In the middle of the night, I woke up to a burst of indecent noise. Hysterical female screams: “Help! They’re destroying me! They’re killing me!” Footsteps, male voices. Noise. And again those splitting female screams. On this sort of night, it’s no good to be in prison. In the morning, the wardress, the one who had five cats, explained that the criminal wing is full.
Last night, they brought in a group of prostitutes caught in some of the city’s less reputable establishments. One of them, “a hysteric,” in the wardress’s opinion, balked—she didn’t want to go into the cell, at least not into that one. In the end, they had to call in guards from the men’s division. She fought, she bit. They tied her hands and threw her into the cell.
Today, the wardress went to see her, and she was huddled up in a corner, pointing at the corner opposite: “See? See?” The wardress didn’t see anything. The corner was just like all the other corners in the cell.
“And the man?”
“What man?”
“That one there, the most natural man you could think of, do you really not see?”
The wardress liked the phrase “natural man.” She chuckled for a long while.
“They all see ‘natural men.’ She must be a coke addict. A madwoman.”
The crucial task of Russian culture is in making sure its fire is directed at that which needs to be burned; to turn the rebellions of Stenka Razin and Pugachev into a powerful wave of music; to bound this fire in such a way as not to weaken it but to shape its flow; to organise its rebellious will; See more
Newspapers report a safe arrival in Tobolsk on Saturday. What a horrible hole this must be! If only they were safe there.
I slept well. The rain and cold had returned. We decided to remain on the ship. Some squalls came up, but at 1 o'clock the weather cleared up. The crowd continued to build up on the pier and the nearby bank. Some had their feet almost in the water and went back inside only when it rained. See more