The convicts chose him themselves. He did not work with the others, for it was his business to examine the camp bedsteads and the floors, to fetch and carry water. This water served in the morning for the prisoners' ablutions, and the rest during the day for ordinary drinking. That very morning there were disputes on the subject of one of the pitchers.
"What are you doing there with your marked forehead?" grumbled one of the prisoners, tall, dry, and sallow.
He attracted attention by the strange protuberances with which his skull was covered. He pushed against another convict round and small, with a lively rubicund countenance.
"Just wait."
"What are you crying out about? You know that a fine must be paid when the others are kept waiting. Off with you. What a monument, my brethren!"
"A little calf," he went on muttering. "See, the white bread of the prison has fattened him."
"For what do you take yourself? A fine bird, indeed."
"You are about right."
"What bird do you mean?"
"You don't require to be told."
"How so?"
"Find out."
They devoured one another with their eyes. The little man, waiting for a reply, with clenched fists, was apparently ready to fight. I thought that an encounter would take place. It was all quite new to me; accordingly I watched the scene with curiosity. Later on I learnt that such quarrels were very innocent, that they served for entertainment. Like an amusing comedy, it scarcely ever ended in blows. This characteristic plainly informed me of the manners of the prisoners.
The tall prisoner remained calm and majestic. He felt that some answer was expected from him, if he was not to be dishonoured, covered with ridicule. It was necessary for him to show that he was a wonderful bird, a personage. Accordingly, he cast a side look on his adversary, endeavouring, with inexpressible contempt, to irritate him by looking at him over his shoulders, up and down, as he would have done with an insect. At last the little fat man was so irritated that he would have thrown himself upon his adversary had not his companions surrounded the combatants to prevent a serious quarrel from taking place.
"Fight with your fists, not with your tongues," cried a spectator from a corner of the room.
"No, hold them," answered another, "they are going to fight. We are fine fellows, one against seven is our style."
Fine fighting men! One was here for having sneaked a pound of bread, the other is a pot-stealer; he was whipped by the executioner for stealing a pot of curdled milk from an old woman.
"Enough, keep quiet," cried a retired soldier, whose business it was to keep order in the barrack, and who slept in a corner of the room on a bedstead of his own.
"Water, my children, water for Nevalid Petrovitch, water for our little brother, who has just woke up."
"Your brother! Am I your brother? Did we ever drink a roublesworth of spirits together?" muttered the old soldier as he passed his arms through the sleeves of his great-coat.
The roll was about to be called, for it was already late. The prisoners were hurrying towards the kitchen. They had to put on their pelisses, and were to receive in their bi-coloured caps the bread which one of the cooks—one of the bakers, that is to say—was distributing among them. These cooks, like those who did the household work, were chosen by the prisoners themselves. There were two for the kitchen, making four in all for the convict prison. They had at their disposal the only kitchen-knife authorised in the prison, which was used for cutting up the bread and meat. The prisoners arranged themselves in groups around the tables as best they could in caps and pelisses, with leather girdles round their waists, all ready to begin work. Some of the convicts had kvas before them, in which they steeped pieces of bread. The noise was insupportable. Many of the convicts, however, were talking together in corners with a steady, tranquil air.
"Good-morning and good appetite, Father Antonitch," said a young prisoner, sitting down by the side of an old man, who had lost his teeth.
"If you are not joking, well, good-morning," said the latter, without raising his eyes, and endeavouring to masticate a piece of bread with his toothless gums.
"I declare I fancied you were dead, Antonitch."
"Die first, I will follow you."
I sat down beside them. On my right two convicts were conversing with an attempt at dignity.
"I am not likely to be robbed," said one of them. "I am more afraid of stealing myself."
"It would not be a good idea to rob me. The devil! I should pay the man out."
"But what would you do, you are only a convict? We have no other name. You will see that she will rob you, the wretch, without even saying, 'Thank you.' The money I gave her was wasted. Just fancy, she was here a few days ago! Where were we to go? Shall I ask permission to go into the house of Theodore, the executioner? He has still his house in the suburb, the one he bought from that Solomon, you know, that scurvy Jew who hung himself not long since."
"Yes, I know him, the one who sold liquor here three years ago, and who was called Grichka—the secret-drinking shop."
"I know."
"All brag. You don't know. In the first place it is another drinking shop."
"What do you mean, another? You don't know what you are talking about. I will bring you as many witnesses as you like."
"Oh, you will bring them, will you? Who are you? Do you know to whom you are speaking?"
"Yes, indeed."
"I have often thrashed you, though I don't boast of it. Do not give yourself airs then."
"You have thrashed me? The man who will thrash me is not yet born; and the man who did thrash me is six feet beneath the ground."
"Plague-stricken rascal of Bender?"
"May the Siberian leprosy devour you with ulcers!"
"May a chopper cleave your dog of a head."
Insults were falling about like rain.
"Come, now, they are going to fight. When men have not been able to conduct themselves properly they should keep silent. They are too glad to come and eat the Government bread, the rascals!"
They were soon separated. Let them fight with the tongue as much as they wish. That is permitted. It is a diversion at the service of every one; but no blows. It is, indeed, only in extraordinary cases that blows were exchanged. If a fight took place, information was given to the Major, who ordered an inquiry or directed one himself; and then woe to the convicts. Accordingly they set their faces against anything like a serious quarrel; besides, they insulted one another chiefly to pass the time, as an oratorical exercise. They get excited; the quarrel takes a furious, ferocious character; they seem about to slaughter one another. Nothing of the kind takes place. As soon as their anger has reached a certain pitch they separate.
That astonished me much, and if I relate some of the conversations between the convicts, I do so with a purpose. Could I have imagined that people could have insulted one another for pleasure, that they could find enjoyment in it?
We must not forget the gratification of vanity. A dialectician, who knows how to insult artistically, is respected.