to be used for household needs. One fine morning she died. The major ordered the immediate purchase of a new horse. The purchase was entrusted to the prisoners themselves, among whom were real connoisseurs. It was a young, beautiful and strong horse. He soon became the favorite of the whole prison.
The prisoners loved animals, but in prison it was not allowed to breed a lot of livestock and poultry. In addition to Sharik, two more dogs lived in prison: Belka and Stump, which I brought home from work as a puppy.
We got geese by accident. They amused the prisoners and even became famous in the city. The whole brood of geese went to work with the prisoners. They always adjoined the most big party and at work grazed nearby. When the party moved back to the prison, they also got up. But, despite their loyalty, they were all ordered to be slaughtered.
The goat Vaska appeared in the prison as a small, white kid and became a common favorite. A big goat with long horns grew out of Vaska. He also got into the habit of going to work with us. Vaska would have lived in prison for a long time, but one day, returning at the head of the prisoners from work, he caught the eye of the major. Immediately it was ordered to slaughter the goat, sell the skin, and give the meat to the prisoners.
An eagle also lived with us in prison. Someone brought him to prison, wounded and exhausted. He lived with us for three months and never left his corner. Lonely and angrily, he expected death, not trusting anyone. In order for the eagle to die in the wild, the prisoners threw it off the rampart into the steppe.
VII. Claim
It took me almost a year to come to terms with life in prison. Other prisoners could not get used to this life either. Restlessness, vehemence and impatience were the most characteristic features of this place.
Dreaminess gave the prisoners a gloomy and gloomy view. They didn't like to put their hopes on display. Integrity and frankness were despised. And if someone began to dream aloud, then he was rudely upset and ridiculed.
In addition to these naive and simple talkers, all the rest were divided into good and evil, gloomy and bright. There were many more gloomy and evil. There was also a group of desperate people, there were very few of them. Not a single person lives without striving for a goal. Having lost purpose and hope, a person turns into a monster, and the goal for everyone was freedom.
One day, on a hot summer day, the whole penal servitude began to build up in the prison yard. I didn’t know anything about it, and yet the penal servitude had been muffled for three days already. The pretext for this explosion was food, which everyone was unhappy with.
The convicts are grumpy, but they rarely rise together. However, this time the excitement was not in vain. In such a case, there are always instigators. This is a special type of people, naively confident in the possibility of justice. They are too hot to be cunning and calculating, so they always lose. Instead of the main goal, they often rush to the little things, and this ruins them.
There were several instigators in our prison. One of them is Martynov, a former hussar, hot-tempered, restless and suspicious; the other - Vasily Antonov, smart and cold-blooded, with an insolent look and an arrogant smile; both honest and truthful.
Our non-commissioned officer was frightened. Having lined up, the people politely asked him to tell the major that hard labor wanted to talk to him. I also went out to line up, thinking that some kind of check was taking place. Many looked at me with surprise and mocked me angrily. In the end, Kulikov came up to me, took my hand and led me out of the ranks. Puzzled, I went to the kitchen, where there were a lot of people.
In the passage I met the nobleman T-vsky. He explained to me that if we were there, we would be accused of rebellion and put on trial. Akim Akimych and Isai Fomich also did not take part in the unrest. There were all the guarded Poles and a few gloomy, stern prisoners who were convinced that nothing good would come of this business.
The major flew in angry, followed by the clerk Dyatlov, who actually controlled the prison and had influence on the major, a cunning, but not a bad person. A minute later one prisoner went to the guardhouse, then another and a third. The clerk Dyatlov went to our kitchen. Here he was told that they had no complaints. He immediately reported to the major, who ordered us to be registered separately from the dissatisfied. The paper and the threat to bring the dissatisfied to justice had an effect. All of a sudden everyone was happy.
The next day the food improved, though not for long. The major began to visit the prison more often and find disturbances. The prisoners could not calm down for a long time, they were disturbed and puzzled. Many ridiculed themselves at themselves, as though beating themselves up for the pretension.
That same evening I asked Petrov if the prisoners were angry with the nobles because they did not go out with everyone else. He didn't understand what I was after. But on the other hand, I realized that I would never be accepted into the partnership. In Petrov’s question: “What kind of comrade are you to us?” - Genuine naivete and ingenuous bewilderment were heard.
VIII. Comrades
Of the three nobles who were in prison, I only talked with Akim Akimych. He was a kind person, helped me with advice and some services, but sometimes he made me sad with his even, orderly voice.
In addition to these three Russians, in my time eight Poles stayed with us. The best of them were painful and intolerant. There were only three educated people: B-sky, M-ki, and old man Zh-ki, a former professor of mathematics.
Some of them were sent for 10-12 years. With the Circassians and Tatars, with Isai Fomich, they were affectionate and friendly, but avoided the rest of the convicts. Only one Starodub Old Believer deserved their respect.
The higher authorities in Siberia treated the criminal nobles differently than the rest of the exiles. Following the higher authorities, the lower commanders also got used to this. The second category of hard labor, where I was, was much harder than the other two categories. The device of this category was military, very similar to the prisoner companies, about which everyone spoke with horror. The authorities looked at the nobles in our prison more cautiously and did not punish as often as ordinary prisoners.
They tried to make our work easier only once: B. and I went to the engineering office as clerks for three whole months. This happened even under Lieutenant Colonel G-kov. He was affectionate with the prisoners and loved them like a father. In the very first month upon arrival, G-kov quarreled with our major and left.
We were copying papers, when suddenly an order came from the top authorities to return us to our previous jobs. Then for two years we went with Bm to the same work, most often to the workshop.
Meanwhile M-cuy became more and more sad and gloomy over the years. He was inspired only by the memory of his old and sick mother. Finally, M-tsky's mother procured forgiveness for him. He went to the settlement and stayed in our city.
Of the rest, two were young people sent for short periods, poorly educated, but honest and simple. The third, A-chukovsky, was too simple, but the fourth, B-m, an elderly man, made a bad impression on us. It was a rough, philistine soul, with the habits of a shopkeeper. He was not interested in anything but his craft. He was a skilled painter. Soon the whole city began to demand B-ma for painting walls and ceilings. Other of his comrades were also sent to work with him.
Bm painted the house for our parade-major, who after that began to patronize the nobles. Soon the parade-major was put on trial and resigned. After retiring, he sold the estate and fell into poverty. We met him later in a worn frock coat. In uniform he was a god. In a frock coat he looked like a footman.
IX. The escape
Soon after the change of the parade-major, hard labor was abolished and a military prison company was founded instead. A special section also remained, and dangerous war criminals were sent to it until the opening of the most difficult hard labor in Siberia.
For us, life went on as before, only the bosses had changed. A staff officer, a company commander and four chief officers were appointed, who were on duty in turn. Twelve non-commissioned officers and a captain were appointed instead of the disabled. Corporal-corporals from among the prisoners turned up, and Akim Akimych immediately turned out to be a corporal. All this remained in the department of the commandant.
The main thing was that we got rid of the former major. The frightened look disappeared, now everyone knew that the right one would only be punished by mistake instead of the guilty one. Non-commissioned officers turned out to be decent people. They tried not to watch the vodka being carried and sold. Like the disabled, they went to the market and brought food to the prisoners.
The following years have faded from my memory. Only the passionate desire for a new life gave me the strength to wait and hope. I reviewed my past life and severely judged himself. I vowed to myself that I would not make the same mistakes in the future.
Sometimes we had runaways. Two were running with me. After the change of major spy A-B left without protection. He was a bold, determined, intelligent and cynical man. He was noticed by the prisoner of the special department Kulikov, a middle-aged man, but strong. They became friends and agreed to run away.
It was impossible to escape without an escort. In one of the battalions stationed in the fortress, a Pole named Koller, an elderly, energetic man, served. Arriving at the service in Siberia, he fled. He was caught and kept for two years in prison companies. When he was returned to the soldiers, he began to serve zealously, for which he was made a corporal. He was ambitious, arrogant and knew his own worth. Kulikov chose him as a comrade. They agreed and set a date.
This was in the month of June. The fugitives arranged it so that they, together with the prisoner Shilkin, were sent to plaster the empty barracks. Koller with a young recruit were escorts. After working for an hour, Kulikov and A.V. told Shilkin that they were going for wine. After some time, Shilkin realized that his comrades had fled, quit his job, went straight to prison and told the sergeant everything.
The criminals were important, messengers were sent to all volosts to report the fugitives and leave their signs everywhere. They wrote to the neighboring counties and provinces, sent the Cossacks in pursuit.
This incident broke the monotonous life of the prison, and the escape echoed in all souls. The commandant himself came to the prison. The prisoners behaved boldly, with strict solidity. The prisoners were sent to work under reinforced escort, and in the evenings they were counted several times. But the prisoners behaved decorously and independently. Everyone was proud of Kulikov and Andy.
A whole week continued intensified searches. The prisoners received all the news about the maneuvers of the authorities. Eight days after the escape, they hit the trail of the fugitives. The next day, they began to say in the city that the fugitives were caught seventy miles from the prison. Finally, the sergeant-major announced that in the evening they would be brought directly to the guardhouse at the prison.
At first everyone was angry, then they became discouraged, and then they began to laugh at those who were caught. Kulikov and A-va were now humiliated to the same extent as before they were extolled. When they were brought in, bound hand and foot, all hard labor poured out to see what they would do with them. The fugitives were chained and put on trial. Having learned that the fugitives had no other choice but to surrender, everyone began to heartily follow the progress of the case in court.
Av was awarded five hundred sticks, Kulikov was given fifteen hundred. Koller lost everything, walked two thousand and was sent somewhere as a prisoner. A-va punished weakly. In the hospital, he said that now he was ready for anything. Returning to prison after punishment, Kulikov behaved as if he had never left it. Despite this, the prisoners no longer respected him.
X. Exit from hard labor
All this happened in Last year my hard labor. This year has been easier for me. Among the prisoners I had many friends and acquaintances. In the city, among the military, I had acquaintances, and I resumed communication with them. Through them I could write to my homeland and receive books.
The closer the release date came, the more patient I became. Many prisoners sincerely and joyfully congratulated me. It seemed to me that everyone became more friendly with me.
On the day of liberation, I walked around the barracks to say goodbye to all the prisoners. Some shook my hand in a comradely manner, others knew that I had acquaintances in the city, that I would go from here to the gentlemen and sit next to them as an equal. They said goodbye to me not as a comrade, but as a master. Some turned away from me, did not answer my farewell and looked with some kind of hatred.
About ten minutes after the prisoners left for work, I left the jail, never to return to it. I was accompanied to the smithy to loosen the shackles, not by an escort with a gun, but by a non-commissioned officer. We were unchained by our own prisoners. They fussed, wanted to do everything as best as possible. The shackles have fallen. Freedom, new life. What a glorious moment!
In the remote regions of Siberia, among the steppes, mountains or impenetrable forests, one occasionally comes across small towns, with one, many with two thousand inhabitants, wooden, nondescript, with two churches - one in the city, the other in a cemetery - cities that look more like a good suburban village than in the city. They are usually very adequately equipped with police officers, assessors and all the rest of the subaltern rank. In general, in Siberia, despite the cold, it is extremely warm to serve. People live simple, illiberal; orders are old, strong, consecrated for centuries. Officials who rightly play the role of the Siberian nobility are either natives, hardened Siberians, or visitors from Russia, mostly from the capitals, seduced by the salary that is not set off, double runs and tempting hopes in the future. Of these, those who know how to solve the riddle of life almost always remain in Siberia and take root in it with pleasure. Subsequently, they bear rich and sweet fruits. But others, a frivolous people who do not know how to solve the riddle of life, will soon get bored with Siberia and ask themselves with anguish: why did they come to it? They impatiently serve their legal term of service, three years, and after it has expired, they immediately bother about their transfer and return home, scolding Siberia and laughing at her. They are wrong: not only from official, but even from many points of view, one can be blessed in Siberia. The climate is excellent; there are many remarkably rich and hospitable merchants; many extremely sufficient foreigners. Young ladies bloom with roses and are moral to the last extreme. The game flies through the streets and stumbles upon the hunter itself. Champagne is drunk unnaturally much. Caviar is amazing. Harvest happens in other places fifteen times ... In general, the land is blessed. You just need to know how to use it. In Siberia, they know how to use it.
In one of these cheerful and self-satisfied towns, with the sweetest people, the memory of which will remain indelible in my heart, I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a settler who was born in Russia as a nobleman and landowner, who later became a second-class exile convict for the murder of his wife and, after the expiration of a ten-year term of hard labor determined for him by law, he humbly and inaudibly lived out his life in the town of K. as a settler. He, in fact, was assigned to one suburban volost, but he lived in the city, having the opportunity to get at least some kind of livelihood in it by teaching children. In Siberian cities one often comes across teachers from exiled settlers; they are not shy. They teach mainly the French language, which is so necessary in the field of life and which without them in the remote regions of Siberia would have no idea. For the first time I met Alexander Petrovich in the house of an old, honored and hospitable official, Ivan Ivanovich Gvozdikov, who had five daughters, of different years, who showed great promise. Alexander Petrovich gave them lessons four times a week, thirty silver kopecks a lesson. His appearance intrigued me. He was an extremely pale and thin man, not yet old, about thirty-five, small and frail. He was always dressed very cleanly, in a European way. If you spoke to him, he looked at you extremely intently and attentively, listening with strict politeness to your every word, as if pondering it, as if you had asked him a task with your question or wanted to extort some secret from him, and, finally, he answered clearly and briefly, but weighing every word of his answer to such an extent that you suddenly felt awkward for some reason, and you yourself finally rejoiced at the end of the conversation. I then asked Ivan Ivanovich about him and found out that Goryanchikov lives impeccably and morally, and that otherwise Ivan Ivanovich would not have invited him for his daughters; but that he is terribly unsociable, hiding from everyone, extremely learned, reads a lot, but speaks very little, and that in general it is quite difficult to get into conversation with him. Others claimed that he was positively insane, although they found that, in fact, this was not such an important shortcoming, that many of the honorary members of the city were ready to show kindness to Alexander Petrovich in every possible way, that he could even be useful, write requests and so on. It was believed that he must have decent relatives in Russia, maybe not even the last people, but they knew that from the very exile he stubbornly cut off all relations with them - in a word, he hurt himself. In addition, everyone here knew his story, they knew that he had killed his wife in the first year of his marriage, killed him out of jealousy and himself denounced himself (which greatly facilitated his punishment). The same crimes are always looked upon as misfortunes and regretted. But, in spite of all this, the eccentric stubbornly avoided everyone and appeared in public only to give lessons.
At first I did not pay much attention to him, but, I do not know why, he gradually began to interest me. There was something mysterious about him. There was no way to talk to him. Of course, he always answered my questions, and even with an air as if he considered this his first duty; but after his answers I somehow found it hard to question him longer; and on his face, after such conversations, one could always see some kind of suffering and fatigue. I remember walking with him one fine summer evening from Ivan Ivanovich. It suddenly occurred to me to invite him over for a minute to smoke a cigarette. I cannot describe the horror expressed on his face; he was completely lost, began to mutter some incoherent words, and suddenly, looking angrily at me, rushed to run in the opposite direction. I was even surprised. Since then, when meeting with me, he looked at me as if with some kind of fear. But I did not let up; something drew me to him, and a month later, for no apparent reason, I myself went to Goryanchikov. Of course, I acted stupidly and indelicately. He lodged on the very edge of the city, with an old bourgeois woman who had a sick, consumptive daughter, and that illegitimate daughter, a child of ten years old, a pretty and cheerful girl. Alexander Petrovich was sitting with her and teaching her to read the minute I went in to see him. When he saw me, he became so confused, as if I had caught him in some kind of crime. He was completely at a loss, jumped up from his chair and looked at me with all his eyes. We finally sat down; he closely followed my every glance, as if he suspected some special mysterious meaning in each of them. I guessed that he was suspicious to the point of madness. He looked at me with hatred, almost asking: “Will you leave here soon?” I talked to him about our town, current news; he remained silent and smiled maliciously; it turned out that he not only did not know the most ordinary, well-known city news, but was not even interested in knowing them. Then I started talking about our region, about its needs; he listened to me in silence and looked into my eyes so strangely that I finally felt ashamed of our conversation. However, I almost teased him with new books and magazines; I had them in my hands, fresh from the post office, and I offered them uncut to him. He gave them a greedy look, but immediately changed his mind and declined the offer, responding with lack of time. Finally I said goodbye to him and, leaving him, I felt that some unbearable weight had been lifted from my heart. I was ashamed and it seemed extremely stupid to pester a person who, precisely, sets his main task - to hide as far as possible from the whole world. But the deed was done. I remember that I hardly noticed his books at all, and, therefore, it was unfairly said about him that he reads a lot. However, driving twice, very late at night, past his windows, I noticed a light in them. What did he do, sitting up until dawn? Did he write? And if so, what exactly?
Circumstances removed me from our town for three months. Returning home already in the winter, I learned that Alexander Petrovich died in the autumn, died in seclusion and never even called a doctor to him. The town has almost forgotten about him. His apartment was empty. I immediately made the acquaintance of the mistress of the dead man, intending to find out from her; What was her lodger particularly busy with, and did he write anything? For two kopecks, she brought me a whole basket of papers left over from the deceased. The old woman confessed that she had already used up two notebooks. She was a gloomy and silent woman, from whom it was difficult to get anything worthwhile. She had nothing new to tell me about her tenant. According to her, he almost never did anything and for months did not open a book and did not take a pen in his hands; but whole nights he paced up and down the room and kept thinking something, and sometimes talking to himself; that he was very fond of and very fond of her granddaughter, Katya, especially since he found out that her name was Katya, and that on Catherine's day every time he went to someone to serve a memorial service. Guests could not stand; he went out from the yard only to teach children; he even looked askance at her, the old woman, when she, once a week, came at least a little to tidy up his room, and almost never said a single word to her for three whole years. I asked Katya: does she remember her teacher? She looked at me silently, turned to the wall and began to cry. So, this man could at least make someone love him.
Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
Notes from dead house
Part one
Introduction
In the remote regions of Siberia, among the steppes, mountains or impenetrable forests, one occasionally comes across small towns, with one, many with two thousand inhabitants, wooden, nondescript, with two churches - one in the city, the other in a cemetery - cities that look more like a good suburban village than in the city. They are usually very adequately equipped with police officers, assessors and all the rest of the subaltern rank. In general, in Siberia, despite the cold, it is extremely warm to serve. People live simple, illiberal; orders are old, strong, consecrated for centuries. Officials who rightly play the role of the Siberian nobility are either natives, hardened Siberians, or visitors from Russia, mostly from the capitals, seduced by the salary that is not set off, double runs and tempting hopes in the future. Of these, those who know how to solve the riddle of life almost always remain in Siberia and take root in it with pleasure. Subsequently, they bear rich and sweet fruits. But others, a frivolous people who do not know how to solve the riddle of life, will soon get bored with Siberia and ask themselves with anguish: why did they come to it? They impatiently serve their legal term of service, three years, and after it has expired, they immediately bother about their transfer and return home, scolding Siberia and laughing at her. They are wrong: not only from official, but even from many points of view, one can be blessed in Siberia. The climate is excellent; there are many remarkably rich and hospitable merchants; many extremely sufficient foreigners. Young ladies bloom with roses and are moral to the last extreme. The game flies through the streets and stumbles upon the hunter itself. Champagne is drunk unnaturally much. Caviar is amazing. Harvest happens in other places fifteen times ... In general, the land is blessed. You just need to know how to use it. In Siberia, they know how to use it.
In one of these cheerful and self-satisfied towns, with the sweetest people, the memory of which will remain indelible in my heart, I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a settler who was born in Russia as a nobleman and landowner, who later became a second-class exile convict for the murder of his wife and, after the expiration of a ten-year term of hard labor determined for him by law, he humbly and inaudibly lived out his life in the town of K. as a settler. He, in fact, was assigned to one suburban volost, but he lived in the city, having the opportunity to get at least some kind of livelihood in it by teaching children. In Siberian cities one often comes across teachers from exiled settlers; they are not shy. They teach mainly the French language, which is so necessary in the field of life and which without them in the remote regions of Siberia would have no idea. For the first time I met Alexander Petrovich in the house of an old, honored and hospitable official, Ivan Ivanovich Gvozdikov, who had five daughters, of different years, who showed great promise. Alexander Petrovich gave them lessons four times a week, thirty silver kopecks a lesson. His appearance intrigued me. He was an extremely pale and thin man, not yet old, about thirty-five, small and frail. He was always dressed very cleanly, in a European way. If you spoke to him, he looked at you extremely intently and attentively, listening with strict politeness to your every word, as if pondering it, as if you had asked him a task with your question or wanted to extort some secret from him, and, finally, he answered clearly and briefly, but weighing every word of his answer to such an extent that you suddenly felt awkward for some reason, and you yourself finally rejoiced at the end of the conversation. I then asked Ivan Ivanovich about him and found out that Goryanchikov lives impeccably and morally, and that otherwise Ivan Ivanovich would not have invited him for his daughters; but that he is terribly unsociable, hiding from everyone, extremely learned, reads a lot, but speaks very little, and that in general it is quite difficult to get into conversation with him. Others claimed that he was positively insane, although they found that, in fact, this was not such an important shortcoming, that many of the honorary members of the city were ready to show kindness to Alexander Petrovich in every possible way, that he could even be useful, write requests and so on. It was believed that he must have decent relatives in Russia, maybe not even the last people, but they knew that from the very exile he stubbornly cut off all relations with them - in a word, he hurt himself. In addition, everyone here knew his story, they knew that he had killed his wife in the first year of his marriage, killed him out of jealousy and himself denounced himself (which greatly facilitated his punishment). The same crimes are always looked upon as misfortunes and regretted. But, in spite of all this, the eccentric stubbornly avoided everyone and appeared in public only to give lessons.
At first I did not pay much attention to him, but, I do not know why, he gradually began to interest me. There was something mysterious about him. There was no way to talk to him. Of course, he always answered my questions, and even with an air as if he considered this his first duty; but after his answers I somehow found it hard to question him longer; and on his face, after such conversations, one could always see some kind of suffering and fatigue. I remember walking with him one fine summer evening from Ivan Ivanovich. It suddenly occurred to me to invite him over for a minute to smoke a cigarette. I cannot describe the horror expressed on his face; he was completely lost, began to mutter some incoherent words, and suddenly, looking angrily at me, rushed to run in the opposite direction. I was even surprised. Since then, when meeting with me, he looked at me as if with some kind of fear. But I did not let up; something drew me to him, and a month later, for no apparent reason, I myself went to Goryanchikov. Of course, I acted stupidly and indelicately. He lodged on the very edge of the city, with an old bourgeois woman who had a sick, consumptive daughter, and that illegitimate daughter, a child of ten years old, a pretty and cheerful girl. Alexander Petrovich was sitting with her and teaching her to read the minute I went in to see him. When he saw me, he became so confused, as if I had caught him in some kind of crime. He was completely at a loss, jumped up from his chair and looked at me with all his eyes. We finally sat down; he closely followed my every glance, as if he suspected some special mysterious meaning in each of them. I guessed that he was suspicious to the point of madness. He looked at me with hatred, almost asking: “Will you leave here soon?” I talked to him about our town, current news; he remained silent and smiled maliciously; it turned out that he not only did not know the most ordinary, well-known city news, but was not even interested in knowing them. Then I started talking about our region, about its needs; he listened to me in silence and looked into my eyes so strangely that I finally felt ashamed of our conversation. However, I almost teased him with new books and magazines; I had them in my hands, fresh from the post office, and I offered them uncut to him. He gave them a greedy look, but immediately changed his mind and declined the offer, responding with lack of time. Finally I said goodbye to him and, leaving him, I felt that some unbearable weight had been lifted from my heart. I was ashamed and it seemed extremely stupid to pester a person who, precisely, sets his main task - to hide as far as possible from the whole world. But the deed was done. I remember that I hardly noticed his books at all, and, therefore, it was unfairly said about him that he reads a lot. However, driving twice, very late at night, past his windows, I noticed a light in them. What did he do, sitting up until dawn? Did he write? And if so, what exactly?
Circumstances removed me from our town for three months. Returning home already in the winter, I learned that Alexander Petrovich died in the autumn, died in seclusion and never even called a doctor to him. The town has almost forgotten about him. His apartment was empty. I immediately made the acquaintance of the mistress of the dead man, intending to find out from her; What was her lodger particularly busy with, and did he write anything? For two kopecks, she brought me a whole basket of papers left over from the deceased. The old woman confessed that she had already used up two notebooks. She was a gloomy and silent woman, from whom it was difficult to get anything worthwhile. She had nothing new to tell me about her tenant. According to her, he almost never did anything and for months did not open a book and did not take a pen in his hands; but whole nights he paced up and down the room and kept thinking something, and sometimes talking to himself; that he was very fond of and very fond of her granddaughter, Katya, especially since he found out that her name was Katya, and that on Catherine's day every time he went to someone to serve a memorial service. Guests could not stand; he went out from the yard only to teach children; he even looked askance at her, the old woman, when she, once a week, came at least a little to tidy up his room, and almost never said a single word to her for three whole years. I asked Katya: does she remember her teacher? She looked at me silently, turned to the wall and began to cry. So, this man could at least make someone love him.
Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
Notes from the House of the Dead
Part one
Introduction
In the remote regions of Siberia, among the steppes, mountains or impenetrable forests, one occasionally comes across small towns, with one, many with two thousand inhabitants, wooden, nondescript, with two churches - one in the city, the other in a cemetery - cities that look more like a good suburban village than in the city. They are usually very adequately equipped with police officers, assessors and all the rest of the subaltern rank. In general, in Siberia, despite the cold, it is extremely warm to serve. People live simple, illiberal; orders are old, strong, consecrated for centuries. Officials who rightly play the role of the Siberian nobility are either natives, hardened Siberians, or visitors from Russia, mostly from the capitals, seduced by the salary that is not set off, double runs and tempting hopes in the future. Of these, those who know how to solve the riddle of life almost always remain in Siberia and take root in it with pleasure. Subsequently, they bear rich and sweet fruits. But others, a frivolous people who do not know how to solve the riddle of life, will soon get bored with Siberia and ask themselves with anguish: why did they come to it? They impatiently serve their legal term of service, three years, and after it has expired, they immediately bother about their transfer and return home, scolding Siberia and laughing at her. They are wrong: not only from official, but even from many points of view, one can be blessed in Siberia. The climate is excellent; there are many remarkably rich and hospitable merchants; many extremely sufficient foreigners. Young ladies bloom with roses and are moral to the last extreme. The game flies through the streets and stumbles upon the hunter itself. Champagne is drunk unnaturally much. Caviar is amazing. Harvest happens in other places fifteen times ... In general, the land is blessed. You just need to know how to use it. In Siberia, they know how to use it.
In one of these cheerful and self-satisfied towns, with the sweetest people, the memory of which will remain indelible in my heart, I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a settler who was born in Russia as a nobleman and landowner, who later became a second-class exile convict for the murder of his wife and, after the expiration of a ten-year term of hard labor determined for him by law, he humbly and inaudibly lived out his life in the town of K. as a settler. He, in fact, was assigned to one suburban volost, but he lived in the city, having the opportunity to get at least some kind of livelihood in it by teaching children. In Siberian cities one often comes across teachers from exiled settlers; they are not shy. They teach mainly the French language, which is so necessary in the field of life and which without them in the remote regions of Siberia would have no idea. For the first time I met Alexander Petrovich in the house of an old, honored and hospitable official, Ivan Ivanovich Gvozdikov, who had five daughters, of different years, who showed great promise. Alexander Petrovich gave them lessons four times a week, thirty silver kopecks a lesson. His appearance intrigued me. He was an extremely pale and thin man, not yet old, about thirty-five, small and frail. He was always dressed very cleanly, in a European way. If you spoke to him, he looked at you extremely intently and attentively, listening with strict politeness to your every word, as if pondering it, as if you had asked him a task with your question or wanted to extort some secret from him, and, finally, he answered clearly and briefly, but weighing every word of his answer to such an extent that you suddenly felt awkward for some reason, and you yourself finally rejoiced at the end of the conversation. I then asked Ivan Ivanovich about him and found out that Goryanchikov lives impeccably and morally, and that otherwise Ivan Ivanovich would not have invited him for his daughters; but that he is terribly unsociable, hiding from everyone, extremely learned, reads a lot, but speaks very little, and that in general it is quite difficult to get into conversation with him. Others claimed that he was positively insane, although they found that, in fact, this was not such an important shortcoming, that many of the honorary members of the city were ready to show kindness to Alexander Petrovich in every possible way, that he could even be useful, write requests and so on. It was believed that he must have decent relatives in Russia, maybe not even the last people, but they knew that from the very exile he stubbornly cut off all relations with them - in a word, he hurt himself. In addition, everyone here knew his story, they knew that he had killed his wife in the first year of his marriage, killed him out of jealousy and himself denounced himself (which greatly facilitated his punishment). The same crimes are always looked upon as misfortunes and regretted. But, in spite of all this, the eccentric stubbornly avoided everyone and appeared in public only to give lessons.
At first I did not pay much attention to him, but, I do not know why, he gradually began to interest me. There was something mysterious about him. There was no way to talk to him. Of course, he always answered my questions, and even with an air as if he considered this his first duty; but after his answers I somehow found it hard to question him longer; and on his face, after such conversations, one could always see some kind of suffering and fatigue. I remember walking with him one fine summer evening from Ivan Ivanovich. It suddenly occurred to me to invite him over for a minute to smoke a cigarette. I cannot describe the horror expressed on his face; he was completely lost, began to mutter some incoherent words, and suddenly, looking angrily at me, rushed to run in the opposite direction. I was even surprised. Since then, when meeting with me, he looked at me as if with some kind of fear. But I did not let up; something drew me to him, and a month later, for no apparent reason, I myself went to Goryanchikov. Of course, I acted stupidly and indelicately. He lodged on the very edge of the city, with an old bourgeois woman who had a sick, consumptive daughter, and that illegitimate daughter, a child of ten years old, a pretty and cheerful girl. Alexander Petrovich was sitting with her and teaching her to read the minute I went in to see him. When he saw me, he became so confused, as if I had caught him in some kind of crime. He was completely at a loss, jumped up from his chair and looked at me with all his eyes. We finally sat down; he closely followed my every glance, as if he suspected some special mysterious meaning in each of them. I guessed that he was suspicious to the point of madness. He looked at me with hatred, almost asking: “Will you leave here soon?” I talked to him about our town, current news; he remained silent and smiled maliciously; it turned out that he not only did not know the most ordinary, well-known city news, but was not even interested in knowing them. Then I started talking about our region, about its needs; he listened to me in silence and looked into my eyes so strangely that I finally felt ashamed of our conversation. However, I almost teased him with new books and magazines; I had them in my hands, fresh from the post office, and I offered them uncut to him. He gave them a greedy look, but immediately changed his mind and declined the offer, responding with lack of time. Finally I said goodbye to him and, leaving him, I felt that some unbearable weight had been lifted from my heart. I was ashamed and it seemed extremely stupid to pester a person who, precisely, sets his main task - to hide as far as possible from the whole world. But the deed was done. I remember that I hardly noticed his books at all, and, therefore, it was unfairly said about him that he reads a lot. However, driving twice, very late at night, past his windows, I noticed a light in them. What did he do, sitting up until dawn? Did he write? And if so, what exactly?
