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Government was dismayed by the attempted assassination of General Trepoff, the chief of that Third Section of the Imperial Chancellerie which has the control of the gendarmerie of the empire. On the 5th of February, 1878, he was shot down in the streets of St. Petersburg by a young woman, formerly a medical student, and named Vera Sassoulitch. In consequence of her acquaintance with Netchaïeff she had been subjected to a constant supervision by the police, and goaded almost to desperation by their persecutions. The "Committee" had, therefore, but little difficulty in persuading her to avenge a flogging which Bogobjuloff, a Nihilist, had been subjected to for some infraction of prison discipline. It should be added that Bogobjuloff was a perfect stranger to her, and that she had never even seen him. The Government was advised not to treat her as a political offender, but rather as an ordinary criminal, and to have her case decided by a jury. Her trial, which took place at St. Petersburg, caused an immense sensation throughout Russia. Here again the presiding judges behaved in a most unaccountable manner, and allowed the proceedings to be carried on as if General Trepoff were the accused and Vera Sassoulitch the injured party. The consequence was, that the jury brought in a verdict acquitting the prisoner of a crime to which she herself had pleaded guilty, and the judges directed that she should be set at liberty. The verdict was received with the most frantic applause, not only by the persons present in the court, but also by a large crowd of students and others who filled the street. One young student present appears to have completely lost his head on receiving the news. Drawing a revolver from his pocket, he suddenly fired a first shot at a policeman, with a second he seriously wounded a poor woman who was standing next to him, while with a third he blew his own brains out. Vera Sassoulitch managed to escape from the supervision of the police officials of the Third Section, and is at the present moment living near Geneva.

The baneful effects of her trial soon became perceptible-political assassinations grew to be quite the fashion. On the 17th of August of the same year General Menzentsoff, who had succeeded General Trepoff as chief of the Third Section, was shot in the streets of St. Petersburg by a young man who managed to effect his escape. Baron Heyking, commanding the gendarmerie at Kiev, and Prince Krapotkin, the Governor of Kharkov, were also murdered in the course of the summer. General Drenteln, who had undertaken the direction of the Third Section after the assassination of General Menzentsoff, was shot in the early part of 1879, and matters have culminated in the recent attempt to

murder the Czar with which the world is even now ringing. Of late, however, the Nihilists appear to have changed their tactics to some extent, and to have adopted the famous prescription of Hippocrates, according to which, when medicines and the knife are powerless to heal, fire should be tried (“Quod medicamina et ferrum non sanant, ignis sanat "). Arson has become the order of the day, and conflagrations have increased to an enormous extent. During the month of last June alone thirty-five hundred fires broke out in St. Petersburg, Orenburg, Koslow, Irkutsk, and Uralsk, destroying property to the amount of twelve million rubles; only nine hundred of these fires could be properly accounted for, the remaining twenty-six hundred being attributed to Nihilistic incendiaries. There is no doubt but that the Committee has considerable funds at its disposal. Agencies are maintained at Berlin, Paris, and London, where traveling Nihilists are fraternally received and provided with money and the necessaries of life. However, when their resources are too heavily taxed, they have no hesitation about levying black-mail. Thus, for instance, during the past summer, two wealthy St. Petersburg merchants received anonymous letters from the Committee requesting sums of twenty thousand and thirty thousand rubles respectively, and threatening them with a violent death in case of refusal. The merchants in question lost no time in complying with the demands made upon their purses, and, when blamed for not having sought the protection of the Government, replied with some justice, "If the chief of the police is unable to protect his own person from attacks, how can we possibly expect efficient protection?"

The attempt on the Emperor's life in April last caused such consternation that the Government thought it necessary to proclaim martial law in the greater part of European Russia. Six military Governor-Generals have been appointed with the fullest powers to suspend, when they think it expedient, any of the ordinary police and judicial proceedings. Nihilists are now tried by courts-martial, which are conducted in a more dignified and expeditious manner than the civil tribunals.

While referring to the latter, we would avail ourselves of the opportunity to offer a word of explanation concerning the astonishing conduct of the judges, to which we have before referred. When trial by jury and the West-European mode of judicial proceedings were first adopted in Russia in the year 1865, great fear was expressed as to the difficulty which there would be in obtaining judges sufficiently independent of any influence on the part of the Government and the aristocracy to administer justice equitably.

The new judges, who were not chosen from the highest social grades, accordingly imagined that it was their duty to give both to the Government and to the aristocracy every proof of their independence, and, in fact, rather overdid the matter. Whenever the lower classes came into conflict with either the aristocracy or the Government, the judges invariably decided in favor of the former, no matter how unjustly. Little by little they grew accustomed to look upon themselves as the representatives of the people, and as their protectors against the oppressions of the Government. It is, indeed, difficult to understand how the Russian Government can ever have hoped that men of real talent and conscience would consent to take any part in so half-hearted a concern as the new judicial system in Russia. On the one hand we have the open courts of justice with their juries and freedom of discussion, while on the other we find the notorious Third Section of the Imperial Chancellerie with its army of gendarmes, and with its power without trial to imprison, and to punish with penal servitude or exile to Siberia, at its pleasure. The newly instituted judicial system is comparatively useless, since, even when the judge and jury acquit an offender, he is liable to be immediately seized and punished by the Section for state reasons.

With the exception of the emancipation of the serfs, almost all of the well-intentioned reforms of Alexander II. have been nullified by the action of this Third Section, the chief of which has often been nicknamed the "Vice-Emperor." For instance, the municipal district and provincial assemblies are powerless to adopt any measure until they have obtained not only the approval of the Minister of the Interior and of the Governor of the province, but also the consent of the commandant of the gendarmerie of the

place who represents the Third Section. It is deeply to be regretted that, when the Czar determined to institute these municipal district and provincial assemblies, he did not go one step further and institute a national assemby; a House of Representatives chosen by the nation is the only possible remedy in the present state of things. By his somewhat too hasty reforms in the early part of his reign, the Emperor gave his people a taste of liberty, and allowed them to acquire a taste for self-government, until then unknown in Russia. They now demand that this concession should be more fully developed. There are at the present moment many loyal and devoted subjects of the Czar, who would be horrified at the bare idea of becoming Nihilists themselves, and who yet regard the proceedings of these destructives with a certain degree of complacency, hoping that it will force the Government to concede that which even the Mikado of Japan has granted to his people-namely, a Constitution. A Parliament controlling the national expenditure, protecting individual liberty, and demanding of the Third Section an account of its actions, would not only have the effect of restoring the financial credit of Russia, but would, by admitting the people to a share of the sovereignty, rally to the side of the Government many excellent and liberal-minded men who are increasingly dissatisfied with the present state of affairs.

Nihilism deprived of the larger portion of its raison d'être—namely, stifled discontent-would quickly lose the most capable of its adherents, and would probably prove as fleeting and unstable as are most of the impulses and ideas of the Russian mind.

FRITZ CUNLIFFE-OWEN (The Nineteenth
Century).

POEMS BY FRANÇOIS COPPÉE.

[Now that De Musset, Gautier, Baudelaire, and others of the choir of French poets are gone, and Victor Hugo, the Nestor and primate among them all, is drawing near the end of his long career, the question naturally presents itself, Who are to take the places which they have left vacant in French literature? To the worshipers of M. Hugo, the suggestion that any one can fill the "portentous void" which his death must create will savor of irreverence; but even to these worshipers at an exclusive shrine, however, the idea that the lesser gods may be replaced will not seem irrational; and one turns with interest and hope to those newly-arisen singers whose notes are beginning to make them

selves heard above the confused murmur of the general choir.

A high, if not the highest, rank among this younger generation of French poets must be assigned to M. François Coppée, the quality and character of whose song will be at least indicated by the selected poems which these sentences are intended to introduce. M. Coppée (christened FrançoisEdouard-Joachim) was born at Paris in the year 1842, his father being an employee in the office of the Minister of War. He commenced at the Lycée Saint-Louis studies which his feeble health did not allow him to finish there, but which he completed later by the aid of those lyceum lectures which Mat

thew Arnold regards as so valuable a part of the French machinery of education. At a very early period of his life he devoted himself to the vocation of poetry; but his first efforts were so unsuccessful that in a moment of discouragement he threw the whole of them into the fire, and it was not until the first volume of his poems appeared, in 1866, that his

choice of a career was vindicated to himself and to the public at large. Some of the poems in this volume (which was entitled “Le Reliquaire") were afterward published in "Le Parnasse Contemporain," and their author was very cordially praised for the freshness of the inspiration which they exhibited, for their spirit, vivacity, and good taste, and for "the delicate and engaging character of that note of truth and sincerity which is perceptible in them." M. Coppée now began to contribute freely to various periodicals, and in 1867 his Hymn to Peace" was sent to the Lyceum and obtained the prize. His works and his name, however, still remained known to only a small literary coterie, when one of his "The Benediction," published in "L'Artiste," obtained an immense success. It was publicly recited with great applause by Anatole Lionnet, and

poems,

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also by Mlle. Agar, of the Odéon. For this latter artist he wrote a comedy in one act and in verse ("Le Passant") which was played at the second Théâtre Français, on January 14, 1869. The press unanimously praised it for its freshness, elegance, passion, wit, and those other qualities which the French are so quick to admire in compositions of this kind. In this same year, 1869, he published another collection of verse, entitled Modern Poems," which contained his masterpiece, "The Angelus" (a poem of a thousand lines), and other shorter pieces; and in March he was awarded the Lambert Prize by the French Academy. His most recent volume, "Récits et Elégies," was published in 1878. One of these later poems, "The Night-Watch," narrates an incident of the Franco-German war, and is nearly as remarkable as "The Benediction" for dramatic situation and intensity of feeling. These qualities, it will be observed, are found in an eminent degree in each of the poems that we have selected; and it will also be observed that M. Coppée disdains to woo that meretricious muse which has inspired so much of the contemporary verse of his countrymen. The spirited translations of these poems are reproduced from a little volume entitled "Gottlob et Cetera," by William Young, whose connection with the "New York Albion," though it terminated long since, has rendered his name familiar to a numerous circle of readers in this country.]

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Grand Bailiff, and hereditary Margrave
Of Schlotemsdorff, by water and by land
Lord, chief and oldest among Saxon knights,
And of a proud, despotic race the last,
Having despite the rain-storm and his age,
For he was ninety-four-been forth to see
Three peasants hanged, at the hour of Angelus,
After his supper, calmly, with the host
Laid to his lip and his lean hands outspread
Upon the crucifix, gave up the ghost,
At his stronghold of Ruhn upon the Elbe.
Seeing the black flag, the whole country

breathed;

For civil war raged. Drunken Wenceslas
Bartered his towns for gold. The rulers ruled,
Each as he listed. Law and rights were none.
Grasping and cruel ever had he been,
The wellnigh centenarian lying there
All pale, his outlined form beneath the sheet
Drawn to its full length. He had reimposed
All the old imposts-on the vintage, tax;
Tax on the harvest; tax on mills, fish, game;
Demons of violence, with blows enforced
Poll-tax on pilgrims even. Halberdiers,
Reluctant dues. Death was the penalty

Paid for refusal. Various in its form

Was the grim Margrave's vengeance. Clad, gloved, visored,

In iron all, he came upon the spot Girt with his pikemen, waved his hand, and straight

The barren gibbets budded. Vassals died By steel, or cord, or rod. Youth donned perforce

His archers' harness; for the old and weak
There was naught left, save in their leprous rags
Wearily, after vespers, to besiege

The convent-doors and clamor for a crust
Of hard black bread. Along the broad high-

way

Beggars in troops laid bare their hideous sores.

Burying their coin in the earth, the citizens Thought, at the outset, to protest. They chose One of their number, gray-haired and discreet, Sending him secretly to Trèves, to plead Their cause with the Archbishop and set forth Their grievances; but Gottlob, having wind Of their intention, in advance dispatched To the Elector-Primate two fine mules With golden pyxes and with velvet copes Heavily charged. The saint-like Patriarch, Zealous in serving God, received the gifts, And hanged the townsmen's delegate. No more Was said about the matter.

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Wailing for mercy.

He was dead, certès.

In the end he died.

Then, as in a wood

The little nests are resonant of joy

I'll greet my nephews as they gather here,
Weeping, to take part in my obsequies,
And bid them fly my falcons for their sport.

When down the wind fierce squalls have swept Then I'll regale them with a luscious feast

the hawk,

So the poor people this departure hailed
With shouted plaudits. Bonfires were lit up;
And round about the gallows hand in hand
Danced the glad peasants. In the castle-walls
The soldiers listened to the festive din

Borne on the night wind, or with anxious watch
Pried through the loopholes. Fronting the dead

man

A solitary Monk, in leathern chair

Seated, was musing. As the corpse laid out
Lent to the shroud its profile, fancy showed him
How in the marble of the Margrave's tomb
The self-same outlines would be reproduced;
Or, when the lights flared in the gusty draught,
His eye went wandering to the tapestry,
Whereon in dim confusion cavaliers
Swayed to and fro; or, with unconscious stare,
Traced the receding pillars of the room.
He was alone. At times, in hardy jet,

The bonfires' glow flamed on the window-panes;
And louder, clearer, rose upon the air
The vassals' voices lifted in great glee.

Anon, still motionless and rapt in thought,
Psalms and the Miserere in low tone
Fell from his lips. Sudden, his countenance
Took on a ghostly pallor, and his eyes
In fear and blank amazement opened wide,
And his lank fingers tightly clutched his chair.
Awe-struck he was and petrified, for, lo!
The dead man sitting up, veiled, all in white,
Wrestling, with frantic gestures, from his head
To throw the overwrapping sheet—the corpse,
That had been counted on as food for worms,
Alive, and gazing with bewildered look
On Monk, and lights, and ebony crucifix,
And holy-water vessel! Speech at length
The Margrave found :

"Where am I? Did I dream? Or was I dead? Monk! have my nephews laid, Already laid, rash hands on my demesne, Tearing the red flag from the belfry down? Am I defunct, or am I master yet Under mine own roof? Answer me! and then, As my wits wander still, on yonder press Look for my chiseled cup, and pour me out A brimming draught of wine!"

"Almighty God!" Murmured the Monk, "he has come back to life!"

"Come back to life! Then was I truly dead! But by my ancestors I swear, at dawn I'll have the windows all decked out with flags, And stepping forth upon the balcony

Worthy your bishops, and dismiss them all Rollicking drunk!"

For the reaper's hand Soon will the smith alone Piteous 'tis to see

Thrice the Monk crossed himselfOn breast, mouth, forehead. Then he slowly rose, And, drawing nearer the depraved old man, In voice still trembling with emotion, said: "List to me, Margrave! Scarce an hour ago, I on my knees was praying by your corpse; Praying, because 'tis terrible to see One full of years and lord of high estate Die, without leisure to repent himself. For, absolution by the priest conferred Needs must the awful peradventure bide; Nor can the Oremus hurriedly intoned, Without contrition, sin's foul ulcer heal. Thus was it that with fervor and apart I prayed. We are living in an age, my lord, Gloomy and harsh. The times are all awry. Rulers, alas! are ignorant of the ills Endured by those beneath them. Men-at-arms Have trampled under foot this German soil So long, so deeply, that not any crop Rests on its surface. There is no work. Be called to labor. The corn down-trodden and the rotted rye. Eagles and vultures gather to their feasts— They, and they only, feeding now on flesh. Beggars around the monasteries throng. Bread is high-priced. Hamlet and town alike Hunger; and milk in mothers' breasts is dry! Care for all this you know not, nor remorse, You puissant lords. And I, who here below Ought to be chiefly praying for the dead, Pray rather for the mighty and the rich, Seeing around me vassals all in tears, Fields all awaste, and swinging in the breeze, Pendent from forest-branches, human forms. Then I remember, Margrave, the decrees Of everlasting Justice, and how souls Are in strict balance weighed; and to mine ear Comes the exulting crackle of the fire Stirred by the devil with his monstrous fork!" Peals of loud laughter from the Margrave broke. "Truly your sermon,” said he, “is sublime! And you conclude—”

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Not to be wearing now, by way of shirt,

Thou hast to-day, it seems, no thought; but God,

Four oaken boards. But think not to prolong it! Who punisheth them all, the record keeps.

And bear in mind, too, that if so I willed
Two of my valets might eject you hence,
Setting my bloodhounds on your flying heels.
Meantime, I bid you, preacher, pour me out
A stoup of wine. Quick! Bring it here!"
The Monk,
Who had resumed his seat, stood up. His gown
In stately folds enwrapped him. From his
sleeves

When the sack followed Schnepfenthal's revolt,
Thou, senseless murderer, at a single blow
Didst kill the burgrave as he bent him down
Kissing thy stirrup, and didst have his body
Hewn into pieces and hung up on hooks
Over the portal of thy donjon-keep,
As in the market bleeding tripes are hung!
Hunting, one day, a poacher was surprised.
They ripped his belly open; and therein

Outstretched, his hands went trembling in the Thou thy cold feet didst warm! Thy lances

air;

While from the overshadowing cowl his eyes
Peering transfixed the Margrave.

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Oh, repent, Old man!" he answered; "and, ere going down Into thy grave, soil thy white hair with ashes! Put on, like us, the hair-cloth and the frock! Bruise thy weak knees upon the altar-steps! Chant the responses! kiss the cloister-stones! And in a coffin lay thee down at night!

made

Black silence round thee; but whoever sought
To follow in thy footsteps might have tracked
Thy course in blood, while peasants clinched
their fists

In desolate homesteads! Thou didst doom to
death

Thy pregnant sister! By thy men-at-arms,
Even in the suburbs, was the traveler robbed;
And, when a citizen held back his tithe,

The scourge with knotted points that eat the Thou didst parade him on a hog, astride,

flesh,

The greasy, grimy stairway, the long fast,
Black bread, with water from the pitcher gulped-
These, for a sinner who so tardily
Repents him, are most sweet."

"Hold!" Gottlob cried, "Preposterous quack! and, in the first place, know

That one garb only fits me, and that one

Is my fine coat of mail, forged ring by ring,
Wherein nor kings nor princes punched a hole,
When with the Duke Rudolph the Third I
served,

Holding the lists for the good Emperor Charles,
I, Gottlob, Lord of Ruhn, with whom you
speak!

Facing the tail! I pass by much. At last

Thou diest, stained with all these crimes; and

when

The Almighty, as it were amazed to meet
Such monster, deems thee all too black for hell,
And spurns thee with his foot to earth again,
And grants thee time forgiveness to implore,
Proud and defiant, thou dost still rebel!

Now learn the plain truth! Ah, thou holdest
cheap

The priest as judge! Look, then, at yonder glow
Flushing the windows! Hark, what shouts of

joy!

List! recollecting how, from times remote,
When wolf or bear or any noxious beast
Makes havoc in our woods, but in the end

Know furthermore that knights who bear great Is by the boar-spear slain, on the hillsides

names,

And carry on their pennons Latin words
'Broidered in gold that valor breathe and pride,
Can not beneath an organ bawl out psalms.
Their music is the jingle of their spurs,
The clarion's shrill and spirit-stirring note,
The roll of drum, the joyous clash of sword
Hammering on brazen armor. Furthermore,
Know that I hate all priestlings and poltroons
Who in dull cloisters hide themselves away,
Nor ever wash their hands, save when they dip
Fingers in holy-water. Thus, good brother,
Silence; and do my bidding quick!"

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Bonfires at night are lighted, and around them
Huntsmen and peasants all rejoicing dance.
Thus to this day our Saxon usage holds.
Margrave, 'tis thus upon thy dying day!
Thou, too, art rated as some noxious beast!"

"Peace! peace!" cried Gottlob, with a fear

ful laugh.

Then from his pillow on his hands upheld,
Livid with scorn and rage, he hissed aloud:
"Yes, wretches, yes, the wood-piles are alight!
You are burning up my maples and my pines,
Wherewith your gibbets I was wont to frame.
Had I not waked, to-morrow might, perchance,
For the diversion of your rabble rout,
Have seen a Margrave's effigy in straw
Amid my gray elms blazing! Ha! in sport
You for your fagots cut my old oaks down
That the Goths planted! Well, well; be it so!

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