I have often been asked how I managed to endure the boredom of captivity, and few people believe me when I answer that, far from being dull, it was a period full of fascination. The camp in time became like a great university, there was scarcely a subject that was not studied, and on which you could not inform yourself, through the books the Red Cross sent us. And then there was the spectacle of the Siberian seasons. We were said to be living three or four thousand feet up, and rain only fell on forty days in the year. In that dry, crisp mountain air our senses acquired a keener edge of enjoyment, and life a sparkle it never had before. The year was a succession of delightful surprises. In winter the sun shone, as it seemed, with passion all day long in a sky of cloudless and radiant blue. Through some rare quality in the atmosphere the whole western horizon at sunset glowed one rich and lively red—a daily spectacle which alone made life in Siberia worth while. The nights were even more wonderful; the stars were so much brighter than at home that it seemed as if we had never known them before; and on moonlit nights the landscape with its impressive contrast between the broad, glistening snowfields and the sombre precipices rising above the river, was almost sublime. Spring came; the camp was smothered in white blossom, and the hills were purple with autumn crocus and rhododendron. Never again can spring be so intoxicating as in that year; life, which had been dammed up by the gloom and horrors of winter, suddenly raced along like a cataract. In summer we heard the cuckoo calling from the woods all day, and in the evening we enjoyed a rare luxury. At sunset a chill north wind set in, chasing away the almost intolerable heat of the afternoon, and bringing from the forest scents of birch, bracken, and strange aromatic shrubs. These evenings were the climax of the year. Then, with dramatic suddenness, came autumn; forest and field turned a brilliant yellow (there are no dull colours in those hills; everything strikes vivid and sharp). As suddenly autumn disappeared; as if by magic the trees were leafless and the corn gathered in, and the desolation of winter had begun. We lived a double life, enjoying this feast of the senses, while within us changes were going on which only gradually became apparent. Men not yet thirty began to grow grey, while those approaching middle age began to look like old men.

At Stretensk, too, there were concentrated representatives of all the races at war from Hamburg to Baghdad, and merely to live with them was a political education. First of all, there were the Russians. With the common soldier we were on the best of terms. This brought us several advantages, but to the Russians only harm. The prisoners of war exercised a steady corrupting influence. Many a Russian soldier left Stretensk for the front provided with letters recommending him, in case of capture, to mercy and good usage, because he had treated the Germans or Austrians decently. Our men used to spin the Russians wonderful yarns of what a paradise Germany was for prisoners of war. They did their best to terrify their guards by telling them tales of mysterious German inventions, against which it was impossible for the Russians to fight. Even before the Revolution, the complete breakdown of the Russian Army had been prepared for by the work of the prisoners. The higher classes of society were corrupted in a subtler way by the love-affairs of the prisoners. There were daughters of Stretensk manufacturers whose lovers had quite brought them round to an anti-Russian and especially anti-English point of view. I met one of these girls later on at Irkutsk, and she was an effective pro-German propagandist. Her talk was filled with sneers against England and Italy, from which I inferred that of her lovers one had been a German and another an Austrian. The women whose husbands were away at the front were the worst. Much was written about it at the time in the newspapers, but no reports ever came near the truth. I do not know if I should call these grass widows cynical, but they certainly made no attempt to keep up appearances. Watching them, I recalled Milioukof’s famous words, “In Russia we lack the binding cement of a common hypocrisy.”

Outwardly, nothing seemed so firmly established and vigorous as the Russian State. The drills went with a swing; on the march the soldiers sang their fiery patriotic songs as only Slavs can sing, and every day closed with the traditional prayers and the solemn music of “God save the Czar.” But there were already indications of the direction events were about to take. The men never concealed from us their hatred of their officers, and in public their officers did not spare one another. There was once to be a review, and we were allowed to watch it. A subaltern superintends the drawing up of the troops and reports to the captain that everything is ready. The captain gives a hasty glance at the men and raps out a terrible Russian oath, which I could not possibly translate. “——,” he said, “can’t you draw up your men better than this?” The adjutant comes, and treats the captain to the same oath; the colonel comes and does the same to the adjutant. Finally, when every one was tense with expectation, the general arrived. The soldiers off duty, anticipating something extraordinary, were watching from all sorts of hiding-places, some peering through the palings of a fence, some mixed up with us, others even had climbed up on to the roofs, and were peeping from behind chimney-stacks. The general took one look at the ranks, and then, in the presence of the assembled troops, hurled at the colonel exactly the same oath that the others had used, following it up with a stream of the coarsest invective. Our guards could scarcely contain their delight, their glee reminded me of children when Father Christmas appears. Afterwards they came to us, exclaiming, “Did you hear the wigging the colonel got? Wasn’t it fine! Isn’t the general a splendid fellow?” Scenes like this explain why it was so easy for the Russian soldiers to turn upon their officers after the Revolution. They had never been taught proper respect.

And then there were the captured Turks with their subject races, the Greeks and Armenians. The more I saw of them, the more enraged I was that the Turks were ever allowed to lord it over nations whose shoe-laces they were not worthy to unloose. The Greeks used to tell us how at home they would be obliged to kow-tow and salaam to the Turks, and with what subtle insults these barbarians would impress on them their inferiority. I lived for nearly two years in the same house with the Turks, and came to know them as is only possible in such circumstances. I found them charming at first, but gradually their character revealed itself as mean, perfidious, cruel, stained with every vileness open to human nature. The Greeks had abilities, range of intellect, strength of character far beyond the reach of the Turks. They were my best pupils, and would compare favourably with any that I have had at Bonn. The common Greek soldier was an ingenious fellow, not afraid of hard work, and he earned a fair living by his talents. The Turkish soldier was backboneless and dull, too lazy to do anything but beg, and he even stooped to accepting alms from Armenians. No solution of the Turkish problem ought to be tolerated which leaves a single Greek under the dominion of the Turks. The Greeks are still a race as gifted as any on the face of the earth; given freedom, it is impossible to foresee what they may make of themselves, and it is a crime against humanity to deliver them over to the repressing rule of the Turk. There are even now newspapers which profess to regard the Turk as a gentleman, and are pleading that he should be spared. Unfortunately the Turks appear to know just what note to strike when appealing to Europe. The interview with the Turkish Crown Prince, that has just appeared in the papers, is a characteristic example of Turkish “slimness.” He deplored the Armenian massacres, had opposed them from the first, everything was the fault of the wicked Germans, and so on. And he probably looked all the while he was saying this as if butter would not melt in his mouth. When I read it I seemed to see the Turks of Stretensk again, their silken accents, their girlish shyness, their faces so lighted up with kindness that they seemed far too good for human nature’s daily food—and leering behind it all unspeakable foulness and corruption. We must harden our hearts and see to it that the friends of the Turk are not listened to again.

Tartar newspapers used to circulate in the camp, and Greeks who could read them told me that they were all written in ironic depreciation of the Russians and the Allies, and by subtly worded phrases they pleaded the Turko-German cause without seeming to do so. The Censor did not see that a dangerous propaganda was being carried on under his nose. There are some millions of Mohammedan Tartars in the Russian Empire, and there is no doubt that these newspapers exercised a powerful influence on them. It appears probable that, even if the Revolution had not broken out, there would have been grave trouble with the Mohammedans in Russian Central Asia.

Then there were the Hungarians—really a wild Asiatic race still, and scarcely tamed by Europe. When they were at their games, no one else cared to play, it was much better fun watching the Hungarians. Their excitement, laughter, and shouts filled the camp. At times they quite lost control of themselves, and once, when things were going badly with them in a football match, they drew their knives and made a concerted attack on the opposing centre-forward because he was kicking too many goals. At Christmas-time the wild, barbaric music of their hymns was splendid to hear. Their educated classes were always gentlemen, and, as the traditional sympathy between Hungary and England did not seem to have suffered by the war, intercourse with them continued to be pleasant. Many Hungarian officers spoke to me about their intentions of settling down in England after the war was over. They scarcely seemed to regard themselves as at war with England. Caution will be necessary in resuming relations with any of the enemy, but it would be impolitic roughly to brush on one side advances that may come from Hungary. There is a good deal of the untutored savage about the Hungarian, but he has not the deliberate barbarity of the Hun.

The Austrians were not particularly hostile to England either; their venom was reserved for Italy and Germany. They distinguished themselves from the Germans by being able to speak frankly about the war. They said quite openly, we meant war and we did not intend Serbia to escape this time. And they gave their reasons: the last time they had mobilized against Serbia, the troops had remained under arms for nearly a year, and it had cost Austria many millions of pounds, besides the damage done through loss of trade. They said that could not be allowed to happen again. Such motives are too weak to excuse the guilt of a world-war; but I could not but respect their honesty. They never put the blame on to anybody else. The Austrians did their best to educate the Germans, and to create in them some kind of moral feeling. They used to point out that the wrongs and cruelties committed by the Germans in the war must inevitably bring a bitter punishment, sooner or later. The Germans used to stare at such ideas, mouth and eyes wide open. They could not rise to the conception of a moral law which you defied at your peril. For answer they would assert, we are so strong, no one can touch us. In one respect the Germans showed a greater sense of self-respect than the Austrians. You never saw a German N.C.O. as an officer’s servant. The Austrian N.C.O.s did not trouble about their rank, and I, a private, had an Austrian sergeant as my servant.

Our amusements were the same as those of all prisoners of war—learning languages, study in some branch of science or art, music, and all sorts of indoor games. We had a professional “Kapellmeister,” one or two professional musicians, actors, and clowns, an orchestra, and a fine choir, so that our evening entertainments were quite worth attending. Thousands of books were in circulation. They were the one thing the Russians did not steal from our parcels. Whatever we wanted we could get by writing to Frau von Hanneken, head of the German Red Cross organization in China. The Red Cross centre at Tientsin became much excited about the fights for Verdun. We used to receive postcards saying that Uncle “Nudrev” was in a bad way, his back had been broken by a fall, and the use of his arms and his legs was gradually failing him. Unfortunately for the pious hopes of the Tientsin Colony, Uncle Nudrev enjoyed a most wonderful cure.

The Red Cross stores sent by Frau von Hanneken continued to be misused. Certain Hungarian-Jewish medical students desired to visit the Stretensk Yoshewara, but found it rather expensive to keep up. So the chief Austrian doctor, himself a Jew, used to give them Red Cross stores to live on, in order that they might save money for their vices. And men were dying of tuberculosis in the barracks because they could not get enough nourishing food. It is not my intention to make fun of Frau von Hanneken; she is a lady to whom I am indebted for many services, and it is no exaggeration to say that millions of men will remember her to their dying day with unbounded gratitude. I am only concerned with the Jews who rendered useless so much of her good work.

In time the different classes shook down and came to live together in better harmony. Quarrelling of course was frequent. The officers were said to have taken three thousand protocols, i.e. three thousand formal notes had been sent in by the officers, accusing their colleagues of some breach of military discipline. The educated soldiers and the working-men came to live apart, and immediately began to understand one another better. Even the thieving revealed itself only as an expression of the good old Shavian principle: “Thou shalt starve ere I shall starve.” I was never tired of listening to the life-stories of the working-man. They had nearly all travelled outside Germany. It seems that the German Trades’ Unions have special funds in order to keep up hostels for their members in various towns throughout Europe. A member of the Union travels almost free, except for his railway fare. The German butchers were great travellers, and they knew all Central Europe. The stories of their adventures seemed to come out of the Arabian Nights. Here is one that happened to a butcher at Brussels. He was out of a job, and was wandering along one Sunday very disconsolate. Two servant girls met him, and, struck by his woeful countenance, they tried to cheer him up. They went to the cinematograph together and drank their coffee, and afterwards the girls refused to say good-bye to him, but took him to their home. Apparently they had been left by some count in charge of a fine house, and here the butcher lived for a few weeks the life of a Belgian nobleman. He wore the silks and fine linen of the count, smoked his cigars, drank his rare liqueurs, perfumed himself with his exquisite scents, and even descended into his marble bath. Then one day the girls came to him and said he must go, as the count was expected back. That night he returned to his old haunts and had a supper of pigs’ trotters swilled down with beer: he thought it was the nicest in his life. “Isn’t it curious,” he added, “that the nicest parts of a pig are also the cheapest?” I ventured to disagree. “Why,” he said, “everybody knows that pigs’ trotters, pigs’ ears, and a pig’s snout are the nicest parts of a pig, and they are much the cheapest.”

Most interesting of all was to watch the development of the German mind. They were no longer exposed to the influence of the Government newspapers, they were free to think and speak as they had been at home. There was no limit to their stupidity. They all believed that America would not dare to enter the war, because the 500,000 Germans in the States would be too strong for them. It was surprising with what unanimity they believed that every German in America would be a traitor. When America did enter the war, they said it was a great advantage for Germany, because now the States would not be able to supply Europe with any more ammunition. And all these ideas they arrived at without any help from their Government! Most men would probably rather be thought a knave than a fool, and really I think their folly alienated me more than their knavery.

Their knavery was real. I long tried to separate people from Government, and to believe that their savagery was only something enjoined from above. I found it quite impossible to make any distinction between Government and people. On our high-days and feast-days poems used to be recited glorifying Germany’s part in the war. The Germans are great at amateur poetry, and it is the tradition of the Fatherland that there shall be no festival without its poem. Our Stretensk poems glorified more than anything else the killing of women and children. These compositions were greeted with loud cheers from every one present, so we may take it that they express the feelings of the German soldier. In one poem Father Christmas related how he had come to Siberia by Zeppelin, by U-boat, and by railway, and how he had first flown over London and killed a thousand women and children. Another poem celebrated the bombardment of Yarmouth in the winter of 1914-15. (It will be remembered that the Germans, misled by the placing of the buoys, did not succeed in reaching the land with their shells at all.) The poem related how Yarmouth was battered into ruin, and then the last lines described how the rising wind brings the sound of wailing. “Does that mean the wailing of women and children? Of course it does, and a splendid thing too.” Loud applause from all sides welcomed this sentiment. From that time onwards my only thought was how to renounce my German citizenship.

Of course I was spied upon, nor had I any right to complain of this. It is the custom in every army. But from the very time I entered the army traps were set for me in order to lure me into some incriminating statement. Under the mask of friendship, people were always trying to worm themselves into my confidence in order to find out what was in my mind. The German takes to spying naturally; it is a trade that agrees with his predilections. It was not always possible for me to be wise. Once at the beginning of the captivity, when I was suffering from high fever, I was stung by something they said, and told the Germans what I thought of them. I have a confused memory of a roomful of soldiers running at me; but I put up my fists, and they kept their distance, the more so as the Russians at once interfered. Later on I lived in the same room with two Austrian doctors and a very young German medical student. The Austrians and I used to have long talks about the war, in which both sides were perfectly frank. One day I was told that the young German was in the habit of taking notes of all I said, and running off with them to Remsi Seki and Kallenbach. This noble pair of brothers spent a great deal of time discussing what punishment I should receive when I got back to Germany. After I had made up my mind to have done with the Germans, I had a splendid game of cat and mouse with them. I was able to sound all the depths of a Jew’s guile. Kallenbach smothered me with protestations of friendship, he nearly wept on my shoulder. Often he would pretend to be a Socialist and inveigh against the Kaiser, or, in the most plausible and convincing tones in the world, speak of the cruelty shown to British prisoners in Germany. Then suddenly he would pause—his face glowing with noble feeling, his eyes glistening with the tears ready to fall—and wait for me to open my heart to him. The acting was so perfect that, in spite of all I knew about him, it seemed impossible that he could not be genuine. He put his satellites to try the same tricks on me. If I had agreed with them on a single point, he would at once have written a protocol about it, which in time would have been added to my “dossier” at the regimental headquarters at Cassel. I used to speak freely, but just within the allowed limits, about any matter they chose to bring up, until I could see their eyes almost starting out of their heads in expectation of what I was going to say next, and then I would turn the conversation. Next day I generally received a report of what they had said of me behind my back, and of the rods which their imagination had laid in pickle for me.

Then there came a day when the Russian and the German doctors were exchanged, and Kallenbach and his company went home. It was a difficult matter for them to get their protocols through, because the Russians would not allow them to take a single scrap of paper with them. Even the novels they had provided themselves with were confiscated. There was a great scene of preparation for departure, hair-brushes were taken to pieces, and notes written on cigarette paper packed in between the boards, boots and furs were unpicked, and protocols sewn up in them. When Kallenbach left he had smuggled about his person reports on the behaviour of every German in Stretensk. He thought by being a zealous tale-bearer to curry favour with the authorities, and to place his own loyalty beyond a doubt. That might have helped him under the old rÉgime, but I doubt if anything can save him if he falls into the hands of this Government.

And then there came an interval of three or four days without any tidings from the outside world. Wild rumours were flying about, but the wildest was surpassed when the news came through that the Revolution had broken out and established itself almost without bloodshed. At Stretensk things for a moment looked serious. The old colonel gathered his regiment together and delivered a fiery address, calling upon the soldiers to stand true to the Czar and country. He was very busy in measures to counteract the Revolution, and endeavoured to get into communication with Irkutsk by means of telegrams in cipher and in other ways, but the Revolutionaries already had everything in their power and were easily able to frustrate him. Finally, upon instructions from Irkutsk, his second in command deposed him and took over his responsibilities. The colonel was a thorough rascal, deservedly hated by all his men, and he knew it, yet he took his life in his hands to defend his order. Hats off to the old rÉgime! The later Governments of Russia have not produced men capable of fighting for them with the dignity, courage, and devotion with which this old blackguard of a colonel fought for the Czar.

The prisoners of war passed through some anxious days. There were rumours that the Revolution was before all things anti-German, and that all the German prisoners were to be killed or at least tortured. Our guards reassured us, saying that even if ordered to shoot us they would not do so. Our greatest danger came from our own Hotspurs, who wished to make a sudden rising and seize the camp with all the munitions it contained. They argued that, if that were done in every prison camp throughout Siberia, so much damage would be inflicted that it would be impossible for Russia to carry on the war. We should go under, no doubt, but meanwhile we should have done our duty to the Fatherland. But the new commandant sent a note to the officers, requesting them to show the same loyalty to the new rÉgime as to the old, and to use their influence to keep their men from regrettable excesses. Our officers sent on a command to us to keep quiet, and the danger passed by.

In the Russian Army the Revolution at first made slow progress. The soldiers of purely Russian descent were puzzled and not a little irritated by the loss of all their old landmarks. They still clung to the idea of Czar and Church. However, as I have already mentioned, the Government had been in the habit of sending their Polish soldiers to Siberia to get them out of the way. This policy now began to bear fruit. With almost a devilish glee the Poles set about bringing over the Russian soldiers to the side of the Revolution. They wasted no time on ideals or high-falutin’ principles; they simply stated that for every peasant the Revolution meant a big house, a lot of land, and freedom to do what he liked in the army. It was a gospel easy to understand, and in a few days the Russians were going about saying they would kill all the rich men and each get a big house for himself. They refused to stand guard round the camp against the prisoners of war, alleging that so many prisoners got into the town as it was, that it was no use keeping watch over them. The last thing I heard about the soldiers was that they were going to the ginshops every night, and selling their boots to buy more gin, coming home barefoot in the small hours of the morning. The new commander went about wringing his hands and declaring it was as much as his life was worth to interfere. The Poles chuckled at the turn events had taken, and continued to pour oil on the revolutionary fire.

Soon after the Revolution began, I left Stretensk to take up a position at Irkutsk as a tutor in a Russian family. It was difficult to leave Stretensk, although I had never been hungrier, dirtier, in greater danger of my life, or in worse company than I had been there. It seemed that human nature had yielded up its last secrets of vileness and treachery, and that no more illusions were possible for me. I have been asked what is the effect of such experiences upon a man. It is difficult to give an answer that shall not seem merely sentimental and weak. But there are two sides to the medal. I was at Stretensk a marked man, and those who were my friends were also marked men. Their names were noted down and reported to their regiments because they were friends of the Englishman. They had nothing to gain by knowing me and a great deal to lose. And yet I had friends as good and trusty as ever a man had, and I owe to their companionship memories that I shall value till I die. Human nature passed the examination, even of Stretensk, with honours.