The Martyrs of Russia Translated by Perm

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T HE
J. MICHELE'I‘,
ll
AUTHOR. or
MESTS, WOMEN, AND FAMILIES," “THE PEOPLE," ETC.
Eranstatc'n',
BY PERMISSION AUTHOR.
~.W_\\~w““\~§w;;=¢w \ »
LONDON:
1851.
-
Q. \
‘cnrdv
THE ' ' w
MARTYRS OF RUSSIA,
BY
J. MICHELETL L
AUTHOR OF
“PRIESTS, WOMEN, AND FAMILIES," “THE PEOPLE," ETC.
Eranfilatw,
BY PERMISS!ON OF THE vAUTHOR.
LONDON =
REEVES AND TURNER, 98, CHANCERY LANE.
1851.
— WM 7
_.I=
RICHARD KINDER, PRINTER,
GREEN ABBOUR COURT 0 OLD BAILEY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
mrnonuc'rony LETTER . . . . . . . . . 1
CHAPTER I.
RUSSIA . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
CHAPTER II.
ma’ronv or on“, A n'u's'smri Ssiiv . . . . . . 17
CHAPTER III.
THE MINOTAUR.-—0F THE ARMY AS A TORTURE . . . . 25
CHAPTER IV.
SIBERIA . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
CHAPTER V.
SlBERlA.—THE nxscunons . . . . . . . - 39
iv CONTENTS;
\ CHAPTER VI.
PAGE
or THE GROWING 'rmmomsm 0F RUSSIA.——MARTYRDOM or PESTAL
AND OF RYLEIEFF . . . ' . . . . . . 47
0
CHAPTER VII.
MARTYRDOM O‘F PESTAL AND OF RYLEIEFF . . . . . 55
CHAPTER VIII.
OF THE EXTERMINATION OF-POLAND . . . . . . 65
CHAPTER IX.
THE BXTERMINATION or POLAND . . . . . . 73
CHAPTER X.
01" THE emu as POPE AND AS oon.—-nm.mrova PERSECUTION . 83
CHAPTER XI.
CONCLUSION.—OF 'rns CZAR A8 POPE AND A8 001) . . . 89

THE MARTYRS OF RUSSIA.
INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
To the Oflicers of the Russian Army.
GENTLEMEN,
ANOTHER human sacrifice! Even so late as the 20th July last,
Warsaw, seized with horror, beheld four prisoners (without either
cause or pretext) suddenly dragged from their dungeons, judged
and condemned by your military tribunals, crushed beneath the lash.
No recent plot explains this atrocity; they were former political
prisoners. Their families had consoled themselves with the belief
of a pardon, on the arrival of the Emperor, and the celebration of
the twenty-fifth anniversary of his accession. Vain hope! death
was their pardon.
Was it, indeed, you, gentlemen, who could order these barbarous,
these ignoble torments? You—imbued with the spirit of France,
and nurtured by her; you—whose mind is her mind; you—French,
rather than Russians?
We are not ignorant of the terrible fear which hangs over you.
An iron hand wrests from you these frightful judgments; and forces
you to sign these condemnations. More than one among you
would break his sword in pieces, were death the only thing to be
feared.
We know you well—and are convinced, that if left to yourselves,
you would dare to be human. I could say where, and in what
manner; but I will not denounce you. We believe, that on the
B
2 THE MARTYRS OF RUSSIA.
20th July, you held back several of the victims demanded of you.
Of thirty-four, whom you were forced to judge, thirty will live-—
they are destined for Siberia. _
What was the crime of these Poles? That of thinking exactly as
you think.
Who, more than you, detests and execrates the barbarous go
vernment of these bastard Germans which is crushing Russia?
Could we but lay bare your hearts, we should find implanted in
most of you, if not, indeed, the Revolution, at least the faith of
the 14th December, the imperishable spark of Pestal and of Ryleieif.
Lamentable destiny! You march through Europe, combating or
condemning the accomplices of your thoughts, and the martyrs of
your faith, those whose sentiments you admire, and whose death
you envy.
Yes, you admire those Hungarians, who, in 1849, broke up the
Russian intervention; and you resent, as we do, the tortures which
followed, and the execrable outrages inflicted even upon the women.
You admire those heroes of the Polish revolution, who, in 1837,
from the end of Siberia, by a stroke of almost incredible boldness,
undertook to arm the desert; and you were more dead than they,
on the day when they fell, under the strokes of your weeping and
broken-hearted soldiers.
How deeply must your hearts have been wounded, when, in
1M7, Wisniowski, from the gibbet, uttered that sublime sentiment,
“ Love one another, and forgive.”
One frightful picture will ever haunt the memory of those who
served in 1831; calling forth their lamentations by day, and dis
turbing their midnight slumbers. The solemn martyrdom of the
Polish army, in the frequented port of Cronstadt, under the indig
nant eyes of all the sailors of the earth, will form a scene to them,
never, never to be forgotten. Several hundred brave men, prisoners
of war, and by capitulation, refusing to abjure their country and be
come Russians, were flogged, and, as their wounds closed up, flogged
again and again, persevering invincible, until the carts removed
their mutilated remains—shapeless and hideous masses—in which
no trace of the human form could be recognised.
What are your secret sentiments in the midst of these terrible
INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 3
trials? They are well known to us. Permit me to call your

attention to the following circumstance. In one of the late wars, :1
young officer, on his arrival in a town belonging to the invaded
country, was quartered in the house of a lady of distinction, who, in
order to mark her resentment against Russia and the Russians, left
to her servants the sole care of his reception, and absolutely refused
to see him. After considerable difiiculty, however, he succeeded in
gaining admittance to her presence. He opened the conversation
with considerable kauteur ; but she, immoveable and heroic, replied
to him as to an enemy of her country. The young man could resist
no longer—seized with admiration, he threw himself weeping at her
feet, exclaiming, “We, madam, are more wretched even than you;
. . . . . All the relations of him who is before you, are exiles now
in Siberia !”
Thus, mute and pale, your arms hanging listlessly by your side,
you advance, in spite of yourselves, to execute the sentence of an
adverse destiny. You proceed with drooping head, and Without
either looking behind or before you. Before you, lies Siberia,
peopled with Russian nobles, and the slaughter-house Caucasus,
where you are led on to be massacred. And—you advance, not
withstanding all! Behind you, is the Revolution, with which you
sympathise, and France, and French ideas, which form part of your
very being—and yet you do not stop!
Take pity upon yourselves.———Can you risk more than death?
And do you not already die? This life; is it not in itself
death?
Many, in this wretched situation, seek to deceive themselves. They
force upon themselves ambition, for the greatness of Russia.
Do not deceive yourselves, gentlemen, this word Russia has two
very distinct meanings :—the Empire and the Nation. Now I am
ready to prove, that the Empire has not advanced a single step,
which has not been also a step towards the annihilation of your
nationality, and the extinction of your Sclavonian character. The
death of Russia is the only true definition of the terrible government
under which you live and suffer.
Others, without seeking to deceive themselves, 'close their eyes
and yield themselves up to destiny; they sit down in an absolute
B 2
.4 THE MARTYRS or RUSSIA.
scepticism, upon the very verge of the abyss. Who knows where
right is to be found? ask they. True—we are corrupted; but are
they of the West less so? Let us enjoy life and then die.
Yes, the West is corrupt ; but much more so in the upper classes
of'society, with which you are alone acquainted, than in the lower
classes. In France, however, though more or less corrupt, there
always exists a powerful means of moral regeneration—and that by
the force of opinion. France lives by thought, and derives there
from an inexhaustible source of regenerating power. Her falls are
mighty—then the world exclaims aloud, “ She is dead l” Such
was the cry at Rosbach. Yet, from that very epoch it was, that a
feeble spark, kindling into a flame, imparted force and warmth into
her dying embers, reanimating those who thought her extinct, till
transfigured by her genius, she became the world’s luminary.
This regenerating power is to he found in opinion, which is ever
putting forth new buds. What would be the state of that people,
who should lose their ancient character—who should be severed
from all other nations—who should he isolated—shut out from all
living communications ; and who should have the very air they
breathe prevented from reaching them?
Such is the exact case with the Russian people.
They lived in a Community, a little patriarchal association which
divides the soil amongst its members, and allots to each its alter
nate culture; thus forming a powerful link to bind mankind toge
ther. Now man is at one blow rooted out from the soil, and from
the Community—once the possessors of the soil—then serfs; and
for more than two centuries aliixed to it, they consoled themselves
with the belief that the soil was in its turn affixed to them. Now
man is no more than a mere moveable; an implement to be sold
for mines and factories.
Alas! the affecting, the woeful spectacle. This population, de
voted to servitude, had made an heartfelt effort to reconcile it to the
sentiments of nature; the serf called the master his father. He
was the child of the noble, and the noble himself was the son of the
Czar. All this little world was bound together, by the idea ofpater
nity. In that was centred Russian faith, and all the affections of
the Russian heart—and that heart you have broken.
By abandoning the serf to your agents, who reduce him to de

spair, you have been obliged to call in the help of the imperial police
against his revolts—then to solicit the extension of the system
throughout the whole empire; and to introduce into each village,
that pale and malevolent man, whose business it is to menace the
peasant, and to betray the master.
Formerly, though dependant doubtless in your relations with the
Czar, you had at least this consolation; that those relations were
rare. Masters at home—when winter set in and destroyed all com
munication, tyranny ceased for you. During eight months of the
year you ruled as kings. In the autumn you shut your doors, and
none approached to molest you. At the present day one meets
throughout the land, that man of sinister and troubled aspect and of
furtive glance, through whom the Czar looks on you from St. Peters
burg.
One of my friends, finding himself in a palace, situated in the
centre of Russia, far ofi' from the public roads, was present at a
dinner, given by the lady of the mansion, to the numerous nobility
of the neighbourhood.
The banquet-room looked upon a fine park, the principal walk of
which was opposite the middle window and the place occupied by
the lady at table. All of a sudden she became speechless and im
moveable—her eyes are fixed—she is pale—she is livid—she trem
bles, and her teeth chatter—she is about to faint . . . . . . A
military personage enters the room. It is the General of the Impe
rial Gendarmerie—him it was whom she had seen in the park. She
gave herself up for lost; he however reassured her—his presence
was entirely owing to chance—one of his equipages happening to
have met with an accident, he had been forced to stop on his jour
ney, and so had profited by the occasion to pay this untimely visits
Behold your life! Shut in by two equal terrors, fearing from
beneath you, continual revolts—and from above you, the overwhelm
ing Idol, which every day weighs you more and more to the ground,
you take refuge beneath this latter. You fly—whither? oh unhappy
ones! To the bloody altar of Moloch.
Not only does this terrible God devour individuals, but also the
faculties, the energies, and the vitality of Russia.
B 3
From 1812 to 1825, you sought public action. The mild and
paternal Alexander was himself the encourager of your philanthropy.
But the stroke of the 14th December oppressed your hearts, and trod
them back into egotism.
Yet in literature activity still prevailed, and took the place of
public enterprise. Even in this innocent career, however, Russian in
tellect was persecuted, and poetry and the poets together died. . . .
Lermontoff? slain. Griboledofi'? slain. Puschine? slain, and by
what cruel death !*
Your literature perished shortly after 1840. Then followed a last
ing silence. You no longer speak. Do you imagine therefore you
are forgiven? No: a new career of persecutions is before you—
more deep, more terrible. This despotism, up to the present time
external, and material only, will soon penetrate into your innermost
soul, and eat up your religion.
“ You obey. It is well. Like to Poland and Russia you are
trodden under foot. It is well. Yet something is wanting, without
which I refuse all. It is that you do acknowledge me, as the rule
of right, and as the arbiter of faith, that in me you do honour the
union of those two powers without which there is nothing. If both
meet in me, I am perfect, I am God.”
Thus spoke the modern Nehuchadnezzar, and caused it to he
proclaimed by one of his serfs (in January 1850). He also declared
Rome to be at an end, and the Latin united with the Greek Church,
to be the sole Catholic and universal Church, and the Czar, the sole
Pontitf of the World l
The Grand Duke Michael had pronounced it twenty years ago.
On his visiting Saint Peter’s, at Rome, at the moment of the Pope’s
officiating, he exclaimed, “ This is indeed a grand and magnificent
ceremony; but how much more so will it be when we officiate
here l”
The Emperor has given deeds rather than words. He has acted
the part of a Pope by his atrocious persecutions of the Uniates,
(Greeks who have joined the Latin Church,) and Poland herself,
politically crushed, has furnished forth yet more victims for these
religious executions.
' See Des ide'e: réuolutiomzaires en Russia, by Iscander. Paris, 1851.
What now remains to the new God, save to wage war against
Russia and against the crowd of sectarians who there seek protection
from the nobles? These unhappy wretches annually furnish five
hundred victims to Siberia!
Thus it is that this fatal power marches onward destroying and
devouring. Were there nothing to fill its murderous jaws, it would
feed upon itself.—Political existence? devoured. Literary life?
devoured. And now it seeks for food amongst the religions of
Russia and Europe. It advances with gaping mouth. Why is
Revolution intolerable? The organ of the Czar has answered the
question with great candour. Because the French Revolution is itself
a religion.
But neither France nor the Revolution are troubled—they fear
nothing. Who ought to fear? You—above all, gentlemen. The
engine by which this power acts upon the world rests upon you. It
weighs upon you and crushes you. It cannot act externally without
acting internally also.
Observe, that it is not a mere man—it is an engine. The death
of an individual, (although his personal violence adds to the pres
sure,) his death, I say, is not sufficient to relax the spring once so
tightly compressed.
Who is able to relax it? You, sooner than any one. The Czar
himself can do nothing without your help.
Allowing that he has forced the mechanism, by the violence
natural to despotic power, and by the employment of strangers
ignorant of the Russian character.——You also have forced it, by
aggravating the condition of the serf, and by calling in the inter
vention of the imperial power for the suppression of revolt. Yes :
you have added to the throne of the Czar this new and fearful
weight, under which Russia lies groaning.
Your position is still strong—your power is still extensive, either
for good, or for evil. The people, if forced to choose between your
rule, and that of the Czar, would not hesitate; they would prefer
you. Nominally free, they are condemned to a harder bondage,
to that servitude of venal and grasping ofiicials who are dead to feel
ing, and who know not the name of honour. What the people
require of you is, that associating your interest with the good of the
8 THE MARTYRS 0F RUSSIA.
Community, the true Russian fundamental principle, you should

protect it against the government, and against your own agents.
The Community, under your protection, would make an effort to
throw off the shackles of slavery—it would aspire to be free. Listen,
I say, to the voice of the elders. Respect the customs of the
people. Enforce from your stewards obedience to the Starost and
to the Patriarchs of the place. Avoid agents. Diminish your rents.
Let them be reasonable and moderate. Let the obrok, (the standard
rent,) unhappin so little known in our day in Russia, become
universal. Let it take the place of variable prices, and be freely
adopted.
The local government being thus relaxed, the central government
would be less necessary for your protection. It would perceive
your strength in the love of your dependents, and would consult
your views. Everything would go on smoothly; and by a gradual
movement, even as the action of nature.
It is not needful, that for Russian greatness, Russia herself should
remain barbarous.
“ Come back again to nature.”
When once you depart from nature, one enormity renders neces
sary, and even indispensable, another, not less monstrous than the
first.
To give only a single example z—Your cancer Poland requires
for its remedy the Caucasus, which in its turn demands an inces
sant flood of Russian and Polish blood.
“ Come back again to nature.”
Prevent the atrocious tyranny of your police, by doing away with
its necessity. Where would be the need for it, if your serfs
loved you?
Prevent the barbarous severity of your military establishment.
Its practice has destroyed its utility. Why fall into the pedantic
brutality of German discipline ? Left to yourselves you would have
been but more martial.
Russia is a conqueror. Such is her mission by nature; but her
conquests tend towards the South.
Consult the humblest Russian. Not one cares for the West.
His dreams are of the Sun. You are a southern nation; both by
race and habits; and you find yourselves unhappin exiled to the
North. Come! warm yourselves in the sunny South, ye shivering
people. Descend into the fertile steppes, which once properly cul
tivated, will be more valuable far than Poland— there you will find
a second Italy. The true inclination of Russia is towards the Black
Sea. Men as rivers rush down by their own impulse. Each time
man draws near to this Paradise of Crimea, then he believes he has
been restored to his true country.
By returning to your legitimate and natural mission—viz. the
conquest of the southern desert, you will finish without regret an
unnatural struggle. You will make reparation to your sister Poland.
You will aid her to extricate herself from Germany; and with
your own hands you will remould her. On her part, she will be the
means of reconciling you to God and to Europe, and thus blessed,
you will enter into the human brotherhood.
J. MICHELET.
September, 1851.
C H A P TE R I.
RUSSIA.
MB. HARBO-HARRIUG, a liberal writer of Friesland, and an ex

ollicer of the Russian guard, in his poignant work upon the military
tyranny, under which he lived and suffered, took for his motto
these words: Ausi (I have dared). This was in 1832.
Some few years before, a German, Lieutenant Mmrtens, author
of a little book upon the foreign affairs of Russia, who also formerly
belonged to the Russian service, took up his abode at Dresden.
Who would not have thought him perfectly safe in that capital,
under the eyes of Germany? He, however, suddenly disappeared,
and left not a trace behind him; and up to the present time, all
efforts for his discovery have altogether failed.
The Russian government has been taxed with his disappearance ;
but it shows no displeasure at the accusation. On the contrary, it
rather speculates upon the terror it creates.
Two well-known and distinguished French engineers were in
company at Moscow, at the moment when the first tidings of the
breaking out of the Revolution of July reached Russia. One of
them remained silent. The other warmly praised the Revolution.
He was arrested the same evening, and had it not been for a timely
warning given to the French ambassador, who energetically re
claimed him, he would have been far on his road to Siberia.
A passport is no safeguard to the traveller. Kotzebue had a
German passport—perfectly regular—at the time when he was car
ried off from St. Petersburg and conducted in a single stage straight
on to Tobolski. The object was to inspire him with fear, and the
event proves that the means were perfectly successful. He was
quite converted, and became a sincere Russian, so much so indeed,
12 THE MARTYRS or RUSSIA.
that on his return to St. Petersburg, the Emperor, delighted,

made him chief director of the theatres of that capital. It is well
known, that ever since that epoch, his pen, sold to Russia, was the
betrayer and calumniator of Germany.
Our friend, M. Pernet, director of the Revue Indejacndante, was
also possessed of a passport, when he was treacherously arrested.
Although permitted to travel unmolested as far as Moscow, once
there—removed from the eyes of Europe—and far off from the
French ambassador, he was seized, and without the shadow of a
pretext sent off to prison. Not one of his Russian friends dared
move a step to save him. Thrown into a deep dungeon, below the
level of the moats, there from his prison bars he beheld throughout
the day, the barbarous executions continually going on. Under his
very eyes were brought those serfs, whom the obliging police under—
take to flog for their masters. Their shrieks, their sad complaints,
the sounds of the lash striking upon the bones—the furious clamour
of the executioners excited by their vile worka—all this formed a.
hellish sight which gradually broke his heart—which absorbed his
eyes, his ears, and well nigh his brain. He was irresistibly attracted
to the grating, and at the end of two days, he felt that he was
already becoming idiotic. No longer could he command his feel
ings. . . . But what must they have been, when two young and half~
naked girls, hardly twenty years old, appeared upon the spot—sent
there to be flogged by their fury of a mistress? These were two
poor milliners, who not aware of their being serfs, had received their
lovers in their mistress’s absence. She had them torn with the rod.
They writhed and shrieked for mercy. At the sight of the bleeding
bodies of these unhappy girls, whose sinews were laid open with each
stroke, the Frenchman could hardly keep himself from fainting. At
length the flogging ceased; but not before one of the young girls
fell bathed in blood, and dying, to the earth. . . . M. Pernet himself
was fast sinking !
Could all this have been mere chance? Those who can believe
it so, know little of Russia. The object was—to break the heart of
the beholder, and produce in him a lasting impression of fear. It
is indeed a subject of reflection for the stranger, when he considers
the little distance which separates the serf from the freeman; and
RUSSIA. 13
that the humblest police-officer arrests the freeman, and causes him
to be flogged! These milliners were not serfs; but most probably
French—as most milliners are.
Two Germans, on leaving Russia, and stepping on board an
English ship, threw themselves into each other’s arms:—“ Ah!
my friend,” exclaimed one of them—“ here at least we can respire.”
I do not know whether all who leave Russia can so congratulate
each other. Most leave behind, a considerable part of themselves.
Those who have resided there for any length of time—whether it
be that they are under the influence of some lingering terror, which
never leaves them; or whether it be that they are assimilated to
that strange country, and so to speak, become Russianized—be it
how it may—they never speak of Russia, but with the utmost pru
dence. They do not deny that there exist many things most
odious—most unnatural; they admit all; but they blame not. It
is owing to this, that their moral character, enfeebled and ener
vated, resembles no longer that of other men. They are incapable
of forming a firm and serious opinion.
Russia, besides her terrors, possesses a very considerable ener
vating power. That life of stoves and warm baths. Those houses
heated by night and by day. The luxurious habits of countries,
where slavery prevails—all this assists to relax the moral tone.
The heart at first wounded on the barbarous side of slavery, learns
to be silent—then the sensual side prevails. He who was at first
disgusted, afterwards excuses, and finishes by discovering its
sweetness.
A writer who has passed twenty years in Russia, describes the
impression made upon him the first time he ever heard the women
flogged z—their piercing and harrowing shrieks burst upon his
ear, mingled with all manner of childish cries of the most painful
simplicity, and with all the caressing words with which the victims
hoped to soften their tor-mentors. The young girl cried: “ Mercy !
mercy! not to day —I am ill—spare me.” The woman: “ Have
pity on me, my friend. I am with child, and you will kill two per
sons ;”—iu fact, all that intensest suffering could call forth to soften
the human heart. . . . . He burst into tears. The lady of the
house surprising him in this state, and not understanding how
C
the sight of these torments could so move him, said : —“ Are you
aware that you are afflicted by that which you yourself have occa
sioned? Knowing you were fond of strawberries, I sent these girls
into the wood—they forgot themselves, and joined the village
dance.” . . . . . It was from kindness and attention shown to a
stranger, that she had ordered the chastisement of eighty of her
servants.
In Russia, the female population greatly exceeds that of the males,
which is owing to the enormous consumption of the army. An idle
and debased domesticity is the lot of the generality of the women,
who work little, either in the house, or in the fields. A Russian
lady observed to me:-~“ On a small estate of one hundred and
fifty peasants, which I never visit, I have forty femmes de chambrea,
who literally do nothing.” The female part of the population is so
little considered, that the Banks only advance money upon the male
serfs; the others are counted over and above.
The prostitution of the women, entirely at the will of the master,
is a principal cause of the debasement of Russia. The Russian
family has less of security than that of the negro. There exists no
difl'erence of colour between the serf and the master; so that how
ever mixed the blood, the only accusing characteristic which could
possibly betray the true parentage, is thereby taken away. Hence
spring those horrible results, little seen in our colonies. The mas
ter enslaves his own brother—prostitutes his sister, and often his
daughters ;—-and in speaking of the master, be it understood, we
speak less of the lord, than of the positive master, the brutal agent
and overseer, who placed in a distant province, without either
superintendence, or control, and far away from all human restraint,
violates at his pleasure, this miserable people.
Whatever may be said with respect to the insensibility of the
serf, it is not less true, that this continual profanation of the family
is a very martyrdom to the Russians. No man is so degraded, but
that he must sometimes suffer from the bitter uncertainty as to
whether the children he embraces are his own or those of strangers.
No race or country is so sensitive of the ties of relationship as the
Russian. He stoops beneath the weight of insult, nor can we be
surprised at it. Revolts are isolated, and afford no hope of enfran
RUSSIA. 15
chisement, and in joining in them, be virtually accepts the certainty

of death beneath the lash. In Russia, man is born a prisoner—he
is captive to nature before he becomes so to his fellow man. There is
little communication carried on between the villages, which are built
at great distances from each other, divided by forests, marshes, and,
the greater part of the year, by impassable bogs. There the Rus
sian is born, and there he dies, under the iron hand of destiny. But
he does not less possess a heart—and that heart is so much the
more affected by the ties of family, because all the rest is so pitiless ;
both his government and his climate.
A shudder comes over you at the thought of the barbarous faci
lity with which all these precious ties are severed—and it seems to
us that nature is most outraged at that system prevalent in Russia :
—the forcible carrying cf qfclzildren/ It causes no astonishment,
and the Emperor himself sets the example. He has forced, and
still continues to force away whole troops of children. After the
Revolution, the young Poles were the chosen victims, under the pre
tence of bringing them up in the Greek Church. The poor mothers
were trampled beneath the horses’ hoofs, whilst pursuing the carriages
laden with their children. Later, and even to the present day, he
caused to be carried off, young Jews only six years old, to prepare
them (it is pretended) for a military career! The poor little things,
roughly handled by the Cossacks, who are their only nurses, mostly
die upon the road: this does not hinder their ravishers from bring
ing the number required; the children of the Russian peasants,
Whom they steal by the way, supply the place of the dead.
The nobles carry away the children, not only for the purposes of
pleasure, but also as a means of speculation. We will cite, as an
example, one who trained up whole troops of dancers, some of whom
he exhibited in the theatres of Moscow, and sold others, at high
prices, to those nobles who amused themselves with operatic per
formances in their own mansions.
These children, who are thus transported into another sphere,
and who receive a superior education—often better than their mas
ters themselves—are the most unhappy of all. They still remain
serfs, and a brutal caprice may, at any moment, plunge them again
into the lowest depths of slavery. A young serf was sent by his
(1 2
master into Italy, where he had become an excellent violinist; but

on his return, he suffered so greatly, that from despair, he cursed
his art, and cut ofl’ one of his fingers, to render himself, for ever
afterwards, incapable of holding his instrument. For a yet more
tragic scene, we are indebted to the barb-arity of the mistress of the
cruel Arascheieff, the favourite of Alexander. This woman had
carried off a superior and charming girl, to act as a companion. One
day—in I know not what fit of passion—she ordered her to be
seized and whipped. The sister of the victim stabbed this cruel
woman.—(Who will say, after that, the serfs are wanting in sen
sibility?)-rFor this crime, the whole family suffered frightful tor
tures, and were afterwards sent to Siberia.
Some few of these tragic events are brought to light, and they at
once arrest the attention; but the greater part of them are hushed
up. It is impossible to know all the secret horrors shut up in
Russia—that vast and dismal empire of woe.
We are acquainted with some few catastrophes; but of the most
important, and most instructive part, we remain ignorant. We
cannot know that long series of sufferings, which forms the whole
life of the Russian serf.
I had an opportunity of learning the complete history of a most
interesting and virtuous serf, who at first cruelly carried off from
her family, to satisfy the whim of a lady of rank, and afterwards
abandoned by her mistress, at length became the servant of some
ladies of my acquaintance. I imagine that this good and virtuous
woman seldom or never reads. If, however, by any chance these
lines should fall into her hands, I trust she will pardon my revealing,
together with the barbarity of her country, the secrets of her soft
and tender heart—that heart—which retains neither bitterness nor
remembrance of ill treatment or injury, but, rather, respect and
consideration for the authors of her sufferings.
CHAPTER II.
HISTORY OF CATYA, A RUSSIAN SERF.
Ir is needless to observe, that in the following simple history, I have

carefully avoided drawing from the imagination. Every circumstance
has either come to my own personal knowledge, or has been com—
municated to me by persons of unquestionable authority, whose
names (and I will not withhold them), will be the best guarantee
for the truth of the narrative. Every one has seen Catya, though
without knowing her. They have beheld her in various pictures,
and particularly in the historical pieces of Mr. Paulin Guerin, where
her beautiful head has attracted considerable attention. The charm
ing portrait-painter, Mr. Belloc, has represented her as St. Cecilia,
and has admirably seized her sweetness of expression. Her precocious
loveliness was her ruin. She lived with her family, who were serfs,
but in easy circumstances, at the extremity of Russia. Her grand
father, who was excessively fond of her, was engaged in the fur
trade. The little child, then only four years of age, was one day
playing on the borders of a lake by the road side, when some car
riages passed by belonging to a lady of rank, the wife of the
Governor of She was travelling with her family, and
her whole household. Observing the prettiness of Catya, who was
about the same age as her own children, and acting upon the im
pulse of the moment, she determined to give them Catya for a play
thing. Without ceremony and without either consulting the family,
or the master to whom the family belonged, she took possession of
the child, as if she had been a stray kitten by the way, and placing
her in her carriage she continued her journey.
The family of the lost one, after much anxiety, at length heard of
her fate. The lady had stopped in a neighbouring town, and thither
the poor grandfather hastened', bathed in tears; he offered, as a
o 3
ransom, his whole fortune, if they would but restore to him his child.
The lady laughed in his face, rudely repulsed him, and departed
carrying off her treasure.
The lot of children, of the lower classes, educated with those of
the higher, is well known. The latter, spoilt, and gratified in their
selfish whims, make their living playthings complete drudges. On
the other hand, if the parents desire to make an example, or to
give a severe lesson, the little stranger is always the chosen victim.
Such was the case with the page, who had been given as a play—
mate to a young prince; the fault of the prince was corrected in the
person of the page.
As she grew up, her mistress employed her about her person.
Her lot promised to improve; but it was fated to turn out the
contrary. These great ladies, the mistresses of slaves, are them
selves children of a larger growth, just as fanciful, and more violent
and tyrannical. Catya, already a tall girl of about ten years old,
began to attract the attention of the gentlemen, who doubtless failed
not to compliment her mistress upon her acquisition: this increased
her aversion, and she did not let a single opportunity escape of ill
treating her slave. If, for example, she was slow in putting on her
mistress’s shoes, she received a kick, which prostrated her to the earth.
She slept like a dog, on amat, by the door; and woe to her if she
were found weeping. Although carried off so young, she had trea
sured up a lively remembrance of her early home—of the village—
the forest—the lake and her little playfellows—of the sweet and
happy time of liberty, and of the caresses of her dear grandfather,
in whose arms she had so often slumbered. These remembrances
always followed her, as vivid as ever, at the end of forty years,
distant, dim, and long gone by, but still as sweet. They were to
her all the reality of life—the rest a dream, through which she had
sorrowfully past!
She was about twelve years old, when, in 1815, she accompanied
her mistress to France, who remained there whilst her husband,
who had also accompanied her, returned to the Russian army.
Actuated by some caprice of passion, or of religion, and influenced
by some preacher of the day (as was the case with so many Russian
ladies in the reign of Alexander), she persisted in remaining in
HISTORY OF CATYA, A RUSSIAN SERF. 19
Paris, and would not even hear of returning to Russia. Her hus
band, tired with continually writing, suing, and commanding in
vain, ceased to supply her with money, hoping, doubtless, that want
would oblige her to return. She still persevered, however, and
dismissing all her servants, she took up her abode at a convent in
Paris, at little cost. The young Catya shared the fate of the other
servants. Her mistress dismissed her suddenly, with the same
roughness with which she had carried her off. She actually sought
to lose her, by having her taken, at nightfall, from the house where
she then lived, in the neighbourhood of the Pantheon. to the
Marais, Rue du Chaume, and there leaving her, under a doorway.
It was already dark; and the rain came down in torrents. A
lady, who was passing, hearing the child’s sobbing, approached her,
and with no little surprise beheld this fine tall girl, angelically beau
tiful, drowned in tears, and incapable of speaking. She scarcely knew
two words of French, but God had taken pity upon her. This lady
was Madame Leroy, sister of Mr. Belloc. Moved by the situation of
Catya, and horrified at the cruel barbarity which could expose a
young girl to the dangers of a great capital, which she was the
more liable to by reason of her bewitching beauty, she took her
home, educated her, taught her French, and treated her with a
kindness totally unknown to her since the day when she had left her
home.
Madame Leroy, upon leaving Paris, placed her in the hands of
two beloved, honoured, and revered ladies. There is nothing to
prevent me from naming them here; and in so doing I shall recall
some of the happiest hours of my life, spent in the society of this
amiable and pious family. They were the clever and active Madame
de Montgolfier, then eighty years of age, the wife of the inventor of
balloons; and her very worthy daughter, a good writer, whose pen
has been wielded in the cause of charity, rather than for personal
fame; and who has therefore seldom signed her productions. We
need scarcely say, that one so generous and tender-hearted, proved a
kind friend to Catya. The young girl had need of great care—and
almost required to be personally waited upon. She had grown
much, and had become so weak, that the mere lifting the lightest
weight, or'ascending a single flight of stairs, caused her a difficulty
in breathing. It was thought she was afflicted with aneurism of the

heart.
Although fallen into such good hands, and treated as their own
child, and as their dearest treasure, yet it required little observation
to perceive that her childish remembrances still followed her; and
that nothing could etface them from her mind. She was always
dreaming of her dear Russia; she thought herself on the borders of
the lake where she was born, and from whence she was carried
away. She showed but little development of mind (although she
spoke French with remarkable elegance). Her affections, however,
were, perhaps, too much developed; but wholly upon the subject of
her childhood; for never did she think of that early time but tears
would start to her eyes.
Her protectors, the very soul of kindness, together with their
friend, Madame Belloc, were resolved to leave no means untried to
discover her family. The Russian embassy showed every willingness
to assist in the object; but nothing could be learnt. All the indica
tions which Catya could give were too vague and indefinite.
It was towards the year 1823 that I saw her, for the first
and only time, at the house of these ladies ;—and I remember well
the impression she produced upon all the visitors present as she
entered the drawing-room. At first, there was a movement of con
strained admiration, which gave way to commiseration. She was
evidently weak, though tall; and she bore in her elegant, but
slender arms, a tray covered with cups of tea; she seemed to bend
beneath this light weight, as a slender poplar beneath the breath of
the wind ! Smiling—she appeared to ask pardon for her weakness.
We felt a disinclination to be served by one whose elegance,
whose language, and whose beauty, more remarkable from its cast of
countenance, than from its freshness, recalled to us the image of
some disguised Russian princess. But in the pure expression of
her eyes, in their softness and tenderness, there was a charm which
is seldom met with in the higher ranks of society. Unfortunately,
this expression of sweetness and docility only served to encourage
impertinent advances, and thus became a source of continual dis
comfort to the poor girl. Many a gay and thoughtless young man
added another pang to that already broken heart. She was of a
’ ““’_‘ ‘' 'Il.

tender nature, but pure and cold as the icebergs of the North;
indeed, in this respect, she seemed little to have changed, since the
time when she had been carried away from her home. She sought
solitude, and, without priestly persuasion, was often at church.
Had her mind been more cultivated, it might perhaps have led her to
become a mystic. The reason she quitted service, sought a room of
her own, and lived by her needle, might probably be ascribed to this
feeling. In Paris, the lot of the workwoman is, perhaps, of all posi
tions, the most difl‘icult ; and Catya therefore found herself obliged,
from time to time, as her work failed her, to return again to ser
vice. But when she was able, she continued her lonely life, in her
humble garret, where her thoughts could always return to her native
village.
Her patroness, who never lost sight of her, often advised her to
marry. Opportunities were not wanting; but whether it was, that
like all melancholy natures, she feared consolation; or whether it
was, that those good and honest, but rather rough men, who sought
her hand, shocked her delicacy, and could little enter into her poetic
nature; certain it is,.that she always shrank from the bare idea of
matrimony. However dressed, she always bore the appearance of a
lady, and a lady full of nobility and sweetness. There was nothing
either proud or servile about her. One thing only recalls her past
life ; when she visits these ladies, to whom she is much attached, she
kisses their hands, after the Oriental fashion. But years roll 011-—
and the once beautiful Catya must now be about forty-seven years
of age. She has associated herself lately with a person of advanced
years, who still lives by her needle. Madame Paul, who is a poor
workwoman, crooked, and a dwarf, shares her lodging. I do not
know how they manage; for notwithstanding their great poverty,
they still find the means of doing good to their poorer neighbours.
Some years ago the heart of Catya was severely tried. She met
in the street an old lady, ill-dressed, wearing an old shawl and
bonnet, whom she seemed to recognise. Strange reverse of fortune!
It was her old mistress, who had become even poorer than herself.
Catya approached her, bowed, and kissed her hand—the other, con
fused and astonished, let fall from her lips some expression, reveal
ing her great state of misery. “Ah, madam !” exclaimed Catya,
from pure goodness of heart, sinking again into the serf, “ you are
still my mistress, and all I have belongs to you.” The same day
she received her wages, and left her place. She immediately ran to
her garret, collected her savings, and placed them in the hands of
her former mistress.
s * a: a: e * a
Our readers will be astonished, that in so short a work, wherein
we only enumerate the sufferings of Russia, in order to arrive at
those crowning martyrs, who have, as it were, borne_the whole weight
of her cruelty upon their shoulders, we should have occupied so
large a space, with the simple history of this humble girl. We
reply: that the intimate knowledge of one single life has initiated
us more completely into the Russian character, than any book or
any communication, gleaned from foreign sources, could ever have
done.
Russiais one living torture! This is but too evident. Now as
to how far the Russian character is tainted, we are unable to say.
Her unhappy victims oppose a seeming insensibility to all her
stripes and outrages. Their language is but little known, and if
it were, one is certain, that in the natural distrust which they bear
towards their tyrants, they would be careful of revealing the true
feelings of the heart. Their life is so uncertain—their dearest ties
so little secured, that they are always afraid of giving offence; and
whoever visits them, will ever find a smile upon their lips. They dare
not appear unhappy, and almost ask pardon for the cruelty they en
dure—Then how should I seize the real feelings—the secret soul, of
a speechless world? Nor do the sad melodies of that apparently
happy man reveal aught to me—in vain may he pour them forth in
solitude, or at his labour; or as he wends his way into the deep
forests!
In Catya, a whole world was unfolded to me. Her simple appear
ance, and her history, explained a thousand things, that I had read,
without understanding.
The first and only time I saw her, one single word escaped me:
“Broken hearted l” This is the true definition of the Russian spirit.
We do not lightly generalize here, we have often deeply consi
dered the question; and scarcely a year passes, that our attention
is not drawn afresh to it. After more than five-and-twenty years, in

endeavouring to find out its true solution; although it has appeared
to us under many and varied aspects, yet from that very time until
now, our original conviction has remained unaltered.
We felt that day, the real moral depths of the people, viz. that
they were broken-hearted, that is the word—I know of none other
that can give you any idea of it; in fact, Russia as it actually exists.
The Polish spirit is unfortunate; but it is not crushed—on the
contrary, Poland lives again in the pride of her martyrdom !
Eastern slavery can give no idea of this broken-heartedness ;
nothing is more absurd than to compare Russia to the East, as
people have done. Asiatic nations, however tyrannical their govern
ment, enjoy much more natural liberty.
The governments of Asia are generally loose and undefined, even
in their cruelties; but Russia on the other hand, is stretched to
the opposite extreme, and is skilfully and cruelly organized, to in
flict torture.
What renders it most atrocious is, that the only thing the Russian
holds dear, that his mind clings to, and that his heart worships, all
in Russia seems combined to break at each moment. We repeat it,
the only thing without which the Russian soul is a waste, an abso
lute blank, that the best eyes are incapable of reading. But what
thing is this? Is it its political condition? the state? By no
means.
The state is not for the Russian: he knows only the community.
If he catches a glimpse of the state, it is only as a distant, a poeti
cal, dream. -
Religion is known to him, only by externals ; he worships such
and such an image, but without having any precise idea, or any exact
opinion, why. Nothing is more ridiculous than the various ways in
which he explains Christianity. He is totally ignorant of it.
Properly—that all engrossing idea of the Oriental, is a blank to
the Russian. Make him a proprietor ; and he will immediately re
turn to his communism.
The one, and only thing, for the Russian—his only affection
and his sole idea—is “ thefamily,” nothing more.
Everything else, even the community itself, is valued by him,
only in that degree, which a cruel policy has invested it with, by

superadding it to his primitive existence, and thereby making it take
the place occupied by the ties of family. The master, and the
masters’ master, he has understood only in the light of family,
rendering those words by others more sweet—such as, the litfle
father—the father qffatkers, 8m.
The Paradise of the Russian, is his heated room, Where during
eight months of the year, occupied in weaving a coarse garment,
or in carpentering for the family, he lives beside his hearth, while
the bitter north Wind, blowing from Archangel, passes over the
little house, without finding the least entering place, through the
thickly-planted trees, overgrown with moss, which close so snugly
his well-secured nest.
The Hell of the Russian, is the breaking up of his family; and
the noble can do it with a single word. This it is, that causes the
poor man to humble himself before him. He is his, even to his
innermost soul. Is his wife or his daughter taken from him ?—he
has nothing to oppose. Should his infant child be carried off ? he
must say, “ It is well!”
Should he himself he forced away—should he some morning be
seized, chained, and marched off to the factories or to the mines,
still he must be silent. His weeping wife is dragged to the bed of
another; she also is a kind of property which must not be permitted
to lie fallow.
Like the earth, she must yearly produce— she must give birth to
other serfs, begotten in despair.
C H A P T E R III.
THE MINOTAUR.—OF THE ARMY AS A TORTURE.
ONE fact tells more against the Russian army, than many words;
viz. the scarcity of men in Russia. The women are certainly the
most numerous, and what proves it still more, is the number of dis
proportioned marriages which are forced upon them; a child of
twelve years of age, being often given to a woman of twenty-five or
thirty, sooner than she should be left a widow. This small number
of men is not natural, but is caused by the government. It arises
from the excessive number swallowed up by the army; for in Russia
there do not exist those wearing and unhealthy trades, which carry
off so many of our workmen. The Russian serf is not overburdened
with labour, his work is light and easy, and he never toils with the
overstrained ardour of our labourers.
What an army is that then, which, even in the time of peace, so
visibly thins a population of sixty millions of men! for Caucasus, be
it remarked, is quite a secondary thing to be taken into account.
Whatever be the monstrous figure at which we calculate the army,
the enormous consumption of men remains incomprehensible; did
we not take into consideration the inhuman manner in which it is
recruited, fed, and rendered fit for service. Three times more men
are drawn from the people than are to be found in the actual nume
rical strength of the forces. What becomes of the rest? Few, very
few, return to their homes—“ not one man in a hundred.” I quote
the very words of Paskewitz. Nowhere does one see in Russia
those old invalided soldiers, so frequently to be met with in other
countries. They all recover by means of that doctor who never
fails to cure,—deatk ./
When the Duke of Ragusa, in his essentially Russian work, reckons
D
that the cost of the Russian soldier is a third less than the cost of
the French soldier, he forgets, in his calculation, that in order to
arrive at one hardy and well-disciplined Russian, two or three must
first fall victims. He passes over this particular, thinking doubt
less, that so fearful a sacrifice of human life is beneath his attention.
Three principal causes combine to produce this frightful mor
tality: first, the Russian, physically from race, life and education,
is the man least fitted for military life. Secondly, he serves against
his will; dies of ennui and of nostalgia; never being able to console
himself for the loss of his home and family. Thirdly, no means are
used to inure him and reconcile him to his ~lot; he is roughly trans
ported to a life quite contrary to the one he has been accustomed to
lead.
Another observation which merits the attention of physiologists,
is, that this race seems little formed, is immature and in its infancy;
their heads are often prettily shaped, though rarely strong; and
the brain little capacious and deep. One meets a great number of
good-looking, rosy-checked old men, who appear still young, be
neath their white beards.
With the Russians, as with children, life has little organization,
and is but weakly developed, continually producing all kinds of
strange creations; I mean vermin, with which they are devoured.
It seems that their blood is cold, or that it is mixed with water;
they drink spirit with impunity, in quantities which would burn men
of a more ardent temperament, or of a richer and more generous
blood.
Our western races, which have passed through so many vicissi
tudes, possess a vigorous solidity of character, unknown to the
Russian. The Russian is in comparison with us what the slender
poplar is to the time~w0rn oak or elm; a tall plant, suddenly sprung
up, a rapid and delicate improvisation of nature. In the English
man, of a sanguine temperament, and living upon meat, whose an
cestors have always forged the iron, and from forgers have risen to
be mechanics, there exists in-that single man wherewith to form
fifty Russians. 'l‘he frugal French peasant, full of good sense and
vigour, who passes his winters in the open field, while the Russian
enervates himself in his heated habitation, is much more fitted than
THE MINOTAUR.—OF THE ARMY AS A TORTURE. 27
he to endure the bivouacs of the Caucasus. This peasant becomes,

in seven years, a much more hardy soldier than does the Russian in
twenty, and he possesses moreover a certain readiness and decision
of character, which the Russian never attains to. The latter, when
even by habit he has become brave, possesses but little natural fore
sight.
Compare two villages, one in France and the other in Russia, at
the time of the departure of the conscripts. The French conscript
attaches the ribands to his hat, and though he may often shed
heartfelt tears on quitting his family, he drinks and tries to be
merry. The Russian rolls himself upon the ground and tears his
beard. Pointed out by his master, very often as a punishment, he
might have been sent out to colonize Siberia; but he is still more
unhappy at being made a soldier. A terrible aflliction for a man
married—a father of a family perhaps—thirty years old or upwards;
for, until a peasant has reached the age of forty, be may be taken
for the conscription, and therefore remains in the most wretched
anxiety as to his fate.
The annual raising of soldiers throughout the empire has all the
character of a general battue of wild animals, driven to a certain
point by the pursuing hounds. Around the chain in which they are
enclosed, their hair and beard closely shaved, prances the Cossack,
avery watch-dog to this unhappy troop. The Cossack, the only
man in the empire whose liberty is somewhat respected, is born a.
soldier, and instead of paying tribute receives money from the Em
peror. He looks with pity on these poor and ill-fed Russian pea
sants, being himself vigorous and active, and living upon meat. His
little horse, ugly and ill-built, but swift and untiring, is his own
property. He is a true factotum of Russia. He works it admirably—
fisherman, hunter, trader, broker, and revenue officer, he wages
war against the smugglers, but only from interest, that he may have
the whole field to himself.
Who can tell the fearful number of blows judged necessary in
order to form a good Russian soldier? Those who have seen the
old Grenadier Guards, at the bath common to all conditions of
Russians, but especially to the soldiers, were stupified at beholding
in their seared backs, the cruel history of their sufferings. These
D 2
brave men, who had only been wounded in front, bore upon their
backs the cruel stigma of their training, and these veterans of a
hundred battles were still flagellated for the veriest trifle.
No, Barbarians, this is not necessary for a military education!
Russian discipline, as even your own oflicers avow, is a horrible
bar-rack despotism. A hard monastic rule, where the lightest errors,
that can scarcely be considered faults, are punished so severely, that
no chastisement remains for real offences.
The Czarowitz Constantine carried this atrocious cruelty to the
greatest height. 'If he found a glove not of the most perfect white
ness, he ordered the owner to receive five hundred lashes. The
soldiers terrified, economized secretly, in order to purchase gloves
for themselves; however, these after a. second washing, would have
cost them a flogging. “ I do not like war,” said Constantine, “it spoils
the soldier, and soils his clothes ;”—-and on one occasion, upon a
person endeavouring to excuse an officer, remarking to him, “ He
is at least a man of great courage.”—“ Courage?” said he, “ what
matters that to me? I care not for courage.”
In this, his brutal candour, he laid open the very mind of autho
rity, which cares neither for courage nor for energy—for heroism,
even in its own cause, would be open to suspicion. A man must
not select the part of a hero, in order to arrive at distinction
and advancement; he must rather be a good and humble subject,
who will always follow in the rear, and wait for orders.
If this severe government were proportionally firm and unvarying,
there would be but half the evil. Unfortunately for the soldier, the
administration is much left to chance; and there exists much ir
regularity and abuse, which, although well known to those higher
in authority, is left without a remedy. How can the government
remain blind to the enormous profits raised upon the provisions
and even upon the life of these men ; and wherefore has it not yet
hazarded that simple and elementary form, everywhere else adopted,
of separating the administration from the command ; of taking out
of the hands of the Colonels, the lucrative distribution of the pro
visions? How great would be the indignation of our French officers,
if any function were imposed on them, by which they were likely to
enrich themselves!
THE MINOTAUR.-—OF THE ARMY AS A TORTURE. 29
Thus is the poor soldier, beaten, badly fed, and ill clothed, led to
the mountain passes of the Caucasus; his youthful habits, the
shutting himself up during the winter, (and so long a winter !) form
a cruel contrast to these mountain bivouacs, these violent changes
from heat to cold, the burning sun, and the fierce hail-storms :
his quarters are bad, and frequently do not exist at all. They are
only marked out on the map, on which the Emperor follows all
the operations. Twenty-five years ago, he ordered the construc
tion of a fort, and gave money every year for the purpose of pushing
on the work: General Woronzotf, who with the Emperor believed
in the existence of this fort, sent a battalion thither. They searched
for it a long time; but in vain. At length, they discovered a large
post, which had been placed, to point out its intended site. The
battalion bivouacked—in the mountain snows.
I will not speak of the Caucasus, nor of that race of warriors
superior not only to the Russians, but also to all other races in the
world. We know that the Tcherkesses furnished to Egypt the
Mamelukes, by whom she was governed; and likewise chiefs to
many other eastern nations. If we turn to the excellent engravings
upon the subject, we cannot but perceive that they are evidently
a race of kings. By their royal arms; their hereditary swords ;
their mpskets formed of platina, which never miss their mark; their
wonderful horses, obedient to the voice without either bit or bridle.
—They are to the Russian, what the eagle is to the lamb: they
often do not stop to kill their enemy; but carry him off on their
swift charger, and when at the top of their speed, it is vain to en
deavour to overtake them.
Even the warlike, the busy, and strangely-mounted Cossack him
self, seems a ridiculous being before these kings of the mountain.
The melancholy and the disgust generally experienced by the
Russian officers, in a. war where blows are always received but never
returned, must not be wondered at. They are scarcely less miser
able than their unfortunate soldiers. Though often of noble and
rich families, and accustomed to every enjoyment from their youth,
they have been early shut up in a military school, where they learn
nothing.
What can be more sorrowful and lugubrious‘than the account given,
D 3
in the book of an ofiicer, of the desolate void, and the despairing

inactivity, toavhich the scholars of the military academy of Warsaw
were reduced in the time of Constantine? No instruction, no books,
no amusement was permitted them, with the exception of female in
tercourse, and of that they were allowed as much as they pleased.
An excellent method of enervating their bodies, debasing their souls,
and rendering them obedient servants and good subjects.
They were thought most exemplary, and it was already a matter
of congratulation, that they were fast becoming docile. Yet, one
morning, these young gentlemen, numbering about two hundred,
who were supposed to be utterly demoralized, marched, with incre
dible boldness, against a Russian army, who thought itself secure in
the occupation of Warsaw, rallied the inhabitants, and took posses
sion of the town.
What is the moral condition of the Russian soldier? What
course would he adopt in the event of a great conflict with Europe?
It is impossible to foresee it; whatever be the sentiments of the
officers or the soldiers, true it is, that they bear a yoke of terror
difficult to shake off.
This race, more than any other in the world, is the easiest open
to terrorism.
Let us be well understood with respect to this word and upon the
phenomenon of terror. It has nothing in common with fear; and I
do not mean to say, that the Russians are cowards. Terror is alto
gether a separate phenomenon of the imagination. It applies to the
state of an individual fascinated by a power which he deems irre
sistible, such as those of nature. A man may be brave against men,
and yet not brave against the mysterious powers. Even so! the
bravest Russian looks upon authority as upon an irresistible fatality
of nature; a feeble individual, he is weighed down by the confused
idea he entertains upon this enormous empire. He bears the yoke,
but feels its weight in the commands of his humblest chiefs. Neither
is it an external obedience. He mixes up with his fatalism a reli
gious sentiment—he obeys devoutly.
It has been remarked by an excellent judge, who has deliberately
and as an amateur, made his observations, that the French and
the Russian, equally brave in the face of danger, ofi'erthis difl’er
THE MINOTAUR.—OF THE ARMY AS A TORTURE. 31
ence; the Russian draws his cap down to his eyes, and advances
without looking whither ; whilst the Frenchman advances with his
eyes open.
The Russians never form their front ranks but of old soldiers; it
may therefore be thought, that those who grow old under so hardy
a discipline are men of no common resistance and unshaken troops,
that only such as these ought to be opposed to them, and that in
the face of such an enemy, every European army ought to strengthen
itself by means of continual re-engagements.
The Russian army was fanatic of old. Is it so at the present day?
Not at all. Is it enthusiastic? And of what should it be enthusi
astic? Held ready for action for the space of thirty years, in the
presence of Europe, harassed and grown callous by this eternal
parade, it believes less and less in that god of war, who has always
preferred diplomatic means to those of the army.
Nothing has served more to enervate the army, than the spirit of
excessive distrust, caused by the restlessness of the police. All are
spies and observers of everything that happens. Each officer is
fearful of being denounced by his neighbour, and too often antici
pates him. The soldier is perfectly conscious of this wretchedly
moral condition of his commanders; he holds them in respect, but
he bears them no esteem; his internal obedience is utterly shaken
by it.
No one possesses a perfect knowledge of the Russian soldier;
under that automaton bearing, under that countenance of wood, he
preserves sometimes a most critical judgment, though it is very
seldom that he allows it to be seen. I will quote a choice ex
ample. Remark well that it relates to the fanatical time of Suwar
row. In the very natural, and evidently exact and truthful recital
which follows, there is nothing of fanaticism, but a slight vein of
irony, and a very touching tendency to excite compassion—a vague
hope of quitting the service, and the love of his birthplace and of his
family, an affection which never leaves the Russian breast.
It was upon the death of Catherine, that Niemcewicz, from his
prison, heard the following conversation: “ At last we shall have
a Czar,” said one; to which the other replied, “ It is a long time
since we have had one; our old Matuoz/la (little mamma) has sulfi
ciently amused herself I should say.”——“ More than enough, it

strikes me,” said the other; “ each one in his turn, I should hope
now our poor prisoners will be let out."-—“ There will be great
changes,” said a third; “ it is said that all those who have served
thirty years will be at liberty to return h0me.”—“ God grant it l”
said they allI with a profound sigh.
C H A P T E R IV.
' SIBERIA.
MUCH has been said of the Martyrs of Siberia; but why distinguish
them? The line of separation would be altogether fictitious. With
the exeeption of an aggravation of cold, the whole of Russia is
Siberia—beginning at the Vistula.
One speaks of the condemned; but every Russian is condemned.
In a country where the law is a mere mockery there can be no
serious judgment. All are condemned ; and yet no one is judged;
there is no distinction between suffering and .punishment.
The universal punishment is not such and such a positive evil—it
is that breaking of the heart, that moral anxiety of a spirit, crushed
beforehand, by an inevitable combination of misfortunes. In that
merciless world where everything seems to possess the fixed rigidity
of its native ice, nothing is fixed—all is pregnant with chance and
doubt.
All are condemned, said we; the serf perhaps the least so, even
in his servitude and misery; for he is not even sure of that very
misery—to-morrow, all may change for him; he may perhaps be car
ried ofi', either for the army or the factories; his wife given to
another; his family dispersed.
17w soldier is condemned—not only because he was, all of a sud
den, carried off from his home; and has ever since been subject to
that continual bastinado, called military service; but also because
he is totally ignorant of the time of his liberation: the law was
thirty years formerly—nowltwenty; but what is the law in Russia?
The qflfcer is condemned; he is forced against his will into a mili
tary school—he follows, in spite of himself, the rude and monotonous
path of nnceasing exercises, parades, and changes from one garrison
to another.‘ Sad Priest of war: even whilst his fortune promised

him the enjoyments of the world 1 But what befalls him if he does
not serve? His family is thenceforth suspected—perhaps ruined
and degraded—and for himself—Ire is lostfar ever !
Lost! What means that word P Killed .7 But it is apparently
something more than death, since it is the occupation of the officer,
to fight, and so expose himself to death—otherwise says Ire, he would
be lost.
The serf, who is seized for the army, says, “ I am lost.” He is
in the very depth of his misfortune; he can descend no lower. But
the officer can descend : he has yet something to fear, which is
worse to him than death—he fears
When the serf is made soldier, his body only is taken. They
care not for his heart; but with the ofiicer, it is the soul that is
needed: the problem of the Russian government being, how to
seize the soul of a. man, whose life of insupportable misery renders
death indifl’erent to him.
This soul has been early deadened in those schools where is
taught only the void—nothing material—nothing moral, so that.
from very weariness, he is thrown into the arms of those enervating
pleasures, which deaden it yet more. But even this twofold opera
tion does not always succeed in extinguishing a strong mind. All
that still remains of the man must be restrained, must be over
come—and that by a moral terror. What terror P—An unknown
punishment.
The Catholic Inquisition, besides its dungeons and its tortures,
continued to the end, its physical torments, by a moral torment—an
eternal Hell—the infinity of time. Russia has its hell—an infinity
of space—the horror of the desert, and of the void.
Anever-ending distance. He who makes the journey on foot,
loaded with heavy chains, starts young, and arrives aged—a man,
twenty-five years old, full of health and life, started from Poland;
three years after, a shadow dropped into Kamsehatka!
A multitude of sufi'erings result from the climate itself—merciless
climate 1 Some few degrees nearer to the Polar Sea were sufiicient
to cause death.
If the Russian, even at home, shut up six months in his oven,
SIBERIA. 35
his heated room, can with difficulty keep out the furious north
wind, what must it be in this second Russia, where the cold eats
into you, where steel breaks like glass, where even the dogs that
draw the sledges would inevitably perish were they not cased
with fur?
To arrive there without resource would be deliverance, for one
would die; but death must not come too quickly. Established in
a small fort, in the midst of the icy desert—during two or three
years, sometimes longer, digging the earth, or drawing the barrow,
fed upon sour milk and bad fish, the exiles die slowly beneath
the lash.
Even those who are not condemned to this terrible doom, but
who have a kind of half liberty—a sort of physical existence, almost
tolerable, find the moral efl'ect scarcely less dreadful. If, to them,
Siberia is not an eternity of suffering, it is one of forgetfulness,
where they feel themselves disappear—dying away from the living
world, from their families, from their friends. To lose one’s name,
to be called Number 10 or Number 20, and, if your family still
remain, to beget children without a name, a miserable race, which
will perpetuate itself in eternal wretchedness! The ruined man
ruins his children—he is cursed—so are they—and by a frightful
crescendo it happens, that the children of a man who is himself
condemned to the mines for twenty years, will remain miners for
forty or their
and all fifty posterity.
years, or even unto death, their children
I after them,
-
Siberia not only draws degradation upon persons, thence trans

ported, but also upon things. A bell was transported there for
having sounded the tocsin during a revolt—cannons were trans
ported, and received the knout at Tobolski. But degradation is
indeed a most serious affair to persons, where it implies bastinadoing
at will.
Had the exiled only to fear a complete change in their habits, the
passage from an indolent Asiatic life, to a life of labour, even that
would alone be sufficient to render Siberia the dread of the Rus
sian. Their efl'eminate mode of life can hardly bear the easy
existence of the west of Europe. A Russian lady declared to me,
that it was impossible for her to exist in France ; an infinite num
ber of Eastern luxuries were wanting to her. Our servants appeared

too rough for her; their voices harsh and proud. She could not
support the natural friction of a world of equality. She missed the
flatteries and attentions of her women, her life of heated rooms and
baths—the tepid atmosphere of her Russian house. What would
have become of this poor woman, if instead of the journey to Paris,
which she found so painful, she had performed the voyage to Siberia?
There is a tradition in Russia, that Catherine, (01‘, perhaps, one
of the Empresses who preceded her,) in order to lower the pride of
certain great ladies, occasionally favoured them with an order for
their fiagellation, which was to be performed by their servants in their
own palaces. The Chief of her secret Chancery intimated the order
with respect, and himself superintended its execution. The sad opera
tion being finished, the patient dismissed him with thanks, holding
herself happy in being let off at such a price, and in having
avoided Siberia.
Judge of the horror of a poor timid woman, dragged from her
palace, her voluptuous ease, and her everlasting summer; perhaps
thrown at night into a strong chest, lined with iron, and rolled
along some four or five thousand miles; or, perhaps, she who has
hardly ever walked, is forced to make this frightful and begging
journey on foot, goaded on by the whip, and receiving on her road
some miserable sustenance from the charity of serfs ! .
In whatever way she may go, it is, indeed, a frightful torture
for a woman, leaving her husband, her children, and all she loves
in the wide world, to wander alone and in the darkness of night,
in the north and in winter—and in the horror of the unknown !
To pass from Europe into Siberia, is like falling into chaos; a
desert of men and a desert of ideas; a vast nothing, without his
tory, without tradition and without religion, (other than witchcraft,)
so complete a void, that even the religious, which have penetrated,
such as the Mahometanism of the Tartars, lose their dogmas, their
legends and their halo, and become pale, dim, and nothingless,
even as the invisible sun of Siberia.
Few can resist this destroying power of the void. Lost in this
immense waste, they are stamped with its very image ; and, losing
all personal identity, in their turn also become mere nonentilies.
SIBERIA . 37
In a journal, published at Vilna, under the Russian censorship,

in 1850, Madame Eve Felinska describes the deplorable condition
in which she beheld a Polish colonel, at Tobolski. Implicated in
the transactions of 1825, he had been condemned by the Senate
to three years’ imprisonment, merely for non-revelation. The
Emperor paid not the slightest regard to this sentence. He caused
him to be transported to the north of Siberia, as far as the 63rd
degree, from whence, in mercy, he was allowed to return as far as
Tobolski. “ This unhappy man, who had been formerly one of the
finest men in the army, was no longer to be recognized. He was
lying back in an arm chair, for so weak was he, that he could not
stand; his hair (already white), though very thin, and combed with
care, fell upon his shoulders, and reached as far as his elbows.
His face was very pale and swollen; and his look vacant. His
eyes and lips trembled with emotion. We could see that he pos
sessed the wish, though not the power, to speak. He motioned us
with his hand to draw near, that he might salute us. For a
moment, his mind regained its reason, but so affected was he, that
he could, with difficulty, use his almost paralyzed tongue. Find
ing that we were going to Berezowa, where he had once resided,
he wished us to take up our abode there, with his former
hostess. All this conversation proceeded with considerable diffi
culty; we were almost obliged to guess his meaning. At length we
perceived that he had exhausted the use of his faculties, for he
informed us, that we should find at Berezowa, melons, grapes, and
other southern fruits, his imagination, no doubt, wandering to the
borders of the Tagns, and the Seine, which he had known so well.
With sorrowful hearts, we shortened our visit, but he still sought
to retain us, by his gestures, vainly endeavouring to articulate the
word : “ stay l l”
C H A P T E R V.
SIBERIA.—THE EXECUTIONS.
“ THE night in these regions, is as long as in winter, gloomy, but

grand, and the sky of a dark blue, almost approaching to black,
when lighted up by the aurora borealis, appears as if on fire, and
presents to the sight, myriads of wandering stars. Yet this fire
emits neither light nor warmth; and these sad stars might be
taken for the eyes of spirits, condemned eternally to look upon -
this scene of woe. . . . .
“ Columns of flame, and strange, terrible, and majestic shapes,
dash against each other, at all the points of heaven. At one
moment, the sky seems alive with burning embers; at another, you
might look upon waves of blood. . . . Can it be, that nature has
visions as well as man? This northern world, unhappy and slum
bering, seems to dream the dreams of exiles.”
The foregoing is one of the features of the grand picture which
the good General Kopec, the companion of Kosciusko, has drawn
of eastern Siberia, where he was confined, at the peninsula of
Knmschatka. Nothing is more touching than the memoirs of this
single-hearted man, and nothing presents a greater contrast than
those of his predecessor there, the Pole Beniowski: this latter,
indomitable and restless; a bold player, and still bolder soldier,
appropriates to himself the desert, and becomes king of the land
of his exile. He re-makes his fortune, he finds another wife, per
secutes his persecutors, and turns the lash back upon his guardians.
Instead of being held captive at Kamschatka, he embarks and leads
it away with him. Kopec addresses himself to God; his heart is
too overwhelmed, too wounded, to attempt any such adventures.
His mind is elevated by misfortune, and not by study or instruc
r. 2
tion ; and his simple history displays the tender and pious melan
choly of the Lithuanian soul. His book seems to testify to a
moral revolution. Poland is changed, she has the gift of tears.
“I walked by the sea-shore, and when the weather was stormy,
I beheld all kinds of strange beasts, whales, lions, and sea-dogs.
At times, stones would assail me; they came from the bears, who
threw them against me, evidently with the intention of first wound
ing me, to render their after-attack the more easy. In autumn, the
sea is so violent, and rages to such a degree, that Kamschatka
trembles to its foundations. The days are grey, and the nights
are black. When a storm arises and the ocean roars, immense
bands of dogs, who live upon fish, (they number there, perhaps,
twenty thousand) bowl to the waves, and the bears reply with dis
mal growls; all the while, the volcanoes thunder and vomit forth
flames and ashes. Ah! what a hellish spectacle! and what must
be the situation of a poor simple man, in the midst of those dis
astrous enemies!”
Kopeo here complains of nature, and but little of man; yet he
'was treated with great barbarity. Wounded and ill, regardless
of his sores, which the cold caused to re-open, he was dragged
along night and day, in a large chest, lined with iron. Not being
able to bear up any longer, he implored a short halt of the officer
who conducted him. “My orders are to proceed without stop
ping,” said he; “ I will, at least, carry with me your body; you are
at perfect liberty to die on the road.”
Another thing increased his sorrow; he often fell in with im
mense droves of poor Poles, their hair closely shaved, their fore
heads branded, and their noses torn away. They were being driven
into Siberia. As he advanced, the road could only be recognized
by the bones of bears, of horses, or of men, and some few graves
of exiles who had died in the desert, waiting to be filled up with
the bones of their successors.
At one stage, he saw a distinguished looking woman, acting as a
servant. “Who are you?” said he.—“Formerly, the wife of a
colonel, now that of a blacksmith ;” and she turned away, without
revealing her name. But for a lucky chance, Kopec would have
been lost, and doomed to linger on and die in Siberia. Other
SIBERIA.-—-THE EXECUTIONS. 41
Generals who have been sought for, in order to call them home,
could never be found. “ I was standing upon the wreck of a vessel,
looking upon the sea, filled with so many monsters. I suddenly
perceived a young man, noble, handsome, and dressed in a foreign
habit; I was struck with the apparition. ‘Of what nation are
you 9’ said he to me.-—‘ Of the unhappy nation.’——‘Ahl you are
a Pole. . . . I am a merchant, I am returning to Russia. . . . Write
to your relations . . . I care not. . . . I know the risk I run . . .
No matterl Go, write.’ ” He braved the danger, took charge of
the letter, and delivered it faithfully.
Months and years flew by. One day, his host entered, all pale,
into his room. “A vessel has been seen at sea,” said he.—“ In
deed! so much the better!" replied the Pole.-—“ So much the
worse," said the host; “the commander here will accuse us of
plotting, as he has often done; he will confiscate our goods, and
take away our lives. He knows very well that it takes three years
for a complaint to arrive.” '
The vessel brought the pardon of Kopec, and the order for his
deliverance. He would hardly credit it, but when he had read the
paper he fainted away. In order to restore himself, he went
towards the sea. “ A storm was gathering, and the monsters flocked
in troops to the shore. I thought I recognized men, and well
known faces, and scenes of our national life, processions, and
monks bearing the cross towards me. I threw myself forward. . . .
but I was held back.
" On my return, I could with difficulty enter my room. All came
to congratulate me. The women brought me presents, valuable and
scarce things, rum, sugar, and candles, (the most precious of all in
this land of eternal night).
“ The priest, a good old man eighty-four years of age, and an
exile like others, came in his sacerdotal habits with his choristers,
six children, belonging to a neighbour, whom he had trained up,
and who sang very well, and with great feeling. I lit up all my
candles; the tender voices of the singers touched our hearts. I
always possessed the gift of tears; but this time I burst forth into
sobs, or, rather, into wild slm'eks.
“ We afterwards sat round my table made of stones; every one
s 3
continued Weeping. I prepared some Polish punch. All thought

of their country and wept. They had no hope of ever returning."
“ You are indeed happy,” said they, “ you leave in three years.”
The vessel, in effect, was not to leave till after having stayed three
years in these roads.
Had the desert but a tongue, how many an afl'eoting history
might it not reveal ! but it is as silent as it is gloomy. Sky,
earth, and nature, seem united to stifle and extinguish all human
voices. This sea of frozen plains is eVen more discreet than the sea
of waters upon the wrecks it covers. To this vast sepulchre, Russia,
fatal as death, has confided the care of swallowing up the heroism
of those too brilliant nations by whom she was surrounded. By
never rendering back her prisoners of war, she has exhausted
Sweden. The companions of Charles XII., transformed by her into
miserable masons, sleep at the foot of the bastion of Tobolski, the
painful work of their own hands! Sweden is there run out, and
Poland flows in. The lugubrious procession does not stop here—a
whole nation marches onward to the desert and to its tomb.
Thus, unnational and insensible, the great Sclavonian Russia, fer
tile as the grass of her steppes and not less monotonous, goes on in
creasing, whilst the vigorous nationality of heroic nations, whose very
hearts were as flames, disappears, is extinguished, and trodden under
ground. Siberia covers and buries her treasure.
It is most afieetingl those things that could not be hidden, but
which have broken out into the light of day, are not valiant resist
ances, but they are the attachments of nature and of family. The
heroes are no more; but the father, the husband, the lover, still
remain, and nature still lives, in miracles of affection, and conquests
of love over human ferocity.
Every one has read in M. de Custine, the touching history of the
princess Troubetskoi, who left all to follow her husband, an unfortu
nate but uninteresting man, who had the great ill~luck to let his
friends perish, to excuse himself, and to survive them. Was he
loved as the Prince? Nothing shows it. Condemned he was. In
Russia, they Were childless. In Siberia, they had five children. This
admirable woman, by her unexampled love, gave to the banished man
much more than imperial vengeance could ever have deprived him
of.
SIBERIA.—-THE EXECUTIONS. 43
Let us here repeat a history more deserving, but less known, and
related by a person too pure minded and heroic for it to possess
aught of falsehood. In 1825, a young Russian (we will call him
Ivan) was sent to Siberia. He loved and was beloved by a young
French lady, a governess in his family, whom he had engaged to
marry. His friends, not ignorant of, but fearing, this union, sent her
away. The moment she learned that her lost, ruined, and miserable
lover, abandoned by all, was about to be sent away in chains to
Siberia, she remembered her promise of marriage, went straight to
St. Petersburg, and bravely sought the Emperor. He thought her
mad, and endeavoured to recall her from her persistance to become
the wife of a galley-slave.—Alas ! he might so easily be a slave no
longer. . . . But the only mercy granted to her was, that she might
follow herv lover, suifer, and die with him. . .. . The poor girl was but
too truly the victim of her attachment; her delicate lungs could not
support this terrible climate. At the end of a year she died; her
husband did not survive her; whether it was from sorrow or misery,
be accompanied her to the grave.
They left a child, an unhappy orphan, born to ruin and disgrace.
The father’s property passed to a natural son of his grandfather;
be, however, (and nothing is more honourable than the Russian cha
racter,) refused to profit by the cruelty of the law, and restored ever
thing to the orphan. >
The greatest danger in Siberia is that of dying before one’s death.
The infinite variety of destinies, and the absolute tyranny which
reigns over all, renders it but too easy to extinguish and crush the
soul of the strongest. Russia has no occasion, like Austria, to
build up wise prisons, where the condemned are obliged to take to
scrvile employments and occupations, fit only for women, and which
tend to enervate the mind. She trusts rather to that icy climate
which, too rigid for man, destroys and breaks up his constitution.
She relies upon the brutality of military caprice, which, as a mill
stoue, continually grinds the condemned. This increasing grinding,
practised by the rough soldier, finishes by wearing out his unfor
tunate victim, who gradually falls lower and lower, until he sinks
into apathy, and loses all power of opposition. In his extremity
his spirit rises to his assistance, but only to prove to him, that it
would be useless in him to resist this obscure martyrdom ; his mind

justifies his tyrants, and confounding in him the very idea of good
and evil, throws him into the most wretched indifference, perverts
his understanding, and actually makes him believe evil to be good.
It is not death—a noble and holy death—that Liberty fears for
her children, but it is this very state of moral degradation. It was
this that Europe feared, upon hearing that the heroes of November,
1831, who had been condemned to death, were pardoned, but des
tined for Siberia. In the beautiful work of Mr. Straszewicz, “ 17w
Poles of 1830,” at the end of each history we read : “ They live,
they are in Siberia; that is all we know of them. As to their moral
or physical condition, of that we are totally ignorant.”
However, thanks be to God l we know it, we know and are assured
that their spirit still lives; that has been preserved entire, though
their bodies have been the sport of destiny—some dead, and others
dying, they have, nevertheless, all remained unshaken in faith and
h0pe.
Mr. Piotrowski, an exile from Siberia, has made us acquainted
with their sufferings.
Peter Wysocki, the young hero who led on the military academy
of Warsaw to the afl'air of November, was the first to suffer. He
arrived in Siberia about 1833, and he had the hardihood to attempt
to return by force. They tried to crush him, by inflicting on him
one thousand five hundred blows; and they only stopped because
death would have been the consequence of continued severity; and
in the refinement of their barbarity they desired that he should live,
in order that he might be doomed to the hardest toil of a galley
slave. Long and terrible martyrdom! but such a man is strong in
God and in his countryl
In 1837, the celebrated poet Sierocinski perished, together with
three of his companions. He was judged and condemned in 1831 ;
and, notwithstanding his age and his profession, (for he was a prie_st,)
he was forced into the army. Mounted, and with lance in hand, this
unfortunate man led the rude life of the Cossacks of the frontier,
who, in Siberia, are continually making war on the Tartars and the
smugglers. The authorities there, more discerning than at St. Peters
burg, considered that he would be more useful as an instructor in a
SIBERIA.—-THE EXECUTIONS. 45
military school. Whilst in that situation, this man, weak and deli
cate in body, but energetic and strong in mind, conceived the hardy
project of imitating and even surpassing the boldness of Beniowski,
of doing that for Siberia which he had done for Kamschatka,——-of
raising in a body at once the exiles and the whole of Siberia. This
country, municipally governed, would doubtless have been greatly
benefitted by its separation from that vast empire which only colonises
the South by making a desert of the North. These old northern
tribes, formerly so happy in their wandering and pastoral life, now,
no longer able to lead out their deer to browse, live only by hunting,
or, rather, die and disappear like the savages of America.
An immense association was formed; it being arranged, that if
incapable of resisting, they should force a passage as far as Bucharia,
or even as far as India. Three of the conspirators betrayed the
cause. Criminal proceedings brought on at St. Petersburg in 1834,
were not terminated till 1837. During the whole of this time,
Sierocinski remained calm and immoveable, and composed verses in '
his prison. At length the horrible sentence arrived from St. Peters
burg—several Poles and one Russian were to receive seven thousand
lashes each! “ without mercy-without abetting a single one .I ” The
others were each condemned to receive three thousand, a number
more than sufficient to cause death. General Gatafiejew, whose
ferocity appalled even the Russians, was sent expressly to superin
tend the execution. At break of day, two battalions composed
each of one thousand men, were marched outside the town, and there
ranged in line, the more easily to count the number of blows,
Gatafiejew taking up his position in the centre of them—The rods
used were thick sticks, and the soldiers were placed nearer the
victims, in order to give more effect to the blows.
“ It was bitterly cold (March in Siberia). Sierocinski was stripped,
attached (such is the custom) to the mouth of a gun, the bayonet
of which was pointed to his breast. He was then led by two soldiers
throughout the ranks, in order that he might proceed at an equal
pace. The surgeon of the regiment approached to re-animate him
with drops of cordial, for his feeble constitution had been worn out
by three years’ imprisonment, and he looked more like a shadow than
a man, but he had preserved all his strength of mind and firmness
46 MARTYRS or RUSSIA.
of purpose. Upon the doctor offering him the cordial, he turned his
head aside, and said : “ Drink our blood and mine among the rest,
I have no need of your cordials.” When the signal was given, he
repeated aloud the psalm Miaerere. “ Strike harder! harder l
harder l” thrice roared out Gatafiejew in his fury. The blows were so
severe, that when the sufferer had arrived for the first time at the
other end of the battalion, after a thousand blows, he fell fainting
upon the snow covered with blood. They lifted him up; but his
legs could no longer sustain him. A scaffold raised upon a sledge
had already been prepared, upon which Sieroeinski was placed upon
his knees, his body bent forward, and his hands bound behind his
back. In this position he was attached to the scaffold, thus render
ing all movement impossible. They commenced dragging him along
the ranks, Gatafiejew crying out continually, “Harder l harder !
harder 1” At first the excessive pain called forth groans from the
unhappy victim, which becoming gradually fainter, and fainter, at
length ceased altogether.
“ He continued to breathe, after having received four thousand
blows; then he expired. The three thousand blows, which remained
to be given, fell upon his corpse, or rather upon his skeleton. All the
sufl'erers, especially Sierocinski, were so overwhelmed with blows,
that according to the testimony both of Poles and Russians, with
whom I have spoken, the flesh fell off in strips at each stroke;
nothing was to be seen but broken bones. This slaughter, till then
unheard of, caused an universal indignation among the Poles, and
even among the Russians.
“ Two of the sufl'erers who died upon the spot, and those who in
fearful agony were carried to the hospital—all the Poles, and one
Russian, were immediately afterwards buried in one and the same
grave. The Poles were permitted to raise a simple cross over the
grave of these martyrs, and even to this day may be seen this great
black wooden cross, standing alone in the vast steppe, stretching
its arms over the last resting-place of the victims, as a sign of pro
tection, and as if to implore the mercy of heaven.”
CHAPTER VI.
OF THE GROWING TERRORISM OF lRUSSIA.

MARTYRDOM OF PESTAL AND OF RYLEIEFF.
IT is now a hundred years ago since the punishment of death was

abolished in Russia. It caused tears of joy to our philosophers;
and even lately, Mr. Tolstoi', a Russian writer, speaks of it with
triumph. Happy, humane Russia, who alone has respected the
living work of God, while death still reigns in the barbarous nations
of the East !
Man is not killed,-—he is exiled. It may, however, happen, that
a delicate constitution sent too near the Pole, dies of cold and
misery. How can that be helped?
Man is not killed,—he is degraded. It may, however, happen, as
in the recent degradation of a certain Mr. Paulof, that the execu
tioner, in breaking his sword upon his head, accidentally uses too
much force, and so breaks his skull. -
Man is not killed,—he is beaten with rods. The knout has been
abolished—spare not the rod to thy son. It may however happen
that the rods are clubs.
The order for the sentence of seven thousand blows, of which we
have just spoken, ironically ended as follows: that if the patients
survived, they should work at the mines for the rest of their lives,
whereas, death generally follows after three thousand, or at most four
thousand blows.
This wretched hypocrisy, which is found in everything Russian,
is not the work of man alone ; it ' results principally from this
insolvable problem, which is at the bottom of the Russian empire,
viz. govern by the same laws the most barbarous and the most civi
lized nations. By that alone, this empire becomes a terrible Janus,
turning towards the West a face of softness and sweetness, while
. ..v._..,_.4_.-_ . Egg
towards the East it appears in its true character, that of Mogul

barbarism.
Perhaps, the savage populations of Siberia possess alone a true
insight into this government. The Emperor is not considered by
them as a man, but as a two-headed monster, the double griflin,
the eagle-tiger, they see on the arms of Russia.
That is the true mystery of the ferocity of Russian rule ; and this
two-fold and irreconcileable character it is, that renders her efl'orts
powerless to rid herself of it. In order to do so, she raises up
against herself insurmountable obstacles, and these very obstacles, of
which she is the originator, she treats as if they were in revolt
against her, whilst itis she, who by this unjust and stupid efl'ort is
herself in revolt against nature.
When this duality comes in contact with a violent but sincere
man, such as Peter III. or Paul I., it appears as it really is, a mad
ness and a folly—a madness resulting less from the individual
than from the situation. Peter the Great, notwithstanding his
genius, does not appear less mad in several of his acts. Russian
and barbarous by nature, and European by inclination, he was a
living contradiction.
Catherine, departing from the opposite extreme, a German Rus
sianized, of a cool and clear head, does not the less offer in
her actions the most striking contradiction. As a philosopher,
she displays her tolerance in Poland, and yet she organizes against
the same Poles, the St. Bartholomew of the Ukraine. She orders
the massacre of the rcvolutionists at Praga ; and causes her grandson
to be educated by a revolutionary Swiss.
Alexander, so brought up, German by his mother, and mild by
nature, was the cause of more misery to the Russian people than any
of his predecessors. In his cruel enterprise of military colonization,
instigated by his barbarous favourite Arascheief, he struck at the
very heart of the Russian, in his family, in his home.
Thus, whatever be the individual character of the Czars, this
terrible rule of government hardens them more and more,-~ deeper
and deeper. Alexander, though not of the natural cruelty of
Catherine, wounded Russia even more than she; but what is all
this in comparison with the reigning Czar?
_
GROWING TERRORISM OF RUSSIA. 49
No one has applied death on so large a scale as he, not only to

individuals, but also to whole nations. The oflicial numbers given
by the Russians themselves make one shudder with horror. Im
mense massacres of human beings, which could never have been
produced by the sword, have been efl’ected by the aid of nature—I
mean, by the rapid transplanting of entire populations into deadly
and fatal climates.
Cruel and unique spectacle—that vast field of death! sad destiny
of the universe! Is then violent death so absolute a necessity of
life? It is but few years ago, that the destructive wars of Napoleon
ceased; then commenced these deadly migrations more fatal than
battles, and which in open time of peace, have extinguished whole
generations.
The Emperor, in his youth, evinced no particular sign of ferocity,
no barbarous eccentricity like his brother Constantine. His biogra
pher, Schnitzler, remarks only that he had a disposition for irony,
and amused himself with mimicking the courtiers at the palace.
He was brought up under the immediate authority of his mother,
by an old lady of the court, the Countess de Lieven, who does not
seem to have shown him the most favourable side of human nature.
A respectable, upright, and disinterested savant, but a true Itus
sian—the historian Karamzine—had great influence over the prin
cesses of the imperial family. They appointed him a residence
in the gardens of the Tsarsko-Sélo. This old man, brought up in
exploded ideas, and who had lived for many years in great intimacy
with the former Czar, admired and approved of nothing so much
(the Ivans excepted) as the reign of terror and Robespierre. He
had been in Paris in 1793, and its events had afforded him infinite
satisfaction. When he heard of the 9th thermidor, he burst into
tears. His entire efforts, together with those of the princesses,
tended to put an end to the weak liberalism of Alexander.
To his influence was joined that of Mr. de Maistre, then of much
weight in Russia. Thanks to this great writer, Russia learnt, as
from the mouth of France, that the despotism of which she excused
herself, was the very ideal of human societies. Although Alexander
had removed Mr. de Maistre for a time, his influence went on in!
creasing ; and the Soire'e: de Saint-Petersbourg (in 1822), raised it to
P
50 . THE MARTYRS OF RUSSIA.
the highest pitch. His paradeical thesis, the panegyric of 'the

executioner—of that living miracle, too little acknowledged up to
that time, produced an immense impression. Nicholas was then
twenty-six years of age, and this book served only to strengthen
in him the traditions of Karamzine.
Law and justice, however, those sacred powers that never
entirely die, would sometimes make themselves heard against these
monstrous doctrines. The legislative experiments of Catherine
'were continued by Alexander. In the midst of his perils, he
.sought for strength in the laws. In 1808, Speranski set himself to
the task of compiling a code of Russian laws; but young and
energetic men did not restrict themselves to a mere compilation.
They desired that law should be a living thing, and that it should
possess a soul. One young man entertained the idea of forming
a true Russian code, which should be in conformity with liberty.
His name was Pestal, in whom was united a rare genius, with
a sound practical knowledge, very far removed from Utopianism.
He did not create an imaginary Russia; be dealt with it as a
community, such as it really is, and he left it where he found it.
.He supposed that by strengthening and enfranchising the com.
»munity, and by the application of his principle, - (the cultivation of
the soil,) he might attain to the first element, the original molecule
of a republic; and that by gradually ascending from the village to
the province, and so on, to the centre of government itself, he
might, out of Russian elements, ultimately attain to a republican
form of government, with even greater facility than he might hope
to arrive at a Tartar czar-ism, or a German imperialism.
This young man, then an officer, and who died a colonel, was
engaged in the French campaign, and there displayed an exalted
sense of humanity and justice. Arriving at Bar-sur-Aube, and see
ing some Bavarians ill-treating the inhabitants, he did not pause
to inquire whether these Germans were Russian allies, but fell upon
them with his soldiers.
At this period, Alexander had astonished the world by the curious
spectacle of a liberal Czar. Pestal’s friends were deceived by this,
and they confided to Alexander himself their plans of amelioration.
They arrived, however, too late. Alexander belonged to the mystic
Madame Kruedeuer; he was no longer an emperor; but a saint; he

had thrown off the old man, and with it, all remembrances of the
promises and hopes he had given in the time of danger. He
listened to them willingly, was moved, wept, and tokl them that
society was not yet ripe for the execution of such noble ideas.
They, finding that he had put off everything to the heavenly
Jerusalem, pretended to dissolve the association; but secretly
drew it closer together. During nine years, they spread it abroad.
It was so completely in the spirit and necessities of they times, that
it discovered three similar associations, all unknown to each other,
one of which was Russian, and went by the name of The Knights,
Redressers of Grievances; another, a Polish one, was named Tire
Independance ; the third, which comprised Russia, Poland, and
the whole of the Sclavonian States, was called The United Schwa
niana.
They met together, and fell into each other’s views; only two
points dividing the great Russian association, viz. the enfran
chisement of Poland, and the liberty of the serfs. It is but justice
to say, that the leaders did not hesitate for one moment. They
had already suppressed all corporeal punishment among their serfs;
they desired to liberate the peasant, and to make him a proprietor,
that is to say, they hazarded their lives, for the realization of an
idea, which, at its birth, must have cost them their fortunes.
Thesé leaders of undying memory, for the southern branch, were
Pestal, who had risen to he a colonel, and the brothers Mouraviefl’ ;
also officers. For the north, Ryléiefi', the Bestoujefs, Prince Obo
lenski and some others.
From whatever source we look for information, we find it wit
nessed on all hands, as an indisputable fact, that Ryléietf is one of
the greatest characters whose name ever adorned the pages of his
tory. Commencing his career in the army, then employed in the
American Society established at St. Petersburg, he did not disdain
to accept the honorary post of Secretary to the Criminal Tribunal.
It was the act of an excellent citizen, in a venal country, where it
was most important that this place should not fall into unworthy
hands. Ryléieff was also a poet. One always reads with emotion,
his prophetic poem, in which he personifies himself, under the name
F 2
52 THE MART-YRS or RUSSIA.
of Mazeppa, the victim who by his devotion was bound to the
fiery and terrible courser of a cruel revolution, which was to carry
him away to the steppes of the unknown, and leave him to die in
the vast desert.
In this poem, Ryléiefi", the first among the Russians, wrote these
words—little intelligible to the Russia of that day, but sublime and
holy for future generations: “Before everything, I am a citizen.”
He was, by nature, as mild and humane as he was heroic.
Whatever efforts may be made to show his character in another
aspect, it is certain, that on finding one of the conspirators resolved
upon killing Alexander, he begged him on his knees, at least to
wait with patience; but finding him bent upon his purpose, he said
to him: “ Sooner will I lay thee dead at my feet."
It was the misfortune of the conspirators, that, possessing such
worthy leaders, they did not draw closer around them. They fol
lowed other influences, and extended the association too widely.
Michael Orlofi‘, and some others, chiefs of another association,
who had been admitted into this, demanded that a dictator should
be placed above Ryléieif, whose position was too little elevated,
and above Pestal, who was deemed too far-seeing and ambitious;
and such demand was granted. They chose a man of high rank,
whose family had formerly disputed the throne with the Romanoffs.
This was a certain prince, Troubetskoi, mild, weak, and irresolute ;
in a word, the very man to cause such an enterprise to I'niscarry.
Those who seconded his nomination, only wished, by the revolution,
to establish an oligarchy of great nobles, and feared above all an
enterprising leader.
We shall never forget the astonishment of Europe, in 1825,
when it was announced in the journals, that neither Constantine,
nor his brother, desired to be emperor. Both stood still before
this throne of fire; nor would either stretch forth a hand to grasp
the bloody crown. In this fratricidal country, each of them
entreated by the other, seemed to look upon the invitation as a call
unto death. In truth—they were sincere. Constantine, King of
Poland, and, in fact, the husband of a Polish lady, had, ever since
the year 1822, yielding to the tears of his wife, given his refusal
beforehand. Nicholas, who could not have remained ignorant of
this act, did not the less cause his brother to be proclaimed, and
the oath of fidelity to be taken to him. Then came the fresh
renouncement of Constantine; he persisted in his refusal, and the
senate, with closed doors, at two o’clock, after midnight, proclaimed
Nicholas emperor. No explanation was offered either to the peo
ple, or to the army—they were treated like a herd; they had sworn
fidelity to one, and they were now called upon to perjure themselves
by swearing fidelity to another.
One is touched with pity at the thought of the uncertainty, and
the complete moral darkness in which the conscientious soul of the
Russian soldier was left by his chiefs. Some of them, partisans of
Nicholas, did not deign to make him acquainted with the change of
situation ; others, the conspirators, not being able to make him
understand their ideas of liberty, misled him with the belief that
Constantine, to whom he had just sworn fidelity, was the true
Czar—and that he was on his march to punish those who should go
over to Nicholas. Filled with fears and scruples, these poor fellows
for the most part remained inert and immoveable. Some few of
them, upon hearing the discharges of musketry, and upon learning
that their comrades were being massacred, were drawn on by mere
generous sympathy and humanity.
The Emperor had filled the palace and the citadel with troops, and
had completely isolated them from any outer communication. To
make himself more sure of those in the palace, he placed in their
hands his son, a beautiful child eight years of age ; they received it
in tears, and although belonging to the Finland troops which took
part in the insurrection, they remained unshaken in their fidelity.
The conspirators only succeeded in drawing over to them the
Finland regiments, a troop foreign to Russia, and servingagainst their
will, the Moscow regiments, the body of marine guards, and the
grenadier guards—these latter with much difficulty, and only after a
short but violent combat, in which the Bestoujefs sabred their
ofiicers and carried off their flag. _
They planted it on the immense square, or rather plain, of
St. Isaac, and posted themselves behind the statue of Peter the
Great. There were a great number of conspirators, not of the mili
tary, but yet armed to the teeth, besides a numerous concourse of
r 3
spectators and a dense body of people, and yet they looked as if

lost in this immense Champ de Mars. All anxiously looked for
ward for the arrival of the two military leaders of the insurrection,
Troubetskoi and Boulatof, but neither of them appeared. Boulatof
remained the whole day in the immediate escort of the Emperor and
near his person, either that he was still undecided, or, as be after
wards boasted, because he remained there for the purpose of killing
him, the moment that he should betray the least symptom of weak
ness. As to Tronbetskoi, he abandoned all, both the command
of the insurrection, and the care of his papers, which afterwards
_caused the destruction of so many lives, and fled, first to the house
of his mother-in-law, then to that of the Austrian ambassador, and
finally to the Emperor himself surrounded by his staff—even as a
frightened hare seeks to hide itself in the midst of the hounds.
Ryléiefl', the civil head of the insurrection, displayed much greater
firmness than the military chiefs. He came upon the square, and
sought them in vain; the diminished number of the insurgents left
little to hope for. Some advised him to improvise an army, by
attaching to the insurrection the masses of the lower orders who
had assembled there. It would have sufficed to have delivered over
to them the brandy stores. No sooner would they have forced
these, than they would have immediately proceeded to a general
pillage, and to a massacre of the police, who so horridly flog them,
and to whom they bear so deadly a hatred. These disorders would
have produced a considerable diversion in their favour, as Nicholas
would have been compelled to have detached a party of his troops
in order to employ them in the massacre of these murderers.
Ryléiefi‘ however refused to employ this dreadful means. From
that moment it was easy to foresee the event. The insurrection,
closely driven to the palace of the Senate, at the extremity of an
immense square, must infallibly be swept away by grape shot, and
sabred by the cavalry. Ryléiefi' left the square ; he sought no place
of safety, but returned to his house, and calmly awaited death.
C H A P T E R VII.
MARTYRDOM OF PESTAL AND RYLEIEFF.
THE Emperor, says an eye-witness, pale and haggard, nevertheless

displayed much courage. He advanced into the plain, at the head
of his horse guards, and came upon the detachments which were
proceeding to join the insurgents. “ Good day, my children l” said
be, according to the custom of the Czars. “Hurrah! Constantine l"
was their only answer. It seems undisputed that he appeared quite
resolved, and was not in the least disconcerted. What he said has
never been positively known. Two versions have been put forward,
one by Mr. Schnitzler, who was present at the time; the other by
M. de Custine, to whom the Emperor himself related the affair.
The most truthful of the two seems to be, that he cried with a loud
voice, “ Wheel to the right . . . . march l” and that the soldiers me
chanically obeyed.
The day, very short in December, thus passed away, and the in
snrgents waited in vain for the arrival of their Colonels. Their
number gradually diminished. The Moscow regiment repented,
and left them; but those that remained were still firm. Instead of
being alarmed at the artillery, which had followed the Emperor,
and which was about to thunder upon them, they rejected every
word of conciliation, crying, “ Long live Constantine! the constitu
tion for ever!” This last word, instead of encouraging their par
tisans, as they expected, threw the soldiers into uncertainty.
“ What is this Constitoutzia? Is it the wife of the Emperor?” asked
they.
The governor of St. Petersburg, the brave Miloradovitsch, who
had succeeded, by his fine promises, in detaching some of the insur
gents, and in confining them in the citadel was bold enough to
approach, relying on the former attachment of the soldiers. “ Trai

tor i” cried the conspirators, “ thou art not here behind the scenes
of a theatre” (he was a great admirer of actresses). . . . “ What hast
thou done with our comrades P” Obolenski, with a stroke of his
bayonet, pierced his horse’s chest, and Kakhofski shot it to the earth.
This latter, who was exceedingly excited, and who had resolved
upon killing the Emperor, thought himself resolute enough for the
project; but having shot and killed General Sturler, his heart gave
way. “ Yet another life upon my conscience l” he exclaimed, and
immediately threw down his arms.
The impression of the marines was the same; upon one of their
number aiming at the Grand Duke Michael, either from respect or
from moderation they struck down his arm, and thus the shot was
averted.
The Archbishop of St. Petersburg and of Kiew, who had been
sent by the Emperor, advanced towards the insurgents with great
pomp, bearing the cross. It may here be remarked, how very little
the Russian, with all his external devotion, is really impressed with
the objects of his worship in circumstances of a grave nature ; what
little attention he pays to the priests, who are certainly but little
edifying. These were received by the soldiers with liootings, and
their voices were drowned in the rolling of the drums.
This was what was expected and desired. Having God upon his
side, the Emperor returned to his palace and ordered the commence
ment of the combat. His troops were already conquerors. It only
sufficed to put in use the artillery. The Grand Duke Michael, fearing
that the soldiers might feel some compunction at firing upon their
,poor compatriots, was the first to set the example. Fired but from
little distance, the grape shot did fearful execution, tearing and scat
tering about limbs in all directions. Ten successive volleys were
fired, and then all the insurgents who remained dispersed them
selves, pursued by the cavalry, a detachment of which cut off their
retreat. No one knows the number that perished. Holes were
made in the thick ice, which then covered the Neva, and therein
were thrown the corpses of the victims.
The conspirators of the South did not share a better fate. One
of the Bestoujei's, and the .brothers Mouraviefi‘, who were all
MARTYRDOM or PESTAL AND RYLEIEFF. 57
brave and enthusiastic, were not astonished at the apathy which

characterised the majority of their associates. They addressed
themselves to the soldiers, and ordered a priest to read to them,
from the pulpit, a republican catechism arranged by Bestoujef, and
composed of texts drawn from the Bible. They were told that all
men were equal, and that slavery was a crime against heaven; but
these maxims produced little effect upon them; they were only ex
cited by the name of Constantine. The partisans of Nicholas, who
were the more numerous, having on their side the imperial artillery,
soon overcame them; but these valiant chiefs either killed them
selves on the spot, or sought their death in the fight. Bestoujef and
Mouraviefi' were not taken before they were dangerously wounded.
Pestal, who was seized at Moscow, displayed no emotion. Being
warned of his danger by a friend, he pronounced but these words,
“ Only save my Russian Code.” This book, which had been buried
in the earth, was found and delivered over to the commissioners of
inquiry, who endeavoured, in their proceedings, to render it ridi
culous. It is, however, certain, that the authors of the Code of
Nicholas have been obliged to adopt several of Pestal's views, and
assuredly the political part of his book contains several wise and
humane ideas, viz. the moderate relaxation of the horrid iron
band which crushes Russia, in substituting for it a natural and mild
government analogous to the American confederation, and the repa
ration of that crying injustice, so fatal to the Russian empire, the
integral re-establishment of Poland; and in the according of vast
privileges to the Jews, which would have been a means of healing
some of the wounds of Poland, by enabling it to found a province
in the East.
Here then are Pestal, Ryléiefi', the valiant and amiable Alexander,
Bestoujef, the intrepid Mouraviefi's, the genius, the virtue, the
courage, the very heart of Russia, all thrown into the dungeons of
St. Petersburg. Puchkin, the great national poet, and one of the
conspirators, was alone wanting. , Residing at some distance from
the capital, he was on his way thither to fight and die with the rest,
when, in the midst of his journey, he met a hare; his coachman
stopped. This is considered a bad omen by every Russian; but
Puchkiu still went on. He next met an old woman. Here there
58 THE MARTYRS or aussm.
was a fresh stoppage; the coachman refused to proceed. At length

coming upon a priest, the worst sign of all, his coachman left his
seat, and throwing himself upon his knees, revealed to his master
his superstitious terror. The poet returned, and was saved for the
time, but was reserved for greater misfortunes, and a more tragic
end.
The menacing and terrible manifesto published by the Emperor
the day following, was said to be written by the friend of the old
Empress, the historian of the Ivans, the patriarch of the school of
terror—~in fact, the old man Karamzine.
His pupil and follower, Bloudof, was secretary to the commission
of inquiry, which was composed of a number of members, amongst
whom sat the Emperor himself, in the person of his Alter Ego and
brother, the Grand Duke Michael. A single trait will be sufficient
to paint this hard and ferocious soldier. Upon one of the conspi
rators boldly confessing his political faith: “ He ought to have his
mouth closed with bayonet thrusts,” said the Grand Duke.
The results obtained by these secret proceedings, after five
months’ examination, during which time, all means of intimidation
and corruption were doubtless employed, have been printed by
the government, and distributed throughout Europe. It is need
less to say, that the conspirators were all represented as cowards
and madmen. The accusing judge loaded them, at each moment,
with opprobrious epithets; and sure of not being belied, he attri
buted to many of them the most miserable recantations. No
doubt, a number, especially the military conspirators, Russians of
the old school, accustomed from their infancy to deify the Emperor,
returned sincerely to their former idolatry, and considered the
events of the 14th December as a judgment of God; but with
regard to the greater number, may we not reasonably suppose, that
such partial judges only sought, by these accusations, to bring dis
honour on their names? What makes this still more probable, is,
that the inquiry, so laboriously carried on, contains facts which
are acknowledged false by all parties-false dates, for example.
It takes for granted, that at the formation of these associations, in
1817, at the time when Alexander was still beloved by his people,
and consulted by the conspirators themselves, who submitted to
MARTYRDUM OF' PESTAL AND RYLEIEFF. 59'
him their plan, their object was, the assassination of the Emperor,
and the massacre of the imperial family. When we consider, that
during so many years, and among so many people, there was not a
single traitor; when we remember the known intrepidity of the
chiefs, and their simple, but sublime death, how can we believe,
that they could willingly denounce and abandon their friends?
History will reserve its blackest page for the names of those
judges, who, not content with immolating these great victims, have _
endeavoured, in a pamphlet, adorned by the false name of inquiry,
to dishonour and vilify their memory. What, say I P Rather to stab
them in a point, which often wounds the noble-hearted, even more
than the loss of fame or glory—to wound them in that which was
to these heroic and great men more than their very existence—I
mean in their friendship !
Read only the enthusiastic eulogy, which Ryléiefl', in his poem,
pronounces upon his young friend Alexander Bestoujef, whom he
promised as a hero to his country—there will be felt the depth of
tenderness of that great soul.
How! what had Ryléiefi' to gain by denouncing his friends ?—
he, who from the Very beginning invoked death on his own head,
declaring that the 14th December was his work, and that he alone
was the author qf it. '
The powerful and calm sentiments of Ryléiefi', on his execution,
are shadowed forth, by anticipation, in his poem. By a kind of
second sight, the hero had beheld his fate, and he had already sung
his hymn of death. “That which appeared to our dreams as a
decree of Heaven, was not yet decreed. Let the Colossus heap
crime upon crime. Let him “astc his strength in wishing to
destroy half the universe. Let him, in his swollen pride, parade
himself in the sun’s rays. Patience! The vengeance of Heaven
will not the less overtake him and crash him to powder. God is
himself an avenger! He will not permit that sin, once sown, should
not produce its harvest.”
The inquiry, however, followed up duringethe five months,
revealed to the terrified eyes of the beholders the infinite number
of the guilty. The Emperor never entertained the least idea of his
danger. He believed that the 14th of December had only to do
with a small number of men, devoted to Constantine—and behold !

he is made acquainted with the immensity of that terrible mine,
which had penetrated into every part of the country. There was
no family of any importance, but had one of its members mixed
up in the conspiracy. It was, in truth, Russia herself, at least
the thinking part of Russia, that abjured Czarism, and desired to
transform herself. What was now the foundation of that throne
_ upon which Nicholas was seated? Did it not rest on air? Soler
upon the uncertain respect of the serfs, in their hope of finding,
sooner or later, a protector in that distant and unknown god who
never protects? Even under Paul, who nevertheless possessed a
lively idea of justice, the serfs who sought him with their com
plaints were very ill-received. Indeed, he found it so dangerous
a precedent, that he betrayed them to their masters, and sent the
unhappy wretches back to punishment. During the five months
which the inquiry occupied, it was given out throughout the whole
of Russia, that the Emperor Nicholas was about to proclaim the
emancipation of the serfs. These latter put such entire confidence
in the rumour, that they ceased to pay anything. No sooner, how
ever, was the Emperor secure, than he restored the former order,
and made them pay by armed force.
What became of those regiments which had taken part in the
insurrection? Their lot has remained an enigma. Such a bat
talion was sent to the Caucasus, and such a one to Siberia. In
Russia, it is generally believed that the major part of the Finland
regiments were imprisoned in the damp and submarine dungeons
of Cronstadt, where reigns eternal night. What such an abode
must be in the full horror of a Russian climate can be well under
stood. These miserable men, if indeed any now survive, must
have heard, during thirty years, the Baltic roll over their heads.
envying the billows their freedom, and the wrecks their liberty.
Thought and pain itself, it is to be hoped, must be extinguished in
such a habitation.
In the well-known families, very few persons were punished—one
hundred and twenty in all—as it was hoped thereby to hide the vast
extent of the evil. It was feared, lest the innumerable number of
the guilty, who believed themselves known as such, should be forced
MARTYRDOM OF PESTAL AND RYLEIEFF. 6].
into action by despair. The Emperor ordered a great number to be

brought before him, listened to them willingly, and desiring to be
lieve them innocent, he dismissed them as such. Vain efforts!
there remained neither safety nor confidence ;—that terror, which
had emanated from the throne, returned to the throne. It still
remains there; and the Emperor, born to be severe, is become by
this universal distrust gradually more hard and implacable. The
impossibility of knowing his true enemies has soured, ulcered, and
hardened his heart. Russia being the foundation on which he rests,
it was his interest to turn away, as much as possible, from the
Russians, this fury of punishing, which has become his very nature.
All are guilty: Poland, the Jews, the Greek Catholics, and the
Revolution. Thus, from the 14th December till now, continues
even more violent and more terrible, this Russian year ’93,* which
has reigned during the last thirty years.
What mostly impressed the Emperor, was his interview with
Nicholas Bestoujef. We cite the following passage, from a Russian
work, considered to speak very partially of the Czar. He was struck
with the intrepidity of the conspirator, his frankness, and the clear
ness with which he exposed all the abuses of the empire. He looked
at him steadily, and said, “ If, for the future, I were sure of finding
in you a faithful servant, I could forgive you.”—“Ahl Sire,” re
turned Bestoujef, “that is exactly what we complain of, that the
Emperor can do all; let justice follow its course, and let the fate of
your subjects depend only upon the laws 1”
Five of the condemned of the 14th December, viz. Pestal, Ryléiefl’,
Mouravief-Apostol, Michael Bestoujef, and Kakhofski, were sens
tenced to be torn to pieces by horses.
The Emperor commuted their punishment, taking care, at the
same time, that the lesser penalty should be one that was considered
more infamous. They were to be hung, a sentence unheard of in
Russia. All of them showed the greatest firmness; several refused
to see the priests, considering themselves sufficiently purified by the
sufferings they had undergone for their country.
Pestal declared himself, more than ever, firm in that faith which
he had laid down in his Russia/n Code. On the 25th July, 1825, at
Q The reign of terror.
G
62 _ THE MARTYRS or RUSSIA.
two o’clock in the morning, the instrument of- death was raised on.
the rampart of the ,fortress; an immense gibbet, on which five
bodies could be hung side by side. In this climate there is no night
in the month of July; twilight joins the dawn, so that everything
was visible. The troops arrived; there were but few spectators,
since the hour of the execution had been kept secret. All Russia
seemed sleeping, while these martyrs were dying for her!
At three o’clock the condemned whose lives had been spared,
were led out ;—they were degraded, their uniforms were burnt
before them, and with the galley-slave’s cap on their head,- they
departed for Siberia. At length appeared those five condemned to
death, their heads closely enveloped in great hoods, which com
pletely hid their eyes and features. .
When they had ascended the steps, and the halter had been
passed round their necks, the platform on which they stood gave
way beneath them; two were strangled; as for the other three, the
cord sliding upon their hoods, the unhappy victims fell, pell mell,
with the trap and the steps, into the gaping hole beneath the'
gallows. A man who has been hanged, and who has escaped death,
ought to have been pardoned, according to- several laws of the
middle ages; but who was there who would have dared to have put
off an execution? The Emperor was absent from St. Petersburg,
at the Gardens of Tsarsko-Selo. They were taken up dreadfully
bruised, and the gibbet was re-erected. Ryléiefl' rose with a firm
step, and uttered softly this reproach to destiny: “ It was fated that
nothing should succeed with me, not even death.” An instant
afterwards he had ceased to exist. v
It was said, that this great man had desired to die, feeling that a
shadow ever- followed his noble actions—What shadow? He ex—
plains it himself: “ I have. acted without the consent of the Russian
people.” 1
It was the fault of the times, and not of the man. This people,
in the full night of barbarism—a poor minor—a simple child—
it could neither explain its own instincts, nor see, nor form its own
desires; there Was no means ot consulting it.
Is that a reason why they should have dwelt in perpetual
night? Should one, outof mere respect to this incapacity, render it
MARTYRDOM OF PESTAL AND RYLEIE'FF. 63
eternal? Where is the man, who, beholding a nation dumb, would

not stretch forth his hand to unloose its tongue, that he might hear
the first sound of joy burst from its lips?
We feel that Ryléiefi’s scruple was natural,——finding himself the
only intelligence, the thought, and the brain, of this enormous body of
fifty millions of men, who, until then, had never thought at all, he
was struck with his responsibility, and at one moment he asked
God in all sincerity, whether in him, a simple man, a poor indivi
dual, resided the mind of the people.
It was an honourable scruple, which never enters into the imagina
tion of the promoters of revolutions, and which, therefore, should
cause us to honour the candour of the Russian mind; but, in
reality, he carried this scruple too far.
N0, thou great man, doubt it not. Thou wast that day the
conscience, the prophetic soul of Russia. Her thoughts, when the
time comes for her to exercise her mind, will be found to be the
genius of Postal, and the heart of Ryléiefl'. The soul of Russia,
not such as it exists in its miserable abjection, but such as it really
is, and has been in all ages gone by, and such as it will be in the
ages yet to come, is to be found in thee. Thou hadst a right to
act and speak for her—and why? Russia was thy very self.
What service has thy death rendered to this soul? Up to that
time, it was floating in the midst of a whole nation, and utterly
powerless. But once stopped and concentrated in thee, thou caused
it to become powerful and efficacious, under the only form in which
its infancy permitted it to be so, viz. in the form of men and of
martyrs—embodied in thy life, and glorified in thy death, so that in
the place of wandering shadows, which it possessed in the saints of
the past, it now beholds in thee its saint of saints. It would not
have understood thy speeches; but it can well understand thy relics.
Thou hast given it an incense, which will ever smoke upon its
altar !
A _ ..-......., -.
Han rod. 5 I?! .n , Mum .a .Wal Hi ital . t. d JWH vdau fill “Mpg
C HAPTER VIII.
OF THE EXTERMINATION OF POLAND.
AT that time, when the Emperor, recovered from the impressions of

the 14th December, crushed the last hopes of the serfs by again
rivetting them to the soil, they on their part afl’orded him a proof
of their courageous devotion to good~in the sequel, confirming _
what the conspirators had already told him regarding the abuses of
the empire, and revealing them in their true danger. The Emperor
was present ata review; four peasants presented themselves and
demanded an audience, but were repulsed; they were asked to ex
plain the object of their demand; they refused however to speak to
any other than the Emperor himself. Admitted into'his presence,
they threw themselves upon their knees: “Father,” said one of
them, “ thou art being robbed . . . thou hast only to go to Cronstadt,
there than wilt find that the rigging of thy ships, and the stores of
thy fleet, are sold in the shops in open bazaar.” The Emperor
dispatched three thousand men, who surrounded the bazaar and dis
covered the stolen ‘goods. A severe investigation was commenced,
but not long after, bazaar, timber yards, and all, were destroyed by
fire; the investigation perished at the same time.
The Emperor might well appreciate those men of the 14th De
cember, when their revelations were thus supported by the artless
voices of the people. The conspirators, in their last interviews, had
rendered him a real service. They laid bare to him Russia as a
vast bleeding sore, such as it actually is. They showed this young
soldier (hard and ironical by nature) the reverence of the Russian
people, amongst whom were found men so enthusiastic upon the
subject of law and justice, that even in the presence of death they
G 3
refused to receive an arbitrary pardon, but said : “ Let the law take
its course.”
Pestal wished for a Dictator, who should re-organise and purge the
administration; and the requirements of the Russian people went
no further. They desired a just judge, who should cause the wicked
to tremble. And it would have been requisite that such ajudge
should have been appointed in all parts of the empire. Russia re
quired not only laws but men. It would have been necessary to
have chosen an honest and impartial judge, between the father and
the children, who, to prevent the sale of justice, should have been
adequately remunerated, and serious examples should have been
made of the first transgressors. Strike not often, but severely,
establish integrity in the courts of justice and the administration,
elevate the moral tone of the nation, and so help it to rid itself of
long-standing corruption, and to become step by step worthy to be
governed. The first point to be gained was, that there should be
placed at the head of the nation, not a man of genius, but a man of
great personal courage and noble-heartedness ; one, who by his
example should raise the Russian character, strengthen it and initiate
it into good, an heroic instructor of the national conscience.
The Emperor was not such a man; badly seconded and naturally
distrustful, be at first tried to perform everything himself, and so
sank beneath the task. It was less acts than men that were de
manded of him; he should have chosen and organised proper
agents.
Like most of the men of this epoch, and like many of the con
v=pirators themselves, he placed a firm reliance in the efficacy of the
laws. Mr. Tourguénieff, one of the conspirators, in his valuable
zvork, seems to think that Russia might be saved, if she were to
.ldOPt such and such an English or French law. The Emperor also
'hought that order would be restored to the empire, when once the
digest of Russian laws had been compiled. He confided this her
culean task to the jurist Speranski, but by so doing, he has served
learning much more than legislation. In this unbounded chaos of
pontradictory ukases, the choice of adopting any one of them is left
{1 the pleasure of the judge, and the arbitrary power remains an
altered.
OF THE EXTERMINATION 0F POLAND. 67
A severe organization of the judicial authority should be the prin

cipal thing to be looked to. What the people required was, above
all, a just judge. The people ought to be educated in a strict and
high sense of justice.
Alas! fatality and passion have combined to draw them into the
opposite path. They have been educated in continual injustice, which
has caused them to embrace the most odious of all callings, against
a people their brothers, viz. that of executioner.
The Emperor sought the right path, but he possessed in himself
an intimate cause of deviation. He loved justice, but he loved it
in a cruel manner. He loved it as his own personal pride; as a
thing belonging to him. As the justice of the Czar, not as the jus
tice of God.
A stone lay in his path and he turned aside for even—Whither
will he go? No one knows.
This stone is Poland.
Stone—fatal and indestructible, which is ground and ground all
in vain, it ever remains the same.
The inquiry of the 14th December brought to light a thing that
ought to have astonished the Emperor, touched his heart, and un~
armed his anger for ever—I mean the magnanimity displayed by
the Poles in their secret dealings with the Russian conspirators.
The latter showed themselves Romans. The Poles were the soul of
chivalry. Pestal thought with Brutus, that in order to root out
tyranny, it was necessary to destroy the tyrant. The Poles ex
claimed against it; they showed themselves more merciful towards
their enemy than the Russians towards their master. That unjust
usurper, that perjured sovereign, who had trifled with the very con
stitution which he had himself granted—him they insisted to save.
The good and generous Colonel Krzyzanowski, of a noble, humane
and tender heart, replied to the Russian republican, that he had
not heard that the Poles had ever murdered their kings.
This was the same colonel whom Madame Felinska saw dying in
Siberia.
In order fully to appreciate the maguanimity of the Poles, we
must remember that not only were their laws violated, and their
assembly altogether illusive, for their freedom of debate had just
68 .> THE MARTXRS or RUSSIA
been taken away from them, 8m. ; but the Emperor delivered them
over to the humour and ferocity of Constantine. It must be borne
,in
monkey
mind, were
that this
united,
cruelplaced
and malicious
his happiness
man, in
in whom
the most
the tiger
fantastic
.vexations, and the most barbarous of torments. Horrible to relate,

,he kept imprisoned in the dungeons of the Carmelites, the unhappy ab'1‘;
,Lukasinski, whom he used as a plaything, and on whom be ex
hausted all that human imagination has ever conceived of suffering. 'ln:
Hunger, fetters, tortures, the horror of thirst during entire weeks
(110 water, and a dried herring for all food), the bastinado re-applied
after each successive cure, and all this measured to a nicety, for
Constantine feared above all that death might release his prisoner.
The man of iron and bronze, who could support so many tor
ments, was a brave officer of the former army. He had received
thelast breath and the dying words of Dombrowski. This chief and
founder of the renowned Polish legions, who died in 1818, is said
sisr-m
to have deeply regretted that his heroic companions should have
given so much blood to the cause of strangers, and so little to
Poland herself. From this wise and serious speech, sprung up a
new generation, and a new world of heroes and intrepid conspirators,
the first of whom was Lukasinski.
algae:sz
The tyrant found in this man something more than usually ter
rible—the spirit of Poland herself—and in him he sought to strike
this great and invisible soul of the nation. Not being able to over
come his silence, he endeavoured to dishonour him by raising the
report, that he had denounced his accomplices. If such had been
the case, Lukasinski would not have endured an increase of barba
rity in the person of his furious jailor. Constantine, whom the
Poles had the mad generosity to let escape in 1830, carried off with
L-ly-rs-*3
him no other treasure than his prisoner, for neither silver nor gold
was so prized by his ferocious nature as him, his living plaything.
Bound to the carriage of a cannon drawn at full gallop, a man, a
shadow, followed the chase—it was none other than the poor
Lukasinski . . . _
Let us return to the transactions of 1825. Amongst others, the
-_m-—
accused Poles and the good colonel were to be tried in Poland, by
the supreme Court or Senate. To this body, composed of partisans
OF THE EXTERMINATION or POLAND. 69
devoted to Russia, seemed to belong the task of blindly condemning
the prisoners. The Emperor doubted it not. But such was the
force of opinion at the time, that it completely carried away the
Senate, which declared the accused guilty of non-revelation in respect
of the Russian plot, and innocent with regard to Poland; and con
demned them only to' some slight punishments. The President
wrote thus boldly to the Czar: “ They only associated for the
maintenance of their nationality. They take their stand upon the
treaty of Vienna, which had recognised it. The supreme court saw
nothing criminal or punishable in that.”—A most intrepid actl
Remember, that it is not the vast Poland of old, of twenty millions
of men, who speaks here; it is the almost imperceptible Poland, the
work of Alexander, confined, so to speak, to the immediate en'
virons of Warsaw. ‘
The white bear gnashed his teeth—and when I say the white
bear, I mean Russia. Most of the Russians indignantly rose up
against this acquittal. They found ungrateful Poland better treated
than Russia. Possessing a kind of constitution, ought she not to
hold herself happy? Exaggerating her prosperity, they reproached
her with it: her national prosperity—the natural fruit of peace, they
ascribed to the work of the Emperor. The embellishments of War
saw, (erected with Polish money,) the establishment of those terri
torial banks which provide the Poles with so agreeable a facility of
ruin, all this they cited as proofs.
And when the Emperor beheld this anger of Russia, and that his
people were on his side, his rage knew no bounds. He no longer
bethought himself of the laws, he forgot his part of a legislator, and
of a Russian Justinian, he showed himself openly what he was by
nature-11 Tartar. He did not even allow the sentence to be made
public. Constantine simply asked for a military commission to
shoot the condemned. They, however, were driven ofi to Siberia,
with an outrageous contempt for the Polish tribunal and for Poland.
Meanwhile it was given out to the Emperor, that this little country
had no right to anything more than any other Russian province. It
was an anomaly that required to be rectified. Poland should be
made to enter into the general centralization of the Empire. Those
sovereigns, admirers of Napoleon, (above all, of his faults,) see nothing
70 - ran MARTYRS or Russia-.- -~ \
so much to be esteemed in him, as this effort at centraliZation, which
allowed him to govern, by the same laws, nations of ten difl‘erent lan
guages and of contrary customs—in fact, the prefecture of Hamburg
andthat of Rome. The judicial and the bureaucratic spirit which
reigned at St. Petersburg, drove the Emperor to these two things,
an unjust centralization, and a brutal compilation of laws. He took
upon himself an immense, amad task, the difficulty of which will end
by killing him, the complete assimilation of Poland to Russia, the
absorption, the rooting out of Polish nationality.
The proceedings which'he had to follow were already traced out.
Catherine, who was an atheist, took for her starting-point against
Poland the question of religion. It is the best mode of attack, and
it offers the largest prize. In the first place, it rests upon the
ignorant worship and fanaticism of Russia; then it touches Poland
.in a point in which she does not possess the sympathy of Europe,
.who thinks at once, that in such a case it relates to an qfair q'priepta,
and so remains in indifference and at ease. ~
Those who have the most injured Poland are her papisticaldefen'
ders, who showed her bound to that which dies and inust die. Italy
will conquer and live, because she has turned away from the priest,
and advances on with Europe. Ireland continues to sink deeper and
deeper, because she stays with the priest, that is to say, in the
rear of Europe. She has placed her life in that which is dead.
Poland is not- dead—living, she lies in a sepulchre from whence 511$
will not arise, so long as she will not understand the internal con
tradiction which neutralizes her strength, and isolates her from the
living world. A-people.of heroic character, and of a free spirit, she
imagines herself l,eat_holic,.and she is so, not by nature, but by will
against Russia. Catholicism is exactly the negation of individual
heroism, which is inherent in the Pole.
I The Pope and the Quotidienne has told them so over and over
again, and with reason ,: “ If you are Catholics, obey, submit your
selves, bear'the yoke ,of Russia.”
Mr. de Montalembert, in his early and warm defence of Poland,
(in 1833,) pronounced a very inconsiderate word, which the Emperor
Nicholas would have made him pay dearly for. He draws a parallel
between Polish glory and thatqf La Vende'e, a resemblance as incor
OF THE EXTERMINA'TION or POLAND. 7'1‘~
rect as it is imprudent. La Vendée was the civil war : it was the
Frenchman striking at France from behind, Whilst all Europe came
to attack it in front. There is nothing to resemble that in the legiti
mate, loyal, and heroic struggle of unhappy Poland against the
foreigner, against Russia.
Russia, under Alexander, the father of the Sainte-Alliance, influ
enced by Madame Kruedener, and by M. de Maistre, found in the
dignitaries of the Polish Church one of the very best instruments for
keeping the people in religious darkness. The bishopricks were
multiplied very much above what was necessary for a feeble populaa
tion,'and they were salaried enormously. Each bishop had an annual
income of 60,000 Polish fiorins; one had 108,000, and the primate
as much as 120,000. The interior clergy, on their part, were flat
tered by the little notice taken of their pretensions not to recognise
the ordinary tribunals.
Just as much as the spirit of political independence and of nationa-‘
lity was harshly repressed, in the same degree Was the spirit of‘
ecclesiastical independence overlooked. The clergy were left to
manage their own afl'airs in concert with Reine. Still further, the
ministry of worship and public instruction was delivered over to the
archbishop and two bishops. Even the house of Constantine him
self was a centre of bigotry, and his wife was the support of the
congregation of the Lamb of God. The reduction of Poland to a
state of utter brntishness seemed to be the common object of this
military tyranny and religious darkness. ‘
In the great matter of the judgment of the supreme court, Russia>
relied on the voices of eight bishops who sat there. They might
have alleged their sacred office, and so have avoided giving a judg-_
ment at all; they judged, however, and following the torrent of
public opinion, declared that the accused were not guilty of that
which related to Poland. '
The Emperor considered this acquittal as a personal affront, and
commenced war against the Polish Church.
His first act, and a wise one, was a general organization of the
public instruction, combined to take out of the hands of the clergy
all influence upon the matter of education. The second act, more
directly aggressive, was the creation of a college or ecclesiastical
tribunal, to regulate the affairs of the Greek Uniates, (that is to say,

united to Rome,) a college analogous to that which, under the Em
peror, governs the Greek Church of Russia. The Greek Uniates
counted about three millions of souls, who, until that time, were in
submission to the Pope. The Czar, however, re-united them to
the Muscovite pontificate.
He wished to proceed even further, and prevent the Polish clergy
from corresponding with the Pope otherwise than by the medium of
the government. It was this that precipitated the clergy into the
Revolution of 1830.
Strange! our Revolution of July, carried on against the priests
and against the bigotry of the king, found for its imitators, Belgium
and Poland—a revolution of priests!
This it was which contributed more than anything to the ruin of
the Polish Revolution; firstly, by giving it a ridiculous general—a
man of the Sacred Heart, or of the Lamb of God—a man either
unfit, suspected, or a traitor, who kept in with Russia, and waged
war only against the Polish patriots.
The Polish Revolution, in this sad situation, excusing itself from
being a Revolution, became a crusade, turning quite naturally to
wards Rome. It awaited a moral aid from the Pope. It believed
that a bull would have the effect of arming the people, and of draw
ing after it the labouring masses; in fact, that it would raise up
the very soil itself. One should read the pitiful reply from Rome,
and see how she retires shamefully behind those first-rate powers,
which will decide the fate of Poland, to the general satisfaction qf all
parties !
Satisfaction! never was there a word so cruelly derisive! . . . . .
This was the moment when the Emperor finding Poland abandoned
by Rome and by France, resolved—to oppress it? No,--to suppress
it, to make it disappear from the surface of the earth.
C H A P T E R IX.
THE EXTERMINATION OF POLAND.
THIs is the greatest crime that has ever been attempted upon
earth. Let us not seek for any term of comparison.
Russia has undertaken not only to kill Poland, her laws, her
religion, her language, her literature, and her national civilization,
but to kill the Poles, to annihilate them as a race, to root out the
heart of the nation, so that even if she subsists as a flock of human
creatures, she has disappeared as a Polish population, as a vitality,
as a power.
Until now I would not believe it. I always persisted in taking -
this word, Kill Poland, for a mere hyperbole, a rhetorical exagge
ration; nevertheless, I must submit myself. I have now under my
eyes, that series of Imperial ukases (yet incomplete) which, from
year to year, follow the plan of this systematic destruction.
How is it that the Poles have never undertaken the simple task
of collecting together and printing the too significant text of these
frightful laws? Why not erect to their enemy this great funereal
monument, which would have explained his true character better
than all the eloquence of oratory P A conqueror of Tartary amused
himself with raising to his glory, on the plain of Bagdad, a pyramid
of one hundred thousand human heads. How much more magni
ficent the monument which we propose, constructed with thousands
of murderous laws ! What a superb trophy of death!
Seek for no comparison.
Ancient Rome thought she had destroyed the Jewish name, and
she only dispersed it throughout the world; neither did the expul
sion of the Jews from Spain bring about their destruction.
The Convention, in the midst of peril, and in a moment of mad
H
ness, excited by the whole of Europe, and attacked from behind by

the Vendéan insurrection, swore the extermination of La Vendée.
Yet La Vendée still exists, and is at this day one of the most popu
lated parts of France.
The enterprise of Louis XIV. to convert and destroy the Pro
testants, presents a greater analogy to the Polish destruction. We
find in it, as in Russia, an immense code of laws combined for the
purpose of proscription. Yet there is a vast difference. There
does not exist in the former the Tartar-like sweeping off of the
inhabitants—those deadly transplantations of whole races and fami
lies which has been practised towards Poland. Therefore, not only
have the emigrant Protestants subsisted in Europe, but they have
lasted and flourished in France in all trades connected with money,
and to this very day they lend to the children of their persecutlors.
No, nothing resembles this—absolutely nothing ; neither the law
nor the sword could have accomplished so terrible a destruction on
so gigantic a scale. Two examples only, perhaps, could point out
the most eflicacious means of attaining to a similar end.
In Ireland, one has beheld a people, who, through a combination
of wretchedness and misery, without appearing sensibly to diminish,
degenerated, sunk, and was entirely defaced. Men still remained,
but the race no longer existed.
In France, during the last years of Napoleon, all the active popu
lation being taken for the purposes of war, one has beheld the stature
diminish. A few years longer of such a system, and the race would
have changed. A people perpetuated only by the infirm, by the
rickety, and by invalids, must gradually sink. In respect of num
ber it may remain the same; as regards strength and eflicacy it
soon disappears.
Here are examples, here are studies. In uniting these methods
we may approach somewhat near to this great art of death. Put
together the misery of Ireland, the recruitings of Napoleon, the
famous code of the suspectedgathered from the laws of the Reign
of Terror, or from those of Louis XIV. ; add to all these western
methods, the great eastern method, the sudden transplantations of
men to climates fatal to them,—there would be great ill-luck if
Polandisrn could bear up against these united means.
THE EXTERMINATION or POLAND. 75
Polandism, a new word, which signifies less a race than acharac

ter. The destroyers look upon Poland no longer as a nation. It is
an idea, a wicked spirit, it isa perverted mind, something like a
heresy.
It is this very way of looking upon Poland, that characterises the
struggle and points out its result. Yes, Poland is a soul, and has
onlyta body against her. The barbarous and brutal power which
holds her in its grasp can accomplish anything but become a soul.
It remains a hrutish matter, and becomes so more and more every
day. In order to absorb a soul, it must first become a soul, and
that is forbidden it.
Now we must here put aside all sentiment, and tell positively
and flatly the bare truth, speak basely of base things.
What is the real power that seeks the destruction of Poland?
The Emperor alone? Would to God ! an individual tires. Russia?
not at all, she only despises it in our day.
No ; this power of death is neither a man nor a nation; it is that
organised filth named administration; it is that mass of intriguers,
of foreign parvenues, insects of the morasses of the North, that
swarm around the Emperor.
Poland is a merejoo. There is the secret.
Thousands of men, officials, palace»agents, and all kind of func
tionaries, military, semi-military (of whom we find so many in
Russia), all are engaged in the job, either by way of lucrative posts,
or by eonfiscations. The Emperor is wise, and knows how to re
ward his servants. One of them, a certain Adam de Wertemberg,
received from his master the house of his still living mother. He
turned her out of doors. He riddled with shot the house of his
grandmother, an octagenarian and an invalid, whom it was impos
sible to remove.
The prey but increases the appetite; the more the bait abounds,
the more the devourers multiply. Death and destruction, those
supposed negative powers, have been found to [be creative. They
have had an exeerable fecundity; they have created a generation of
reptiles and of gnawing worms. Russia is now overrun with the
vermin; she gives it incessantly Poland to feed upon.
Hasteu then, ye hungry worms, intriguers of all nations, to this
a 2
carnage. The son of the priest who reads, writes and spells, will find
his post in the police. The young man, stunted, noble, corrupt from
his school days, greedy, ambitious, and eager for anything, will know
well how to make himself a nest in the monstrous buildings of the
central administration at St. Petersburg. If he is base and heartless,
he will soon rise. Advancement is very rapid. Many of the high
est functionaries of the empire are under thirty. If they can draw
near to the master; if they can find means to flatter his only weak
side, that of fury, their fortune is made. It is for them to arouse
unceasingly that fury in the name of his glory, to keep alive in a
man placed at this fatal height that infatuation, that false poetry,
which he finds in imagining he has been able to destroy a nation.
Such fellows will never want for new ukases to propose. In the
Emperor’s ferocity, they work an excellent mine; they work atiit
night and day. In it they find fortune, honours, eminent positions,
sudden and quick advancement which steps over every grade.
Let us return to the time when the Emperor held conquered
Poland in the palm of his hand. Let us behold his fury. A Poland
reduced to three millions of men had dared to lift the sword against
a Russia of fifty millions. These insolent Poles, a Dembinski, for
example, had so little respected the imperial power, that with some
few handfuls of men, they marched at large throughout the Russian
army, without the possibility of stopping them.
Now, he held this Poland in his gripe. The same look that the
honey-loving bear, in the northern forests, fastens upon the bee
which he holds in the grasp of his shaggy paw, does the Emperor
fix upon Poland. Shall he pluck off this wing or that, or shall he
tear off a limb? It is not his wish to stifle it—no, it .must expire
slowly.
The first thing to be done was to beat to mummies those prisoners
who refused to become Russians. We have already related the but
chery of Cronstadt; to each man eight thousand lashes. The patients
were carefully healed, in order to render them fit to receive the full
sentence, which was carried out at several different times.
Those who became Russians were sent away to the Caucasus, and
there placed to guard the frontier. The Tcherkesses, excellent
marksmen, soon took pity on them.
THE EXTERMINATION OF POLAND. 77
The Emperor was a little disturbed, in the midst of these delights,

by the feeble, cold and cowardly representations of the English and
French governments. He knew very well that England, dragging
after her her load of industry (a golden ball, but not the less weighty),
desired nothing, and could perform nothing; much less Louis
Philippe, a king, humble, and on his knees before Nicholas.
Dissimulation on both sides. Dissimulation replied; it said that
it would grant to the conquered a new constitution. That act was
nothing more than the annihilation of Poland. Those who had
remonstrated held themselves perfectly satisfied.
In the ordinance of February 1832, Poland became a mere pro
vince of the Russian empire. The Polish crown is only granted at
Moscow. No more personal liberty, no more liberty of the press.
No more diet. Judges revocable at will. All places accessible to
Russians. No more responsibility of ministers. No more Polish
army. 'Confiscation re-established. Bauishment out of Poland
(that is to say, into Siberia), Ste. &0.
Whatever might be this extraordinary act, the Emperor seemed
to be indignant at having preserved even the shadow of a constitu
tion. The provincial states which he substituted for the diet
appeared to him an enormous and intolerable concession. In grant
ing it to Europe, he wished to brave Europe; in a month afterwards,
he ordered the commencement of those two frightful measures, the
transplantation of families, and the carrying off of children.
In one government, viz. that of Podolia, an order was given to
transplant five hundred families (twenty-five or thirty thousand
souls) of amnestied insurgents, or of suspected persons; an order
to transplant them to the frontier ofthe Caucasus, to the uncultivated
and miasmatic lands, at two paces distant from the enemy.
The reply of the governor of Podolia is interesting. There
exist, says he, three classes of nobles: the noble proprietors, the
noble servants, labourers and workmen,—and, lastly, the nobles of
towns, tradesmen, advocates, 8:0. It is most essential not to be
restricted to the first, but to take from the other two, “to rid the
country of such persons.”
This exeerable appeal to the imperial ferocity is quite under
stood. In his letter of the 6th and 18th April, 1832, the minister
H 3
_ 78 THE MARTYRS or RUSSIA.
of the interior replies, that his Majesty has sanctioned these regu
lations, adding with his own hand, they are to serve not only for
Podolia, but for all the western governments, care being taken, only to
send those persons capable of work ; their families could be sent later.
So they are to go alone, separated from all belonging to them;
the wife and the children stay to die of hunger in Poland, and the
husband leaves to meet his death in the Caucasus.
Finally, the Emperor adds, that the nobles of the second class,
not proprietors, shall be placed apart, enrolled among the Cossacks,
without intercourse with the colonies of their countrymen.
These fearful regulations were not merely transitory; they served
and still serve as the basis of fixed measures which cause humanity
to shudder.
For the French conscription, which drew the men by lot, has
been substituted the horror of Russian recruitments, where the
men are chosen and pointed out according to the humour of their
masters and public agents. Judge, then, if those suspected of
energy, of Polandiam, are spared in this far-seeing and partial
operation. . Thus chosen, they proceed to the Caucasus, and,
according to the avowal of Paskewitz, they never return. In this,
Russia has found a. kind of horrid issue, out of which runs the best
blood of Poland, her virility and her strength, keeping her con
tinually weak and ill, as after a bleeding.
All the rigours of this system have fallen upon the second class,
that of the noble peasants, a body essentially military, and which,
more than the citizens of towns, forms the real third order in
Poland. In the first place, they were lowered to the rank of the
soi-diaant free peasants of Russia (odnodwortzi) ; then a means was
found of making them pay four times for once the tax of blood.
All other Russian subjects undergo the recruitment only every two
years, but they every year. Others furnish five men in a thousand,
they furnish ten. Thus, their burden is quadrupled. This unhappy
class, numbering about one million of souls, cannot support this
fearful bleeding. I am assured, nevertheless, that this year (1851),
the Emperor finds it work too slowly, and is advising upon the
means of transporting them in a body, to the wastes of the south of
Russia. -
The ordinance of 1832, which alone remained to Poland, has

been infringed by the Emperor himself. In the following year, he
undertook the entire transformation of the country. For the
Polish division of Palatinates, he has substituted the Russian divi
sion of governments; for the decimal and me'trique division, followed
by the Poles, the Russian weights and measures; for the modern
calendar of common sense and of science, the old Julian calendar.
Lastly, he has tried to eiface the Polish language! suppressing it in
the different administrations, dismissing those functionaries who
were unacquainted with Russian, commanding the use of the Rus—
sian language in- the Polish schools, forbidding the youth to speak
their own native tongue! Several students of Wilua met secretly
to speak the Polish language. Surprised, and carried off, bound to
the tails of the horses of the Cossacks, behold them soldiers for life t
This has appeared to me the most outrageous enterprise, the
most barbarous and unnatural cruelty. Our language, our mother
tongue, dear to every one of us, that which recalls to us, in its
every word, and its every sound, the voice of our country, and
that which affords us all the sweet emotions of our life, our homes
of childhood, and our time of love. . . . Ah! tear it from our hearts,
and you tear our hearts in the effort. It seems to me that that
which remains the most treasured in our remembrance, of those
whom we have loved and lost for ever, more than their features,
more than their expression, more than their gestures, is the sound
of their household words. That which I have the most remembered
of my father, with whom I lived, during forty-eight years of my
life, is the tone of his voice. . . . I start, when I think that he is
still beside me, that he speaks to me and says, “My son l” Yes,
all our heart is in our native tongue—friendship, love, country.
Each of the great nations has inherited the best part of itself in its
language and its voice. The heroic Polish tongue, all vibrating
with manly tones, causes even him who understands not the mean
ing of the words, to feel the majesty of the ancient republic; it
brings before the beating heart all the glory of her history. One
hears the noble voice of heroes.
The Russian language has a very agreeable sound, sweet and
caressing. It resembles the melodious language of the South.
Inflict it upon Poland, and you change the national character in a

most serious point, you render it weak and efl'eminate.
I willingly believed, indeed, that the object of this barbarous
prohibition was to insult Poland, to afliict her soul even unto death,
to stab her to the heart, in the most vulnerable point in which she
could be made to suffer.
It was at this time that the Emperor caused Europe to resound
with the insulting and violent speech which he had thrown in the
face of the magistrates of Warsaw. He neglected nothing by
which he could merit the name of the merciless man. The Princess
Sanguszko having implored him for her young husband, about to
start for Siberia, the Emperor caused the sentence to be brought
to him, and with his own hand added, “ on foot.”
This theatrical terrorism is a great means with Russia. We have
seen it in the horror of Cronstadt, a spectacle represented before the
eyes of Europe. We have beheld it only too often in the present
year. On the 20th of July, 1851, when the rumour had gone abroad
that there would be some pardons granted, for all answer, four
prisoners were immediately executed.
The Russian government has occasionally taken pleasure in ten
dering an ironical apology for such and such an act. For example,
in 1842, it answered Rome (and perhaps other Courts), that if it
had taken the possessions of the Polish Church, it was only
with the intention of better administering them in the interest
of the Church ,- and that, as to the carrying off of children, of
which so much had been said, they had only been taken out of
charity.
It is always out of charity that the Jewish children are carried off.
Besides the immense numbers taken by the State, the Cossacks are
always stealing them ; they trade with them. and sell them at their
full market value.
Imperial charity holds the Polish mother in an agony of fear.
They await from it new horrors.
It was in the month of March, 1832, during the Emperor’s most
violent fury, that he commanded the transplantation of so many
families. Then it was that he caused to be SEIZED (that is the
word used by the Council of Administration) all the male children,
vagabonds, orphans, and poor, from seven to sixteen years of age.

The order came direct by the aide-de-camp Tolsto'i.
Paskiewitz, in his regulations, expresses himself differently; by
means of two letters he changes the whole sense—a change he would
not have made without the authority of the Emperor. He says 08,
and not and; he says orphans on poor; a most cruel distinction,
because from that moment might be taken away children who,
though not orphans, belonged to poor parents.
The government of Warsaw, in publicly posting this cruel order,
added, with the view to soften and mitigate the public fermentation,
these words, foreign to the text: Those children having no place of
abode.
In reality, the children of poor parents were not the less seized,
in spite of the violent and terrible protestations of their parents.
It was a most fearful scene. After several convoys of children
had been carried off by night, on the 17th May, 1832, one was
sent off in the day-time. The mothers ran after the waggons,
tearing-their breasts; several threw themselves under the wheels,
and were only driven away with stripes. On the 18th, another
multitude of little children, who worked or sold in the streets, were
seized. On the 19th, the parish schools~were emptied. These
poor little things, so carried off, died like insects throughout the
whole journey. When they were too weak to go on, they were left
to die by the road-side. The bodies of these little innocents were
found by the country people; near them lay their bread, which they
had not had strength enough to touch.
CHAPTER X.
OF THE CZAR AS POPE AND AS GOD.

RELIGIOUS PERSECUTIONS.
AN actor of old, in the supreme happiness of the first transport of

love, exclaims: “ I am become God 1”
Death is like love—it intoxicates. The savage joy of great de
structions causes the soul the same transport. He who believes he
has destroyed a world, envies not his Creator. He says, “ I am
become God l”
Greater than God—God creates slowly, with the infinite mildness
of divine maternity, with the gentleness of nature. The destroyer, on
the contrary, prides himself in destroying at a blow. What he loves
to behold in death is the visible change it effects ; his joy would be to
destroy by a word the labour of many years, to be able to say of a
human world, “ I passed by, it was no more.”
7 It was in the midst of the great destruction of Poland that the
head of the Russian empire began to take seriously to himself his
title of “ Vicar of God,” and “ Divine emanation," which is to be
found in his catechism. Head and sole judge of his priests, (in the
terms of their oath,) he began to act as a Russian Pope in his per
secutions against the Catholics, and in his extermination of the
Jews. His Byzantine images, distributed with profusion, proposed
him to the adoration of the Danube, and to the Greek population
of the Turkish Empire, under the hallowed title of St. Nicholas.
But what would this new God do? He did not even know
himself.
In Poland, the banisher of the nobles, he has been in Russia at
one time a revolutionary, calling the nobles to the emancipation of
the serfs, which they could only accomplish at the price of an agra
84: THE MARTYRS OF RUSSIA.
rian law. If he had carried out this, he would have become a kind
of Messiah of the serfs—a Messiah cruel and terrible to Europe.
He did not dare, but turning round suddenly in his character of
pope and general of the counter revolution, he declared, after the
siege of Rome, (OctOber, 1849,) that the Latin Church, fallen and
ended, had only now to join itself to the universal Catholic Church
of Moscow.
This strange spiritual father, who converts by means of the sword
and who blesses with the knout, struggling between two principles,
and on that account so much the more violent, has given to the
world, in the short space of twenty years, astonishing and unheard
of signs of his pretensions to the Godhead. Neither the Pontiif
emperors of ancient Rome, when they raised up to themselves altars,
nor the Pontifi-kings of modern Rome, when they parcelled out the
world, or when they forbad the earth to turn round, carried higher
their presumptuous pride.
He has forbidden the age to be the age, he has given the lie to
mathematics and astronomy, he has set up the old calendar, aban
doned by the rest of the world. He has forbidden value to be
value, ordering that three roubles should be worth five. He has
forbidden reason to be reason; and when a wise man has been found
in Russia he has caused him to be confined with madmen. That
which has encouraged him in these monstrous eccentricities, it must
be owned, is, that he finds himself alone and uncontrolled in the
world, all moral force being in his time either weakened or put off.
Rome, the pontificate of the past, was abased, the Pope only
daring to act as a petty Italian prince.
France, the poutificate of the present, was wrapt up in her indus
trial Anglomania, and in her citizen loyalty.
Yet Rome, it must be admitted, has not perished altogether
through the personal weakness of the popes, but by the logical con
sequences of the Catholic doctrines. These doctrines are none
other than obedience. Rome has constantly taught it. Not only in
1831, when dying Poland stretched forth her hand for succour, and
was thrown back upon the mercy of the Czar; but in 1832, Rome
ruined the Polish revolution in enjoining to the Poles obedience to
their executioner.
RELIGIOUS PERSECUTIONS. 85
Rome, in exchange for this letter, expected to have obtained the

Czar’s consent to receive a nuncio at St. Petersburg. Far from
that, in 1833 he commenced a war against the Pope, and ordered
the sudden conversion of the Greek Uniates, subjects of the Latin
Church. The proceeding was simple : the villages were surrounded,
and the priests, after receiving the knout, were carried of. The
Russian priest, whip in hand, passed in review the trembling flock,
threatening them, lashing them. The obstinate were shut up in
heated rooms filled with the smoke of green wood. Grace soon
operated upon them by means of suffocation. All being so well
agreed in the new faith, they were consigned to the Church, and
there the sacrament was thrust down their throats, while the whip
was held over their heads.
The most horrible of these dragonades took place out of Poland,
in the military Colonies, established in the wastes of Russia. The
unruly were sent thither, and under pretext of military discipline,
were literally crushed with blows, without even the consolation of
religious martyrdom,—-killed, not as Catholics, but as rebellious
soldiers.
Nevertheless, their conversion was triumphantly proclaimed. A
visible miracle. The clergy, weeping tears of joy, asked to be united
with the Church of Moscow. The Emperor deigned to accord it.
His official journal, in an edifying article, chants forth a pious Ho
sannah: “ Happy union i” it exclaims, “ and which has cost no
tears ! mildness and persuasion were alone employed 1”
What said the Pope to all this? Haughtily as he carried him
self in the affairs of Cologne, against Prussia, he remained humble
and trembling before Russia. He lamented in a secret cousistory,
with closed doors; but, in public, be welcomed with open arms the
young son of the Emperor. Even when, in 1842, the Czar seized
the churches and the ecclesiastical possessions, scarcely does the
Pope prefer (still in secret consistory) a respectful complaint; and,
moreover, in this complaint, he dishonours anew the Polish Revolu~
tion, calling it a rebellion.
To the timid words of the Pope, which circulated in Europe,
especially through the semi-official organs of the French government,
the Emperor replied beforehand by acts as cruel as they were skil
I
ful. To prove his Christianity, and to establish himself as a firm

and stout Christian, he fulminated his exterminatory ukase against
the Jews.
Such was the savage reasoning which, nevertheless, convinced
the minds of the people in those barbarous parts. “ How can we
doubt that the Emperor is pious, and a believer, when we see him
crucify those who crucified Christ P”
Thus did he establish, in animil oili, at but little cost, the renown
of his piety, in the person of those whom no one protected, whom
no one pitied. From that time those Germans who, in many cities,
had stoned the Jews to death, conceived as great esteem for the
Russian Emperor.
The ukase appeared all of a sudden. The Emperor had just dis
covered (what had been known from all time) that the Jews of
Poland, excluded from all honest industry, lived by smuggling and
second-hand dealing. An order was issued to transport them, with
out loss of time, to the extremity of Russia. Never had there been
such desolation since the ruin of Jerusalem. No delay. The Cos
sacks arrive—the goods are in the streets . . . . “ Go on: forward!
clear ofl" . . . . You must set out, that is the order . . . . Not a day,
not an hour.” . . . . Old men, women, young children, depart; they
drag themselves along, the soldiers press behind and goad them at
need. They fall from weariness and hunger. There they are left
helplessly to die, like so many dogs. The wife may faint and die,
but the husband must proceed. .
Is it enough? No. The survivors, in their new habitations, see
the beginning of another murderous persecution, the conscription q“
their children! At six years old, still weak and delicate, they are
carried off for the military or naval service. But the Jewish people,
from old, strangers to a military life, are absolutely unfitted for it.
All these children die. The Jew cannot exist as a soldier.
The Emperor has calculated well. This cruel execution has been
very popular. 'The Russian peasants and the Poles hate the Jews.
They do not reflect that if this unfortunate race lives by the practice
of odious trades, there are none other left to them. The talent lat
terly displayed by the Jews in so many countries, their Oriental beauty,
their women the most lovely in the world, everything causes one to
RELIGIOUS PERSECUTIONS. 87
egret the savage means of extermination that is employed against

them in Russia.
In this, the Emperor flattered the people, and he has pleased
them still more, by reducing, at one stroke, the number of the
Polish nobility, from fifty thousand to- five thousand families. Not
long afterwards, he sent forth his famous ukase of the 2nd April,
184-2, for the enfranchisement of the Russian serfs.
The nominal enfranchisement and the pretended liberty of the
crown serfs, offered nothing very tempting to the serfs of the
nobles. The former, indeed, exercise any trade they please, but
the imperial agent rules them with a harder rod than any other
master. The venality of this agent, which must be continually
satisfied, causes them to regret their former serfdom.
What was the Emperor’s object, in provoking the nobles, by
the ukase of 1842, to contract with their peasants for their pre
tended liberty, that is to say, to make them pass under the imperial
lash?
He wished to terrify the nobles. Real enfranchisement can only
be effected by the nobles giving to the peasants, together with their
liberty, a large portion of land, which being better cultivated,
would easily yield them a revenue equal to that which they might
lose. Many both think and say so, yet they dare not do it. They
appear to divine the Emperor’s true wishes and his jealousy upon
this subject. They are certain that their obeying him, in this par
ticular, would be the very means of courting his anger; that he
would look with the greatest suspicion upon those who, taking his
official announcement seriously, should commence setting about this
great movement. A weighty author, Tolsto'r', says, that in certain
provinces the peasants believe that the princes and nobles have
different patron-saints in Heaven to them, a God apart, a God of
riches, who showers favours upon them. In the famine and winter
of 1845 and 184-6, the peasants of Esthonia, Livonia and Courland
were converted in great numbers, in order to procure sustenance.
They supposed that in embracing the religion of the Emperor, in
passing over to the God of riches, they should acquire the posses
sion of the land which they cultivated. The Emperor was obliged
to put a stop to these too rapid conversions. We gather these
I 2
details from persons who learnt them in the localities themselves,

at Riga and at Dorpat.
The Emperor trembled to behold himself at the head of an im
mense communist and religious Jacquerie.
He drew back from the accomplishment of that to which his
spiritual pretensions and his appeal to liberty seemed to conduct
him at his will. Another step forward, and he would have become
the Messiah of the serfs. One knows from numerous examples in
the history of the East, how quickly the spark of fanaticism spreads
amongst these blinded hordes. Him they would have worshipped
and followed, who would have led the way through waves of blood
to the acquisition of property and liberty.
So the Emperor drew back, and formed a league with those
nobles whom he had before threatened.
And now, these two powers, Czar and nobility, stand face to
face, without acting or daring to act, each afraid of the other;
there they are like two spiders, mutually observing each other’s
movements, knowing not whether they are friends or enemies, nor
whether, even as they stand, each is not seeking to devour the
other.
CHAPTER XI.
CONCLUSION.
OF THE CZAR AS POPE AND AS GOD.

HE IS PROPOSED FOR UNIVERSAL POPE.
THE Russian peasant, who sees, in his catechism, the name of the
Emperor, printed in large letters, like that of God, while that of
Jesus is in small type, doubtless forms in his mind a very exalted
idea of the imperial power. He reads there that the Emperor is an
emanation from God. What is meant by an emanation? If he asks
the question of the Russian priest, or of the imperial agent (usually
the son of the priest), he is told that in reality the spirit of God
ought to reside in the Emperor, since the ecclesiastical tribunal, which
represents the patriarch, acknowledges him as supreme head and
judge of the Church, because he has the nomination of the bishops.
It is to him directly that the functionaries of the empire, both civil
and military, attest each year, by certificate, that they have duly
fulfilled their religious duties.
Great is the surprise of this peasant, if he goes to St. Petersburg,
or to Moscow, and should happen to see the Emperor. What! that
is an emanation? What! that religious personage on whom the
bishops depend is an officer with the closely-fitting uniform, and
the stiff bearing of any other Russian officer I
According to a tale, with perhaps very little truth in it, but well
worthy of attention, like every other popular tradition, a soldier,
seeing the Emperor for the first time, and being about to take the
oath of allegiance, refused to do so, not being able to believe, said
he, that this ofiicer could, in reality, be the Emperor.
The Russian has, by nature, a noble, mild and holy idea of the
I 3
sovereign power. He supposes that he, who in this world takes

the place of the Father of the universe, is, in truth, a father (6a
touska) ; and this name of father which he addresses to the Em
peror implies, with him, the idea of pontiff and of judge.
Modern Czarism, modelled by Peter the Great and his successors
out of Prussian despotism, with all its escort of soldiers and officials,
does not at all correspond with the patriarchal idea which is at the
bottom of the Russian heart.
Does the Emperor himself think he answers to it? Has he the
security that such a conviction would give? I doubt it. To what
ever epoch I look back, even to Peter the Great, travellers are
unanimous in representing the Czar, whoever he may be, as a prince,
far less majestic than one would expect in such a sovereign, a
man agitated and uneasy. This character is also to be found in
the present Emperor, whose fine and tall figure ought to be natu
rally majestic. He has too much movement. M. de Custine re
marked this agitation even at church, upon the solemn occasion of
the marriage of his son.
If he felt himself firmly seated upon his legitimate basis, the
- Russian mind, if he had the internal conviction that he answered to
the idea of a nation of so many millions of men, then, assuredly, he
would not be agitated. This great national idea, when once it fills
the heartvof a man, renders his position strong and immoveable, and
gives to him a powerful equilibrium of peace.
Authority is tranquil, when it feels itself in fellowship with man,
in the great brotherhood of the people, and of God. It is troubled
in Russia, because it is alone—profoundly solitary, because, in
this vast silence of the empire, it only hears its own voice, without
being warned, without being encouraged, by the voice of public
opinion. It knows itself to be a might. Is it as sure that it is a
right P
There is no right in Russia. Law is there impossible. The
sixty volumes of laws that the Emperor has caused to be compiled,
are a vast derision. '
All right is grounded on thisibasis, which prevents it from being
right: Right is that which is conformable to the will of the master.
Wrong is that which is contrary to this same will.
b
CONCLUSION. ' 91
The edifice‘is erected upon hollowness. There being no morality

in its foundations, legislation raises itself up without support, as if
in the air. Void at the basis, it is void and impossible even to the
summit. On whom rests this impossible code? On him, the ar
bitrary one. And it is himself alone that he executes in the name
of the code.
But it is not only the arbitrary power of the master that plays at
this game of laws, it is the tyranny of all the inferior masters (the
agents of the sovereign), the unfaithful subordinates who, for their
own gain, deceive the greater tyranny, working upon and rendering
dependant this haughty power, which threatens and commands, and
yet often unwittingly obeys its agents, the very lowest of men. So
that in seriously contemplating the singular edifice of violence and
deception adorned with the name of laws, even at the summit of
this pyramid of serfdom, we behold a serf.
A serf to his agents, to his ministers, to his judges; a serf to
their infidelity, and feeling it so at each instant.
This is the martyrdom of the Emperor.
We cannot be astonished if, in his mistrust and uneasiness, he
changes at every turn the order he has made, taking the proceed
ings out of the hands of their legitimate judges, and bringing them
at once to the superior tribunals. But these judges, however
highly placed, present no greater security than the others. The
Emperor feels under his feet an earthquake of intrigue. He is in
dignant. He will call the cause before himself. He alone will
judge of it. Has he time—knowledge—necessary study for it?
Nevertheless, he must decide, he must believe, in his own wisdom,
or rather in his instinct; he must believe in the inspiration from on
high, and that he feels within him the Holy Spirit.
Vain is this great comedy of laws and tribunals—vain these
efl'orts to organize a world of justice. All is vain. All proceeds
from the will of the Emperor, all returns at the inspiration of the
Emperor. Whether he will it or no, he must be Pope.
Terrible punishment of so great pride! Whilst, in a world of
nature and of justice, everything descends of itself, and justice,
flowing like a salutary stream, vivifies the social body—here, all
ascends—all goes against nature, to strike against the summit,
against a feeble human head, where, it is said, dwell; the wisdom

and the mind of God.
The agents of the central power find themselves too well off in
this unnatural situation, not to wish that the Emperor should let all
return to him, that he should suspend justice, and decide every
thing by his popedom.
The tendency of such a condition as this, is visibly to become
less and less a state, and more and more a religion. Everything
is religious in Russia. Nothing is legal, nothing is just. Every
thing is, or wishes to be, holy.
The interior administration is holy. The priests are religious
ofiicials, religious clerks. The clerks are the sons of the priests.
The exterior power is holy; it consists, above all, in the eccle
siastical propaganda which propels Russia towards all the barbarous
nations. It is a kind of religious invasion.
All this is done almost without the knowledge of Europe. It is
very little talked about. Russia loves not that anything should be
said of her, even of good. Her agents are connected with the prin
cipal organs of the European press, and negociate for their discretion.
Leave then, this holy Russia to walk upon the earth. God will
know, in his own time, how to show it forth for the edification of
the world.
It is already a great consolation to all pious souls, to see how
well the good people from Moscow, even unto Rome, Jesuits and
Cossacks, unite and draw round each other.
Those ill-taught Catholics, who so long, in spite of the Pope,
have defended Poland, and cried out against Russia, are now
repentant, and no longer make themselves heard.
There was one moment, however, when this dumb Russia, her
self, broke the silence which she so loves. A cry burst from her
heart—a shout of victory, stifled almost as soon as uttered, escaped
from her lips.
It was after the war of Hungary, after the siege of Rome, when
the revolution appeared mortally wounded by its own hands, that
the Emperor launched forth a manifesto, speaking in the voice of a
crusade : “ Russia will fill her holy mission.”
What mission? That was not, yet specified. The triumph of
CONCLUSION. 93
the Pope? Ohl very true; at the siege of Rome, near the Ponti
fical delegate, at the head of the diplomatic corps, sat the Russian
envoy.
But too profound was his joy, too violent his love, to confine
himself to obscure phrases. The Emperor has displayed his con
tempt for Rome, henceforth drowned in blood. He thought, not
without reason, that she would never rise again from such a
triumph. At the very time that he so powerfully advanced her
temporal re-establishment, he caused to be proclaimed her spiritual
fall.
The manner was strange and indirect, but very clear, very authen
tic. No words in this country, on such important matters, but
proceed from the mouth of authority—and in this instance they
had been delivered by the Russian diplomatic agent, a minion of
the Emperor himself. _
There are always to be found near the person of the Czar, young
and eager men, who draw their inspirations from the violent school
of M. de Maistre, and who, in spite of the old diplomatists, burn
to speak and to distinguish themselves. They have visibly pro
fited by an outburst of pride in their master, to obtain his autho
rity to proceed in a most unheard-of step, altogether contrary to
the line of reserve, of silence, and of deceit, always followed by
Russia. -
A letter of the 13th October, 1849, dated from St. Petersbw-y,
and signed, a Russian. diplomatiat, appears in a review. Its author
is the envoy of the Emperor to the Court of Bavaria—the title,
The Popedom and tire Roman question, as viewed at St. Petersburg.
The style, devout and mystical, nevertheless often betrays in its
haughty and semi-ironical features, the hard master, whose inspira
tions the author has followed. Without, perhaps, wishing or per
ceiving it, he occasionally writes in the harsh, bitter and proud tone
of the powerful lord, whose secretary he is.
The article overflows with contempt for France, and for the West,
and with pity towards Rome, but with a pity mingled with con
tempt. -“ Rome, the root of the West, was its only remaining
strength. She sinks. The Roman question is shown to be insolva
ble, for Rome is irreconcileable with Rome; the Pope and the Roman
Qt THE MARTYRS or RUSSIA.
state no longer recognize each other. The Pope is punished by

God, for having deviated from the Catholic unity, for having, in its
papal and Roman egotism, absorbed the centre of Christianity."
But if there is an end, here is a beginning. It would be folly
to take alarm, the world will not die yet; the Catholic unity that
can save all, exists in the Greek Church. She only waits for weak
and aged Rome, who holds in her hands the fate of Christianity, to
restore to her this sacred trust. '
It is not difficult to draw the conclusion. Rome, condemned
by reason of her egotism, is to re-unite the Latin popedom to
that of the Pope of Moscow, apparently less egotistical. And as this
military Pope wields both the temporal and spiritual sword, as he
can launch forth as apostles eight hundred thousand Russians and
Cossacks, order will soon be re-established in the social world and
in that of conscience.
Eight hundred thousand l—a vast number, doubtless; but even
supposing that we do not exaggerate, number cannot prevent us
from listening to reason.
Against whom this crusade? Against democratic individuality it
is said. But what is the Czar himself and the Russian government
but individuality?
There is this difference, that if the republican self is a self uneasy,
stirring, full of agitation, this uneasiness is not without fruit, but
is prolific. It kindles continually the spark of life. The democracy
of Athens, the democracy of Florence, were the glory of the human
race.
Czarism also is a selfish individuality; but what does it produce?
Who is there but must see that Russia is extinguished by it, is un
fruitful, is as if dead? Her repose is no repose; it is the dream of a
man buried alive. Ah! only to speak of happiness without men
tioning glory, how much more desirable all the agitation of liberty!
Prodigious enterprise! you cannot even organise at home the
world of civil order, the inferior world! and you pretend to the
superior world of religion! Enemies to the Law, you would ascend
higher than the Law, you aspire to the- world of grace! . . . Power
less in the works of man, you take upon yourselves the attributes of
God! '
CONCLUSION. 95
You set yourselves up as a Church! but you are ignorant of the

meaning of a Church.
Oh! a church of God, who will show me that! The middle ages
were stamped with its unfaithful image, and the modern world
draws near to it still slowly. At least the great and near revolution
which is fast approaching will assuredly allow us to lay the first
stone, which is Justice.
A Church is a spirit—a spirit of brotherly love.
A Church is a communion in this spirit—a true and profound
communion, a perfect concord.
A Church is a civilization, which shines forth from this concord
and from this love.
Not one of these three features of a true Church can apply to you.
Where is the Spirit f—nnll and void. And the communion of the
Spirit? It is false; for you forbid the instruction of the people.
And civilization? There is not to be found on the wide globe so
great a barrenness as that of the Greek Church throughout the
period of a thousand years.
But what forbids you most strongly to take to yourselves this
name of Church is the profusion of blood, the mad and terrible waste
you make of human life. The sword, the fire, and the rod, have not
sufficed for you; you have called to_ your assistance the climates, the
elements, and the deadly powers of nature.
How can you approach the altar with hands stained and full of
blood?
The Emperor was in Rome- in 1846; he was well received by
the Pope; he went to St. Peter’s, and offered up his prayers at the
shrine of the Saints.
What would St. Ambrose have done? would he not have stood
at the portal to stop the Emperor? Would he not have said, “ Be
fore entering this temple, would yourr majesty deign to show us
your hands.”
“ We remember," says the Russian author whom I quoted just
now, “ we remember the emotion which welcomed at St. Peter’s the
apparition of the most orthodox Emperor returned to Rome after
several centuries of absence—legitimate emotion! the kneeling Em
peror was not alone," 8L0.
No, most certainly be, was not alone. He was surrounded by a

very numerous company. On his right crowded the martyrs of
Russia, and those of Poland on his left; the souls of some hundred
thousand men that day filled the church. So many thousands who
died of misery in Siberia, so many thousands beaten to death, a
nation of unhappy shadows, above all, of children, Poles, and Jews,
so cruelly torn from their parents, who had Death for their only
nurse, Death for their only mother—whose young bones lie rotting
upon every road . . . . Ah! all these also were on that day at St.
Peter’s, and their voices ascended to the throne of God l . . . . .
The Pope saw not, heard not, these souls, and from that moment
he is judged.
He was silent, but France will not be silent. In his place she
will speak. Guardian of the New Church she will stop at the
portal this infernal Messiah who comes in the name of God.
v Murderer of the work of God, of his living creatures, what do
you here P
A world begins, a world of Humanity and Justice.
FRANCE is on the threshold, and you shall advance no farther.
She says, pontifically: “ YOU SHALL NOT ENTER.”
THE END.
1131251
Printed by Richard Kinder, Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey, London.

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“PRIESTS, WOMEN, AND FAMILIES," “THE PEOPLE," ETC.

ma’ronv or on“, A n'u's'smri Ssiiv . . . . . . 17

THE MINOTAUR.-—0F THE ARMY AS A TORTURE . . . . 25

MARTYRDOM O‘F PESTAL AND OF RYLEIEFF . . . . . 55

OF THE EXTERMINATION OF-POLAND . . . . . . 65

THE BXTERMINATION or POLAND . . . . . . 73

01" THE emu as POPE AND AS oon.—-nm.mrova PERSECUTION . 83

CONCLUSION.—OF 'rns CZAR A8 POPE AND A8 001) . . . 89

To the Oﬂicers of the Russian Army.

trials? They are well known to us. Permit me to call your

By abandoning the serf to your agents, who reduce him to de

Community, the true Russian fundamental principle, you should

MB. HARBO-HARRIUG, a liberal writer of Friesland, and an ex

that on his return to St. Petersburg, the Emperor, delighted,

chisement, and in joining in them, be virtually accepts the certainty

master into Italy, where he had become an excellent violinist; but

HISTORY OF CATYA, A RUSSIAN SERF.

Ir is needless to observe, that in the following simple history, I have

in breathing. It was thought she was afﬂicted with aneurism of the

’ ““’_‘ ‘' 'Il.

is not drawn afresh to it. After more than ﬁve-and-twenty years, in

only in that degree, which a cruel policy has invested it with, by

THE MINOTAUR.—OF THE ARMY AS A TORTURE.

he to endure the bivouacs of the Caucasus. This peasant becomes,

in the book of an oﬁicer, of the desolate void, and the despairing

ciently amused herself I should say.”——“ More than enough, it

to another.‘ Sad Priest of war: even whilst his fortune promised

Siberia not only draws degradation upon persons, thence trans

ber of Eastern luxuries were wanting to her. Our servants appeared

In a journal, published at Vilna, under the Russian censorship,

“ THE night in these regions, is as long as in winter, gloomy, but

continued Weeping. I prepared some Polish punch. All thought

would be useless in him to resist this obscure martyrdom ; his mind

OF THE GROWING TERRORISM OF lRUSSIA.

IT is now a hundred years ago since the punishment of death was

towards the East it appears in its true character, that of Mogul

No one has applied death on so large a scale as he, not only to

the highest pitch. His paradeical thesis, the panegyric of 'the

Madame Kruedeuer; he was no longer an emperor; but a saint; he

spectators and a dense body of people, and yet they looked as if

MARTYRDOM OF PESTAL AND RYLEIEFF.

THE Emperor, says an eye-witness, pale and haggard, nevertheless

approach, relying on the former attachment of the soldiers. “ Trai

brave and enthusiastic, were not astonished at the apathy which

was a fresh stoppage; the coachman refused to proceed. At length

with a small number of men, devoted to Constantine—and behold !

into action by despair. The Emperor ordered a great number to be

eternal? Where is the man, who, beholding a nation dumb, would

OF THE EXTERMINATION OF POLAND.

AT that time, when the Emperor, recovered from the impressions of

A severe organization of the judicial authority should be the prin

.vexations, and the most barbarous of torments. Horrible to relate,

tribunal, to regulate the affairs of the Greek Uniates, (that is to say,

THE EXTERMINATION OF POLAND.

ness, excited by the whole of Europe, and attacked from behind by

Polandism, a new word, which signiﬁes less a race than acharac

The Emperor was a little disturbed, in the midst of these delights,

The ordinance of 1832, which alone remained to Poland, has

Inﬂict it upon Poland, and you change the national character in a

vagabonds, orphans, and poor, from seven to sixteen years of age.

OF THE CZAR AS POPE AND AS GOD.

AN actor of old, in the supreme happiness of the ﬁrst transport of