634 SCENES OF THE 29lH OF NOVEMBER, 1830. 



Massaniello forbidden by an express order, but smuggled under 

 another denomination into the hearts of its admirers. Who has 

 heard and not felt, with every note of this piece of inspiration, the 

 sublime introduction the rushing, thundering, arid falling mass of 

 notes, as the crush of an avalanche as the wrongs darted into the 

 bosom of Poland the thrilling wailings of the dumb, as those 

 of Polish mothers and daughters and, at last, the mighty march 

 of triumph! Oh! my soul was in ecstasy it was drunk with 

 delight Heaven itself was thrown open to my view, and I waited 

 the signal of ascension. 



These overstrained thoughts subsided, and I resumed my idealism. 

 If ever, surely then, I felt the most warmly the truth of Platonic be- 

 liefall seemed to me but a recollection, an awakened and re- 

 freshened consciousness of the divinity and perfection. 



The scene grew to an endless extent. Every corner became the 

 mighty aisle of a temple. The small columns rose to the loftiness of 

 stately pillars. The roof expanded itself into the majesty of an high- 

 arched vault. 



On a level with me stood thousands of young men with wrath in 

 their eyes, helmets on their heads, and uplifted lances in their hands. 

 On another side of the temple a crowd of old patriarchal Poles, at- 

 tired in the national dress, raised their hands to heaven, and blessed 

 the endeavours of the new generation ; while opposite to the warriors 

 a long link of women were pointing to them with their eyes and 

 their arms the path of honour. In the back-ground towns, villages, 

 and the poor habitations of peasants were burning, and strewing with 

 their ruins the green plains around. Farther on, the rich fields and 

 their crops were trampled down, and bloody streams ran through the 

 whole extent. I called for reality to dispel this terrible creation of 

 fancy. I glared on a pillar, but it did not shrink to its former di- 

 mension. It reared itself like a column of national glory crowned 

 with a splendid trophy. All seemed to expect to pant for a call 

 for a single word a word like that: " LET THERE BE LIGHT!" 

 The planets of the chaos did not more intensely watch for the call of 

 the Almighty, which was to redeem them from the confusion, and 

 bid them perform their regular evolutions. 



A single word ! Hark ! there is the voice surely it is that of a 

 messenger of God ! 



Suddenly a crash was heard ; and at the same time the doors flew 

 open with a loud noise, and a Polish officer rushed in amongst us a 

 glittering blade was in his hand, and he cried out 



" POLES ! THE HOUR OF REVENGE HAS STRUCK ! To ARMS ! 



To ARMS !" 



And my wanderings were recalled. All dwindled into reality; 

 but such a reality beyond the finest visions of imagination ! 



This was the 29th of November. When I threw myself with the 

 crowd towards the doors, I struck with my foot inadvertently some 

 persons apparently thrown down ; I recognized in them the insolent 

 Russian officers, abjectly sueing on their knees for pity to the too 

 merciful Poles. 



