Iza: a story of life in Russian-Poland

Preface

. "\ 1 7"HEN Iza's story appeared, now six years ago, the English press was almost unanimous in condemning its political tendency. The critics who were most friendly to it as a novel agreed in denouncing the views of the author as symptoms of an extreme case of Russo-phobia, and regretted that so much artistic energy should have been wasted on a lost cause, and on a mistaken one. Poland, they said, was dead and buried, and the time was past for tolling her dirge ; Russia had repented of her evil ways, and was rapidly striding on to perfect civilisation, and it was foolish, as well as wicked, to revive old grievances and to throw her past iniquities in her face. As to her exten sion towards India, it was clearly an idea fixed in the mind of the writer beyond the reach of argument or proof. Recent events have gone some little way towards showing what justice there was in this idee fixe, as well as in proving the value of the solemn pledges and indignant denials of Russia.

As to the new reign of humanity she boasts of having inaugurated, we have only to look at her treatment of Catholic Poland, with its long catalogue of exile, torture, VI

PREFACE.

. scourging of women and children, death in every form of revolting cruelty, to judge what this boast is worth. The time has perhaps now come for this monstrous sham to be manifested to all the world, and for the nations to see Russia as she really is, a varnished savage, a whited sepul chre filled with dead men's bones, a ghastly mockery of Christianity, more practically anti-Christian in its fanaticism, and hypocrisy, and cruel persecution of freedom and truth in human consciences, than the Turk whom she claims to civilise. The Turk is at any rate what he calls himself, and we know what to expect from him and how to deal with him. I have no wish to whitewash the Turk, nor to deny the Bulgarian horrors, or any extent of horrors that he may perpetrate during this war. But I should like to know if war was ever waged, even by the most civilised nation, without calling forth an array of inevitable horrors ?

Is it, then, fair to contrast these accidental outbursts of ferocity in war with the cold-blooded and systematic cruelty which Russia has exercised in Poland during half a century of peace? A brave man* in our own free Parliament has insisted on revealing to the English people some of these Muscovite deeds of darkness, compelling the liar to bear witness against himself. Everybody ought to read this Russian Report, t a book not compiled by a novelist or an enemy of Holy Russia, but drawn from official sources, * Mr. Owen Lewis. t Vide Correspondance respecting the treatment of the members of the United Greek Church in Russia. Presented to the House of Commons by command of Her Majesty, in pursuance of their address, dated March 5th, 1877. PREF A CE. VII and furnished chiefly by her own functionaries.

It is very harrowing, but we are the better for being harrowed now and then, especially when the process leads to the discern ment of truth. In this case it will enable us to form some idea as to whether our sympathy and moral support are due to Russia in the present crisis, or at any other time. As to Poland, I don't pretend to prophecy the dawn of a new day for her. But I believe now, as when I wrote this story, that she holds in her breast a principle of life, just as Russia does a principle of death ; that faith in God can never be confounded, and that patriotism is of the nature of faith, and partakers of its immortality. K. O'M. July 1st, 1877. N.B. — In the following pages the feminine names have been printed by mistake with the masculine termination, viz., ski instead of ska. CONTENTS.

CHAP. pAGE I. IZA I II. THE REIGN OF BAB AS 1 3 III. THE BROTHERS l8 IV. THE " BETTER BROTHER " 45 V. AB OVO 60 VI. MARIETTE'S WEDDING 65 VII. IN THE FOREST 70 VIII. BY THE RIVER 75 IX. SHADOWS IN THE SUNLIGHT 79 X. PAUL KIPLOFF . 8S XI. THE BALL AT LESNO 99 XII. WATCHING FOR THE FIRST STAR .... Il8 XIII. OTHER WATCHERS 124 XIV. "THEY ALSO SERVE WHO ONLY STAND AND WAIT" 131 XV. THE RIDE HOME I38 XVI. PAUL KIPLOFF'S PROPHECY 1 43 XVII. CHOOSING RECRUITS 153 XVIII. "ALL WENT MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL" . . 157 XIX. "HARK! DID YE NOT HEAR IT? " .... 166 XX. TAKEN AWAY 176 XXI. A BRUTAL SOLDIERY l8l XXII. TEMPTATION CONTENTS. X CHAP. PAGE XXIII. A MIDNIGHT REVEL . * J9^ XXIV. THE EXAMINATION 209 XXV. WATCHING 222 XXVI. A GREAT EVENT FOR MATKO ZARBAK . . . 227 XXVII. AT REST 234 XXVIII. A COMMON BROTHERHOOD 237 XXIX.

A DISAPPOINTMENT 244 XXX. THE PETITION TO THE CZAR 253 XXXI. PAUL KIPLOFF THROWS UP THE GAME . . . 263 XXXII. PARTING 279 XXXIII. THE INVITATION TO THE BALL 2S3 XXXIV. THE GOVERNOR'S BALL 29I XXXV. LADY MACKINTOSH'S STORY . 306 XXXVI. VOICES IN THE WILDERNESS 313 XXXVII. LADY MACKINTOSH HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH GENERAL BORYNOWSKI 321 XXXVIII. BORYNOWSKI AND IZA 329 XXXIX. PREPARING FOR THE JOURNEY 333 XL. THE DEPARTURE 336 XLI. LADY MACKINTOSH DISCOURSES WITH THE TARTAR . 345 XLII. THE JOURNEY'S END 350 XLIII. JOY 358 XLIV. FLOWERS IN THE DESERT 360 XLV. A FRUITLESS SEARCH 365 XLVI. AU REVOIR ! 36S IZA, A STORY OF LIFE IN RUSSIAN POLAND.

Chapter I

" In the days of peace, Before the coming ofthe Greeks. " T N the days of peace "... He closed the volume, and repeated the lines twice over, like a man testing their metre, or sounding their depth. " Yes," he said, speaking audibly — " yes, they are days of peace ; though the Greeks have come, and have not gone. Not yet — not yet ! " He passed his right hand behind him, his index parting the book, and marking the passage that had abruptly wrenched away his thoughts from the past, and thrown them before him towards the rising tide of the future. And was the tide rising ? Was the emphatic " not yet — not yet," a dreamer's repetition of mere words, suggested by the words of the great, blind Greek, telling the poem of the past ? — or was it the prophetic answer of the brave man's spirit, looking out from the dark present, with a patriot's trust in his country, and a Christian's trust in God ?

The future was darker still, as far as human eye could see ; but is there not sometimes a foreshadowing of the coming dawn, visible to the soul of the patriot, while still undiscernible to the vision of the slave ? A IZA. 2 Are there not " signs in the heavens " discovered by him whose watch is upward, while to the dull common gaze all is uniform cloud, charged with no portentous shadows, illuminated by no flashes of mysterious light ? The man whose eye is bent earthward may grow wise to note every change in the brown sod, whether it harden in the frost of winter, or parch and split under the hot summer sun ; but wh<at does he know, or care to know, of the symbols written on the broad blue page above him ? The sun may rise in the east, " telling of things that are to be hereafter," and may sink again in the red west, all girt with purple shadows, forerunners of the coming storm ; but what does this say to him whose eye has never dwelt lovingly on the sunlit glories of the clouds, never wandered worshipfully amidst the stars, keeping their solemn vigils through the night ?

The pasture lands and cornfields of Podolia stretched out towards the west as far as the eye could follow, and the setting sun poured down floods of rich red light upon the waving green, tossed to and fro by the spring breeze that was blowing across the plain. What a grand picture it is, that crimson sunset over a grain ocean in Podolia ! The thick ear of the " giant corn," heavy with its own wealth, bends on the slender stem with the lazy bobbing movement of a long-necked bird. For miles and miles the plain spread out its surging waste of verdure ; the green wave rising, falling, curling itself up into sheaves, then rippling out like the wavelets of the sea ; some times pausing, standing quite still when the breeze sank in a passing lull, and swinging itself into motion when the gust rose up again and swept it off in a long steady wave that broke under the sunset.

The rooks, flapping their strono black wings, flew low above the green expanse, home towards the forest. They might have been sea-gulls skimming the water, and cawing to the sing-song breeze that trailed over the scented meadow-grass and cornfields. IZA, 3 It is on such a scene that our story opens. Prince Kasimir stood watching the globe of fire till it dipped down under the horizon, and left the sky all ablaze in ruby and amber ; then he remembered that the castle bell had been ringing some time, calling him home. The man's aspect was in keeping with the scene : night was stealing on him ; broad patches of silver were robbing the massive head of its waning maturity, gathering the white locks of age as the twilight was gathering the gloom. He stood for some time apparently unwilling to answer the summons of the bell ; and then, with an effort, turned his back upon the sunset, and walked quickly towards the castle.

Ranslaw resembled more a fortress ofthe Middle Ages than a castle, properly speaking ; and the archives of the house of Opolski held many thrilling tales of bloody battles fought on those rich plains, and long sieges laid against the heavy bastioned, stone-turreted old pile, frowning grey and weather beaten in the midst of them. It was built upon the high level ground — an unusual circumstance in Podolia, where the valleys, filled with villages, are almost invariably crowned with the lordly dwellings of the nobles, while the plains above are given up to those luxuriant harvests that have won for the provinces of Ukraine and Podolia the title of " land of milk and honey." The country has a double aspect, each of which takes the traveller by surprise as it breaks upon him. Standing with Prince Kasimir on the table-land above, it presents the appearance of a vast unbroken plain.

In the east a dark forest of oaks, purple now in the deepening twilight, forms a grand contrast to the green ocean westward, and relieves the landscape from monotony. Through a long stately avenue of elms, we reach the grim gate, shadowed by an ancient oak, which the peasants believe to be haunted, and never pass without making the sign of the IZA 4 cross, to chase away the evil spirit of a Zaporogue, supposed to have been, in past ages, strung up on one of its branches. Passing under the turreted gateway, we come abruptly on the edge of a deep, wide, luxuriously-planted valley ; but for the green slopes, thickly planted, and sown to the water's edge, you would call it a ravine, so sharpiy is it hewn out of the plain. One might fancy some legendary giant had dashed down his hatchet, and cleft the land asunder, here and there, into wide rents, that had grown fertile by man's toil and the gurgling streams, widening into rivers as they run farther and farther from their cradle in the old Carpathians.

Standing in the valley below, and looking up towards the east, the traveller might take the indented curves of the plain, sharp and abrupt, for hills rising forest-crowned above his stand-point ; but half an hour's climbing dispelled the illusion, and discovered the table-land in its luxuriant beauty. The broad banks of the valley were studded with cottages, built after the rude fashion of the Ukranian peasant, with lath, and earth, and plaster, the walls rounded, so as to avoid — his special horror — a corner that might attract the fly-bitten cattle to rub their coat against the cottage wall, and eventually impair its strength. From the high-gabled roof of one of the largest cottages in the village that we are looking down upon, the agent is crying out the names of the labourers, and allotting to them their several tasks for the morrow.

Dark-eyed peasant-firls are strolling home, hand in hand, while a group of young men, dancing to the music of the longhandled teorme, follow close behind them. The girls pretend to be unconscious of their proximity, or, now and then, glancing back, laugh coquettishly over the red-embroidered shoulder band of their white linen chemisette. On the opposite side of the river, half-way up the slope, stands a square brick building; the coils of blue smoke curling from the heavy stack of chimneys gives evidence of life and IZA 5 work inside ; the dull, regular sound of machinery strikes on our ear ; gradually it grows fainter, then stops altogether, and the doors of the distillery open to let out the workmen. Parrying a jest from her companions, who broke up into knots, and disappeared at the end of the wooden bridge, a pretty, gipsy-looking girl slackened her pace, so as to fall be hind the rest, and remained dawdling along the water's side, as if looking for some particular herb or spring flower.

She was evidently not much bent on her search, for as soon as the noisy group was out of sight, Mariette looked up from her close inspection of the grass, and watched the workers coming out from the distillery. The bell had stopped ringing, and the men and boys had nearly all passed her. Still she kept her eyes fixed on the open door, knowing there was yet some one to come through it. He was loitering, probably, with a pleasant friend inside, not caring to hurry out to her. Many amongst the throng going home through the village cried out a friendly " Dobra noz," but Mariette hardly noticed them ; she was piqued at being kept waiting, and fancied that everybody who passed must know it, and be laughing at her. Presently there was a light, quick thud upon the path behind her ; she knew well whose it was ; but Mariette understood her womanly tactics as well as many a drawing-room belle ; and, stooping over the water's edge, she showed a provoking unconsciousness ofthe foot that stopped close to her.

Zaranko stood for a second twirling his new lambskin cap ; but it was Mariette's turn to keep him waiting now. He bent down, stole his arm round her, and peeped archly into her face. " Leave me alone!" snapped the cross girl, slipping aside ; and before he could tighten his grasp, she sped up the slopes, giving him chase like a greyhound. Zaranko easily overtook her ; and made peace. " I was busy about you all the time, and only waited to say IZA a word to Monsieur Ronczo. He promised to speak to the Prince, and ask him to take me into the Court as cossack* to Prince Eustace." " It would be better if the Princess spoke for you," replied Mariette, forgetting, in her awakened interest, to follow up her grievance ; " there are five others trying to get the place ; you have a worse chance than the rest, unless our young lady pro tects you."

" Then you must see to that," answered the youth reflec tively. They walked back together, recrossing the bridge, and up by a winding path that led to the park. Mariette was one of Lady Iza's numerous attendants, and, though her parents were both alive and well-to-do in the neighbouring village of Lesne, she lived at the Castle. Her mother had nursed Lady Iza, and Mariette had been singled out by the young Princess as a favourite in the train of little maids, whose childhood was blooming out into girlhood a few years in advance of her own. It is the habit in Poland to bring up a band of peasant children side by side with the daughters and sons ofthe house. They are trained to the service ofthe Court, as the household domesticity is called ; generation after generation thus grow up, serving and dying in hereditary possession of the same domestic rights and duties.

Zaranko was the son of a widow in the village below the park, and it had been his ambition for the last year to enter the service of the Court, and to marry pretty Mariette. He was an intelligent youth, with good principles, fearing God, loving Poland, believing in her resurrection as he believed in the immortality of his own soul, and ready at a moment's notice to change the spade or the Korbana for the lance or the musket, and march, with his master, to death against the * The Polish gentleman's valet-de-chambre is called a cossack. IZA. 7 Muscovite. Unluckily, one cold Sunday, not six months ago, after the long office, comprising the rosary chaunted, high mass, and a sermon, Zaranko had been lured into the Karchma op posite the church. The day was raw, and Zaranko was chilly, and the company jolly, and the Jew host pressing in his offers of whisky ; the spirit was tempting, and the flesh was weak — Zaranko got tipsy.

Prince Kasimir, on coming out from vespers, accompanied by his son and daughter, stopped to speak to a labourer at the church door, and was attracted by the sound of revelry from the tavern. He walked straight up to the door, pushed it open, and, surveying the rioters with a stern glance, beheld Zaranko in the midst of them. Though he had drunk copiously, the lad was sufficiently master of his members to obey the Prince's peremptory command, and walk steadily enough out of the Karchma. This first misdemeanour had proved a serious stumbling-block in his path ; for though it had not been repeated, it was too recent to have fallen out of his master's memory, and till he had outlived the suspicion of its recurrence, there seemed little likelihood of his obtaining any new proof of the Prince's regard.

His best chance, as Mariette said, lay in Lady Iza's patronage. Discussing how she might best be induced to exercise it in their favour, the two lovers strolled on till they came to the park gate. Here they must part. Zaranko lifted Mariette's rough little hand to his lips, as respectfully as a courtier paying homage to a duchess ; the young girl bid him pray for the success of their scheme, promised to meet him again next evening, and report the result of her conversation with Lady Iza, wished him good-night, and, crossing herself mechanically as she passed under the haunted oak, turned into a by-path leading to the back entrance of the Castle. The twilight had smouldered out, and it was dark now. Crossing herself again at every turn in the way, Mariette IZA, hurried along through the birch trees that shook their foliage over her, whispering in the gloom.

The dinner-bell had done ringing before she reached home, so there was no possibility of opening the subject that lay near her heart till her young mistress was retiring for the night. But if Mariette was impatient, she was not desponding. It was part of her untried faith that the course of true love must run smooth ; so she took her work to her mistress's dressing-room, and sat in a corner waiting for her to come up. The corners were filled with little girls. A little girl seemed a natural accessory of a corner in the rooms occupied by Lady Iza. They hovered about like bees — not busy bees — for their chief occupation consisted in waiting to be called for. Some, who were industriously inclined, worked at tapestry, or knitted stockings for the poor children in the village. The clock struck nine, and then there was a stir amongst the little female army.

They started from their separate corners as the lady's-maid, a bustling, elderly woman, opened a door off Iza's dressing room, and began preparations for Mademoiselle's toilet. The swarm of little hand-maidens flitted about, lighting tapers, removing flower-stands, arranging chairs, and getting up a pantomimic service, that would have produced a good scenic effect on a Paris stage. Zoe stood somewhat in the position of maid-of-honour to Lady Iza ; she had at her service a woman of petite-noblesse, who was waited on by a young girl of petite-noblesse, who, in her turn, was waited upon by a peasant, who had at her orders one of the tribe of little maidens whom we have seen emerging from corners and window-seats. Mademoiselle Zoe' seeino that all was ready .vent away to fetch the mistress of this Ions suite of attendants.

Iza allowed herself to be carried off very cheerfully, considering that she was but eleven years of a^e and had not outgrown the tendency of the juveniie spirit to IZA, 9 rebel against being sent to bed. Her submission was the more praiseworthy to-night, that she was in the delights of a horrible ghost-story, which she was evolving out of her own brain for the enjoyment of her brother. This gift of inventing ghost-stories was a matter of envious admiration to Eustace. He was two years older than herself, but she had all the autho rity of an elder sister with him — partly because, womanlike, she loved power and usurped it instinctively where she could, and partly because her more earnest and meditative nature made her morally her brother's senior in spite of his two years of earlier birth. Iza is the heroine of our tale.

She promises to be beautiful — a fair, bright child, with eyes " darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," fringed with long black lashes ; there is a sleeping passion-light in the eyes, a sensitive play about the delicately curved lips, that awake more than the superficial admiration we bestow in general on a pretty child ; the face seems to say that the soul shining through it has reached a fuller develop ment than the small features which borrow their soft, flashing shadows from its hidden light. Scheffer would have loved such a face, and idealised it into some mystical type of womanhood, to be wondered at with the kind of worshipful love we tender to a star. It was a face that carried a destiny in it — not a common pain and pleasure-chequered destiny, but a destiny prophetic of the highest joys and the deepest sorrows of life.

One might foretell this much of Iza's future on the faith of her eyes. Yet she was a genuine child. Perhaps there was a dormant presentiment within her, that this placid childhood was the school in which she should be trained up for joys too pure and high to be borne till her spirit had worked through every phase that was needful to chasten and strengthen it. Whatever struggles the future was making ready for her, Iza could look back from them on those early years of Eden like sunshine, when she wandered amongst the flowers, and IZA 10 sang with the larks, dreaming of no to-morrow, except the sweet monotony of love that girded her, zone like, with its strong tenderness. Zoe" took possession of her young mistress, and then began the ceremonial of undressing her for the night. She unplaited the heavy coils that rippled over Iza's white peignoir, like a black floss silk veil, and drew the comb through the thick tangle, dragging back the upturned face with a jerking move ment, till Iza reminded her, by an impatient snap at her arm, that the glossy mass grew on a human head.

Mariette thought she could do it better if she were in Zod's place ; but then Mariette was not lady's-maid ; she held the brushes for Made moiselle Zo€, with three other maids, who stood round the pink, lace-draped table, holding various appliances of the toilet — perfume, pins, &c. A dainty muslin cap was handed by une fille noble to Mademoiselle Zo^, who adjusted it on Iza's head. Zo£ took off the tiny bronze shoes, and passed them to Olga, the fille noble who came immediately next to her in rank. Olga passed them on duly, till they were deposited in their proper place by ihe fille de garde robe. While the waiting-women busied themselves about the room, Mariette seized the opportunity of whispering to the Princess, " May I sit with my lady till she falls asleep ? " " Yes," replied Iza, surprised at the mysterious tone of the request.

It was Zoe"s duty to wait till Lady Iza dropped asleep ; but she occasionally desired one of her subalterns to do watch in her place, when there was anything pressing to call her away. " Mariette, you will stay and say the rosary with me," said Iza, while Zod was belabouring the pink satin counterpane in the operation known as tucking in. IZA 11 " Mariette, get your beads," called out Zo6, putting an extra shade of propriety into her face, " and bring my lady hers." Mariette pulled her glass chaplet out of her pocket, and fetched Iza's coral one from the prie-Dieu at the foot of the bed. The waiting-women put out the lights and withdrew ; the swarm of little maids bade good night to Lady Iza, and fluttered off, leaving her alone with Mariette. Then, with feminine tact, Mariette opened her story by a flood of tears.

" O my sweet mistress ! I am the most wretched girl alive to-night, unless you take pity on us, and speak to Monseigneur." " Speak to papa ! — about what ? " and Iza, her curiosity kindling her sympathy, sat up against the hillock of snowy pillows, piled, Polish fashion, at the head of the bed. Mariette explained the cause of her grief, urged on her young mistress the necessity of helping Zaranko to persevere in the path of virtue, by withdrawing him from temptation- This would be effected by his entering the Court as cossack to Prince Eustace. Iza listened, her dark eyes gleaming like black diamonds in the shadowy light of the night-lamp. After thinking a little while, she said : " I hear papa often tell Eustace that a man, when he is tipsy, is no better than a dog." " Yes, panna* I know the Prince is harder on that than on anything ; but it only happened once, and it never shall happen again — Zaranko promised me faithfully it never should, once he gets out of the way of it."

" I'll ask papa to forgive Zaranko," Iza said, after some reflection ; " I think he will, if I beg him very hard, and if you and Zaranko promise him it shall never happen again." * My young lady — Mademoiselle. IZA. 12 The promise was given in her own and Zaranko's name ; a shower of kisses were pressed on the little hand that held its sceptre so lightly and so lovingly, and Mariette declared she was as happy as a queen. " Let us say our beads now ; I am sleepy," said the child, rubbing her white lids to rouse herself. Mariette knelt down by the bedside, and began the rosary. Iza answered the two first decades, then the coral beads lay untold in the clutch of her small fingers ; she was fast asleep, and the rosary, like a half-wreathed garland of flowers, remained unfinished.

Chapter II. The Reign Of Babas

' I 'HE Lent was drawing to a close. Do any of our readers know what a Lent in Poland is like ? For those forty days of penitential discipline no adult man or woman touches meat ; the only concession made to the Sunday being that fish and vegetables are cooked with butter instead of oil. The Polish peasant observes the fast so rigorously that he forswears even his delectable whisky during the entire Lent. Not a drop passes his lips from Shrove Tuesday till Easter Sunday, when he welcomes the dawn with copious libations at the be'nit of his master. The be'nit was once a universal institution in Christian countries ; but the destroying angel that has swept away the old manners of our grandfathers, has carried off this touching and time-honoured custom, and the bhiit has held its ground in Poland alone.

There we may yet see the patriarchal banquet spread out in loving hospitality, and behold the rich and the poor, the noble and the peasant, jostling one another round the same board, and exemplifying in modern times the ancient equality of the Slavs. But before the board is spread on Easter eve, what has not the mistress of the house to go through ! Who shall describe the toil of those four last days of Lent, when she must give up body and soul to the absorbing business of the baba ! For IZA, 14 without the baba, the be'nit would be no be'nit ; it is to Easter what plum-pudding and mince-pies are to Christmas — an institution held as sacred by the Polish mistress as these are by the English housekeeper. Her pride exacts that the baba manufactured in her oven should be the lightest and tallest of all the babas produced from any oven.