and the singing was on the verge of tears. Many of the prisoners walked to and fro with their balalaikas, their sheepskins over their shoulders, twanging the strings with a jaunty air. In the special division they even got up a chorus of eight voices. They sang capitally to the accompaniment of balalaikas and guitars. Few of the songs were genuine peasant songs. I only remember one and it was sung with spirit:
I, the young woman,
Went at eve to the feast.
And I heard a variation of that song which I had never heard before. Several verses were added at the end:
I, the your young woman,
Have tidied my house;
The spoons are rubbed,
The boards are scrubbed,
The soup’s in the pot
The peas are hot.
For the most part they sang what are called in Russia “prison” songs, all well-known ones. One of them, “In times gone by,” was a comic song, describing how a man had enjoyed himself in the past and lived like a gentleman at large, but now was shut up in prison. It described how he had “flavoured blancmange with champagne” in old days and now:
Cabbage and water they give me to eat
And I gobble it up as though it were sweet.
A popular favourite was the hackneyed song:
As a boy I lived in freedom,
Had my capital as well.
But the boy soon lost his money,
Straightway into bondage fell.
and so on. There were mournful songs too. One was a purely convict song, a familiar one too, I believe:
Now the dawn in heaven is gleaming,
Heard is the awakening drum.
Doors will open to the jailer,
The recording clerk will come.
We behind these walls are hidden,
None can see us, none can hear.
But the Lord of Heaven is with us.
Even here we need not fear. . . .
