Bab Bab 21 · MY COMPANIONS

As will be understood, those to whom I was most drawn were people of my

own sort, that is, those of “noble” birth, especially in the early days;

but of the three ex-nobles in the place, who were Russians, I knew and

spoke to but one, Akim Akimitch; the other two were the spy A--v, and

the supposed parricide. Even with Akim I never exchanged a word except

when in extremity, in moments when the melancholy on me was simply

unendurable, and when I thought I really never should have the chance of

getting close to any other human being again.

In the last chapter I have tried to show that the convicts were of

different types, and tried to classify them; but when I think of Akim

Akimitch I don’t know how to place him, he was quite _sui generis_, so

far as I could observe, in that establishment.

There may be, elsewhere, men like him, to whom it seemed as absolutely a

matter of indifference whether he was a free man, or in jail at hard

labour; at that place he stood alone in this curious impartiality of

temperament. He had settled down in the jail as if he was going to pass

his whole life, and didn’t mind it at all. All his belongings, mattress,

cushions, utensils, were so ordered as to give the impression that he

was living in a furnished house of his own; there was nothing

provisional, temporary, bivouac-like, about him, or his words, or his

habits. He had a good many years still to spend in punishment, but I

much doubt whether he ever gave a thought to the time when he would get

out. He was entirely reconciled to his condition, not because he had

made any effort to be so, but simply out of natural submissiveness; but,

as far as his comfort went, it came to the same thing. He was not at all

a bad fellow, and in the early days his advice and help were quite

useful to me; but sometimes, I can’t help saying it, his peculiarities

deepened my natural melancholy until it became almost intolerable

anguish.

When I became desperate with silence and solitude of soul, I would get

into talk with him; I wanted to hear, and reply to _some_ words falling

from a living soul, and the more filled with gall and hatred with all

our surroundings they had been, the more would they have been in

sympathy with my wretched mood; but he would just barely talk, quietly

go on sizing his lanterns, and then begin to tell me some story as to

how he had been at a review of troops in 18--, that their general of

division was so-and-so, that the manœuvring had been very pretty, that

there had been a change in the skirmisher’s system of signalling, and

the like; all of it in level imperturbable tones, like water falling

drop by drop. He did not put any life into them even when he told me of

a sharp affair in which he had been, in the Caucasus, for which his

sword had got the decoration of the Riband of St. Anne. The only

difference was, that his voice became a little more measured and grave;

he lowered his tones when he pronounced the name “St. Anne,” as though

he were telling a great secret, and then, for three minutes at least,

did not utter a word, but only looked solemn.

During all that first year I had strange passages of feeling, in which I

hated Akim Akimitch with a bitter hatred, I am sure I cannot say why,

moments when I would despairingly curse the fate which made him my next

neighbour on my camp-bed, so close indeed that our heads nearly touched.

An hour afterwards I bitterly reproached myself for such extravagance.

It was, however, only during my first year of confinement that these

violent feelings overpowered me. As time went on, I got used to Akim

Akimitch’s singular character, and was ashamed of my former explosions.

I don’t remember that he and I ever got into anything like an open

quarrel.

Besides the three Russian nobles of whom I have spoken, there were eight

others there during my time; with some of whom I came to be on a footing

of intimate friendship. Even the best of them were morbid in mind,

exclusive, and intolerant to the very last degree; with two of them I

was obliged to discontinue all spoken intercourse. There were only three

who had any education, B--ski, M--tski, and the old man, J--ski, who had

formerly been a professor of mathematics, an excellent fellow, highly

eccentric, and of very narrow mental horizon in spite of his learning.

M--tski and B--ski were of a mould quite different from his. Between

M--tski and myself there was an excellent understanding from the first

set-off. He and I never once got into any sort of dispute; I respected

him highly, but could never become sincerely attached to him, though I

tried to. He was sour, embittered, and mistrustful, with much

self-control; this was quite antipathetic to me; the man had a closed

soul, closed to everybody, and he made you feel it. I felt it so

strongly that perhaps I was wrong about it. After all, his character, I

must say, was stamped with both nobleness and strength. His inveterate

scepticism made him very prudent in his relations with everybody about

him, and in conducting these he gave proof of remarkable tact and skill.

Sceptic as he was, there was another and a reverse side in his nature,

for in some things he was a profound and unalterable believer with faith

and hope unshakable. In spite of his tact in dealing with men, he got

into open hostilities with B--ski and his friend T--ski.

The first of these, B--ski, was a man of infirm health, of consumptive

tendency, irascible, and of a weak, nervous system; but a good and

generous man. His nervous irritability went so far that he was as

capricious as a child; a temperament of that kind was too much for me

there, so I soon saw as little of B--ski as I could possibly help,

though I never ceased to like him much. It was just the other way so far

as M--tski was concerned; with him I always was on easy terms, though I

did not like him at all. When I edged away from B--ski, I had to break

also, more or less, with T--ski, of whom I spoke in the last chapter,

which I much regretted, for, though of little education, he had an

excellent heart; a worthy, very spiritual man. He loved and respected

B--ski so much that those who broke with that friend of his he regarded

as his personal enemies. He quarrelled with M--tski on account of

B--ski, and they kept up the difference a long while. All these people

were as bilious as they could be, humoursome, mistrustful, the victims

of a moral and physical supersensitiveness. It is not to be wondered at;

their position was trying indeed, much more so than ours; they were all

exiled, transported, for ten or twelve years; and what made their

sojourn in the prison most distressing to them was their rooted,

ingrained prejudice, especially their unfortunate way of regarding the

convicts, which they could not get over; in their eyes the unhappy

fellows were mere wild beasts, without a single recognisable human

quality. Everything in their previous career and their present

circumstances combined to produce this unhappy feeling in them.

Their life at the jail was perpetual torment to them. They were kindly

and conversible with the Circassians, with the Tartars, with Isaiah

Fomitch; but for the other prisoners they had nothing but contempt and

aversion. The only one they had any real respect for was the aged “old

believer.” For all this, during all the time I spent at the convict

establishment, I never knew a single prisoner to reproach them with

either their birth, or religious opinions, or convictions, as is so

usual with our common people in their relations with people of different

condition, especially if these happen to be foreigners. The fact is,

they cannot take the foreigner seriously; to the Russian common people

he seems a merely grotesque, comical creature. Our convicts had and

showed much more respect for the Polish nobles than for us Russians, but

I don’t think the Poles cared about the matter, or took any notice of

the difference.

I spoke just now of T--ski, and have something more to say of him. When

he had with his friend to leave the first place assigned to them as

residence in their banishment to come to our fortress, he carried his

friend B---- nearly the whole way. B---- was of quite a weak frame, and

in bad health, and became exhausted before half of the first march was

accomplished. They had first been banished to Y--gorsk, where they lived

in tolerable comfort; life was much less hard there than in our

fortress. But in consequence of a correspondence with the exiles in one

of the other towns--a quite innocent exchange of letters--it was thought

necessary to remove them to our jail to be under the more direct

surveillance of the government. Until they came M--tski had been quite

alone, and dreadful must have been his sufferings in that first year of

his banishment.

J--ski was the old man always deep in prayer, of whom I spoke a little

earlier. All the political convicts were quite young men while J--ski

was at least fifty years old. He was a worthy, gentlemanlike person, if

eccentric. T--ski and B--ski detested him, and never spoke to him; they

insisted upon it that he was too obstinate and troublesome to put up

with, and I was obliged to admit it was so. I believe that at a convict

establishment--as in every place where people have to be together,

whether they like it or not--people are more ready to quarrel with and

detest one another than under other circumstances. Many causes

contributed to the squabbles that were, unfortunately, always going on.

J--ski was really disagreeable and narrow-minded; not one of those about

him was on good terms with him. He and I did not come to a rupture, but

we were never on a really friendly footing. I fancy that he was a strong

mathematician. One day he explained to me in his half-Russian,

half-Polish jargon, a system of astronomy of his own; I have been told

that he had written a work upon the subject which the learned world had

received with derision; I fancy his reasonings on some things had got

twisted. He used to be on his knees praying for a whole day sometimes,

which made the convicts respect him exceedingly during the remnant of

life he had to pass there; he died under my eyes at the jail after a

very trying illness. He had won the consideration of the prisoners, from

the first moment of his coming in, on account of what had happened with

the Major and him. When they were brought afoot from Y--gorsk to our

fortress, they were not shaved on the road at all, their hair and beards

had grown to great lengths when they were brought before the Major. That

worthy foamed like a madman; he was wild with indignation at such

infraction of discipline, though it was none of their fault.

“My God! did you ever see anything like it?” he roared; “they are

vagabonds, brigands.”

J--ski knew very little Russian, and fancied that he was asking them if

they were brigands or vagabonds, so he answered:

“We are political prisoners, not rogues and vagabonds.”

“So-o-o! You mean impudence! Clod!” howled the Major. “To the

guard-house with him; a hundred strokes of the rod at once, this

instant, I say!”

They gave the old man the punishment; he lay flat on the ground under

the strokes without the slightest resistance, kept his hand in his

teeth, and bore it all without a murmur, and without moving a muscle.

B--ski and T--ski arrived at the jail as this was all going on, and

M--ski was waiting for them at the principal gate, knowing that they

were just coming in; he threw himself on their neck, although he had

never seen them before. Utterly disgusted at the way the Major had

received them, they told M--ski all about the cruel business that had

just occurred. M--ski told me later that he was quite beside himself

with rage when he heard it.

“I could not contain myself for passion,” he said, “I shook as though

with ague. I waited for J--ski at the great gate, for he would come

straight that way from the guard-house after his punishment. The gate

was opened, and there I saw pass before me J--ski, his lips all white

and trembling, his face pale as death; he did not look at a single

person, and passed through the groups of convicts assembled in the

court-yard--they knew a noble had just been subjected to

punishment--went into the barrack, went straight to his place, and,

without a word, dropped down on his knees for prayer. The prisoners were

surprised and even affected. When I saw this old man with white hairs,

who had left behind him at home a wife and children, kneeling and

praying after that scandalous treatment, I rushed away from the barrack,

and for a couple of hours felt as if I had gone stark, staring, raving

mad, or blind drunk.... From that first moment the convicts were full of

deference and consideration for J--ski; what particularly pleased them,

was that he did not utter a cry when undergoing the punishment.”

But one must be fair and tell the truth about this sort of thing; this

sad story is not an instance of what frequently occurs in the treatment

by the authorities of transported noblemen, Russian or Polish; and this

isolated case affords no basis for passing judgment upon that treatment.

My anecdote merely shows that you may light upon a bad man anywhere and

everywhere. And if it happen that such a one is in absolute command of a

jail, and if he happen to have a grudge against one of the prisoners,

the lot of such a one will be indeed very far from enviable. But the

administrative chiefs who regulate and supervise convict labour in

Siberia, and from whom subordinates take their tone as well as their

orders, are careful to exercise a discriminating treatment in the case

of persons of noble birth, and, in some cases, grant them special

indulgences as compared with the lot of convicts of lower condition.

There are obvious reasons for this; these heads of departments are

nobles themselves, they know that men of that class must not be driven

to extremity; cases have been known where nobles have refused to submit

to corporal punishment, and flung themselves desperately on their

tormentors with very grave and serious consequences indeed;

moreover--and this, I think, is the leading cause of the good

treatment--some time ago, thirty-five years at least, there were

transported to Siberia quite a crowd of noblemen;[9] these were of such

correct and irreproachable demeanour, and held themselves so high, that

the heads of departments fell into the way, which they never afterwards

left, of regarding criminals of noble birth and ordinary convicts in

quite a different manner; and men in lower place took their cue from

them.

Many of these, no doubt, were little pleased with that disposition in

their superiors; such persons were pleased enough when they could do

exactly as they liked in the matter, but this did not often happen, they

were kept well within bounds; I have reason to be satisfied of this and

I will say why. I was put in the second category, a classification of

those condemned to hard labour, which was primarily and principally

composed of convicts who had been serfs, under military superintendence;

now this second category, or class, was much harder than the first (of

the mines) or the third (manufacturing work). It was harder, not only

for the nobles but for the other convicts too, because the governing and

administrative methods and _personnel_ in it were wholly military, and

were pretty much the same in type as those of the convict establishments

in Russia. The men in official position were severer, the general

treatment more rigorous than in the two other classes; the men were

never out of irons, an escort of soldiers was always present, you were

always, or nearly so, within stone walls; and things were quite

different in the other classes, at least so the convicts said, and there

were those among them who had every reason to know. They would all have

gladly gone off to the mines, which the law classified as the worst and

last punishment, it was their constant dream and desire to do so. All

those who had been in the Russian convict establishments spoke with

horror of them, and declared that there was no hell like them, that

Siberia was a paradise compared with confinement in the fortresses in

Russia.

If, then, it is the case that we nobles were treated with special

consideration in the establishment I was confined in, which was under

direct control of the Governor-General, and administered entirely on

military principles, there must have been some greater kindliness in the

treatment of the convicts of the first and third category or class. I

think I can speak with some authority about what went on throughout

Siberia in these respects, and I based my views, as to this, upon all

that I heard from convicts of these classes. We, in our prison, were

under much more rigorous surveillance than was elsewhere practised; we

were favoured with no sort of exemptions from the ordinary rules as

regards work and confinement, and the wearing of chains; we could not do

anything for ourselves to get immunity from the rules, for I, at least,

knew quite well that, _in the good old time which was quite of

yesterday_, there had been so much intriguing to undermine the credit of

officials that the authorities were greatly afraid of informers, and

that, as things stood, to show indulgence to a convict was regarded as a

crime. Everybody, therefore, authorities and convicts alike, was in fear

of what might happen; we of the nobles were thus quite down to the level

of the other convicts; the only point we were favoured in was in regard

to corporal punishment--but I think that we should have had even that

inflicted on us had we done anything for which it was prescribed, for

equality as to punishment was strictly enjoined or practised; what I

mean is, that we were not wantonly, causelessly, mishandled like the

other prisoners.

When the Governor got to know of the punishment inflicted on J--ski, he

was seriously angry with the Major, and ordered him to be more careful

for the future. The thing got very generally known. We learned also that

the Governor-General, who had great confidence in our Major, and who

liked him because of his exact observance of legal bounds, and thought

highly of his qualities in the service, gave him a sharp scolding. And

our Major took the lesson to heart. I have no doubt it was this

prevented his having M--ski beaten, which he would much have liked to

do, being much influenced by the slanderous things A--f said about

M----; but the Major could never get a fair pretext for doing so,

however much he persecuted and set spies upon his proposed victim; so he

had to deny himself that pleasure. The J--ski affair became known all

through the town, and public opinion condemned the Major; some persons

reproached him openly for what he had done, and some even insulted him.

The first occasion on which the man crossed my path may as well be

mentioned. We had alarming things reported to us--to me and another

nobleman under sentence--about the abominable character of this man,

while we were still at Tobolsk. Men who had been sentenced a long while

back to twenty-five years of the misery, nobles as we were, and who had

visited us so kindly during our provisional sojourn in the first

prison, had warned us what sort of man we were to be under; they had

also promised to do all they could for us with their friends to see that

he hurt us as little as possible. And, in fact, they did write to the

three daughters of the Governor-General, who, I believe, interceded on

our behalf with their father. But what could he do? No more, of course,

than tell the Major to be fair in applying the rules and regulations to

our case. It was about three in the afternoon that my companion and

myself arrived in the town; our escort took us at once to our tyrant. We

remained waiting for him in the ante-chamber while they went to find the

next-in-command at the prison. As soon as the latter had come, in walked

the Major. We saw an inflamed scarlet face that boded no good, and

affected us quite painfully; he seemed like a sort of spider about to

throw itself on a poor fly wriggling in its web.

“What’s your name, man?” said he to my companion. He spoke with a harsh,

jerky voice, as if he wanted to overawe us.

My friend gave his name.

“And you?” said he, turning to me and glaring at me behind his

spectacles.

I gave mine.

“Sergeant! take ’em to the prison, and let ’em be shaved at the

guard-house, civilian-fashion, hair off half their skulls, and let ’em

be put in irons to-morrow. Why, what sort of cloaks have you got there?”

said he brutally, when he saw the gray cloaks with yellow sewn at the

back which they had given to us at Tobolsk. “Why, that’s a new uniform,

begad--a new uniform! They’re always getting up something or other.

That’s a Petersburg trick,” he said, as he inspected us one after the

other. “Got anything with them?” he said abruptly to the gendarme who

escorted us.

“They’ve got their own clothes, your worship,” replied he; and the man

carried arms, just as if on parade, not without a nervous tremor.

Everybody knew the fellow, and was afraid of him.

“Take their clothes away from them. They can’t keep anything but their

linen, their white things; take away all their coloured things if

they’ve got any, and sell them off at the next sale, and put the money

to the prison account. A convict has no property,” said he, looking

severely at us. “Hark ye! Behave prettily; don’t let me have any

complaining. If I do--cat-o’-nine-tails! The smallest offence, and to

the sticks you go!”

This way of receiving me, so different from anything I had ever known,

made me nearly ill that night. It was a frightful thing to happen at the

very moment of entering the infernal place. But I have already told that

part of my story.

Thus we had no sort of exemption or immunity from any of the miseries

inflicted there, no lightening of our labours when with the other

convicts; but friends tried to help us by getting us sent for three

months, B--ski and me, to the bureau of the Engineers, to do copying

work. This was done quietly, and as much as possible kept from being

talked about or observed. This piece of kindness was done for us by the

head engineers, during the short time that Lieutenant-Colonel G--kof was

Governor at our prison. This gentleman had command there only for six

short months, for he soon went back to Russia. He really seemed to us

all like an angel of goodness sent from heaven, and the feeling for him

among the convicts was of the strongest kind; it was not mere love, it

was something like adoration. I cannot help saying so. How he did it I

don’t know, but their hearts went out to him from the moment they first

set eyes on him.

“He’s more like a father than anything else,” the prisoners kept

continually saying during all the time he was there at the head of the

engineering department. He was a brilliant, joyous fellow. He was of low

stature, with a bold, confident expression, and he was all gracious

kindness to the convicts, for whom he really did seem to entertain a

fatherly sort of affection. How was it he was so fond of them? It is

hard to say, but he seemed never to be able to pass a prisoner without a

bit of pleasant talk and a little laughing and joking together. There

was nothing that smacked of authority in his pleasantries, nothing that

reminded them of his position over them. He behaved just as if he was

one of themselves. In spite of this kind condescension, I don’t remember

any one of the convicts ever failing in respect to him or taking the

slightest liberty--quite the other way. The convict’s face would light

up in a wonderful, sudden way when he met the Governor; it was odd to

see how the face smiled all over, and the hand went to the cap, when the

Governor was seen in the distance making for the poor man. A word from

him was regarded as a signal honour. There are some people like that,

who know how to win all hearts.

G--kof had a bold, jaunty air, walked with long strides, holding himself

very straight; “a regular eagle,” the convicts used to call him. He

could not do much to lighten their lot materially, for his office was

that of superintending the engineering work, which had to be done in

ways and quantities, settled absolutely and unalterably by the

regulations. But if he happened to come across a gang of convicts who

had actually got through their work, he allowed them to go back to

quarters before beat of drum, without waiting for the regulation moment.

The prisoners loved him for the confidence he showed in them, and

because of his aversion for all mean, trifling interferences with them,

which are so irritating when prison superiors are addicted to that sort

of thing. I am absolutely certain that if he had lost a thousand roubles

in notes, there was not a thief in the prison, however hardened, who

would not have brought them to him, if the man lit on them. I am sure of

it.

How the prisoners all felt for him, and with him when they learned that

he was at daggers drawn with our detested Major. That came about a

month after his arrival. Their delight knew no bounds. The Major had

formerly served with him in the same detachment; so, when they met,

after a long separation, they were at first boon companions, but the

intimacy could not and did not last. They came to

blows--figuratively--and G--kof became the Major’s sworn enemy. Some

would have it that it was _more_ than figuratively, that they came to

actual fisticuffs, a likely thing enough as far as the Major was

concerned, for the man had no objection to a scrimmage.

When the convicts heard of the quarrel they really could not contain

their delight.

“Old Eight-eyes and the Commandant get on finely together! _He’s_ an

eagle; but the other’s a _bad ’un_!”

Those who believed in the fight were mighty curious to know which of the

two had had the worst of it, and got a good drubbing. If it had been

proved there had been no fighting our convicts, I think, would have been

bitterly disappointed.

“The Commandant gave him fits, you may bet your life on it,” said they;

“he’s a little ’un, but as bold as a lion; the other one got into a blue

funk, and hid under the bed from him.”

But G--kof went away only too soon, and keenly was he regretted in the

prison.

Our engineers were all most excellent fellows; we had three or four

fresh batches of them while I was there.

“Our eagles never remain very long with us,” said the prisoners;

“especially when they are good and kind fellows.”

It was this G--kof who sent B--ski and myself to work in his bureau, for

he was partial to exiled nobles. When he left, our condition was still

fairly endurable, for there was another engineer there who showed us

much sympathy and friendship. We copied reports for some time, and our

handwriting was getting to be very good, when an order came from the

authorities that we were to be sent back to hard labour as before; some

spiteful person had been at work. At bottom we were rather pleased, for

we were quite tired of copying.

For two whole years I worked in company with B--ski, all the time in the

shops, and many a gossip did we have about our hopes for the future and

our notions and convictions. Good B--ski had a very odd mind, which

worked in a strange, exceptional way. There are some people of great

intelligence who indulge in paradox unconscionably; but when they have

undergone great and constant sufferings for their ideas and made great

sacrifices for them, you can’t drive their notions out of their heads,

and it is cruel to try it. When you objected something to B--ski’s

propositions, he was really hurt, and gave you a violent answer. He was,

perhaps, more in the right than I was as to some things wherein we

differed, but we were obliged to give one another up, very much to my

regret, for we had many thoughts in common.

As years went on M--tski became more and more sombre and melancholy; he

became a prey to despair. During the earliest part of my imprisonment he

was communicative enough, and let us see what was going on in him. When

I arrived at the prison he had just finished his second year. At first

he took a lively interest in the news I brought, for he knew nothing of

what had been going on in the outer world; he put questions to me,

listened eagerly, showed emotion, but, bit by bit, his reserve grew on

him and there was no getting at his thoughts. The glowing coals were all

covered up with ashes. Yet it was plain that his temper grew sourer and

sourer. “_Je hais ces brigands_,”[10] he would say, speaking of convicts

I had got to know something of; I never could make him see any good in

them. He really did not seem to fully enter into the meaning of anything

I said on their behalf, though he would sometimes seem to agree in a

listless sort of way. Next day it was just as before: “_je hais ces

brigands_.” (We used often to speak French with him; so one of the

overseers of the works, the soldier, Dranichnikof, used always to call

us _aides chirurgiens_, God knows why!) M--tski never seemed to shake

off his usual apathy except when he spoke of his mother.

“She is old and infirm,” he said; “she loves me better than anything in

the world, and I don’t even know if she’s still living. If she learns

that I’ve been whipped----”

M--tski was not a noble, and had been whipped before he was transported.

When the recollection of this came up in his mind he gnashed his teeth,

and could not look anybody in the face. In the latest days of his

imprisonment he used to walk to and fro, quite alone for the most part.

One day, at noon, he was summoned to the Governor, who received him with

a smile on his lips.

“Well, M--tski, what were your dreams last night?” asked the Governor.

Said M--tski to me later, “When he said that to me a shudder ran through

me; I felt struck at the heart.”

His answer was, “I dreamed that I had a letter from my mother.”

“Better than that, better!” replied the Governor. “You are free; your

mother has petitioned the Emperor, and he has granted her prayer. Here,

here’s her letter, and the order for your dismissal. You are to leave

the jail without delay.”

He came to us pale, scarcely able to believe in his good fortune.

We congratulated him. He pressed our hands with his own, which were

quite cold, and trembled violently. Many of the convicts wished him joy;

they were really glad to see his happiness.

He settled in Siberia, establishing himself in our town, where a little

after that they gave him a place. He used often to come to the jail to

bring us news, and tell us all that was going on, as often as he could

talk with us. It was political news that interested him chiefly.

Besides the four Poles, the political convicts of whom I spoke just now,

there were two others of that nation, who were sentenced for very short

periods; they had not much education, but were good, simple,

straightforward fellows. There was another, A--tchoukooski, quite a

colourless person; one more I must mention, B--in, a man well on in

years, who impressed us all very unfavourably indeed. I don’t know what

he had been sentenced for, although he used to tell us some story or

other about it pretty frequently. He was a person of a vulgar, mean

type, with the coarse manner of an enriched shopkeeper. He was quite

without education, and seemed to take interest in nothing except what

concerned his trade, which was that of a painter, a sort of

scene-painter he was; he showed a good deal of talent in his work, and

the authorities of the prison soon came to know about his abilities, so

he got employment all through the town in decorating walls and ceilings.

In two years he beautified the rooms of nearly all the prison officials,

who remunerated him handsomely, so he lived pretty comfortably. He was

sent to work with three other prisoners, two of whom learned the

business thoroughly; one of these, T--jwoski, painted nearly as well as

B--in himself. Our Major, who had rooms in one of the government

buildings, sent for B--in, and gave him a commission to decorate the

walls and ceilings there, which he did so effectively, that the suite of

rooms of the Governor-General were quite put out of countenance by those

of the Major. The house itself was a ramshackle old place, while the

interior, thanks to B--in, was as gay as a palace. Our worthy Major was

hugely delighted, went about rubbing his hands, and told everybody that

he should look out for a wife at once, “a fellow _can’t_ remain single

when he lives in a place like that;” he was quite serious about it. The

Major’s satisfaction with B--in and his assistants went on increasing.

They occupied a month in the work at the Major’s house. During those

memorable days the Major seemed to get into a different frame of mind

about us, and began to be quite kind to us political prisoners. One day

he sent for J--ski.

“J--ski,” said he, “I’ve done you wrong; I had you beaten for nothing.

I’m very sorry. Do you understand? I’m very sorry. I, Major ----”

J--ski answered that he understood perfectly.

“Do you understand? I, who am set over you, I have sent for you to ask

your pardon. You can hardly realise it, I suppose. What are you to me,

fellow? A worm, less than a crawling worm; you’re a convict, while I, by

God’s grace,[11] am a Major; Major ----, _do_ you understand?”

J--ski answered that he quite well understood it all.

“Well, I want to be friends with you. But can you appreciate what I’m

doing? Can you feel the greatness of soul I’m showing--feel and

appreciate it? Just think of it; I, I, the Major!” etc. etc.

J--ski told me of this scene. There was, then, some human feeling left

in this drunken, unruly, and tormenting brute. Allowing for the man’s

notions of things, and feeble faculties, one cannot deny that this was a

generous proceeding on his part. Perhaps he was a little less drunk than

usual, perhaps more; who can tell?

The Major’s glorious idea of marrying came to nothing; the rooms got all

their bravery, but the wife was not forthcoming. Instead of going to the

altar in that agreeable way, he was pulled up before the authorities and

sent to trial. He received orders to send in his resignation. Some of

his old sins had found him out, it seems; things done when he had been

superintendent of police in our town. This crushing blow came down upon

him without notice, quite suddenly. All the convicts were greatly

rejoiced when they heard the great news; it was high day and holiday all

through the jail. The story went abroad that the Major sobbed, and

cried, and howled like an old woman. But he was helpless in the matter.

He was obliged to leave his place, sell his two gray horses, and

everything he had in the world; and he fell into complete destitution.

We came across him occasionally afterwards in civilian, threadbare

clothes, and wearing a cap with a cockade; he glanced at us convicts as

spitefully and maliciously as you please. But without his Major’s

uniform, all the man’s glory was gone. While placed over us, he gave

himself the airs of a being higher than human, who had got into coat and

breeches; now it was all over, he looked like the lackey he was, and a

disgraced lackey to boot.

With fellows of this sort, the uniform is the only saving grace; that

gone, all’s gone.

FOOTNOTES:

[9] The Decembrists.

[10] French in the original Russian.

[11] Our Major was not the only officer who spoke of himself in that

lofty way; a good many officers did the same, men who had risen from the

ranks chiefly.