CHAPTER IV

THE VISIT OF “MY WIFE”—MORE PLANS OF ESCAPE—THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR SHOWS HIS HAND—PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY

On one of the following days I was told there was someone to see me. No sooner had I crossed the threshold of the visitors’ room than a young lady threw herself, laughing and weeping, into my arms. It was Frau Bulìgin. As I was in prison under her husband’s name, she had now come to play the part of my wife; and so well did she play it as even to soften the heart of the Public Prosecutor, who witnessed this moving scene of meeting between such a young and loving pair. He left us alone for a moment, and only when the first emotional greetings were over did he warn us that we must speak German; but his tone was less stern and dry than at my first encounter with him, when Frau Axelrod was there. Frau Bulìgin had at once whispered to me that I must somehow contrive that we should speak Russian, as she had important things to talk about. I therefore begged Herr von Berg to let us speak in our own language.

“I cannot,” he said shortly; “you both seem able to speak German quite well enough to understand one another.”

“You must allow,” said I, “that however well a man speaks a foreign tongue, when he meets his wife after weeks of imprisonment and in circumstances like mine, he wants to speak freely. We cannot talk of family affairs in German. But,” I continued, “if you insist about 31this, though I cannot understand by what law nor for what reason, could you not let Professor Thun be present as he would understand all we said in Russian?”

After some further demur he at last relented so far as to say that though he would not request Professor Thun’s attendance himself, not being in any way bound to do so, yet if the professor chose to do us such a favour, we might then be permitted to speak Russian. Of course I would not betray my relations with Professor Thun, so I carefully inquired his address, that my wife might take him a message.

“Your wife shall be given it in my office,” said Herr von Berg. So he and Frau Bulìgin departed, and I was taken back to my cell.

After a short interval I was sent for again, and found Professor Thun with the others. I had not seen him for some time, as he had been away for his Easter holidays; besides, his official duties as translator had come to an end, and my case being now in the hands of the Public Prosecutor, he had not the same freedom of access to me. Frau Bulìgin told me that she had hurried hither because of the great anxiety felt about me by my comrades. Russian spies were closely watching all my friends and acquaintances in Geneva; showing my photograph (which of course strongly resembled that sent from Freiburg by the police), and asking where I was. From this my friends concluded that the Russian Government was already on my track; they feared that if my imprisonment lasted much longer my real identity would certainly be discovered, and they therefore begged me to try and effect my escape. We talked over every chance, and tried to work out a plan, Professor Thun taking the warmest interest, and making many suggestions. But, as I said before, absolutely no plans were feasible from the cell I was in now; and I will not trouble to describe those we discussed, except to repeat that Professor Thun played an important part in them all, even undertaking to provide 32me with a key to the outer door of the prison. The personal risk he was willing to accept, or even court, was great; yet this was the man who had at one time avowed his desire of handing me over to Russian justice! After eighteen years it is scarcely comprehensible to me, spite of my lively recollection of his kindness and sympathy.

The Public Prosecutor, Von Berg, who remained in the room during all this confabulation, played rather a comical part. Of course, he understood not a word, as we spoke Russian; but whenever we laughed he smiled indulgently, as if amused at us. I cannot imagine what would have been the feelings of this painfully correct and stern old gentleman if he had known the chief cause of our merriment, which was simply that we had to concoct the report of our conversation with which Professor Thun was subsequently to regale his worship.

When we had finished our consultations, which lasted rather a long time, Frau Bulìgin took a very tender farewell of me. She thanked Von Berg for having allowed us to speak Russian, and asked him how soon he thought I should be released. I think he told her that he believed the case would be concluded in a few days, mentioning the date. In any case, he added, if I were set free I should be handed over to the police to be conducted over whatever frontier was convenient—the Swiss, he supposed, being the nearest.

I held fast to the hope that it really would be so, and tried to stifle the doubts that persisted in rising. It was certainly pleasanter to dream of prospective freedom, than to brood over the consequences of extradition to Russia, or even of being set over the Russian border. The sight of Frau Bulìgin had aroused keen longings for liberty; fancy painted joyful pictures, my thoughts dwelt on my friends and my work. Mentally I lived through many scenes of welcome, and saw our circle setting to work with redoubled energy at our “League for the Emancipation of Labour.” I planned out to the smallest detail how I 33would make up for my enforced idleness. I lived only in the future, and looked on the dreary present as if it were a long-vanished past, a disagreeable episode that I and mine could talk over as far behind us.

“To-day the order for my release will be made out.” I remember how I awoke on a certain May morning with this thought in my mind, and instantly began to conjecture in what manner the announcement would be made to me.

“You are to go to the Public Prosecutor,” said the warder, breaking in on my visions.

“It is for my formal discharge,” was my first thought; “the man is keeping his word. Strange that the judge has been so quick in pronouncing his decision; it is still quite early,” I meditated, as I went along the corridor.

In the office sat Herr von Berg at a table; beside him was a young clerk, and the table was covered with bundles of documents.

“To-day, as you are aware,” said the Public Prosecutor, turning to me, “judgment was to be given on your case. Before I inform you of the verdict, I must again have your assurance that your name is Bulìgin, and your home Moscow.”

“Certainly. I am Bulìgin, of Moscow,” I answered.

“Read the document relating to that point,” said the Public Prosecutor to the clerk. The latter read aloud in dry, business-like tones a communication, apparently emanating from some Moscow official, stating curtly that there was no person of the name of Bulìgin answering to the description given.[17]

“What have you to say to this?” asked Herr von Berg coldly.

I felt that the blood had left my cheeks, and that my knees were trembling; but I pulled myself together at 34once, and began to defend myself, speaking rapidly, warmly, and earnestly.

I saw my critical situation, and felt the ground slipping from under my feet. My fear of communications with the Russian Government was justified, and it was now a fight for life. I had so often dreaded this eventuality, that my plan of defence was prepared.

“Listen!” I cried. “I declare to you that I am Bulìgin; but I confess that I do not come from Moscow, and that the other particulars I gave you about myself were false. This amount of deception was forced upon me, foreseeing as I did the course that might be taken by the authorities here, and knowing too well what Russian methods are. You do not know those methods, and I must explain. It often happens that people are denounced to the gendarmerie for having a prohibited book in their possession. Not only are they themselves arrested, but everyone who has consorted with them is liable to arrest, and anyone whose address is found in their rooms. Their houses are watched, and everyone who visits them is seized. Whole families are persecuted in this way, and think themselves lucky if they get off at last after untold annoyance. Quite innocent people are often in prison for months. When I came from democratic Switzerland to constitutional Germany, with no intention of contravening German law, little did I expect to meet with an experience which shows me that, at any rate as regards foreigners, there is not much to choose between Germany and Russia in some of their dealings. I find to my cost that without any legal formalities the police may arrest and imprison whom they choose; that they can make a domiciliary search without a warrant, and may treat a harmless traveller as if he were a criminal. I was kept in gaol for two days without being brought before a magistrate; I saw a young lady seized in the street and brought to the prison, just as if in Russia. What ground had I for trusting the magistrate’s assurance that there 35would only be an ordinary judicial inquiry? I took it for granted that the police, as with us in Russia, could override the administrators of the law, and that the police would be in correspondence with the Russian authorities. This document proves that I was right.

“Well, then, if I had given the true facts about myself, the police, as is evident, would have handed them on to their Russian confrères, who, of course, when they heard I had been arrested here because I had two boxes of books forbidden in Russia, (though not in Germany,) would have started their usual game in the town whence I really come. My people would have been subjected to annoyance; my brothers and sisters, who share my views, would perhaps have been found possessed of forbidden literature, and clapped into gaol along with many others. Russia is not a constitutional country, and therefore I was obliged to guard myself by suppressing particulars here that might have been used against my friends there.”

“You assert, then,” said the Public Prosecutor scornfully, “that you are Bulìgin, but that you do not come from Moscow; and you refuse to give the name of your native place?”

“Yes, I refuse for the reasons I have stated.”

“Read the next report,” said Herr von Berg, and the clerk read aloud:—

“The prisoner now in the State prison of Freiburg, calling himself Bulìgin, is in reality Leo Deutsch, who in May, 1876, attempted—in conjunction with Jakob Stefanòvitch—to murder Nicholas Gorinòvitch. Therefore the Government of His Majesty the Emperor of Russia, through their representative in the dominions of His Highness the Grand Duke of Baden, demand the extradition of both the aforesaid persons. And at the same time His Majesty’s Government consider themselves bound to draw the attention of the German authorities to the fact that the aforesaid Leo Deutsch has several times 36already broken out of prison, and should therefore be most jealously watched, both during his incarceration and while being transported to Russia.”

I have transcribed this document almost literally, for though nearly two decades have passed since that moment, it seems present to me this day. “It’s all up with me,“ I thought, and torturing visions rose before me.

“What reply have you to make?” I heard the dry question of the Public Prosecutor, and saw his malicious smile of triumph.

With a tremendous effort I collected myself.

“What I have just heard read,” I said as calmly as I could, “scarcely surprises me. It bears out all I have been told as to the methods of the Russian Government. Their game is clear. When they want to get hold of a harmless Russian Socialist who has been arrested in a constitutional country they will not allow that he is the person he claims to be, but give him the name of someone implicated in a serious crime. This is nothing new. For example, Rumania was induced in this way to deliver up a certain Katz, who was then immediately exiled to Siberia by ‘administrative methods,’ as is said in Russia, that is, without any judicial process. Evidently they are doing just the same in my case. The best proof of this lies in this document itself. You see there that the Government not only demands the extradition of Deutsch, but also of Stefanòvitch, although the latter was long ago arrested in Russia and sent to penal servitude in the Siberian mines, and although his complicity in the attempt against Gorinòvitch never came into question at his trial. It is plain that the extradition of Stefanòvitch is asked for in order that on the next opportunity some peaceful Socialist may be claimed as being he. What I am telling you would be confirmed by Professor Thun, who not only is acquainted with Russian ways, but has particularly studied our revolutionary movement.”

This ended the interview. When I was back in my cell, 37and could collect my thoughts, I felt completely crushed. My extradition seemed certain, and escape my only hope. But that this hope was futile I quickly discovered. Following the Russian Government’s warning as to my having often broken out of prison before (as a matter of fact I had done so twice),[18] a special warder was now posted at my door, with instructions not to stir from the spot, and to watch my every movement. The other warders also were told to keep an eye on me, and—what had never happened before—the chief inspector, Roth, had been present at the interview described above.

Soon after midday I was again taken before the Public Prosecutor. This time he seemed more graciously inclined, and treated me with as near an approach to geniality as could be expected from such an arid man of law. He informed me that Professor Thun had endorsed my description of Russian judicial proceedings; and he then continued, “It is possible that an injustice is being done you in ascribing to you the crime spoken of in the communication of the Russian Government, and I am prepared to assist you in defending yourself. You must understand that in Germany it is no part of a Public Prosecutor’s duties to pass sentence, but he has to get at the truth, and to discharge persons who are unjustly accused. Give me any particulars that would tend to exonerate you, and I will do what I can for you.”

This change in the behaviour of the Public Prosecutor was evidently owing to Professor Thun’s influence. I knew quite well that there was not much left to hope for now, but I saw I should try to make use of Herr von Berg’s more favourable attitude to gain a little time. If my extradition could be delayed I might yet find some opportunity of escape. So I gratefully accepted the Public Prosecutor’s offer, and begged him to let me have an opportunity of consultation with my lawyer and the official translator, as I myself had no acquaintance with 38the forms of German law. Meanwhile, I said, I could tell him at once how I hoped to prove I was not Deutsch; I had reason to believe that he was in London, and if my friends there could find him, he would no doubt be quite willing to give his testimony in my behalf. (I was hoping, with the help of Professor Thun, to arrange that one of the Russian refugees in London should play the part of Deutsch, i.e. of myself.)

Herr von Berg informed me that the granting of this request lay with the Minister of Justice, to whom he would apply; and with this our interview terminated.

Events now took on a lively pace. Before this I had sometimes had weeks to wait between the acts of my drama, and had often longed for the next hearing, that I might at least know what was going on. Now, however, things went faster than I cared for. The next day I was again called before the Public Prosecutor. This time, with Herr von Berg, his clerk, and inspector Roth, who stood sentinel at the door, I found a man, strange to me, dressed in the uniform of a Russian officer of justice, with a glittering order in his buttonhole.

“Good morning, Deutsch! Don’t you know me?” asked the unknown in Russian, with an agreeable smile. “I am the Deputy Public Prosecutor in the Petersburg Court of Appeal. My name is Bogdanòvitch, and you must remember me, for I was Deputy Public Prosecutor in Ki?v when you were a prisoner there.”

“I have never been in prison at Ki?v; and I have not the pleasure of knowing you,” I answered quietly. And indeed I had never set eyes on the gentleman before.

“There is no doubt about it, he is Deutsch,” said Bogdanòvitch, turning to his German colleagues.

“And I declare that I am not,” said I.

“We prefer to believe Herr von Bogdanòvitch,” said Herr von Berg. “You shall go back to Russia.”

“Then this is what you are doing,” cried I, “you are 39giving the Russian Government another opportunity of banishing an innocent man to Siberia.”

“We never send innocent people to Siberia,” said Bogdanòvitch promptly.

“You not only send them to Siberia, but to the scaffold,” I cried. “You say that you belonged to the staff of the Ki?v law courts; then you must have heard of the judicial murder of an innocent boy, the student Rozòvsky, which took place there. Perhaps you were concerned in the case. He was hanged, in spite of the fact that the judge himself allowed his only offence to lie in the possession of a proclamation, the authors of which he refused to name.”[19]

“Rozòvsky was not executed solely on that account,” said Bogdanòvitch, smiling at the Public Prosecutor, “but because he belonged to the Socialist party.”

“You see!” I cried, turning to Herr von Berg, “in Germany members of the Socialist party sit in the Reichstag, and take part in your legislation; but according to the views of a Russian law-officer, and of the Russian Government, mere suspicion of being a Socialist, let alone proof, is enough to send one to the gallows!”

The two gentlemen could not easily answer this, and on the German lawyer it seemed to make a distinct impression. I saw, however, that the self-important Herr von Berg found the presence of the Deputy Public Prosecutor from the Petersburg Appeal Courts rather imposing. From time to time his glance rested on the glittering order worn by the official; in addressing the Russian his voice took on an affability hitherto strange to it; and his painful efforts to pronounce the difficult name correctly were really comic. Apparently in order to show off his own importance and zeal to the stranger, he remarked to me severely—

“I see that you are not backward in finding excuses, and for this reason are trying to paint the Government of your country in the most lurid colours. But whatever 40you may think of it, it is to that Government you must be surrendered, and I am convinced you will be treated in Russia with all legal equity.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly!” Bogdanòvitch hastened to assure him.

I was led back to my cell, and what I suffered in mind during the next few days I need not describe; the reader can well imagine it. It was clear to me that all hope of release was gone; yet I could not resign myself to the thought, and my brain was always busy with plans of rescue. I counted on the time that must necessarily be absorbed in making out the terms of my extradition, and concocted a long letter of conspiracy to my friends, hoping to forward it through Professor Thun. Two or three days went by before I could get it finished; and meanwhile I was again called before the Public Prosecutor, although the day was Sunday. Evidently things were being hurried on.

“The Government have decided to deliver you up to Russia,” he began, “but on this condition: that you shall be brought before a regular tribunal, and only prosecuted on the count of the Gorinòvitch case.[20] Your request for an interview with your lawyer and the interpreter is refused.”

After he had read me the decision of the Baden Government, Herr von Berg informed me that I was to start for Russia that very day. As I left him I remarked that I should certainly be sent before a special court and judged by martial law.

“That is quite impossible,” was his rejoinder; “it would be a contravention of the treaty and contrary to international law.”

Once alone in my cell, I began preparations for my 41journey. These were not so simple as might be supposed. Notwithstanding the excessive care with which everything sent me by my friends was inspected, I had become possessed of an English file for cutting through iron gratings, a pair of scissors to cut my hair and beard in case of need, and also money in German and Russian banknotes. I had to dispose of these things somehow. The file I decided to part with, as it was now hardly likely to be of any use, and would be hard to conceal; so I broke it in two and threw it down the waste-pipe of the closet. The other things I managed to secrete in such a manner that I should be able to avail myself of them if I had occasion on the journey. The warder at the cell-door never let me out of his sight; yet I managed to hide them in my clothes so that there was a chance of their escaping the searchers. All this was like the drowning man’s clutch at a straw. I did not deceive myself as to the strict watch to which I should be subjected, and the futility of any hope of speedy rescue. But in such circumstances even useless precautions serve at least to distract one’s thoughts, and my thoughts were not of the pleasantest. I knew what was before me, and pictured my future. Long, long years of prison! It was almost more bearable to think of death than of that living grave.

“Of what use would my life be?” I asked myself; and the answer was devoid of consolation.