CHAPTER VI

THE FORTRESS OF PETER AND PAUL—THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR AS COMPATRIOT—A HARD-HEARTED DOCTOR—A FLEETING ACQUAINTANCE

A strange feeling came over me when I saw that I was being conveyed to this prison, used by the Government of the Tsars for political offenders only; a place never spoken of in Russia without a shudder. I approached it with dark forebodings, but these gave place to interest. I knew well that a cruel severity ruled in this place, but I could not help being curious to experience it personally. The reality fully answered to my expectations.

I was taken at once to a room where the governor of the prison, Colonel Lesnik of the gendarmerie, ordered me to strip to the skin. A couple of gendarmes examined me carefully, and then gave me, instead of my own clothes, prison under-linen, a striped cotton gown, such as is worn in hospitals, and a pair of slippers. My own clothes and other things were taken away. I was then shut up in a cell on the ground floor.

Everything goes on here in utter silence; not a word is heard, the stillness is intense. No one could imagine that men lived here year after year; it felt like a house of the dead. Only the chimes of the clock broke upon the ear, sounding out every quarter of an hour the national hymn, “How glorious is our Lord in Zion!”

The cell was large, but dark, as the window was high up in the wall. It was cold, despite the May weather, 50for the sunshine never entered here, and the walls were damp. Besides the iron bedstead with its straw mattress, pillow, and thin woollen covering, there were an iron table and a stool, both chained to the wall, and the customary evil-smelling tub. Even at three o’clock in the afternoon darkness reigned, although at this season Petersburg enjoys its “bright nights,” when it never gets really dark. Reading was not to be thought of. Above everything I was sensible of the extreme cold, partly due to the situation of the cell, but chiefly to the insufficiency of my clothing. To warm myself I marched up and down from one corner to the other till I was tired; but hardly had I sat down a minute than I began to freeze again all over. Even in bed I felt the same penetrating cold, for the blanket was very thin.

My rations consisted of about two pounds of black bread, and for dinner at midday two dishes, which were not bad, but insufficient in quantity—always half cold, moreover, as all the food had to be brought a long way. As an unconvicted prisoner I could have provided myself with better accommodation at my own expense; but that was impossible at first, because the gendarmes who brought me had given over my luggage and my money to the officer of gendarmerie, and he had delivered it to the Central Department of the State Police. The worst of this was that it meant the loss of my spectacles, and therefore I could not read, another privilege to which I had a right, as an unconvicted prisoner. This made the days, and the nights too, seem interminable. I did everything I could think of to occupy myself. I tried arithmetical problems, of course in my head, for writing materials were not allowed; I related my own history as an exercise of memory; and at last I hit on the plan of “publishing” a newspaper. When I had got through washing and dressing in the morning, I ate a piece of bread, and then “read my paper.” First came a leading article on some question of the day, then the summary 51of news, gossip of the town, notes, etc. After some days, of course, my “copy” began to run short, and the contents of my journal became very uninteresting. The reading of it could not occupy the whole day, and I was often, too, kept awake at night by the cold; so I filled in my time by running up and down, up and down, like a beast in its cage.

Outdoor exercise brought little relief from the eternal solitude; it was only taken every other day, and lasted a very short while. The time allowed was but a quarter of an hour, including dressing and undressing, my own clothes being brought to me for these occasions. My walks took place in a yard enclosed with high walls, where no one was to be seen but gendarmes and sentries. The slightest attempt to converse with them was forbidden, or even that they should answer the simplest question. If one asked anything they stared straight in one’s face and were dumb.

After some days, however, an occupation provided itself; I became aware of a gentle knocking, perceptible at a slight distance from the wall. When I was in prison before I had learned to use this means of communication with my fellow-captives, and the alphabetical code at once came back to me.[23]

It is difficult to describe my joy when I heard the familiar sounds, and supposed they must be addressed to myself, but I was soon undeceived. I began to knock back, 52but found out at once that the signals were not meant for me; two friends were having conversation, and they would not answer my attempts to introduce myself. This knocking was strictly forbidden, and they hesitated to admit an unknown person to their company, fearing to be entrapped, and deprived of further intercourse. I was obliged to content myself with making out what these two said to each other in their short conversations, but it was only stereotyped, often-recurring phrases: “Good morning,” “How have you slept?” “What are you doing?” and the answers: “Well,” “Drinking tea,” etc. I envied them the exchange of such insignificant speeches. I never discovered whether they were two men or two women, or a man and a woman.

I do not know how long it was before I underwent my first examination, it must have been about eight or ten days. Until then, from the first moment I arrived in Russia, I had not officially been even asked my name. Like a box or parcel coming from abroad, I had been passed on from hand to hand with my official form of consignment, no one caring to learn who I was. The gendarmes appeared to know that I had taken the name of Bulìgin, being in reality Deutsch; but they had no idea with what I was charged, and did not seem interested to find out. Besides, in the Fortress of Peter and Paul names were not necessary—were even useless—for one was never spoken to, intercourse was carried on by gestures only.

One morning my clothes were brought me, as I supposed for the customary walk, but I was led into a room where at a table covered with a blue cloth sat three men dressed like functionaries of the law. I was given a chair, and one of them informed me he was the examining magistrate “in specially grave cases” at the Petersburg law courts. His own name was Olshàninov, and he introduced one of his companions as the Public Prosecutor, Mouraviev;[24] the name of the third he did not tell me.

53Then began the hearing of the case. To the usual questions concerning name, etc., I answered the truth. I knew I had nothing now either to lose or to gain. I told the whole story of the assault on Gorinòvitch, of course not giving the name of any other person concerned, and not attempting to excuse myself in the least. I knew I could injure no one now by telling the whole affair, for all who were in any way connected with it had been sentenced five years back; and as to myself, it could make no difference, for by the terms of the extradition treaty between Russia and Baden the conditions of my prosecution were strictly laid down. In the interests of historical accuracy I considered it right that this episode in our movement should be correctly described.

During the hearing, which was conducted by the magistrate, the official whose name had not been mentioned addressed several questions to me. I did not recognise him at first, but later it appeared that I had known him at Ki?v, where—in 1877—he took part in my trial. His name was Kotliarèvsky; he was then Deputy Public Prosecutor in Ki?v, and now filled the same post at the Petersburg Appeal Courts, where he had to conduct the political cases in particular. It will thus be seen that this was the real owner of the position which Bogdanòvitch had falsely claimed when pretending to identify me at Freiburg. Although Kotliarèvsky was in very bad odour with the revolutionists, and had been shot at by Ossìnsky in 1878, I was in a way glad to meet him in this gloomy place, for, at any rate, his face was a familiar one. And he behaved in a very friendly way to me. We were soon deep in conversation, recounting our respective experiences since we had last met. That we might not disturb the magistrate, who was making out the protocol, we sat a little apart, and chatted quite comfortably. Kotliarèvsky remarked that I had altered very much; “and not only in outward appearance, I mean,” he said, “your whole character seems to me changed.” That might well be. 54Kotliarèvsky was noted for keen observation, and this faculty was very useful to him in his peculiar sphere.

“Do you remember what a hot-headed young fellow you were? How you once nearly threw an ink-bottle at my head?”

I remembered the incident perfectly, and saw why he referred to it. When I was at Ki?v I was in a high state of nervous excitability, and in consequence was often hasty and irritable. Partly because of this, and partly because I was a member of the “Buntari,” in whose programme was included a continual warfare against all recognised authorities, Kotliarèvsky and I once came to loggerheads. The point of dispute was the signing of a protocol, which I absolutely refused to do. In a towering passion I seized the ink-bottle, and was quite ready to hurl it at him had he persisted in trying to force me; but he saw my intention, and keeping quite composed, called the warder and whispered something to him. Seeing the man hasten away, I thought he had gone for the guard to put me in confinement. Great was my surprise and joy, therefore, when after a few minutes the door opened, and my friend Stefanòvitch[25] appeared on the threshold. It was a delight to us both, for although in the same prison, we had not hitherto been allowed to meet.

“Will you kindly pacify your comrade?” said Kotliarèvsky, turning to Stefanòvitch. “His nerves seem a little overstrained.”

I learned thus to appreciate the adroitness of this man, and thanked him now for his considerate treatment of me on that occasion, which seemed to gratify him.

In the course of our conversation I expressed my surprise that although I had been surrendered by Germany as an ordinary criminal, only to be proceeded against as such, they had brought me to the Fortress of Peter and Paul, which everyone knows is reserved for “politicals.” “Neither do I understand,” I added, “why I have been 55brought to Petersburg, when the deed for which I am to answer was committed in Odessa, and according to law the trial should take place there.”

Kotliarèvsky gave me no answer on this point, but he promised to see about my being allowed to provide myself with more comforts from my own purse, and said he would speak to Plehve,[26] the chief of the Central Department of the State Police.

Shortly after this Colonel Lesnik gave me a more comfortable cell on the first floor, and henceforward he treated me somewhat better. Two days later he told me that my money and luggage had arrived from the police department, so I could now purchase food and tobacco. I congratulated myself even more on getting my spectacles again; but it seemed that for this I must have an order from the prison doctor, and he was sent to see me. He was an elderly man of between sixty and seventy, and had the rank of a general officer. He was well known to be of a very harsh and unpleasant disposition, and soon gave me a proof of his quality. He turned up my eyelids, fixed me with a forbidding glare, and declared off-hand that my eyes were perfectly normal and that I did not need glasses. In reality qualified oculists have diagnosed a rather unusual abnormality in my vision, and since my eighteenth year I have been obliged to use spectacles for reading.

This dictum of the prison doctor upset me cruelly; I felt so desperate that I could scarcely control myself, but was ready to weep and to curse.

“I beg you to consider again,” I cried. “You are quite mistaken; I really cannot read without glasses. Think what you are doing; you are condemning me to a hideous torture, in robbing me of the only distraction allowed here.”

Nothing was of any avail; the man remained immovable, repeating obstinately, “You do not need glasses,” and 56therewith took his departure. I clenched my fists, a prey to impotent wrath, and nearly broke down altogether. But what was I to do? I had to bear it; and it is hard to say what a man cannot put up with. But to this moment I cannot think of that doctor without my blood boiling. The only consolation left me was my cigarette, and it became a friend and comforter in my loneliness. To a captive smoking not merely gives pleasure, but takes from him the sense of utter desolation.

The days passed on in miserable inactivity. Then one morning a sound fell upon my ears, someone was knocking again, and in my immediate neighbourhood, as it seemed. Was it for me? I replied at once with the familiar signal. It was for me; what joy! Now I should know what comrades lay here, and should be able to exchange thoughts with a human being.

“Who are you?” “In what case are you concerned?” were the questions I deciphered. I seized my comb, the only hard movable object to be found in my prison cell, and tapped the answer. My interlocutor expressed his surprise and asked, “How did you come here?” To my question, “Who are you?” the answer was “Kobiliànsky.” I was no less surprised to “meet” him here (if so one may express it). We had not previously known one another personally, but I knew that in 1880 he had been condemned to penal servitude for life, on account of his participation in various terrorist affairs, and had long ago been deported to the Siberian mines on the Kara. How came he, then, to be in the Fortress of Peter and Paul? I burned with impatience to learn his adventures, but he was just as anxious to hear mine, and I had to give way to him. Scarcely, however, had I told him as shortly as possible how I had been arrested in Germany and given up to Russia, when I was interrupted by a voice, “So you are knocking?”

I sprang up and looked round. Before me stood Colonel Lesnik, accompanied by some gendarmes. The 57door had been noiselessly opened; I had been observed, and caught in the act; there was no getting out of it.

“I give you fair warning, if you attempt such a thing again, you will be put back on the ground-floor, and deprived of tobacco and of exercise.” Thereupon he departed, and I felt like a naughty schoolboy, found out and disgraced. Moreover, I had to give up hope of learning why Kobiliànsky had been brought back from Siberia.[27]

Shortly after this event, one day my clothes were brought to me at an unusual hour. I supposed there was going to be another hearing of my case; but no, apparently I was to be taken right away. My luggage was brought, and the captain of the gendarmerie appeared, the same who had escorted me hither from the station.

“Where are we going—to Odessa?” The officer gave me no answer.

“Evidently we are going to the station,” I thought, when the captain and I were seated in a droschky. It was just the transition hour on a “bright night,” when one hardly knows whether it is evening twilight or dawn. The weather was perfect, and I felt my spirits rise at the prospect of the journey to Odessa. But alas! the carriage took another turning, it was not going to the station, and we were soon in the courtyard of a huge stone prison. It was the House of Detention for prisoners under examination.