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Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are
referenced.
The position of each full-page illustration has been changed to fall
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Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
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[Illustration: _Leo. Deutsch._]
SIXTEEN YEARS IN SIBERIA
SOME EXPERIENCES OF A
RUSSIAN REVOLUTIONIST
FIRST EDITION _October, 1903_
Reprinted _December, 1903_
Reprinted _February, 1904_
SIXTEEN YEARS IN SIBERIA
SOME EXPERIENCES OF A
RUSSIAN REVOLUTIONIST
BY LEO DEUTSCH
TRANSLATED BY HELEN CHISHOLM
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
THIRD IMPRESSION
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1904
_Printed in Great Britain_
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE
The author of the following narrative is a leader in the Russian
revolutionary movement. The German transliteration of his name is given
here as being the form he himself uses in Western Europe; but he is
called “Deuc” in the English version of Stepniak’s _Underground Russia_,
which was translated from the Italian, retaining the Italian
transliteration of names. A more exact rendering of the Russian would be
Deitch, the “ei” pronounced somewhat as in the English word “rein.”
George Kennan’s valuable work, _Siberia and the Exile System_, the fruit
of investigations carried on under circumstances of much difficulty and
even danger, has made its many English and American readers acquainted
with the true conditions of life among Russian political prisoners and
exiles. The story given in the present volume of the painful and tragic
events that took place in the political prisons at Kara after Mr. Kennan
had left the Russian Empire was written to him by, among others, a
friend resident in Kara at the time, whose letter he published in his
book. In it are also to be found additional particulars concerning the
earlier or later history of many persons whose names occur in the
following pages; and it thus throws an interesting light on Mr.
Deutsch’s story, which is told so quietly, with such an absence of
sensationalism, that it is sometimes necessary to read between the lines
in order to grasp fully the terrible realities of the situation.
It may, perhaps, be useful to readers unfamiliar with the history of the
Russian revolutionary movement if I give here a rough sketch of its
development, and of its position at the present time.
From the first consolidation of the Empire under the Tsars in the latter
half of the sixteenth century, Russian despotism has consistently
regarded with apprehension and disfavour all manifestation of
independent thought among its subjects. There has never been a time when
those bold enough to indulge in it, even in what English people would
consider a very mild form, were not liable to persecution, and this
traditional attitude of repression and coercion had the inevitable
result. Even early in the eighteenth century secret societies had come
into being, but these were mostly of the various religious sects or of
the Freemasons. When they began to assume a political character they
were at first confined entirely to the upper classes, and took the form
of revolts organised among the military, the last and most important
being that of the Decabrists (or Decembrists), who attempted to
overthrow the monarchy on the occasion of Nicholas I.’s accession in
1825.
Liberal views were to a certain extent fostered by Alexander I.
(1801-1825), who at one time openly talked of granting a Constitution.
Russians who visited Western Europe, officers in the Napoleonic
campaigns, and others, had “brought France into Russia,” had made the
French language fashionable, and thus had opened a way for the
importation of new philosophical, scientific, and political literature,
eagerly appreciated by the developing acuteness of the Russian mind.
Literary influence, even the purely romantic, has throughout ranged
itself on the side of liberty, Pushkin heading the poets and Gogol the
novelists. Indeed, one may safely say that up to the present day nearly
every Russian author of any note has been implicated—some to a greater,
some to a less degree--in the revolutionary movement, and has suffered
for the cause.
Alexander I. in his later years, and his successor Nicholas I., fell
back on a reactionary policy. Even Freemasonry was prohibited, mere
literary societies of the early forties were considered seditious, and
their members were punished with imprisonment and death. There now
sprang up political secret societies, whose dream was of a federal
republic, or at least of a constitutional monarchy.
The accession of Alexander II. in 1855 strengthened the hopes of the
reformers. The study of political and social questions became the
fashion; while professors, students, and the “intellectuals” of the
upper and middle classes warmly engaged in the “underground” movement.
With this period are associated such names as those of Herzen, Bakounin,
and Tchernishevsky, whose writings were the inspiration of the party,
and even influenced for a time the Tsar himself. But the emancipation of
the serfs, on February 19th, 1861, bitterly disappointed those who had
hoped great things of the new monarch, and who saw from the way in which
this and other liberal measures were emasculated by officials, to whom
the drafting of them was entrusted by the Tsar, how futile it was to
expect any effective reform as a grace from an autocrat. The reform
movement, now definitely socialistic, speedily took on a revolutionary
character, and culminated in the active sympathy and support given to
the Polish revolt of 1863.
Alexander II. resorted to the old coercive methods; all attempts to
voice the aspirations and needs of the people, or even the academic
discussion of political questions, were met with the savage punishments
of martial law, imprisonment, exile, death. In face of a new enactment,
which had professed to give fair trial to all accused persons, special
courts were set up to try political offenders; and the practice of
banishment by “administrative methods” (_i.e._ without any trial at all)
was instituted.
A time of enforced quiet followed, when the leaders of the movement were
either dead, imprisoned, or had fled into voluntary exile abroad; but it
served as a time of self-education and study for the younger generation,
at home or in foreign Universities, and in the early seventies the
revival came. Our author here takes up the story with his account of the
Propagandist movement, which was peaceful, except in so far as it aimed
at stirring up the peasants to demand reform; for, in the absence of any
constitutional methods for expressing their desires, this could only be
effected by organised uprisings. He describes how this movement
developed into terrorism under the system of “white terror” exercised by
the Government, and how, after the assassination of Alexander II., the
strong hand of despotism succeeded in checking, until a few years ago,
the passionate struggle for liberty.
A new monarch and a new century have altered little the essential
features of the situation, so far as relations between government and
governed are concerned. Every day we have examples of the time-honoured
policy, in the dragooning of Russia proper; the attempted Russification
of Finland; and the deliberate fostering by the Government of
anti-Semitism, with the covert design of counteracting the revolutionary
activity of Jewish Socialists, discrediting their labour movement in the
eyes of the Russian proletariat, and also distracting the latter from
organisation on their own account.
But a significant change is at work to-day among the people. The
peasants and working-classes in town and country, formerly the despair
of those who strove to arouse in them political consciousness, are being
awakened by the inevitable development of industry to a sense of their
duties and their rights. A genuine labour movement has arisen, which, in
face of the intolerance of the authorities, has naturally taken on a
political character, and affiliated itself to the successors of the
older revolutionary societies.
The words “anarchist” and “nihilist,” so commonly associated with the
Russian revolutionists, are complete misnomers to-day (as, indeed, they
always have been, except in the case of a few isolated individuals). The
movement is now carried on chiefly by two organisations: the
“Revolutionary Socialists,” and the party to which our author belongs,
and helped to found, the “Social Democratic” Labour Party; associated
with the latter being the powerfully organised social-democratic
“General Jewish Labour Union of Lithuania, Poland, and Russia,” usually
known as the “Bund.” Of these the Revolutionary Socialists alone still
adhere to the practice of terrorism in a modified form, and even they
have always proclaimed their intention of abandoning it directly
“constitutional” methods are allowed to them. The aim of the
revolutionists is to replace the present autocratic government by a
social republic, under which the various races now grouped within the
empire shall each have scope to develop its national individuality.
Groups are actively at work in widely distant localities, even Siberia
furnishing her contingent, while Poland and Finland have various
revolutionary organisations of their own.
The Government’s policy at present is to exile to Siberia without trial,
or intern in some place distant from home, all persons known or even
suspected to be interesting themselves in the movement. This is effected
principally through the instrumentality of the gendarmerie, which was
instituted by Nicholas I. as a sort of spy system, primarily intended to
unearth official abuses and report upon them directly to the Tsar. It
soon, however, became imbued with the prevailing spirit of the
bureaucracy; its members shut their eyes to the official corruption
everywhere prevalent, and they have since confined their attention to
unearthing “political” delinquencies. The force has at least one
representative in every town of any size, and it has a vaguely defined
roving commission to watch and arrest all persons who appear to be
suspicious characters; these may be kept in imprisonment for an
indefinite time, or may be exiled “by administrative methods.” It has
become an adjunct to the ordinary police, although quite independent of
them, and is generally employed in all matters of secrecy.[1] Travellers
from Western Europe who observe too closely the life and conditions of
the country are liable to arrest in this way. Sir Donald Mackenzie
Wallace and Mr. Kennan, among others, had this experience.
Footnote 1:
See _Russia_, by D. M. Wallace.
The mere existence of such a force may help to explain the discomfort of
even the ordinary peaceful Russian citizen under the present system of
government; and he is further incommoded by the presence in every house
of a police-spy. For the _dvornik_ or _concierge_, though paid by the
inmates of the house, is appointed subject to the approval of the
police, and is responsible to them. He keeps the keys, and is bound to
deliver them up to the police whenever they may take it into their heads
to require a domiciliary search. As an instance of the petty tyranny
that occurs I may mention that the possession of a hectograph (or any
such appliance for multiplying MSS.) needs a special permission from the
police.
The police have power to break up any gathering in a private house where
more than seven guests are assembled; this is frequently done, even on
such ordinary occasions as a wedding or funeral, if many students or
such-like “untrustworthy” people are of the party. When a town or
district is under martial law—an everyday state of things in Russia—the
above number is still further reduced; indeed, it is quite common for
the police to prohibit _all_ gatherings.
Readings at entertainments for the poor got up by philanthropic people
may only be given from books licensed by the police for the purpose (and
mostly very dull); the catalogues of lending libraries may contain only
such books as are definitely permitted, many being excluded that are not
forbidden to private persons—though the latter, again, are by no means
free to choose their reading, many authors being entirely prohibited
within the empire; and whole columns of newspapers, including foreign
ones that have come through the post, are blacked out by order of the
censor. Private debating societies’ meetings or lectures, however
innocent, are practically impossible to all who are not in the best
odour with the authorities, except under the strictest precautions
against discovery—such as closing of shutters, disguise of preparations,
and a warning to guests not to arrive simultaneously.
It is evident what opportunity all this gives to officials “on the make”
for demonstrating their zeal, and it accounts for the fact that every
year hundreds of persons not accused of any definite offence are removed
from their homes. Nearly everyone has friends and relations so banished,
and the result of such systematic interference with private liberty is
that almost everyone in Russia, outside official circles, is more or
less in league against the bureaucratic government. The countenance, and
even financial support, afforded to the revolutionists, not only by
sympathisers in free countries, but by the general public at home, is
one great source of their strength. They are willingly assisted in
evading arrest and in escaping from prison or from exile; and prohibited
literature (printed abroad, or secretly in Russia itself) is circulated
and sold throughout the country in immense quantities—not only leaflets
by the thousand, but reviews, some elaborately illustrated, and even
books of a more solid character. The Russian original of the present
work will presumably soon be on the “illegal” market.
The illustrations are reproductions of photographs taken from life.
H. C.
LONDON, _July, 1903_.
CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE _Pages_
v-xii
CHAPTER I
Journey to Germany—Imprisonment in Freiburg—Episodes from 1-11
the past of the Revolutionary movement
CHAPTER II
The cause of my arrest—Professor Thun—My defence—Plans of 12-20
escape—My legal adviser
CHAPTER III
Uncertainty—Prison life—The Public Prosecutor—A change of 21-29
cells
CHAPTER IV
The visit of “my wife”—More plans of escape—The Public 30-41
Prosecutor shows his hand—reparations for a journey
CHAPTER V
The journey to Russia—In the cattle-truck—The Frankfort 42-48
and Berlin prisons—The frontier-station—Through Warsaw
to Petersburg
CHAPTER VI
The Fortress of Peter and Paul—The Public Prosecutor as 49-57
compatriot—A hard-hearted doctor—A fleeting acquaintance
CHAPTER VII
Changed conditions—A frustrated plan—The minister’s 58-66
visit—A secret of State—My literary neighbour
CHAPTER VIII
Fresh fears—The Colonel of Gendarmerie—Inquiry into the 67-72
case of General Mezentzev’s murder—Meeting with
Bogdanovitch—Departure
CHAPTER IX
A ray of hope—An unheard-of régime—The hunger-strike—Our 73-82
club—A secret ally
CHAPTER X
A brave officer—My military service—The trial—Further 83-93
examinations
CHAPTER XI
The visit of the minister—I am turned into a convict—The 94-104
prison at Kiëv
CHAPTER XII
New acquaintances—The girl-conspirators of Romny—Arrival 105-114
in Moscow—Companions in destiny—A liberal-minded
governor
CHAPTER XIII
The trial of the fourteen—Recollections of Vera 115-122
Figner—Numerous imprisonments—_Agents Provocateurs_
CHAPTER XIV
A not incorruptible inspector—Broken fetters—Resistance to 123-129
the shaving process—Visitors in the prison
CHAPTER XV
Political condition of Russia and the revolutionary 130-137
party—Our little society—Fête days—Prohibited visits—A
lecture on manners
CHAPTER XVI
Preparations for our travels—The boat journey by the Volga 138-147
and the Kama—Ekaterinburg—On the troika—“To Europe, to
Asia”
CHAPTER XVII
In Tiumen—Parting—On the Siberian rivers—A startling 148-157
proposal
CHAPTER XVIII
By way of the convoy-stations—A clumsy officer—The 158-168
vagabond—A man-hunt
CHAPTER XIX
The forest—Unsuccessful attempts at escape—The people we 169-183
met—The criminal world—The convoy officers
CHAPTER XX
From Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk—Misunderstandings and 184-193
disputes—The women in Irkutsk prison
CHAPTER XXI
The chief of police at Irkutsk—Meeting with exiled 194-208
comrades—From Irkutsk to Kara—Stolen fetters—A dubious
kind of Decabrist—Another contest—Arrival at our
journey’s end
CHAPTER XXII
First days at Kara—Friends old and new 209-220
CHAPTER XXIII
The organisation of our common life—The “Siriuses”—Wagers 221-232
CHAPTER XXIV
Some details of the prison’s history—The “Tom-cat”—The 233-247
“Sanhedrin’s room“—My first Siberian spring
CHAPTER XXV
Humours and pastimes of prison life—Two new 248-265
commandants—The “Hospital”—The participators in armed
resistance
CHAPTER XXVI
The women’s prison 266-274
CHAPTER XXVII
The “colonists”—Further events in the women’s prison—The 275-282
hunger-strikes—The Yakutsk massacre
CHAPTER XXVIII
Our celebration of the centenary of the French 283-290
Revolution—Sergius Bobohov—The end of the tragedy
CHAPTER XXIX
Disquieting reports—Visit of the Governor-General—Release 291-299
from prison
CHAPTER XXX
Nizhnaya-Kara—New life—Stolen gold 300-306
CHAPTER XXXI
The tour of the Heir-Apparent through Siberia—Our life in 307-315
the penal settlement—An incensed official
CHAPTER XXXII
The death of the Tsar—New manifestoes—The census 316-322
CHAPTER XXXIII
A prehistoric monument—My departure from Kara—Life in 323-346
Stretyensk—My transference to Blagovèstshensk—The
massacres of July, 1900
CHAPTER XXXIV
My flight from Siberia—The end of my journey round the 347-359
world—My friend Axelrod again—Conclusion
INDEX 361
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LEO DEUTSCH, IN PRISON DRESS _Frontispiece_
FORTRESS OF PETER AND PAUL, ST. PETERSBURG _To face page_ 48
PRISONERS MARCHING THROUGH THE STREETS OF ODESSA “ 96
“BUTIRKI,” THE CENTRAL PRISON AT MOSCOW “ 110
PORTRAITS: TCHUIKOV, SPANDONI, VERA FIGNER, “ 112
STEFANOVITCH, MIRSKY
SIBERIAN HALTING-STATION (ÉTAPE) “ 146
IN A SIBERIAN PRISON “ 158
ROLL-CALL OF PRISONERS AT A HALTING-STATION “ 160
ESCAPED CONVICT-TRAMP (BRODYAGA) “ 164
AN ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE “ 170
PORTRAITS: MARTINOVSKY, STARINKYEVITCH, “ 208
SUNDELEVITCH, ZLATOPOLSKY, PRYBYLYEV, YEMELYANOV
PRISONERS GOLD-WASHING AT KARA “ 232
YARD OF KARA PRISON FOR “POLITICALS” “ 254
DULEMBA, KOHN, RECHNYEVSKY, LURI, MANKOVSKY “ 258
LURI, SOUHOMLIN, AND RECHNYEVSKY, IN PRISON “ 260
DRESS
PORTRAITS: A. KORBA, E. KOVALSKAYA, N. SIGIDA, “ 266
M. KOVALEVSKAYA, N. SMIRNITSKAYA, S. BOGOMOLETZ
GRAVEYARD OF POLITICAL PRISONERS AT KARA “ 290
THE PENAL SETTLEMENT, KARA “ 300
COTTAGE SHARED BY “POLITICALS” IN THE KARA PENAL “ 302
SETTLEMENT
KARA PRISONERS AT WORK “ 308
FEMALE CRIMINALS AT KARA DRAWING WATER-CART “ 310
AGED ORDINARY PRISONERS AT KARA “ 314
THE COSSACK VILLAGE OF STRETYENSK “ 324
BLAGOVESTSHENSK “ 328
ON THE AMUR NEAR BLAGOVESTSHENSK—THE SCENE OF “ 336
THE MASSACRE
SIXTEEN YEARS IN SIBERIA
CHAPTER I
JOURNEY TO GERMANY—IMPRISONMENT IN FREIBURG—EPISODES FROM THE PAST OF
THE REVOLUTIONARY MOVEMENT
In the beginning of March, 1884, I travelled from Zurich, through Basel,
to Freiburg in Baden. The object of my journey was to smuggle over the
frontier a quantity of Russian socialistic literature, printed in
Switzerland, in order that it might then be distributed by secret
channels throughout Russia, where of course it was prohibited. In
Germany a special law against the Social-Democratic movement was then in
force. The _Sozialdemokrat_ was published in Zurich, and had to be
smuggled over the German frontier, where the watch was very keen,
rendering most difficult the despatch to Russia of Russian, Polish, and
other revolutionary literature printed in Switzerland. Before the
enactment of the special law in August, 1878, the procedure had been
simple. At that time the publications were sent by post to some town in
Germany near the Russian border, and thence, by one way or another,
despatched to Russia. Later, however, it became necessary to convey them
as travellers’ luggage across the German frontier, in order to get them
through the custom-house, after which they could be forwarded to some
German town nearer the Russian border. It was on this transport business
that I was engaged.
My luggage consisted of two large boxes, half-filled with literature,
and their upper parts packed with linen and other wearing apparel, that
the Customs officers might not be suspicious. In one trunk I had men’s
clothes, in the other women’s, supposed to belong to my (non-existent)
wife; and for this reason there really was a lady present at the Customs
examination in Basel,—the wife of my friend Axelrod from Zurich. She
offered to take further charge of the transport, thinking she would run
less risk than I if the police became suspicious. As, however, the
examination of the luggage went off quite smoothly, I declined the
offer, hardly thinking any further trouble probable.
Besides Frau Axelrod a Basel Socialist was with me at the station. He
had advised me how to carry out my perilous mission, for he was
experienced in such business, having managed many transports of
forbidden literature. Only a few days before, accompanied by a Polish
acquaintance of mine, Yablonski, he had been to Freiburg, whence they
had despatched some Polish literature. He now recommended to me a cheap
hotel in Freiburg, close to the station; and in good spirits I climbed
into a third-class carriage. It was a Sunday, and the carriage was
filled with people in gay holiday mood. Songs were sung, and
unrestrained chatter filled the air. The guard was pompous and
overbearing, as often happened then on German lines; I do not know if it
is so still. When he saw that I was smoking, he told me very rudely,
with a great show of official zeal, that this was not a smoking
carriage. I answered politely that I had not been aware of it, and at
once threw away my cigarette. He insisted peremptorily, however, that I
must change carriages. “A bad omen,” thought I, and still recall the
sensation. I was out of temper, and felt irritated and uncomfortable.
The weather, too, grew overcast, and a cold drizzle set in, which worked
on my nerves.
The train moved off, and before I had got over my grumbling humour we
were at Freiburg. It was between seven and eight in the evening. Landed
on the platform, I looked out the porter of the Freiburger Hof, and gave
him my luggage-check. He noticed at once that it showed the unusual
weight of my boxes, and expressed his surprise thereat. To quiet any
suspicion I told him at once unconcernedly that I was a student, and
intended to study at Freiburg University, and that it was my books which
made the trunks so heavy. The hotel was soon reached, and a room
engaged, after which I betook myself to the restaurant for supper. As I
passed by the buffet I saw the porter whispering earnestly with another
man, apparently the landlord. Directly I had finished my meal the waiter
brought me the visitors’ book; and as I had a Russian passport, lent me
by a friend at the time of my flight from Russia, I at once signed
myself in my friend’s name, “Alexander Bulìgin, of Moscow.” I then
ordered writing materials and went to my room, but had barely shut the
door behind me when there came a knock. At my “Come in!” there appeared,
instead of a servant with writing things, as I had expected, a
policeman, accompanied by a gentleman in civil dress. “I am an officer
of the secret police,” said the latter; “allow me to examine your
trunks.” Instantly I thought, “As Freiburg is so near the Swiss
frontier, the police (to whom the porter must have announced the arrival
of a young man with unusually heavy luggage), may think I have
contraband goods; or they may take me for an anarchist, and suspect me
of conveying dynamite.” I tried, therefore, to look as harmless as
possible, although I felt that things were awkward. Busied with the
unlocking of my boxes, I let fall the remark that one of them contained
the belongings of my wife, whom I expected shortly. No sooner, however,
had the men begun to turn over my things, than I saw that my guess as to
their search for contraband was incorrect; the detective was on the
look-out for neither contraband nor dynamite, but for books, and he
immediately began to examine mine. I then concluded he was looking for
German Social-Democratic literature; and I was astonished when, at sight
of a little book bound in red, my gentleman cried triumphantly, “Ah,
here we are!”
It was the _Calendar of the Naròdnaia Vòlya_,[2] a book that had come
out about a year before this, and was openly sold by German booksellers.
Footnote 2:
_Naròdnaia Vòlya_: literally, “the People’s Will,” the name of the
chief revolutionary party in Russia at the time with which the
narrative is now dealing, and also of its secretly printed
newspaper.—_Trans._
“I must now have you searched,” said the police agent.
Besides a notebook, a letter, and a pocket-book containing several
hundred-mark notes, there were in my pockets a dozen numbers of the
Zurich _Sozialdemokrat_, which I had brought with me to send to a
Russian friend in Germany.
“Here at least is something that we can read!” said the detective in a
satisfied tone; “now, I arrest you!”
“Why? What for?” asked I, much astonished.
“That you will soon find out; come along!” was the answer.
The procedure of the police agent was extraordinary in every way: no
attempt was made to fulfil the legal enactments for the protection of
personal safety; the domiciliary search was instituted without legal
warrant; there were no witnesses. I insisted on the officer’s counting
over in my presence the money in my pocket-book, which they had
confiscated, though of course that was not much guarantee for the
security of my property.
As I was descending the steps of the hotel, a prisoner between my two
guardian angels, a young lady carrying a small travelling-bag met us.
The detective asked me if this were my wife, and, notwithstanding my
reply in the negative, tried to seize hold of her. She evidently thought
she had to do with some Don Juan, and fled screaming into the street;
whereupon the detective ordered the policeman to lead me on, and himself
followed the unknown lady.
The policeman now tried to take me by the arm, and so conduct me through
the streets, but I hotly resisted such treatment, declaring that I had
committed no crime, and that he had no possible justification for
putting me in such a position.
We arrived at last at the House of Detention. Here I was searched again,
and for the first time since my arrest was questioned by an official as
to my personal identity.
My detective soon appeared, bringing the lady, who, weeping bitterly,
protested her absolute innocence, and indignantly demanded the
explanation of such an insult. Coming on the top of all my own
experiences since my arrival in Freiburg this scene put me into a state
of fury.
“What is all this?” cried I to the police officer. “How can you take
upon yourself to insult this lady? I repeat again that I do not know
her; she is not my wife, and I have never set eyes on her in my life
before.”
“Well, we shall see about that. It is my business. It is no affair of
yours whom we arrest,” declared he; and I thought to myself, “This is a
nice state of things! We might as well be in Russia.”
I was then told to follow a warder, who took me up to the first floor.
The lock of a cell-door turned, grating, and I found myself installed in
the Grand-Ducal prison of Baden.
When the warder had withdrawn with his lantern absolute silence reigned,
and the chamber was perfectly dark. Lights were not allowed here either
in the cells or passages. I took my bearings as well as I could, groping
along the walls, and, having found a bed, I lay down fully dressed as I
was. My mind was in a state of chaos; I could follow no clear train of
thought, nor form any conclusions about what had occurred. The sense of
fate weighed me down; my strength seemed broken. Sinister dreams left me
no peace all night, and consequently I awoke from slumber in a dazed
condition, not knowing where I was or what had happened to me. When at
last with an effort I realised my position, despair seized on me.
Extradition to Russia stared me in the face; I could not banish the fear
of it. True, at that time there was no extradition treaty between
Germany and Russia which applied to political refugees.[3] But I had
special reasons for fearing that I might be treated exceptionally; and
that the significance of my position may be clear to the reader, I must
now give some details of my earlier career.
Footnote 3:
This treaty was only concluded in the autumn of 1885.
* * * * *
In 1874, just ten years before the events described above, as a youth of
nineteen I had joined the “Propagandist movement,”[4] which at that time
engrossed a great number of young students throughout Russia. Like most
of the young Propagandists, I was led to this chiefly by sympathy with
the sufferings and endurance of the people. According to our views, it
was the sacred duty of every reasonable and upright human being who
really loved his country to devote all his powers to the object of
freeing the people from the economic oppression, the slavery, the
barbarism, to which they were subjected. The young generation, always
most prone to pity the misfortunes of others, could not remain
indifferent to the miserable situation of the newly enfranchised serfs.
An entire social revolution in Russia appeared to the Propagandists the
sole means of altering the existing wretched material conditions, and of
removing the heavy burden on the people; following, therefore, the
teaching of the Socialists of Western Europe, they set before themselves
as their ultimate object the abolition of private property and the
collective ownership of the means of production. The Propagandists felt
entirely convinced that the people would instantly embrace their ideas
and aims and join them at the first appeal. This belief was an
inspiration to them, and spurred them to unlimited self-sacrifice for
the idea that possessed them. These youths and girls renounced without
hesitation their previous social position and the assured future that
the existing order of things offered them; without further ado they left
the educational institutions where they were studying, recklessly broke
all family ties, and threw their personal fate into the balance, in
order to live entirely for the idea, to sacrifice themselves without
stint for the idea, to make every faculty and possibility serve in the
sacred cause of the people’s deliverance. Any personal sacrifice seemed
to these young enthusiasts scarcely worth speaking of when the great
cause was in question. The common ideal, the common aim, and the
enthusiasm of each individual drew the Propagandists together into one
great family, linked by all the ties of affection and mutual dependence.
Fraternal relations of the most affectionate intimacy grew up among all
these young people; a complete altruism governed their actions, and each
was prepared for any sacrifice on behalf of another. Only in great
historical moments, in the time of the early Christian martyrdoms, and
the founding of religious sects, have proselytes manifested such
personal devotion, such exalted feeling.[5]
Footnote 4:
Organised by the revolutionists for teaching the principles of
Socialism, and awakening the desire for liberty; for which purpose was
instituted the policy of “going among the people,” _i.e._ living among
the peasants like one of themselves,—_Trans._
Footnote 5:
The reader who is interested in this period of the Russian revolution
will find much information in the work of Professor Thun, _Geschichte
der revolutionären Bewegung in Russland_, and in Stepniak’s
_Underground Russia_.
In this elect band, however, there were found (as has happened in every
such movement) individuals not capable of this unselfish fervour; there
were among them some paltry spirits, and even some who proved traitors.
Certainly the number of these latter was infinitesimally small; but the
history of revolutionary movements shows sufficiently that hundreds of
the most able secret or public agents of a government can never do a
tithe of the harm to a secret society that can be effected by a single
traitor in its own ranks. In this manner did treachery become pregnant
with evil results for the Propagandists, and it gave to the movement a
character it might otherwise never have developed. Early in the year
1874 the young revolutionists, men and women, went out “among the
people,” according to the plan they had formed; they distributed
themselves among the villages, where they lived and dressed like
peasants, carrying on an active Socialist propaganda. But scarcely had
they begun operations when treachery made itself apparent; two or three
of the initiated denounced the organisation, and delivered over hundreds
of their comrades to the authorities. Searches and arrests took place
without number; the police pounced on “guilty” and innocent alike, and
all the prisons in Russia were soon filled to overflowing. In this one
year more than a thousand persons were seized. Many of them suffered
long years of imprisonment under the most horrible conditions, some
committed suicide, others lost their reason, and in many cases long
terms of incarceration resulted in illness and premature death. Under
these circumstances the reader can conceive the bitter hatred kindled in
the ranks of the Socialists against the traitors who had sacrificed so
many lives. The knowledge of the victims’ terrible sufferings would
naturally incite their friends to avenge them; inevitably, too, the
thought would arise of punishing treachery, in order to put a stop by
intimidation to the trade of the informer. But the Propagandists were in
the highest degree men of peace, and it was not easy for them to harbour
thoughts of violence. When such ideas were first mooted, they long
remained only subjects of discussion.
Not till the summer of 1876 did the first attempt to put the terrorist
theory into practice take place. The circumstances were as follows. The
members of a revolutionary group well known at the time—the _Kiëv
Buntari_[6]—had assembled at Elisavetgrad. I belonged to this
organisation. Many of the members were “illegals,”[7] and for some time
past the gendarmerie had been making captures among them, acting on the
information of a traitor named Gorinòvitch. This Gorinòvitch had been
imprisoned in 1874, and being in the greatest danger had saved himself
by telling everything he knew about the Russian Socialists. His
revelations had injured many; yet, as in numerous other cases, not a
hair of this renegade’s head would have been touched, if he had kept
clear of revolutionary circles. But about two years after his release
from prison he tried again to insinuate himself among us, and he managed
to get into the confidence of some inexperienced young people, who of
course had no notion of the part he had formerly played. From them he
learned that the Kiëv Society had assembled at Elisavetgrad; he came
there at once, and sought to find out what the persons he had before
betrayed were doing. We recognised him, however, and it soon became
evident to us that he was playing the spy, and preparing some fresh
treachery. So I and one other comrade resolved to put an end to his
life.
Footnote 6:
_Bunt_ means both “uprising” and “revolt”; the name of the society
might be translated “Agitators of Kiëv.” Its object was to stir up and
organise risings among the peasantry.—_Trans._
Footnote 7:
In the language of the Russian revolutionaries those are called
“illegals” who have for any reason already become suspected by the
authorities, and who therefore must conceal their identity under
fictitious names.
Our determination could not be carried into effect in Elisavetgrad
itself, or it might have resulted in giving the police a clue for the
discovery of our organisation. We therefore asked Gorinòvitch if he
would go with us to Odessa to find the persons he was in search of, and
he agreed. There in a lonely spot we attempted to execute our mission,
and left Gorinòvitch lying, as we thought, dead, with a paper fastened
on his breast bearing the inscription, “So perish all traitors!” But he
was only severely injured, was found by the police, and survived to give
information concerning his attempted assassination. Searches and arrests
followed in due course, and although at the time I succeeded in avoiding
capture, in the autumn of the following year I was arrested, together
with other comrades, on account of the famous Tchigirìn case.[8]
Footnote 8:
At the time of the emancipation of the serfs the peasants in the
Tchigirìn district of the province of Kiëv did not wish to divide into
private property the land allotted to them, but to hold it in common,
as was done in the north of Russia. In 1875 the Government took the
harshest measures against them: arrests, executions, and persecutions
of every kind; but the peasants held firm. The revolutionists, among
others Stefanòvitch, Bohanòvsky, and myself, resolved accordingly to
organise a rising among the Tchigirìn peasantry. Our plans failed, we
ourselves were arrested, and the Tchigirìn trial instituted. See also
Thun’s _Geschichte der revolutionären Bewegung in Russland_, and
Stepniak’s _Underground Russia_.
I was imprisoned in Kiëv, but in the beginning of 1878 I escaped[9] in
company with Stefanòvitch and Bohanòvsky.
Footnote 9:
See note, p. 98.
Those who were concerned in the attempt against Gorinòvitch were
prosecuted for the first time in November, 1879, at a period when both
the “red” and the “white” terrorism[10] had blazed up. After a series of
attempts against different representatives of the Government, the
revolutionists had concentrated their entire strength on the endeavour
to assassinate Alexander II. The Government combated the terrorist
movement by means of special enactments, martial law, and death
penalties, to which large numbers of people were sentenced who were
perfectly innocent of complicity in the above deeds. On November 19th,
some days before the beginning of the Gorinòvitch case (and after the
accused had been acquainted with the facts alleged against them, for
which they were only liable to comparatively light sentences), the
Terrorists blew up a train on the Moscow line, believing the Tsar to be
in it. In consequence of this the Government determined to revenge
themselves upon the accused in the Gorinòvitch case. Of these only one
had been directly implicated, and as all had been imprisoned two or
three years already before the beginning of the terrorist agitation,
they could under no circumstances be supposed answerable for that
agitation. In spite of this it was decided to “make an example” by
inflicting a heavy sentence. Three of the accused,—Drebyasghin, Malinka,
and Maidansky—were condemned to death by hanging, and were executed on
December 3rd; two—Kostyurin and Yankovski—were sentenced to penal
servitude; and the traitors Krayev and Kuritzin were set free. If I had
been in the power of these judges my fate would have been sealed.
However, early in the year 1880 I effected my escape from Russia, and I
had been living in Switzerland up to the time of my going to Freiburg as
previously described. From all this it will be clear with what feelings
I contemplated the possibility of extradition to Russia.
Footnote 10:
“White” terrorism was that practised by the Government for the
intimidation of the revolutionists—wholesale arrests, banishment,
imprisonment, death penalties, etc. “Red” terrorism was the answer of
the revolutionists,—war waged against the Government and its
representatives with pistol, knife, and bomb, also with the object of
intimidation.—_Trans._