During a journey through some parts of Russia a few years ago, we engaged,
in preference to the imperial post-chaise, a private conveyance for a
considerable distance, the driver being a Jew--generally preferred in the
East on account of their sobriety and general trustworthiness. On the road
my companion became communicative, and entered into philosophic-religious
discussion--a topic of frequent occurrence among these bilingual
populations. After a somewhat desultory harangue, he suddenly became
silent and sad, having just uttered the words: "If a Chassid goes astray,
what does he become? A meschumed, _i.e._ an apostate."--"To what class of
people do you allude?" I inquired.--"Well, it just entered my head,
because we have to pass the house of one of them--I mean the 'forced
ones.'"--"Forced!" I thought of a religious sect. "Are they Christians or
Jews?"--"Neither the one nor the other," was the reply, "but simply
'forced.' Oh, sir, it is a great misery and a great crime! Our children at
least will not know anything of it, because new victims do not arise, and
on the marriage of these parties rests a curse--they remain sterile! But
what am I saying? It is rather a blessing--a mercy! Should thus a
terrible misery be perpetuated? These forced people are childless. Well,
God knows best. I am a fool, a sinner to speak about it." No entreaty of
mine would induce my Jewish companion to afford further information
concerning this peculiar people. But before the end of our journey I heard
unexpectedly more about this unfortunate class of Russian subjects. We
travelled westward through the valley of the Dniester, a district but
thinly peopled, and rested at an inn on the borders of an extensive
forest.
Amidst the raillery going on in the principal room of this hostelry
between guests of different nationalities, we had not heard the noise of
wheels which slowly moved towards the house. It was a very poor
conveyance, containing a small cask and a basket. The young hostess arose
hastily, and, approaching the owner, said in a whisper, "What is it you
want?" A slight paleness overspread her countenance, and stranger still
was the demeanour of my coachman. "Sir, sir!" he exclaimed loudly, turning
towards me, stretching out his hands as if seeking support, or warding off
some impending danger. "What is the matter?" I rejoined, greatly
surprised: but he merely shook his head, and stared at the new comer.
He was an elderly peasant, attired in the usual garb of the
country-people; only at a more close inspection I noticed that he wore a
fine white shirt. Of his face I could see but little, it being hidden
behind the broad brim of his straw hat.
"Hostess," he said, addressing the young woman, "will you purchase
something of me? I have some old brandy, wooden spoons and plates,
pepper-boxes, needle-cases, &c., all made of good hard wood, and very
cheap." In an almost supplicating tone he uttered these words very slowly,
with downcast eyes. From his pronunciation he appeared to be a Pole.
The hostess looked shyly up to him.
"You know my brother-in-law has forbidden me to have dealings with you,"
she said hesitatingly, "on account of your wife; but to-day he is not at
home." After a momentary silence, turning towards the driver, she
continued, "Reb Ruessan, will you betray me? You come frequently this way."
In reply he merely shrugged his shoulders and moved away. Turning again
with some impatience to the peasant, she said, "Bring me a dish and two
spoons." When he had gone to fetch these articles, the woman once more
accosted my coachman.
"You must not blame me; they are very poor people!"
"Certainly they are very poor"--he replied in a milder tone. "During life,
hunger and misery, and after death--hell! and all undeserved!" But the man
stood already, at this utterance, with his basket in the room. The bargain
was soon concluded, and the few copeks paid. Curiosity prompted me to step
forward and examine the merchandise.
"I have also cigar-cases," said the peasant, humbly raising his hat. But
his face was far more interesting than his wares. You rarely see such
features! However great the misery on earth, this pale, pain-stricken
countenance was unique in its kind, revealing yet traces of sullen
defiance, and the glance of his eyes moved instantly the heart of the
beholder--a weary, almost fixed gaze, and yet full of passionate mourning.
"You are a Pole!" I observed after a pause.
"Yes," he replied.
"And do you live in this neighbourhood?"
"At the inn eight werst from here. I am the keeper."
"And besides wood-carver?"
"We must do the best we can," was his reply. "We have but rarely any
guests at our house."
"Does your hostelry lie outside the main road?"
"No, close to the high road, sir. It was at one time the best inn between
the Bug and the Dniester. But now carriers do not like to stay at our
house."
"And why not?"
"Because they consider it a sin--especially the Jews." Suddenly, with
seeming uneasiness and haste, he asked, "Will you purchase anything? This
box, perhaps. Upon the lid is engraved a fine country-house."
Attracted by the delicate execution, I inquired, "And is this your own
workmanship?"
"Yes," was his reply.
"You are an artist! And pray where did you learn wood-engraving?"
"At Kamieniec-Poddski."
"At the fortress?"
"Yes, during the insurrection of 1863."
"Were you among the insurgents?"
"No, but the authorities feared I might join them--hence I and the other
forced ones were incarcerated in the fortress when the insurrection broke
out, and again set free when it was suppressed."
"Without any cause?"
"Without the slightest. I was already at that time a crushed man. When yet
a youth the marrow of my bones had been poisoned in the mines of Siberia.
During the whole time of my settlement, I have been since 1858 keeper of
that inn; I gave the authorities no cause for suspicion, but I was a
'forced man,' and that sufficed for pouncing upon me."
"Forced! what does it mean?"
"Well, a person forced to accept, when to others free choice is
left--domicile, trade or calling, wife and religion."
"Terrible!" I exclaimed. "And you submitted?" A little smile played around
his thin lips.
"Are you so much moved at my fate? We generally bear very easily the most
severe pains endured by others."
"That is a saying of Larochefoucauld," I said, somewhat surprised. "Have
you read him?"
"I was at one time very fond of French literature. But pardon my acrimony.
I am but little accustomed to sympathy, and indeed of what avail would it
be to me now!" He stared painfully at the ground, and I also became
silent, convinced that any superficial expression of sympathy would, under
the circumstances, be downright mockery.
A painful pause ensued, which I broke with the question, if he had worked
the engraving upon the lid of the box after a pattern.
"No, from memory," was his rejoinder.
"It is a peculiar kind of architecture!"
"It is like all gentlemen's houses in Littauen; only the old tree is very
striking. It was a very old house."
"Has been? Does it exist no longer?"
"It was burnt down seven years ago by the Russians, after they had first
ransacked it. They evidently were not aware that they destroyed their own
property. It had been confiscated years before, and had been Crown
property since 1848."
"And have you yet the outlines of the building so firmly engraved on your
memory?"
"Of course! it was my birth-place, which I had rarely left until I was
eighteen years old. Such things are not easily forgotten. And although
more than twenty years have passed since this sad affair, hardly a day
passed on which I did not think of my paternal home. I was aware of the
death of my mother, and that my cousin was worse than dead--perhaps I
ought to have rejoiced when the old mansion was burnt to the ground; but
yet I could not suppress a tear when the news reached me. There is hardly
anything on earth which can now move me." I record literally what the
unfortunate man related. My Jewish coachman, not easily impressed, had
during the conversation crept gradually nearer, and shook his head
seriously and sorrowfully.
"Excuse me, Pani Walerian," he interrupted: "upon my honour, yours is a
sad story!" He launched out into practical politics, and concluded thus:
"A Pole is not as clever as I am. If he (the Pole) was the equal of the
Russian, well and good, fight it out; but the Russian is a hundred times
stronger; therefore, Pani Walerian, why irritate him, why confront him?"
I could not help laughing at these remarks; but the poor "forced one"
remained unmoved; and only after some silence, he observed, turning
towards me:
"I have never even confronted the Russians. I merely received the
punishment of the criminal, without being one, or venturing my all in my
people's cause. I was very young, when I was transported to
Siberia--little more than nineteen years old. My father had died early. I
managed our small property, and a cousin of mine, a pretty girl, sixteen
years old, lived at our house. Indeed, I had no thoughts of politics. It
is true I wore the national costume, perused our poets, especially
Mickiewicz and Slowaski, and had on the wall of my bedroom a portrait of
Kosciuszko. For such kind of high treason even the Russian Government
would not have crushed me in ordinary times--but it was the year 1848.
'Nicolai Pawlowitch' had not sworn in vain that if the whole of Europe was
in flames, no spark should arise in his empire--and by streams of blood
and tears, he achieved his object. Wherever a young Polish noble lived who
was suspected of revolutionary tendencies, repeated domiciliary searches
were made; and if only a single prohibited book was found, the dread fiat
went forth, 'To Siberia with him!'
"In my own case it came like a thunderbolt. I was already in Siberia, and
could not yet realize my misery. During the whole long journey I was more
or less delirious. I hoped for a speedy liberation, for I was altogether
innocent, and at that time," he continued with a bitter smile, "I yet
believed in God. When all hope became extinct, I began madly to rave, but
finally settled down utterly crushed and callous. It was a fearful
state--for weeks together, all my past life seemed a complete blank, at
most I still remembered my name. This, sir, is literally true: Siberia is
a very peculiar place."
The poor fellow had sunk down upon a bench, his hands rested powerless in
his lap. I never have seen a face so utterly worn and pain-stricken. After
a while he continued:
"Ten years had thus passed away; at least, I was told so--I had long
ceased to count the days of my misery. For what purpose should I have done
so?
"I had sunk so low that I felt no pity even for my terrible condition. One
day I was brought before the Inspector, together with some of my
companions. This official informed us that we had been pardoned on
condition of becoming colonists in New Russia. The mercy of the Czar would
assign to each of us a place of residence, a trade, and a lawful wife, who
would be also a pardoned convict. We must of course, in addition, be
converted to the Orthodox Greek Church. This latter stipulation did but
little concern us. We readily accepted the conditions, for the people are
glad of leaving Siberia, no matter whither, even to meet death itself. And
had we not been pardoned? Alexander Nikolajewitch is a gracious lord. In
Siberia the mines are over-crowded, and in South Russia the steppes are
empty! Oh, he is a philanthropist! decus et deliciae generis humani! But
perhaps I wrong him. We entered upon our long journey, and proceeded
slowly south-west. In about eight months we reached Mohilew. Here we were
only kept in easy confinement, and above all, brought under the influence
of the pope. This was a rapid proceeding. One morning we were driven
together into a large room, about one hundred men, and an equal number of
women. Presently the priest entered; a powerful and dirty fellow, who
appeared to have invigorated himself for his holy work with a considerable
dose of gin, for we could smell it at least ten paces off, and he had some
difficulty in keeping upon his legs.
"'You ragamuffins!' he stammered; 'you vermin of humanity! you are to
become Orthodox Christians; but surely I shall not take much trouble with
you. For, what do you think I get per head? Ten copeks, you vermin! ten
copeks per head. Who will be a missionary at such pay? I certainly do it
to-day for the last time! Indeed, our good father Alexander Nikolajewitch
caused one rouble to be set in the tariff; but that rascal, the director,
pockets ninety copeks, and leaves only ten for me. To-day, however, I have
undertaken your conversion, because I am told there are many of you. Now
listen! you are now Catholics, Protestants, Jews! That is sad mistake; for
every Jew is a blood-sucker, every Protestant a dog, and every Catholic a
pig. Such is their lot in life--but after death? carrion, my good people,
carrion! And will Christ have mercy on them at the last day? Verily no! He
will not dream of such a thing! And until then? Hell-fire! Therefore, good
people, why should you suffer such torments? Be converted! Those who agree
to become Orthodox Christians, keep silent; those who demur, receive the
knout and go back to Siberia. Wherefore, my dear brothers and sisters, I
ask, will you become Orthodox Christians?'
"We remained silent.
"'Well,' continued the priest, 'now pay attention! Those who are already
Christians need only to lift up the right hand, and repeat after me the
creed. That will soon be done. But with the damned Jews one has always a
special trouble--the Jews I must first baptise. Jews, step forward!--the
other vermin can remain where they now are.' In this solemn manner the
ceremony was brought to a conclusion.
"On the day following," M. Walerian continued, "the second act was
performed: the selection of a trade. This act was as spontaneous as our
religious conversion; only, some individual regard became here
indispensable. Three young Government officials were deputed to record our
wishes, and to comply with them as far as the exigencies of the case
admitted. The official before whom I appeared was very juvenile. Though
externally very polished, he was in reality a frightfully coarse and cruel
youth, without a spark of human feeling, so far as we were concerned. We
afforded him no small amount of merriment. This youth inquired carefully
concerning our wishes, and invariably ordered the very opposite. Among us
was a noble lady from Poland, of very ancient lineage, very feeble and
miserable, whose utter helplessness might well inspire the most callous
heart with respect and compassion. The lady was too old to be married to
one of the 'forced ones,' and was therefore asked to state what kind of
occupation she desired. She entreated to be employed in some school for
daughters of military officers, there being a demand for such service; but
the young gentleman ordered her to go as laundress to the barracks at
Mohilew! An aged Jew had been sent to Siberia for having smuggled
prohibited books across the frontiers. He had been the owner of a printing
establishment, and was well acquainted with the business. 'Could he not be
employed in one of the Imperial printing offices; and if possible,' urged
the aged man, 'be permitted to reside in a place where few or no Jews
lived?' He had under compulsion changed his religion; to which he was yet
fervently attached, and trembled at the thought that his former
co-religionists would none the less avoid him as an apostate. The young
official noted down his request, and made him a police agent at Miaskowka,
a small town in the government district of Podolien, almost exclusively
inhabited by Jews. Another, a former schoolmaster, in the last stages of
consumption, begged on his knees to be permitted to die quietly in some
country village. 'That is certainly a modest request!' observed this
worthless youth; and sent him as a waiter to a hospital. Need I tell how I
fared? Being misled, like the rest, by the hypocritical air and seeming
concern of this rascal, I made known to him my desire to obtain the post
of under-steward at some remote Crown estate, where I might have as little
intercourse as possible with my fellow-men. And thus, sir, I became the
keeper of the small inn on a much-frequented highway!"
The unfortunate man arose suddenly, and paced the room in a state of great
excitement.
"But now comes the best of all," he exclaimed, with a desperate
effort--"the last act, the choice of a wife." Again an internal struggle
overpowered the unhappy narrator--a sudden and heavy tear rolled down his
care-worn cheek, evidently caused by the remembrance of this abominable
transaction. "It was a terrible ordeal," he said. "Sir, sir," he continued
after a momentary pause, "since the sun has risen in our horizon, he has
shone on many a cruel game which the mighty of the earth have played with
the helpless, but a more abominable farce has hardly ever been enacted
than the one I am now relating--the manner in which we unfortunate people
were coupled together. In my youth I read how Carrier at Nantes murdered
the Royalists; how he caused the first best man to be tied with a rope to
a woman, and carried down the Loire in a boat. In the middle of the river
a trap-door was suddenly opened, and the unfortunate couple disappeared in
the waves. But that monster was an angel compared with the officials of
the Czar; and these republican marriages were a benevolent act in
comparison with those we were forced to conclude. At Nantes, the victims
were tied together for a mutual death; we for our mutual lives!... On a
subsequent morning we were once more ushered into the room where our
conversion had taken place. There were present about thirty men and an
equal number of women. Together with the latter entered the official who
had so considerately ordered our lot as regards a livelihood.
"'Ladies and gentlemen,' he commenced with a nasal twang, 'his Majesty has
graciously pardoned you, and desires to see you all happy. Now, the lonely
man is seldom a happy man; and hence you are to marry. Every gentleman is
free to select a partner, provided of course the lady accepts the choice.
And in order that none of you gentlemen may be placed in the invidious
position of having to select a partner unworthy of him, supreme
benevolence has ordered that an adequate number of ladies, partly from
penal settlements and partly from houses of correction, should be now
offered you. As his Majesty's solicitude for your welfare has already
assigned you an occupation, you may now follow unhesitatingly the
promptings of your own hearts in the choice of a wife. Ladies and
gentlemen, yours is the happy privilege to realise the dream of a purely
socialistic marriage. Make, then, your selection without delay; and as
"all genuine love is instantaneous, sudden as a lightning flash, and soft
as the breezes of spring"--to use the words of our poet Lermontoff--I
consider one hour sufficient. Bear also in mind that marriages are
ratified in heaven, and trust implicitly to your own heart. I offer you
beforehand, ladies and gentlemen, my congratulations.'
"After this address, the young rascal placed his watch in front of him on
the table, sat down, and grinned maliciously at our helpless condition.
The full measure of scorn implied in this speech but few of us entirely
realised, for we were in truth a curious assembly. The most extravagant
imagination could hardly picture more glaring contrasts! Side by side with
the bestial Bessarabian herdsman, who in a fit of intoxication had slain
the whole of his family, stood the highly cultivated professor from Wilna,
whom the love of his country and of freedom had consigned to the mines of
Siberia; the most desperate thief and shoplifter from Moscow, and the
Polish nobleman who at the height of his misfortunes still regarded his
honour as the most precious treasure, the ex-professor from Charkow, and
the Cossac-robber from the Don; the forger from Odessa, &c. On my own
right hand stood a thief and deserter from Lipkany, and on the left a
Baschkire, who had been pardoned at the foot of the gallows, though he had
once assisted in roasting alive a Jewish family in a village inn. A madly
assorted medley of human beings! And the women! The dissolute female
gladly released from the house of correction, because she still more
depraved her already degraded companions, associated with the unfortunate
Polish lady, whose pure mind had never been poisoned by a vulgar word, and
whose quiet happiness had not been disturbed by any prospect of
misfortune, until a single letter, or act of charity to an exiled
countryman, brought her into misery. Pressing against the young girl whose
sole offence consisted in being the unfortunate offspring of a mother sent
to Siberia, might be seen the infamous hag who had habitually decoyed
young girls to ruin, in whose soul every spark of womanhood had long been
extinguished. And these people were called upon to marry; and one hour was
granted them in which to become acquainted and assorted! Sir, you will now
perhaps comprehend my emotion in relating this shocking business!
"I consider it the most shocking and at the same time the most curious
outrage which has ever been committed." The "forced" man paused, a deadly
pallor suffused his countenance, and his agitation was great. The young
hostess appeared perfectly stunned, whilst Reb Ruessan, the coachman, bent
his head in evident compassion.
After a while M. Walerian continued in a calmer mood. "It must certainly
have been an entertaining spectacle to notice the behaviour of this
ill-assorted people at that trying hour. Even the barefaced monster on his
raised dais betrayed a feverish excitement: he would suddenly jump from
his chair, and again recline, playing the while nervously with his
fingers. I am hardly able to describe the details, being not altogether
unbiassed at this dreadful hour.
"I only know we stood at first in two distinct groups, and for the first
few moments after the official announcement, not a glance was exchanged
between the two sexes, much less a word spoken. A deep silence reigned in
the room, a death-like stillness, varied only by an occasional deep sigh,
or a nervous movement. The minutes passed, certainly not many, but they
seemed to me an eternity!
"Suddenly a loud hoarse voice exclaimed, 'Up, my lads! here are some very
pretty mates!' We all recognised the notorious thief from Moscow, a
haggard withered fellow, with the ugliest face I ever beheld. He crossed
over to the women and examined in his way which would be the most
desirable partner. Here he received an indignant push, and there an
impudent alluring glance. Others, again--the better part--recoiled from
the approach of the brute. He was followed by the Baschkire, who like a
clumsy beast of prey drew nigh, muttering incoherently, 'I will have a fat
woman, the fattest among them.' From his approach even the ugliest and
most impudent instinctively recoiled--this wooer was really too hideous,
at best only suited to a monkey. The third in order who came forward was
the Don-Cossac, a pretty slender youth. An impudent lass jauntily met him
and fell on his neck; but he pushed her aside, and walked towards the girl
who had murdered her child. The discarded female muttered some insulting
words, and hung the next moment on my own neck. I shook her off, and she
repeated the attempt with my neighbour, and again unsuccessfully.
"Her example became contagious: presently the more shameless of the women
made an onslaught on the men. Ten minutes later the scene had changed. In
the centre of the room stood a number of men and women engaged in eager
negotiation--shouting and scolding. The parties who had already agreed
retired to the window-niches, and here and there a man pulled an
unfortunate woman, making desperate efforts to escape from him. The
females who yet retained a spark of womanhood crept into a corner of the
room; and in another recess were three of us--the ex-professor, Count S.,
and myself. We had instinctively come together, watching with painful
emotion this frantic spectacle, not inclined to participate in it. To me
at least the thought of selecting a wife here never occurred.
* * * * *
"'Another half an hour at your disposal, ladies and gentlemen,' exclaimed
our official tormentor; 'twenty minutes--yet fifteen minutes!'
"I stood as if rooted to the ground, my knees trembled, my agitation
increased, but I remained motionless. Indeed, as often as I heard the
unpleasant voice of the official, the blood rushed to my head, but I
advanced not one step. My excitement increased--profound disgust, bitter
despair--the wildest indignation which perhaps ever pierced a poor human
heart. 'No,' I said; 'I must assert the dignity of my manhood!' I was
determined not to make the selection of a wife under the eyes of this man.
Another impulse I could hardly suppress--viz. to throw myself upon this
imperial delegate and strangle him. And if I finally abstained from an act
of violence, it was because I yet loved life, and wished not to end it on
the gallows. Sir," continued M. Walerian, "the source of great misery on
earth is this overpowering instinct of self-preservation; without it, I
should be freed this day from all my misery. Thus I stood, so to speak, at
bay in my corner, using all my efforts to subdue the evil spirit within
me. My looks most probably betrayed me--for when my eyes met those of the
official, I noticed an involuntary shudder. A moment afterwards he
regarded me with a sly and malignant glance. I turned aside and closed my
eyes on this harassing scene.
"'Yet five minutes, ladies and gentlemen! Those as yet undecided must
speed themselves, and unburden their heart, or I shall be compelled by
virtue of my office to tie them together. And although I shall do so
conscientiously, and to the best of my knowledge, there is this risk--that
you engage in a marriage of mere convenience, instead of one of free
choice and inclination.'
"Though my agitation reached its climax, I made no move. I considered
myself an accomplice in this disgraceful outrage, if I within the allotted
five minutes declared my heart and made a choice. But another thought
flashed across my mind: 'I may still be able to prevent the worst. Who
knows with whom that rascal may couple me if I remain altogether passive?
Choose for yourself!'--I made a step forward--a mist seemed before my
eyes--my heart beat wildly--I staggered, I sought figures in order to
distinguish and recognise myself.
"Sir," exclaimed the narrator with a sudden yell, "what scenes did I see
there? I am no coward, but I--I dare not venture to speak of it. Thus I
moved forward; hardly two minutes passed, but days would not suffice to
relate what passed during these terrible moments through my heart and
brain. I noticed in a corner a fainting woman, a young and delicate
creature. I learnt afterwards that she was an orphan child, born of a
dissolute woman in a penal settlement. A coarse fellow with cunning eyes
bent over her, endeavouring to raise her from the ground. I suddenly
pounced upon the fellow, struck him a heavy blow, and carried the
unconscious woman away as if a mere child. I determined to defend her to
the last. But no rescue was attempted, though the forger shook his fists
at me, but had seemingly not the courage to approach nearer. Gazing about
him, another female embraced him, a repulsive woman. He looked at her
somewhat abashed, but soon submitted to her caresses.
"'Ladies and gentlemen! the allotted hour has passed,' said the official.
'I must beg the parties to come forward and make known to me their choice.
This may be repugnant to some of you, but my duties prescribe it. I
especially request the gentlemen in yonder corner to advance'--pointing to
myself and the forger. I clenched my fists involuntarily, but stepped
forward with the fainting woman. 'Cossacks, keep your "Kantschu" in
readiness,' said the official to the guard which surrounded him. Turning
first to me, he said: "And are you, sir, resolved to carry the woman you
now hold in your arms, not only in this room, but through life?' I nodded
assent. 'And what have you to say, damsel?' The poor creature was as yet
unconscious. 'She is in a swoon,' I replied. 'In that case I am sorry,'
continued the official, 'to have to refuse in his Majesty's name my
consent to your union. In the interests of humanity, I require an audible
yes from all parties. I have watched attentively the whole proceedings,'
continued the official--'not from mere curiosity, but partly as a duty,
and partly out of pure sympathy--and I can assure you, sir, without
disparagement to your claims, that the choice of the young lady you now
hold in your arms fell not upon you, but upon the gentleman yonder,'
pointing to the forger. 'It was probably the excess of happiness at this
selection which caused her fainting. For you there is waiting an adequate
recompense--that ripe, desirable beauty who now only reluctantly holds the
arm of your rival. Therefore, changez, Messieurs!' 'Scoundrel!' I
exclaimed, and advanced to seize him. But ere I could lay hold of him, a
fearful blow on my head stretched me stunned and bleeding to the ground.
When I had somewhat recovered, our marriage procession was in progress of
formation. The woman whom the official had assigned to me knelt at my
side, bathing my head, endeavouring to revive me. 'I like you,' she
observed, 'and will treat you well.' She raised me to my feet, placed her
arm in mine, and pushed me in the ranks of the procession, which moved
slowly towards the church. On our road a heavy hand seized me suddenly by
the collar. 'Brother,' grunted a coarse voice in my ear, 'your stout woman
takes my fancy. Will you change with me? Mine is certainly less corpulent,
but younger in years.'
"It was the man behind me--the Baschkire. The female whom he dragged along
was a lean, ugly, dark-complexioned woman, swooning or near a swoon. An
expression of unutterable despair overspread her features, rendering them,
if possible, yet more ugly. 'A woman who can suffer so intensely as this
one unquestionably does, cannot be without a heart--is not altogether
depraved, no matter what cause brought her here.' These reflections
determined me. 'She is preferable to the woman at my side. Done!' I
whispered to the Baschkire. Just crossing the threshold of the church, a
momentary pause ensued, during which we effected the exchange; not without
a murmur, however, on the part of my intended wife. But the Baschkire kept
her quiet; and a closer inspection of her new partner seemed to satisfy
her. The poor woman I led forward seemed hardly aware of the exchange, she
was so entirely absorbed in her grief. We were married. The official only
afterwards became aware of what had happened, but could not now undo it.
But I had to suffer for it--terrible was the punishment."
Not another word was uttered by the unfortunate man. Quite overcome by the
recital of his cruel fate, he suddenly arose and left the house.
On account of the approach of the Jewish Sabbath, my coachman urged on our
journey. Half an hour later, we passed the lonely and desolate hostelry of
poor M. Walerian, the exile of Siberia, who owed so much to imperial
clemency.--F. A. S., _in Belgravia_.