How should he find him, when he was running away from himself? The task he had undertaken was neither suited to him physically nor morally. At the very first step he had become conscious of the awful chasm into which the whole affair he had undertaken must drag himself and all concerned in it. Instead of an enthusiastic people, excited to heroic resolves by the baptism of fire, he found a mob of soldiers, fooled by the pretext that their leaders wanted to steal away from them their former Czar, whom, by-the-way, they hated, but to whom they had sworn allegiance; a senseless band of soldiery clamoring for "Constitucia," whom they believed to be the wife of the Czar! What would be the consequence did they gain the victory to-day? To-morrow some new lie must be fabricated for them, that they might not find out that it was Freedom for which they had fought. What was Hecuba to them, they to Hecuba? What had Freedom and Life Guards in common with each other? How would "Constitucia" better their condition? True, their commanding officers had promised them that "Constitucia" would double their monthly pay; but the people must be doubly taxed if the soldiers were to get double pay. Is that freedom? And what would ensue if he for whom they had been fighting, Constantine, were to come among them? Might he not come from Warsaw at the head of the army he had brought with him, and say, "You wanted me; here I am. The constitution I bring with me is not my wife, but a stout stick!" What would follow then? And the people? These poor wretches, resigned to rags and misery, working day by day to keep body and soul together. Seventy thousand mujiks, representatives of the oppressed of the four corners of the earth--not the Russian people, but the dregs of all imaginable Slav races--Finnish, Lithuanian, Lapp, and Wallachian--who do not speak each other's tongues, who are only united by their common misery. And their leaders? A set of runaway French adventurers. What do they understand by Freedom? The wrecking of a brandy-store or plundering palaces and shops. A mutinous word sets them on fire like straw, and a charge of grape-shot scatters them like chaff before the wind. His soul could find no guiding thought. He went hither and thither, and could rest on no single idea. In the course of his wanderings he came upon Ryleieff, in whose face were reflected his own feelings. The poet sadly grasped his hand. "The time was not ripe," he whispered in his ear, and hurried away. In another street he met Colonel Bulatoff in mufti. Bulatoff had been chosen as military leader of the rebellion, and here was he, going abroad in frock-coat and tall hat. They did not wish to recognize each other, so passed hurriedly by, one on one side, the other on the opposite side of the street.