Vera Figner — Memoirs of a Revolutionist
Jailor (175)
Figner’s use of the word malignant (175) in her description of the jailor is multifaceted, allowing for more exposure of his character despite his brief mentioning. The term malignant implies that the jailor is both malevolent and, when observing in medical terms, infectious. His hostility towards the inmates is illustrated through this one single word, as are his intentions. The idea of malignance seems as though, much like a disease does within the body, he is working to seek out death from others.
Continuing her description of the jailor, Figner repeatedly uses animalistic comparisons to depict the man. She describes him as a “white-haired rat,” a loaded statement as rats are often described as vile and disease-carrying creatures. The usage of this animal as a descriptor has been utilized throughout history not only in a demeaning manner, but to generate a foul image when used to depict humans. This comparison dehumanizes those whom it’s weaponized against, placing them below their oppressor. The other animal Figner references is a “chained dog”, used in her description of his job: “tired of his work, his duties, his responsibility, and of the very prisoners whom he had guarded for decades like a chained dog” (195). The word “chained” insinuates the “dog” (jailor) must be chained to complete his duties and suggests this act of guarding is one done against his own will. It also suggests a sense of aggression, as the “dog” has to be physically restrained. Alternatively, there is also a sense of pity for the chained creature. Perhaps this idea could suggest a sort of empathizing with the man; she mentions his exhaustion, how tired he is of his assignment. Though he is described otherwise as malignant (175) and in a seemingly bitter (and rightfully so) tone, she does seem to pause on this observation for a bit and allows for this comparison to a dog to nearly humanize him in a way. She allows the reader to feel a sense of pity for the man, as she herself seems to upon her recognition of his state.
“... the possible and impossible had changed places, and the impossible now seemed rather possible” (176).
The disorienting nature of the prison setting is a common theme throughout Figner’s work, as well as many other pieces of prison writing. Sensibility is taken away as a result of being placed within the walls of the prison, resulting in intense confusion. There seems to be a loss of understanding as to what is real or not, as mentioned later on page 181, “... the real becomes vague and unreal, and the imaginary seems real. Everything is tangled up, confused.” The intense mystification that the prison creates over the human mind is one that is deeply troubling, causing those within to lose touch with reality. There is a sense of distrust in one’s own perception, as they are continuously forced to analyze their surroundings to figure out what is reality.
Silence
Silence is repeatedly used by Figner as an indication of the absence of life in the prison space. This sterile lack of noise serves as a near death-sentence to those within the prison. The “deathlike”—as Figner describes it—heaviness is generated by the absence of energy, specifically that of human life. Figner compares silence to death numerous times throughout the piece, for instance, “... this was the silence of the dead, that eerie stillness which clutches at one’s heart” (185). In this way, death comes as a result of “oppressive silence” (185) as the act of silencing one results in a fading of their existence— especially to those outside of the prison. Figner illustrates this deafening lacking as “... an ominous silence, and the atmosphere of violence, madness and death” (195), one that creates not only a sense of death, but also the more complex and materializing idea of aggression and insanity. Not only does silence result in death, but it actively creates the conditions responsible for death. This adds to the severity of silence — its strength to drive individuals towards death, rather than simply exist as an indicator or result of death itself.
Plants
Plants serve as a source of hope and freedom throughout Figner’s piece. The dichotomy of growth and life in opposition to the abysmal prison offers a look into the desolate nature of the Fortress of Peter and Paul. Her use of the word “paradise” on page 259 stresses the importance of this growth, creating an almost idyllic space within a place so void of light and life, an environment that shouldn’t be capable of fostering any growth. The plants exist as one of the few unexpected joys in the piece, offering a source of hope and a sign that life can be created even in such dolorous circumstances. Figner further emphasizes their reliance on this source of joy in life: “We longed for the grass, for the fields and meadows, and a tuft of green called forth an utterly unexpected wave of emotions from our starved spirits. Every little blade of grass was dear to us” (199). Each sign of life, no matter how small, manages to produce immense joy and hope that is sparked within Figner and her companions. This is so much to the point of an intense reaction when this source of freedom is taken away accidentally by a fellow inmate: “This was the first time since my arrest that I had been angry, and with whom was I angry? With a comrade! And yet I had thought that in the conditions under which we were living it was impossible to be angry with a comrade, or even to think ill of him” (200). Her connection produced a genuine reaction of fury in a response to this loss, something she never deemed possible due to her current environment. This only emphasizes the severe importance of this source of hope in her life— something that she has otherwise become devoid of.
Spirit
Extreme circumstances result in severe realizations, especially when one is deprived of basic human necessities. These are things often taken for granted: good health, food, and even life itself, in a way. This is due to the fact that we expect these things to be accessible. We fail to realize freedom for what it is until there are people set in place to overpower and strip us of these things. All of this is done in order to take away a sense of freedom through living, especially when looking at less vital necessities for life— even seemingly trivial things, such as paper. “Usually one does not appreciate health or light, until one loses them; nor does one value paper, which is always at hand in ordinary life” (266). Though seemingly insignificant, a lack of these basic items holds a deeper influence, as Figner depicts. To deprive a person of the ability to produce and create is almost equivalent to depriving them of access to food and water, as these resources fuel the human spirit. Figner emphasizes this value of productivity: “Our life in Schlüsselburg was devoid of all variety, of all cheerful stimuli” (267). She even goes as far as to describe their lives as “poor, quite wretched in every respect” (267) as a result of this lacking that generates a neglect of the human spirit. The spirit is a common concept mentioned throughout the piece, its repetition only emphasizing its importance in survival. The maintenance of one’s spirit is just as crucial as attention to the physical body. To neglect the mind and spirit results in a true loss of a sense of freedom and life.
“If during that time our memories had remained as keen as they had been twenty years previous, we should not have been able to survive. One’s spirit began gradually to adjust itself, in self-preservation” (275).
Forgetting as a means of saving oneself is a common concept throughout Memoirs of a Revolutionist. The prisoners’ removal from the outside world also includes any connection to family or friends. In order to continue living, they often must repress any memories or sense of longing for those whom they may never see again; as a result, “Things were forgotten, or if not forgotten, were repressed by the strength of one’s will. Pain, burning and sharp, was subdued” (275). This repression seems to lessen the pain that comes as a result of their complete extraction from the world, fully breaking any connection between those within the walls and those outside. This is similar to the Buddhist practice of non-attachment, as it is believed that attachment to material objects and people only creates suffering. In order to find any sense of fulfillment in this new shape of life, they must sever any relationships that may cause further distress. Figner takes note of this concept of attachment in her recognition that “If during that time our memories had remained as keen as they had been twenty years previous, we should not have been able to survive. One’s spirit began gradually to adjust itself, in self-preservation” (275). This act of disconnecting, whether intentional or not, was necessary to function and continue to live.
“She took them as they were, a mixture of light and shadows. She loved the light and forgave the shadows. She had the happy ability to find, and never to lose from sight, the good side of a person, and unfalteringly believed in the fundamental goodness that lies hidden in everyone”(201).
There is a beautiful complexity to Ludmila Alexandrovna’s character, as she truly seems to not see any human as inherently “bad”. Though this concept is not new to the audience, as Figner opened her piece with empathy shown to her jailer, this is the first time it is stressed upon. Ludmila recognizes the good in each living being around her — an attribute some may claim as naïve, but that Ludmila reclaims as a powerful skill she has developed. Ludmila’s optimism allows for her to be confident in her beliefs, even going as far as to believe “that goodness and love could conquer every evil” (201). To be exposed to the horrors of the world and still believe in good proves incredible strength, something that Ludmila demonstrates through her forgiveness and inclination to find the good in each person. Her good-natured attitude allows for a different sort of light to be shone within the prison, something necessary for the survival of one’s spirit.
“... we were separated and yet united; our spirits were one” (207).
The strength of human connection, even when separated, is something that can never be weakened. The idea of becoming “one” is a beautiful image of harmony, completed by people despite physical severance. At times, separation has the power to bring people even closer than before. We come to recognize all that was taken for granted prior, acknowledging the impact we have when in one another’s presence.
