ON the day following the issue of the manifesto, the “black hundred,” which consisted chiefly of the riffraff of the city population, with an admixture of secret police agents, disguised gendarmes, and spies, took possession of Kief. They robbed and murdered the defenseless inhabitants of the city before the very eyes of the soldiers and police, and were even helped by these in their work of pillage and slaughter.
To resist the attacks of these hooligans, the young people formed self-defense leagues. I became a member of one of these leagues, and with a revolver in hand fought off the drunken mob. After two days of such activity my position in the city became insecure. I was under surveillance, and arrest threatened me at any moment. Then I decided to leave. I changed my appearance somewhat, and went to Moscow. I stayed in Moscow for some time, and, having learned that agitators were wanted in the province of Tchernigoff, went there. I had a letter to a certain Mr. B——, who was well known for his revolutionary propaganda among the peasants.
When I came to him and declared my intention of doing propaganda work in the villages, he said to me:
“I am very sorry you came to us at such a bad time. Governor Khvostoff has been ‘pacifying’ the peasants, and the village now presents a dreadful sight.”
He introduced me to two comrades, a middle-aged man and a young girl, and we three started out the next day. We were dressed in peasant garb, and in our wallets, which we carried on our backs, were prohibited pamphlets. Toward evening we came to the nearest village. We entered a hut, and the host welcomed us very cordially.
“Put up the samovar,” he said to his wife, who was rocking a baby in a cradle suspended from the ceiling.
“Well, Vania, why didn’t you come around to us for such a long time?” the host asked, turning to my comrade.
“I was in Moscow,” Vania answered.
“What have they decided there?” asked the host. But suddenly his cheerful, smiling face darkened, and not waiting for an answer, he said: “Did you hear what happened to us here?”
IVAN KALYÁEV
Born 1877, assassinated Grand Duke Sergius, sentenced to death and executed in the fortress of Shlússelburg in 1905 ]
“Yes, I did,” my comrade replied; “but I want to hear the whole story from you.”
“Wait, the boys will come, and we will talk it over,” said the host. “Did you bring any books?” he asked.
We untied our wallets and laid out on the table all the pamphlets we had brought. The host reverently picked up every one of them and read the titles aloud.
Soon the hut filled with young and old peasants. There were even women with infants in their arms. They all knew Vania well, and greeted him in a friendly manner.
“See how many of our people are missing!” said an old peasant with a white beard. “That’s after the manifesto.”
“Tell Vania everything,” several voices said at once.
The old peasant laid his hands on the table, crossed them, and began:
“When we heard that the czar had issued a manifesto and had given us liberty,—and the year had been a bad one, and there was nothing in our barns,—we understood by the czar’s favor to us that we might take the superfluous grain from the landowners. We gathered the whole village, came to the house of the landowner, called him out, and said to him:
“‘The czar’s favor gave us a manifesto that we might take your grain, there being none in our barns. Give us the key. We will divide fairly, and shall not forget you.’
“The landowner began to yell at us, and went back into the house. We waited, but he didn’t come out. Then we decided that he had heard nothing about the czar’s manifesto. So we broke the lock, divided the grain among ourselves, and went home. That was in the morning. Toward evening we heard a noise, and the dogs were barking. We went out and saw an important official coming. All about him were Cossacks. We thought that he came to read to us the czar’s manifesto, so we fetched bread and salt and met him, bowing low. He ordered us to gather in the village square. We came in good order, and he swore at us in the worst language. Then he shouted:
”‘Those of you who first thought of rioting and going against the landowner step out.’
“We all answered in chorus:
“‘Your high Nobility, we did not riot, but there was a manifesto from the czar that we might take the grain from the landowner, there being none in our barns.’
“‘I’ll show you!’ he shouted, striking us with a nagáika. ‘I’ll show you what the czar’s manifesto means! Let us have rods, rods!’
“They seized Andrei first, and flogged the poor fellow so that he remained lying on the spot. His hapless wife was weeping, and the Cossacks hit her in the face with their nagáikas and swore at her. The women and children began to cry. The Cossacks surrounded us on all sides and did not let us get away. They flogged ten people, and after that the official—it was the governor—said:
“‘And now take the grain back to the landowner’s barn.’
“‘That, your high Nobility, we cannot do,’ we answered. ‘There was a manifesto from the czar that we might take the grain for ourselves.’
“‘Shoot these dogs!’ he shouted to his Cossacks, and they fired a volley. Eight were killed and many wounded. After that the Cossacks went to the houses and began to rob us. They insulted our wives and daughters, and Savitch’s girl they crippled for life.”
As he spoke his white head was shaking, and his withered hands were trembling. Every word of his sounded terrible in the dimly lighted hut. He finished, and rested his head on his hands. For a long time no one dared to disturb the silence which reigned in the room. It seemed to me that a whole eternity had passed since he began his woeful tale.
About ten o’clock the gathering broke up. We remained there for the night. I did not sleep. That night a resolution ripened in my mind. In the morning I refused to go farther and returned to the city. I went to a member of a local committee of the Socialist-Revolutionists’ party. He was a well-known revolutionist who had spent a great many years in prison and in Siberian exile. To this man I confided my secret.
“Very well,” he said; “I will communicate with the committee.”
On the same day he delivered to me the following decision:
“The committee deems the assassination of Governor Khvostoff necessary at this moment, as a response to all the atrocities he has committed in the villages. It has also become known to the committee that the governor is trying to organize a Jewish pogróm in the city of Tchernigoff. In consideration of all this the committee accepts your proposal, and authorizes you to make the attempt.”
Mr. V—— also gave me money for necessary expenses and some information about the governor.
He lived at one end of Tchernigoff. His house stood on a hill, and was surrounded by a garden. Fortunately, the third house from his was vacant, and I immediately rented it. The house was rather too large for one person, and to avert suspicion I told the landlady that I expected my mother and sister from Warsaw. I sent my passport—that of a Polish school-teacher—to the police station, and in a few days it came back safely. Then I telegraphed to Comrade Nicholai. He had shortly before left the hospital, having been wounded during a pogróm that occurred on the day after the issue of the manifesto. Comrade Nicholai arrived in Tchernigoff in a few days, and took lodgings opposite the Noblemen’s Assembly. As we had learned, the governor sometimes visited there.
Sitting at my window, I studied the governor’s daily routine. I learned when he got up and when he went to sleep. I learned when he received and whom. I even knew his dinner-hour.
For a whole week the governor did not leave his house except for a walk in his garden. Slowly the days and sleepless nights dragged by. Alone with my thoughts, I paced the deserted house. I spent most of the time making up a list of the governor’s victims. I treasured the names of those who had been shot or flogged to death by him. I read and re-read for the thousandth time the simple narratives of the peasants about his terrible crimes, and my heart bled for them. Hopefully I looked in the direction of the shelf on which the bomb lay.
Finally it became positively known to us that the governor would drive on New-Year’s day, at twelve o’clock, to the Noblemen’s Assembly, and we decided to assassinate him on his way back.
* * * * *
It was New-Year’s eve. I sat near the window and looked at the snow-covered road. There was only one thought in my mind: he must die. All doubts had disappeared. I knew, I felt that it was going to happen.
At midnight I carefully removed the tube from the bomb, dried the powder, and reloaded the bomb. I put the four-pound tin box in a fine hand-bag specially bought for the occasion, and again read over the list of the peasants murdered by the governor. I set everything in order, wrote a letter, and left money for the landlady. Then I went to bed.
“I must sleep,” I repeated to myself, and I actually fell asleep.
A knock at the door roused me. I opened my eyes, and the consciousness of what was going to happen on that day filled my soul. My heart began to beat faster and faster. There was another knock at the door. I slipped on a morning gown, and looked out of the window. A group of masked children stood at the door. I understood that they must have come to congratulate me, and, according to custom, throw millet-seeds all over the house. For this they get a few kopecks.
I admitted them, and in feverish haste began to hand to them anything I could lay my hands on. An uncontrollable desire to remain a little longer with these innocent children seized me, and I begged them to take off their masks and have tea with me. They hesitated; but when one of the elder boys took off his mask, all followed his example. I made tea, and seated the children about the table. They were becoming bolder and bolder, and soon they were chatting carelessly and curiously regarding me and everything in the house.
The samovar was steaming merrily on the table, the children were laughing noisily, the sun shone brightly in my window. For a minute I forgot what was going to happen in a few hours. Suddenly a Cossack galloped past, followed by a carriage. I recognized the carriage. The children continued to laugh, but I no longer heard them.
“Go, go, children! it is time!” I exclaimed. “But first let us bid good-by.”
They looked at me in surprise. Their cheerful little faces clouded with regret, and their thin, unwashed hands extended to me.
“Don’t forget me, children!” I said.
They made the sign of the cross, wished me a happy New-Year, and quietly went away. I dressed hastily, took my hand-bag, and went into the street.
THE PRISON WALL FROM THE OUTSIDE ]
The day was bright and cold, the sky cloudless. The street was almost deserted, with only now and then an occasional passer-by hurrying to church. Four blocks from my house was a bridge on which a gorodovoi stood on fixed post. Holding the bag in my hand, I passed him, and he bowed low and wished me a happy New-Year. Soon, however, I came back, and began to walk up and down not far from my house. A few minutes later I saw from afar Comrade Nicholai walking with slow and measured steps toward me. In his hand he held a box tied with a red ribbon: that was a bomb. He crossed the bridge, and stopped about seventy or eighty feet from me. I knew then that he would throw the bomb from there. It was our understanding that he would throw the bomb from where he stopped. I continued to walk back and forth in the direction of the governor’s house. Comrade Nicholai overtook me, and whispered while passing:
“I saw him. Remember, keep farther away from me, lest an accident should happen to your bomb when mine explodes.”
“All right,” I whispered in reply.
“Good-by!” said Nicholai, and quickly went to his former place.
I followed him with my eyes, hardly moving. The street still remained deserted. Suddenly a mounted Cossack appeared, and behind him a carriage. Comrade Nicholai immediately stepped down from the curb. At that moment the carriage approached him. He raised his hand, and threw the bomb under the carriage. The bomb fell softly on the snow and did not explode. A police officer who was riding behind the governor sprang at Nicholai, and I heard the report of a pistol. The carriage stopped for an instant; but evidently taking in the situation, the coachman began to whip the horses, and drove at full gallop straight in my direction. I stepped into the middle of the road, and with all my might hurled the bomb against the carriage window. A terrific force instantly stunned me. I felt that I was lifted into the air.
When I regained consciousness and opened my eyes there was nobody around. I lay on the road amid a heap of debris. Blood was streaming down my face and hands. I tried to lift my head, and lost consciousness.
When I came to the second time I was standing near a cab, supported by a strange woman. She was telling something to the cabman, but I could not hear her. She put me into the cab, and the driver started. He drove past my house, across the bridge, where a gorodovoi had always stood, but where there was none now. We rode through the whole length of the street without meeting a human being.
“What does this mean? Where are all the people?” I thought to myself.
The cab turned into some street, and stopped in front of a house. The name of a hospital at once brought me to my senses. I understood that through some miracle I had been saved from destruction, and that I had been brought, not to the prison, but to a private hospital. I paid the cabman, waited until he disappeared around the corner, and then went. At every step blood streamed down my face, blinding me. I walked and walked, utterly unaware of where I was and where I was going. I felt that my strength was leaving me, and that I would soon fall in the middle of the street. I chanced to see an open gate. I went into the yard, and sat down on the snow. The thought that I was saved did not console me. I knew that whoever should undertake to hide me would perish together with me.
“Where, where shall I go?”
To stop the flow of blood, I put some snow in my handkerchief and applied it to my head. This refreshed me a little. Then I took off my fur coat and lay down on it. Gradually my hands and feet began to grow numb with cold. The snow about me became red. Drops of blood froze on my face and hands. It grew dark. I felt a strange weakness in my whole body, and a deadly drowsiness seized my benumbed limbs. I do not know how long I had lain thus when I felt that some one was tugging at my sleeve. With difficulty I opened my eyes. A youth stood near me. He bent down close to my ear, and I distinctly heard: “Is that you who killed the governor—you?”
His words lighted up my dying consciousness.
“Yes, it is I.”
The youth straightened up, looked once more at me and the blood-stained snow, and went away without saying another word. Hardly five minutes had passed when he came back, followed by a hunchbacked old man. They raised me in their arms, and carried me into a house. The warm air and cold water applied to my head brought me to full consciousness. I realized that these poor Hebrews were imperiling their lives.
“I must go away from here,” I said to the old hostess who was coaxing me to lie down on their only bed.
“But the young man asked us to take care of you,” she replied.
The youth returned from somewhere greatly agitated, and said that the police were following me by the blood trail, and would probably soon be there.
“Oh, oh!” groaned the old woman, and in great terror began to circle about the room. I ran to the door, intending to go out, but the woman cried to me:
“What are you doing? They will see you, and we shall perish.”
Suddenly she opened the wardrobe, pushed me in, and locked it. Humiliated and exhausted, I leaned against the door of the wardrobe, not daring to breathe. A far-away noise reached my ear. It came nearer and nearer. I heard the tramping of many feet near my hiding-place. My knees bent under me, and I lost consciousness.
Late at night I found myself sitting at a table. The room was lighted by a candle. The old woman was whispering in my ear:
“Thanks to God! I succeeded in fooling them.”
I could not understand what she was saying. I felt sharp pain in my head, and my whole body was burning. I cared about nothing, and wished only for quiet and rest.
The youth came in, holding in his hands a soldier’s coat and cap. They put it on me, and holding me under the arms led me into the yard. They seated me in a sleigh, with the youth beside me, and we drove away. We rode aimlessly through the city, passing everywhere patrols of soldiers and police. This eighteen-year-old youth evidently did not know where he was taking me. Bewildered by his discovery, and not wishing to deliver me into the hands of the infuriated authorities, he tried to save me at the risk of his own life.
At last we safely got out of the city, and after driving the whole night came to the town of Gorodnia. In this little town, where the youth hoped to put me on a train, we were stopped by a police captain with a group of soldiers. They took us to the police station and kept us there until a company of Cossacks arrived. I was separated from the youth, put in a closed carriage, and rushed back to Tchernigoff. We came there toward evening.
There was no furniture whatever in the filthy cell at the police station where they first put me, and I lay down on the floor. I was so weak from the loss of blood that I could not stand on my feet. A gendarme with a drawn saber stood near me. The door was not locked.
For several days I was in a semiconscious state. I remember only that my cell was always crowded with officials, high and low, who came to look at me. Whenever I began to fall asleep, the gendarme roused me and demanded:
“Who are your accomplices? What are their names?”
Weak and exhausted as I was, this question always brought me back to consciousness. I knew perfectly well why the gendarme asked me this, and silence was my only answer.
This inofficial torture continued for two weeks, but the consciousness of duty was so strong in me that all the physical pain and misery they inflicted upon me did not produce the desired effect, and all the subtle contrivances of the gendarmes to wring a confession from me were futile. All that they could think of doing to me was in a vast degree milder than what I had done to myself. My tormentors understood this, and seeing that their inhuman methods did not bring the desired results, they often let me sleep. During these two weeks the procurator and the examining magistrate came to see me a couple of times. But as I did not at all think of denying that I had thrown the bomb at Governor Khvostoff, they lost all interest in the case, and conducted the investigation with cold indifference. They did not even succeed in learning my real name, and I appeared before the court as “Unknown.” By not revealing my identity I hoped to spare my parents the cruel agony for a daughter who must die on the gallows.
On the sixteenth of January, late at night, I was transferred to the military prison, and told there that I would be tried by court-martial the next day. At ten o’clock in the morning Comrade Nicholai, the youth who was guilty of nothing but not having betrayed me to the police, and I appeared before the military court. When we were led into the court-room it was crowded with gendarmes and police. In a corner sat the unfortunate old parents of the youth. They were the only outsiders.
The ceremony of the trial lasted about half an hour, because we did not deny the fact, and there remained only to render the verdict, which they as well as we knew beforehand. We were offered to say our “last word.”[21] Comrade Nicholai rose and said:
“Gentlemen of the court: I went openly to fight the enemies of the people. I knew beforehand that for this death awaited me. But the belief that only by this means we can free Russia gave me the strength to sacrifice my young life. And now, before my death, I swear to you, my enemies, that this youth is innocent, and that I see him for the first time in my life.”
A GROUP OF POLITICAL WOMEN PRISONERS
In the yard of the Akatúi prison. Miss Sukloff is seventh from the left ]
“Gentlemen of the court,” said the youth, “I do not ask for clemency for myself, although I do not consider myself guilty. But I beg you to look at my old parents and take pity on them.”
It was my turn to say my “last word,” and I rose.
“Gentlemen of the court: I swear to you by my sacred belief that Russia will be free, for in this belief I went to my death; I swear to you by the name of the ‘fighting league,’ to which I have the honor of belonging, that this boy is innocent. Look at me. I am young, and I love life. I never knew Khvostoff, and had nothing against him personally. I went to assassinate him for the terrible atrocities committed by him in the villages, and after he had proved to be a real enemy of the people. I knew beforehand that I should die for this, but the thought of death did not terrify me. I went openly to my aim, and never lied even to my enemies. Perhaps I have only twenty-four hours to live, and you are the only people I see before my death. At this minute I want to forget that you are my enemies, and, as before God, I swear that this youth is innocent.”
I sat down, and the procurator rose and said:
“Gentlemen of the court: Although the accused produce a favorable impression, I, in the name of the law, must demand a death-sentence for all three.”
After this the court retired to deliberate upon the verdict, and we were taken to our cells.
Terror seized me at the thought that they might hang this strange eighteen-year-old boy. I paced my cell for hours. The sun set, it grew dark, and the judges were still deliberating. Oh, if only they would not hang him!
The clock struck midnight. Some one stealthily opened my door.
“To the court-room, please!”
The gendarme spoke in a whisper. The corridor was half dark. There was a clinking of spurs and sabers and the noise of hurried footsteps. Gendarmes and police were everywhere. The court-room was empty. The faces of the judges looked tired and haggard. The procurator did not look at us. At the sight of their expressions the torturous thought, “They will hang him! They will hang him!” passed in my mind. Everything grew cold within me. I could hardly stand on my feet. At last the president of the court, an old general, read the verdict.
“Nicholai Shpeizman is sentenced to death by hanging. ‘Unknown’ is sentenced to death by hanging. B—— A—— is sentenced to ten years at hard labor.”
I felt as if a heavy load had fallen off my shoulders. We congratulated the youth and bade him good-by.
“Ten years at hard labor!” I said aloud. “You will not have served a year when Russia will be free.”
The judges looked in surprise at our animated faces, and one gendarme whispered to the other:
“They probably did not hear their own sentences.”
We were led back to our cells.
“Is this a death-sentence?” I asked myself when I was left alone. “But why is my heart so light? Why don’t I feel what is going to be in twenty-four hours?” I searched all the recesses of my soul, I watched its innermost thoughts and movements, but there was no sign of death.
I saw no longer the walls of my solitary cell. I heard no more the stealthy footsteps of the gendarmes. I no longer looked at the indifferent faces of my jailers. There was no death, there were no longer the cruel chains which bound Russia. I was rising higher and higher, supported by thousands of arms. Where am I? Where am I? “Russia is free, free!” some one whispered in my ear. “You did not assassinate any one. That was all a nightmare, a horrible nightmare.”
“Dress yourself, dress yourself!”
This voice at once roused me to consciousness.
“Is it possible that the twenty-four hours have already passed?” I involuntarily asked the gendarme. “What time is it?”
“It is six o’clock in the morning,” he replied.
“Isn’t it all the same,” I thought to myself, “whether they will hang me a few hours earlier or later?”
The sun had not yet risen. And how I wanted to see the sun!
“Where will _it_ be?” I asked the gendarme, but he only looked at me with a confused expression and did not answer. Suddenly I remembered the letter I had prepared for my parents. It was my last word to them. I looked around; there was no one but this gendarme.
“Listen,” I said to him. “I cannot go to the gallows at peace with myself not having sent this note to my parents. This is the last wish of a woman who goes to die, and you cannot refuse her. Whoever you are, you have or had parents and must understand their terrible grief.” And I pressed the note into his hand. He looked about him, concealed the note, and said:
“All right; I will send it. But now I am taking you not to the execution, but to the prison.”
“They will hang me _there_,” I assured him.
Later I found that my parents never received this note. But, after all, he was a kind gendarme, because the thought that the parents would receive my last words of consolation gave me much strength, and I would have died happy.
In a closed carriage, surrounded on all sides by mounted soldiers, I was taken to the city prison. I was locked in a dark and filthy solitary cell. “I shall have to wait here a whole day,” I thought to myself. The day passed quickly, and night came. I lay down on the cot without undressing. In alarm I listened to the footsteps of the gendarmes in the corridor. “Why don’t they take me?” I thought. The hours slowly dragged by. Footsteps were constantly heard; frequently they approached my door, but passed it every time. Finally I fell asleep.
When I woke, the sun was high. An uncontrollable joy of life seized me. I felt my hands, my limbs, and the happy consciousness that I was alive, young and strong, was stronger than the death-sentence which hung over me. Every sound I could catch gladdened me. The tiny bit of blue sky I saw through the bars enchantingly drew me toward itself. I paced my cell, and my dreams carried me far beyond the prison walls. A great feeling of love of life, love of all living, grew more and more within me, and it vanquished death.
“They will hang you to-night,” I tried to argue with myself, but the words seemed meaningless. They could not conquer my belief in life, in all living. My jailers no longer irritated me. There was no more hatred in my heart toward these misguided people. They seemed so far, far away from me.
The whole day I was in a state of exaltation, and in the evening I again prepared for death, and waited. Without undressing, I lay down, but could not keep awake and fell asleep. Six days passed thus in the expectation of death. Every morning I looked in surprise at the bit of sky, which calmly regarded me from its azure height.
“What is it, then? Is it possible that this is death?” I wondered.
On the seventh day there came a knock on the wall. My heart began to beat joyfully: so I had a neighbor!
“Who are you?” I knocked immediately, and there came an answer, clear and unmistakable, “Shpeizman.”
“O God!” I exclaimed, “how is that? He is here, and they did not hang him yet!”
Soon we were deeply engrossed in conversation. It appeared that he had spent all the time in the military prison, and had just been brought here.
“This is the last day,” he knocked.
“Yes, I am sure,” I answered.
We hastened to share all our thoughts and feelings, all that we had lived through in the years of our friendship, unbroken by prison and exile.
“I don’t want you to die,” Nicholai knocked, and the feelings which had been hidden deep in his heart were at this hour of death freely expressed in words.
I could no longer stand near the wall. In utter exhaustion I fell on my cot. Hour passed after hour. Night came. There was an unusual noise in the corridor. I held my breath, and pressed my hands close to my heart. I heard the door of the adjoining cell open “They are taking Kolia,” I thought. I listened. Some one approached my door.
“Farewell, my beloved! Farewell, my dear! Be happy!”
“Kolia! Kolia!” I cried, but the thick walls drowned my feeble voice. I crouched in a corner and listened. The noise of footsteps grew fainter and fainter and died away. The strokes of a hammer were heard. “They are finishing the gibbet,” passed in mind. I leaned against the wall through which Kolia had talked; he was there no more. My heart was painfully compressed, and in the stillness of the night I could hear his dying sigh.
Some one stealthily opened my door and entered the cell. “At last!” I thought, and, straightening up, turned to face my executioners. It was beginning to dawn, and the little lamp which lighted my cell had grown faint in the light of breaking day. The governor approached and looked in my face without uttering a word. There was something evil in his look. I understood that he had come from the execution. He stood for about five minutes and went away.
ANOTHER GROUP OF POLITICAL PRISONERS IN THE AKATÚI STRONGHOLD ]
I lay on my cot with my eyes open. A snow-storm was raging outside and knocking at the window-bars. The prison clock struck ten. The door of my cell was thrown wide open, and a high official entered.
“I have brought you imperial clemency. Your life has been granted to you,” he said and went out.
Slowly the hours passed. I lay motionless on my cot, trying to grasp the enormous significance of the fact. But a sudden void had formed within me, and there was nothing but emptiness in my soul. The thread of my inner life had broken, and I now vainly tried to gather the lost ends.
Footnote 21:
It is a general practice in Russian courts to allow the accused to address the court before the judges retire to deliberate upon the verdict.