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11, 1863. most obstinate break silence. He allowed him no other nourishment than salt herrings; the torments of thirst soon drove the poor wretch to the verge of insanity, and he vainly sought relief by licking the moisture impregnated with saltpetre from the walls of his dungeon. Then, when burning with the fever and delirium of approaching death, if he unconsciously pronounced some beloved name, his words were a death warrant: his door was immediately opened, and one or other of the members of the tribunal, motionless hitherto, listening for the important syllables, entered, and said carelessly, “You would have saved yourself much inconvenience by confessing the names of your accomplices sooner.”

Often, however, even hunger, thirst, hot braziers, pincers, and the lash were all applied in vain, and the heroic sufferer kept silence amid the worst tortures that even Constantine and his favourites could devise. When a person was compromised who could pay well for indemnity, the conspiracy was frequently hushed up; but every means were set on foot to track out the author of a seditious pamphlet, or the wearer of a tricolour cockade. The perusal of national poetry or history, Catholic observances, a square cap, moustaches of a particular fashion, and chivalrous manners, were all signs of rank treason, and led to torture or Siberia. To establish schools for the peasantry, or in any way to ameliorate their condition, was a still more deadly sin.

As an aid to his secret service, the Grand Duke established a certain “perlustration” bureau in the Warsaw Post-office, presided over by General Karouta, who, we have forgotten to say, was “chevalier of many foreign and all the Russian and Polish orders, and decorated with the Cross of Honour for distinguished services,” and Colonel Legtynski. The latter did all the work, and business enough he had on the Petersburg post day, when scores of letters were sent copied in full to the Czar, and as many used for extracts. Constantine allowed no letters to be excepted from this inquisition except those of his wife.

Perhaps of all classes the men of higher education and literary attainments were the most exposed in this reign of universal suspicion. Intellectual acquirements were above all things a protest against Russia, unless those acquirements were restrained within the calm regions of the exact sciences, or the harmless fancies of romance. For any one to speak or write of modern progress, of the endeavours of France for liberty, or of the heroic struggles by which it had been gained in England, was to challenge ruin. All men who loved their safety avoided such a mad enthusiast; and those who loved him and truth still better, soon had bitter cause to learn the price that it cost them. If a person persisted, and escaped arrest, he might perhaps secure his safety in the woods until it was possible to cross the frontier; but he was far more likely to die of hunger and exposure, or to be seized to wear out life chained in a casemate, or in the still more degrading misery of a soldier in the Siberian army.

Next in the detestation of the Czarowicz was the National Church. Alexander had taken great trouble to secure its good will, built churches and monasteries, and kissed the Primate’s ring with exemplary reverence; but, though by bribery and terrorism many of the higher dignitaries had been gained over, they formed but an insignificant minority, and by their very subserviency soon lost all power of aiding their masters, who learned to despise them as much as the people did.

, to whom we owe the Breton original of “The March of Arthur,” which he obtained from the recitation of an old mountaineer of Leuhan, called Mikel Floih, informs us that these triplets were sung in chorus, as late as the Chouan war, by the Breton peasants, as they marched to battle against the Republican soldiers. The belief in the appearance of Arthur’s host on the mountains, headed by their mystic chief,—who awakens from his charmed sleep in the Valley of Avillion whenever war impends over his beloved Cymry,—is common to all the Celtic races. Sir Walter Scott has recorded the belief entertained in the Highlands of the apparition of mounted warriors riding along the precipitous flanks of the mountains, where no living horse could keep his footing. The apparition of this ghostly troop is always held to portend war; and it is no doubt the same which the Celtic bard has here described as arrayed under Arthur. The ancient air to which the triplets are sung (and of which I have appended the musical notes) is a wild and warlike march; and the peasant who chanted it to De Villemarqué told him it was always sung three times over. The composition is an ancient one, and contains many words now obsolete in Brittany, though still found in the Cymric of Wales. The last triplet is a late addition.

, tramp, tramp, tramp to battle din! Tramp son, tramp sire, tramp kith and kin! Tramp one, tramp all, have hearts within.

The chieftain’s son his sire addrest, As morn awoke the world from rest: Lo! warriors on yon mountain crest—

Lo! warriors armed, their course that hold On grey war-horses riding bold, With nostrils snorting wide for cold!

Rank closing up on rank I see, Six by six, and three by three, Spear-points by thousands glinting free.

Now rank on rank, twos front they go, Behind a flag which to and fro Sways, as the winds of death do blow!