III
Only those who experienced what the Poles endured after the partition of Poland and the subjugation of one part of it by the hated Germans, and of another part by the even more hated Russians, can understand the delight the Poles felt in 1830 and 1831 when, after their previous unfortunate attempts to regain independence, its attainment seemed again within reach. But these hopes did not last long. The forces were too unequal; and once more the revolution was crushed. Again tens of thousands of unreasoningly submissive Russians were driven into Poland. Under the leadership first of Diebitsch and then of Paskévitch—subject to the supreme command of Nicholas I—these Russians, without knowing why, saturated the ground with their own blood and with that of their brothers the Poles, whom they crushed and again placed under the power of weak, insignificant men who cared neither for the freedom nor the subjugation of Poland, but sought only to gratify their own avarice and childish vanity.
Warsaw was captured, and the separate Polish detachments were defeated. Hundreds and thousands of men were shot, flogged to death, or exiled. Among the latter was young Migoúrski. His estate was confiscated, and he himself sent as a common soldier in a line regiment, to Urálsk.
The Jaczéwskis spent the winter of 1832 in Vilna on account of the old man’s health; for after 1831 he began to suffer from heart disease. Here they received a letter from Migoúrski. He wrote from prison, saying that, hard as what he had gone through and had yet to undergo might be, he still was glad to have had an opportunity to suffer for his native land, and did not despair of the holy cause to which he had given part of his life, and for which he was prepared to give the remainder; and that if another chance occurred tomorrow, he would again act as he had done.
Reading the letter aloud, the old man broke down at this passage, sobbed, and was long unable to continue. In the latter part of the letter, which Wánda read out, Migoúrski wrote that whatever plans and dreams he might have had at the time of his last visit to them (which would ever remain the brightest spot in his life), he now neither could, nor would, speak of them.
Wánda and Albína each understood these words in her own way, and they spoke to no one of how they understood them. At the end of the letter Migoúrski sent messages to everyone, and among the rest—in the playful tone he had adopted towards Albína during his visit—he addressed her too, asking her whether she still ran as swiftly, outrunning the dogs? Did she still mimic everybody so well? He wished the old man good health; the mother, success in household matters; Wánda, a worthy husband; and Albína, the continuance of her joy of life.