I. in the Secret Department, where the adversaries of the founder of the Russian military empire were subject to the | most abominable tortures, under which they expired; it was | continued in the Secret Chancelry during the reigns of the Empresses, when the Torture Chamber of the powerful. Minich inspired all Russia with terror; and it received its present organization from the iron despot, Nicholas I., who attached to it the corps of gendarmes, —the chief of the gendarmes becoming a person far more dreaded in the Rus- | sian Empire than the Emperor himself. In every province of Russia, in every populous town, nay,: at every railway station, there are gendarmes who report directly to their own generals or colonels, who in turn cor- | respond with the chief of the gendarmes; and the latter, seeing the Emperor every day, reports to him what he finds | necessary to report. All functionaries of the empire are under gendarme supervision; it is the duty of the generals and colonels to keep an eye upon the public and private | life of every subject of the Tsar, — even upon the governors | ' of the provinces, the ministers, and the grand dukes. ‘The | Emperor himself is under their close watch, and as they are | well informed of the petty chronicle of the palace, and know | every step that the Emperor takes outside his palace, the | chief of the gendarmes becomes, so to speak, a confidant of the most intimate affairs of the rulers of Russia. 3 At this period of the reign of Alexander II. the Third | Section was absolutely all-powerful. The gendarme colonels | made searches by the thousand without troubling themselves | in the least about the existence of laws and law courts in Russia. They arrested whom they liked, kept people im-; prisoned as long as they pleased, and transported hundreds | to Northeast Russia or Siberia according to the fancy of | general or colonel; the signature of the minister of the | interior was a mere formality, because he had no control | over them and no knowledge of their doings.
EXAMINATION BY THE PROCUREUR 337 _ It was four o’clock in the morning when my examination began. “ You are accused,” I was solemnly told, ‘‘ of hav- ing belonged to a secret society which has for its object the sverthrow of the existing form of government, and of con- spiracy against the sacred person of his Imperial Majesty. Are you guilty of this crime?”
“Till I am brought before a court where I can speak publicly, I will give you no replies whatever.”
“Write,” the procureur dictated to a scribe: “ ‘ Does not acknowledge himself guilty.’ Still,” he continued, after a pause, “I must ask you certain questions. Do you know a person of the name of Nikolai Tchaykévsky?”
“Tf you persist in your questions, then write ‘No’ to any question whatsoever that you are pleased to ask me.”
“But if we ask you whether you know, for instance, Mr. Polak6ff, whom you spoke about awhile ago?”
“The moment you ask me such a question, don’t hesitate: write ‘No.’ And if you ask me whether I know my brother, or my sister, or my stepmother, write ‘No.’ You will not receive from me another reply: because if I an- swered ‘Yes’ with regard to any person, you would at once plan some evil against him, making a raid or something worse, and saying next that I named him.” A long list of questions was read, to which I patiently replied each time, ‘Write ‘No.’” That lasted for an hour, during which I learned that all who had been arrested, ‘with the exception of the two weavers, had behaved very well. The weavers knew only that I had twice met a dozen workers, and the gendarmes knew nothing about our circle.
‘What are you doing, prince?”’ a gendarme officer said, ‘as he took me to my cell. “‘ Your refusal to answer ques- tions will be made a terrible weapon against you.”
“Tt is my right, is it not?” “Yes, but —you know...I hope you will find this 338 MEMOIRS OF A REVOLUTIONIST room comfortable. It has been kept warm since your arrest,” | I found it quite comfortable, and fell sound asleep. I was waked the next morning by a gendarme, who brought. me the morning tea. He was soon followed by somebody else, who whispered to me in the most unconcerned way, ““ Here’s a scrap of paper and a pencil: write your letter.” | It was a sympathizer, whom I knew by name; he used to | transmit our correspondence with the prisoners of the Third | Section. | From all sides I heard knocks on the walls, following in rapid succession. It was the prisoners communicating with one another by means of light taps; but, being a newcomer, I could make nothing out of the noise, which seemed to come from all parts of the building at once.; One thing worried me. During the search in my house, | I overheard the procureur whispering to the gendarme officer about going to make a search at the apartment of my friend Polakéff, to whom the letter of Dmitri was addressed. Polakdff was a young student, a very gifted | zodlogist and botanist, with whom I had made my Vitim expedition in Siberia. He was born of, a poor Cossack family on the frontier of Mongolia, and, after having sur- mounted all sorts of difficulties, he had come to St. Peters- burg, entered the university, where he had won the reputa- tion of a most promising zodlogist, and was then passing | his final examinations. We had been great friends since | our long journey, and had even lived together for a time at St. Petersburg, but he took no interest in my political | activity. | I spoke of him to the procureur. T give you my word of honor,” I said, “that Polakdff has never taken part in | any political affair. To-morrow he has to pass an examina- | tion, and you will spoil forever the scientific career of a A LYING OFFICIAL 3392 young man who has gone through great hardships, and has struggled for years against all sorts of obstacles, to attain his present position. I know that you do not much care for it, but he is looked upon at the university as one of the future glories of Russian science.”
The search was made, nevertheless, but a respite of three days was given for the examinations. A little later I was ‘ealled before the procureur, who triumphantly showed me ‘an envelope addressed in my handwriting, and in it a note, also in my handwriting, which said, ‘“‘ Please take this packet to V.E., and ask that it be kept until demand in due form is made.”? The person to whom the note was addressed ‘was not mentioned in the note. ‘This letter,” the pro- cureur said, “ was found at Mr. Polakéfi’s; and now, prince, his fate is in your hands. If you tell me who V. E. is, Mr. Polak6ff will be released; but if you refuse to do so, he will ‘be kept as long as he does not make up his mind to give us ‘the name of that person.”. Looking at the envelope, which was addressed in black ‘chalk, and the letter, which was written in common lead pencil, I immediately remembered the circumstances under i which the two had been written. ‘(I am positive,” I ex- claimed at once, “ that the note and the envelope were not (found together! It is yow who have put the letter in the “envelope.” The procureur blushed. ‘ Would you have me believe,” I continued, “that you, a practical man, did not notice that the two were written with different pencils? And now you are trying to make people think that the two belong to each other! Well, sir, then I tell you that the letter was not to Polakoff.”’
He hesitated for some time, but then, regaining his auda- tity, he said, “Polakdff has admitted that this letter of yours was written to him.”’
_ NowI knew he was lying. Polakdff would have admitted RT 340 MEMOIRS OF A REVOLUTIONIST everything concerning himself; but he would have preferred to be marched to Siberia rather than to involve another per- son. So, looking straight in the face of the procureur, I replied, ‘‘ No, sir, he has never said that, and you know perfectly well that your words are not true.”
He became furious, or pretended to be so. ‘ Well, then,” he said, “if you wait here a moment, I will bring you Polak6off’s written statement to that effect. He is in the next room under examination.”
“‘ Ready to wait as long as you like.”
I sat on a sofa, smoking countless cigarettes. The state- ment did not come, and never came.
Of course there was no such statement. I met Polakoff in 1878 at Geneva, whence we made a delightful excursion to the Aletsch glacier. I need not say that his answers were what I expected them to be: he denied having any know- ledge of the letter or of the person the letters V. E. repre- sented. Scores of books used to be taken from me to him, and back to me, and the letter was found in a book, while the envelope was discovered in the pocket of an old coat. He was kept several weeks under arrest, and then released, owing to the intervention of his scientific friends. V. E. was not molested, and delivered my papers in due time.
I was not taken back to my cell, but half an hour later the procureur came in, accompanied by a gendarme officer. ‘“‘ Our examination,” he announced to me, “is now terml- nated; you will be removed to another place.”
Later on, each time I saw him I teased him with the question: ‘‘ And what about Polakédff’s statement? ”’ A four-wheeled cab stood at the gate. I was asked to enter it, and a stout gendarme officer, of Circassian origin, sat by my side. I spoke to him, but he only snored. The cab crossed the Chain Bridge, then passed the parade grounds and ran along the canals, as if avoiding the more COMMITTED TO PRISON 341 frequented thoroughfares, ‘‘ Are we going to the Litdv- skiy prison? ” I asked the officer, as I knew that many of ‘my comrades were already there. He made no reply. ‘The system of absolute silence which was maintained to- ward me for the next two years began in this four-wheeled ‘cab; but when we went rolling over the Palace Bridge, I understood that I was on the way to the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul.
I admired the beautiful river, knowing that I should not ‘soon see it again. The sun was going down. Thick gray clouds were hanging in the west above the Gulf of Finland, while light clouds floated over my head, showing here and ‘there patches of blue sky. Then the carriage turned to the left and entered a dark arched passage, the gate of the ‘fortress.
‘¢ Now I shall have to remain here for a couple of years,” ‘I remarked to the officer. _ “No, why so long?” replied the Circassian, who now ‘that we were within the fortress had regained the power of ‘speech. “ Your affair is almost terminated, and may be brought into court in a fortnight.”
‘‘My affair,’ I replied, “is very simple; but before ‘bringing me to a court you will try to arrest all the social- ‘ists in Russia, and they are many, very many; in two years you will not have done.” I did not then realize how pro- ‘phetic my remark was.
_ The carriage stopped at the door of the military comman- ‘der of the fortress, and we entered his reception hall. Gen- eral Korsdkoff, a thin old man, came in, with a peevish expression on his face. The officer spoke to him in a sub- -dued voice, and the old man answered, “ All right,” look- ing at him with a sort of scorn, and then turned his eyes ‘toward me. It was evident that he was not at all pleased to receive a new inmate, and that he felt slightly ashamed of his réle; but he seemed to add, “I am a soldier, and 342 MEMOIRS OF A REVOLUTIONIST only do my duty.” Presently we got into the carriage again, but soon stopped before another gate, where we were kept a long time until a detachment of soldiers opened it from the inside. Proceeding on foot through narrow pas-_ sages we came to a third iron gate, opening into a dark arched passage, from which we entered a small room where darkness and dampness prevailed.
Several non-commissioned officers of the fortress troops” moved noiselessly about in their soft felt boots, without speaking a word, while the governor signed the Circassian’s book acknowledging the reception of a new prisoner. I was required to take off all my clothes, and to put on the prison dress, —a green flannel dressing-gown, immense woolen stockings of an incredible thickness, and boat-shaped yellow slippers, so big that I could hardly keep them on my feet when I tried to walk. I always hated dressing-gowns and slippers, and the thick stockings inspired me with disgust. I had to take off even a silk undergarment, which in the damp fortress it would have been especially desirable toretain, but that could not be allowed. I naturally began to protest and to make a noise about this, and after an hour or so it was restored to me by order of General Korsakoff. Then I was taken through a dark passage, where I saw armed sentries walking about, and was put intoacell. A heavy oak door was shut behind me, a key turned in the lock, and I was alone in a half-dark room.
woes Sa Pine cee Eh ye MEMOIRS rbances entirely due to 1 hppeased took place, Russk than ever. With their usu understood that serfdom w dom had come,” and they upon them, although these ¢ I was in Nikdélskoye in A summer of 1862, and I was stru gent way in which the peasants 3 conditions. They knew perfectly 1 would be to pay the redemption tax % was in reality an indemnity to the nok obligations of serfdom. But they so mu abolition of their personal enslavement that the the ruinous charges — not without murmuring, but a necessity — the moment that personal freedom was « For the first months they kept two holidays a week. that it was a sin to work on Friday; but when the sp came they resumed work with even more energyi before.
When I saw our Nikodlskoye peasants, fifteen m¢ after the liberation, I could not but admire them. 1 inborn good nature and softness remained with ther all traces of servility had disappeared. They talk: their masters as equals talk to equals, as if they neve stood in different relations. Besides, such men cam from among them as could make a stand for their y The Polozhénie was a large and difficult book, wh .took me a good deal of time to understand; but Vasili Ivadnoff, the elder of Nik6olskoye, came one ¢ ask me to explain to him some obscurity in it, I say he, who was not even a fluent reader, had admirably his way amongst the intricacies of the chapters an¢ graphs of the law.
The “household people’? — that is, the servants — was drowned immediately rom all parts of the hall. the band, waving his stick, meard from the powerful band. ut the hurrahs continued. I saw in the air; I saw the fiddle-bows s blowing the brass instruments, but voices overwhelmed the band. Bavéri yo the hymn once more, and it was only by that third repetition that isolated sounds of the iruments pierced through the clamor of human same enthusiasm was in the streets. Crowds of ts and educated men stood in front of the palace, ng hurrahs, and the Tsar could not appear without followed by demonstrative crowds running after his ve, Heérzen was right when, two years later, as Alex- was drowning the Polish insurrection in blood, and aviéff the Hanger” was strangling it on the scaffold, rote, “ Alexander Nikolaevich, why did you not die it day? Your name would have been transmitted Lory as that of a hero.”
ere were the uprisings which had been predicted by ampions of slavery? Conditions more indefinite rose which had been created by the Polozhénie (the pation law) could not have been invented. If any- could have provoked revolts, it was precisely the ing vagueness of the conditions created by the new And yet, except in two places where there were stions, and a very few other spots where small dis- PART FIFTH THE FORTRESS; THE ESCAPE I Turs was, then, the terrible fortress where so much of the true strength of Russia had perished during the last two centuries, and the very name of which is uttered in St. Petersburg in a hushed voice.
Here Peter I. tortured his son Alexis and killed him with his own hand; here the Princess Tarakdnova was kept in a cell which filled with water during an inundation, — the rats climbing upon her to save themselves from drown- ing; here the terrible Minich tortured his enemies, and Catherine II. buried alive those who objected to her having murdered her husband. And from the times of Peter I. for a hundred and seventy years, the annals of this mass of stone which rises from the Neva in front of the Winter Palace were annals of murder and torture, of men buried alive, condemned to a slow death, or driven to insanity in the loneliness of the dark and damp dungeons.
Here the Decembrists, who were the first to unfurl in Russia the banner of republican rule and the abolition of serfdom, underwent their first experiences of martyrdom, and traces of them may still be found in the Russian Bas- tille. Here were imprisoned the poets Ryléeff and Shev- chénko, Dostoévsky, Bakunin, Chernyshévsky, Pisareff, and so many others of our best contemporary writers. Here Karak6ézoff was tortured and hanged.
Here, somewhere in the Alexis ravelin, is still kept Nechdieff, who was given up to Russia by Switzerland as a 344 MEMOIRS OF A REVOLUTIONIST common-law criminal, but is treated as a dangerous politica] prisoner, and will never again see the light. In the same ravelin are also two or three men whom, rumor says, Alex- ander II., because of what they knew, and others must not know, about some palace mystery, ordered imprisoned for fife. One of them, adorned with a long gray beard, was lately seen by an acquaintance of mine in the mysterious fortress.
All these shadows rose before my imagination. But my thoughts fixed especially on Bakunin, who, though he had been shut up in an Austrian fortress, after 1848, for two years, chained to the wall, and then handed over to Nicholas I., who kept him in the fortress for six years longer, yet came out, when the Iron Tsar’s death released him, fresher and fuller of vigor than his comrades who had remained at liberty. ‘ He has lived it through,” I said to myself, ‘and I must, too: I will not succumb here!” | My first movement was to approach the window, which | was placed so high that I could hardly reach it with my | lifted hand. It was a long, low opening, cut in a wall five | feet thick, and protected by an iron grating and a double iron window frame. Ata distance of a dozen yards from this window I saw the outer wall of the fortress, of immense | thickness, on the top of which I could make out a gray | sentry box. Only by looking upward could I perceive a bit | of the sky. | I made a minute inspection of the room where I had now | to spend no one could say how many years. From the | position of the high chimney of the Mint I guessed that | I was in the southwestern corner of the fortress, in a bas- | tion overlooking the Neva. The building in which I was | incarcerated, however, was not the bastion itself, but what | is called in a fortification a réduit; that is, an inner | two-storied pentagonal piece of masonry which rises a little | higher than the walls of the bastion, and is meant to contain _ MY PRISON CELL 345 MY PRISON CELL 345 two tiers of guns. This room of mine was a casemate destined for a big gun, and the window was an embrasure, The rays of the sun could never penetrate it; even in sum- mer they were lost in the thickness of the wall. The room held an iron bed, a small oak table, and an oak stool. The floor was covered with painted felt, and the walls with yel- low paper. However, in order to deaden sounds, the paper was not put on the wall itself; it was pasted upon canvas, and behind the canvas I discovered a wire grating, back of which was a layer of felt; only beyond the felt could I reach the stone wall. At the inner side of the room there was a washstand, and a thick oak door in which I made out a locked opening, for passing food through, and a little slit, protected by glass and by a shutter from the outside: this was the “ Judas,” through which the prisoner could be spied upon at every moment. The sentry who stood in the pas- sage frequently lifted the shutter and looked inside, — his boots squeaking as he crept toward the door. I tried to speak to him; then the eye which I could see through the slit assumed an expression of terror and the shutter was immediately let down, only to be furtively opened a minute or two later; but I could not get a word of response from the sentry.
Absolute silence reigned all round. I dragged my stool to the window and looked upon the little bit of sky that I could see; I tried to catch any sound from the Neva or from the town on the opposite side of the river, but I could not. This dead silence began to oppress me, and I tried to sing, ‘softly at first, and louder and louder afterwards.
‘‘ Have I then to say farewell to love forever?” I caught myself singing from my favorite opera, Glinka’s ‘‘ Ruslan ‘and Ludmila.”...“Sir, do not sing, please,’’ a bass voice said through the food-window in my door.
“T will sing.”
346 MEMOIRS OF A REVOLUTIONIST “You must not.”
‘¢T will sing nevertheless.”
Then came the governor, who tried to persuade me that I must not sing, as it would have to be reported to the com. mander of the fortress, and so on.
‘But my throat will become blocked and my lungs be- come useless if I do not speak and cannot sing,” I tried to argue. | ‘“‘ Better try to sing in a lower tone, more or less to your self,”” said the old governor in a supplicatory manner.
But all this was useless. A few days later I had lost all desire to sing. I tried to do it on principle, but it was of no avail.
‘‘'The main thing,” I said to myself, ‘is to preserve my. physical vigor. I wil not fall ill. Let me imagine myself ' compelled to spend a couple of years in a hut in the far north, during an arctic expedition. I will take plenty of exercise, practice gymnastics, and not let myself be broken down by my surroundings. Ten steps from one corner to. the other is already something. If I repeat them one hun- dred and fifty times, I shall have walked one verst”’ (two thirds of a mile). I determined to walk every day seven versts, — about five miles: two versts in the morning, two before dinner, two after dinner, and one before going ‘4 sleep. “If I put on the table ten cigarettes, and move one, of them each time that I pass the table, I shall easily count | the three hundred times that I must walk up and down. [| must walk rapidly, but turn slowly in the corner to avoid becoming giddy, and turn each time a different way. Then, twice a day I shall practice gymnastics with my heavy stool.” | T lifted it by one leg, holding it at arm’s length. I turned) it like a wheel, and soon learned to throw it from one hand | to the other, over my head, behind my back, and across my | legs, A few hours after I had been brought into the prison the | SUFFERING FROM FORCED INACTIVITY 347 yovernor came to offer me some books, and among them was in old acquaintance and friend of mine, the first volume of teorge Lewes’s “ Physiology,” in a Russian translation; but he second volume, which I especially wanted to read dois vas missing. I asked, of course, to have paper, pen, and nk, but was absolutely refused. Pen and ink are never owed; in the fortress, unless special permission is obtained from the Emperor himself. I suffered very much from this forced inactivity, and began to compose in my imagination 1 series of novels for popular reading, taken from Russian history, —something like Eugene Sue’s “ Mysteres du Peuple.” I made up the plot, the descriptions, the dia- logues, and tried to commit the whole to memory from the beginning to the end. One can easily imagine how exhaust- ing such a work would have been if I had had to continue it for more than two or three months.
But my brother Alexander obtained pen and ink for me. One day I was asked to enter a four-wheeled cab, in com- pany with the same speechless Georgian gendarme officer of whom I have spoken before. I was taken to the Third Section, where I was allowed an interview with my brother, in the presence of two gendarme officers.
Alexander was at Ziirich when I was arrested. From early youth he had longed to go abroad, where men think as they like, read what they like, and openly express their thoughts. Russian life was hateful to him. Veracity — absolute veracity and the most open-hearted frankness were the dominating features of his character, He could not bear deceit or even conceit in any form. The absence ‘of free speech in Russia, the Russian readiness to submit to oppression, the veiled words to which our writers resort, were utterly repulsive to his frank and open nature. Soon after my return from Western Europe he removed to Swit- zerland, and decided to settle there. After he had lost his ‘two children — one from cholera in a few hours, and the 348 MEMOIRS OF A REVOLUTIONIST | other from consumption —St. Petersburg became doubly repugnant to him.
My brother did not take part in our work of agitation. He did not believe in the possibility of a popular uprising, and he conceived a revolution only as the action of a repre- sentative body, like the National Assembly of France in 1789. As for the socialist agitation, he knew it only by means of public meetings and public speeches, — not as the secret, minute work of personal propaganda which we were carrying on. In England he would have sided with John Bright or with the Chartists. If he had been in Paris during the uprising of June, 1848, he would surely have fought with the last handful of workers behind the last barricade; but in the preparatory period he would have followed Louis Blane or Ledru Rollin.
In Switzerland he settled at Ziirich, and his. sympathies went with the moderate wing of the International. Social. | ist on principle, he carried out his principles in his most; frugal and laborious mode of living, toiling on passionately at his great scientific work, — the main purpose of his life, - —a work which was to be a nineteenth-century counterpart | to the famous “Tableau de la Nature” of the Encyclopa. | dists. He soon became a close personal friend of the old | refugee Colonel P. L. Lavrdff, with whom he had very | much in common in his Kantian philosophical views. When he learned about my arrest, Alexander immediately left everything, — the work of his life, the life itself. of freedom which was as necessary for him as free air is necessary for a bird, —and returned to St. Petersburg, | which he disliked, only to help me through my imprison- ment. We were both very much affected at this interview. My brother was extremely excited. He hated the very sight of | the blue uniforms of the gendarmes, — those executioners | of all independent thought in Russia, — and expressed his PERMITTED TO RESUME WORK 349 eeling frankly in their presence. As for me, the sight of ‘im at St. Petersburg filled me with the most dismal.ap- yrehensions. I was happy to see his honest face, his eyes ull of love, and to hear that I should see them once a nonth; and yet I wished him hundreds of miles away from hat place to which he came free that day, but to which ie would inevitably be brought some night under an escort yf gendarmes. ‘Why did you come into the lion’s den? to back at once!” my whole inner self cried; and yet I snew that he would remain as long as I was in prison.
He understood better than any one else that inactivity would kill me, and had already made application to obtain for me permission to resume work. The Geographical Society wanted me to finish my book on the glacial period, und my brother turned the whole scientific world in St. Petersburg upside down to move it to support his appli- sation. 'The Academy of Sciences was interested in the matter; and finally, two or three months after my im- prisonment, the governor entered my cell and announced to me that I was permitted by the Emperor to complete my report to the Geographical Society, and that I should be allowed pen and ink for that purpose. ‘Till sunset only,” he added. Sunset, at St. Petersburg, is at three in the afternoon, in winter time; but that could not be helped. “Till sunset” were the words used by Alexander IJ. when he granted the permission.
ii So I could work!
I could hardly express now the immensity of relief 1 then felt at being enabled to resume writing. I would have consented to live on nothing but bread and water, in the dampest of cellars, if only permitted to work. | I was, however, the only prisoner to whom writing re terials were allowed. Several of my comrades spent three! years and more in confinement before the famous trial of ‘‘the hundred and ninety-three ” took place, and all they had’ was a slate. Of course, even the slate was welcome in that, dreary loneliness, and they used it to write exercises in the languages they were learning, or to work out mathematical problems; but what was jotted down on the slate could last only a few hours.
My prison life now took ona more regular character, There was something immediate to live for. At nine in the morning I had already made the first three hundred pacings across my cell, and was waiting for my pencils and’ pens to be delivered tome. The work which I had pre-| pared for the Geographical Society contained, beside a report of my explorations in Finland, a discussion of the bases upon which the glacial hypothesis ought to rest. Now, knowing that I had plenty of time before me, I decided to rewrite and enlarge that part of my work. The Academy of Sciences put its admirable library at my service, and a corner of my cell soon filled up with books and maps, includ-| ing the whole of the Swedish Geological Survey publica-| tions, a nearly complete collection of reports of all arctic | travels, and whole sets of the Quarterly Journal of the READING AND WRITING IN PRISON dol London Geological Society. My book grew in the for- tress to the size of two large volumes. ‘The first of them was printed by my brother and Polakéff (in the Geographi- cal Society’s Memoirs); while the second, not quite finished, remained in the hands of the Third Seti when I ran away. The manuscript was found only in 1895, and given to the Russian Geographical Society, by whom it was for- warded to me in London.
At five in the afternoon, — at three in the winter, — as soon as the tiny lamp was brought in, my pencils and pens were taken away, and I had to stop work. Then I used to read, mostly books of history. Quite a library had been formed i in the fortress by the generations of political pris- ners who had been confined there. I was allowed to add to the library a number of staple works on Russian history, ma with the books which were brought to me by my rela- Hives I was enabled to read almost every work and collec- tion of acts and documents bearing on the Moscow period of the history of Russia. I relished, in reading, not only the Russian annals, especially the admirable annals of the democratic medieval republic of Pskov, — the best, per- haps, in Europe for the history of that type of medieval cities, — but all sorts of dry documents, and even the Lives ‘of the Saints, which occasionally contain facts of the real life of the masses which cannot be found elsewhere. T also read during this time a great number of novels, and even arranged for myself a treat on Christmas Eve. My rela- tives managed to send me then the Christmas stories of Dickens, and I spent the festival laughing and crying over those beautiful creations of the great novelist.
it it THE worst was the silence, as of the grave, which reigned about me, In vain I knocked on the walls and struck the floor with my foot, listening for the faintest sound in reply. None was to be heard. One month passed, then two, three, fifteen months, but there was no reply to my knocks. We were only six then, scattered among thirty-six casemates, —all my arrested comrades being kept in the Litdévskiy Zamok prison. When the non-commissioned officer entered my cell to take me out for a walk, and I asked him, “ What kind of weather have we? Does it rain?” he cast a fur- tive side glance at me, and without saying a word promptly retired behind the door, where a sentry and another non- commissioned officer kept watch upon him. The only liy- ing being from whom I could hear even a few words was’ the governor, who came to my cell every morning to say ‘‘sood-morning ” and ask whether I wanted to buy tobacco or paper. I tried to engage him in conversation; but he also cast furtive glances at the non-commissioned officers who stood in the half-opened door, as if to say, “ You see, I am watched, too.” Only the pigeons were not afraid to hold intercourse with me. Every morning and afternoon, they came to my window to receive their food through the erating. | There were no sounds whatever except the squeak of the, sentry’s boots, the hardly perceptible noise of the shutter! of the Judas, and the ringing of the bells on the for- tress cathedral. They rang a “ Lord save me” (“ Gdspodi pomilui”)) every quarter of an hour, — one, two, three, four times. Then, each hour, the big bell struck slowly, BE MORNING WALKS IN THE PRISON YARD 358 with long intervals between successive strokes. A lugu- brious canticle followed, chimed by the bells, which at every sudden change of temperature went out of tune, making at such times a horrible cacophony which sounded like the ringing of bells at a burial. At the gloomy hour of mid- night, the canticle, moreover, was followed by the discord- ant notes of a “God save the Tsar.” The ringing lasted a full quarter of an hour; and no sooner had it come to an end than a new “ Lord save me” announced to the sleep- less prisoner that a quarter of an hour of his uselessly spent life had gone in the meantime, and that many quarters of an hour, and hours, and days, and months of the same vege- tative life would pass, before his keepers, or maybe death, would release him.
_ Every morning I was taken out for a half-hour’s walk in the prison yard. This yard was a small pentagon with a narrow pavement round it, and a little building — the bath house — in the middle. But I liked those walks.