I looked forward with impatience to arriving at Irkutsk prison, where I hoped to meet a friend of early days—Maria Kovalèvskaya. We had become acquainted in 1875, belonged to the same section of the Buntari, and—as was then customary among all the revolutionists—said “thee” and “thou” to one another. Maria Kovalèvskaya[64] was one of the most remarkable women in the movement; she was the daughter of a man of property named Vorontsov, and had married Kovalèvsky, a tutor in a military gymnasium. In the early sixties she joined the revolutionary movement, left her husband and little daughter, and devoted herself to the work of the party. She was small of stature and had something of the gipsy in her looks; was lively and energetic in manner, keen of wit, ready and logical in speech. She distinguished herself at all theoretical discussions, always penetrating to the kernel of the question in hand, and bringing life and point into the debate, without ever becoming personal or hurting anyone’s feelings. She was esteemed very highly; and people who were quite opposed to the Socialists fully appreciated her exceptional gifts. In any other country she would have played a distinguished part; in Russia she was condemned to fourteen years and ten months’ penal servitude, because she was found in a house where some revolutionists made armed resistance to the gendarmerie.[65] By her courageous bearing during trial and in prison, as also later in Kara, Maria Kovalèvskaya became one of the best-known characters in revolutionary circles. In the prison, where she was witness of the shameless unfairness and bad faith of officials at every turn, her irrepressible energy found vent in upholding and defending the prisoners. Whether the matter were really serious, or a comparative trifle, whether the offence was committed by a functionary of high position or by the meanest underling, her determination knew no compromise; she made her protest regardless of consequence to herself, would not rest till she had gained her end, and would rather have died than have given in. She always stood firmly for the tactics of the Buntari, _i.e._ to use the strongest and most radical measures for enforcing a protest against official oppression. If there were any discussion on this head her advice was always to annoy the staff actively, to break windows, furniture, etc. It was only her strong sense of comradeship that could induce her to bow to the will of the majority and adopt more passive means, such as hunger-strikes or boycotting officials. She had fought out a whole series of such conflicts, and one of them—a dispute at Kara—had led to her being removed, with three female comrades, to Irkutsk. No sooner, however, were they there than a contest arose with the head of the police; and the four women in consequence refused food, fasting so long (ten or eleven days, I believe,) that the prison doctor became apprehensive of the result, and