“When God’s finger touches the earth, mountains grow on the plains and smokes, the lava inside the earth bubbling. And the earth – the parent in pain, in shaking births people, people of greatness. Where's their name? In the large age there must be greatness. The earth was touched by God's finger, lava splattered with fire for a year, human hearts burned, people burned, and saddles burned. Greatness, where is your name?”
A reading about 1863 was given by Józef Piłsudski on 20 January 1924 in the area “Coloseum” in Warsaw.
1863 stands at the turn of our history; old Poland dies – fresh is born. At the turn of past there becomes an epochal event – the uprising of our nation, the armed struggle, long lasting, long-filled with blood and the fire of our land. On the threshold of modern social life are events of 1863. A immense wall grows, dividing generations from generations, making fresh life, closing old ones, – a wall on which the written numbers 1, 8, 6, 3 are poured out with fire. These numbers were burned consciously for the thinking, ignorantly for everyone, creating and shaping the souls of a new, populous Pole, – fresh soul collapses, another nerves, a completely different way of feeling and reacting. Under the influence of accidents of 1863 another Poland is born with a different view of life and its tasks. The effects go so far that it can be said that today, even erstwhile a kid is born, he is burdened with 1863.
A large year and, it would seem, being great, he would gotta deserve what the greatness of each deserves – the work of history; and yet the past of our year omits carefully, he throws his gaze at the fiery figures as if fearsome, leaving us only a legend. Each size creates a legend, it goes hand in hand with all size, striving with it to the grave, on its grave stands, like a weeping willow, in a grave inactive guarding greatness. History, however, rejects the shell and shell of legends, seeks the fact of life, the core of fact scallops and shows before the eyes.
"Habent sua fata libelli," says the proverb, have their unusual fates of the book. They besides have their unusual fates and years and numbers. The 1863 numbers must have belonged to the unfortunate numbers. Meaninging so much for us, tying so much in the lives of the nation, they were not fortunate in past and literature, they find only their surrogates — legends and anecdotes. So erstwhile present in free Poland and its capital I am to talk about 1863, legends I do not want, I want to give you the fact not in my words; I want graves to speak! And if I can do a miracle of resurrection, and in this room, the surviving flowers of the graves are gushing, speaking with their pains, giving the odor of the surviving flowers of life then, I will be happy, for with my heart I erstwhile bit the truth, seeking in a large year the greatness of my nation, seeking in a large movement the greatness of my homeland.
Let the graves be called among you, let them talk their own language--not legend. We all, the grave-diggers of the uprising, seem to know very well 1 legend of national consent, of the brotherly harmony of all, of hands, given to brotherly embrace with a teardrop of sentiment in the eyes. The legend, whispered to all of us with reproach, the legend of rose oil, which we have frequently attempted to suppress, cast like a pattern, for the naughty children of the homeland. Was it true? What was the relation between the parties at the time?
There were 3 of them – Multipolics, Whites and Reds. The 3 large powers which the Polish planet of that time moved and were strong in the large historical year. The first, small, but strong work and greatness, and the power of its leader – margrabie Wielopolski. The strength of character, a large steel man with large will, had a tiny number of helpers and friends. What did he do? utilizing the weakening of the invader after the failure of the Crimean war, playing on personnel changes in the surroundings of the fresh Tsar (Aleksandra II – ed.), he worked on confounding offices in Poland, removing the remains of traces of the era of erstwhile Tsar Mikołaj and his favourite, politician of Warsaw, Paskiewicz (Iwan Fedorowicz Paskiewicz – for a 4th of a century he led a harsh anti-Polish policy – ed.). The full government apparatus became Polish, and the reborn Main School has so far been a monument to his merit. He treated the society of Wielopolski with contempt, demanding only obedience. He forced his proceeding by violent means, and he was no different from the invaders who gave him hands and apparatus to do so. The main habitat of the Whites, the Agricultural Society, closed with rape, individual people pursued and bullied worse than Paskiewicz. Red hated, like individual enemies, imprisoned, tortured, spied on co-op with the Tsar police. He may have utilized all his large strength of character to hatred abuse of 1 and the another from despised biases. He and his organization were repaid. He was cursed of the nation, hated possibly more than invaders, Moscals identified with them in all the publications at the time.
When the uprising broke out, erstwhile rifles and rifles were thundered in the forests, the insurgents were sang after the camps known to date: “Stop, Czar, stand still, fight continued.” In this song, possibly the top was sung by the verse “Because to him (car) the designer gave the plan how to extinguish the heat.” "Margraf" is Wielopolski, whose title of margrabie has been broken for greater contempt. So they fought and fought the Tsar and the margrave. Where, then, is national unity? After all, this is an crucial civilian war in the strictest sense of the word.
I take another parties. So we have a large, large number of Poles of the White Party. At the head of the venerable figure of Zamoyski (h). What's the truth? Let the graves speak. I open the book of the latest, most digested, written with the trembling hand of an old man coming down to his grave. The hand, led by reason, which pain had digested, what he sought a short, as irritant as possible fact about 1863. Half — a diary, half — the communicative of Józef Janowski, a associate of the National Government from the outbreak until the collapse of the movement. I open this book at the prepared period: talking about the Whites, their attitude to those in the war of 1863 led, their attitude to those who are the content and essence of the outbreak of 1863: “The full organization of the Central Committee treated (White) contemptuously, calling it the work of snotters and fools.” Short term, not to mention "treuga Dei".
Let another grave speak. There is simply a well-known Polish writer, valued so far by many. The grin on your face is good erstwhile you talk about Clement Junosha, this storyteller, this wonderful observer of life. He lived in those days, belonged to the White organization and left his memories.
Before the outbreak (as far as I remember in January 1863) the White Directorate ordered its commissioners in the state to examine the state of mind. And here's Clement Junosha, as manager of the directorate, is investigating his area. Who does he survey there, where he seeks to know life? Freely, in a cheerful almost ton, he writes: the Reds' typical in the town was a pharmacist, a well-known fool who was not worth going to. The lava is bubbling inside the ground – next day the burning lava will spill after touching the red one, but it is not worth talking to them. Who to go to? To an ancient Israeli, a local merchant, to talk to him about the Reds and learn from him about the state of things. “Treuga Dei” – where are you?
Let's keep moving, another grave says. Oksiński (Józef Oksiński – ed.) on a wonderful card of his memoirs tells about the beginnings of the uprising. Sam is Red from the then military school in Cuneo – it was a kind of shooting school before the war of 1914. He is sent by Sigismund Padlewski, chief of the uprising, and gives him instructions. In a week, it will take place in an explosion, and Padlewski says, “I am sending you to be executed, there are Whites, there are no Poles.” To whom does he send Oksiński to make an uprising? To the secret Moscow organization “Earths and Wola”, these addresses give him, disdainfully treating “non-Poles”, the Whites.
Interesting and beautiful is the scene in this diary. Oksiński arrives in Kaliskie, with no data on those fewer Reds who are sinking somewhere in the sea of white heads. How's he looking for them? How strong were the disputes, how vivid they were, indicates a characteristic way he found these Reds. Oksiński goes to the inn, where collected local, so to speak, the intelligence of political dispute is going on. Oksiński looks at the gathered and sees among them 1 stoned, reddish individual. He guesses that this must be the 1 that represents a tiny number and feels hurt, so this is Red – and he goes without a box. Yes – it's Red, due to the fact that he was caught, beaten and kicked morally in an inn.
This is the beginning of the uprising. In Biała Podlaska Rogiński, a young man prepares an explosion, organizing towns and surrounding areas. A day to collect, a place to collect. Roginski's at his place waiting. In the firestorm, at night, burgeoning before going out to fight rush to church to reconcile with God. They go to confession to be cleansed of their sins. Priests of absolution do not give, saying, “You go to murder, to robbery, to absolution there is no absolutity!” Roginski sees how crucial work, his full work, begins to wobble. After a minute of hesitation on energy, he throws himself at the church to force the absolution at the priest with a warrant, a scream, a threat of death sentences. He demands absolution. Where are you, o you, treuga Dei? In the tabernacle of God, civilian war is fought!...
Let's keep moving. The uprising broke out, lava from the volcano went to the ground, we are in a camp of 1 of the large – Langiewicz. Poles come to him and donate money so that he can just dissolve the camp home to leave the mad work alone. And erstwhile Langiewicz repelles these proposals, they go to the Moscow authorities, telling them about the camp's decomposition, its strength. Where are you, tearful “treuga Dei”?
We're going to camp two. Here is an old wolf, an old veteran of the 30th year, known in the past of Czachowski (Dionyzy Czachowski – ed.), a hard man, ruthless towards the subordinates, by his constantly whip. Batem forces obedience, keeps the army in his hand, forces him to work, ruthless to himself, ruthless to all. This is simply a description of various visits by Czachowski. To modest whites, whites not only in terms of external appearance, the manors arrive, whipping the owners, ordering the props, punishing those resistant to the National Government. Bata wouldn't let go. And where are you, Treuga Dei?
Let's keep moving. The uprising broke out in various places, fires, towns burning, wounded killing. In Warsaw, Whites gather, they bring from various sides to the capital the remains of the directorate, the remnants of the Whites, unstopped by the uprising in the province. They divided into groups. any hesitate, others go to the Moscow authorities at once, asking that as shortly as possible in blood suppress madness, without taking work for it, seeking to escape the burden of responsibility, which weighs over the country.
We go further to the large ones, to those whom the very movement on the forehead of work has advanced. The Central National Committee at its first sitting, announcing itself as the National Government, decided to give power to the dictator. Despite interior disputes, despite individual aversion, 1 was chosen. This 1 was Mierosławski, what do we know about Mierosławski? But he is simply a civilian war! Legends, osnute close Mierosławski, say: Poland will be free before – I do not callback this term, but, I think, there is talk about the death of the last priest. His legend bodes for civilian war.
Let's go to the second dictator then – Langiewicz. We'll find the same thing, in less, possibly bright form. Although he is simply a dictator in Krakow against Mierosławski by a vague, not very consistent with the average ethic of intrigue, in secret from the National Government (on 10 March 1863 the biases about the White, opposing Mierosławski, proclaimed the dictatorship of Langiewicz. Langiewicz was persuaded to declare himself dictator Adam hr. Grabowski, claiming to be a typical of the National Government – ed.) is left for fear of this “red devil”, in letters already written in prison, after the fall of his dictatorship, phrases and terms, disputing with the Whites. He makes accusations, uses widely known in those times and passionately by the White battled slogans, words and arguments.
Allow me, gentlemen, to bring up individual memories. I knew 1 of the large insurgents with whom I was in sincere, loving friendship. It was known as Bronisław Szwarce, a associate of the Central Committee, arrested before the outbreak itself. erstwhile I came to him with theories about the "treuga Dei", with a tearful legend, he waved at me impatiently with his hand, and his mouth was filled with words of bile, words of contempt, words of joke, – a joke, digesting the heart.
erstwhile I survey the era, erstwhile I decision on this history, I meet mainly provocation, Polish provocation. Margaria Wielopolskia has forced the outbreak of the uprising. Moscow authorities went back, did not want to usage the delicate mediate of the brand, put it on more and more another dates ; margrave Wielopolski forced this branch on Moscow power. So, we have almost a civilian war. Where are you, “treuga Dei” tear! Where are you, legend? erstwhile the graves talk – you vanish like a illusion!
When I survey this era and compare it with others, I can safely say: people were volcanoes at the time, beating in them what was in them – contempt, aversion, hatred, close to civilian war. And erstwhile I compare the life of my people in different epochs, I know only 2 epochs, akin to this "treuga Dei." One, erstwhile God's finger touched our land and volcanoes gushed to make us Herculanum and Pompeii forever, the hot ash of the volcano, as in the grave to fill – there we find the same hatred, there we find the same fight, there was civilian war.
And the second is an era when, among the volcanoes of the world, our land was one more time over the torrents of hot lava, erstwhile these Herculanum and Pompeii, in graves buried, from the ashes living, became our age. The legend of “treuga Dei”, about national peace, must vanish erstwhile the fact of past is touched. At that time, she was not in Poland.
There is simply a second legend, a legend of sentiment, a teardrop mist, floating above graves, covering them with black veil, mourning. Everything covered with tears, tears, lives everything. This legend is not worth dealing with. Where do we see a man who shoots, cries, where we see a fight in tears and sorrow? Real images give a different character—sute chamares, burnt shoes, a mustache curved, a whimpering look, a happy dance around the campfire, any sentimental note sounds in the court—this is the last mazur, where Mr.Krzysia dances a teardrop of rosy. This was the life of the time, the life of the fighting, the life of the unrest. You'd go to death freely, you'd go to dance with death as cheerfully as you'd go to dance with a girl.
There is inactive a legend sad and so terrible...
So little, so stupid, so just crazy? And this large age, which for years lies in the heart of Poland or shadow, or thorn bleeding, which the life of respective generations of a large nation digests, is so monstrously small, is so ridiculous, so stupid? This legend of small sense of 1863 patterns does not leave us. A lenient grin – that's all. We know this legend. We are possibly more children of this legend than any other.
When God’s finger touches the earth, mountains grow on the plains and smoke, the lava heat inside the earth bubbling. And the earth – the parent in pain, in shaking births people, people of greatness. Where's their name? In the large age there must be greatness. The earth was touched by God's finger, lava splattered with fire for a year, human hearts burned, people burned, and saddles burned. The size, where's your name?
I remember my tragedy erstwhile I sought it, and erstwhile I met legend, I rejected 1 after another.
There's a legend that it was just crazy. I am horrified – there is no large age of greatness, so the earth is cursed by God, and the lips whitened in fear whisper: possibly the end? And this terrible legend spread, like plague, like epidemic, among the generations of the post-burials of the 1863 uprising. I looked like a possessed man, and I couldn't accept it.
The size, where's your name? The biggest name is margrave! I wanted to love him for greatness, for he had the pride and greatness of his nation. I see a wonderful scene – the winter palace in immense St. Petersburg, a large army of dignitaries waiting for the entrance of the Tsar, waiting – standing, humbly and patiently – margrave sits. erstwhile he was asked to rise, due to the fact that the Russian majesty is to enter at this moment, he replied, “I will only emergence before my king.” He wasn't a slave, large strength, large pride. He fell, stifled by the rim of bayonets on 1 side and on the another side, fell under the force of contempt, frequently crushed by the insult of hatred. There's no size, you had to look somewhere else. The size, where's your name? I've been looking everywhere, and they've been looking and putting the people they found on their foreheads. We have 2 dictators. In this blind obedience to God’s finger, 2 men were sought and 2 were raised. 1 is the dictator Mierosławski, the another is the dictator – Langiewicz. No uncertainty bigger than others, no uncertainty people were not small. Both became entangled in dictatorial networks, almost operetta dictatorships, dictatorships in the firing of a two-tube hunting, a dead dictatorship, a dead birthed bloody farce, the ridiculousness surrounding these characters. There's no greatness. I looked elsewhere. The oldest man in the movement, Agaton Giller, stepped back at the last minute. A journalist, twisted for the publicist's needs the ruling and the words of chief chief, Padlewski. I looked somewhere else: ba, they're bigger! Here is simply a strong figure, of steel forged – Jarosław Dąbrowski, a immense interior force, provided by Red Chief, throws himself behind bars, imprisoned before the explosion, sits in a citadel, behind bars fever of action digests him, throws fever, strong plans, throws them behind bars, dictates warrants. His hands are bound, behind the bars a ghost alive, a body dead.
His deputy, Padlewski, a beautiful knightly figure, a semi-aristocrat, a semi-conspirator and demagog. And there's no size here. I'm looking for another strong, first-class men of the era. The size, where's your name? There are others – young Bobrowski (Stefan Bobrowski – ed.), rapidly appearing in the eyes. We see how this young man matures in 1 hr with grey experience, grey work. They're already pushing him to his forehead, he's a large influence. He barely shows up in Warsaw, he's already called to the highest work, and... by a scumbag in a duel he gets killed.
He then throws the communicative at the end of a larger Traugutt character. Where is he erstwhile God's finger touches the Polish land? With the Whites, sitting in the Lithuanian wilderness, he hesitates, fears. There's no greatness. They're mocking us, descendants. The size, where's your name?
So a legend of foolishness, a legend of madness, a legend of historical nonsense, so bloodyly plucking the entrails of the nation, instilling people with weakness, suffocating humiliation, a terrible grin of regret and cold reason! The size, where's your name? I was looking. In the battles, in the past of the war, I did not find this. Let the graves speak, let them give a flower alive, let the size of the age of origin leave us a pattern, let it teach us.
When I was reading, erstwhile I was looking, erstwhile I was examining, I found out slow what the movement was holding so long. I couldn't accept the smallness of the large things that she could do so that the madness itself, the laughter itself, could force the large Tsar state, having thousands of soldiers for its services, a immense method of state work, prisons and whips, a full year, 365 days of war with weakness and madness. You should be strong not to give in to a fight like this. The size, where's your name?
I was looking feverishly. The large age of large men did not give, or more of, this day's unrepentant obstacles to the road. Where the large in akin times are lacking, people search a symbol of strength, a symbol of their value, in institutions, in symbolic freaks.
In 1863 there was specified a symbol, which was strong, but – sometimes mastered people. It was the seal of the National Government.
I saw her in various museums – a part of paper with fine writing, and at the bottom a seal. It was a symbol of strength. What did the seal do, what did the people behind that seal do?
For the characteristics of the work of the stamp and people who defender its seriousness and importance in the nation, I will first of all mention any memories of the state of the preparatory work before the detonation of the standing. 1 of the great, Miłkowski (Jeż), before the outbreak, came undergroundly to Warsaw and was amazed by the power of the organization. All the horse message he was driving, and which then replaced the nonexistent rights and railways, was in the hands of the organization. "The authoritative of our Government is going, horses are being tied, let others wait". “Our government is coming!” The trumpet of the maillion plays and in the forest falls into the tons of the mazurka Dąbrowski. The full post office works, works for its government, erstwhile there is officially another 1 to be fought by armed forces. An old friend of mine, Szwarka, told me a minute of his arrest before the uprising. He had government papers on him, felt he was about to be taken, and what did he do with the papers? He jumped into the first better store, threw it on the counter and shouted, “The Central Committee Papers, Government Papers!” present these papers would be sold on the stock market! Then they were kept with respect and given to whom they were due. How large the society must have been at that time, how strong the desire to voluntarily submit to moral compulsion, erstwhile they could overcome the force of material malformation, which was so dense on all Poles.
Let us now look at the work of the seal and its people in the time of its highest power. This is Marian Dubiecki, who wrote a valuable work in the blood, who carefully collected data, how the centre works, describes how in Warsaw, flooded with troops, there were 2 governments: one, the 1 in steel chained, reigned officially, the another – the 1 who must submit, the 1 who hides in corners, the invisible, fighting a large fight, lasting a year. How does he work? erstwhile I was scared, the old conspiratorial chastity moved these works, I burst out with laughter – again specified jesters! Mass of writing, regulation of insignificant life phenomena, taking into account the smallest questions, offices, dicasters. Where? – in the flooded army of Warsaw, where patrols kept going around the street, where a man without a flashlight on the streets in the evening is not expected to go out, due to the fact that he must illuminate his spies. Under these conditions, offices, ministries, writing giant foils, submitting written secret reports, besieged offices, crowds of people, faint tails, entering the secret authorities office themselves. I wanted to laugh, the old conspirator, erstwhile I read it. Why would they do that, what's the job, what's the joke?
And yet the laughter froze on my lips erstwhile in my studies of memories, over memoir literature, I erstwhile encountered the effects of this strange, almost improbable work of people standing outside the seal of central authorities. I'm going back to Junosha's memories. From “White”, looking for the fact about “Red” in Israel, he turned into Commissioner of the National Government – most likely in Łęczycki. He owns a stamp, or alternatively a stamp paper – a symbol of his government power. His nomination is on the paper. It has a second clean paper with a stamp on it. He is to enter his successor’s name and surname at his discretion erstwhile he is no longer able to carry on his work. In memoirs, full of humor and surviving apt observation, there are bright details of work and lots of trifles, worked carefully in the center. Life is carefully regulated, frequently in small, everyday matters. You sense what you do. This is done by the visible and tangible hand of the government for all the people of the country, despite the fact that the National Government is nameless, despite the fact that there is another government, a government of force and invasion, despite the fact that the war is going on in the country, the war with all the severity of its rights towards people and their lives. I remember the organization of communication and care of the armed forces of Poland forming in the district. In all manor stable, there's a saddled on-call horse, next to an on-call unchangeable boy... There is simply a informing message running, an alarm message – Russian troops from somewhere. The boy sits down a foal and rushes over the bows, fields to the next designated station, the news precedes the movements of the enemy horse, reaches the designated goal with a warning.
Let's look for another paintings. Anxiety times, the country runs by a bunch of men armed and fighting. As usual in moments like this, life for those who don't carry weapons is hard, as usual, abuse. any of them run complaints to the Government. I know from my diary 1 of those accidents. 1 of the commanders of a tiny branch – speaking a more modern language – bandit. An order is being sent to the territory commander, Czachowski. The government orders the death of a bandit, and Czachowski, who does not know 1 of the members of this Government, who does not really know their names, himself pursued by the enemy, makes a peculiar expedition to find the guilty. He gets him, and after reading the sentence, he'll have him executed immediately.
Here are again further descriptions of the work of the National Government police in the capital city of Warsaw. The work of 2 Janks — white and black (talking about Jan Karłowicz, Warden of the Warsaw Police for the National Government, known under the pseudonym Janek Biały and Jan Massona, bearing the pseudonym Janek Black – ed.). erstwhile you decision these cards, you may seem to read a communicative from a 1000 and 1 nights.
I'm reading a diary from Łęczycki. any officer, an instructor, who collected a unit there as if there was a area around. The courier runs with a informing – an army is sent to them. So they hide their weapons and stand to work at the harvest to return to the soldier’s work, to exercise. What a crazy constituency of will in specified people, how much common help! How many crazy efforts of the spirit it took to accomplish a small thing! What does this consistency make? I quote Junosha from this: a Russian officer, managing the county, was transferred to another place, leaving with his family. He wants to keep his household safe on the journey around the country where the war is going, he wants to be legally in that country. What's he looking for? He's looking for another government pass, his own warrant isn't enough, there's another government, our Polish government, he'll defend him.
I take for the evidence of our enemy, Berg (Mikoła Berg – ed.), his “Insurrection records”. What do we find? A description of 1 of the scenes can service as instruction in the present times. A recently appointed Russian authoritative arrives in Warsaw. Standing at the hotel, knocking on the door. A payment order for taxes. From who? In whose name? On behalf of the Polish Government. And the Moscow authoritative pays the taxation to the secret government, the seal government.
We're moving on. Somewhere in the collapsed Sandomierz, there's this crazy Russian officer in love with a horse. The horse is his life. Suddenly, a horse is stolen, no horse. mediocre man's life was poisoned, he lacked a friend, he lacked life. Searching, sending out patrols. The government of force is giving it its help. A horse if it's not, it's not. The officer despairs, goes crazy. A wise Israeli advises him: “You are not looking there, you request to search in the government!” — “What government?” – "Not with this, it is different, they will find, if you turn to them." And the officer turns back by the Jew, pays the tax, pays the application stamp, and after 3 days, the horse is returned to him.
National police are pressing into Moscow offices, tracking prisons, overseeing the work of the National Government, secret works. How many memorable clergy, how many unforgettable legends were created then, to which after the 1930s I constantly encountered in my work among the Warsaw workers. They lived the life of flowers, with their wonderful scent, enthralling the large work of men, the work of a vast amount of effort, the large amount of will to make the government their own strong.
Let's decision for a while to where the uprising lasted the longest. In 1864 Fr.Brzózek was commanded by the Podlasie people. Of all Polish districts, the uprising was the strongest. Ravicz (Wladyslaw Rawicz – ed.), a erstwhile White, headed the organization of the government. He rapidly organized the government's work, brought everything that lived into the organization. He died in the gallows.
May I be allowed to choose from these memories possibly the most original, seeming to be something improbable, and testifying to the tremendous power of proposition that the strong authority of the National Government had. They concern the many judaic participation in the uprising. The organization was based everywhere on a scheme. There was a Christian mayor and a judaic mayoral assistant in the town. And I remember from the memories of 1 young Jew, whose most dangerous expeditions were handed over, who mass-delivered and who, as the only grace, asked for any smallest discrimination from the Polish government. In my life, I have encountered the tradition of this work. During the nipponese War, in conspiracy work, I got lost in Siedlec. I was recommended, as an address, to a mill that was actually a simple paint store and a host, a good fat man, was expected to welcome me. I besides came to him as an emissary of specified a seal, as a man without a surname, but of whom he knew he was more, an emissary of any power. So he accepted me with due reverence. After a longer conversation, erstwhile I had settled all his affairs, he fell to me with any extraordinary sympathy, and before leaving he said to me: “We cannot part like this, let me say goodbye to you the top memorial.” And out of the ceiling of his mill he pulled out 2 small papers wrapped in paperwork. The seals of the National Government were on them. I'm asking where it came from. He's telling me a story. “These papers passed through the hell of the Siberian cathorga and returned to Poland. specified a mayor's assistant – a Jew, having returned from the katorga, in a fresh life incapable to find a place for himself, due to the fact that he sailed from 1 shore, and to another he did not come, in cramps and pains dying, this holiness, preserved from the katorga, the father of this craftsmen gave. – Now this heir to the tradition of Rawicz's work shares this holiness with me, like a wafer; he left me 1 card, and gave me another to live later.
The stamp frequently ordered heavy, unbearable responsibilities for the crowds. I know those sad laws of war, I know them from the stories of people who have been through these most hard duties. In the city, the insurgent was executed. The government's command is, "You must be there, with bold eyes look into the convict's eyes, let him die among his own."
Silence was behind the streets as drums roared. They looked into the eyes of death, told the convict: you go to death, but we are with you.
It's a miracle of strength, a miracle of the National Government, a miracle of any size. erstwhile I threw over the past cards of the National Government, I asked myself, "Where was the dispute with this wonderful "treuga Dei" where were the passions that played so vividly at the outbreak?" Did the Reds and the Whites, 1 and the other, change into pink and rose water and pour themselves together to calm their own? No! No! People became people, and with them passions and their strength. They were able to overcome, and in this triumph even the small men stood to work as men worthy of their age.
The size, where's your name?
The year 1863 gave an unknown greatness, the greatness of which the planet doubts now, erstwhile it speaks of us, the greatness, denying all that we talk of ourselves, the greatness of the miracle of work, the large mass force, the collective effort force of will, the moral force,—not the "treuga Dei" of collective shua, not the "treuga Dei" of cowards, but the "treuga Dei" of men who, in the large hr erstwhile God's finger of the earth touched, grow into giants of tremendous moral work.
When I number the layers of open ground
And I see the bones, what as banners
Forces lost under the advanced ridges
They lie—and bear witness to God, skeletons—
I see he's not just worms.
God and this creature that creeps (Słowacki, “Beniowski”, Song V).
And erstwhile again, erstwhile I ask the question, size, where's your name? I find the answer: the greatness of our nation in the large era of 1863 existed, and it relied on the only possibly in the past of our government, which, unknown by name, was so respected and so listened to, that envy could be aroused in all countries and in all nations.
When God's finger touched our land again, erstwhile the lava of fire rained upon it again, as our land threshed under a million cannons, as it burned from the fire, as the eyes shining in the sun of bayonets struck, as the sky sprained from the missiles, as the rots behind the rots, as the regiments mingled with 1 another, that with its sticky blood might pour down our land, I was among them. I remember a minute that, as a symbol, one more time casts me shadows of the past. In the very beginning of the war, I followed the road where the princely residence of the large margrave stands. A large castle deserted, almost ruined, a immense courtyard grows weed. Where the castle hall – the camp. I was there and I watched – the shadows of the past come back. erstwhile I closed my eyes for a moment, the large character of margrave stood before me. A fat body, based on a stick, with a contemptible look on its face. Again, his voice was called, “The same again—but you, and your little, little, wicked, small hero!”
Poland is hard to deal with, frequently Poles are thrown in distress.
And erstwhile fear strikes you in the sleep,
And erstwhile you woke up in your bed, they fell,
And you will hear that your roofs tremble
And they slam like a bone erstwhile it burns—
When the cold death takes you under your arms,
He will show God and before him (Słowacki, “Beniowski”, Song XII).
– then know: from the grave, from the graves of 1863, a surviving shadow arises, a shadow of the size of an era, a shadow of the National Government, and then the graves cry out with a terrible voice: “Go and do!”
