CHAPTER V.

PASSION WEEK AND EASTER SUNDAY.

I HAD arrived at Cracow on the Wednesday in Passion week. Independently of the universal mourning which reigns to a greater or less extent all over Christendom during this solemn week, it was impossible to enter a church, or even take a turn in the streets, without perceiving that the inhabitants of Cracow were plunged in a grief of their own, potent enough to render any ordinances of the Church to put on black, and be of a sorrowful countenance, quite unnecessary. In every church solemn services were being performed throughout the whole day, and prayers were continually offered up for the repose of the souls of those who had fallen for their country. Instead of the motley advertisements, with which all available waste places are covered in prosperous cities, at the corner of every street in Cracow you read the names of those who had died of their wounds since yesterday, or been killed in some recent engagement, and the name of the church where a mass would be said for the repose of the soul of the departed. It was only a few weeks after the most disastrous episode of the insurrection, as far as the inhabitants of Cracow were concerned, that my arrival took place.

On the night of February 16, about a thousand of the flower of the youth of Poland set out upon the desperate adventure of surprising the Russian garrison at Miechow, a place of considerable importance, and their head-quarters in those parts. Instead of reaching Miechow while it was yet dark, and falling upon the Russians unawares, the insurgent column-composed for the most part of Cracow students and the sons of the landed aristocracy of Galicia-was unfortunately delayed, and appeared before Miechow an hour after daybreak, and found the Russians quite prepared for them. The town of Miechow lies pleasantly, nestling in a basin, and is approached by a gradual slope from every side. It is undefended by any sort of wall, and quite open to attack. When the insurgent band reached the crown of the gentle hills, and looked down upon the town below them, with its houses painted pink, green, and yellow, with a good sprinkling of gardens and orchards-yielding pleasant shade in summer, but then wearing their inhospitable winter dress-a suspicious silence seemed to reign in the place, and there were little or no signs of the enemy visible anywhere. Under the circumstances it might have been prudent to send out a reconnoitring party, but prudence is a quality quite foreign to Poles under any circumstances, with whom discretion is not only not the better part, but no part of valour.

Without a moment's hesitation the devoted column threw itself upon the town, and poured into the apparently deserted streets, the cavalry to the number of 100 leading the way. They were met by a perfect shower of lead from every house and orchard, and half

the saddles were emptied at the first volley. There was no turning back now, as the infantry pressed hotly on from behind. Through the narrow streets the insurgents fought their way into the open market-place, where a worse fate awaited them. For no sooner was the marketplace full of Poles, than the Russians surrounded it on every side, and the Finnish riflemen-the best shots in the Russian army-poured in a deadly fire upon the now helpless insurgents. Quarter was neither asked nor given, and a fearful slaughter took place. In the meantime the Russian soldiers, who were amenable to no sort of discipline, had drunk up every drop of brandy (wódki) to be found in the houses in which they had been concealed, and in their mad frenzy set fire to the town, which was soon in flames. I will not distress the reader by the details of the terrible scene which followed. I will only add here, that on passing through Miechow subsequently to the disaster, I found a heap of charred ruins, where but a short time before had stood one of the most thriving little towns in Poland. Out of a population of about 2,000, I found barely fifty remaining, with scarcely a roof over their heads. Among them was a poor mother, grieving for the loss of her children, but who was filled with gratitude at the selfdevotion of a Russian officer, quartered upon her at the time, who had risked his life in the vain effort to control the drunken fury of his men. It gives me the most sincere pleasure to add that, during the insurrection I heard of not a few instances of similar noble conduct on the part of Russian officers. In one case, of which I was informed by his brother officer, a certain Lieutenant Tidemann, at Petrikau, received a bayonet wound in

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the belly, while endeavouring to check the licence of his men.

While the grief of the inhabitants consequent on this disaster was yet fresh, Passion week, with its burden of solemn memories, broke upon Cracow, lending a deeper dye to the already general mourning. Though quite ignorant of the language, it was yet a pleasure to me to go into the churches and listen to the preachers. I could at least watch the attitude of the audience, and inferred from their wrapt attention, that the priest was only uttering what the people felt-the most telling kind of eloquence.

I remember well on the night of Good Friday standing in the deep shade, cast by a massive pillar in the church of St. Mary, which, as it stands in the market-place, has usurped the place of the cathedral far away on the castle hill, and quite built up in the fortifications, and watching the eager crowd, all standing and straining their necks, to catch the every word of the preacher. The mere sight of that church, with its waving throng of worshippers, partly sunk in deep shade, and partly standing out in bold relief in the lamplight, was enough to convince the most callous observer that stirring events were going on, and that the preacher had understood to improve the occasion, by adapting his discourse to the circumstances of the people.

As I should prescribe a visit to Rome as the most likely remedy for persons afflicted with tendencies to Romanism, so I should by all means advise them to keep clear of Poland. The Church of Rome, in Italy the sworn foe of all social progress, and every influence which has a tendency to elevate or enlighten a

people, in Poland is the representative of all that is good and noble. There, and perhaps only there, she is still a living force, a reality, and not a sham. In Poland she still supplies a want felt deeply by all classes of the people, and is ever at hand to perform the truest office of a Church, to comfort the afflicted and visit the fatherless and widow. By her wonderful capacity of sympathizing with human misery, she has gained a hold on the Polish nation which would have lost much of its force had the circumstances of the country been happier. Those whose knowledge of the Church of Rome is confined to countries where her influence is dominant, or where her power of sympathy is less called into action, are unacquainted with her truest force. I have never in any country witnessed more true devotion. than is to be met with in the cathedrals and churches of Poland. When a Church has for its leaders men who prefer death or banishment to lending themselves to a lie, no wonder that it gains for itself the respect not only of the whole country, but of the whole of civilized Europe. When Rzewuski-the worthy successor of Felinski, who is now undergoing his punishment in the depths of Russia-refused the other day to sign an address to the Emperor, he acted simply as a man of honour must have acted, in declining to put his name to a document which he knows to be a tissue of lies. To look at Poland on the one side, and Italy on the other, it would indeed appear that the same tree can bring forth both figs and thistles.

Throughout the Austrian dominions, it is the custom to set a watch at the sepulchre during the hours which intervene between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection.