The Story of a Siberian Exile; Followed by a Narrative of Recent Events in PolandPiotrowski, Rufin
History
The Story of a Siberian Exile; Followed by a Narrative of Recent Events in Poland
Piotrowski, Rufin
Exiles -- Russia (Federation) -- Siberia; Polish question; Prisons -- Russia (Federation) -- Siberia
I made no objection, it may be supposed; but installing myself in
my room I remained there all the rest of the day, in spite of the
insinuating discourse of my landlady, who proposed to me that I should
go and see the illuminations, for that day was a high day in the
capital. It was July 9, 1846, and they were celebrating the nuptials,
or the betrothal (I do not quite know which), of a daughter of the
Emperor Nicholas, the Grand-Duchess Olga, with the Prince of Wurtemberg!
The next day, however, I did go out, and I promenaded the town, of
which the wide handsome streets seemed to me to be singularly deserted.
I was meditating on the quickest way of leaving the place, and had
determined, if need be, to swim to the shores of the Baltic, although
any more convenient method, if it should arise, was not to be despised.
I knew that a packet sailed from St. Petersburg to Havre, but what
were the days of its sailing, where did it lie, and was its captain
French or Russian? Grave questions, which I did not dare to put to any
one for fear of compromising myself. I walked up and down the Néva,
and read the inscriptions on the different red and yellow bills which
were posted up on blank planks on each of the different steamers;
but I could only read by stealth, for a peasant, ‘a Russian man’
(_rouski tcheloviék_) like me, must not make a display of learning!
So I sauntered slowly and perused the inscriptions. One would be ‘the
vessel of his Majesty the Emperor,’ another ‘of His Highness the Prince
Imperial,’ ‘of the Grand Duke Michael,’ ‘of Her Majesty the Empress,
and the ladies of her court,’ &c. Evidently all of too high a class
for me. I managed at last to discover less titled vessels; but then
their destinations were not to my liking, and would not have suited me
in any way. After having thus examined the whole length of the left
bank of the Néva, I crossed the bridge in front of the statue of Peter
the Great, and now pursued the stream along the right hand to its
mouth. I stopped for a moment at the foot of the two gigantic sphinxes
which are placed opposite the museum, and the sight of these strange
Egyptian guests in the City of Ice made me lose myself for a moment in
thought. Suddenly my eyes fell on an advertisement in large letters,
which, stuck up near the mast of a steamboat, announced that that
vessel was to sail for Riga on the following morning...!
I trembled, and I had difficulty in suppressing the emotion I felt;
but still, I thought, how was I to reach the steamer, how enter into
parley with the captain of it? I saw a man, probably the pilot, walking
on deck; his red shirt pulled on over his drawers was quite after the
Russian fashion, but I did not dare to address him, and I contented
myself with devouring him with my eyes. In the meantime the sun was
sinking, and it was going on to seven o’clock in the evening, when
suddenly the man in the red shirt looked up and said:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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