Imagine a room of twelve feet long and of equal width, in which a hundred men are crowded together; or say eighty, for we were in all two hundred divided into two sections. The steam blinded us; the sweat, the dirt, and lack of space were such that we could hardly find room to stand. I was frightened and wished to leave, but Petroff hastened to reassure me. With great difficulty we managed to climb on to the benches, by stepping over the heads of convicts whom we persuaded to bend down and let us pass. The benches, however, were already occupied, and Petroff informed me that I would have to buy a place. He at once entered into negotiation with the convict who was near the window, and for a kopeck this man consented to cede me his place. After receiving the money, which Petroff held tight in his hand, and with which he had wisely provided himself beforehand, the man crept into a dark and dirty corner just below me, where there was at least half an inch of filth. Even the places above the benches were occupied; the convicts swarmed everywhere. As for the floor there was not a place as large as the palm of the hand which was not occupied by the convicts. They tossed the water from their pails; those who were standing up poured it over themselves, and the dirty water, running down their bodies, fell on the shaved heads of those who were sitting down. Other convicts crowded on the upper bench and the steps leading to it. They washed themselves more thoroughly, but there were relatively few of them. The common people do not care to wash with soap and water; they prefer the horrible method of stewing and then douching themselves with cold water. Below I could see fifty bundles of twigs rising and falling; the holders were whipping themselves into a state akin to intoxication. The steam became thicker and thicker every minute, so that what one now felt was not a warm but a burning sensation, as from boiling pitch. The convicts shouted and howled to the accompaniment of the hundred chains shaking on the floor. Those who tried to move from one position to another got their chains mixed up with those of their neighbours, and knocked against the heads of the men who were lower down than they. There were volleys of abuse as those who fell dragged down those whose chains had become entangled in theirs. They were all in a state of frenzy, of wild exultation. Cries and shrieks were heard on all sides. There was much crowding and crushing at the window of the dressing-room through which the hot water was delivered, and a good deal was spilt on the heads of those seated on the floor before it reached its destination. We seemed to be quite free; but from time to time one could see through the dressing-room or the open door the moustached face of a soldier with his musket at his feet, watching that no serious disorder took place.
The shaved heads of the convicts, and their red bodies, which the steam had turned to the colour of blood, seemed more monstrous than ever. On their backs stood out in striking relief the scars left by whips or rods-scars made long before, but so thoroughly that the flesh seemed to have been torn quite recently. Strange marks; a shudder passed through me at the mere sight of them. Again the volume of steam increased, and the bath-room was now covered with a thick, burning cloud, concealing movement, stifling cries. Through this cloud emerged torn backs, shaved heads, and, to complete the picture, Isaiah Fomitch howling with joy on the highest bench. He was saturating himself with steam. Any other man would have fainted away, but no temperature is too high for him; he engages the services of a rubber for a kopeck but after a few moments the latter is unable toi continue, throws away his bunch of twigs, and runs to douche himself with cold water. Isaiah Fomitch is undaunted, he quickly hires a second rubber, then a third; on these occasions he thinks nothing of expense, and changes his rubber four or five times. ‘He stews well, the gallant Isaiah Fomitch,’ cry the convicts from below. The Jew feels that he surpasses all the others, that he has beaten them; he triumphs with his hoarse falsetto voice, and sings out his favourite air, which rises above the general hubbub. It seemed to me that if ever we met in hell we should be reminded of this place. I could not help saying so to Petroff, who looked all round him but made no answer.
I wanted to buy him a place at my side on the bench, but he sat down at my feet and declared that he felt quite at ease. Baklouchin meanwhile had bought us some more hot water and offered to bring it to us as soon as we required it. Petroff offered to clean me from head to foot, and he begged me to go through the preliminary stewing process, but I could not bring myself to do so. At last he rubbed me all over with soap. I tried to make him understand that I could wash myself, but it was no use contradicting him and I let him have his way.
When he had finished he took me back to the dressing-room, holding me up and telling me at each step to take care, as if I had been made of porcelain. He helped me to dress, and when he had finished his kindly work he rushed back to the bath to have a good stew.
When we returned to the barracks I offered him a glass of tea, which he did not refuse. He drank it and thanked me. I wished to go to the expense of a glass of vodka in his honour, and I succeeded in obtaining some without difficulty. Petroff was exceedingly pleased. He swallowed his vodka with a murmur of satisfaction, declared that I had restored him to life, and then suddenly rushed to the kitchen as if the men who were talking there could decide nothing of importance without him.
And now another man came and chatted with me. This was Baklouchin, of whom I have already spoken and whom I had also invited to take tea.
I never knew a man of a more agreeable disposition than Baklouchin. It must be admitted that he never forgave a wrong, and that he often became involved in disputes. Above all, he could not tolerate others meddling in his affairs. He knew, in a word, how to take care of himself; but his quarrels never lasted long, and I believe he was generally liked. Wherever he went he was well received, and even in the town he was looked upon as the most amusing man in the world. He was a man of lofty stature, thirty years old, with a frank, determined countenance, and rather good-looking with his tuft of hair on his chin. He possessed the art of changing his expression to imitate the first person he happened to see, so that he kept his fellow prisoners in fits of laughter. He was a professed joker, but never allowed himself to be slighted by those who did not enjoy his fun. Accordingly, no one ever spoke disparagingly of him. He was full of life and high-spirited. Baklouchin made my acquaintance at the very beginning of my imprisonment, and told me of his military career as a sapper in the Engineers, to whom he had been posted through the influence of friends. He asked me a number of questions about St Petersburg, and even read books when he came to tea with me. He amused the whole company by describing how roughly Lieutenant Khad that morning handled the governor. He told me, moreover, with a satisfied air, as he took his seat by my side, that we should probably have a theatrical performance in the prison. The convicts proposed to stage a play during the Christmas holiday. Suitable actors were found and little by little the scenery was prepared. Some persons in the town had promised to lend women’s clothes for the performance, and hopes were even entertained of obtaining, through the medium of an officer’s servant, a uniform with epaulettes, provided the governor did not decide to forbid the performance, as he had done last year. On that occasion he was disgruntled through having lost at cards; he had been annoyed by something that had occurred in the prison, and in a fit of ill humour had forbidden the performance. It was possible, however, that this year he would allow it. Baklouchin was in a state of exultation. It was clear that he would be one of the principal supporters of the show. I made up my mind to be present at the performance. The ingenuous joy which Baklouchin manifested when he spoke of the undertaking was quite touching, and from vague hints we gradually proceeded to discuss his past quite openly. He told me, among other things, that he had not served only at St Petersburg; he had been sent to R with the rank of non-commissioned officer in a garrison battalion.
‘ From there they sent me on here,’ he added.
‘What for?’ I asked him.
‘What for? You’d never guess, Alexander Petrovitch. Because I was in love.’
‘Come, now. A man is not exiled for that,’ I said w
ith a laugh.
‘I should have added,’ continued Baklouchin, ‘that it led me to shoot a German. Was it fair to condemn me to hard labour for killing a German? Just think.’
‘How did it happen? Tell me the story. It must be a strange one.’
‘An amusing story indeed, Alexander Petrovitch.’
‘ So much the better. Tell me.’
‘You wish me to? Well, then, listen.’
And he told me the story of his crime. It was not amusing, but it was certainly strange.
‘This is how it happened,’ began Baklouchin. ‘I had been sent to Riga, a fine, handsome city, which has only one fault -there are too many Germans there. I was still a young man, and was respected by my officers. I wore my cap at a jaunty angle and led a most agreeable life and made love to the German girls, one of whom, named Luisa, pleased me very much. She and her aunt were dressers of fine linen. The old woman was a real caricature, but she had money. At first I used merely to pass under the young lady’s window; but I soon made her acquaintance. Luisa spoke Russian well enough, though with a slight accent. She was charming; I never saw anyone like her. I was most pressing in my advances, but she only replied that she would preserve her innocence, that as a wife she might prove worthy of me. She was an affectionate, smiling girl, and wonderfully neat. In fact, I can assure you that I never met anyone like her. She herself had suggested that I should marry her, and how could I do otherwise? One day she failed to keep an appointment. It happened a second and a third time. I wrote her a letter, but she did not reply. “ What’s to be done?” I asked myself. If she had been deceiving me she could easily have done so once more; she could have answered my letter and kept the appointment; but she was incapable of falsehood. She had simply jilted me. “This is her aunt’s work,” I said to myself. I was afraid to call on her.
‘Although she recognized our engagement, she acted as if she were ignorant of it. I wrote a fine letter and told her: “If you don’t come, I will come to your aunt’s for you.” She was afraid and came. Then she began to weep, and told me that a rich, middle-aged German named Schultz, a distant relation of theirs, a clockmaker by trade, had expressed a wish to marry her, in order to make her happy, as he said, and that he himself might not find himself without a wife in his old age. He had loved her for a long time, so she told me, and had been nourishing this idea for years; but he had kept it a secret, and had never ventured to speak out. “You see, Sasha,” she said to me, “it’s a question of happiness. He’s rich. Surely you wouldn’t prevent my happiness.” I looked her in the face; she wept, embraced me, clasped me in her arms.
‘“Well, she’s quite right,” I said to myself, “what good is there in marrying a soldier-even a non-commissioned officer? So farewell, Luisa. God protect you. I have no right to stand in the way of your happiness.”
‘“What sort of fellow is he?” I asked. “Good-looking?” ‘“No, he’s old, and has ever such a long nose.” ‘ She burst into a fit of laughter. I left her. It was just my luck. She had told me where Schultz lived, and next day I passed his shop. I looked through the window and saw a German mending a watch. He was forty-five years of age, with aquiline nose, protruding eyes, and a dress-coat with a very high collar. I spat with contempt as I watched him. At that moment I could gladly have broken the shop window, but “What’s the use?” I asked myself. “There’s nothing more to be done; it’s over, all over.” I returned to barracks as darkness fell, lay down on my bed, and-will you believe it, Alexander Petrovitch?-began to sob-yes, to sob. One day passed, then a second, then a third. I saw Luisa no more. I had learned, however, from an old woman (she too was a washerwoman, and the girl I loved used sometimes to visit her) that this German knew of our relations, and had therefore made up his mind to marry her as soon as possible, otherwise he would have waited two years longer. He had made Luisa swear that she would see me no more. It appeared that on account of me he had refused to loosen his purse-strings, and was keeping Luisa and her aunt very short of money. He might yet change his mind, for he was not very resolute. The old woman told me that he had invited them to take coffee with him the next day, Sunday, and that another relation, a former shopkeeper, now very poor, and an assistant in some liquor store, would also be there. When I realized that the business was to be settled on Sunday, I was so furious that I could not regain my equanimity, and the following day I did nothing but reflect. I believe I could have devoured that German. By Sunday morning I had still come to no decision. Immediately after mass I ran out, put on my greatcoat, and went to the German’s house. I thought I should find them all there. Why I went to the German, and what I meant to say to him, I had no idea.
‘ I slipped a pistol into my pocket to be ready for everything -a little pistol that was not worth a curse, with an old-fashioned lock-a thing I had used as a boy, and which was really quite useless. I loaded it, however, because I thought they would try to kick me out and that the German would insult me. In that case I would pull out my pistol and scare them. When I arrived there was no one on the staircase; they were all in the workroom. The one servant-girl who waited upon them was absent. I walked through the shop and saw that the door was closed-an old door fastened from the inside. My heart beat; I stopped and listened. They were speaking German. I kicked the door open and looked around. The table was laid; on it stood a large coffee-pot with a spirit-lamp underneath, and a plate of biscuits. Standing on a tray there was a small decanter of brandy with some herrings, sausages, and a bottle of wine. Luisa and her aunt, both in their Sunday best, were seated on a sofa. Opposite them the German sprawled in his chair, dressed like a bridegroom in his high-collared coat and his hair carefully combed. On the other side there was another German, old, fat, and grey, but he took no part in the conversation. When I entered, Luisa turned very pale. The aunt jumped up and sat down again. The German became angry. What a rage he was in! He rose, and, walking towards me, said:
“‘What do you want?”
‘I should have lost my self-possession if anger had not supported me.
‘“What do I want? Is this the way to receive a guest? Why don’t you offer me a drink? I’ve come to pay you a visit.”
‘The German reflected a moment, and then said: “Sit down.”
‘I sat down.
‘“Here’s some vodka. Do help yourself.”
‘“And let it be good,” I cried, my anger rising.
‘“It is good.”
‘ I was enraged to see him looking me up and down. The most frightful part of it was that Luisa was looking on. I took a drink and said to him:
‘“Look here, German, why be rude to me? Let’s get better acquainted. I’ve come to see you as friends.”
‘“I cannot be your friend,” he replied. “You are a private soldier.’
‘Then I lost control of myself.
‘“You damned German! You sausage-seller! You’re completely in my power. Look here; do you wish me to break your head with this?”
‘ I drew out my pistol, got up, and struck him on the forehead. The women were more dead than alive; they were afraid to breathe. The elder of the two men, quite white, was trembling like a leaf.
‘The German seemed much astonished. But he soon recovered himself.
‘“I am not afraid of you,” he said, “and I beg of you, as a well-bred man, to make an end of this pleasantry. I am not afraid of you!”
‘“You are afraid! You dare not move while this pistol is pointed at you.”
‘“You dare not do such a thing!” he cried.
‘“And why should I not dare?”
‘“Because you would be severely punished.”
‘May the devil take that idiot of a German! If he had not goaded me he would have been alive to-day.
‘“So you think I dare not?”
‘“No.”
‘“I dare not, you think?”
‘“You would not dare!”
‘“Wouldn’t I, sausage-maker?” I fired the pistol, and he
sank down in his chair. The others screamed. I put the pistol in my pocket, but on returning to the fortress I threw it among some weeds near the principal entrace.
‘I lay on my bed and thought: “I shall soon be arrested.” An hour passed, then another, but no one came for me.
‘Towards evening I felt so sad that I went out intending to see Luisa at all costs. I passed by the clockmaker’s house; there were a number of people there, including the police. I ran on to the old woman’s and said:
‘“Call Luisa!”
‘I had only a moment to wait. She came immediately, and threw herself on my neck in tears.
‘“It is my fault,” she said. “I should not have listened to my aunt.”
‘She then told me that her aunt had returned home immediately after the assassination. She was in such a fright that she collapsed without speaking a word; she had said nothing. On the contrary, she had ordered her niece to be as silent as herself.
‘“No one has seen her since,” said Luisa.
‘The clockmaker had previously sent his servant away: he was afraid of her, for she was jealous, and would have scratched his eyes out had she known that he intended to get married.
‘There were no workmen in the house; he had sent them all away. He had himself prepared the coffee and collation. As for the relative, he had scarcely spoken a word all his life: he took his hat and departed without opening his mouth.
‘“He is quite sure to be silent,” added Luisa.
‘ So, indeed, he was. For two weeks I was neither arrested nor even suspected.
‘You needn’t believe me if you don’t wish, Alexander Petrovitch.
‘Those two weeks were the happiest in my life. I saw Luisa every day. And how devoted she had become!
‘ She said to me through her tears: “ If you are exiled, I will go with you. I will leave everything to follow you.”
Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky Page 151