Do you remember how one of the “former” characters of The Golden Calf dreamed of various Soviet rubbish, and he dreamed of a dream where he would see a big royal entrance or something equally touching? So, in this dream, he could well see the author of the book in question.
The daughter of representatives of two noble families of Russia (Kurakins and Golitsins), she spent her childhood mainly in Paris, having arrived at her homeland as a rather adult girl.
She was connected by kinship and friendship with many representatives of high Russian society, at the age of 20 she became a court lady and made a real career along this path: from 1858 she was a maid of honor, then a lady of state and chief chamberlain of Empress Maria Feodorovna, chamberlain of the Highest Court, chief Chamberlain of the Empress Alexandra Feodorovna. Being a senior court lady, she knew well royal family. Before her eyes, Nicholas II grew up, appreciating her very much.
A rich and prosperous life ended in March 1917. After 1917, she was arrested, hiding from the authorities (rescued by former peasants), many of her close relatives were repressed. In 1925 (on the centenary of the Decembrist uprising), Naryshkina and her daughter were allowed to leave for France, where she soon died.
In 1907 she published her memoirs, unoriginally titled "My Memoirs", based on the diaries she kept all her life. The diaries were in French, the memoirs were in Russian. Released in a limited edition, they went to only a very select circle (today only a few surviving copies are known).
These notes covered the period from 1876 to 1905, although the presentation began from childhood. The continuation was the book "Under the Power of ...", written shortly after the revolution and published in 1930 in Berlin in German. The presentation, in the first four chapters, repeating the content of the Memoirs, brings the storyline to the summer of 1717. In this edition, a reverse translation into Russian is given, in which, obviously, the features of the original text were distorted, but there is nothing to compare with - the original has not been preserved .
In 1936 P.N. Milyukov published in Paris the authentic diaries of Naryshkina in 1717. As a source document, this is very valuable. historical source, depicting what is happening in the country and in the narrow circle of Alexandra Feodorovna and her family.
Writing was an old and familiar thing for Elizaveta Alekseevna - in addition to daily diary notes, she composed poetry (in French), then switched to prose (in literate, but poor, as she herself admitted, Russian). Her prose met Goncharov's condescending approval.
Being an aristocrat by birth and upbringing, and having spent 43 years in the service at the court of the last three Russian emperors, Naryshkina was a fairly liberal person, who communicated a lot with the organizers and conductors of those “great reforms” of the 1860s and 70s, in the era of which she formed. Her philanthropic nature found its outlet in charitable activities: for several decades, Naryshkina was the chairman of the St. Petersburg Ladies' Committee of the Society for the Guardianship of Prisons, the Prince of Oldenburg Asylum for women who served their sentences in places of detention, the Society for the Care of the Families of Exiled Convicts and the Yevgenyevsky shelter for imprisoned children-girls, did a lot to help the wounded in the years Russian-Turkish war. True, her anti-Semitism is revealed in her diaries (not memoirs)...
An accident for people of her circle - in her memoirs, Naryshkina tells not only about what worried her, but also about what is happening around her in the country and the world, and she witnessed much and much - the coronation Alexander III and Nicholas II, the assassination of Alexander II and Stolypin, was a contemporary of the Crimean, Franco-Prussian, World War I. Having spent a lot of time abroad, she paints in detail everything and everyone that she met there.
It is rather difficult to read Naryshkina's notes: it is a continuous text, with practically no dialogues. It's interesting, but it takes some effort to get through such a dense prose filled with a lot of information.
The publication consists of three parts: "My memories" (200 pages), "Under the rule of three kings" (160 pages) and three texts in the Appendix - fragments of the diary of January-August 17 (50 pages), entries oral memoirs about the death of Alexander II and the beginning of the reign of Alexander III (30 pages) and a one-page letter to A.F. Horses.
In addition, the compiler of this volume, E.V. Druzhinina prefaced the book with a 30-page preface and provided it with extensive comments (100 pages), as well as an expanded name index (another 100 pages). In other words, this is a high-quality publication that allows not only to get acquainted with the main texts of E.A. Naryshkina, but also to get competent support of these texts from a knowledgeable specialist. E.V. Druzhinina did a lot of work with Naryshkina's archive, revealed different editions of her memoirs, found previously unknown documents "The Last Day ..."). This is really a huge job.
The classic design of the series: hardcover, offset paper, but translucent, pasting with black and white photos of different quality, a minimum of typos.
I highly recommend this interesting and informative book to all those interested in the history of our country in the second half of the 19th and early 20th centuries.
© How many writers, how few readers ...
"Russia under the Rule of Tsars - 03"
If the tsarist government had not become so stupefied with fear, it would, of course, have ceased its persecution of the "suspicious" and exiled them to death in such holes as Gorodishko.
Imagine a city with a population of "about a thousand inhabitants", living in one hundred and fifty to two hundred houses, located in two rows along the river and forming a single street. The houses are separated by short lanes leading to the forest and the river. All houses are wooden, with the exception of the church, which is built of brick. If you climb the bell tower to survey the surroundings, you will see far-reaching dense pine forests on both sides with wide clearings near the river, where the stumps of cut down trees blacken. If the time is winter, you have no reason to climb so high, because you know in advance that you will see only an endless snowy ocean, on the hilly surface of which hungry wolves run more often than Samoyed sledges. In this harsh climate, almost beyond the Arctic Circle, oh agriculture nothing to think about. Bread is brought from afar and therefore very expensive. Local residents are engaged in fishing, hunting and burning coal; forest and river are the only sources of their existence. Of all the inhabitants of Gorodishka, probably no more than a dozen can read and write, these are officials, and even those are half peasants. In this icy desert, no time is wasted on bureaucratic formalities. If you suddenly needed to turn to the chief of the local chiefs, you would probably be told that he left with the goods, since he also acts as a driver. When he returns home in two or three weeks and signs your papers with his big fat fingers, he will then take you with pleasure and for a modest reward to the place you need.
These officials have a mental horizon that is not much wider than that of the neighboring peasants. Not a single educated, cultured person can be forced to serve in such a blind hole. Local officials are either worthless people, or they got here as a punishment, since service here and for them is nothing but exile. And if any ambitious young careerist turns out to be among them, he will carefully avoid the company of the exiles, because good relations with political parties will certainly bring the suspicions of his superiors on him and spoil his whole future.
During the first ten to twelve days, the newcomers had not yet managed to find a permanent home. Their new friends wanted to get to know them better, and they themselves wanted to get to know the old-timers better. So they lived first in one commune, then in another, moving from place to place and living wherever they had to. After some time, three of them - Lozinsky, Taras and Orshin - together with Ursich from Odessa, formed their own commune. They rented a small apartment, each took turns cooking, and all homework they did it themselves, of course.
The first and most difficult question that confronted them, of course, was about their daily bread. It was in connection with this issue that Taras gained notoriety from the local police. The exiles brought with them, as they thought, enough money to live until they received benefits. But the authorities deceived them, forcing them to pay travel expenses to Gorodishka out of their own pocket. And since all their capital was in the hands of the senior gendarme, they could not resist unexpected extortion. When Ursic heard about this, he tried to comfort his new friends by saying that in cadet corps where he studied, the Cadets were treated even worse. At the end of the course, each graduate was ordered to pay twenty-five rubles for the rods broken on him during the years of study. But this anecdote, although amusing, could not console the victims. Taras was simply furious; if he only knew that the gendarmes would play such a trick on him, he shouted, then he would rather throw his money into the sea than give it to the police.
The new arrivals found themselves in an extremely distressed situation. Some didn't even have the necessary clothes. After all, they were arrested exactly where they were - in some cases right on the street - and immediately sent to prison; some were expelled without even time to prepare for the journey or say goodbye to friends. The same thing happened with Taras. The exile comrades put their meager purses at his disposal, but he flatly refused to take advantage of their kindness.
You need the money yourself,” he said. - The government forcibly brought me here, depriving me of the means of subsistence, therefore, it must feed and clothe me. I don't even think about getting rid of it.
Not a day passed that he did not go to the police to demand his eight rubles, but he always received the same answer: the local authorities had contacted the higher authorities, but had not yet received orders; he must be patient. Whatever Taras said or did, it definitely did not lead to anything. His comrades tried to persuade him to abandon further futile attempts, since his pestering the authorities would only set them against him. But Taras did not want to hear about it.
No, they should return my money! - were single words with which he honored his comrades in response to their friendly exhortations.
One afternoon, when the exiles, as usual, went for a walk, Taras also came out, but he was so strangely dressed that the children ran after him, and the whole town became agitated. Taras was in only his underwear, and threw a blanket over the underwear. After he had walked five times back and forth along the only street in the city, a police officer appeared before him, to whom they had already managed to tell the amazing news.
Mr. Horseshoe, what are you doing! cried the police officer indignantly. - Just think! An educated person - and arrange a public scandal. After all, ladies can see you through the windows!
I am not guilty. I don't have clothes, and I can't stay inside four walls forever. It's bad for health. I need to walk.
And for a whole week Taras walked around in the same outfit, paying no attention to the police chief's protests, until by his perseverance he overcame the inertia of the authorities and won his meager monthly allowance. But from that time on, they began to look at him as a "restless" person.
flashed quickly short summer: it lasts only two months in that far northern region. Autumn came and went almost imperceptibly, then a long polar winter with endless nights reigned over the tundra. The sun appeared for a short time at the southern edge of the sky in a small arc a few degrees high, then set behind a long snowy horizon, leaving the earth plunged into a twenty-hour night, dimly lit by the distant pale reflections of the northern lights.
One day winter evening a group of exiles gathered, as usual, around the samovar, drinking tea, yawning wearily and looking at each other in gloomy silence. Everything—their faces, their movements, even the room itself, dimly lit by a single candle in a crudely carved wooden candlestick—expressed extreme melancholy. From time to time someone will utter a few words with an absent look. After a minute or two, when the speaker has already forgotten what he said, a few more words suddenly come from a dark corner, and at last everyone realizes that this is an answer to the previous remark.
Taras was silent all the time. Stretched out at full length on a pine bench, covered with dry moss and serving as both a bed and a sofa, he smoked incessantly, watching with a sleepy air the blue clouds of smoke rising above his head and disappearing into the darkness; he seemed quite content with this occupation and with his thoughts. Beside him, Lozinsky swayed in a chair. Either he was irritated by the imperturbable impassivity of his friend, or the northern lights acted on his nerves in a stimulating way, but longing and despair oppressed his chest. This evening was no different from the others, but it seemed to Lozinsky especially unbearable.
Lord! he suddenly exclaimed in a loud, excited voice, which, with its tone, different from the languid tone of others, immediately attracted everyone's attention. “Gentlemen, the life we lead here is disgusting!” If we continue to live so idle and aimlessly for another year or two, we will become incapable of serious work, we will become completely discouraged and turn into worthless people. We need to shake things up, start doing something. And then we are exhausted from this miserable, miserable existence, we will not resist the temptation to drown out the longing and begin to look for oblivion in a bottle that is humiliating for us!
At these words, blood rushed into the face of the man sitting opposite him. They called him the Old Man, and he was the eldest in the colony both in age and in what he had suffered. He had previously been a journalist, and in 1870 he was exiled for articles that displeased dignitaries. But it happened so long ago that he apparently already forgot the real reason for his exile. It seemed to everyone that the Old Man was born a political exile. However, hope never left him, and he constantly waited for some change in the top, thanks to which an order for his release could appear. But there was still no such order, and when the expectation became unbearable, he fell into complete despair and drank furiously for weeks; friends had to treat the Old Man by putting him under lock and key. After drinking, he calmed down and for several months was no less abstemious than any English Puritan.
At an involuntary hint from the doctor, the Old Man lowered his head, but suddenly his face showed annoyance, as if he were angry with himself for being ashamed, and, raising his eyes, he abruptly interrupted Lozinsky.
What the hell are we supposed to do here? - he asked.
Lozinsky was at a loss for a moment. At first he didn't mean anything definite. Like a spurred horse, he simply obeyed an inner impulse. But his embarrassment only lasted for a moment. At a critical moment, ideas immediately arose in his head; a happy thought struck him this time too.
What to do? he repeated in his usual habit. "Why don't we, for example, sit here like crazy and catch flies, and take up mutual teaching or something like that?" We are thirty-five people, everyone knows a lot of things that others do not know. Everyone can take turns giving lessons in their specialty. This will interest the audience and will encourage the lecturer himself.
There was at least something practical on offer, and so discussion began immediately. The old man noticed that such lessons would not particularly amuse them, and everyone would become even more dreary at heart. Various opinions were expressed for and against, and everyone was so enthusiastic that in the end they began to speak all at once, not listening to each other. For a long time the exiles had not had such a pleasant evening. The next day, Lozinsky's proposal was discussed in all communes and was accepted with enthusiasm. We made a lesson plan, and a week later the doctor opened the course with a brilliant lecture on physiology.
However, the promising enterprise soon collapsed. When information about such unprecedented and curious occupations of the exiles penetrated into the town, he came into a terrible excitement. The police officer sent for Lozinsky and warned him with great importance that lecturing was a violation of the Rules, which strictly forbid the exiles from engaging in any kind of teaching.
The doctor laughed in response and tried to explain to the stupid official that the corresponding article of the Rules does not apply to the exiles' activities with each other. If they are allowed to meet and talk, then it would be absurd to forbid teaching each other. And although this article of the Rules remained not entirely clear to the police officer, this time he nevertheless listened to the voice of reason, or at least pretended to agree with the doctor. Fortunately, a young guy who had almost completed the course of the gymnasium served as a secretary for the police chief, and therefore they looked at him in Gorodishka as a great literate man. It so happened that the secretary had a brother who participated in the "movement", so he secretly sympathized with the exiles and, whenever it was in his power, sought to render them a good service. The young man had already helped them more than once, but, for obvious reasons, they rarely turned to him for assistance, and his help was always voluntary. This time, too, he interceded for the exiles and persuaded the greatly hesitant police officer to grant their request. But they did not suspect that hostile forces had already begun to act and a new danger threatened them.
On the same day, when the evening shadows were already descending on Gorodishko, that is, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, a strange figure quickly ran along the only street of the town and headed for the gray house next to the church. The whole figure was covered with fur, the lower limbs were hidden in huge heavy pimas made of double fur - wool on the outside and wool on the inside, resembling bear paws. The body was wrapped in a salop, a shaggy coat of reindeer fur, similar to a surplice, with long sleeves and a folding hood; hands are hidden in huge mittens, similar to horseshoe-shaped fur bags. Since the frost reached forty degrees and a sharp north wind blew, the hood covered the whole face, and thus all parts of the body of this creature - head, arms and legs - were covered with brown wool, and it looked more like an animal trying to walk on its hind legs than on a person, and if, in addition, it fell on all fours, the illusion would be complete. But since the figure was one of the most elegant beauties of Gorodishka, such an assumption would be somewhat ungracious, to say the least. This lady was none other than the wife of the local judge, and she went on a visit to the priest.
Reaching the gray house, she entered the yard and quickly went up to the porch. Here she threw back her hood, revealing a broad, square-jawed face with eyes as translucent blue as those of the fish of this region, while she dusted herself vigorously, like a dog out of the water, tossing off the snow that covered her furs. Then she hurried to the rooms and, finding the priest at home, took off her outer clothes; friends hugged.
Did you hear, mother, what the students were up to? the judge asked excitedly.
In the Far North, all political exiles are called "students" without distinction, although there are no more than a quarter of real students among them.
Oh, don't remember them at night! I am so afraid that they will play some trick with me, and every time I meet them on the street, I do not fail to cross myself under the coat. Oh my god, really. This is the only thing that has saved me so far.
I'm afraid that won't help anymore.
Ah, Holy Mother of God! What do you mean? I'm trembling all over!
Sit down, mother, I'll tell you everything. The other day Matrena, a fisherman, came to me and told me about everything. You know, Matrena rents out two rooms to them, and so she eavesdropped through the keyhole. She didn't understand everything, you know what a fool she is, but she understood enough to guess the rest.
After that, the judge, with many exclamations, groans and digressions, repeated all the horrors that she had learned from the curious fishmonger, and, of course, she added the rest from herself.
The students, they say, conceived a diabolical deed: they wanted to capture the city and everyone in it, but since they failed, they are now furious. Doctor - this Pole - they have a groom. But the Poles are capable of anything. Yesterday he gathered them all in his room and showed them such passions! And he told them such, such! Your hair would stand on end if you heard it!
Ah, saints! Tell me quickly, or I'll die of fear!
He showed them a skull - a dead man's skull!
And then he showed them a book with red pictures, so terrible that you would go cold all over.
Oh oh oh!
But listen, it was even worse. After he showed them all this, saying words that an Orthodox person cannot even repeat, the Pole declares: “In seven days, he says, we will have another lecture, then another and another, and so on up to seven times. And then, after the seventh lesson..."
Oh! Oh! - moaned the popadya. - Powers of heaven, intercede for us!
And after the seventh lecture, he says, we will be strong and powerful and will be able to blow up this whole town with all its inhabitants, until last man.
Until the last person? Oh!
And the priest wanted to faint, but, remembering the imminent danger, she pulled herself together.
And the police officer - what does he say?
The corrector is a donkey. Or maybe these intriguers won him over to their side, maybe he sold himself to the Pole.
Do you know what we'll do now, mother? Let's go to the captain!
Yes, that's right. Let's go to the captain!
Ten minutes later, the friends were out in the street, both in the same bizarre outfit, and if they started dancing in the snow, they could easily be mistaken for a pair of frisky bear cubs. But too concerned about the fate of their native city, they did not think about fun. The ladies hurried to another friend in order to quickly convey to her the story they had heard from the fishmonger Matryona, which hardly lost anything from further retelling, rather the opposite.
The "captain" was the wife of a gendarmerie captain who had been serving in Gorodishka for several years. While there were few exiles, the police officer was the only boss. But when their number increased to twenty and they kept on coming, it was considered necessary to appoint a second commander in the person of the gendarmerie captain. Now the exiles were placed under the supervision of two competing authorities, who constantly sought to put a pig on each other and, showing their great zeal, ingratiate themselves with the higher authorities, of course, at the expense of the unfortunate victims entrusted to their care. Since the captain arrived in Gorodishko, not a single political exile has been released. If the police officer gave a person a good characterization, the captain gave a bad one, if the captain spoke favorably about someone, then the police officer, on the contrary, spoke badly about him.
This time the gendarme captain inflicted a complete defeat on his opponent. With the very first courier, a cunningly composed denunciation was sent to the governor. The answer, the content of which is not difficult to imagine, was not long in coming. The police officer was severely reprimanded with the threat of dismissal from the service "for negligent supervision of political exiles" and for the liberties allowed by them.
This scolding frightened the police chief so much that the exiles were not only forbidden to study and lecture, but they were placed in almost a state of siege. If too many people gathered in the room at the same time, then the policeman would already knock on the window and order them to disperse. They were also forbidden to gather in groups on the street, that is, to walk together - an order rather difficult to carry out in a city with a single street, and this led to constant misunderstandings with the police.
Relations of close friendship are easily established in exile. The exiles are constantly subjected to all sorts of harassment, they live in an environment of general hostility, and therefore, naturally, cling to each other and seek refuge in their own little world. As is usually the case in educational institutions, prisons, barracks and on ships, people easily converge in exile, and the slightest similarity of characters and inclinations leads to deep sympathy, which can turn into friendship for life.
After the onset of winter, the little commune of our friends was replenished with a new member in the person of the Old Man, who became very attached to them. They lived as one family, but especially close friendly relations were created between Taras and young Orshin.
There is something peculiar and difficult to define in the emergence of friendship. Perhaps their friendship was based on the opposite of characters: one was focused and restrained, the other was enthusiastic and expansive. Or maybe the energetic, strong Taras was attracted to the fragile young man, soft and impressionable, like a girl, by the need to help and patronize him. Whatever the case, they were almost inseparable. But when others made fun of Taras and his friendship, he got angry and said that this was nothing more than a habit, and some kind of strictness and restraint often appeared in his treatment of Orshin. They did not even say "you" to each other, as is the custom among Russian youth. Thus, hiding his feelings in every possible way, Taras protected his friend with the care of a devoted mother.
One day, at the beginning of spring - with the monotonous flow of time, although it seems to the exiles that the days stretch endlessly, but the months pass quickly - both friends were returning from a walk. They repeated for the thousandth time the same assumptions about the likelihood of an early end of their exile and for the hundredth time cited the same arguments in support of their hopes. They, as usual, also discussed the possibility of escape and, as usual, decided this question in the negative. None of them at that time was inclined to run. They wanted to wait a little longer, believing that the law on exile would certainly be repealed. Both were socialists, but Taras was entirely for broad propaganda in society and among the masses. He was aware of his remarkable oratorical talent, loved his art and had already tasted the first fruits of success. He had no desire to sacrifice his ardent dreams of the future for the underground activities of a terrorist party member. Therefore, he decided to wait, although it became more and more difficult for him to endure his position and it was more and more unbearable to endure.
Orshin did not have a drop of ambition, this feeling was not even clear to him. He was the typical type of young populist in Russia, an enthusiastic admirer of the peasantry. At one time he wanted to leave the university, become a teacher in some remote village and spend his whole life there, not even trying to exert any influence on the peasants - such a possibility seemed to him the limit of arrogance - but introducing them to the benefits of culture. His plans were temporarily thwarted by unrest at the university, in which he had to take part, and this led him to exile in Gorodishko. But he didn't give up on his dreams. He even wanted to use his forced leisure to learn some trade that would give him the opportunity to get close to the peasants, whom he knew only from Nekrasov's poems.
By the time the friends returned to the city, it was already late. The fishermen went out on their heavy night fishing. In the pink glow of the sunset, you could see them mending the nets.
One of the fishermen sang a song.
How they work and yet sing! exclaimed Orshin with pity.
Taras turned his head and threw an absent glance at the fishermen.
What a wonderful song! Orshin continued. - As if the soul of the people sounds in it. It's very melodic, isn't it?
Taras shook his head and laughed softly. But Orshin's words had already aroused his curiosity, and, coming closer to the singer, he listened. The lyrics of the song startled him. This, apparently, was an old epic, and he suddenly had a new idea. Here is a new activity that will help pass the time: he will collect folk songs and legends; such a collection, perhaps, will be a valuable contribution to the study of folk songwriting and literature. He shared his idea with Orshin, and he found it magnificent. Taras asked the fisherman to repeat the song and recorded it.
Both went to bed in a good mood, and the next day Taras went in search of new treasures. He did not consider it necessary to make a secret of his intentions. Twenty years earlier, a group of exiles had been openly engaged in similar research and enriched science with hitherto unknown samples of the folklore of the northern region. But that was one time, and now it's another. The police chief did not forget the history of the lectures. Hearing about the new plan of the exiles, he became furious and sent for Taras. There was a scene that Taras did not soon forget. The police officer, this rude animal, this thief, dared to insult him, Taras, dared to threaten him with prison because he allegedly "confused the minds" - as if these stupid gossips had even a drop of mind! All his spiritual pride revolted against such insolence. He was ready to beat his offender, but restrained himself - he would have been shot on the spot. It would be too big a victory for these bastards. Taras did not utter a word, but when he left the police department, the deathly pallor that covered his face showed what this collision with the police officer had cost and how difficult it was for him to control himself.
That evening, returning with his friend from a distant and silent walk, Taras suddenly said:
Why don't we run? Regardless, it won't get any worse.
Orshin did not answer. He couldn't make a decision right away. And Taras understood him. He knew why Orshin hesitated. Exiles, like people in general who have lived together for a long time, understand each other so well that the answer to a question is often superfluous - they guess both thoughts and unspoken words.
Orshin was in a good mood. A school was opened in Gorodishka, and a young teacher was supposed to come, who, as they said, would teach the children "in a new way." The young man looked forward to her arrival with great impatience. It pleased him to imagine how he would get to know her and learn from her. pedagogical techniques. He would have agreed to stay in the Town for a long time now, if only he would be allowed to help her. But this was out of the question.
Finally the teacher arrived. She graduated from pedagogical courses and was the first to introduce a new teaching system in Gorodishka. All the nobility of the city gathered at the first lesson, and everyone was seized with such curiosity, as if the school were a menagerie, and the teacher was a tamer of animals. Orshin could not restrain himself from meeting her immediately, and when he visited her, she greeted him very cordially. Passionately devoted to her work, the young teacher was heartily glad to meet a man who shared her ardor and sympathized with her views. After his first visit, Orshin left the teacher with a whole armful pedagogical books under the arm and then began to visit her often. But one day, when he came to her, he found her in tears. The girl was fired from her post without warning "for relations with political exiles."
Orshin was in despair. He passionately protested against the dismissal of the teacher, interceded for her, assured that it was his fault, he was looking for her acquaintances and she had nothing to do with it. But it was all in vain. The authorities did not even think of changing their decision, and the unfortunate teacher was forced to leave.
Having put the girl on the ship, Taras and Orshin were returning from the pier. Taras again repeated the question that he once posed to his friend:
Well, wasn't I right? - he said. - It won't get any worse.
Yes Yes! the young man exclaimed passionately.
Usually he endured all sorts of injustices with such patience and restraint that it simply drove Taras to despair. But, apparently, the cup was finally overflowing.
If we are not released this winter, we will run away,” said Taras. - How do you think?
Yes, yes, absolutely!
But winter brought with it only new disasters.
It was post day. Writing and receiving letters was the only event that broke the monotony of the stagnant life of the Town. The exiles, one might say, only lived from one postal day to the next. The mail came every ten days, that is, three times a month. Although according to the rules of writing, not all exiles were required to be censored, in fact none of them were spared from it. The authorities wisely calculated that if they put one in a privileged position, they would have to do the same with all, otherwise all correspondence would pass through the hands of a privileged exile. Therefore, the letters addressed to the exiles were first read by the police officer, then sent to the addressees with his seal. Of course, their relatives did not write anything illegal from the outside, as if they were sending letters to prison - everyone understood that they would pass through the hands of the police. But with the utter ignorance of the officials of this remote region, the censorship of letters caused endless bickering. Some scientific phrase or a foreign word was enough to cause a misunderstanding, and the long-awaited, ardently desired letter disappeared into the bottomless pit of the Third Section. Most misunderstandings with the police are due to the confiscation of letters.
Correspondence sent by the exiles from Gorodishka suffered the same fate. In order to prevent them from evading their humiliating duty, a policeman was constantly on duty at the only mailbox in the city and without hesitation immediately took possession of every postal item that the exile or his landlady tried to put into the box. A few kopecks would, of course, make this fellow close one eye, or maybe both. But what's the point? Residents of Gorodishka write letters so rarely that the postmaster knows the handwriting of each of them, and he recognizes the letter of the exile at first sight. In addition, the correspondence of local residents is limited to Arkhangelsk - the provincial city and the center of trade and crafts of this region. Letters addressed to Odessa, Kyiv, the Caucasus and other distant cities belonged exclusively to the exiles.
Therefore, in order to avoid censorship, one had to resort to tricks. And then one day it occurred to Orshin to use a book for this purpose, which he wanted to return to his comrade in Nsk. Having written a large message in the margins, he packed the book in such a way that it would not be easy to open it on the pages he had written. He had used this trick before, and always with success. But this time, due to an accident, the case fell through and a terrible scandal occurred. It hardly needs to be said that Orshin did not write anything particularly important. And what can an exile have that is so special or important? But the fact is that when writing the letter, Orshin was in a playful mood and sarcastically, in an unflattering light, portrayed the bureaucratic society of Gorodishka, and, as you can easily imagine, the police officer and his wife were not in last place. The police chief, having revealed the secret of the book, was beside himself with rage. He rushed to the apartment of our friends and, upon entering, exploded like a bomb.
Mr. Orshin, get dressed immediately. You are going to jail right now.
But why? What's happened? asked the young man in utter astonishment.
You sent secret correspondence to the newspapers with the aim of making a mockery of the official authorities and thereby causing disrespect for them and shaking the foundations of the existing order.
Here the friends understood what was the matter, and were ready to burst out laughing in the police officer's face, but they were in no mood for laughter. It was necessary to protect a comrade and defend their rights.
Orshin won't go to jail. You have no right to arrest him,” Taras said firmly.
I'm not talking to you, and if you please be silent. And you, Mr. Orshin, hurry up.
We will not allow Orshin to be taken to prison,” Taras repeated, looking the police chief straight in the face.
He spoke slowly and very decisively, which was always a sign of his intense anger.
Everyone supported Taras, and a heated argument began. Meanwhile, other exiles, having learned about what had happened, immediately ran and joined the protest of their comrades. Taras stood at the door. Not listening to Orshin's persistent requests not to put themselves in danger because of him, the comrades did not want to let him go.
If you put him in prison, then put us all there, they shouted.
And then we will demolish your old barracks, - said Taras.
Things began to take a bad turn, because the police officer threatened to call the gendarmes and use force. Then Orshin declared that he was giving himself into the hands of the police, and his friends were forced to let him go.
Orshin was kept in custody for only two days, but this incident further aggravated relations between the exiles and the police. The exiles took revenge in the only way available to them. The fact is that the police officer experienced a panic, almost superstitious fear of criticism in the newspapers, and the exiles decided to strike him in the most sensitive place. They wrote humorous correspondence about him, and they managed to send it in a roundabout way to the editorial office of a Petersburg newspaper. The correspondence reached its destination and appeared in print. She not only hit the target, but also caused a terrible commotion. The governor himself was angry and ordered an investigation. Searches were made in many apartments of the exiles in order to find "traces of the crime". And since the culprits were not found, all the exiles were accused in a row and began to be subjected to all sorts of petty quibbles, especially with regard to correspondence. The police now demanded strict observance of every paragraph of the Rules, while previously all sorts of indulgences were allowed.
Lozinsky was the first to suffer from these changes. got up again eternal question his right to practice medicine. The dispute about this went on from the very arrival of the doctor in Gorodishko. He was denied the right to treat people under the pretext that he could use his profession to conduct political propaganda. However, when one of the chiefs or members of their families fell ill, doctors were often invited; his professional activity actually allowed, although officially it was not recognized. And now the police officer told him bluntly that if he did not strictly obey the rules, his disobedience would be reported to the governor. He, the police officer, does not at all intend to lose his post "in order to please Dr. Lozinsky."
The other exiles were treated with no more delicacy. The police oversight imposed on them became simply unbearable. They were no longer allowed to walk outside the miserable town that had turned into a prison for them. They were constantly harassed by annoying police visits - it was like a roll call in a prison. Not a single morning passed without a policeman coming in to inquire about their health. Every other day they were obliged to appear at the police department and be noted in a special book. After all, it was the same prison, albeit without cells, surrounded by an endless desert that cut off the Town from the whole world more securely than granite walls. In addition, the police did not take their eyes off the exiles for a minute. As soon as one of them appeared on the street, one or two policemen were already following him. Wherever they went, whoever they visited, whoever came to them, they were relentlessly watched by the police officer and his gendarmes.
All this brought the exiles into deep despondency; there was almost no hope left of changing their situation for the better. On the contrary, they could rather expect their fate to worsen. They learned from the police chief's secretary that a thunderstorm was gathering over their heads in Arkhangelsk. They have incurred the displeasure of the governor, and perhaps some of them will soon be sent to another place even further north.
Under such conditions it was impossible to hesitate any longer. Taras and Orshin informed their comrades in the commune, and then the entire colony, that they had decided to escape. Their decision was met with universal approval, and four more comrades wanted to join them. But since it was impossible for all six to run at the same time, it was agreed that they would leave in twos. Taras and Orshin were to be the first pair, Lozinsky and Ursich the second, and the third two older exiles.
In the colony, there was no longer any talk of anything other than escaping. The entire general fund was placed at the disposal of the fugitives, and in order to increase it even by a few rubles, the exiles subjected themselves to the greatest hardships. The end of winter was spent discussing various escape plans and preparing for the great event.
In addition to political exiles, about twenty more exiled criminals lived in Gorodishka - thieves, petty crooks, stealing officials and the like. These swindlers were treated much more leniently than the political ones. Their correspondence was not censored, and as long as they were busy with something, they were left alone. But they were not particularly eager to work, preferring to live by begging and petty theft. The authorities, who showed the greatest severity in relation to political exiles, treated these crooks very condescendingly; obviously, they were connected with them by a common interest, and they also received tribute from them.
These criminals are a scourge for the entire region. Sometimes they form whole gangs. One city - Shenkursk - they actually kept under siege. No one dared to either arrive there or leave from there without paying the bride price to the swindlers. In Kholmogory, they became so insolent that they were called to order only after Governor Ignatiev himself arrived there. He summoned the bandits to his place and read them a paternal admonition about their bad behavior. They listened to him with the greatest attention, promised to improve, and when they left the governor's reception room, they took the samovar with them. Since the samovar was very good, and the police could not find it, a message of peace was sent to the thieves and negotiations were started on the return of the stolen goods. In the end, the governor bought back his samovar, paying five rubles to the thieves.
The relationship between the two groups of exiles was somewhat peculiar. The crooks had a deep respect for the political and provided them with various services, which did not prevent them, however, on occasion from deceiving their comrades in misfortune and stealing money from them.
But since the supervision of the thieves was much weaker than the political ones, Ursich came up with the idea of using their help for the alleged escape. However, while this plan had many advantages, it also had a major disadvantage. Most of the thieves were inveterate drunkards, and one could not rely on them. Nevertheless, one of them needed to be involved in this case, and the exiles discussed for a long time what to do.
Found! Lozinsky once exclaimed. I found the person we need. This is Ushimbay.
He is. As soon as he can help us.
The doctor cured Ushimbai of chest disease, which steppe nomads are always subject to when they get to the icy north. Since then, the Sultan treated his benefactor with the dog's blind devotion to the owner. You could trust him: he was simple and honest, a real child of nature.
The commune invited Ushimbay to tea, and they explained to him what they wanted from him. He agreed without hesitation and threw himself wholeheartedly into the escape plan. Since he enjoyed much more freedom than political exiles, he was allowed to run a small livestock trade, and from time to time he traveled to the surrounding villages, where he had acquaintances among the peasants. Therefore, he had the opportunity to take the fugitives to a certain place at the first stage of their escape. Eager to help the doctor and his friends, the only people in Gorodishka, who was friendly to him, the good fellow despised the danger that threatened him for assisting the fugitives.
There is no need to tell in detail about the escape, which at first was quite successful. Ushimbay coped with his task superbly and returned with the news of the safe arrival of the fugitives at the first point on their way - Arkhangelsk.
The week passed quietly. But suddenly, unusual activity began to be noticed among the policemen. This was a bad sign, and the exiles were afraid that trouble had happened to the fugitives. Their premonition did not deceive them. A few days later they learned from the police chief's secretary that in Arkhangelsk the fugitives had incurred the suspicions of the gendarmes; they managed to get away from them, but the police sent a chase after them. Five days later, completely exhausted by the terrible ordeals they had endured, half-dead from fatigue and hunger, they fell into the hands of the gendarmes. They were treated with extreme cruelty; Orshin was beaten until he lost consciousness. Taras defended himself with his revolver, but he was seized, disarmed and shackled. Then both were thrown onto a cart and brought to Arkhangelsk, where Orshin was placed in a prison hospital.
This news struck the exiles like a thunderbolt and plunged them into deep sorrow. For a long time they sat in heavy silence, and each was afraid to look his comrade in the face, so as not to see on him the reflection of his own despair. In the following days, every thing, every incident evoked in the memory of the unfortunate friends who, by the community of suffering, had become so close and dear to them. Only now, having lost them, did the exiles realize how dear they were to them.
For one of the three remaining members of the commune, the experience of misfortune had completely unforeseen consequences. In the evening, on the third day after receiving the fatal news, the comrades persuaded the Old Man, deeply depressed by what had happened, to go and visit one of his old friends. He was expected to go home at about eleven, but the twelfth hour came, and he was not there. When it struck twelve, the outer door suddenly opened and erratic steps were heard in the corridor. It couldn't be the Old Man, he never stumbled. Ursich came out holding the candle over his head to see who the intruder was, and by the flickering light of the candle he saw the figure of a man leaning helplessly against the wall. It was the Old Man, dead drunk. It was the first time he had been in such a state since he lived in the commune. His comrades dragged him into the room, and his care to some extent lightened the burden of their sorrows.
The next year was marked by many sad events. Taras was tried for armed resistance to the police and sentenced to eternal hard labor. Orshin, who had not yet recovered from his wounds, was transported to the Samoyed village at 70 degrees north latitude, where the earth thaws only for six weeks a year. Lozinsky received a heartbreaking letter from him, full of forebodings. The poor man was very sick. He was so tormented by chest disease that he is now incapable of anything. "And you are not here to teach me the mind," wrote Orshin. The teeth, he continued, had betrayed him and showed a great tendency to disappear from the mouth. It was a hint of scurvy, a fatal disease in the polar regions. In the same village as Orshin, there was another exile, who was also placed there for trying to escape. Both of them led a miserable and hungry existence, often having neither meat nor bread. Orshin gave up all hope of ever seeing his friends again. Even if he had the opportunity to escape, he could not use it - he was so physically weak. He ended his letter with the words: "This spring, I hope I die." But he died even before his appointed time. His death was shrouded in mystery; it was impossible to know for sure whether he died a natural death, or whether he himself put an end to his torment by taking his own life.
Meanwhile, the situation of the exiles in Gorodishka became more and more unbearable. After the escape of the two friends, the bullying of the jailers became even more vicious, and the hopes of returning to freedom and civilization almost disappeared. As the revolutionary ferment intensified in the country, the cruelty of the tsarist government towards those who were in its power assumed even greater proportions. In order to prevent further attempts to escape, a decree was issued that any such attempt would be punishable by expulsion to Eastern Siberia.
But there were still escapes. As soon as the Gorodishka police, tired of their own zeal, relaxed their vigilance somewhat, Lozinsky and Ursich fled. It was a desperate undertaking, for they had so little money that it was almost impossible to think of a successful escape. But Lozinsky could not wait any longer. Every day he could be transferred to another place as a punishment for the fact that he could not refuse the mother to heal her sick child, and the unfortunate husband to help his wife who was lying in a fever.
Fate did not favor the fugitives. On the way, they had to part, and after that there was no more news about Lozinsky - he disappeared without a trace. One could only guess about his fate. He walked through the forest on foot and could lose his way. He could die of starvation or become the prey of wolves, which teem with forests in those parts.
Ursic was more fortunate at first. Since he did not have enough money to get to St. Petersburg, he hired a simple worker in Vologda and worked there until he collected some money to continue the journey. But at that moment, when he was already entering the train car, he was recognized, arrested and subsequently sentenced to indefinite exile in the Yakutsk region.
When he, under the escort of soldiers, along with his comrades in misfortune, walked along the Siberian highway washed with tears, not far from Krasnoyarsk he suddenly saw a postal troika flying at full speed. The face of the well-dressed gentleman in the three-cornered hat sitting in the carriage seemed familiar to him. He looked straight at him and could hardly suppress a cry of joy, recognizing his friend Taras in the traveler! Yes, it was Taras, he could not be mistaken. This time, Taras really managed to escape, and he rushed to Russia with all the swiftness that the troika that took him away was capable of.
In the blink of an eye, the carriage sped past and disappeared in a cloud of dust. But in that short moment - whether it was Ursich's imagination, or was it really - it seemed to him that he caught the understanding look of his friend and that a flash of compassion flashed across his energetic face.
And Ursich, with a beaming face and burning eyes, looked after the troika who had dashed off, putting his whole soul into his parting look. Like a whirlwind before his mind's eye flashed all the sorrows that his face resurrected in memory, and he, as if looking into the abyss, saw before him a gloomy future awaiting him and his comrades. And, looking after the disappearing troika, which was carrying away his friend, he wished happiness to this courageous, strong man hoping with all his heart that he will be able to avenge the evil done to him.
Whether Taras really recognized Ursich in the chained convict on the side of the road, we cannot say. But we know that he honestly carried out the work silently entrusted to him by a friend.
In St. Petersburg, Taras joined the revolutionary party and for three years he passionately fought where the struggle was most dangerous. When at last he was seized and sentenced to death, he could proudly and rightly say that he had done his duty. But they didn't hang him. The sentence was commuted to life imprisonment in the Peter and Paul Fortress, and there he died.
So after five years, from a small family that arose in a distant northern town, only one person remained alive, that is, free from chains. This is the Old Man. He is still in Gorodishka, living without hope and without a future, not even wanting to leave this miserable place in which he had lived for so long, for in the state into which his exile had brought him, the poor fellow was no longer good for anything.
My story is over. It is by no means cheerful or amusing, but it is truthful. I just tried to reproduce the real picture of life in exile. The scenes I have described are invariably repeated in Siberia and in the northern towns, which have been turned into veritable prisons by tsarism. Worse things have happened than the ones I have depicted. I have told only about ordinary cases, not wanting to use the right given to me by the artistic form in which I have given this essay to exaggerate for the sake of dramatic effect.
It is not difficult to prove this - one has only to cite a few excerpts from the official report of a person who no one will accuse of exaggeration - General Baranov, who was formerly the mayor of St. Petersburg, and now the governor of Nizhny Novgorod. For some time he was governor in Arkhangelsk. Let the reader see for himself between the lines of the dry document the tears, grief and tragedies reflected on its pages.
I quote the text of the report verbatim, keeping the conventions of the style adopted by Russian dignitaries in an official report to the tsarist government.
“From the experience of past years and from my personal observations,” the general writes, “I have come to the conclusion that an administrative exile for political reasons can much more spoil both the character and direction of a person than to put him on true path(and the latter was officially recognized as the purpose of expulsion). The transition from a completely secure life to an existence full of deprivations, from life in society to the complete absence of it, from a more or less active life to forced inactivity, has such a detrimental effect that often, especially in recent times (note!), began to fall between political exiles cases of insanity, suicide attempts and even suicide. All this is a direct result of the abnormal conditions in which exile places a mentally developed personality. There has not yet been a case when a person, suspected of political unreliability on the basis of really solid data and exiled by administrative order, came out of it reconciled with the government, renouncing its errors, a useful member of society and a faithful servant of the throne. On the other hand, it often happens that a person who has fallen into exile as a result of a misunderstanding (what a wonderful confession!) or an administrative error, already here, on the spot, under the influence of partly personal anger, partly as a result of a collision with truly anti-government figures, has himself become politically unreliable. In a person infected with anti-government ideas, exile by its entire environment can only intensify this infection, sharpen it, turn it from ideological into practical, that is, extremely dangerous. To a person who is not guilty of a revolutionary movement, by virtue of the same circumstances, it inculcates the ideas of revolution, that is, it achieves a goal opposite to that for which it was established. No matter how the exile is furnished with an administrative order from the outside, it always instills in the exiled an irresistible idea of administrative arbitrariness, and this alone serves as an obstacle to achieving any kind of reconciliation and correction.
The frank general is quite right. All those who managed to escape from exile, almost without exception, joined the ranks of the revolutionary terrorist party. Administrative exile as a corrective measure is absurd. General Baranov must be very simple-hearted if he admits that the government is not fully aware of this, or even for a moment believes in the educational power of its system. Administrative exile is both a punishment and a formidable weapon of self-defence. Those who escaped from exile are indeed turning into irreconcilable enemies of tsarism. But there is still a question - would they not have become his enemies if they had not been exiled. There are many revolutionaries and terrorists who have never been subjected to this test. For every one who escaped from exile, there are a hundred who remain and perish irrevocably. Of this hundred, most are completely innocent, but ten or fifteen, or perhaps twenty-five, are undoubted enemies of the government, or become so in a very short time; and if they perish with others, so much the better, the fewer enemies.
The only practical conclusion that Count Tolstoy could draw from the general's naive report is that the order to exile should not be canceled in any case, and the tsarist government is steadily implementing this principle.
A DISAPPEARED GENERATION
We have so far limited ourselves to describing administrative exile in its most moderate form, which it took in the northern provinces of European Russia. We have not yet said anything about the Siberian exile in general, the peculiarity of which lies in the senseless cruelty of the lower police ranks, turned into such despots thanks to the system of hard labor camps that have existed in Siberia since its annexation to the tsarist empire.
IN last years In the reign of Alexander II, another form of exile became widespread - to Eastern Siberia. It still applies today, and although the size of this book does not allow us to dwell on this issue, it is too important to completely omit it. As the reader probably remembers, talking about people against whom unheard-of police brutality was allowed - Dr. Bely, Yuzhakov, Kovalevsky and others - I noted that they were all deported to Eastern Siberia, to the Yakutsk region, an absolutely extraordinary region, much more different from the rest of Siberia than Siberia differs from European Russia.
I will not bore the reader with a description of this almost unknown polar region, but will simply quote an article that appeared in the Zemstvo weekly in February 1881. This article conveys the content of several letters about the life of exiled settlers in the Yakutsk region, published in various Russian newspapers during the short period of liberalism that began with the establishment of the dictatorship of Loris-Melikov.
“We managed to get used to the difficult conditions of administrative exile in European Russia and take a closer look thanks to the oxen patience of a Russian person. But until recently, we know almost nothing about the situation of administrative exiles beyond the Ural Mountains, in Siberia. This ignorance is very simply explained by the fact that before In the late seventies there were very few cases of administrative deportations to Siberia. Before, we were incomparably more humane. The moral feeling, which had not died out under the influence of political passions, did not allow, without trial, by administrative decision, to expel people to that country, the name of which, in the mind of a Russian person, became a synonym But soon the administration, without embarrassment, began to send people to such places, the mere name of which evokes a feeling of horror.
Even the deserted Yakutsk region began to be populated by exiles. Apparently, one would expect that if people are deported to the Yakutsk region, then these must be very important criminals. But society still knows nothing about such important criminals, and meanwhile several unrefuted reports have already appeared in the press, proving that some strange, inexplicable motives lay at the basis of such deportations. So, Mr. Vladimir Korolenko last year told his sad story in Molva with the only purpose, according to him, to provoke an explanation: for what, for what unknown crimes, he almost ended up in the Yakutsk region?
In 1879, two searches were made in his apartment, and nothing incriminating was found, but nevertheless he was deported to the Vyatka province, not knowing the reasons for the deportation. After living for about five months in the city of Glazov, he received a sudden visit from the police chief, who searched the apartment, but, not finding anything suspicious, announced to our exile that he was being deported to the village of Berezovsky Pochinki, which was completely inconvenient for a cultured person. After some time, gendarmes never seen here suddenly appear in these unfortunate Pochinki, take Mr. Korolenko with all his household belongings and take him to Vyatka. Here he was kept for fifteen days in prison, without questioning or explaining anything to him, and finally they took him to the Vyshnevolotsk prison, from where there was only one way - to Siberia.
Fortunately, Prince Imeretinsky, a member of the Supreme Commission, visited this prison, to whom Korolenko turned with a request to explain: where and for what he was being sent? The prince was so kind and philanthropic that he did not refuse to give the poor fellow an answer on the basis of official documents. According to these documents, it turned out that Korolenko was being expelled to the Yakutsk region for escaping from exile, which he actually never committed.
At this time, the Supreme Commission had already begun reviewing the cases of political exiles, the outrageous lies of the previous administration began to come to light, and a beneficial change took place in the fate of Korolenko. In the Tomsk transit prison, it was announced to him and several other such poor fellows that five of them would receive complete freedom, and the other five would return to European Russia.
However, not everyone is as happy as Korolenko. Others still continue to experience the delights of life near the Arctic Circle, although their crimes differ slightly from Korolenko's.
For example, the Yakut correspondent of Russkiye Vedomosti says that an exiled young man lives in Verkhoyansk, whose fate is truly remarkable. He was a first-year student at Kyiv University. Because of the riots that took place at the university in April 1878, he was sent under police supervision to the Novgorod province, which is considered a less remote province and where, therefore, people who are the least compromised in the eyes of the authorities are sent. Even the then strict administration did not attach any serious political significance to the young man's cause, which is proved by his transfer from Novgorod to the warmer and better Kherson province in all respects. Finally, to all this we must add the fact that at present, by order of Loris-Melikov, almost all students of Kiev University, exiled under police supervision to the cities of European Russia for student stories, have received freedom with the right to enter universities again. And one of these Kiev students still lives in exile in the Yakutsk region, where he ended up, in essence, only because the higher administration found it possible to alleviate his fate by transferring him from Novgorod to Kherson province. The fact is that when the Odessa Governor-General Totleben carried out the cleansing of the region entrusted to him from unintentional elements by deporting to Siberia all persons who were under police supervision, the former Kiev student suffered the same fate for the mere fact that he had the misfortune to be under supervision police not in Novgorod, but in Kherson province.
Another, no less striking, case of deportation to Eastern Siberia is told in the Moscow Telegraph. According to this newspaper, Borodin was expelled after publishing several articles on economic and zemstvo issues in St. Petersburg journals. He lived in Vyatka under the supervision of the police, and once, while at the theater, he argued over a place with the assistant quarter warden Filimonov. During an argument, a police official hit Borodin in the chest in front of a large audience. And this blow had a decisive influence on the fate of not the offender, but the offended. The assistant quarter warden did not even receive a simple reprimand from his superiors, and Borodin was imprisoned. It cost Borodin a lot of trouble to get out of prison with the help of connections and intercession. But he did not have to enjoy his freedom for very long, because he was soon sent in stages to Eastern Siberia.
Why, however, was Borodin expelled, if the clash with the assistant quarter warden successfully ended in release from prison? If we are not mistaken, the answer to this question is found in the Russkiye Vedomosti report about the author of articles expelled from Vyatka, published in Otechestvennye Zapiski, Slova, Russkaya Pravda, and other journals. The author of these articles is not named, and it is only reported about him that, while living in Vyatka, “he committed a great crime in the eyes of the local authorities. only does not prosper, but even starves." This troublesome and unpleasant person to the authorities was subjected to two police searches, and finally an article prepared for publication was found in his papers, which allegedly was the reason for the author's deportation to Eastern Siberia.
After a long stage trip in a prisoner's robe with an ace of diamonds on his back, our writer arrived in Irkutsk and here had the pleasure of receiving "Notes of the Fatherland", where the entire article, without abbreviations and omissions, is printed, the former cause his links.
Now let's see what the life of a person exiled to the Yakutsk region is like.
First of all, attention should be paid to the convenience of communication with the central government. If an exile living in Kolymsk decides to apply to Count Loris-Melikov for release from exile, then this application will go by mail to St. Petersburg for one year. Another year is needed for an inquiry to the local authorities about the behavior and way of thinking of the exile to reach Kolymsk from St. Petersburg. During the third year, the answer of the Kolyma authorities will travel to St. Petersburg, that there are no obstacles to the release of the exile. Finally, at the end of the fourth year, they will receive a ministerial order in Kolymsk to release the exile.
If the exile has neither ancestral or acquired property and before the exile lived by mental labor, for which there is no demand in the Yakutsk region, then within four years, when the mail has time to make four turns between St. Petersburg and Kolymsk, he runs the risk of dying at least four hundred times with hunger. From the treasury, the exiled noblemen receive an allowance of six rubles a month, and meanwhile a pood of rye flour costs five or six rubles in Verkhoyansk, and nine rubles in Kolymsk. If unaccustomed to educated person thankless physical labor, or help from the homeland, or, finally, alms given "for Christ's sake" will save the exile from starvation, then the deadly polar cold will reward him with rheumatism for life, and completely drive the weak-chested to the grave. An educated society cannot be found at all in such cities as Verkhoyansk and Kolymsk, where there are inhabitants: in the first - 224 people, and in the second - a little more, and even those for the most part are either foreigners or degenerate Russians who have lost their nationality.
But this is still happiness for the exile, if he gets to live in the city. In the Yakut region there is still another, so cruel, so barbaric, type of exile, about which Russian society Until now, it had no idea about which it first learned from the message of the Yakut correspondent of Russkiye Vedomosti. This is a "link in the uluses", that is, the resettlement of administrative exiles alone in scattered and often separated by many miles from one another, the yurts of the Yakuts. Russkiye Vedomosti's correspondence contains the following excerpt from a letter from an ulus exile, vividly depicting the terrible situation of an intelligent man who was ruthlessly thrown into a yurt.
"The Cossacks who brought me from Yakutsk left, and I was left alone among the Yakuts, who do not understand a word in Russian. They are always watching me, afraid that if I leave them, their responsibility to the authorities. You will leave the stuffy, lonely standing walk around the yurts - a suspicious Yakut is already watching you. You take an ax in your hands to cut off your stick - the timid Yakut asks you to leave him with gestures and facial expressions and better go to the yurt. The Yakuts live in the winter together with cattle, often without even being separated from them by a thin partition, the droppings of cattle and children in the yurt, the monstrous untidiness and dirt, the rotting of straw and rags on the bed, various insects in huge numbers, the utterly stuffy air, the impossibility of saying two words in Russian - all this can positively drive you crazy. It is almost impossible to eat Yakut food: it is untidy cooked, often from rotten products, without salt, it makes you vomit out of habit. They do not have dishes and clothes of their own, baths they are nowhere to be found, all winter - eight months - you walk no cleaner than a Yakut.
I can’t go anywhere, and even more so to the city itself, two hundred miles away. I live alternately with the residents: one for a month and a half, then you go for the same period to another, and so on. Nothing to read, no books, no newspapers; I don't know what's going on in the world."
Cruelty cannot go further than this, it remains only to tie a person to the tail of an unbridled horse and drive him into the steppe or shackle a living person with a corpse and leave him to the mercy of fate. I do not want to believe the possibility that a person without a trial, on the basis of one administrative order, would be subjected to such severe torment.
In particular, it seems incredibly strange the assurance of the correspondent of Russkiye Vedomosti that so far none of those exiled in the Yakutsk region have received any relief, but, on the contrary, recently dozens of administrative exiles have arrived here, who are mostly located in uluses, and the arrival of new exiles is expected ahead *.
* This report on the conditions of administrative exile in the Yakutsk region is fully confirmed by Melville's recently published book "In the Lena Delta". (Note by Stepnyak-Kravchinsky.)
A few words about the feigned incredulity of the author of the article. After all, this is just a usual trick of the Russian censored press - to express so indirectly and dispassionately their disapproval of the actions of the government. Zemstvo, as every Russian who has read the article in question knows, did not doubt for a moment both about the reported arrival of the aforementioned ten exiles and about the expected further arrivals mentioned by the Russkiye Vedomosti correspondent.
This is undoubtedly the extreme limit to which the official system of administrative exile, as it is organized in Russia, has reached. "Zemstvo" is absolutely right - there is nowhere to go further. After the facts I have given, now only numbers can speak. Let's turn to the evidence of numbers.
The administrative exile produced much deeper devastation than the courts. According to data published in the Bulletin of the People's Will in 1883, from April 1879, when martial law was introduced in Russia, until the death of Alexander II in March 1881, forty political trials took place and the number of accused reached 245 people, of which 28 were acquitted and 24 received minor sentences. But during the same period, out of only three southern satrapies - Odessa, Kiev and Kharkov - according to the documents at my disposal, 1767 people were sent to various cities, including Eastern Siberia.
During two reigns, the number of political prisoners sentenced in 124 trials amounted to 841, and a good third of the punishments were almost only conditional. We do not have official statistics relating to administrative exile, but when, under the dictatorship of Loris-Melikov, the government tried to refute the accusation that half of Russia was sent into exile, it admitted that 2873 exiles were in various parts of the empire, of which all but 271, were expelled in a short period of time - from 1878 to 1880. If we do not make allowances for the natural unwillingness of the government to recognize the full measure of its shame; if we forget that because of the multitude of superiors who have the right to issue an administrative expulsion order at their own discretion, without giving an account to anyone, the central government itself does not know what the number of its victims is;* if, without noticing all this, we let us assume that the number of these victims is approximately three thousand - real number exiles in 1880, then for the next five years of merciless repression we must double this number. We do not sin against the truth, assuming that during the two reigns the total number of exiles reached from six to eight thousand. On the basis of information obtained by the editors of Narodnaya Volya, Tikhomirov calculated that the number of arrests made before the beginning of 1883 was 8,157, and yet in Russia in nine cases out of ten an arrest is followed by deportation or worse.
* See M. Leroy-Beaulieu's book on Russia, Volume II. (Note by Stepnyak-Kravchinsky.)
But we don't really need to dwell on the statistics of punishments. A few thousand exiles, more or less, does not change the picture. More importantly, in a country so poor in intelligentsia, everything that was in it the most noble, generous and gifted was buried with these six or eight thousand exiles. All her vital forces are concentrated in this mass of people, and if their number does not reach twelve or sixteen thousand, it is only because the people simply cannot give so much.
The reader has already seen what reasons seem to the government sufficient to justify the expulsion of a person. It would not be an exaggeration to say that only the spies, and even the employees of Katkov's Moskovskie Vedomosti, can consider themselves safe from this threat. To deserve expulsion, it is not necessary to be a revolutionary, it is quite enough to disapprove entirely of the policies and actions of the tsarist government. Under such conditions, an educated, honest person would rather be exiled than saved.
Exile in any form - be it life among the Yakuts or deportation to the northern provinces - with a few exceptions means the inevitable death of the doomed and the complete destruction of his future. For a mature person who already has a profession or occupation - a scientist or famous writer- exile is inevitably a terrible disaster, leading to the deprivation of all life comforts, the loss of a family, the loss of a job. However, if he has the energy and strength of character and does not die from drunkenness or want, he may survive. But for a young man, usually just a student, who does not have a profession and has not reached the full development of his abilities, exile is simply fatal. Even if he does not die physically, his moral death is inevitable. But young people make up nine-tenths of our exiles, and they are subjected to the most cruel treatment.
As for the return of the exiles, it is subject to extreme strictness by the government. The Supreme Commission, appointed by Loris-Melikov, released only 174 people, and a double number immediately took their place. This fact is also confirmed in the book by Leroy-Bolier "Much Ado About Nothing". Even if a few of the political exiles, after many years of exile, by a lucky chance or with the help of influential friends and without being forced to buy their freedom by the cowardly hypocrisy of feigned repentance, return from exile, from the moment they return to active life they are haunted by a suspicious police eye. At the slightest provocation, they are struck again, and this time there is no more hope of salvation.
How many exiles! How many lost lives!
The despotism of Nicholas killed people who had already reached maturity. The despotism of the two Alexanders did not allow them to grow up, attacking the younger generations like locusts, the young shoots that had barely emerged from the ground to devour these tender shoots. What other reason can we find for the hopeless barrenness of today's Russia in any area of spiritual life? Our modern literature, however, is proud of great writers, even geniuses, worthy of occupying the highest peaks in the most brilliant era of the literary development of any country. But the work of these writers dates back to the forties. The novelist Leo Tolstoy is fifty-eight, the satirist Shchedrin (Saltykov) is sixty-one, Goncharov is seventy-three, Turgenev and Dostoyevsky, both recently deceased, were born in 1818. Even writers of lesser talent, such as, for example, Gleb Uspensky in prose and Mikhailovsky in criticism, belong to a generation that, having begun its creative life in the early sixties, did not endure such cruel persecution and was not so tormented as their successors. The new generation creates nothing, absolutely nothing. The autocracy doomed to ruin the lofty aspirations generated by the brilliant awakening of the first half of the century. Ignorance triumphs!
None of today's writers has shown himself a worthy heir to the traditions of our young and powerful literature, both in literature and in public life. The leaders of our zemstvos, no matter how modest their appointments, belong to the older generation. The vital forces of subsequent generations were buried by the autocracy under the snows of Siberia and in Samoyed villages. It's worse than the plague. The plague comes and goes, but the tsarist government has been oppressing the country for twenty years and will continue to oppress it God knows how long. The plague kills indiscriminately, and despotism chooses its victims from the color of the nation, destroying everyone on whom its future, its glory depends. It is not the political party that is crushed by tsarism, it is the one hundred million people that it is strangling.
This is what is happening in Russia under the rule of the tsars. At such a price the autocracy buys its miserable existence.
Part four
WALK AGAINST CULTURE
RUSSIAN UNIVERSITIES
At last we have emerged from the darkness and retreated from the edge of the abyss, where despotism plunges its countless victims. We have completed our journey through torment in this pitch hell, where on every step one hears the cries of despair and impotent rage, the death rattle of the dying and the crazy laughter of the insane. We are back on the surface of the earth and in full daylight.
True, what we have yet to tell about is also not fun, today's Russia is a long-suffering land ... But we have done away with ruined lives and terrible atrocities. Now let's talk about inanimate matter, about institutions that do not suffer, even if they are torn to pieces. Having crushed the living - the man, the creator, the government naturally and inevitably launched an offensive against the institutions that are the basis and support of human society.
We want to briefly describe the struggle of the government against the most important social institutions of the country, to which it treats with instinctive hostility, because they contribute to the development of spiritual life in the country - educational institutions, zemstvos, the press. The policy of the autocracy in relation to these three pillars, on which the prosperity of the people rests, will show us what role it generally plays in the life of the state.
Russian universities occupy a peculiar and quite exceptional position. In other countries, universities are educational establishments, and nothing else. The young men who visit them all, except for idlers, indulge in their scientific pursuits, and their main, if not only, desire is to pass exams and get degree. Students, it is true, may be interested in politics, but they are not politicians, and if they express sympathy for one idea or another, even for ideas of an extreme direction, then this does not surprise or disturb anyone, because such a phenomenon is considered evidence of a healthy vitality, full of bright hopes for the people .
In Russia, the situation is quite different. Here universities and gymnasiums are the centers of the most stormy and passionate political life, and in higher spheres In the imperial administration, the word "student" is identified not with something young, noble and inspired, but with a dark, dangerous force hostile to the laws and institutions of the state. And this impression is to some extent justified, because, as recent political processes convincingly testify, the vast majority of young people aspiring to liberation struggle, less than thirty years old, and they are either undergraduate students or have recently passed state exams in the University.
But such a situation is not, in fact, unexampled or abnormal. When a government with despotic power punishes as a crime the slightest act of opposition to its will, almost all who have been made wary by age and wealth selfish, or who have entrusted their fate to providence, avoid the fight. And then the leaders of the detachments going to certain death turn to the young. Young people, even if they lack knowledge and experience, are always full of courage and dedication. This was the case in Italy during the Mazzini uprisings, in Spain under Riego and Quiroga, in Germany during the time of the Tugendbund, and again in the middle of our century. If the shifting of the center of gravity of political life to the young is more obvious in Russia than anywhere else, then the motives in our country are stronger in their effect and longer in time. One of the most effective causes is the policy of the government: senselessly cruel repressions extremely outrage the youth of our universities, and latent discontent often spills over into open rebellion. This is sufficiently confirmed by numerous facts.
At the end of 1878, the so-called riots took place among the students of St. Petersburg University. They were not particularly serious, and under normal circumstances a few dozen young men would have been expelled for this, leaving them the opportunity to ruin the rest of their lives in the remote villages of the Far North, and neither the ministry nor the University Council would have bothered about them anymore. But now the policy has changed. After the trial of the rebels, the Council of the University appointed a commission of twelve men, among whom were some of the best professors, to make a thorough investigation into the causes of the disturbances that recur from time to time. As a result of the discussion, the commission prepared a draft petition addressed to the emperor, in which he asked for his permission to carry out a radical reform of the disciplinary procedures of the university. However, the project did not win the council's approval. Instead, a report was drawn up to the minister "about the causes of the disturbances and the best measures to prevent them in the future."
This document, which is of the greatest interest, was not published either in the annual report of the university or in the press. Any newspaper that even dared to refer to him would be immediately banned. But several copies of the report were printed in the secret printing house of "Land and Freedom", and those that have survived are valued as a bibliographic rarity. From the copy in my possession, I will quote a few extracts which, as will be seen, give a vivid idea of the conditions under which students are forced to live and to what outrageous treatment they are subjected:
“Of all the organs of the state with which young students are in close contact outside the walls of the university, the first place is occupied by the police. By their actions and attitude, young people begin to judge what can be called the existing state order. This circumstance, obviously, required especially careful and the cautious attitude of the police authorities towards student youth in the interests of both youth and the dignity of the state.This is not what we see in reality.
For most young people, communication with comrades and friends is an absolute necessity. To meet this need, others European universities(as in the universities of Finland and the Baltic provinces, which enjoy significant local rights), there are special institutions - clubs, corporations and unions. There is nothing of the kind in St. Petersburg, although the vast majority of students, coming from the provinces, have no friends in the city with whom they can meet. Home communication could, to some extent, compensate for the deprivation of their other opportunities. public relations if the intervention of the police did not make both equally impossible.
Any meeting of several students in the apartment of their friend immediately fills the police with exaggerated fears. Janitors and landlords are obliged to inform the police about any meeting, even a small one, and the meeting is often dispersed with the appearance of police power.
Not being able to communicate at home for any purpose, even the most innocent, students do not enjoy personal security in private life. Even if they are occupied only with the sciences, they do not meet with anyone, they only occasionally receive guests or go to visit, they are nevertheless subjected to strict surveillance (the professors notice, not without intent, that everyone is under police surveillance). However, everything depends on the shape and dimensions that this observation takes. Surveillance instituted over students has not only the character of supervision, but turns into interference in their private lives. Where is the student? What does he do? When does he return home? What is reading? That writes? - such are the questions addressed by the police to janitors and landlords, that is, people who are usually underdeveloped, therefore, fulfilling the requirements of the police with arrogance and tactlessness, annoying impressionable youth.
Such is the testimony of the leaders of Petersburg University, given in a secret report to the tsarist minister*. But the venerable professors told only half the truth. Their comments concern exclusively the treatment of students outside the walls of the university. A sense of delicacy, naturally, did not allow them to write about what was happening within its walls, where teaching and science should be the highest purpose of students.
* Shortly after the appearance in The Times of the article constituting the content of this chapter, Katkov, in a penetrating and ardent editorial in Moskovskie Vedomosti, directly accused me of having simply invented both the commission of professors and their report, neither one nor the other. supposedly never existed. In view of the fact that these facts are ancient and almost forgotten by the general public, and since the accusation against me can be repeated, I am compelled in my defense to give some details and name the names that I omitted in the first case. The commission appointed by the university is no more a myth than the twelve professors who composed it and participated in its work. Here are their names Beketov, Famintsin, Butlerov, Sechenov, Gradovsky, Sergeevich, Tagantsev, Vladislavlev, Miller, Lamansky, Khulson and Gotsunsky. I hope that these gentlemen, most of whom are still professors at Petersburg University, are in good health. Their report was written on December 14, 1878. Not much time has passed since then. They, no doubt, remember this matter, and the question can easily find its solution. (Note by Stepnyak-Kravchinsky.)
The internal supervision of the students is entrusted to the so-called inspectorate, which consists of an inspector appointed by the ministry, assistant inspectors, and several police officers. Students, like professors, live outside the campus and meet in classrooms only at certain hours for the sole purpose of attending lectures. Professors are quite capable of ensuring order in the classroom.
What purpose can the transfer of this noble and completely peaceful task to special police supervision serve? With the same success, you can create a special detachment of sexton in spurs and helmets to observe the faithful during worship. But precisely because universities in Russia are permanent laboratories of thought and ideas, observation of them is considered extremely desirable, and supervision of the student's home life is put at the forefront. Having nothing to do with scientific studies, in no way subordinate to either the academic authorities or the University Council, depending only on the Third Department and the Ministry, this foreign factor, like an extraneous impurity introduced into a living body, disrupts all the normal functions of an educational institution. .
Three-quarters of all so-called university riots are caused by the intervention of various representatives of the inspectorate. The inspector himself - and this is the main reason for the general hatred that he arouses for himself - is a representative of the police department - Argus, sent to the enemy camp to discover the seeds of rebellion. A word whispered in the ear can have unpleasant consequences not only for the unfortunate student, but also for the distinguished university professor.
However, these hated spies enjoy the widest powers. The inspector can do almost anything. With the approval of the trustee, that is, the minister directing his actions, he has the right to dismiss the young man from among the students for a year and two, or to exclude him forever without any trial or trial. The inspector manages the issuance of scholarships and allowances, so numerous in Russian higher schools, and, by imposing his veto, can deprive a student of the money intended for him, defining him as "unreliable." This means: while he is not yet on suspicion, but he cannot be considered completely flawless.
The Inspector has also been granted the right, with a stroke of the pen, to deprive a whole group of students of all means of subsistence, forbidding them to give private lessons. Many poor students are completely dependent on such work for their daily bread. But no one can give lessons without the permission of the police, and permission is not issued without the consent of the inspector, and then for a limited period. The inspector, if he pleases, may refuse to renew the permit or even revoke it before the expiration date. He can, like any of his assistants, punish recalcitrant students by imprisonment in a punishment cell for a period not exceeding seven days. He can penalize students for being late to lectures, for students not dressed the way he likes, for their hair not cut the way he likes, for having their hair cut the wrong way, or for having their hat turned upside down, and generally to harass them with all sorts of trifles that come into his head.
Petty tyranny is felt more acutely by Russian students, arouses more violent indignation in them than it might be among students in other countries. Our young men are developed beyond their years. The suffering they witness and the persecution they are subjected to make them ripen early. The Russian student combines the dignity of manhood with the ardor of youth, and he feels all the more painfully the bullying that he is forced to endure because he is powerless to resist them. The students mostly belong to the families of the small estate nobility and the lower clergy, and both are poor. All of them are familiar with progressive, freedom-loving literature, and the vast majority of them are imbued with democratic and anti-monarchist ideas.
As they get older, these ideas are reinforced by the conditions of their lives. They are compelled either to serve a government they hate, or to choose a career for which they have no particular inclination. In Russia, young people with a noble soul and generous aspirations have no future. If they do not agree to wear the royal uniform or become members of the corrupt bureaucracy, they will not be able to serve their homeland or participate in social activities. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that a rebellious spirit is very strong among students of Russian universities and they are always ready to take part in manifestations against the authorities in general, but above all against their enemies from the Third Section, manifestations that turn into "riots" and "unrest" in the official language. and attributed to the machinations of the revolutionary party.
Such an accusation is false. The revolutionary party gains nothing from this struggle. On the contrary, it is weakening, because those who are lost to the common cause due to university troubles could use their strength to the best target in a real revolutionary struggle. The disturbances in Russian universities are purely spontaneous; their only cause is hidden discontent, constantly accumulating and always ready to find an outlet in manifestation. The student is unfairly expelled from the university; another is arbitrarily deprived of a scholarship; the hated professor asks the inspectorate to force students to attend his lectures. The news of this is spreading around the university with lightning speed, students are worried, they gather in twos and threes to discuss these matters, and in the end they convene a general meeting, protest against the actions of the administration and demand that the unfair decision be canceled. The rector appears and refuses to give any explanation. The inspector orders everyone to disperse immediately. Driven now to white heat, the students indignantly refuse to obey. Then the inspector, who foresaw such a turn, calls gendarmes, Cossacks and soldiers into the audience, and the gathering is dispersed by force.
The events that took place in Moscow in December 1880 serve the best illustration the fact that riots often arise for the most insignificant reason. Professor Zernov was giving a lecture on anatomy to attentive listeners when a loud noise came from the next room. Most of the students ran out there to find out the cause of the noise. Nothing much happened, but the professor, annoyed by the break in his lecture, complained to the authorities. The next day word spread that the professor's complaint had led to the expulsion of six students from the course. The unusually cruel punishment for such a forgivable violation of discipline caused general indignation. They called a meeting, asked the rector to give an explanation. But instead of the rector, the Moscow mayor appeared at the head of a detachment of gendarmes, Cossacks and soldiers and ordered the students to disperse. The youth became terribly agitated, and although they would have listened, of course, to the voice of reason, they refused to obey brute force. Then the audiences were cordoned off by soldiers, all exits were blocked, and about four hundred students were arrested and, under escort of bayonets, proceeded to the prison.
Cases of this kind do not always end in arrests alone. At the slightest resistance, the soldiers use their rifle butts, the Cossacks wave their whips, the faces of the youths bleed, the wounded are thrown to the ground, and then a terrible picture of armed violence and futile resistance unfolds.
This happened in Kharkov in November 1878, when the riots arose out of a pure misunderstanding between a professor at a veterinary institute and one of his courses, a misunderstanding that could be cleared up simply by explaining to the students. The same thing happened in Moscow and St. Petersburg during the student riots of 1861, 1863 and 1866. Under certain circumstances, the law allows even more brutal violence. In 1878 a decree was issued whose ferocity cannot be overstated. By this decree, "in view of the frequent gatherings of students in universities and higher schools," the law on rebellious gatherings in the streets and in other public places extends to all buildings and institutions used as gymnasiums and higher schools. This means that students in Russia are always under the law of war. Students who have gathered for a gathering or in a group, after being ordered three times to disperse, can be shot as armed rebels.
Fortunately, this monstrous law has not yet been applied in all its cruelty. The police still limit their repressive measures to beating and jailing students who do not follow her orders or otherwise displease her. But the students show little appreciation for this moderation; they are always in a state of simmering rebellion, and take advantage of every opportunity to protest in word and deed against the tyranny of the representatives of the law.
There is a strong sense of camaraderie between students in general, and "disturbances" at one university often serve as the signal for protests at many other high schools. The unrest that broke out at the end of 1882 spread to almost all of student Russia. They began far to the east, in Kazan. The rector of Kazan University, Firsov, deprived the student Vorontsov of a scholarship, which he had no right to do, since the scholarship was provided to the youth by the Zemstvo of his native province. Vorontsov was in such despair that he rushed at the rector with his fists, and even in a public place. Under normal conditions and in an orderly university environment, such a rude prank would have caused general indignation and the students themselves would have branded Vorontsov's behavior as it deserved. But as a result of his despotic arbitrariness, the rector became so hated that on the day Vorontsov was expelled, about six hundred students broke down the doors to the assembly hall and held a noisy meeting. Vice-rector Vulich, who came running, ordered the students to disperse. Nobody listened to him. Two students made speeches against Firsov and defended Vorontsov. Former student Moscow University, not paying attention to the presence of Vulich, in the harshest terms, spoke out against the trustee, the rector, and in general against the professors. In the end, the meeting adopted a resolution, and Vice-Rector Vulich was handed a petition demanding the immediate resignation of Firsov and the cancellation of Vorontsov's expulsion.
Before dispersing, the students decided to meet again the next day. The administration of the university appealed to the governor for help in restoring order, and this wise man immediately put at her disposal several platoons of soldiers and a large police force.
A few days later, it was officially announced "that complete calm reigns at Kazan University. But the newspapers that published this message were forbidden, under threat of closure, to mention how peace was achieved: that students were beaten, whipped with whips, dragged by the hair and many were thrown into prison But, despite the seal of silence placed on the newspapers, rumors about the incident at the university quickly spread throughout the country.
On November 8, as stated in the official report, hectographed copies of a letter from a Kazan student with a full account of the events were distributed among the students of St. Petersburg University, and they, of course, caused great excitement. On November 10, a hectographed leaflet was issued calling for a general meeting of St. Petersburg students in protest against the persecution of Kazan comrades. When the students arrived at the meeting place, there were already in large numbers The police were present and they were ordered to disperse. But they refused to obey and passed a resolution expressing distrust of the authorities and sympathy for Kazan students. The police were ordered to use force, and two hundred and eighty students were sent to jail.
The next day, an order was issued to temporarily close the university.
The unrest in St. Petersburg and Kazan was immediately followed by similar events in other university cities. On November 15, student riots took place in Kyiv, on November 17 and 18 - in Kharkov. At Kharkov University, the disturbances were so serious that troops were called in to suppress them and numerous arrests were made. Almost simultaneously, unrest broke out at the Demidov Law Lyceum in Yaroslavl and a few days later at the Petrovsky Agricultural Academy in Moscow. In all these higher schools, events developed in the same order - unrest, gatherings, violent dispersal, arrests, and then a temporary suspension of lectures.
Unrest is a frequent occurrence in universities and institutions of higher learning throughout the empire. Not a year passes without similar events taking place in various cities of Russia. And each such indignation, no matter how it ended - whether it subsided thanks to the exhortations of professors or was suppressed by Cossack whips - invariably entailed the expulsion of a large number of students. In some cases fifty were expelled, in others a hundred or even more. Unrest in October and November 1882 led to the dismissal of six hundred students from the higher school. The expulsion court, that is, the Board of Professors of the University, divides delinquent students into several categories. "Instigators" and "instigators" are permanently expelled and denied the right to ever re-enter higher education. Others leave the university for a fixed period - from one to three years. The lightest punishment in these cases is "expulsion", a punishment that does not prevent the perpetrator from immediately enrolling in another university.
In reality, however, there is hardly any difference between one measure of punishment and another. "The police regards any violation of order committed at the university as a political movement," says the report of the St. Petersburg professors quoted above. A student sentenced to even a light punishment turns into a politically "suspicious", and only one measure is applied to each suspicious person - administrative expulsion. As the riots of March 18 and 20, 1869, showed, the punishment imposed for the simplest infraction academic discipline may be aggravated by administrative expulsion. All students expelled for a year, as well as permanently expelled, were immediately expelled. And after the last riot, in December 1878, the rector was asked to give the chief of police the names of all the students who had ever appeared before the University Council, even if no penalties were imposed on them, with a view to sending them into exile.
If in other parts of Russia the police are not as rampant as in St. Petersburg, nevertheless everything is done there to prevent the students who participated in the university unrest from resuming their academic education.
The minister himself takes it upon himself to persecute and stigmatize them. I'll give you an example. In one St. Petersburg weekly on November 9, 1881, under the heading "Incomprehensible decision of the Council of Kyiv University", the following note was printed:
"Students temporarily expelled from Moscow University applied for admission to Kiev University. But the council, having considered this issue, refused to accept them. This actually means aggravating at its own discretion the punishment originally imposed on these students. They are denied the right, given to them by their judges."
And the press, for the most part, condemned the Kyiv University Council for cruelty, which could only be called excessive and inexplicable. However, everything was explained very simply. By a special circular, the minister forbade all universities to accept expelled Moscow students. The newspapers knew this better than others, and their diatribes, their harsh tone, had only one goal: to force the Kiev University Council to expose the double game of the government - a goal that, of course, was not achieved. Similar circulars are almost invariably sent after the latest university riots, wherever they occur.
Student unrest and its aftermath is far from the only reason for the struggle between the ministry and the universities. These events are nevertheless exceptional, they occur at comparatively large intervals of time and are replaced by periods of apparent calm. But calm does not exempt students from espionage and repression. The police never stop making arrests. When the clouds roll in the political sky and the government sounds the alarm for any reason or no reason, students are put behind bars in droves. At such times, of course, the hardest trials fall to the lot of student youth, for, as I have already noted, our students are almost all passionate politicians and potential revolutionaries. Some of the arrested students are sentenced, even after the trial, to various penalties. Eighty percent are sent to Siberia or to one of the northern provinces, and only a few, after a short stay in prison, are allowed to return home. A small proportion of those sentenced to a fixed prison term may even be allowed to resume their studies instead of being administratively expelled. But forgiveness is not in the rules of the tsarist police, it takes away with one hand what it gives with the other.
On October 15, 1881, a law was passed introducing a kind of double trial and punishment order for students falling into these categories. Articles two and three of the law direct university councils to act as special courts to try students who have already been tried and acquitted by ordinary courts or who have already expiated their guilt by serving a prison sentence. If, on the evidence of the police, a student whose case is under consideration acted "through pure thoughtlessness and without malicious intent", the University Council, at its discretion, is free to either admit him to classes or expel him. If, however, the police charge the young man with "malicious intent," even if in such an infinitesimal proportion that she herself did not consider it necessary to prosecute him, the council must nevertheless decide to expel him from the university forever and deprive him of the right to enter other higher educational establishments. Article four of the law clarifies that the previous articles apply not only to students who were prosecuted by ordinary courts, but also to those who escaped the emergency "public security law," that is, the law on martial law, which has become one of the permanent regulations in Russia.
If the young man fell into the hands of the police, then to achieve a mitigation of his fate as an exile presents extreme and almost insurmountable difficulties. A petition for pardon must be submitted personally to the emperor, but how many students have connections at court? And it is satisfied only if the petitioner can prove that within two years after the release or complete atonement of his guilt, he repented of his mistakes and finally broke with his old comrades.
But besides the legal inconsistency that lies in such a provision, contrary to the recognized truth that it is necessary to prove a crime, and not innocence, how, one wonders, can one prove one's repentance otherwise than by treason or betrayal, or, finally, by rendering services to the police? And it can be said with certainty that the law concerning the exclusion of students who have been acquitted by a court or have already been punished, despite seeming moderation, has absolute force; the police never pardon, and even if this institution and the law of martial law would allow these youths to live freely in society, the academic field would still remain inaccessible to them.
These are the forms that the real war has taken, which for more than twenty years now openly, now covertly, has been waged between our youth in higher education and the tsarist government.
But all these are only palliatives, half-measures. What has been achieved in a quarter of a century of ruthless persecution? Absolutely nothing. Despite arrests and expulsions, students harbor the same implacable hostility to the government as before. The fate of those who died in the struggle does not in the least serve as a warning to those who survived. More than ever, universities are hotbeds of discontent and centers of agitation. Obviously, there is something in the nature of things that inevitably leads to these consequences. For what is higher education but the study of European culture- its history, laws, institutions, its literature? It is hardly possible to preserve in a young man who has completed a university course and studied all these subjects the belief that Russia is the happiest of all countries and its government is the pinnacle of human wisdom. Therefore, in order to destroy evil at the root, it is necessary to hit not only people, but also institutions. Count Tolstoy, as a shrewd man, understood this long ago, although circumstances only recently allowed him to put his far-sighted plans into practice. As a result, universities are now the target of attacks from both above and below. To begin with, Count Tolstoy went to great lengths to limit the number of students by raising high school tuition fees and making entrance exams ridiculously difficult. When these measures did not stop the influx of young people striving for higher education, the Count, by order of the Ministry of March 25, 1879, arbitrarily forbade access to the universities for volunteers, who constituted a significant part of all students and enjoyed this right from time immemorial. In Odessa, for example, the number of volunteers reached from a third to a half of all students. So the new law issued by Count Tolstoy served him faithfully.
However, the count was still not satisfied. He also carried out other measures, the barbarity and cynicism of which would be hard to surpass, and thus brought the system of higher education in Russia almost to complete decline.
The Medical-Surgical Academy in St. Petersburg was the first to feel the consequences of the new measures. There is no institution more useful and necessary for the state than this academy. She is subordinate to the Ministry of War and trains surgeons for the army, who turned out to be so disastrously few in the Turkish campaign. But this institute, with its thousand students, has become a center of political agitation; by an imperial decree of March 24, 1879, it was ordered to transform it, and this, in fact, meant its defeat. The number of students was reduced to five hundred, the term of study was reduced from five to three years; the first two courses, where the hottest young men studied, were closed.
From now on, only those who have studied at one of the provincial universities for two years are accepted to the academy. All students are paid a stipend, they wear a uniform, take an oath of allegiance, are enlisted in the army and are subject to military regulations. At the request of the Minister of War, the five-year course of study has recently been reinstated, but other repressive measures have been maintained in all their severity.
On January 3, 1880, another decree ordered the transformation of the Institute of Civil Engineers. The crippling of a much-needed school further curtailed the few opportunities available to students in non-classical gymnasiums.
Then came the turn of the Women's Medical Institute in St. Petersburg. The benefits of this institute, founded in 1872, were enormous, since the number of doctors in the country is completely insufficient to meet the needs of the vast masses of the population. Moreover, doctors in great need naturally prefer to stay in the cities, where their work is better rewarded, and rural areas, with rare exceptions, have long been the prey of bloodletters, chiropractors, medicine men and sorcerers. However, female doctors willingly go to the countryside, being content with the modest salary that the Zemstvo can offer them. Therefore, the Women's Medical Institute was extremely popular, and requests to send a female doctor came from all over the country.
When the government announced in April 1882 that "according to financial reasons"it was forced to close the institute, this caused not only bewilderment, but also deep regret in the widest circles of society. The newspapers protested as far as they had the courage; the Zemstvo objected; the St. Petersburg City Duma and several scientific societies offered annual subsidies; private individuals, and the rich, and poor, and even provincial villages offered to raise funds in order to preserve such a valuable educational institution.But it was all in vain - the women's medical institute was doomed, and a decree was issued to close it in August 1882. Students who were already admitted to classes were given the opportunity to complete the course , but new students were not accepted.
The official reason for closing the institute was, of course, the most empty of all empty excuses, the real reason was the fear that the institute might become a breeding ground for revolutionary ideas.
No less characteristic of the position of the government was its attitude towards the creation of a polytechnic institute in Kharkov. The only educational institution of this kind in Russia is the St. Petersburg Polytechnic Institute, and all young men who want to get technical education. In such a huge country as Russia, one higher technical school, of course, is not enough, and for a long time Kharkov dreamed of building its own polytechnic institute. Finally, after repeated appeals to the Minister of Public Education and negotiations that lasted more than ten years, permission was obtained. The Kharkiv city government erected a beautiful building, appointed a staff of professors, and everything was ready for the start of classes. But suddenly the government changed its mind, revoked the permission it had given, and forbade the opening of the institute on the grounds that it did not see the need for an educational institution of this kind. Little of. The newly built building, which cost Kharkov fifty thousand rubles, was presented by the government as a gift to the university. But the university, fighting for a common cause, refused the gift. The building is still in state ownership and is rumored to be turned into a cavalry barracks.
To top it off, just a few months ago, the long-awaited thunderstorm struck our universities in another vital way. important issue. A new university charter of 1884 was issued, which finally abolished the charter of 1863.
Perhaps no question of recent times has excited our public so much, has not aroused such heated controversy in the press, as the repeal of the charter of 1863. This statute, which allowed professors to fill vacant chairs of their choice and elect members of the directorate, gave the universities a certain autonomy and independence. Katkov, one of the most influential people in the empire, whose close friends at Moscow University did not consider such independence useful for themselves, inflamed with deadly hatred for the charter of 1863. For many years this has been his Delenda Carthago*. He protested against the charter by the way and inopportunely. To listen to Katkov, one might think that the charter was the cause of all the "disturbances" and, in general, almost all the troubles of the last twenty years. According to him, subversive activity, that is, nihilism, finds its main support precisely in the autonomy of universities. The line of thought that leads him to this conclusion is short and simple: since most professors secretly sympathize with subversive ideas (a rather strange confession for a friend and advocate of the government), allowing them the freedom to choose their colleagues means nothing more than constant conduct at the expense of the government revolutionary propaganda.
* "Carthage must be destroyed" (lat.).
But this argument, for all its wit, was still too far-fetched for the government to use. Therefore, it was necessary to invent a more plausible, if not more plausible, pretext that would enable the authorities to claim that the hated charter was being abolished in the best interests of the country. The inventive genius of Katkov was at the height of the situation. His inner self developed the thesis that the repeal of the statutes of 1863 gives an extraordinary impetus to the study of the sciences and raises teaching in Russia to the level reached in this field by German universities. Katkov's idea was enthusiastically taken up by the official press, and soon the matter was presented as if a new statute was absolutely necessary both in the interests of science and the existing order.
Let's try to figure out what this palladium is, this guarantee of protecting the reaction, and by what means it is proposed to achieve the indicated double goal.
First of all, regarding the police, because when something happens with us, the police will certainly come to the fore and no one doubts that the only goal of the new measures is simply repression; this is openly admitted even by their defenders. "Universities," proclaims Novoye Vremya, "will no longer be corrupters of our youth. Universities will be protected from treacherous intrigues!"
But will the new statute really benefit the doctrine? - the so-called liberal newspapers ask in a timid whisper. Everyone perfectly understood the true meaning of the reform.
Let's leave aside measures for the supervision of students - there is nothing, or almost nothing, to add to them. But here's what gives the new statutes a special piquancy: it places the professors themselves under the strict supervision of despotic power. This shameful duty is entrusted to two institutions. First of all, the directorate, consisting of professors, then the inspection police. Under the old system, the rector and the four deans of the faculties were simply primus inter pares;* they were elected by their colleagues for a term of three years, and at the end of it others were chosen. Now they are masters, appointed by the minister, and hold their very lucrative positions at his will. And since among fifty or sixty people there will always be a few flatterers and self-interested people, it is not difficult for a minister to find rectors who are ready to forestall his desires and carry out orders.
* first among equals (lat.).
According to the new statute, the rector, who has now become a representative of the government, is vested with emergency powers. He can convene and dissolve the Council of Professors, which was formerly the highest governing body in the university. He alone decides whether the activity of the council deviates from the rules prescribed by the charter, and, having declared the decision of the council illegal, he can simply cancel it. The rector, if he considers it necessary, may speak at the Faculty Council with the same prerogatives. As the commander-in-chief, wherever he appears, he is the supreme authority. The rector, if he likes, can make a remark to the professor or reprimand him. Under the control of the rector or his assistants are all parts of the administrative machine of the university. Finally, article seventeen of the charter gives the rector the right in emergency cases "to take all necessary measures to maintain order at the university, even if they exceed his authority." This article seems to be about so-called riots, and to suppress them military force already become our custom. For all that, there remains the possibility of misinterpretation of almost any article of the charter, and there are no such measures, even the most extreme and strict, that could not be applied.
So the Russian universities are more like fortresses, the garrisons of which are imbued with a rebellious spirit and ready to start an open rebellion at any moment, than like abodes of wisdom and temples of science.
If the rector is the commander-in-chief, then the four deans under him are commanders of the faculties they head, but they are appointed not by the rector, but by the minister. It is the deans who are primarily entrusted with the task of supervising the professors of their faculties. And in order to make deans even more dependent, the charter introduces significant innovations in the procedure for their appointment. Before becoming a professor, one must serve for three years as a lecturer, Privatdozent, which one can become only by appointment of a trustee or at the suggestion of the Council of Professors of the chosen faculty. In each case, the appointment is approved by the trustee, and this official, who holds a high position in the ministry, can reject the appointment of any teacher without giving reasons. The Privatdozent receives about a third of the professor's salary, and since he is kept under the watchful eye of the police, protecting him from being infected by subversive ideas, this post cannot be considered particularly desirable; he can hardly attract young people with broad views and independent minds.
It is the responsibility of the rector and the deans to ensure that the Privatdozent's lectures meet the requirements. If the content of the lecture does not exactly correspond to the topic or is colored with dangerous shades, a suggestion is made to him. If the suggestion has no effect, the rector will propose to the trustee to dismiss the recalcitrant teacher, which, of course, will be done immediately. But if the trustee finds out in a roundabout way, through his spies and inspectors, that subversive tendencies are expressed in the lectures of the teacher, then he can be dismissed regardless of the desire of the rector. So that privatdozents now have two or three rows of superiors over them: in addition to being subject to the rector, his assistants and trustee, they can expect a denunciation of the inspector and his agents every minute. The slightest liberties entail immediate removal from office, especially since, while still young in the scientific field, they did not have time to gain authority for themselves. Their increase depends solely on the minister and his associates.
Professors were previously appointed by the Faculty Council. True, the minister had the right of veto, but he did not use the right to appoint, and if one professor was rejected, it was only necessary to appoint another. But under the new system, the minister can appoint "any scientist with the necessary qualifications," that is, anyone who has served as a Privatdozent for a vacant position for a vacant position. The minister, if he wishes, may consult with the administration of the university, but this is by no means obligatory; if he pleases, he will consult with one of his personal friends or with a member of the inspectorate. The promotion of a teacher from the second rank to the first - a change that entails a significant increase in salary - also depends solely on the minister.
This does not end the powers of the Minister. He appoints professors to take examinations, which is also a very important matter from a financial point of view, given the new system of paying examiners. Under the old system, every professor was ipso facto an examiner. According to the new rules, examinations are taken by special commissions appointed by the minister. Previously, students paid a certain amount per year for teaching, which gave them the right to attend all lectures at the university. Now they have to pay each professor separately. Under these conditions, students who have the right to choose will naturally flock to the lectures of those professors with whom they are likely to be examined. Therefore, the inclusion of a professor in the examination committee gives him great advantages, that is, attracts students to him and, accordingly, increases his income. So the right to appoint professors is a very effective means of strengthening the power of the government over educational institutions. In Switzerland, for example, where no influence of political motives on academic appointments is allowed, such a system does not lead to any harmful results; in Prussia, on the contrary, as experience shows, the consequences of this system are rather bad, and in Austria they are simply disastrous. Therefore, it is easy to understand what considerations the tsarist government was guided by when importing this system into Russia, and what consequences it is fraught with.
* by virtue of the fact itself (lat.).
But where then, one asks, is the depth of the teaching, where is science and the whole essence of higher culture? What is the reform intended to give the new institution a purely educational character? Or do they want us to believe that it lies in the new order imposed on the long-suffering rectors, deans and inspectors, in the appointment of Privatdozents and in lecture fees?
Through these reforms, borrowed at least in name from Germany, it is somehow mystically hoped to achieve a higher level of education. If we had the freedom inherent in German universities, their methods could probably be adopted to good use. But form without content is meaningless.
For all who are not blinded by their own selfish interests, it is quite obvious that the new statute will prove fatal to true science, for freedom and independence are as necessary for its prosperity as air is for all living things.
If political orthodoxy is recognized as the only mandatory quality for all academic appointments, then the flower of the Russian intelligentsia is almost inevitably excluded from the university walls. The old order of government interference expelled from the chairs many of our outstanding professors - Kostomarov, Stasyulevich, Pypin, Arseniev, Sechenov and others. All these are people of moderate views, scientists who have honorably fulfilled their duty for years and are guilty of only one thing: they wished to preserve their personal dignity and the dignity of their science and refused to bow down before the despotism of the minister. What used to be exclusively an abuse of power is now made the rule. The professors have been turned into bureaucrats - this hateful word is deeply despised by all our youth - and their qualities will soon fully correspond to the new appointments. One by one, all genuine scientists will leave their chairs, and the government, exercising its right, will fill them with its proteges. In the absence of men of deep scientific knowledge, the old professors will be replaced by lecturers and so-called scholars, chosen by the trustee according to his own taste, from persons who have not even passed the tests prescribed by the faculty, provided that they have "become famous by their labors," the merit of which is the only Judge - His Excellency Mr. Trustee.
SECONDARY EDUCATION
The war of the tsarist government against higher education is a long-standing one. It arose under Alexander I, in the era of reaction that set in after the assassination of Kotzebue by the student Sand, first in Germany, and then quickly spread throughout continental Europe. During the reign of Nicholas, during the period of reaction that did not stop at all, the universities were strictly under the special care of the Third Department. To neutralize, he hoped, the pernicious influence of liberal culture, the emperor organized universities like battalions, and drills on the parade ground followed lectures in the classrooms. He viewed knowledge as a social poison and military discipline as the only antidote. The effect of the absurd charter he introduced was stopped by his son, whose reign began so brilliantly and ended so terribly. Alexander II loosened the shackles imposed by his father, and for some time after his accession to the throne, public education spread its wings and achieved noticeable success. But in 1860, after the "riots" and "manifestations" that took place in the universities of both capitals, the authorities were alarmed, repressions began to fall, and since then the struggle between the government and the color of our youth has been going on with increasing force. Against secondary education war is war! - began later.
On April 4, 1866, Karakozov fired a fatal shot from a revolver, and this shot seemed to forever confirm the government in its determination to follow the dangerous path of reaction and oppression.
Are you Polish? Alexander asked when Karakozov was brought up to him.
No, I'm Russian, was the answer.
So why did you try on me? - the emperor was surprised. At that time it was still difficult for him to believe that anyone other than a Pole could encroach on his life.
But Karakozov told the truth. He was one of the tsar's "own" Russian subjects, and the subsequent inquest conducted by Muraviev showed that many of Karakozov's university comrades shared his convictions and sympathized with his goals.
The consequences of the assassination attempt and the discoveries to which it led were of decisive importance. The Polish uprising, as is known, turned Alexander II to reaction. But it is now obvious that the reactionary measures taken in 1863 did not bring the desired success - the revolutionary ferment intensified. However, instead of concluding that the reason for the failure lay in the new reactionary political course, the opposite conclusion was drawn that the reins should be pulled even tighter. It was then that the reckless reactionary party put forward a fatal figure - Count Dmitry Tolstoy, whom future generations will call the scourge of Russia and the destroyer of the autocracy.
This knight of absolutism was given unlimited powers to purge schools throughout the empire of social heresy and political discontent.
We already know how he dealt with higher education. However, there he only strengthened and strengthened the system that had long been used by his predecessors. But he alone has the dubious honor of "cleansing" - to the best of his ability and ability - first secondary, and then primary education.
With the greatest brilliance, his inventive talent manifested itself in the reform of gymnasium education. Basically, Tolstoy's idea was absolutely correct: in order to radically "purify" the universities, one must first turn to the original source and purify the gymnasiums, from which the higher schools draw their annual replenishment. And so the Minister began to clean the secondary schools, which, of course, meant entrusting them to the gentle care of the police. And it is an absolute fact that schoolchildren between the ages of ten and seventeen can now be punished for so-called political crimes and for vicious political views.
As recently as September 1883, the Minister of Public Education issued a circular stating that traces of criminal propaganda had been uncovered in thirteen gymnasiums, one progymnasium and ten real schools, and in fourteen gymnasiums and four real schools "collective disorders" had taken place, that whatever that means. All these educational institutions were transferred under special supervision of the police.
It is hard to imagine the extent to which espionage has reached in our gymnasiums. Teachers, who are obliged to inspire respect for their pupils, designed to instill a sense of honor in the hearts of the younger generation, have been turned into agents of the Third Section. Students are under constant supervision. They are not left alone even in the parental home. Class tutors are ordered by a special circular to visit students in the family or wherever they live. The minister did not hesitate to issue decrees from time to time, such as the famous circular of July 27, 1884, in which, with unusual cynicism, he promised awards and the issuance of special remuneration to class tutors who steadily and with the greatest success follow "moral development" (read - political views) his students, and threatened that "class tutors, along with directors and inspectors, are liable if the class entrusted to them reveals the harmful influence of perverse ideas or young people take part in criminal acts"*. All this means, of course, money and promotions for those who play the role of whistleblowers, and the immediate dismissal of those who refuse to worship Baal.
Sergey Stepnyak-Kravchinsky - Russia under the Rule of Tsars - 03, read text
Humble yourself before the Lord
and lift you up (James 4:10)
Tsarskoye Selo is a small town near Petrograd. From the 18th century, this place became the country residence of the royal family and retained this status until the revolution. The Alexander Palace was located apart from the rest of the buildings, to the northeast of the main Catherine's Palace, and it was there that the family of Nicholas II was imprisoned from March 8 to July 31, 1917.
The revolution, the abdication of the king, his arrest and the imprisonment of his august wife and children - these events were caught by the family, being separated from the emperor, not being able to morally support him at this cruel time. When the Sovereign left Petrograd on February 22, 1917, there were no suspicions that his return would involve such tragic events. On March 9, the family reunited again, but it was no longer the autocrat's huge family. Russian Empire, before whom everyone revered, and the family of prisoners. Their life, now limited to the Alexander Palace and the territory adjacent to it, gradually entered a peaceful course and acquired the features of the life of an ordinary family.
It was a small corner of the world in the midst of the raging storm of revolution
Locked in Tsarskoye Selo, family members last emperor and their entourage practically did not tolerate harassment in everyday life. It was a small corner of the world in the midst of the raging storm of revolution. However, the heavy impression of the well-known events was aggravated by the illness of the royal children. They fell ill in mid-February, and the temperature often rose to 40 degrees and stayed that way for several days. On February 23, it became clear that Olga Nikolaevna and Alexei Nikolaevich were sick with measles. Then Tatyana Nikolaevna (February 24), Maria Nikolaevna (February 25), Anastasia Nikolaevna (February 28) fell ill. By the time of their arrest, that is, by March 8, all the children were bedridden. Alexandra Feodorovna every day diligently recorded in the diary the body temperature of each child in different time days. For example, on March 16, 1917, the empress recorded the temperature of Olga (36.5 in the morning, 40.2 in the afternoon and 36.8 in the evening), Tatyana (37.2; 40.2; 37.2, respectively), Maria (40; 40.2; 40.2) and Anastasia (40.5; 39.6; 39.8) and Alexei (36.1 in the morning). In addition, on that day, Alexandra Feodorovna recorded that Anastasia began to develop complications that led to pleurisy and pneumonia.
The Empress kept these records from day to day, closely following the course of the disease. The accusations that the Empress was a bad mother, who placed all her worries on numerous nannies, while she herself was engaged exclusively in political affairs, are broken by the fact of obvious concern, which is clear from this diary.
The sickness condition of the children lasted for a long time. Only by May did all the children recover, and the life of the family moved into a relatively calm direction.
Existence locked up with an uncertain future and very vague prospects of regaining freedom did not inspire despair in the souls of both spouses. They believed that children should not be deprived of education because of the events they experienced, and therefore the teaching of various subjects was taken into their own hands. April 17, 1917 E.A. Naryshkina, the queen's lady-in-waiting, who remained under arrest with her, wrote in her diary: “Today the Tsarevich told me: “Dad gave us an exam. He was very dissatisfied and said: “What have you learned?” The young girls offered their services as teachers, and the crowned parents followed suit. The emperor took upon himself the task of teaching history and geography, the empress the Law of God and German, Iza - English, Nastenka - art history and music ". Later English language Alexandra Fedorovna also began to teach. She recorded all the classes in the diary, and later began to compile brief summary lesson. For example, on May 3, she studied with Mary the biographies of St. Gregory the Theologian and St. John Chrysostom, the heresy of the Doukhobors and the history of the 2nd Ecumenical Council; Anastasia and I analyzed the meaning of the parable of the fig tree, the parable of the lost sheep and the parable of the drachma.
Such a summary was compiled only for classes on the Law of God, occasionally Alexandra Fedorovna wrote the titles of foreign texts on the subject of German or English.
They taught first of all to the heir, and then to the Grand Duchesses Tatyana, Maria and Anastasia. The emperor taught history and geography only to Alexei. There was a class schedule, from which, of course, there were exceptions. Classes were most often conducted during the day between 10.00 and 13.00. Sunday was always a day off. Weekends were also holidays in honor of the birthday of someone from the family, church holidays.
The Law of God was obligatory for all, since faith was the basis of the moral values of the family
The subjects taught were close to the humanities cycle. The Law of God was obligatory for all, since faith was the basis of all the moral values of the family. The subject of the Law of God included the study of the Bible, the history of Christianity and other religions (particularly Islam). In addition, English and German were taught. Apparently, the older children already knew English quite well and did not need further study, it was taught only to the younger one, Alexei. Maria and Tatyana studied German, and Anastasia had a special subject in British geography, which was taught by Alexandra Fedorovna. Geography in general and history (which the Grand Duchesses must have also gone through earlier) were taught to Alexei by the Sovereign.
Reading was one of my daily activities. The emperor read both for himself and aloud to the whole family. This was an old tradition, preserved from pre-revolutionary times. In the evening, family reading time began in the family. The Sovereign himself usually read in the so-called "Red Room". Various adventure novels were in use, such as the works of Conan Doyle, Gaston Leroux, Dumas, Leblanc, Stoker. They also read Russian classics: Chekhov, Gogol, Danilevsky, Turgenev, Leskov, S. Solovyov. Mostly foreign books were read in English and French, so reading aloud was a kind of continuation of language learning.
Taking walks, the Emperor walked very quickly and covered long distances.
What else was included in the daily routine of the Royal family and its entourage, in addition to training sessions and reading? I must say that, oddly enough, he did not undergo any cardinal changes. Only the hours of "state work" were excluded, which usually amounted to 8-9 hours daily, including Saturday and Sunday. Now this time was filled with work in the garden, activities with children and reading. Even before the revolution, various walks were included in the tsar's daily routine, during which the Sovereign tried to load himself with physical labor as much as possible. Making walks, the Sovereign walked very quickly and covered long distances. Many ministers who ventured out for a walk with the tsar could hardly stand it. In addition, physical activities included kayaking and cycling in summer and skiing in winter. In winter, the Tsar also often cleared the paths of the park from snow. The same listed activities were preserved after the arrest. Literally every day, the Sovereign made notes in a diary of this kind:
June 7th. Wednesday.<…>Walked in the park in the morning. After breakfast, three dry trees were cut down in the same places near the arsenal. I went kayaking while people were swimming at the end of the pond.<...> .
Making his daily walks, the Sovereign walked either alone or with Prince. Dolgorukov, or with children. Regularly, including holidays, part of the Royal family, Prince. V. Dolgorukov, K.G. Nagorny - the "uncle" of the Tsarevich - worked in the garden. This work was carried out between 14.00 and 17.00. In April, the number of works included: breaking the ice, digging up the earth for the future garden. Moreover, the guards not only watched this with curiosity, but also took part. So, Nicholas II wrote in his diary: “In the afternoon we walked and started work on arranging a vegetable garden in the garden opposite the windows of Mama. T[atiana], M[aria], Anast[asia] and Valya [Dolgorukov] were actively digging up the ground, while the commandant and guard officers watched and sometimes gave advice. In May, daily work began in the garden that had been created: “We went out into the garden at 2 ¼ and worked all the time with others in the garden; Alix and her daughters planted various vegetables in the prepared beds. At 5 o'clock. returned home sweaty. After the crops were planted, one of the activities was gardening and sawing trees for firewood.
Worship was an essential element in the life of the Royal Family.
After this work in the evening, at 17.00, tea was supposed to be served. This tradition has also been preserved from the time before the arrest and has not changed. Then the family again went out into the street and rode either in kayaks or on bicycles.
Every Saturday evening and Sunday morning, as well as every holiday, the family and its entourage attended worship services. During Holy Week (March 27-April 1), family members attended services every day, and on Saturday they took communion with the Holy Gifts. Divine services were performed in the house or "marching" church. On holidays, in honor of birthdays and name days, a prayer for health was performed. For the service, except for the priest, Fr. Afanasia Belyaeva, a deacon, a deacon, and four choristers came, who, as Alexandra Fedorovna wrote, "do an excellent job with their duties." April 9/22. What a blessing it is when Mass is served with such reverence and they sing so well,” E.A. wrote in her diary. Naryshkin. Worship was a necessary element in the life of the Royal Family. Even though now they were not sovereign monarchs, they continued to serve Russia, served her with their fervent prayer. As soon as good news about the offensive began to arrive from the front, the emperor wrote with joy: “June 19. Monday.<…>Just before dinner, the good news came that the offensive had begun on the Southwestern Front. On the Zolochovsky direction after a two-day art. fire, our troops broke through enemy positions and captured about 170 officers and 10,000 people, 6 guns and machine guns 24. Thank the Lord! God bless you good time! I felt completely different after this joyful news. All that remained for the Imperial family to do was to pray for the salvation of Russia, and this, perhaps, was their last service to the Motherland.
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Producer: "NEW LITERARY REVIEW" Series: "Russia in memoirs" For the first time, the book contains the memoirs of the last chamberlain of the imperial court, Elizaveta Alekseevna Naryshkina, practically unfamiliar to the Russian reader. They depict Russian life (especially court life) in the second half of the 19th - early 20th centuries, provide information on a number of important events of that time (the assassination of Alexander II, the revolutions of 1905 and 1917, etc.). The personality of the author, a philanthropist, a person with literary abilities, is also clearly expressed in them (her correspondence with I. A. Goncharov is given in the text). ISBN:978-5-4448-0203-8 Publisher: "NEW LITERARY REVIEW" (2014) Format: 60x90/16, 688 pages
ISBN: 978-5-4448-0203-8 |
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| E. A. Naryshkina | For the first time, the book contains the memoirs of the last chamberlain of the imperial court, Elizaveta Alekseevna Naryshkina, practically unfamiliar to the Russian reader. They capture Russian life (especially ... - New Literary Review, (format: 60x90 / 16, 688 pages) Russia in memoirs | 2014 | 674 | paper book | |
| Naryshkina Elizaveta Alekseevna | For the first time, the book contains the memoirs of the last chamberlain of the imperial court, Elizaveta Alekseevna Naryshkina (1838-1928), practically unfamiliar to the Russian reader. They capture Russian life ... - New Literary Review, (format: 60x90 / 16, 688 pages) Russia in memoirs | 2018 | 1479 | paper book | |
| E. A. Naryshkina | E. A. Naryshkina. My memories. Ruled by three kings | For the first time, the book contains the memoirs of the last chamberlain of the imperial court, Elizaveta Alekseevna Naryshkina (1838-1928), practically unfamiliar to the Russian reader. They capture Russian life ... - New Literary Review, (format: 60x90 / 16, 688 pages) Russia in memoirs | 2018 | 1895 | paper book |
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- - was born on May 26, 1799 in Moscow, on Nemetskaya Street in the house of Skvortsov; died January 29, 1837 in St. Petersburg. On his father's side, Pushkin belonged to an old noble family, descended, according to the genealogy, from a native "from ... ...
Born on February 24, 1756, in the village of Voskresensky (Retyazhi, too), Kromsky district, Oryol province. The estate was acquired by L.'s father, Vladimir Ivanovich (1703-1797), during the reign of the emperor. Anna Ioannovna with the proceeds from the sale of emeralds, ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia
- - scientist and writer, full member Russian Academy Sciences, Professor of Chemistry, St. Petersburg University; was born in the village Denisovka, Arkhangelsk province, November 8, 1711, died in St. Petersburg on April 4, 1765. At present… … Big biographical encyclopedia
VIII. Millennium of Russia (1861-1862). The highest manifesto on the liberation of the peasants, promulgated in St. Petersburg and in Moscow on Sunday, March 5, was announced in all provincial cities by specially sent major generals of the retinue ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia
Grigory Rasputin Occupation: cre ... Wikipedia
I. INTRODUCTION II. RUSSIAN ORAL POETRY A. Periodization of the history of oral poetry B. Development of ancient oral poetry 1. Ancient origins of oral poetry. Oral and poetic creativity of ancient Rus' from the 10th to the middle of the 16th century. 2. Oral poetry from the middle of the XVI to the end ... ... Literary Encyclopedia
- (Prince of Italy, Count Rymniksky) - Generalissimo Russian troops, field marshal of the Austrian army, grand marshal of the Piedmontese troops, count of the Holy Roman Empire, hereditary prince of the Sardinian royal house, grandee of the crown and cousin ... Big biographical encyclopedia
Period three. THE LAST DECADE (1816-1825). In St. Petersburg, the beginning of 1816 was marked by a number of court festivities: on January 12 (24) the wedding took place Grand Duchess Ekaterina Pavlovna with the Crown Prince of Wirtemberg, and ... Big biographical encyclopedia
Wikipedia has articles about other people with that surname, see Biishev. Zainab Biisheva Birth name: Zainab Abdullovna Biisheva Date of birth: January 2, 1908 (1908 01 02 ... Wikipedia
Famous writer, born in 1718, died on October 1, 1777 in Moscow. About the place of his birth, S. speaks in verse to the Duke of Braganz: Where is Wilmanstrand, I was born there in the vicinity, As the Golitsyn region of Finland was defeated. From the ancestors of S. known ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia
- - Chief Chamberlain, Commander-in-Chief of Moscow in 1812-1814, member of the State Council. The Rostopchin family considers its ancestor to be a direct descendant of the great Mongol conqueror Genghis Khan - Boris Davidovich Rostopcha, ... ... Big biographical encyclopedia
