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352 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1931
They were eating worse and worse. It was hard to get provisions in Petersburg even by paying high, and there was very little money about the house. Vitya had lunch at school, and dined with the Kremenetskis, who had taken him to stay with them after his mother’s death. Yatsenko was indifferent to everything now. He looked terrible – all his visitors remarked on this, supposing that such observations would be agreeable to him.
Yatsenko had read of a certain sad feeling which overtakes a prisoner at the moment when for the first time “the heavy door swings shut behind him shrieking and groaning.” But he experienced no such feeling; he was aware only of great weariness. As soon as the guard had left with his lantern, wishing him a pleasant good night, Yatsenko, his hand cautiously raised, felt his way to the cot, then undid his necktie, removed his high, turned-down starched collar, and lay down, yielding to enjoyment of the bed, the solitude, even the darkness.
Arrests in the city were becoming more commonplace, and at the same time were assuming a much more serious look. In the early days of the new regime those arrested were either quickly released or brought before revolutionary tribunals which, in the majority of cases, sentenced them to social opprobrium. But this state of affairs did not last long. Now the prisons were overflowing, those confined were very badly cared for, and nothing more was heard of their release.
“Take any manual of history, by preference not a work in several volumes, but a simple synopsis, where statements are bald and brief, and facts are compressed and clear. You will see that three quarters of the history of humanity is a story of savagery, stupidity, and rascality. In this respect the Bolsheviks have not yet shown us much that is new… Perhaps they will yet, though; they’re talented folk. But this is the point: earlier, rascality was almost always redeemed by something else. Pushkin and Tolstoy rose from amid the law of serfdom. Now we have entered the band of pure rascality, frank and unadorned. Dung is no longer the excrement, it is the environment.”