Dzierżyński presented his credentials as a member of the Revolutionary Military Council of the Western Front (an appointment made on 9 August) and ordered a report on the situation.

“The situation at the front is uncertain,” the commandant reported, after he had managed to clear the office of outsiders. “I have no precise information, but for the time being I wouldn’t advise going any further.”

Driving to the front line, and at nightfall at that, was indeed pointless. The commandant assigned the Polrevkom to spend the night at the local Catholic priest’s house.

The priest turned out to be talkative. As always happens when people first meet, they talked of this and that and avoided politics. When the conversation turned to Polish classical literature and Dzierżyński recited passages from Mickiewicz with feeling, the holy father melted completely.

“What a pleasure,” he said, “to meet such an educated man among the Bolsheviks, and a Pole at that. Unfortunately,” the priest heaved a deep sigh, “not all of them are like that. Take Dzierżyński – he’s a Pole too, but how can the earth bear him! The number of people he doomed!”

Dzierżyński listened attentively and nodded in agreement:

“Yes, yes, quite right. Dzierżyński did put people in prison and had them shot.”

Delighted to have found a sympathetic listener, the priest grew bolder and went on cursing both Dzierżyński and the Cheka.

In the morning, when the guests were getting ready to leave, the priest even arranged his fleshy face into an expression of regret.

“I’m so sorry. One rarely meets such fine people. Even though you are a Bolshevik,” he said, turning to Dzierżyński, “I’ll say it straight – you are both kind-hearted and courteous. May I ask whom I’ve had the honour of meeting?”

“Of course. I am the chairman of the Polish Revolutionary Committee,” Marchlewski introduced himself, “and these are members of the Revkom – Feliks Kon and Feliks Dzierżyński.”

The priest’s clean-shaven face lengthened and went blue with fear. He stood there with his mouth wide open, silently gulping air.

“W-what will happen to me now?” he mumbled, at last finding his voice.

“Absolutely nothing. I’ve heard all this more than once before,” Dzierżyński replied.

On 17 August, instead of entering Warsaw, the Polrevkom returned to Białystok. Meanwhile, Polish officers were feasting at the house of the Wyszków priest, and the host was telling them how he had almost fallen victim to that “red executioner” Dzierżyński.»

From the biographical book Dzerzhinsky by Arseny Tishkov. Molodaya Gvardiya Publishers, Moscow, 1985.