1838,) Konarski traversed Volhynia, the Ukraine and Lithuania in different directions, finding everywhere hearts burning with a pure love of country, ready for any enterprise and any sacrifice, but without any organization, mutual understanding or guiding hand; in a word without any definite plan. They needed a determined man, one who could inspire the cautious with confidence, rally the terrified, and who should know how to avail himself wisely of the enthusiastic; in fine an upright man, absorbed in one aim manifesting itself in every thought and deed. Such was Konarski when he reached Lithuania, but not such when he was leaving France; for he carried away with him from the midst of his discordant fellow-exiles a mind irritated against every thing that belonged to the nobility. He was partly cured of this feeling when he met in Gallicia with men belonging to the movement party, having more practical experience than himself; but wholly so, when, mingling with the people, he found that his mission took root most successfully through the instrumentality of well known and respectable persons of that class. In different meetings of the youths of Volhynia, Konarski discovered willing and energetic intellects with devoted hearts. Zealous only for a good and effectual management of this cause, he weighed well the means and probabilities of success, and was reconciled with the nobles in proportion as he found among them worthy citizens and gallant patriots. He sought among them for the ablest apostles to the people; and to that portion of the nation whose memory cherished most warmly the picture of their past historical greatness and whose fancy kindled the brightest hopes of future national regeneration, he carried himself the tidings of the gospel of freedom.

Konarski, from the first moment of his arrival in the provinces taken by Russia, secreted himself at Lissow. That estate lying in the marshes and forests of Polesia, near Pinsk, offered him a secure sojourn. It was a crown estate under the administration of Rodziewitz, whose similarity of ideas and feelings united him closely to Konarski. From this retreat, under the assumed title of

a relation of Rodziewitz, he made frequent excursions, entering every where into good understanding with the patriotic, and sowing in the hearts of his countrymen the seeds whose fruits were to survive him.

Future history will undoubtedly give an account of his extended operations. A portion of them, extorted by tortures, makes up already piles of documents relative to his prosecution; for this reason that part, however interesting it may be, will not occupy us here. The revolution of November has solved many riddles, and a future one, it is hoped, will solve this one. We shall begin with the catastrophe which was the first scene in that terrible drama.

Early in April, 1836, Konarski, with Rodziewitz, went to Wilna for the second time. It was the season of the so-called St. George's fair, when the nobility of the neighborhood assemble. It lasts from the 23d of April to the 15th of May. During their fortnight stay in Wilna, they made desirable acquaintances, and added many new members to their society, among whom the students of the University, worthy disciples of Zan,* strengthened their ranks nobly. Having accomplished their business, they prepared to start for Minsk, fearing that a longer stay would expose them to danger. As they were on the point of leaving, one of the initiated introduced to them a watchmaker named Duchnowski, as an honest and patriotic man, and proposed him for a member. This happened in the morning. In the afternoon Konarski went alone to Duchnowski's residence, where, having found some strangers, he invents a pretext for his coming, and gives him his watch-chain, which he purposely broke, to be mended. A few minutes suffice for the task, and Duchnowski hands it back to its owner, refusing his pay for the trifling service; whereupon Konarski invites him to take a glass of wine with him. There lived in the German street a Jew, named Rosenthal, a wine-merchant. Thither Duchnowski and Konarski repair, and not desiring the presence of other company, they are shown to a room for themselves where the latter discloses his projects, and invites Duchnowski to join their patriotic society.

At the same time he informs him of his intention to leave for Minsk that very night. Rosenthal had however suspected them, and communicated his suspicions to the authorities. A Moscovite spy shortly after made his appearance, and joined in the conversation, condemning the Government and extolling the Revolution. Konarski's eagle eye saw at once the impending danger, and, retaining his self-possession, continued the conversation in the same strain, and made the spy suppose that he was of the same craft; and cautiously drawing him aside thus addressed him: "I see we are, both of us, chasing the winds. Neither of us can do any thing without the other. I have discovered the bird of which you are in pursuit, and am informed of his nest; but alone I cannot cope with him, for he is a huge fellow. Come with me, then; four hands may succeed better; and as for the reward, we will share it equally."

The spy looked thoughtful, smiled, shook his head doubtingly, and carefully watching him, inquired, "what he was so earnestly saying to Duchnowski about a conspiracy?" That he had so conversed, was certain, for Rosenthal had overheard them, and from a few words had guessed what sort of persons they were.

To this, Konarski, still sustaining his assumed character, replied, "You must be a novice in our craft. Do you not see that I was trying to entangle the old man, who has the character of being a patriot ?"

"And have you caught him?" "No, indeed: I lost my time and the bottle of wine to boot. He is a simple-hearted old man, who hardly knows that two and two make four."

Having thus dexterously deluded the spy, he carried him with him to an alley leading into Wilna-street, where he pointed out an house in which he informed him that the emissary they were in pursuit of was secreted. He stationed the spy at the door, while he entered to discover if the person they suspected was within. The house had two entrances. Konarski disappeared, and the spy, weary with waiting, learned that he had been deceived, and hastened to inform the chief of the secret police that he had actually had Konarski in his hands, and how the latter had effected his escape.

In consequence of this event, Duchnowski was thrown into prison; Wilna was surrounded with guards; swarms of spies were set loose; and many a quiet citizen, returning home late at night, saw sentinels at the corners of the streets, and watchmen secreted in the various alleys.

During the first two days of the alarm, Konarski was secreted in the city, and did not leave it in a postchaise, as he intended, but in a hired private conveyance, with which he was furnished by Sawicz (Sah-vitch), a university student, who was afterwards condemned to perpetual service as a common soldier. In this way, Konarski and Rodziewitz fortunately reached the next post-station at Krzyzówka, on the road to Minsk. Rodziewitz alighted first, to hire posthorses, leaving Konarski concealed in the covered carriage, who, feeling uneasy and agitated, looked out, but instantly withdrew his head on discovering the red color of a Moscovite officer on the piazza. This attracted the attention of the officer, whose sole duty was to stop and annoy travellers. He immediately compared Konarski's appearance with the description he had, and gave orders to the secreted gens-d'armes to seize him. At this moment the horses were brought, and Rodziewitz was about to get in, but was prevented by a police officer from Wilna, named Wendzigolski. preserves his self-possession, and showing the officer his passport, threatens to enter a complaint against him if he is detained. The policeman protests he has nothing against him, and that he is at liberty to proceed whereever he pleases, but insists on stopping his servant, whose looks correspond so well with the description of the conspirator. Rodziewitz endeavors to show the impossibility that his servant so well known could be a person so important. The officer once more compares the description with the looks of the arrested, and although he knew that during the past three days a number of innocent persons had been arrested, still he hopes that this seizure may prove more successful; and in a few minutes, Konarski, in a post-chaise surrounded by gens-d'armes, is on his way back to Wilna.

He

Rodziewitz remained at the poststation. He had various important

papers belonging to the conspirators, which he had scarcely time to destroy, before he heard the post-chaise returning. He was then himself put in chains and carried away with his friend.

Konarski was thrown into a dungeon under the royal palace, where he had nothing to eat for three days, nor had he even a blade of straw for his bed. On the third day he was brought before the Prince Dolhoruki, who asked him if he was not an emissary conspirator. The prisoner made no answer to the question, but indignantly said, "I want food; otherwise I will not reply." The governor ordered that his wishes should be complied with, after which they conversed a long time together. Konarski, with all the eloquence of a great soul, pleaded before the Moscovite the duties of a man to mankind, and especially of a patriot to his country. He spoke of self-sacrifice, of the martyr's crown, of the progress of liberal ideas among nations, and by predicting the speedy downfall of Czarism. Doubtless, more than one thought left an impression upon the governor's mind.

After the first examination, Konarski was removed to the convent of the monks of St. Basil, by the Ostra Brama (Sharp Gate), where he was imprisoned in a well-secured priest's cell. It was the same bastille in which Zan, Mickiewicz, and so many other martyrs had suffered. Classic spot! The memory of the unfortunate Simon must have filled it, in his lonely hours, with images of torture immortalized by the pen of Adam.

The arrest of Konarski was an event of great importance. To the greedy host of hirelings an opportunity now opened itself to involve the whole of Lithuania. An investigating commission was already established, and Prince Trubetski, civil vice-governor, was appointed at its head; and postchaises were busy, night and day, carrying away the suspected citizens. It is impossible to imagine anything more disgraceful than a Moscovite criminal trial. The cruel tortures of the middle ages had a certain systematic order guarded by law, which was strictly adhered to with every prisoner; but, under the merciless superintendence of Trubetski, the hirelings were constantly inventing new and more severe me

thods of punishment. At the commencement of every examination, Konarski and Rodziewitz were severely beaten, to induce them to divulge the whole truth. If they gave what were considered evasive replies, the flesh of the shoulder was cut, and smelted sealing-wax was dropped into the gaping wounds, and sometimes spirits were poured in and set on fire. At the same time, the fingers were drawn out of their sockets,and sharp instruments driven under the nails. Such cruelty on the one hand, and such endurance on the other, could only be equalled by the martyr deaths of the early Christians in the reign of that fiercest of the persecutors, Domitian. Frequently, when the tortured victim fell from exhaustion upon the hands of the hangman, who endeavored to bring him back to life, on coming to, he would exclaim: “ Villains! I have already told you I know nothing, I know nobody, and if I am guilty, I am alone in my guilt." Again, in the midst of his agony, he would mockingly exclaim to Trubetski: “Now try some other torture; perhaps you may invent something better, and see if you can extort a single word from me."

Trubetski, with his head set close upon his shoulders, and a face swollen by drunkenness, with ferocious eye and implacable heart, foamed like a mad animal. Yet even his brutal soul seemed sometimes to be struck with the enormity of the sufferings, and the indomitable will of the martyr; for now and then he would exclaim in astonishment "He is a man of iron !"

But Rodziewitz did not show equal firmness. The old man whose head was blanched by age, and whose strength was worn out, at length yielded to the malice of his tormentors. Under the repeated tortures to which he was subjected he confessed all that he knew, and much that he did not perfectly know, respecting individuals; thus bringing ruin and wretchedness upon several hundred families. After these confessions a great hunt for human beings took place in Lithuania. Noblemen, clergy, and students were brought in from all parts of the country. Sometimes a culprit when brought before Trubetski was met by him at the outset with a blow of the fist, and the question uttered in a voice of thunder, "Did you take the oath or not?" He

would then torture his victim till he obtained from him his signature acknowledging that he belonged to the secret society, and had likewise taken an oath before Konarski. In one month there was no more room in the spacious convent of the monks of St. Basil.

In the midst of these secret murders, of tortures diabolically invented for the body and soul, of groans piercing the walls of the prison, in the very midst of the hard-hearted persecutors, a deed of high-mindedness was enacted; the more noble because performed by a man who was not a Pole, but one of the professional instruments of despotism, and who now sacrificed himself for truth and mankind.

It was early in September, 1838, that the Russian Captain Korovayeu, moved by Konarski's innocence of all moral guilt, and overcome by the nobleness of his character, with which he had become acquainted during short conversations while on guard, came to the prison one night and offered him his freedom. Konarski could not for some time believe he was in earnest. But when the captain told him how a passport and relay of horses might be procured, and that his company of soldiers was ready even to fight in his defence, should occasion require, he threw himself into the arms of his noble deliverer, and they were soon engaged in concerting a plan for escape. When no hope was visible on his horizon, freedom began to smile upon the prisoner.

They determined to free all those who were most deeply involved. Captain Korovayeu took from Konarski written directions to several of his fellow prisoners. With one of these the captain went to the cell of Anthony Orzeszko, handed it to him, and waited till the gratified prisoner should express his joy. But what astonishment, what disappointment does he feel, when the prisoner not only receives the news with indifference, but, folding the paper grasps it tight in his hand, saying: "I thank you, captain; you have given me a weapon,-now I will prove my inno

cence, now or never!" Korovayeu endeavors to make him understand the matter; explains to him the minutest details, and proposes to bring Konarski to him, if he still mistrusts. It is all in vain-in vain does he depict liberty in the most vivid of colors. It is past all conception! A Moscovite captain strives to fan the flame of freedom in the unwilling breast of a Pole! The conduct of Orzeszko would embitter the heart of the best patriot. All efforts on the part of the gallant captain proved futile. The obstinate man could not be persuaded. Korovayeu saw the abyss before him, and in despair seized the prisoner, and endeavored to snatch the note from him. They struggled and fell. The noise alarmed the turnkey. Korovayeu departed without the note. The next morning Orzeszko deposited before the investigating commission, the testimony exculpating himself and condemning one of the noblest of men. There is no more hope for Konarski !*

Towards the end of December, after having extorted from the accused their signatures acknowledging their guilt, the commission, both in Wilna and Kiou, closed their proceedings. General Polozow, known for his honesty and humanity, was sent to Wilna to examine those proceedings, and to him many owed their complete acquittal or a commutation of their punishment.

The prisoners were divided into three classes-1st. those who were to suffer death; 2d. those who were to work for life in the mines of Siberia, and to have their estates confiscated; and 3d. those who were destined for the colonies of Siberia, or to serve as privates in the army in the Caucasus. Konarski was in the first, and Rodziewitz in the second class.†

When the decree was read to the University students, an affecting scene took place. Those gallant youths, with tears in their eyes, embraced and saluted each other, as if they were parting at the portals of the grave. General Polozow suspended the read

ing for a while, but seeing no early termination to their grief, he asked for silence, saying: "Gentlemen, are you not curious to learn your sentence?" "We listen to you, General," was the reply of Doctor Milkowski. "The decree of death from your lips will be more agreeable to us than even mercy from those of Prince Trubetski."

"You complain unjustly," rejoined the General; "the Prince obeyed the law; and," pointing to the piles of papers, "look, there are your own signatures."

"We have signed, it is true," again spoke Milkowski. "We have signed every thing we were required; but we swear before God, give us for half an hour the power of inflicting the tortures which made us sign, and this Prince Trubetski himself will plead guilty to the same crime for which we are now to suffer."

At this speech Trubetski and the rest of the investigating commission arose from their seats at the table, remonstrating against the insult their honorable body had received. "Well!" said one of them, "let the proceedings be torn to pieces, let us begin the investigation anew! let truth like oil come up to the surface!" Miscreant! he doubtless wished to prolong the enjoyment of the lucrative office!

General Polozow, requested the committee to be silent, and then addressing the young men, advised them not to set up any new complaints; for so doing, they would only prolong their sufferings and their suspense; and promised them that whenever it was in his power he would ask the Czar for a commutation of their punishment. He kept his promise, and a part of the prisoners afterwards experienced through his influence some alleviation of their hard fate. After the prisoners of the second and third classes were disposed of, Konarski's sentence remained to be carried into effect. Three days before, his mother who had come from the country to visit her unfortunate son, was ordered to leave Wilna. She endeavored to soften the authori

ties by her prayers and tears, to obtain permission to be present at the execution.

"Be assured," said she, "that the faintest sob shall not escape my breast. I wish only by my presence to encourage him to die manfully.'

But it was all in vain, and she was compelled to depart.

At 8 o'clock on the morning of the 26th of February, twenty-four hours before his execution, the decree condemning Konarski to be shot, was read. The whole of that day which was left to him for preparation for his departure from this world, was devoted by Konarski to the memory of his relatives, and friends. Now he rejoiced in the hope that the fate of his country, hitherto veiled from his view, would soon be uncovered to his disenthralled vision; and now, as if to bid adieu to it forever, he called forth from his flute melody of the most exquisite tenderness. Touched by the fire of inspiration he asked for paper, and though unskilled in the art composed a poem in which he depicted his ardent love of liberty and country, and poured forth his enthusiasm for the improvement of the world and the extirpation of its deep-rooted wickedness; and gave a passionate vent to his agony of complaint against the unjust fate which awaited him. But when the violence of his first emotion had subsided into calm contemplation, Konarski appears like a vessel ready to sail just before she is loosened from her moorings. She is not let go at once, but gradually. so that she can take a free sweep on a deep sea. Having taken up the pen a second time, before he is launched forth upon the deep sea of eternity, he began slowly and calmly to unloose, one by one, the ties which bound him to his mother, his brother and his beloved. The following letter will portray the depth and purity of his heart, better than any phrases of high sounding eulogy:

"My dear mother-dear Stanislausmy dear relatives-all of you who loved me and to whom my heart and soul owe gratitude for all my happy moments, and the dear remembrances which I have experienced in the course of my life-forgive the tears and sufferings which you will read this letter, I have no doubt that have endured on my account. When you my fate will be decided; General Polo

zow and the court-martial have assured me that my letter shall be forwarded to you. It may be that nature may overcome all philosophy and all logic, for the frailties of human nature are more powerful than I can describe. I should be