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THE EXILES OF SIBERIA. 
 
ELIZABETH; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE EXILES OF SIBEEIA. 
 
 % Cde. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME OOTTUT, 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 WILLIAM P. NIMMO. 
 
 1872. 
 

 PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 'N MEMORfAM 
 
ELIZABETH; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE EXILES OF SIBERIA. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 On the banks of the Irtish, which rises in Calmuck Tar- 
 tary and falls into the Oby, is situated Tobolsk, the capital 
 of Siberia; bounded on the north by forests of eleven 
 hundred versts in length, extending to the borders of the 
 Frozen Ocean, and interspersed with rocky mountains 
 covered with perpetual snows, around it are sterile plains, 
 whose frozen sands have seldom received an impression 
 from the human foot, and numerous frigid lakes, or rather 
 stagnant marshes, whose icy streams never watered a 
 meadow, nor opened to the sunbeam the beauties of 
 a flower. On approaching nearer to the pole, these stately 
 productions of nature, whose sheltering foliage are so grate- 
 ful to the weary traveller, totally disappear : brambles, 
 dwarf birches, and shrubs alone ornament this desolate 
 spot ; but even these, further on, vanish^ leaving nothing 
 but swampo covered with a useless moss, and present, as 
 
it. "^.^te,, 'tte'laso ;efif(>rt;s ,of iBxpiring nature. But still, 
 amidst the horror and gloom of an eternal winter, Nature 
 displays some of her grandest spectacles — the aurora bore- 
 alis, inclosing the horizon like a resplendent arch, emits 
 columns of quivering light, and frequently offers to view 
 sights which are unknown in a more southern hemisphere. 
 South of Tobolsk is the' province called Ischim, — plains 
 strewed with the repositories of the dead, and divided by 
 lakes of stagnant and unwholesome water, separate it from 
 the Kerquis, an idolatrous and wandering people. It is 
 bounded on the left by the river Irtish, and on the right 
 by the Tobol, the naked and barren banks of which present 
 to the eye fragments of rocks promiscuously heaped together, 
 with here and there a solitary fir-tree rearing its head \ 
 beneath them, in a space formed by an angle of the river, 
 is the small village of Saimka, about six hundred versts 
 from Tobolsk; situated in the furthest extremity of the 
 circle, in the midst of a desert, its environs are as gloomy 
 as the sombre light which illuminates their hemisphere, 
 and as dreary as the climate. 
 
 The province of Ischim is nevertheless entitled the Italy 
 of Siberia, since it enjoys nearly four months of summer, 
 though the winter is rigorous to an excess. The north 
 winds which blow during that period are so incessant, and 
 render the cold so piercing, that even in September the 
 Tobol is paved with ice; a heavy snow falls upon the 
 earth, and disappears not before the end of May ; but from 
 the time that it begins to dissolve, the celerity with which 
 the trees shoot forth their leaves and the fields display 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 3 
 
 their verdure, is almost incredible ; three days is the short 
 period that nature requires to bring her plants to maturity. 
 The blossoms of the birch-tree exhale an odoriferous scent, 
 and the wild flowers of the field decorate the ground ; flocks 
 of various kinds of fowl play upon the surface of the lakes ; 
 the white crane plunges among the rushes of the solitary 
 marsh to build her nest, which she plaits with reeds, whilst 
 the flying squirrels in the woods, cutting the air with their 
 bushy tails, hop from tree to tree, and nibble the buds of 
 the pines, and the tender leaves of the birch. Thus the 
 natives of these drqary regions experience a season of 
 pleasure; but the unhappy exiles who inhabit it — alas! 
 none. 
 
 Of these miserable beings the greater part reside in the 
 villages situated on the borders of the river, between 
 Tobolsk and the extremest boundary of Ischim ; others are 
 dispersed in cottages about the country. The government 
 provides for some, but many are abandoned to the scanty 
 subsistence they can procure from the chase during the 
 winter season, and all are objects of general commiseration. 
 Indeed, the name they give the exiles seems to have been 
 dictated by the tenderest sympathy, as well as a strong 
 conviction of their innocence, — they call them " Unfortu- 
 nates." 
 
 A few versts from Saimka, in the centre of a marshy 
 forest, upon the border of a deep circular lake, surrounded 
 with black poplars, resided one of these banished families, 
 consisting of three persons — a man about five-and-forty, 
 his wife, and a beautiful daughter in the bloom of youth. 
 
4 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 Secluded in the desert^ this little family were strangers 
 to the intercourse with society ; the father went alone to 
 the chase ; but neither had he, his wife, or daughter been 
 ever seen at Saimka, and except one poor Tartar peasant, 
 who waited on them, no human being entered their dwell- 
 ing. The governor of Tobolsk only was informed of their 
 birth, their country, and the cause of their banishment ; 
 the secret he had not even confided to the lieutenant of 
 his jurisdiction, who was established in Saimka. In com- 
 mitting these exiles to his care, he had merely given orders 
 that they might be provided with a comfortable lodging, 
 a garden, food, and raiment, accompanied with a positive 
 charge to restrict them from all communication with any 
 one, and particularly to intercept any letter they might 
 attempt to convey to the court of Russia. 
 
 So much consideration, such mystery and strict precau- 
 tion, excited a suspicion that, under the simple name of 
 Peter Springer, the father' of this family concealed one 
 more illustrious, and misfortunes of no common nature ; 
 the effect, perhaps, of some great crime, or possibly a 
 victim to the hatred and injustice of the Russian ministers. 
 
 But every endeavour to discover the truth of these con- 
 jectures having proved ineffectual, curiosity was soon ex- 
 tinguished, and all interest in the fate of the new exiles 
 died with it ; indeed, they were so seldom seen that they 
 were soon forgotten j and if, in pursuit of the chase, some 
 straggling sportsman rambled towards the lake of the forest, 
 and inquired the name of the inhabitants of the hut upon 
 its border, the only answer to be obtained was, that " they 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 5 
 
 were unfortunate exiles;" and on quitting tlie spot, a 
 secret prayer that the Almighty might one day restore 
 them to their country, was the tribute of compassion gene- 
 rally bestowed. 
 
 Peter Springer had built their little cottage himself; 
 it was of the wood of fir-trees, thatched with straw \ de- 
 tached masses of rocks defended it from the sweeping 
 blasts of the north wind, and from the inundations of the 
 lake. These rocks, formed of a soft peeling granite, in 
 their exfoliation reflected the rays of the sun ; mush- 
 rooms sprung from their crevices, some of a pale pink, 
 others of a saffron colour, or of a grayish blue, like those 
 of the lake Baikal, announced the earliest days of spring ; 
 and in those cavities, where hurricanes had scattered loose 
 earth, pines and service-trees buried their roots, and raised 
 their tender foliage. 
 
 On the southern side of the lake the forest consisted 
 only of underwood, thinly scattered, and leaving open to 
 view the uncultivated plains beyond, covered with burying- 
 places and monuments of the dead : many had been pil- 
 laged, and the bones strewed upon the earth, — ^the only 
 remains of a nation that had been consigned to eternal 
 oblivion, had not the gold and jewels, buried with its 
 people in the bowels of the earth, revealed to avarice its 
 existence. 
 
 To the east of this extensive plain, a little wooden chapel 
 had been erected by the primitive Christians ; on that side 
 the tombs had been respected; under the cross which 
 adorned it, (the honoured memorial of every virtue,) no 
 
6 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 one had dared to profane the aslies of the dead. In these 
 plains, or steppes, (the name they bear in Siberia,) Peter 
 Springer, during the long and severe -winter of the northern 
 climate, spent his days in hunting : he killed elks, which 
 feed on the leaves of the willow and poplar ; sometimes 
 he caught sables, but more frequently ermines, which are 
 very numerous in that spot ; with the price he obtained 
 for their fur, he procured from Tobolsk different articles 
 which greatly contributed to the comfort of his wife and 
 the education of his daughter. The long winter evenings 
 were devoted to the instruction of the young Elizabeth; 
 who, seated between her parents, would read aloud some 
 passage of history, while Springer directed her attention 
 to those parts which could elevate and expand her mind, 
 and Phedora, her mother, to all that could make it tender 
 and compassionate ; — one pointed out to her the beauties 
 of heroism and glory, the other all the charms of piety and 
 benevolence ; — her father reminded her of the dignity and 
 sublimity of virtue, her mother of the support and consola- 
 tion it affords ; — the first taught how highly to revere, the 
 latter how carefully to cherish it. From these united 
 instructions Elizabeth acquired a disposition at once heroie 
 and gentle, uniting the courage and energy of the father 
 to the angelic mildness of the mother ; at once ardent and 
 enterprising as the exalted ideas of honour could render 
 her, docile and submissive as the blindest votary of love. 
 
 But as soon as the snow began to yield to the power of 
 the sun, and a slight shade of verdure appeared upon the 
 earth, the whole family was busily engaged in the culture 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 7 
 
 of their garden ; Springer turned up the earth, while Eliza- 
 beth sowed the seeds prepared by the industrious hand of 
 Phedora. Their little enclosure was surrounded by plan- 
 tations of alder, of white cornel, and a species of birch 
 much esteemed in Siberia, its blossom being the only one 
 that affords a fragrant smell. On the southern side of 
 this plantation S^Dringer had built a sort of hot-house, in 
 which he cultivated with the greatest assiduity and care 
 various flowers unknown in that climate ; when they were 
 in full bloom he would gather them, and pressing them to 
 his lips, ornament the brow of his daughter, saying, — "Eliza- 
 beth, adorn yourself with the flowers of your native coun- 
 try, their fate resembles yours ; like you they flourish in 
 a foreign land. Oh may your end be more fortunate than 
 theirs !" 
 
 Except during these moments of emotion, he was calm 
 and silent upon the subject of his misfortunes. For hours 
 together he would remain absorbed in the deepest thought, 
 his eyes fixed upon the same object, seated in the same 
 spot. The caresses of his wife, and more especially those 
 of his daughter, at these times seemed rather to increase 
 than alleviate his misery. He would sometimes take her 
 in his arms, and pressing her to his bosom, exclaim, pre- 
 senting her to her mother, " Take her, Phedora ! take our 
 child ! her fate and yours rend my heart ! Ah ! why did 
 you follow me % Had you abandoned me to my own suffer- 
 ings, had you not insisted upon partaking of them, it seems 
 to me that even in this desert I could have been content, 
 knowing you and my child were living happy and respected 
 
8 Elizabeth; or^^ 
 
 in oar native land !" The gentle Phedora seldom answered 
 him but with tears ; her looks, her words, her actions, all 
 bore testimony to the tender and sincere affection by which 
 she was attached to her husband. Separated from him, 
 she could have known no happiness ; nor did she regret 
 so forcibly their exile from their country, or their fall from 
 grandeur, when she reflected that high dignities, places of 
 trust and danger, might have detained him at a distance 
 from her ; in exile he never quitted her ; and therefore she 
 could have almost rejoiced in Siberia, but for the grief 
 she endured at seeing the affliction with which his soul 
 was rent. 
 
 Although Phedora had passed the first season of youtL, 
 she was still beautiful ; devoted to her Creator, her husband, 
 and her child, time was unable to efface the charms that 
 innocence and virtue had imprinted on her countenance. 
 She seemed to have been created for love in its greatest 
 purity ; and if such were her destiny, it had been fulfilled. 
 Attentive to all the wishes of her husband, she watched his 
 looks to discover what could contribute to his comfort or 
 pleasure, that she might anticipate his wish before he had 
 expressed it. She prepared their repasts herself. Order, 
 neatness, and comfort was the characteristic of their little 
 abode. The largest apartment served as a sleeping-room for 
 herself and Springer ; it was warmed by a stove ; the walls 
 were decorated with the drawings and work of Phedora and 
 her daughter, and the windows were glazed — a luxury sel- 
 dom to be met with in this country, and for which they 
 were indebted to the profit Springer derived from the chase. 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 9 
 
 Two small rooms completed their habitation ; one was oc- 
 cupied by Elizabeth ; in the other, where the garden and 
 kitchen utensils were kept, slept the Tartarian peasant, 
 their only attendant. 
 
 Their days were spent in superintending domestic con- 
 cerns j in making different articles of clothing out of the 
 skins of the reindeer, which they dyed with a preparation 
 from the bark of the birch, and lined with thick furs ; but 
 when Sunday arrived, Phedora secretly lamented that she 
 was deprived from attending divine service, and spent great 
 part of the day in prayer. Prostrate before the God of all 
 consolation, she invoked Him in behalf of the objects of her 
 tenderness ; and if her piety daily increased, one of the 
 principal causes w^as, that her ideas and her expressions be- 
 came more eloquent, and better adapted to bestow that 
 consolation her husband so much required, in proportion as 
 her soul became elevated by devotion. 
 
 The young Elizabeth, who knew no other country than 
 the desolate one w^hich she had inhabited from the age of 
 four years, discovered beauties which nature bestows even 
 upon those inhospitable climes \ and innocence finding 
 pleasure everywhere, she amused herseK with climbing the 
 rocks which bordered the lake, in search of the eggs of 
 hawks and white vultures, who build their nests there during 
 summer. Sometimes she caught wood-pigeons to fill a little 
 aviary, and at others angled for the corrasines, which move 
 in shoals, whose purple shells, lying against one another, 
 appear through the water like a sheet of fire covered wdth 
 liquid silver. It never occurred to the happy days of hex 
 
lO Elizabeth; or, 
 
 childhood that there could be a lot more fortunate than her 
 own. Her health was established by the keen air she 
 breathed ; and exercise in her light figure united agility 
 and strength ; while her countenance, beaming with inno- 
 cence and peace, each day seemed to disclose some new 
 charm. Thus, far removed from the busy world and man- 
 kind, did this lovely girl improve in beauty — for the eyes 
 only of her parents, to charm no heart but theirs ; like the 
 flower of the desert, which blooms before the sun, and ar- 
 rays itself in not less brilliant colours because it is destined 
 to shine only in the presence of that luminary to which it 
 is indebted for its existence. 
 
 The most fervent affections are those which are least 
 divided : thus Elizabeth, who knew no one besides her 
 parents, (consequently could love none but them,) loved 
 them with a fervour that scarcely admitted of comparison : 
 they were the protectors of her childhood, the partakers of 
 her amusements, her only society ; she knew nothing but 
 what they had taught her ; to them was she indebted for 
 her talents, her knowledge, her studies, her recreations, and 
 everything; and feeling that without them she could do 
 nothing, enjoy nothing, she delighted in a dependence that 
 was felt only through the medium of the benefits resulting 
 from it. When reason and reflection, however, succeeded to 
 the carelessness of childhood, Elizabeth observed the tears 
 of her mother, and perceived that her father was unhappy. 
 She often pressed them to be told the cause, but could obtain 
 no other answer than that they regretted at being such a 
 distance from their country ; but with the name of that 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 1 1 
 
 country, or the rank tliey heM in it, they had never trusted 
 her, fearing to excite a vain regret by informing her of the 
 elevated rank from which they had been precipitated into 
 banishment. From the time that Elizabeth discovered the 
 affliction of her parents, her thoughts no longer flowed in 
 the same channel, and the whole tenor of her life altered. 
 The innocent amusements she had so much enjoyed, lost 
 all their attractions : her birds were neglected, and her flowers ' 
 were forgotten ; when she went down to the lake, it was no 
 longer to cast the bait, or to navigate her little canoe, but 
 to meditate profoundly upon a scheme which had become 
 the sole occupation of her mind. Sometimes seated upon 
 a projecting rock, her eyes fixed upon the waters of the lake, 
 she reflected upon the griefs of her parents, and on the 
 means of alleviating them. They wept for their country ; 
 Elizabeth knew not where this country w^as situated, but 
 that they were unhappy out of it w^as sufficient ; all her 
 thoughts were directed to devise some plan for restoring 
 them to it. She w^ould then raise her eyes to heaven to 
 implore that assistance she could alone expect from thence, 
 and would remain buried in a reverie so profound, that the 
 snow, falling in large flakes, and driven with violence against 
 her by the wind, could not disturb it : but if her parents 
 called, in an instant she would descend from the tops of the 
 rocks, to receive the lessons of her father, or to assist her 
 mother in her domestic avocations. But with them or 
 alone, whether engaged in reading or occupied with her 
 needle, one idea only pursued her, one project held constant 
 possession of her mind ; this project she kept profoundly 
 
12 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 secret, resolved not to mention it till tbe moment of her 
 departure should arrive. 
 
 Yes : she resolved to tear herself from the embraces of 
 her parents — ^to proceed alone, on foot, to Petersburg, and 
 to implore pardon of the emperor for her father. Such was 
 the bold design which had presented itself to her imagina- 
 tion, such was the daring enterprise the dangers of which 
 could not daunt the heroic courage of a young and timid 
 female. She beheld in their strongest light many of the' 
 impediments she must surmount ; but her confidence in the. 
 Creator, and the ardour of her wishes, encouraged her ; and 
 she felt convinced that she should overcome them all. As 
 her scheme, however, began to unfold itself, and she re- 
 flected upon the means of carrying it into execution, her 
 ignorance could not fail to alarm her : she had never passed 
 the boundaries of the forest she inhabited ; how then was 
 she to find her way to Petersburg ? how could she travel 
 through countries mhabited by people who spoke a language 
 unknown to her % She must subsist upon charity : to sub- 
 mit to this, she recalled to her aid those precepts of humility 
 her mother had so carefully inculcated \ but her father had 
 so often spoken of the inflexibility of mankind, that she 
 dreaded being reduced to implore their compassion. Eliza- 
 beth was too well acquainted with the tenderness of her 
 parents to indulge the hope that they would facilitate her 
 journey. It was not to them she could in this instance have 
 recourse. To whom, then, could she apply in a desert, where 
 she lived secluded from the rest of the world % to whom 
 address herself in a dwelling?, the entrance to which was 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 13 
 
 forbidden to every liiiman being ? Still, she did not de- 
 spair : the remembrance of an accident, to which her father 
 had nearly fallen a victim, had engraven upon her mind 
 the conviction, that there is no place so desolate in which 
 Providence cannot hear the prayers of the unfortunate and 
 afford to them assistance. 
 
 Some years before. Springer had been delivered from 
 imminent peril, upon one of the high rocks which form 
 a boundary to the Tobol, by the intrepidity of a young 
 stranger. This brave youth was the son of M. de Smoloff, 
 the governor of Tobolsk ; he came every winter to the plains 
 of Ischim to hunt elks and sables, and sometimes bears? 
 which are frequently seen in the environs of Saimka. In 
 this dangerous chase he had met Springer, and was the means 
 of saving his life. From that period the name of Smoloff, 
 had never been mentioned in the abode of the exiles but 
 with reverence and gratitude; Elizabeth and her mother 
 felt the most lively regret at not knowing their benefactor, 
 that they might offer him their acknowledgments and bene- 
 dictions j to heaven they daily offered them for him ; and 
 indulged the hope, at each return of the hunting season, 
 that chance might lead him to their hut. But they hoped 
 in vain \ its entrance had been forbidden to him, as well as 
 to every one else ; and he lamented not the restriction, as 
 he was yet ignorant of the treasure this humble habitation 
 enclosed. 
 
 Nevertheless, since Elizabeth had been thoroughly con- 
 vinced of the difScuIty of leaving the desert without some 
 human aid, her thoughts had frequently rested upon young 
 
14 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 Smoloff. Such a protector would have dissipated all her 
 terrors, and might have vanquished all the obstacles that 
 opposed her design. Who was better calculated than he" to 
 give all the information she required respecting her journey 
 from Saimkato Petersburg? to instruct her in what method 
 to get her petition delivered to the emperor % and should 
 her flight irritate the governor, who was better calculated 
 than a son to soften his resentment, move his compassion, 
 and save her parents from being made responsible for her 
 transgression 1 
 
 Thus did she reflect on all the advantages which were 
 likely to result from such a support j and as winter drew 
 near, she resolved not to let the hunting season pass away 
 without taking some steps to inform herself whether young 
 Smoloff was in the country ; and, if so, of seeking an oppor- 
 tunity to speak to him. 
 
 Springer had been so much affected by the terjor of his 
 wife and daughter at the mere recital of the danger he had 
 incurred, that he promised never again to engage in the 
 bear-hunt, nor to extend his walks beyond the plain but in 
 pursuit of squirrels or ermines. Notwithstanding this pro- 
 mise, Phedora could not see him depart for a distance with- 
 out terror ; and she continued till his return in a state of 
 agitation and anxiety, as if his absence was the presage of 
 some calamity. 
 
 A heavy fall of snow, congealed into a solid mass by an 
 intense frost, had completely covered the surface of the 
 earth, when, on a fine morning in the month of December, 
 Springer took his gun, and prepared for the chase. Before 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 1 5 
 
 Ms departure he embraced his wife and daughter, and pro- 
 mised to return before the close of the day ; but the hour 
 had passed, night approached, and Springer arrived not. 
 Since the adventure which threatened his life, this was the 
 first time he had failed in the strictest punctuality, and the 
 terror of Phedora was indescribable. Elizabeth, while she 
 partook of it, sought every means to tranquillise her ; she 
 would have flown to seek and succour her father, but she 
 had not resolution to leave her mother in the agony in 
 which she beheld her. 
 
 At length, however, the delicate and timid Phedora, 
 who had never ventured beyond the banks of the lake, 
 roused to exertion by the violence of her agitation, re- 
 solved to accompany her daughter^ and, could she find her 
 husband, to incur any danger in offering him assistance. 
 They proceeded together through the underwood of the 
 forest towards the plain ; the cold was severe in the ex- 
 treme ; the firs appeared like trees of ice, their branches 
 being hid under a thick covering of hoar frost; a mist 
 obscured the horizon ; night's near approach gave to each 
 object a still gloomier shade ; and the ground, smooth aa 
 glass, refused to support the steps of the trembling Phe- 
 dora. Elizabeth, reared in this climate, and accustomed 
 to brave the extremest severity of the weather, assisted 
 her mother, and led her on. Thus, a tree transplanted 
 from its native soil languishes in a foreign land ; while the 
 young sapling that springs from its root, habituated to 
 the new climate, acquires strength, flourishes, and in a 
 few years sustains the branches of the trunk that nour- 
 
1 6 Elizabeth ; 07% 
 
 ished it, protecting by its friendly shade the tree to "whiclj 
 it is indebted for existence. Before Phedora had reached 
 the plain, her strength totally failed. " Rest here, my 
 dear mother," said Elizabeth, " and let me go alone to the 
 edge of the forest ; if we stay longer, the darkness of the 
 night will prevent me from distinguishing my father in 
 the plain." Phedora supported herself against a tree, while 
 her daughter hastened forward, and in a few seconds 
 reached the plain : some of the monuments with which it 
 is interspersed are very high ; Elizabeth climbed upon the 
 most elevated ^ — her heart full of grief, her eyes dim with 
 tears — and gazed around in vain for her father ; but all 
 was still and lonely : the obscurity of night began to ren- 
 der the search useless : terror almost suspended her facul- 
 ties, when the report of a gun revived her hopes. She 
 had never heard this sound but from the hand of her 
 father, and to her it appeared a certain sign that he was 
 near ; she rushed towards the spot from whence the noise 
 proceeded, and behind a pile of rocks discovered a man in 
 a bending posture, apparently seeking something on the 
 ground. "My father! my father! is it you?" she ex- 
 claimed. He turned hastily; it was not Springer; his 
 countenance v;as youthful, and his air noble ; at the sight 
 of Elizabeth he stood amazed. " Oh, it is not my father !" 
 resumed she with anguish ; " but perhaps you may have 
 seen him on the plain 1 Oh, can you tell me where to 
 find him ? " "I know nothing of your father," answered 
 the stranger ; " but surely you ought not to be here alone 
 at this unseasonable hour; you run great hazard-^ and 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, r 7 
 
 should not venture." " Oh !" interrupted she, " I fear 
 nothing but losing my father." As she spoke she raised 
 her eyes to heaven ; their expression revealed at once 
 firmness in affliction, dignity united with softness ; they 
 expressed the feelings of her soul, and seemed to foretell 
 her future destiny. The stranger had never seen a person, 
 nor had his imagination ever painted a vision, like Eliza- 
 beth ; he almost believed himself in a dream. When the 
 first emotion of surprise had subsided, he inquired the 
 name of her father. " Peter Springer," she replied. " How !" 
 he exclaimed ; " you are the daughter of the exile residing 
 in a cottage on the lake side ! Be comforted ; I have seen 
 your father ; it is not an hour since he left me ; he was to 
 make a circuit, and must be at home ere this." 
 
 Elizabeth listened no longer, but flew towards the spot 
 where she had left her mother, on whom she called with 
 the voice of joy, that the sound might reanimate her before 
 she could explain the cause \ but Phedora was gone. The 
 terrified Elizabeth made the forest resound with the names 
 of her parents : a well-known voice answered her from the 
 lake-side ; she redoubled her speed, arrived at the hut, and 
 found her father and mother at the door, their arms held 
 forth to receive her Mutual embraces were followed by 
 mutual explanations ; each of them had returned home by 
 a different road, but all were now united and happy. Not 
 till then did Elizabeth perceive that the stranger had fol- 
 lowed her. Springer immediately recognised him, and 
 said with profound regret, " M. de Smoloff, it is very late; 
 but, alas ! you know I am not permitted to offer you an 
 
1 8 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 asylum even for a single night." "M. de Smoloff !" ex- 
 claimed Elizabeth and her mother, " our deliverer ! is it 
 indeed he whom we behold V They fell at his feet, and 
 while Phedora, unable to express her acknowledgments, 
 bathed them with her tears, Elizabeth addressed him thus : 
 — " M. de Smoloff, three years have now elapsed since 
 you saved my father's life ; during that period not a day 
 has passed on which our fervent prayers have not been 
 offered up to the Almighty to beseech Him to reward and 
 bless you." " Your prayers, then, have been heard," an- 
 swered Smoloff, with the most lively emotion, *' since He 
 has deigned to guide my footsteps to this blessed abode. 
 The little good I did deserved not such a reward." 
 
 It was now night, profound darkness covered the forest ; 
 a return to Saimka at this hour would be attended with 
 danger, and Springer knew not how to refuse the rights of 
 hospitality to his deliverer ; but he had pledged his honour 
 to the governor of Tobolsk not to receive any one under 
 his roof; and to fail in his word solemnly given was a 
 dreadful alternative. He proposed, therefore, to the youth 
 to accompany him to Saimka. " I will take a torch," said 
 he ; "I am well acquainted with every turn of the forest 
 and all those places we must avoid, and fear not to con- 
 duct you safely." The terrified Phedora rushed forward to 
 prevent him; and Smoloff, addressing him respectfully, 
 " Permit me, sir," said he, " to solicit a shelter in your 
 cottage till break of day. I know what are my father's 
 injunctions, and the motives which compel him to shew 
 you so much severity; but I am certain that he would 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 1 9 
 
 allow me on this occasion to release you from your pro- 
 mise, and I will engage to return shortly to thank you 
 in his name for the asylum you will have granted me." 
 Springer conquered his scruples ; he took the young man 
 by the hand, conducted him into his cottage, and placing 
 him near the stove, seated himself by his side, while Phe- 
 dora and her daughter prepared their repast. 
 
 Elizabeth was dressed according to the costume of the 
 peasants of Tartary, in trow^sers made of the skin of the 
 reindeer, and a short petticoat of crimson stuff, looped up ; 
 while her hair in graceful ringlets almost reached the 
 ground ; a close vest, buttoned at the side, displayed to 
 advantage the elegance of her form ; and her sleeves turned 
 back above the elbow, discovered her beautifully-shaped 
 arm. The simplicity of her dress seemed to enhance the mild 
 dignity of her manners ; and all her gestures were accom- 
 panied with a grace which did not escape the observation 
 o^ Smoloff, who, as he watched her, experienced an emotion 
 to which he had been before a stranger. Elizabeth beheld 
 him with equal delight, — but it was a delight pure as her 
 mind, founded on the gratitude she owed him, and on the 
 hope of his assistance in the project she had so long in- 
 dulged. That Power, who dives into the inmost recesses 
 of the heart, beheld not in that of Elizabeth a single thought 
 which had not for its object the happiness of her parents ; 
 for to them it was devoted, to the exclusion of every other 
 earthly attachment. 
 
 During supper young Smoloff informed his companions 
 that he had been three days at Saimka, where he had learnt 
 
20 Elizabeth; ar^ 
 
 that a great number of ravenous wolves infested tlie neigh- 
 bourhood, and it was in contemplation to commence a 
 general chase, in the course of a few days, for the purpose 
 of destroying them. At this intelligence Phedora changed 
 colour ; " I hope,^' said she, addressing her husband, " you 
 will not join in this dangerous diversion. Oh, do not 
 expose your life, the greatest of my blessings." — "Alas^ 
 Phedora ! what is it you say % " exclaimed Springer, with 
 a sensation of grief he could not repress. " Of what value 
 is my life? Were I gone, would it be any longer your 
 destiny to remain in this desolate place ? Do you *not 
 know what would restore liberty to yourself and to our 
 
 child ? Do you not know" Phedora interrupted him 
 
 with an exclamation expressive of the anguish of her souL 
 Elizabeth rose from her seat, and drawing near her father, 
 took one of his hands : " My dear father," said she, " you 
 know that, reared in this forest, I am ignorant of every 
 other country; with you, my mother and T are happy, 
 in losing you, our happiness would be lost. I answer for 
 her, as for myself, without you we could not be happy in 
 any situation of the globe ; no, not even in that country 
 you so much regret." " Possibly, M. de Smoloff," resumed 
 Springer, after a short pause, " you may think these words 
 should bring me comfort ; on the contrary, they plunge the 
 poniard of grief still deeper in my bosom; that virtue, 
 which should be my delight, creates new pangs, when I 
 reflect that it will for ever be concealed in this desert, a 
 sacrifice to me ; my Elizabeth will never be known, never 
 meet witli the admiration and the love so justly her due." 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 2 1 
 
 Elizabeth hastily interrapted him : " O my father ! placed 
 between my mother and you, can you tell me I am not 
 loved?" Springer, unable to moderate his affliction, con- 
 tinued thus : — " Never will you enjoy that happiness I 
 received from you ; never will you hear the voice of a 
 beloved child addressing you in angelic words of consola- 
 tion j your life will be spent without a companion ; with- 
 out any of the tender, the endearing ties of life, like a bird 
 wandering in a desert. Innocent victim ! you know not 
 the blessings from which you are debarred; but I, who 
 no longer possess the power of bestowing them upon you, 
 I know and feel, how deeply feel, their value !" 
 
 During this scene young Smoloff had in vain endeavoured 
 to repress his tears ; they had fallen more than once : he 
 had attempted to speak, but his voice refused utterance : 
 at last, after a pause of some minutes, "Sir/' said he, 
 '*from the melancholy office which my father holds, you 
 must be well aware I am not a stranger to the sight of 
 distress : often have I travelled through the different 
 districts under his extensive jurisdiction. What lamenta- 
 tions have I heard ! What solitary wretchedness have 
 I witnessed ! In the deserts of Berisow, upon the borders 
 of the Frozen Sea, I have seen men who possessed not in 
 the wide world a single friend, who never received a caress, 
 nor heard the soothing language of consolation ; insulated 
 and separated from all mankind, they were not merely 
 banished, their misery admitted of no alleviation." "And 
 when Heaven has spared you and my child," interrupted 
 Phedora, addressing her husband in an accent of tender 
 
22 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 reproach, "slioiild you complain so bitterly? Had she 
 been taken from you, what would you have done?" 
 Springer shuddered at the idea ; he seized his daughter s 
 hand, and pressing it to his heart with that of his wife, 
 he said, regarding them both tenderly, — '* Ah ! Heaven be 
 my witness, how strongly I feel that I am not deprived of 
 every blessing." 
 
 As soon as the morning dawned, young Smoloff took 
 leave of the exiles. Elizabeth saw him depart with regret ; 
 for she was impatient to reveal her project to him, and to 
 implore his assistance.; not a mbment's opportunity had 
 presented itself for her to speak to him in private : her 
 parents had never quitted the apartment, and she could 
 not address him unobserved in their presence : she hoped, 
 however, should she see him often, to be more fortunate ; 
 and therefore, as he took leave, said in the most anxious 
 manner, — "Will you not come again, M. de Smoloff? All ! 
 promise me that this is not to be the last time I am to see 
 the deliverer of my father." 
 
 Springer was surprised at the earnestness of her address, 
 and felt rather uneasy. He reflected upon the orders of 
 the governor, with a resolution not to disobey them a 
 second time. Smoloff replied to Elizabeth's request, that 
 he was certain of obtaining from his father an exception 
 in his favour, and should go that very day to solicit it. 
 " But, sir," said he to Springer, " when I am asking this 
 favour for myself, can I not deliver any message from you 1 
 Is there any favour you may also require 2X his hands % " 
 
llie Exiles of Siberia, 23 
 
 *' No, sir," answer Springer, with unusual gravity, " I have 
 no request to trouble you with." His guest looked down 
 dejected ; then, addressing himself to Phedora, repeated his 
 question m nearly the same terms. " Sir," she replied, " I 
 should be glad if he would allow me and my daughter to 
 go to Saimka on Sundays, to hear mass." Smoloff under- 
 took to obtain this permission; and departed with the 
 benedictions of the whole family, and the secret wishes of 
 Elizabeth for his speedy return. 
 
 During his walk back to Saimka, Smolofif could think 
 only of her. His imagination had been forcibly struck at 
 her first appearance in the desert; his heart had been 
 deeply interested in the scene which he had witnessed 
 afterwards between her and her parents ; he recalled to his 
 memory every word she had uttered — her looks, her man- 
 ner ; and his mind dwelt particularly upon the last words 
 he heard her utter. Without this last address, a sort of 
 respect, approaching to veneration, would perhaps have 
 deterred him from presuming to love her ; but the eager- 
 ness with which Elizabeth had expressed a desire of seeing 
 him again, the tender sentiment by which her request had 
 been accompanied, could not fail to excite a suspicion in 
 his mind that she had been actuated by feehngs similar to 
 his own. His ardent and youthful imagination dwelt upon 
 the thought, and persuaded him that fate, not chance, had 
 brought about the adventure of the preceding evening, and 
 that a mutual sympathy now existed between them ; he 
 was impatient to read, in the innocent heart of Elizabeth, 
 
24 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 the confirmation of all his hopes. How far was he from 
 imagining the sentiments he was destined on a future day 
 to discover there ! 
 
 Since SmolofiTs visit to the hut, Springer's melancholy 
 seemed to have increased. He reflected upon the gener- 
 osity, the intrepidity, the gentleness of character this young 
 man appeared to possess ; and it was ever present to his 
 mind that such was the companion he would have chosen 
 for his daughter ; but her situation prevented him from 
 dwelling on the idea : and far from being desirous of see- 
 ing Smoloff again, he dreaded his return ; for it would have 
 been a far more insupportable affliction than any he had 
 yet experienced to see his child the pining victim of hope- 
 less love. 
 
 One evening, while plunged in deep dejection, his head 
 supported by his hand, his elbow resting on his knee, he 
 heaved a deep sigh. Phedora dropped her needle, and 
 fixing her eyes upon her husband, with an expression of 
 the most heartfelt commiseration, she implored Heaven to 
 enable her to banish his vain regret, and pour the balm of 
 consolation into his wounded soul. 
 
 Elizabeth, from a further corner of the room, observed 
 them both, and felt a secret joy as she reflected that a day 
 might possibly come when she should be able to restore 
 them to their former happiness, not doubting that Smo- 
 loff would encourage and facilitate her enterprise : a secret 
 instinct assured her that he would be moved by it, and 
 would assist her ; but she feared the refusal of her parents, 
 and particularly that of her mother. Nevertheless, to de 
 
X 
 
 The Exiles of Siberia. 2 5 
 
 part withuut their knowledge would be repugnant to her 
 feelings, nay, would be impossible, as. she knew not the 
 riame of their country, nor the nature of the offence for 
 which she was to supplicate forgiveness of the emperor. It 
 was necessary, then, to discover to them her intention, and 
 the present seemed to be a fit moment for the disclosure ; 
 therefore, bending one knee to the ground, she fervently im- 
 plored aid from the Almighty, and that He would incline 
 her parents to grant her suit ; then, approaching her father, 
 she stood behind him, leaning upon the back of the chair 
 on which he was seated, and remained silent for some 
 moments, in the hope that he would perceive and speak to 
 her ; but he continued in the same dejected attitude ; and 
 she broke the silence thus — " Will you permit me, my 
 father, to ask you a question?" He raised his head, and 
 made a sign that she might proceed. " When M. de Smo- 
 loff inquired the other day if you wished for anything, you 
 answered. No. Is it true that there is nothing you wish 
 for 1" " Nothing that he could procure me." " And who, 
 then, could grant your wish V " The hand of justice." 
 " My father, where is it to be found V " In heaven, my 
 child; but if you mean upon earth — nowhere." As he 
 ceased speaking, a deeper gloom overcast his brow, and he 
 resumed his melancholy position. 
 
 After a short pause, EHzabeth again broke silence thus 
 — " My dear father and mother," said she, in a tone of 
 animation, " hear me ; I have this day completed my 
 seventeenth year; this was the day on winch I received 
 from you a being which wiU be valuable in my estimation, 
 
26 Elizabeth; oVy 
 
 if to you I am allowed to devote it; to you whom my 
 soul reveres and cherislies as the living images of my 
 Creator. From the time of my birth not a day has passed 
 away unmarked by your benefits, unendeared by tokens of 
 your love ; hitherto the only return in my power to make 
 has been gratitude and tenderness ; but what avails grati- 
 tude if it be not shewn % what avails tenderness if I cannot 
 prove it ? O my beloved parents, forgive the presump- 
 tion of your child ; once in her life she would do for you 
 what, from the hour of her birth, you have so unceasingly 
 done for her. Condescend, then, to intrust her with the 
 secret of your misfortunes." " My child, what wouldst 
 thou ask?" interrupted her father. "That you would in- 
 form me of as much as it is needful for me to know, to be 
 able to prove the extent of my regard for you. Heaven 
 bear testimony to the motive which induces me to make 
 this request." As she uttered these last words she fell on 
 her knees before her father, and raised her eyes towards 
 him with a look of the most moving supplication. An 
 expression so noble shone through the tears that overflowed 
 her countenance, and the heroism of her soul reflected an 
 air so angelic over the humility of her attitude, that a 
 suspicion of her intention instantaneously darted across 
 the mind of Springer. Unable to shed a tear or breathe a 
 sigh, he remained silent, motionless, struck with a sort of 
 awe, like that which the presence of an angel might have 
 inspired : no circumstance attending his misfortunes had 
 ever had power to move his soul to such a degree as the 
 words Elizabeth had uttered ; and his firm spirit, that 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 2 7 
 
 even majesty could not intimidate, was subdued by the 
 voice of his child, and attempted in vain to strive against 
 the emotions that overpowered it. 
 
 While Springer remained silent, Elizabeth continued 
 kneeling before him : her mother approached to raise her : 
 seated behind her daughter, Phedora had not seen the 
 motion or the look which had revealed her secret to her 
 father : and was still far from imagining the trial her ten- 
 derness was threatened with. " Why,'' said she — " Why do 
 you hesitate to confide to your child the history of our 
 misfortunes'? Is it her youth that prevents you? Can 
 you fear that the soul of our Elizabeth will suffer itself to 
 be weakly depressed by the knowledge of our reverse of 
 fortune?" " • 
 
 " No," replied Springer, looking steadfastly on his 
 daughter ; " no, it is not weakness I apprehend from her." 
 From these words, and the expressive look which accom- 
 panied them, Elizabeth saw that her father had understood 
 her : she pressed his hand in silence, that he alone might 
 comprehend her meaning ; for she knew the heart of her 
 mother, and was glad to retard the moment in which it 
 must be afflicted. " Heaven ! " exclaimed Springer, 
 ^' forgive me that I dared to repine : I regretted the bless- 
 ings of which I was deprived, but knew not those you had 
 in store for me. Elizabeth, in this one happy day you 
 have made me ample amends for twelve years of suffering." 
 " My father !" she replied, " say not again tliere is no real 
 happiness on earth, when the child of such a parent can be 
 blessed with hearing words like these. But, speak — tell 
 
28 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 me, I conjure you, your name, that of your country, and 
 the cause of your unhappiness." " Unhappiness ! I am 
 unhappy no longer : my country is wherever I can live 
 with my daughter ; the name in which I place my greatest 
 glory is, that of the father of Elizabeth." " my child !" 
 interrupted Phedora, " I did not think the tenderness I 
 bore you could admit of increase ; but you have afforded 
 consolation to your father." 
 
 At these words Springer's firmness was entirely sub- 
 dued : he burst into tears, and, pressing his wife and 
 daughter to his heart, repeated in a voice broken with 
 sobs, " Pardon, O Most High ! pardon an ingrate, who 
 presumed to murmur at Thy decrees; and withhold the 
 chastisements his temerity has deserved." 
 
 When these violent emotions had subsided. Springer 
 said to his daughter, " My child, I give you my word that 
 I ^vill inform you of every particular you wish to know ; 
 but you must wait some days : I cannot speak of my 
 sufferings at the moment you have taught me to forget 
 them." 
 
 The obedient Elizabeth ventured not to press him 
 further, determining to wait with deference till he should 
 feel inclined to give the information he had promised : but 
 she waited for that moment in vain : Springer appeared to 
 dread it, and to avoid her ; he had guessed her intention ; 
 and though no language could express the gratitude and 
 admiration of this fond parent, his tenderness would not 
 allow him to grant the consent he knew she would entreat ; 
 3ior did he consider himself absolutely authorised to refuse 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 29 
 
 it. This was indeed the only recourse from which he might 
 hope to be re-established in his rights, and to replace Eliza- 
 beth in the rank to which she was born : but when he 
 reflected upon the fatigues she must undergo, the dangers 
 she must incur, the idea was insupportable. Willingly 
 <vould he have sacrificed his own life to reinstate his 
 family in their rank and possessions ; but to risk that of 
 his daughter in such an attempt, was a trial to which he 
 felt his courage was unequal. 
 
 The silence of her father taught Elizabeth the line of 
 conduct she ought to pursue : she was certain that he had 
 penetrated into her design, and was more deeply affected 
 by it than she had ever seen him : which, if it had met his 
 approbation, he would not with so much precaution have 
 avoided speaking to her upon the subject. Indeed, when 
 she considered her scheme, it seemed so impracticable, that 
 she feared her parents would only regard it as the effusion 
 of filial enthusiasm. In order, therefore, to place her pro- 
 ject in a point of view more favourable to its execution, she 
 must represent it divested of some of the greater obstacles 
 by which it was opposed, and to this end must solicit the 
 advice and assistance of Smoloff. With a determination, 
 therefore, to maintain silence upon the subject, and not to 
 disclose the secret entirely to her parents till she had con- 
 versed with him, she waited impatiently for his return. 
 
 Elizabeth foresaw that one of the strongest reasons that 
 would withhold her parents' consent, would be the diffi- 
 culty of undertaking to travel eight hundred miles on foot, 
 in the severest climate of the earth. To lessen this diflS- 
 
30 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 culty as mucli as possible, and to prepare herself for hard- 
 ship and fatigue, she exercised her strength daily in the 
 plains of Ischim. Whether the snow drifted by the wind, 
 beat against her with a violence that opposed her passage, 
 or a thick mist concealed almost the path before her, she 
 relinquished not her resolution ; sometimes, in contradic- 
 tion even to the wishes of her parents, accustoming herself 
 by degrees to endure the inclemency of weather, and their 
 disapprobation. 
 
 Siberia is subject to sudden storms ; frequently during 
 the winter season, when the sky appears the most serene, 
 dreadful hurricanes arise instantaneously, and obscure the 
 atmosphere. They are impelled from the opposite sides oi 
 the horizon ; and when they meet, the strongest trees in 
 vain oppose their violence : in vain the pliant birch bend? 
 to the ground ; its flexible branches with their trembling 
 leaves are broken and dispersed ; the snow rolls from the 
 tops of the mountains, carrying with it enormous masses of 
 ice, which break against the points of the rocks : they break 
 in their turn ; and the wind, carrying away the fragments, 
 together with those of the falling huts, in which the terri- 
 fied animals have in vain sought shelter, raises them high 
 in the air, and dashing them back to the earth, strews the 
 ground with the ruins of every production of nature. 
 
 One morning in the month of January, Elizabeth was 
 overtaken by one of these terrible storms : she was in the 
 plain near the little chapel : and as soon as the sudden 
 darkness of the sky announced the approaching tempest, 
 sought shelter under its venerable roof : the furious wind 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 3 1 
 
 soon attacked this feeble edifice ; and, shaking it to its 
 foundation, threatened every instant to level it with the 
 ground. Elizabeth, prostrate before the altar, was insen- 
 sible to fear : the storm she had heard destroying all 
 around her, created no sensation in her breast but that of 
 a reverential awe, caused by a natural reflection on the 
 Omnipotent Being, from whose hand it came. As her life 
 might be serviceable to her parents, she felt assured that 
 Heaven would for their sake watch over and guard it, till 
 she had delivered them from suffering. This sentiment, 
 approaching almost to superstition, created by the fervour of 
 her filial piety, inspired Elizabeth with a tranquillity so per- 
 fect, that in the midst of warring elements, with the thun- 
 der-bolts of heaven falling around her, she yielded calmly 
 to the heaviness which oppressed her ; and lying down at 
 the foot of the altar, before which she had been offering up 
 her prayers, fell into a slumber, secure and peaceful as that 
 of innocence reposing on the bosom of a father. 
 
 On this very day Smoloff had returned from Tobolsk. 
 On arriving at Saimka, he hastily proceeded to the cottage 
 of the exiles. He brought the permission Phedora had so- 
 licited j her daughter and herself were at liberty to attend 
 divine service at Saimka every Sunday : but so far from 
 extending his indulgence to Springer, the orders of the 
 *)ourt regarding him were more strict than ever ; that in 
 allowing young Smoloff to see him once more, the governor 
 of Tobolsk had consulted his feelings rather than his duty; 
 but this visit was to be the last : of this his father had ex- 
 acted a solemn promise. Smoloff was grieved to the soul 
 
 C 
 
32 Elizabeth; or. 
 
 at so much severity ; but as he drew near the dwelling of 
 Elizabeth, his melancholy dispersed : he thought less of the 
 pain of taking leave under the cruel restriction imposed 
 upon him by his father, than of the delight he should ex- 
 perience in seeing her again. 
 
 In the first ardent pursuit that occupies the youthful 
 mind, the enjoyment of the present felicity is so animated, 
 so complete, that it obliterates all idea of futurity, and 
 engrosses the soul so entirely, that no room is left for the 
 anticipation of future distress : happiness is a sensation too 
 ardently felt by youth, to suffer them to waste a thought up- 
 on the instability of its duration. But when, upon enter- 
 ing the cottage, Smoloff looked around for Elizabeth in 
 vain, and reflected that he might not be able to prolong 
 his visit till her return, his disappointment was too ap- 
 parent to escape the most superficial observation. In vain 
 did Phedora address him in the most affecting terms of 
 gratitude, blessing the hand that had re-opened for her 
 the house of God, as well as preserved the life of her 
 beloved husband. In vain did Springer call him the pro- 
 tector, the comforter of the afflicted ; he appeared almost 
 insensible to their discourse, and in the little he spoke, the 
 name of Elizabeth every instant escaped his lips. His evi- 
 dent embarrassment partly betrayed the situation of his 
 heart, and the disclosure rendered him dearer to that of 
 Phedora : his love for her daughter flattered her pride, the 
 indulgence of which yields the highest gratification \ and 
 surely no mother had more reason to be proud of a child. 
 
 Springer, though no less sensible of the merit of his 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 2^1} 
 
 daughter, and fearing that ske would discover the visible 
 partiality of the young man, which might disturb her peace, 
 reminded Smoloff of the obedience due to his father, with 
 the hope of putting an end to a visit which, by divers pre- 
 tences, the youth sought to prolong. It was at this 
 period that the storm arose j the parents trembled for the 
 safety of their child. " EHzabeth ! Elizabeth ! What 
 will become of my Elizabeth \ " cried the agonised mother. 
 Springer took his stick in silence, and went to seek his 
 daughter j Smoloff rushed after him. 
 
 The tempest raged with the most terrific violence on 
 every side; the trees were torn up by the roots, and an 
 attempt to cross the forest was attended by the most im- 
 minent danger. Springer remonstrated with Smolo£f^ and 
 endeavoured to deter him from following, but in vain; 
 Smoloff saw all the danger, and rejoiced that an opportunity 
 should offer for him to encounter such for the sake of 
 Elizabeth : he would give a proof of an affection he could 
 scarcely have declared to h6r by any other means. 
 
 They had now reached the middle of the forest. " To 
 which side shall we turn ] " asked Smoloff. '' Lot us pro- 
 ceed towards the plain, " Springer replied ; " she walks 
 there every day, and has probably taken shelter in the 
 chapel." They said no more ; their anxiety was equal ; 
 stooping to shelter their heads from the blows of the 
 broken boughs, and from the fragments of rock which 
 the wind scattered about, they walked forward as fast as 
 the snow, which beat in their faces, would permit. 
 
 On reaching the plain, the danger with which they had 
 
34 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 been menaced from tlie falling of trees ceased ; but in this 
 exposed situation they were sometimes driven backwards, 
 and at others thrown down, by the violence of the tempest. 
 At last they reached the little chapel, in which they hoped 
 Elizabeth had sought a refuge ; but when they beheld this 
 dangerous shelter, the walls of w^hich consisted only of 
 slightly-joined planks, that seemed ready every instant to 
 fall, and become a pile of ruins, they began to shudder at the 
 idea that she might be within them. Animated with more 
 than parental fears, SmolofF, leaving Springer behind, was 
 the first to enter the tottering edifice, where to his inex- 
 pressible astonishment he sees Elizabeth, not terrified, pale, 
 and trembling, but in a peaceful sleep before the altar. 
 Struck with unutterable surprise, he stops, — points out to 
 Springer the cause of his amazement ; and both, impelled 
 by similar sentiments of veneration, fall on their knees bj 
 the side of the angel sleeping under the special protection 
 of Heaven. The father bent over his child, while Smoloff, 
 casting down his eyes, retired some steps, not presuming 
 to approach too near to such supreme innocence. 
 
 Elizabeth awoke, beheld her father, and throwing herself 
 into his arms, exclaimed, *' Ah ! I knew you watched over 
 me." Springer pressed her to his heart with indescribable 
 emotion. " My child ! " said he, " into what agonies have 
 you thrown your mother and me!" — "0 my father! 
 pardon me for causing those tears, " answered Elizabeth ; 
 " and let us hasten to relieve the terrors of my mother. " 
 In rising, she perceived SmolofF. "Ah !" said she, in gen- 
 tle accents of pleasure and surprise, "all my protectors 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 35 
 
 have, then, been watching over me : Heaven, my father, 
 and you. " With extreme difficulty did her delighted 
 lover repress the emotions of his heart. 
 
 Springer resumed. ''■ My dear child," said he, " you talk 
 of rejoining your mother ; but do you know whether it will 
 be possible % whether you will be able to resist the violence 
 of a tempest that M. de Smoloff and I seem to have escaped 
 from but by a miracle % " — " I will try," answered she ; 
 " my strength is greater than you think ; and I rejoice in 
 an opportunity which enables me to shew you how much 
 it is capable of performing, when the consolation of my 
 mother calls forth its exertion." 
 
 As she spoke, unwonted courage beamBd in her eyes ; 
 and Springer perceived that her enterprise was far from 
 being relinquished : she walked between her father and 
 Smoloff, who supported her together, and sheltered her 
 head with their wide mantles. How much did Smoloff 
 rejoice in that boisterous wind which obliged Elizabeth to 
 trust to him for support ! He thought not of his own life, 
 which he would gladly have exposed a thousand times to 
 prolong those moments; he feared not even for that of 
 Elizabeth, which, in the ecstasy that possessed him, he 
 would have defied the elements combined to hinder him 
 from preserving. 
 
 The sky now began to resume its serenity, the clouds 
 dispersed, and the wind ceased by degrees. Springer re- 
 covered his spirits, but those of Smoloff were depressed- 
 Elizabeth withdrew her arm, and chose to walk on un- 
 assisted ; for she was desirous of braving before her father 
 
36 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 the remainder of the storm : she was proud of her strength, 
 and eager to display before him a proof of it j with the 
 hope of convincing him that it would not fail when she 
 should undertake to obtain his pardon from the emperor, 
 were it necessary to go to the remotest extremity of the 
 earth to seek it. 
 
 Phedora received them all with transports of joy and 
 tenderness, thanking Heaven that had restored them to 
 her : she comforted her daughter, who grieved for the 
 tears she had caused, dried her dripping garments, and, 
 taldng off her fur bonnet, smoothed her long hair. For 
 these maternal cares, so tender, though trivial, which Eliza- 
 beth received daily from the hands of her mother, her 
 affectionate heart became each day more grateful Youn^ 
 Smoloff was affected at witnessing them, and felt that tho 
 happiness he would experience in becoming the husband 
 of Elizabeth would be much increased by being also the 
 son of the amiable Phedora. 
 
 The storm had now entirely subsided, and night began 
 to spread its dark shade over the cloudless sky. Springer 
 pressed the hand of his guest, and with a mixed sensation 
 of sorrow and tenderness, reminded him it was time to 
 depart. Elizabeth then learned for the first time that he 
 was come to take a farewell. The colour forsook her cheeks 
 at the intelligence, and her embarrassment became visible. 
 " What !" said she to him, " shall I never see you again ?' 
 "Oh yes!" replied he eagerly; "as long as you inhabit 
 these deserts, and I am free, I shall stay at Saimka. I 
 shall see you at church whenever you come, and I shall 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 3 7 
 
 see you on the plain, upon tlie banks of the lake, when 
 ever this happiness is allowed me." He stopped suddenly, 
 astonished liimself at his feelings, and at what he had 
 uttered ; but Elizabeth did not understand him ; in all he 
 had said she only remarked the certainty of their meeting 
 again, and that she should be able to consult with him 
 upon their enterprise. Comforted by these hopes, she took 
 leave of him with less regret. 
 
 When Sunday arrived, Elizabeth and her mother, after 
 an early breakfast, set out for Saimka. Springer bade 
 them adieu with a feeling of regret, as this was the first 
 time since his exile that he had remained alone in the 
 cottage ; but he concealed this sensation, and blessed them 
 with composure, recommending them to the protection of 
 the Supreme Being they were going to invoke. The 
 weather was fine ; the Tartarian peasant served them as a 
 guide through the forest of Saimka ; its distance appeared 
 short. On entering the church every eye was turned to- 
 wards them ; but theirs were reverently cast down, while 
 their hearts were fixed upon God alone. They advanced 
 to the altar, and bending before it, offered up their sincere 
 supplications for the same object ; and if those of Eliza- 
 beth w^ere more comprehensive than Phedora's, the benefi- 
 cent Being who beheld their intentions heard them with 
 equal indulgence. 
 
 During the time the ceremony lasted, Elizabeth did not 
 remove the veil which concealed her face ; her thoughts 
 were so entirely engrossed by her Creator and her parents, 
 that they did not extend even to him from whom she 
 
38 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 boped for protection. The pious concert of vwces which 
 chanted the sacred hymns made an impression on her 
 senses approaching to ecstasy j her imagination painted the 
 heavens opening, and the Almighty himself presenting an 
 angel to conduct her on her journey. This imaginary 
 vision lasted as long as the music vibrated upon her de- 
 lighted ear; when that ceased, she raised her head, and 
 the first object that presented itself was young Smoloff 
 leaning against one of the pillars, at a little distance, with 
 his eyes fixed intently upon her ; he appeared to her to be 
 the angel God had presented, the guardian angel who was 
 to assist her in the deliverance of her father. Her eyes 
 beamed confidence and gratitude. Smoloff was moved by 
 their expression; it seemed to be in union with what 
 passed in his mind ; for he also felt grateful for the happi- 
 ness he enjoyed in seeing her, and in believing himself 
 beloved. 
 
 Upon leaving the church he offered Phedora to conduct 
 her in his sledge to the entrance of the forest ; she con- 
 sented with pleasure, as it would be the means of sooner 
 rejoining her beloved Springer; but Elizabeth was dis- 
 appointed by this arrangement; she had flattered herself 
 that, in the course of a walk, some opportunity would 
 have occurred of speaking to Smoloff in private; in a 
 carriage she knew it would be impossible ; and could she 
 speak before her mother, who, yet in perfect ignorance of 
 her design, would, on its first disclosure, reject it with 
 terror, and forbid him to afford her any assistance ? Yet 
 she ought not to lose such an opportunity of mentioning 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 39 
 
 her scheme to him, as possibly none equally favourable 
 might ever occur again. Thus was her mind agitated and 
 perplexed when the sledge had already passed the border 
 of the forest, which Smoloff had declared he could not go 
 beyond j but wanting resolution to leave Elizabeth, he went 
 on till they reached the banks of the lake ; there, however, 
 he was obliged to stop ; Phedora descended first, and tak- 
 ing his hand, said, " Will you not sometimes walk this 
 way?" Elizabeth, who followed her mother, whispered in 
 a hurried voice, " No, not this way, but in the little chapel 
 on the plain to-morrow." Thus did she innocently ap- 
 point a meeting without thinking of the interpretation 
 Smoloff might give to her words ; she fancied that she had 
 spoken only of her father ; and on seeing in his countenance 
 that her request had been heard, and would be granted, 
 hers brightened with joy. While Phedora and her daughter 
 walked towards their dwelling, Smoloff returned alone across 
 the forest, plunged in a reverie of the most delightful 
 nature. After what he had heard, how could he doubt 
 that Elizabeth loved him % And with the knowledge he 
 had of her, how could this certainty fail to create the most 
 lively emotions of joy % He had never beheld beauty equal 
 to hers; he had lately seen her in the presence of her 
 Maker, the image of piety and innocence ; he had also seen 
 repeated proofs of the tenderness of her heart, in her con- 
 duct towards her parents \ how, indeed, could a heart so 
 tender fail of being moved to love the man to whom a 
 father's life was owing? Ingenuous and candid as the 
 pupil of Nature, how should she have acquired the art of 
 
40 Elizabeth ; oTy 
 
 concealing lier sentiments ? Yet he felt astonished at her 
 wishing to see him unknown to her parents ; but he easily 
 found excuses for an indiscretion which he dared to attri- 
 bute to excess of love. 
 
 It was not with the embarrassment generally attending 
 upon stolen meetings of this nature, but with all the 
 security of unsuspecting innocence, that Elizabeth repaired 
 on the following morning to the chapel. Her steps were 
 lighter, and her pace swifter than usual, as she considered 
 what she was doing as the first movement she had made 
 towards the liberation of her father. The sun shone with 
 splendour on the snowy plains, and thousands of icicles, 
 hanging suspended from the branches of the trees, reflected 
 its bright image in various forms of beauty and grandeur ; 
 but this lustre, so brilliant and clear, was less pure, less 
 noble, than the soul of Elizabeth. She entered the chapel ; 
 Smoloff was not there ; this delay disturbed her ; a slight 
 gloom overspread her countenance. It was not caused by 
 disappointed vanity, nor even by neglected love : no pas- 
 sion, no foible could at this moment find a place in her 
 heart; but she dreaded some accident or unforeseen cir- 
 cumstance might prevent the arrival of him she so anxiously 
 expected. With fervency she implored the Almighty not 
 to prolong the perplexity she had for such a length of 
 time endured. During her supplication, Smoloff came : 
 he was astonished to find her there before him, who had 
 hastened upon the wings of love. 
 
 The passions of the human heart are raised in the search 
 of their gratification ; but Elizabeth afforded a proof this 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 4 1 
 
 day, that virtue in the performance of its duty is swiftel 
 still. 
 
 On seeing Smoloff, she raised her hands to Heaven in 
 token of gratitude ; then turning towards him with a grace- 
 ful and expressive motion, " Ah, M. de Smoloff," said she, 
 " how impatiently have I waited for you !" These words, 
 the expression of her countenance, the preciseness with 
 which she had kept the rendezvous, all confirmed the de- 
 lighted youth in the belief that he was beloved ; he was 
 on the point of declaring all the fervour by which that 
 love was returned, but had not time to answer. " Listen 
 to me," said she ; " I have sought this opportunity of seeing 
 you, M. de Smoloff, that I might implore your assistance 
 in an attempt to restore liberty to my father. Will you 
 promise me your aid and counsel?" These few words 
 completely overturned all the ideas of happiness Smoloff 
 had formed. Distressed, embarrassed, he perceived his 
 error; but it did not lessen the love he bore Elizabeth. 
 He knelt — she imagined before God ; but it was to her 
 this mark of veneration was paid, and swore to perform 
 everything she required. 
 
 She resumed her discourse thus : — ^^^ Since the dawn of 
 reason enlightened my soul, my parents have been the sole 
 objects of my thoughts ; their love my greatest blessing ; 
 and to contribute to their happiness my only wish. They 
 are miserable. Heaven calls me to their relief, and has led 
 you to this spot to help me in fulfilling my destiny. My 
 design is to proceed to Petersburg, to solicit my father's 
 pardon.*' Smoloff made a sign of astonishment, expressive 
 
42 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 of the idea he conceived of the impossibility of the under- 
 taking. But she hastily continued, "I cannot tell you 
 how long this design has held possession of my mind : it 
 seems to me that I received it with my existence; it is the 
 first that I remember, and has never quitted me : in mj 
 sleeping, as in my waking moments, it i)ursues me ; it is 
 that idea that has always occupied me when with you ; 
 and it induced me to request to see you here, as it has 
 inspired courage sufficient to dread neither fatigue, nor 
 poverty, nor opposition, nor death : indeed, so bent am I 
 upon leaving Siberia, that I should feel inclined to disobeji 
 my parents, were they to refuse their consent. You see, 
 M. de Smoloff, that it would be in vain to remonstrate 
 with me ; a resolution like this is not to be shaken." 
 
 All the flattering hopes of her lover had, during this 
 address, completely vanished; but his admiration soared 
 far beyond the powers of description : such heroism, in 
 one of Elizabeth's age and sex, was so greatly above any- 
 thing he had ever imagined, that his tears, which flowed 
 unrestrained, were caused by a sensation scarcely less de- 
 lightful than the transports of requitted love. " Happy," 
 said he, " happy, far beyond desert, do T esteem myself, in 
 being thus your chosen guide and counsellor ; but you are 
 not aware of the various obstacles." " Two only have 
 discouraged me," interrupted she ; " and perhaps no one 
 could remove them so effectually as you." "Speak!" said 
 he, impatient to obey. " What is there you could ask, 
 which would not be less than I would perform ? " " The 
 obstacles are these," answered Elizabeth: "I am a stranger 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 43 
 
 to the road, and my fliglit might injure my father ; thia 
 last weighs upon my mind infinitely more than any other ; 
 on you, then, I rely for instruction in everything that re- 
 gards my journey — the towns I am to pass through, the 
 houses founded for the relief of indigent travellers, on the 
 hospitality of which I may depend for relief ; and on the 
 surest method of getting my petition presented to the em- 
 peror. But first of all, you must promise me, that your 
 father will not punish mine for the offence of his child/* 
 Smoloff pledged his word on this. "But, Elizabeth,'^ 
 added he, " do you know to what excess the emperor is 
 prepossessed against your father % Do you know that he 
 regards him as his most inveterate enemy ? " "I am 
 ignorant," she replied, " of what crime they accuse him : I 
 know not even his real name, nor that of his country ; but 
 I am convinced of his innocence." *' How ! " said Smoloff. 
 " You know not the rank your father held, nor the name 
 by which you must speak of him % " " Neither," answered 
 she. — " Astonishing ! " he exclaimed, " that neither pride 
 nor ambition should have had any share in suggesting an 
 enterprise to which your whole soul is devoted ! you know 
 not the honours you would regain ; you think only of your 
 parents. But what is grandeur of birth to a soul like 
 thine 1 What, to the sentiments which inspire it, is the 
 
 lofty name of " " Hold," interrupted she ; " the secret 
 
 you are going to reveal belongs to my father, and from him 
 only I must learn it." " True," replied Smoloff, in a tone 
 of enthusiastic admiration ; ^Hhere is no principle of honour, 
 no point of delicacy, w^hich is not aij inmate in thy soul." 
 
44 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 Elizabeth resumed the conversation, to ask when he 
 would give her the information necessary for her expe- 
 dition. " I must take time to consider it," answered he ; 
 "but, Elizabeth, do you think it is possible for you to 
 traverse the 3500 versts which divide Ischim from the 
 province of Ingrai, alone, on foot, and unprovided with 
 money?" **Ah!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "He who sends 
 me to the succour of my parents, will not abandon me." 
 
 After a short pause, Smoloff resumed — "It is impossible, 
 at least," said he, " to think of such an undertaking till the 
 long days of summer ; now it would indeed be impractica- 
 ble j even the sledges would be stopped, and the marshy 
 forests of Siberia would infallibly swallow up the traveller 
 who should be rash enough to attempt to cross them : \ 
 will see you again in a few days, Elizabeth ; then I will 
 inform you of my real opinion concerninp^ this project, 
 which has affected me so much, that I feel at present in- 
 capable of forming a discriminate judgment upon it. I 
 will return to Tobolsk, and consult my father — he is the 
 best of men : for, believe me, the situation of the exiles 
 would be much more miserable, were he not governor of 
 this district ; and no one is more capable of appreciating 
 a noble action : he cannot, however, assist you ; duty for- 
 bid-S it ; but I pledge you my honour, that, so far from 
 punishing your father for having given existence to a 
 daughter so virtuous, it would be his greatest glory to call 
 you his : Elizabeth ! pardon me ! my heart declares itself 
 in defiance of opposition ; I know that yours can hold no 
 other sentiment than the glorious one that has so long 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 4 5 
 
 engrossed it, and expect not a return : but should there 
 come a day wherein your parents, happy and secure in 
 their native land, no longer require exertions, remember 
 that in this desert, Smoloff saw you, loved you, and would 
 have preferred a life of obscurity and poverty with Eliza- 
 beth in exile, to all the glory that the world could offer." 
 He would have said more, but tears interrupted his utter- 
 ance : he was amazed at the extraordinary emotion which 
 agitated him \ till then he had never felt such weakness, 
 but till then he had never loved. 
 
 Elizabeth had remained motionless during this unex- 
 pected declaration : the idea of any but filial love was to 
 her so new that she scarcely comprehended it : it might 
 have appeared less strange had her heart been free to 
 receive it; had her parents been happy, Smoloff might 
 have been loved ; he might still be loved, should that event, 
 at a future period, happen ; but while they are in affliction, 
 she will remain constant to her first passion ; and to con- 
 tain two, the human heart, comprehensive as it is, is not 
 formed. 
 
 Elizabeth had never lived in society : a stranger to its 
 customs and rules, she had nevertheless a sort of decorum, 
 the attendant of virtue, which taught her that, after a 
 declaration of love, she ought not to remain alone with 
 a man who had presumed to make it : she was therefore 
 preparing to leave the chapel when Smoloff, who saw her 
 design, said, " Elizabeth, have I offended you % I call to 
 witness Him who sees the inmost recesses of the heart, 
 that in mine there is not less of respect than love ; He 
 
46 Elizabeth ; or^ 
 
 knows, that were you to command it, I would die in 
 silence: how then, Elizabeth, can I have offended you?" 
 " You have not offended me," answered she, gently ; " but 
 I came here merely to inform you what I have in contem- 
 plation to do for the relief of my parents; now that I 
 have done, I have nothing else to say, and am going to 
 rejoin them." " WeU, then, return to your duty ; in asso- 
 ciating me with it, you have rendered me worthy of you : 
 and far from ever wishing in the most secret thought to 
 turn you from its paths, I will devote my time solely to 
 your service, in helping you to fulfil it." 
 
 He then promised to give her, on the following Sunday, 
 at Saimka, all the instructions and observations which 
 might be useful in the execution of her enterprise; and 
 they parted, each looking forward with eager expectation 
 to their next meeting. 
 
 When the Sunday arrived, Elizabeth accompanied her 
 mother joyfully to Saimka : she was anxious to see Smoloff 
 again, and receive the information which might accelerate 
 her departure : but the service ended, and Smoloff appeared 
 not. Elizabeth was uneasy. While her mother still cou' 
 tinned praying, she inquired of an old woman, if M. de 
 Smoloff was in the church. The answer she received dis- 
 mayed her. " No," replied the aged matron ; " he has 
 departed two days since for Tobolsk." The object of her 
 most ardent wishes seemed thus to fly always before her 
 at the moment she thought herself on the point of obtain- 
 ing it. A thousand different terrors now presented them- 
 selves to her imagination. Since Smoloff had left Saimka, 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 47 
 
 witliout remembering his promise, what reason had she 
 
 to suppose that he would remember it at Tobolsk ? And, 
 
 if he did, how could he perform it? These thoughts 
 
 haunted her all day; and at night, oppressed by the 
 
 chagrin of disappointment, (which weighed more heavily, 
 
 as there was no one to whom she could communicate it : 
 
 on the contrary, all her energy had been exerted to conceal 
 
 it from the observation of her parents,) she retired early 
 
 to her little apartment, to indulge, unrestrained, the grief 
 
 which overwhelmed her. 
 
 As soon as she quitted the room, Phedora, addressing 
 
 her husband, said, ^^ I must disclose to you the solicitude 
 
 which disturbs my peace. Have you not marked the 
 
 change in our Elizabeth % In our society she is absent ; 
 
 the name of Smoloff makes her colour ; his absence makes 
 
 her unhappy. This morning, in the church, her eyes 
 
 wandered on all sides, and I heard her ask if Smoloff waa 
 
 at Sairaka : she became pale as death when informed that 
 
 he had departed for Tobolsk. Stanislaus ! I remember 
 
 in those days which preceded my union with you, it was 
 
 thus I changed colour when your name was pronounced : 
 
 it was thus my eyes sought you in every place, and filled 
 
 with tears when the search was vain. Alas ! these are 
 
 symptoms of no transient attachment. How can I observe 
 
 them in my child without dread? She is not destined 
 
 to be happy, like her mother." " Happy !" exclaimed 
 
 Springer, with a sensation of poignant regret. " Happy in 
 
 a desert, and in exile!" "Yes, in a. desert, in exile, in 
 
 every place, blessed with the society of him I love." 
 
 D 
 
48 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 She pressed Ms liand to lier lips. Returning soon, how- 
 ever, to the first subject of her discourse, she said, " I fear, 
 my Elizabeth loves young Smoloff ; and, charming as she 
 is, he will only behold in her the daughter of a poor exile ; 
 he will scorn her affection ; and my child, my only child, 
 will die with grief at seeing her love disdained!" Tears 
 suppressed her utterance ; and the presence of Stanislaus, 
 which had consoled her under all her afflictions, could not 
 remove the fears she entertained for her daughter's future 
 happiness. 
 
 Stanislaus reflected for a few moments, and answered, 
 * Phedora, my beloved, be comforted : I have likewise 
 studied our Elizabeth, and perhaps I have seen further 
 than you into what passes in her soul. Another idea, and 
 not that of Smoloff, engrosses it entirely ; yes, I am certain 
 of it. I am certain also, that if we were to offer her to 
 Smoloff, he would not contemn the gift, even in this desert ; 
 and this sentiment will render him deserving of her, if 
 
 ever Yes, it will be so : Elizabeth will not always live 
 
 secluded in this desert ; her virtue will not always remain 
 buried in obscurity; she was not born to be unhappy — 
 it is impossible ; so much goodness upon earth announces 
 justice from heaven ; and sooner or later it will be shewn." 
 
 This was the first time since his banishment that Stanis- 
 laus appeared not to despair. From this circumstance 
 Phedora augured the most pleasing presages; and, re- 
 assured by his words, lay down composedly to rest. 
 
 For two months Elizabeth went every Sunday to Saimka, 
 with the hope of seeing Smoloff; but in vain : he appeared 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 49 
 
 not ; and at last she was informed that he had left Tobolsk. 
 All her hopes then vanished, as she no longer doubted his 
 having entirely forgotten her, and she frequently shed tears 
 of the bitterest sorrow at the thought, but for which the 
 purest innocence could not have reproached her, since they 
 were not a tribute to unregarded love. 
 
 It was now towards the end of April ; the snow began 
 to melt, and a verdant shade to diffuse itself over the 
 sandy banks of the lake ; the white blossoms of the thorn 
 thickly covered its boughs, resembling flakes of new-fcillen 
 snow, while the blue-budded campanella, the downy moth- 
 wort, and the iris, whose pointed leaves rise perpendicularly, 
 Enamelled the ground around its roots; the blackbird? 
 descended in flocks on the naked trees, and were the first 
 to interrupt the mournful silence of winter. Already upon 
 the banks of the river, and sometimes on its surface, sported 
 the beautiful mallard of Persia, of a bright flame- colour, 
 with a tufted head and ebony beak, that utters the most 
 piercing cries when shot at by the sportsman, although 
 he misses his aim, and woodcocks of various species, (some 
 black with yellow beaks, others speckled with feathery 
 ruffs round their necks,) ran swiftly on the marshy grounds, 
 or hid themselves among the rushes. Every symptom, in 
 fine, announced an early spring ; and Elizabeth, foreseeing 
 all she should lose if a year so favourable for her expedition 
 was suffered to pass by, formed the desperate resomtion 
 of undertaking it imaided, trusting for its success to Heaven 
 and her own firmness. 
 
 One morning Stanislaus was employed in digging his 
 
50 Elizabeth; oVy 
 
 garden. Seated at a little distance, Elizabeth regarded 
 him in silence. He had not yet confided to her the secret 
 of his misfortunes — it was a confidence she no longer 
 sought j a kind of delicate pride had arisen in her soul, 
 which made her desirous of remaining in ignorance of the 
 rank her parents held till the moment of her departure, and 
 to defer her request of knowing what they had lost till she 
 could answer, " I go to solicit that pardon which will restore 
 aU." Until now she had depended upon the promises of 
 Smoloff, and on them had founded reasonable hopes of suc- 
 cess \ but when those failed, her sanguine imagination sug- 
 gested others upon which she resolved to speak. Before she 
 ventured to begin, she reflected upon all the objections that 
 would be advanced, all the obstacles that would be repre- 
 sented in opposition to her scheme. That they were im- 
 portant was certain — Smoloff had told her so; and she 
 was convinced that the tenderness of her parents would 
 even exaggerate them. What answer could be made to 
 their remonstrances, their entreaties, their commands, when 
 they should tell her that the blessing of revisiting their 
 country would not be worth the terror they should suffer 
 during the temporary loss of their cliild ? She forgot that 
 her father was near, and, bursting into tears, fell upon her 
 knees to implore from Heaven that eloquence which could 
 prevail against their arguments. 
 
 Sl^nislaus, who heard her sobs, turned hastily, and, run- 
 ning to her, raised her from the ground, saying, " Elizabeth, 
 what is the matter % What has happened to thee ? If 
 thou art afflicted, weep at least on the bosom of thy father.** 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 5 1 
 
 " O my Father!" slie replied, "detain me no longer here; 
 you know my wish ; oh, grant it ! I feel that Heaven it- 
 self calls me.'* 
 
 She was interrupted by the young peasant, their attend- 
 ant, who, running towards them, cried, " M. de Smoloff — 
 M. de Smoloff is here ! " 
 
 Elizabeth uttered a scream of joy ; she took her father's 
 hand, and pressing it to her heart, exclaimed — " It is so ; 
 the Omnipotent himself calls me ; He has sent him who 
 will open the road for me, and remove every obstacle. 
 O my father! your daughter will yet be able to break 
 the chain which holds you a prisoner." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she flew to see Smoloff, 
 and in the way met her mother, whom she seized by the 
 arm ; and, embracing her, cried — " Come with me ; he 
 is returned : M. de Smoloff is returned !" 
 
 Upon entering the cottage they perceived a gentleman, 
 apparently about fifty years of age, in a military dress, 
 accompanied by several officers. The mother and daugh- 
 ter, amazed, started back. " This is M. de Smoloff," said 
 the young Tartar. At these words all the hopes that had 
 arisen in Elizabeth were a second time destroyed : her 
 colour fled; her eyes were filled with tears. Phedora, 
 shocked at the excess of her emotion, placed herseK before 
 her, to conceal it from general observation. Happy would 
 the afflicted mother have esteemed herself, if, by the sacri- 
 fice of her life, her daughter could have been released from 
 the fatal passion which she no longer doubted held posses- 
 sion of her soul 
 
52 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 The Governor of Tobolsk dismissed his suite ; and turn- 
 ing to Stanislaus, said, "Sir, since the court of Kussia 
 deemed it prudent to condemn you to banishment, this 
 is the first time I have visited this remote spot ; and it is 
 a duty now pleasing to me, since it affords me the oppor- 
 tunity of testifying to an exile so illustrious, how sincerely 
 I feel for his misfortunes, and how deeply I regret that 
 duty forbids me to offer the assistance and protection I 
 would so gladly bestow." " I expect nothing from men, 
 Sir," answered Stanislaus coldly. " I wish not for their 
 commiseration, as I hope nothing from their justice ; and 
 since my misfortunes have placed me at a distance from 
 them, I shall pass my days contented in this desert." 
 
 " O Sir ! " interrupted the governor with emotion, " for 
 a man like you to live an exile from his country is a des- 
 tiny to be lamented ! " " There is one. Sir, more lament- 
 able still," replied Stanislaus; "to die an exile." He 
 said no more : for had he added another word, he might 
 have shed a tear ; and the illustrious sufferer" wished to 
 appear above his misfortunes. Elizabeth, concealed behind 
 her mother, observed with timidity whether the air and 
 countenance of the governor announced a character which 
 would encourage her to disclose her project to him. Thus 
 the fearful dove, before it ventures to leave the nest, 
 watches from among the leaves whether the appearance 
 of the sky promises a serene day. 
 
 The governor remarked, and knew her; his son had 
 often spoken of her ; and the portrait he had drawn could 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 53 
 
 resemble none but ElizabetL " Madam," said he, address- 
 ing himself to her, " my son has mentioned you to me \ you 
 have made an impression upon his mind time will never 
 efface." " Did he tell you. Sir, that she is indebted to him 
 for the life of a father % " hastily interrupted Phedora. 
 
 " No, Madam," answered the governor ; *^ but he told me 
 how ready she was to devote hers to that father and to 
 you." " She is," said Springer ; " and her affectionate re- 
 gard is the only blessing we have now left — the only one 
 of which mankind has not been able to deprive us." The 
 governor turned aside to conceal his emotion. After a 
 pause, addressing himself to Elizabeth, " Madam," resumed 
 he, "it is two months since my son, then at Saimka, re- 
 ceived an order from the emperor to set off immediately to 
 Tcjoin the army then assembling in Livonia; he was obliged 
 to obey without delay. Before his departure, he conjured 
 me to convey a letter to you : but it was impossible ; I 
 could not, without the most imminent danger, send a 
 messenger with it ; I could only dehver it myself, and now 
 his commission shall be executed." Elizabeth, blushing, 
 took the letter which he presented to her. The governor, 
 observing the surprise of Stanislaus and Phedora, ex- 
 claimed, " Blessed are the parents from whom a daughter 
 conceals such secrets only ! " He then recalled his at- 
 tendants, and in their presence said to Stanislaus, " Sir, the 
 commands of my sovereign still prevent me from allowing 
 you to receive any one here; nevertheless, if any poor 
 missionaries, who, I am informed, must cross these deserts. 
 
54 Elizabeth; oi', 
 
 in their return from the frontiers of China, should come to 
 your dwelling to beg a night's lodging, you are permitted 
 to receive them." 
 
 After the governor had taken leave, Elizabeth still kept 
 her eyes fixed upon the letter she held in her hand, not 
 daring to open it. " My child," said Stanislaus, " if you 
 are waiting for permission from your mother and me 
 to read your letter, you have it." With a trembling 
 hand Elizabeth then broke the seal; and as she read 
 the contents to herself, made frequent exclamations of 
 gratitude and joy. When she had finished it, throwing 
 herself into the arms of her parents, **The moment is 
 arrived," she said ; " every circumstance contributes to 
 favour my enterprise; Heaven approves and blesses my 
 intention : O my parents ! will you not likewise bless 
 it % " Stanislaus shuddered at the words she uttered ; he 
 knew the intention to which she alluded ; but Phedora, who 
 had not an idea of it, exclaimed, " Elizabeth, what means 
 this mystery ? what does that paper contain % " She made 
 a motion as if to take it, which Elizabeth presumed to 
 detain : " O my mother ! pardon me," she said ; " I 
 tremble to speak before you ; you have not yet guessed what 
 I would say, and the idea of your terror disheartens me ; it 
 is now the only remaining impediment. I know not how 
 to obviate it. Oh, permit me to explain myself now 
 
 before my father only; you are not prepared as he is"- ^ 
 
 " No, my child," interrupted Stanislaus, " do not separate 
 us, do not that which exile and misfortune have never yet 
 compassed. Come to my heart, my Phedora ; and if your 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 5 5 
 
 courage fail you at the words you are to hear, may mine 
 sustain your drooping spirits." Phedora, terrified, dismayed, 
 seeing herself menaced by some dreadful calamity, but 
 knowing not from whence the stroke was to come, answered 
 in a tone of alarm, *' Stanislaus, what meanest thou? Have 
 I not endured with fortitude ^very reverse of fortune ? 
 Nor will that fortitude forsake me now," added she, press- 
 ing to her heart her husband and her child : " between you 
 
 it will sustain me against the worst that fate can do " 
 
 Elizabeth attempted to answer, but her mother would not 
 hear her : " My child," exclaimed she with anguish, " asls 
 my life ; but do not ask me to consent to our separation." 
 These words proved that she had penetrated into the 
 secret ; the pain of telling it to her then was spared ; but 
 to induce her to consent seemed an undertaking so arduous, 
 that the sanguine hopes of Elizabeth were daunted. Bathed 
 in tears, trembling at the sight of her mother's agitation, 
 Elizabeth, in broken accents, uttered only these words : 
 " O my mother ! if for the happiness of my father I asked 
 of you some days only % '' " Oh, no, not one,'' exclaimed 
 her mother in an agony, " what happiness could be worth 
 such a price 1 No, not one day ! O Heaven ! do not 
 permit her to ask me." These words entirely subdued the 
 courage of Elizabeth : unable to utter what could, to such 
 an excess, afflict her mother, she presented the letter she 
 had received from the Governor of Tobolsk to her father, 
 and made a sign for him to read it. He took it, and in a 
 faltering voice read aloud the following lines, written by 
 young Smoloff, at Tobolsk, dated two months before. 
 
56 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 " The greatest concern I experience on leaving Saimka, 
 Elizabeth, proceeds from the impossibility of informing 
 you that an indispensable obligation forces me to an ab- 
 sence from you : I can neither see you, write to you, nor 
 send you the information you have asked of me, without 
 acting in opposition to the commands of my father, with- 
 out endangering his safety : perhaps my wish to oblige you 
 might have induced me to have failed in my duty towards 
 him, had it not been for the example you have shewn me ; 
 but after I had so lately learnt what is due to a parent, 
 I could not expose the life of mine. To you, however, I 
 will confess, that my duty was not, like yours, performed 
 with delight. I returned to Tobolsk with a broken heart 
 My father informed me that a mandate from the em- 
 peror must transport me a thousand miles from hence, and 
 that it must be obeyed immediately. I depart, Elizabeth, 
 and you know not what I suffer. Ah ! I do not ask of 
 Heaven that you should ever know my feelings : — that 
 EKzabeth should know unhappiness would be a derogation 
 from its justice. 
 
 " I have opened my heart to my father : I have made 
 you known to him, and his ears have flowed at the recital 
 of your project : I believe he will visit the district of Ischim 
 this year, and that it will be expressly to see you : in the 
 interim, he will, if it be possible, convey to you this letter. 
 I depart with greater tranquillity, Elizabeth, since I leave 
 you under the protection of my father ; but do not, I con- 
 jure you, do not think of setting out on your expedition 
 until my return ! I expect it will be in less than a year ; 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 57 
 
 I wil] be your conductor, your guard to Petersburgh, and 
 will present you to the emperor. Do not fear that I 
 will address you again on the subject of my love ; no, I 
 will be but as a friend, a brother : and if I serve you with 
 all the fervour of passion, I swear never to address you but 
 in a language pure as innocence, as that of angels, or yoursell" 
 
 Underneath, the following postscript was WTitten by the 
 governor himself : — 
 
 " No, Elizabeth, it is not my son that must conduct you : 
 I doubt not his honour, but yours must be placed beyond the 
 reach of suspicion. When at the court of Kussia you ex- 
 hibit instances of virtue too heroic not to be crowned with 
 success, the breath of envy must not whisper that you 
 were conducted thither by a lover, and thus tarnish the 
 noblest instance of filial piety the world can boast of. In 
 your present situation there are no protectors worthy to 
 guide your innocence, but Heaven and your father. Your 
 father cannot accompany you : but Heaven will not forsake 
 you ; Religion will lend you her aid ; shield yourself, there- 
 fore, under her guidance. You know to whom I have given 
 permission to enter your dwelling. In instructing you 
 with these directions, I render you the depositary of my 
 fate ; were this letter to be made public, were it to be 
 known that I had favoured your departure, my ruin would 
 be the inevitable result : but I have no fear ; I know in 
 whom I confide, and what may be expected from the hero- 
 ism and honour of a daughter willing to sacrifice her life 
 for a father. " 
 
 As he finished the letter, Stanislaus' voice became firmer 
 
58 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 and more animated ; he gloried in the virtues of his 
 daughter, and in the admiration they excited ; but the ten- 
 der mother thought only of losing her : pale, motionless, 
 unable to weep, she regarded her child in silence, and raised 
 her eyes to heaven. Elizabeth threw herself on her knees 
 before them both : " my parents !" said she, "allow me 
 to speak to you in this posture. In an humble attitude 
 should the greatest of all blessings be solicited. I presume 
 to aspire to that of restoring you to liberty, to happiness, 
 and to your country ; for more than a year has this been 
 the object of my fondest hopes : the season for it ap- 
 proaches, and you would forbid me to attempt it. If there 
 is a blessing greater than that which I entreat, refuse me 
 
 this, I will consent ; but if there is not"- Agitated, 
 
 trembling, the accents she would utter died unfinished on 
 her lips, and by looks and motions of the most earnest sup- 
 plication only could she finish her prayer. Stanislaus laid 
 his hand upon his daughter's head without speaking ; her 
 mother exclaimed, '* Alone, on foot, without help ! Oh, no^ 
 I cannot ! I cannot ! " " My mother, " answered Eliza 
 beth eagerly, ''do not, I beseech you, do not oppose my 
 wish ; you would not, if you knew how long I have in- 
 dulged it, and all the consolation I have derived from it. 
 As soon as my reason allowed me to comprehend the cause 
 of your unhappiness I resolved to dedicate my life to the 
 removal of it. Blessed was the day on which I conceived 
 the design of liberating my father ! Blessed the hope 
 which supported me when I saw you weep ! How long 
 ago, witness of your silent sorrow, the affliction would have 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 59 
 
 overwhelmed rae, had I not reflected, — It is I who may re- 
 store what they lament the loss of. If you deprive me of 
 this hope, in which all my thoughts centre, I shall no 
 longer attach a value to my existence, and my days will 
 linger away in despondence. Oh, pardon me for grieving 
 you ! No, if you forbid my departure, I shaU not die, since 
 my death would be an additional source of afiiiction to you ; 
 but I trust you will not oppose my happiness. Tell me not 
 that my enterprise is impracticable. My heart answers that 
 it is not : it will supply strength to sustain me when I go to 
 claim justice, and eloquence to obtain my demand ; nothing 
 will daunt me; neither sufferings, nor contempt; neither 
 the dazzling splendour of a court, nor the awful brow of 
 majesty; nothing but your refusal. " *^ Cease, Elizabeth, oh, 
 cease ! " interrupted Stanislaus ; " my ideas are confused : 
 my soul till now never sunk before a noble action ; till 
 now had never heard of virtue too heroic for its strength to 
 bear. I did not think myself weak ; my child ! you now 
 teach me that I am. No, I cannot consent." Encouraged 
 by his refusal, Phedora, taking her daughter's hands be- 
 tween hers, said, " Hear me, Elizabeth : If your father 
 betrays weakness, you may well excuse it in your mother ; 
 pardon her that she has not resolution to give you permis- 
 sion to display your virtue. Strange ! that a mother must 
 ask her child to be less excellent ; but your mother asks it 
 only, she does not command ; possessed of such greatness 
 of soul as you are, you ought to receive no command but 
 from the dictates of your own heart." " My dear mother," 
 replied Elizabeth, " yours shall ever be held sacred : if you 
 
6o Elizabeth; OTy 
 
 desire me to remain here, I hope I shall have resolution 
 enough to obey without repining ; but suffer me to hope 
 that my scheme will yet receive your assent ; it is not the 
 result of a moment's enthusiasm, but of the reflection of 
 many years ; it is established upon solid reason as well as 
 affection. Does there exist any other means of rescuing 
 my father from exile ? During the twelve years that he 
 has languished here, what friend has undertaken his justi- 
 fication % And were xhere one who dared to do it, would 
 he dare to say as much as I should % Would he be insti- 
 gated by motives similar to mine 1 — Oh, no ! let me in- 
 dulge the thought that Heaven has reserved for your child 
 only the blessing of restoring you to happiness, and do not 
 oppose the glorious undertaking which Heaven has de- 
 signed to charge her with. Tell me, what is it you con- 
 sider so alarming in the enterprise ? Is it my temporary 
 absence % Have I not often heard you lament that exile 
 that forbids you the hope of bestowing me in marriage % 
 And would not a husband have separated me from you 
 entirely % Is it danger % There exists none ; the winters 
 of this climate have inured me to the utmost severity of 
 the weather, and the daily exercise I have taken in these, 
 plains to the fatigue of long travelling. Are you alarmed 
 on account of my youth % It will be my support ; the 
 weak meet with general assistance. Or, do you fear my 
 inexperience? I shall not be alone; — do you remember 
 the words of the governor's letter? he permits the poor 
 missionary to take shelter under our roof, but to give me 
 a guide and a protector. You see every danger, every 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 6 1 
 
 obstacle, is removed ; nothing is wanting but your consent 
 and your benediction." " And you must beg your bread," 
 exclaimed Stanislaus, in a tone of poignant distress. " The 
 ancestors of your mother, who formerly reigned in these 
 territories, and mine, who were seated on the throne of 
 Poland, will look down and see the heiress of their name 
 begging her daily bread in that Eussia which has made of 
 their kingdoms provinces to hsr empira" " If such is tho 
 royal blood that flows in my veins," replied Elizabeth, in 
 accents of modest surprise, "if I am a descendant of 
 monarchs, and that two diadems have graced the brows 
 of my forefathers, I hope to prove myself worthy both of 
 them and you, and never to dishonour the illustrious name 
 they have transmitted to me : but poverty will not dis- 
 honour it Why should not the daughter of Seids* and 
 of Sobieski have recourse to the charity of her fellow- 
 creatures ? How many great men, precipitated from the 
 height of human grandeur, have implored it for themselves? 
 Happier than they, I shall implore it only in the service of 
 my father." 
 
 The noble firmness of this young heroine, the degree of 
 pious pride which sparkled in her eyes at the thought of 
 humbling herself for her lather's sake, gave to her discourse 
 such animation, and such strength and authority, that 
 Stanislaus was unable to resist : he felt that he had no 
 right to prevent his daughter from displaying her heroic 
 virtue ; that he should be culpable in detaining her in the 
 
 * ISToble Tartars, who were descended from the ancient princes 
 of Siberia. 
 
62 Elizabeth; OTy 
 
 obscurity of a desert. " Oh, my beloved !" he cried, ten- 
 derly pressing the hand of his Phedora, " shall we condemn 
 her to end her days here unknown % Shall we deprive her 
 of the prospect of being the happy mother of children 
 resembling herself ? Take courage, my Phedora ! this will 
 be the only possible means of restoring her to a world of 
 which she will be the ornament : let us grant the permis- 
 sion she solicits." — At this moment the feelings of her 
 mother triumphed over those of the wife ; and for the first 
 time Phedora presumed to resist the most sacred of human 
 authorities : — " No, never, never will I grant this permis- 
 sion : even you, Stanislaus, will entreat in vain ; I shall 
 have courage to resist. What ! shall I expose the life of 
 my child ? shall I consent to see my Elizabeth depart, to 
 hear on some future day that she had perished with cold 
 and famine in a frightful desert, and live to deplore her 
 loss? Can such a request be made to a mother? O 
 Stanislaus ! is it possible that there is a sacrifice I cannot 
 make to you, and a grief in which all your endeavours to 
 console me would be vain!" She ceased to speak; her 
 tears no longer flowed ; the anguish of her mind was un- 
 utterable. Stanislaus, unable to endure the sight of her 
 distress, cried, " My child, if your mother cannot consent, 
 you must not go." " No, my mother, if you desire it, I 
 will stay," said Elizabeth, embracing her with the utmost 
 tenderness ; " never will I disobey you j but perhaps the 
 Almighty will obtain from you what you have refused even 
 to my father ; join with me in entreaties, my mother ; let 
 us ask of Him the conduct we must pursue ; it is His 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 63 
 
 wisdom that must enlighten, His support thcit must sustain 
 us : from Him proceeds all truth, and from Him only can 
 we learn submission to His decrees." 
 
 While Phedora prayed, tears again came to her relief : 
 that piety, which calms and softens human affliction, and 
 possesses itself of the heart, to chase thence the agonies of 
 sorrow; that divine piety, which never prescribes a duty 
 without pointing out its recompence, and never fails to 
 pour the balm of consolation into the souls of those who 
 humbly invoke it, touched that of Phedora. The. approba- 
 tion of men can obtain from the ambitious character, which 
 places all its happiness in glory, a sacrifice of the tenderest 
 affections ; but religion alone can obtain such a sacrifice 
 from hearts like that of Phedora, whose happiness centred 
 solely in those she loved. 
 
 On the following day, Stanislaus being alone with his 
 daughter, gave her a narration of his misfortunes ; he in- 
 formed her of the dreadful wars which had afflicted tha 
 kingdom of Poland, and in what manner th^it %nfort,Vi«3ike 
 nation had been at last subverted. — •" My only crime> my 
 child," said he, " was too strong an attachment to my coun- 
 try to endure the sight of its slavery. The blood of some 
 of its greatest monarchs flowed in my veins; its throne 
 might have fallen to my lot, and my services and my life 
 were due to the country from which all my glory was de- 
 rived. I defended it as I ought; at the head of a handful 
 of noble Poles, I fought to the last extremity against the 
 three great Powers which combined to destroy it; and 
 when, overpowered by the number of our enemies, we were 
 
 E 
 
64 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 forced to yirfd under the walls of Warsaw, in sight of that 
 great city, delivered up to flames and pillage ; though 
 forced to submit to tyranny, at the bottom of my heart 
 I resisted still. Ashamed to remain in my native country, 
 which was no longer in the possession of my countrymen, 
 I sought arms, I sought allies to assist me. in restoring to 
 Poland its existence and its name. Vain effort ! ineffectual 
 attempt ! each day riveted faster those chains my feeble 
 endeavours were unable to break. The lands of my ances- 
 tors lay in that part of the country which had fallen under 
 the dominion of "Russia : I lived upon them with Phedora, 
 and should have lived with felicity unequalled, but that 
 the yoke of the stranger weighed upon my mind. My 
 open murmurs, and still more the numbers of mal-contents 
 who resorted to my house, disturbed an arbitrary and sus- 
 picious monarch. One morning I was torn from the arms 
 of my wife, from yours, my child, from my home : you 
 were then only four years old, and your tears flowed not 
 for your own misfortunes, but because you saw your mother 
 weep. I was dragged to the prisons of Petersburgh : 
 Phedora followed me thither ; where the only favour she 
 could obtain was permission to share my confinement. 
 We lived nearly a year in those dreadfal dungeons, deprived 
 of air, nearly of the light of heaven \ but not of hope. I 
 could not persuade myself but that a just monarch would 
 forgive a private citizen for having endeavoured to maintain 
 the rights of his country, and that he would trust to the 
 promise I gave of future submission. I judged mankind 
 too favourably ; I was condemned unheard, and banished 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 65 
 
 for life to the deserts of Siberia. My faithful companion 
 would not abandon me : and in accompanying me she 
 seemed to follow the dictates of her heart rather than 
 those of her duty. Yes, had I been condemned to linger 
 out my existence in the frightful darkness of the terrific 
 Beresow, or amidst the undisturbed solitudes of the lake 
 Baikal, or of Kamptschatka, she would not have forsaken 
 me. In short, had my destiny been rendered even ten 
 times more miserable, my Phedora would still have proved 
 my consoling angel : to her goodness, to her piety, to her 
 generous sacrifice, I shall ever believe I am indebted for 
 my milder doom. O my child ! all the solace of my life 
 I owe to her; while in return I have associated her in 
 my misfortunes." " Misfortunes ! my father," said Eliza- 
 beth; "when you have loved her so tenderly, so con- 
 stantly]" In these words Stanislaus recognised the heart 
 of Phedora ; and perceived that Elizabeth, like her mother, 
 could live contented with the man she loved. " My child," 
 resumed he, returning young Smoloff's letter, which he had 
 kept since the preceding evening, "if I one day owe to 
 your zeal and courage the restoration of that rank and 
 wealth which I no longer desire, but to place you in the 
 bosom of prosperity, this letter wiU remind you of our 
 benefactor; your heart, Elizabeth, is grateful, and the 
 alliance of virtue can never disgrace the blood of royalty.** 
 Elizabeth coloured as she received the letter from her 
 father; and placing it in her bosom, answered, "The re- 
 membrance of him who pitied, who loved, and served you, 
 shall ever be cherished by me." 
 
66 ElizaOefh; oTy 
 
 For some days tlie departure of Elizabeth was not men- 
 tioned; her mother had not yet consented; but in tho 
 melancholy of her air, in the deep dejection of her counte- 
 nance, were visible that the solicited consent was in her 
 heart, and that all hope from resistance had forsaken her. 
 
 One Sunday evening, the family was assembled in prayer, 
 when a gentle tapping at the door disturbed them. Stanis- 
 laus opened it ; and a venerable stranger presented him- 
 self. Phedora started up, exclaiming, ** Heaven ! this 
 is he who has been announced to us ; he who comes to 
 deprive me of my child.'* She hid her face, bathed in 
 tears, with her hands; her piety could not even induce 
 her to welcome the servant of God. The missionary 
 entered. A long white beard descended to his breast ; 
 he was bent more by long labours than by age ; the hard- 
 ships of his life had worn his body and strengthened his 
 soul : there was an expression of sorrow in his countenance, 
 as of a man who had suffered much ; but likewise some- 
 thing consolatory, as of a man who feels that he has not 
 suffered in vain : the whole of his appearance inspired the 
 beholder with veneration. 
 
 " Sir," said he, addressing himself to Stanislaus, " I enter 
 your dwelling with a joyful heart ; the blessing of God is 
 upon this cottage, for it contains a treasure more precious 
 than gold and pearls ; I come to solicit a night's lodging." 
 Elizabeth hastened to fetch him a seat. " Young maiden," 
 said he to her, *' you have early trod the paths of virtue, 
 and in the spring-time of human life have left us far be- 
 hind." He was preparing to seat himself, when the sighs 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 6 7 
 
 of Phedora arrested his attention ; and addressing himself 
 to her, "Why do you weepi" said he, **is not your child 
 favoured from the Most High? Heaven itseK conducts 
 her steps, and you should consider yourself blest far beyond 
 the common lot of parents; if you grieve so bitterly 
 because the call of ratue separates your child from you 
 for a short time, what must become of those mothers who 
 see their offspring torn from them by the ways of vice, and 
 lost to them for eternity?" "O father! if I am to see 
 her no more!" exclaimed the afflicted mother. "You 
 would see her again," he answered with animation, "in 
 that celestial Paradise which will be her inheritance. But 
 you will see her again on earth ; the difficulties of her un- 
 dertaking are great and various, but the all-powerful Being 
 will protect her : he tempers the wind to the clothing of 
 the lamb." 
 
 Phedora bowed her head in token of resignation. Stan- 
 islaus had not yet spoken ; his heart was oppressed ; he 
 could not utter a word. Elizabeth herself, who had never 
 before felt her courage relax, began to experience sensa- 
 tions of weakness. The animated hope of rendering service 
 to her parents had hitherto absorbed every idea of the 
 grief of leaving them ; but now, when that moment w^as 
 arrived that she could say to herself, " To-morrow I shall 
 not hear the voice of my father, I shall not receive the fond 
 caresses of my mother ; perhaps a year may pass away ere 
 such happiness be mine again," she now felt that the 
 success of her enterprise could hardly make her amends for 
 go distressing a separation. Pier eyes became dim, her 
 
68 Elizabeth; or^ ^^ 
 
 whole frame was agitated, and slie sunk weeping upon the 
 bosom of her father. Ah, timid orphan, if already you 
 extend your arms to your protector, and on the first ap- 
 proach of thy undertaking bendest to the ground as a vine 
 without support, where wilt thou find that courage requi- 
 site to traverse nearly half the globe without guide or 
 assistant ! 
 
 Before they retired to rest, the missionary supped with 
 the exiles. Freedom and hospitality presided at the board, 
 but gaiety was banished j and it was only by the utmost 
 effort that each of the family suppressed their tears. The 
 good religious regarded them with tender concern : in the 
 course of his long travels he had witnessed much aMction, 
 and the art of bestowing consolation had been the principal 
 study of his life : for different kinds of sorrow he pursued 
 different methods ; for every situation, for every character 
 he had words of comfort, and seldom failed to afford relief ; 
 he knew that if it be possible to withdraw the mind from 
 the contemplation of its own sorrows by presenting the 
 image of some calamity still greater than the one lamented, 
 the tears that flow through pity will soften the agony of 
 woe. Thus, by relating the long history of his own crosses, 
 and of the various distressing scenes he had witnessed, he 
 by degrees attracted the attention of the exiles, moved with 
 compassion for the sufferings of their fellow-creatures, and 
 led them to reflect that their own lot had been mild com- 
 pared with that of many. What had not this venerable 
 old man seen ? What could he not relate % who, for sixty 
 years, at a distance of two thousaud miles from Ms country, 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 69 
 
 in a foreign climate, in the midst of persecutions, had 
 laboured incessantly at the conversion of savages, whom 
 he entitled " Brethren," and who were not unfrequently his 
 most inveterate persecutors % He had visited the court of 
 Pekin, and had excited the astonishment of the Mandarins 
 by the extent of his learning, and still more by his rigid 
 virtue and austere self-denial ; he had assembled together 
 tribes of wandering savages and taught them the principles 
 of agriculture. Thus, barren wastes changed into fertile 
 lands, savages became mild and humane ; families, to whom 
 the fond titles of father, husband, and of son were no longer 
 unknown, raised their hearts to Heaven in tributes of 
 thanksgiving; all these blessings were the result of the 
 pious labours of one man. These people did not condemn 
 the missions of piety ; fhey presumed not to say that the 
 religion which dictates them is severe and arbitrary ; and 
 still further were they from affirming, that men who practise 
 that religion with such excess of charity and love towards 
 their fellow-creatures, are useless and ambitious. But why 
 not pronounce them to be ambitious % In devoting their 
 lives to the service of their fellow-creatures do they not 
 •aspire to the highest rewards % Do they not seek to please 
 their Maker, and to gain heaven % ISTone of the most cele- 
 brated conquerors of the earth ever raised their aspiring 
 thoughts so high ; they were satisfied with the esteem of 
 men, and with the dominion of the universe. 
 
 The good father then informed his hosts that, recalled 
 by his superior, he was now returning on foot to Spain, 
 liis native country. On his road thither he was to pass 
 
70 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 tlirough Russia, Germany, and France. But he seemed to 
 tliink little of the journey : the man who had travelled 
 through vast deserts, which yielded no shelter from the 
 inclemency . of the weather but a den ; no pillow to rest 
 the weary head but what a stone afforded ; and whose only 
 food had been a little rice-flour moistened with water, 
 might well consider himself at the period of his labours on 
 approaching to civilised nations ; and Father Paul fancied 
 himself in his own country, when he found himself once 
 more among a Christian people. He repeated accounts 
 of dreadful sufferings he had endured, and of difficulties 
 which he had overcome, when, after passing the wall of 
 China, he had entered into the extensive territories of the 
 Tartars. He recounted that, at the entrance of the vast 
 deserts of Songria, which appertain to China, and serve it 
 as a boundaiy on the side of Siberia, he had discovered a 
 country abounding in rich and valuable furs, and through 
 this commodity able to maintain an extensive commerce 
 with European nations; but no traces of their industry 
 had as yet reached that distant spot; no merchant had 
 dared to carry his gold, or attempt a lucrative traffic, where 
 the missionary had ventured to plant the cross, and had 
 distributed blessings : — so true it is, that charity will stimu- 
 late to enterprises from which even avarice recedes. 
 
 A bed was prepared for Father Paul in the little cham- 
 ber belonging to the Tartar peasant, who slept, wrapt up in a 
 bearskin, near the stove. As soon as day began to dawn, 
 Elizabeth rose. She approached softly to Father Paul's 
 door, and, hearing that he was already risen and at prayers, 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 7.1 
 
 she asked permission to enter and converse witli him in 
 private, as she felt that she dare not speak to him before 
 her parents, much less to express her wish that they might 
 set out the following morning on their journey. She re- 
 lated to him the history of her life, — a simple but affecting 
 story, which consisted chiefly of anecdotes of mutual ten- 
 derness between her parents and herself. In the long re- 
 cital of her doubts and hopes, she had occasion more than 
 once to pronounce the name of Smoloff ; but it seemed as 
 if this name occurred only to heighten the picture of her 
 innocence, and to shew that it was not wholly through the 
 absence of temptation she had preserved so entire the 
 purity of her heart. Father Paul was deeply afiected at 
 the narration. He had made the tour of the globe, and 
 seen almost all that it contained; but a heart like that 
 which Elizabeth discovered was new to him. 
 
 Stanislaus and Phedora knew not that it was their 
 daughter's intention to leave them on the morrow; but 
 when they embraced her in the morning, they felt that 
 sensation of involuntary terror which all animated beings 
 experience on the eve of the storm that threatens them. 
 Whenever Elizabeth moved, Phedora followed her with her 
 eyes, and often seized her suddenly by the arm, without 
 daring to ask her the question that hovered on her lips; but 
 speaking continually of employments she had for her on the 
 following day, and giving orders for different works to be 
 done several days hence. Thus did she endeavour to re-assure 
 herself by her own words ; but her heart was not at ease, 
 and the silence of her daughter spoke most feelingly to it 
 
72 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 of her departure. During dinner slie said to her, " Eliza- 
 beth, if the weather is fine to-morrow, you shall go in your 
 little canoe with your father to fish in the lake." Her 
 daughter looked at her in silence, while the tears involun- 
 tarily fell from her eyes. Stanislaus, agitated by the same 
 anxiety as Phedora, addressed himself to her hastily. " My 
 child," said he, " did you hear your mother's desire ? you 
 are to come with me to-morrow." Elizabeth reclined her 
 head on her father's shoulder, saying in a whisper, " To- 
 morrow you must console my mother." Stanislaus changed 
 colour. It was enough for Phedora — she asked no more. 
 She was certain the departure of her child had been men- 
 tioned ; it was a subject she wished not to hear, for the 
 moment that it was spoken of before her must be that of 
 giving her consent ; and she indulged the hope that, till it 
 was granted, her daughter would not dare to leave home. 
 Stanislaus collected all his firmness, for he saw that on the 
 morrow he must sustain the loss of his child, and the sight 
 of his wife's anguish. He knew not whether he could 
 survive the sacrifice he was going to make — a sacrifice to 
 which he never could have submitted but from the excess 
 uf love he bore his daughter ; and, concealing his emotion, 
 he received the intelligence with composure and feigned 
 content, in order to bestow upon his Elizabeth the only 
 recompense worthy of her virtue. 
 
 How many secret emotions, how many afflicting unob- 
 served sensations, agitated the minds of parents and child 
 on this day of trial ! Sometimes they exchanged the most 
 tender caresses; at others they appeared a prey to the 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 73 
 
 most heartfelt grief. The missionary sought to rouse their 
 spirits by reciting all the histories in the sacred writings 
 in which Providence rewarded in a special manner the sac- 
 rifices of filial piety and paternal resignation ; he gave 
 hints likewise that the difiiculties of the journey would not 
 be so great, as a man of high consequence, whom he would 
 not name, but who they easily guessed, had provided him 
 with the means of rendering it easier and more pleasant. 
 Thus passed the day ; and, when night arrived, Elizabeth, 
 on her knees, in broken accents entreated her parents' 
 blessing. Her father approached her, the tears streamed 
 down his manly cheeks. His daughter held out her arms 
 to him. He beheld in her motion the sign of a farewell. 
 His heart became too much oppressed to allow him to 
 weep. His tears stopped while he laid his hands upon 
 her head, recommending her in silence to the protection of 
 the Almighty, as he had not courage to utter a w^ord. 
 Elizabeth, then, turning round to her mother, said "And 
 you, my mother, will you not likewise bestow your bene- 
 diction upon your child ? " " To-morrow," replied she, in 
 a voice almost stifled with the agony of grief. " To-mor- 
 row ! And why not to-day, my mother 1 " " Oh, yes !" an- 
 swered Phedora, running to her; ^* to-day, to-morrow, every 
 day.'' Elizabeth bowed down her head, while her parents, 
 their hands joined, their eyes raised, with trembling voices 
 pronounced a solemn benediction that was heard on high. 
 
 The missionary, with a cross in his hand, stood at a 
 little distance praying for them. It was the picture of 
 Virtue praying for Innocence. If such invocations ascend 
 
74 Elizabeth; OTy 
 
 not to the tlirone of the Most High, what can those bo 
 which have a right to attain it ! 
 
 It was now the end of the month of May — that season 
 of the year when, between the deepening shades of twi- 
 light and the glimmering dawn of the day, there is scarcely 
 two hours of night. Elizabeth employed this time in 
 maldng preparations for her departure ; she had provided 
 herself with a travelling dress, and a change of shoes and 
 stockings, in a bag of reindeer skin. It had been her con- 
 stant practice for nearly a year to work at night after she 
 had retired to her chamber, that she might get these things 
 in readiness, unknown to Phedora. During the same 
 period of time she had reserved from each of her collations 
 some dried fruits and a little flour, in order to defer as 
 long as possible that moment when she must have recourse 
 to the charity of strangers ; but she was determined not to 
 take anything from the dwelling of her parents, where little 
 was to be found but what necessity required. The whole 
 amount of her treasure was eight or ten kopecks ; it was 
 all the money she possessed, all the riches with which she 
 undertook to traverse a space of more than eight hundred 
 leagues. 
 
 "Father," said she to the missionary, knocking softly 
 at his door, "let us depart now, while my parents are 
 asleep ; do not let us awake them ; they will grieve soon 
 enough. They sleep tranquilly, thinking we cannot go out 
 without passing through their chamber ; but the window 
 of this room is not high, I can easily jump out, and will 
 then assist you in getting down." The missionary agreed 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 75 
 
 to tliis stratagem of filial tenderness, which was to spare 
 the parents and child the agonies of such a parting. As 
 soon as they were- in the forest, Elizabeth, having thrown 
 her little packet on her shoulder, walked a few steps hastily 
 forwards; but, turning her head once again towards the 
 dwelling she had abandoned, her sobs almost stifled her. 
 Bathed in tears, she rushed back to the door of the apart- 
 ment in which her parents slept. " Heaven !" cried 
 she, " watch over them, guard them, preserve them ; and 
 grant that I may never pass this threshold again if I am 
 destined to behold them no more !" She then rose ; and 
 turning, beheld her father standing behind her. " O my 
 father ! you are here : why did you come?" " To see you, 
 to embrace you, to bless you once more ; to say to you, 
 My Elizabeth, if during the days of your childhood I have 
 let one escape without shewing convincing proofs of my 
 tenderness ; if once I have made your tears flow ; if a look, 
 an expression of harshness, has ajfflicted your heart, before 
 you go, pardon me for it ; pardon your father, that, if he 
 is not doomed to have the happiness of seeing you again, 
 he may die in peace." " Oh ! do not talk thus," inter- 
 rupted Elizabeth. "And your poor mother!" continued 
 he, " when she awakes, what shall I say to her ? what shall 
 I answer, when she asks me for her child ? She will seek 
 you in the forests, on the borders of the lake, everywhere \ 
 and I shall follow weeping with her, and calling despond- 
 ingly for our child, who will no longer hear us." At these 
 words, Elizabeth, overpowered, almost fainting, supported 
 herself against the walls of the hut : her father seeing that 
 
76 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 he had affected her beyond her strength, reproached him- 
 self bitterly for his own want of fortitude. " My child/' 
 said he, in a more composed voice, " take courage ; I wiU 
 promise, if not to comfort your mother, at least to encour- 
 age her to support your absence with fortitude, and will 
 restore her to you when you return hither. Yes, my child, 
 whether the enterprise of your filial piety be crowned with 
 success or not, your parents will not die till they have 
 embraced you again." He then addressed the missionary, 
 who with his eyes cast down, stood deeply affected at a 
 little distance from this scene of affliction : '* Father," said 
 he, " I entrust to your care a jewel which is invaluable ; 
 it is more precious than my heart's blood ; far, far more 
 precious than my life ; nevertheless, with full confidence T 
 entrust it to you : depart then together ; and may choirs 
 of angels watch over both ; to guard her, celestial powers 
 will arm themselves, and that dust which formed the 
 mortal part of her ancestors will be reanimated ; the all- 
 powerful Being, the Father and Protector of my Elizabeth, 
 will not suffer her to perish." 
 
 Elizabeth, without venturing to look at her father again, 
 placed one hand across her eyes, and giving the other to 
 the missionary, departed with him. The morning's dawn 
 now begr\n to illuminate the summits of the mountains, 
 and gild the tops of the dark firs ; but all nature was still 
 wrapped in profound silence. No breath of wind ruffled 
 the smooth surface of the lake, nor agitated with its breezes 
 fhe leaves of the trees ; the birds had not begun to sing, 
 nor did a sound escape even from the smallest insect ; it 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 77 
 
 seemed as if Nature preserved a respectful silence, that 
 the voice of a father, calling down benedictions on his 
 child, might penetrate through the forests which now 
 divided them. 
 
 I have attempted to convey an idea of the grief of the 
 father, but my powers are inadequate to describe that of 
 the mother. How could I delineate her sensations, when 
 awakened by the cries of her husband she runs to him, 
 and reading in his desponding attitude that she had lost 
 her child, falls to the ground in a state of unutterable 
 anguish, that seems to threaten her existence ! In vain 
 does Stanislaus, by recalling to her mind all the miseries 
 attendant upon a life of banishment, endeavour to calm 
 her grief; she attends not to his voice; love itself has lust 
 its influence, and can no longer reach her heart ; the sor- 
 rows of a mother are beyond all human consolation, and 
 can receive it from no earthly source : Heaven reserves to 
 itself alone the power of soothing them; and if these 
 agonising sorrows are given to the weaker sex, it is 
 formed gentle and submissive, to bow beneath the hand 
 that chastises it, and have recourse to the only comfort 
 that remains. 
 
 It was about the middle of May that Elizabeth and her 
 guide set out upon their journey. They were a full month 
 in crossing the marshy forests of Siberia, which is subject 
 at this season of the year to terrible inundations. Some- 
 times the peasants whom they overtook permitted them 
 for a trifling compensation to mount their -sledges ; at night 
 they took shelter in cabins so miserable, that had not Eliza- 
 
78 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 beth been long inured to hardships and privation, she 
 would scarcely have been able to take any repose. 
 
 She lay in her clothes upon a v^retched mattress, in a 
 room scented with the fumes of tobacco and spirits, into 
 which the wind penetrated through the broken windows, 
 ill-repaired with paper, and to complete its uncomfortable 
 state, the whole family, and sometimes even a part of their 
 cattle, reposed in the same miserable apartment. 
 
 Porfcy versts from Tinoen, a town in the frontiers of 
 Siberia, is a wood, in which a row of posts mark the 
 boundary of the division of Tobolsk. Elizabeth observed 
 them; and to her it appeared like a second parting, to 
 leave the territory which her parents inhabited. "Alas !" 
 said she, " what a distance separates us now !" When she 
 entered Europe, again this melancholy reflection recurred 
 to her. To be in a different quarter of the world, pre- 
 sented to her imagination the idea of a distance more 
 immense than the vast extent of country she had crossed ; 
 in Asia she had left the only beings of the universe upon 
 which she had a claim, and upon whose affection she could 
 rely ; and what could she expect to find in that Europe 
 so celebrated for its enlightened inhabitants? What in 
 that imperial court, where riches and talents flowed in 
 such abundance % Would she find in it one heart moved 
 by her suffering, softened by her afilictions, or from whose 
 commiseration she might hope for protection? At this 
 thought, one name presented itself to her mind. Ah ! 
 might she have dared to indulge the hope of meeting him 
 at Petersburg — but there was no chance. The mandate 
 
The Exiles of Siberia^ 79 
 
 of the emperor had sent him to join the army in Livonia ; 
 there was not then the remotest probability of finding him 
 in iliirQpe, which seemed to her to be inhabited by him 
 only, because hs was the only person whom she knew. 
 All her dependence then was upon Father Paul ; and in 
 Elizabeth's ideas, the man who had passed sixty years in 
 rendering services to his fellow-creatures, must have great 
 influence at the court of monarchs. 
 
 Perma is nearly nine hundred versts from Tobolsk ; the 
 roads are good, the lands fertile and well cultivated ; young 
 woods of birch are frequently intermixed with fine exten- 
 sive fields j and opulent villages, belonging to the Eussians 
 and Tartars, are scattered about, whose inhabitants appear 
 60 contented and happy, that it can hardly be conceived 
 they breathe the air of Siberia. This tract of country 
 contains even elegant inns, abounding in luxuries hitherto 
 unknown to Elizabeth, and which excited her astonishment. 
 
 The city of Perma, although the handsomest she had yet 
 seen, shocked her, from the narrowness and dirtiness of 
 the streets, the height of its buildings, the confused inter- 
 mixture of fine houses and miserable huts, and the close- 
 ness of the air. The town is surrounded by fens, and tbe 
 country, as far as Cassan, (interspersed with barren heaths 
 and forests of firs.) exhibits the most gloomy aspect : in 
 stormy seasons the thunder frequently falls upon these 
 aged trees, which burn with rapidity, and appear like 
 columns of the brightest red, surmounted by crowns of 
 flames. Elizabeth and her guide, often witnesses of these 
 flaming spectacles, were obliged to cross woods burning 
 
8o Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 on each side of them ; sometimes they saw trees consumed 
 at the roots, while their tops, which the fire had not reached, 
 were supported only by the bark, or, half thrown down, 
 formed an arch across the road ; others falling with a tre- 
 mendous crash one upon another, made a pyramid of flames 
 like the piles of the ancients, on which pagan piety con- 
 sumed the ashes of its heroes. 
 
 Amidst these dangers, and the still more imminent ones 
 they encountered in the passage of rivers which overflowed 
 their banks, Elizabeth was never disheartened; she even 
 thought that the difiiculties of her undertaking had been 
 exaggerated. The weather, it is true, was uncommonly 
 fine, and she often travelled in the cars, or kibitkis, which 
 were returning from Siberia, whither they had conveyed 
 new exiles : for a few kopecks our travellers easily obtained 
 permission of their drivers to ride as far as they went. 
 Elizabeth accepted, without feeling hurt, the assistance of 
 her guide ; for what she received from him, was considered 
 by her as the gift of Heaven. 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 8 1 
 
 PART IL 
 
 Elizabeth and her guide arrived upon the banks of the 
 Thama about the beginning of September, which is but 
 two hundred versts from Cassan, having nearly accom- 
 plished half their journey. Had it been the will of 
 Heaven that Elii^abeth should complete her enterprise as 
 easily as she had hitherto proceeded, she would have con* 
 sidered the happiness of her parents cheaply purchased; 
 but it was her destiny to experience a sad reverse : and, 
 along with the winter season, that period approached which 
 was to put her steadfastness to the severest trial, and call 
 forth all the exertions of her filial piety to gain for ita 
 reward a crown of immortal glory. 
 
 The health of the missionary had for several days visibly 
 declined. It was with difficulty that he could walk, even 
 with the assistance of Elizabeth, and supported by his 
 staff; he was obliged to rest continually; and when a 
 conveyance could be obtained in one of the kibitkis, the 
 violent shocks he received from the roughness of the road, 
 which was made of the trunks of large trees carelessly 
 thrown across the marshes, exhausted his little remains of 
 strength, though the firm composure of his soul continued 
 unmoved. On his arrival, however, at Sarapol, (a con- 
 siderable village on the northern banks of the Thama,) the 
 good missionary found himself so extremely weak, that it 
 was impossible for him to think of proceeding on his jour- 
 ney. He was lodged in a miserabJo inn adjoining to the 
 
82 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 house of the superintendent of the district. The onlj^ 
 room he could be accommodated with was a sort of loft oi 
 garret, the floor of which shook under every step. The 
 windows were unglazed, and the furniture of this wretched 
 apartment consisted of a wooden table and a bedstead, over 
 which was strewed a few trusses of straw ; upon this the 
 missionary reposed his feeble limbs. The wind, which 
 entered freely the broken casements, must have banished 
 sleep from his relief, had the pain he unremittingly en- 
 dured allowed him to enjoy any repose. The most de- 
 sponding reflections now presented themselves to the ter- 
 rified imagination of Elizabeth. She had inquired for a 
 physician. There was none to be had at Sarapol ; and, as 
 she perceived that the people of the house took no interest 
 in the state of the dying sufferer, she was obliged to de- 
 pend solely upon her own efforts for procuring him relief. 
 After fastening some pieces of the old tapestry, which 
 lined the sides of the apartment, across the windows, she 
 went out into the fields in search of certain wild herbs, of 
 which she made a salutary beverage for the suffering mis- 
 sionary, according to a recipe she had seen of her mother's. 
 As night approached, the symptoms of his malady grew 
 every instant more alarming, and the unfortunate Elizabeth 
 could no longer restrain her tears. She withdrew to a 
 distance, that her sobs might not disturb his dying mo- 
 ments ; but the good father heard them, and grieved for an 
 affliction he knew not how to remove, — for he felt well 
 assured that he should rise no more, and that the period of 
 his mortal career was fast approaching. To the pious pliil- 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 83 
 
 antliropist, who had dedicated a long life to the service of 
 his God and of his fellow-creatures, death could present no 
 terrors j though he could not help regretting at the pros- 
 pect of being called away while there remained so much 
 for him to do. " Most High ! " he inwardly exclaimed, 
 •* I presume not to murmur at Thy decrees ; but, had it 
 been Thy will to spaje me till I had conducted this unpro- 
 tected orphan to the end of her journey, my death would 
 have been more easy." 
 
 When it grew dark Elizabeth lighted a rosin taper, and 
 remained seated all night at the foot of the bed to attend 
 her patient. A little before daybreak she approached to 
 give him some drink. The missionary, feeling that the 
 moment of his dissolution was near at hand, lifted himself 
 up a little while in the bed, and, taking from her hand the 
 cup she presented to him, raised it towards heaven, saying, 
 " O my God ! I recommend her to Thy care, who hast 
 promised that a cup of cold water bestowed in Thy name 
 shall not go unrewarded." These words carried with them 
 the conviction of that misfortune Elizabeth had till this 
 moment afiPected to disbelieve. She discovered that the 
 missionary felt his end approaching, and that she should 
 soon be left destitute and unprotected. Her courage 
 failed; she fell upon her knees by the side of the bed, 
 while her eyes became dim, her respiration difficult, and a 
 cold dew stood upon her forehead. " My God ! look down 
 with pity on her ; look down with pity on her, my God !" 
 repeated the missionary, while he regarded her with the 
 tenderest commiseration. But as he perceived that the 
 
84 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 violence of her anguish seemed to increase, he aaid, *' In 
 the name of God, and of your father, compose yourseK> 
 daughter, and listen to what I have to say." The trem- 
 bling Elizabeth stifled her sobs ; and, wiping away the 
 tears that impeded her sight, raised her eyes to her vener- 
 able guide in token of attention. • He supported himself 
 against the board placed across the back of the bedstead, 
 and, exerting all his remaining strength, addressed her 
 thus : " My child, in travelling at your age, alone, unpro- 
 tected, and during the severe season that approaches, you 
 will have to endure great hardships ; but there are dangers 
 more alarming still which must fall to your lot. An ordi- 
 nary courage that might stand firm against fatigues and 
 sufiering would be unable to resist the enticements of 
 seduction; but yours, Elizabeth, is not an ordinary 
 courage, and the allurements of a court will not have 
 power to change your heart. You will meet with many 
 who, presuming upon your unprotected situation and 
 distress, will seek to turn you from the paths of virtue ; 
 hut you will neither put faith in their promises, nor be 
 dazzled by the splendour ' which may surround them. The 
 fear of God, the love of your parents, will place you be- 
 yond all their attempts. To whatever extremity you may 
 be reduced, never lose sight of these sacred claims, never 
 forget that a single false step will piecipitate to the grave 
 those to whom you owe your existence." " O father ! " 
 interrupted she, "fear not.*' "I do not fear," said he; 
 *^your piety, your noble resolution, have merited implicit 
 confidence, and I am well convinced you will not sink 
 
The Exiles of Siberia,. 85 
 
 under the trials to which Heaven ordains you. You will 
 find, my child, in my cloak the purse which the generous 
 governor of Tobolsk gave to me when he recommended 
 you to my care. Preserve this secret with the strictest 
 caution — his life depends upon your circumspection. The 
 money this purse contains will defray your expenses to 
 Petersburg. When you arrive there, go to the patriarch, 
 mention Father Paul to him ; perhaps the name may not 
 have escaped his memory ; he will procure an asylum for 
 you in some convent, and will, I doubt not, present your 
 petition to the emperor — he cannot reject it, it is impossible. 
 In my expiring moments I repeat it to you, my child, that 
 a proof of fihal piety like that you will display, has no pre- 
 cedent. The admiring world will bestow the applause it 
 merits, and your virtue will be rewarded upon earth be- 
 fore it receives the glorious recompense which awaits it in 
 
 heaven " 
 
 He ceased; his breath began to fail, and the chilly 
 damps of death already stood upon his brow. Elizabeth, 
 reclining her head against the bed-post, wept unconstrained. 
 After a long interval of silence, the missionary, untying 
 a little ebony crucifix, which hung suspended from his 
 neck, presented it to her, saying, in feeble accents, " Take 
 this, my child ; it is the only treasure I have to bestow, 
 the only one I possess on earth ; and possessed of that, 
 I wanted not." She pressed it to her lips with the most 
 lively transports of grief; for the renunciation of such a 
 treasure proved that the missionary was certain the moment 
 of his dissolution was at hand. " Fear nothing," added he, 
 
86 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 with the tenderest compassion ; " the good Pastor, who 
 abandons not one of His flock, will watch over and protect 
 you ; and if He deprive you of your present support, He 
 will not fail to bestow more than He takes from you ; con- 
 fide securely in His goodness. He who feeds the sparrows, 
 and knows the number of the sands of the sea- shore, will 
 hot forget Elizabeth." "Father, O father !" she exclaimed, 
 seizing the hand he held out to her, " I cannot resign my- 
 self to lose thee." " Child," replied he, " Heaven ordauis 
 it ; submit with patience to its decrees ; in a few momenta 
 I shall be on high, when I will pray for you and your 
 
 parents " He could not finish ; his lips moved, but the 
 
 sounds he tried to utter died away \ he fell back upon his 
 straw bed ; and raising his eyes to heaven, exerted his last 
 efforts to recommend to its protection the destitute orphan, 
 for whom he stiU seemed to supplicate when life had fled. 
 So deeply was the force of benevolence implanted in his 
 soul, so habitually, during the course of his long life, had 
 he neglected his own interest to devote himself to those of 
 others, that at the moment he was to enter into the awful 
 abyss of eternity, and to appear before the throne of his 
 sovereign Judge, to receive the irrevocable doom — he 
 thought not of himself. 
 
 The cries of Elizabeth attracted the people of the house \ 
 they demanded their cause ; and she pointed to her pro- 
 tector extended lifeless on the straw. The rumour of this 
 event immediately gathered a crowd around the corpse. — 
 Some who were attracted b) idle curiosity, regarded the 
 youthful mourner with astonishment, as she stood weeping 
 
The Exiles of Sibe-ria, 8 7 
 
 near the deceased ; others compassioned her distress ; but 
 the people of the inn, anxious to receive payment for the 
 miserable accommodation they had afforded, discovered 
 with delight the contents of the missionary's cloak, which, 
 in her grief, Elizabeth had not thought of securing ; they 
 took possession of the purse, and told her they would 
 restore the rest when they had taken enough to reimburse 
 themselves, and to pay the expenses of the funeral. 
 
 The people employed at interments in Eussia, styled 
 Popes, soon arrived, followed by attendants with torches : 
 they threw a pall over the deceased ; and the unfortunate 
 Elizabeth, obliged to let go the cold hand of her lifeless* 
 protector, which she had not till then relinquished, gave a 
 scream of anguish as she took a last view of that venerable 
 countenance, still retaining its expression of serenity and 
 benevolence. She retired to the furthest corner of the 
 apartment, and there, bathed in tears, fell upon her knees, 
 and covering her face with a handkerchief, as if to shut out 
 from her sight that desolate world in which she was now 
 to wander alone, exclaimed in a voice of stifled agony, 
 *^ O thou blessed spirit, who art now reaping the reward 
 of thy virtue in realms of happiness, abandon not the des- 
 titute being who still looks up to thee for succour ! O 
 my father ! O my mother ! where are you at this moment, 
 that your child is bereft of all human aid % " 
 
 They now began to chant the funeral hymns, and placed 
 the body on the bier. When the instant arrived for its 
 removal, Elizabeth, though weak, agitated, and trembling, 
 determined to attend to their last asylum the remains of 
 
88 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 Liin who had guided and protected her, and who, when 
 expiring, prayed for her welfare. 
 
 At the foot of an eminence on the northern side of the 
 Thama (on which are situated the ruins of a fortress, 
 erected during the remote period of the commotions of the 
 Baschkirs) is a piece of ground used as a burying-place by 
 the inhabitants of Sarapol. This spot is at a little distance 
 from the town ; it is enclosed by a low hedge, and in the 
 centre is a small wooden building that serves as an oratory, 
 around which heaps of earth, surmounted by a cross, mark 
 the different receptacles of the dead : here and there a few 
 straggling firs extend their gloomy shade j and from be- 
 neath the sepulchral stones large clusters of thistles with 
 wide-spreading leaves and blue flowers ; and another weed, 
 whose bare and bending stem is divided into numerous 
 slender branches, bearing flowers of a livid yellow, make 
 their appearance as only fit to bloom among tombs. 
 
 The train that followed the coffin of the missionary was 
 very numerous. It consisted of people of various nations ; 
 Persians, Turkomans, and Arabians, who had made their 
 escape from the Kirguis, and had been received into the 
 colleges founded by Catherine the Second. They accom- 
 panied the funeral procession with tapers in their hands, 
 blending their voices with those of the mourners ; while 
 Elizabeth, following slowly and in silence, her face covered 
 with a veil, appeared as chief mourner, feeling no con- 
 nexion, in the midst of this tumultuous crowd, but with 
 him who was no more. 
 
 When the coffin was let down into the gravs, the popo 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 89 
 
 who officiated, according to the rites of the Greek Church, 
 put a small piece of money into the hand of the deceased 
 to pay his passage j and after having thrown in a few 
 shovelfuls of earth, he departed. And thus was consigned 
 to oblivion the man w^ho had never suffered a day to elapse 
 without rendering services to some of his fellow-creatures : 
 like the beneficent wind, which scatters wide the grains of 
 the earth, producing plenty all around ; he had travelled 
 over more than half the world, sowing the seeds of wisdom 
 and truth, and by that world he died forgotten ; — so 
 little is fame attached to modest merit ; so little of it do 
 men bestow, except on those who dazzle them, or on those 
 conquerors who glory in destroying the human race to 
 gratify their ambition. Vain worldly glory ! fruitless 
 honours ! Heaven would not permit you to be thus the 
 reward of human grandeur only, had it not reserved its own 
 celestial glory for the recompense of virtue. 
 
 Elizabeth remained in the burying-ground until the close 
 of the day : she wept in solitude, and offered up her sup- 
 plications to the Almighty, which greatly relieved her 
 bursting heart. In afflictions like hers, a meditation be- 
 tween heaven and the grave is salutary : a reflection on 
 death will rouse our drooping spirits : a contemplation on 
 the joys of heaven will create hope and consolation : where 
 a misfortune is beheld in its extent, the horror we have 
 conceived of it decreases ; and where such a compensation 
 is presented, the evil annexed to it loses its weight. 
 
 Elizabeth wept, but she did not repine ; she thanked 
 God for the blessings with which the hardships of half her 
 
go Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 joarney had been lessened, and did not feel that she was 
 now entitled to complain because it was the will of Heaven 
 to withdraw them. Bereft of her guide, of every human 
 succour, her courage still sustained her, and the undaunted 
 heroism of her soul was proof against despair. " My dear 
 father, my tender mother," she exclaimed, " fear not ; your 
 child will not sink under the trials that await her." Thus 
 did she address her parents in the language of encourage- 
 ment, as if they could behold her destitute situation : and 
 when secret terror, in spite of herself, stole in upon her 
 soul, she would again invoke their names, and in repeating 
 them her fears were dispelled. " holy and now happy 
 spirit,'* said she, bending her head to the newly-removed 
 earth, " art thou then lost to us before my beloved parents 
 could express their gratitude, could invoke blessings on the 
 kind protector of their child ?" 
 
 When night began to obscure the horizon, and Elizabeth 
 was obliged to quit tliis melancholy spot, desirous to leave 
 some memorial behind her, she picked up a sharp stone, 
 and inscribed these words upon the cross which was over 
 the grave : " The just perishethy and no man layeth it to 
 heart ;^'* then bidding a final adieu to the remains of the 
 poor missionary, she left the burying-ground, and returned 
 sorrowfully to her lonely apartment in the inn at Sarapol, 
 in which she had so dismally spent the preceding night. 
 
 Next morning, when she was ready to set forward on 
 her journey, the host gave her three rubles, assuring her, 
 at the same time, that it was all that remained of the mis« 
 * Isaiab Ivii. 1. 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 91 
 
 sionaiys purse. Elizabeth received them with emotions of 
 gratitude and veneration; as if these riches, which she 
 owed to her protector, were sent from that heaven of which 
 he was now an inhabitant. " Yes," exclaimed she, " my 
 guide, my support, your charity survives you ; and though 
 you are taken from me, that supports me still." 
 
 During her solitary route, Elizabeth's tears frequently 
 flowed : every object recalled the bitter recollection of the 
 friend she had lost : if a peasant or an inquisitive traveller 
 regarded her with impertinent curiosity, or interrogated 
 her in accents of rudeness, she missed the venerable pro- 
 tector who had insured respect : if, oppressed by weari- 
 ness, she was obliged to seat herself on the roadside to 
 rest, she dared not stop the empty sledge that passed, fear- 
 ing a refusal, accompanied perhaps by insult j besides, as 
 she possessed but three rubles, she preserved that pittance 
 carefully to delay the period w^hen she must have recourse 
 to accidental charity, and denied herself every superfluity. 
 Thus was she debarred from various little indulgences the 
 good missionary often procured her : she always selected 
 out the meanest habitation to demand a shelter, contenting 
 herself with the most wretched accommodations and the 
 coarsest food. 
 
 Travelling by such slow degrees, she could not reach 
 Cassan till the beginning of October. A strong wind blow- 
 ing from the north-west had prevailed for several days, and 
 had collected a quantity of ice upon the Wolga, which ren- 
 dered the passage of that river almost impracticable : it 
 could only be crossed by going partly in a boat and partly 
 
92 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 on foot, leaping from one piece of ice to another. Even 
 the boatmen, who were accustomed to this dangerous navi- 
 gation, would not undertake it but in consideration of a 
 high reward ; and no passenger ventured to expose his life 
 with them in the attempt. Elizabeth, without thinking of 
 the danger, was going to enter one of their boats, when 
 they roughly pushed her away, declaring she could not be 
 allowed to cross till the river was entirely frozen over. 
 She inquired the probable lapse of time before that event 
 would take place. On receiving the answer, " a fortnight 
 at least," she determined to attempt the passage at present 
 " In the name of Heaven, I conjure you," said she, in a 
 tone of the most earnest entreaty, " to assist me in crossing 
 the river. I come from beyond Tobolsk, and am going to 
 Petersburg, to petition the emperor in behalf of my father, 
 now an exile in Siberia ; and I have so little money, that 
 if I am obliged to remain a fortnight at Cassan, I shall not 
 have a kopeck left wherewith to continue my journey." 
 
 This affecting appeal softened the heart of one of the 
 boatmen, who taking Elizabeth by the hand, " Come," said 
 he, " you are a good girl ; I will endeavour to ferry you 
 over : the fear of God, and the love of your parents, guide 
 your steps, and Heaven will protect you." He then helped 
 her into his boat, which he rowed half way over. Not 
 being able to work it further, he took Elizabeth on his 
 back j and walking and leaping alternately over the masses 
 of ice, attained, by the assistance of an oar, the opposite 
 side of the Wolga, where he set her down in safety. Eliza- 
 beth expressed her acknowled^fments in the most animated 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 93 
 
 terms her grateful heart could dictate ; and taking out her 
 purse, which contained now but two rubles and a few 
 smaller coins, offered a trifling reward for his services, 
 " Poor child!" said the boatman, looking at the contents of 
 her purse, " is that all the money you have to defray the 
 expenses of your journey from hence to Petersburg? 
 Then, believe me, that Nicholas Sokoloff will not deprive 
 you of a single obol ! No, rather will I add something to 
 your store ; it will bring down a blessing upon me and my 
 sis little ones." So saying, he threw her a small piece of 
 money, and called to her, as he returned to the boat, " May 
 God watch over and protect you, my child." 
 
 Elizabeth took up the little piece of money, and regard- 
 ing it with her eyes filled with tears, said, " I will preserve 
 you for my father ; thou wilt afford a proof that his 
 prayers have been heard, and that a paternal protection 
 has been extended to me everywhere." 
 
 The atmosphere was clear, and the sky serene, but the 
 keen breezes of a northerly wind chilled the air. After 
 having walked for four hours without stopping, Elizabeth's 
 strength began to fail : no human habitation presented it- 
 self to her j and she sought shelter at the foot of a hill, the 
 rocky summit of which jutting over defended her from the 
 wind. Near to this hill was an extensive forest of oaks ; 
 trees which are not to be seen on the Asiatic side of tho 
 Wolga. Elizabeth knew not what they were ; though they 
 had lost some of their foliage, yet their beauty was not 
 much diminished, and might still have excited admiration ; 
 but, noble as they were, Elizabeth could not view these 
 
94 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 European productions with pleasure, they recalled too 
 forcibly to her mind the immense distance which separated 
 her from her parents ; she rather preferred the fir, which 
 solaced tL^t spot where she had been reared — which had 
 so frequently yielded shade to the days of her childhood, 
 and under which, perhaps, her beloved parents at that in- 
 stant reposed. 
 
 These reflections always brought tears into her eyes. 
 " Oh, when shall I be blessed again with beholding them !" 
 she exclaimed; "when shall I hear the sound of their 
 voices'? when return to their fond embraces f* As shf^ 
 spoke, she stretched out her arms towards Cassan, the 
 buildings of which were still distinguishable in the distant 
 prospect ; and raised above them, upon the summit of high 
 rocks, the ancient fortress of the Chams of Tartary, pre- 
 senting a view grand and picturesque. 
 
 In the course of her journey Elizabeth often met with 
 objects which affected her compassionate heart in a scarcely 
 inferior degree to her own distress. Sometimes she en- 
 countered wretches chained together, who were condemned 
 to work for life in the mines of Nerozinsh, or to inhabit 
 the dreary coasts of Angara ; at others, troops of emigrants, 
 destined to people the new city building by the emperor's 
 order on the confines of China; some on foot, others on 
 the cars which conveyed the animals, poultry, and baggage. 
 Notwithstanding these were criminals, sentenced to a milder 
 doom for offences which might have been elsewhere punished 
 with death, they did not fail to excite compassion in Eliza- 
 beth : but when she met exiles escorted by an ofiicer of 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 95 
 
 state, whose noble mien traced to her remembrance that 
 of her father, she could not forbear shedding tears over 
 their fate ; and would sometimes approach respectfully to 
 offeiv soothing consolation, which often relieves the woes 
 of the unhappy. Pity, alas ! was the only gift Elizabeth 
 had to bestow : with that she soothed the sorrows of those 
 she overtook, and by a return of pity must she now depend 
 for subsistence ; for, on her arrival at Yoldomir, she was 
 forced to change her last ruble. She had been nearly three 
 months on her journey from Serapol to Voldomir; but 
 through the kind hospitality of the Eussian peasants, who 
 never take any payment for milk and bread, her little 
 treasure had not been yet exhausted : but now all began 
 to fail j her feet were almost bare, and her ragged dress 
 ill defended her from a frigidity of atmosphere which had 
 already sunk the thermometer thirty degrees below the 
 freezing point, and w^hich increased daily. The ground 
 was covered with snow more than two feet deep ; some- 
 times it congealed while fidling, and appeared like a shower 
 of ice, so thick, that earth and sky were equally concealed 
 from the view; at other times torrents of rain rendered 
 the roads almost impassable, or gusts of wind arose so 
 violent, that Elizabeth, to defend herself from the rude 
 assaults, was obliged to dig a hole in the snow, covering 
 her head with large pieces of the bark of pine-trees, which 
 she dexterously stripped off, as she had seen done by the 
 inhabitants of Siberia. 
 
 One of these tempestuous hurricanes had raised the 
 snow in thick clouds, and created an obscurity so impene- 
 
96 Elizabeth; oVy 
 
 trable, that Elizabeth, no longer able to discern the road, 
 and stumbling at every step, was obliged to stop ; she took 
 refuge under a high rock, to wMch she clung as firmly as 
 she could, to enable her to withstand the fury of a storm 
 which overthrew all around her. Whilst she was in this 
 perilous situation, with her head bent down, a confused 
 noise, that appeared to issue from behind the spot where 
 she stood, raised her hope that a better shelter might be 
 procured. With difficulty she tottered round the rock, 
 and discovered a kibitki, which had been overturned and 
 broken, and a hut at no great distance : she hastened to 
 demand entrance : an old woman opened the door ; and 
 struck at the wretchedness of her appearance, " My poor 
 child!" said she, *'from whence dost thou come, and why 
 are you wandering thus alone in this dreadful weather?" 
 To this interrogation Elizabeth made her usual reply : " I 
 am come from beyond Tobolsk, and am going to Peters- 
 burg to solicit my father's pardon." At these words, 
 a man who was sitting in a dejected posture in a corner 
 of the room suddenly raised his head from between his 
 hands, and regarding Elizabeth with an air of astonish 
 ment, exclaimed, " Is it possible that thou comest from so 
 remote a country, alone, in this state of distress, and during 
 this tempestuous season, to solicit pardon for your father 1 
 — Alas ! my poor child would perhaps have done as much, 
 tut the barbarians tore me from her arms, leaving her in 
 ignorance of my fate ; she knows not what is become of 
 me; she cannot plead for mercy; no, never shall I behold 
 her again — this afflicting thought will kill me— separated 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 97 
 
 for ever from my child, I cannot live. Now, indeed, that 
 I know my doom," continued the unhappy father, ''I 
 might inform her of it ; I have written a letter to her, but 
 the carrier belonging to this kibitki, who is returning to 
 Kiga, the place of her abode, will not undertake the charge 
 of it without some small compensation, and I cannot offer 
 the most trifling ; not a single kopeck do I possess ; the 
 barbarians have stripped me of everything." 
 
 Elizabeth drew the last ruble out of her pocket; and 
 blushing deeply at the insignificance of the trifle, asked 
 in timid accents, as she presented it to the unfortunate 
 exile, if that would be enough. He pressed to his lips 
 the generous hand held forth to succour him, and hastened 
 to make a proposal to the carrier. Like to the widow's 
 mite, Heaven bestowed its blessing on the offering : — the 
 carrier was satisfied, and took charge of the letter. Thus 
 did her noble sacrifice produce a fruit worthy of the heart 
 of Elizabeth : it relieved the agonized feelings of a parent, 
 and carried consolation to the wounded bosom of a child. 
 
 When the storm was abated, Elizabeth, before she pur- 
 sued her journey, embraced the old woman, who had 
 bestowed upon her all the care and tenderness of a mother, 
 and said in a low voice, that she might not be heard by 
 the exile, " I have nothing left to give ; the blessing of my 
 parents is the only recompense I have to offer for your 
 kindness; it is the only treasure I possess." ^'How!" 
 interrupted the old woman aloud. " My poor child, have 
 you then given away your all V^ Elizabeth coloured, and 
 looked down. The exile started from his seat ; and raising 
 
98 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 his hands to heaven, threw himself upon his knees before 
 her. *' Angel that thou art," he exclaimed, "can I make 
 no return to youf who have thus bestowed your all upon 
 me?" A knife lay upon the table : Elizabeth took it up, 
 and cutting off a lock of her hair, presented it to him, say- 
 ing, " Sir, as you are going into Siberia, you will see tho 
 Governor of Tobolsk ; give him this, I beseech you, and 
 tell him, * Elizabeth sends it to her parents ;' he will per- 
 haps permit this token to convey to them the knowledge 
 of their child's existence." " Your wish shall be executed," 
 answered the exile ; " and if I have my liberty in those 
 deserts, of which I am to be an inhabitant, I will seek out 
 the dwelling of your parents, that I may tell them what 
 their child has done for me this day." 
 
 The prospect of conveying consolation to her parents 
 created far greater delight in the soul of Elizabeth than 
 the offer of a throne could have produced. She was bereft 
 of all except the little piece of money given her by the 
 boatman on the side of the Wolga. She might fancy her- 
 self rich, for the greatest felicity that wealth could have 
 procured had just fallen to her lot j she had bestowed hap- 
 piness on her fellow- creatures, revived the desponding 
 heart of a father, and converted tears of bitter sadness, 
 shed by the orphan, into those of soothing consolation. 
 Such blessings could a single ruble produce from the hand 
 of benevolence. 
 
 From Voldomir to the village of Pokroff the road lies 
 through fenny low lands, interspersed with extensive forests 
 of oak, elms, aspins, and wild apples. These different trees 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 99 
 
 thus intermixed, present, during summer, a beautiful pros- 
 pect, but afford an asylum to numerous banditti who infest 
 the roads. In winter, as the boughs, despoiled of their 
 foliage, yield but a bad ambush, these bands of robbers are 
 less formidable. Elizabeth, however, during her journey, 
 heard repeated accounts of plunders that had been com- 
 mitted. Had she been worth anything to lose, these nar- 
 rations might have been a source of terror ; but, obliged to 
 beg her daily bread, poverty was her passport, as a shield 
 defended her, and enabled her to traverse these forests in 
 security. 
 
 A few versts from Pokroff the high-road had been swept 
 away by a hurricane, and travellers proceeding to Moscow 
 were forced to make a considerable circuit through swamps 
 occasioned by the inundations of the Wolga ; these were 
 now hardened by the frost to a solidity equal to dry land. 
 Elizabeth attempted to follow the route which had been 
 pointed out to her ; but, after walking for more than an 
 hour over this icy desert, through which were no traces of 
 a road, she found herself in a swampy marsh, from which 
 every endeavour to extricate herself was exerted for a long 
 time in vain. At length, with great difficulty she attained 
 a little hillock. Covered with mud, and exhausted with 
 fatigue, she seated herself upon a stone to rest, and emptied 
 her sandals to dry them in the sun, which at that moment 
 shone in its full lustre. The environs of this spot appeared 
 to be perfectly desolate ; no signs of a human dwelling 
 were visible ; solitude and silence prevailed around. Eliza- 
 beth perceived she must have strayed far from the road ; 
 
lOO Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 and, notwitlistanding all the courage witli which she was 
 endued, her heart failed. Her situation was alarming in 
 the extreme ; behind was the bog she had just crossed, 
 and before her an immense forest through which no track 
 was to be distinguished. 
 
 At length day began to close ; and, notwithstanding her 
 extreme weariness, Elizabeth was forced to proceed in 
 search of a shelter for the night, or some being who might 
 have the humanity to procure her one. In vain did she 
 wander about, sometimes following one track, then another. 
 No object presented itself to revive her hopes, no sound 
 reanimated her drooping spirits — that of a human voice 
 would have occasioned her the greatest joy — when suddenly 
 that of several people struck her ear, and in another mo- 
 ment several men emerged from the forest. Strengthened 
 by hope, she hastened towards them; but as they drew 
 near, terror again succeeded to joy, — their savage air and 
 stern countenances dismayed her to a still greater degree 
 than the horrors of the solitude in which she had so lately 
 been plunged. All the stories she had heard of the banditti 
 who infested that neighbourhood immediately returned to 
 her imagination, and she feared that a judgment awaited 
 her for the temerity with which she had indulged the idea 
 that a special Providence watched over her preservation, 
 and fell upon her knees to humble herself in the presence 
 of Divine Justice. The troop advanced, stopped before 
 Elizabeth, and, regarding her with surprise and curiosity, 
 demanded from whence she came, and what accident had 
 brought her there. With a fluttering voice and downcast 
 
The Exiles of Siberia^ ' ' ' ' idi ' 
 
 eyes the terrified Elizabetli replied* tliato slid t^ma^'fi'dTit ' 
 beyond Tobolsk, and that she was going to solicit from the 
 emperor a pardon for her father. She added, that having 
 missed the road, she was near perishing in the marshes, 
 from which danger she had escaped with difficulty, and had 
 been obliged to rest a long while to recover strength to 
 enable her to proceed in search of lodging for the night. 
 Her interrogators appeared astonished; questioned her 
 again, and asked what money she had to undertake so 
 long a journey. Elizabeth drew out the little coin given 
 her by the boatman on the Wolga, and shewed it to them. 
 " Is that all % " they exclaimed. " All ! " she replied. At 
 this answer, delivered with a candour that enforced belief, 
 the robbers looked at each other with amazement ; they 
 were not moved, they were not softened. Eendered callous 
 by long habits of vice, an action of such noble heroism as 
 that of Elizabeth's had no such influence over their souls, 
 but it excited wonder. They could not comprehend what 
 they felt necessitated to believe ; and, restrained by a kind 
 of veneration, they could not disturb the object of Heaven's 
 evident protection ; so passing on, said to each other, " Let 
 us leave her, — some supernatural power guards her." 
 
 Elizabeth rose and hurried from them. She had not 
 penetrated far into the forest before four roads, crossing 
 each other, presented themselves to her view. In one of 
 the angles which they formed was a little chapel dedicated 
 to the Virgin, and over it, upon the four sides of a post, 
 were inscribed the names of the towns to which the differ- 
 ent roads led. Elizabeth prostrated herself to offer up her 
 
I02 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 gratefnl acknowledgeniftiits to the Omnipotent Being wbo 
 preserved her. The robbers wore not mistaken — she was 
 protected by a supernatural Power. 
 
 Hope had restored to Elizabeth all her strength, and she 
 entered again on the road to PokrofF with her usual activity. 
 She soon regained the Wolga, which forms an angle before 
 this village, and washes the walls of a nunnery. Eliza- 
 beth hastened to solicit shelter under this venerable roof. 
 She related the hardships she had undergone, and disclosed 
 to the community how much she stood in need of hospi- 
 tality. The nuns received her with cordiality, and lavished 
 upon her the most affectionate attentions. Their kind 
 solicitude reminded her of those endearments she was wont 
 in former days to receive from her mother. The simple 
 and modest recital Elizabeth gave of her adventures proved 
 a source of edification to the whole community. Her pious 
 auditors could not find words to express the admiration 
 they felt at that heroic perseverance which had endured so 
 many hardships, sustained so many severe trials, without a 
 murmur. They lamented their inability to assist her with 
 money for supplying some of the expenses of her journey, 
 for their convent was very poor — no revenue was attached 
 to it, and all their dependence was on accidental charity. 
 They could not, however, let their guest depart in ragged 
 dress, and nearly barefoot. To provide her with better 
 habiliments they stripped themselves, and each gave her a 
 portion of her own clothing. Elizabeth endeavoured to 
 decline the gifts, for it was of necessaries her generous 
 benefactresses deprived themselves. But pointing to the 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 103 
 
 walls of the convent, they said, " We have a shelter while 
 you have none ; part of the little we possess belongs to you, 
 for you are poorer still than we/' 
 
 At length Elizabeth set forward on the last stage to 
 Moscow. She was astonished at the extraordinary bustle 
 she now witnessed by the immense concourse of carriages, 
 carts, horses, and people of all ranks and ages, which was 
 resorting to this great metropolis. As she passed onward^ 
 the crowd seemed to augment. In the village where she 
 stopped to rest, all^ the houses were filled with strangers, 
 who paid so high for the smallest lodging that it was with 
 the greatest difficulty the destitute Elizabeth could procure 
 the most wretched. She could not refrain from shedding 
 tears as she received from the scornful hand of pity a little 
 coarse food, and the shelter of a shed, so miserable that it 
 scarcely excluded the falling snow. But she was not hu- 
 miliated ; she did not forget that Heaven looked down 
 Tvith approbation on her sacrifices, and that the restoration 
 of happiness to her parents might be the reward. Neither 
 did she feel exalted ; too artless to think she did more than 
 duty prescribed in devoting herself for their sakes, and too 
 affectionate not to feel a secret satisfaction in suffering for 
 them. 
 
 The bells of all the adjacent villages were ringing, and 
 from every side resounded the name of Alexander, accom- 
 panied by loud acclamations of joy. The report of the 
 cannon from Moscow quite alarmed Elizabeth, for never 
 before had a sound so tremendous struck her ears. In a 
 timid voice she inquired the cause of a group of persons 
 
104 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 in rich liveries wliom she overtook surrounding a broken 
 carriage. "Doubtless it is the entrance of the emperor 
 into Moscow," they replied, " How ! " exclaimed the 
 astonished Elizabeth, " is not the emperor then at Peters- 
 burg ? " They raised their eyes in pity and contempt of 
 her ignorance as they retorted, " Why, did you not know 
 that the Emperor Alexander was coming to celebrate his 
 coronation at Moscow 1 " Elizabeth clasped her hands in 
 ecstacy. Heaven again in an especial manner evinced it- 
 self in her favour. The Omnipotent sent the sovereign 
 to meet her, upon whom the fate of her parents depended ; 
 and ordained that she should arrive at that period of gene- 
 ral joy, w^hen the hearts of monarchs recede even from the 
 dictates of justice in favour of those of clemency. " My. 
 parents," she cried, looking back towards home from which 
 so great a distance separated her, " must such delightful 
 hopes rejoice my heart alone? and while your child is 
 happy, must you grieve in ignorance of her fate ? " 
 
 In the month of March, in the year 1801, Elizabeth 
 made her entrance into the extensive capital of Muscovy, 
 imagining herself at the end of her labours, and not con- 
 sidering that there could be still a calamity to apprehend. 
 On her progress through the town, superb structures, 
 decorated with the magnificence of royalty, presented 
 themselves to her admiring sight, but intermixed with 
 wretched cabins, whose untiled roofs and broken casements 
 afforded no shelter from the inclemency of the weather. 
 The streets and alleys of Moscow were so thronged, that 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 105 
 
 Elizabeth could scarcely proceed through the crowds that 
 obstructed the passage. After some time she found her- 
 self in meadows richly planted, and began to imagine she 
 was again in the country ; she stopped to rest in a grand 
 avenue formed by rows of birch-trees, which bear a resem- 
 blance to the linden-trees of Prussia. An immense assem- 
 blage of well-dressed people thronged this avenue, all 
 conversing on the subject of the coronation; trains of 
 carriages passed backwards and forwards, which, jarring 
 continually against one another, caused an incessant clatter ; 
 the enormous bells of the cathedral rang incessantly ; they 
 were answered by those of the smaller churches from all 
 parts of the town ; the sound of the cannon, which was 
 fired at regular intervals, could scarcely be distinguished 
 amidst the overpowering tumult of this prodigious city. 
 As Elizabeth drew near to the square of the Cremelines, 
 the crowd appeared to increase at every step she took : 
 she approached timidly to one of the great fires which were 
 lighted on this spot, and seated herself at a corner of it. 
 Cold, weariness, and want of food, had exhausted her 
 spirits; and the joyful hopes of the morning were con- 
 verted into sadness. She had wandered through the 
 numerous streets of Moscow; but among the splendid 
 habitations she had beheld, none had ofi'ered to her an 
 asylum : she had met people of various nations and 
 degrees, but had looked in vain for a friend or protector ; 
 some had inquired their way, but expressed uneasiness 
 at having missed it : how much did she envy their lot I 
 
io6 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 " Happy/' said she, " to have a home to seek : I, who 
 possess none, cannot lose my way ; for in every place is 
 shelter equally denied me." 
 
 Night now rapidly approached, and the cold was intense : 
 the dejected Elizabeth had not eaten a morsel the whole 
 day, and was nearly famished with hunger and the incle- 
 mency of the weather ; she watched all who passed, to see 
 whether she could discern in their countenances that expres- 
 sion of compassionate benevolence which might embolden 
 her to make an appeal to their feelings : but among that 
 crowd, every individual of w^hich she observed so earnestly, 
 no one stood in need of her assistance, therefore they had 
 no interest in contemplating her woe-worn countenance. 
 At last she ventured to solicit an entrance at the doors of 
 some of the poorest dwellings, but met with rude repulse. 
 The hope of gain, during this period of festivity, had steeled 
 all hearts against the importunities of distress, and withheld 
 the donations of charity ; — never is mankind less inclined 
 to liberality than at the moment of acquiring an increase 
 of wealth. 
 
 Elizabeth returned to the fire in the square of the Ore* 
 melines, to weep in silence : her heart was so full that she 
 had not strength to eat a small piece of brown bread which 
 an old woman, who had taken some pity on her wretched- 
 ness, had bestowed. She was now, for the first time, 
 reduced to that degree of misery, which compelled her 
 to hold forth her hand to any casual passenger, to implore 
 an alms that might be carelessly granted, or refused per- 
 haps with contempt. At the moment that she had resolved 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 107 
 
 to try tlds last resource, an emotion of dignified pride 
 detained the hand she had presented; but the cold was 
 excessive : in spending the night exposed to the open air, 
 her life would be endangered, and that life she did not 
 consider in her own right of disposal. This reflection over- 
 came her spirits. With one hand placed across her eyes, 
 she stretched out the other to the passenger, saying, " In 
 the name of the father whom you revere, of the mother 
 whom you cherish, give me a trifle to procure a lodging 
 for the night." The man to whom she addressed herself 
 examined her with curiosity and surprise by the light of 
 the flame. "Young girl," said he, "you follow a bad 
 trade ; cannot you work % At your age a livelihood might 
 be easily gained. God help you ! I never encourage beg- 
 gars." He went away. 
 
 The unfortunate Elizabeth raised her eyes to heaven, 
 as if in search of a friend. An inspiration of hope reani- 
 mated her sinking courage : again she ventured to repeat 
 her appeal to the compassion of several who passed : some 
 did not listen to it, others gave so small an alms that she 
 could not collect enough to relieve her necessities. At 
 last, when night was far advanced, the crowd dispersed, 
 and the fire nearly extinguished, some of the guards attend- 
 ing the emperor, in making their rounds, discovered Eliza- 
 beth, and roughly demanded why she remained abroad at 
 that hour. The stern looks and fierce manners of these 
 soldiers overpowered her with terror; and incapacitated 
 from uttering a syllable, she burst into an agony of tears. 
 The soldiers, little affected at seeing her weep, assembled 
 
io8 Elizabeth; or, 
 
 round lier, repeating their question with rude familiarity. 
 The trembling girl at last recovering sufficient courage to 
 answer, in a voice broken with sobs said, that she came 
 from beyond Tobolsk, to petition the emperor for her father. 
 " I have performed the whole journey on foot," continued 
 she ; " and as I have no money I cannot obtain a shelter 
 for the night." At these words the soldiers burst into 
 a laugh, taxing her tale with falsehood. Elizabeth, more 
 terrified than ever, sought to escape ; but they would not 
 suffer it, and insolently seized ner. " my God ! 
 my father !" she cried in accents of horror and despair; 
 " will you not come to my succour ? have you forsaken the 
 wretched Elizabeth?" During this scene, some persons, 
 attracted by the noise, and who had assembled in groups, 
 murmured indignantly at the cruelty of the soldiers. Eliza^ 
 beth stretched out her hands, in act of supplication towards 
 them, exclaiming, "Before Heaven, I solemnly protest 
 I have uttered nothing but truth : I come from beyond 
 Tobolsk, to implore pardon for my father : save me, oh, 
 «ave me ; let me not die, at least till I have obtained it." 
 This moving appeal affected her auditors. Several ad- 
 vanced to her rescue ; and one of them, addressing the 
 soldiers, said, " I keep the inn known by the sign of St 
 Basil in this square; let the young girl come with me; 
 her story appears to me to be true ; and I will give her 
 a lodging." The soldiers, who had begun to be a little 
 softened by her extreme distress, consented to this request, 
 and withdrew. 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 109 
 
 « 
 
 The grateful Elizabeth embraced the knees of her pre- 
 server : he raised her kindly ; and desiring her to follow 
 him, led the way to his dwelling, which was at a little 
 distance. "I have not a room to give you," said he; 
 " there is not one in my house unoccupied : but my wife 
 will receive you into hers for one night j she is kind and 
 compassionate, and will readily endure so small an incon- 
 venience to serve you." Elizabeth, trembling and agitated; 
 followed in silence. Her guide conducted her to a small* 
 room on the ground-floor, in which a young woman, with 
 an infant in her arms, was seated near a stove : she rose 
 on their entrance. Her husband immediately gave an 
 account of the dangerous situation from which he had ex- 
 tricated his companion ; adding, that he had offered, in his 
 wife's name, a night's hospitality to the destitute stranger. 
 The young woman confirmed the offer ; and taking Eliza- 
 beth by the hand, said with a smile of encouragement, 
 '^Be comforted, we will take good care of you; but be 
 careful never to stay out so late again ; in large towns, 
 such as this, and at your age, it is very dangerous to be 
 found at a late hour in the streets." Elizabeth answered, 
 that she had no asylum to resort to ; every door had been 
 shut against her. She owned her poverty without a blush, 
 and related all the hardships she had so heroically encoun- 
 tered, without a feeling of vanity. Her hosts wept at the 
 recital ; neither of them thought of doubting her veracity ; 
 the emotions which her story excited afforded a proof that 
 it was true. The classes of society to which they belonged 
 
no Elizabeth; or. 
 
 are not so easily misled by brilliant fictions; these soar 
 beyond tlieir capacities ; while over their souls, truth, in 
 all its purity, preserves its claims entire. 
 
 At the conclusion of her narrative, Jaques Eossi (the 
 name of the host) said, " My influence in this town is but 
 small, but as far as it could be exerted for my own interest 
 it shall be for yours." His wife pressed his hand in token 
 of approbation, and asked Elizabeth if she knew no one 
 who could present her to the emperor. " No," she replied, 
 not wishing to mention young Smoloff, for fear of involv- 
 ing him in some difficulty ; besides, no actual assistance 
 could be expected from him, since he was in Livonia. 
 " Well," answered the wife of Jaques Kossi, " the most 
 pow^erful recommendation to our great sovereign is virtue 
 in distress, and that will plead for you." "Yes," inter- 
 rupted her husband, " the Emperor Alexander is to be 
 crowned to-morrow in the church of the Assumption ; you 
 must place yourself in his way, and at his feet solicit 
 the remission of your father's sentence. I will accompany 
 and encourage you." " my generous benefactors !" ex- 
 claimed Elizabeth, clasping her hands with an expression of 
 the liveliest gratitude, " Heaven beholds your kindness, and 
 my parents will invoke blessings on you for it ; on you who 
 will conduct me to the feet of the emperor, and support me 
 in his presence — perhaps you will be witnesses of my happi- 
 ness — of the greatest happiness a human being is capable of 
 enjoying. If it is granted me to obtain this pardon for my 
 father, to be the joyful bearer of the happy tidings to him 
 and to my mother, to behold their delight" 
 
I'^he Exiles of Siberia, 1 1 1 
 
 She could say no more ; the bare idea of sucli felicity 
 almost forbade the hope that it might be realised : she 
 could not believe that her deserts entitled her to expect it. 
 The panegyrics which her hosts, however, bestowed upon 
 the clemency of Alexander, the various anecdotes they re- 
 corded in evidence of the truth upon which these com- 
 mendations were founded, and the grace with which the 
 value of those acts of mercy had been enhanced, reani- 
 mated her spirits. Elizabeth listened to them with eager- 
 ness ; she would gladly have spent the whole night in 
 hearing them repeated ; but, as it grew late, her kind hosts 
 wished her to enjoy some repose, that she might be en- 
 abled to support the exertions of the morrow. Jaques 
 Rossi retired to a small garret at the top of the house, 
 whUe his wife received Elizabeth into her own apartment. 
 
 A long time elapsed before the perturbation of her mind 
 would admit of sleep : but she was thankful to Heaven 
 even for her sufferings, since the excess of them had height- 
 ened the value of the generous relief she had experienced. 
 " Had I been less miserable," thought she, " Jaques Rossi, 
 perhaps, would not have taken pity on me." When sleep 
 at length overtook her, visions of happiness in various 
 forms flitted before her. Sometimes fancy presented her 
 parents, their countenances irradiate with joy ; sometimes 
 she imagined the voice of the emperor, addressing her in 
 terms of approbation and compliance with her entreaties ; 
 and sometimes another form presented itself to her imagi- 
 nation, but under characters more vague and indistinct ; a 
 
 mist seemed to obscure it from her sight, and the impres- 
 
 H 
 
112 Elizabeth ; or^ 
 
 sion it had left upon her heart was the only trace that 
 remained. 
 
 On the morrow, as soon as the thunder of the artillery, 
 the beating of the drums, and loud acclamations of the 
 people announced the dawn of that joyful day on which 
 the ceremony of the Emperor Alexander's coronation was 
 to be celebrated, Elizabeth, habited in a dress lent her by 
 her kind hostess, and leaning upon the arm of Jaques 
 Rossi, mixed among the throng that crowded to the large 
 church of the Assumption, in which the coronation was to 
 be performed. 
 
 Upwards of a thousand tapers illuminated the holy 
 temple, which was decorated in all the splendour of eastern 
 magnificence. Upon a dazzling throne, under a canopy of 
 rich velvet, were seated the emperor and his youthful con- 
 sort, habited in sumptuous dresses, which, displaying to 
 advantage the beauty of their forms, gave to their appear- 
 ance an air almost celestial Kneeling before her august 
 spouse, the empress received from his hand the imperial 
 diadem, and encircled her brow with this pledge of their 
 eternal union. Opposite to this royal pair, in the sacred 
 chair of truth, was the venerable Plato, the patriarch of 
 Moscow; who, in a discourse at once pathetic and sub- 
 lime, recalled to Alexander's youthful mind the great 
 duties annexed to royalty, and the awful responsibility 
 imposed upon his elevated station, in return for the pomp 
 that environed it, and the power with which it was in- 
 vested. Amidst the assemblage of nations that thronged 
 the cathedral, he pointed out the hunters of Kamtscatka, 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 113 
 
 bringing tributes of skins from the Thurile Isles, wMch 
 border on America; the mercbants of Archangel, loaded 
 with rich commodities which their vessels had brought 
 from every quarter of the globe ; the Samoyeds, a rude and 
 unpolished people, who come from the mouth of the Jenif- 
 fer, a country condemned to the rigours of an eternal win- 
 ter, where the beauteous flower of the spring and the rich 
 produce of harvest are alike unknown ; and the natives of 
 Astracand, whose fertile fields yield melons, figs, and grapes 
 of an excellent flavour : he shewed him, lastly, the inhabit- 
 ants of the shores of the Black and Caspian Seas, and of 
 the Great Tartary, which, bounded by Persia, China, and 
 the empire of the Moguls, extending from the extremity of 
 the western hemisphere to that of the east, takes in almost 
 half of the globe, and nearly touches either pole. " Sove- 
 reign of the most extensive empire of the earth," said he, 
 "who art this day to tate the awful oath of presiding 
 over the destinies of a state which includes a fifth part of 
 the known world, bear it ever in remembrance, that you 
 have to answer at the tribunal of Divine Justice for the 
 fate of millions of your fellow-creatures ; and that an in- 
 justice done to the meanest among them, through your 
 negligence, must be accounted for on the final day of retri* 
 bution." The young emperor appeared deeply affected at 
 this discourse. There was one among the auditors whose 
 heart was not less profoundly moved, — the supplicant came 
 to solicit the pardon of a father. 
 
 At the moment that Alexander began to pronounce the 
 solemn oath which was to bind him to devote his future 
 
114 Elizabeth; oVy 
 
 life to the happiness of his people, the enraptured Eliza- 
 beth imagined she heard the voice of mercy requiring him 
 to break the chains of every unfortunate being within his 
 dominions. Unable any longer to command her feelings, 
 assisted by a supernatural strength, she pierced the crowd, 
 and forcing a passage through the lines of the soldiers, 
 rushed towards the throne, exclaiming, " Mercy ! mercy !" 
 This outcry, which interrupted the ceremony, created a 
 general commotion throughout the cathedral. The guards 
 advanced, and, notwithstanding her entreaties and the 
 efforts of Jaques, they dragged Elizabeth out of the church. 
 The emperor, however, would not, on such a glorious day, 
 be invocated in vain ; he ordered one of the officers of his 
 suite to inquire what the petitioner wanted. The officer 
 obeyed ; and on quitting the church heard the imploring 
 accents of the agonising supplicant, still endeavouring to 
 prevail upon the soldiers to allow her to return. He 
 started : then rushing impetuously through the guards, 
 beheld her, knew her, and clasping his hands together, ex- 
 claimed, " It is she ! it is Elizabeth ! " Elizabeth turned, 
 and knew not whether she might beheve she was so for- 
 tunate as to see her former friend ; she could not persuade 
 herself that Smoloff was before her — Smoloff, who could 
 supplicate with her, and obtain the pardon she so earnestly 
 desired : nevertheless, when he spoke, the sound of his 
 voice confirmed the evidence of her eyes — she could no 
 longer doubt — joy deprived her of utterance, and she 
 stretched her arms towards him, as to a messenger sent 
 from heaven to her relief. He rushed forward, seized her 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 115 
 
 hand, and in his turn began to doubt the testimony of his 
 senses. "Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, "is it indeed you? 
 or do I behold a vision from heaven % Speak ! whence do 
 you come f'— " From Tobolsk/'—" From Tobolsk ! And 
 hast thou travelled hither, alone, on foot?'' — "Yes,'' she 
 exclaimed, " I came alone, on foot, to entreat pardon for 
 my father; and they force me from the presence of the 
 emperor." — " I will reconduct you to his presence, Eliza- 
 beth," interrupted the transported Smoloff; " I will pre- 
 sent you to him : he cannot resist your supplications : 
 your prayer will be granted." He then dispersed the 
 soldiers, and led Elizabeth back towards the church. 
 The imperial procession was at that instant issuing from 
 the great gate of the cathedral. As soon as the newly- 
 annointed monarch appeared, Smoloff, holding Elizabeth 
 by the hand, forced a passage through the guards, and 
 threw himself with her at the emperor's feet. " Sire," he 
 cried, " vouchsafe to listen to the voice of suffering virtue ; 
 behold the daughter of the unfortunate Stanislaus Potow- 
 sky, who has come from the deserts of Ischim, where her 
 parents have languished out twelve years of exile ; alone, 
 unprotected, she has existed upon charity; and, braving 
 the united opposition of poverty, insult, and tempests, is 
 come to your feet to implore forgiveness for her father." 
 
 Elizabeth raised her clasped hands towards heaven, re- 
 peating the last words, " Forgiveness for my father !" A 
 clamour of admiration arose from among the crowd ; the 
 emperor himself joined in it : and, deeply rooted as his 
 prejudices had been against Stanislaus Potowsky, in an 
 
ii6 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 instant they were totally eiffaced : lie could not hesitate to 
 believe that the father of a daughter so virtuous must be 
 innocent of the crimes alleged against him : but had it 
 been otherwise, Alexander could not have withheld for- 
 giveness. "The pardon is granted!" said he; "your 
 father is free." Elizabeth heard no more ; at the words of 
 pardon, joy overpowered her, and she fell senseless into the 
 arms of Smoloff. In this state she was carried through 
 immense crowds of the populace, (who opened a passage, 
 shouting with joyful acclamations of approbation at the 
 transcendent virtue of the heroine, and the clemency of the 
 monarch,) and was conveyed to the house of Jaques Kossi. 
 The first object that met her eyes upon recovering her 
 senses was Smolojff, kneeling beside her ; the first sound 
 she heard was a repetition from his lips of the words used 
 by the emperor, when he accorded pardon : — " Elizabeth, 
 the pardon is granted; your father is at liberty." For 
 some minutes it was by looks only that she could express 
 her joy and gratitude ; but they expressed more than lan- 
 guage could have imparted. At length, turning to Smoloff, 
 she pronounced, in a faltering voice, the names of her 
 father and mother. " We shall behold them again then !" 
 said she ; " we shall enjoy the sight of their happiness !" 
 These words sank deep into the heart of him to whom they 
 were addressed. Elizabeth had not said she loved him, 
 but she had associated him with the first sentiment of her 
 soul, with that object of felicity, in which her ideas and 
 hopes had so long centred. From that happy moment ho 
 ventured to indulge the hope that she would, on a future 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 117 
 
 day, consent to ratify the union she had thus involuntarily 
 made. 
 
 Several days elapsed before the deed of pardon coula be 
 drawn up and signed. Previous to its final accomplish- 
 ment, it was requisite, in the first instance, to take a review 
 of the causes of Stanislaus Potowsky's condemnation ; and 
 this investigation proved so very favourable to the noble 
 Polander, that Alexander was convinced that equity alone 
 ought to have broken the chains of the illustrious patriot ; 
 but he had listened to the dictates of clemency before he 
 knew what those of justice required ; — an act of generosity 
 which those, whom he had thus nobly pssrdoned, never 
 forgot. 
 
 One morning Smoloff entered Elizabeth's apartment 
 earlier than usual : he presented her with a scroll of parch- 
 ment sealed with the imperial signet. " Behold," said he, 
 " the mandate, in which the emperor commands my father 
 to restore yours to liberty." Elizabeth seized the scroll, 
 and pressing it to her lips, bathed it with tears. " This is 
 not all," continued Smoloff; "our magnanimous sovereign 
 performs a noble action in a manner worthy of himself : 
 with liberty, he likewise restores to your father all his dig- 
 nities, the high rank he formerly held, and all his large 
 possessions, honours, and wealth, sources of the grandeur 
 which exalts mankind in general, but can have no influence 
 over the superior soul of ElizabetL The courier who is to 
 convey the order to my father departs to-morrow, and I 
 have obtained leave of the emperor to accompany him." — 
 "And may I not likewise accompany him?" eagerly in- 
 
ii8 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 ternipted Elizabeth. " You may," resumed Smoloff ; " and 
 from your lips only your father must learn that he is free. 
 Presuming upon my knowledge of your sentiments, I told 
 the emperor that it was your wish to be the bearer of the 
 joyful intelligence yourself: he approved the design, and 
 charged me with the commission of informing you that you 
 have leave to depart to-morrow in one of his carriages, 
 attended by two female domestics ; and he sends a purse 
 of two thousand rubles to defray the expenses of your 
 journey." Before Elizabeth returned an answer, she re- 
 garded Smoloff some moments with an air of reflection \ 
 then addressing him in a tone expressive of her feelings, 
 " Since the first day I saw you;" said she, " no favourable 
 circumstance has' forwarded my enterprise of which you 
 were not the instigator ; without your assistance I could 
 not have , obtained my father s pardon ; without your 
 generous interference, never would he have beheld his 
 country again : to you then it belongs to tell him he is 
 free : this glorious recompense alone is adequate to your 
 benefits." "No, Elizabeth," replied Smoloff; "that hap- 
 piness must be yours \ the recompense which I aspire to 
 is greater still." "O Heaven!" exclaimed Elizabeth, 
 " what can that be ?" Smoloff was on the point of an- 
 swering in terms expressive of the rapture he felt, but, 
 repressing his emotion, he coloured and looked down : an 
 interval of silence ensued ; at length, in a faltering voice, 
 Smoloff answered, " Elizabeth, I must not tell you but in 
 the presence of your father." 
 
 Smoloff, having now recovered his Elizabeth, did not 
 
* The Exiles of Siberia. 119 
 
 allow a single day to pass without spending part of it in 
 her company. His love increased every hour : but never 
 for an instant did he deviate from that respect and reserve 
 which he felt, at present, to be her due. At such a dis- 
 tance from her parents she looked to him alone for protec- 
 tion; and the valuable deposit, thus intrusted to his 
 charge, he considered as so sacred, that he could not have 
 prevailed upon himself to utter a sentiment that had the 
 least tendency to excite the smallest "emotion either in her 
 countenance or heart. 
 
 During the long journey they had to perform, he pre- 
 served the same resjDectful silence. Constantly seated by 
 her, beholding her, hearing her, his passion continued to 
 increase, but never overcame his resolution. He bestowed 
 upon her always the appellation of sister ; and though his 
 attentions were more assiduous than those of the fondest 
 brother, they were not less innocent : they were most cal- 
 culated to inspire confidence in the most scrupulous deli- 
 cacy, and must have satisfied expectations the most un- 
 bounded. His sentiments were only perceptible in the 
 attempts he made to hide them; friendship seemed to 
 prompt all he uttered ; in his silence alone could love bo 
 discovered. 
 
 Before she quitted Moscow, Elizabeth liberal^ rewarded 
 her generous hosts : and as she recrossed the Wolga, before 
 Cassan, she did not forget her friend the boatman. Upon 
 inquiry after him, she was informed that, in consequence 
 of an accident, he had been reduced to the greatest 
 distress, and was lying in a garret, surrounded by six 
 
1 20 Elizabeth ; OTy * . 
 
 cliildren in tlie want of bread. Elizabeth requested to 
 be immediately conducted to his habitation. When he 
 saw her formerly, it was in poverty, in dejection, and 
 clothed in rags; now that he beheld her in splendour, 
 with joy and animation sparkling in her eyes, and diffusing 
 a brilliancy over her whole figure, he did not remember 
 her. Elizabeth took out of her purse the little coin which 
 he had given her, and shewing it to him, brought to his 
 memory the act of kindness he had performed ; then, lay- 
 ing a hundred rubles upon his bed, she added, " Charity 
 fails not to reap its reward. Behold, what you gave me in 
 the name of God, Heaven now returns a hundredfold.'* 
 
 Elizabeth was so eager to meet her parents, that she 
 travelled night and day. On her arrival at Sarapol, not- 
 withstanding her haste, she stopped to visit the tomb of 
 the missionary : as this was a tribute of grateful venera- 
 tion, almost equivalent to an act of filial duty, Elizabeth 
 could not let it pass unfulfilled. She beheld once more 
 the cross, with the inscription she had engraven upon it : 
 again did she weep over the grave where she had formerly 
 shed so many bitter tears ; but those she now shed were 
 of a soothing consolation : she imagined that in that celes- 
 tial paradise, of which he was now a blessed inhabitant, 
 the missionary partook of her felicity : and that in his 
 soul, so full of benevolence, her happiness still added to 
 that which he enjoyed in the bosom of his God. 
 
 But as I am desirous of bringing my tale to a conclusion, 
 and, with Elizabeth, to reach the dwelling where the days 
 of her absence were numbered \sdth such anxiety, I will not 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. \zi 
 
 attempt a description of the scene of joy exMbited at To- 
 bolsk, when young Smoloff presented Elizabeth to his father; 
 and she, in all the effusions of her grateful heart, acknow- 
 ledged the blessings she owed to his assistance. Elizabeth 
 would not consent to let her parents be informed of her 
 Tipproach : she heard at Tobolsk that they were well, which 
 was still further confirmed at Saimka ; and wishing to give 
 them ah agreeable surprise, with a palpitating heart she 
 proceeded to their cottage, attended only by Smoloff. 
 What varying emotions agitated her as she crossed the 
 forest, drew near the banks of the lake, and recognised everj^ 
 tree, every rock, adjacent to the habitation of her parents ! 
 At last she caught sight of the parental roof : she rushed 
 forward; but the violence of her feelings obliged her to 
 stop. Alas ! behold the state of human nature ! we seek 
 for happiness in excess of joy ; which excess, more violent 
 in its effects than that of misery, we are not able to bear. 
 Elizabeth, leaning upon the arm of Smoloff, faintly uttered, 
 " If I should find my mother ill ? " The idea of such a 
 calamity tempered the felicity that overwhelmed her, and 
 recovered all her strength. Again she rushes on, reaches the 
 threshold, hears the sound of a well-known voice, and calls 
 her parents in an ecstacy that almost deprives her of sense ; 
 the door opens, Stanislaus appears : at the cry he utters, 
 Phedora rushes forward ; and Elizabeth, unable to support 
 herself, falls into their extended arms. " Behold your 
 child ! " exclaimed Smoloff, " and in her the bearer of your 
 pardon : she has triumphed over every obstacle, and has 
 attained even more than she expected from the generosity 
 
1*2 2 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 of the emperor." These words added nothing to the joy of 
 the delighted parents : every sensation was absorbed in that 
 all-powerful one of happiness the sight of their child pro- 
 duced ; she is restored to them — she is never to leave them ; 
 this was to them the greatest blessing on earth. For a length 
 of time they remained in a delirium of joy that can admit 
 of no increase : a few unconnected sentences escaped from 
 their lips, but they knew not what they uttered : in vain 
 did they seek for words to express the feelings that over- 
 powered their senses ; by tears and looks only could they 
 make them understood ; and their strength, as well as their 
 reason, began to fail under excess of joy. 
 
 Smoloff prostrated himself at the feet of Stanislaus and 
 Phedora. "Ah !" he exclaimed, "condescend, m this mo- 
 ment of bliss, to regard me also as your child. Hitherto, 
 Elizabeth has condescended to distinguish me by the affec- 
 tionate name of brother ; but now, perhaps, she will permit 
 me to aspire after a title still more endearing/' 
 
 Elizabeth seized the hands of each of her parents, and 
 regarding them with looks of the tenderest affection, thus 
 spoke : " Without the aid of M. Smoloff I should not per- 
 haps have been here : it was he who conducted me into 
 the presence of the emperor; who advocated my cause; 
 who solicited your forgiveness, and who obtained it : ifc is 
 he who has been so zealously instrumental in restoring you 
 to your rights, and who has reconducted me to the bosom 
 of my beloved parents. O my mother, instruct me how 
 to convince him of my gratitude ! Teach me, my father, 
 how to requite it ! " Phedora, embracing her daughter, 
 
The Exiles of Siberia. 123 
 
 answered, "You must convince him of your gratitude by- 
 bestowing upon him your love — a love L*ke that wliich you 
 have seen me bear your father. " Stanislaus, interrupting 
 her, exclaimed in an accent of enthusiasm, " my Phe- 
 dora, who can appreciate the gift of a heart like thine ! It 
 is above all value.. But on such an occasion as this, the 
 generosity of our Elizabeth cannot be too great." Our 
 heroine, upon this, uniting the hand of Smoloff with those 
 of her parents, said to him, with a look of the most fasci- 
 nating innocence and modest timidity, "Will you, then, 
 promise me — never to leave themf' **0 Heaven" he 
 exclaimed, " am I awake % Her parents give her to me, and 
 she consents to be mine ! " His rapture was such as to 
 deprive him of further utterance : and such was the en- 
 thusiasm of his love, that at this moment he could scarcely 
 imagine there was, in the disposal of Heaven, a happiness 
 more unmingled and supreme than that he now enjoyed. 
 The transports of the mother in again beholding her child ; 
 the exultation of a father, who owed the recovery of his 
 liberty to the unprecedented efforts and magnanimity of his 
 daughter ; even the inexpressible satisfaction of Elizabeth 
 herself, who had already fulfilled the most sacred of human 
 duties, and who had evinced a virtue unparalleled, — did 
 not, in the estimation of Smoloff, appear in any degree 
 comparable to the happiness for which he was indebted to 
 love. 
 
 Were I to attempt a description of the days that fol- 
 lowed, I would represent the fond parents informing their 
 child of all the apprehensions, alarms, and anguish they 
 
124 Elizabeth; or^ 
 
 had felt during her long absence ; I would represent them 
 listening with the alternate emotions of hope and fear, to 
 the recital she gave of the diversified adventures of her long 
 and perilous journey ; I would recount the blessings which 
 her father invoked on all who had been the friends and pro- 
 tectors of his child, and shew the tender Phedora exhibit- 
 ing the lock of hair sent by Elizabeth, which she wore next 
 her heart, and which enabled her to divert the painful so- 
 citude of many a tedious hour ; I should attempt to con- 
 vey to my readers some idea of their feelings on that day 
 when the exile who brought it presented himseK at the 
 door of the cottage, to inform them how greatly he was 
 indebted to the generosity of their daughter ; I should en- 
 deavour to paint the grief excited by the narrative of her 
 sufferings, and the joy which they felt upon the recital of her 
 virtues ; and, finally, I would describe their departure from 
 their rustic habitation and from the land of exile, where 
 they had encountered so many evils, but where they had 
 likewise experienced the greatest happiness, enhanced by 
 the sorrows which had preceded it, and by the tears which 
 its acquisition had cost them ; — like the sun, whose rays 
 are never more vivid and refreshing than when they pene- 
 trate the vapours which envelope him, and reflect their 
 bright beams upon the fields and foliage bespangled with 
 dew. 
 
 Pure and spotless almost as the angels who environ the 
 throne of the Omnipotent, Elizabeth was destined to par- 
 ticipate on earth a happiness resembKng theirs, and like 
 them to live in innocence and love. 
 
The Exiles of Siberia, 125 
 
 Here I shall conclude : for when representations of hu- 
 man happiness are prolonged beyond a certain period, they 
 become fatiguing, because they become unlikely ; and the 
 moment we lose sight of the probability, the narrative 
 ceases to interest us : for we all know from experience, that 
 a perpetuity of bliss is not the lot of humanity ; and even 
 language, so copious and varied in its expression of sorrow, 
 is poor and inadequate in the delineation of joy. One day 
 of felicity is sufficient to exhaust every demonstration of 
 happiness. 
 
 I have restored Elizabeth to her parents ; by them she 
 is conducted into Poland, the place of her nativity, and re- 
 instated in the exalted rank occupied by her anoestors; 
 by them she is united to the man she prefers — to the man 
 whom even they esteem worthy of her. Here then let us 
 close, and leave her completely happy ; for were I to add 
 one page more to my story, I should be apprehensive, from 
 my own knowledge of the vicissitudes of human life, from 
 the crosses, the fallacious hopes, and fugacious as well as 
 chimerical felicity which mark its tenor, — that I should 
 have some misfortune to recount ; since temporal happiness 
 CAn never be of long duration. 
 
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 10. Helen Siddal: A Story for Children. By Ellen Palmer, 
 
 11. Mat and Sofie : A Story for Boys and Girls. 
 
 12. Peace and "War. By the Author of 'The Basket of 
 
 Flowers,' etc. 
 
 13. Perilous Adventures of a French Soldier in Algeria. 
 
 14. The Magic Glass ; or, The Secret of Happiness. 
 
 15. Hawks' Dene : A Tale for Children. By Katherine E. 
 
 May. 
 
 16. Little Maggie. And other Stories. By the Author of 
 
 * The Joy of Well-Doing,' etc. etc. 
 
 17. The Brother's Legacy ; or, Better than Gold, By 
 
 M. M. Pollard. 
 
poolis publis^tb bg SSillrant ^. fimmo. 
 
 NIMMO'S SIXPENNY 
 
 Demy 18mo, Illustrated, handsomely 
 
 1. Pearls for Little People. 
 
 2. Great Lessons for Little 
 
 People. 
 
 3. Keason in Rhyme : A 
 
 Poetry Book for the Young. 
 
 4. 5Isop's Little Fable Book. 
 
 5. Grapes from the Great 
 
 Vine. 
 
 6. The Pot of Gold. 
 
 JUVENILE BOOKS. 
 
 bound in cloth, price 6d. each. 
 
 7. Story Pictures from the 
 
 Bible. 
 
 8. The Tables of Stone : 
 
 Illustrations of the Com- 
 mandments. 
 
 9. Ways of Doing Good, 
 
 0. Stories about our Dogs. 
 
 By Harriet Beechkr 
 Stowe. 
 
 1. The Red- Winged Goose. 
 
 2. The Hermit of the Hills. 
 
 NEVJ VOLUMES. 
 
 13 
 
 14. 
 
 Effie's Christmas, and 
 
 other Stories. By Ade- 
 laide AuSTEN^. 
 
 A Visit to Grandmother, 
 
 and other Stories for the 
 Youn^. 
 
 r 5. Bible Stories for Young 
 People. By A. Austen. 
 The Little Woodman and 
 his Dog Caesar. By Mrs. 
 Shkrwood. 
 Among the Mountains : 
 
 Tales for the Young. By 
 Adelaidk Austkn. 
 
 Little Gems for Little 
 
 Readers. 
 
 Do your Duty, come what 
 
 will, and other Stories for 
 the Young. 
 
 16, 
 
 17 
 
 18. 
 19. 
 
 20. Noble Joe: A Tale for 
 
 Children. By Adelaide 
 Austen. 
 
 21. Lucy Vernon, and other 
 
 Stories for the Young. 
 
 2 2. Anecdotes of Favourite 
 
 Animals told for Children. 
 By Adelaide Austen. 
 
 23. Little Henry and his 
 
 Bearer. By Mrs. Sher- 
 wood. 
 
 24. The Holidays at Wilton, 
 
 and other Stories. By 
 Adelaidk Austen. 
 
 25. Ohryssie Lyle : A Tale 
 
 for the Young. By Cecil 
 Scott. 
 
 NIMMO'S FOURPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS. 
 
 The above Series of Books is also kept in Paper Covers, elegantly 
 printed in Colours, price 4d. each. 
 
 *** The distinctive features of the Sixpenny, Ninepenny, and One Shilling 
 Juvenile Books are : The Subjects of each Volume have been selected with a due 
 regard to Instruction and Entertainment; they are well printed on fine paper; 
 they are Illustrated with Colonred Frontispieces and beautiful Engravings ; and 
 they are elegantly bound. 
 
.# 
 
M123645 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA UBRARY