From the nursery I had passed into the lecture-room, from the lecture-room to a circle of friends-it had all been theories, dreams, my own people, no active relationships. Then prison to let it all settle. Practical contact with life was beginning here ncar the Ural Mountains.
It manifested itself at once ; the day after my arri�al I went with a porter from the governor's office to look for a lodging and he took me to a big house of one storey. However much I explained that I was looking for a very small house or, still better, part of a house, he obstinately insisted on my going in.
The landlady made me sit down on her sofa and, learning that I came from Moscow, asked if I had seen Mr Kabrit in Moscow.
I told her that I had never even heard the name.
'How is that?' observed the old woman; 'I mean Kabrit,' and she mentioned his Christian name and his father's name. 'Upon my word, sir, why, he was our Whist-Governor! '
'But I have been nine months i n prison ; perhaps that is why I have not heard of him,' I said, smiling.
'Maybe that is it. So you will take the house, my good sir?'
'It is too big, much too big; I told the man so.'
'You can't have too much of a good thing,' she said.
'That is so, but you will want more rent for so much of a good thing.'
'Ah, my good sir, but who has talked to you about my price? I have not said a word about i t yet.'
'But I know that such a house cannoi he let cheaply.'
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'How much \viii you give?'
To get rid of her, I said that I would not give more than three hundred and fifty paper roubles.
'Well, I would be thankful for that. Bid the man bring your bits of trunks, my dear, and take a glass of Teneriffe.'
·
Her price seemed tv me fabulously low. I took the house, and, just as I was on the point of going, she stopped me:
'I forgot to ask you: are you going to keep your own cow?'
'Good Heavens, no!' I ans\vered, almost appalled by her question.
'\Veil, then, I will let you have cream.'
I went away thinking with horror v1rhere I was and what I
\vas that I could be considered capable of keeping my own cow.
But before I had time to look round, the governor informed me that I was being transferred to Vyatka because another exile who had been allotted to Vyatka had asked to be transferred to Perm, where he had relations. The governor wanted me to leave the next day. This was impossible: thinking to remain some time in Perm, I had bought all sorts of things, and I had to sell them even at half-price. After various evasive answers, the governor gave me permission to remain forty-eight hours, exacting a promise that I would not seek an opportunity of seeing the other exiles.
On the day after we left Perm there was a heavy, unceasing downpour of rain ever since dawn, such as is common in forest districts, which lasted all day : about two o'clock we reached a very poor Votyak village. There was no house at the postingstation. Votyaks1 (who could not read or \'\Tite) performed the duties of overseers, looked through the permit for horses, saw whether there were t\vo seals or one, shouted 'Ayda, ayda ! ' and harnessf'rl the horses twice as quickly, I need hardly say, as it would have been done had there been a superintendent. I want.'d to get dry ami warm and to have something to eat.
Before \W reachf'd thP village the Perm gendarme had agreed to my snggPstion that we should rest for a couple of hom·s. \Vhen I went into the stifling huL \vithout a chimney, and found that it was absolutely impossible to get anything, that there was not 1 The Votyaks a re a :'\lon�olian trihP. found in Sihcriil iln<l Eilstern Russin; the �PO�raphical 'Vyatka' is a co�natc noun. The people arc known nowildays as Udmurty. (Tr.)
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1 69
even a pot-house for five versts, I regretted our decision and was on the point of asking for horses.
While I was thinking whether to go on or not to go on, a soldier came in and reported that an escorting officer had sent to invite me to a cup of tea.
'With the greatest pleasure. Where is your officer?'
'In the hut near by, your honour,' and the soldier made the familiar left-about-turn.
I fol!O\ved him.
A short, elderly officer with a face tha t bore traces of many anxieties, petty necessities, and fear of his superiors, met me with all the genial hospitality of deadly boredom. He was one of those unintelligent, good-natured 'old' soldiers who pull at the collar for twenty-five years in the SC'n·ice, and plod along withant promotion and without reasoning nLout it, as old horses work, who probably suppose that it is their duty to put on their hnrness at dawn and haul something.
'vVhom are you taking, and where to? '
'Oh, don't ask ; it'd even break your heart. \Vel!, I suppose m y superiors know a l l nbout i t ; i t is our dnty to carry out orders and we are not responsible, but, looking at it as a man, it is an ugly business.'
'\Vhy, what is it?'
'You see, they have collected a crowd of cursed little Jew boys of eight or nine years old. \Vhether they are taking them for the navy or \vhat, I can't say. At first the orders zvcrc to drive them to Perm; then there was a change and u·c arc driving them to 1\a:::an. I took them over a hundred versts fnrther back. Tlw officer \vho handed tlwm over 'aid. " " I t"s dn•adfuL and tha t's all about it; a third were left on the way" (and the officer pointed to the earth ) . Not half will reach their destination,' he said.
'I Ian• there beC'n epidemics, or what?' I asked. deeply moved.
'No, not epidemics, but they just die off like llies. A Jew boy, you know, is such a frail, weakly cren ture, like a skinnf'd cat; he is not nsed to tramping in the mud for ten hours a day am!
ea ting biscuit-then again, being among strangers, no father nor motl}er nor petting ; well, they cough and cough until they cough themselves into their graves. And I ask you_ what use is i t to them ? \Vhat can they d o with little boys?'
I made no answer.
'\Vhen do you set off?' I asked.
'\Vel!, we ought to have gone long ago, but it has been raining so heavily . . . . Hey, you then', soh�ier! tell them to get the small fry together.'
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They brought the children and formed them into regular ranks: it was one of the most awful sights I have ever seen, those poor, poor children ! Boys of twelve or thirteen might somehovv have survived it, but little fellows of eight and ten . . . . Not even a brush full of black paint could put such horror on canvas.
Pale, exhausted, with frightened faces, they stood in thick, clumsy, soldiers' overcoats, vvith stand-up collars, fixing helpless, pitiful eyes on the garrison soldiers who were roughly getting them into ranks. The white lips, the blue rings under their eyes bore witness to fever or chill. And these sick children, without care or kindness, exposed to the icy wind that blows unobstructed from the Arctic Ocean, were going to their graves.
And note that they were being taken by a kind-hearted officer who was obviously sorry for the children. 'What if they had been takPn by a military political economist?