CHAPTER XXXI

THE TOUR OF THE HEIR-APPARENT THROUGH SIBERIA—OUR LIFE IN THE PENAL SETTLEMENT—AN INCENSED OFFICIAL

Time passed by much faster in the settlement than in the prison. Busy with the necessary work for establishing our little community, we scarcely noticed the passing of autumn and winter. I can never forget the spring of 1891—the first I enjoyed after the long years of imprisonment; moreover, that spring brought quite unexpected hopes of favours soon to be granted us. A report reached us that the Tsar Alexander III. had decided to issue a manifesto to celebrate the treading of Siberian soil by the Heir-Apparent. This manifesto, it was said, would bring pardon to all convicts, and not even the “politicals” were to be excluded. The official telegram about this—obscurely worded though it was—could not fail to awaken in us hopes of at any rate increased liberty. If the news were correct, it was to be concluded that many of us would shortly be treated as “exiles,” and no longer as convicts. This would improve our situation in a greater or lesser degree according to the locality whither we should be banished. “Politicals” are generally sent to the province of Yakutsk, where conditions of life are in many respects no better than in the settlement at Kara. It must be remembered that Yakutsk is a very sparsely populated province, and lies further from the civilised world than the Transbaikalian province in which 308Kara is situated. The climate is worse than that of Kara, the winter longer; and in other ways, too, our comrades there were worse off than we. Their post arrived less often than ours, and in many parts of the Yakutsk government “luxuries,” such as tea, sugar, and petroleum, are often not to be procured at all. Even stale black bread is sometimes a rarity, costing twelve to fifteen roubles the pood,[107] and is regarded as a delicacy only to be set before an honoured guest. The chief, if not the exclusive, food of the natives consists of fish and meat. The dwellings, too, are worse than the wooden huts of Kara, being simply “yurtas,” i.e. tent-shaped hovels such as the natives live in, built of rough logs, the interstices between which are filled up with earth and turf. Yet most of us were ready to go to these inhospitable regions, for there was always the chance, when once one was numbered in the category of “exiles,” that in time one might be sent to a more advantageous district. Above all, there was greater freedom; for though a place of residence is appointed for each exile, yet they may travel about in the surrounding country for considerable distances. There are more opportunities, too, of seeing people; new additions are always being made to the numbers of the “administrative” exiles in every province, and from them one learns what is going on at home; while, on the other hand, nobody fresh was sent to the penal settlement at Kara during the whole time that I was there. Finally, the exiles in Yakutsk had the prospect of yet another step in advance—they might gain permission to enrol themselves in the peasant class, and in that way win even greater facility of movement within the borders of Siberia. Things do not move very fast, and even if all goes well this favour may only be obtained after ten years’ exile; but one learns patience in Siberia, and many a one will let his thoughts dwell on that distant future: “Ten years! then perhaps there will 309be a manifesto; and in fifteen or twenty years may come the great event—return to one’s home!”

KARA PRISONERS AT WORK

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I confess that I myself indulged in such hopes, though I knew but too well how deceptive these “favours” of the Tsar might be. To the Coronation manifesto there had been attached numberless limitations and exceptions, and it was not to be expected that this time the pardon of which we had been hearing rumours would be extended to everyone. “But who knows? They have let me out of prison at last; perhaps now I shall be made an exile, unlikely though it seems!” Hope and fear alternated, and optimism gained the upper hand.

While in the Petersburg government-offices the question had to be settled as to carrying out the proclamation—who was to benefit by it, and who must be excluded from its operation—the authorities in Siberia had another care upon them: how to avert all danger from the path of the Heir-Apparent, as he journeyed through a land where dwelt so many embittered victims of Tsarism. The gentlemen of the official world solved this problem eventually in a simple fashion: all along the Prince’s route we (busy with our hopes of freedom!) were to be locked up for the time being; and though Kara was a good fifty versts distant from the high-road by which the journey of state was made, we were shut up in prison the day before the Cesarèvitch[108] passed, and only set free again a day after he had got safely through our neighbourhood.

For long afterwards we awaited with the greatest excitement the advent of the post every week or ten days, always hoping that some decision as to the scope of the manifesto would arrive. But government departments take their time; those who amused themselves with thoughts of the Tsar’s grace had still to endure uncertainty as best they could. A whole year elapsed before we received the long-expected news, and then it was disappointing 310enough; nearly half the inhabitants of the Kara penal settlement were excepted from the operation of the manifesto, the rest had but a very short curtailment of their sentences. I was among those who got nothing at all, and was obliged to reconcile myself to the thought of another four years in Kara. It was bitter to have one’s hopes thus destroyed.

It was the more bitter that our first joy over release from prison had soon worn off, and life in the settlement had now become almost as irksome as the life in prison had been. Our days seemed as monotonous and empty as ever; and while in prison one had been constrained to accept the unalleviated barrenness of life, here in the settlement one felt the tug of the chain at every turn, and chafed at it. There we had known from the first that all reasonable and profitable activity was denied us, that we were condemned to an uninteresting and aimless existence; and under such conditions one’s mental alertness becomes dulled—almost atrophied. In the settlement, on the contrary, it was quite otherwise; here we were in the midst of life again, the state of lethargy that had reigned in the prison passed away; and although the pulse of life could hardly be said to beat high, yet we could see people exerting themselves, undertaking enterprises, pursuing their various interests, fighting with difficulties and dangers. We ourselves the while were restricted to the work of our narrow household economy; work which naturally could not satisfy our aspirations. Most of us yearned to set our powers to work—to do something that should call forth all our energies and capabilities, not merely to chop wood and make hay. But in this forsaken spot, and hemmed in as we were by all manner of restrictions, we could find no congenial outlet for our activities. To all appearance we were now at liberty to undertake many things that had been forbidden in prison; but this appearance was mainly illusory. It was just this contradiction between our apparent rights and our actual possibilities that galled us 311and weighed heavy on our spirits, making us sometimes inclined to think we would almost rather return to prison, if thereby we might escape from this torment of inactivity. We found it irksome in the extreme to have to take enormous pains and waste much time over mere trifles—the details of our primitive household management—which, under the difficult conditions of our life, made exorbitant demands upon us. Especially at first, when we were new to it all, it often happened that for weeks at a time one could never take up a book or a newspaper, and for educated, intellectual men that was naturally very wearisome. The only interesting mental occupation open to us was to observe the lives of the dwellers in this strange place; as already mentioned, they were an oddly mixed lot, and we had plenty of opportunity for studying them.

FEMALE CRIMINALS AT KARA DRAWING WATER-CART

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I have often been in the criminal prison of Kara, and witnessed there the life of the convicts in their cells and in the workshops, as they went about their various occupations. The employment of convict labour in the gold-washing had been abandoned by that time, having been found too costly; and the convicts were occupied with so-called “domestic work.” Among other things they were used in transport, to take the place of beasts of burden; and the spectacle of men—even of women—harnessed to heavy carts, and moving painfully along like oxen in a yoke, was altogether revolting.

About a year after our establishment in the settlement, convict labour in Kara was entirely given up; the convicts were taken away, some to serve in the construction of the Siberian railway, (then just begun,) some to the island of Saghalien or to other penitentiaries. With the convicts departed their guards, the Cossacks, and other officials; our settlement was well-nigh depopulated, and life became more monotonous than ever. However, one advantage ensued for us: we could use the abandoned dwellings of the officials, and so lived more comfortably henceforward. We were on the best of terms 312with the few inhabitants who were left; we taught their children, assisted them with our counsel when we could, and gave them medical and legal advice. To these people a “political” seemed a compendium of learning, and they applied to us on every kind of occasion. Now it was strictly forbidden us to engage in any work that could interfere with that of practitioners of the “liberal professions”; by law we were not allowed to teach or to give medical aid; yet, circumstanced as we were, the officials themselves were not above calling for our help, notwithstanding the infringement of the law. Of course, therefore, they could not very well bring us to account for our dealings with civilians. Only on one occasion did this kind of thing lead to any unpleasantness, and I will briefly relate that occurrence.

A peasant from a neighbouring village came and laid the following case before us. One day the newly appointed prìstav (commissioner of police) had appeared at his house with the stàrosta of the village and other officials, and without giving any reason had instituted a domiciliary search. In the larder they had found some poods of ship’s biscuit, tea, tobacco, candles, and other stores, all of which the prìstav had confiscated out of hand, on the pretext that the peasant could only have such quantities of these things in his possession in order to exchange them for “pirated gold,” and that he was therefore a convicted receiver of stolen goods. Then when the peasant had attended at the house of the prìstav in compliance with the latter’s orders, he was informed by the official that he must pay him fifty roubles before he could have his property back. This claim appeared to the peasant quite unconscionable, and on the advice of a neighbour he had come to beg me to draw up for him a petition against his extortionate oppressor. The peasant told me a long story: how he needed all the articles in question for his own consumption; he procured them in winter, when the transport was easier, and used them in the summer for his workpeople, of 313whom he employed a great number. This was evidently all humbug; it was perfectly obvious that the good man was really a receiver of “stolen gold.” On the other hand, it was as clear as daylight that the official had been guilty of an offence, having tried to use the peasant’s infringement of the law as a means of extorting backsheesh for himself. I had already heard that this newly appointed satrap was grinding the faces of the whole population in this province—a district as large as many a German state, over which he was irresponsible master—and was diligently using his position to fill his own pockets. Nearly every night he paid surprise visits to the houses of the inhabitants, took possession of whatever fell into his hands, and then put it to ransom at a high price. At the same time he bullied the simple people in the good old fashion of official Russia, raging at them like a Berserker. His favourite speech was, “You fellows shall learn that I’m your Tsar and your God!”

The notion of teaching this functionary a lesson rather attracted me; but I did not want to play the hedge-lawyer, so I advised the peasant to find someone else to undertake the affair, as I knew there were officials whose business it was to write out appeals and complaints. He told me that they had refused to help him, as they were afraid of the prìstav. So I finally decided there was nothing for it but to do as he asked; and that I should not appear to be denouncing the man secretly I added at the end of the document (though I knew I had no legal right to draw up petitions for other people)—“Written and signed for the illiterate petitioner by the political exile Leo Deutsch.” By signing my own name I meant to show that it was far from my desire to make anonymous denunciations; and also I calculated that this circumstance would oblige the authorities to attend to the matter. The peasant was much pleased, thanked me warmly, and wanted to tip me a rouble for my trouble, which of course I declined.

For several months nothing was heard of the business; 314then one day the dessyàtnik[109] came to me and called on me to go to the office, as the prìstav wished to speak to me. This order was quite irregular, as we “politicals” were only answerable to our own superintendent, not to the police. I therefore answered the dessyàtnik very shortly—

“Go and tell your prìstav that I am not at his beck and call, and that if he has anything to say he can come to me.”

I made the man repeat my words till he had them correctly, and impressed upon him that he must tell the official exactly what I had said, which he did most conscientiously. The wrath of the “Tsar and God” may be imagined at receiving this answer in the presence of all the officials of the commune and a number of the peasantry. As I was subsequently informed, he stormed and raged like one possessed, and finally ordered that I should be put in irons and brought before him. Despite his categorical command the people hesitated to obey, and not till some hours later did the communal officers come to my house, and beg me, with all manner of apologies, to accompany them. I explained to them that the prìstav had no legal rights over me, and that it would be far more in order for him to communicate with me through the superintendent of the penal settlement. This contented the ambassadors, who returned and informed the prìstav that he had no jurisdiction over me. The day after I learned from our superintendent that all the prìstav had wanted was to tell me about a communication he had received in consequence of the complaint I had drawn up—a circumstance, therefore, that had nothing whatever to do with me. The whole affair fizzled out in the end; but when I left Kara some years later the peasant had not yet received back his goods, which still lay under the official seal in charge of the prìstav, and for aught I know they may lie there to this day.

AGED ORDINARY PRISONERS AT KARA

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315For me personally the affair had no evil consequences. After the lapse of some months a document was sent me by the Governor, wherein I was warned that I was not permitted to draw up complaints for the inhabitants. Of course, if our relations with the peasant population had not been so cordial, the business might have led to trouble; but as it was, the authorities did not care to risk causing an agitation among the peasants by harsh measures towards us.