“We do not care what sort of uniform it is,” answered Làzarev, with imperturbable calm, “when you come into our room you will have the kindness to remove your head-covering.”
“Now this is too much. I cannot, I really cannot take off my helmet,” he declared, growing warm.
“Do as you please; but in that case we will not listen to the decision of the governor,” said Làzarev.
The poor man looked from one to another, hesitated, and finally bared his worthy head and imparted to us the formal decision: the governor granted our desire.
I wonder how many officials have had to learn this elementary lesson in politeness from us.
In Krasnoyarsk our party was diminished to eleven in number. The veterinary surgeon Snigiriòv and the student Korniènko were to remain in the government of Yenisei, and we had to leave Spandoni behind in the prison, as he was ill.
We were two months on the journey from Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk, a thousand versts. In that whole distance there is only one town, Nijni-Udînsk; and even this scarcely deserves the title. Here we met comrades—a married couple named Novakòvsky—also on their way to Eastern Siberia. I had known Novakòvsky in Kiëv; he had taken part in the 1876 demonstration in the Kazan Square in Petersburg, and had been banished to Siberia. After the coronation manifesto in 1883, he was moved from Balagansk, in the government of Irkutsk, to Minuisinsk, in the government of Yenisei; but now he and his wife were being sent out to the East, on the following account. For some reason or other Novakòvsky had fallen out with the ispravnik[[63]] of Minuisinsk. Another of the political exiles had occasion to apply to the ispravnik for something; the latter, mistaking him for Novakòvsky, received him with the grossest incivility, and when he discovered his error, apologised by explaining the mistake he had made. The thing was talked about, and came to the ears of Novakòvsky and of his wife, who had voluntarily followed him into banishment. For some days the exiles consulted together what should be done, but before they had decided to take any steps, Novakòvsky’s wife took the matter into her own hands; she went into the office and gave the ispravnik a box on the ear, with the words—“That’s for my husband!” She was had up for trial, and sentenced by the court to deportation into Eastern Siberia, whither her husband was now accompanying her by his own desire.
Later I learned to know and esteem Novakòvsky’s wife. She was a clever, courageous woman, of lively and resolute disposition. I believe that both she and her husband died in Siberia.