FROM KRASNOYARSK TO IRKUTSK—MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND DISPUTES—THE WOMEN IN IRKUTSK PRISON
The distance from Tomsk to Krasnoyarsk is about five hundred versts, and took us a full month to accomplish—twenty days on the march and ten days of rest between the stages. In Krasnoyarsk we were to wait a week, the ordinary prisoners being taken to the deportation prison and we ourselves lodged in the town gaol. On arriving there we were struck by the orderliness of the arrangements. The spacious new building was freshly whitewashed, and the whole place spotlessly clean; there was light and air in abundance, and there were no bars to the windows. We might have imagined that we had been brought to a decent hotel; I have certainly never seen another prison like it in either Siberia or Russia. When we entered the corridor, however, the air of comfort was somewhat lessened by inscriptions on the cell doors—“For murder”; “For robbery”; “For theft,” etc. The governor, a pleasant-looking man, came up and ordered briefly and decisively that we should be placed in separate cells, and each according to his special class—convicts, exiles, and “administratives”—as that was the rule of the place. This did not suit us at all, and we explained to him the upset it would mean to our feeding arrangements; besides which, as during our two months’ journey we had clubbed all our luggage together, it would be very awkward to change all that at a moment’s notice. Moreover, we told him, we did 185not wish to be treated in any different way from that prescribed by the regulations; that we were on transport, and therefore not supposed to conform to the rules of the place, which only applied to prisoners on remand or under sentence there. It had nothing to do with us, we said, that we had not been taken to the deportation prison where we belonged; and—to sum the matter up—we intended to do here as everywhere else, i.e. we should divide into groups convenient to ourselves in the different rooms, and might be locked up by night, but not by day, as set forth in our instructions.
The governor was much put about at receiving this answer, and declared he could on no account permit such an infringement of his regulations; but we refused to be lodged separately, and remained firmly planted in the corridor, bag and baggage. The chief of police was now sent for: a perfect Falstaff, and—as it turned out—a very ignorant fellow. He likewise pronounced that we must conform to the regulations; to which we made our former reply, claiming our rights. As we were reasoning with him, one of the ladies happened to mention the word “goumànnost” (humanity), and—like the postmaster in Gogol’s immortal comedy, who did not know whether “mauvais ton” might not mean something worse than “rascal”—so this good man became uneasy as to whether the unfamiliar word might not contain some offence, and demanded an explanation, with which—repressing our amusement—we furnished him. In the end this functionary decided that a still higher power must be referred to—the governor of the district; meanwhile there next successively appeared the colonel of the gendarmerie and the public prosecutor, to whom we again explained our position. They could find nothing to say against our representations, and after the discussion had lasted a long time—we camping out in the passage all the while, unable to unpack or prepare a meal (although we had eaten nothing since early morning and were fearfully hungry)—at 186last the good people agreed that, pending the arrival of the governor’s decision, we should make our own arrangements.
Next day as we sat at dinner the chief of police appeared in full parade uniform, with his helmet on.
“Gentlemen, I am to inform you of the governor’s decision,” he began ceremoniously, when our head-man interrupted him with the request that he would uncover his head.
“Gentlemen, you see I am in parade uniform, and the helmet is part of it; I cannot take it off,” he stammered, doubtful if this were not some new form of insult.
“We do not care what sort of uniform it is,” answered Làzarev, with imperturbable calm, “when you come into our room you will have the kindness to remove your head-covering.”
“Now this is too much. I cannot, I really cannot take off my helmet,” he declared, growing warm.
“Do as you please; but in that case we will not listen to the decision of the governor,” said Làzarev.
The poor man looked from one to another, hesitated, and finally bared his worthy head and imparted to us the formal decision: the governor granted our desire.
I wonder how many officials have had to learn this elementary lesson in politeness from us.
In Krasnoyarsk our party was diminished to eleven in number. The veterinary surgeon Snigiriòv and the student Korniènko were to remain in the government of Yenisei, and we had to leave Spandoni behind in the prison, as he was ill.
We were two months on the journey from Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk, a thousand versts. In that whole distance there is only one town, Nijni-Ud?nsk; and even this scarcely deserves the title. Here we met comrades—a married couple named Novakòvsky—also on their way to Eastern Siberia. I had known Novakòvsky in Ki?v; he 187had taken part in the 1876 demonstration in the Kazan Square in Petersburg, and had been banished to Siberia. After the coronation manifesto in 1883, he was moved from Balagansk, in the government of Irkutsk, to Minuisinsk, in the government of Yenisei; but now he and his wife were being sent out to the East, on the following account. For some reason or other Novakòvsky had fallen out with the ispravnik[63] of Minuisinsk. Another of the political exiles had occasion to apply to the ispravnik for something; the latter, mistaking him for Novakòvsky, received him with the grossest incivility, and when he discovered his error, apologised by explaining the mistake he had made. The thing was talked about, and came to the ears of Novakòvsky and of his wife, who had voluntarily followed him into banishment. For some days the exiles consulted together what should be done, but before they had decided to take any steps, Novakòvsky’s wife took the matter into her own hands; she went into the office and gave the ispravnik a box on the ear, with the words—“That’s for my husband!” She was had up for trial, and sentenced by the court to deportation into Eastern Siberia, whither her husband was now accompanying her by his own desire.
Later I learned to know and esteem Novakòvsky’s wife. She was a clever, courageous woman, of lively and resolute disposition. I believe that both she and her husband died in Siberia.
Our journey now proceeded much as heretofore, only in course of time the regulations were less and less strictly observed. We left off our fetters altogether, without any comment being made, and were never bothered about head-shaving.
I looked forward with impatience to arriving at Irkutsk prison, where I hoped to meet a friend of early days—Maria Kovalèvskaya. We had become acquainted in 1875, 188belonged to the same section of the Buntari, and—as was then customary among all the revolutionists—said “thee” and “thou” to one another. Maria Kovalèvskaya[64] was one of the most remarkable women in the movement; she was the daughter of a man of property named Vorontsov, and had married Kovalèvsky, a tutor in a military gymnasium. In the early sixties she joined the revolutionary movement, left her husband and little daughter, and devoted herself to the work of the party. She was small of stature and had something of the gipsy in her looks; was lively and energetic in manner, keen of wit, ready and logical in speech. She distinguished herself at all theoretical discussions, always penetrating to the kernel of the question in hand, and bringing life and point into the debate, without ever becoming personal or hurting anyone’s feelings. She was esteemed very highly; and people who were quite opposed to the Socialists fully appreciated her exceptional gifts. In any other country she would have played a distinguished part; in Russia she was condemned to fourteen years and ten months’ penal servitude, because she was found in a house where some revolutionists made armed resistance to the gendarmerie.[65] By her courageous bearing during trial and in prison, as also later in Kara, Maria Kovalèvskaya became one of the best-known characters in revolutionary circles. In the prison, where she was witness of the shameless unfairness and bad faith of officials at every turn, her irrepressible energy found vent in upholding and defe............