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Notes from the House of the Dead Fedor Dostoevsky

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Title: Notes from the House of the Dead

About the book "Notes from the Dead House" Fyodor Dostoevsky

"Notes from the House of the Dead" Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky wrote shortly after he returned from hard labor. Being arrested on the political case of the Petrashevites, he spent four years in hard labor in Omsk. So almost all the events take place in the hard labor barracks in the prison, one of the many hundreds in Russia, where thousands and thousands of prisoners were sent.

Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov is a nobleman who was exiled to prison for the murder of his wife, in which he himself confessed. In hard labor, the hero is under double oppression. On the one hand, he never found himself in conditions similar to hard labor. Bondage seems to him the most terrible punishment. On the other hand, the other prisoners dislike him and despise him for being unprepared. After all, Alexander Petrovich is a gentleman, although a former one, and before he could command simple peasants.

"Notes from the House of the Dead" does not contain a coherent plot, although they do main character- Alexander Goryanchikov (although there is no doubt whose thoughts, words and feelings he relays). All the events of the novel are told in chronological order and reflect how slowly and painfully the hero adapted to hard labor. The story consists of small sketches, the heroes of which are people from the environment of Alexander Goryanchikov, he himself and the guards, or they look like false stories heard by the characters.

In them, Fyodor Dostoevsky tried to record what he experienced during his own stay in hard labor, so the work is more of a documentary character. The chapters contain the author's personal impressions, retelling the stories of other convicts, experiences, discussions about religion, honor, life and death.

The main place in the "Notes from the House of the Dead" is given to detailed description way of life and the unspoken code of conduct for convicts. Auto tells about their relationship to each other, about hard work and almost army discipline, faith in God, the fate of prisoners and the crimes for which they were convicted. Fyodor Dostoevsky talks about the daily life of convicts, about entertainment, dreams, relationships, punishments and small joys. In this story, the author managed to collect the entire spectrum of human morality: from an informer and a traitor, able to slander for money, to a kind-hearted widow who disinterestedly takes care of prisoners. The author talks about national composition and different classes (nobles, peasants, soldiers) of people who fell into inhuman conditions. Almost all the stories from their lives (and some of them can be traced to the end) are reverently conveyed by the author. Dostoevsky also mentions what happens to these people when their penal servitude (and this is a whole life of years) ends.

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Quotes from the book Notes from the House of the Dead by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The highest and sharpest characteristic feature of our people is a sense of justice and a thirst for it.

Money is minted freedom, and therefore for a person completely deprived of freedom, it is ten times more expensive.

In a word, the right of corporal punishment given to one over another is one of the sores of society, one of the most powerful means for destroying every germ in it, every attempt at citizenship, and a complete foundation for its inevitable and irresistible decay.

Tyranny is a habit; it is endowed with development, it develops, finally, into a disease.

But all his charm was gone, he had just taken off his uniform. In his uniform he was a thunderstorm, a god. In a frock coat he suddenly became completely nothing and looked like a footman. It's amazing how much the uniform of these people is.

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

"Notes from the House of the Dead"

Part one

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 with a description hard labor 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 yard there is 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 Russia. 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 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 regular 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 penalty, but commuted the sentence 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.

Waiting in the workshop for changing 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 nearby, 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 storage to the old Old Believer, who came to us from the Starodubov settlements.

He was a small, gray-haired old man in his sixties, 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.

In 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 prison 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 disproportionate 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 evident 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 was quiet 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, a disabled person remained in the barracks from the authorities, 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 realized 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 received home view. A bunch of revelers sat around the rug for cards. In each barracks there was a prisoner 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 place 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 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 a separate family. Some of them were educated. Educated person in hard labor he 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. 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 guarded 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, clasped 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 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 limited, but good guy, a bunk neighbor, 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, you could 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 my place for 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 with 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 into 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 made a rule from this - 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 went 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 that 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. 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 with 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 Russia enjoy the love and respect of the common people, despite the general distrust of medicine. When the intern noticed that the prisoner came to take a break 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 the rods in in large numbers is the heaviest 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 in prison, 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 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, 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 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, even before the wedding, had a whip with him, 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. Shark forgave him, a&n

This story does not have a strictly outlined plot and is a sketch from the life of convicts, presented in chronological order. In this work, Dostoevsky describes personal impressions of being in exile, tells stories from the lives of other prisoners, and also creates psychological sketches and expresses philosophical reflections.

Alexander Goryanchikov, a hereditary nobleman, receives 10 years of hard labor for the murder of his wife. Alexander Petrovich killed his wife out of jealousy, which he himself admitted to the investigation, after hard labor he cuts off all contacts with relatives and friends and remains to live in the Siberian town of K., in which he leads a secluded life, earning his living by tutoring.

The nobleman Goryanchikov is having a hard time with his imprisonment, as he is not used to being among ordinary peasants. Many prisoners take him for a sissy, despise him for his noble clumsiness in everyday affairs, deliberate disgust, but respect his high origin. At first, Alexander Petrovich is shocked by being in a difficult peasant atmosphere, but this impression soon passes and Goryanchikov begins to study the Ostroh prisoners with genuine interest, discovering the essence of the common people, their vices and nobility.

Alexander Petrovich falls into the second category of Siberian penal servitude - a fortress, the first category in this system was directly hard labor, the third - factories. The convicts believed that the severity of hard labor decreases from hard labor to the factory, however, slaves of the second category were under the constant supervision of the military and often dreamed of moving to the first category, then to the third. Along with ordinary prisoners, in the fortress where Goryanchikov was serving his sentence, there was a specific department of prisoners convicted of especially serious crimes.

Alexander Petrovich gets acquainted with many prisoners. Akim Akimych, a former nobleman with whom Goryanchikov made friends, was sentenced to 12 years in hard labor for the massacre of a Caucasian prince. Akim is an extremely pedantic and well-behaved person. Another nobleman, A-v, was sentenced to ten years in hard labor for a false denunciation on which he wanted to make a fortune. Hard work in hard labor did not lead A-v to repentance, but, on the contrary, corrupted him, turning the nobleman into an informer and a scoundrel. A-v is a symbol of the complete moral decay of a person.

Terrible kisser Gazin, the strongest convict in the fortress, convicted of killing small children. It was rumored that Gazin enjoyed the fear and torment of innocent children. The smuggler Osip, who raised smuggling to the level of an art, brought wine and forbidden foods into the fortress, worked as a cook in the prison and cooked decent food for the prisoners.

A nobleman lives among the common people and learns such worldly wisdom as how to earn money in hard labor, how to carry wine into prison. He learns about what kind of work prisoners are involved in, how they relate to the authorities and to hard labor itself. What do convicts dream about, what is allowed and what is forbidden, what will the prison authorities turn a blind eye to, and what will convicts receive severe punishment for.

Part one

I. Dead house

Our prison stood on the edge of the fortress, at the very ramparts. It happened that you looked through the cracks of the fence at the light of God: would you see at least something? - and only you will see that the edge of the sky and a high earthen rampart, overgrown with weeds, and back and forth along the rampart, day and night, sentries pace; and you will immediately think that whole years will pass, and you will come up in the same way to look through the cracks of the fence and see the same rampart, the same sentries and the same small edge of the sky, not the sky that is above the prison, but another, distant, free sky. Imagine large yard, steps of two hundred lengths and steps of one and a half hundred widths, all surrounded by a circle, in the form of an irregular hexagon, with a high back, that is, a fence of high pillars (pals), dug deep into the ground, firmly leaning against each other with ribs, fastened with transverse planks and pointed above: this is the outer fence of the prison. In one of the sides of the fence there are strong gates, always locked, always guarded day and night by sentries; they were unlocked on demand, for release to work. Behind these gates was a bright, free world, people lived, like everyone else. But on this side of the fence, that world was imagined as some kind of unrealizable fairy tale. It had its own special world, unlike anything else, it had its own special laws, their costumes, their manners and customs, and alive dead house, life is like nowhere else, and people are special. It is this particular corner that I begin to describe.

As you enter the fence, you see several buildings inside it. On both sides of the wide courtyard stretch two long one-story log cabins. These are the barracks. Here live prisoners, placed by category. Then, in the depths of the fence, there is still the same log house: this is a kitchen, divided into two artels; further on there is a building where cellars, barns, sheds are placed under one roof. The middle of the yard is empty and is even, quite large playground. Prisoners line up here, check and roll call take place in the morning, at noon and in the evening, sometimes even several times a day, judging by the suspiciousness of the guards and their ability to quickly count. Around, between the buildings and the fence, there is still quite a large space. Here, on the backs of the buildings, some of the prisoners, more unsociable and gloomy in character, like to walk around after hours, closed from all eyes, and think their little thought. Meeting them during these walks, I liked to peer into their gloomy, branded faces and guess what they were thinking. There was one exile whose favorite pastime in his free time was counting pali. There were a thousand and a half of them, and he had them all in his account and in mind. Each fire meant a day for him; every day he counted one finger, and thus, by the remaining number of fingers not counted, he could clearly see how many days he still had to stay in prison before the deadline for work. He was sincerely glad when he finished any side of the hexagon. He had to wait for many more years; but in prison there was time to learn patience. I once saw a convict saying goodbye to his comrades, who had been in hard labor for twenty years and was finally released. There were people who remembered how he entered the prison for the first time, young, carefree, not thinking about his crime or his punishment. He came out a gray-haired old man, with a gloomy and sad face. Silently he went around all our six barracks. Entering each barracks, he prayed to the image and then bowed low, to the waist, to his comrades, asking them not to commemorate him dashingly. I also remember how once a prisoner, formerly a prosperous Siberian peasant, was once called to the gate towards evening. Six months before this, he received the news that his ex-wife was married, and he was deeply saddened. Now she herself drove up to the prison, called him and gave him alms. They talked for about two minutes, both burst into tears and said goodbye forever. I saw his face when he returned to the barracks... Yes, one could learn patience in this place.

When it got dark, we were all taken to the barracks, where we were locked up for the whole night. It was always difficult for me to return from the yard to our barracks. It was a long, low, stuffy room, dimly lit by tallow candles, with a heavy, suffocating smell. I do not understand now how I survived in it for ten years. On the bunk I had three boards: that was my whole place. On the same bunk, about thirty people were accommodated in one of our rooms. In winter they locked up early; I had to wait four hours for everyone to fall asleep. And before that - noise, din, laughter, curses, the sound of chains, smoke and soot, shaved heads, branded faces, patchwork dresses, everything - cursed, defamated ... yes, a tenacious person! Man is a being who gets used to everything, and I think this is the best definition of him.

There were only two hundred and fifty of us in prison - the figure is almost constant. Some came, others finished their sentences and left, others died. And what people were not here! I think every province, every strip of Russia had its representatives here. There were also foreigners, there were several exiles, even from the Caucasian highlanders. All this was divided according to the degree of crimes, and therefore, according to the number of years determined for the crime. It must be assumed that there was no such crime that would not have had its representative here. The main basis of the entire prison population was the exile-convict ranks of the civil (hard-labor, as the prisoners themselves naively pronounced). They were criminals, completely deprived of any rights of state, cut off chunks from society, with a branded face for eternal evidence of their rejection. They were sent to work for terms of eight to twelve years and then sent somewhere in the Siberian volosts to be settlers. There were criminals and a military category, not deprived of the rights of the state, as in general in Russian military prison companies. They were sent for short periods; at the end of them, they turned back to the same place they came from, into soldiers, into Siberian linear battalions. Many of them almost immediately returned to prison for secondary important crimes, but not for short periods, but for twenty years. This category was called "always". But the "permanent ones" were still not completely deprived of all the rights of the state. Finally, there was another special category of the most terrible criminals, mainly military ones, quite numerous. It was called "special department". Criminals were sent here from all over Russia. They themselves considered themselves eternal and did not know the term of their work. They were required by law to double and triple their work lessons. They were kept at the prison until the opening of the most difficult hard labor in Siberia. “You have a term, and we are long in hard labor,” they said to other prisoners. I heard that this category has been destroyed. In addition, civil order was also destroyed at our fortress, and one general military prisoner company was opened. Of course, with this, the leadership also changed. I am describing, therefore, antiquity, things long past and past ...

It was a long time ago; I dream of all this now, as in a dream. I remember how I entered the prison. It was in the evening, in the month of December. It was already getting dark; people were returning from work; prepared to be trusted. The mustachioed non-commissioned officer finally opened for me the doors to this strange house, in which I had to stay for so many years, endure so many such sensations, about which, without actually experiencing them, I could not even have an approximate idea. For example, I could never imagine: what is terrible and painful in the fact that in all ten years of my penal servitude I will never, not for a single minute be alone? At work, always under escort, at home with two hundred comrades, and never, not once - alone! However, I still had to get used to this!

There were casual killers and killers by trade, robbers and chieftains of robbers. There were just Mazuriks and vagrants-industrialists on found money or in the Stolevskaya part. There were also those about whom it is difficult to decide: for what, it seems, they could come here? Meanwhile, everyone had his own story, vague and heavy, like the fumes from yesterday's hops. In general, they spoke little about their past, did not like to talk about it, and, apparently, tried not to think about the past. I even knew of them murderers so cheerful, so never thinking that it was possible to bet on a bet, that their conscience never reproached them. But there were also dark days, almost always silent. In general, few people told about their lives, and curiosity was not in fashion, somehow not in the custom, not accepted. So perhaps, occasionally, someone will talk from idleness, while the other listens coolly and gloomily. No one here could surprise anyone. "We are a literate people!" - they often said, with some strange self-satisfaction. I remember how once one robber, drunk (it was sometimes possible to get drunk in hard labor), began to tell how he stabbed a five-year-old boy, how he first deceived him with a toy, led him somewhere into an empty shed and stabbed him there. The whole barracks, hitherto laughing at his jokes, screamed as one man, and the robber was forced to be silent; the barracks did not cry out of indignation, but like that, because it was not necessary to talk about it, because it is not customary to talk about it. By the way, I note that these people were really literate and not even figuratively, but literally. Probably more than half of them could read and write. In what other place, where the Russian people gather in large places, will you separate from them a bunch of two hundred and fifty people, of which half would be literate? I heard later that someone began to deduce from similar data that literacy is ruining the people. This is a mistake: there are completely different reasons; although one cannot but agree that literacy develops arrogance in the people. But this is by no means a disadvantage. All the ranks differed in dress: some had half of the jacket dark brown and the other gray, as well as on pantaloons - one leg was gray and the other dark brown. Once, at work, a Kalashny girl who approached the prisoners looked at me for a long time and then suddenly burst out laughing. “Fu, how nice it is!” she shouted, “and there was not enough gray cloth, and there was not enough black cloth!” There were also those whose entire jacket was of one gray cloth, but only the sleeves were dark brown. The head was also shaved in different ways: in some, half of the head was shaved along the skull, in others across.

At first glance, one could notice a certain sharp commonality in this whole strange family; even the sharpest, most original personalities who reigned over others involuntarily, and they tried to get into the general tone of the whole prison. In general, I will say that all this people - with a few exceptions of inexhaustibly cheerful people, who enjoyed universal contempt for this - were a gloomy, envious, terribly vain people, boastful, touchy and extremely formalist. The ability to be surprised at nothing was the greatest virtue. Everyone was obsessed with how to behave outwardly. But often the most arrogant look with the speed of lightning was replaced by the most cowardly. Was somewhat true strong people ; those were simple and did not grimace. But a strange thing: of these real strong people there were several vain to the last extreme, almost to the point of illness. In general, vanity, appearance were in the foreground. Most were corrupted and terribly mean. Gossip and gossip were incessant: it was hell, pitch darkness. But no one dared to rebel against the internal charters and accepted customs of the prison; everyone obeyed. There were characters that stood out sharply, obeyed with difficulty, with effort, but nevertheless obeyed. Those who came to the prison were too presumptuous, too jumped out of the measure in the wild, so that in the end they committed their crimes as if not of their own accord, as if they themselves did not know why, as if in delirium, in a daze; often out of vanity excited to the highest degree. But here they were immediately besieged, despite the fact that some, before arriving in prison, were the horror of entire villages and cities. Looking around, the newcomer soon noticed that he had landed in the wrong place, that there was no longer anyone to surprise, and he noticeably humbled himself and fell into the general tone. This general tone was composed from the outside out of some special dignity with which almost every inhabitant of the prison was imbued. As if, in fact, the title of convict, decided, was some kind of rank, and even an honorary one. No sign of shame or remorse! However, there was also some external humility, so to speak official, some kind of calm reasoning: “We are a lost people,” they said, “we didn’t know how to live in freedom, now break the green light, check the ranks.” - "You did not obey your father and mother, now obey the drum skin." - “I didn’t want to sew with gold, now beat the stones with a hammer.” All this was said often, both in the form of moralizing and in the form of ordinary sayings and sayings, but never seriously. All these were just words. It is unlikely that at least one of them confessed inwardly his lawlessness. Try someone who is not a convict to reproach a prisoner for his crime, scold him (although, however, it is not in the Russian spirit to reproach a criminal) - there will be no end to curses. And what were they all masters of swearing! They swore subtly, artistically. Cursing was elevated to a science among them; they tried to take it not so much with an offensive word as with an offensive meaning, spirit, idea - and this is more subtle, more poisonous. Continuous quarrels between them further developed this science. All this people worked under duress, - consequently, they were idle, consequently, they became corrupted: if they had not been corrupted before, then they were corrupted in hard labor. They all gathered here not of their own free will; they were all strangers to each other.

"The devil took off three bast shoes before he gathered us in one heap!" - they said to themselves; and therefore gossip, intrigue, women's slander, envy, strife, anger were always in the foreground in this pitch-black life. No woman was able to be such a woman as some of these murderers. I repeat, there were strong people among them, characters who were accustomed all their lives to break and command, hardened, fearless. These were somehow involuntarily respected; for their part, although they were often very jealous of their glory, they generally tried not to be a burden to others, did not enter into empty curses, behaved with extraordinary dignity, were reasonable and almost always obedient to their superiors - not out of principle obedience, not out of a state of duty, but as if under some kind of contract, recognizing mutual benefits. However, they were treated with caution. I remember how one of these prisoners, a fearless and resolute man, known to the authorities for his bestial inclinations, was called once for punishment for some crime. The day was summer, it's time for non-working. The staff officer, the nearest and immediate chief of the prison, came himself to the guardhouse, which was at our very gates, to be present at the punishment. This major was some kind of fatal creature for the prisoners; he brought them to the point that they trembled him. He was insanely strict, "rushed at people," as the convicts used to say. What they feared most in him was his penetrating, lynx-like gaze, from which nothing could be concealed. He saw without looking. Entering the prison, he already knew what was happening at the other end of it. The prisoners called him eight-eyed. His system was wrong. He only embittered already embittered people with his rabid, evil deeds, and if there had not been a commandant over him, a noble and reasonable man, who sometimes moderated his wild antics, then he would have caused great trouble with his administration. I don't understand how he could end well; he retired alive and well, although, however, he was put on trial.

The prisoner turned pale when he was called. As a rule, he silently and resolutely lay down under the rods, silently endured the punishment and got up after the punishment as disheveled, calmly and philosophically looking at the misfortune that had happened. However, he was always treated with caution. But this time he thought he was right for some reason. He turned pale and, quietly away from the escort, managed to stick a sharp English shoe knife into his sleeve. Knives and all kinds of sharp tools were terribly forbidden in prisons. The searches were frequent, unexpected and serious, the punishments were cruel; but since it is difficult to find a thief when he decides to hide something in particular, and since knives and tools were a constant necessity in prison, despite the searches, they were not transferred. And if they were selected, then new ones were immediately started. All hard labor rushed to the fence and with a sinking heart looked through the cracks of the fingers. Everyone knew that Petrov would not want to go under the rod this time, and that the major had come to an end. But at the most decisive moment, our major got into the droshky and left, entrusting the execution of the execution to another officer. “God himself saved!” the prisoners later said. As for Petrov, he calmly endured the punishment. His anger passed with the departure of the major. The prisoner is obedient and submissive to to some extent; But there is an extreme that should not be crossed. By the way: nothing could be more curious than these strange outbursts of impatience and obstinacy. Often a person endures for several years, humbles himself, endures the most severe punishments, and suddenly breaks through on some little thing, on some trifle, almost for nothing. On another view, one might even call him crazy; yes they do.

I have already said that for several years I did not see between these people the slightest sign of remorse, not the slightest painful thought about my crime, and that most of one of them internally considers himself absolutely right. It is a fact. Of course, vanity, bad examples, youthfulness, false shame are largely the cause of this. On the other hand, who can say that he has tracked down the depth of these lost hearts and read in them the secret of the whole world? But after all, it was possible, at such a young age, to notice at least something, to catch, to catch in these hearts at least some trait that would testify to inner longing, to suffering. But it wasn't, it wasn't positive. Yes, crime seems to be incomprehensible from given, ready-made points of view, and its philosophy is somewhat more difficult than it is believed. Of course, prisons and a system of forced labor do not correct the criminal; they only punish him and ensure society from further attempts by the villain on his peace. In the criminal, prison and the most intensified hard labor develop only hatred, a thirst for forbidden pleasures, and terrible frivolity. But I am firmly convinced that the famous cell system achieves only a false, deceptive, outward goal. It sucks the life juice out of a person, energizes his soul, weakens it, frightens it, and then a morally withered mummy, she presents a half-mad man as a model of correction and repentance. Of course, a criminal who rebels against society hates it and almost always considers himself right and him guilty. In addition, he has already suffered punishment from him, and through this he almost considers himself cleansed, getting even. Finally, one can judge from such points of view that it will almost be necessary to justify the criminal himself. But, in spite of various points of view, everyone will agree that there are such crimes that always and everywhere, according to various laws, have been considered indisputable crimes since the beginning of the world and will be considered such as long as man remains a man. Only in prison have I heard stories about the most terrible, most unnatural deeds, about the most monstrous murders, told with the most irresistible, with the most childlike laughter. I especially remember one parricide. He was from the nobility, served and was with his sixty-year-old father something like a prodigal son. His behavior was completely dissolute, he got into debt. His father limited him, persuaded him; but the father had a house, there was a farm, money was suspected, and - the son killed him, thirsting for an inheritance. The crime was found only a month later. The killer himself filed a statement with the police that his father had disappeared to no one knows where. He spent the whole month in the most depraved way. Finally, in his absence, the police found the body. In the yard, along its entire length, there was a ditch for the drain of sewage, covered with boards. The body lay in this groove. It was dressed and removed, the gray-haired head was cut off, attached to the body, and the killer placed a pillow under the head. He did not confess; was deprived of the nobility, rank and exiled to work for twenty years. All the time I lived with him, he was in the most excellent, cheerful frame of mind. He was an eccentric, frivolous, unreasonable person in the highest degree, although not a fool at all. I never noticed any particular cruelty in him. The prisoners despised him not for a crime that was not even mentioned, but for stupidity, for not knowing how to behave. In conversations, he sometimes recalled his father. Once, speaking to me about a healthy constitution, hereditary in their family, he added: “Here is my parent, so he did not complain of any illness until his death.” Such brutal insensitivity is, of course, impossible. This is a phenomenon; there is some kind of defect in constitution, some bodily and moral deformity, not yet known to science, and not just a crime. Of course, I did not believe this crime. But people from his city, who should have known all the details of his history, told me all his business. The facts were so clear that it was impossible not to believe.

The prisoners heard him shouting one night in his sleep: "Hold him, hold him! Chop off his head, head, head! .. "

The prisoners almost all talked at night and raved. Curses, thieves' words, knives, axes most often came to their delirium on the tongue. “We are a beaten people,” they said, “our insides are broken, that’s why we scream at night.”

State hard labor serf labor was not an occupation, but a duty: the prisoner worked out his lesson or served his legal hours of work and went to jail. They looked at their work with hatred. Without his special, his own occupation, to which he would be devoted with all his mind, with all his calculation, a person in prison could not live. Yes, and in what way is all this people, developed, very old and desiring to live, forcibly brought here into one heap, forcibly cut off from society and from normal life, could get along here normally and correctly, with his will and hunting? From mere idleness here such criminal qualities would have developed in him, of which he had not previously had the slightest idea. Without labor and without legitimate, normal property, a person cannot live, he becomes corrupted, turns into a beast. And therefore everyone is in prison, as a result natural need and some sense of self-preservation, had his own skill and occupation. The long summer day was almost entirely filled with government work; in the short night there was hardly time to sleep. But in winter, the prisoner, according to the situation, as soon as it gets dark, should already be locked up in prison. What to do during long, boring hours winter evening? And therefore, almost every barracks, despite the ban, turned into a huge workshop. Actually work, occupation was not prohibited; but it was strictly forbidden to have tools with you in prison, and without this work was impossible. But they worked quietly, and it seems that in other cases the authorities did not look at it very closely. Many of the prisoners came to prison without knowing anything, but learned from others and then went free as good artisans. There were shoemakers, and shoemakers, and tailors, and carpenters, and locksmiths, and carvers, and gilders. There was one Jew, Isai Bumshtein, a jeweler, who is also a usurer. They all worked and got a penny. Work orders were obtained from the city. Money is minted freedom, and therefore for a person completely deprived of freedom, it is ten times more expensive. If they only jingle in his pocket, he is already half comforted, even though he could not spend them. But money can always and everywhere be spent, especially since the forbidden fruit is twice as sweet. And in hard labor one could even have wine. Pipes were strictly forbidden, but everyone smoked them. Money and tobacco saved from scurvy and other diseases. Work also saved from crime: without work, the prisoners would eat each other like spiders in a flask. Even though both work and money were forbidden. Often, sudden searches were made at night, everything forbidden was taken away, and no matter how the money was hidden, the detectives still sometimes came across. This is partly why they did not take care, but soon got drunk; that is why wine was also planted in prison. After each search, the culprit, in addition to losing his entire fortune, was usually punished painfully. But, after each search, shortcomings were immediately replenished, new things were immediately started, and everything went on in the old way. And the authorities knew about this, and the prisoners did not grumble at the punishment, although such a life was similar to the life of those who settled on Mount Vesuvius.

Who did not have skill, hunted in a different way. There were ways quite original. Others made their living, for example, by outbidding, and sometimes such things were sold that it would not have occurred to someone behind the walls of the prison not only to buy and sell them, but even to consider them things. But hard labor was very poor and extremely industrial. The last rag was valuable and was used in some business. Due to poverty, money in prison had a completely different price than in freedom. For a large and complex work paid pennies. Some were successful in usury. The prisoner, wound up and ruined, took his last belongings to the usurer and received from him some copper money for terrible interest. If he did not redeem these things on time, then they were immediately and ruthlessly sold; usury flourished to such an extent that even state-owned viewing items were accepted on bail, such as: state linen, shoe goods, etc. - things that every prisoner needs at any moment. But with such mortgages, another turn of affairs also occurred, not entirely unexpected, however: the one who pledged and received the money immediately, without long conversations, went to the senior non-commissioned officer, the nearest head of the prison, reported on the pawn of viewing things, and they were immediately taken from moneylender back, even without a report to the higher authorities. It is curious that sometimes there was not even a quarrel: the usurer silently and gloomily returned what was due, and even seemed to himself expecting it to be so. Perhaps he could not but admit to himself that in the place of the pawnbroker he would have done the same. And therefore, if he cursed sometimes later, then without any malice, but only to clear his conscience.

In general, everyone stole from each other terribly. Almost everyone had their own chest with a lock for storing government items. It was allowed; but the chests did not save. I think you can imagine what skillful thieves were there. I have one prisoner, a person sincerely devoted to me (I say this without any exaggeration), stole the Bible, the only book that was allowed to have in hard labor; he himself confessed this to me the same day, not out of repentance, but pitying me, because I had been looking for her for a long time. There were kissers who sold wine and quickly enriched themselves. About this sale I will say someday especially; she's pretty awesome. There were many people in the prison who came for smuggling, and therefore it is not surprising how, with such inspections and convoys, wine was brought to the prison. By the way: smuggling, by its nature, is some kind of special crime. Is it possible, for example, to imagine that money, profit, for a smuggler play a secondary role, stand in the background? In the meantime, this is exactly what happens. The smuggler works out of passion, by vocation. It's partly a poet. He risks everything, goes into terrible danger, cunning, inventing, extricating himself; sometimes even acts on some kind of inspiration. It is a passion as strong as a card game. I knew a prisoner in the prison, who was colossal in appearance, but so meek, quiet, humble that it was impossible to imagine how he ended up in the prison. He was so mild-mannered and accommodating that he did not quarrel with anyone throughout his stay in prison. But he was from the western border, he came for smuggling and, of course, could not resist and set off to carry wine. How many times he was punished for this, and how he was afraid of the rod! Yes, and the very carrying of wine brought him the most insignificant income. Only one entrepreneur enriched himself from wine. The eccentric loved art for art's sake. He was whiny like a woman, and how many times, after punishment, he swore and swore not to wear contraband. With courage, he sometimes overcame himself for a whole month, but in the end he still could not stand it ... Thanks to these personalities, the wine did not become scarce in prison.

Finally, there was another income, although it did not enrich the prisoners, but it was constant and beneficial. This is an alms. The upper class of our society has no idea how merchants, philistines and all our people take care of the "unfortunate". Alms are almost uninterrupted and almost always in bread, rolls and rolls, much less often in money. Without these alms, in many places, it would be too difficult for the prisoners, especially the defendants, who are kept much stricter than the Reshons. Alms are religiously divided by the prisoners equally. If there is not enough for everyone, then the rolls are cut equally, sometimes even into six parts, and each prisoner will certainly get his own piece. I remember the first time I received money alms. This was soon after my arrival in prison. I was returning from morning work alone, with an escort. A mother and daughter walked towards me, a girl of about ten, as pretty as an angel. I've already seen them once. Mother was a soldier, a widow. Her husband, a young soldier, was on trial and died in the hospital, in the prison ward, at the same time that I was lying there sick. His wife and daughter came to say goodbye to him; both were crying terribly. Seeing me, the girl blushed, whispered something to her mother; she immediately stopped, found a quarter of a kopeck in the bundle, and gave it to the girl. She rushed to run after me ... "Here," unfortunate ", take Christ for the sake of a pretty penny!" she shouted, running ahead of me and thrusting a coin into my hands. I took her kopeck, and the girl returned to her mother completely satisfied. I kept this penny for a long time.

Alexander Goryanchikov was sentenced to 10 years hard labor for the murder of his wife. The "Dead House", as he called the prison, housed about 250 prisoners. There was a special order here. Some tried to make money with their craft, but the authorities took away all the tools after searches. Many asked for charity. With the proceeds, you could buy tobacco or wine to somehow brighten up existence.

The hero often thought about the fact that someone was exiled for a cold-blooded and brutal murder, and the same term was given to a person who killed a person in an attempt to protect his daughter.

In the very first month, Alexander happened to see a completely different people. There were also smugglers, and robbers, and scammers, and Old Believers. Many boasted of their crimes, wishing for the glory of fearless criminals. Goryanchikov immediately decided that he would not go against his conscience, like many, trying to make his life easier. Alexander was 1 of 4 nobles who got here. Despite his contemptuous attitude towards himself, he did not want to grovel or complain, and wanted to prove that he was able to work.

Behind the barracks, he found a dog and often came to feed his new friend Sharik. Soon acquaintances with other prisoners began, however, he tried to avoid especially cruel murderers.

Before Christmas, the prisoners were taken to the bathhouse, which everyone was very happy about. On the holiday, the townspeople brought gifts to the prisoners, and the priest consecrated all the cells.

Having fallen ill and ended up in the hospital, Goryanchikov saw with his own eyes what corporal punishment practiced in prison leads to.

During the summer, the prisoners rebelled over prison food. After that, the food became a little better, but not for long.

Several years have passed. The hero had already come to terms with many things and was firmly convinced not to make any more past mistakes. Every day he became more humble and patient. On the last day, Goryanchikov was taken to a blacksmith, who removed the hated shackles from him. Ahead was waiting for freedom and a happy life.