POLITICAL PRISONERS
Dostoyevsky's Call--His Retort to a Dandy--Russia and the
Revolution--The Court of Imperial Mercy--How Political Prisoners may
Solicit Pardon--The Coach-driver's Letter--The People's Belief in the
Emperor--A Typical Russian Appeal--Military Offenders--How they have
Justified the Emperor's Clemency--Political Prisoners and the War
The name of Dostoyevsky is fortunately well known in England, so
perhaps I may be allowed to relate an incident in connection with him.
He called on me one afternoon and began talking of his life in Siberia,
and the wonderfully beneficial effect it had had upon him. We were
interrupted by a flippant young dandy, just arrived from abroad, who
chattered animatedly about his impressions of various ballets and
theatres. I thought he would never stop, and felt rather angry.
Dostoyevsky, however, listened attentively, his wonderful, dark velvet
eyes, with the deep expression so peculiar to them, fixed kindly on the
gossiper. After a while he remarked, "I am interested in what you say.
There is life in you, artistic instinct and good nature. If you could
spend thirteen years in a Siberian prison, as I have done, it would be
most beneficial to you, and might make you a useful, energetic member
of society."
{237}
Dear Dostoyevsky! How often have I remembered that strange remark, and
how often also have I thought that prison life indeed sometimes makes
people serious, patient and religious. Of late, unfortunately, one has
often been haunted by questions connected with prisons. My late
friend, W. T. Stead, expressed the pious opinion quite seriously, how
useful it would be if everybody--innocent as well as guilty--were made
to spend one or two months in prison.
Of all horrible wars, the most horrible, I think, is internal strife,
for the suppression of which, Governments always use strong measures.
Are they to be blamed for measures taken with the object of saving
their country from dismemberment? I think not--though indeed,
personally, I am happy not to be obliged to mete out justice on such
occasions. But then, I always think that to judge one's neighbours
fairly is no easy task. When Thiers had to save France from the
Commune, he unhesitatingly killed several thousand Communards--some say
200,000 were punished, some say 20,000, there are also people who speak
of only 2000. But who can use the word "only," when it is followed by
thousands of killed?
In the year 1905, Russia had the misfortune of experiencing a
revolution at home. The majority of the people, of course, understood
the criminal folly of that movement, and the insurgents were mostly
misguided dreamers who did not realise the rascality of their leaders,
such as Gapon and others. Many of them, indeed, afterwards looked back
with deep regret and even shame, on their folly. I have {238} known
some of them, and it is difficult to say with what deep feeling of
commiseration I listened to them, and now remember their words. If
there be exaggeration and contradiction with regard to the numbers of
the punished Communards, there is similar difficulty in fixing the
numbers of our own culprits. Upon that point I am not going to insist.
Even one death is often the cause of endless pain.
In England I have only once seen any mention of that Court of Appeal by
which Russian political prisoners who repent of their ways may solicit
the Imperial clemency.
The exact title of that institution is "The Court of Petitions
addressed to the Emperor," or "The Court of Imperial Mercy." It was
founded in the sixteenth century in the reign of John IV, under the
control of Alexis Adasheff (whose life and character have so
brilliantly adorned the pages of Russian history) and his friend and
ally, the Rev. Father Sylverst, who was another bright star of that
period. But, after their disappearance from the field of action, the
institution failed to be marked by the same zeal and success as
previously. Once more was it shown that, in every human effort,
personal character plays a greater part than the written law. For,
however perfect may be the law, its application must be varied by
circumstances, and is thus greatly dependent upon the personal
character of its administrators.
Fortunately, however, Peter the Great, with his masterly genius,
recognised the importance of such a Court in an autocratic country
where the power of doing generous work is in the hands of a ruler who
{239} stands above conventional formalities, or obsolete customs, of
parties or of newspapers. Nor did Peter the Great fail to realise that
an exact knowledge of real facts was of vital importance to the proper
exercise of such power. To secure this, therefore, he introduced new
and very drastic regulations and reforms.
He made it a rule that the head of the Court was to be bound by a
solemn and patriotic oath of fidelity to his charge. At the same time
he was to be allowed a larger initiative, by which his personal power
was increased. He became entitled to delegate powers to other
administrative offices and courts, by which the work of the institution
became more decentralised.
But although it was thus understood that appeals to the Emperor
personally were to be allowed only in special cases, yet little by
little these personal appeals became more and more numerous, and were
with difficulty controlled by the head of the Court.
When the Empress Catherine the Great ascended the throne, that
wonderful monarch resolved that she would personally receive all
appeals to mercy. But it soon became evident that such a task was
beyond the powers of even her exceptional energy. Catherine herself
relates that on one occasion she found it impossible to reach church,
owing to the crowds of petitioners who knelt before her with petitions
in their hands.
Such a condition of affairs, of course, could not possibly continue.
In the following year the Empress appointed three high officials,
called State Secretaries, to whom she gave detailed instructions which
{240} show the great pity she felt for such petitioners. The
secretaries were to communicate personally with the petitioners
"kindly, patiently, indulgently," and to extract from them all
necessary details and explanations. For this purpose reference had
sometimes to be made to the separate tribunals before whom special
cases had to go. But sealed letters addressed privately and
confidentially "in His Majesty's own Hands" (as the Russian expression
goes), still reach the Emperor without any intervention. And this
happens even now.
Not long ago I heard of a boy, a poor little coach-driver, who
addressed a pitiful letter of this kind to the Emperor Alexander III
when he was in the Crimea, and not only was the letter received, but
the request generously granted.
To return to old times, the Emperor Paul, while young and in good
health, tried to imitate the great Empress Catherine, and endeavoured
to come into contact with people who appealed to his mercy. To
facilitate this a large, yellow iron box was attached to one of the
ground-floor windows of the Winter Palace (Petrograd) in which
petitions were to be deposited. This box had to be periodically opened
by the State Secretaries, and the contents submitted to the Emperor for
orders. Some, when too absurd, were partially torn and returned
through the Post Office. Others were published in the _Petersburg
Gazette_, with the reason for their refusal. In 1799 the same Emperor
Paul issued a rather strange ukase, forbidding the presentation of
unreasonable requests. No doubt the question of what was and what was
not reasonable was not an {241} easy one, and the unfortunate box could
hardly hold the burden of its strange correspondence. It obviously
became necessary to dispense with this original method of communication.
In the time of Alexander I, thanks to the great Speransky's efforts, a
"Commission of Appeals" was established, and in the time of the Emperor
Nicholas I the "Court of Petitions" was reformed more or less on the
basis upon which it now exists. The members are appointed by the
Emperor himself. To their former duties have been added others
relating to orphans and lunatics. Certain rules have to be observed by
petitioners, and they must have lived in the realm not less than one
year.
By the wish of His Majesty the reasons for refusals to grant favours
are sometimes given, but this law cannot always be observed.
The Emperor has recently given orders to enlarge the Court's sphere of
work by accepting appeals to Imperial mercy for criminal charges, and
administrative misdemeanours.
Finally, I will note the fact that in the year 1908 there were 65,357
petitions through this Court, out of which 64,174 were fortunate enough
to obtain the Imperial order for immediate attention. As a rule there
are about 65,000 petitions presented yearly. Imperial benevolence
(mercy) shown to children amounts to 10,000 cases in famine years.
During the war His Majesty ordered from the coffers of the "Court of
Petition" no less a sum than 178,000 roubles for the wounded soldiers.
"If anyone were to tell the Russian people that the Emperor had not the
power to help them, they {242} would never believe such an assertion,"
observed Baron Budberg (the late head of the Petition Department), "and
may that belief in His Majesty's power always remain with the
Russians." The Emperor's remark on this statement was that Baron
Budberg was right.
"Let those who require my mercy come to me with their sorrows in
confidence."
And many, many are the thousands who have been made happy--thanks to
that Court of Appeal.
People in England often talk about red tape. It is not for me to judge
whether their complaints are well founded--but naturally, when one
comes in contact with official pedantry, one is inclined to grumble and
lose one's temper, though this as a rule does not mend matters. But to
get the better of red tape--ah! that is useful and pleasant. There are
occasions even when it may become a great blessing, as in the
following, which I hope I may be allowed to relate:
In Russia, the Court of Appeal to Mercy allows everybody to appeal to
the mercy of the Emperor. It is not difficult to understand that there
are great differences in the nature of such appeals, and, in Russia, as
likewise in England, prisoners are not allowed to publish their
grievances, and still less their appeals to the head of the State.
However, by a very happy mistake, such an appeal from the political
prisoners slipped, at the end of last year, into one of our best
Petrograd papers. The following is a translation of this appeal which
may be of interest to English readers:
"Your Imperial Majesty, most merciful Tsar. In {243} this tragic hour
of our beloved Russia's destiny, we, the prisoners in the Petrograd
prison of solitary confinement, approach the footstool of your
Majesty's throne, our hearts full of love and boundless devotion, our
suffering souls burning with prayers for the victory of our heroic
Russian troops.
"Within the walls of this prison, we are paying the penalty of our
sins. We are far from our homes, far from the heart of the Russian
people, doomed to confinement and exile; the only light in our darkness
is our faith in the mercy of God and the Tsar.
"It is not for us to judge of the sorrow we have caused our beloved
country--but in the moment of her great trial our Russian hearts beat
with but one care: that of her well-being. We have, indeed, no
personal cares.
"We have read with tears of deep emotion these words of the Imperial
call: 'In this hour of trial let all internal disagreements be
forgotten,' and we pray that God may move the heart of the Emperor and
the heart of the people, to forget also our past sins, to return to us
the privilege of taking our places in the ranks of those who arise and
go forth in all the fullness of their youth and strength to defend the
honour and glory of our country.
"It is not a lack of courage to suffer our punishment which prompts us
to make this appeal for mercy; we were condemned at various times, and
have never before dared to voice any such prayer--but these tragic
days, in which countless numbers of our physically weaker brothers are
laying down their lives on the battlefield, fill our souls with one
{244} profound desire. Most merciful sovereign, call us into the ranks
of your loyal army, and, having paid for our sins with our sufferings,
we will join our brothers, inspired with an unshakable faith in your
Imperial goodness and mercy.
"The dawn of this national war has awakened our souls, has renewed in
us the sense of our duty and our right to defend Russia, side by side
with all Russians.
"May the war renew our lives for the benefit of the Russian people, or
accept them as an offering to our Russian soil. In the silence of our
solitary cells, we pray that God may save and keep your Imperial
Majesty, and all the August Imperial family."
This appeal, thank God, was not overlooked by His Majesty. I myself
know of two cases where former prisoners were allowed to go to the war,
where they acquitted themselves splendidly--so much so, that one of
them, whose case is known to me, now wears the Cross of St. George for
bravery.
A decree of His Majesty has already been applied to another section of
prisoners, the military offenders. This special decree gave to the
commanders of the various military districts the right to take into
active service for the duration of the war such of the military
prisoners in their jurisdiction whom they consider deserving of the
right to win, by bravery in the field, the possibility of future pardon.
This right has been widely utilised, with the result that of 4786
military prisoners, 4091 had, by January 1st, 1915, been taken into
active service. Of these, 1203 have remained under their particular
{245} district commanders, most of them working in munition factories,
and the remaining 2888 have been distributed among various regiments at
the front, and in the reserve; the actual number of military prisoners
still confined is 393.
There are, of course, criminals and criminals, and among them are many
who represent a real danger to society, and who, in other countries,
would be sentenced to death immediately after their trial. Our
legislation, however, remembers the saying of Catherine the Great,
"Better pardon ten who are guilty, than kill one who is innocent." We
also think that every culprit should have time to repent, and thus to
be able to meet death with greater calm, and confidence in God's pardon.
After the outbreak of the Great European War many political prisoners
in Russia made appeal to the Tsar to be allowed to fight for their
country against the Germans. Many people in Russia would have welcomed
a general amnesty to political prisoners for this purpose. There are
among these men many who deeply regret their political mistakes and
past illusions.
They have offended against her laws, but still love and wish to stand
by her in the hour of trial. The country would gain much by such an
amnesty. New forces would doubtless rise to the surface, with new
feelings of gratitude for the opportunity thus afforded them of helping
Russia, and of sacrificing their lives for the national cause.
Some ten years ago, in the days of our revolution, almost half of
Russia was acting, as many of us thought, mistakenly and foolishly, and
making even {246} serious sacrifices for this folly. Fortunately, such
a regrettable state of affairs did not last long, and I was soon able
to dream of founding a society for the reclamation and return to Russia
of those who had outlived their ideas of revolution and who, after all,
loved Russia, right or wrong. Unfortunately, this scheme met with
numerous obstacles. Such a society would have required not only many
members, but also a cautious committee, one not liable to fall into
traps--and I failed to procure them.
Since the beginning of the war this question has again been constantly
in my mind, and I have spent many hours in discussing it with my
friend, Helen Voronoff, and she was entirely of my opinion in the
matter.
We read together a most touching petition signed by 110 political
prisoners, confined in a Petrograd prison. It was composed by one of
themselves, and handed round among the prisoners for signature.
It seems to me that such petitions should not remain unheard.
{247}