Notes of my Captivity in Russia/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II.
ITINERARY OF THE PRISONERS.
After two days, Fersen received orders to join the army of Suwarow, with all his troops, and to lay siege to Warsaw. Before starting, he detached General Chruszczew with two thousand of the refuse of his army to conduct us by a long and circuituous route towards the heart of Russia. Precise instructions, full of the most minute severity and caution, were given him regarding his conduct towards us. We passed through the territory of Chelm, the Palatinates of Volhynia, Podolia, and all the Polish Ukrania. Our march with Chruszczew as far as Zaslaw, took us only four weeks; during that time, I had leisure to study the character, morals, and manners of our conductors and their satellites, of which I shall give here a short sketch, to show what this nation is, whose military successes make such a noise, and whose character and manners are so little known.
The sovereign in Russia governs with an unlimited despotism. The ancient families, the nobility in a body, with all their rights, privileges and pretensions, which everywhere else are of considerable weight, do not restrain here the supreme will of the autocrat.[1]
What is birth in a whole nation composed of upstarts? Who can name ancestors, shew privileges, or have pretensions, in a monarchy which has not yet existed a century? The imperial favour, then, free from every obstacle, falls sometimes upon elevated heads, sometimes upon those that are grovelling in the dust. Virtue, probity are unknown. Courage, however, and military abilities, are much respected in a nation constantly carrying on war. An officer of superior talent is sure to be advanced; thus most of the Russian generals rose from the ranks, and from low condition in life, to the highest grades in the army, and Chruszczew was one of those men.
At least six feet high, and stout in proportion to his height; he had the appearance of an athlete; his features were regular, and in his looks and manners, that kind
of frankness, which is generally acquired in camps, was conspicuous. His cardinal virtues were cunning, rapaciousness, and gluttony; I say virtues, for I am sure he regarded them as such. He abandoned himself to infamous plunder, not only without any shame or remorse, but even with a sort of ostentation. And why should he not? His senior officers gave him no other example, his education did not teach him better principles. He saw that elevation and riches alone commanded respect, and increased enjoyments; and that the more a man employed cunning, rapacity, and impudence, in order to obtain them, the more he was admired as a clever and talented man; he continued, then, the practice of every kind of robbery and plunder, with a sort of satisfaction and pride. At the same time that we were intrusted to this worthy man, forty large waggons filled with booty were proceeding with him. Kozienice, a hunting château of the King of Poland, furnished these gentlemen with the first fruits of the harvest. As the king went there only in winter, for wolf and wild boar hunting, the château was plainly fitted up, but it contained, nevertheless, the whole winter wardrobe of His Majesty, all kinds of furs of great value, a collection of excellent fowling-pieces, and a cellar abundantly provided.
They broke in everywhere, and carried away everything in the course of the day, so admirably, that they seemed to vie with each other in the art of pillage; it must, however, be observed, that neither soldiers nor subaltern officers had any part in the booty, as the glory and profit of it were exclusively reserved for the generals and field-officers. Major Iwan-Petrowicz Titow, the second in command in our escort, complained almost with tears in his eyes, of having got for his share, only the red damask curtains taken from the bed of one of the king's valets de chambre; the youngest son of a noble family could not have complained more bitterly of the injustice done to him by his elder brothers, in the division of their patrimony. As we advanced, the booty increased; towns, villages, and particularly the country seats of the nobility, everything was laid waste, plundered, and destroyed. Pulawy, one of the most beautiful country seats belonging to Prince Czartoryski, was the most abused. The château was fitted up with as much taste as magnificence. A splendid hall with gilded wainscoting, and bronzes, mirrors, china, valuable furniture, ceiling painted by Boucher, the apartments of the princess equally rich and elegant, a well selected library, everything was pillaged; and what they could not carry away they did not fail to break in a thousand pieces. A person of the name of Bibikof, who united with the Russian barbarity the impertinence of a Parisian barber, was the Achilles of this fine expedition.
Chruszczew's detachment being exclusively appointed for our escort, passed through a peaceful country, already pillaged, where there was not a single Polish soldier; yet he raised contributions, plundering and extorting everything. He managed this in the following manner: as soon as he arrived at a place, the prisoners were shut up in granaries, and the Russian soldiers were quartered in the houses; Chruszczew, with his wife, daughters, niece, and little children, took possession of the house of the proprietor, and we were lodged in another which was the nearest to his. These matters arranged, his aides-de-camp, and the officers of his suite, ran to their respective departments: one, followed by some grenadiers, went down to the cellars, in order to seize all the wine which was to be found there; another went to the stables and took the best horses; some ran from house to house to raise contributions laid upon the inhabitants, others shut up the unfortunate Jews in the pig-styes, to make them confess where their treasures were concealed. Whilst the officers were engaged with such activity, the general, followed by the ladies, passed through the apartments of the Lord of the place, where the ladies and gentlemen, with satirical jokes, clever maliciousness, and moderate laughter, were taking down mirrors, pictures, engravings, carrying away books, furniture, ornaments, in short, making the house as empty as possible.[2]
Half an hour before dinner, the officers that led plundering parties, came to give in their reports. Everything was specified in these; so many casks, so many dozens of wine, so many stallions and mares, so many thousand florins in money. If the harvest was good, as nearly always was the case, the General laughed, rubbed his hands, and said: “Ochen horosho, ochen horosho,” Very good, very good. Then he sat down to dinner, continually repeating, “Ochen horosho.” Immediately after dinner, he went to take a nap, and slept well. The ladies did the same, for the saying, Remorse does not sleep, was here at fault. These monsters, overloaded with rapine and viands, slept as if they had nothing to reproach themselves with ; thus the last degree of crime is proof against remorse. Towards sunset the clattering of cups and tea-spoons awoke them all, and they sat down immediately to take large cups of chaï or tea. Besides rolls, cakes, preserves, &c., grapes, almonds, and dry figs, were brought in on silver trays. They ate, and played cards until supper time. Such was their manner of living during our progress through Poland.
These orgies formed a sad contrast with our sufferings and unfortunate situation. Four officers and three grenadiers relieved one another in turn, and never lost sight of us. I perceived that General Kosciuszko, who, on the first day after the battle, could walk pretty well leaning upon the arm of a man, lost all at once the use of his legs, and when we left the carriage, this weakness was the more astonishing, as his wound on the head was perceptibly improving, and the pike-thrusts on his back seemed to be entirely closed. As to myself, although my wound did not appear dangerous, I suffered excruciating pains, in consequence of the ignorance of my surgeon, and the great number of nerves lacerated by the bullet. These pains were not in the part injured by the shot, but in the palm of the hand I felt intolerable burning. The whole of my arm, shoulder, and hand were considerably swollen, and the pain prevented me from sleeping. What nights! I lay upon straw, in a room lighted by a single candle, uttering long groans, and having for my whole consolation and assistance only an old grenadier, who, sitting upon a chair at the foot of my bed, looked at me in silence. Sometimes, however, being either touched by my sufferings, or wearied with my cries, he rose and went for the Assistant-Surgeon; the latter came with a stew-pan in his hand, into which he put some bread and water, boiled them, made a poultice, and applied it to my hand. My surgeon contrived a more ingenious remedy, which was bathing my hand in warm water. He was, nevertheless, so impatient, that he spoke about amputating my arm, and he would have perhaps cut short all difficulties in this manner, if Mons. Megnau, a Frenchman and Surgeon-Major in our army, had not fortunately arrived with a Russian passport at Radzyn. This gentleman, who was sent to us on purpose by the National Council of Warsaw, caused me to be bled, and gave me prescriptions, which, at least, diminished my pains. This was not the only service which this excellent man rendered me, my friend Mostowski commissioned him to give me some lint, black taffeta for carrying my arm in a sling, and some books, the latter being Plutarch's Lives of Illustrious Men, and a Horace. Mons. Megnau was not allowed to remain with us, and was obliged to set out for Warsaw the following morning.
At some distance from Wlodawa, upon the Bug, we halted a day to rest. Knowing that my sister, Madame Dunin, lived a few miles from this place, I asked Chruszczew to send a Cossack, requesting her to come and see me. As he had been in garrison in my province, was well acquainted with my relations, and had received from them many civilities, he had no objection. My sister arrived towards the evening, accompanied by her husband and two children. Having devoted all my time to public affairs, I had not yet seen her since her marriage. Thus her emotion, and the affecting scene occasioned by our interview may be easily imagined. A few years before, neither of us foresaw that we should ever meet under circumstances so melancholy. She wanted to dress my wound, but knowing that she was enceinte, I did not allow it. She brought me a complete bed, of which I took only two pillows and some sheets, and offered me money, but, being a prisoner, I was less in want of it than herself, and begged of her not to insist upon that point. Though the officers were always present at our conversation, we still talked enough of our family and our affairs. Mons. Dunin was a handsome man, and, what is still more, a good husband; her children, the one six, and the other four years old, were beautiful as angels. Having spent the rest of the day together, we separated, alas! perhaps for ever. Two days after her departure, my cousin Stanislaus wrote to me, addressing the letter to Chruszczew's care, and informing me that my brothers had fled, and that, in the terror and general havoc, he was not able to borrow more than fifty ducats, which he sent me. He promised, besides, to endeavour by all means to obtain my release. I knew beforehand how vain would be his efforts.
Our march, as far as Zaslaw, where We separated from Chruszczew, lasted more than four weeks; we started every day at eight o'clock in the morning, travelling about six miles, and arriving at three o'clock for dinner and night's lodgings. Each carriage was preceded and followed by a detachment of horse; the other prisoners, escorted by the troops, arriving about three hours after us. When we entered Volhynia, a province wrested from Poland at her second partition, and which did not take any part in the last revolution, we found only traces of the depredation of the campaign of 1792. The nobility and landed proprietors were living on their estates. Chruszczew, who was receiving every day couriers from Suwarow and Fersen, with orders and instructions, learnt that a rumour was spread over the country, that the true General Kosciuszko had escaped from the battle, and that the Russians, in order to throw terror among the patriots, and discourage them, had substituted for him another prisoner, with whom they were parading through the country, leading him under an escort of two thousand men. In order to silence this rumour, and undeceive the public, as soon as we stopped at a town or village, Chruszczew sent for the Lord of the place, or its principal inhabitants, took them into Kosciuszko's room, to show him, and assure them of his existence, and the hopeless condition in which he was. These interviews were on both sides very painful, often even accompanied with tears. We could say nothing in the presence of our guard but what was allowed us. Men have been seen before this time exhibiting ferocious animals, now it was a ferocious animal that was exhibiting a man.
At Ostrog, one of the principal towns of Volhynia, we met a strong Russian garrison, commanded by General Razumowski, the brother of the gentleman whom I knew as an ambassador at Naples and Vienna, and who was sent from Russia, for having allowed himself to take some liberties with the Princess of Darmstadt, the first wife of the Grand Duke Paul-Petrowicz. Both were nephews of the celebrated Cossack Ataman, the lover and husband of the Empress Elizabeth. Razumowski, of whom I speak here, was a gentleman of good manners, and what is still more, with a heart open to humanity. We were lodged in a large convent of ex-Jesuits; he came to see us, sent us a good supper, and invited us to dinner the following day. Though they gave us opium in large doses, I spent a sleepless night, and suffered so much that I was not able to pay my visit until the evening, when I went to Razumowski's house, accompanied by my Arguses. I found it full of people, that is to say, there was a great number of Russians, and few Poles. Amongst the latter was Madame Poupart, the wife of a general formerly in the Polish service, but who after the partition had passed into that of Russia. Mademoiselle Kamienska, her sister, was with her; both were pretty, and full of sensibility. The tears which those ladies shed over our situation were the sweetest consolation we had enjoyed since the beginning of our captivity. Major Titow, the most stupid fellow that ever existed, was so much enchanted with the charms of our beautiful Polish ladies, that he told me seriously: “Your ladies are almost as pretty as those of Tobolsk!”–“Oh! I am sure you flatter us,” replied I.–“Not at all,” said he, “but ours have handsomer and fatter feet.” It was at General Razumowski’s that I heard, for the first time, the famous horn music, called Roghi. The orchestra, when complete, consists of sixty musicians; it is like an organ entirely decomposed, each pipe of which is blown by a different person, every musician playing one single note. What precision! what attention they were obliged to pay, especially in allegros, in order to produce the effect, and to agree altogether! They agreed, however; thanks, very likely, to the magic power of a cane!
We stopped two days to take a rest at Ostrog. Before our departure in the morning, when, after a sleepless night, I was lying in bed, I heard, in the passage of the convent where we were staying, a noise, as if somebody was beating a coat to dust it; this noise seemed, however, to be louder, and the Gothic vaults of the convent had already echoed it for half an hour, when Major Fischer, the General's aide-de-camp, and my companion in misfortune, entered my room. “Who is this indefatigable servant,” said I, “that takes such care of his master's clothes, and has dusted them for the last half hour?” “What do you mean,” answered Fischer, “it is not a coat, but Xenophon, our assistant surgeon, who is dealt with in this manner by two corporals, according to the orders of Major Titow.”—“O Xenophon!" exclaimed I, “O retreat of the Ten Thousand! O noble art of surgery! how are you treated!” Major Titow laughed till the tears stood in his eyes at my astonishment upon this occasion, and when I asked him what Xenophon had done to deserve so severe a treatment; “Not much,” replied he, “but as he has not been flogged for a long time, I have given orders to flog him to keep him at bay, else it would be impossible to live with these people.” I thought that after such treatment, the poor fellow would not be able to move his arms and legs, but how greatly was I surprised at seeing Mr. Xenophon, after we left the place, walking along merrily, and whistling as if nothing had happened.
After a few days’ journey we arrived at Zaslaw, a small town, with a château belonging to Prince Janusz Sanguszko. We put up at an inn. Chruszczew, with all his family, alighted without any ceremony at the château of the Lord of the place. The Princess sent her steward to ask us what we wished to have for our meals, and during the three days of our stay at Zaslaw our breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, were brought us from the château. Princess Joseph Lubomirska, residing at the distance of about twenty miles, sent us her young son with some clothing and books. Madame Czacka, Prince Sanguszko's daughter, found also means to forward us a letter full of tenderness and friendship. But, alas! this was the last time that we had intercourse with our countrymen, and received proofs of their generous and compassionate interest! We were approaching the fatal hour which was to separate us from the rest of the world.
It was, if I mistake not, on the 17th of November that Suwarow’s courier arrived with the intelligence that Warsaw had capitulated, after Praga had been taken by assault, and that horrible attrocities had been committed by the Russians in this unfortunate suburb of our capital. The same courier was the bearer of dispatches, and secret instructions concerning us. We suspected this from the whisperings of Titow and his officers, from their frequent intercourse, and especially from a secret conference which they had, shut up in a room for an hour. We learnt nothing else after this, but that our generals, officers, and soldiers, who had hitherto marched with us, were to continue their route with Chruszczew, and that General Kosciuszko, Major Fischer, and myself, under the escort of Titow, accompanied by four officers and a detachment of horse, which was to be relieved on the way, were to be conducted in post-chaises to another place. They did not tell us where we were to go, and we were lost in conjectures. Sometimes we thought that a town in the heart of the empire would be assigned us for our prison; sometimes that we were on our way to Kamtchatka, to shoot martins and sables; we imagined, in fine, everything but the cruel treatment they were preparing for us. Towards the evening, Chruszczew having sent me word that Princess Sanguszko wished to see me, and take leave of me, I went immediately to her château, accompanied by Titow. The kind Princess, whose patriotism did not extend any farther than the limits of her estates, entirely devoted to the Russians, and initiated in their most secret views, took me aside, and, after very painful consolations on my situation, said to me, that my fate was in my own hands; that I could choose the most brilliant rewards, or the most severe treatment, and that everything depended upon my candour in disclosing all the secrets of the last revolution, and naming its actors. “Our revolution,” said I, “has no secrets. Poland was laid waste, sacked, pillaged, and divided; we made a last effort to save her, it has proved to be an unsuccessful one; but at least, nobody can say that we have in a cowardly manner abandoned her. The names of those who took an active part in this event are known, and vengeance will not have great difficulty in finding them and striking its victims. But if there are citizens who, without being known, have assisted the common cause with their personal efforts or fortunes, believe me, Madam, that even the menace of death could not compel me to betray their names.” “I pity you, Sir.” “Your are exceedingly kind, Madam.” Thus terminated this conversation and visit. I forgot to say, that while I was going along with Titow to the château, he said to me: “By Jove! I never expected that you would be sent to such a good place.” As he said nothing more, Fischer and myself supposed that we were going to Nowogorod, Kazan, Astracan, or some other large town in the empire, the custom of never sending prisoners to St. Petersburg preventing us from thinking a single moment of that capital.
As we were to set out the following morning at the break of day, we spent the rest of the evening in packing up, and making necessary preparations for our journey. We were awakened before the dawn; it was snowing, and colder than on any previous day that winter. Generals Sierakowski, Kniaziewicz, Kaminski, Brigadier Kopec, and several other officers came to take leave of us. What a moment! what a separation! Our hearts seemed to forebode that we were never to meet again, and it was long before we could separate, but, at last, after many tender embraces, we were obliged to leave them and set out.
Titow and two officers, along with Fischer and myself, were placed in a carriage; General Kosciuszko, with the Surgeon-Major, in another; the old grenadiers behind us, and two other officers in a kibitka; the whole preceded and followed by a detachment of horse. The day was not yet breaking; snow, mixed with hail, was battering the carriage windows, so that we were not able to recognize objects, and the horses and carriages, sinking in rugged and half frozen roads, were stopping at every moment. It was a damp and piercing cold; I felt pain in my wound, but I suffered still more from the afflicting thoughts which burthened my mind. Until this time, we had at least the satisfaction of being with our countrymen; and though free intercourse was interdicted, we could, nevertheless, see each other now and then, and exchange a few words which might be indifferent to others, but which were of the greatest interest to us. Among those who came or were sent to see us, when we were on our journey, we met old acquaintance, friends, compassionate souls; but now, surrounded by gaolers, separated for ever from all that was dear to us, sure of a cruel lot, uncertain only what kind of torments were reserved for us, with the heart-rending idea, that it was all over with our country, having before our eyes the melancholy picture of the recent atrocities perpetrated at Praga, the proscription of our relatives and friends, and the confiscation of our estates—overwhelmed by all these melancholy thoughts, we now advanced on our way in mournful silence. Titow and his people, who had shewn us hitherto some outward marks of civility, assumed all at once an air of authority and reserve, either in consequence of having just received new instructions, or what is more likely, because they did not see any one superior to themselves. The character of our head-superintendent was a mixture of ignorance, presumption, and cruelty; it was said that he was brave before the enemy,—it maybe so; but certainly he was more mendacious and thievish than brave. His companions were Captain Ostafi Ostaficz Udom, a knave, but who had better manners than the others; Zmiewski, a stupid nonsensical drunkard; Mitrowski, a down-right good fellow; finally, the young Lieutenant Karpen, a crafty and false man, affecting the polish of a superior education. Such were the characters that watched us day and night. One of them, Udom, set out secretly for Warsaw; he was to visit his patrons there, and amongst them the widow of Kniaz Gagarin, who was killed during the revolution, to dress himself from top to toe, and to bring Titow’s mistress, whom he had left in our capital when the Russians were driven from it. Udom intended to overtake us on the road in a fortnight. I availed myself of this opportunity to write to my nephew Boryslawski, requesting him to send me some linen and clothes, my casket of antiques, and two hundred ducats which were in my chest. Udom being unable to return so soon as he expected, we were, in the meantime, left without mercy to all the caprice and violence of Titow. Fersen, when he entrusted us to his care, gave orders to pay him one thousand ducats to defray our travelling expenses, but during our progress through Poland, he never paid any thing, and when we entered the provinces seized by Russia, we, at every station, at every place where we put up for the night, had new disputes and quarrels, which he finished by scarcely paying one half of our expenses, whilst every thing we wanted was put down in his accounts at a high price. In this manner the Russian officers satisfied their cupidity. Titow told us, frequently, without any ceremony, that he was saving money on our necessaries, in order to enjoy it soon with his mistresses. When near Brody, and still in the presence of Chruszczew, and fifty other officers, he bought from the merchants of Gallicia several pieces of fine linen for himself and his companions, the whole being paid with the money which was destined for our maintenance. Two days after our separation from Chruszczew we arrived at Miendzyboz, a property belonging to Prince Adam Czartoryski, now confiscated and ruined. Not far from this place were several most beautiful studs, which had just been sold by auction at a very low price, for the benefit of the Empress. Miendzyboz[3] was the head-quarters of the Russian armies cantoned, under the command of Soltikoff, in the provinces lately seized from Poland. We stopped there for a day, and were lodged in a convent. Soltikoff, under pretence of indisposition, did not come to see us himself, but sent his aide-de-camp, with compliments of condolence, who told us, by his general's orders, that we should keep our minds at rest, that the clemency of his sovereign was boundless, and that we had nothing to fear. Whilst sending us these assurances by his aide-de-camp, he was giving at the same time to Titow severer instructions than ever. The latter received orders to send every evening a courier with an exact journal, stating what we were doing, besides a report not only of our health, the road by which we passed, the place where we stopped, but also of our conversations, temper, and perhaps, even gestures. This was a dreadful work for our dear Titow, who scarcely knew how to read; how then could he conceive, compose, and make a fair copy, every day, of a work of such length, and on so difficult a subject? Zmiewski and Karpen, who had studied in Moscow, were called to concoct those sublime compositions. It was in the evening that our learned editors were busy with their work; the houses where we lodged were often so small, that there was only a little closet for General Kosciuszko, and a single room for us all. Lying upon my straw, and pretending to sleep, I heard distinctly all the observations they made on us, with all their debates upon the choice of words and the elegance of style. Though I suffered much, I confess that I was often obliged to hide my face under my cloak, lest I should betray the laughter that their stupidity excited.
I do not know whether it was those labours, or the length of our journey, that exasperated Titow, the fact, nevertheless, is, that he was growing every day more rude and insufferable. His greatest pleasure was to speak ill of Poland. Though I was a prisoner, I could not suffer such insolence, and reproached him in the strongest terms with his injustice and want of delicacy, but seeing that it was useless to dispute with a barbarian, who was our master, I resolved not to speak to him at all, but to read and be silent. This put him in terrible fits of anger, for as soon as he began his invectives, I took my book and read as if I were alone; he continued, and I proceeded with my reading with still more attention. Wounded to the quick, he closed the wooden shutters of the carriage to deprive me entirely of light, but there being, fortunately, in the board, a little hole, through which a small ray passed, I held my book to it, and read on. Tired at last, and almost infuriated with my obstinacy, he wished to take revenge for once, by a sally, full of salt and erudition, and said to me angrily, “It is in vain that you study continually, you will never be so learned as Pygmalion.” “Pygmalion a learned man!” exclaimed Fischer, bursting with laughter; “Are you astonished?” said the Major, “you see how ignorant you are, with all your books; you do not know, then, that Pygmalion, according to our Greek religion, was so learned a man, that having, in his house, a marble girl, he taught her to speak, read, and write!” “Ah! yes, yes, I remember now,” interrupted Fischer, “it was in the time of the Empress Anne!”
Our dear Major was not, however, satisfied with his brutal whims, and witty sarcasms in the carriage, but when he was out of it he exercised continual cruelties. Scarcely had we arrived at an inn, and the inn-keeper appeared, when he was treated with a couple of boxes on the ear, accompanied by a torrent of obscenity and abuse. Scarcely had the postilion left the stable with his horses, when the Major, with whip in hand, rushed immediately upon him, and loaded the poor fellow with blows, during the whole time he was putting the horses to the carriage. When the inn-keeper was lucky enough to succeed in hiding himself, and the postilion had gone to fetch something they required, Titow did not remain inactive; always armed with his whip, he applied it to the idlers and children around our carriage, and when even they were driven away, he did not lose his time, but whipped the horses. It was, indeed, very galling to us to witness every day all these cruelties. Alas! how often were these honest people rewarded with insults and blows for all their hospitality and attention to us! It may be said, without any exaggeration, that everywhere on the road our steps were stained with blood, and bathed with tears.
In the meantime we beheld the five gilded cupolas of the basilic of Kiow; our conductors having orders not to stay at any large town, but to escort us as secretly as possible, took great care not to let us pass through that ancient capital of Russia. We lost three hours before we could cross the Dnieper, after which they led us to the house of a pop or vicar of the village, situated on the opposite bank of that river. Titow remained at Kiow, where he spent all the day. Under the basilic of Kiow there are catacombs, or subterranean vaults, called in Russian Pieczary, where seventy bodies of Russian saints and martyrs are deposited. These black dry skeletons are attired in their pontifical robes. In my visit to Kiow, in 1786, I had seen those pretended relics, which are continually visited by great numbers of people. This place is the Russian Mecca; and a Muscovite would doubt of his salvation if he did not at least once in his life go on a pilgrimage to it. The Major had too much good sense to think differently; thus, though covered the day before with the blood of the unfortunate people whom he had beaten, he went now, with a contrite heart and humble countenance, to visit those holy places. When he returned at night, all beaming with joy, he related to his comrades how his heart had thrilled when he approached those cousins-german of the Everlasting, how many times he had fallen on his knees, how he had prayed, and how the priest had taken the cap from the head of a saint and put it on his, &c. His comrades listened to him, sighed, and envied him his happiness.
The Major brought also visitors with him, two Russian Generals and a French physician. The latter, so far as I could judge from his manners and knowledge, had scarcely been a barber in his own country. Russia swarms with barbers and other people of that sort, who come from France and become tutors, physicians, or secretaries to the first families in St. Petersburg and Moscow. When these gentlemen had left us, a courier unexpectedly arrived from St. Petersburg, sent by Alexis–Nikolaiewicz Samoilow, the Grand Procurator and Minister of the Home Department and the Secret Affairs of the Empress. This courier was Major Achmatow, a soldier of fortune, who was, if possible, more ignorant than all our guards together, but, in other respects, a very good fellow. The Russian cabinet fearing that Titow, with his officers and grenadiers, would not be able sufficiently to watch three poor crippled men, sent Achmatow to share the empire of Titow. The latter was much displeased with this division of supreme authority; false and dissembling, however, he hid his dissatisfaction, and soon gained a complete ascendancy over the simple good-natured Achmatow. The appearance of this new actor on the stage procured us some relaxation of rudeness from our tyrant. Titow, being inclined to gossip, overwhelmed Achmatow with questions, and left us the most of the time at rest; sometimes even we pretended to read while we were listening to their conversation.
During the last war with Sweden, Achmatow, who rose from being a simple corporal to the grade of Major, was entrusted with the command of a small vessel, the crew of which was composed of galley-slaves and bandits, and distinguished himself in several actions. Relating his exploits, he told an anecdote, which will show what is the idea of honour among the Russians. “In the battle of Swenske Sound,” said he, “I was attacked by two Swedish galleys. After a vigorous defence, perceiving that it would be impossible to resist any longer, I struck my flag, as if I intended to surrender, and as soon as the Swedes, not suspecting any danger, approached my vessel to capture it, I gave them a broadside of grape-shot, which killed many of their crew; I repeated this stratagem twice; they would, however, have infallibly sunk me, if a west wind fortunately had not risen, which, as my vessel was a faster sailer, soon enabled me to escape them.” Titow greatly admired this trait of presence of mind and finesse. After the war, Achmatow, in acknowledgment of his services, was appointed cabinet courier for the interior, with the rank of Major. “Whoever has seen much, has much to tell,” says the proverb, Achmatow, in his sledge or kibitka, had passed often through Asia, from the Arctic Ocean to the frontiers of China, without thinking that he was passing through it, for when I asked him if there were many fortresses upon the line which separates Europe from Asia, he looked at me with wide staring eyes, and asked what Asia was. Upon another occasion, he asked me how many minutes there were in an hour. This want of education, however, was compensated by knowledge of a different kind. He related to us, for instance, how bieluga, a fish from which they make caviar, is caught at Astrachan; he told us that this fish was a quarter of a verst long, and that when drawn from the water it wept, and begged the fishers to let it go. In other respects, as I have already said, he was a very honest man, and behaved very well towards us. A few months after he was appointed Gorodniczy, a sort of mayor, in a small town in Asia.
After a journey of two days, we arrived at Czernihow,[4] the chief-town of the province of the same name, which, as well as Kiow, belonged to Poland, until John Sobieski, being engaged in his wars with the Turks, had abandoned it definitively to Russia. The inhabitants of this province preserved, until this time, sincere attachment to their mother country. After dinner, two old officers brought us a plateful of fine apples, and begged us to accept them. Our guards not being present for some time, they talked to us in Polish, with an interest which touched us deeply. “The Polish blood runs in our veins,” said they. “We sincerely pity your fate; but, alas!” Titow happened to come in, and interrupted them.
Czernihow is a pretty little town. The Russians excel in the art of constructing wooden houses; I have nowhere seen them better built, and it may be said they have manufacturers of them. In large towns, such as Moscow, there are markets where ready made houses are sold ; the pieces are brought numbered, and require only to be put together to form a house.
The winter did not allow us to see the fertility and beauty of the country through which we were passing. It was Ukrania, the most beautiful province of the Russian empire, rich in corn, pasturage, honey, and especially in horses and cattle. Despotism, however, and the great distance from navigable rivers, deprive it in some measure of commercial advantages. We did not see a single silver-coin, either here or upon all the road as far St Petersburg. There were only bank-notes and large copper coins of five kopeikas, which we carried with us in huge bags, and which we called, with Fischer, the riches of the nation.
We entered then the White Poland, a province seized from Poland at the first partition in 1773. From Homell we passed a country of twenty miles in extent, belonging formerly to Prince Radziwill, but now confiscated by the magnanimous Catherine, who took almost as much from General Oginski. The greater part of those domains belonged to the Russian Crown, some estates were given to Russians, and amongst them Romanzow. At Mohilew, formerly a royal domain, and now the seat of the government of the same name, we crossed once more the Dnieper. When we were changing horses before the post-house, a large crowd gathered around our carriage; it was more interest and compassion than vain curiosity that had brought them there to see us. I noticed an old Pole, wearing the national dress, whose countenance I shall never forget. He was a tall, thin looking man, about seventy years old, with an aquiline nose; his features were full of nobleness and sensibility, and his look shewed great sympathy for us. He was a long time silent; then being unable to restrain his grief, he ran to us, melting into tears, when the merciless Major appeared with his whip, and the old man had scarcely time to escape.
We passed the following night at Szklow, a commercial town, which Prince Czartoryski was obliged to sell, with the neighbouring estates, to the Empress, for her favourite Zoritz. This ex-favourite of Catherine resides there, oppresses the Jews and the Christians, and lives with matchless ostentation. He has established there a little corps of cadets, keeps an Italian theatre, receives a great deal of people, drinks, eats, plays, lives in a continual ennui, and is perhaps the most unhappy man in the world. The Empress adored him, and, puffed up with his good luck, he was imprudent enough to quarrel with Potemkin, to draw his sword against him, and to pursue him in the presence of the Empress herself. The ascendancy which Potemkin exercised over Catherine's mind, proved to be more powerful than the passion of his mistress, and Zoritz was banished for ever to his estates, where, enjoying plenty, and giving himself up to debauchery and luxury, he pants after his lost favours; and though the Empress has twenty times since changed her lovers, he always flatters himself that his turn will yet come, and this idea torments, and, at the same time, supports his sinking existence.
It happened by chance that Korsakow, Zoritz's successor, who, like him, was dismissed at the end of a year, received confiscated estates close by those of his companion in gallantry. It was natural that, being both monuments of the vicissitudes of love, they should live in the greatest intimacy. Zoritz, evading often the watchful eye of his attendants, escapes to Korsakow's house, who lives more retired, and there, shut up, tête à tête, with a bowl of punch before them, they spend nights in slandering the present favourites, talking of their past felicity, and relating to each other anecdotes about the boudoir of the empress, numerous enough, if written, to form a supplement to the loves of the twelve Cæsars.
It was, I think, between Orsza and Witebsk that Captain Udom joined us from his secret journey to Warsaw. We were all awaiting him with impatience, though from totally different motives. We eagerly desired his return, hoping that we should receive assistance and news from our friends, and that his representations would slacken Titow's cruelties. The Major, for his own part, looked forward with anxiety to the moment when his dear Yewuszka, the object of his love, esteem, and tenderness, was to be restored to him. But how astonished, grieved, and enraged was he when he saw Udom arrive without his mistress, and when he learnt from him that his dear Yewuszka, having taken all his clothes and furniture, had decamped from Warsaw, no one knew whither! Immediately this paragon of all virtues and graces was loaded by our Major with the most outrageous epithets. “O! if I had her here,” said he, raising his terrible whip, “how I would lash her how I would lash her!” And saying this, he whipped the ground with all his force, as if he were punishing his unfaithful belle. Udom then took him aside, and spoke a long time with him, after which the Major seemed to be confused and thoughtful. Udom, as we afterwards learnt, had informed him that, in the inns and post-houses which we had passed, he heard only complaints of him, and saw only people whom he had abused or beaten, and that, in consequence of this, instead of being rewarded at St. Petersburg, as he was expecting, he might endure the most severe punishment. He told him also that the governments through which we were to pass, were different from others, being under Romanzow and Repnin, two men known for their integrity and justice, and if he did not restrain his passion for beating every body, he might bring upon himself great misfortune. “Who knows,” added Udom, “if at this very moment they have not already complained of you?” These representations produced the desired effect; and from this time Titow generally confined himself to insults and oaths, using his whip but very seldom, and with more discretion. Udom brought me letters from Boryslawski and Marshal Potocki, which, after being opened and read by the committee of our guards, were delivered to me. Boryslawski sent me the list of the few things which Udom was kind enough to take for me. I received a small portmanteau with some linen, and my casket of antiques, but instead of two hundred ducats, Udom gave me only one hundred and twenty. “I spent the remainder,” said he, “for some clothes to the Major and myself—we will repay you by and by.” When we were passing through Witebsk, we saw a band of young men, who, on our approach, took off their caps and exhibited a strange appearance, having one half of their heads shaved, and the other covered with hair. These were conscripts on their way to join the army; and this operation was performed on them, in order that they might be recognized in case of desertion.
We were sometimes lodged on this road, in small wooden palaces, built on purpose for the Empress, at the time of her first visit to Crimea. All this journey of hers was truly a fairy scene; she travelled with all her court, favourites, ladies in waiting, ministers, ambassadors; one thousand horses were in readiness for her at every station, and where-ever she stopped, a place comfortably fitted up for her reception seemed to spring up from the ground. In these it was sometimes allowed afterwards to accommodate persons for the night, who travelled by the orders of the court. Alas! we had that sad privilege, and the same apartments that had once been the abode of her upon whom fortune had poured all her favours, served for a shelter to unfortunate captives whom she had plunged into the depths of misery. The best furniture had been removed from those buildings, although some of it still remained; I saw, for instance, a dressing table of the Empress, and her bed-room, with a small door leading to that of her favourite. It was, indeed, impossible to travel more comfortably. At Szklow, Zoritz prepared her quite a gallant surprize. The Empress alighted at her house, and after supper, Zoritz led her as far as the door of the apartments which were destined for her. The Empress stept in, but how surprised was she at seeing herself in her own apartments at St. Petersburg! She beheld the same size of apartments, the same tapestry, the same furniture, and even the same bed-curtains. It was impossible to prove, in a more suitable manner, how deeply the recollection of those places which had witnessed his happiness, was engraven on his heart. It is said that the Empress, unable to resist so many delicate attentions, rewarded the author of them in a manner which annoyed Mamonow, the favourite in active service at that time.
After three days’ journey from Witebsk, we left White Russia, a province wrested from Poland at the first partition in 1772. So far as a prisoner can judge, who saw only inns and public roads, I must here confess, in consistency with truth, that this province seemed to have improved greatly, in all material points of view, since the partition.
In all the countries through which I have travelled, I have generally observed that the difference between an absolute and a free government consists chiefly in this, that where the former is established, however miserable the condition of the inhabitants may be, everything under public management, such as roads, public conveyances, posting, and police regulations, store-houses, sometimes even hospitals, and especially the army, is in the greatest order, and superintended with the strictest accuracy. In free countries, on the contrary, the inhabitants, enjoying all the advantages which are unknown to those under oppression, and possessing the power of turning them to the greatest weal of society, seem to confirm every day the old adage, “the public property belongs to nobody.” Thus, as we see those republicans happy and in easy domestic circumstances, so we find them very indifferent to everything connected with public establishments, which, generally, in their country are conducted as dame fortune pleases. The cause of this appears to me to lie, first, in the difficulty of making the bulk of a republican community understand that order and obedience are not at all incompatible with a wise liberty; and, in the second place, in the want of public spirit, and in the selfishness with which the modern republicans enjoy their liberty. That patriotism and national pride which animated the Greeks and Romans, scarcely exist now-a-days. The Greeks and Romans, in the most glorious period of their history, however sober and modest in their private life, spared neither trouble nor expense in anything that could add to the public usefulness and splendour: the mere ruins of their buildings astonish us still. The modern republican thinks only of himself; he eats well, goes to the tavern and drinks his brandy for a dollar, loses ten dollars in a cock-fight, and when he returns home, and is asked two shillings for the repair of a bridge, he complains immediately of oppression, and swears that liberty is lost.[5] England is the only country I have hitherto seen, where the valuable benefits of liberty are united with the advantages of an energetic administration, so necessary for the weal of all. The Americans, sheltered by their laws and geographical situation from the wars which ravage Europe, enjoy a pure and quiet life, but they enjoy it only because they do not yet know either the refinements of pleasure or the uproar of passions to which these give rise. Centuries must elapse before the increase of population can create among them luxury and fictitious wants, or draw a distinct line betwixt rich and poor, and compel the great mass of the latter to sell their labour at a low price; it is then only that the hands not engaged in employment for acquiring the necessaries of life, will turn to the production of articles of luxury and magnificence. Arts and sciences will embellish the cities, and bring forth enjoyments hitherto unknown; man will enjoy and suffer more; but will he be happier for all this? I know not.
Let us now return to our melancholy journal. After having left the ancient boundaries of Poland, we entered the government of Nowogorod, the theatre of the achievements and victories of our king Stephen Batory, who had conquered all this province, and had taken by assault the fortresses Wielikie-Luki, Toropec, Zawolocze, &c. Undoubtedly he would have subdued, at that time, all the empire, as was the case at a later epoch, under the reign of Sigismondus III., if the Czar had not sent ambassadors to Rome, offering to Pope Gregory XIII. to abjure the schism, and to join the Roman Church, on condition that he would engage the King of Poland to suspend his conquests. Batory, who was more of a zealous catholic than a good politician, allowing himself to be seduced by those fine promises, withdrew his armies from Russia: and the Czar, seeing that the danger was over, withdrew his word, and laughed at both the King and the Pope; it was, if I may say so, a repetition of the old finesse of the Paleologi, when Constantinople was threatened by the Turks.
The province of Nowogorod is fertile, and commerce had been introduced into it by some privileges that the Empress granted to its merchants. We often spent nights at the houses of those merchants. They wear long beards, and dress after the Asiatic fashion. They travel through the immense extent of the country from the boundaries of China to Poland, and even as far as Leipzig, Frankfort, &c. An image of St. Nicholas, attired in a pure silver robe, bespoke directly the wealth of the landlord. Those images are the penates or fetiches of the Russians. St. Nicholas ranks with them just after the Empress, and immediately before the Everlasting Father. A Russian scarcely enters an apartment, ere he turns to the image and worships it, by bowing and crossing himself nine times. They take those images with them to the camp, and on board the men-of-war. I saw at Abo, in the possession of a Swede, the commander of a squadron, such a St. Nicholas in a silver frock, taken on board of a Russian xebec.
They did not conceal any longer from us that we were going to St. Petersburg. As we advanced to the capital, couriers were passing to and fro with more rapidity, and the conversations and whisperings of our attendants became more frequent. Titow, either from malice or ignorance, talked to us only of the clemency and generosity with which we were to be treated. A despatch, however, which he received in our presence, soon destroyed whatever little faith we had in his words, for the address, written in large letters, ran as follows: To the Commander of the Escort conducting the Rebel Kosciuszko and others. Thus they denominated citizens of a free and independent nation, who had taken up arms only to escape usurpation, oppression, and themost atrocious tyranny. In spite, however, of our bad health, and the severity of the winter, the Major, wishing to get rid of his burthen, and enjoy the pleasures of the capital, hastened our progress. He called us at four o'clock, and, after a cup of coffee, packed us up in the carriage. I shall never forget those nightly journeys; the road was lighted only by the whiteness of the snow, upon which the aurora borealis reflected sometimes a blood-red colour. We passed through extensive forests; darkness and mournful silence enveloped nature—our guards slept—we alone remained awake, plunged in melancholy thoughts, overpowered with grief, sorrow and anxiety. Now and then the noise of pine-branches, broken by the weight of the snow, and falling down, awoke the Major, who, to calm his fright and lull him asleep again, ordered the postilion to sing. There is, perhaps, no nation that has a greater natural talent for music, and likes it more than the Russians. Nothing is more melancholy and touching than their airs, and the expression with which they sing them; their slavery and miserable condition seem to find went in those mournful songs. They were suitable to my situation, and I have been often moved by them to tears.
The country around the capital is neither more populous nor better cultivated than the provinces through which we had passed; and it is not the least singularity of this immense empire, that as we approach the metropolis, the Russian language is lost, and the people speak Finnish. The first place that drew our attention near St. Petersburg was Gatchina, the country seat belonging to the Grand Duke Paul Petrowicz, the present Emperor. His continual residence in this village had raised it to the importance of a small town in the German fashion. The château is built in the Gothic style; it is not, however, more ancient than the monarchy, that is to say, not even two hundred years old. When we stopped at the gate, we were astonished to see a Prussian sergeant come to put the usual questions to us; he wore the pointed cap of a grenadier, well fitting gaiters, a halberd, and in short, the complete accoutrement of a soldier of Frederick II. He belonged to the little troop of the Grand Duke, who was allowed by Catherine, as a compensation for the sceptre she had wrested from him, to torment at his pleasure one hundred of those unfortunate fellows, who were dressed after the Prussian fashion.
At length, about three o'clock in the afternoon, we stopped at an inn at Carskoe Selo, the Versailles of Russia, where during summer, that is during two months, the Empress generally resides. It is there that she lays aside the splendour of her diadem, or rather wishes that the people should think so, and perhaps imagines herself to be but a mere country-woman. While this country-woman, however, with her pasteboard bonnet covered with black taffeta, and her simple mantilla, cane and parasol, is superintending the cultivation of her cabbages and turnips, she signs decrees of proscription, confiscation, and banishment to Siberia. We saw only as much of Carskoe Selo as could be seen from the window of the inn, a part of the château, and a kind of triumphal arch raised for Orlow, the Empress' favourite, when he went, at the risk of his precious life, with orders to Moskow during the plague. Close by lies the village Sofijskoy, where the Empress was making agricultural experiments on such productions as the climate allows to be cultivated.
After having spent nearly three hours in this inn, we saw Achmatow arrive at last. He immediately exchanged some words with Titow, then left us again, and we followed slowly, in half an hour after. It is customary in Russia for the post-chaises to have a small bell attached to the pole, to warn the travellers to make room for them on the road. Here, for the first time, they took off that bell, and we proceeded at a slow pace through an avenue bordered with birch trees. After passing the gate, we had to travel some versts before entering the town. I perceived that they were taking a circuitous way, turning right and left, and choosing the less frequented streets, which was a bad omen for us. At last the carriage suddenly stopped. It was a very dark night. I heard a knot of persons talking in a low voice, and, as far as I was able to see in the darkness, they appeared to be dressed in large furs, and caps of the same material, which almost covered their faces. This conference lasted fully a quarter of an hour, which seemed to me an age. At last the carriage door was opened, and they told me to alight. I shook hands with Fischer, and took leave of him. As soon as I came out of the carriage, two of those men wrapped up in furs, took me arm in arm, and holding me tight, started. Soon after I heard the sullen and imposing noise of the river, as it swept along large blocks of ice in its current. After having walked about fifty paces, we stepped into a covered boat, where my two guards placed me upon a form, keeping always hold of my arms, and two others sat at my feet. The watermen started the boat, and rowed in the greatest silence. I saw nothing, and heard only the cracking of the pieces of ice carried along by the water. This situation, I confess, was most painful to me, for all this mystery, silence, and caution, showed me too well that I was considered a state-prisoner, and therefore honoured with the particular hatred of the Empress, by whose orders, no doubt, they acted in this manner. I endeavoured to arm myself with all my courage, and during my passage I had in my mind the “Justum et tenacem” of Horace. The Roman poet sang these beautiful verses at his ease, in his charming Sabine villa, lying comfortably on a sofa, by the side of his beloved Lalage. But could he have made these verses, if loaded with chains, and on the point of being thrown into prison, as I was? I doubt it. After a sail of half an hour, our boat touched the bank, and I found myself at the foot of a wall, which formed the flank of a bastion. It is in a fortress then that I am to be shut up, thought I. I was conducted along this wall, then through a spacious court, opposite a lighted stair-case. Everything seemed to be in great motion. Civil and military officers, attired in beautiful pelisses, were ascending and descending. I was ordered at first to pass by another way, but they soon made me retrace my steps, and mount that stair-case. I entered a large room filled with people, where I perceived Fischer, and this circumstance restored my courage; perhaps we shall be together, thought I, and the prison will appear to us less horrible. After having waited a quarter of an hour, we saw a man six feet high enter, in a purple velvet court-dress, with two ribbons on it, from the left and right shoulder a profusion of orders, cuffs of the finest lace, a cue, and large boots lined with fur. Notwithstanding all this magnificence, a barbarous pride and rudeness appeared in his features and manners. This was Alexander-Nikolaiewicz Samoilow, the nephew of Potemkin, Procurator General, or Secretary of State for the Home-Department and Secret Affairs of the Empress. He came up to me with an air of gravity, and, after a pause, he asked, in slow and measured words: “In what capacity have you been with General Kosciuszko?” “In the capacity of a friend and volunteer officer,” replied I. Then a long silence followed. I was attired in a pelisse of wolf's skin, my arm in a sling, and my hair in disorder. Wishing to break the silence, and resume the conversation, “I am sorry, sir,” said I, “to appear before you in dress so unsuitable.”—“This is not the time for politeness,” answered he coldly. I was going to tell him, that I was not aware that there was any time when gentlemen could dispense with being polite, but I said nothing, and did better. At a given sign from him, our conductors surrounded us and led us down stairs.
We passed through the spacious court of the fortress, and went out by a large gate leading to the draw-bridge, which joined the fortress with the out-works. Behind high walls, extending in the shape of a flêche, appeared in the distance a wooden-house. The door of this house was opened, and, followed by our conductors, we entered a passage lighted by a single candle; there were on both sides of it small doors, and at each of them I saw a sentry standing as immoveable as a statue. They ushered me into a room at the farthest end of the passage, and I saw myself in a cell, the odour and dampness of which evinced that it was newly whitewashed. “This is your abode,” said my guardian angels, “and, according to the regulations of the house, you will allow us to search you.” “If it is the rule,” said I, “I will spare you the trouble;” and immediately I drew from my pockets two rolls of ducats, my watch, and a few papers of no importance. They took the whole and withdrew, leaving in their place a corporal with five soldiers. I threw my eyes upon my new dwelling; it was a small room, about eight feet square, with a window surrounded with large iron bars, a stove, a wooden bed with a mattress, a chair, and a table upon which was a wooden candlestick with a small bit of candle. I asked for drink, and they brought me some water in a wooden porringer. It was eleven o'clock in the evening, on the 10th December, 1794, a date which will certainly be for ever present in my memory.
- ↑ In all the revolutions which shook Russia for a century, men distinguished rather by their courage and enterprising spirit, than by illustrious birth, directed the events, and were at the head of the parties. —Note of the Author.
- ↑ They took even the children's toys; and among the number of Chruszczew's forty waggons, loaded with spoils, there was one which contained only those playthings. This confused heap of wooden horses, wooden carriages, pasteboard castles, and all sorts of dolls, placed at random one over the other, presented a grotesque sight. Little Iwan, Chruszczew's son, was the richest child in the world in dolls; thus at the age of seven years he was already satiated with every juvenile pleasure. Wherever we stopped, those treasures were displayed before him; he amused himself for some time, then soon became tired with everything. He took one doll after the other, looked at it, then broke its arms and legs, and threw it on the floor. He mounted a wooden horse, balanced himself on it for an instant, and was, likewise, disgusted with it. He was a true Beaujon in his house of the Champs Elysées, in the midst of his millions, splendid furniture, mistresses, tired with everything, as much with the world as himself, and yawning in his cradle suspended with garlands of roses.—(Note of the Author.)
- ↑ The extensive estate of Miendzyboz, in Volhynia, confiscated to the family Czartoryski, under the Empress Catherine, was afterwards restored to them, and belonged, in 1830, to Prince Adam Czartoryski, who sacrificed it again, by taking part in the last Polish revolution. The town of Miendzyboz is remarkable for its antique chateau, which the Prince caused to be repaired for the establishment of a High-School. The Czar has just destined this fine property to be a military colony.
- ↑ At Czernihow I saw, for the first time, paper money exchanged for copper coin. These are large pieces of five sous (2½ pence) or kopeikas, very heavy and troublesome to the traveller. Ten roubles in copper take more room, and weigh more than all the luggage; there is, however, no other money in circulation. These notes had previously fallen 40 per cent below their nominal value,—they have now fallen 75 per cent.—(Note of the Author.)
- ↑ It will not, perhaps, be useless here to remind the reader that these remarks were written by Niemcewicz in the United States, fifty years ago.