SCENES OF THE 29'FH OF NOVEMBER, 1830- 63? 



and separates the frightened Russians from the Poles intoxicated 

 with success. It is mercy and humanity which lighted those lines of 

 flames to stop the bloodshed which the darkness of the night might 

 have rendered unperceived. 



There, like <( a scorpion girt by fire/' stands a handful of heroes. 

 They cross the line of fire. A detachment enters a street in flames ; 

 this is a company of the " Fourth of the Line." On, on they push for- 

 ward, till they perceive the glittering arms of the enemy. Their 

 anxious looks betray that no design to fight with the Russians 

 brings them thither. While one part of the company engages in a 

 feigned fight, another stops behind at a lonely and deserted house. 

 They enter there with hurried but light steps, as if some higher 

 power commanded their respect. At once they raise a tremendous 

 shout then every breast stops the breath, and every man listens in 

 silence. One might have said it was a shout of victory, a prayer of 

 liberty stopped suddenly, that Heaven might respond " Amen !" 

 Again the walls are shaken by a tremendous peal of' voices again a 

 sudden silence ensues. The despairing soldiers began then to try 

 every inch of the floor, as if they wanted to make the earth yawn. 

 They fling with rage their bayonets across the mouldering stones of 

 the walls and the planks of the roof. Their maddening looks show 

 that they have not succeeded. Again and again they try, till an 

 order results them from the place. One moment longer, and they 

 would have been cut off from the centre of the town. 



The Russians, formerly so bold and insulting, shrink now from the 

 contest with those few men who dared to cry out once more " Po- 

 land is not yet lost." The signal of retreat is given to their whole 

 army. Have those who during fifteen years revelled at the table of 

 prostrate Poland, nothing to save from the feast ? Their baggage, 

 their arms, they may leave behind ; but will they abandon their 

 children, their wives, to the mercy of the victor, too long tried to 

 know how unprofitable this virtue is ? Will thej' make no effort to 

 rescue those officers, those generals, whom the revolution found in 

 their splendid apartments decorated with the spoils of the tyrannized 

 country, amidst a crowd of debauchees courting the smiles of hired 

 paramours, with the cup of revelry in one hand, and with playing 

 cards in the other one single turn of which disposed of enormous 

 sums wrung out of the hands of the impoverished Poles ? And he, the 

 great master, the great wire-drawer of the shameful game of fifteen 

 years, has he, in the hour of danger, forgotten all his treasures, his 

 Turkish drummers, and drilled monkeys? Does not his palace contain 

 secrets, at the disclosure of which the world may cover Russia with 

 eternal shame ; the machinery of his infernal police ; the plan of the 

 expedition against France ; the list of those murdered secretly at his 

 command ? No, neither he nor his satellites see now any thing but 

 their own danger. 



But look ! an aid-de-camp arrives at full speed to one of the regi- 

 ments. They halt, and returning towards the town, enter the street 

 which the Poles left a short time before. The same house searched 

 so carefully by the patriots, arrests now the steps of the Russians. 

 This is, then, the place where the most precious, the only thing is 



