sergei stepniak underground russia revolutionary profiles and sketches from life a4[1]

7/31/2019 Sergei Stepniak Underground Russia Revolutionary Profiles and Sketches From Life a4[1]

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Sergei Stepniak

Underground Russia:Revolutionary proles andsket es from life

1882


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Contents

e Moscow Attempt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3I. A Band of Hermits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3II. e Mine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Two Escapes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11I. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11II. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

e Ukrivateli( e Concealers) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23I. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23II. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29III. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

e Secret Press . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35

A Trip to St. Petersburg . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43I. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48II. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51III. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53IV. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59V. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63VI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66


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e Moscow Attempt

I. A Band of HermitsUpon the outskirts of the old capital of Russia, just whe re that half

Asiatic city, immense as the antique Babylon or Nineveh, is at last lostin the distance, and its houses, becoming fewer, are sca ered among themarket gardens and elds, and the immense uncu ltivated plains wh ichsurround it on all sides, as the sea surrounds an islet; on these outskirtsis a li le co age, one story high, old, grimy with age, and half in ruins.

Although in a capital, this poor dwelling is not out of harmony withthe district. e other houses round abou t have the same mean andrough aspec t; and a ll this part of the immense c ity resemb les a li levillage lost in the plains of Russia, rather than a district of one of thelargest capitals in Europe. In summer, grass grows in the streets, so highthat a cavalry regiment might exercise there; and in the rainy autumn,these streets are full of puddles and miniature lakes, in which the ducksand geese swim about.

ere is no movement. From time to time a passerby is seen, and if he does not belong to the district the boys stare at him until be is out of sight. If by chance a ca rriage, or a hired vehicle, arrives in these pa rts,all the shu ers, green, red, and blue, are hurriedly opened, and girls andwomen peep forth, curious to see such an extraordinary sight.

All the inhab itants of this tranqu il district know each o ther, f or theywere born there, and have grown old there. ey are simple, patriarchalpeople, who seem in no way to belong to modern civilisation. ey

live exactly as their fathers lived two or three centuries ago. Almost allbelong to the old religious sects which were f ormed in the seventeen thcentury, when the Patriarch Nikon, a gi ed but despotic and implacableman, wished to correct various orthographical errors in the old books.Refusing to recognise the corrections of Nikon, which he strove to imposeby force upon the zealots of the ancient rite, these sects even rejectedall the ordinances of the State which supported the ferocious Patriarch,especially a er the ref orms of Peter the Great, eff ected according to the


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example of the indel Germans . ey even re jected the European dress,which the reforming Czar wanted to impose upon them by violence.

Cruelly persecuted for a couple of centuries, these sects spreadnotwithstanding throughout all Russia among the poorer classes, and

now number at least ten millions of followers. eir principal centre isthe old capital, abandoned by the Emperors, like the old religion. e Pre-obragenskoie and Rogoscoe districts, which we are describing, receivedtheir names from the two ceme teries whe re so many of the ma rtyr s of these sects are buried; they are their real capitals, where their priestsand bishops reside clandestinely, and where their ecumenical councilsare held.

It is true, the corruption of the age is beginning to invade even these

last retreats of the ancient f aith. When on f estival evenings the people gof orth and sit, according to Eastern custom, outside their houses, cha ingwith their neighbours, it is no unusual thing to see some lively youngman who works in one of the city manufactories playing the harmonicains tead of the anc ient guitar, and wea ring a jacke t with bright bu ons ,instead of the ancient straight coat, besides boots with heels whichthings are German abominations. It is even related that some of themsecretly smoke tobacco, which is a heinous offence, as it makes a man

resemble not God, but the Devil in person, who in the lives of the saintsis always represented with lthy smoke issuing from his mouth.e old folks mournfully shake their heads and say that the end of the

world is at hand, as the ancient devotion is dying out.e occupants of the house which we have above referred to do not

belong, however, to the original inhabitants of this patriarchal district.ey have newly come to reside there. Notwithstanding this, they are not

unf avourably regarded in the neighbourhood , f or they are good, simple,

God-fearing people. e family consists of husband and wife. ey areexpecting every moment the arrival of their old parents.Although the wife seems very young, she is an excellent housewife;

the husband, an artisan of Saratoff, is about thirty-two or thirty-three,but is very grave for his age. Evidently he, also, is a member of the sect.He does not smoke tobacco, he does not shave which is also considereda very grave transgression, as it takes from a man the likeness of God,in whose image, as is well known , he was created. True, the newcome r


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wears boots with heels, and a jacket. But this perhaps is from fear of the J ews , or perhaps because he be longs to ano ther sect, wh ich allowsthese things, and then no censu re a aches to him, f or the various sectsdisplay perfect tolerance towards each other.

ere was an important indication wh ich assisted in chang ing thisfriendly suspicion into a certainty.e family was two in number. ere could be no doubt, however,

that the house was occupied by several persons; provisions to such anextent were purchased, that, however hearty their appetites, they couldnot consume them alone. en, too, some of the old folks during theirsleepless nights had heard the creaking of the gate, and even the soundof vehicles, evidently bringing people from a distance. Who could they

be but brethren? the old f olks said to each other in condence. Certainlyno one wou ld have gone and b reathed a wo rd of this to their commonenemy the policeman standing there at the corner of the street. No onewould have dreamed of it.

ese pious folks were not mistaken. e house was in fact occupiedby an entire band of hermits miners by trade. e vehicles whichcame by night brought dynamite and the necessary instruments for itsexplosion.

It was the Moscow mine.

II. e Mine

e excavation of the Moscow mine, by which the Imperial train wasto be blown up, commenced about the middle of September, and nishedtwo mon ths a erwards, was pa rt of the vast plan of a triple a emp t of

the same k ind, which was to be carried out during the journey of theEmperor from the Crimea to St. Petersburg, withou t men tion ing threeothers which belonged to about the same time.

e mines under the railway line were placed at three different points;near Moscow, near Alexandrovsk, and near Odessa.

It was believed, therefore, that the blow could not possibly fail.Owing, however, to a combination of various circumstances, this was

precisely what happened. e preparations upon the Odessa railway,


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together with those upon the Italianskaia, recently discovered, for blow-ing up the Imperial carriage while passing through the streets of thecity, had to be abandoned, owing to a change in the itinerary of theEmperor. In that of Alexandrovsk, organised by Geliaboff and Okladsky,

the mine, owing to some def ect of the capsule, did not explode, althoughthe ba ery was closed at the right moment, and thus the Imperial trainmassed uninjured, over a precipice, to the bo om of which it wouldinfallibly have rolled at the slightest shock. e two previous a emptsfailed in the same manner; that of blowing up the stone bridge in St. Pe-tersburg organised by the same Geliaboff, and Tetiorka, as the la er didnot keep his appointment; and that of blowing up the Imperial steamernear Nicolaieff, organised by Logodenko, the sole a empt discovered by

the police. By the merest chance they paid a domiciliary visit to the veryapartment in which the electric wires were placed.In Moscow alone, the Terrorists were fortunate enough to make at least

an a empt. Yet it was precisely there that the undertaking seemed mostdifficult, and the probabilities of success much less, owing especially tothe cyclopean labor, which required many men, whom it was difficult tokeep concealed, and to the vicinity of the capital, where the surveillancewas so strict.

I will not relate wha t is already known from the newspape rs of thatdate. I simply propose to draw a ention to two circums tances , as theywere related to me by a friend who took part in the undertaking, and forwhose veracity I can unhesitatingly answer.

e rst relates to the organisation, the second to the execution of theproject. Both are very characteristic, not only of this a empt, but of allthe undertakings of the Terrorists; I mean the extreme simplicity, whichis in such agrant contradiction with all the preconceived ideas upon

Nihilism, and the means and methods of execution, a ributed to it.It is generally believed that the Nihilists have enormous means at theirdisposition. is is a great error, and the Moscow a empt is the bestproof of it. e expenses of the struggle are so immense, that the Nihilistsare always hunting about for a few roubles. ey are thus compelled todo everything in the most economical manner, o en at the risk of theirlives.


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As a ma er of fact, the Egyptian labours of the Moscow mine, andof the two other railway a empts organised for the same month of November, cost in all the pitiful sum of from 3,000l. to 4,000l., includingtravelling expenses. e other undertakings, of less extent, cost still less.

us the a empt to liberate one of the prisoners condemned at the trialof the 193 while he was being taken from St. Petersburg to the centralprison of Karkoff, was organised upon a large scale; ve horses, a vehicle,and a supply of arms had to be bought, and the expenses paid of a largebody of sentinels, placed in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kursk, and Karkoff to watch every movement of the police. Yet this a empt, according tothe detailed accounts sent in to the Organisation by those who wereentrusted with it, cost only 4,500 roubles, and some odd money, or about

600l.Spending so li le, the Terrorists are o en compe lled to ll up, so tospeak , with their own esh and b lood , the cracks in the edice, causedby undue economy of wood. us, in the Moscow a empt, from want of money a loan had to be contracted, upon the mortgage of the very housein which the mine was being made. A survey had then to be made byan expert, which is always done in the presence of the police, and thiswhen the mine was already almost nished. Upon the danger of such

a survey I need no t insist. e work itself was carried out at the leastpossible expense.us, the instrument for boring was not obtained till towards the last,

when, owing to their excessive toil, the miners were absolutely exhausted.At rst the work was done by hand, and although, owing to the wetwea ther, the passage was a lways f ull of wa ter, wh ich dripped from thetop and collected at the bo om, so that they had to work drenched infreezing water, standing in it up to their knees, and even to lie down in

the mud, the miners had no waterproof clothing, such as divers wear,which would have preserved them fromsomuchsuff ering in this horribleDantean hole.

In order to keep the passage in a right direction, means and instru-ments were employed, which a surveyor would have scornfully rejected.

us no astrolabe was bought, not even a compass with a quadrant, buta mere pocket compass, only used for drawing up military plans.


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By means of this compass, the cardinal points were found, with moreor less precision, and to indicate them inside the passage, li le pieces of iron were used a ached by a wire along the beams.

Notwithstanding all this, when the mine was examined, a er the

explosion, by the engineers, they f ound that it was extremely well made.Diligence made up f or the def ects of the implemen ts of labour, andgood spirits sustained strength.

It would be a grave error to picture this terrible band invested withthe traditional a ributes of the theatrical conspirator. All the meetingsof the Nihilists are distinguished by their simplicity, and by the completeabsence of that parade and ostentation so thoroughly opposed to theRussian character, the tendency of which is towards the humorous.

In graver ma ers in wh ich lif e or lives have to be risked, or evenundoub tedly lost, everyt hing is se led among us in two words. ereis no display of oratorical art. ere is no passionate harangue, for itwould merely cause a smile, as being completely out of place. e publicis not admi ed to our discussions. Everything is done by people whothoroughly know each other, and who perfectly understand what thereis to do.

Why, therefore, make a display of what is understood of itself? Rarely,

indeed, does some phrase or word vibrate, involuntarily, with a deepertone, or some ash of enthus iasm sh ine f orth in a glance. If some onenot understanding our language had been present at a meeting of theTerrorists, in which the most terrible schemes were planned, he wouldhave taken it for a gathering of peaceful folks, speaking calmly andsimply upon some harmless ma er.

I say this for the guidance of the worthy novelists who have had thegoodness to represent types of Nihilist life. All make them melodramatic

heroes, who, among us, instead of exciting the enthusiasm a ributedto them, would have produced p recisely the oppos ite eff ect; f or theywould undoubtedly have aroused suspicions of their rmness by toomuch eloquence. We have all heard of the dog whose bark is worse thanhis bite.

e Moscow mine may serve as an excellent illustration of what Iam saying. As to the danger which hung over all who were in the fatalhouse, it certainly could neither be exaggerated nor forgo en. According


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to the Russian laws, in any a empt against the life of the Emperor, allthe accomplices, without any distinction of degree, including the non-informers, are punished with death. is death was hovering at everymoment, night and day, over the heads of the miners, and from time to

time they f elt the cold apping of its sombre wings, and knew that itwas ready to seize them.Some days before the Emperor passed, the police went to this house

on some frivolous pretext. e miners were immediately warned. epolice saw only the legitimate occupants of the house, and everythingwas arranged in such a manner as to excite not the least suspicion. Yetthe slightest embarrassment, the slightest trembling of the voice, mighthave caused mistrust, and led to a stricter search, by which everything

would have been discovered.At other times it was to be f eared that some susp icions wou ld arisein the minds of prying ne ighbou rs (as may be read in the report of thetrial of the sixteen), suspicions which were so well averted by SophiaPerovskaia.

To show tha t the miners were unde r no illusion as to the f ate whichawaited them, it will be sufficient to recall the fact of the bo le of nitro-glycerine placed inside the room.

Notwithstand ing all this, unagging good sp irit s prevailed in thehouseho ld throughou t the who le period of the work. At dinne r time,when all met, there was cha ing and joking as though nothing wereat stake, and it was then that Sophia Perovskaia, at the very momentwhen she had in her pocket a loaded revolver intended to blow up every-thing and everybody into the air, most frequently delighted the companywith her silvery laugh. One of the miners even composed some comicverses, in which was related in burlesque style the various vicissitudes

and incidents of the mining work.


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Two Escapes

I.One evening in the middle of J anua ry, 1880 I f orget the exact day

some exiles met in Geneva to take a cup of tea at the house of one of their number, M. G.

It was a somewhat numerous party, six or seven persons perhaps, and,what is much rarer in the gatherings of the exiles, it was rather a livelyone. Our charming hostess was seated at the piano, which she played

with much taste and feeling, and she sang to us several Ukrainian songs.We were all somewha t excited by the music. We joked and laughed . eprincipal sub ject of our conversation was the escape from Siberia of oneof our friends, News of which had reached us that very day.

All the particulars of the escape then known having been related,and all the observations and conjectures with regard to it having beenmade, a moment of silence followed; of that dead, insupportable silence,when the Russians say, A fool has been born or e angel of silence is

hovering over us, according to their respective tastes.Under the inuence of this conversation respecting the escape of ourfriends, the idea came into my mind to propose to the company, which in-cluded Krapotkine and Bokanovski, to relate to each other the particularsof their own escapes, as almost everyone had succeeded in escaping.

It was owing to this proposal, which met with general approval, that Iam able to write this sketch.

Krapotkine parried the proposal, saying that he had been compelled to

relate the particulars of his escape over and over again, until he was quitesick of the subject. He was obliged, however, to yield to the importunityof the company.

e rm determination to escape at all hazards, he began, I never leme from the rst day of my arrest. But if there is anything impossiblein the world, it is to escape from the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul.I drew up plans, or rather, indulged in wild fancies, as I could not butperceive that they were only vain dreams.


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A er this prelude, Krapotkine related how be was transf erred to theNicholas Hospital, how he induced those in charge of him always tobelieve him in extremis , etc. I will not repeat all this, for I have alreadyspoken of it in his biography. I pass at once to the main facts.

e doctor ordered me daily exercise, and abou t one oclock I wastaken into the large courty ard of the Hosp ital. A sentinel, muske t inhand, was always by my side.

I began to take close note of everything, so as to draw up my plans. e courtyard was large. e gate, ordinarily shut, was then open;

for at that period of the year (it was July) the Hospital was taking in itssupplies of wood f or the winter. As this, however, would last only a f ewweeks, no sentinel had been placed at the gate. It was a great advantage.

I walked up and down at the bo om of the courtyard, exactly oppositethe gate. e sentinel was always near, between me and the gate. As,however, I walked more slowly than a tortoise, which, as is well known,wearies a vigorous man more than he would be wearied by leaps andbounds, the soldier bad recourse to the following stratagem: he followeda line parallel to mine, but ve paces nearer the gate. He was thus ableto make his walk ten paces longer than mine, for at each extremity of his line he was always at the same distance from the gate, as I was at

the extremity of my line. is calculation, which the sentinel evidentlymade with his eye, was absolutely correct theoretically. I, however, hadthought, that if once we both began to ran, the soldier, by a naturalinstinct, would endeavour to seize me as quickly as possible, and wouldtherefore rush upon me, instead of running directly to the gate to cut off my retreat. He would thus describe two sides of the triangle, of which Ishould describe the third alone. Upon this point, thus, I had an advantage.1 might hope to reach the gate before the sentinel, running at the same

speed. I hoped, however to run faster, but was not certain of it, beingmuch weakened by illnessIf a vehicle were waiting at the gate for me, so that I might easily

jump into it, I said to myself I should have a good chance of escaping.When I was about to send a le er to myfriends containing the outlines

of my plan, I received another from them on the same subject. I began acorrespondence. I need not relate the various plans and projects proposedand abandoned; there were so many. Several questions had to be se led;


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whether my friends should enter the courtyard as they proposed, andengage in some way or other the a ention of the sentinel; whether thevehicle should await me at the gate, or at the corner of the hospital,where it would not be so much in sight; whether one of our party should

post himself there, or the driver should remain alone.I proposed the mos t simple and na tural plain, which was nallyadopted. No one should enter the courtyard. e vehicle should awaitme at the gate, because I felt too weak to run as far as the corner. Anintimate friend proposed to post himself there to assist me, if necessary,in ge ing in more quickly, and especially in dressing me directly a er-wards, as I should be compelled to escape with scarcely anything onexcept my trousers and shirt.

All we had to cover us in the hospital was an invalids dressing-gown.It was so large, so inconvenient, and so long, that in walking I was obligedto carry my train upon my arm. To run in such a garb was absolutelyimpossible. It must be thrown off at all hazards, before I could take to myheels. But this must be done w ith the rapidity of lightning, f or a singlemoment lost might ruin all. For many days in succession I practised thisperformance in my cell. I found that, to do it with the utmost possiblecelerity, the operation must be divided into three elementary movements,

like the musketry exercise of soldiers, one, two, three. e greatest difficulty remained ; the selection of the momen t. i sdepended upon the condition of the streets through which we bad topass. A string of wood carts, a detachment of passing soldiers, a mountedCossack, might upset the a empt, especially as the streets through whichwe had to pass were very narrow and w inding. ey must theref ore bewatched and I must be informed when they were free from all obstacles.For this purpose sen tinels bad to be placed at f our diff erent points. e

h sentinel, receiving information from the four others, bad to giveme the decisive signa l at the proper momen t. e signal was to be anair-ball, which would ascend at a given spot behind the high wall of thecourtyard in which I took exercise.

I had also proposed to place a sixth sentinel at the corner of a lanea li le beyond, because, according to my calculations, this very narrowlane was so long, that a vehicle being in it at the moment of our departurewould infallibly have stopped our progress. It could not reach the end


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while we were passing from the gate of the hospital to the entrance of this lane. As men were few, however, we did without this sixth sentinel.

On the day xed I wen t to take my exercise, f ull of hope and e xcite-men t. I looked aga in and aga in towards that part of the wa ll whe re the

red air-ball was to ascend. Nothing was to be seen. My time was draw-ing to an end ; still nothing. It ended , and w ith it my hopes . With theimpressionable imagination of a prisoner, I gave way to the gloomiestconjectures. I felt convinced that everything had broken down.

Nothing much, however, had happened. By a singular chance, a redair-ball could not be found anywhere in the Gostini Dvor, or in any of thetoy-shops , though a who le morning had been spen t in look ing f or one .Only white and blue balls could be had, which my friends would not take,

and with good reason; f or no change wha tever, however insignicant itmay appear, is ever permi ed in signals. ey hurriedly purchased a redindia-rubber ball in a gu a-percha shop, and lled it with gas of theirown manufacture. But the ball turned out so badly, that at the propermomen t when the sen tina l let go the string , instead of rising h igh intothe air it went up only a few yards and fell to the ground before reachingthe top of the courtyard wall, e sentinel frenziedly endeavoured tothrow it with his hands, but this was even less successful.

To this f ortuitous circumstance I owed many hours of torture, and, atthe same time, my saf ety; f or at the very moment when the ball was sentup into the air, a long string of wood carts entered the lane of which Ihave spoken whe re no sen tinel had been p laced . ey wou ld inf alliblyhave stopped our progress, and all would have been lost.

Another interval followed for the necessary correspondence in orderto arrange the modications, which were indispensable. Another sen-tinel was posted, naturally, at the entrance of the lane. But this required

a modication of the entire plan, as there were no means o f combiningthe signals of all the ve sentinels outside the wall of the courtyard so asto give me the decisive signal. Either additional sentinels would have tobe introduced , f or the me re transm ission of the signa ls, or the dec isivesignal would have to be changed.

e la er expedient was chosen.One of our party hired a room on the third storey directly opposite the

hospital. From the window could be seen not only all the ve sentinels,


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but the courtyard also, where I took exercise. e signal was to be givento me by means of a violin, which my friend was to play whenever all thesignals were favourable, and the music was to cease when any of thembecame un f avourable. i s mode also presen ted the great advantage of

indicating to me repeatedly the favourable time for ight, leaving to methe selection of the proper moment. e rst day, when everything was ready and the vehicle already

awaited me at the gate, it was I who caused my friends some cruelmoments; my illness increased, and I felt so weak that I did not dare tomake the a empt. I did -not even go down, therefore, into the courtyard,and they thought that the suspicions of the police bad been aroused, andthat I was no longer to be allowed to take exercise.

I recovered in two days and resolved to prot by the interval whichmy illness had given me.I prepared everything; the shoes, the dressing-gown, which required

a li le ripping-up in order to be thrown off more quickly everything.I went to take my exercise. No sooner bad I entered the courtyard

than I hea rd the violin. e mus ic lasted f or ve minu tes, but I did notcare to prot by it immediately, f or at rst the surveillance instinctivelyis always somewhat greater. But lo! e Violin stopped. Two minutes

a erwards some carts with wood en tered the Courty ard. e violinrecommenced. is time I was determined to turn it to account. I looked at the

sentinel; be was walking along his usual line, some ve paces distant,between me and the gate. I looked at his musket. It was loaded; I knewit. Would he re or not? Probably not, because 1, being so near, he wouldfather wish to seize hold of me. His bayonet was more dangerous, incase, during this long run, my strength failed me. I had, however, already

made my calculations even upon this point. If I remained in prison Iwas certain to die. Now or never, I said to myself. Iseized my dressing-gown . . . One! . . .

But lo! e violin ceased.I felt as though I should drop.A moment a erwards, however, the music recommenced ; a patrol at

that very moment had passed through one of the lanes.


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Directly the sentinel reached the extremity of his line, without amoments pause I threw off my dressing-gown with three well-practisedmovement, and I was off like an arrow. e sentinel, with a howl, rushedat to seize me, instead of running straight to the gate to prevent my

escape , and thus desc ribed his two sides of the triangle, as I f oresaw.I was so weak , howe ver, that those who saw ou r desperate race fromabove said that the soldier was within three paces of me, and that hisbayonet, which he thrust forward, was within an ace of touching me.

is, however, I did not see. I only heard his howling and that of thecarters who were unloading the wood at the bo om of the courtyard.

On reaching the gate I saw a vehicle; but for a moment I was in doubtwhether it was ours, for I could not recognise my friend in the officer

who was on the alert in the street. To make him turn round I clapped myhands , to the surprise of the friends who we re observing this scene. Itwas taken by them as a sign of joy. e officer turned round. I recognisedhim, and in less time that it takes to say these words I was inside thevehicle, which went off like a ash of lightning, and I was wrapped in amilitary cloak wh ich my friend had in read iness , as well as an officerscap.

At the hospital, as we a erwards learnt, an incredible uproar followed.

e officer of the guard hastened out with his soldiers, at the shouts of the sentinel. Completely losing his bead, he tore his hair, and exclaimed:I am ruined! I am ruined! Run a er him. Follow him. Follow him!

He was incapable, however, of giving any orders. One of our party,the signalman, the very one who played the violin, hastily descendedinto the street, and approaching the officer, began to exhibit the utmostcompassion for the state he was in, actually asking him what had hap-pened, who had escaped, how, when, where, etc. e frenzied officer

tried to reply to him, and thus lost precious time.An old woman gave a terrible piece of advice. ey will go a roundabout way, she said, and then make straight

for the Nevski. ere cant be a doubt about it. Take out the horses fromthese omnibuses [there were some at the hospital gate], and cut off theirescape. It is the simplest thing possible.

is was exactly the course we were adopting, but the old cronesadvice was not followed.


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II.When Krapotkine had nished his narrative, the turn came of John

Bokanovski, surnamed the Cossack, because being a native of the

Ukraine, he resemb led the anc ient Cossacks o f that coun try, by hiscourage, his imperturbable coolness, and his taciturnity.Everyone turned towards him. He took his li le wooden pipe from

his mouth, and said Why, theres nothing to relate. He came, took us,and we went out. ats all.

No, no! exclaimed those present. Relate it all, from beginning toend.

Well, then, when the day xed arrived, he came with the keys of our

cells-No, no, they broke in again. Let us have it all. Relate everyt hingfrom the commencement.

e Cossack seeing that every way of escape was closed against him,slowly lled his pipe with the air of a man preparing for a long jour-ney, lit it, tried it to see if it drew properly, and began his narrative,which contained more words perhaps than the Cossack would ordinarilypronounce in three months at least.

Michael came to the prison abou t two mon ths bef ore our ight. Itwas a very long and difficult business to get him in. At last he succeededin being a received, with a false passport of a rustic named Fomenko,rst as a mere odd-man, and a erwards as a warder.

In, a short time, by his diligence in the performance of his duties, andhis unexceptionab le conduc t, he succeeded in gaining the f avour of allhis superiors. A month a erwards, he was promoted to the rank of beadwarder in one of the corridors of the prisoners conned for ordinary

offences.In order to give the Governor of the prison a splendid proof of hisexcellent moral qualities, Michael, acting on the advice of Stefanovic,went one day to play the spy upon him, while the la er was writing,expressly for the purpose in his cell, a note of no importance whatever,so as to be taken in agrante delicto.

e Governor would not, however, take advantage of this denuncia-tion.


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It should be stated that in the prison at Kieff, the position of thepolitical prisoners was quite exceptional at that time. e Terrorismwhich at the commencemen t struck at the secondary officials, producedsuch a panic fear at Kieff that everyone, from the Procurator to the

Governor of the prison, vied with the rest in paying court to us; f or theyall f eared they would be killed at our rst signa l. When the Governorlearned that it was that very Stefanovic, the most feared of all, who waswriting , he said, Let him write, and d id nothing mo re. From tha t day,however, Michael had gained his heart.

In order to make himself agreeable to us, the political prisoners, theGovernor had appointed as our bead warder, a certain Nikita, an excellentman, as good as gold. It was essential, however, to get rid of him at all

hazards, as, on his post becoming vacan t, it would most probably begiven to Michael. is, however, was no easy ma er. e worthy man had done nothing

whatever to us, so we audaciously invented offences which he had not,even thought of commi ing, in order that we might complain to theGovernor, who censured him, reprimanded him, and threatened him,although he was not in the least to blame. But the honest fellow, insteadof growing angry with us, and commi ing, as we hoped, some imprudent

act, bore all quite quietly, repeatingJesus Christ suffered. I also will suffer.We were in despair. At last Valerian Ossinsky, who was organisms

our escape outside, luckily thought of going to the tavern which Nikitafrequented, and, having made his acquaintance there, as though by ac-cident, said lie was in want of a book-keeper for a sugar renery in thecountry. e conditions were very advantageous, and Nikita swallowedthe bait. Having received his travelling expenses, and a months pay

in advance , Nikita resigned h is situation in the prison , as he had to setout immed iately. en came various delays, and then o thers, un til ourescape having been and a note in eff ected, his passport was sent to him,and a note in which he was told that nothing more was wanted of him,and that he would have no difficulty in guessing the reason.

His post in the prison being vacant, the governor went to Stefanovicand Deuc, to speak in a friendly manner with them, respecting the ap-pointment of his successor.


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Dont you think that Fomenko [Michael] would be a very good man?Stefanovic made a grimace, and reected.A spy, it seems.No, no. He is an excellent fellow. e governor defended him.

Michael was appo inted head wa rder in the corridor of the politicalprisoners. e most important move was made; but this was not all. He might

open the doors of our cells, but bow were four of us to pass out of aprison under military guard?

Meanwhile not a minute of time was to be lost. Michaels positionwas terribly dangerous, e prison was crammed with political offendersof all kinds, from mere lads, conned there on suspicion, to Revolu-

tionists seriously compromised. ere were prisone rs of every rank ,and ow ing to his past activity, Michael was known and recogn ised bymany. No denunciation was to be feared; for Michael, having been formany years illegal kept up no direct intercourse except with those whocould be trusted. Who, however, could guarantee him against innocentindiscretions especially in such a ticklish ma er as this?

We were upon tenter-hooks.We resolved to take advantage at the earliest possible opportunity, of

the favourable position in which we were placed by Michaels appoint-ment. No sooner was be thoroughly established in his new office, thanwe, xed the night for our escape.

e most natural mode of passing out, was that of disguising ourselvesas sentinels who, having nished their turn of duty, were leaving toreturn to their barracks. Michael prepared soldiers unif orms f or two of us, but two others had to remain in civilian dress. For the whole four of us there was only one sword, but we determined not to wait for more.

On the evening of the day xed, Michael brought us the militaryuniforms. We disguised ourselves and then arranged the counterpanesof our beds in such a manner, that in the morning it would appear asthough we were asleep.

At midnight Michael came to open the doors of our cells. But borean unforeseen obstacle arose. e warder on duty, who had to watch allnight, came into our corridor at that very moment, and showed not theslightest eagerness to leave it.


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Stefanovic thereupon let a book with loose leaves fall, as though byaccident, into the garden. e re the leaves were sca ered about on theground, and Stefanovic, turning to Michael, begged him to fetch themat once. Michael sent the warder to pick them up, and take them to the

office. While the la er was thus occup ied, we no iselessly le our cells,and proceeded towards the entrance.When we had passed through the corridor, a terrible occurrence hap-

pened at the end. e rope of the alarm-bell was dangling there. Gropingalong against the wall in u er darkness, 1 stumbled against something. Ifelt myself slipping, instinctively stretched out my hands, felt somethingtouch my ngers, and caught hold of it to avoid falling. On the instant, aloud sound boomed throughout the prison. I had caught bold of the bell-

rope. e horror, the shame, the absurdity of our unfortunate accident,ashed upon me like lightning. We though t all was lost. Already thenoise and the voices of the soldiers on guard, who were hastily muster-ing, were heard. Michael, however, did not lose his coolness. He told usto hide ourselves in various corners, and ran to the guard, saying thatit was he who had rung the bell by accident. All became quiet again.But then another perplexity arose; having hidden ourselves in variouscomers, we were within an ace of losing each other in the u er darkness,

when we wan ted to come f orth. Michael had to run hither and thither toget us together again. Once more in order, we started again. e greatestdifficulty, however, was yet to come. We had to pass through the gate of the prison before the door-keeper and the sentinel. In this, however, wesucceeded admirably. On hearing the voice of Michael, the door-keepergave him the key to open the wicket, and the sentinel in his box paid noa ention to our strange a ire.

We had advanced a few steps, when lo! an officer stood before us as

though he had sp rung from the ground . He, however, paid no a ention,and we saw the handsome face of Valerian Ossinsky, who, radiant with joy, grasped our hands. He was awaiting us with a vehicle, so as tohurry us at full speed towards the Dnieper, where a skip ed for a longvoyage, and supplied with provisions of every kind, was ready.

A moment a erwards we glided into the middle of the river andsteered southward. is voyage lasted about a week. By night we hauledour boat up under the thickets on the banks, so as to got some hours


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rest. By day we tugged hard at the oars, and whenever we caught sighton the distan t horizon of the smoke o f some steame r, we h id ourselvesin the rushes which line the Dnieper.

On arriving at Kremenciug we again met Ossinsky, who had reached

there by railway, and was waiting for us with passports and everythingnecessary.From him we learnt that the whole city of Kieff had been thrown into

commotion, because it was believed we were concealed there.At the prison our escape was not discovered until broad daylight.

When it was seen that Michael had also disappeared with is, no onedivined the truth. He had inspired such condence, that the Governorand everybody believed we had killed him, and search was made in vain

for his body in every direction.It was not until the necessary verications bad been made, and it wasfound that his passport was a false one, that the mystery was explained,which had, until then, been incomprehensible.

us nished the Cossacks narrative.Others spoke a erwards; but their narratives being of li le interests

and my space valuable, I will not repeat them.


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e Ukrivateli( e Concealers)

I.

We are again in St. Petersburg. I was pursued; I had the police at myheels. Twice I had to change my lodgings, and my passport.

I could not, however, quit the capital f or any provincial town. I had apost which I could not leave to anyone, and then I was so fond of thatcity with its volcan ic throbbings and its nervous and a rden t lif e, unde ran aspect cold and calm.

I hoped that the storm, which from time to time bursts over almost allthe illegal men , wou ld a er a while subside of itself, and that I shou ldweather it, with a slight increase of precaution in my own house, withoutneeding to have recourse to the Ukrivateli.

But what are these Ukrivateli?ey are a very large class, composed of people in every position,

beginning with the aristocracy and the upper middle class, and reachingeven to the minor of the Government service, officials in every branch,including the police, who , sharing the revolutionary ideas, take no ac -tive part in the struggle, for various reasons, but, making use of theirsocial position, lend powerful support to the combatants, by concealing,whenever necessary, both objects and men.

It would require a special volume to describe this unique body, whichis a very large one, and perhaps more mixed than the militant body.I have no pretension, however, to do more than present in this essayof mine some types among those whom I have had the oppo rtunity of personally knowing.

I was just nishing my tea when the dvornik entered my room, not thedvornik of the house, who is the representative of the supreme power of the police, but our friend the terrible d v o r ni k who received this pseudo -nym as a joke because be would not permit any neglect or transgression


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in anything relating to the precautions for security prescribed by ourConstitution.

What is the ma er? I asked, offering him a cup, for I knew very wellthat he would not have come except on business.

You are under surveillance even here, he replied. It must be stopped;I have come to take you to a place of concealment.I expected it. As no one, however, cares to go to prison of his own free

will in a city full of life and activity, I asked thedvornik for explanations.He began his story, I listened to him, and as I sipped my tea, I put some

li le questions to him in order to convince myself of the reality of thedanger. Our life is so occupied, that if we paid a ention to everything,we might as well throw ourselves into the Neva at once.

To say, the truth, it was no thing of much momen t even now ; I wasunder surveillance, but only slightly. e thing might blow over, and if anybody else but the dvornik had come, I should have rebelled, so as topreserve my independence a li le longer; but he was not to be triedwith. A er some vain a empts at resistance, I was obliged to consent toplace myself in his hands.

I asked him where he wanted to take me.To Bucephalus.

I sighed deeply in thinking upon my wretched fate. is Bucephaluswas a certain Counc illor Tarakanoff, an official in the Ministry of theInterior, and was thus nicknamed because, like the horse of Alexanderof Macedon, he was afraid of his own shadow.

He was as timid as a hare, and was afraid of everything. He neverstationed himself near the window, because be was afraid of droughts;he never crossed the Neva in a boat, because be was afraid be should bedrowned; he never married, because he was afraid be should be jilted.

It is easy to imagine that, with such a custodian, the lot of those underhis guardianship would be disagreeable enough.I remarked to the dvornik that it would be be er to wait for the evening

before leaving, because then the spies he had seen prowling about thehouse, perhaps would have gone away. He, however, said No, addingthat, as for the spies, he would answer for them.

When tea was over, we proceeded to clear the room, that is, to destroyevery scrap of paper which might be of use to the police. A er informing


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the mistress of the house that I was going for a few days into the country,and that I would write to her if I stayed, etc., we le .

We had advanced a few steps when I saw two gentlemen at a window,as though on the lookout. e dvornik , pointing them out to me with a

glance, made an imperceptible sign with his head which signied therethey are, and then another with his chin, which meant let us be off.e chase commenced, but it is too uninteresting an occurrence to

be described and too common to trouble about. With a man like mycompanion, it was something of an amusement.

e dvornik was a thorough specialist in everything relating to thestruggle with the police and the spies, and in this branch had vast knowl-edge, increased by long and indefatigable study. Having hired a room on

purpose, exactly opposite the house of the chief of the Secret Police, hepassed who le days in observing everyone who en tered. us be knewby sight a good number of the St. Petersburg spies, and made a speciesof classication according to their manners, character, method of surveil-lance, of giving chase, etc., and could furnish most interesting particularsupon all these details. From having had so much to do with this vile set,he acquired a special ability ill recognising them at a glance, by certainindications, so insignicant that they escape the most observant eyes.

He really resembled one of Coopers Redskins, warring with the hostilerace. en, too, the dvornik had the topography of St. Petersburg at hisngers ends, and knew every one of the houses with two entrances,having made a long and patient study of them.

Passing through these houses, and dodging about in different direc-tions, on foot, and in cabs, be succeeded in half an hour in I sweepingaway our traces, as be said and we set out for Tarakanoffs with a profu-sion of precautions, of Signs and of Signals, which were the weakness of

the dvornik.Tarakanoff, a man of abou t thirty-v e, short, f at, and chubb y, wasexpecting us, having been informed of our coming. He himself openedthe door, and immediately took us into all inner room. It was an entirelysuperuous precautions for he was quite alone in his li le lodging of three rooms; but Tarakanoff could not help taking it.

As we were slightly acquainted, no introduction was necessary.


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Tarakanoff began by asking if we had not been seen ascending thestaircase.

You know, he added, the lodger downstairs, a woman with greatstaring eyes, a milliner or something of that sort, always looks at me

when she sees I me pass. Shes a spy, I am sure of it.As we replied in the nega tive, he was reassu red; but thinking to me,said with a serious look:

In any case you must never leave the place. By day there is themilliner, by night there is the doorkeeper, who is also a spy. It is verydangerous. Everything necessary, I myself will bring you.

I mournfully assented with a nod especially as I felt that the severelook of the dvornik was upon me.

When the la er had gone, Tarakanoff took me into the room intendedf or me, whe re I f ound a li le writi ng-table, some books upon po liticaleconomy, and a sofa to serve me as a bed.

A few days, before, he had dismissed his cook; it was said, becausebe suspected her also of being a spy; but Tarakanoff denied this, sayingthat it was mere banter, and that be dismissed her because she pilferedso much out of the expenses. Meanwhile be determined not to anothercook, but had his dinner sent in from a neighbouring eating-house.

Not wishing to disturb his habits, Tarakanoff wen t out and le mealone. He promised, however, to return towards dark. e gas had beenfor lighted a long while in the street before me, and yet he did not return.I began to grow apprehensive. At last, however, I heard the key turn inthe door, and be reappeared, safe and sound.

I shook him heartily by the hand, and told him of my fears.I did not care to come back straight, be replied, lest I should be fol-

lowed, and I have, therefore, returned in a somewhat roundabout way.

I marvelled inwardly at the strange precautions of the worthy man. Itwas as though a doctor had taken his own medicine, in order to cure hispatient.

We passed the evening together, cha ing on various subjects. At theleast noise upon the staircase, Tarakanoff broke off to listen. I endeav-oured to tranquillise him, and said that there could not be any danger.

Yes, he replied, frankly, I know it, otherwise I should not have invitedyou; but I cant help it. I am afraid.


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Towards midnight I took leave of my host to go to bed. While Iremained awake, I beard him incessantly pacing his room.

On the following day, when Tarakanoff had gone to his office, a er wehad taken tea together, the dvornik came to pay me a visit, and to bring me

a commission to write an article upon some circumstance of the moment,also bringing with him the necessary materials, newspapers and books.I thanked him heartily, both for his visit and for his commission, andbegged him to return as early as possible, the next day or the day a er,promising to do everything in my power to nish the article.

In the evening I worked diligently, and passed a good part of the nightat the desk. At intervals I heard my host turning in his bed. Two oclockstruck; three, four; be was not asleep. What was the ma er? He could

not be disturbed by the no ise I made , f or I had pu t on his slippers onpurpose. It could not even be the light, f or the door was close shut. Couldhe be ill? I remembered that, the day before, I saw lie was looking ratherpale, but I paid no a ention to it.

In the morning I was awakened by the noise of the cups which hewas ge ing ready f or the tea. I rose immed iately, so as not to keep himwaiting.

He had, in fact, a woful aspect. He was pale, almost yellowish his eyes

were sunken; his look was dejected.What is the ma er with you? I asked.Nothing.Nothing! Why you have the face of a corpse, and you did not sleep

before four oclock.Say rather that I did not sleep all night.But you must be ill, then.No; I can never sleep when there is anyone with me.

en I understood all.I took his band and shook it warmly.I thank you with all my heart, I said; but I will not cause you so much

trouble, and at the very rst moment I will go away.No, no; certainly not; certainly not. If I had imagined what you were

going to say, I would have concealed it. You must remain. It is nothing.But you may fall ill.


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Dont give it a thought. I can sleep by day, or, be er still, take somemedicine.

I learnt a erwards, in fact, that in such cases he took chloral when hecould bear up no longer.

Our conversation ended there.I looked at him with a mixed f eeling of astonishment and of prof oundrespect. is man was ludicrous in his fear; but how great he was in hisdevotion knew that his house was always open to all who were in myposition, and that some of our party bad remained there for weeks, ashis guests. What must this man have suffered, who, by a cruel caprice of nature, was deprived of that merely physiological quality called courage?How great, on the other hand, must have been his moral force!

When , on the f ollowing day, the d v o r ni k came to f etch my article, Itold him that I would not, on any account, remain longer with my host,and I begged him to nd me another place of concealment as soon aspossible.

To my great astonishment he consented without offering much resis-tance.

I have seen Seroff today, he said, I and be asked about you; if you like,I will speak to him. Just now, it seems, he is in an excellent position.

Nothing could be be er. e ma er was 80011 se led. Two daysa erwards I bad already received a reply in the affirmative from Seroff.I arranged the ma er so as to make my host believe I was going to a

provincial town on certain business, and a er having shaken hands andwarmly thanked him,

I took my leave,Good-bye f or the present. Good-bye f or the present, he repeated. A

pleasant journey. When you return I shall expect you. I am always at

your service. Dont forget.e night was already beginn ing to spread its sable wings over thecapital when I le . I was alone, for I knew very well how to nd Seroff,who was an old friend.


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II.ere was a ood of light in the room. Around a large table, upon

which a great shining samovar was steaming, ve or six persons of both

sexes were seated. ey were Seroffs f amily, with some intimate friends.e host rose with a joyous exclamation.Boris Seroffwas a man already in years. His thick long hair was almost

white. It was not, however, years alone which had blanched this haughtyhead, for he was only y.

He had been implicated in the rst conspiracies of the reign of Alexan-der II. Towards the year 1861, being an army surgeon at Kasan, he tookan active part in the military conspiracy of Ivanizky, and others of the

same character, one of the most glorious episodes of the Russian revolu-tionary movement, too soon f orgo en by the present generation-and hadto look on at the inhuman slaughter of all his friends. By a miracle heescaped detection, and some years a erwards se led in St. Petersburg.

From that time, however, the police kept him in sight, and almostevery year paid him a domiciliary visit. He was imprisoned ten or twelvetimes, although his connement never lasted long, as the police couldnot succeed in proving anything against him. It is true, lie no longer

took an active part in the conspiracies, for so many years of continuouseff ort, and of continuous f ailure, had extingu ished in him, wha t is thesoul of all revolutionary activity faith. From the enthusiasm of hisearly years, he had passed to that disheartening scepticism which, inRussia, is the bane of the cultivated classes. Hence, among us in ourrevolutions, mature men are rare. Only the young and the old are to bemet with.

No scepticism, however, could eradicate from the heart of Boris Seroff

an affection and a kind of worship for those who, more fortunate ormore youthf ul than h imself, were able to remain in the ranks o f thecombatants. is affection, combined with a certain chivalrous spirit,and an unparalleled courage, always impelled him to render every kindof service to the Revolutionists.

So many years experience had given him great ability in everythingrelating to the externals of conspiracy; the Organisation of correspon-dence, places of deposit for books, newspapers and prohibited papers,


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collection of money by subscriptions or monthly payments, etc. But hewas unrivalled in the most difficult and most valuable of all accessoryf unctions, that of the Concealer, which he exercised continually. Indeed,one day he invited some friends to celebrate the jubilee of his tenth year

of successf ul service in this office. With his courage, which was proof against everything, he never exaggerated anything, and never mistookthe shadows created by over-excited imagination for real dangers. If,however, there were danger, he never avoided it. He could discern theapproach of the police in the distance, and even detect their traces whenthey had passed on, exactly like sporting dogs with game. From themore or less martial aspect of the gorodovoi (municipal guard) standingat the corner of the street., he was able to determine whether the man

bad orders c to watch his house o r not. From certain inections of thedvorniks voice, from his manner of raising his bat when he passed , Seroff could divine whether the police had spoken to the man and in what sense.From certain mysterious signs and tokens , he cou ld tell when a sea rchwas imminent.

A man whom he took under his protection might, therefore, sleepwith both eyes shut.

To give an idea of the account in which he was held as a Concealer it

will suffice to say that it war, to his house Vera Zassulic was taken by heradmirers a er her acqui al, when the whole city was turned topsy-turvyin the search for her, and the honour of the entire party was involved insecreting her.

Sophia Perovskaia, who was a great friend of his, used to say thatwhen Boris Seroff put up the safety signal over his door, she enteredmuch more at ease than the Emperor entered his palace.

Such was the man whose hand I shook.

I joined the company seated around the table, and passed that eveningvery pleasantly, and every other evening while I remained in his houseis was not only the safest, but also the pleasantest imaginable of our

places of concealment. Seroff never required any of those superuousprecautions, which are so wearisome, and in time become insupportable.By day I remained at work in an inner room, so as to avoid being- seenby the chance visitors who came to consult him as a medical practitioner.At night I was occasionally allowed to go out. Usually, however, I spent


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the evening there in the pleasant company of his family, graced by twocharming young girls, his daughters, with whom I soon formed thatclose friendship, so common in Russia between -women and men, and sonatural in our respective positions; I, the protected; they, the protectors.

My stay in this family lasted, however, only about a week.One day Seroff, who had come in at the dinne r hou r, turned to meand smilingly u ered, with a li le inclination of the head, his customaryremark ey smell a rat.

What has happened? What has happened? exclaimed the ladies.Oh, nothing yet, he said. But they smell a rat.Do you think that the danger is imminent? I asked.No, I dont think so, replied Seroff musingly, as though he were at

the same time mentally weighing the ma er.I expect them, howe ver, in a f ew days; but, in any case, you mus tleave.

To the suggestions of such a man, no objections of any kind could beurged.

A er dinner, Seroff went and warned our friend and the same eveningI took my leave, grieved beyond measure to leave this delightful family,and, in company with a friend, recommenced my pilgrimage.

A f ew days a erwards I was inf ormed that the police bad in f act goneto Seroffs to pay him their I sanitary visit, as he called these a lmostperiodical searches; but nding nothing suspicious, they went awayagain with empty hands.

III.

Madame O ilia Horn was an old lady of about seventy. She was nota Russian, and she cou ld only speak ou r language very badly. She hadnothing whatever to do with our questions, home or foreign. She was,nevertheless, a Nihilist; nay, a furious Terrorist.

e story of her conversion to Nihilism is so singular that it deservesto be related.

Madame O ilia was a Dane. She came with her rst husband to Riga,and soon being le a widow, married a Russian, and proceeded to St.


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Petersburg, where her spouse obtained a small appointment in the police.She would have quietly passed her days there without ever thinking of Terrorism or Nihilism, or anything of the kind , if Fate had no t decreedthat the Princess Dagmar should become the wife of the hereditary Prince

of the Russian Empire.It was really this event, howe ver, which impelled Madame O iliatowards Nihilism; and in this manner.

Being a Dane by birth, and of a very fanciful disposition, she conceivedthe ambitious plan of obtaining for her husband one of the innumerableCourt appointments in the establishment of the new Archduchess. In or-der to carry out her project, Madame O ilia went in person and presentedherself to the Danish ambassador, so that be might use his inuence in

f avour of her husband ; her rst spouse , half a century bef ore, havinghad either a contract or some small post Idont remember which atthe Court of Copenhagen.

As was to be expected, the ambassador would have nothing whateverto do with the ma er, and sent her away; but as Madame O ilia wasextremely tenacious of purpose, she returned to the charge, and then hewas discourteous enough to laugh at her.

Hence arose in the ery mind of Madame O ilia an implacable hatred

against the poor ambassador.How was she to gratify it? Evidently she must chaf e in secret withoutany probability of succeeding.

In this manner years and years passed.Meanwhile the Nihilists had commenced their undertakings. An idea

ashed through the mind of Madame O ilia. is is exactly what Iwant, she repeated to herself, and became inamed with unboundedenthusiasm for the Nihilists; perhaps because she hoped that, having

commenced with Trepoff, Mesenzeff, and Krapotkine, they would n-ish with the Danish ambassado r, the greatest scound rel of all; perhapsbecause the hatred against a man in the upper ranks, so many yearsrestrained, burst forth in every direction and extended to his entire class.No one, Can say, what was brooding in her mind. Who can divine, in fact,the thoughts passing through the giddy brain of a woman of seventy?

e undeniable fact, thoroughly true and historical, is that MadameO ilia was seized with an immense admiration for the Nihilists.


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As she lent out rooms to the students, who are all more, or less Nihilists,they, a er laughing at rst, at the tardy political ardour of Madame O ilia,ended by taking it seriously; for, in the investigations to which almostall the students are subjected, Madame O ilia gave proof of a courage

and a presence of mind by no means common. She succeeded in hidingaway books in her house and compromising papers under the very noseof the police, thanks to her age, which placed her above all suspicion;and to all the questions of the Procurator she replied with a shrewdnessand prudence worthy of all praise.

e students put her in communication with some members of theOrganisation, and Madame O ilia began her revolutionary career, rstby taking charge of books, then of correspondence, and so on, until she

ended b y becoming an excellent Concea ler; she cou ld be thorough lytrusted. She was prudence itself, and incorruptible, as she showed onvarious occasions.

is was related to me by my companion, as we passed through thestreets of the capital to the li le house upon the Kamenostrovsky, whichMadame O ilia possessed.

e lady was awaiting us. She was a tall, sturdy woman, with anenergetic, almost martial aspect, and seemed to be not more than y-

ve or sixty.Although this was the rst time I had seen he r, I was received withopen arms, like a relative returning a er a long absence. She immediatelybrought in the samovar with bread, milk, and sweets, bustled about, andshowed me the room prepared for me, where I found all sorts of li lepreparations made, which only women think about.

Madame O ilia eagerly asked me for news of such and such a one,who had had to spend some few weeks. Evidently, a er having made

personal acquaintance with the terrorists, whom at rst she admired at adistance, she had ended by loving them as tenderly as though they wereher own children; especially as she bad none. But all her tenderness wasconcentrated upon those entrusted to her protection. I had much ado tokeep her from troubling too much about me. She would, however, insistupon introducing me to her husband.

e poor old fellow was just about to get into bed, but she imperiouslymade him get up, and a few minutes a erwards he entered, wrapped


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up in a shabby dressing gown, and came shuffling in, with his slippersdown at heel.

With a li le childish smile playing about his toothless mouth, hestretched out his hand to me, making repeated bows with his bald head.

e worthy old fellow was all submission to his ery consort.If necessary, said Madame O ilia, with a martial gesture, I will sendhim to-morrow to the police office to get some information.

e worthy old fellow kept on smiling, and bowing his bald head.He also had been affiliated to the Nihilists by his energetic wife.It was in the house of this excellent woman that I passed all my time

until the storm had blown over, and the police, following up the tracksof others, bad forgo en me. On being restored to liberty, I returned to

active life, under another name, and in another district of the capital.


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e Secret Press

To establish a secret printing office, to give that powerful weapon tothe Freethought which struggles against Despotism, had always beenthe ardent, imperious desire of all the organisations, directly they feltthemselves in a position to undertake anything of importance.

As f ar back as the year 1860, when the rst Secret Societies wereformed for the purpose of effecting the Agrarian Revolution, such asthe Societies named Land and Liberty and Young Russia, we see therst rudimen tary a emp ts to establish some thing like a printing pressin embryo, which, however, lasted only a few weeks.

It was evident, henceforth, that the free press already existing, abroad,although it had a writer like Herzen at its head, no longer sufficed forthe wants of the militant party

During the last ten or een years, when the movement bad acquireda force and an extent previously unknown, the insufficiency of the freeprinting offices at work in Switzerland and in London, became more andin ore manifest, and the need of a local press ready to respond to thequestions of the moment, became more and more urgent.

Hence, all the organisations which a erwards dwindled down anddisappeared one a er the other in the prisons, and the fortresses, and themines of Siberia, a empted to establish their printing offices in Russiaitself.

A fatality seemed, however, to weigh upon the undertakings of thiskind; all proved short lived, and lasted only for a moment. ey weresure to be discovered, directly they were established.

e Circle of the Karakosovzi had its printing office, which lasted onlya few months.

e Circle of Neciaevzi had its own, but it bad to be kept hidden allthe time, un til it was discovered together with the Organisation. eDolguscinzi also had theirs, which was discovered directly it had printedtwo proclamations. e Circle of the Ciackovzi made several a empts toestablish one, and had the type and an excellent machine ready, but wasnot been lucky enough to set it up, and for ve years the machine and the


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type remained h idden awa y in some ho le and corner, the Organisationbeing unable to make any use of them.

e difficulty, in fact, of se ing up a printing office in a country whereeverything is watched, seemed insurmountable, because inherent in the

undertaking. Books, papers, men, may be bidden; but how is a printingoffice to be bidden , which by its very nature betrays itself; which, inaddition to its complicated and noisy operations, o en requiring manypeople in combination, demands the continuous use of paper in largequantities, a erwards to be sent out as printed ma er?

A er the innumerable a empts which had been made and had failed,the establishment of a Secret Press was universally recognised, not asbeing merely difficult, but impossible; it was only an idle dream, a waste

of money, and a useless and senseless sacrice of men.Earnest men did not speak about it, and did not care to hear it spokenof.

ere was however, a dreamer who would not accept the universallyreceived opinion. He maintained, in the teeth of everyone, that a secretprinting office could be established in St. Petersburg itself, and tha t hewould establish it, if supplied with the necessary means.

is dreamer, named Aaron Zundelevic, was a native of Wilna (Lithua-

nia) and the son of a li le Jewish shopkeeper.In the Organisation to which he belonged (which a erwards adoptedthe mo o, always old and always new, Land and Liberty) everyonelaughed at rst at the fancies of Zundelevic; but he overcame this mis-trust. Abou t 4001. was a llo ed to him; be wen t abroad , brough t every-thing necessary to St. Petersburg, and having mastered the compositorsart, be taught it to four other persons, and established with them in 1877the free printing office in St. Petersburg, the rst deserving that name,

as it could be kept going regularly, and print works of some size.e plan upon which he established his undertaking was so well con-ceived and arranged, that for four consecutive years the police, notwith-standing the most obstinate search, discovered nothing, until treacheryand a mere accident came to their aid.

e ice was, however, already broken. One press destroyed otherswere established upon the same plan which kept on, and worked withoutinterruption.


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And from time to time, from secret hiding places, a mighty voice arisesamid the whispers of so many hypocrites and a erers, which drownstheir f eeble clamou r, and , resound ing from the Frozen Sea to the BlackSea, makes Despotism tremble beneath its bloodstained purple; for it

proclaims aloud that there is a greater power than Despotism, the powerof Freethough t, which has its abiding p lace in gene rous hea rts, and itsinstruments in zealous arms.

Freethought called re and sword to its aid, and with these terriblearms engaged in a desperate conict, which will only end with the de-struction of Despotism. In this conict, its glorious banner, around whichraged the thickest of the ght, and upon which the anxious looks of thecombatants were turned, was the Secret Press. While this banner waved,

while all the efforts of the enemy failed to wrest it from the bands of itsdef enders, there was no reason to despair of the f ate of the party and theOrganisation, even a er the most terrible partial defeats.

How are we to explain, therefore, the marvellous fact of the existence,under the very eyes of the police, in a country like Russia, of a permanentsecret printing press?

is fact, which gives, in my opinion, a be er idea of the strength of the party than would be given by many dashing enterprises, is explained

in a very simple manner. It was the result of the devotion of those whoworked in the printing office, and of the care with which they carriedout the minutest precautions, in order to keep it in operation.

Nobody went there; nobody, except those who were compelled, knewwhere it was or anything about it.

To give an idea of the caution upon this point, it need only be saidtha t lot on ly the membe rs of the o rgan isation by wh ich the office wasmaintained, but even the editors and contributors of the journal printed

there, did not know where it was. One person only in the management-was usually initiated into this secret by the representative of the office,and all communications bad to be kept up by him.

I went there once only, under these circumstances. I was one of theeditors of Land and Liberty, the journal of the party before it was dividedinto two sections.

Communications were carried on at neutral points, the safest beingalways selected. I delivered the manuscripts, took the proofs, and xed


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the place and the exact time for the next appointment. In case of anyunforeseen need, or of the communications being interrupted, I sent apost-card, xing a fresh meeting, in a manner agreed upon.

Once, however, as I have said, I went to the office. It was on November

30, the very day on which the rst number of the journal was to appear.at same mo rning a friend came to me, and related that, having goneto the house of Trosciansky, where the police were lying hid, he was onthe po int of f alling into their hands , but succeeded in escap ing , thanksto his dexterity, and to his lucky idea of calling out Stop thief! Stopthief! while the police were running a er him.

I was very anxious to insert this piece of news in the number aboutto be issued, for the express purpose of ridiculing Zuroff, the head of

the po lice, who dec lared everywhe re that our printing office could notpossibly be in the capitals because o therwise be wou ld inf allibly havediscovered it.

I proted, therefore, by this occasion to go to the printing office, whichdeeply interested me, especially as 1 had a pressing invitation from thecompositors to pay them a visit.

e office was in one of the central streets of the city.A er innite precautions, I reached the door, and rang in the custom-

ary manne r. e door was opened b y Mari Kriloff. Ientered with thesubdued feeling of a worshipper entering a church.ere were four persons engaged in the office two women and two

men.Maria Kriloff, who acted as mistress of the house, was a woman of

about forty-ve. She passed for one of the oldest and most deservingmembers of our party. She had been implicated in the conspiracies of the Karakosovzi. She was imprisoned and condemned to deportation to

one of the northern provinces, but succeeded in escaping, and becameone of the illegal. She continued to work indef atigably f or our causein various ways, until she was arrested at her post, like a soldier, armsin band, in the printing office of the Cerni Perediel in 1880. us, forsixteen consecutive years she remained in the ranks of the conspirators,caring for nothing except to be of use to the cause, and occupying themost modest and dangerous positions.


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She had worked in the printing offices from the rst, and although invery bad health, and half blind from increasing shortsightedness, she con-tinued to work, and with so much zeal and self-devotion, that, notwith-standing her inrmity, she was, as a compositor, equal to the most skilled

workman.Basil Buch, the son of a general and the nephew of a senator, passedas the lodger of Madame Kriloff. He had a passport as an official in oneof the Ministries, and went out accordingly every day, at a xed hour,carrying in his portfolio the copies of the paper. He was a man of abouttwenty-six or twenty-seven, pale, aristocratically elegant, and so taciturnthat, f or days together, he never opened his mouth. It was he who actedas the medium of communication between the printing office and the

outer world.e third compositor did not hand down h is name to posterity. He hadalready been in the ranks for three years, and was liked and esteemedby all; but the member who introduced him into the Organisation beingdead, nobody else knew his name. He was known by the nickname of Ptiza (the bird), given to him on account of his voice, and was nevercalled otherwise. He commi ed suicide when, a er four hours of desper-ate resistance, the printing office of the Narodnaia Volia, was compelled

to yield to the military by which it was besieged.He lived, thus, unknown, and unknown he descended into his grave.His fate was cruel indeed; for, by way of greater precaution, be lived

without his name being placed upon the registers of the population,well knowing that every passport presented, to the police was always adanger. He had, therefore, always to remain concealed, and for severalmonths never le the house, so as to avoid being seen by the dvornik.

In general, all those who work in the printing offices break off almost

all intimacy with the outer world and lead a monastic life; but the poorBird had to carry t his caution to such an extent, that he was a ll but acomplete prisoner, and was eternally shut up along with the type, in hisdismal cage.

He was a young man of twenty-two or twenty-three, by long raventall, spare, with a skinny f ace, shaded b lack ha ir, which heightened theeffect of his cadaverous pallor, arising from continuous deprivation of fresh air and light, and from handling the type in this atmosphere full


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of poisonous exhalations. His eyes alone were full of life; very largeand black, like those of the gazelle, bright, full of inexpressible kindness,and melancholy. He was consumptive, and knew it, but be would notabandon his post, for he was very skilful at the work, and there was no

one to take his place.e f ourth person was a g irl who passed as the servant of MadameKriloff. I never beard her name. She was a girl of about eighteen ornineteen, fair, with blue eyes, delicate and graceful, who would have ap-peared very beautiful but for the expression of constant nervous tensionin her pale f ace, wh ich produced a mos t painf ul impression . She was aliving reection of the continuous efforts which this life cost, maintainedfor months and months in this terrible place, exposed to the incessant

prying of so many thousand police spies.A er the rst greetings I explained the ob ject of my visit, that is to say,the desire to insert in the paper the amusing anecdote of the morningalready mentioned. It need scarcely be added that this was received withthe utmost delight. As, however, the paper was already set up, somethinghad to be taken away to make room for the paragraph, though it wasonly a few lines.

I went over all the rooms in which the work was carried on. e mech-

anism was extremely simple. A few cases with various kinds of type; ali le cylinder just cast, of a kind of gelatinous substance closely resem-bling carpenters glue, and somewhat pleasant to smell; a large heavycylinder covered with cloth, which served as the press; some blackenedbrushes and sponges in a pan; two jars of printing ink. Everything wasarranged in such a manner that it could be hidden in a quarter of an hour,in a large clothes-press standing in a corner.

ey explained to me the mechanism of the work, and smilingly told

me of some li le artices which they employed to divert the suspicionof the dvornik , who came e very day with wa ter, wood , &e. e systemadopted was not that of -not allowing him to enter, but precisely thereverse. Under various pretexts, they made him see the whole of therooms as o en as possible, having rst removed everything which couldexcite suspicion. When these pretexts failed, others were invented. Beingunable to nd a plausible reason for him to enter the inner room, MadameKriloff one day went and told him that there was a rat there which must


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be killed. e dvornik went, and certainly found nothing; but the trickwas played; he had seen the whole of the rooms, and could bear testimonythat there was absolutely nothing suspicious in them. Once a monththey invariably had people in to clean the oors of all the rooms.

I was in no mood, however, to hear of these trie or to smile at them.I was assailed by prof ound melancholy, at the sight of all these people.Involuntarily, I compared their terrible life with my own, and felt over-come with shame. What was our activity in the broad light of day amidthe excitement of a multitude of friends, and the stir of our daily lifeand struggles, compared with this continuous sacrice of their wholeexistence, wasting away in this dungeon.

I le . I slowly descended the stairs and went out into the street, a prey

to various emotions.I though t of wha t I had just seen . I though t of tile struggle f or wh ichthey were offering up their lives. I thought of our party.

An idea suddenly ashed through my mind.Are not these people, I thought, the real representatives of our party?

Is not this the living picture which typies in itself the character of our whole struggle? A feeling of enthusiasm red my heart. We areinvincible, I thought, while the source is unexhausted whence springs so

much unknown he roism, the greatest of all heroism; we a re invinciblewhile the party has such adherents.


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A Trip to St. Petersburg

IntroductionLoud and repeated knocks at my door made me start from my bed.What could be the ma er? Had I been in Russia I should have imme-

diately thought that it was the police. But I was in Switzerland; therewas no danger.

Qe est la? I exclaimed , in French . It is I, replied in Russian a we ll-known voice.

Open the door at once.I lit the cand le, f or it was da rk, and has tily dressed. My heart wasoppressed by a sad presentiment.

A fortnight before, a member of our party, one of my earliest friendswho was seriously compromised in the nal a empts against the Em-peror, a er staying some months abroad, set out for Russia. For severaldays we had waited in vain for the news that be had crossed the frontier.

A terrible suspicion, which I dared not express, ashed across my

mind. I hastily slipped on my clothes.I opened the door.Andrew abruptly entered the room without his hat, without shaking

hands.Basil is arrested, he said, at once.Basil was also his friend as well as mine. His broken voice betrayed

his grief.I looked at him for a few moments with xed staring eyes, as though

not understanding what he had said. en I inwardly repeated the threeterrible words,Basil is arrested, at rst f aintly, mechan ically, like an echo, then with

terrible distinctness, tearfully, and with a feeling of indescribable horror.en all became silent.

Something cold, horrible, awful, appeared to have surrounded me, tohave invaded the whole room, the entire space, and to have penetrated


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to the very depths of my being, freezing my blood and numbing mythoughts. is something was the shadow of death.

ere was no time to lose, however, in idle despair. e rst thing wasto ascertain if all was really lost, or if something could yet be done.

I asked for the particulars.He had been arrested on the frontier, and the worst of it was that thisbad taken place four days back, the contrabandist, instead of informingus by a telegram, having from economy sent a le er.

Where is the le er?John has got it; he has only just arrived. He is waiting for you at my

house. I have come for you.We le the house.

e dawn was just breaking, and illuminating the dese rted streetswith a pallid li

sergei stepniak underground russia revolutionary profiles and sketches from life a4[1]

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