CHAPTER XXV

HUMOURS AND PASTIMES OF PRISON LIFE—TWO NEW COMMANDANTS—THE “HOSPITAL”—THE PARTICIPATORS IN ARMED RESISTANCE

Our life was one of dismal uniformity. Day after day, month after month, went past and left no trace in remembrance. One day was exactly like another, and all alike seemed endless. Whole years elapsed, and from each three hundred and sixty-five days there could not be singled out one on which any event had occurred worthy of recollection. In vain one racks one’s brain trying to arouse a memory of that monotonous past. When we arose in the morning we knew exactly what the day would bring; indeed, one knew beforehand what the next day and the next week and month would contain. One knew the manners, customs, inclinations of every comrade in misfortune, could tell what each would be likely to say or do on any given occasion, and sometimes one would long to run away and hide, and never see their faces again. But there is no running away; every minute of the year you are obliged to endure the company of those others, and to burden them with your own; there is not a moment in which you can be alone, not a corner in the common room to which you can withdraw for real privacy.

To all this is added the rigour of the prison routine: the roll-call morning and evening, the periodical inspections, the shaving of heads that takes place with painful regularity, the constant presence of the gendarmes. The 249strain at times becomes insupportable, and the nerves are so shattered that the creaking of the great lock in the frequent opening and shutting of the door affects one almost to madness. Many of us became irritable to an extent incomprehensible to a normally sound person, and with some of us (though not with many) this would at times lead to loss of temper and quarrelling over the veriest nothings. It thus once happened that two friends, both intelligent and well-educated men of mature years, fell out with one another literally about an egg-shell, which occasioned a dispute that led to a break between them. This can only be conceivable if one realises that even people who love each other tenderly might find it difficult to endure such close and uninterrupted intercourse. What, then, must have been our situation, locked up together, forced to inflict unwillingly on each other a companionship which there was no alternative but to accept?

We had, however, our small joys and alleviations. The most welcome event was the arrival of the post, which in winter came every ten days, in summer every week. I can hardly depict the intense eagerness with which many of us awaited the post days, counting the hours till the mail might be expected to reach the prison. Some would stand for hours by the stockade, watching to see the commandant start on his drive to the post-office, which was some versts distant; then they would impatiently await his return, not omitting to let their comrades know the result of their observations. The post brought us letters, newspapers, books, money, and occasionally a parcel—a present, a token of affection. All this made indeed a break in the dull routine of daily existence, and not one could remain an uninterested spectator. On the arrival of money depended our common exchequer, and the amount of our private pocket-money; newspapers and reviews brought the news for which we thirsted passionately, especially the tidings of political events. They were eagerly seized on, and their reading at once furnished 250subjects of talk and discussion, although those years were times of thorough reaction, not only in Russia, but in Western Europe, so that what we read was nearly always disheartening, causing us to lay the paper down depressed in spirits.

Moreover, only the most conservative, uninteresting papers were permitted us, with the sole exception of the well-known review Vèstnik Evropuy (The European Messenger), which for some unknown reason was allowed to pass. Some of our newspaper readers studied the whole publication from beginning to end, and remembered every little detail. Many of us, however, were chiefly interested in the arrival of home letters, the source of so much joy and of so much sorrow. Constant anxiety about our dear ones was caused by the long interval between the despatch and the receipt of correspondence, which was often six weeks or two months on the way, and when the roads were impassable, as is often the case in Siberia for months together, the posts were even longer delayed.

All letters received by us were first read by the commandant, and subjected to a strict censure; they were also tested with a solution of chlorate of iron, to see whether any entries had been made in them with invisible chemical ink. But what was most cruel was that we were not permitted to answer on our own account; we might only send a post card in the name of the commandant, acknowledging the receipt of a letter or other communication, and giving the briefest information as to health, somewhat in this fashion: “Your son (brother, nephew) is well. The money (or whatever it was) sent to him by you has been received, and he begs you to send him the following—--” This is signed by the commandant, but as the card is written by the prisoner himself, his correspondents may be assured from his handwriting that he is alive and is in possession of their missives, nothing further. Under such conditions correspondence is often a torture to both parties, yet those who could have 251even this much intercourse with home were envied by the lonely ones who never expected letters at all. There was more than one such among us, and how often when the letters were distributed would one or other of them say sorrowfully, “If only someone would send me a line!” It is terrible to think of being thousands of miles from home in the solitudes of Siberia, and not to know of a single soul who may sometimes remember one’s existence; yet, as I say, some of our comrades at Kara were in this forlorn situation. How great was the rejoicing if one of these outcasts unexpectedly received a letter from some relation, or some friend of former days! The lucky one would order tea, and perhaps even cakes for the whole room to celebrate the occasion; the letter itself would become a much-talked-of treasure, and the most interesting portions would be read aloud to intimate friends.

Treating one’s room-mates was also customary if one had had any specially good news from home. The contents of such a letter would be immediately imparted to all the other rooms, and sometimes extracts containing tidings of universal interest would be circulated. Certainly the commandants, and the “tom-cat” particularly, took every means for suppressing such tidings, blotting out in our letters everything outside the narrow circle of personal matters; but we had always ways and means of obtaining intelligence of political and other events that it concerned us to know about. The inventiveness shown by some of our party in devising this was sometimes astonishing; moreover, we occasionally managed to get delivered to us through the commandant literature strictly prohibited in Russia. He, of course, was enjoined to examine most carefully every book and parcel that arrived; but we contrived to supplement the officially prescribed channels of correspondence, either by inducing some corruptible member of the prison staff to assist us, or by some other device. Intercourse with the women’s prison, which was strictly forbidden, was also effected by means of this “secret post,” 252and it likewise enabled us to communicate with the exiles in different parts of Siberia.

Our official postal transactions were always effected through our stàrosta, the commandant telling him what money had been received and for whom, and he informing the prisoners. The librarian had charge of all printed matter sent to us, and the order in which each new book or newspaper should be passed round was arranged most exactly beforehand. If anyone had a present—linen, boots, or anything of that kind—it was open to him to keep it for himself or to hand it over to the stàrosta. In the latter case everyone was made aware that such and such things were to be had; whoever wanted them might announce the fact, and the award was decided by lot. If the gift consisted of eatables, it was at once given to the stàrosta, who divided it among the rooms. In each room there was a “general divider”—one whose office it was to divide with scrupulous exactitude among all the inmates every portion of food and every tit-bit that fell to their share—a task which frequently called for the exhibition of much talent and artistic judgment. This post of “divider” was usually held by somebody of a mathematical turn, and he officiated as carver at meals, serving out each person’s due portion with careful impartiality.

This striving after equality in every particular developed into a passion with some of our number, till it became actually painful to them to receive any little gift that could not be shared, and they would feel obliged to apologise for it to all their comrades; very rarely did anyone who received a present wish selfishly to keep it entirely to himself. A few were so scrupulous that they did not consider it right, in asking for new books from home, to consult merely their own individual taste, but made the others draw up a list of books that they wished for; and that perfect equality might govern the transaction, the sum of money set aside for the purchase was divided among the whole number of prisoners, so that each one could choose 253books to the value of the amount allotted to him. In this way everybody would be catered for—the lover of belles lettres as well as the student of abstruse scientific or philosophical subjects.

Ranking next to the mails as a source of enjoyment must be reckoned the bath-house. Especially after a week of hard and dirty kitchen work, the vapour-bath and clean linen were a real luxury, and when one came from the bath-room, extended one’s tired limbs on the bed-shelf, and let one’s thoughts wander idly as one sipped hot tea, a feeling of such physical well-being would pervade one as to cause all disagreeables to be forgotten for the moment. Although the freshly donned under-linen was anything but fine, and not very artistically washed and got up, being apt to scratch a sensitive skin; although the grey prison-clothes were neither convenient nor beautiful—still one revelled in the sensation of comfort and relaxation, and if it happened also to be mail-day, delight was complete.

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself, you epicurean!” someone would cry, knowing full well himself the pleasure of such an hour.

Chess was a favourite pastime, and we had some champion players among us, especially Yatzèvitch and Zoubrtchitsky, who, besides having had much practice, had studied the game scientifically. Sometimes we had chess tournaments, with all the rigour of the game, and prizes were given—of course, consisting of tea or some other of our small luxuries. On such occasions the whole prison took the liveliest interest in the combat; the final “mate” being announced in all the rooms, and the play exhaustively criticised.

Music was also cultivated. Our choir had an extensive repertory, in which the melancholy moods of Little Russia were contrasted with the dramatic Great Russian folk-songs. It included operatic choruses, and, of course, the revolutionary songs so dear to us all—the Marseillaise and many others. After Commandant Nikolin had departed, 254and we were less harried and thwarted, one of our geniuses constructed a violin, upon which various gifted friends practised with great assiduity: not—it must be confessed—exactly to the edification of the rest of us who had perforce to listen. Posen and one or two others tortured the ears of their comrades further by truly terrible musical performances on ordinary hair-combs.

Another way of passing time was to invent riddles and act charades, which was especially fashionable in our “Sanhedrin.” And when some new-comers brought with them a few packs of cards, the game of whist—then just coming into vogue in Russia—so carried away some of our party that they were at it literally day and night. On the whole, however, card-playing did not find much favour among us.

Physical exercise would have been most welcome to many of us, but as long as the “tom-cat” ruled the roast it was possible only in a very restricted measure; all he would consent to was that in winter we should make a sledge-track in a part of the yard where the ground sloped slightly, and we there disported ourselves on little sledges made by ourselves.

YARD OF KARA PRISON FOR “POLITICALS”

YARD OF KARA PRISON FOR “POLITICALS”

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One of Nikolin’s successors saw no objection to our laying out a garden, and during the next spring we were extremely busy over this. Some of our number, great lovers of nature, exhibited quite passionate energy in this pursuit; they worked at their beds with most industrious care, watered, manured, and weeded untiringly, and tended each plant as though it were a beloved child. All sorts of different plants and flowers were cultivated. I myself had a special affection for sunflowers, which reminded me of my South Russian home; wherever possible I sowed their seeds, and in summer my fosterlings shot up magnificently, their thick stems standing erect along our “boulevard,” as we called the path by the stockade, whence, by looking through the chinks, we could see the road and the commandant’s house. When the tall 255plants hung down their heads, it seemed as though they looked down on us poor captives and wondered at the cruelty of man to man. “So many young men wasting their best years, half their lives, here in prison, only because they strove for the welfare of their country as they understood it!” And when the sunflowers straightened themselves and held aloft their golden crowns, they might be saying, “Do not lose courage, poor convicts! The time will come when you too with proudly lifted heads shall return to your beloved home.”

Nikolin’s successor, Captain Yakovlov, exerted himself to mitigate the severity of our prison régime, which the “tom-cat” had administered so tyrannically. He seemed to be a compassionate and humane man, who—while keeping to the prescribed regulations—was not concerned to aggravate our hard lot by superfluous restrictions and unnecessary harshness. Perhaps his conduct was partly influenced by the knowledge that he was only filling the position temporarily, as a stop-gap for Colonel Masyukov of the gendarmerie, who was shortly to be sent from Petersburg; probably also he wanted to have as little squabbling with us as possible. He belonged to a class of men to be found in great numbers both in Russia and in Siberia, who have one overwhelming weakness—love of drink. His devotion to the bottle was most assiduous, and he often had evidently had more than was good for him; but for all that, we breathed more freely under his rule, and regarded with anxiety the advent of the new commandant.

After a six months’ interval Colonel Masyukov entered upon his office, in the winter of 1877, and made his first round of the prison, accompanied by Yakovlov. He was a man of short stature, with grey hair and moustache, very quick in his movements, despite his fifty years; he spoke in an unpleasant falsetto voice, and looked rather like a plucked chicken. His whole appearance betokened 256a weak and characterless disposition, as unluckily proved to be the case, both to his own and our misfortune. Intellectually limited, but good-tempered enough, Masyukov was quite unlike one’s idea of a staff officer of gendarmerie; indeed, he was in no way cut out for such a service, and knew this himself better than anyone. He had only joined the gendarmerie as a result of unforeseen circumstances. Son of a country gentleman, he had been for a time an officer in the Guards, afterwards returning to his estate, where he gave himself up to riotous living. The good dinners he gave were probably the reason of his being elected Marshal of Nobility for his district, and his subsequent dissipation led eventually to the ruin of his finances. To re-establish himself in some measure, and also, it was said, to discharge his debts of honour, he was obliged again to enter the service of the State, and he became an officer of gendarmes, induced by the higher pay given in that branch of the service, as compared with others of like standing, especially for those employed in the distant parts of Siberia. The Commandant of Kara was paid four to five thousand roubles per annum, with house, servants, horses, fuel, etc. As a late officer in the Guards and Marshal of Nobility, Masyukov was soon made colonel, and appointed to the vacant post at Kara. He himself declared afterwards that he had come with the honest intention of doing his best to better our lot; but hell is proverbially paved with good resolutions, and the political prisoners suffered more under this well-meaning bon vivant than under many a thorough-paced tyrant. But I will not anticipate.

During the early days of Masyukov’s rule we were able to rejoice in more than one concession. Besides the granting of our petition for a garden, the doors of our rooms were now hardly ever locked by day, and within the stockade surrounding the prison yard we could wander about as we pleased. In Nikolin’s time one of the rooms had always been empty, and for some reason or other 257he had refused to let us use it; now we were allowed possession of it, and also of the wing containing single cells, during the summer months. We thus had more space, and anyone who wished for solitude could be alone for a few hours at a time; our musicians, too, with their instruments of torture, could be sent where they disturbed no one.

Another relief was that the rule against the possession of tools was less strictly interpreted, and we were no longer obliged to conceal any work we had in hand. A vice and some other tools were procured, and our arts and crafts flourished exceedingly. Even an amateur photographer was discovered among us, and with the help of our carpenters set up a regular studio; but I cannot say that his performances were at all remarkable.

Masyukov did his best to meet our views, and fulfilled our requests whenever possible. Among other things he agreed that we might settle as we liked in what room each of us should live; so Stefanòvitch and I at once made use of this permission. Our two and a half years’ abode in the “Sanhedrin” had been very irksome to us both, and when the “great migration” caused by the above-mentioned expansion of our territory took place, we transferred ourselves into the room called the “Commune,” or sometimes “the hospital.” It was more comfortable than the other rooms in one or two particulars; it contained proper bedsteads, for instance, and besides the big table there were also little tables, one between each pair of beds.

It was, as a rule, unusual for the inmates of a room voluntarily to change their abode; we called the feeling about this “room-patriotism.” Such patriots were very keen about their own room, which was, of course, always “the best”; they never left their room-mates in the lurch, were proud of the success of any of them, and sorrowed over their griefs. The inmates of the “Commune” seemed the least possessed by this esprit de corps, perhaps because 258most of them were among those nomads who had already changed rooms more than once. Here, too, in contradistinction to the habits of the other rooms, each man was much occupied with his own affairs; we isolated ourselves more, and rarely held common debates or jollifications; most of us immersed ourselves in serious study, and on that account less noise and merriment went on among us.

One of the most interesting of our new room-mates, and an original altogether, was Leo Zlatopòlsky,[94] to whom I must devote a few words. He had studied in the Petersburg Technological Institute, had been concerned in the “Trial of the Twenty” in 1882, and sentenced to twenty years’ penal servitude. He had never himself been an active revolutionist, but as he was proficient in mathematical and mechanical knowledge, he had helped the Terrorists in purely technical matters. Even as a student he had been looked on as an inventive genius, and in prison inventions became a mania with him. For a long time he was busy with the project of a circular town, wherein everything was to be run by electricity; and even plants were to be cultivated by that means, for the light and heat of the sun were much too simple affairs to satisfy our inventor. He had a scheme for a flying-machine that should not only carry us all up into a?rial heights, but should also be unaffected by the velocity of our Mother Earth’s proper motion. Then he evolved his own theory of values; and beside all these high matters he would also occupy himself with the most prosaic and humble affairs, such as new methods of doing the washing, boiling potatoes, or making shoes. He elaborated a new theory of heating dwellings, invented new card games; in short, in every department of life, he was prepared to upset the existing condition of things and build it all up anew in some hitherto undreamt-of fashion. His beautiful plans, however, all suffered from one small disqualification: they were never practicable in 259real life. That, of course, he would never allow, declaring his inventions to be perfect and beyond criticism; but this did not prevent him from throwing one after another aside to pursue some fresh idea with equal energy. Not unnaturally he soon became the butt of everyone’s jokes, and most absurd stories were told about him. He was really a very capable and learned man; but there was just something wanting to make him a genius. Perhaps we were right in setting him down, as we did, among Lombroso’s “matoids.”

DULEMBA, KOHN, RECHNYEVSKY, LURI, MANKOVSKY

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During the first three years of my stay in Kara the number of prisoners in our prison remained practically constant; a few were allowed to settle in the penal colony, but their places were soon taken by new-comers. Besides Spandoni—left behind at Krasnoyarsk, as I have related—who rejoined us at Kara in the spring of 1886, five comrades arrived in the autumn of the same year. They had been condemned in the “Case of the Proletariat,” in Warsaw: Dulemba, a workman, to thirteen years’ “katorga”; Kohn, a student, eight years; Luri, an officer of engineers, condemned to death, but reprieved and sentenced to twenty years’ penal servitude; Mankòvsky, a workman, sixteen years; Rechnyèvsky, a graduate of the College of Jurisprudence in Petersburg, fourteen years.[95] The year after came Pashkòvsky, who in March, 1887, was condemned, (as a participator in the attempt upon Alexander III.,) to ten years’ “katorga”; and the peasant Ozovsky, sentenced to six years. In the course of 1888 arrived Peter Yakubòvitch and Souhomlìn,[96] sentenced respectively to eighteen and fifteen years’ penal servitude, both in the Lopàtin case.

In the course of time participators in nearly every political trial of the period—from the famous Netsha?v case in 1871 to that of Lopàtin and Sigida in 1887—were 260numbered among the “politicals” in the two Kara prisons, that for men and that for women; and as, of course, the various comrades talked much of the events in which they themselves had been concerned, Kara furnished a sort of living chronicle of the revolutionary movement, and was perhaps the only place where one could study the history of Russian Socialism from the testimony of personal experience. None of us, however, ever thought of committing to paper the material that was here available; and it is much to be doubted whether there is now anyone left in a position to do so. Much that would be extremely interesting is probably destined to remain buried in oblivion.

During my term of imprisonment none of those implicated in the first-mentioned Netsha?v trial (which belonged to the “Propagandist” phase of our movement, in 1870,) were still in Kara. They had all been released from prison and sent into exile, and I saw nothing of them; but of course I had known personally many of these revolutionists of earlier days when they were still in freedom.

I shared the captivity of several who were sentenced in the various political trials towards the end of the seventies, these having been mostly concerned in deeds of violence, from armed resistance to the police to attempts on the life of the Tsar. The chief combatants in that terrorist campaign had for the most part ended their days on the scaffold, or were buried alive within the grim walls of Schlüsselburg or in the Alexei-Ravelin wing of the Fortress of Peter and Paul. I had been acquainted with most of them, both men and women, before their fate overtook them, and I could set down much that I learned from these comrades in the terrorist struggle; but my reminiscences already threaten to assume formidable dimensions, and I will only briefly mention some of the most remarkable of such incidents.

LURI, SOUHOMLIN, AND RECHNYEVSKY, IN PRISON DRESS

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Voynoràlsky and Kovàlik were two prominent actors in the Propagandist movement, both of whom had been justices of the peace. In May, 1876, when imprisoned in 261the examination-prison in Petersburg, assisted by comrades outside they made an attempt to escape. They succeeded in getting out of their cell and climbing down a rope-ladder from one of the corridor windows; but an official who happened to be driving past the prison, thinking they were ordinary criminals, gave the alarm, and they were caught. They were sentenced to terms of penal servitude in the “Trial of the 193”; but again an attempt was made to rescue them, a plan being made to enable them to escape while being transported to the Khàrkov prison, where the prisoners considered most dangerous were then confined. This was in July, 1878. A number of armed men, two of them mounted, stopped the prison-van in which Voynoràlsky and Kovàlik were being conveyed; one of the gendarmes guarding it was shot, and the attempt might have been successful had not the horses taken fright and stampeded, which led to the recapture of the prisoners. Voynoràlsky and Kovàlik spent many years of confinement in European Russia, and were then sent, in company with many other revolutionists, to Kara, where they finished their term of imprisonment, subsequently being exiled in Yakutsk. Most of their companions found graves in the wilds of Siberia, but Voynoràlsky and Kovàlik survived their hour of release; in the winter of 1898-1899 they returned to European Russia, where Voynoràlsky died soon afterwards in his own home.

The attempted rescue just described had further consequences. The evening after, one of the riders who had stopped the prison-van was arrested at Khàrkov station; this was Alexei Medvèdiev, also called Fomin. He managed subsequently to escape from Khàrkov gaol with a number of ordinary criminals, by burrowing under a wall. As, however, outside help failed them, there was nothing for it but to hide in a wood near by, where they were soon recaptured. The comrades then resolved to try and rescue Medvèdiev, and arranged the following plan. 262Two young men, Berezniàk and Rashko, disguised themselves as gendarmes, and brought to the prison a forged order that Medvèdiev should be handed over to them and taken for examination to the office of the gendarmerie. But either in consequence (as the two asserted) of treachery, or else because the prison staff saw something suspicious about the supposed gendarmes, they were arrested on the spot. Yatzevitch was arrested at the same time, he being on the watch outside, ready to assist the flight of the others; and soon afterwards Yefremov and some others involved in the affair were also captured. In the subsequent trial Yefremov was condemned to death, but the sentence was commuted to penal servitude for life, and Berezniàk had a like penalty; these two and Yatzevitch were sent at once to Kara. Medvèdiev was treated differently: he was condemned to death and the sentence modified to lifelong penal servitude; but as attempts to rescue him were dreaded he was kept closely guarded in first one, then another West Siberian prison, was then taken to the Alexei-Ravelin in Petersburg, and was only brought to Kara in 1884. He was a man of consummate bravery, who literally despised danger, and was always ready to embark on the most perilous adventure. He had been a postillion, and had only received a scanty education at an elementary school; but by his own exertions while in prison he had gained quite a respectable amount of knowledge. He was particularly clever with his fingers, and performed some really astonishing feats. While imprisoned in Petersburg he secretly modelled a statuette in bread, which, when it was eventually discovered by the gendarmes, evoked great admiration from the commandant of the fortress and other officials, so marvellously was it executed. Thanks partly to this achievement, he was afterwards granted a special order modifying his sentence of lifelong “katorga” to a term of twenty years, upon which he was sent to Kara. There he became an adept in various handicrafts; he was 263an excellent tailor, shoemaker, engraver, and sculptor; and afterwards, when he was living “free” in exile, he became a watchmaker and goldsmith. Unfortunately soon after he left the prison he fell a victim to alcoholism, to which he had an inherited predisposition; all attempts at reclaiming him were vain, and in a few years he was beyond hope.

Just about the time of the attempted rescue at Khàrkov the revolutionists in Petersburg were put into a state of frightful excitement by other events. A number of those condemned in the “Case of the 193” were awaiting, in the Peter and Paul fortress, their transportation to Siberia; and in consequence of the vexatious and cruel treatment to which they were subjected, they had recourse to a hunger-strike, which, as most of them had already suffered years of imprisonment while still on remand, might easily have proved fatal to their enfeebled constitutions. After the strike had lasted some days, the society Zemlyà i Vòlya (Land and Liberty) became aware of what was going on, and one of its members, Kravtchinsky,[97] a former lieutenant in the artillery, declared at once that he would avenge his comrades by killing General Mèzentzev, the chief of gendarmerie, the man who was chiefly responsible for the persecution of the “politicals.” This deed he wished to undertake single-handed and openly without troubling about safety for himself, like Vera Zassoùlitch, who on January 24th, 1878, had fired at General Trepòv, Governor of Petersburg.[98] Many of Kravtchinsky’s comrades—myself among the number—opposed his resolve. Mèzentzev was not worth such a sacrifice, and we insisted that if the attempt were made it should be in such a manner as to make possible the escape of the perpetrator. To this end General Mèzentzev’s doings were carefully observed that we might ascertain his hours of coming and going; and close to his dwelling a carriage was constantly stationed 264with the famous trotter Barbar, who had already saved one life—that of Prince Peter Kropotkin in his escape from the prison hospital in 1876. One day in August, 1878, Mèzentzev was stabbed in one of the busiest streets of Petersburg, and, thanks to the speed of Barbar, Kravtchinsky and his companion Barannikov got away safely. Subsequently a great number of persons were arrested on account of this deed, among others, Adrian Miha?lov, who was accused of acting as coachman. He was sentenced to twenty years’ “katorga,” and was for some time my room-mate at Kara.

Adrian Miha?lov was another very talented member of our company. He had a thirst for knowledge, and a really remarkable memory. He had been a medical student, knew a great deal of natural science, and had dipped into various other branches of learning. We called him “the living encyclop?dia,” and it was popularly supposed that there was hardly a question he could not answer. He could always give the date of any historical event, seemed to remember everything he read, and easily made himself at home in the most difficult subjects. He was resolute, inflexible, and energetic; and his mental superiority gave him an immense influence over his companions.

Finally, I must mention Yemelyànov,[99] one of those concerned in the assassination of Alexander II. As is well known, the Tsar was killed by a bomb thrown under his carriage by Gr?nevitsky.[100] Besides that youth and Russakov, who was brought to the scaffold, Yemelyànov was also directly accessory to the deed. He was standing close by when the explosion took place, with another bomb in readiness, but did not need to make use of it, seeing that the Tsar had already met his fate. He was arrested soon after, and with ten others was condemned to death in the “Trial of the Twenty.” The death-sentence was, however, 265only carried out in the case of Suhànov, an officer of marines, that of the others being commuted to penal servitude for life. Yemelyànov and his companions were imprisoned in the Fortress of Peter and Paul. He was to have been sent to Schlüsselburg when the new fortress there was completed, but owing to his being seized by serious illness this was not done, and instead he was sent to Kara in 1884. He was the son of a sacristan of the Orthodox Church, had attended a school of handicraft, and had later been sent at the State’s expense to Paris, where he sang as a chorister in the chapel of the Russian Embassy. When a youth of twenty he had returned to Russia, and associated himself with the Terrorists. He possessed considerable intelligence, and had gradually acquired a fair amount of information, self-taught. When I became acquainted with him he was a disillusioned sceptic, and spoke ironically of revolutionary ideas. Like Fomitchov and one or two others, he had become an admirer of Russian imperialism, and he reaped the reward of his opinions; but of that later.