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 determined1 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 recurred2 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 348the 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 vessel3 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 supervision4; 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 apparently5 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 tug6, and therefore went very slowly; it stopped at every village on the way, and took five days to reach Habarovsk. Here came my most perilous7 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 349the 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 devoted8 it to seeing the town.
I had every intention of seeing as much as possible, during my journey eastwards9, 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 insignificant10 hamlet of Habàrovka into an important town which is now the residence of the Governor-General of the Amur province. It is situated11 at the junction12 of the Amur with the Ussur, and stands in a most picturesque13 position on a steep and lofty cliff around whose base flow the two mighty14 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 standing15 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 abode16 I must pass, and went to visit him at Nikolsk-Ussurìsk. This place had only within the year attained17 to the dignity of being called a town, and, like many others in the province, it swarmed18 with soldiers; which was explained by the fact that the slaughtering19 of Chinese was not yet entirely20 at an end, and, as was supposed, preparations were also being made for war with Japan. As the district lies in close proximity21 to China, Korea, and Japan, and is the probable theatre of future warlike operations, the Russian Government is 350apparently 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 seaport22 of some thirty thousand inhabitants, for which—not without good grounds—a brilliant future is prophesied23. 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 mingled24 with my fears for the successful achievement of my escape. So often in my life had some small chance cruelly frustrated25 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 bondage26. But I felt that it was not only from use and wont27 that I was parting; I was not merely leaving Siberia, but Russia—and perhaps for ever.
It was a dismal28 day, the sky was covered with heavy clouds, and rain flowed in torrents29. Our steamer rolled violently, and many of the passengers were seasick30; but, though I had hardly ever been on the sea before, I remained immune, and rejoiced thereat, as I had another 351long 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 oust31 them do not seem likely to be crowned with success; nor in my opinion are they justified32, 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 primitive33 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 forth34.
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 spoke35 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 interval36 in seeing the neighbourhood.
352Nagasaki is a rather large town of over one hundred thousand inhabitants, and lies scattered37 picturesquely38 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 literally39 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, chattering40 in broken Russian or English. For the modest sum of ten sen (about 2?d.) 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 perspiration41 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 onward42. 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 proprietor43 of the jinrikisha, and must also pay something to the State for the licence authorising him to support himself in this laborious44 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 rambles45 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 reigns47 353the 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 dilates49 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 quay50, 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 verandas51 and front gardens. Life in Nagasaki is wonderfully cheap, but it is also a trifle monotonous52, particularly for a stranger not conversant53 with the language. There is little in the way of “sights”—two or three temples of Buddha54, 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 expends55 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 overestimated56 by many Europeans and also by the Japanese themselves. Only a very small part of the population has been affected57 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 354remains 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 transparent58 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 seaports59 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 355for “the Russian.” I purposely signed my name very indistinctly, for I wanted to see if he would recognise me, as it was fully46 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 forfeit60 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 insistence61, 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 legislative62 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 356about 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 tragic63; but I must not dilate48 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 lapse64 of not quite a hundred years only about twenty thousand are left, and this remnant afflicted65 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 plantations66, 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 delightful67 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 heartily68 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 Socialists69, immigrants who were living there. They welcomed me very kindly70, but unfortunately my ticket did not allow of my remaining with them more than two days. President McKinley had been assassinated71 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 pseudonym72 and travelled incognito73.
357In New York another comrade, Dr. Ingermann, received me, and I stayed in his house four weeks; after which I embarked74 in the English steamship75 Satrapia for Liverpool. I pass over my voyage, a stay of two weeks in London, and the same in Paris, as containing nothing worthy76 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 pointed77 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 transformation78 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 wholesale79 executions and arrests adopted by the Government, these organisations dwindled80 and almost 358entirely disappeared; so that from the end of the eighties thorough-going reaction was triumphant81 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 demonstrations82 they voice their demand for political freedom and the abolition83 of autocratic government. The Tsar and his ministers endeavour by the most cruel and severe measures to quench84 the torch that has been kindled85 in the land: the greater part of Russia has been placed under martial86 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 autocracy87 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 Democrats88 have been repealed89; 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 memoir90. The Russian student 359Kalayev 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 complaisance91 of the German Government towards the Russian.
THE END
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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bondage
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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seasick
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| adj.晕船的 | |
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oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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picturesquely
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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dilate
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| vt.使膨胀，使扩大 | |
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dilates
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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verandas
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| 阳台，走廊( veranda的名词复数 ) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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expends
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| v.花费( expend的第三人称单数 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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56
overestimated
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| 对（数量）估计过高，对…作过高的评价( overestimate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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seaports
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| n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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pseudonym
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| n.假名，笔名 | |
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incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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autocracy
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| n.独裁政治，独裁政府 | |
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democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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repealed
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| 撤销，废除( repeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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