Next morning I was taken to the office, where arrangements were being made for the continuation of our journey. When formalities were over the governor said to me that I had better go into the next room: “You will find company there—comrades of yours who are to travel to Moscow with you.”
In my conversation with the two ladies they had told me that two exiles, banished1 by “administrative methods,” Vladimir Malyòvany and Anna Ptshèlkina, were to travel with me; and I was very glad to make acquaintance with my future companions. I had known Malyòvany by name for some time past. He had once been secretary to the Town Council of Odessa, had been exiled to Siberia by “administrative methods” in the end of the seventies, after some years had made his escape, and was now being sent back to Siberia again for five years.[48]
When I entered the room I found there two well-dressed young ladies, a aged3" target="_blank">middle-aged2 gentleman with a black beard, and an officer in full uniform. One of the ladies stood close by the door, and I held out my hand to greet her; but she drew back and stared at me, looking surprised and rather alarmed. Evidently she took me for some bold criminal! Smiling, I gave my name; and the girl instantly 106grasped my hand, and shook it warmly with many apologies. She was Anna Ptshèlkina’s sister, come to say farewell to the exile. “I really am afraid of you!” she said, with a friendly glance, smiling rather shamefacedly.
The black-bearded man was Malyòvany. The other lady, with a delicate-looking but sympathetic and expressive4 face, was Anna Ptshèlkina, who was being sent to Western Siberia for three years. The officer was Captain Vòlkov, commanding our convoy5. We exiles were naturally friends directly, and at once engaged in eager conversation. With my shaven head, clattering6 fetters7, and convict’s dress, I contrasted oddly with the others, who looked civilised and respectable. In the faces of the two sisters, especially in that of the younger, I plainly read the most romantic interest in my fate. Probably she now for the first time beheld9 a Socialist10, stamped outwardly as a criminal and deprived of all civil rights, going forth11 to a gloomy future. She begged me, if there were any special thing I would like to have, to write it down; and handed me a pencil and paper that she might keep my note as a reminder12. I wrote down the titles of some mathematical text-books, and she promised to send them; but she either forgot all about it, or lost my elegant autograph—at all events, the books never arrived.
Malyòvany and Anna Ptshèlkina were then taken in a carriage to the station, while I—though also invited to drive—preferred to go on foot. So I marched with the rest of the party, rattling13 my chains, along the streets of my native town. When, and under what circumstances, should I see it again?
We were taken straight to the railway carriage engaged for us by the organisers of the convoy, while a compartment14 was reserved for the officer. We settled ourselves comfortably, and the train started. I now asked my companions the reason of their banishment15, and learned from 107them that—as in many other instances described to me by people who had similarly been exiled to Siberia by “administrative methods”—they had simply been accused by the police of being neblàgonadyèshny, i.e. untrustworthy. This word has become classical in Russian police affairs, and has a conveniently vague signification. Literally16 it means “of whom nothing good can be expected.” A young man or a girl associates with So-and-so, reads such and such books; this is enough to awaken17 suspicion that the said young man or girl is “untrustworthy.” The police or the gendarmerie pay a domiciliary visit, find a suspicious letter or a prohibited book, and then the course of events is certain: arrest, imprisonment18, Siberia. It may be scarcely credible19 that people languish20 for years in prison, without any pretence21 of legal procedure against them, simply by decree of an officer of gendarmerie; and that at the good pleasure of these officers—most of them fabulously22 ignorant men—people are banished to the wilds of Siberia. Even those familiar with Russian affairs are often shocked and staggered by some fresh case of this kind.
As we were nearing a large station the officer informed us that we should be joined here by some more political exiles; and when the train came to a standstill, two quite young girls—at the most eighteen to twenty years of age—and two youths were brought into our carriage. We three who came from Ki?v were by no means aged; but we might almost have been called old folks by these children. We received the new-comers cordially, and of course begged for their story, which was as follows.
In the district of Poltava the chief town is a small place called Romny, and in this little town there is a girls’ school. Two or three of the scholars hit upon the idea of lending one another books, and making notes on them—not books that were in any way forbidden, but that were accessible to all. Soon a few young men joined them; and thus a small reading society was formed, such as might help to 108pass away the long winter evenings in the dull little provincial23 town. As these young people had no idea that they were committing any offence, they naturally never dreamt of keeping their proceedings24 secret. But the eye of the law is sleepless25! The officer commanding the gendarmerie in that place saw and triumphed. For years he had been vegetating26 in this obscure corner of the empire, and had never unearthed27 the least little conspiracy28, nor brought to light a secret society; now was his chance. He could at last make manifest his burning zeal29, his devotion to his country and his Tsar; and recognition by his superiors, perhaps an order or promotion30, shone before him. One night the gendarmerie paid domiciliary visits to the dwellings31 of the young ladies of the school. Certainly nothing suspicious was found, but the frightened girls “confessed” that they had “held meetings,” and that they read books in a “society.” This was enough for the brave sergeant32; here were grounds for the State to take action against the “secret society of Romny.” The girls and their friends were arrested and imprisoned33; a report was sent to Petersburg about the discovery of a secret society, in which such and such persons had taken part, and discussed “social questions” together; the officer was of opinion that these evildoers should be sent to Siberia;—and the thing was done.
When these boys and girls told me their simple tale and explained the nature of their “crimes,” unflattering as was my opinion of legal proceedings in Russia, I could hardly believe that there was nothing more behind this. Only when I became more closely acquainted with these “conspirators of Romny” and other “criminals” of their class, was I convinced that no suggestion of fancy is too slight and unsubstantial to be formulated34 as a ground for prosecution35 and banishment of the most harmless people by the gendarmerie, the secret police, and the other guardians36 of public safety in Russia.
After having been imprisoned for a considerable time, 109these young people were now being exiled to Siberia for three years; but as travelling on the Siberian rivers can only begin in the month of May, they were to pass the winter with us in the Moscow Central Prison for exiles; in other words, they must remain for another six or eight months under lock and key.
“Doesn’t this sound like the Inquisition of the Middle Ages?” we said to one another, talking over this specimen37 of “administrative exile.” The officer of the convoy heard us, and there arose a lively discussion, in which, of course, he combated our views on Russian politics. A witness for the crown was soon forthcoming. During our halt at some big station (probably Tula or Oriel) Anna Ptshèlkina opened the barred window to get some air; and a young peasant of about twenty-two or twenty-three who was passing, stopped and stared at the young lady, and cried jeeringly38, with a mischievous39 grimace40, “Aha! so you’re caught, are you? Now you’ve really got something to grumble41 at!” We all burst out laughing. How simple was this peasant lad’s view of political difficulties! “Caught,” “grumble”—the situation was as clear as daylight to his philosophy, and left nothing to be explained. But indeed millions of people, from peasants to the highest dignitaries, make use of the same logic42; witness the choice expression of the Public Prosecutor43 Kotliarèvsky—“Where trees are felled there must be chips.” Everything can be summed up and accounted for in this classically simple way; and our officer could add nothing more.
When a few Russians get together, however, their gloomy disquisitions on the terrible state of things prevailing44 in our country are always varied45 by enlivening interludes of jokes and harmless chatter46, funny stories and witticisms47. Malyòvany was in this respect inexhaustible. Like most natives of Little Russia, he had a rich vein48 of humour, and was a born raconteur49. No wonder, then, that from the corner in which the soldiers had established us, there frequently issued sounds of irrepressible mirth.
110The journey from Ki?v to Moscow took forty-eight hours, but at last we arrived at our goal. I again chose to walk to the prison; Anna Ptshèlkina, Malyòvany, and the Romny youths followed my example, while the girl-conspirators elected to drive. One of them, named Serbinova, was rather delicate; and the other, Melnikova, clung to her friend with such tender affection that she would not be separated from her for a moment.
It was a lovely winter morning; there was a sharp frost, and the houses and streets of Moscow were white with newly fallen snow. Our fetters rang clearly in the frosty air, and under our feet the snow crackled, as in a long line we marched away to the gaol50. We passed by many of those churches and chapels51 in which “White Moscow” is so rich; and here most of the convicts uncovered their heads and crossed themselves. On the other hand, there were many streets and market-squares which reminded us “politicals” of historic events that had taken place there, which had much in common with our own experiences. Here the Tsars had brought their enemies to execution. There the suspects had been publicly flogged. And now appears “Butirki,” as the populace nicknamed the Central Prison for exiles about to be deported53. It is a mighty54 stone building, and looks like a gigantic well; a great wall, with a tower at each of the four corners, encloses it. The main building is reserved for ordinary criminals, who are to be transported to Siberia, and contains accommodation for many thousands. In the high towers are lodged55 the various classes of “politicals.” Those condemned56 to penal57 servitude are confined in the Pugatchev tower, which takes its name from the celebrated58 adversary59 of Catherine II.; that Pugatchev who wanted to “shake Moscow to its foundations,” and was made a show of in an iron cage, till the Tsaritsa sent him to the scaffold. In the north tower were the “administrative” exiles; in the third, or chapel52 tower, those still under examination; in the fourth the women belonging to all the different categories.
“BUTIRKI,” THE CENTRAL PRISON AT MOSCOW
To face page 110
111I was well informed as to the conditions prevailing in this giant prison, from which thousands—if not tens of thousands—of persons of all sorts and conditions are despatched yearly into exile. The reports were not exactly unfavourable, but when we arrived at the door and entered the gloomy edifice60, a painful feeling seized on me. Since my arrest in Freiburg—that is, during at least eight months—I had come to know three German and six Russian prisons, and in each there was a different régime. However careless one may be of one’s material comfort, one cannot help experiencing an uncomfortable sensation when entering a new place of confinement61; knowing that one may be denied the most elementary necessaries, and may perhaps have once more to begin a bitter fight about one’s right to exercise, books, a table, or a bedstead.
In the spacious62 office there awaited us a man of about sixty, with a long white beard, and spectacles on his nose, dressed in a well-worn military coat with officer’s epaulettes. This was Captain Maltchèvsky, one of the prison governors, specially8 charged with the supervision63 of the political prisoners. After we ourselves and our luggage had been searched in the usual way, we were led off to our respective quarters.
I was first taken through a long, narrow court terminating in a doorway64. Here the warder rang a bell; another warder appeared, and conducted us through another narrow court, and up an iron spiral staircase till we reached the third floor. We came to a halt on a dimly lighted landing scarcely a yard and a half wide, with five doors round it. One of these was opened, and I found myself in my cell. A rapid glance showed me that it was not exactly luxurious65; it was an irregular triangle in shape, so tiny that one could scarcely take three steps across it, and very little light came through the narrow window. However, it contained a bed and other usual furniture.
112“And here I shall have to live for six long months,” I thought sadly.
“Good day! Who are you?” said a voice close at hand. It turned out that two prisoners were my neighbours, condemned like me to penal servitude in Siberia. They were concerned in the “trial of the fourteen,” or “Vera Figner Case,” as we usually called it, and had been sentenced at the same time as myself. We introduced ourselves to one another, and talked through the peepholes in our doors, which did not seem at all to disturb the warder, who was on the landing. He soon after took us out for an airing in the little court I had passed through, which was enclosed within high walls; and as he left us alone here, we could talk as much as we liked to the tune66 of our clanking fetters while we walked up and down.
I now for the first time saw other political convicts like myself, “deprived of all civil rights” and condemned to penal servitude. It was a strange sight. I noted67 their youthful but worn faces; both of them wore spectacles, and on their heads were round caps with no brims. With their yellow sheepskins and rattling chains my comrades gave one the impression that they could not be real convicts, but were just dressed up for the part—so great was the contrast between their refined faces and behaviour and this uncouth68 disguise.
They were about my own age—twenty-nine or thirty. The elder, Athanasius Spandoni-Bosmàndshi, was sentenced to fifteen years’ penal servitude; the younger, Vladimir Tchuikòv, to twenty.
Neither of them looked as if he had ever been strong, and both seemed to have suffered much in health during their long imprisonment in the Fortress69 of Peter and Paul. With their pale, thin faces they looked as if they had just come through a severe illness. But this obvious lack of health had been an advantage to them, as on account of it they had escaped incarceration70 at Schlüsselburg,C 113to which place their comrades sentenced in the same case had all been sent.
TCHUIKOV
SPANDONI
VERA FIGNER
STEFANOVITCH
MIRSKY
To face page 112
We had not known one another while free; but as we had belonged to the same society, and had worked for the same ends, we met in prison like old comrades. During the first few days our subjects of conversation seemed inexhaustible. We talked during our walks, and also in our cells, where only a small space separated us, so that by speaking through the peepholes we could hear one another perfectly71 well. My apprehensions72 on entering this prison were soon quieted; for though the cells were certainly uncomfortable, we gladly put up with that in view of the other ameliorating circumstances.
On one of the first evenings I was sent for to the office, where the old captain awaited me. My comrades had described him to me as very good-natured and obliging, always ready to forward the wishes of the “politicals” whenever possible. He invited me to sit down, and said he wanted to talk quite frankly73 with me, to which I replied that I should be very glad if he would do so.
“You want to get away,” he said; “don’t deny it. I know it very well. But I think it right to warn you plainly that any such attempt can only harm yourself and your comrades. We don’t want anyone to suffer needlessly here; we do our best to lighten the fate of the prisoners. If there is anything you want, you have only to set it down in black and white” (this I found later was a pet expression of the old man’s); “we will send your request to the Governor of Moscow, and he always does what he can to please the prisoners, as far as the law allows him.”
Neither before nor since have I ever met an official who spoke74 so candidly75, and his manner inspired confidence. The old man seemed to understand the people with whom he had to deal. He had evidently heard of my two former escapes, and in his diplomatic way hoped to deter76 me from similar attempts by speaking to me straightforwardly77 and 114convincing me of his own goodwill78. This pleased me, and I said to him forthwith that of course every prisoner condemned to penal servitude in Siberia must have a very distinct wish to escape; but that so far as I could see such an idea was quite hopeless in this prison, and I had no intention of making any attempt of the kind. This answer seemed to satisfy the old captain, and we separated with the conviction that we should get on rather well together.
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1
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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fabulously
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| 难以置信地，惊人地 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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vegetating
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| v.过单调呆板的生活( vegetate的现在分词 )；植物似地生长；（瘤、疣等）长大 | |
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unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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jeeringly
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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raconteur
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| n.善讲故事者 | |
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50
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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51
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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53
deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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54
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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56
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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58
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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65
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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66
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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67
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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68
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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69
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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70
incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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71
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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72
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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73
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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74
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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75
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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76
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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77
straightforwardly
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| adv.正直地 | |
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78
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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