POLITICAL CONDITION OF RUSSIA AND THE REVOLUTIONARY PARTY—OUR LITTLE SOCIETY—FêTE DAYS—PROHIBITED VISITS-A LECTURE ON MANNERS

At the time of which I am writing the reactionary policy of the new Tsar was already clearly indicated. Four years had passed since the accession of Alexander III., and signs of his domestic policy were visible in frequent death-sentences, favouring of Anti-Semitism (which had sprung up in various towns in south-west Russia), the appointment of the universally detested Count Dmitri Tolstoi as Minister of the Interior, the institution of new regulations at the Universities, not only for students, but for professors, and so on. In spite of all this there were still some incurable optimists who hoped this might prove but a brief transition period, soon to be followed by radical reforms; they even anticipated the granting of a Constitution to the country. I remember well how various educated people-lawyers, physicians, etc.—would, when conversing with us, make hopeful prophecies: “You’ll see, in five years we shall have the Constitution.”

Undoubtedly many of the younger revolutionists shared these hopes; if not all, at any rate the majority believed that sooner or later the Terrorists would “remove” Alexander III., as they had his father, and that then, as a matter of course, “the Constitution must come.” Some were so firmly convinced of this that when I ventured to express a doubt, bets were often offered me as to how few years would elapse before the great event 131came to pass. “Before we have reached our place of exile Alexander III. will be gone,” declared many young people.

This self-deception had one advantage in helping them to bear their fate and keep up their courage; but these castles in the air were doomed to a speedy destruction. As I have said already, the Naròdnaia Vòlya was nearing its collapse, and the Terrorists were now scarcely any real menace to the Government. The original trusted leaders of the society were either dead or languishing in prison, and their successors showed none of the capacity needed to carry on a conspiracy of that sort; while, on the other hand, the police had learnt much, knew better how to spread their nets, and left the young conspirators no time to develop their powers. The untried and unskilfully managed societies were run to earth before they could undertake anything definite, and the unity and interdependence that characterised the original band of members disappeared.

In 1884 various fractions of the society came to life again. There was the Young Naròdnaia Vòlya, whose members carried on a sort of minor terrorism; that is to say, they directed their daggers and bombs against the lesser officials, governors of gaols, agrarian and industrial employers, etc., holding that there should be an immediate forcible answer made to every act of tyranny by constituted authorities against the workers. There were the “Bombists,” who swore by dynamite as the sole and only remedy; the “Militarists,” who thought a conspiracy within the army the best hope. Finally a group entirely new to Russia made its appearance—the Social Democrats, among whom I was numbered.

In our prison at Moscow all these different views had their adherents, and naturally the liveliest discussions took place, though their course was always fairly peaceful. Notwithstanding all our differences of opinion, we formed together a sort of big family, in which there was absolutely 132no distinction of high or low, rich or poor. All were equal, all shared alike.

The prison food was beneath criticism; even the most robust at their hungriest could scarcely swallow a spoonful of the repulsive malodorous broth in wooden bowls brought to our cells at midday. This is explained by the fact that the sum originally provided by Government for our maintenance was extremely small; and on its way through to us a great part of it found its way into the bottomless pockets of officials great and small, among whom there is an organised system of general peculation. The big cauldrons used for cooking the food of several thousand prisoners were filled up with the worst materials that were procurable; and we “politicals,” after a very few specimens of it, decided to feed at our own expense. So we founded a commissariat union, and elected as chief, to whose care our domestic economy should be entrusted, Làzarev, the peasant-lawyer, whom Tolstoi had visited. All the money that we had at command—either what had been given in keeping to the prison authorities on our arrival or what was sent us by friends and relations—was handed over to our chief of commissariat, and he had to arrange our dietary so that all should share alike. In the morning we had tea, milk, and bread ad libitum. For dinner at midday we had a meal—generally of two courses—prepared from the provisions in our larder by one of the ordinary criminals hired by us as cook. In the evening there was tea and bread again. Nobody could say that our table was exactly luxurious; but then our means were extremely limited. Our poor housekeeper had often to rack his brains over the problem of making both ends meet; and he at last hit on the expedient of buying horse-flesh for us. Beef was cheap enough—ten kopecks (about 2?d.) a pound, if I remember rightly; but horseflesh came to only about half that price, and we agreed to try it. It proved quite eatable, if somewhat tough and 133tasteless; but two or three among us were dainty, and declared that the meat gave them indigestion, and they could not stand it. As the rest of us believed this to be pure imagination, and simply the result of prejudice, our “chief” determined to use a little art. He suggested that he might buy beef for these “invalids”; but he really just had some of the horse-flesh cooked up a little differently from the rest, and set it before them. The result was excellent; our epicures much relished their “beefsteak,” and declared it made them feel sick to see us eating horse; while we had some trouble in keeping our faces straight! This lasted the whole time of our stay in Moscow, and not one of our gourmands ever once complained of indigestion again! When afterwards we let out that for months they had eaten and enjoyed horse-flesh, of course they were furious, and asserted—to the common amusement of the others—that they had always thought the meat had a queer taste.

Besides our own friends there were many people personally unknown to us who cared for our material needs, I mean the members of the “Red Cross of the Revolution,” of which mention has been made in an earlier chapter as the “old clothes society.” These were chiefly women, who undertook with much zeal the small but very charitable and indispensable task of providing for the political prisoners and exiles. Many a one, left deserted in the world, had reason to value the unselfish activity of these good Samaritans. Often enough have I seen the grateful emotion of some lonely soul, when the strange hand of a kind woman—one of the society’s members—bestowed on him cheerfully some useful and hardly spared article. Our little company in the prison of Moscow seems to have come off particularly well in this way. Long before the commencement of the journey to Siberia our benefactresses warned us to let them have a list of w............