But I became accustomed even to these quarters, and conjugated Italian verbs and read any books I could get. At first, the rules were fairly strict: when the bugle sounded for the last time at nine in the evening, a turnkey came in, blew out my candle, and locked me up for the night. I had to sit in darkness till eight next morning. I was never a great sleeper, and the want of exercise made four hours’ sleep ample for me in prison; hence the want of a light was a serious deprivation. Besides this, a sentry at each end of the passage gave a loud prolonged cry of “All’s well-l-l-l!” every quarter of an hour.
After a few weeks, however, the colonel allowed me to have a light. My window was beneath the level of the court, so that the sentry could watch all my movements; and no blind or curtain to the window was allowed. He also stopped the sentries from calling out in the passage. Later, we were permitted to have ink and a fixed number of sheets of paper, on condition that none were torn up; and we were allowed to walk in the yard once in twenty-four hours, accompanied by a sentry and the officer of the day, while outside the yard there was a fence and a chain of sentries.
The life was monotonous and peaceful; military precision gave it a kind of mechanical regularity like the caesura in verse. In the morning I made coffee over the stove with the help of the turnkey; at ten the officer of the day made his appearance, bringing in with him several cubic feet of frost, and clattering with his sword; he wore cloak and helmet and gloves up to his elbows; at one the turnkey brought me a dirty napkin and a bowl of soup, which he held by the rim in such a way that his two thumbs were noticeably cleaner than the other fingers. The food was tolerable; but it must be remembered that we were charged two roubles a day for it, which mounts up to a considerable sum for a poor man in the course of nine months. The father of one prisoner said frankly that he could not pay, whereupon he was told it would be stopped out of his salary; had he not been drawing Government pay, he would probably have been put in prison himself. There was also a Government allowance for our keep; but the quarter-masters put this in their pockets and stopped the mouths of the officers with orders for the theatres on first nights and benefits.
After sunset complete silence set in, only interrupted by the distant calls of the sentries, or the steps of a soldier crunching over the snow right in front of my window. I generally read till one, before I put out my candle. In my dreams I was free once more. Sometimes I woke up thinking: “What a horrid nightmare of prison and gaolers! How glad I am it’s not true!”—and suddenly a sword rattled in the passage, or the officer of the day came in with his lantern-bearer, or a sentry called out “Who goes there?” in his mechanical voice, or a bugle, close to the window, split the morning air with reveille.
§5
When I was bored and not inclined to read, I talked to my gaolers, especially to the old fellow who had treated me for my fainting fit. The colonel, as a mark of favour, excused some of the old soldiers from parade and gave them the light work of guarding a prisoner; they were in charge of a corporal—a spy and a scoundrel. Five or six of these veterans did all the work of the prison.
The old soldier I am speaking of was a simple creature, kind-hearted himself and grateful for any kindness that was shown him, and it is likely that not much had been shown him in the course of his life. He had served through the campaign of 1812 and his breast was covered with medals. His term of service had expired, but he stayed on as a volunteer, having no place to go to. “I wrote twice,” he used to say, “to my relations in the Government of Mogilev, but I got no answer; so I suppose that all my people are dead. I don’t care to go home, only to beg my bread in old age.” How barbarous is the system of military service in Russia, which detains a man for twenty years with the colours! But in every sphere of life we sacrifice the individual without mercy and without reward.
Old Philimonov professed to know German; he had learned it in winter quarters after the taking of Paris. In fact, he knew some German words, to which he attached Russian terminations with much ingenuity.
§6
In his stories of the past there was a kind of artlessness which made me sad. I shall record one of them.