Copyright © 1963 Lithuanian Students Association, Inc.
Vol. 9, No.4 - 1963
Editor of this issue: Thomas Remeikis




At about the same time that the Civil War was being fought in the United States, people in Poland and Lithuania engaged in an armed effort to free their countries from the rule of the Russian Empire. Situated between these two areas of conflict and revolution, Western Europe (especially France under Napoleon III) looked upon the Polish and Lithuanian struggle for freedom with unmistakable sympathy, and regarded with perhaps even greater sympathy the cause of the Confederacy in the Western Hemisphere (this was particularly true of Great Britain).

Of course, there was no direct link between these two outbreaks of hostilities, if we discount the fact that Polish and Lithuanian immigrants in the United States were to be found fighting on the side of the Union in considerable number. However, in 1863 some New York newspapers supported the hypothesis that the Polish revolt was the saving agent in preventing the intervention of England and France in the American Civil War. Understandably, in denouncing the possible interference of the English and the French in the Civil War, the American press likewise did not advocate their intervention in Poland and Lithuania. In its editorial of August 31, 1863, the influential New York Herald wrote:

If Russia equally resents and punishes the interference of Europe in the affairs of Poland, she may be mistress of the Old World, as we shall be of the New, and then perhaps in a hundred years hence, these two immense Powers may meet upon the Pacific Ocean and, differing upon some question of the possession of Australia or New Zealand, may enter upon that Titanic contest which will forever decide the destinies of mankind.1

Now that the hundred years is past, the prophetic quality of those words is only too apparent. True, today the United States and Russia are not contesting the possession of Australia and New Zealand, but their interests cross in Korea, in Vietnam, along the Berlin wall, and in outer space, which the writer of the said editorial, of course, could not foresee. Appropriately enough, this editorial in The New York Herald was entitled "The Manifest Destiny of America and Russia."

An analysis of these facts would elicit seemingly only one conclusion: that speeches about the so-called indivisible totality of freedom, whether a hundred years ago or today, are nothing more than empty phrases, especially when they rise not from the lips of the thinkers of the age but from those of its statesmen. Opposition to slavery in one place is quite compatible with building and fortifying its bastions in another. If this were not the case, if freedom was truly incapable of being divided, presumably we would then show equal concern for the independence of Angola and for the freedom of Hungary and of the Baltic nations.


Attempts are often made to explain every revolution as the outcome of a desperate state of affairs in which men, seeing no other solution, resort to weapons as the last available means to work a change in their condition. Historically, such an explanation does not invariably withstand criticism.

The immediate situation in Poland and Lithuania prior to the 1863 revolt was by no means a desperate one. It was no worse than it had been for a whole length of preceding years. On the contrary, there were many definite signs of its continued improvement. First of all, the despotic Czar Nikolai (1825-1855), with a reputation as "the gendarme of Europe," had been succeeded by the greatly more liberal Alexander II (1855-1881), who, especially after the Russian defeat in the Crimean War (1856), undertook an extensive reform of Russian government and economy.

In regard to Poland and Lithuania, he abandoned the Russianization policies of his predecessor, lifting certain restrictions that had been imposed following the 1831 uprising. He permitted the return of many Polish and Lithuanian emigrants and exiles to their respective countries. In 1862 he appointed as regent to the kingdom of Poland his younger brother Constantine, noted for his great tolerance and an understanding of Polish interests. Constantine entered into close association with Polish leaders and particularly with the margrave Alexander Wielopolski (1803-1877), who by a policy of peaceful coexistence with Russia was skillful in defending the interests of Polish culture and education.

The governor general of Vilnius, and thus the actual ruler of Lithuania, was V. I. Nazimov (1802-1874), a former tutor of Alexander II. He maintained close contact with the Polish aristocracy in Lithuania and in no way obstructed the propagation of Polish culture in Lithuania and White Russia. Finally, the land reform itself — declared by the famous edict of Czar Alexander II on March 3, 1861 — had been so planned as to give the serfs only their personal freedom, but to leave them, as before, economically dependent upon the landholders, who retained ownership of the land. Landholders in Lithuania and in White Russia had long supported the plans for such a reform, for it could only work to their economic advantage, since the international market was showing increasing demand for Lithuanian grain exports, and the improved transportation network (the first railways in Lithuania had recently been laid) was facilitating export.

It would seem that the Czar himself and some of his close advisers were not wholly unfamiliar with the principal aspiration of the dominant class in Lithuania, the large landholders, to incorporate the so-called Lithuanian government [administrative subdivisions of the Russian empire] of Vilnius, Gardinas and Kaunas into the [Polish] congressional monarchy. In any event, there was freedom of discussion concerning this matter both in the press of that time and in the assemblies of Lithuanian and White Russian aristocracies. This idea was put forth very strongly in an address to the Czar by the Lithuanian and White Russian aristocracies on October 1, 1862 Therein it was clearly asserted that if the economic and political situation in the governments of Lithuania was to be improved, it was imperative that they be "administratively incorporated into that state (Poland), of which the traditions, the interests, and the principles of civil and religious liberty are identical with ours."2 Dubtless, a certain measure of courage was needed to address such demands, or ever entreaties, to the Czar. But, as we recall, this was still the nineteenth century, and not the twentieth.

At any rate, these and similar facts indicate that the situation in Lithuania and White Russia was anything but desperate. And it was certainly not desperate in Warsaw. Consequently, there were no material grounds provoking revolt, particularly as regards the aristocracy, which, contrary to the assertions of some Soviet historians, was the real agent responsible for organizing and conducting the insurrection. More admissible is the opinion of Josef Pilsudski, born of a landholding family in Lithuania and later to become dictator of Poland — in his memoirs he wrote that in the social surroundings of his parents (Polish landholders in Lithuania) the revolt of 1863 was regarded not only as an error, but as down-right transgression.

The destiny of nations and states, however, is only rarely directed according to the rulers of common sense and logic. Emotion and passion, illusory perspectives and completely unfounded hopes more often are the determining factor. It is here that the real causes of the revolt of 1863 must be sought, for this revolt, similar to many such others, was essentially irrational. Within the scope of this essay, it would be difficult to list all those illusions by which society lived prior to 1863 and which led to the revolt. First of all it should be pointed out that a certain revolutionary temper was strongly in evidence in Petrograd and among Russian intellectuals in general. Its sources were to be found in the socialist thought of Western Europe and, for the most part, in the propaganda of democratic ideas, which were being disseminated, quite successfully, among the Russian people by Kolokol (The Bell), a periodical published by A. I. Hertzen and N. P. Ogarev. M. N. Muravjev, the governor general of Vilnius, officially responsible for suppressing the 1863 revolt, himself had to admit that the upper spheres in Petrograd were in consternation not because of the revolt in Poland and Lithuania, but rather over their own safety in Petrograd. Allegedly, in 1863 "a general panic" prevailed among government officials in Petrograd.3

Students from Poland and especially Lithuania, where at that time there was no school of higher education whatever, were to be found at the Russian universities and military schools in large numbers, and they proved just as receptive to this revolutionary and democratic spirit. Many future leaders of the revolt, Lithuanians in particular, were trained and did service in Russia (even on the staffs of the Czar's army); they shared in the general mood of revolution to a much greater degree than the Russians by reason of their singular hatred for the Czarist system, imposed by occupation upon their countries. Therefore, they found it even easier to believe what they wished to believe.

Another important factor in the dissemination and growth of revolutionary ideas in Poland and Lithuania was the large emigrant population from these lands in Western Europe. Besides, the emigrants persistently held forth to their countrymen the possibility of assistance from Western Europe, and especially France. These prospects appeared particularly hopeful after the Crimean War (1853-1856), from which Russia had come out defeated and which destroyed the European concert of nations created by the Congress of Vienna. Meanwhile, the movement of national liberation and unification taking place in Italy, led by the legendary Garibaldi, fired the minds and hearts not only of the emigrants but of the Polish and Lithuanian people as a whole. It is interesting to note that one of the leaders of the revolt in Lithuania, Z. Sierakowski, after he had already been taken prisoner by the Czar's army, sent Garibaldi a plea for assistance. Garibaldi's answer, that "democracy in Europe shall not suffer your country to perish"4 in practice meant about as much as speeches about the indivisible totality of freedom do in our own day. In any event, the ground was extremely fertile, in the homeland as well as among the emigrants, for faith in Western assistance of one kind or another. The measure of this trust is apparent if only from the fact that, with the revolt already in progress and the Czar's huge and select army sent into action in Lithuania, a one ship expedition to the Lithuanian coast was being organized in London which was to decide the final outcome of the revolt.

A third, and perhaps a more authentic factor leading to the revolt was the relaxation of the Czarist regime itself and proposals for various reforms. This could be taken as an indication of weakness in the Czarist government. Thus, it may have seemed that no great effort would be required, that the Czarist regime, having already set out on a course of obvious concessions, would yield to the basic ambition of the ruling classes of Poland and Lithuania — to annex the Lithuanian governments to Poland and to enable the latter, despite its federational ties with Russia, to lead an autonomous and almost independent existence. To realize this goal all that was needed was to begin the singing of patriotic songs in church and elsewhere, to lead religious processions out into the streets and fields, to organize demonstrations in observance of the anniversaries of the union of Lublin and other historical events which testified to the ideal of union between Poland and Lithuania, etc. All this was to show the good Czar that the people earnestly wished it and that their wish should not be left unheeded. The ideal of the Catholic Church and of union with Poland appeared sacrosanct, and it simply could not fail. The Czarist administration was somewhat unconcerned by these demonstrations and, as a result, decided to precipitate and increase military recruitment, thereby at least partially eliminating excited young men from the scene. In turn, this action hastened the actual revolt.

One other factor deserves mention, since it drew a great number of peasants and former serfs, especially in Lithuania, into participation in the revolt. They were little concerned with the majestic ideas of independence and union with Poland. To them the revolt was simply a means to two things: freedom and land. Freedom had already been promised by the Czar himself; land had to be won by their own efforts. The ideas of social and economic equality, propounded with such force in the West by Marx and Engels, were not unknown in Lithuania. Interestingly enough, they were alive among the lower ranks of the Catholic hierarchy and even among some landholders. These were the least Utopian ideas of all and, as we shall see, through the revolt their realization was at least partially achieved.5


As in Poland, so all the more in Lithuania, at no time did the revolt become truly serious in nature. With the exception of numerous isolated and often heroic and madly daring clashes with the regular and select Czarist troops, ending, as was to be expected, in the rebels' defeat and their leaders' execution upon the gallows or before firing squads. The revolt in Lithuania never passed the stage of guerilla activities. The revolt lacked a central command and a coordinated plan of military action. At no time did the Lithuanian rebels succeed in establishing a closer contact of any stability with the rebels in Poland. Indeed, sometimes even the desire for such a contact was disclaimed.

The revolutionaries of that time, both in Poland and in Lithuania, were split into two camps - the so-called Whites and Reds. The first represented the conservative wing of the revolutionaries, while the second -- the radical. This division involved not only different beliefs and different social and political programs but also a difference in age. The Reds were mainly students at various Russian universities (the famed University of Vilnius had been ordered closed in 1832) and young officers serving in the Czar's army. Their number also included many Russian officers imbued with democratic ideas and striving for social and economic reform.

The Reds were especially active in Lithuania. This may have been the reason for the much greater participation in the revolt by the peasantry in Lithuania than in Poland. Perhaps for that reason, too, the revolt in Lithuania assumed to a marked degree the character of social revolution. As we recall, by the original edict (manifesto) of March 3, 1861 for the emancipation of serfs and land reform, the landholders retained all land in their possession. The peasants were merely given the right over a period of years to purchase from the landholders the acreage that they were cultivating.

The majority of peasants regarded the revolt not as an attack against the Czar (Czar Alexander II was quite popular with the peasants and this fact they freely admitted) nor even against the Russian occupation system and the Czarist army, but as a struggle against their direct oppressor and exploiter—the landholder. That this oppression was real and serious has been attested by some of the landholders themselves. After the edict for the emancipation of serfs had been issued, oppressive measures and exploitation increased even more. A vivid description of this is given by a correspondent from Lithuania in the newspaper Dziennik Poznanski, August 26, 1862, where we read the following passage,

How are the owners treating their peasant slaves? As soon as they had learned of the Edict's order, they tried by every imaginable means to set the peasants free. However, when this ambition on their part proved incapable of realization, they resorted to another stratagem: they began to destroy whole villages, driving families out into the waste. When the peasants, devoted to their own hearths, were unwilling to forsake their homes, the landowners set fire to entire villages, forcing the unfortunate ones to flee. There have been many such instances.6

The purpose of the landholders was clear. By these means they aimed to preserve in their possession the land which the serfs who worked it, according to the edict of 1861, had the right to purchase from the former landowners.

These and similar actions on the part of the landholders could not fail to stir revolutionary sentiment among the peasants. The Reds not only made use of these feelings, but often knowingly instigated them. Father Antanas Mackevicius, a very interesting personality among the leaders of the 1863 revolt, admitted during investigation: "When I spoke to them (the peasants), that the landed gentry and the aristocracy are their scourge and that ...a time will come when we shall break that scourge, they pledged me their support."7 In Poland, where the serf system long had been abolished, this problem was rarely met with.

Did any difficulties based on national grounds arise between the revolt in Poland and the revolt in Lithuania? Officially, the revolt in Lithuania went by the name of the Polish revolt and was part of the struggle in behalf of the liberty and independence of Poland. From the organizational standpoint, at least formally, the revolutionary leadership in Lithuania was subordinate to the leadership in Poland. In practice, however, there were numerous conflicts. When the revolt began losing ground, both sides flung accusations at each other. The Polish leaders blamed the Lithuanians for their inefficient organization of the revolt, for yielding too much to the Red influence, etc.8 In their turn, Lithuanian leaders denounced the Poles for timing the revolt too early, for failing to supply sufficient, or even any, material assistance to the rebels in Lithuania, for their reluctance to grant Lithuania equal rights, etc. At times these accusations reverted to open antagonism. An outstanding representative of such antagonism was K. Kalinouski, who was a Pole by birth, but persuaded of the federational ideas voiced by Kolokol, he envisioned the independence of both Lithuania and White Russia from Poland. Intent on awakening White Russian nationalism, he even undertook publication of a newspaper in White Russian entitled Muzyckaja Prauda (The Peasant Truth). "The future destiny of Lithuania," said he, "dare not be trusted to that stupid gossiper Warsaw."9 On another occasion, it is said he remarked that becoming a dog was preferable to becoming a Pole.

Of course, these are only isolated instances and in no way do they indicate the beginning of a serious break either between Lithuania and Poland, or Poland and White Russia. One mistake to be avoided in particular is to view these facts as reflecting the first rising tide of Lithuanian national consciousness, since that will appear only toward the very end of the nineteenth century. Another twenty years would elapse before the Lithuanian national renascence would assume more tangible forms. Even more untenable would be to claim the beginning of White Russian nationalism at the time of the 1863 revolt.

One valid conclusion, however, is that the revolt of 1863 and its harsh suppression greatly damaged the reputation of the minority dominant in Lithuania — the landholders and aristocracy of Polish orientation, and dealt a heavy blow at its political and cultural influence. On the other hand, the land reform, enacted at the same time, strengthened considerably the purely Lithuanian element of the population - - the peasants and prepared the ground for their cultural advancement and national orientation. It is important to remember that the aristocracy in Lithuania, comprising only six to nine per cent of the population, formed the greatest part of the dominant Polish-oriented minority.10 Here is why, from the standpoint of this minority, the revolt could be judged not only an error, but in a sense political suicide.


To suppress the revolt in Lithuania, Czar Alexander II could hardly have found someone more capable than M. N. Muravyev (1796-1866). Reportedly, he once remarked that he is not of the Muravyevs who get hanged, but of those who do the hanging, referring to a namestake of his, Muravyev-Apostol, who was hanged in 1826 for participating in the decabrist coup. He has gone down in history with the title of "hangman," although his harsh treatment of an insurgent country would dim considerably if compared to the atrocities perpetrated by twentieth century dictators. Again, however, the twentieth century is not the nineteenth, which has not been acclaimed the age of liberalism in vain.

Muravyev's severe and brutal policies in the suppression of the revolt, while he was governor general of Vilnius and commander of the Russian army, received the condemnation of the entire civilized world. Even the American press, which, as was noted, had been inclined to side with the Czar and had wished him success in quelling the revolt and, especially, in avoiding the intervention of France and England, denounced Muravyev's drastic methods as comparable to the actions of certain Union generals in the occupied Confederate South. But for sheer vehemence in condemning Muravjev, no one exceeded Hertzen in his Kolokol, who compared Muravyev to the savages of Africa and Asia. Hertzen likewise did not spare angry words for those of Muravyev's admirers in Petrograd and Moscow, who were fanatic in their praise of Muravyev's successes in Lithuania and in their applause of his Russianization policies in the Lithuanian governments. To such behavior Hertzen gave the name of "patriotic syphilis."11 At that time this disease was certainly widespread among Russian intellectuals, not excluding some important Russian writers, who in other respects might be regarded liberals.

It would not be entirely just, however, to consider Muravyev's activities in Lithuania exclusively in their negative aspects, as has been done by the majority of Polish historians and present day Soviet historians in Lithuania and Russia. This would not accord with the view of his contemporaries, who were far from condemning all of his actions. Even the renowned bishop of Žemaičiai, M. Valančius, was on quite friendly terms with Muravyev's son, the governor of Kaunas. Again, Muravyev's works had a far reaching effect on the subsequent course of events in Lithuania and this effect did not always prove detrimental.

There is no doubt that Muravyev directed his real fierceness against the Poles, convinced that the revolt in Lithuania had been an exclusively Polish affair. He made no attempt to conceal this attitude and, actually, he was not entirely wrong on this count. If the revolt had had other supporters besides Poles, such as the large number of peasants in Lithuania, as Muravyev saw it, that was because they had been misled by Polish leaders of the revolt, or because, as social revolutionaries, they had aimed at entirely different objectives. This line of Muravyev's reasoning also had some basis in fact. The revolt of 1863 imprinted itself on the Lithuanian national consciousness as the Polish uprising — the period of the Poles. For example, Juozas Miliauskas-Miglovara (1845-1937), an important figure in the Lithuanian national renascence period, who as a schoolboy in Šiauliai had taken part in the revolt, comments on that event in his memoirs as follows: 

To us, Lithuanians, the so-called Polish period had no political significance whatsoever. In Polish history that may have been the case, for it actually was a Polish, not a Lithuanian, affair.12

The historian will not agree that the revolt played no part in later Lithuanian political life; nevertheless, he will have to admit that this very part derived from the failure of the revolt. Speculation as to the probable outcome of events, had the revolt succeeded, would, of course, serve no purpose.

On the other hand, it would be fallacy to ascribe Muravyev's all-out effort to destroy the Polish influence in Lithuania to a desire on his part for aiding the Lithuanian people, as some Polish political figures later claimed, viewing the Lithuanian national renascence as the consequence of Muravyev's intrigues. Such a concept, as the idea of a Lithuanian nation, was practically nonexistent in the thinking not only of Muravyev, but of Russian intellectuals in general. Muravyev and the majority of Russian intellectuals were convinced that the governments of Vilnius, Kaunas and Gardinas, once the prevailing Polish influence there had been uprooted, would become genuinely Russian areas. Apparently then, the revolt had involved a conflict only between the Poles and the Russians. There had been no Russian - Lithuanian conflict at that time at all. Since the Poles came out from this conflict defeated, the victors, of course, were the Russians. That is why such praise was being heaped upon Muravyev in Petrograd and Moscow.

Counter to Muravyev's purposes, however, the Lithuanian people emerged from these events more or less in the role of tertius gaudens. Without any intention on his part, Muravyev was cast in the role of Mephistopheles, who forever desired evil and created good. The good came about in many ways. First of all, as was pointed out earlier, a terrible blow had been given to the political and cultural influence of the Poles in Lithuania. Secondly, the land reform in Lithuania was executed in terms much more favorable to former serfs than what the edict of 1861 had proposed and the outbreak of the revolt had prevented from putting into effect.13 The same Muravyev, who had opposed the abolition of serfdom while he was in Russia and who showed no solicitude of any kind for the peasants, in Lithuania suddenly turned protector of the peasantry and supporter of reforms. Conceivably, Hertzen had this fact in mind when, recalling the reformers of ancient Rome, he referred to Muravyev as the "Tartar Gracchus." Needless to say, Muravyev was motivated not by any sympathy with the peasants on his part, but by purely political considerations — to have the Lithuanian peasants disengage themselves from the revolt and to deepen the separation between them and the Polish landholders. Even his closest associates and admirers had to admit this was nothing but "Machiavellian politics."14

Connected with the name of Muravyev is the interdict that was placed on all printed publications in Roman letters and the attempt to institute in Lithuania the Russian alphabet, This has been one of the most barbarous acts ever to be found in the annals of human civilization. For forty years (1864-1904) it was forbidden in Lithuania to print anything in the Roman alphabet. Some attempt was made at publications (prayer books, elementary textbooks, etc.) in Russian type. This experiment turned out entirely unsuccessful because of the conscious resistance on the part of the people and because of the disparity between the Russian and the Lithuanian languages. Consequently, books and periodicals were printed in East Prussia and in the United States, and from there by way of contrabanda would reach Lithuania. This formed one of the most interesting episodes known to history of a nation's struggle for its own printed word and culture.

But as for Muravyev's part in this matter, his aim had again been directed primarily against the influence of Polish culture in Lithuania. Prior to 1863 the number of Lithuanian books printed in Lithuania was negligible, while Vilnius had become a true publishing center for the Polish. Occasionally, the number of Polish publications put out in Vilnius would exceed that in Warsaw or Krakow. Thus, the interdict on the use of the Roman alphabet in printing was aimed, first of all, at such publishing. Muravyev hardly deserves blame for the fact that in a short time the new generation of Lithuanian intellectuals, rising mostly from a peasant background, and then soon the whole nation would experience that terrible hunger for books and newspapers in its own language which the interdict on the press, continued by Muravyev's successors, would forbid to be satisfied. In the time of Muravyev this hunger had not yet appeared. And, typical Russian nationalist that he was, Muravyev was singularly incapable of sensing it.


The fact that the peasant population in Lithuania actively engaged in the revolt of 1863 and even provided important leaders of the revolt (K. Lukošiūnas, A. Bitė, the priest A. Mackevicius, born of an impoverished land-holding family, but identifying himself entirely, in thinking and sentiment, with the peasants) was clear proof that alongside the heretofore dominant minority, a new authoritative minority was coming into being, one which would no longer be dependent upon the old traditions and culture of Poland-Lithuania. From now on this new minority would have to lead the struggle for Lithuania's freedom and independence. Eventually, it would be joined by many of the landholders, too, who having seen their old political and cultural ideals shattered by the revolt of 1863 will have begun to perceive the significance of the new national and democratic movement. Even before and during the revolt of 1863, some landholders, notably in Žemaitija, tried to ingratiate themselves with the emergent new force by feasting the peasants, adopting the peasant dress, and indulging the peasants in many such ways.15 After the scandalous defeat of the revolt, many landholders renounced their political dreams of union with Poland, began to give their attention to economic problems, education and other more realistic aspects of life. In time, more and more of their number would wholeheartedly join the struggle for the national renascence in Lithuania.

The national movement was democratic at its very foundation. M. Roemeris was correct in writing, as early as 1908, that

The John the Baptist of the Lithuania which is being born again today, who paved her historical path, was the great process of social democratization taking place in the 19th century in total independence of whatever part the Russian government played in it and counter to the will of that government.16

This process of democratization determined the further struggle of the Lithuanian people against the Czarist Russian occupation. It lent its distinctive character to the independent Lithuanian republic, reestablished in 1918, which in no way resembled an extension of the oligarchical republic of the eighteenth century. The defeat suffered by the revolt of 1863 can be said to have been something of a turning point in the process towards democracy. This is the essential significance of that revolt for the Lithuanian people.


1 A. P. Coleman and N. M. Coleman, The Polish Insurrection of 1863 in the Light of New York Editorial Opinion, (New York, 1934) p. 64.
2 K. Lutostanski, Les partages de la Pologne et la lutte pour I'independance, (Paris, 1918) pp. 592-593.
3 Cited in V. G. Revunenko, Polskoe vestanie 1863 g. i evropeiskaia diplomatiia, (1957) p. 263.
4 Cited in B. Limanowski, Historja powstania narodu polskiege 1863-64, (Lwow, 1909) p. 501.
5 S. A. Lazutka, Revoliucionnaia situaciia v Litve 1858-1862, (Moscow, 1961).
6 T. Tyszkiewicz, Ecrits sur la Pologne contemporaine (1862-1864), (Brussels, 1864) footnoe p. 52.
7 W. Przyborowski, Dzieje 1863 roku, v. 3, p. 26.
8 O. Aveide, Pokazaniia i zapiski o polskom vestanii 1863 goda, (Moscow, 1961).
9 Przyborowski, op. cit., v. 2, p. 57.
10 S. Matulaitis, 1863 metai Lietuvoje, (Minsk, 1933) p. 79. Also, Pamietniki Jakoba Gieysztora z lat 1857-1865, (Wilno, 1913) v. 2, pp. 49-50.
11 Cited in Revunenko, p. 310.
12 Karo archyvas, (Kaunas, 1926) v. 2, pp. 45-46.
13 P. V. Lyashchenko, History of the National Economy of Russia, (1949) p. 390.
14 See Istoricheskii vestnik (memoirs of a Czarist official in Lithuania, Butkovski), (1883) v. 14, pp, 341-343.
15 Lietuvos TSR Mokslų Akademija, Istorijos Institutas, Lietuvos Valstiečiai XIX Amžiuje, J. Žiugžda, ed. in chief, (Vilnius, 1957) p. 143.
16 M. Roemer, Litwa: studyum ob odrodzeniu narodu litewskiego, (Lwow, 1908) p. 70.