Elizabeth of Siberia:

DAUGHTER OF THE EXILES WHOSE FREEDOM SHE OBTAINED FROM THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

FILIAL piety is acknowledged by all to be the noblest of the domestic affections. Where it possesses a strong hold on the relations between parents and children, it leads to the happiest conditions of home. In youth it is beautiful to see the love a child bears towards its father and mother, whom it looks upon as its protectors in all the vicissitudes of life. It is no less admirable to see that child in turn become the protector of his or her parents when they reach the decrepitude of old age. And so also, should it happen in middle life that misfortune overtakes both parents and children, the latter will strive as they reach the age of maturity to aid in maintaining the family. At whatever age, therefore, filial affection, when exercised to relieve the infirmities or soothe the sufferings of those who tended them and nurtured them in early years, is pleasing to contemplate. But when this ordinary affection rises into acts of heroism for the deliverance of parents from suffering or bondage, filial piety approaches a height that is only inferior to religious devotion to God. In this light we may consider the unparalleled affection of Elizabeth of Siberia for her parents, whom she was the means of delivering from hopeless Russian bondage.

At the outset of our narrative we must explain, however, that Elizabeth was not her name, but Prascovie. The former is well known in the charming story

of the "Exiles of Siberia;" which we adopt because it is familiar, though we adhere closely to the facts. on which that tale was founded. The circumstances to which it refers occurred during the latter part of the last century in the reign of the Emperor Paul, when thousands of political exiles were banished to the wilds of Siberia by the despotic government of Russia.

In that cold region, where the snow lies on the ground from September to May, Elizabeth was brought up from a tender age by her parents, who lived in a poor cottage, upon a wretched pittance barely sufficient to keep them from starvation. Her father had been banished for some political offence, but was so far free that he was allowed to live with his wife and child, separate from the prisoners condemned to labour at the government mines and other works. His allowance for sustenance was two copecks a-day, or about twopence in our money. This he supplemented by what labour he could perform in the village where he lived, during the long winter season, or in the fields during the four fertile months of the year. As Elizabeth grew up, she assisted in adding to the family stores, by working at harvest time, or at other seasons helping the farmers, when she was paid in kind by eggs, vegetables, or corn. Not having any recollection of a better condition of life, and her parents rigidly abstaining from informing her of their previous history, Elizabeth was comparatively happy in her poverty. It was otherwise with her father, who brooded in secret over his lot. He had petitioned the emperor for a remission of his sentence, and sent it by an officer passing that way, who promised to get it presented, and use what influence he could to support it. Months passed away, and his hopes were disappointed, as the courier came round without an

answer, until years rolled on, and the unhappy exile had from time to time abandoned himself to despair.

It was upon one of these occasions of disappointment and despondency that Elizabeth surprised her parents while thrown into a state of profound grief. She was then about fifteen years of age, and with heartfelt sympathy she joined her tears with those of her mother, not knowing why, but rushing into her father's arms, implored him to tell her the cause of their misery. Seeing that she must know the truth sometime or other, and being now old enough to understand the recital of his misfortunes, he unburthened his pent-up feelings by a brief narration of his early life to his attentive and astonished daughter.

He informed her that he was descended from the noble Russian family of Lopouloff, who had settled in Hungary, where he was born. With his parents he had been bred in the lap of luxury, receiving the high-class education for which the Hungarian colleges are famous, and was destined for the army. When of age he obtained an officer's commission in the Austrian cavalry service, and distinguished himself as a captain of the Black Hussar Regiment. It was at this time that he married her mother, a Russian lady of aristocratic connections, who induced him to leave the Austrian army and dominions, and retire with her to her home in Russia. Although he might have continued in this peaceful life, happy and contented, yet he was impatient of its inactivity, and longed to resume his profession of arms. At that period the Russians were waging war with the Turks, and he found no difficulty in entering the Czar's army as an officer.

When the Ottoman campaign was ended he returned with his regiment to Russia, and for a short time enjoyed the companionship of his affectionate wife. Instead of the expected promotion through

the favourable report of his commanding officer, to his dismay and surprise, he came under the suspicion of the government agents as a disaffected person. Notwithstanding his declarations of innocence, he was sentenced to be banished for life to Siberia. The only indulgence shewn him was his wife and child being allowed to accompany him; but, in doing so, they must remain in exile with him until his death. This was a dreadful blow to his anticipated happiness for his young wife, and he would have had her to remain behind with her relatives, rather than encounter the miseries of a penal settlement, but she was resolute, and would not abandon her husband in his distress. Moreover, they hoped that, after a year or two's banishment, the harsh sentence might be cancelled on further investigation that the charges were unfounded. This, the unfortunate man found to be a delusive hope; and he bemoaned his wretched fate, that entailed so much misery on his wife and daughter, who ought to be living in luxury among their relatives and friends at St Petersburg. "Thus it is, my child," he concluded, "that I am the cause of all your mother's misery, and the life of poverty that must attend you in your career through the world; whereas you should have been brought up a lady to gladden our hearts in old age."

With a deep-drawn sigh, Elizabeth embraced her father, when the painful recital was ended. She made but a few remarks on the circumstances narrated, and left their humble dwelling for the harvestfield, where she had been at work before she had surprised her parents in their flow of grief, which had led to the secret being divulged. Having been brought up in the Christian faith, as taught by the Greek Church, and having studied the Scriptures with a fervour beyond her years, she could re

1

peat appropriate passages to comfort her distressed parents.

She was now unremitting in her prayers to God for her parents, at morning and night in her little bedchamber. It transpired that these fervent devotions had one great object in view, and that was, to ask strength from God to undertake the mission of proceeding on foot alone to St Petersburg, and there obtain an audience of the emperor, to solicit a pardon for her father. The magnitude of such a journey, even undertaken by a strong man at the present day, is enough to deter Siberian convicts from returning into European Russia. From Ishim, where the Popouloff family were located, the distance to St Petersburg is not less than sixteen hundred miles, the traveller having to cross the Ural chain of mountains on the route. The roads are guarded by military posts, at convenient distances, to intercept runaways; to avoid which, the fugitive stands the chance of starvation, where towns and villages are few and far apart. A century ago, about the time of which we write, these difficulties of travelling were infinitely greater, and few Siberian prisoners ever returned from their place of banishment.

The length, difficulties, and dangers of the road were, to a certain extent, known to Elizabeth, who had questioned her neighbours about it, and even the post-courier gave her some information. Instead of this knowledge deterring, it only confirmed her the more in her purpose. As to her being able to have an audience with the emperor, she never entertained a doubt of this being granted, once she reached his palace at St Petersburg. The idea of her selfimposed mission grew upon her mind, day by day, until she resolved on asking her father and mother's sanction to undertake the journey. To prepare herself for the effort, she meditated in the solitudes of the