Another time I was called up by an examining magistrate, who showed me a letter from the Ministry of Justice, instructing him to examine me concerning some events connected with the murder of General Mezentzev. He read me the deposition of a certain Goldenberg; according to which I had met Goldenberg one day in the horse-market of Kharkov, and had mentioned to him that it was S. Kravtchìnsky[[40]] who had stabbed the chief of gendarmerie.
I did indeed recollect walking in the horse-market with Goldenberg, and that he had told me how he himself had in that very place killed the governor of Kharkov, Prince Kropotkin. Whether I had said anything about the part played by Kravtchìnsky in the assault on Mezentzev I could not remember. The thought shot through my mind that Kravtchìnsky had perhaps been captured abroad like myself, and that the Russian Government were wanting to get him extradited too. The statement of Goldenberg, which only repeated the words of another, was not sufficient evidence for that, and they desired my testimony in addition. I therefore did not refuse to speak on this occasion, but made a statement tending to counteract that of Goldenberg. I told them I had certainly talked to Goldenberg about the assassination; but that I had merely mentioned rumours which ascribed the deed sometimes to me, sometimes to Kravtchìnsky. Fortunately my alarm was unnecessary: Kravtchìnsky was already in London and out of danger.
CHAPTER XI
THE VISIT OF THE MINISTER—I AM TURNED INTO A CONVICT—THE PRISON AT KIËV
Shortly after my trial a feverish anxiety set in at the Odessa prison: the Minister of Justice was expected. Of course, everything except the straw and the tub was taken out of my cell; and one day the great man appeared, attended by an imposing suite—the governor of the town among the rest. As soon as Nabòkov saw me he greeted me by name, which seemed to excite the governor’s interest in no small degree.
“Your Excellency is pleased to recognise Deutsch?”
“Oh yes; we have met in Petersburg,” answered Nabòkov in an agreeable tone, as if recalling a meeting in some elegant drawing-room instead of in a prison. He then turned to me, to tell me that he had received my petition, and had “reported to His Majesty”; but the Tsar had pronounced that as a former member of the army I must go before a court-martial, and therefore that had been the only course. The manner in which I was lodged seemed to strike the minister unpleasantly, for he looked round my cell, and asked if I were properly treated and had no complaints to make. I now learned that my transference to Moscow was decided on; that I was to winter there, and remain until the journey to Siberia was possible.
The way in which the minister had spoken to me seemed to have made a powerful impression on the prison authorities; for scarcely had “His Excellency” left the place than the governor hastened to my cell, and took me to one much more comfortable, where were a good bed, a table, and a chair.
“A report has been made to His Majesty himself about you!” I was therefore a person of consequence, and the governor’s official soul was troubled. I was offered books from a lending library, and was henceforth treated with marked civility. Of course, I knew that this alteration really proceeded from orders given by the three functionaries spoken of in a previous chapter, who had been the cause of my former ill-treatment. This is a striking example of the arbitrary way in which prisoners are used.
I had not much longer to enjoy these marks of favour. A fortnight later I was informed that a party of convicts would start for Moscow that evening. I was to accompany them, and accordingly must assume the convict garb. After eighteen years I think of that day with a shudder.
First of all, I was taken into a room where was stored everything necessary to the equipment of a convict under sentence. On the floor lay piles of chains; and clothes, boots, etc., were heaped on shelves. From among them some were selected that were supposed to fit me; and I was then conducted to a second room. Here the right side of my head was shaved, and the hair on the left side cut short. I had seen people in the prison who had been treated in this fashion, and the sight had always made a painful impression on me, as indeed it does on everyone. But when I saw my own face in the glass a cold shudder ran down my spine, and I experienced a sensation of personal degradation to something less than human. I thought of the days—in Russia not so long ago—when criminals were branded with hot irons.