THE ROAD TO EXILE
May had come. The Lena had opened and become navigable. The heavy iron
doors of the prison were unlocked and hundreds of inmates, including
myself and Yasha, were mustered out in the yard to prepare for exile.
Every winter the huge prison at Alexandrovsk would gather within its
walls thousands of unfortunate human beings, murderers, forgers,
thieves, students, officers, peasants and members of the professional
classes, who had transgressed against the tyrannical regime. Every
spring the gloomy jail would open its doors and pour out a stream of
half-benumbed men and women into the wild Siberian forest and the
uninhabited regions bordering on the Arctic.
All through the spring and summer this river of tortured humanity
would flow through Alexandrovsk into the snow-bound north, where they
languished in unendurable cold and succumbed in large numbers in the
land of the six months’ night. Tens of thousands of them lie scattered
from the Ural mountains to Alaska in unmarked graves....
So finally we were to breathe some fresh air. There was much stir and
bustle before our party was formed. It consisted of about a thousand
persons, including twenty women. Our guard was composed of five
hundred soldiers. We were to go on foot to Katchugo, near the source
of the Lena, a distance of about one hundred and thirty-three miles.
Our baggage was loaded on wagons.
We travelled about twenty-two miles in the first day, according to
schedule, stopping for the night at an exile-station on the edge of
a village. There are many such stations on the Siberian roads--large
wooden buildings of barn-like construction, with iron doors and grated
windows. Empty inside, save for double tiers of bunks, they are
surrounded by high fences, with a sentry-box at every corner. They
offer no opportunity for escape.
We supped on food we had brought from the prison, and turned in for the
night. Our party was divided into groups of ten, each group choosing a
trusty charged with the purchasing of food. Beginning with the second
day, each of us received an allowance of twenty kopeks (about 5_d._).
There were about one hundred politicals in the party, the remainder
being a mixed assemblage of criminals. These two classes of prisoners
did not get on well together, and there was a continuous feud. Men
and women were packed together, and some of the latter behaved
outrageously. The filth, the vermin-infested bunks, the unimaginable
stench, the frequent brawls, made our journey insufferably hideous.
Further, there was a privileged group among us consisting of the
long-sentence convicts, who wore chains and were always given priority
by the unwritten law of the criminal world. They always had the first
use of the kettles to prepare their food. Until they had finished none
of us dared approach the fire. Their word was law. They were always
given the precedence. Even the soldiers and officers respected their
privileges. One of them was chief of the party, and if he pledged
himself, in return for more freedom for all of us, that there would be
no escapes, his word would be taken without question by the Commander
of the Guard, and it was never broken.
The weather was fine the first three days. We travelled twenty miles
the second day and the same distance the third day, but then it
began to pour, and the roads became almost impassable. The mud was
frightful, but we had to walk our scheduled twenty miles. Many in our
party fell ill. We looked forward to the next exile-station with eager
expectation, so soaked were we and so tired. We longed for a roof and
a dry floor, and nothing else. We forgot our hunger, we did not feel
the vermin that night, for as soon as we reached the station we dropped
into a leaden sleep.
We had a two-days’ rest upon our arrival at Katchugo, and were allowed
to bathe in the Lena, our chief making himself responsible for our
conduct. We found a small party waiting to join us at Katchugo.
A member of this new group was recognized by some of the exiles as one
who was said to have betrayed his comrade in a raid, and was dragged
for trial before the entire body.
Here I witnessed a remarkable scene, the trial of a criminal by
criminals. There was as rigid a code of morals in the underworld as in
any legitimate government, and just as relentless a prosecution. It was
announced that there would be a trial and the privileged criminals in
chains were chosen as judges. The accusers were called upon to state
their charges, in the hearing of the whole party. They related how the
accused man had betrayed a comrade in a robbery some time ago.
There were cries of, “Kill him! Kill him! The traitor! Kill him!”
This was the usual punishment for any one found guilty. It was the
custom of the authorities to watch the proceedings and never interfere
with the carrying out of a sentence. As the mob was closing in on the
accused, and my heart was sinking within me, the judges called for
order and demanded that the man be given a hearing too. White and
trembling, he got up to tell his story in detail.
“There were two of us,” he began, “in the scheme to rob a banker. It
was decided that I should force my way into the house through a window,
hide there and signal to my confederate at the opportune moment. I
found that the banker had gone for the evening to a club, and concealed
myself in a closet, waiting for his return. My comrade kept guard,
without receiving any sign from me, for a couple of hours.
“When the banker returned he sent his valet to fetch something from the
closet in which I was hidden. The valet discovered me, and raised an
alarm, and some servants ran out to call for help just at the moment
when my comrade was about to enter the house. He was caught. I managed
to escape through the window and the garden. I am innocent, comrades.
I have been a criminal for many years, and I have a clean, honourable
record.”
He then proceeded to enumerate the most striking accomplishments of his
career, the chiefs under whom he had worked, and the robbers with whom
he had been associated in the past.
He must have mentioned some very important personages, as immediately
a number of voices were raised in his favour. Some got up and spoke
in high terms of the connections of the accused, while others scoffed
at him. The deliberations lasted for several hours, resulting in the
acquittal of the man.
The entire party, at the conclusion of the rest at Katchugo, was
taken on board a huge roofed barge. A thousand people in one hole! The
prison at Alexandrovsk, the exile-stations, were paradise in comparison
with this unimaginable den. There was no air and no light. Instead of
windows there were some small openings in the roof. Many fell ill,
and were left lying there uncared for, some of them dying. We were
so crowded that we slept almost on top of one another, inhaling the
foulest of odours. Every morning we were allowed to come out on the
deck of the barge, which was towed by a tug.
In our group was the woman Kitova, with her husband and two children.
We cooked and ate our food together, suffering much at the hands of
the criminals. There were some quiet people among the latter, and they
suffered from the whims of the leaders and their lackeys.
There was one such case of a man, who happened to cross the path of an
old criminal. The latter did not like the way he looked at him, and
the poor man was beaten and, without any ceremony, thrown overboard
and drowned. We were all locked up for it inside the barge and were
denied the privilege of going out on the deck. It was the most cruel of
punishments, worse than a long term in prison.
We changed barges on the way, spending about two months on the water,
having journeyed about two thousand miles upon arriving at Yakutsk at
the end of July. We were beached at night, but it was almost as light
as day, though much colder.
Our joy at landing was indescribable. The local politicals all came out
to welcome us. We were marched to the Yakutsk prison, where our roll
was called. Here the women were separated from the men, and those who
voluntarily accompanied their husbands were set free.
I then went to the office to inquire about the fate of Yasha, and was
told that it was probable that he would be sent farther north. I was
cared for by the local politicals, who sheltered me and gave me new
clothing and money with which to purchase food and cook dinners for
Yasha.
Yakutsk is such a distant place that the prisoners there are allowed
considerable freedom. I was kindly treated by the officials when I took
the dinner-pail to Yasha, and was permitted to remain with him as long
as I desired, even in privacy.
Shortly afterwards Yasha was informed that he had been assigned to
Kolymsk, within seven miles of the Arctic ocean, where the snow never
melts and the winter never relaxes its grip. The news was a terrible
shock to us. To be buried alive in some snow-bound hut! What for? To
live like beasts in that uninhabitable region from which only few ever
emerge alive!
There was still one ray of hope. Governor Kraft, of Yakutsk, had the
reputation of being a very kind man, and he might reassign Yasha if I
begged him to do so. Yasha had been advised to appeal to the Governor,
and he sent me on this mission.
The Governor’s office was in his home. He received me very kindly,
even shook my hand, and invited me to be seated. He was a tall, erect,
black-bearded man of middle-age, and he showed every consideration for
me as I told my story. I proposed to him to open a sanitary butcher’s
shop in Yakutsk if he allowed Yasha to remain there, as the local
butchers’ shops were inconceivably filthy.
He at first refused to consider my suggestion, but then, apparently on
second thoughts, bade me follow him into his private room, where he
seated me at a table, and, filling two glasses with wine, invited me
to drink with him. I refused, wondering what could be the reason for
this extreme friendliness. He drew nearer to me, laid his hands on my
coat and removed it. Before I recovered from my astonishment he seized
my hand and kissed it. No man had ever before kissed my hand, and I had
an idea that it was an action that could only imply immoral intentions.
Startled and indignant, I jumped to my feet.
“I will give you a thousand roubles, room for a butcher’s shop in the
market, and keep your husband in Yakutsk, if you will agree to belong
to me,” the Governor declared, trying to calm me.
I lost my self-control. “Scoundrels! beasts! you men are all alike!” I
shouted. “All! all! all! High and low, you are all depraved.” Seizing
my coat, I ran out of the house, leaving the Governor speechless.
I rushed to my lodging, locked myself in a room and wept all night.
My errand had failed, and I was now faced with the choice between a
living death for Yasha and selling myself. I had visions of Kolymsk, a
settlement consisting of several scattered huts, inhabited by natives,
lost in the vast expanse of the ice-bound steppe, and buried for months
under mountains of snow. I could almost hear the howling of the Arctic
winds, and the frightful growling of the polar bears.
I pictured Yasha in the midst of it, cut off from human companionship,
slowly languishing in the monotony of inactivity. Then my thoughts
would revert to the other alternative. To live and work with Yasha
in outward happiness, and stealthily, in the night, to go to this
degenerate Governor! And what if Yasha learned of my secret visits? How
should I explain? And of what avail would any explanations be to him?
No, it was impossible, impossible! Ah, what a terrible night it was!
From visions of the frozen banks of the Arctic waters, my imagination
would carry me to the revolting embraces of Governor Kraft, in a
fruitless search for a way out.
Morning finally came and found me completely worn out. When my friends
questioned me as to the result of my call on the Governor, I replied
that he had refused my appeal. In low spirits I went to see Yasha. He
quickly noticed my downcast appearance and inquired into the cause.
“I saw the Governor, and he would not change your place of exile,” I
informed him dejectedly.
Yasha flared up. “You appealed to the Governor, eh? The Governor never
yet refused an appeal of this sort from a woman, I am told. He is the
kindest of men. The warden here just told me that the Governor has long
felt the need of a first-class butcher’s shop in the town, and would
never let us go if properly appealed to. I hear that you did not plead
with sufficient warmth. You want to get rid of me, eh? You want to have
me sent to Kolymsk to die, so that you can remain here alone and carry
on with some other man.”
Yasha’s words pained me deeply. He had always been very jealous, but
the strain of the imprisonment and the journey had made him more
irritable. Besides, it was evident that some one from the Governor’s
office had informed him that I had not sufficiently exerted myself in
his behalf. I did not dare to tell him the truth, for that would have
meant certain exile to Kolymsk, and I still hoped against hope.
“Yasha,” I implied, “how can you say such things of me? You know how I
love you, and if you go to Kolymsk I shall go with you. I have been to
the Governor, and entreated him.”
“Then go again. Fall on your knees before him, and beg harder. He is
said to be such a kind man that he will surely have mercy. Otherwise,
we are lost. Think of our destination, a land without sun, a colony of
three or four huts, spread over a space of about ten miles, that is
Kolymsk. No horses, no business, no trades! It is not a land for the
living. Go and implore the Governor, and he may take pity.”
I looked at Yasha, and my heart was filled with anguish. He was only
twenty-seven, but his hair was already turning grey. He looked pale
and exhausted. I could not keep myself from breaking into sobs.
Yasha was touched, and, placing his arm around me, apologized for
his insinuation, assuring me of his devotion and appreciation of
my endeavours to sustain him in his trials. I left him, with the
understanding that I would call on the Governor again.
“To go or not to go,” was the thought that tormented me on the way from
Yasha. I learned that the Governor was notorious as a libertine. He
had married into the family of a high-placed bureaucrat for the sake
of a career, and his wife was a hunch-back, spending most of her time
abroad. Plucking up courage, I went to the Governor again, hoping to
win his favour by a passionate plea for Yasha. As I entered the office
I saw the clerks wink to one another significantly. I could scarcely
keep my self-control, trembling in anticipation of another meeting with
the Governor. As I was admitted into his study he stood up and smiled
benevolently, saying:
“Ah, so finally you have come, my dear. Now, don’t be afraid; I won’t
harm you. Calm yourself, and be seated,” and he helped me to a chair.
“Have pity on us, sir. Permit Yasha to remain here,” I sobbed.
“Now, now, don’t cry,” he interrupted me. “I will. He shall stay.”
My heart was full of gratitude, and I threw myself on the floor at his
feet, thanking and blessing him for his kindness. Then it occurred to
me that Yasha would be overjoyed to hear the news, and I rose to go,
telling the Governor of my purpose.
“You need not tire yourself by rushing to the prison. I will have the
message telephoned to the warden, with instructions to inform your
husband immediately,” the Governor said, “and you may rest here a
little while.”
I was overflowing with thankfulness. He poured some wine into a glass
and insisted that I should drink it to refresh myself. I had never
tasted wine before, and this particular wine was of a very strong
quality. I felt a wave of warmth creep over me. It was so sweet and
languorous. The Governor then filled my glass again and, also one for
himself, invited me to drink with him. I made an effort to resist,
but was too weak to withstand his persuasion. After the second glass
it was much easier for the Governor to make me empty the third. I
became drowsy and dull, unable to move. I had a sense of the Governor
removing my clothes, but was too helpless to protest, let alone to
offer physical resistance. He embraced me, kissed me, but I remained
inert. I then had a sensation of being picked up by him and carried to
a couch. Very dimly I seemed to realize it all, and, collecting my last
strength, I attempted to struggle, but felt as if I had been drugged....
I awoke about four in the morning and found myself in unfamiliar,
luxurious surroundings. For a few moments I could not understand
where I was, and thought that I was dreaming. There was a strange man
near me. He turned his face, and I recognized him as the Governor. I
suddenly remembered everything. He made a motion to embrace me, but I
cried out, jumped up, dressed myself hastily and ran from the house as
if pursued.
Day was just breaking. The town was still wrapped in sleep, and a low
mist merged the city with the river. It was early autumn. There was
peace everywhere but in my heart; there, the elements were raging, and
life grappled with death for supremacy. “What shall I say to Yasha?
What will our friends think of me? A prostitute!” pierced my mind
poignantly. “No, that must never happen. Death is my only escape.”
I wandered about the streets for a while, until I found a grocer’s shop
open, and I purchased there thirty kopek’s worth of essence of vinegar.
Entering my lodging, I was met by the question:
“Where have you been? Maria Leontievna, where did you sleep last
night?” My appearance in itself was enough to arouse suspicion. Without
answering, I rushed into my room and locked the door. After offering
my last prayers, I resolutely drank up all the poison, and was soon
writhing in agony.
At the same time, about ten in the morning, Yasha was released from
prison and given five hundred roubles for the establishment of a
butcher’s shop. In high spirits, he made his way to my lodging,
completely unaware of what had befallen me. It was only when he arrived
at the house that he observed an unusual commotion. The door of my room
had been broken in when my moans were heard. The poison had scorched
my mouth and throat as if with a flame, and I was found unconscious on
the floor, and only recovering my senses after I had been removed to
the hospital. Around me stood Yasha, some nurses, and a physician who
was pouring something down my throat. I could not speak, although I
understood all that was going on in the room. I had lost so much blood,
the doctor explained to Yasha, in reply to his anxious questions, that
my recovery was very doubtful. “Only a person of unusually powerful
constitution could emerge alive from such an ordeal,” he added.
For two weeks I hovered between life and death, suffering agonizing
pains, writhing in breathless convulsions that choked my breathing. I
was fed only on milk, introduced into my throat through a tube. For a
month I was incapable of speech, at the end of which time I was out
of danger, but I had to spend another month in the hospital before I
regained my normal health.
Yasha could not, at first, understand the reason for my act. The
Governor was so kind, so generous. He had not only commuted his
sentence, but had given us five hundred roubles for a shop. Could there
be anything more noble? He finally arrived at the conclusion that the
trials of the last year had resulted in a temporary mental derangement,
which was responsible for my attempt at suicide. I did not disillusion
him, although I was tempted to do so whenever be praised the Governor.
Upon leaving the hospital, we opened the butcher’s shop and immediately
began to do good business. For several months we led a peaceful
life. Then, one afternoon, the Governor suddenly called at our shop,
ostensibly to inquire how we were prospering. He stretched out his hand
to me, but I turned away.
The Governor left, and Yasha raged at me for my inexplicable conduct.
Had I gone mad? I must have, to be capable of refusing to greet our
benefactor, the kindest of men! I was sullen and silent, but Yasha
would not be satisfied. He demanded an explanation. There was nothing
left for me to do but to make a clean breast of it, which I did.
The truth was such a shock to him that it threw him into convulsions.
He struck me with something and felled me to the floor. His face turned
chalk-white, the veins stood out on his temples, and he was trembling
all over. He seemed utterly prostrated by the horror of this nightmare.
The Governor’s liberality was now explained. The five hundred roubles,
the commutation of his sentence, it had all been dearly paid for by his
beloved.
My attempted suicide now appeared to him in its true light. He would
take vengeance. He would kill the Governor, he swore, yes, he would
murder that most despicable of villains. I hugged his feet and begged
him not to attempt to carry out his threat. He paid no heed to my
prayers, and talked of the hollowness of his life if he did not avenge
me.
He set off on his fateful errand, all my efforts to bar his way having
failed. When he appeared at the Governor’s office and requested an
audience, giving his name, the clerks immediately suspected him of some
sinister design. The secretary reported to the Governor that Buk, the
butcher, desired an audience, but that his manner roused suspicion. The
Governor ordered that he should be detained and searched. A long, sharp
knife was found on him, and he was arrested, orders being given for
his exile on the following day to Amga, a hamlet about one hundred and
thirty miles from Yakutsk. I had only twenty-four hours to dispose of
the shop, and was compelled to hand it over to a local political, with
the understanding that he would pay us for it a few months later.
It was Easter Eve, 1914, when we started out in a cart, driven by a
Yakut, for Amga. The mud was the worst I have ever come across. The
horses sank so deep, and the wheels of the vehicle stuck so often,
that frequently we had to alight and help in extricating them. We
spent Easter Day in a native’s hut on the road, in which children,
women and animals lived together. There is always a fire in the centre
of these huts, the smoke being allowed to escape through a hole in the
roof. The cows were milked in the hut, and the filth was beyond words.
After supping on some bread and a sort of tea, which was unfit for
human consumption, we went to sleep. The following day we resumed our
journey to Amga.