A RAY OF HOPE—AN UNHEARD-OF RÉGIME—THE HUNGER-STRIKE—OUR CLUB—A SECRET
ALLY
My removal to Odessa went off without any noteworthy incident. The
change of scene, the railway journey, the sight of people, their doings,
their speech, all had a reviving effect on me; but the company of three
gendarmes did not allow me to forget for an instant that I was a
prisoner on my way to judgment. The idea of escape, however, never left
me, and once at least circumstances seemed favourable. It was night; we
were already nearing Odessa. I had been dozing, and when I awoke I saw
that all three gendarmes were fast asleep. My heart began to thump
wildly, and my plan was made in an instant: to get my scissors out of
their hiding-place, cut off my beard, stride over the sleeping
gendarmes, step out on to the footboard of the train, and jump off. But
as this flashed through my mind, one gendarme opened his eyes, waked the
others by shaking them violently, and scolded them with a most
self-righteous air for not keeping guard. I feigned sleep, and the scene
was over.
In Odessa a prison van with barred windows awaited me. I was taken at
first to a prison for political offenders, under the rule of the
gendarmerie. While my belongings were being searched, the scissors
suddenly fell on the floor, to the no small astonishment of the warder,
a former gendarme.
“Nice order they keep in Petersburg! Prisoners are allowed to have
scissors there!” he exclaimed. He imagined I had brought them openly in
my luggage, and of course I left him in his pride at being cleverer than
his colleagues in the capital.
In this prison conditions were very much like those in the Fortress of
Peter and Paul: rather large, dark cells, tolerably good food, the same
strict, formal bearing of the gendarmes, and the same all-pervading
silence. In order at once to draw attention to the stipulations of the
extradition treaty, I expressed my astonishment at being again put into
a prison for “politicals.” Whether on account of this protest or because
of an order from Petersburg I do not know, but after a few days I was
removed to the prison for ordinary criminals.
It was evening, an evening that I shall never forget. They put me into a
cell, and when the door closed behind me I could at first see nothing,
the cell was so dark, and only the feeble rays of a lamp shone through a
little window in the door. When my eyes had begun to accustom themselves
to the dimness I set to work to take stock of my quarters. The cell was
circular, and contained no bed, chair, nor table; only the customary
wooden tub, a water-bucket, also of wood, and some straw on the
floor—nothing else. I was much surprised, and thought there must have
been some mistake. I went to the door, and saw through the peephole that
two armed soldiers were on guard, while on a bench close by sat a
gendarme and a policeman. I had been in many prisons, but this state of
things was new to me.
“Look here! What is all this? Where are the bedstead and mattress?” I
asked, sticking my head through the little window.
“Don’t know,” said the gendarme briefly.
“Then call the governor!”
He did not stir, but after a while the deputy-governor appeared.
“Will you tell me what this means?” I said, indicating the state of the
cell.
“I know nothing about it,” replied he. “We have simply followed
instructions. You must apply to the Deputy Public Prosecutor, who will
be here to-morrow.”
I felt horribly cast down. “What shall I do if they refuse to improve
things?” I thought, sitting down in the straw with my head in my hands.
Soon fatigue overpowered me, and I lay down; but hardly had I gone to
sleep when I sprang up broad awake—mice were scratching and burrowing in
the straw! I paced up and down the tiny cell, feeling how stifling the
atmosphere was. The tub stank vilely; the space outside where the four
watchers were was small, and only used-up air penetrated thence into the
cell. I wished I could effect some ventilation, but the window was high
up and could not be opened. I awaited the day with impatience, hoping I
should at least be able to breathe some fresh air. Wearily the hours
dragged along; sometimes I had to lie down for a moment’s rest, but only
to spring up again because of the mice. At last day dawned.
“Take me to the air!” I cried to the gendarme, who seemed here to act as
warder.
“I have no orders to do so,” was his reply.
Towards midday the Deputy Public Prosecutor arrived. I explained to him
the horrible conditions to which I had been subjected, and demanded
redress.
He listened to me, but assured me he could do nothing whatever.
“But tell me what hinders you from giving me a bedstead?”
“You could climb up to the window and try to escape.”
“Excuse me,” said I, “do consider what you say. Four men are watching
me; even if I stood on the bed I could not reach the window without
their seeing me. This is the fifth floor, and a sentry goes backwards
and forwards below the window; if I could pass him I should next have to
climb over a wall as high as a house, on the further side of which
another sentry is posted! Surely you must see,” I urged, “that under
these circumstances any attempt at flight is out of the question.”
“Who can tell? You have often got away before.”
“Only twice,” I corrected.
“Well, that’s quite enough,” said he. “I can’t do anything for you.” And
he went away.
I had already made up my mind what to do now. On no account would I put
up with this treatment, but would maintain a passive resistance.
The gendarme brought my food in a wooden vessel and placed it on the
floor.
“Take it away! I shall not eat anything,” I said.
He took it up again and withdrew in silence.
This was repeated every day at meal-times. The hours dragged on. I could
get no fresh air, could not read, as they would give me no books, could
not even sleep for the mice. I did not feel any great craving for food,
but drank water continually. In mind I suffered frightfully, not that I
felt any anger against these people, but I was irritated beyond measure
at the utter senselessness of such treatment.
“You will have time enough,” I apostrophised the staff, “to poison life
for me after I am once sentenced; but for the present I am only on
trial.”
For three days I went without food, and nobody seemed to trouble
themselves about it, though, of course, the attendants knew what was
going on. On the afternoon of the fourth day I was taken to the office.
Unwashed (I had purposely abstained from washing ever since my arrival),
my clothes covered with dust and bits of straw, I appeared before the
Public Prosecutor of Odessa and the examining magistrate. They informed
me they were there for the preliminary inquiry into my case, and would
take my evidence. I told them I was in no condition to answer questions,
and set forth my grievances, saying that I intended to starve myself as
a protest.
“Oh, you refuse to take your food? Well, then, we shall have to feed you
by artificial means.”[33]
Footnote 33:
Not long before this some political prisoners had got up a
“hunger-strike” as a protest against unjust treatment; and the
authorities becoming alarmed at their condition of weakness, the
prison doctor, Dr. Rosen, had forcibly administered nourishment by
means of the enema.
As I knew what he meant, I replied promptly, “Try it, then! But I warn
you that if you do, I know of a way to bring on sickness and
diarrhœa, and it will simply hasten my end.” Of course, I did not
know anything of the kind, but thought this piece of bluff might ward
off the fulfilment of the Prosecutor’s threat.
He looked sharply at me, and threw a meaning glance at the magistrate,
as if to say, “The devil only knows what this fellow mayn’t be up to!
He’s an old hand, and knows all the tricks of the trade.”
For a moment they were both silent. I saw that my words had taken
effect, and began to dilate on their folly in treating me as they were
doing.
“You must allow,” I said, “that all this is scarcely reasonable. The
Government treats with Germany for my extradition, an important official
travels to Baden on that account, you make no end of a fuss before the
eyes of all Europe; and when, after setting all this machinery of the
State to work, you have at last got hold of me, you can’t bring the
accused to justice, because you have driven him to commit suicide! And
all on account of such mere trifles to you as a bed and a few other
necessaries! You must see how out of proportion the whole thing is.”
“Well, I’ll go and see for myself how they have provided for you,” said
the Public Prosecutor, and went off.
When he returned he seemed in some excitement: “Well, it’s perfectly
true,” he exclaimed, “they have used you shamefully! I assure you it is
no fault of mine. Three persons have united against you—the colonel of
the gendarmerie, the governor of the town, who controls the police, and
the commandant of the military garrison. Before your transference to
this prison they all three came here, settled all the arrangements, gave
their orders, and sent subordinates from their own departments to keep
guard over you. Unfortunately I cannot overrule these arrangements on my
own responsibility, but I will apply personally to the authorities
concerned; and all I can do in the meantime is privately to advise the
governor of the gaol to consult your wishes as far as possible.”
Thereupon the governor was called in, and the Public Prosecutor repeated
this to him in my presence. We then concluded a sort of compromise. A
proper bed was brought into my cell for the night, my books were given
to me, and a table and writing-things for the daytime. All these things
had to be taken away again if any officials were coming round who might
report the matter. That I might get a little fresh air the governor
arranged for me to take exercise in an outer courtyard where the other
prisoners could not see me. Upon these conditions I consented not to
prolong my “hunger-strike,” and that evening I partook of some food. It
was only when I began to eat that I realised how fearfully hungry I was.
I could have devoured an ox; but knowing that in such cases care is
advisable, I put a curb on my appetite. During the two following days I
felt very seedy, as though I had had a bad illness, and my attendants
treated me rather like a convalescent; the governor and the
deputy-governor inquired frequently after my health; even the gruff
gendarme made himself agreeable, and went to the kitchen to buy me food
and simple dainties.
The morning after this I went for exercise, accompanied by my four
guardians. The yard set apart for me was a space between the prison
building and the surrounding wall. The soldiers posted themselves at a
little distance from each other, standing at attention, while I strolled
up and down the space between them, closely attended by the gendarme and
the policeman. It was heavenly weather, the clear, mild autumn of the
South. As my guardians seemed equally to appreciate the spell of freedom
after the narrow, close corridor, our walks lasted longer and longer. I
attempted on these occasions to get into more friendly relations with
the gendarme, who, besides being stiffened by severe discipline, was
naturally of a gloomy, morose turn of mind. When we were walking up and
down, especially if the policeman were temporarily absent, I tried to
engage him in conversation, and asked him questions on indifferent
subjects. This man had been selected from among many others as the most
trusty, zealous, and incorruptible. I must explain that as he had no
substitute during his watch over me (which lasted two or three months),
he was supposed to be never off duty, but to spend his entire time in
the corridor outside my door, to eat there, and to sleep there as well
as he could. To my knowledge he never once changed his clothes! The
policeman, on the other hand, only remained twenty-four hours at a time
on duty, being then relieved by another member of his force; and the two
soldiers were changed every two hours, from the regular military guard
which is attached to every Russian prison.
As I was saying, I tried to get the gendarme to talk to me during my
exercise, and after a while I found out his weak side, and that even he
had not a heart of stone. He had an enormous family; and it was very
grievous to him that as he had received strict orders not to take his
eyes off me for a second, he could never get away to visit his home. He
at last contrived to move the governor to stand by him, and let him off
for an hour now and then, without his superiors knowing of it. These
secret visits of the gendarme to his wife and children led to a tacit
understanding between him and me, and brought us more together. He could
not help letting out complaints now and then about the severe discipline
that kept him away from his family; and as I listened with much
sympathy, he presently began to talk about the service, and his hard
work. He related to me how he had helped to get hold of Socialists in
various ways.
“My chief once ordered me,” he said, “to keep an eye privately on one of
the _specialist_ ladies” (unfamiliar words were rather a stumbling-block
to him, and _socialist_ was always _specialist_ in his vocabulary). “Oh,
she was a oner! Clever and cute, and could lead us all by the nose. Vera
Figner[34] was her name. A real beauty she was, and must have been well
brought up, and associated generally with the officers’ families. Well,
I dressed up in private clothes and followed her secretly wherever she
went. If she took a carriage, I got into a droschky and went after her.
If she went into a house, I took down the address, and asked the
_concierge_ who it was the fair lady had visited; so I got to know
pretty well who her friends were. I followed her like this for three
days. Suddenly she disappeared; I couldn’t find her anywhere; she might
have sunk into the ground. I tell you I did feel a fool! They say she
went to Khàrkov, and that in the end she was caught.”[35]
Footnote 34:
See portrait, p. 112.
Footnote 35:
Vera Figner was arrested in Khàrkov during February, 1883, the
informer Merkúlov having pointed her out in the street to the police.
I shall have more to say about her later (see chap. xiii.).
This zealous gendarme, who had dogged the footsteps of the “specialists”
with such zest, became in the end quite confidential with me, especially
when I told him I would give him this and that little thing as souvenirs
when my fate was finally decided. From him I learned the details about
the watch that was being kept over me. He confided to me, among other
things, that the governor of the town, the commandant of the garrison,
and the colonel of the gendarmerie had come to look at me during the
first days of my imprisonment here; had spied at me through the peephole
without my being aware of it, and had strictly ordered that I was not to
be told.
By degrees the days grew shorter, and I did not know how to pass the
time during the long evenings, for I had no light. Often I ran up and
down in my cell for hours together, till I was tired out. Sometimes I
would station myself at the door, and listen to the conversation of my
attendants. The policemen were the most entertaining; they relieved one
another every twenty-four hours, and as it was only a few of the most
trustworthy men in the force who took turns in this watch over me, I
soon got to know them all. It was from them that the gendarme and
I—almost equally prisoners—heard all the news, the gossip of the town,
and so forth. Occasionally one of them would smuggle in a newspaper,
which would then be read aloud in the select little club we formed. I
would stick my hand with the paper in it through the peephole, so as to
get some light, press my face against the opening, and read aloud to the
others. The two soldiers would stand at ease beside the door, listening
eagerly, while a few steps further off the policeman and the gendarme
sat on their bench. If we had no newspaper, nor any special subject for
talk, the policemen would tell tales of witches, demons, or the devil,
to which the honourable members of the “club” listened with perhaps
almost greater interest than to my political readings and disquisitions.
In this way I learned from time to time what was going on in the world,
despite the attempts of three high functionaries to prevent (as the
governor of the gaol phrased it) even a fly getting into my cell.
Moreover, I managed besides to get news that is not to be found in
Russian journals, namely, accounts of events in revolutionary Russia. A
man filling a rather high official position, a well-wisher to our cause,
helped me to this. I owe much to him; but as I do not know whether he be
still living or not, I dare not give his name, nor particulars of my
relations with him, for fear of harm ensuing to himself. It is our rule
never to speak fully about noble deeds done on behalf of revolutionists
or the revolutionary movement unless the doers are either dead or in
exile. I can only say that through this friend I was able to send
letters to my comrades, and that he kept me informed of all that might
interest me in external events. I learned, among other things, that the
well-known revolutionists then living in exile in Paris—Peter Lavrov,
Lopàtin, and Tihomìrov—had held a council upon the conduct of
Degàiev[36]—then also in Paris—and had come to the conclusion that
though certainly, in assisting to “remove” Soudyèhkin, Degàiev had
rendered a service to the revolutionary cause, yet that he must refrain
unconditionally from any further participation in our movement, and from
associating in any way with revolutionists. I learned also that a young
girl of twenty, Maria Kalyùshnaya,[37] had attempted to shoot Colonel
Katànsky of the gendarmerie in his own house, but had not been
successful. About a fortnight before my removal to Odessa she had been
tried before a court-martial; and as she was not of age, had “only” been
sentenced to twenty years’ penal servitude in Siberia.
Footnote 36:
See note, p. 43.
Footnote 37:
See later, chapters xvii, xix, xxi, xxvi, etc.