This is what happened two months before the Polish rebellion: a Pole,
one Joseph Cwerczakiewicz, who had come for a brief visit from Paris to
London, was on his return to Paris seized and arrested, together with
C. and M., the latter of whom I have mentioned in connection with the
interview with members of the Polish Committee.
There was a good deal that was strange about the whole arrest. C. had
arrived between 9 and 10 in the evening; he knew no one in Paris and
went straight to M.’s lodging. About 11 o’clock the police made their
appearance and asked for his passport.
‘Here it is,’ and C. gave the police officer a passport with another name
on it and a perfectly regular _visa_.
‘To be sure, to be sure,’ said the man, ‘I knew you were travelling under
that name. Now your portfolio,’ he asked Cwerczakiewicz. It was lying on
the table. The policeman took out the papers, looked through them, and
handing his companion a brief letter addressed E. A., said: ‘Here it is.’
All three were arrested, and their papers taken from them; afterwards
they were released. C. was kept longer than the rest. For the sake of
the prestige of the police they wanted him to tell his name. He would
not give them this gratification. He, too, was released a week later.
When, a year or more afterwards, the Prussian Government initiated the
very absurd Posen Trial, the prosecutor presented among the incriminating
documents papers sent him by the Russian police which had belonged to
Cwerczakiewicz. When the question how these papers had found their
way to Russia was raised, the prosecutor calmly explained that when
Cwerczakiewicz was under arrest, some of his papers had been handed over
by the French police to the Russian Embassy.
The released Poles were ordered to leave France; they came to London. In
London they themselves told me all the details of their arrest, and were
very justly most surprised at the police officer’s knowing that they had
a letter addressed to E. A. Mazzini had given this letter with his own
hands to Cwerczakiewicz, asking him to hand it to Étienne Arago.
‘Did you tell any one about the letter?’ I asked him.
‘No one, absolutely no one,’ answered Cwerczakiewicz.
‘There is some sorcery about it; no suspicion can fall on you or on
Mazzini. Think a little.’
Cwerczakiewicz mused. ‘I know one thing,’ he observed. ‘I did go out for
a short time, and I remember I left the portfolio in an unlocked drawer.’
‘A clue! A clue! Now, allow me, where were you living?’
‘In So-and-so Street in furnished apartments.’
‘Was the landlord an Englishman?’
‘No, a Pole.’
‘Better still. And his name?’
‘Tur; he is a specialist in agriculture.’
‘And in many other things, since he lets furnished rooms. I know a little
of that Tur. Did you ever hear a story about a fellow called Michalowski?’
‘I have heard it alluded to.’
‘Well, I will tell you the story. In the autumn of 1857 I received a
letter from Petersburg _via_ Brussels. An unknown person informed me
with the fullest details that a shopman at Trübner’s called Michalowski
had offered his services to the Third Section for spying on us, asking
for two hundred pounds for his trouble; that, in proof of his merit and
capacity, he had presented a list of the persons who had been at our
house of late, and promised to furnish specimens of manuscripts from the
printing-press. Before I had properly considered what to do, I received a
second letter to the same effect through Rothschild’s.
‘I had not the slightest doubt of the truth of the information.
Michalowski, a cringing, repulsive, drunken, nimble Pole from Galicia,
speaking four languages, had every qualification for the calling of a spy
and was only waiting the opportunity _pour se faire valoir_.
‘I made up my mind to go with Ogaryov to Trübner’s to unmask Michalowski
and make him commit himself, and in any case to get him dismissed from
Trübner’s. To add to the impressiveness of our visit, I invited Pianciani
and two Poles to go with me. Michalowski was insolent, loathsome, and
denied the charge; he declared that Napoleon Szestacowski, who lived in
the same lodging with him, was a spy. I was quite prepared to believe
that half of what he said was true, that is, that his friend was also a
spy. I told Trübner that I asked for his immediate dismissal from the
bookshop. The wretch contradicted himself and could not bring forward
anything worth considering in his defence. “It is all envy,” he said.
“As soon as one of us has a good coat to wear, the others begin shouting
‘Spy!’” “Why is it then,” Zeno Swentoslawski asked him, “that though you
have never had a good coat you have always been looked upon as a spy?”
Every one laughed. “You don’t seem to resent it,” said Czenecki. “It is
not the first time,” answered the philosopher, “that I have had to do
with crazy fellows like you.” “You are used to it,” observed Czenecki.
‘The scoundrel walked away.
‘All the decent Poles abandoned him, with the exception of gamblers who
were complete drunkards and drunkards who were completely ruined at
cards. Only one decent person has remained on friendly terms with this
Michalowski, and that man is your landlord, Tur.’
‘Yes, that is suspicious. I will go at once....’
‘Why at once? You can’t set things right now, but keep an eye on the man.
What proofs have you?’
Soon after this, Cwerczakiewicz was appointed by the Polish Committee
their diplomatic agent in London. He was allowed to visit Paris; it was
just at that time that Napoleon felt that ardent sympathy with the fate
of Poland which cost her one whole generation and may perhaps cost her
the whole of the next one.
Bakunin was already in Sweden, making friends with every one, opening
ways for ‘Land and Freedom’ across Finland, arranging for the despatch of
the _Kolokol_ and of books, and interviewing representatives of all the
Polish parties. Received by the Ministers and the brother of the King,
he assured every one of the approaching insurrection of the peasants and
the state of intense mental ferment in Russia. He assured them the more
readily as he himself _sincerely believed_, if not in the actual strength
of these movements, at least in their growing power. No one dreamed
at that time of Lapinski’s expedition. Bakunin’s intention was, after
arranging everything in Sweden, to make his way into Poland and Lithuania.
Cwerczakiewicz came back from Paris with Demontowicz. In Paris he and his
friends formed a design of fitting out an expedition to the shores of
the Baltic. They wanted to find a steamer and wanted to find a capable
leader; and with that end in view came to London. This is how they
conducted secret negotiations.
One day I received a little note from Cwerczakiewicz: he asked me to go
to see him for a minute, said it was a matter of urgent necessity and
that he had caught a chill and was lying in bed with an acute migraine.
I went. I did in fact find him ill and in bed. S. Tchorszewski was
sitting in the next room, knowing that Cwerczakiewicz had written to me
and that he had business with me. Tchorszewski would have gone out, but
Cwerczakiewicz stopped him, and I am very glad that there is a living
witness of our conversation.
Cwerczakiewicz asked me, laying aside all personal feelings and
considerations, to tell him quite sincerely, and of course in dead
secret, about a Polish exile in whom he had not complete confidence,
though he had been introduced to him by Mazzini and Bakunin. ‘You don’t
much care for him, I know, but now, where it is a matter of the utmost
importance, I expect from you the truth, and the whole truth.’
‘You are speaking of L. B.?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
I hesitated. I felt that I might injure a man of whom, anyway, I knew
nothing particularly bad; on the other hand, I knew what harm I might be
doing to the common cause by arguing against Cwerczakiewicz’s perfectly
sound instinct of antipathy.
‘Very well, I will speak openly and tell you everything. As regards
Mazzini’s and Bakunin’s recommendation, I disregard that completely. You
know how I love Mazzini; but he is so accustomed to carve his agents out
of every sort of wood and mould them out of any sort of clay, and knows
so well how to keep them in hand in the Italian party, that it is hard
to rely on his opinion. Besides, though he makes use of everything he
can get, Mazzini knows to what degree and with what business to trust
each. Bakunin’s recommendation is even worse: he is a great child—“a big
Liza,” as Martyanov used to call him—he likes every one. A fisher of
men, he is so delighted when he comes upon a “Red,” especially if he is
a Slav, that he goes no further. You referred to my personal relations
with L. B. I ought to speak of that too. Z. and L. B. tried to exploit
me: it was not he but Z. who took the initiative. They did not succeed
in that, they were very angry, and I should long ago have forgotten it;
but they came between Worcell and me, and that I have not forgiven. I
loved Worcell very much, but, being frail in health, he gave way to them
and only realised his mistake (or acknowledged that he realised it) the
day before his death. As he lay dying, he pressed my hand and whispered
in my ear: “Yes, you were right.” (But there were none to hear, and it
is easy to appeal to the witness of the dead.) But here is my opinion:
taking everything into account, I cannot find a single action, or a
single rumour even, which would compel one to suspect the political
honesty of L. B., but I should not let him into any important secret.
To my thinking, he is a spoilt _poseur_, filled with French phrases and
immensely conceited; anxious to play a part at all costs, he would do
everything to spoil the performance if it had not a part for him.’
Cwerczakiewicz got up; he was pale and troubled.
‘Yes, you have taken a weight off my heart; I will do all I can, if it
is not too late already.’ Cwerczakiewicz began pacing about the room in
perturbation. Soon after I went away with Tchorszewski.
‘Did you hear the whole conversation?’ I asked him as we were going.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I am very glad of it; don’t forget it; perhaps the day may come when I
shall appeal to you ... and do you know, it strikes me that he has told
him everything already, and only thought to investigate the grounds of
his antipathy afterwards....’
‘Not a doubt of it.’
And we almost burst out laughing, although we were anything but mirthful
at heart.
_Moral_
A fortnight later Cwerczakiewicz entered into negotiations with
Blackwood’s Steam Company concerning the hiring of a steamer to make an
expedition to the Baltic.
‘Why,’ we said, ‘did you apply to the very company which for years
past has carried out all the shipping commissions for the Petersburg
Admiralty?’
‘I don’t like it myself, but the company knows the Baltic Sea so well.
Besides, it is against its interests to betray us; and it is not in the
English character either.’
‘All very true, but what made you think of applying to them?’
‘It was done by our agent.’
‘That is?’
‘Tur.’
‘What, _that_ Tur?’
‘Oh, you can set your mind at rest about him. He was most highly
recommended to us by L. B.’
For a minute all the blood rushed to my head. I was overwhelmed with
the feeling of fury, indignation, resentment—yes, yes, personal
resentment—while the delegate of Poland, observing nothing, went on: ‘He
has a splendid knowledge of English.’
‘Both of the language and of the laws.’
‘I have no doubt of it.’
‘Tur has been in prison in London for some rather shady affair; and he
was employed as an official interpreter in the law courts.’
‘How was that?’
‘You must ask L. B. or Michalowski; don’t you know him?’
‘No.’
Tur was indeed a fellow! He had been a specialist in agriculture, but
here he was a specialist in marine affairs. But now all eyes were turned
on the head of the expedition, Colonel Lapinski, who arrived upon the
scene.
2