dressed in the uniform of a Polish lancer.

"To-morrow," said he, "I go: it is the
day appointed for our insurrection. Dearest,
we shall meet no more; but, remember your
Oasimir, who left yon, only for his country."



45

"Farewell, my beloved," said Halina, as
she gave him a banner, "take this and fight
under its shadow: it is a gift to Poland, from
her unhappy daughter."

She sighed deeply, but she wept not. Al-
though she sacrificed to her country, her
Casimir, her ideal, her world, she wept not
— she was a Pole.

"This flag," replied he, "the work of thy
gentle fingers, shall be my avenging angel in
the day of battle. And when I return it
shall be dyed with the blood of the Russians.
Oh! I will never be unw r orthy of the gift."

"And let it be, also, your guardian angel,
for in its embroidery are enchained many
drops of my soul, many tears. They will
guard you in the hour of danger. May the
blood of the enemy, not thine, dye this flag,
and, at thy return, I will crown thee with
laurels. But if thou shouldst perish "

The words died upon her lips, and the
burning tears rolled down her angelic face.
And now, she was a woman.

Again he embraced her, and binding the
blessed flag to his lance, disappeared like a
vision. Halina gazed after him, till the
faithful flag, only visible, seemed waving its
last farewell to its sweet mistress.

II.

Again it was morning. But the air was chil-



46

ly and dark; clouds overhung the old man-
sion like messengers of ill; rain poured hea-
vily down, as if even the heavens were
weeping. Halina thoughtful and weary, was
again in the summer-house, for, what was
storm or sunshine to her without her belov-
ed ? And so calm and holy an air pervaded
that spot, that she sought it daily. The bal-
sam of love seemed still to linger in the air
she had breathed with Casimir; the trees
seemed still to echo the adieu he had once
uttered beneath their shade. In the half-
year that had elapsed in his absence, all had
changed but the summer-house, and the soul
that dreamed within. Hope had ceased to
linger in Poland; the land of Kosciusko was
in bondage. The revolution passed away
like the visions of a young dreaming soul.

Again Halina wept bitterly, but her tears
were holy, they fell on the altar of patriotism
— she wept for her native country — she was
a Pole.

And yet when she thought of one brave
defender of that country, and of his uncer-
tain fate, tears of passion may have mingled
with those of patriotism — she was a woman.

At this moment a stranger appeared among
the trees. Halina's heart, the watch of her
soul, that seemed to tell of the approaching
hour of happiness, beat stronger and stronger
as he approached with torn garment and a
pilgrim's staff in his hand.



47

"Oh, my Casimir — they have not enchain-
ed my Casimir — but why is he in this garb?"

"It is the dress of a Polish pilgrim — not
so fair as the warrior's, but not the less ho-
nourable. Our swords are broken, but our
hearts are not. I have come, my Halina, to
behold you once more — but, alas! to say
again, farewell. I will depart on a pilgrim-
age, rather than bow my proud heart to the
despot. Yes, we will wander through the
world, and invoke justice and vengeance.
Let the nations of Europe see the projects
of tyrants, and tremble from our example.
Adieu! yet, again we shall meet in happier
days. The hope is not gone."

But echo answered in a sepulchral tone,
"gone."

"And will you leave me again?" said she.

"Oh! weep not, my Halina, that I go,
what will be our life without freedom?"

They conversed yet awhile. That which
they spoke I will not repeat; I will not in-
trude into that sanctuary of the heart — not
violate that mass of the feelings. How many
thoughts they had to communicate in one
hour — that hour of farewell.

Halina, at length, dried her tears, dispelled
the gloom from her brow, and smiled once
more on her lover. With those lips it seem-
ed that a heaven opened on his view, some-
thing unearthly glowed in her eyes; he for-
got the world, life, and Poland herself, in



48

that moment of ecstacy. He took her in his
arms, kissed her till his soul seemed stamped
in that last embrace; he kissed her once more,
and once more, again and again.

But the sound of farewell struck on her
ear, and he was gone!

III.

Our patriots, though exiled, still nourished
the hope of delivering their native country.
Their project was to commence a war, similar
to the Guerrilas in Spain, to be a prelude to
the general insurrection, and, at least, to pre-
serve, always, the spirit of revolution and
freedom in the country, and to show the na-
tions of Europe, that the Poles could never
be wholly enchained. This was called the
war of the Partisans. Their number, how-
ever, was too small, though their sacrifices
were so great. They were obliged to hide
themselves in the woods, or to fight but very
small detachments of the Russian troops.

Nicholas, to defeat their projects, and de-
prive them of the sympathy of Europe, pro-
claimed them as robbers, and punished them
as such. The gibbet was, and is, alas! until
this time, the recompense of the Polish pa-
triots.

A small detachment of Partisans attacked
the city of Jozefaw, in the palatinate of Lub-
lin. They knew not the state of the enemy,



49

till the lightnings of the firing revealed their
numbers. They continued, however, slowly
to retreat, constantly and fearlessly firing.
The Russians fell in great numbers, and three
only of the Partisans, were missing. They,
being wounded, fell into the hands of the
enemy.

"Ha! we have some of those bird-catch-
ers* at last," said they, as they advanced to
the prostrate forms of those who had fallen,
content to revenge the death of so many of
their companions on these. But two were
already dead of their wounds, and in the
third, the remains of organic life still linger-
ed, but his brow was pale and spectre-like;
no soul beamed from his eye. He seemed
like the magic-lantern, with no light within.

And this was Casimir; but, alas! how
changed!

"And what shall we do with this fellow?"
said the Cossack; "his last hour seems near,
and yet the Poles are the very devils, he may
yet revive and murder us."

"God and St. Nicholas preserve us from
it;" cried the other, and addressing the cap-
tain: " it is better to kill him; one blow of
my lance will suffice."

"But the order of his Majesty is that they
shall be hung. We will build here a gibbet,

* Bird-catchers — the name given by the Russians to
the Polish riflers.

5



50

and show the people of Jozefaiv how our
emperor can punish the rebels."

IV.

At an early hour the next morning, the
multitude had assembled to witness the death
of a patriot. But they came not from curiosi-
ty, not even willingly, to witness that horri-
ble spectacle, but by the stern orders of the
despot.

No tumult was heard, a solemn and mys-
terious silence reigned over the crowd. All
thoughts dwelt on the glorious remembrances
of two years before; and they looked at the
hero as a holy offering, a sacrifice on the
altar of freedom. Sad, horrible offering! the
offering of blood and life !

The deed was done; and he, so young, so
proud, so beautiful, had died the ignominious
death of the gibbet. Well for him, that with
his weakened frame, he knew not of his
dreadful death.

Proud spirit! with plumes so light; soar-
ings so high; and thoughts so pure! Thou
wast destined to other climes.

The crowd was yet silently struggling to
hide their emotions, though for some, sighs
were heard, and from some, tears, burning
tears, scorning the commands of the despot,
rolled free and unsubdued to the urn of na-
tional sorrow and distress.



51

But one loud voice was heard from the
crowd ; it was a long, piercing, sorrowful cry
— a woman's cry; from whose breast it may
be imao-ined.

On the evening of the same day, the body
of the warrior was buried under his gibbet.
The ministers of God offered no prayers for
his soul; no sable plumes waved over his
corse; no martial music; the muffled drum
and the tolling bell, sounded not his dirge;
warriors bore him not to his last rest.

But prayers arose from the grave of the
hero, though the priest offered them not; and
tears fell upon his dust, though warriors shed
them not. A beautiful form knelt there —
the form of his beloved; a beautiful spirit
sighed there — the spirit of his beloved. The
pale moon rose and set, and still she knelt on
his grave.

At morning some peasantry came to look
at the grave of the Partisan; she was yet
kneeling, but pale and cold. The beautiful
flower of Podolia was blighted and dead,
like the spectre of a rose on the grave of a
warrior; but her spirit, free and light, had
already joined the strong soul of Casimir.
Such was the fate of the Polish Lovers.



THE CAUSES OF THE EMIGRATION
OF THE POLES.



There are so many opinions as to the
causes of our emigration, that it becomes al-
most a duty to explain the true ones. The
ignorant, suppose that, like other emigrants,
we came here to seek our fortunes, and estab-
lish ourselves. Others more truly, that the
cause is, the impossibility of our returning to
Poland, without being sent to Siberia, or ex-
posed to other punishments. Although this
is, in part, yet it is not the whole cause.

After the dreadful termination of our last
revolution, Nicholas offered an amnesty to
all the army, except some higher officers;
however, few returned. Many believing
yet in the regeneration of their country, re-
tired to France as the most congenial shelter.

It may be well here to point out what led
us to expect sympathy and assistance from
the French. Since the time of their great
revolutionary drama, that country was con-
sidered as the very heart of revolution and
of liberal opinions. After the fall of Kosci-
usko, our patriots came to France, cherishing



53

the hope of the resurrection of their own
country; and that the revolutionary volcano
would destroy her murderers, and she would
rise from her ashes once more. For the pre-
servation of some remains of the Polish army,
they formed two legions, which served un-
der Napoleon, but wore the Folish uniform,
and fought under their national banners.
These men, cherishing, yet, hope for their
country, followed every where the great
Napoleon. Their bones are whitening on
the plains of Italy, of Germany, of Spain and
St. Domingo.

But Napoleon, instead of reinstating Po-
land, gave liberty only to a small portion of
it, under the name of the Principality of
Warsaw.

In the time of our revolution, that patri-
arch of liberty, the venerable Lafayette, en-
deavoured to excite the feelings of the French
nation in our behalf; and after our fall we
still cherished the hope of success, seeing
the tendency of Europe to republican forms
of government and liberal ideas. Our coun-
trymen from Gallicia, which, at first, was
their shelter, came to France, preferring ex-
ile to the amnesty of a despot. The great
number of those who had been members of
the national government, in the revolution,
remained in Paris as the representatives of
the Polish people, as the living protestation
against the tyranny of Nicholas. Thev form-

5*



54

ed a committee, which served as a government
for the emigrants, and as an organ of national
feelings.

Thus, the emigration from Gallicia to
France, was immense. Gallicia, though be-
longing to Austria, is, however, a Polish pro-
vince, and those who fled there, found open
doors at the houses of their parents and
friends. The tyranny of Nicholas even oblig-
ed many of those who had the simplicity to
believe in his amnesty, to leave the country
and seek more secure shelter in Gallicia.
Thus, the emigration was divided in two
parts, one remaining in France, another in
Gallicia. The latter were almost at home.
The junction of these two parties, by se-
cret correspondence, was very useful. Our
committee could inform us of the state of
feeling that was abroad among the nations of
Europe, and we, in the mean time, were ex-
citing the spirit of the people in the heart
of the country, animating the dispirited, ele-
vating the depressed, and preparing all for
another revolution. The Austrian govern-
ment, seeing the tendency of our measures,
waited only for a pretence to exile us from
Gallicia. In 1832, the Austrian Emperor
ordered every Polish emigrant to present
himself at the police and give his decision,
whether he would return to Russia or take
his passport to France. Thus, many were
obliged to leave Gallicia. The small number



55

that remained were scarcely known to the
government, and remained under the par-
ticular protection of their friends. In 1S33,
the emigrants in France projected the Parti-
san's war. This was to be the sign to all the
enchained nations of Europe, to arise and go
forth against their oppressors. This bold
project was executed but in part. The rea-
sons are little known to me. Disturbances
again commenced in Poland. Many emis-
saries were sent to Gallicia from our compa-
triots in France, and many emigrants of Gal-
licia joined the war of the Partisans. The
government of Austria again became alarmed,
and issued orders to all Polish emigrants to
leave Gallicia immediately. Those who came
not willingly to the office of the police, were
taken from the houses of their friends by the
force of arms, and conducted, under strong
guards, to the Moravian city, B?*un; with or-
ders to wait there for the arrival of their pass-
ports to France, which were to come from Vi-
enna. But, instead of that, we were taken to a
prison, and told that the countries of Europe
would not receive us; and that we must go to
America, or return to Russia. To this we made
an opposition, insisting on joining our com-
rades in France. But France, indeed, wished
not to receive us. Our hearts trembled to leave
all our hopes in Europe, to be unable to share
the hardships of war with our compatriots,
in the resurrection of Poland. The struggle



56

was painful, but our resolution was soon
taken. We determined rather to cross the
ocean than return to a country that was no
more ours. We decided to go. The Au-
strians ordered us to write our resolution, to
show afterwards to Europe that our decision
was voluntary; but we almost all wrote,
"that our will is to go to France, but as
we are told that the government refuses to
receive us, then, obliged by the Austrian go-
vernment, we must go to America." We
then proceeded to Trieste, whence we sailed.
The rest of our history is but too well known.

To show some characteristics of our emi-
gration in France, I will cite some quotations
from a work of Mickiewicz, called " The
books of the Polish nation and the Polish
Pilgrimage." It is written in the style of
the Holy Scriptures; so impressive and yet
so simple, as to be understood by the most
common intellects, and indeed, this is the
purpose of the work.

"The soul of the Polish nation is the
Polish pilgrimage, and the Pole in his pil-
grimage is not called a wanderer, for the
wanderer is one that roams without a pur-
pose.

"Neither an exile; for an exile, is one ban-
ished by his own legislature, and the Pole is
not exiled by his own legislature.

"The Pole has not yet his name in his
pilgrimage, but it will be given to him after-



57

wards, as it was afterwards given to the ex-
iles of Christ.

"And in the mean time, a Pole is called a
pilgrim, for he made a vow to wander to a
holy land, to a free native country, and he
will wander till he find it."

Christ said, "those who follow me must
leave father and mother, and risk their lives
for me."

"The Polish pilgrim says, 'Who would
seek freedom, must leave his country and
risk his life for her.'

"Because he who dwells in his country,
and suffers slavery, will leave his country
and his life; and he who leaves his country
to defend freedom with his life, he will re-
cover his native country, and will live for-
ever."

To show yet more, the spirit of hope and
constancy in my countrymen, I will give the
address of the Polish committee, when some
of their companions, disheartened with their
misfortunes, had determined to return to Po-
land.



ADDRESS

OF THE POLISH COMMITTEE IN PARIS, TO
THE POLISH EMIGRANTS.

Warriors and Countrymen!

Once more fate has thrown our coun-
try beneath the feet of her enraged foe; once
more our countrymen must bow their necks
to a leader of slaves, the murderer of free-
dom. Once more, on the hand of a free
Pole, the iron of a despot will print the em-
blem of slavery; once more it is a vice to call
ourselves Polanders.

This fate was prepared for us by procrasti-
nation and treachery. For where can the
enemy boast of the triumph of their arms?
What field was a witness of their valour!
When has a Pole fled before a Russian ?

But although they felt, for your leaders
had not as you had, a strong hope in the re-
surrection of the country, instead of believ-
ing in their own strength, instead of hope,
even after so many victories, they only wait-
ed the intervention of strangers, or wished
to conciliate you, (against the will of the peo-
ple,) with your foe.

Your arms have been weakened by delay,



59

for when the enemy, in the fear of total de-
struction, fled before you, he was saved by
the ordered cessation of hostilities; and he,
whom your arms might have driven to the
Dnieper, remained on the banks of the Vis-
tula.

After wishing to extinguish that fire which
animated you in the midst of battles, they
permitted him to cross the Vistula, and to
ravage the country, and when you would
have driven back the invader, they ordered
you as in derision, to defend yourselves
within the walls. There horrible treachery
divides the army; to finish this work, born
of the darkness of hell, they jest with your
holiest feelings, and would put you — you,
freemen! in chains, and give you to the
hands of the oppressor. Your hearts trem-
bled at the thought of the future. — What!
shame on the forehead of a Pole! No —
never? He may tear asunder the tenderest
ties, spill the heart's blood, but the blush of
shame dyes not his cheek. You preferred
exile to shame; you came to a foreign coun-
try, for there, where your ancestors breathed
a free air, you would not die slaves. Your
eyes would meet faces that scorned your
misfortunes. The tyrant of Poland would
order you to name that your native country;
he would order you to kiss his hand, red with
the blood of your brothers, and to call him



60

your deliverer from anarchy, demagogues
and insurgents.

There is no native country where free-
dom is not. The sun rises not for the slave,
the earth is not adorned for him, and his
food is changed to poison. Before such dis-
grace, you fled, brethren. The black bread
and fresh water, to you was a sweet repast,
when it was not moistened by tears of shame
and sorrow.

But let us breathe more freely after the
weight of such remembrances; let our eyes be
cheered by the bright prospects of the future;
let our thoughts be elevated with this blessed
hope. Hear you not the prayers of Europe
and America for our cause ; hear you not the
songs of praise addressed to you. Every
where is heard the voice . of respect and
astonishment at your deeds; every where
hospitable doors are thrown open to the Pole,
for his wandering is trouble. And in that
wandering let us be constant to the end.
This will be the last experiment of our
strength. The nation cannot perish entirely.
Our language yet lives, our customs and our
religion, and the memory of our greatness
has not departed. The memory of the Po-
lish lordship over those who now enchain
our country, is not yet effaced. Our swords
are not yet broken — the Polish steed will
yet bound beneath the weight of the Polish
warrior and the lances of our lancers, and



61

Krakus, the star of liberty, will yet sparkle.
The return of a revenging fate is not afar.

Then, return not as slaves to the land
where vou can return as victors, return not
to the land polluted by the feet of the Bach-
ker.* Let not the hand of a free Pole em-
brace the hand of a slave of despotism. The
time will come, when the voice of a trumpet
shall call you again to your native plains.
There the graves of your murdered brethren
will open, and avengers shall rise from their
bones. Let us invoke their shades, but with
sword in hand, for in no other way will they
recognize us, and if they see our shame,
their groans would say before heaven that
we, with our cowardice had troubled their
last repose.

Let the independent and free Poland of
Jagellons, or eternal death, be our cry!

* The savage tribes of Siberia. They were in the
Russian army, and distinguished themselves by their
robberies and great cruelties.



APPENDIX,

CONTAINING A SHORT NOTICE OF UKRAINE
AND PODOLIA.



Ukraine, one of the most beautiful pro-
vinces of Poland, lies in the southern part,
bounded on one side by Podolia, and on the
other by Russia. Its boundaries were not
limited on the south; each war formed and
destroyed them ; sometimes it extended even
to the Black sea. Ukraine, which contains
even now many large and deserted prairies,
called by Mickiewicz, the dry oceans, was
formerly of a wild and desert-like appear-
ance, and inhabited principally by the Cos-
sacks.

The commencement of the history of these
wild Knights of the Desert, is very strange.
Some islands lying in the Dnieper, became
the retreat of all the outlaws of Poland and
Russia. They formed a kind of chivalric
order, if it may be called so; they never
married, and sustained themselves by rob-
bery. However, they robbed only the Turks



63

and Tartars; they acknowledged the authority
of the Polish King, and were of great assist-
ance to Poland. King Stephen Batory, see-
ing their numbers increasing to such extent,
formed them into a more regular body, in
order that they might act as sentinels on the
frontiers of Turkey and Tartary. He also gave
them for their capital, the castle Trechtymi-
row, and granted them many other privileges.
Thus under the protection of the laws, their
number was increased by all the adventurers
from the surrounding country. Their strength
consisted principally in their cavalry, though
every Cossack could fight equally on foot as
on horseback. But as the Tartars, the Cos-
sack life and death was on horseback. Liv-
ing such a wild life, and cherishing such sav-
age feelings, the love of freedom became a
common sentiment, and as in one of their songs:

"The Cossack never knew a Lord; from a
man he became a bird of the desert, for he
has grown on horseback. He weeps not, he
knows nothing of long speeches, he knows
nothing of the things of heaven, and on earth
he knows nothing but blood."

They distinguished themselves in our wars
with the Turks and Russians. Sometimes
in their light canoes, they crossed the Black
Sea and fed the banks of Asia Minor with
blood and fire. They went even to Constan-
tinople — and the Emperor of Turkey has
beheld from the windows of his seraglio, the



64

city wrapt in flames by Cossacks. They
were also distinguished in that war, in which,
after the battle of Klusin, three Russian czars
were made prisoners by the Polish chief.
Their light cavalry penetrated even to Asia,
and they were always cruel, victorious and
savage. But this was almost the last action
in which they assisted Poland. Robbery
was their chief occupation, and with their
unquiet spirit, having no other object but
plunder, they robbed Poland itself. Perhaps
too severe measures were taken to subdue
them, having as they did, such ideas of sav-
age liberty, they were not to be conquered
at once. They were taken by the Polish
nobility as the peasant, but they soon had
their revenge. A petty circumstance gave
them the opportunity to rebel. One Cza-
plicki, a Polish nobleman, seduced the wife
of Bohdan Chmielnicki the Cossack chief.
The wounded pride and love of the Cossack,
remained not long unrevenged. He became
the leader of a rebellion, and in a short time
Czaplicki was cruelly murdered, Podolia and
Volhynia drowned in blood and tears. Boh-
dan joined to the qualities of a great general
the cruelty of a savage. The Polish general,
the prince Wiszniowiecki, was forced to en-
trench himself in his castle, and King John
Casimir was obliged to go to his assistance.
But Bohdan went against him, and he was
left entirely at the mercy of the Cossack