“Three matches!” cries Posen; everyone laughs; and he himself seems thoroughly pleased with his joke. He had at bottom a vain and petty spirit, and showed later that he could come to any compromise with the authorities in order to satisfy his own small desires.
Deficiency and poverty of nourishment soon affected my health, although I had all my life hitherto been thoroughly robust. After a few months I felt a weakness in the legs, and could no longer hold myself upright; then black and blue patches made their appearance on the skin of my legs, my gums began to suppurate, and my teeth became loose. I betook myself to our medical adviser, Prybylyev.
“Hullo, my friend, you have got a beautiful attack of scurvy!” said he; “you’ve been quick about it.” He ordered me invalid diet, and I was given a daily cutlet with plenty of garlic. I was not the only one to suffer in this way from the insufficient feeding; next spring a number of us were victims to the same disease, and, strangely enough, it was always the strongest and healthiest who succumbed. Improved diet and the skill[skill] of our good Prybylyev soon tided me over the worst; after a while I could walk once more without crutches, my gums healed, and soon I could dispense with invalid food. For a long time, however, I felt the after-effects of my illness.
I have a keen recollection of my first spring in Kara. I was overcome by an indescribable yearning and longing that made the burden of the aimless, senseless life within prison walls lie like a leaden weight on my spirits, in face of the new life of nature springing up so freely all around. Even reading, almost the sole occupation I could invent for myself outside the daily work, was impossible. The letters danced before my eyes; no sense of what I had read remained in my mind; memory failed me; and my fancy alone worked untiringly. In any case mental exertion under the conditions of prison life has but little result in proportion to the time and energy expended; the physical state of the prisoner reacts on his mind, dulling his faculties and weakening his resolution. But in the spring-time, when every living thing revives and asserts itself in action, it is hardly possible to resist distraction from merely mental labour.
Our prison lay in the trough of a valley between ranges of hills, and from the yard these hills could be seen by us. There was very scanty vegetation on those Siberian heights; yet in spring they appeared to us like a distant Paradise that beckoned irresistibly. Close by we had only the well-trodden courtyard, where not even a blade of grass peeped forth, the black weather-stained wooden walls of the prison buildings, and the tall posts of the stockade; our eyes dwelt on the farther prospect, and we pictured to ourselves the delight of treading on soft turf under the shade of trees.
We petitioned our “tom-cat” for leave to plant a garden in the yard; there was space enough, the work would have been beneficial, and then we might have had vegetables for our table, the deficiency in which particular had been so detrimental to our health. The “tom-cat” roundly refused. “We should need spades,” he said, “and they might be used to dig a hole whereby to get away.” So, again, when one of us was sent some flower-seeds and sowed them in a wooden box, the box was taken away by Nikolin’s orders: the earth in it might have served to conceal some contraband article. Such needless tyrannies embittered us still more against the detested commandant. However peaceably we might otherwise have been inclined, our hatred of this man might well have blazed out at any opportunity; he himself probably guessed as much, for he became more and more mistrustful, at last never entering our prison. He felt that he had made enemies all round him, and sat lonely in his own house, or squabbled with his cook, afraid to show himself outside. It may be a matter of surprise that one of his many enemies did not find a way to put an end to him, that being a not unusual course of events in Kara; but finally he could endure such a life no longer, and applied to be transferred elsewhere. In the spring of 1887 his application was granted, and he departed, accompanied by the anathemas of the entire population of Kara.
CHAPTER XXV
HUMOURS AND PASTIMES OF PRISON LIFE—TWO NEW COMMANDANTS—THE “HOSPITAL”—THE PARTICIPATORS IN ARMED RESISTANCE
Our life was one of dismal uniformity. Day after day, month after month, went past and left no trace in remembrance. One day was exactly like another, and all alike seemed endless. Whole years elapsed, and from each three hundred and sixty-five days there could not be singled out one on which any event had occurred worthy of recollection. In vain one racks one’s brain trying to arouse a memory of that monotonous past. When we arose in the morning we knew exactly what the day would bring; indeed, one knew beforehand what the next day and the next week and month would contain. One knew the manners, customs, inclinations of every comrade in misfortune, could tell what each would be likely to say or do on any given occasion, and sometimes one would long to run away and hide, and never see their faces again. But there is no running away; every minute of the year you are obliged to endure the company of those others, and to burden them with your own; there is not a moment in which you can be alone, not a corner in the common room to which you can withdraw for real privacy.
To all this is added the rigour of the prison routine: the roll-call morning and evening, the periodical inspections, the shaving of heads that takes place with painful regularity, the constant presence of the gendarmes. The strain at times becomes insupportable, and the nerves are so shattered that the creaking of the great lock in the frequent opening and shutting of the door affects one almost to madness. Many of us became irritable to an extent incomprehensible to a normally sound person, and with some of us (though not with many) this would at times lead to loss of temper and quarrelling over the veriest nothings. It thus once happened that two friends, both intelligent and well-educated men of mature years, fell out with one another literally about an egg-shell, which occasioned a dispute that led to a break between them. This can only be conceivable if one realises that even people who love each other tenderly might find it difficult to endure such close and uninterrupted intercourse. What, then, must have been our situation, locked up together, forced to inflict unwillingly on each other a companionship which there was no alternative but to accept?