Notes of my Captivity in Russia/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
EXAMINATION OF THE PRISONERS.
My servant having brought me my cloak, which was to serve me for a blanket and a pillow, I went to bed. They did not allow me to put out my light, which the soldiers placed in the middle of my room, and, having wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, they lay down upon the ground, around my bed, with their muskets at their side, while the sentinel remained standing at the door. So great care was taken to guard a single prisoner, sick and wounded! The sight of this prison, and the soldiers lighted by the faint glimmering of the candle, and especially my own dismal thoughts, prevented me from sleeping the whole night. An awful silence prevailed in this house. I heard at intervals only the steps of a man, now walking on tip-toe, then seeming to stop at the door to listen to what was going on in the rooms. I got up at six o'clock, and they brought me coffee in a gilded bronze cup, belonging to General Kosciuszko. This circumstance gave me pleasure, as I inferred from it that he was not far from me. Comforted by this, I was resigned to everything, and felt as calm as could be expected in so painful a situation.
The day did not break before nine o'clock, when I looked through the bars which crossed my window, and through the ice covering its panes, I saw only the blank of the flêche, and the casemates below, in which the soldiers attached to the prison were quartered. Daylight showed me much better how damp this little room was. Water strained from the foundations, and a kind of mushroom grew in every corner. I put some indifferent questions to the soldiers, but they shook their heads, without answering a single word. I asked for my portmanteau; the corporal went out, and in half an hour brought it in. I had taken care to provide myself with some books, and had in my portmanteau, Plutarch, Horace, Young's Night Thoughts, &c. I spent my time between reading and walking in a diagonal across my prison. During the first three days I neither saw nor heard anybody, except the soldiers who kept guard over me. Once, however, I heard before the entrance Fischer's voice, who was humming a Polish tune. On the third day I had a visit of Titow, and as he was afraid I might complain of his bad behaviour towards me during our journey, he was now very polite, and even talkative; he told me that General Kosciuszko was living at the house of the Governor of the fortress, in consequence of his being in bad health, that in the conversation which the latter had with him on the day of his arrival, he requested him to put down in writing what had induced him to raise insurrection, his object, relations with the foreign courts, the means which he had of carrying on war, and other circumstances connected with it. Titow told me that the General was engaged in this work, with equal pain and repugnance. On the following day Alexander-Siemianowicz Makarow visited me. He spoke German, and told me that the communication between the town and the fortress was interrupted, owing to the impossibility of crossing the river for the last few days. He asked me whether I was well fed. I desired him to send me a surgeon to dress my arm; the wound was closed, but my hand was so much swollen that I could not use it, and I suffered excruciating pain. The surgeon came, examined my arm, and said that mineral waters only could restore to me the use of my hand. They will not send me there, thought I, so I must be resigned, and let nature perform her part.
The day after, at eleven o'clock in the morning, I heard a great number of persons walking in the passage; the door of Fischer's cell opened, and somebody went in; I was almost sure that it was the Procurator-General Samoilow, and, after a conference of a quarter of an hour with Fischer, my supposition was realised on seeing the former enter my room. He told me that I must know how unpardonable were the wrongs which I had done to Russia, and to the august and sacred person of his great sovereign; that my fate was in my own hands, that if I would speak frankly and with veracity, and give them the information which they would require, I was sure of my fortune and the most brilliant career, but if, on the contrary, I should be reserved, and persist in keeping silence, I had only to expect the greatest wrath of the Empress, and its most cruel consequences. “Sir,” replied I, “there has nothing happened in our revolution which is not already known, not only to your cabinet, but to the whole of Europe. Provoked by the partition of our finest provinces, by oppression, and insult offered to the inhabitants, our revolution was the work of despair and not of calculation. All our efforts abroad were directed to the procuring of soldiers, arms, and provisions; and at home, I ask yourself, could we intrigue, surrounded as we were by the provinces and armies of the three powers which have divided our territory, and which were at that time carrying on war with us? The communication between Poland and the rest of the world was entirely cut off.” “But you cannot deny,” answered Samoilow, “that France has assisted you in men and money? We know it; we know that General Kosciuszko was at Paris before the outbreak.” “Sir,” said I, “it is an old proverb, that a man who is drowning catches at a straw. Though we did not like either the principles or the barbarous deeds of the French revolution, we would, however, have accepted of assistance from that republic. I have been told that the Committee of Public Safety had promised to General Kosciuszko three millions of livres tournois, and some officers of artillery, but I can assure you that we have seen neither a single officer nor a single sou.” “We are aware,” said he, “that those who were at the head of the revolution had the greatest confidence in you; you know all, but you wish to say nothing, and you shall repent it.” “I have no disclosures to make to you, Sir, neither have I the talent for forging tales; as to your menaces, I know that I am in your hands; I expect and am resigned to everything, and am more desirous of death than afraid of it.” “Your life will be spared.” interrupted he, “but you shall never leave this place.” “I left hope behind me when I entered this prison,” replied I. Seeing that those menaces produced no effect, he became all at once composed, assumed the mildest and most affectionate tone, and spared neither flatteries nor promises. “Let us talk in confidence,” said he, “let us say between us that your Kosciuszko is a stupid fellow.” “Sir,” answered I, “he has shewn upon many occasions that he is far from being what you say.” “But,” answered Samoilow, “it is you, Potocki, and Kollontay,[1] who led him.” “Sir,” said I, “I have never had ambition to lead any one but myself, and you see how little talent I have for that, else I should not be here. As to Potocki and Kollontay, General Kosciuszko might have been advised, but never led by them.” “He has told us himself that they did everything.” “He has been modest, perhaps, at the expense of sincerity.” “This Potocki is a great rogue.” “It is for the first time,” interrupted I, “that this epithet has been applied to him; Mons. Potocki is a talented and honest man.” “He is ambitious.” “Yes, Sir, he had the ambition of attempting to save his country.” He smiled bitterly; “But, at least, you will agree with me that your Kollontay is a great rascal.” “Mons. Kollontay is a man of eminent talent and character; I will not, however, conceal from you that, being naturally inclined to violent measures, he was more fit for the volcanic passions of the French than for the mild and humane character of the Poles.” He put many other questions to me, and in an hour he took leave of me coldly, saying repeatedly, that he was sorry to see me so obstinate in my determination to reveal nothing: “You shall repent it,” were the last words he uttered.
After this visit I thought I should be free from any further examination. Tired of reading and walking, I was sitting upon my bed, when, about nine o'clock in the evening, the door was opened slowly, a bearded man, dressed in sheep-skin, entered, gave me a large parcel under my address, bowed to me, and disappeared without saying a word. I opened the parcel, and found in it a letter and a large book. The former was from Samoilow, who wrote to me, that having found me obstinate and reserved in my verbal examination, he hoped that I would say more in a written reply to the questions which he enclosed for me; that a situation in diplomacy, or an annuity for life, was promised to me as a reward for my frankness; but if, on the contrary, I should persist in keeping silence, or give evasive answers to the questions, I should have myself to blame for the punishment which awaited me. The book extended to ten folio pages, each page being numbered in the Russian language. The questions were put on one side, and on the other the paper was left blank. I was desired to have the answers in readiness the following day. As far as I can recollect, these questions were to the following effect:—
“What motives induced the rebels to raise insurrection?”
“What was the object of the revolution, and what would they have done in the event of being successful?”
“What relations had the rebels with France and Turkey, and what was their disposition towards Austria, Prussia, and other powers?”
“Who were the Poles in the provinces lately united to Russia, and, consequently, subjects of the Great Sovereign, that were in correspondence with Kosciuszko, and had promised to rise with him?
N. B.–It is insisted on that the prisoner answer this question without any reserve, and name them all, else he may repent it.”
“Whence had the rebels money to pay their troops, and defray the expenses of War?”
“What were Kosciuszko's relations with Prince Adam Czartoryski, and what is the amount of money that the Princes and Princess gave for the first expenses of the revolution?”
“Was the King of Poland very active and zealous in the cause of the revolution? What was his conduct?”
“Who were the first originators of the insurrection at Warsaw? What means had Kollontay used to poison the Prince-Primate?”
“Where were the archives of the National Council and General Kosciuszko's papers deposited?”
These were the principal questions, which they asked me to answer immediately, besides many others which I omit on account of their being less important.
It was, as I have already mentioned, about nine o'clock in the evening, when I received this book; its pages were numbered, and they refused to give me any other paper to make a rough draught. I could not hold my pen in my right hand; I was therefore obliged, though ill, dejected, and suffering great pain, to endeavour to write with my left hand, and to scribble crooked and often illegible letters by the faint light of a wretched candle, and in the presence of a sergeant, sitting opposite and watching, lest I should use the pen to write on some other piece of paper. I spent the whole night in performing this difficult task; when, about six o'clock in the morning, the sergeant, seeing with what difficulty I was advancing in my labour, for the first time opened his mouth, and said to me; “You must make haste, for at eight o'clock Alexander-Nikolaiewicz is to lay your work before the Empress.” “I will finish it as soon as I am able,” said I, but my answers were not ready before nine o'clock, and were nearly as follow:–
“The Poles, and especially those who had escaped from the partition twice repeated by our neighbours, as long as they had one single province left them, as long as the name of their country was not annihilated, and in spite of their weakness and misfortunes, considered themselves still as a free and independent nation; and, as such, they believed it to be their duty to defend themselves against encroachment upon their rights and territory, in short, against every foreign sway, endeavouring by all possible means to recover the immense losses they had lately sustained. Persuaded of this truth, and prompted more by zeal and despair than by prudence and reflection, they made their last effort. They took up arms, not as rebels who rise against a legitimate authority, but as a free nation, provoked by encroachments a thousand times repeated. They fell, and the great Sovereign, who knows how to value noble actions, far from treating with severity an innocent nation, and its defenders who are in her power, will not, I am confident, refuse them that compassion and interest which unfortunate virtue always excites in a magnanimous heart.
“It is the truth, Monsieur le Comte, that you require from me; I will therefore tell it, should it be even disagreeable to you. It is the invasion of Poland; it is the subversion of a monarchical constitution, established, however, upon the foundation of a rational liberty; it is the partition of our finest provinces, banishments, proscriptions, and oppression joined to insult, that have compelled the Poles to make this attempt to deliver themselves from so many evils. Not satisfied with having wrested from us three-fourths of our provinces, you have exercised over the rest of an unhappy kingdom a despotic authority. The King, though of a weak character and entirely devoted to your will, was not sheltered from insult and derision. In the elections, your troops chose deputies. When the Diet was assembled, you surrounded the House of Senators with your soldiers and cannon; your Ambassador sat at the King's side, and declared that no representative should move from his place until he signed the treaty of partition. Although the members of the Diet were of your choice, yet none of them had the impudence to speak in your favour; you therefore besieged them in their own house, refusing them all food; you caused those to be arrested in their places who raised their voice against such acts of violence, and your Ambassador, being tired himself, took the silence, distress and grief of the assembly for consent. Now, what was your conduct within the country? Your troops, not satisfied with being fed and lodged free of expense, were guilty of odious excesses. The inhabitants were shamefully treated; their wives and daughters violated; their flocks killed; and their corn-fields burnt before the harvest. These are the acts of the Russian Ministers and Generals, acts contrary, doubtless, to the feelings of the Empress and the orders she had given them,—that drove the nation to insurrection. It is your Ambassadors and Generals then, and not we, who were the authors of the revolution.
"You ask me what object the insurgents had in view, and what they would have done if the revolution had proved successful? The object of the revolution was to free Poland from all the calamities which beset her, to compel the troops to leave the country, and to recover, if possible, our provinces. All the rest would have been freely discussed, when Poland was emancipated from foreign sway. Marshal Potocki, General Kosciuszko, and all right-minded Poles would, very likely, have offered the crown to the Grand-Duke Constantine, on condition that he would accept the constitution of the 3d May, and that the Russians would solemnly promise never again to interfere in the affairs of Poland.
“I have already said that, surrounded as we were with the armies of the three allied powers, it was impossible for us to have any communication with foreign countries. The Committee of Public Safety sent us no assistance; as to the other powers, which of them would have dared to declare itself, and embrace openly the cause of a nation on the eve of being crushed by the immensely superior forces united against it?
“I am not aware that there were any Poles in the provinces lately united to Russia, who thought of rising or favouring our revolution. It may be that there were some; but I declare that their names are entirely unknown to me.
“The money for defraying the expenses of war was derived from the following sources: 1st. from pretty considerable sums that General Madalinski (the first who took arms and raised the banner of revolution,) took from the Prussians; 2d. from the silver plate taken from the churches at Cracow, Warsaw, &c.; 3d. from taxes, consisting of the half of the income of every citizen, which were imposed and raised in the course of two months; 4th. from public donations. This last source was certainly the most prolific, I might say almost inexhaustible: men, women, old and young, of every rank and condition in life, came in crowds to lay offerings on the altar of their fatherland. The most of these offerings consisted of diamonds, jewels of every kind, plate, horses, &c. As to the pretended sum of money advanced by the family of Czartoryski, I have never heard it mentioned, but I venture to say that the recent confiscations having utterly drained the resources of this family, and that, so far from being able to make advances in money, they could not find the means of meeting their own liabilities.
“I need not describe the character of the King of Poland, for who can know him better than the Russian Cabinet? This prince, well informed, and even learned, possessed all the advantages that render a private individual amiable; he would even have governed tolerably a monarchy already consolidated and peaceful; but never was a prince less fit to be at the head of a nation plunged in anarchy, and whose annihilation was sworn by the three most formidable powers in Europe. Great character, and undaunted courage alone could have saved Poland. Stanislaus-Augustus had neither of them. More vain than ambitious, he preferred being praised by travellers and newspaper editors to leaving a name in history. Timid and indolent, the least threat of Russia caused him to abandon views the most beneficial to his country. At the time of the first partition, he made some speeches and protestations which might have rendered him interesting in the eyes of Europe, without, however, compromising him with Russia. From that epoch, with his permanent council, liberum veto, and all those monstrosities which you have established, warranted, and called cardinal laws, and with his fifteen millions of florins of pocket-money, Stanislaus-Augustus, under the shadow of your wing, amidst his mistresses, painters, and sculptors, slept soundly over a space of twelve years. In the year 1788, the Poles, seeing Russia engaged in a war both with the Porte and Sweden, a circumstance which had not occurred for the last sixty years, deemed it a favourable moment for raising their country from the humiliating degradation into which it had fallen. For the first time during the last sixty years, they dared to act as a free nation, and the more intolerable their yoke and degradation were, the longer their voice of indignation had been stifled, the more powerful and energetic was its outburst. At this appeal, Stanislaus, who already saw Russian bayonets arriving, trembled upon his throne, and put in operation all his petty intrigues, in order to prevail upon the Diet and the nation to remain in their former lethargy. But the impulse was already given; promises, exhortations, the succour of the King of Prussia, who seemed to offer it with such good faith, and particularly the fear of seeing the nation rise against him, compelled the King at last to comply with the wishes of the Diet. The constitution of the 3d of May securing him, instead of the empty title of King, a truly monarchical authority, shewed him the difference between his being united with the nation and his living in a cowardly manner under foreign guardianship. During eighteen months, he seemed to labour with zeal and sincerity for the weal of his kingdom; the nation forgot his former faults, and made an idol of him. In 1792, on the first rumour of the invasion meditated by Russia, so high was his enthusiasm, that he swore he would go with his white horses, put himself at the head of the army, and save the state or die with glory. Ah! he would have saved the state had he persisted in this noble determination. But, as soon as the war broke out, danger appeared, and Russian armies gained ground, Stanislaus-Augustus postponed from day to day his departure for the army, avoiding his ministers, retiring into his seraglio, and yielding entirely to the tears and importunities of his sisters and mistresses. From this ignoble retreat emanated the order for suspending hostilities, and, finally, his accession to the confederation of Targowica. From being a King, he became again a protégé, if not a slave; he lost all his authority, and three-fourths of his dominions.
At this time I was obliged, with several of my countrymen, to seek refuge in foreign countries. It is said that Stanislaus-Augustus experienced sometimes all the shame, remorse, and anguish of a guilty conscience, and that he consoled himself in sending to all the European newspaper editors his justification, written with his own hand, in which he threw the blame on the great difficulties he had to conquer, and very often too, on his own nation. With these articles were enclosed gold boxes, and other presents. But he never made any more serious attempts to wipe off the disgrace with which he was covered, and, indeed, it was too late, as the only time when he could have lived and died as a King had already passed.
“From all that I have had the honour to tell you, Monsieur le Comte, you will perceive distinctly that the King of Poland has sinned against his own nation, but never against Russia. The Poles, cautious after a sad experience, distrusted him ; he was not at all aware of the insurrection they were preparing, and, in the course of events, he never belied his character. When General Madalinski raised the banner, and General Kosciuszko proclaimed the act of insurrection at Cracow, Stanislaus-Augustus, believing that those desperate and mad bravadoes would soon be put down by the superiority of Russian armies, declared the insurgents rebels to their country, and banished the ringleaders; but when, soon after, the garrison and citizens of Warsaw defeated the Russians, and compelled them to evacuate the capital, seeing himself deprived of every protection, and fearing the outburst of popular indignation, he hastened again to assure the people that he would never separate himself from the nation, and presented Mons. Zakrzewski, a man much beloved by the citizens, with the presidentship or mayoralty of the city of Warsaw. But all these promises deceived nobody; though he was uniformly treated with all possible respect, and they communicated to him even the discussions of the Supreme National Council, he took no part in the decisions which were passed; in short, he had no power. His caresses, complaints, and patriotic gifts, having produced no change in the line of conduct they adopted respecting him, he had recourse to secret intrigues, which were the cause of many dissensions, and created great excitement in the public mind. I repeat, then, that the King of Poland has not wronged Russia in any way. Leave to posterity the duty of punishing him.
“In answer to other principal questions which have been put to me, I will add, that the very same causes which compelled the provinces to take arms, suggested to the inhabitants of Warsaw the thought of getting rid of their guests. Oppression, contributions, imprisonments, were more frequent there than anywhere else. I was not in the capital at the time, I am therefore not able to give any particulars regarding that movement. All I can say is, that the military acted in perfect unison with the citizens.
“I have never heard of the Prince Primate being poisoned by Abbot Kollontay. The prince died a natural death, of liver complaint, as was ascertained after his decease.
“The archives of the Supreme National Council were at Warsaw, and General Kosciuszko's papers at Marimont, his headquarters.”
I terminated my work, and addressed Samoilow nearly in the following manner:—
“You see, Sir, that my answers are equally frank and sincere. Being a prisoner of war, and still shut up in an unwholesome and solitary dungeon, I know that, though I have nothing to hope, I have everything to fear. It is not, however, this which renders me most unhappy. The thought of seeing my country a prey to all calamities, to the horrors of war, in danger, or perhaps even on the point of losing its existence for ever; it is this that fills my heart with the most painful and poignant grief. The clemency and profound wisdom of her Majesty the Empress, are the only hope I look to. If this great sovereign, at whose single word empires rise and fall, lends her relieving hand to Poland, she will be entitled to my gratitude for ever, and I will forget my sufferings.”
“State Prison, December the 27th, 1794.”
Whilst, tired with writing all the night, I was lying on my bed, without being able to close my eyes, at about twelve o'clock Makarow entered my room. He was accompanied by Secretary Fuchs, of German extraction, and employed in Samoilow's secret office as a translator of foreign languages. They told me that my answers, which had been just read, were deemed unsatisfactory, and that I must write others, if I did not wish to work out my own destruction. Fuchs, saying this, handed me a new book like the first, and, to spare me trouble, offered himself, even, to write to my dictation, but I replied, that knowing nothing, I had nothing to add. “You must write, nevertheless,” said they, and went out. I wrote, therefore, in order to show them, once more, the impossibility of our having, during the revolution, any intercourse with the Poles in the Russian provinces, or with foreign courts, and having repeated that there was no secret in our revotion to tell, I sent them back their book in the evening.
Two days after this, I had again a visit of Procurator-General Samoilow. He came this time, dressed in a short dark green velvet coat, lined with sable, with gold tassels hanging before and behind, and decorations on both sides. He began the conversation, by telling me that they had been very much displeased with my depositions, that I had told them nothing new, and that, from a defendant I became a complainant, throwing all the fault upon the subjects of Her Gracious Majesty. I told him that I had said the truth, and that it was not my fault if the secrets he was looking for had never existed. “They have existed,” interrupted he with rage, “and you know them, for nothing was hidden from you. You are summoned here, to declare immediately the names of the Poles of Red-Russia,[2] who were in correspondence with you, and who had promised to revolt. Remember that we already know all that I am asking you here; that your Poland no longer exists, and that all the ringleaders of the revolution, your Potockis, Kollontays, &c., are in our hands. If you persist in denial, you will only ruin yourself, without doing good to any one. What, then, are the names of these rebels?”–“I have told you, Monsieur le Comte, that I know none of them.”—“Ah! you don't know them; you don’t want to tell their names.—Recollect where you are.”—“I know,” said I, “that I am in prison, and that my life is in your hands.”—“Do you know the means which are used to compel prisoners to tell truth, when they persist in denying it?”—“I do know, and am ready to suffer tortures, but you will obtain nothing from me by these means.” Then Samoilow, repressing his rage. said to me in a low voice: “You shall never leave this place,” and went out.
I knew perfectly the motives which made him insist, with such violence, on knowing the names of my unfortunate countrymen who were compromised in the insurrection. The Empress, stimulated by the instigation of her favourite and ministers, caused, on the least suspicion, the estates of the patriots to be confiscated; consequently the more their number increased, the greater chance had those gentlemen of becoming their proprietors, and I am convinced that it was in conformity with their advice that Catherine, entangled in their intrigues, with feelings blunted and a mind weakened by age, definitively decided upon the partition of the little that remained of Poland, an act as unjust and atrocious in itself, as it was impolitic for her empire; an act, however, uncommonly agreeable to her favourites, who, being gorged with rapine and robbery, were thus insured, under the guarantee of two other great European powers, against any future event. As to myself, I have not, at least in this circumstance, had to reproach myself with the ruin of any of my countrymen, but I have since learned that there was a person who acted quite differently. And why should I not name him here? It is, perhaps, equally just and agreeable to pay tribute to truth, and to expose hypocrisy and vice. The name of that man is Deboli. Descended from a respectable French family, established, at least, for two centuries in Poland, he had received his education in the Military Academy at Warsaw. For more than twenty years he was Polish Ambassador at St. Petersburg; weak, submissive, and cringing, he represented an enslaved King with a suitable baseness. He married a Russian lady, but he was not, on that account, more respected by the Empress. Devoted to Stanislaus, he blindly followed all the oscillations of his uncertain and pusillanimous character. At the time of the Diet of four years, scarcely had the King delivered some speeches full of energy and patriotism, when Deboli became immediately a zealous and active minister. His despatches, although written in a confused and abstruse style, were full of sure information, and salutary advices. He did so much to distinguish himself as a patriot, that when, in 1792, the King had, in a cowardly manner, abandoned the national cause, the Russians, trampling all etiquette under foot, drove his minister from St. Petersburg, without granting him even an audience of leave. When he returned to Warsaw, at the time of the persecution of the patriots, he attached himself more and more to the patriotic party, and as soon as the revolution in 1792 broke out, he was appointed a member of the National Council. Active, laborious, and simple in his manners, though he continued his relations with the King, he was generally esteemed. When it was necessary to establish paper money in the country, a thing entirely new in Poland, and inspiring but little confidence, on account of the uncertainty and danger of our future political existence, Deboli was the first who brought fifty thousand florins in specie to exchange for notes, the value of which was very doubtful. He had the honour of possessing, in some measure, the confidence of Kosciuszko, who had more reluctance than pleasure in conferring such a favour on any one. Then the very same man who had deserved to be driven from St. Petersburg, and to be persecuted by the Russians, and who had served the common cause with all his might and fortune, took, all at once, leave of absence, at the time when the first siege of Warsaw was raised, and went straight to Russia, to Field-Marshal Romanzow's, and disclosed to him all that he knew of the revolution. Before having certain knowledge of what I have just said, I had already suspected it from one of the questions which were put to me at the examination, and which I forgot to mention at its proper place. I was asked what were the grievances of the Cossacks under the Russian government, since they had made proposals to pass to our side, adding that they knew from a certain source that I had been employed in that affair. So delicate a negotiation was indeed a secret, even to the most distinguished persons in the revolutionary party. Deboli and myself were alone acquainted with it; as he knew Russian very well, he translated my despatches into that language, sent them and received answers. I was confounded and indignant at this treason, in a man who had already given proofs of his patriotism; but such is the weakness, or rather natural inconsistency of the character of most men. Nevertheless these words: “You shall never leave this place,” uttered by Samoilow when he was leaving me, weighed much on my mind and imagination. It is said that a quiet conscience consoles us in all our misfortunes. Undoubtedly the testimony which an honest heart gives to itself, is very alleviating in misfortune; it can enable us to endure persecutions, poverty, and the greatest reverses of fate; still these valuable blessings cannot make amends for the loss of liberty. Accustomed from my boyhood to an active and independent life; fond of pleasures, and feeling all the charms of society, the idea of being shut up in a dismal and solitary prison, without ever breathing the fresh air, seeing my fellow-creatures, or hearing their voice, obliged to tear with my fingers the food given me, constantly surrounded with soldiers and spies, as useless as intolerable, and above all, the idea of remaining in this state of suffering for ever, or at least for a long time, often baffled all my courage and philosophy. Present and future, my situation and that of those who were dear to me, presented to me only afflicting images; my country ravaged with fire and sword, and annihilated for ever; relations and friends sharing my fate, or dragging out in exile their miserable life; not a word from them;—in short, the world beyond the walls did no longer exist for me. Solitude and a dreadful silence filled my mind with a host of dismal ideas, from which no external object turned my attention. We were in the heart of winter; the sun, which did not rise before nine o'clock, was pale and covered with thick clouds; in the bright days there was such intense cold, that many a time I saw crows flying in the air suddenly frozen to death, and falling down. The cries of those birds, which were very numerous in the neighbourhood of the fortress, were insupportable. The intense cold was generally followed by snow, falling in large flakes, sometimes during several consecutive days, and then nothing could appear more monotonous and gloomy. At two o'clock in the afternoon, the waning light of the sun entirely ceased, leaving us in complete darkness; the officers who guarded me always left me for a long time in the dark, until they deigned to bring me a wretched candle, the wick of which I was obliged to cut now and then with two crusts of bread, the use of snuffers, as well as every article of iron, being strictly prohibited.
During several days after the last visit of Samoilow, I only once saw Makarow and Fuchs, who came to ask me to give them in writing my name, age, the place where I had been educated, and the foreign countries I had visited. I did not know the reason of this, but had no objection to comply with their request.
After three weeks of this deplorable existence, I once heard, about ten o'clock in the evening, a noise in Fischer’s room; I thought I heard Fuchs’ voice, and soldiers were going in and out. At last Fuchs entered hastily, and asked me how much money of mine was in the box they had taken from me, and how much belonged to Fischer. I told him the amount belonging to me, and soon after I heard several persons passing through the corridor; the noise was lost at the door of the prison, and I did not doubt of Fischer’s being released. Whilst I was rejoicing at his good luck, I was afflicted at being thus left, and destined to remain quite alone in my prison. On the following day, my supposition that Fischer had left the prison, was confirmed, by observing that the corporal who used to come every morning to borrow a comb for my companion, did not appear at all. At twelve o'clock, however, he entered my room, bringing me some volumes of Plutarch, which I had lent to Fischer. “He has left us then,” said I, “he is free?” He stared at me, turned, and seeing that the soldiers were not in the room, added in a low voice: “Do not envy his fate, he is not gone to his native country.”
One night the officer told me to follow him, and led me immediately to a cell at the other end of the passage; my portmanteau was brought in, and I was informed that I should soon return to my own room. The one I had just entered was so small that there was only a distance of three paces from the table to the door, which was all the extent of my walk. I heard men working in the room I had just left, and buckets with lime were brought, very likely to whitewash the walls; in short, everything showed that they were expecting new guests. Four or five days after, I was reinstated in my first room, with a mystery and caution which I should have deemed ridiculous, if they had not sadly reminded me what importance they attached to my person, and how much they seemed to apprehend my escaping them.
- ↑ Hugh Kollontay, the Vice-Chancellor of Poland, one of the most distinguished statesmen of his time and country, took a prominent part in all the attempts which were made by the Polish patriots to preserve their country from the fate which finally crushed her. After the events of 1794, Kollontay was long imprisoned at Olmutz. He died at Warsaw in 1812. As to his political and literary labours, we refer our readers to the article Kollontay, in the Encyclopédie des gens du monde, published at Paris.
- ↑ Thus the Court of St. Petersburg baptized Volhynia, Podolia, and Ukrania, wrested from Poland only eighteen months ago.