DISQUIETING REPORTS—VISIT OF THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL—RELEASE FROM PRISON
The suicide of our two comrades brought visits from various officials to
the prison; first came the Public Prosecutor, then the Colonel of
Gendarmerie, finally the Governor of the district. We, however,
absolutely declined to enter into conversation with them, not even
answering direct questions; and they left without eliciting a syllable
from any of us.
No special measures were taken; everything remained as of old. Only we
ourselves were as though transformed by the tragic events that had taken
place; a heavy weight seemed to oppress us, our songs were hushed,
jesting was at an end, we had forgotten how to laugh; games too were
stopped, even chess found no devotee. Most of us still suffered acutely
from shaken nerves.
So passed the winter of 1889-1890. The silence of the higher authorities
was a bad sign, and we felt certain that in one way or another reprisals
would be taken for the past events in Kara. The order rendering us
liable to the punishment of flogging still held good, spite of the six
martyrs who had gone to their death. Some of our number were terribly
agitated about this during the early part of the year, and again two of
our comrades determined to take their own lives in order to demonstrate
to the Government that the political prisoners had not abandoned their
protest against the threat. But the rest of us persuaded them to forego
their intention until the commandant (Masyukov still held this post)
should have made some reply to our demands. This reply was to the effect
that fresh orders had been received whereby corporal punishment for
women was entirely done away with; and men were only liable to it if
they did not belong to the privileged classes, and had not been educated
in a gymnasium. The sacrifices had been in so far vain that the system
remained; but it could be reckoned on with comparative certainty that
the authorities would not again resort to such measures. So far as we
were concerned we were now aware that the rules for our treatment were
in any case about to be changed, and as a matter of fact this was soon
the case.
For some years a report had been current that a new prison was to be
built at Akatoui—a place distant some three-hundred versts from
Kara,—and that the Kara prisoners would all be transported thither. It
was also rumoured that in this new prison a system was to be instituted
such as had never hitherto obtained in Russia.
Meanwhile our numbers had been gradually diminishing. A good many of my
companions had in course of time been allowed to leave, and were living
in the penal settlement; and the number of those who had begged for
pardon, and who in consequence had been liberated as “colonists,” was
not small. Among others my friend Jacob Stefanòvitch should have been
released in the spring of 1890, when his term in prison ended; but he
preferred to remain with us until the question of our removal to Akatoui
was settled, and found various pretexts for getting his release
deferred.
During the last year we had had no new arrivals from Russia; because
since the end of the eighties the Government had brought no
revolutionists to trial, so that no sentences of penal servitude had
been passed. Instead, a system had been introduced of sending political
offenders for many years of banishment to Siberia, or to the island of
Saghalien, by “administrative methods.” By the summer of 1890 most of us
who still remained in our prison were already formally entitled to leave
for the penal settlement, and were only unjustly detained because the
number of political settlers there was limited to fifteen. I myself
should have obtained release in the course of that year, but I had never
expected that this would really be. From my first arrival in Kara I had
resigned myself to the thought of spending my entire term of punishment
in the prison; in my dreams of the future I never thought about the
penal settlement, but only looked forward to the distant date when, at
the expiration of my sentence, I should be allowed to live somewhere as
a Siberian exile.[105] That life was depicted for me in anything but
rosy colours by the letters of comrades; nevertheless I awaited with
impatience the far-off day of release. Like the hero of Dostoiëvsky’s
_Memoirs from the Dead-house_, I often counted up how many years,
months, weeks, hours, I had still to spend in prison. How wearily the
time passed! The fewer grew the remaining years, the slower went the
days, and freedom seemed further off than ever.
Footnote 105:
English readers might suppose that, on the expiration of their
sentences, political convicts would be set free unconditionally. But
this is not the case. According to the Russian Penal Code, Art. 25,
“The results of the sentence to hard labour are: the abolition of all
family and property rights; and, at the expiration of the sentence,
settlement in Siberia _for life_.” In practice, however, “politicals”
(especially those having influential friends) are occasionally, after
the lapse of years, allowed to return to European Russia. There they
must live under police supervision; and though they may choose their
place of abode, it must be a town; but not the capital nor any of the
more important or manufacturing towns.—_Trans._
Prison life had affected me considerably in the course of time. My
nerves were shattered, and I felt as though borne down by a heavy
burden; my brain worked with difficulty, and my general condition was
one of apathy and lassitude. The future looked black to me; I was sick
of life.
In August, 1890, reports assumed a more definite form, and we learned
with certainty that we were shortly to be taken to Akatoui. This news
excited us much, and plans for our arrangements in the new prison became
the chief subject of conversation. It seemed incredible to us that the
cruelty of the Government could go so far as to increase the hardships
of prisoners who for the most part had already been ten years or more in
captivity, and had suffered so much; yet we heard that the régime at
Akatoui was to be unusually severe.
One day we learned that the Governor-General had come to Kara. We were
ordered to assemble in the yard, and Baron Korf soon made his
appearance, followed by a large suite, and guarded by gendarmes and
soldiers. He informed us that an order had been sent from Petersburg for
our removal to Akatoui. The regulations of the new prison provided that
political convicts should henceforward be in exactly the same position
as the ordinary criminals: we should share rooms with them, be fed in
the same way. “In short,” concluded the Governor-General, “in no respect
will any difference be made between the two classes of prisoners, and
these instructions will be carried out to the letter.”
The sentences flowed smoothly from his lips, yet Baron Korf did not look
altogether pleased with his mission. Upon us his words had a crushing
effect; our fears were confirmed and worse, for no one had dreamt of our
being placed on the footing of ordinary criminals. Above all, this meant
that we should be liable to flogging, as they were.
We stood for a time speechless; partly because we were staggered by what
we had heard, and partly because we had no desire to enter into
conversation with the man who had degraded himself by ordering the
corporal chastisement of a woman. To the repeated question whether we
had anything to say, no answer was given; but Baron Korf was apparently
very anxious to get into discussion with us, and the situation became
rather uncomfortable. At last, as the Governor-General was preparing to
leave, Mirsky suddenly broke the silence. With formal politeness he
inquired how the words “in every respect like the ordinary criminals”
were to be construed, and laid stress on the fact that ordinary convicts
were allowed to enter the penal settlement without any limitation of
their numbers. Visibly gratified that at last he was addressed, Baron
Korf hastened to explain that in this particular also there would
henceforward be no difference made between the two classes. An animated
conversation now ensued between him and Mirsky, in which Yakubòvitch
soon joined. With excited gestures the latter began declaring that they
might treat us in all other respects like criminals, but we would never
endure it if one of us were flogged.
The Governor-General attempted to restore peace: we ought not to be
alarmed, he said; none of us had hitherto been punished in that way, and
he hoped it might never happen in the future.
I had not intended to take part in the conversation, but when I heard
those words, involuntarily I cried out, “And Sigida? A woman!”
This was a subject full of the most ominous possibilities. Baron Korf
began speaking eagerly; he had apparently been waiting for the chance of
such an allusion, and he seemed to feel a need of justifying himself.
“What were we to do?” he cried. “Must we be insulted, and keep silence?
It was not we who first resorted to personal violence.”
“You could have tried her,” I answered; “but you had no right to torture
her.”
The Governor-General stammered out a few sentences, the drift of which
was that past events were irretrievable, and that he could not be held
responsible for what had occurred in Kara.
It was a painful episode, and when Baron Korf had gone we returned to
our cells in deep depression, feeling insulted and humiliated by the
decision that we had just heard.
The day was to bring yet another excitement. The head warder, a certain
Pohorukov, made the rounds as usual, accompanied by some gendarmes, and
called the roll in the various rooms. I was in the corridor, meaning to
go into my room along with the gendarmes; and Fomitchov also was in the
corridor, standing by the door of his room. As one of the gendarmes was
unlocking that door I suddenly saw something hurtle through the air, the
sound of a frightful blow followed, and the head warder fell to the
ground. The gendarmes instantly fled in panic, leaving the man lying
unconscious on the floor; but I ran after them, calling to them not to
be frightened, that they must come and help their injured companion. It
was, however, some time before they could be persuaded to return.
I ought to mention here that Golubtsòv, the clever and tactful captain
of the guard, of whom I spoke before, no longer held that post. When our
hunger-strikes began he got himself transferred to the section for
ordinary criminals, for he saw that the dispute with Masyukov was
certain to cause trouble. The new captain of the guard was a stupid,
cowardly fellow. When he at last recovered from his fright I managed to
induce him to unlock the door of the room where Prybylyev, our
physician, was, and the latter then had the wounded man carried into our
“hospital” room, where he administered first aid. The head warder had
received a severe blow on the head from some hard object, he was still
unconscious, and it was difficult to know at first whether the wound was
dangerous or not.
As the commandant was away in attendance on the Governor-General and
would not return till next day, and as the head warder was _hors de
combat_, we prisoners had to take command, the gendarmes, who had quite
lost their heads, obeying our orders without hesitation. The first thing
was to get the injured man conveyed to his own house, and Prybylyev had
him carried thither on the bed as he was. Then something must be done
with Fomitchov, who himself insisted on being removed from among us; so
we made the captain of the guard install him in one of the single cells
in the adjacent building.
Fomitchov’s act seemed absolutely inexplicable, the head warder being a
quite insignificant, ordinary kind of person, about whom we had never
troubled ourselves; and the only explanation that suggested itself to us
was that, excited by the news we had just heard, Fomitchov must have
suddenly lost his reason. For, being, as I have related, an eccentric
devoted to monarchism, Fomitchov was the last person from whom such an
attack on an official could have been expected, and the theory of
madness seemed the more likely, as he had on one or two former occasions
shown a tendency to paroxysms of rage. We were mistaken, however; next
day he himself gave us the following elucidation of his motives.
Some months before, when Fomitchov was in the prison hospital, where
Pohorukov was then steward, he had been witness of a shocking scene.
Some ordinary criminals had been cleaning out the yard, and the steward,
declaring that the work had not been done thoroughly enough, at once
ordered the men to be flogged. The punishment was instantly
administered, right under the window of Fomitchov’s cell. Indignation
and disgust had naturally been kindled in Fomitchov’s bosom, and
abhorrence of the man who could perpetrate such a barbarity; but it
would hardly have occurred to him to attack Pohorukov without further
cause. Now, however, when the Governor-General had just declared that we
were to be put on an equal footing with the ordinary criminals as
regards flogging, Fomitchov remembered how people could be subjected to
that barbarous punishment by any stupid official for the merest trifle;
he wished, therefore, he said, to avenge the deed he had witnessed, and
at the same time to show what would be our proceedings if anyone ever
attempted to apply such treatment to us.
Naturally we feared that the Governor-General might suppose Fomitchov’s
assault to have been an act resolved on by us all, and committed with
our sanction, in which case reprisals could not fail to be made; we
lived, therefore, for several days in a state of excited expectancy. The
doctor, meanwhile, pronounced Fomitchov to be suffering from a passing
disturbance of mind, caused by learning of the new decree; fortunately,
too, the injured man’s wound proved not to be mortal, and he recovered,
only losing the hearing of one ear. The Governor-General was, I suppose,
relieved to find that no more serious consequences had followed his
announcement of the new order, and that may have made him take a lenient
view of the case. Fomitchov was eventually placed under observation in
the prison hospital, and his term of imprisonment was lengthened by two
years as the penalty of his offence.
From the statement made by the Governor-General in response to Mirsky,
we might conclude that none of us who had become entitled to leave
prison for the penal settlement (that is, not less than twenty men)
would be taken to Akatoui, and that therefore we should escape the
severe régime there; but I personally could not believe that the hour of
my release from prison was so near. My old experience at Freiburg had
taught me how easily hopes may be falsified, and I repelled with energy
every alluring vision, preferring rather to paint gloomy pictures of a
future in prison among the criminal horde; and although the news soon
reached us that we were indeed to be liberated—that a list had already
been prepared of those persons who were entitled to leave—I could not
trust myself to credit it. One day, however, quite unexpectedly, three
of our number were released from prison—Luri, Rechnyevsky, and
Souhòmlin, whose wives had followed them to Kara. Shortly after,
Masyukov, accompanied by his newly appointed successor, Tominin,
appeared one day in our prison, and informed us that seventeen others
were to be liberated, my name figuring in the list.[106]
We packed up our belongings and took leave of our comrades, who were to
go to Akatoui the next day; and the thought that our friends had before
them such an increase of hardships damped our pleasure in attaining the
long-desired semi-freedom. Beforehand we had pictured quite otherwise
the joy of release and the scene of farewell. Now that the hour had
struck it was hardly joy that I felt; on the contrary, I seemed almost
to be quitting a home that had become dear to me. Not with heads
uplifted, but sad and depressed, we bent our steps towards the door. The
bolt flew back, and a larger company of men than had ever been seen to
do so before on such an occasion left the prison for good. A trammelled
and partial liberty lay before us; still, liberty it was.
Footnote 106:
Among the others to be released with me were Martinovsky, Prybylyev,
Mirsky, Starinkièvitch, Zlatopòlsky, Mihaïlov, Fomin, and Kohn; all of
whom have figured already in my narrative. Stefanòvitch also was of
the party, but was only destined to remain with us for two months,
after which he was sent to be interned in Yakutsk. He has spent the
thirteen years since we parted in various places of Siberian exile.