CHAPTER III

UNCERTAINTY—PRISON LIFE—THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR—A CHANGE OF CELLS

For some time longer I had to remain in the prison of Freiburg, vacillating between the expectation of speedy release and the dread of extradition. Every day I changed my mood a dozen, nay, a hundred times; and this everlasting alternation had a most depressing effect. The days dragged on, and seemed endless, although I tried to occupy myself by every possible device. I was well supplied with books—my comrades and Professor Thun saw to that—and I was accommodated with writing materials. So I read much, and tried to put on paper my thoughts, impressions, and recollections.

But it was not only uncertainty as to my own fate that worked on my spirits: anxiety about my friends, and about the further development of our “League for the Emancipation of Labour” troubled me. Our organisation was only in its infancy; we were but a small band, and our means scanty. In coming to Germany for the despatch of our first output over the Russian border, I had planned at the same time to arrange for future transport. On this account I had many duties to discharge, regarding not only money matters, but organisation. I had also left behind me in Switzerland much business that called for my return as soon as possible. All my comrades had their hands full; time was precious to them all. And now not only was I sitting here in prison, condemned to inaction, but all the other members of our League were 22occupied with my affairs, and waiting about to see how they could help me. The consciousness of this check to our work, and of being its involuntary cause, oppressed me, and raised my impatience to the highest pitch.

My state can easily be pictured if one imagines a man who has an important and urgent affair to manage, and who suddenly breaks his leg, so that instead of pressing on to the goal he must lie inert on a sick-bed. But in that pitiable state he would be preoccupied with his physical suffering; and I, being free from pain, was given over entirely to worry and distress of mind.

The conditions of prison life left much to be desired. At first, particularly, I found them hard to bear, till by degrees I accustomed myself to German regulations. As I have already said, the cells were not lighted at night, and there was nothing for a prisoner to do but to sleep away the long hours of darkness, if he could. I afterwards learned that light was denied for fear of fire, and on the same ground smoking was forbidden. What there was to burn I could not imagine; for, except the doors, the window-frames, and the floors, there was no wood, the building being of massive stone.[14]

The irksomeness of the long evenings without light, and the prohibition of smoking, must for many people be not only a discomfort, but a hard penance. Yet there should have been no question of punishment in this prison, as only accused persons awaiting trial were detained there.

The behaviour of the prison officials towards the prisoners was anything but tender. For instance, this is what took place on one of my first days. Exercise in the prison yard was taken by all the inmates of one corridor at the same time. We were trotted round in a 23continual goose-step, always a certain number of paces distant each one from the other. One felt like a horse being led round the riding-school by a rope. I found that many prisoners regarded it as a humiliation, and preferred to forego the chance of fresh air. One day during this walk the military guard was being changed in the prison yard. The formalities of German drill were new to me, and involuntarily I stopped a moment to look, thus upsetting our beautiful order by not keeping at the correct distance between my preceder and follower; besides, perhaps I also dropped out of line an inch or so. Suddenly I felt someone seize me by the shoulder, abusing me violently. I scarcely knew what was happening till I found myself being raged at by the warder in my cell, whither he had whisked me off. The man was like one possessed, and threatened to deprive me of exercise if I behaved as I had done. At first I could not understand what frightful misdemeanour I had committed. When it dawned on me that all this was because of my momentary pause, it was my turn to show temper. I asked the man how he dared treat me so, informed him that prisoner though I was I would not permit anyone to knock me about or abuse me, and said that if such a harmless infringement of discipline was looked on as an offence against German prison rules, it was his plain duty to have warned me of the fact, and so on. This had its effect; the man’s bearing instantly became milder, and thenceforward our intercourse was on the most peaceful footing.

The prison rations were quite insufficient; there was never enough to satisfy a full-grown man. If I remember rightly, they consisted of a pound and a half of rye bread daily, and twice in the day a little soup or gruel. Meat was only allowed twice a week in the first month, and that in microscopic portions. Even the gaolers admitted that unless a prisoner had means for providing himself with extra food, he would never get enough to eat.

24The cells on the first floor, one of which I first inhabited, were roomy, bright, and clean. For furniture they were provided with a table, a stool, and a bed, the latter having a mattress, straw pillow, and woollen covering. In one corner of the room stood the stove, heated from the corridor and surrounded by an iron grating intended to prevent escape by the chimney. On the wall hung a copy of the regulations, whereby prisoners were informed of the various penalties for the slightest departure from the rules. All these rules were framed to spare the staff trouble, and to make the business of looking after the inmates as simple as possible. The interest of the inmates was not considered; they were not treated like people unconvicted of crime, but rather as malefactors deserving punishment, which the prison staff on their own responsibility had to see carried out in their own way. I will give an instance.

One day I was conducted from my cell to a corridor on the ground-floor, where a number of prisoners were already ranged along the wall, evidently awaiting something. I was directed to a place. I wanted to know what was happening; and after I had asked several times in vain, the gaoler told me that the Catholic priest had come, and wished to speak to all the prisoners, who would be taken to him one by one in order. I said that I was a Socialist and had nothing to do with Catholic or any other priests. I therefore begged to be taken back to my cell. This seemed to strike the man as irresistibly comic, and he burst into an ironic laugh.

“What you want or don’t want is all the same to us. He wants to see you, and so you will be taken to him.”

The warders who stood by were immensely tickled. They joked about the Russian barbarian who came to a German prison and expected to have his own opinions taken into account. So before the priest I went, but our conversation was of the shortest. To his question about my religion I answered that I was a Social Democrat, and 25belonged to no Church. Whereupon he looked at me compassionately and dismissed me.

Another disagreeable feature of life in this prison was the system of espionage. Often, when I was buried in my book or writing, a warder would suddenly appear. He would creep along on tiptoe to open the door noiselessly and spy round, probably designing to catch me if I were looking out of the window—a diversion strictly forbidden by the rules. Not only here, but in other German prisons that I have seen, the extravagant care with which the prisoners and their things were inspected was perfectly ridiculous. For instance, a dozen oranges sent me by my friends aroused the suspicions of the warders, and they conscientiously cut up every single orange into quarters to see if there were anything inside! So far as I know, even Russian gendarmes have never given one credit for contriving a hiding-place in an uncut orange or apple. The good people, however, do not achieve their purpose, in spite of all their cleverness. The “kassiber,”[15] or written message to or from prisoners, passes under their very noses. Nor had I ever any difficulty in getting forbidden articles conveyed into any German prison.

As I have said, the numerous petty formalities made me very impatient at first, but I accustomed myself at last more or less to German prison methods, and the officials dropped their over-zealous harshness towards me, and became more confidential. The fact that I was a foreigner, a Russian, rather interested them, as probably they had never even seen one before. And then, however incorruptible a German official may be, the possession of worldly resources cannot fail to influence him. The staff knew that I was in command of money. The chief inspector, a man named Roth, boarded me; and they knew I had everything that could mitigate the hardness of my lot, that my friends, in fact, supplied me with all 26sorts of little comforts and luxuries. This seemed to impress the prison staff, and I also was for ever telling them I should certainly be released very soon. I really almost believed it, and they seemed to do so, too—at any rate, for a time.

The staff consisted of three men—two warders and the chief inspector, who was also the governor of the gaol. All three often came to chat with me; they asked me questions about Russia, and on their side related much about German matters—prisons, laws, and other things in which they were interested. They all impressed me as being perfectly contented with their situations; indeed, their wages were comparatively high—up to 2,000 marks (￡100) and more a year, if I am not mistaken. The warder with whom I had had the tiff recounted above paid me many visits. He, like the other two, had been a soldier, and was therefore imbued with notions of strict military discipline, which is the watchword throughout German prisons. Though in outward appearance hard and even forbidding, he was really a good-natured creature. Of his own initiative he asked me to let him have the remains of my meals, to take to a neighbouring prisoner who was poor and often went hungry through being unable to afford extra food. Of course I gladly consented. This warder was a big, powerfully-built man, aged about thirty, who had taken his present situation because he did not like his original trade—that of a joiner. Like most German workmen, he had only been to a Volksschule (public elementary school), but the instruction given there is far better than in similar schools in my own country; and in comparison with our workmen of like standing, he might be considered a highly intellectual person. We talked over all sorts of things—politics among the rest—and he told me he was a supporter of the existing Government—the National Liberals, I think. My own attainments caused him great admiration, especially my knowledge of French and German, as well as of my own mother-tongue.

27The way they dealt with my money was a little odd. As I have said, the money in my pocket-book was taken possession of at the time of my arrest. Some days later the inspector presented me with an account of expenditure. It appeared that the police had been most generous on my behalf. A day’s use of the room at the hotel, which I had barely seen, was paid for, and four or five marks in addition as “compensation for disturbance.” Furthermore, as the good people had not been able to open my second box, although they had the key, they had paid a locksmith (very liberally too) to open it. Naturally I made no objection to the bill, but I felt somewhat amused at having to pay for the “disturbance” of my arrest, and the breaking open of my own trunk!

Soon after my imprisonment I was taken to a photographer’s and photographed. I did not like this at all, as I feared that my portrait might be sent to Russia and recognised; but I could not make any protest, lest my reasons should be suspected. The photograph was needed for the inquiry in Switzerland, that by means of it I might be identified as Bulìgin. The Swiss authorities certified that it did represent Bulìgin, with whose passport I always travelled; so that part of the inquiry was got through safely. Also, the proofs I adduced of my not being implicated in the doings of Yablonski and his friend were accepted, and it was agreed that I had neither circulated forbidden literature nor had had any in my possession. Weeks passed away before these formalities were accomplished, and at last, nearly two months after my arrest, the magistrate informed me that he should close the affair in a few days, and that he himself was satisfied there were no grounds for my prosecution. The decision lay with the Public Prosecutor,[16] who might concur 28in this, and so release me at once; or he might after all think fit to take the matter into court. In the latter event, however, the judge would most probably uphold the finding of the magistrate; and even if against all expectation a prosecution should be set up and a penalty enforced, the sentence would be such as my term of imprisonment here would be held to fulfil. In any case I might be certain my release was now only a question of days. It seemed absurd to distrust this forecast, and it is but natural to expect what one ardently desires; so I began to feel easy.

Some days after I was again sent for to the visitors’ room, where I found Frau Axelrod and a grey-haired gentleman, the Public Prosecutor, Von Berg. In stern tones he informed us that we were at liberty to converse, but only in German; at the first Russian word he would separate us. This precaution, and the whole behaviour of the grim old gentleman, did not quite bear out the idea of speedy release for me; and knowing him to be acquainted with the magistrate’s views, I wondered what his reasons were, but I was not apprehensive. Frau Axelrod and I did not find much to say to each other under this supervision, and our interview was brief.

I remember the next few days very well. On the morrow the inspector, Roth, came and told me, in a most cheerful and friendly way, that I must change over into a cell on the ground-floor, as the one in which I was had to be renovated. He was quite apologetic, regretting that the other cell would not be so comfortable for me. This change did not please me at all. My plans of escape had all been based on the situation of my cell, and its being on the first floor would have been no impediment. One of my friends had hired a room in the opposite house, towards which the window of my cell looked, so that at a pinch we could communicate by prearranged signals. Besides these reasons of business, so to speak, on other grounds I was sorry to quit my now familiar 29quarters. My associations with these four walls were not all unpleasant, and looking out of the window had been my greatest distraction. On market days many lively scenes were enacted between buyers and sellers—peasants of the district. Sometimes military exercises took place in the square, and the unfamiliar drill interested me. But above all I loved to climb up to the window in the evenings to watch the children, who, when twilight came on, always romped about the square, playing all sorts of games. Their merry laughter and shouting took me back to my home in South Russia and my own childish days.

All this came to an end with my change of lodging. My new cell was dark, less roomy, and the window looked into the yard. This latter circumstance made escape well-nigh impossible. I comforted myself with the thought that the idea of flight was needless, and tried to reckon how many days were likely to elapse before my release. I argued that my transfer to another cell was probably in view of my departure, or else a mere chance, necessary for the reason given me by the warder. But my friends took it quite otherwise when they saw me no more at the window, and thought I must be already on my way to Russia!