“They are both fine fellows! One was sent here for a pound of bread, and the other is a plate-licking jade; he guzzled a country woman’s junket, that’s what he got the knout for!”
“Come, come, come, shut up!” cried the veteran soldier who had to be in the room to keep order and so slept on a special bedstead in the corner.
“Water, lads! Old Petrovitch has waked up. Good morning, old veteran Petrovitch, dear brother!”
“Brother … brother indeed! I never drank a rouble with you and I am brother, am I!” grumbled the old soldier putting his arms into the sleeves of his overcoat.
They were making ready for inspection; it began to get light; a dense, closely packed crowd had gathered in the kitchen. The convicts in their sheepskins and parti-coloured caps were crowding round the bread which one of the cooks was cutting up for them. The cooks were chosen by the prisoners, two for each kitchen. They kept the knife, one only for each kitchen, to cut up the bread and meat.
In every corner and all about the tables there were convicts with their caps and sheepskins on, their belts fastened, ready to go out to work at once. Before some of them stood wooden cups of kvass. They crumbled the bread into the kvass and sipped that. The noise and uproar were insufferable; but some were talking quietly and sensibly in the corners.
“A good breakfast to old man Antonitch, good morning!” said a young convict sitting down by a frowning and toothless prisoner.
“Well, good morning, if you mean it,” said the other, not raising his eyes and trying to munch the bread with his toothless gums.
“I thought you were dead, Antonitch, I really did.”
“No, you may die first, I’ll come later.”
I sat down beside them. Two steady-looking convicts were talking on my right, evidently trying to keep up their dignity with one another.
“They won’t steal from me, no fear,” said one. “There’s more chance of my stealing something from them.”
“I am a prickly customer too.”
“Are you though? You are a jailbird like everyone else; there’s no other name for us. … She’ll strip you and not say thank you. That’s where my money went, brother. She came herself the other day. Where could I go with her? I began asking to go to Fedka-Hangman’s, he’s got a house at the end of the town, he bought it from the Jew, Scabby-Solomon, the fellow who hanged himself afterwards.”
“I know. He used to sell vodka here three years ago and was nicknamed Grishka Black Pothouse. I know.”
“No, you don’t know. That was another fellow, Black Pothouse.”
“Another! You know a fat lot. I’ll bring you ever so many witnesses.”
“You’ll bring witnesses! Where do you come from and who am I?”
“Who are you? Why, I used to beat you and I don’t boast of it and you ask who are you!”
“You used to beat me! Why, the man’s not born who’ll beat me, and the man who did is underground.”
“You Bender pest!”
“Siberian plague take you!”
“And I hope a Turkish sabre will have something to say to you!”
A storm of abuse followed.
“Come, come! They are at it again!” people shouted round them. “They couldn’t live in freedom; they may be glad they’ve bread to eat here. …”
They quieted them down at once. Swearing, “wagging your tongue” is allowed. It is to some extent an entertainment for all. But they don’t always let it come to a fight, and it is only rarely, in exceptional cases, that enemies fight. Fights are reported to the major; investigations follow, the major himself comes—in short, everyone has to suffer for it, and so fights are not allowed. And indeed the combatants swear at one another rather for entertainment, for the exercise of their linguistic powers. Often they deceive themselves, they begin very hot and exasperated. One fancies they will fall on one another in a minute; not a bit of it: they go on to a certain point and then separate at once. All this surprised me immensely at first. I have intentionally quoted here a typical specimen of convict conversation. I could not imagine at first how they could abuse one another for pleasure, find in it amusement, pleasant exercise, enjoyment. But one must not forget their vanity. A connoisseur in abuse was respected. He was almost applauded like an actor.
The evening before, I had noticed that they looked askance at me.
I had caught several dark looks already. On the other hand some of the convicts hung about me suspecting I had brought money with me. They began making up to me at once, began showing me how to wear my new fetters, got me—for money of course—a box with a lock on it, for me to put away the prison belongings already served out to me, as well as some underclothes I brought with me into the prison. Next day they stole it from me and sold it for drink. One of them became most devoted to me later on, though he never gave up robbing me at every convenient opportunity. He did this without the slightest embarrassment, almost unconsciously, as though fulfilling a duty, and it was impossible to be angry with him.
Among other things, they told me that I ought to have tea of my own, that it would be a good thing for me to have a teapot too, and meanwhile they got me one on hire, and recommended a cook, saying that for thirty kopecks a month he would cook me anything I liked if I cared to eat apart and buy my own provisions. … They borrowed money from me of course, and every one of them came to borrow from me three times the first day.
As a rule, convicts who have been gentlemen are looked at with hostility and dislike.
In spite of the fact that they are deprived of all the rights of their rank and are put on exactly
