Читать книгу: «Blackwoods Edinburgh Magazine – Volume 53, No. 332, June, 1843», страница 6

These repeated reinforcements, joined to the knowledge that the Pope was exerting himself to unite all the princes of Christendom in a league for the relief of their hardly-beset brethren, still encouraged the heroic defenders of Candia, though the Turks had by this time carried their mines at several points within the bastions and exterior defences, and compelled the garrison to shelter themselves behind an inner rampart, constructed during the winter in anticipation of this extremity:—"So that, in effect," says Rycaut, "this most impregnable fort of the world was forced and taken by the spade and shovel, and by a crew of unarmed labourers, who understood nothing more than the plough and harrow." The promised succours, however, were now at hand. On the 22d of June, a French fleet appeared off the port, having on board 7000 of the flower of the French troops and nobility, who were commanded by the Dukes de Noailles and Beaufort, and comprised in their ranks several princes of the sovereign houses of Lorrain and Bouillon, the Marshals Colbert and De la Motte-Fenelon, the Count of St Pol, and many other names of the noblest and bravest in France, who had crowded to embark as volunteers in this new and glorious crusade. These gallant auxiliaries landed amidst the acclamations of the Venetians; and, on the night of the 27th, a general sortie was made, in order to raise the siege by driving the Turks from their trenches. The janissaries were driven from their works by the impetuous onset of the assailants; but, in the tumult of the fight, a large powder-magazine, between the Sabionera and Fort St Demetrius, which had been occupied by the French, was accidentally blown up. The Duke de Beaufort, and many others, perished in the explosion, or were buried under the ruins; and the survivors, panic-stricken at the catastrophe, were driven within the walls with terrible slaughter by the Turks, who rallied and returned to the charge. The usual hideous trophies of Ottoman triumph—the heads of the slain, were laid at the feet of the vizir; but the body of the Duc de Beaufort, though anxiously sought for at the prayer of his comrades, who offered, through a flag of truce, to redeem it at its weight in gold, could never be discovered.

This dreadful blow not only threw a fatal gloom over the ardour of the French, but gave rise to an altercation between Morosini and De Noailles, each of whom threw on the other the blame of the failure; till, after a month thus unprofitably spent, the French commander re-embarked his troops, and sailed for Toulon, August 31, leaving the town to its fate. The Maltese and Papal galleys departed in his company;—"for thus did these accursed swine of Nazarenes" (says the Turkish historiographer, Rashid) "withdraw from the doom of hell, which awaited them at the hands of the Faithful." The condition of the remaining defenders, thus deserted by their allies, and separated from the Turks only by breastworks hastily thrown up in the interior of the town, was now utterly hopeless, as not more than 3600 men remained fit for duty, while the loss in slain and disabled averaged more than a hundred a-day. In these desperate circumstances, a council of war was summoned by Morosini, to consider whether it might not even yet be practicable to avoid the ignominy of a surrender, by evacuating the town, and escaping, with the inhabitants, by sea. Their deliberations were hastened by a furious assault from the Turks, who were impatient to seize their prey; and, though the enemy were repulsed for the time by the remains of the Lunenburghers, two officers were eventually dispatched to the vizir's headquarters, to announce the submission of the garrison, and arrange the terms of capitulation. They were courteously received by Kiuprili, who appointed an officer of his own household, with Panayoti,²¹ the dragoman of the Porte, to confer with them; and the articles were settled without much difficulty. Peace was concluded between the Porte and the Republic. Candia and the whole of Crete was ceded to the Sultan, with the exception of the harbours of Grabusa, Suda, and Spinalonga, which the Venetians were allowed to retain for purposes of commerce; the garrison and inhabitants of Candia were to embark with their arms, baggage, and a certain proportion of artillery, and the Ottomans were not to enter the town till the embarkation was completed. These conditions were scrupulously observed by the victors; till the 27th of September, the evacuation being effected, the standard of the cross was at length lowered from the walls; and the vizir, standing on the breach of the St Andrew's bastion, (thence called by the Turks the Fort of Surrender,) in the midst of a crowd of pashas and generals, received the keys of the city in a silver basin. A body of Turkish troops immediately entered by the breaches, and mounted guard on the principal posts; but it was not till the 4th of October that the vizir made his triumphant entry at the head of his army, (now reduced to about 15,000 regular troops, and 11,000 pioneers and irregulars,) and proceeded, bearing in his hand the sacred standard of the Prophet, to the cathedral, which was purified from the dead bodies interred within its walls, and re-consecrated as a mosque. All the other churches underwent the same transformation, with the exception of two which Panayoti purchased for the use of the Greeks; for so completely was the town deserted, that there remained only, in the words of an anonymous eyewitness, "two Greeks, three Jews, and eight other strangers, whom the vizir would also have suffered to depart; but they chose rather to change their religion than their quarters."

Thus ended this famous siege, the longest, and one of the most memorable, recorded in history. During its continuance, the Venetians and their allies lost 30,000 men, and the Turks more than 100,000; fifty-six assaults were made on the town above ground, and the same number through the mines; and nearly an equal number of sorties was made by the garrison. 460 mines were sprung by the Turks, and no less than 1172 by the Venetians; and the quantity of missiles hurled into the town exceeded all calculation. The fortifications were, however, speedily repaired by the care of Kiuprili, who remained in the island nine months after the surrender, employed in the final organization of this new province, which was divided into the three pashaliks of Canea, Retimo, and Candia—the last being the residence of the beglerbeg, or supreme pasha. The arrangements being at length completed, he quitted Candia for Constantinople, whither the capitan-pasha had preceded him with the fleet; and, on the 3d of July 1670, he replaced in the hands of the Sultan, in his hunting-camp near Rodosto, the sandjak-sheeref, which had been committed to his charge for the war against the infidels. "In this manner," says Rycaut, writing not in a spirit of prophecy, three years only before the battle of Vienna, "expired the action of the year, fortunate in its success to the Turks; for though they gained but thirty acres of land, with expense inestimable of blood and treasure, yet the glory and fame which attended it, being the consummation of twenty-five years' war, and the theatre where the whole world were spectators, was of greater value to the Turks than any other consideration, and may with time prove a place of advantage to the further increase of their western empire, unless God Almighty, by his mercy and providence, give a stop to the progress of this grand oppressor."

A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF A MAÎTRE-D'ARMES

The excitement produced in St Petersburg on the occasion of a rash conspiracy which had broken out on the inauguration of the Emperor Nicholas, had ample time to die away before the sentence pronounced upon the conspirators became known. Six months elapsed, months of terrible suspense and anxiety to the friends of the unfortunate prisoners. At length, on the 14th of July, the decision of the high court of justice appeared in the St Petersburg Gazette. Six-and-thirty of the accused were condemned to death, the others to the mines and to exile. My friend and patron, Count Alexis W–, was included in the former list; but an act of clemency on the part of the Emperor tempered the severity of justice, and only five of the condemned were left for execution, while the remaining thirty-one had their sentence commuted to banishment. My friend's name was, God be thanked! among the latter.

On reading this announcement, I rushed into the street, and ran, without once stopping, until I reached the house of his beloved Louise. Of her, for the present, it will be sufficient to say, that she was a young, lovely, and intelligent Frenchwoman, whose sister I had known in Paris, and to whose patronage, from her position as a first-rate modiste in St Petersburg, I was much indebted. Between this truly amiable woman and the Count had for some years existed an attachment, not hallowed, indeed, by the church, but so long and deeply-rooted in the hearts of both, and so dignified by their mutual constancy and worth, as to have won the sympathies even of the Count's mother and sisters. To return, however, to Louise, whom I found with a copy of the Gazette in her hand, and bathed in tears, but they were tears of joy—

"He is saved!" cried she, on seeing me enter; "thank God and the Emperor!"

The first moment of joy over, Louise's thoughts turned to the mother and sisters of her lover. She calculated that the Gazette would only leave St Petersburg by the post of that night, and that by sending off an express immediately the news might reach Moscow twelve hours sooner. She asked me if I knew a trusty messenger, who could start without delay to bear the glad tidings to the Count's family. I had a Russian servant, an intelligent active fellow, and I offered his services, which she accepted with delight. The only difficulty was the passport, and through the kindness of the ex-chief of police, Monsieur de Gorgoli, it was procured in half an hour. At the expiration of that time the courier set off, with a thousand rubles in his pocket for travelling expenses.

He arrived at Moscow fourteen hours before the post; fourteen hours of mortal anxiety saved to the Count's mother and sisters.

The letter he brought back, was one of those that seem written with a feather plucked from an angel's wing. The old Countess called Louise her daughter, and the young girls named her their sister. They entreated that, when the day was known on which the prisoners were to set off for their banishment, a courier might be despatched to Moscow with the news. I accordingly told my servant to hold himself in readiness to start, to his no small satisfaction; for the Count's mother had given him a thousand rubles for his first trip, and he trusted the second might be equally well rewarded.

There had not been an execution in St Petersburg for sixty years, and the curiosity and excitement caused by the anticipation of this one, were proportionably great. The day was not fixed beforehand, and the inhabitants of the capital got up each morning, expecting to hear that the bloody tragedy had been enacted. I had requested a young Frenchman attached to Marshal Marmont's special mission, and who was on that account likely to have early information, to let me know when it was to take place; and on the evening of the 23d of July, he sent me word that the marshal and his suite had been invited to repair by four o'clock the following morning to the hotel of the French embassy, the windows of which commanded the place of execution.

I hastened to communicate this intelligence to Louise. All her fears returned. Was it certain that Alexis was pardoned? Might not the commutation of punishment announced in the Gazette be a ruse to conceal the truth from the people? These, and a thousand other doubts, arose in her mind; but I at last succeeded in tranquillizing her, and returned home to take some repose till the hour of the execution. Before doing so, however, my servant was sent off to Moscow, to inform the Countess W– that the following day her son would leave St Petersburg for his place of exile.

At half-past three, I left my house and hastened in the direction of the citadel. A grey tinge in the east announced the approach of day, and a thin white fog hung like a veil over the Neva. As I passed the corner of the French embassy, Marmont and his suite entered the house, and a minute afterwards they appeared upon the balcony.

A few persons were standing upon the quay, not in expectation, or because they were informed of what was going to take place, but because the bridge of the Trinity was occupied by troops, and they were thereby prevented from proceeding whither their affairs called them. They seemed uneasy, and uncertain whether it might not be dangerous to remain there.

Some minutes before four, a large fire was lighted on the platform of the fortress. My attention being drawn to that point, I perceived, by the now increasing daylight, a wooden scaffolding, on which were erected five black and ominous looking gibbets.

Four o'clock struck, and the prisoners whose punishment had been commuted to banishment appeared upon the platform, and ranged themselves round the scaffold. They were all in full uniform, wearing their epaulettes, and the stars and ribands of their different orders. Their swords were carried by soldiers. I tried to distinguish the Count, but the distance, and still imperfect light, rendered the attempt fruitless.

The five who were to suffer death now ascended the scaffold, dressed in coarse linen frocks, and with a sort of white hood over their heads. They doubtless arrived from separate dungeons, for, as they met, they were allowed to embrace one another. Immediately afterwards, a man went up to them and said something, which was followed by a cheer from the soldiers and others attending the execution. It was afterwards reported, I know not with what truth, that this man was sent to offer them their lives if they chose to beg them; but that they replied to the offer by cries of Russia and Liberty!—cries that were rendered inaudible by the hurras of the guards and attendants.

The executioners stepped forward, passed the halters round the necks of the condemned, and pulled the hoods over their eyes. A neighbouring clock struck the first quarter after four, and simultaneously with the sound, a trap-door gave way under the feet of the culprits. There was a great cry and much confusion, and a number of soldiers jumped upon the scaffold.

Two of the ropes had snapped, and the unhappy men round whose necks they had been fastened, had fallen through the scaffolding to the platform; one of them had broken his thigh, and the other his arm. Ladders were brought, and the sufferers carried up to the scaffold and laid upon their backs, for they were unable to stand. In a few minutes new halters were ready, and with the help of the executioners, the victims managed to drag themselves under the gibbets. Their last words were, Russia and Liberty! This time the ropes did their duty.

It was said, that when the Emperor was afterwards informed of this incident, he was much vexed at its not having been immediately reported to him; but nobody had dared take upon himself the responsibility of suspending the execution.

It was now the turn of the exiles. Their sentence was read, declaring them to have forfeited every thing, rank, possessions, orders, family, all that bound them to the world, and the executioners then tore off their epaulettes and decorations, which they threw into the fire. Then taking the prisoners' swords from the soldiers who held them, they seized them by the hilt and point, and broke them over their owners' heads, exclaiming, as each snapped in two, "This is the sword of a traitor!" This ceremony over, they were stripped of their uniforms, which were replaced by coarse grey smock-frocks, and they were then led back to prison. The evening of the same day they set out for Siberia.

I returned to Louise, whom I found on her knees, praying and weeping. She looked at me as I entered the room as though afraid to interrogate me; but I relieved her anxiety by informing her that all had passed as announced in the Gazette. She raised her eyes to heaven with an expression of pious gratitude.

After a pause, "How far is it from here to Tobolsk?" she enquired.

"About eight hundred leagues."

"It is not so far as I thought," was her observation. I looked at her for a moment in silence. I began to suspect her intentions.

"Why do you ask the question?" enquired I.

"Can you not guess?"

"But, Louise, it is impossible, at least at this moment."

"Do not be uneasy, my friend. I know my duty to my child, and my affection for its father shall not make me forget it. I will wait."

It was not without a motive that the Count's mother and sisters had been anxious to obtain the earliest possible intelligence of his departure from St Petersburg. The road from that capital to Tobolsk ran through Iroslaw, a town about sixty leagues from Moscow, and they entertained hopes of being able to see their son and brother as he passed. Their passports were ready, and arrangements made; and as soon as they received from my servant the news of the departure of the prisoners, they got into a kubiltka, and without saying a word to any body of their intentions, set out for Iroslaw.

Travelling is rapid in Russia; in less than twenty-four hours they reached their destination, and learned with delight that the prisoners had not yet passed. As their stay at Iroslaw might have excited suspicion, they left that town, and took up their quarters in a small village on the road, at a solitary cottage, near which the carriages containing the exiles were to change horses. In all such cases in Russia, the persons in charge of criminals are forbidden to stop or to change horses in towns, or even in villages.

After waiting two days, a servant whom the Countess had stationed upon the road to watch for the convoy, hastened to her with the news that the first division of the prisoners had just arrived in five carriages, and that the corporal in charge had sent men to fetch horses from the village. The ladies got into their carriage, and set off at full gallop for the cottage at which the convoy had halted. They stopped upon the high-road opposite the hut, and gazed eagerly through the half-open door of its only room. It was crowded with prisoners; but Alexis was not amongst them.

In a quarter of an hour horses were brought; the prisoners re-entered the carriage, which immediately set off.

Half an hour later the second division of the convoy arrived; but the Count was not with it. The third, fourth, and fifth passed, each being obliged to wait longer than the preceeding one for horses, those at the post-house and in the immediate neighbourhood having all been taken.

It was some time after nightfall when the sixth and last division was heard approaching. The poor women clasped their trembling hands together. The much wished-for moment had arrived, yet their greatest difficulty was to come. It was more than uncertain whether they would be permitted to embrace their son and brother.

The convoy stopped, Alexis got out of the third carriage. In spite of the darkness and of his ignoble garb, the Countess and her daughters recognized him. One of the latter was about to call out his name; but her mother placed her hand on her mouth in time to prevent the imprudence, and the Count entered the cottage.

The corporal commanding the escort began enquiring about horses, and on learning that they were scarce, he sent off his soldiers with orders to seize all they could find in the name of the Emperor. The men departed, and he remained alone with the prisoners. There was no danger of an attempt at escape. In the heart of the Czar's immense dominions, whither could a fugitive betake himself without a certainty of being overtaken, or of dying from hunger before he reached the frontier?

Corporal Ivan remained then walking up and down in front of the cottage, alternately whistling and floging his leathern overalls with his riding whip, and occasionally stopping to gaze at the Countess's travelling carriage, which was standing without horses in the road. Presently the door of the vehicle opened, three ladies alighted and advanced towards the corporal. Two of them remained a little behind, the third approached him with clasped hands.

"My friend," said the Countess, "my son is amongst the prisoners you are escorting; let me see him but for a moment, and name your own reward."

"It is impossible, madam," replied the corporal respectfully. "My orders are strict to allow no one to communicate with the prisoners, and the knout is the least I may expect if I transgress them."

"But who will know that you have transgressed them?" cried the Countess, her voice trembling with eagerness and suspense. Her daughters stepped forward, and joined their hands, as in supplication to the soldier.

"It is quite impossible, madam," repeated the man.

"My mother!" cried Alexis, pushing open the cottage door. He had heard her voice, and in an instant was clasped in her arms.

The corporal made a movement as though to seize his prisoner; but at the same moment the two young girls fell at his feet, and embracing his knees, pointed to the touching spectacle before them.

Corporal Ivan was a good fellow in the main. He uttered something between a sigh and a growl, and the sisters saw that their prayer was granted.

"Mamma," said one of them in a low tone, "he will allow us to embrace our brother." The Countess extricated herself from her son's arms, and held out a heavy purse to the corporal.

"You risk a punishment for our sakes, my friend, and it is fair you should be recompensed for it."

Ivan looked hard at the purse for a moment, then shaking his head and putting his hands behind his back, "No, your ladyship," said he, "I am committing a breach of duty, but it is not for gold. Here is the best excuse I can give my judges, and if they don't accept it, God will;" and he pointed to the two weeping girls. The Countess seized the soldier's rough hand and pressed it to her lips.

"The horses cannot be here yet;" continued Ivan, "get into your carriage and pull down the blinds. By that means nobody will see you, and I may perhaps avoid making acquaintance with the knout."

"Thank you, corporal," said Alexis; "but at least take this purse.

"Take it yourself, lieutenant," said Ivan in a low voice, from habit giving the Count a title to which he had no longer a right. "You will find the use of it at the end of your journey."

"But on arriving they will search me."

"You can give it to me before the search, and I will return it to you. But I hear the gallop of a horse; quick into the carriage!" The corporal pushed Alexis into the carriage; the ladies followed, and he shut the door upon them.

An hour elapsed, an hour of mingled joy and sorrow. At the expiration of that time, the door opened, and Ivan appeared. "You must separate," said he, "the horses are arriving."

"A few moments longer!" cried the ladies, with tearful voices.

"Not a second, or I am ruined. Go on to the next relay; it is dark, no one will see you, and I sha'n't be punished more for twice than once."

"Oh! you will not be punished at all," cried the ladies; "surely God will reward you."

"Hum," said the corporal doubtingly, and half pulling his prisoner out of the carriage.

At the next relay, things went equally well. A third interview was rendered impossible by the approach of day. The sad word farewell was pronounced, and the weeping women took the road to Moscow, having previously arranged a plan of correspondence, and carrying with them a few affectionate lines that Alexis had scrawled in pencil for Louise.

The Countess had ordered my servant to wait at Moscow till she returned, and on her arrival there immediately dispatched him to St Petersburg. He brought Louise the Count's note, and a letter from his mother, inviting her to go to Moscow, for that she was impatient to embrace her as her daughter.

Louise kissed her lover's note. She shook her head on reading the Countess's letter, and smiled one of those sad smiles that were peculiar to her. "I shall not go to Moscow," said she, "my place is elsewhere."

As I had suspected, Louise had resolved to join Count W– at Tobolsk; but she could not set out till after her confinement, which was to take place in a couple of months. Meantime she busied herself with preparations. By turning every thing she possessed into money, she got together a sum of thirty thousand rubles. At her request, I applied to my kind friend, Monsieur de Gorgoli, to obtain from the Emperor permission for her to rejoin her lover. Her intentions had got wind in St Petersburg, and every body spoke with admiration of the devoted attachment of the young Frenchwoman. Many thought, however, that her courage would fail her when the moment of departure arrived; but I knew her better, and felt assured of the contrary.

At the commencement of September, she became the mother of a boy. I wished her to write to the mother of Alexis to announce this event; but she refused. The Countess heard of it, however, and wrote to Louise, to say that she was expecting her with her child.

Her recovery was slow, the various emotions she had undergone during her pregnancy having weakened her health. She would have left St Petersburg long before she was strong enough to do so; but the permission to join Count W– was to come through me, and I refused to apply for it till her medical attendant gave her leave to travel.

One morning the door of my apartment opened and Louise entered, her face radiant with joy. "He will escape!" cried she.

"Who?"

"He—Alexis."

"How! Escape? It is impossible."

"Read that," she said and handed me a letter in the Count's hand-writing. It was as follows:—"Dearest Louise—Place all confidence in the bearer of this letter. He is more than my friend—he is my saviour.

"I fell ill upon the road, and was obliged to stop at Perm. The physicians declared I was not able to continue my journey, and it was decided I should pass the winter in the prison of that town. As good fortune would have it, the jailer's brother is an old servant of my family and willing to aid my escape. He and his brother fly with me; but I must have means of indemnifying them for what they give up on my account, and for the risk they run. Give the bearer all the money and jewels you possess. As soon as I am in safety I will write to you to come and join me. Adieu. W–."

"Well," said I after reading the letter twice over, "what have you done?"

"Can you ask the question?"

"What!" cried I. "You have given …?"

"Every ruble I had," interrupted she.

"And if this letter were not from the Count? If it were a forgery?"

She changed colour, and snatched the paper from my hand.

"Oh, no!" said she. "I know his hand-writing. I cannot be mistaken." But, on reading the letter again, I observed that she grew still paler.

"I do not think," I observed, "that Alexis would have addressed such a demand to you."

"And why not? Who loves him better than I do?"

"Understand me rightly. For an act of friendship or devotion he would have applied to you, but for money to his mother. I tell you again, either I do not know Count W–'s character, or this letter is not written by him."

"But what will become of me? I have given every thing I possessed."

"How did the Count usually sign his letters?"

"Alexis always."

"You see this one is signed W–. It is evidently a forgery and we must immediately inform the police."

"And if we are mistaken? If it is not a forgery, by doing so I shall prevent his escape. Oh, no! Better lose the money. I can manage without. All that I am anxious to know is, whether he is at Perm."

It occurred to me, that I might easily ascertain this latter point through a lieutenant of gendarmerie to whom I gave lessons; and begging Louise to wait my return, I hastened to his quarters. I told him I had particular reasons for wishing to know whether my friend W– had reached Tobolsk, and asked him if it were possible to ascertain. He immediately sent an orderly for the non-commissioned officer who had commanded the Count's division. Ten minutes afterwards, Corporal Ivan entered the room; and, although I was not then aware of the service he had rendered the Countess and her daughters, I was immediately prepossessed in his favour, by his frank open countenance and soldierly bearing.

"You commanded the sixth division of the prisoners lately sent to Siberia?" enquired I.

"I did so, your excellency."

"Count W– was in your division?"

The corporal hesitated, and did not seem much to like the question.

"Fear nothing," said I, "you are speaking to a friend, who would sacrifice his own life for him. Tell me the truth, I beseech you. Was Count W– ill on the road?"

"Not the least."

"Did he stop at Perm?"

"Not even to change horses. I left him at Koslowo, a pretty little village on the Irtich, twenty leagues from Tobolsk."

"You are sure of what you say?"

"Quite sure. I had a receipt from the authorities, which I delivered over to his excellency the grand-master of police."

I now hastened to Monsieur de Gorgoli, and related all that had passed. When I had finished—

"Is this young girl decided to go penniless, as she now is, to join her lover in Siberia?"

"Quite decided, your excellency; and I am persuaded nothing will alter her resolution."

"Then go, and tell her from me, that she shall have the permission."

I hurried back to Louise, and informed her of the result of my two interviews. She appeared indifferent to the loss of her little fortune, but overjoyed to learn that she would be allowed to join her lover. Her only anxiety now was to obtain the requisite permission as soon as possible.

Before leaving her, I placed at her disposal what money I had, which, unfortunately, was only two or three thousand rubles; for I had, a short time previously, remitted to France all that I had laid by during my residence at St Petersburg.