UNCERTAINTY—PRISON LIFE—THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR—A CHANGE OF CELLS
For some time longer I had to remain in the prison of Freiburg,
vacillating between the expectation of speedy release and the dread of
extradition. Every day I changed my mood a dozen, nay, a hundred times;
and this everlasting alternation had a most depressing effect. The days
dragged on, and seemed endless, although I tried to occupy myself by
every possible device. I was well supplied with books—my comrades and
Professor Thun saw to that—and I was accommodated with writing
materials. So I read much, and tried to put on paper my thoughts,
impressions, and recollections.
But it was not only uncertainty as to my own fate that worked on my
spirits: anxiety about my friends, and about the further development of
our “League for the Emancipation of Labour” troubled me. Our
organisation was only in its infancy; we were but a small band, and our
means scanty. In coming to Germany for the despatch of our first output
over the Russian border, I had planned at the same time to arrange for
future transport. On this account I had many duties to discharge,
regarding not only money matters, but organisation. I had also left
behind me in Switzerland much business that called for my return as soon
as possible. All my comrades had their hands full; time was precious to
them all. And now not only was I sitting here in prison, condemned to
inaction, but all the other members of our League were occupied with my
affairs, and waiting about to see how they could help me. The
consciousness of this check to our work, and of being its involuntary
cause, oppressed me, and raised my impatience to the highest pitch.
My state can easily be pictured if one imagines a man who has an
important and urgent affair to manage, and who suddenly breaks his leg,
so that instead of pressing on to the goal he must lie inert on a
sick-bed. But in that pitiable state he would be preoccupied with his
physical suffering; and I, being free from pain, was given over entirely
to worry and distress of mind.
The conditions of prison life left much to be desired. At first,
particularly, I found them hard to bear, till by degrees I accustomed
myself to German regulations. As I have already said, the cells were not
lighted at night, and there was nothing for a prisoner to do but to
sleep away the long hours of darkness, if he could. I afterwards learned
that light was denied for fear of fire, and on the same ground smoking
was forbidden. What there was to burn I could not imagine; for, except
the doors, the window-frames, and the floors, there was no wood, the
building being of massive stone.[14]
Footnote 14:
During my stay in Siberia, later, this fear of fire in the German
prison was often brought to my mind. Thousands of prisoners, condemned
to exile or to penal servitude, are there confined in wooden barracks,
serving alike as prisons and as halting-places for convoys of exiles
on the march. These buildings are always lighted, and the prisoners
smoke quite calmly, without anyone thinking of danger from fire.
The irksomeness of the long evenings without light, and the prohibition
of smoking, must for many people be not only a discomfort, but a hard
penance. Yet there should have been no question of punishment in this
prison, as only accused persons awaiting trial were detained there.
The behaviour of the prison officials towards the prisoners was anything
but tender. For instance, this is what took place on one of my first
days. Exercise in the prison yard was taken by all the inmates of one
corridor at the same time. We were trotted round in a continual
goose-step, always a certain number of paces distant each one from the
other. One felt like a horse being led round the riding-school by a
rope. I found that many prisoners regarded it as a humiliation, and
preferred to forego the chance of fresh air. One day during this walk
the military guard was being changed in the prison yard. The formalities
of German drill were new to me, and involuntarily I stopped a moment to
look, thus upsetting our beautiful order by not keeping at the correct
distance between my preceder and follower; besides, perhaps I also
dropped out of line an inch or so. Suddenly I felt someone seize me by
the shoulder, abusing me violently. I scarcely knew what was happening
till I found myself being raged at by the warder in my cell, whither he
had whisked me off. The man was like one possessed, and threatened to
deprive me of exercise if I behaved as I had done. At first I could not
understand what frightful misdemeanour I had committed. When it dawned
on me that all this was because of my momentary pause, it was my turn to
show temper. I asked the man how he dared treat me so, informed him that
prisoner though I was I would not permit anyone to knock me about or
abuse me, and said that if such a harmless infringement of discipline
was looked on as an offence against German prison rules, it was his
plain duty to have warned me of the fact, and so on. This had its
effect; the man’s bearing instantly became milder, and thenceforward our
intercourse was on the most peaceful footing.
The prison rations were quite insufficient; there was never enough to
satisfy a full-grown man. If I remember rightly, they consisted of a
pound and a half of rye bread daily, and twice in the day a little soup
or gruel. Meat was only allowed twice a week in the first month, and
that in microscopic portions. Even the gaolers admitted that unless a
prisoner had means for providing himself with extra food, he would never
get enough to eat.
The cells on the first floor, one of which I first inhabited, were
roomy, bright, and clean. For furniture they were provided with a table,
a stool, and a bed, the latter having a mattress, straw pillow, and
woollen covering. In one corner of the room stood the stove, heated from
the corridor and surrounded by an iron grating intended to prevent
escape by the chimney. On the wall hung a copy of the regulations,
whereby prisoners were informed of the various penalties for the
slightest departure from the rules. All these rules were framed to spare
the staff trouble, and to make the business of looking after the inmates
as simple as possible. The interest of the inmates was not considered;
they were not treated like people unconvicted of crime, but rather as
malefactors deserving punishment, which the prison staff on their own
responsibility had to see carried out in their own way. I will give an
instance.
One day I was conducted from my cell to a corridor on the ground-floor,
where a number of prisoners were already ranged along the wall,
evidently awaiting something. I was directed to a place. I wanted to
know what was happening; and after I had asked several times in vain,
the gaoler told me that the Catholic priest had come, and wished to
speak to all the prisoners, who would be taken to him one by one in
order. I said that I was a Socialist and had nothing to do with Catholic
or any other priests. I therefore begged to be taken back to my cell.
This seemed to strike the man as irresistibly comic, and he burst into
an ironic laugh.
“What you want or don’t want is all the same to us. He wants to see you,
and so you will be taken to him.”
The warders who stood by were immensely tickled. They joked about the
Russian barbarian who came to a German prison and expected to have his
own opinions taken into account. So before the priest I went, but our
conversation was of the shortest. To his question about my religion I
answered that I was a Social Democrat, and belonged to no Church.
Whereupon he looked at me compassionately and dismissed me.
Another disagreeable feature of life in this prison was the system of
espionage. Often, when I was buried in my book or writing, a warder
would suddenly appear. He would creep along on tiptoe to open the door
noiselessly and spy round, probably designing to catch me if I were
looking out of the window—a diversion strictly forbidden by the rules.
Not only here, but in other German prisons that I have seen, the
extravagant care with which the prisoners and their things were
inspected was perfectly ridiculous. For instance, a dozen oranges sent
me by my friends aroused the suspicions of the warders, and they
conscientiously cut up every single orange into quarters to see if there
were anything inside! So far as I know, even Russian gendarmes have
never given one credit for contriving a hiding-place in an uncut orange
or apple. The good people, however, do not achieve their purpose, in
spite of all their cleverness. The “kassiber,”[15] or written message to
or from prisoners, passes under their very noses. Nor had I ever any
difficulty in getting forbidden articles conveyed into any German
prison.
Footnote 15:
“Kassiber,” Russian prison-slang.
As I have said, the numerous petty formalities made me very impatient at
first, but I accustomed myself at last more or less to German prison
methods, and the officials dropped their over-zealous harshness towards
me, and became more confidential. The fact that I was a foreigner, a
Russian, rather interested them, as probably they had never even seen
one before. And then, however incorruptible a German official may be,
the possession of worldly resources cannot fail to influence him. The
staff knew that I was in command of money. The chief inspector, a man
named Roth, boarded me; and they knew I had everything that could
mitigate the hardness of my lot, that my friends, in fact, supplied me
with all sorts of little comforts and luxuries. This seemed to impress
the prison staff, and I also was for ever telling them I should
certainly be released very soon. I really almost believed it, and they
seemed to do so, too—at any rate, for a time.
The staff consisted of three men—two warders and the chief inspector,
who was also the governor of the gaol. All three often came to chat with
me; they asked me questions about Russia, and on their side related much
about German matters—prisons, laws, and other things in which they were
interested. They all impressed me as being perfectly contented with
their situations; indeed, their wages were comparatively high—up to
2,000 marks (£100) and more a year, if I am not mistaken. The warder
with whom I had had the tiff recounted above paid me many visits. He,
like the other two, had been a soldier, and was therefore imbued with
notions of strict military discipline, which is the watchword throughout
German prisons. Though in outward appearance hard and even forbidding,
he was really a good-natured creature. Of his own initiative he asked me
to let him have the remains of my meals, to take to a neighbouring
prisoner who was poor and often went hungry through being unable to
afford extra food. Of course I gladly consented. This warder was a big,
powerfully-built man, aged about thirty, who had taken his present
situation because he did not like his original trade—that of a joiner.
Like most German workmen, he had only been to a _Volksschule_ (public
elementary school), but the instruction given there is far better than
in similar schools in my own country; and in comparison with our workmen
of like standing, he might be considered a highly intellectual person.
We talked over all sorts of things—politics among the rest—and he told
me he was a supporter of the existing Government—the National Liberals,
I think. My own attainments caused him great admiration, especially my
knowledge of French and German, as well as of my own mother-tongue.
The way they dealt with my money was a little odd. As I have said, the
money in my pocket-book was taken possession of at the time of my
arrest. Some days later the inspector presented me with an account of
expenditure. It appeared that the police had been most generous on my
behalf. A day’s use of the room at the hotel, which I had barely seen,
was paid for, and four or five marks in addition as “compensation for
disturbance.” Furthermore, as the good people had not been able to open
my second box, although they had the key, they had paid a locksmith
(very liberally too) to open it. Naturally I made no objection to the
bill, but I felt somewhat amused at having to pay for the “disturbance”
of my arrest, and the breaking open of my own trunk!
Soon after my imprisonment I was taken to a photographer’s and
photographed. I did not like this at all, as I feared that my portrait
might be sent to Russia and recognised; but I could not make any
protest, lest my reasons should be suspected. The photograph was needed
for the inquiry in Switzerland, that by means of it I might be
identified as Bulìgin. The Swiss authorities certified that it did
represent Bulìgin, with whose passport I always travelled; so that part
of the inquiry was got through safely. Also, the proofs I adduced of my
not being implicated in the doings of Yablonski and his friend were
accepted, and it was agreed that I had neither circulated forbidden
literature nor had had any in my possession. Weeks passed away before
these formalities were accomplished, and at last, nearly two months
after my arrest, the magistrate informed me that he should close the
affair in a few days, and that he himself was satisfied there were no
grounds for my prosecution. The decision lay with the Public
Prosecutor,[16] who might concur in this, and so release me at once; or
he might after all think fit to take the matter into court. In the
latter event, however, the judge would most probably uphold the finding
of the magistrate; and even if against all expectation a prosecution
should be set up and a penalty enforced, the sentence would be such as
my term of imprisonment here would be held to fulfil. In any case I
might be certain my release was now only a question of days. It seemed
absurd to distrust this forecast, and it is but natural to expect what
one ardently desires; so I began to feel easy.
Footnote 16:
This term is the nearest English equivalent to the German
_Staatsanwalt_, a functionary attached to every court of law. A
corresponding official exists in Russia, with a colleague, the Public
Advocate, who undertakes the defence of any prisoner unable or
unwilling to employ a counsel of his own.—_Trans._
Some days after I was again sent for to the visitors’ room, where I
found Frau Axelrod and a grey-haired gentleman, the Public Prosecutor,
Von Berg. In stern tones he informed us that we were at liberty to
converse, but only in German; at the first Russian word he would
separate us. This precaution, and the whole behaviour of the grim old
gentleman, did not quite bear out the idea of speedy release for me; and
knowing him to be acquainted with the magistrate’s views, I wondered
what his reasons were, but I was not apprehensive. Frau Axelrod and I
did not find much to say to each other under this supervision, and our
interview was brief.
I remember the next few days very well. On the morrow the inspector,
Roth, came and told me, in a most cheerful and friendly way, that I must
change over into a cell on the ground-floor, as the one in which I was
had to be renovated. He was quite apologetic, regretting that the other
cell would not be so comfortable for me. This change did not please me
at all. My plans of escape had all been based on the situation of my
cell, and its being on the first floor would have been no impediment.
One of my friends had hired a room in the opposite house, towards which
the window of my cell looked, so that at a pinch we could communicate by
prearranged signals. Besides these reasons of business, so to speak, on
other grounds I was sorry to quit my now familiar quarters. My
associations with these four walls were not all unpleasant, and looking
out of the window had been my greatest distraction. On market days many
lively scenes were enacted between buyers and sellers—peasants of the
district. Sometimes military exercises took place in the square, and the
unfamiliar drill interested me. But above all I loved to climb up to the
window in the evenings to watch the children, who, when twilight came
on, always romped about the square, playing all sorts of games. Their
merry laughter and shouting took me back to my home in South Russia and
my own childish days.
All this came to an end with my change of lodging. My new cell was dark,
less roomy, and the window looked into the yard. This latter
circumstance made escape well-nigh impossible. I comforted myself with
the thought that the idea of flight was needless, and tried to reckon
how many days were likely to elapse before my release. I argued that my
transfer to another cell was probably in view of my departure, or else a
mere chance, necessary for the reason given me by the warder. But my
friends took it quite otherwise when they saw me no more at the window,
and thought I must be already on my way to Russia!