Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

Notes from a dead house

Part one

Introduction

In the remote regions of Siberia, among the steppes, mountains or impenetrable forests, occasionally come across small towns, with one, many with two thousand inhabitants, wooden, nondescript, with two churches - one in the city, the other in a cemetery - cities that look more like a good village near Moscow than a city. They are usually quite adequately equipped with police officers, assessors and all other subaltern ranks. In general, in Siberia, despite the cold, it is extremely warm to serve. People live simple, illiberal; the order is old, strong, consecrated for centuries. Officials, who justly play the role of the Siberian nobility, are either natives, inveterate Siberians, or arrivals from Russia, mostly from the capitals, seduced by an off-set salary, double runs and seductive hopes in the future. Of these, those who know how to solve the riddle of life almost always remain in Siberia and take root in it with pleasure. Subsequently, they bear rich and sweet fruits. But others, a frivolous people who do not know how to solve the riddle of life, will soon get bored with Siberia and ask themselves longingly: why did they come to it? They are impatiently serving their legal term of service, three years, and after it has expired they immediately bother about their transfer and return home, scolding Siberia and laughing at it. They are wrong: not only from the official, but even from many points of view, one can be blissful in Siberia. The climate is excellent; there are many remarkably wealthy and hospitable merchants; there are many extremely sufficient foreigners. The young ladies bloom with roses and are moral to the last extreme. Game flies through the streets and stumbles upon the hunter itself. An unnatural amount of champagne is drunk. The caviar is amazing. Harvest happens in other places sampyteen ... In general, the land is blessed. You just need to know how to use it. In Siberia, they know how to use it.

In one of such cheerful and self-satisfied towns, with the sweetest population, the memory of which will remain indelible in my heart, I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a settler who was born in Russia a nobleman and landowner, who later became a second-class convict-convict for the murder of his wife and, after the expiration of the ten-year term of hard labor determined by him by law, who humbly and silently lived out his life in the town of K. as a settler. He, in fact, was assigned to one suburban volost, but he lived in the city, having the opportunity to get at least some food in it by teaching children. In Siberian cities, teachers from exiled settlers are often found; they do not disdain. They mostly teach French, so necessary in the field of life and about which without them in the remote regions of Siberia they would have no idea. For the first time I met Alexander Petrovich in the house of an old, honored and hospitable official, Ivan Ivanich Gvozdikov, who had five daughters, different years who gave great hope. Alexander Petrovich gave them lessons four times a week, thirty kopecks in silver per lesson. His appearance interested me. He was an extremely pale and thin man, not yet old, about thirty-five, small and frail. He was always dressed very cleanly, in a European style. If you spoke to him, he looked at you extremely intently and attentively, listening with strict politeness to every word of yours, as if pondering it, as if you asked him a problem with your question or wanted to extort some secret from him, and, finally, he answered clearly and briefly, but so weighing every word of his answer that you suddenly felt uncomfortable for some reason and you, at last, yourself were glad at the end of the conversation. I then asked Ivan Ivanitch about him and learned that Goryanchikov lived impeccably and morally, and that otherwise Ivan Ivanitch would not have invited him for his daughters; but that he is a terrible unsociable, hides from everyone, is extremely learned, reads a lot, but speaks very little, and that in general it is rather difficult to talk to him. Others argued that he was positively insane, although they found that, in essence, this was not yet such an important drawback, that many of the honorary members of the city were ready to kindness Alexander Petrovich in every possible way, that he could even be useful, write requests, and so on. It was believed that he should have decent relatives in Russia, maybe not even last people, but they knew that from the very exile he had stubbornly cut off any intercourse with them - in a word, he was hurting himself. In addition, we all knew his story, they knew that he killed his wife in the first year of his marriage, killed out of jealousy and reported himself on himself (which greatly facilitated his punishment). Such crimes are always viewed as misfortunes and regretted. But, despite all this, the eccentric stubbornly kept away from everyone and appeared in people only to give lessons.

At first I didn’t pay much attention to him, but, I don’t know why, he gradually began to interest me. There was something mysterious about him. There was not the slightest opportunity to talk to him. Of course, he always answered my questions, and even with the air as if he considered it his primary duty; but after his answers I somehow felt weary of asking him longer; and on his face, after such conversations, one could always see some kind of suffering and fatigue. I remember walking with him one fine summer evening from Ivan Ivanovich. Suddenly I thought of inviting him to smoke a cigarette for a minute. I cannot describe the horror expressed on his face; he was completely lost, began to mumble some incoherent words, and suddenly, glaring at me angrily, rushed to run in the opposite direction. I was even surprised. Since then, meeting with me, he looked at me as if with some kind of fear. But I did not quit; I was drawn to him, and a month later, for no reason at all, I went to Goryanchikov's. Of course, I acted stupidly and indelicately. He lodged on the very edge of the city, with an old bourgeois woman who had a daughter who was sick in consumption, and that one had an illegitimate daughter, a child of about ten, a pretty and cheerful little girl. Alexander Petrovich was sitting with her and teaching her to read the minute I entered his room. Seeing me, he was so confused, as if I had caught him on some crime. He was completely at a loss, jumped up from his chair and looked at me with all his eyes. We finally sat down; he closely followed my every gaze, as if in each of them he suspected some special mysterious meaning. I guessed that he was suspicious to the point of madness. He looked at me with hatred, almost asking: "But how soon will you leave here?" I spoke to him about our town, about current news; he kept silent and smiled maliciously; it turned out that he not only did not know the most ordinary, well-known city news, but was not even interested in knowing them. Then I started talking about our land, about its needs; he listened to me in silence and looked so strangely into my eyes that I finally felt ashamed of our conversation. However, I almost pissed him off with new books and magazines; they were in my hands, just from the post office, I offered them to him still uncut. He glanced at them greedily, but immediately changed his mind and declined the offer, responding with lack of time. At last I took leave of him and, as I walked out from him, felt that some unbearable weight had fallen from my heart. I was ashamed and it seemed extremely stupid to pester a person who supplies his own the main task- as far as possible to hide from the whole world. But the deed was done. I remember that I hardly noticed any books in his house, and therefore it was unfair to say about him that he reads a lot. However, passing once or twice, very late at night, past its windows, I noticed a light in them. What did he do, sitting up until dawn? Didn't he write? And if so, what exactly?

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 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 puny, unsociable and suspicious. Driving past his windows one night, I noticed a light in them and decided that he was writing something.

Returning to the town three months later, I learned that Alexander Petrovich had died. His mistress gave me his papers. Among them was a notebook with a description of the deceased's convict life. These notes - "Scenes from the House of the Dead," as he called them - struck me as curious. I select several chapters for trial.

I. Dead House

The jail stood at the rampart. The large courtyard was surrounded by a fence of high pointed posts. There was a strong gate in the fence, guarded by sentries. There was a special world here, with its own laws, clothing, customs and customs.

On the sides of the wide courtyard there were two long one-story barracks for the prisoners. In the back of the yard there is a kitchen, cellars, barns, sheds. In the middle of the yard there is a flat area for checks and roll calls. There was a large space between the buildings and the fence, where some prisoners liked to be alone.

At night we were locked in the barracks, a long and stuffy room lit by tallow candles. In winter, they locked up early, and in the barracks there was a din, laughter, curses and the clang of chains for four hours. There were 250 people constantly in the prison. Each strip of Russia had its representatives here.

Most of the prisoners are civilian convicts, criminals, deprived of all rights, with branded faces. They were sent for periods ranging from 8 to 12 years, and then sent across Siberia to settlements. Military 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 "everlasting". 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 are proficient in reading and writing. The grades were distinguished by their multi-colored clothing and differently shaved heads. Most of the convicts were gloomy, envious, vain, boastful, and resentful people. What was most appreciated was the ability not to be surprised at anything.

Endless gossip and intrigues were conducted in the barracks, but no one dared to rebel against the internal regulations of the prison. There were outstanding characters who obeyed with difficulty. People who committed crimes out of vanity came to the prison. Such newcomers quickly realized that there was no one here to surprise, and fell into the general tone of special dignity that was adopted in the prison. Swearing was elevated to a science, which was developed by incessant quarrels. Strong people did not enter into quarrels, they were reasonable and obedient - it was profitable.

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 kinds 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 prohibited. Searches were carried out at night, everything forbidden was taken away, so the money was immediately spent on drink.

Anyone who could not do anything became a reseller or a 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 found use of their skills. There was another permanent income - alms, which were always divided equally.

II. First impressions

I soon realized that the burden of hard labor was that it was forced and useless. In winter, there was little government work. All returned to the 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 parashnik and did not go to work. He had to wash bunks 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 are never recognized as their own. We especially suffered at work, because we had little strength, and we could not help them. The Polish gentry, of whom there were five people, were disliked even more. There were four Russian noblemen. One is a spy and informer, the other is a parricide. The third was Akim Akimych, a tall, thin eccentric, honest, naive and neat.

He served as an officer in the Caucasus. One neighboring prince, 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 reduced the sentence and exiled to Siberia for 12 years. The prisoners respected Akim Akimych for his accuracy and skill. There was no craft that he did not know.

While waiting in the workshop to change the shackles, I asked Akim Akimych about our major. He turned out to be dishonest and an evil person... He regarded the prisoners as his enemies. In prison, they hated him, feared him like the plague, and even wanted to kill him.

Meanwhile, several Kalashnits came to the workshop. Until adulthood, they sold rolls that their mothers baked. Growing up, they sold very different services. This was fraught with great difficulties. It was necessary to choose the time, place, make an appointment and bribe the escorts. Still, I was able to sometimes witness love scenes.

The prisoners dined in shifts. On my first lunch, between the prisoners, the conversation about a certain Gazin came up. A Pole who was sitting next to him said that Gazin sells wine and drinks his earnings on drink. I asked why many of the prisoners looked askance at me. He explained that they are angry with me for being a nobleman, many of them would like to humiliate me, and added that I will face troubles and abuse more than once.

III. First impressions

The prisoners valued money as much as freedom, but it was difficult to keep it. Either the major took the money, or they stole it. Subsequently, we gave the money for safekeeping to an old Old Believer who came to us from the Starodub settlements.

He was a small, gray-haired old man of sixty, calm and quiet, with clear, bright eyes surrounded by small radiant wrinkles. The old man, along with other fanatics, set fire to the church of the same faith. As one of the ringleaders, he was exiled to hard labor. The old man was a well-to-do bourgeois, 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 melancholy in the prison. The prisoners were drawn to wrap up all their capital in order to forget their melancholy. Sometimes a person worked for several months only in order to lose all his earnings in one day. Many of them loved to get themselves bright new clothes and go to the barracks on holidays.

The wine trade was risky but profitable. For the first time, the kissing man himself brought wine to the prison and sold it profitably. After the second and third time, he founded a real trade and found 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 unhappy with him. Sirotkin was friends with Gazin.

Gazin was a Tatar, very strong, tall and powerful, with a disproportionately huge head. In the prison they said that he was a fugitive soldier 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 uncommunicative. It was noticeable that he was clever and cunning.

All the atrocities of Gazin's nature manifested itself when he got drunk. He got into a terrible rage, grabbed a knife and threw himself at people. The prisoners found a way to deal with him. About ten people rushed at him and started beating him until he lost consciousness. Then he was wrapped in a sheepskin coat and carried 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 decided to be silent, he trembled with rage, grabbed a heavy bread tray and swung. Despite the fact that the murder threatened the entire prison with troubles, everyone quieted down and waited - to such an extent was their hatred of the nobles. As soon as he wanted to lower the tray, someone shouted that his wine had been stolen, and he rushed out of the kitchen.

The whole evening I was occupied with the idea of ​​inequality of punishment for the same crimes. Sometimes crimes cannot be compared. For example, one killed a person 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 condemn himself for his crime. The other does not even think about the murder he committed and considers himself right. There are those who commit crimes in order to get into hard labor and get rid of a hard life in freedom.

IV. First impressions

After the last verification from the authorities, the disabled remained in the barracks, observing the order, and the eldest of the prisoners, appointed by the parade-major for good behavior... In our barracks, Akim Akimych turned out to be the senior. The prisoners did not pay attention to the disabled person.

The convict authorities have always treated the prisoners with caution. The prisoners realized that they were afraid, and this gave them courage. The best boss for prisoners is the one who is not afraid of them, and the prisoners themselves are pleased with such trust.

In the evening our barracks took on a homely look. A bunch of revelers sat around the rug for cards. In every barracks there was a prisoner who rented out a rug, a candle, and greasy cards. All this was called "Maidan". A servant at the Maidan stood guard all night and warned about the appearance of a parade-major or sentries.

My seat was on the bunk by the door. Next to me was Akim Akimych. On the left was a handful of Caucasian highlanders convicted of robbery: three Dagestani Tatars, two Lezgins and one Chechen. Dagestani Tatars were siblings. The youngest, Alei, handsome guy with big black eyes, was about 22 years old. They ended up in hard labor for robbing and stabbing an Armenian merchant. The brothers loved Alei very much. Despite the outward softness, Alei had a strong character. He was fair, smart and modest, avoided quarrels, although he knew how to stand up for himself. In a few months I taught him to speak Russian. Alei 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 constituted a separate family. Some of them were educated. Educated person in hard labor, he must get used to a foreign environment for him. Often the same punishment for everyone becomes ten times more painful for him.

Of all the convicts, the Poles loved only the Jew Isaiah Fomich, who looked like a plucked chicken of a man of about 50, small and weak. He came on a charge of murder. 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, 23 years old, who killed eight people; a bunch of counterfeiters and a few gloomy personalities. All this flashed before me on the first evening of my new life among the smoke and soot, with the clang 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. 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 time 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 in wine.

Osip cooked my food. Sushilov himself began to wash me, run on various errands and mend my clothes. He could not help but serve someone. Sushilov was a pitiful, unrequited and naturally downtrodden man. The conversation was given to him with great difficulty. He was of medium height and undefined appearance.

The prisoners laughed at Sushilov because he changed on the way to Siberia. To change means to change the name and fate with someone. This is usually done by prisoners who have a long term of hard labor. They find such nonsense as Sushilov and deceive them.

I looked at the hard labor with eager attention, I was amazed by such phenomena as the meeting with the prisoner A-v. He was from the nobility and reported to our parade-major about everything that was going on in the prison. Having quarreled with his family, A-s left Moscow and arrived in St. Petersburg. To get money, he went to a sneaky denunciation. He was convicted and exiled to Siberia for ten years. Hard labor untied his hands. To satisfy his brutal instincts, he was ready for anything. It was a monster, cunning, smart, beautiful and educated.

Vi. First month

I had a few 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, 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 those first days I thought about how I would put myself in prison. I decided to do what my conscience dictated. On the fourth day I was sent to dismantle the old state 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 listlessly, reluctantly, clumsily. An hour later, the conductor came and announced a lesson, after completing which it would be possible to go home. The prisoners quickly set to work, and went home tired, but satisfied, although they won only half an hour.

I got in the way everywhere, they drove me away almost with abuse. When I stepped aside, they immediately shouted that I was a bad worker. They were happy to make fun of the former nobleman. Despite this, I decided to keep myself as simple and independent as possible, without fear of their threats and hatred.

According to them, I should have behaved like a white-handed nobleman. They would have scolded me for it, but they would respect me inwardly. This role was not for me; I promised myself not to belittle my education or my way of thinking before them. If I began to suck up and be familiar with them, they would think that I am doing it out of fear, and they would treat me with contempt. But I didn't want to close in front of them either.

In the evening I was wandering alone behind the barracks and suddenly I saw Sharik, our cautious dog, quite large, black with white spots, with intelligent eyes and a fluffy tail. I stroked her and gave her bread. Now, returning from work, I hurried behind the barracks with a ball screaming with joy, clasping his head, and a bittersweet feeling ached in my heart.

Vii. New acquaintances. Petrov

I began to get used to it. I no longer wandered around the prison as lost, the curious glances of the convicts did not stop on me so often. I was amazed at the frivolity of the convicts. A free man hopes, but he lives, he acts. The prisoner's hope is of a completely different kind. Even terrible criminals, chained to the wall, dream of walking around the courtyard of the prison.

For my love of work, convicts mocked me, but I knew that work would save me, and did not pay attention to them. The engineering bosses made it easier for the nobles, as people who were weak and inept. Three or four people were assigned to burn and crush alabaster, led by the master Almazov, a stern, swarthy and lean man in his years, uncommunicative and obese. Another job I was sent to was to turn the grinding wheel in the workshop. If they made something big, another nobleman was sent to help me. This work remained with us for several years.

The circle of my acquaintances gradually began to expand. Prisoner Petrov was the first to visit me. He lived in a special compartment, in the barracks farthest from me. Petrov was of short stature, strong build, with a pleasant broad-cheeked face and a bold look. He was 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 resolute and fearless of all convicts. His passions, like hot coals, were sprinkled with ash and smoldered quietly. He rarely quarreled, but he was not friendly with anyone. He was interested in everything, but he remained indifferent to everything and wandered around the prison idle. Such people sharply manifest themselves at critical moments. They are not the instigators of the case, but the main executors of it. 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 shunned these people, but then I changed my views on even the most terrible murderers. It was difficult to form an opinion about some crimes, there was so much strange in them.

The prisoners loved to boast of their "exploits". Once I heard a story about how prisoner Luka Kuzmich killed one major for his own pleasure. This Luka Kuzmich was a small, thin, young prisoner from the Ukrainians. He was boastful, arrogant, proud, convicts did not respect him and called him Luchka.

Luchka told his story to a dull and limited, but kind guy, neighbor on the bunk, prisoner Kobylin. Luchka spoke loudly: he wanted everyone to hear him. This happened during the shipment. With him sat about 12 Ukrainians, tall, healthy, but meek. The food is bad, but the Major turns them around as he pleases. Luchka agitated Ukrainians, demanded a major, and in the morning he took a knife from a neighbor. The major ran in, drunk, shouting. "I am the king, I am the god!" Luchka got closer and stuck a knife in his stomach.

Unfortunately, expressions such as: "I am the king, I and the god" were used by many officers, especially those who came from the lower ranks. They are obsequious before their superiors, but for subordinates they become unlimited overlords. This is very annoying for the prisoners. Every prisoner, no matter how humiliated he may be, demands respect for himself. I saw what action the noble and kind officers performed 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 Bumstein rejoiced most of all. It seemed that he did not regret at all that he had ended up in hard labor. He only did 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 to get married. There was a mixture of naivety, stupidity, cunning, insolence, innocence, timidity, boastfulness and insolence in him. Isai Fomich served everyone for entertainment. He understood this and was proud of his significance.

There were only two public baths in the city. The first was paid, the other was dilapidated, dirty and cramped. They took us to this bathhouse. The prisoners were glad that they would leave the fortress. In the bath, we were divided into two shifts, but, despite this, it was cramped. Petrov helped me to undress - because of the shackles it was difficult. The prisoners were given a small piece of government soap, but right there, in the dressing room, in addition to soap, one could buy sbiten, rolls and hot water.

The bathhouse was like hell. There were about a hundred people crowded into the small room. Petrov bought a seat on a bench from a man who immediately ducked under the bench, where it was dark, dirty and everything was busy. It all screamed and giggled to the sound of the chains dragging across the floor. Mud poured from all directions. 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 kosushka. I invited Baklushin to my place for tea.

Everyone loved Baklushin. He was a tall guy, about 30 years old, with a brave and simple-minded face. He was full of fire and life. Having met me, Baklushin said that he was from the cantonists, served in the pioneers and was loved by some tall people. He even read books. When he came to me for tea, he announced to me that a theatrical performance would soon take place, which the prisoners were staging in the prison on holidays. Baklushin was one of the main instigators of the theater.

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. He expressed a desire to marry Louise and her distant relative, a middle-aged and wealthy watchmaker, German Schultz. Louise was not against this marriage. A few days later it became known that Schultz made Louise swear not to meet with Baklushin, that the German kept them with his aunt in a black body, and that his aunt would meet with Schultz on Sunday in his store to finally agree on everything. On Sunday, Baklushin took a pistol, went to the store and shot Schultz. 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. In the evening, the disabled who went to the bazaar brought a lot of all kinds of provisions. Even the most frugal 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 did not have family memories - he grew up an orphan in someone else's house and from the age of fifteen he went into heavy service. He was not especially religious, so he was preparing to celebrate Christmas not with dreary memories, but with quiet decency. He did not like to think and lived by the rules established forever. Only once in his life did he try to live with his mind - and ended up in hard labor. He deduced from this rule - never to 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, and there was someone to look after the drunk. Gazin was sober. He intended to go for a walk at the end of the holiday, collecting all the money from the prisoner's pockets. Songs were heard in the barracks. Many walked around with their own balalaikas, and even a choir of eight was formed in a special section.

In the meantime, dusk was beginning. Sadness and melancholy were visible among the drunkenness. The people wanted to have a fun great holiday - and what a hard and sad day it was for almost everyone. It became unbearable and disgusting in the barracks. I was sad and sorry for all of them.

XI. Representation

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 theater. Such a person as the parade-major had to take something away, to 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 gentlemen 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 played Filatka's bride. The second play was called Cedril the Glutton. In conclusion, a "pantomime to music" was presented.

The theater was set up in a military barracks. Half of the room was given to the audience, the other half was the stage. The curtain stretched across the barracks was painted oil paint and sewn from canvas. In front of the curtain, there were two benches and several chairs for officers and outsiders, which were not translated throughout the holiday. There were prisoners behind the benches, and the tightness there was incredible.

The crowd of spectators, squeezed from all sides, with bliss on their faces awaited 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 a convoy to the battalion infirmary, where the doctor recorded the really sick in the hospital.

Prescribing medicines and distributing portions were handled by the resident, who was in charge of the prison wards. We were dressed in hospital clothes, and I walked down a clean corridor and found myself in a long, narrow room with 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 28 years old, intelligent, cheeky, confident in his innocence. He told me in detail about the procedures in the hospital.

After him, a patient from the correctional company came up to me. It was already a gray-haired soldier named Chekunov. He began to serve me, which caused several poisonous ridicule from a consumptive patient by the name of Ustyantsev, who, frightened of punishment, drank a glass of wine infused with tobacco and poisoned himself. I felt that his anger was directed at me rather than at Chekunov.

All diseases, even venereal diseases, were collected here. There were also a few who came just to "rest". The doctors let them in out of compassion. Outwardly, the room was relatively clean, but the inner cleanliness was not sported. The patients got used to this and even believed that it was necessary. Punished with gauntlets were greeted with us very seriously and silently courted the unfortunate. The paramedics knew that they were handing over the beaten into experienced hands.

After the evening visit to the doctor, the ward was locked with 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 to the toilet at night and run away, despite the fact that there is a window with an iron grating, and an armed sentry accompanies the prisoner to the toilet. And where to run in the winter in hospital clothes. From the shackles of a convict, no illness can save him. 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 was visited by our resident, a young but knowledgeable doctor. Many doctors in Russia enjoy the love and respect of the common people, despite the general distrust of medicine. When the resident noticed that the prisoner came to take a break from work, he wrote down a non-existent illness for him and left him lying. The senior doctor was much more severe than the resident, and for this he was respected by us.

Some patients asked to be discharged with their backs not healed from the first sticks in order to quickly get out of the court. Habit helped to punish some. The prisoners, with extraordinary good nature, talked 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 of about 30 years old, tall, fat, with ruddy cheeks, white teeth and rolling laughter. He loved to flog and punish with sticks. The lieutenant was a refined gourmet in executive affairs: he invented various unnatural things in order to pleasantly tickle his soul swollen with fat.

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 gained particular popularity. He was a simple man, even kind in his own way, and we recognized him as one of our own.

III. Continuation

In the hospital, I got a visual representation of all types of punishment. All punished with gauntlets were brought to our chambers. I wanted to know all the degrees of sentences, I tried to imagine the psychological state of those going to execution.

If the convict could not stand the prescribed number of blows, then, by the verdict of the doctor, this number was divided into several parts. The prisoners endured the execution itself courageously. I noticed that a large number of rods is the most heavy punishment... With five hundred rods, a person can be detected to death, and five hundred sticks can be carried without danger to life.

Almost every person has the qualities of an executioner, but they develop unevenly. There are two types of executioners: voluntary and forced. The people experience an unaccountable, mystical fear of the forced executioner.

A forced executioner is an exiled prisoner who became an apprentice to another executioner and was left forever in prison, where he has his own farm 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.

It was boring to lie in the hospital. The arrival of a newcomer has always produced excitement. They even rejoiced at the madmen who were brought to the test. The defendants pretended to be crazy in order to get rid of the punishment. Some of them, after two or three days, calmed down and asked to be discharged. Real madmen were the punishment for the entire ward.

The seriously ill loved to be treated. Bloodletting was accepted with pleasure. Our banks were of a special kind. The paramedic lost or damaged the machine, which cut the skin, and had to make 12 cuts for each can with a lancet.

The saddest time was late in the evening. It was getting stuffy, I remembered bright pictures past life... One night I heard a story that struck me as a feverish dream.

IV. Akulkin husband

Late at night I woke up and heard two whispering among themselves not far from me. The narrator Shishkov was still young, about 30 years old, a civilian prisoner, an empty, flighty and cowardly man of short stature, thin, with restless or stupidly pensive eyes.

It was about the father of Shishkov's wife, Ankudim Trofimych. He was a rich and respected old man of 70 years old, had tenders and a large loan, kept three workers. Ankudim Trofimych was married for the second time, had two sons and the eldest daughter Akulina. Shishkov's friend Filka Morozov was considered her lover. Filka's parents died at that time, and he was going to skip the inheritance and become a soldier. He did not want to marry Akulka. Shishkov then also buried his father, and his mother worked for Ankudim - baked gingerbread for sale.

Once Filka knocked Shishkov down to smear the gates with tar on Akulka - 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 a good dowry was given for her.

Until the 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 giving up for torment. And Shishkov, even before the crown, had a whip with him, and decided to make fun of Akulka so that she knew how to marry with dishonest deception.

After the wedding, they left them with Akulka in the cage. She sits white, not bloody in her face with fear. Shishkov prepared a whip and laid it by the bed, but Akulka turned out to be innocent. Then he knelt in front of her, asked for forgiveness, and vowed to take revenge on Filka Morozov for the shame.

Some time later, Filka offered Shishkov to sell him his wife. To force Shishkov, Filka started a rumor that he was not sleeping with his wife, because he was always drunk, and his wife was accepting others at that time. Shishkov was offended, and since then he began to beat his wife from morning to evening. Old man Ankudim came to intercede, and then backed down. Shishkov did not allow his mother to interfere; he threatened to kill her.

Filka, meanwhile, completely drank himself and went into the mercenary to the tradesman, for the eldest son. Filka lived with a bourgeois for his own pleasure, drank, slept with his daughters, dragged the owner by the beard. The bourgeois endured - Filka had to go to the soldiers for his eldest son. When they were taking Filka to the soldiers to surrender, he saw Akulka on the way, stopped, bowed to her in the ground and asked for forgiveness for his meanness. Akulka forgave him, and & 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 his 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 going through his imprisonment in a prison hard, 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 matters, deliberate disgust, but respect his high origin. At first, Alexander Petrovich is in shock from being in a difficult peasant atmosphere, but this impression soon passes and Goryanchikov begins to study the prisoners of Ostroh 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 penal servitude, the third - factories. Convicts believed that the severity of hard labor decreases from hard labor to the factory, but the slaves of the second category were under constant supervision of the military and often dreamed of going first 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 grave crimes.

Alexander Petrovich meets many of the prisoners. Akim Akimych, a former nobleman with whom Goryanchikov made friends, was sentenced to 12 years in hard labor for reprisals against 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 false denunciation, on which he wanted to make a fortune. Hard work in hard labor did not lead A-v to repentance, but rather corrupted, turning the nobleman into an informer and a scoundrel. A-v is a symbol of complete moral decay person.

The terrible kisser Gazin, the toughest convict in the fortress, convicted of killing young children. It was rumored that Gazin enjoyed the fear and torment of innocent children. The smuggler Osip, who raised smuggling to the level of art, brought wine and forbidden products to the fortress, worked as a cook in the prison and prepared tolerable food for the prisoners' money.

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

Notes from a dead house Fedor Dostoevsky

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Title: Notes from the House of the Dead

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

"Notes from Of a dead house Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky wrote shortly after he returned from hard labor. Arrested in the political case of the Petrashevites, he spent four years in hard labor in Omsk. So almost all events unfold in the convict barracks in the prison, one of 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, to 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 those of hard labor. Bondage seems to him the most terrible punishment. On the other hand, other prisoners do not like him and despise him for being unprepared. After all, Alexander Petrovich is a gentleman, although he was a former, and earlier could command ordinary peasants.

"Notes from the House of the Dead" do not contain a coherent plot, although they do the main character- Alexander Goryanchikov (although there is no doubt whose thoughts, words and feelings he is relaying). 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 entourage of Alexander Goryanchikov, he himself and the warders, or they look like inserted stories heard by the heroes.

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 nature. The chapters contain the author's personal impressions, retelling of the stories of other convicts, experiences, discussions about religion, honor, life and death.

The main place in "Notes from the House of the Dead" is given to detailed description life and an unspoken code of conduct for convicts. Auto tells about their attitude towards 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 little joys. In this story, the author managed to collect the entire spectrum of human morality: from an informer and a traitor, capable of slandering for money, to a kind-hearted widow who disinterestedly cares for 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 anxiously conveyed by the author. Dostoevsky also mentions what happens to these people when their hard labor (and this whole life years) ends.

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Quotes from the book "Notes from the House of the Dead" Fyodor Dostoevsky

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

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

In a word, the right to corporal punishment, given to one over the other, is one of the ulcers of society, is one of the most powerful means for destroying every embryo in it, every attempt at civic consciousness, and a full basis for its inevitable and irresistible decay.

Tyranny is a habit; it is gifted with development, it develops, at last, into a disease.

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

History of creation

The story is of a documentary nature and introduces the reader to the life of imprisoned criminals in Siberia in the second half of the 19th century. The writer artistically comprehended everything he saw and experienced during the four years of hard labor (from to), being exiled there in the Petrashevsky case. The work was created from year to year, the first chapters were published in the magazine "Time".

Plot

The presentation is conducted on behalf of the main character, Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a nobleman who was in hard labor for 10 years for the murder of his wife. Having killed his wife out of jealousy, Alexander Petrovich himself confessed to the murder, and after serving hard labor, he cut off all ties with relatives and remained in a settlement in the Siberian city of K., leading a secluded life and earning a living by tutoring. Reading and literary sketches about hard labor remains one of his few entertainment. Actually, "Alive House of the Dead", which gave the title of the story, the author calls the prison, where convicts are serving their sentences, and his notes - "Scenes from the dead house."

Characters (edit)

• Goryanchikov Alexander Petrovich is the protagonist of the story, on whose behalf the story is being told.
• Akim Akimych - one of the four former nobles, comrade Goryanchikova, senior prisoner in the barracks. He was sentenced to 12 years for the execution of a Caucasian prince who lit his fortress. Extremely pedantic and foolishly well-behaved person.
• Gazin is a kisser convict, wine merchant, Tatar, the strongest convict in the prison.
• Sirotkin is a 23-year-old former recruit who was sent to hard labor for the murder of a commander.
• Dutov is a former soldier who rushed to the guard officer in order to postpone the punishment (run through the ranks) and received an even longer term.
• Orlov is a strong-willed assassin, completely fearless in the face of punishment and trials.
• Nurra is a mountaineer, Lezgin, cheerful, intolerant of theft, drunkenness, devout, a favorite of convicts.
• Alei is a 22-year-old Dagestani who was sentenced to hard labor with his older brothers for attacking an Armenian merchant. A neighbor in the bunk of Goryanchikov, who became close to him and taught Alei to read and write in Russian.
• Isai Fomich is a Jew who was sentenced to hard labor for murder. Usurer and jeweler. Was in friendly relations with Goryanchikov.
• Osip, a smuggler who elevated smuggling to the rank of art, brought wine in the prison. He was terrified of punishment and many times refused to engage in carrying, but still broke down. Most of the time he worked as a cook, for the money of the prisoners preparing a separate (not state-owned) food (including Goryanchikova).
• Sushilov is a prisoner who changed his name at the stage with another prisoner: for a ruble in silver and a red shirt, he changed the settlement to eternal hard labor. Served Goryanchikov.
• A-in - one of the four nobles. Received 10 years in hard labor for false denunciation, on which he wanted to make money. Hard labor did not lead him to repentance, but corrupted him, turning him into an informer and a scoundrel. The author uses this character to depict the complete moral decline of a person. One of the participants in the escape.
• Nastasya Ivanovna is a widow who disinterestedly takes care of the convicts.
• Petrov, a former soldier, ended up in hard labor, stabbing the colonel in training, because he unjustly hit him. Characterized as the most resolute convict. He sympathized with Goryanchikov, but treated him as a dependent person, a curiosity of the prison.
• Baklushin - ended up in hard labor for the murder of a German who married his bride. Organizer of the theater in prison.
• Luchka is a Ukrainian, was sent to hard labor for the murder of six people, and in the end he killed the head of the prison.
• Ustyantsev, a former soldier, in order to avoid punishment, drank wine infused with tea to induce consumption, from which he later died.
• Mikhailov is a convict who died in a military hospital from consumption.
• Foals - a lieutenant, an executor with sadistic inclinations.
• Smekalov was a lieutenant, an executor who was popular among convicts.
• Shishkov is a prisoner who went to hard labor for the murder of his wife (story "Akulkin's husband").
• Kulikov is a gypsy, horse thief, cautious veterinarian. One of the participants in the escape.
• Elkin is a Siberian who was sent to hard labor for counterfeiting. A keen veterinarian who quickly took his practice away from Kulikov.
• The story features an unnamed fourth nobleman, a frivolous, eccentric, reckless and non-cruel person, falsely accused of murdering his father, acquitted and released from hard labor only ten years later. Dmitry's prototype from the novel The Brothers Karamazov.

Part one

• I. House of the dead
• II. First impressions
• III. First impressions
• IV. First impressions
• V. First month
• Vi. First month
• Vii. New acquaintances. Petrov
• VIII. Decisive people. Luchka
• IX. Isai Fomich. Bath. Baklushin's story
• X. Feast of the Nativity of Christrov
• XI. Representation

Part two

• I. Hospital
• II. Continuation
• III. Continuation
• IV. Akulkin husband. Story
• V. Summer couple
• Vi. Convict animals
• Vii. Claim
• VIII. Comrades
• IX. The escape
• X. Exit from penal servitude

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See what "Notes from the House of the Dead" is in other dictionaries:

- "NOTES FROM A DEAD HOUSE", Russia, REN TV, 1997, color, 36 min. Documentary... Film confession about the inhabitants of Fiery Island, near Vologda. The pardoned murderers are one hundred and fifty "death row", for whom the capital punishment by the Decree of the President ... ... Encyclopedia of Cinema

Notes from the House of the Dead ... Wikipedia

Writer, born on October 30, 1821 in Moscow, died on January 29, 1881, in St. Petersburg. His father, Mikhail Andreevich, married to the daughter of a merchant, Marya Fedorovna Nechayeva, took the place of the doctor's headquarters at the Mariinsky Hospital for the Poor. Busy in the hospital and ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia

Famous novelist, b. 30 oct. 1821 in Moscow, in the building of the Maryinsky hospital, where his father served as the headquarters as a doctor. Mother, nee Nechayeva, came from the Moscow merchants (from a family, apparently, intelligent). D.'s family was ... ...

For the convenience of reviewing the main phenomena of its development, the history of Russian literature can be divided into three periods: I from the first monuments to the Tatar yoke; II to late XVII century; III to our time. In reality, these periods are not sharply ... ... encyclopedic Dictionary F. Brockhaus and I.A. Efron

Part one

Introduction

In the remote regions of Siberia, among the steppes, mountains or impenetrable forests, occasionally come across small cities, with one, many with two thousand inhabitants, wooden, nondescript, with two churches - one in the city, the other in a cemetery - cities that look more like good a village near Moscow than a city. They are usually quite adequately equipped with police officers, assessors and all other subaltern ranks. In general, in Siberia, despite the cold, it is extremely warm to serve. People live simple, illiberal; the order is old, strong, consecrated for centuries. Officials, who justly play the role of the Siberian nobility, are either natives, inveterate Siberians, or arrivals from Russia, mostly from the capitals, seduced by an off-set salary, double runs and seductive hopes in the future. Of these, those who know how to solve the riddle of life almost always remain in Siberia and take root in it with pleasure. Subsequently, they bear rich and sweet fruits. But others, a frivolous people who do not know how to solve the riddle of life, will soon get bored with Siberia and ask themselves longingly: why did they come to it? They are impatiently serving their legal term of service, three years, and after it has expired they immediately bother about their transfer and return home, scolding Siberia and laughing at it. They are wrong: not only from the official, but even from many points of view, one can be blissful in Siberia. The climate is excellent; there are many remarkably wealthy and hospitable merchants; there are many extremely sufficient foreigners. The young ladies bloom with roses and are moral to the last extreme. Game flies through the streets and stumbles upon the hunter itself. An unnatural amount of champagne is drunk. The caviar is amazing. Harvest happens in other places sampyteen ... In general, the land is blessed. You just need to know how to use it. In Siberia, they know how to use it.

In one of such cheerful and self-satisfied towns, with the sweetest population, the memory of which will remain indelible in my heart, I met Alexander Petrovich Goryanchikov, a settler who was born in Russia as a nobleman and landowner, who later became a second-class convict for the murder of his wife, and, after the expiration of the ten-year term of hard labor determined by him by law, who humbly and silently lived out his life in the town of K. as a settler. He was actually assigned to one suburban volost; but he lived in the city, having the opportunity to earn at least some food in it by teaching children. In Siberian cities, teachers from exiled settlers are often found; they do not disdain. They teach mainly French, which is so necessary in the field of life and about which without them in the remote regions of Siberia they would have no idea. For the first time I met Alexander Petrovich in the house of an old, honored and hospitable official, Ivan Ivanich Gvozdikov, who had five daughters of different years, who showed excellent promise. Alexander Petrovich gave them lessons four times a week, thirty kopecks in silver per lesson. His appearance interested me. He was an extremely pale and thin man, not yet old, about thirty-five, small and frail. He was always dressed very cleanly, in a European style. If you spoke to him, then he looked at you extremely intently and attentively, with strict courtesy he listened to your every word, as if pondering it, as if you asked him a problem with your question or wanted to extort some secret from him, and, finally, he answered clearly and briefly, but so weighing every word of his answer that you suddenly felt uncomfortable for some reason and, finally, you yourself were glad at the end of the conversation. I then asked Ivan Ivanitch about him and learned that Goryanchikov lives impeccably and morally and that otherwise Ivan Ivanitch would not have invited him for his daughters, but that he is a terrible unsociable, hides from everyone, is extremely learned, reads a lot, but speaks very little and that in general it is rather difficult to talk to him. Others argued that he was positively insane, although they found that, in fact, this was not yet such an important drawback, that many of the honorary members of the city were ready to kindness Alexander Petrovich in every possible way, that he could even be useful, write requests, and so on. It was believed that he must have decent relatives in Russia, maybe not even the last people, but they knew that from the very exile he had stubbornly cut off all relations with them - in a word, he was hurting himself. In addition, we all knew his story, they knew that he killed his wife in the first year of his marriage, killed out of jealousy and reported himself on himself (which greatly facilitated his punishment). Such crimes are always viewed as misfortunes and regretted. But, despite all this, the eccentric stubbornly kept away from everyone and appeared in people only to give lessons.

At first I didn't pay much attention to him; but, I myself do not know why, he gradually began to interest me. There was something mysterious about him. There was not the slightest opportunity to talk to him. Of course, he always answered my questions, and even with the air as if he considered it his primary duty; but after his answers I somehow felt weary of asking him longer; and on his face, after such conversations, one could always see some kind of suffering and fatigue. I remember walking with him one fine summer evening from Ivan Ivanitch. Suddenly I thought of inviting him to smoke a cigarette for a minute. I cannot describe the horror expressed on his face; he was completely lost, began to mutter some incoherent words, and suddenly, glaring at me with an angry glance, he rushed to run in the opposite direction. I was even surprised. Since then, meeting with me, he looked at me as if with some kind of fear. But I did not quit; I was drawn to him, and a month later, for no reason at all, I went to Goryanchikov's. Of course, I acted stupidly and indelicately. He lodged on the very edge of the city, with an old bourgeois woman who had a daughter who was sick in consumption, and that one had an illegitimate daughter, a child of about ten, a pretty and cheerful little girl. Alexander Petrovich was sitting with her and teaching her to read the minute I entered his room. Seeing me, he was so confused, as if I had caught him on some crime. He was completely at a loss, jumped up from his chair and looked at me with all his eyes. We finally sat down; he closely followed my every gaze, as if he suspected in each of them some special mysterious meaning. I guessed that he was suspicious to the point of madness. He looked at me with hatred, almost asking: "But will you soon leave here?" I spoke to him about our town, about current news; he kept silent and smiled maliciously; it turned out that he not only did not know the most ordinary, well-known city news, but was not even interested in knowing them. Then I started talking about our land, about its needs; he listened to me in silence and looked so strangely into my eyes that I finally felt ashamed of our conversation. However, I almost pissed him off with new books and magazines; they were in my hands, just from the post office, I offered them to him not yet cut. He glanced at them greedily, but immediately changed his mind and declined the offer, responding with lack of time. Finally, I said goodbye to him, and as I walked out from him, I felt that some unbearable weight had fallen from my heart. I was ashamed and it seemed extremely stupid to pester a person who sets his main task as his main task - to hide as far as possible from the whole world. But the deed was done. I remember that I hardly noticed any books in his house, and therefore it was unfair to say about him that he reads a lot. However, passing once or twice, very late at night, past its windows, I noticed a light in them. What did he do, sitting up until dawn? Didn't he write? And if so, what exactly?

Circumstances removed me from our town for three months. Returning home in the winter, I learned that Aleksandr Petrovich had died in the fall, died in solitude, and had never even called a doctor to him. He was almost forgotten in the town. His apartment was empty. I immediately made the acquaintance of the deceased's mistress, intending to find out from her: what was her tenant especially busy with and was he not writing anything? For two kopecks, she brought me a whole basket of papers left over from the deceased. The old woman admitted that she had already spent two notebooks. She was a gloomy and silent woman, from whom it was difficult to get anything worthwhile. She could tell me nothing particularly new about her tenant. According to her, he almost never did anything and for months did not open books and did not take a pen in his hands; on the other hand, he walked up and down the room all night long, thinking something, and sometimes talking to himself; that he loved and caressed her granddaughter, Katya, very much, especially since he learned that her name was Katya, and that on Katerina's day every time he went to serve a requiem for someone. The guests could not stand; I only left the yard to teach children; even looked askance at her, the old woman, when, once a week, she came to clean up his room a little, and almost never said a single word with her for three whole years. I asked Katya: does she remember her teacher? She looked at me in silence, turned to the wall and began to cry. Therefore, this man could at least force someone to love himself.

I took away his papers and went through them all day. Three-quarters of these papers were blank, insignificant scraps or student exercises with words. But then there was one notebook, quite voluminous, finely scribbled and unfinished, perhaps abandoned and forgotten by the author himself. It was a description, albeit an incoherent one, of a ten-year convict life, endured by Alexander Petrovich. In places this description was interrupted by some other story, some strange, terrible memories, sketched unevenly, convulsively, as if under some kind of compulsion. I reread these passages several times and almost became convinced that they were written in madness. But the convict notes - "Scenes from the House of the Dead," as he himself calls them somewhere in his manuscript, seemed to me not entirely uninteresting. Absolutely new world hitherto unknown, the strangeness of other facts, some special notes about the lost people carried me away, and I read something with curiosity. Of course, I could be wrong. First, I choose two or three chapters for testing; let the public judge ...

I. House of the dead

Our jail stood on the edge of the fortress, at the very rampart. Happened, you look through the cracks of the fence at the light of God: will you see at least something? - and only you will see that the edge of the sky and the high earthen rampart, overgrown with weeds, and the sentries pacing up and down the rampart day and night, and then you will think that whole years will pass, and you will just go to look through the cracks of the fence and you will 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 a large courtyard, two hundred steps in length and one and a half hundred steps in width, all enclosed in a circle, in the form of an irregular hexagon, with a high rear, that is, a fence of high pillars (pal), dug deep into the ground, firmly leaning against each other with ribs fastened with transverse slats and pointed on top: here is the outer fence of the prison. On one side of the fence there is a strong gate, 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, they imagined that world as some kind of unrealizable fairy tale. It had its own special world, unlike anything else; there were their 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, there are two long one-story log cabins. This is the barracks. Here live prisoners, placed in categories. Then, in the depths of the fence, there is another log house of the same kind: this is a kitchen, divided into two artels; then there is another building, where cellars, barns, sheds are placed under one roof. The middle of the courtyard is empty and forms a flat, rather large area. Here prisoners are lined up, there is a check and roll call in the morning, at noon and in the evening, sometimes several more times a day - judging by the suspiciousness of the sentries and their ability to quickly count. Around, between the buildings and the fence, there is still a fairly large space. Here, at the back of the buildings, some of the prisoners, more intimate and gloomy in character, like to walk outside of working hours, closed from all eyes, and think their little thoughts. When I met them on these walks, I loved to gaze at their gloomy, branded faces and guess what they were thinking. There was one exile whose favorite pastime in his free time was to count as fallen. There were a thousand and a half of them, and he had them all in the account and in mind. Each scorch meant a day for him; every day he counted out one palette, and thus, by the remaining number of uncounted fingers, he could clearly see how many days he still had to stay in prison before his term of work. He was genuinely glad when he finished some side of the hexagon. For many years he still had to wait; but in prison there was time to learn patience. I once saw how a prisoner who had been in hard labor for twenty years and was finally going free was saying goodbye to his comrades. 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 with a gray-haired old man, with a gloomy and sad face. Silently he walked around all our six barracks. Entering each barracks, he prayed for the icon and then low, in the belt, bowed to his comrades, asking not to commemorate him dashingly. I also remember how one prisoner, formerly a well-to-do Siberian peasant, was once called to the gate in the evening. Six months before that, he received the news that his ex-wife had married, and he was deeply saddened. Now she herself drove up to the prison, summoned him and gave him alms. They talked for two minutes, both burst into tears and said goodbye forever. I saw his face when he returned to the barracks ... Yes, in this place one could learn patience.

When it got dark, we were all taken to the barracks, where they were locked up all night. It was always difficult for me to return from the yard to our barracks. It was a long, low and stuffy room, dimly lit by tallow candles, with a heavy, suffocating odor. I don’t understand now how I survived in it for ten years. On the bunk I had three boards: this was my whole place. On the same bunks, about thirty people were accommodated in one of our rooms. They locked up early in the winter; four hours it was necessary to wait until everyone fell asleep. And before that - noise, din, laughter, curses, the sound of chains, fumes and soot, shaved heads, branded faces, patchwork dresses, everything - cursed, defamed ... yes, a man is tenacious! 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 the prison - the figure is almost constant. Some came, others finished their sentences and left, others died. And what kind of people were not there! 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, consequently, according to the number of years determined for the crime. It must be assumed that there was no crime that did not have a representative here. The main basis of the entire prison population was made up of the exiled convicts of the category of civil ( strong convicts, as the prisoners themselves naively said). These were criminals, completely deprived of any rights of the state, cut off from society, with a branded face for the eternal testimony of their rejection. They were sent to work for periods ranging from eight to twelve years and then sent somewhere along the Siberian volosts to settlers. There were also criminals of the military category, not deprived of the rights of the state, as in general in the Russian military prison companies. They were sent for a short time; at the end of them, they turned to the same place where they came from, to the soldiers, to the Siberian line battalions. Many of them almost immediately returned back to prison for secondary important crimes, but not for short periods, but for twenty years. This category was called "everlasting". But the "eternal" were still not completely deprived of all the rights of the state. Finally, there was another special category of the most terrible criminals, mostly military ones, quite numerous. It was called the "special department". Criminals were sent here from all over Russia. They themselves considered themselves eternal and did not know the term of their work. According to the law, they were supposed to double and triple the work lessons. They were kept in prison until the opening of the most difficult hard labor in Siberia. "You will be sentenced, but we will go along to hard labor," they said to other prisoners. I heard later that this discharge was destroyed. In addition, civil order was destroyed at our fortress, and one general military prisoner company was established. Of course, along with this, the administration also changed. I am describing, therefore, the old days, things long past and past ...

It was a long time ago; I now dream all this, 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; preparing for verification. The mustachioed non-commissioned officer finally opened the doors to this strange house, in which I had to stay for so many years, to endure so many such sensations that, without actually experiencing them, I could not have even a rough idea. For example, I would never have imagined: what is terrible and painful in the fact that in all ten years of my hard labor, I will not be alone, not for a single minute? At work, always under escort, at home with two hundred comrades, and never, never - alone! However, did I still have to get used to this!

There were murderers here by chance and killers by trade, robbers and chieftains of robbers. There were just mazuriks and vagabonds-industrialists for the money they found or for the Stolevo part. There were also those about whom it was difficult to decide: for what, it seems, they could come here? Meanwhile, everyone had their own story, vague and heavy, like the intoxication of yesterday's hops. In general, they spoke little about their past, did not like to talk and, apparently, tried not to think about the past. I knew of them even murderers so funny, so never thoughtful that one could bet that their conscience never told them any reproach. But there were also gloomy faces, almost always silent. In general, rarely did anyone tell his life, and curiosity was out of fashion, somehow out of custom, not accepted. So perhaps, from time to time, someone will talk out of idleness, while the other calmly and gloomily listens. No one here could surprise anyone. "We are a literate people!" - they often said with some strange self-satisfaction. I remember how one day a robber, drunk (sometimes you could get drunk in hard labor), began to tell how he stabbed a five-year-old boy, how he first deceived him with a toy, took him somewhere in an empty barn, and there he stabbed him. All the barracks, hitherto laughing at his jokes, cried out like one man, and the robber was forced to shut up; the barracks did not shout out of indignation, but because no need to talk about it speak; because to speak about it not nice. By the way, I will note that these people were really literate, and not even in a figurative, but in a literal sense. Probably more than half of them can read and write skillfully. In what other place, where the Russian people gather in large masses, would you separate from them a bunch of two hundred and fifty people, half of whom would be literate? Later I heard 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 a people. But this is not a disadvantage at all. All categories of dress differed: some had half of the jacket dark brown, and the other gray, and equally on the trousers - one leg was gray, and the other was dark brown. Once, at work, the Kalashnitsa girl, who approached the prisoners, looked at me for a long time and then suddenly burst out laughing. “Fu, how glorious it is! - she cried, - there was not enough gray cloth, and black cloth was not enough! " There were also those whose whole 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 some sharp commonality in this whole strange family; even the harshest, most original personalities who reigned over others involuntarily tried to fall into the general tone of the entire prison. In general, I will say that all this people, with a few exceptions of inexhaustible cheerful people who enjoyed universal contempt for this, were gloomy, envious, terribly vain, boastful, touchy people, the highest degree formalist. The ability not to be surprised at anything was the greatest virtue. Everyone was obsessed with how to behave outwardly. But often the most arrogant look was replaced with the speed of lightning by the most cowardly. There were some really strong people; they 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 and appearance were in the foreground. Most were corrupted and terribly disguised. Gossip and gossip were incessant: it was hell, pitch darkness. But no one dared to rebel against the internal regulations and accepted customs of the prison; everyone obeyed. There were characters sharply outstanding, with difficulty, with effort obeying, but still obeying. Those who came to the prison were too overwhelmed, too jumped out of measure in the wild, so that in the end they did not commit their crimes by themselves, 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 with us they were immediately besieged, in spite of the fact that some, before arriving in the prison, were the terror of entire villages and cities. Looking around, the newcomer soon noticed that he was in the wrong place, that there was already no one to astonish, and imperceptibly resigned himself, and fell into the general tone. This general tone was formed on the outside from some special, personal dignity, which was imbued with almost every inhabitant of the prison. Precisely, in fact, the title of convict, resolved, was some kind of rank, and even an honorary one. No signs of shame or remorse! However, there was also some kind of outward 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 street, check the ranks”. - "I did not obey my father and mother, listen now to the drum skin." - "I didn't want to sew with gold, now hit 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. These were all just words. It is unlikely that even one of them confessed inwardly to his lawlessness. Try someone who is not a convict to reproach the prisoner with his crime, to elect him (although, however, not in the Russian spirit to reproach the criminal) - there will be no end to the curses. And what were they all masters of swearing! They swore exquisitely, artistically. Swearing was elevated to them as a science; they tried to take it not so much with an offensive word as with an offensive meaning, spirit, idea - and this is more refined, more poisonous. Continuous quarrels further developed this science between them. All these people worked out of the bargain, consequently they were idle, and consequently they were corrupted: if they had not been corrupted before, then they were corrupted in hard labor. They all gathered here not by their own will; they were all strangers to each other.

"Damn three bast shoes demolished before we gathered in one heap!" - they said to themselves; and therefore gossip, intrigue, slanderous women, envy, quarrels, anger were always in the foreground in this pitch life. No woman was able to be such a woman as some of these murderers. I repeat, there were also strong people among them, characters, accustomed to breaking and commanding all their lives, tempered, 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 from the principle of obedience , not from the consciousness of responsibilities, but as if under some kind of contract, realizing the mutual benefits. However, they were treated with caution. I remember how one of these prisoners, a fearless and resolute man, known to his superiors for his brutal inclinations, was once called to punishment for some crime. It was a summer day, it was not working time. The headquarters officer, the closest and immediate commander of the prison, himself came 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 said. Most of all they feared in him his penetrating, lynx gaze, from which it was impossible to hide anything. He saw somehow without looking. Entering the prison, he already knew what was going on at the other end of it. The prisoners called him eight-eyed. His system was false. He only embittered the already embittered people with his furious, evil actions, and if there had not been a commandant over him, a noble and reasonable man, who sometimes died out of his wild antics, he would have done great troubles with his management. I don't understand how he could have ended up safely; he retired alive and well, although, incidentally, he was put on trial.

The prisoner turned pale when he was called. As a rule, he silently and decisively lay down under the cane, silently endured the punishment and got up after the punishment, as if disheveled, calmly and philosophically looking at the failure that had happened. However, they always dealt with him carefully. But this time he considered himself right for some reason. He turned pale and, quietly from the convoy, managed to slip a sharp English boot knife into his sleeve. Knives and all sorts of sharp instruments were terribly forbidden in the prison. Searches were frequent, unexpected and serious, the punishment was cruel; but since it is difficult to find a thief when he decided to hide something especially, and since knives and tools were always a necessity in the prison, they were not translated, despite the searches. And if they were selected, then new ones were immediately started. All the penal servitude rushed to the fence and with a sinking heart looked through the slits of the fingers. Everyone knew that Petrov this time would not want to lie under the rod and that the major was finished. But at the most decisive moment our major got into a droshky and left, entrusting the execution of the execution to another officer. "God himself saved!" The prisoners said later. As for Petrov, he calmly endured the punishment. His anger faded with the Major's departure. The prisoner is obedient and submissive to a certain 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 suffers for several years, resigns himself, endures the most severe punishments and suddenly breaks through on some little thing, on some trifle, almost for nothing. On the other hand, one might even call him crazy; and so they do.

I have already said that for several years I have not seen between these people the slightest sign remorse, not the slightest painful thought about their crime, and that most of them internally consider themselves to be completely right. It is a fact. Of course, vanity, bad examples, youthfulness, false shame are largely the reason. On the other hand, who can say that he tracked down the depths of these lost hearts and read in them the secret from the whole world? But after all, one could, at so many years, at least notice something, catch, catch in these hearts at least some feature that would testify to inner longing, about suffering. But this was not, positively not. Yes, crime, it seems, cannot be comprehended from data, ready-made points of view, and its philosophy is somewhat more difficult than it is believed. Of course, jails and the system of forced labor do not correct the criminal; they only punish him and provide society from further attempts by the villain on his peace of mind. In a criminal, the prison and the most intense hard labor develop only hatred, a thirst for forbidden pleasures and terrible frivolity. But I am firmly convinced that the famous secret system achieves only a false, deceptive, external goal. She sucks the life juice from a person, enervates his soul, weakens it, frightens her and then a morally withered mummy, presents the half-madman as a model of correction and repentance. Of course, a criminal who rebelled against society hates him and almost always considers himself right and his guilty. In addition, he has already suffered punishment from him, and through this he almost considers himself purified, avenged. Finally, one can judge from such points of view that one will almost have to acquit the criminal himself. But, despite all sorts of points of view, everyone will agree that there are crimes that are always and everywhere, according to all kinds of laws, from the beginning of the world are considered indisputable crimes and will be considered such as long as a person remains a person. Only in prison did I hear stories about the most terrible, the most unnatural deeds, the most monstrous murders, told with the most irrepressible, with the most childishly cheerful laugh. One patricide especially does not leave my memory. He was from the nobility, served and was with his sixty-year-old father something like prodigal son... Behavior he was completely dissolute, got involved in debt. 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 tracked down only a month later. The killer himself submitted an announcement to the police that his father had disappeared to no one knows where. He spent this whole month in the most depraved way. Finally, in his absence, the police found the body. In the courtyard, along its entire length, there was a groove for the drainage of sewage, covered with boards. The body lay in this groove. It was dressed and tucked away, the gray head was cut off, placed against the torso, and the killer put 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 that I lived with him, he was in the most excellent, in the most cheerful frame of mind. He was an eccentric, frivolous, eminently unreasonable person, although not at all stupid. I have never noticed any particular cruelty in him. The prisoners despised him not for a crime, which was not even mentioned, but for nonsense, for not knowing how to behave. In conversations, he sometimes thought of his father. Once, talking to me about the healthy constitution hereditary in their family, he added: “Here my parent

... ... break the green street, check the ranks. - The expression matters: to pass through the line of soldiers with gauntlets, receiving a number of blows on the naked back determined by the court.

The headquarters officer, the closest and immediate commander of the prison ... - It is known that the prototype of this officer was the parade major of the Omsk prison VG Krivtsov. In a letter to his brother dated February 22, 1854, Dostoevsky wrote: "Platz-major Krivtsov is a canal, of which there are few, petty barbarian, barbarian, drunkard, everything that can be imagined as disgusting." Krivtsov was dismissed, and then brought to trial for abuse.

... ... commandant, a noble and reasonable man ... - The commandant of the Omsk fortress was Colonel AF de Grave, according to the recollections of the senior adjutant of the Omsk corps headquarters NT Cherevin, "the kindest and most worthy man."

Petrov. - In the documents of the Omsk prison there is a record that the prisoner Andrei Shalomentsev was punished "for resistance against the parade ground major Krivtsov when punishing him with rods and uttering the words that he would certainly do something over himself or kill Krivtsov." This prisoner may have been the prototype of Petrov, he came to hard labor "for ripping off an epaulette from a company commander."

... ... the famous cell system ... - The solitary confinement system. The question of the organization in Russia of single prisons on the model of a London prison was put forward by Nicholas I.

... ... one patricide ... - The prototype of the “patricide” nobleman was DN Ilyinsky, about whom seven volumes of his court case have come down to us. Outwardly, in the event-plot aspect, this imaginary "patricide" is the prototype of Mitya Karamazov in the last novel Dostoevsky.