Chapter XXXIV My Flight From Siberia — The End of My Journey Round the World — My Friend Axelrod Again — Conclusion
The terrible events that had happened in the town, and the death of our unhappy fellow-citizens, could not but leave an indelible impression on many people’s minds, my own included. Blagovèstshensk had become so detestable to us that many left the place as soon as things were quiet again. Unfortunately I could not follow their example at once; but I determined on the first opportunity to transfer myself to the Far East, in which I had long been interested. I intended to settle in the busy commercial town of Vladivostock, and there patiently await the time when I might be free to return home. Before that time could arrive five or six years had still to pass; but the nearer the time came, the more irrepressible grew the desire to quit Siberia, and the thought of flight recurred again and again. Nevertheless doubts also arose whether it were worth while to jeopardise the freedom, however limited, that I had won by my sixteen years of prison and exile. If my attempt failed, I should have rendered myself liable to all the rigour of the law; and I was no longer of an age to bear suffering and privations as in youth, for I was now well past my fortieth year.
Thus did I hesitate backward and forward until the spring of 1901, when various personal reasons made me come to a definite decision, which resulted in my burning the bridge behind me, as the saying goes. I resolved to escape as soon as the Amur was open for travelling again.
Circumstances favoured my project; a kind friend who had a large connection throughout the country promised his aid, and the following plan seemed the easiest of execution. I was to leave Blagovèstshensk unobserved, going first to Habarovsk and thence to Vladivostock, where I must take my passage on a foreign vessel bound for Japan; and this I succeeded in carrying through, with the help of the friend above mentioned.
It need hardly be said that I cannot give all the details of my flight from Siberia, where I was under strict police supervision; for I must not compromise those who assisted me. As I went on board the steamboat that was leaving for Habarovsk, (of course, taking no luggage with me,) there suddenly appeared the deputy-prìstav to whose district I belonged. Of course, at the first moment I thought my plans had been discovered, and I was not a little alarmed; but I was soon satisfied that the official had merely come to take leave of some friends who were travelling by the same boat. It evidently never entered his head that I was taking my departure from Blagovèstshensk under the very nose of the police; I suppose he thought that, like himself, I had come to say farewell to some friend, (which was quite permissible,) and I managed that he should lose sight of me, so that he might imagine I had gone home.
I found there were people of my acquaintance on board who belonged to the place; but they apparently never once thought that I was leaving Siberia for good; and in conversation with them I let it appear that I was travelling on some official commission. Our boat was a tug, and therefore went very slowly; it stopped at every village on the way, and took five days to reach Habarovsk. Here came my most perilous moment, as on leaving the steamer everyone had to show their passes, and of course I had none. I avoided this difficulty by staying on the boat for the night; and next morning I betook myself to the house of a friend, who came on board and fetched me. I spent the day with him, and we devoted it to seeing the town.
I had every intention of seeing as much as possible, during my journey eastwards, of this country—hitherto unknown to me—which was developing with such extraordinary rapidity, especially since the construction of the railway by the Ussur. Villages were springing up like mushrooms, and soon became towns of a considerable size. Habarovsk itself had developed from the insignificant hamlet of Habàrovka into an important town which is now the residence of the Governor-General of the Amur province. It is situated at the junction of the Amur with the Ussur, and stands in a most picturesque position on a steep and lofty cliff around whose base flow the two mighty rivers. But this chief town of a vast and fertile country is itself like nothing but a great barrack; nearly all the houses have the appearance of official buildings, and one meets soldiers in the streets at every turn. As in most Russian towns, there is no look of comfort; the streets are unpaved and very dusty, and are dimly lighted at night by oil lamps standing at a respectful distance from each other. I found the town museum, however, by no means ill-equipped.
Faithful to my intention of learning all I could about the country, I gladly accepted the invitation of a friend, near whose place of abode I must pass, and went to visit him at Nikolsk-Ussurìsk. This place had only within the year attained to the dignity of being called a town, and, like many others in the province, it swarmed with soldiers; which was explained by the fact that the slaughtering of Chinese was not yet entirely at an end, and, as was supposed, preparations were also being made for war with Japan. As the district lies in close proximity to China, Korea, and Japan, and is the probable theatre of future warlike operations, the Russian Government is apparently taking its measures in good time, and by drafting in large numbers of soldiers is converting the province into a sort of military camp.
After a stay of four-and-twenty hours at Nikolsk-Ussurìsk I went on to Vladivostock, a very pretty seaport of some thirty thousand inhabitants, for which—not without good grounds—a brilliant future is prophesied. Its situation is charming, and in its public arrangements it is already far in advance, not only of most Siberian towns, but also of many in European Russia. Here I stayed three days before I could arrange for my passage on a foreign vessel, but at length all was ready, and my last night in Siberia arrived. I slept but little. The thought that next morning I was to bid farewell to all that time had made so familiar to me mingled with my fears for the successful achievement of my escape. So often in my life had some small chance cruelly frustrated all my plans that I naturally trembled now for the result of the present adventure. I had no desire to find myself suddenly bound for the icy regions of Yakutsk instead of for the lands of freedom, and I prepared beforehand for every possibility.
All went well, however, and next morning I boarded a ship that was going to Japan. Yet, when the boat weighed anchor and danger no longer threatened me, a strange feeling of sadness came over me, as though I were parting, not from the land of prison and exile, but from a dear home. Thus can custom attach a man even to chains and bondage. But I felt that it was not only from use and wont that I was parting; I was not merely leaving Siberia, but Russia—and perhaps for ever.
It was a dismal day, the sky was covered with heavy clouds, and rain flowed in torrents. Our steamer rolled violently, and many of the passengers were seasick; but, though I had hardly ever been on the sea before, I remained immune, and rejoiced thereat, as I had another long voyage before me. We soon began to skirt the coast of the Korean peninsula, and entered two harbours, those of Gensan and Fusan, remaining four-and-twenty hours in each. I went on shore with some other passengers to see the towns, which in many respects resemble those of Japan—the same style of building, the same apparent superfluity of shops and booths. The Japanese appear to be the ruling spirits there, and the efforts of Russia to oust them do not seem likely to be crowned with success; nor in my opinion are they justified, for Japan has every right to exercise her civilising influence on Korea.
I also visited a Korean village in the neighbourhood of Gensan, and was astonished at its primitive character. It consisted of one very narrow street bordered by straw-thatched wooden huts, which had neither windows nor doors, the latter being replaced by loose boards. The whole population evidently lived principally in the street, carrying on all occupations there—cooking, eating, and so forth.
Five days after our departure from Vladivostock the steamer dropped anchor in the harbour of Nagasaki. As soon as the health regulations had been complied with I got into one of the little boats that had crowded alongside and went to an hotel close to the sea. Compared with Russian inns it seemed to me cheap, clean, and comfortable; and the Japanese servants spoke a little broken Russian.
In Nagasaki I had to decide how I would pursue my journey. I might go by the Suez Canal to one of the ports of Western Europe, and that was the shortest and cheapest route; but I had a great wish to see something of North America while the opportunity offered, and thus to complete the journey round the world that had been begun so much against my will. I inquired about the next boat for San Francisco, and found it would not leave for nine or ten days, but I resolved to employ the interval in seeing the neighbourhood.
Nagasaki is a rather large town of over one hundred thousand inhabitants, and lies scattered picturesquely over the hills that surround a fine bay. Most of the streets, especially in the Japanese quarter, are too narrow for horse traffic to be possible through them; horses are, therefore, replaced by men, who with their little two-wheeled carriages (jinrikisha) play the part of cab horses, and are called kurnei. There are so many of them that they literally stand before every house, and crowd in front of the hotels and big shops. They surround any stranger in the street, bidding against each other for his custom, and each trying to win his favour, chattering in broken Russian or English. For the modest sum of ten sen (about 2½d.) the course, or twenty sen the hour, the kurnei will take his “fare” with marvellous swiftness up hill and down dale; and it not seldom happens that though the perspiration may be streaming from the brow of the kurnei, the “civilised” European in his little carriage may be seen laying a stick or an umbrella across his shoulders to urge him onward. The poor fellow who thus turns himself into a beast of burden must give almost half of his hardly earned day’s wage to the proprietor of the jinrikisha, and must also pay something to the State for the licence authorising him to support himself in this laborious way. His living, however, is cheap enough, his food consisting of rice and an inferior kind of fish.
Most of the houses in Nagasaki are two-storied wooden buildings, the ground-floor being used as a shop, inn, or workshop. It was a puzzle to me where all these innumerable shops could find customers, and how they managed to exist. In my rambles I often saw a whole row of shops without a single purchaser, and if one entered he was instantly surrounded as though a customer were the rarest of guests.
The houses in the Japanese quarter are built in a wonderfully light and airy fashion, as if just run up hastily for summer quarters. Throughout the town there reigns the most perfect order; the streets are excellently paved, and the portion before each house is kept clean and watered by the occupier. There is never the least dust, and the air is singularly mild and pure. One feels how each breath dilates and strengthens the lungs, and it is not to be wondered at that many Russians and English use Nagasaki as a health-resort.
The European quarter, along the quay, is full of hotels and restaurants, banks, and other houses of business. Here the streets are somewhat wider, and the houses more solidly built, with the lower stories of brick, while many of them have verandas and front gardens. Life in Nagasaki is wonderfully cheap, but it is also a trifle monotonous, particularly for a stranger not conversant with the language. There is little in the way of “sights”—two or three temples of Buddha, with gigantic pictures of Sakia-Mouni, a commercial institute with samples of native goods, and the well-known tea-houses; that is all the visitor is invited to inspect. But the neighbourhood is extremely beautiful, and at every step one is forced to admire the industry of the Japanese, who leave no inch of soil untilled; except the very tops of the rocky hills, all is carefully cultivated. And yet, notwithstanding this heavy labour that the Japanese expends upon his land, his existence seems to have something of the ethereal and fairylike; and many things in his wonderful country contribute to produce an impression of unreality, as if they were happening not in actual life, but on the screen of a cinematograph.
The “progress” that Japan has made during the latter half of the nineteenth century is doubtless very striking; but it seems to me overestimated by many Europeans and also by the Japanese themselves. Only a very small part of the population has been affected by Western civilisation—a thin layer of the upper classes in the coast towns. The rest of the people are scarcely touched by it; not only beliefs and customs, but the whole mode of living remains the same, both in town and country, as it has been from time immemorial. The primitive nature of the Japanese character reveals itself in the transparent honesty everywhere prevalent. No house or shop is shut up for the night; nobody touches what does not belong to him; and lost property when found is immediately restored to the owner. But in the seaports where European culture already makes its influence felt, it may be feared that the Japanese will soon adopt new ideas of “honour.”
I left Nagasaki on board the huge Pacific steamer China, belonging to an American company. The two days that the boat stopped at Yokohama I spent in visiting that town and the capital Tokio, which is reached in about twenty minutes by rail; but there is no need to give my superficial impressions of such well-known places.
During the first five days of the voyage I could talk with none of my fellow-passengers, as I spoke no English, and I found this very wearisome; but at Yokohama we were joined by a Frenchman, a German, and a Japanese who spoke a little German, and we four formed an interesting little international society, the members of which still keep in touch with one another.
On the sixteenth day we reached Honolulu, where our boat was to wait four-and-twenty hours. I had already heard when I was in Blagovèstshensk that a good friend of mine, Dr. N. Russel, was living on one of the Hawaiian islands; so I determined to find out whether he was in Honolulu, and if so to pay him a visit during the boat’s stay here. With the help of my French travelling-companion I managed to find out, though only towards evening, that my friend lived on the island of Hawaii, but that he happened just then to be in Honolulu. However, as when I found the house where he was staying he was not at home, I left a note telling him that an old comrade of his, who was travelling from Siberia to Western Europe, would like to see him, begging him to come on board the China next morning and to ask for “the Russian.” I purposely signed my name very indistinctly, for I wanted to see if he would recognise me, as it was fully twenty years since we had met.
While I was on deck next day I saw a grey-haired gentleman in a white coat come on board. I went towards him at once, (though he bore no resemblance to my comrade of old days,) and when I found that he was seeking “the Russian” I called him by his name, and asked if he knew who I was. He looked at me for some time, but could not recognise me, so much had I altered since we had been together; and at last I had to tell him my name.
“Deutsch! is it you? How did you come here?” he cried, as he embraced me. I told him in a few words the story of my escape, and that I was on my way to Europe.
“And you’re going on this very day? No, we can’t allow that! You must stay with me. We’ll stay here for a day or two, and then you must come back to the farm with me!”
His invitation was so cordial that I should have accepted it immediately could I have afforded to forfeit the value of my ticket from Honolulu to San Francisco, about fifty dollars; but when Dr. Russel understood my difficulty he cried—
“Nonsense! That shan’t prevent you. If you lose your money I shall pay the difference myself.” And after some discussion I yielded to his insistence, and went on shore with him.
I found that Dr. Russel was not only practising as a physician in Hawaii, but that he was a member of the Senate, and was at present in Honolulu to attend the session of that legislative body; consequently I remained there for several days, and had full time to admire the lovely town. I then went back with my friend to the island of Hawaii, where his wife awaited us, and there spent a month; during which time I learned from the Russels and their friends, and also from books, a great deal about both the present and past history of these wonderful islands. The lives of the natives exhibit much that is curious, and also much that is tragic; but I must not dilate on all that I saw. I will only mention the fact that the Hawaiians are dying out with almost inconceivable rapidity. Of the strong, healthy race, who when Cook discovered the islands numbered four hundred thousand souls, after the lapse of not quite a hundred years only about twenty thousand are left, and this remnant afflicted with various diseases that were unknown previous to the arrival of Europeans.
My stay with the Russels gave me much pleasure; we made expeditions to various parts of the island, to see the volcano Kilauea, the sugar plantations, the native villages, and so on; and we were never tired of congratulating ourselves on the turn of fortune that had brought us together on this island of the Pacific. At last, towards the end of July, after a delightful visit, I set out on my travels once more, this time in a sailing-ship. We were twenty-six days on the journey to San Francisco; though the weather was generally fine, I became heartily tired of the voyage, and was very glad when on the evening of August 25th we arrived in the harbour of San Francisco. Dr. Russel had given me introductions to friends of his, and with their help I made myself at home in the Californian capital. After ten days’ rest there I went on to Chicago, and so to New York.
In Chicago I was received, through a letter of introduction, by two Polish Socialists, immigrants who were living there. They welcomed me very kindly, but unfortunately my ticket did not allow of my remaining with them more than two days. President McKinley had been assassinated on the very day before my arrival in Chicago; people had quite lost their heads, and turned upon peaceable Socialists, accusing them of anarchism. My friends therefore advised me to be careful in travelling, and not to use my own name; so I selected a pseudonym and travelled incognito.
In New York another comrade, Dr. Ingermann, received me, and I stayed in his house four weeks; after which I embarked in the English steamship Satrapia for Liverpool. I pass over my voyage, a stay of two weeks in London, and the same in Paris, as containing nothing worthy of note. Everywhere on the Continent I met with old comrades, many of whom had changed much during the long years of our separation. Some could not recognise me at all, others only with difficulty; all regarded me as one come from another world.
From Paris I went to Zurich. This was the final point of my six months’ journey from Blagovèstshensk, and here dwelt my old friends the Axelrods,117 from whom I had parted seventeen and a half years before. After a journey round the world of not quite the usual type, I returned to them again on November 5th, 1901.
“Look! he hasn’t changed a bit,” cried Axelrod, as he pointed me out to his wife at the station. But it was only at the first moment of meeting that it seemed so to him.
For over a year now I have been living again in freedom, going about from one town to another. During that time I have learned to feel at home in more than one European country; but it may be readily believed that what is passing in my native land interests me beyond everything else. Eighteen years make but a brief span in the life of a nation; yet during that period a transformation has come over Russia that must meet the eyes of even a superficial observer. At the time of my arrest at Freiburg, in 1884, there were but a few groups of revolutionists, and they were recruited chiefly from the young student classes, who rebelled against existing social and political conditions. And, as I have explained, owing to the methods of wholesale executions and arrests adopted by the Government, these organisations dwindled and almost entirely disappeared; so that from the end of the eighties thorough-going reaction was triumphant for a time. Of late years, however, it has been quite otherwise. The publications issued by our secret press and distributed throughout the length and breadth of the Russian Empire, calling on the people to rise against the existing despotism, number above one hundred thousand, and they meet with energetic response among the population of large towns and factory districts. Workmen collect in great crowds in the streets along with the students, and by means of monster demonstrations they voice their demand for political freedom and the abolition of autocratic government. The Tsar and his ministers endeavour by the most cruel and severe measures to quench the torch that has been kindled in the land: the greater part of Russia has been placed under martial law; the prisons can hardly contain the numbers of their captives; those who protest against such a régime are sent to Siberia by the trainload. But nothing can stem the tide of the movement; it will rise higher and higher, embracing ever wider circles of the people, and the hour is not far off when autocracy will be laid low, as it was in Western Europe so many generations ago. My flight from Siberia has taken place at a moment in our history which is full of hope for the future.
In Western Europe also great changes have taken place during the last two decades, though none, perhaps, so significant as in Russia. In Germany the special laws against Social Democrats have been repealed; and this has not only made a great difference to our party, but has altered the internal life of the nation in a striking manner. In one respect, however, Germany has made no advance: she is still ready to lend her aid to Russian despotism. Just in the same manner as I was arrested and delivered over to the Russian Government eighteen years ago, though guilty of no offence against German law, so a compatriot of mine has suffered a like fate even while I have been writing this memoir. The Russian student Kalayev was arrested in Mysolowitz (1902) without any warrant, and handed over to the Russian gendarmerie; since which he has not been heard of. The Prussian police have in no way altered their methods during the years that have flown; but to the credit of the German people I must admit, that with the exception of official journals, the entire press was most indignant over this complaisance of the German Government towards the Russian.
The End
Notes
1. See Russia, by D. M. Wallace.
2. Naròdnaia Vòlya: literally, “the People’s Will,” the name of the chief revolutionary party in Russia at the time with which the narrative is now dealing, and also of its secretly printed newspaper.—Trans.
3. This treaty was only concluded in the autumn of 1885.
4. Organised by the revolutionists for teaching the principles of Socialism, and awakening the desire for liberty; for which purpose was instituted the policy of “going among the people,” i.e. living among the peasants like one of themselves,—Trans.
5. The reader who is interested in this period of the Russian revolution will find much information in the work of Professor Thun, Geschichte der revolutionären Bewegung in Russland, and in Stepniak’s Underground Russia.
6. Bunt means both “uprising” and “revolt”; the name of the society might be translated “Agitators of Kiëv.” Its object was to stir up and organise risings among the peasantry.—Trans.
7. In the language of the Russian revolutionaries those are called “illegals” who have for any reason already become suspected by the authorities, and who therefore must conceal their identity under fictitious names.
8. At the time of the emancipation of the serfs the peasants in the Tchigirìn district of the province of Kiëv did not wish to divide into private property the land allotted to them, but to hold it in common, as was done in the north of Russia. In 1875 the Government took the harshest measures against them: arrests, executions, and persecutions of every kind; but the peasants held firm. The revolutionists, among others Stefanòvitch, Bohanòvsky, and myself, resolved accordingly to organise a rising among the Tchigirìn peasantry. Our plans failed, we ourselves were arrested, and the Tchigirìn trial instituted. See also Thun’s Geschichte der revolutionären Bewegung in Russland, and Stepniak’s Underground Russia.
10. “White” terrorism was that practised by the Government for the intimidation of the revolutionists—wholesale arrests, banishment, imprisonment, death penalties, etc. “Red” terrorism was the answer of the revolutionists,—war waged against the Government and its representatives with pistol, knife, and bomb, also with the object of intimidation.—Trans.
12. These particulars were necessary, because they applied to Bulìgin, the friend from whom I had borrowed a passport for this journey, and whose name I always used when travelling. He really did live at Zurich with his wife and child, and attended the University there.
13. This corresponded pretty nearly with fact. About a year previously, in 1883, Plehànov, Vera Zassoùlitch, Axelrod, and I had founded the Social-Democratic organisation—“The League for the Emancipation of Labour”; the object of which was to spread the doctrines of Marx in Russia, by means of translations and original writings. Some of the papers in my box were of this description, the first fruits of our literary activity, which had just been printed by our private press established for the purpose.
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.
15. “Kassiber,” Russian prison-slang.
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.
17. This was true. The passport was forged, and my comrade who travelled with it bore another name in Russia.
18. See pp. 86 and 98.
19. Rozòvsky was executed early in the year 1880.
20. The object of the treaty was to ensure the trial of the case in the ordinary criminal courts. The Russian Government’s practice, in dealing with “politicals,” was to subject them to martial law, and so obtain heavier sentences; e.g. capital punishment, which is not inflicted at all under the Russian civil code.—Trans.
21. Degàiev, a captain of artillery, was a prominent member of the “Naròdnaia Vòlya.” Arrested and imprisoned in the beginning of 1880, he soon turned informer, and betrayed many of his former comrades. By this he not only gained his liberty, but also won the confidence of the notorious persecutor of revolutionists, Colonel Soudyèhkin, commander of the Petersburg Ochrana (a body of secret police). Pangs of conscience, or fear of the vengeance of the revolutionists, caused him to make a full confession to them in 1883, and as amends for his treachery he offered to stand by them in an attempt to assassinate Soudyèhkin. The latter was difficult to entrap, being extraordinarily clever and wary; owing to which qualities he had done more harm to the revolutionists than anybody else. Degàiev’s proposal was accepted; and in the winter of 1883 he managed to decoy Soudyèhkin, under pretext of important business, into his house, where two revolutionists were lying in wait, and shot Soudyèhkin down. They were both caught, condemned to penal servitude for life, and imprisoned in the Schlüsselburg fortress. Degàiev escaped to foreign parts, and afterwards disappeared.
23. The letters of the alphabet being arranged in certain groups, e.g.:—
a b c d e f g h i k l m n o p r s t u v w x y z, words are made up by knocking so many times on the wall for each letter. First the horizontal line in which the letter stands is counted, and then its number in the line. For example, to make the word “you” one would knock as follows: four taps, a short pause, five taps, a longer pause; three taps, a short pause, two taps, longer pause; four taps, short pause, one tap. The taps are not only heard in the neighbouring cell, but sometimes in far-distant ones if they have a common wall.
24. The present Minister of Justice (1902).
25. See pp. 15 and 98, note, p. 210, and portrait, p. 112.
26. The present Minister of the Interior.—Trans.
27. I learned the following particulars later. In May, 1882, some of the political prisoners at Kara escaped. They were soon recaptured, and horribly severe measures were then set on foot in their prison. It was resolved to send away the “most dangerous element.” Thirteen men were chosen, on any kind of pretext, only four of them having been concerned in the escape, and they were all despatched to the Fortress of Peter and Paul, and afterwards to Schlüsselburg, the special prison for politicals. There the harshest régime prevails, and no one who enters is ever set free again. Kobiliànsky shared this fate, although he had not been one of those who had broken loose from prison. Nearly all these unhappy men met their death in Schlüsselburg: among them Butzìnsky, Gèhlis, I. Ivànov, Kobiliànsky, Shturkòvsky, and Shtchedrin. Only one survives (1902)—Michael Popov.
28. Nearly £5 10s.—Trans.
29. About £2 5s.—Trans.
30. Kùritzin was arrested in consequence of the attempt upon Gorinòvitch, and turned traitor unknown to his former comrades. He was shut up in a cell with the other prisoners, so that he might spy upon them; and through his information some of them were sent to the mines in Siberia, and many others delivered into the clutches of the law. I believe that he himself is now practising somewhere as a veterinary surgeon.
31. A noted Cossack chieftain of the seventeenth century, who has become a hero of Russian popular romance.—Trans.
32. While these pages are in the press comes the news (May, 1903) of Bogdanòvitch’s assassination. Having risen to be Governor of Ufa, he had suppressed in a very brutal manner a strike at Zlatoust. Shortly afterwards he was shot in a public park, and his assailants escaped.—Trans.
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.
34. See portrait, p. 112.
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.).
37. See later, chapters xvii, xix, xxi, xxvi, etc.
38. One of the monster trials of revolutionists undertaken by the Russian Government at that period. More than 1,000 persons were implicated in it.—Trans.
39. Grave bodily injury without intent to kill was only punishable with four or five years’ hard labour, to be diminished by one-third in the case of minors.
40. Well known to English readers by his assumed name of Stepniak. See later, chap. xxv.—Trans.
41. Literally “a list of particulars.”—Trans.
42. The Russian Government has a twofold reason for making this careful distinction between ordinary and political prisoners after conviction. Firstly, in order that the supervision of the latter shall be stricter, and that they may be prevented from influencing the ordinary prisoners; and secondly, because the “politicals” were originally only recruited from the upper and privileged classes, and the tradition remains.
43. The story of this escape has been told by Professor Thun, in his history of the Russian revolutionary movement (Geschichte der revolutionären Bewegung in Russland), and also by Stepniak (Underground Russia: Two Escapes), who had it from Bohanòvsky; but the readers of the present volume may like to have it repeated with more detail than our author has thought fit to give.
When Stefanòvitch, Deutsch, and Bohanòvsky were imprisoned at Kiëv, Frolènko contrived to obtain work in the prison as a sort of odd man under the name of Michael. He gradually rose to be warder, first in the criminal and then in the “political” department, where, in spite of a feigned protest made by his three friends (who did not wish to appear on good terms with him), he was appointed to their corridor. They lost no time in fixing a night for their escape together; and having obtained two suits of private clothes and a warder’s dress for the prisoners to put on, he let them out of their cells at midnight. As they were creeping along the dark passages one of them stumbled against something, at which he grasped to save himself from falling. Instantly a deafening noise woke the echoes, he had clutched the rope of the alarm bell! “Michael” hastened off to explain to the staff that he had accidentally caught at the rope, and luckily this sufficed to satisfy everyone. As soon as all was quiet again he collected his companions from the corners where they had hidden, and all proceeded safely to the entrance, where the key was handed to “Michael” without a question. They stepped out of the prison almost into the arms of an officer; but he proved to be their comrade Ossìnsky, who had been organising the affair, and who now conducted them to the river, where a boat with provisions was ready for them. They travelled up the Dnieper for a week, concealing themselves in the long rushes of the bank if a steamer came in sight; and they finally reached Kremutshy, where Ossìnsky furnished them with passports and money. “Michael” was for long supposed by the Kiëv prison officials to have been made away with by the escaping prisoners.—Trans.
44. Surnames in Russian take the feminine termination when used for a woman. It will be noticed below that the husbands of these two ladies are called Shebalìn and Rechnyèvsky.—Trans.
45. See portraits, pp. 259 and 260.
46. It should be remembered that in private intercourse Russians do not use their family names, but the Christian name combined with the Christian name of the father, e.g. Vladimir Kàrpovitch—Vladimir, son of Kàrpo, the same man’s family name being Debagòrio-Makriyèvitch.
47. Antònov and Brantner, besides Ossìnsky and some of the others whose names I have mentioned above.
48. This sentence was renewed later, and in 1892 he died in hospital at Tomsk.
49. The following were condemned to death, but the sentence was afterwards changed to penal servitude for life: Captains Aschenbrenner and Pohitònov, Second Lieutenant Alex. Tihonòvitch, Ensign Ivan Yuvatchov. And besides these, Vera Figner and Ludmilla Wolkenstein.
50. See portrait, p. 112.
51. See chap. xi. p. 98, note.—Trans.
52. Kibàltchitch was executed for participation in the attempt against Alexander II. in March, 1881. The others mentioned here were all condemned to penal servitude for life and imprisoned in Schlüsselburg, where Kolotkèvitch and Zlatopòlsky died. Frolènko is still alive (1902).
54. In Russia it is the custom at Easter in every house to spread a large table with cold dishes of all descriptions, and the master of the house invites every visitor to partake of the feast, which they are bound to do, eating and drinking standing. This “Easter table” is kept going throughout the festival time.—Trans.
55. Value one farthing.—Trans.
56. By this name the common people throughout Russia and Siberia designate all prisoners.
57. Carriages with three horses harnessed abreast in a peculiar manner, the two outside facing somewhat outwards. The middle horse is trained to trot very fast, and the two outside ones to canter.—Trans.
58. Head of the district police.—Trans.
59. A “swop” is carried out in the following way. A convict under heavy sentence—of so many years’ penal servitude, e.g.—takes an opportunity of exchanging personalities, so to speak, with one of the ordinary criminals who is simply being deported. A member of this class will undertake the business for a ridiculously small compensation. Then at the first station whence the exiles are to be despatched to their separate destination the supposed exile escapes, to wander about in Siberia, and, if lucky, find his way back to European Russia. The other who has taken his place reveals after a time his true character, and confesses that he exchanged with So-and-so at such and such a place. The matter is investigated, and the culprit receives a hundred lashes and a year’s hard labour. It is generally the very lowest class of criminals who offer themselves as merchandise in these cases—wretched outcasts, who only receive a trifle—a few roubles, perhaps—as their share of the reward. The organisers of the traffic, the leaders of their artèl (union), see to it that when once a prisoner undertakes a “swop” he sticks to his part. If he dare attempt to betray them he is simply murdered.
60. A kopeck is equal to a farthing.—Trans.
61. This celebrated scholar and political writer, though not an active member of the revolutionary party, was arrested in 1866 and condemned to penal servitude. During his imprisonment in the Fortress of Peter and Paul he wrote his famous novel, What Should We Do? which had such a great influence on the youth of his time.—Trans.
62. Agàpov was sentenced in the case of fifty Propagandists, in 1887, to three years and eight months’ penal servitude. In 1880 he was released from prison and interned as a “colonist” in Eastern Siberia.
63. Head of the district police.
64. See portrait, p. 266.
65. In this trial, of February, 1879, when the defendants were convicted of resisting arrest with arms in their hands, two men—Antònov and Brantner—were executed, the other ten condemned to long terms of penal servitude.
66. In February, 1880, eight “politicals” condemned to penal servitude escaped from Irkutsk prison by breaking through the walls: Berezniàk (known also by the name of Tishtchenko), Volòshenko, Ivàntchenko, Alexander Kalyùshny, Nicholas Posen, Popko, Fomitchòv, and Yatsèvitch. They were all recaptured and their sentences increased, Berezniàk and Fomitchòv being chained to the wheelbarrow.
Another escape was that of two women, Sophia Bogomòletz and Elizabeth Kovàlskaya, and they also were both recaptured after four weeks, but E. Kovàlskaya again escaped and was again recaptured. There were executed in this prison: Lyòchky, for unintentionally killing a warder, and Nyèüstroyev, a teacher in a gymnasium, for striking the Governor-General Anùtchin when the latter was visiting the prison. Shtchedrin, sentenced to life-long penal servitude, was condemned to death for striking the governor’s adjutant, but his sentence was reduced, and he was chained to the wheelbarrow. Later Shtchedrin was sent to Schlüsselburg, still chained to the barrow, and there he went mad and died.
67. See portrait, p. 266.
69. See p. 236.
70. This revolutionist was very rich; but lived in extreme poverty, that he might devote all his fortune to the cause. He was condemned to death in 1879 solely for that reason, as he had carefully abstained—contrary to his own most ardent inclinations—from giving any active help in the movement for fear of compromising himself and thus forfeiting the wealth which was practically supporting the party. See Stepniak’s Underground Russia.—Trans.
71. i.e. penal servitude.—Trans.
72. In 1879 he had been condemned, at the same time as Maria Kovalèvskaya, to ten years’ “katorga,” for armed resistance to the police. He afterwards committed suicide in Irkutsk.
73. He was sentenced to ten years’ “katorga” in 1881 for taking part in the South Russian Workmen’s Union, and in consequence of the Coronation manifesto a third of this sentence was remitted.
74. The participators in the revolt of December, 1825, on the occasion of Nicholas I.’s accession, were so called.
75. He had been sentenced in 1879 to ten years’ “katorga,” on account of the assault on Gorinòvitch (see page 11).
76. Siberia and the Exile System, by George Kennan.
77. Everyone will see the dramatic element in this situation if it is remembered that this friend had been tried and condemned on account of that attempt to kill the spy Gorinòvitch, in which Deutsch had been the chief actor; and that now the one had just finished his term of imprisonment, while the other was commencing his.—Trans.
78. See portrait, p. 112. Stefanòvitch was one of the most prominent of the Terrorists, who, helped chiefly by Deutsch and Bohanòvsky, succeeded in instructing and organising several thousands of peasants, and was on the point of heading their insurrection when he was arrested in 1877. Stefanòvitch, Deutsch, and Bohanòvsky were imprisoned at Kiëv, and their escape thence has been related (note, p. 98). Stepniak describes Stefanòvitch (see Underground Russia, Jacob Stefanovic, and Two Escapes) as of very strong and original character, extremely reserved, speaking rarely, and, though a man of action, very cautious and practical. He was the son of a village priest, and kept up constant intercourse with his old father, even when it was most dangerous for him to do so, at a time when whole cities would be thrown into a ferment if his presence in them were suspected. His personal appearance Stepniak describes thus: “He was of middle height, and somewhat slender, hollow-chested, and with narrow shoulders. Physically, he must have been very weak. I never saw an uglier man. He had the face of a negro, or rather of a Tartar, prominent cheek-bones, a large mouth, and a flat nose. But it was an attractive ugliness. Intelligence shone forth from his grey eyes. His smile had something of the malign and of the subtly sportive, like the character of the Ukrainian race to which he belongs. When he mentioned some clever trick played off upon the police he laughed most heartily, and showed his teeth, which were very fine and white as ivory. His entire countenance, with his wrinkled forehead and his cold, firm look, expressed a resolution and at the same time a self-command which nothing could disturb. I observed that in speaking he did not use the slightest gesture.” Stefanòvitch has now (1903) been over twenty years in Siberia. It was expected that in May this year he would be liberated so far as to be permitted to reside in some outlying province of European Russia, but this hope has not been realised.—Trans.
80. See chap. xxv. p. 262.
81. The secret police, which was then under the chief of gendarmerie, though it has since been constituted a separate department, controlling vast sums of money.
82. See portrait, p. 112.
83. Those who did not join the artèl had, of course, no votes in any discussions or decisions of that body.
84. A kopeck is about equal to one farthing.—Trans.
85. A rouble is about equal to 2s. 1d.—Trans.
86. This simply meant a kopeck’s worth; the expression had originated in the wish to disguise from the gendarme who was always on guard in the corridor the extremely small amount of such an order, but naturally in the course of time the gendarmes had come to understand our argot thoroughly, so that there was no longer any real deception.
87. See portrait, p. 209.
88. This penal settlement was at a short distance from the prison, in the village of Kara, and here—as will be explained more fully later—the convicts, both ordinary and political, were allowed to reside under strict rules and surveillance after their term of actual imprisonment was over.—Trans.
89. Sentenced in 1873 to ten years’ penal servitude, in the “Case of the 193,” for armed resistance in an attempted rescue of Tchernishevsky from Viluisk in Yakutsk. Myshkin also received a further fifteen years, because at the burial of a comrade, Dmohovsky, he delivered a funeral oration in the prison chapel.
90. Sentenced in the Popov trial in Kiëv to fifteen years’ penal servitude.
91. Moses Dihovsky, fifteen years’ penal servitude; Levtchenko, fifteen; Andreas Balamutz, twenty; Kratzenovsky, Yurhovsky, and Minyukov, all for life.
93. This punishment consists in fastening a wheelbarrow by chains to the prisoner so that he is obliged to push it about with him wherever he goes; and even when he wishes to sleep he must contrive to hoist it into such a position as will render lying down possible.—Trans.
94. See portrait, p. 209.
95. See portrait-group opposite. From a photograph taken on the arrival at Kara of these five “politicals.”—Trans.
96. See portrait, p. 260.
97. Better known in England as Stepniak.—Trans.
98. For having ordered the flogging of a political prisoner.—Trans.
99. See portrait, p. 209.
100. Grỳnevitsky himself was killed by the explosion.—Trans.
102. See note, p. 189 et seq.
103. See page 192.
104. The Yakutsk massacre has lately (April, 1903) been recalled to public memory by the arrest of the Russian revolutionist, Michael Gotz, in Italy, and the attempt of the Russian Government—fortunately frustrated—to obtain his extradition. Gotz was one of the youthful exiles at Yakutsk, and was severely wounded, but survived to be court-martialled and condemned to penal servitude in the mines for life. He and his comrades were subsequently amnestied, chiefly in consequence of the notoriety given to the affair by an account of it published by the Times with indignant comments, which caused such feeling both at home and abroad that even the Russian Government was affected.—Trans.
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.
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.
107. About 8½d. to 10½d. the English pound, a pood being equal to 36.1127 lbs. avoirdupois, and a rouble to about 2s. 1d.—Trans.
108. A familiar form of transliteration is employed here, but more correct would be Tsesarèvitch.—Trans.
109. A village constable appointed by the inhabitants of the commune.—Trans.
110. A kind of cloak with fur both inside and out.
111. The elder or chief of the commune, as the stàrosta is of the village.—Trans.
112. The village priest.—Trans.
113. In every Siberian village a house is kept up by the inhabitants, at local expense, for the accommodation of any officials who may be passing through. Zèmskaya kvàrtira literally means “provincial quarters,” or “communal quarters.”—Trans.
115. The remainder of this chapter appeared, with a few further details, in Die Neue Zeit, February, 1902. Extracts from the article were quoted at the time in many Continental and some English journals.—Trans.
116. Not to be confused with the island of Saghalien.—Trans.
117. See chap. i. et seq.—Trans.
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON
PRINTERS
The translator employed accented vowels on Russian words and names to assist with pronunciation, but occasionally omitted them. They have been made consistent here, erring on the side of including them, to aid in searches.
Where names as given in the Index disagree with those in the text itself, the text is assumed to be correct. The use of a grave accent, to indicate emphasis, is imperfectly followed. The name ‘Kravtchinsky’ appears on pp. 263-264, as well as in the Index. But ‘Kravtchìnsky’ appears elsewhere and is assumed to be intended by the translator.
Minor punctuation lapses in the Index, especially, have been corrected with no further notice.
| 43.21.6 | Pangs o[f] conscience, or fear of the vengeance | Added. |
| 47.6 | they looked on me quite as an old acquaintance[.] | Added. |
| 71.32.1 | comes the news (May, 1903) o[f] Bogdanòvitch’s assassination | Added. |
| 117.32 | in the guer[r]illa warfare against Napoleon’s invasion | Added. |
| 245.24 | Improved diet and the skil[l] of our good Prybylyev | Restored. |
| .ta l:10 l:46 l:12 w=100% | ||
| 293.15 | nevertheless[s] I awaited with impatience | Removed. |
| 317.11 | a[n] universal respect | Removed. |
| 342.20 | not only with the foreknowle[d]ge | Added. |
| i365.1.32 | Katz, exiled to Siber[i]a>, 36 | Added. |
| i365.1.36 | Kett[e]ler, Baron von, his murder, 328 | Added. |
| i366.1.5 | Kremuts[k/h]y, 99 n. | Replaced. |
| i371.1.17 | Trepòv, General, Governor of Petersbur[y/g], fired at, 263 | Replaced. |