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Thaddeus of Warsaw

by Jane Porter · English · Gutenberg #6566 · 1,110,635 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Thaddeus of Warsaw

Author: Jane Porter


        
Release date: September 1, 2004 [eBook #6566]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6566

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THADDEUS OF WARSAW ***




Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




[Illustration: DR. MIDDLETON.]



THADDEUS OF WARSAW

BY

JANE PORTER

AUTHOR OF "THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS," ETC.




    "Loin d'aimer la guerre, il l'abhorre;
    En triomphant même il déplore
    Les désastres qu'elle produit
    Et, couronné par la victoire,
    II gémit de sa propre gloire.
    Si la paix n'en est pas le fruit."




A NEW AND REVISED EDITION
WITH NEW NOTES, ETC., BY THE AUTHOR




      THE AUTHOR,
          TO
  HER FRIENDLY READERS.


Written for the new edition of "Thaddeus of Warsaw," forming one of
the series called "The Standard Novels."

To such readers alone who, by the sympathy of a social taste, fall in
with any blameless fashion of the day, and, from an amiable interest,
also, in whatever may chance to afford them innocent pleasure, would
fain know something more about an author whose works have brought
them that gratification than the cold letter of a mere literary
preface usually tells: to such readers this--something of an
egotistical--epistle is addressed.

For, in beginning the republication of a regular series of the
novels, or, as they have been more properly called, biographical
romances, of which I have been the author, it has been considered
desirable to make certain additions to each work, in the form of a
few introductory pages and scattered notes, illustrative of the
origin of the tale, of the historical events referred to in it, and
of the actually living characters who constitute its personages, with
some account, also, of the really local scenery described; thus
giving, it is thought, a double zest to the entertainment of the
reader, by bringing him into a previous acquaintance with the persons
he is to meet in the book, and making him agreeably familiar with the
country through which he is to travel in their company. Indeed, the
social taste of the times has lately fully shown how advantageous the
like conversational disclosures have proved to the recent
republications of the celebrated "Waverley Novels," by the chief of
novel-writers; and in the new series of the admirable naval tales by
the distinguished American novelist, both of whom paid to the mother-
country the gratifying tribute of making it their birthplace.

Such evidences in favor of an argument could not fail to persuade me
to undertake the desired elucidating task; feeling, indeed,
particularly pleased to adopt, in my turn, a successful example from
the once Great Unknown--now the not less great avowed author of the
Waverley Novels, in the person of Sir Walter Scott, who did me the
honor to adopt the style or class of novel of which "Thaddeus of
Warsaw" was the first,--a class which, uniting the personages and
facts of real history or biography with a combining and illustrative
machinery of the imagination, formed a new species of writing in that
day, and to which Madame de Staël and others have given the
appellation of "an epic in prose." The day of its appearance is now
pretty far back: for "Thaddeus of Warsaw" (a tale founded on Polish
heroism) and the "Scottish Chiefs" (a romance grounded on Scottish
heroism) were both published in England, and translated into various
languages abroad, many years before the literary wonder of Scotland
gave to the world his transcendent story of Waverley, forming a most
impressive historical picture of the last struggle of the papist, but
gallant, branch of the Stuarts for the British throne. [Footnote: It
was on the publication of these, her first two works, in the German
language that the authoress was honored with being made a lady of the
Chapter of St. Joachim, and received the gold cross of the order from
Wirtemburg.]

"Thaddeus of Warsaw" being the first essay, in the form of such an
association between fact and fancy, was published by its author with
a natural apprehension of its reception by the critical part of the
public. She had not, indeed, written it with any view to publication,
but from an almost resistless impulse to embody the ideas and
impressions with which her heart and mind were then full. It was
written in her earliest youth; dictated by a fervent sympathy with
calamities which had scarcely ceased to exist, and which her eager
pen sought to portray; and it was given to the world, or rather to
those who might feel with her, with all the simple-hearted enthusiasm
which saw no impediment when a tale of virtue or of pity was to be
told.

In looking back through the avenue of life to that time, what events
have occurred, public and private, to the countries and to the
individuals named in that tale! to persons of even as lofty names and
excellences, of our own and other lands, who were mutually affected
with me in admiration and regret for the virtues and the sorrows
described! In sitting down now to my retrospective task, I find
myself writing this, my second preface to the story of "Thaddeus of
Warsaw," just thirty years from the date of its first publication.
Then, I wrote when the struggle for the birthright independence of
Poland was no more; when she lay in her ashes, and her heroes in
their wounds; when the pall of death spread over the whole country,
and her widows and orphans travelled afar.

In the days of my almost childhood,--that is, eight years before I
dipped my pen in their tears,--I remember seeing many of those
hapless refugees wandering about St. James's Park. They had sad
companions in the like miseries, though from different enemies, in
the emigrants from France; and memory can never forget the variety of
wretched yet noble-looking visages I then contemplated in the daily
walks which my mother's own little family group were accustomed to
take there. One person, a gaunt figure, with melancholy and bravery
stamped on his emaciated features, is often present to the
recollection of us all. He was clad in a threadbare blue uniform
great coat, with a black stock, a rusty old hat, pulled rather over
his eyes; his hands without gloves; but his aspect was that of a
perfect gentleman, and his step that of a military man. We saw him
constantly at one hour, in the middle walk of the Mall, and always
alone; never looking to the right nor to the left, but straight on;
with an unmoving countenance, and a pace which told that his thoughts
were those of a homeless and hopeless man--hopeless, at least, of all
that life might bring him. On, on he went to the end of the Mall;
turned again, and on again; and so he continued to do always, as long
as we remained spectators of his solitary walk: once, indeed, we saw
him crossing into St. Martin's Lane. Nobody seemed to know him, for
he spoke to none; and no person ever addressed him, though many, like
ourselves, looked at him, and stopped in the path to gaze after him.
We often longed to be rich, to follow him wherever his wretched abode
might have been, and then silently to send comforts to him from hands
he knew not of. We used to call him, when speaking of him to
ourselves, _Il Penseroso;_ and by that name we yet not unfrequently
talk of him to each other, and never without recurrence  to the very
painful, because unavailing, sympathy we then felt for that apparently
friendless man. Such sympathy is, indeed, right; for it is one of the
secondary means by which Providence conducts the stream of his mercies
to those who need the succor of their fellow-creatures; and we cannot
doubt that, though the agency of such Providence was not to be in
our hands, there were those who had both the will and the power
given, and did not, like ourselves, turn and pity that interesting
emigrant in vain.

Some time after this, General Kosciusko, the justly celebrated hero
of Poland, came to England, on his way to the United States; having
been released from his close imprisonment in Russia, and in the
noblest manner, too, by the Emperor Paul, immediately on his
accession to the throne. His arrival caused a great sensation in
London, and many of the first characters of the times pressed forward
to pay their respects to such real patriotic virtue in its adversity.
An old friend of my family was amongst them; his own warm heart
encouraging the enthusiasm of ours, he took my brother Robert to
visit the Polish veteran, then lodging at Sablonière's Hotel, in
Leicester Square. My brother, on his return to us, described him as a
noble looking man, though not at all handsome, lying upon a couch in
a very enfeebled state, from the effects of numerous wounds he had
received in his breast by the Cossacks' lances after his fall, having
been previously overthrown by a sabre stroke on his head. His voice,
in consequence of the induced internal weakness, was very low, and
his speaking always with resting intervals. He wore a black bandage
across his forehead, which covered a deep wound there; and, indeed,
his whole figure bore marks of long suffering.

Our friend introduced my brother to him by name, and as "a boy
emulous of seeing and following noble examples." Kosciusko took him
kindly by the hand, and spoke to him words of generous encouragement,
in whatever path of virtuous ambition he might take. They never have
been forgotten. Is it, then, to be wondered at, combining the mute
distress I had so often contemplated in other victims of similar
misfortunes with the magnanimous object then described to me by my
brother, that the story of heroism my young imagination should think
of embodying into shape should be founded on the actual scenes of
Kosciusko's sufferings, and moulded out of his virtues!

To have made him the ostensible hero of the tale, would have suited
neither the modesty of his feelings nor the humbleness of my own
expectation of telling it as I wished. I therefore took a younger and
less pretending agent, in the personification of a descendant of the
great John Sobieski.

But it was, as I have already said, some years after the partition of
Poland that I wrote, and gave for publication, my historical romance
on that catastrophe. It was finished amid a circle of friends well
calculated to fan the flame which had inspired its commencement some
of the leading heroes of the British army just returned from the
victorious fields of Alexandria and St. Jean d'Acre; and, seated in
my brother's little study, with the war-dyed coat in which the
veteran Abercrombie breathed his last grateful sigh, while, like
Wolfe, he gazed on the boasted invincible standard of the enemy,
brought to him by a British soldier,--with this trophy of our own
native valor on one side of me, and on the other the bullet-torn vest
of another English commander of as many battles,--but who, having
survived to enjoy his fame, I do not name here,--I put my last stroke
to the first campaigns of Thaddeus Sobieski.

When the work was finished, some of the persons near me urged its
being published. But I argued, in opposition to the wish, its
different construction to all other novels or romances which had gone
before it, from Richardson's time-honored domestic novels to the
penetrating feeling in similar scenes by the pen of Henry Mackenzie;
and again, Charlotte Smith's more recent, elegant, but very
sentimental love stories. But the most formidable of all were the
wildly interesting romances of Anne Radcliffe, whose magical wonders
and mysteries were then the ruling style of the day. I urged, how
could any one expect that the admiring readers of such works could
consider my simply-told biographical legend of Poland anything better
than a dull union between real history and a matter-of-fact
imagination?

Arguments were found to answer all this; and being excited by the
feelings which had dictated my little work, and encouraged by the
corresponding characters with whom I daily associated, I ventured the
essay. However, I had not read the sage romances of our older times
without turning to some account the lessons they taught to
adventurous personages of either sex; showing that even the boldest
knight never made a new sally without consecrating his shield with
some impress of acknowledged reverence. In like manner, when I
entered the field with my modern romance of Thaddeus of Warsaw, I
inscribed the first page with the name of the hero of Acre. That
dedication will be found through all its successive editions, still
in front of the title-page; and immediately following it is a second
inscription, added, in after years, to the memory of the magnanimous
patriot and exemplary man, Thaddeus Kosciusko, who had first filled
me with ambition to write the tale, and who died in Switzerland, A.
D. 1817, fuller of glory than of years. Yet, if life be measured by
its vicissitudes and its virtues, we may justly say, "he was gathered
in his ripeness."

After his visit to old friends in the United States,--where, in his
youth, he had learned the art of war, and the science of a noble,
unselfish independence, from the marvel of modern times, General
Washington,--Kosciusko returned to Europe, and abode a while in
France, but not in its capital. He lived deeply retired, gradually
restoring his shattered frame to some degree of health by the peace
of a resigned mind and the occupation of rural employments.
Circumstances led him to Switzerland; and the country of William
Tell, and of simple Christian fellowship, could not but soon be found
peculiarly congenial to his spirit, long turned away from the
pageants and the pomp of this world. In his span he had had all,
either in his grasp or proffered to him. For when nothing remained of
all his military glory and his patriotic sacrifices but a yet
existing fame, and a conscious sense within him of duty performed, he
was content to "eat his crust," with that inheritance alone; and he
refused, though with an answering magnanimity of acknowledgment, a
valuable property offered to him by the Emperor of Russia, as a free
gift from a generous enemy, esteeming his proved, disinterested
virtues. He also declined the yet more dazzling present of a crown
from the then master of the continent, who would have set him on the
throne of Poland--but, of a truth, under the vassalage of the Emperor
of the French! Kosciusko was not to be consoled for Poland by riches
bestowed on himself, nor betrayed into compromising her birthright of
national independence by the casuistry that would have made his
parental sceptre the instrument of a foreign domination.

Having such a theme as his name, and the heroes his co-patriots, the
romance of "Thaddeus of Warsaw" was no sooner published than it
overcame the novelty of its construction, and became universally
popular. Nor was it very long before it fell into General Kosciusko's
hands, though then in a distant land; and he kindly and promptly lost
no time in letting the author know his approbation of the narrative,
though qualified with several modest expressions respecting himself.
From that period she enjoyed many treasured marks of his esteem; and
she will add, though with a sad satisfaction, that amongst her
several relics of the Great Departed who have honored her with
regard, she possesses, most dearly prized, a medal of Kosciusko and a
lock of his hair. About the same time she received a most
incontestable proof of the accuracy of her story from the lips of
General Gardiner, the last British minister to the court of
Stanislaus Augustus. On his reading the book, he was so sure that the
facts it represented could only have been learned on the spot, that
he expressed his surprise to several persons that the author of the
work, an English lady, could have been at Warsaw during all the
troubles there and he not know it. On his repeating this observation
to the late Duke of Roxburgh, his grace's sister-in-law, who happened
to overhear what was said, and knew the writer, answered him by
saying, "The author has never been in Poland." "Impossible!" replied
the general; "no one could describe the scenes and occurrences there,
in the manner it is done in that book, without having been an
eyewitness." The lady, however, convinced the general of the fact
being otherwise, by assuring him, from her own personal knowledge,
that the author of "Thaddeus of Warsaw" was a mere school-girl in
England at the time of the events of the story.

How, then, it has often been asked, did she obtain such accurate
information with regard to those events? and how acquire her familiar
acquaintance with the palaces and persons she represents in the work?
The answer is short. By close questioning every person that came in
her way that knew anything about the object of her interest; and
there were many brave hearts and indignant lips ready to open with
the sad yet noble tale. Thus every illustrious individual she wished
to bring into her narrative gradually grew upon her knowledge, till
she became as well acquainted with all her desired personages as if
they were actually present with her; for she knew their minds and
their actions; and these compose the man. The features of the
country, also, were learned from persons who had trodden the spots
she describes: and that they were indeed correct pictures of their
homes and war-fields, the tears and bursting enthusiasm of many of
Poland's long expatriated sons have more than once borne testimony to
her.

As one instance, out of the number I might repeat, of the
inextinguishable love of those noble wanderers from their native
country, I shall subjoin the copy of a letter addressed to me by one
of those gallant men, then holding a high military post in a foreign
service, and who, I afterwards learned, was of the family of
Kosciusko, whose portrait he sent to me: for the letter was
accompanied with a curiously-wrought ring of pure gold, containing a
likeness of that hero. The letter was in French, and I transcribe it
literally in the words of the writer:--

"Madame!

"Un inconnu ose addresser la parole à l'auteur immortel de Thaddeus
de Warsaw; attaché par tent de liens à l'héros que vous avez chanté,
je m'enhardis à distraire pour un moment vos nobles veilles.

"Qu'il me soit permis de vous offrir, madame, l'hommage de mon
admiration la plus exaltée, en vous présentant la bague qui contient
le buste du Général Kosciusko:--elle a servi de signe de ralliment
aux patriots Polonois, lorsque, en 1794, ils entreprirent de sécouer
leur joug.

"Les anciens déposoient leurs offrandes sur l'autel de leurs
divinités tutélaires;--je ne fais qu'imiter leur exemple. Vous êtes
pour tous les Polonois cette divinité, qui la première ait élevée sa
voix, du fond de l'impériale, Albion, en leur faveur.

"Un jour viendra, et j'ose conserver dans mon coeur cet espoir, que
vos accens, qui ont retenti dans le coeur de l'Europe sensible,
produiront leur effêt célestial, en ressuscitant l'ombre sanglante de
ma chère patrie.

"Daignez agréer, madame, l'hommage respectueuse d'un de vos
serviteurs le plus dévoué, &c. &c."

Probably the writer of the above is now returned to his country, his
vows having been most awfully answered by one of the most momentous
struggles she has ever had, or to which the nations around have ever
yet stood as spectators; for the balance of Europe trembles at the
turning of her scale.

Thus, then, it cannot but be that in the conclusion of this my,
perhaps, last introductory preface to any new edition of "Thaddeus of
Warsaw," its author should offer up a sincerely heartfelt prayer to
the King of kings, the Almighty Father of all mankind, that His all-
gracious Spirit may watch over the issue of this contest, and dictate
the peace of Poland!

ESHER, _May_, 1831.



         DEDICATION TO THE FIRST EDITION.

               THADDEUS OF WARSAW

                 is inscribed to

                 SIR SIDNEY SMITH;

               in the hope that, as

                SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

       did not disdain to write a romance,

               SIR SIDNEY SMITH

           will not refuse to read one.

  SIR PHILIP SIDNEY CONSIGNED HIS EXCELLENT WORK TO THE
               AFFECTION OF A SISTER.

       I CONFIDE MY ASPIRING ATTEMPT TO THE
    URBANITY OF THE BRAVE; TO THE MAN OF TASTE,
            OF FEELING, AND OF CANDOR;

         TO HIM WHOSE FRIENDSHIP WILL BESTOW
   THAT INDULBENCE ON THE AUTHOR WHICH HIS JUDGMENT
           MIGHT HAVE DENIED TO THE BOOK;

  TO HIM OF WHOM FUTURE AGES WILL SPEAK WITH HONOR
    AND THE PRESENT TIMES BOAST AS THEIR GLORY!

                       TO

                SIR SIDNEY SMITH,

I SUBMIT THIS HUMBLE TRIBUTE OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT
         WHICH CAN BE OFFERED BY A BRITON,
            OR ANIMATE THE HEART OF
               HIS SINCERE FRIEND,

                   THE AUTHOR.






PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

Having attempted a narrative of the intended description, but
written, in fact, from the mere impulse of sympathy with its subject
still fresh in my own and every pitying memory, it is natural that,
after having made up my mind to assent to its publication, in which
much time and thought has been expended in considering the
responsibility of so doing, from so unpractised a pen, I should feel
an increase of anxiety respecting its ultimate fate.

Therefore, before the reader favors the tale itself with his
attention, I beg leave to offer him a little account of the
principles that actuated its composition, and in regard to which one
of the most honored heads in the author's family urged her "not to
withhold it from the press;" observing, in his persuasions, that the
mistakes which many of my young contemporaries of both sexes
continually make in their estimates of human character, and of the
purposes of human life, require to have a line of difference between
certain splendid vices and some of the brilliant order of virtues to
be distinctly drawn before them. "And," he remarked, "it appeared to
be so done in the pages of my Polish manuscript. Therefore," added
he, "let Thaddeus of Warsaw speak openly for himself!"

This opinion decided me. Though with fear and trembling, yet I felt
an encouraging consciousness that in writing the manuscript narrative
for my own private enjoyment only, and the occasional amusement of
those friends dearest around me, I had wished to portray characters
whose high endowments could not be misled into proud ambitions, nor
the gift of dazzling social graces betray into the selfish triumphs
of worldly vanity,--characters that prosperity could not inflate, nor
disappointments depress, from pious trust and honorable action. The
pure fires of such a spirit declare their sacred origin; and such is
the talisman of those achievements which amaze everybody but their
accomplisher. The eye fixed on it is what divine truth declares it to
be "single!" There is no double purpose in it; no glancing to a man's
own personal aggrandizement on one side and on professing services to
his fellow-creatures on the other; such a spirit has only one aim--
Heaven! and the eternal records of that wide firmament include within
it "all good to man."

What flattered Alexander of Macedon into a madman, and perverted the
gracious-minded Julius Caesar into usurpation and tyranny, has also
been found by Christian heroes the most perilous ordeal of their
virtue; but, inasmuch as they are Christian heroes, and not pagan
men, worshippers of false gods, whose fabled examples inculcated all
these deeds of self-absorbing vain-glory, our heroes of a "better
revelation" have no excuse for failing under their trial, and many
there be who pass through it "pure and undefiled." Such were the
great Alfred of England, Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, and his greater
successor in true glory, Gustavus Adolphus,--all champions of
immutable justice and ministers of peace. And though these may be
regarded as personages beyond the sphere of ordinary emulations, yet
the same principles, or their opposites, prevail in every order of
men from the prince to the peasant; and, perhaps, at no period of the
world more than the present were these divers principles in greater
necessity to be considered, and, according to the just conclusion, be
obeyed. On all sides of us we see public and private society broken
up, as it were by an earthquake: the noblest and the meanest passions
of the human bosom at contention, and the latter often so disguised,
that the vile ambuscade is not even suspected till found within the
heart of the fortress itself. We have, however, one veritable
touchstone, that of the truest observation, "ye shall know a tree by
its fruits." Let us look round, then, for those which bear "good
fruits," wholesome to the taste as well as pleasant to the sight,
whether they grow on high altitudes or in the humbler valleys of the
earth; let us view men of all degrees in life in their actions, and
not in their pretensions,--such men as were some of the Sobieski race
in Poland, in every change of their remarkable lives. When placed at
the summit of mortal fame, surrounded by greatness and glory, and
consequent power, they evinced neither pride to others nor a sense of
self-aggrandizement in themselves; and, when under a reverse
dispensation, national misfortunes pursued them, and family sorrows
pierced their souls, the weakness of a murmur never sunk the dignity
of their sustaining fortitude, nor did the firmness of that virtue
harden the amiable sensibilities of their hearts.

To exhibit so truly heroic and endearing a portrait of what every
Christian man ought to be,--for the law of God is the same to the
poor as to the rich,--I have chosen one of that illustrious and, I
believe, now extinct race for the subject of my sketch; and the more
aptly did it present itself, it being necessary to show my hero
amidst scenes and circumstances ready to exercise his brave and
generous propensities, and to put their personal issues to the test
on his mind. Hence Poland's sadly-varying destinies seemed to me the
stage best calculated for the development of any self-imposed task.

There certainly were matters enough for the exhibition of all that
human nature could suffer and endure, and, alas! perish under, in the
nearly simultaneous but terrible regicidal revolution of France; but
I shrunk from that as a tale of horror, the work of demons in the
shapes of men. It was a conflict in which no comparisons, as between
man and man, could exist; and may God grant that so fearful a
visitation may never be inflicted on this world again. May the
nations of this world lay its warnings to their hearts!

It sprung from a tree self-corrupted, which only could produce such
fruits: the demon hierarchy of the French philosophers, who had long
denied the being of that pure and Almighty God, and who, in the
arrogance of their own deified reason, and while in utter subjection
to the wildest desires of their passions, published their profane and
polluted creed amongst all orders of the people, and the natural and
terrible consequences ensued. Ignorant before, they became like unto
their teachers, demons in their unbelief,--demons in one common envy
and hatred of all degrees above them, or around them, whose existence
seemed at all in the way of even their slightest gratification:
mutual spoliation and destruction covered the country. How often has
the tale been told me by noble refugees, sheltered on our shores from
those scenes of blood, where infamy triumphed and truth and honor
were massacred; but such narratives, though they never can be
forgotten, are too direful for the hearer to contemplate in memory.

Therefore, when I sought to represent the mental and moral contest of
man with himself, or with his fellow-men, I did not look for their
field amongst human monsters, but with natural and civilized man;
inasmuch as he is seen to be influenced by the impulses of his
selfish passions--ambition, covetousness, and the vanities of life,
or, on the opposite side, by the generous amenities of true
disinterestedness, in all its trying situations; and, as I have said,
the recent struggle in Poland, to maintain her laws and loyal
independence, against the combined aggressions of the three most
powerful states in Europe, seemed to afford me the most suitable
objects for my moral aim, to interest by sympathy, while it taught
the responsible commission of human life.

I have now described the plan of my story, its aim and origin.

If it be disapproved, let it be at once laid aside; but should it
excite any interest, I pray its perusal may be accompanied with an
indulgent candor, its subjects being of so new, and therefore
uncustomary, a character in a work of the kind. But if the reader be
one of my own sex, I would especially solicit her patience while
going through the first portion of the tale, its author being aware
that war and politics are not the most promising themes for an
agreeable amusement; but the battles are not frequent, nor do the
cabinet councils last long. I beg the favor, if the story is to be
read at all, that no scene may be passed over as extraneous, for
though it begin like a state-paper, or a sermon, it always terminates
by casting some new light on the portrait of the hero. Beyond those
events of peril and of patriotic devotedness, the remainder of the
pages dwell generally with domestic interests; but if the reader do
not approach them regularly through the development of character
opened in the preceding troubled field, what they exhibit will seem a
mere wilderness of incidents, without interest or end; indeed I have
designed nothing in the personages of this narrative out of the way
of living experience. I have sketched no virtue that I have not seen,
nor painted any folly from imagination. I have endeavored to be as
faithful to reality in my pictures of domestic morals, and of heroic
duties, as a just painter would seek to be to the existing objects of
nature, "wonderful and wild, or of gentlest beauty!" and on these
grounds I have steadily attempted to inculcate "that virtue is the
highest proof of understanding, and the only solid basis of
greatness; that vice is the natural consequence of grovelling
thoughts, which begin in mistake and end in ignominy."

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *




POSTCRIPT TO A SUBSEQUENT EDITION.

After so many intervening years have passed since the author of
Thaddeus of Warsaw wrote the foregoing preface, to introduce a work
so novel in its character to the notice and candid judgment of the
British public, it was her intention to take the present occasion of
its now perfectly new republication, at the distance of above forty
years from its earliest appearance and so continued editions, to
express her grateful sense of that public's gratifying sympathies and
honoring testimonies of approbation, from its author's youth to age;
but even in the hour she sits down to perform the gracious task, she
feels a present incapability to undertake it. The very attempt has
too sensibly recalled to her heart events that have befallen her
since she lived amongst the models of her tale; and she has also more
recently been in many of the places it describes; and circumstances,
both of joys and sorrows, having occurred to her there to influence
the whole future current of her mortal life, she finds it impossible
to yet touch on those times and scenes connected with the subjects of
her happy youth, which would now only reverberate notes of sadness it
is her duty to repress. Hence, though while revising the work itself
she experiences a calm delight in the occupation, being a kind of
parting duty, also, to the descendants of her earliest, readers, she
would rather defer any little elucidations she may have met with
regarding the objects of her pen to a few pages in the form of an
Appendix at the end of the work; all, indeed, bringing her
observations, whether by weal or woe, to the one great and guiding
conclusion. "Man is formed for two states of existence--a mortal and
an immortal being;" in the Holy Scriptures authoritatively declared,
"For the life that now is, and for that which is to come."

JANE PORTER.

BRISTOL, _November_, 1844.




CONTENTS.

        I.
       II. The Mill of Mariemont.
      III. The Opening of the Campaign.
       IV. The Pass of Volunna.
        V. The Banks of the Vistula.
       VI. Society in Poland.
      VII. The Diet of Poland.
     VIII. Battle of Brzesc--The Tenth of October.
       IX. The Last Days of Villanow.
        X. Sobieski's Departure from Warsaw.
       XI. The Baltic.
      XII. Thaddeus's First Day in England.
     XIII. The Exile's Lodgings.
      XIV. A Robbery and its Consequences.
       XV. The Widow's Family.
      XVI. The Money-Lender.
     XVII. The Meeting of Exiles.
    XVIII. The Veteran's Narrative.
      XIX. Friendship a Staff in Human Life.
       XX. Woman's Kindness.
      XXI. Fashionable Sketches from the Life.
     XXII. Honorable Resources of an Exile.
    XXIII.
     XXIV. Lady Tinemouth's Boudoir.
      XXV. The Countess of Tinemouth's Story.
     XXVI. The Kindredship of Minds.
    XXVII. Such Things Were.
   XXVIII. Mary Beaufort and her Venerable Aunt.
     XXIX. Hyde Park.
      XXX. Influences of Character.
     XXXI. The Great and the Small of Society.
    XXXII. The Obduracy of Vice--The Inhumanity of Folly.
   XXXIII. Passion and Principle.
    XXXIV. Requiescat in Pace.
     XXXV. Deep are the Purposes of Adversity.
    XXXVI. An English Prison.
   XXXVII.
  XXXVIII. Zeal is Power.
    XXXIX. The Vale of Grantham--Belvoir.
       XL. Somerset Castle.
      XLI. The Maternal Heart.
     XLII. Harrowby Abbey.
    XLIII. The Old Village Hotel.
     XLIV. Letters of Farewell.
      XLV. Deerhurst.
     XLVI. The Spirit of Peace.
    XLVII. An Avowal.
   XLVIII. A Family Party.
     XLIX.
        L.
 APPENDIX.




CHAPTER I.


The large and magnificent palace of Villanow, whose vast domains
stretch along the northern bank of the Vistula, was the favorite
residence of John Sobieski, King of Poland. That monarch, after
having delivered his country from innumerable enemies, rescued Vienna
and subdued the Turks, retired to this place at certain seasons, and
thence dispensed those acts of his luminous and benevolent mind which
rendered his name great and his people happy.

When Charles the Twelfth of Sweden visited the tomb of Sobieski, at
Cracow, he exclaimed, "What a pity that so great a man should ever
die!" [Footnote: In the year 1683, this hero raised the siege of
Vienna, then beleagured by the Turks; and driving them out of Europe,
saved Christendom from a Mohammedan usurpation.] Another generation
saw the spirit of this lamented hero revive in the person of his
descendant, Constantine, Count Sobieski, who, in a comparatively
private station, as Palatine of Masovia, and the friend rather than
the lord of his vassals, evinced by his actions that he was the
inheritor of his forefather's virtue as well as of his blood.

He was the first Polish nobleman who granted freedom to his peasants.
He threw down their mud hovels and built comfortable villages; he
furnished them with seed, cattle, and implements of husbandry, and
calling their families together, laid before them the deed of their
enfranchisement; but before he signed it, he expressed a fear that
they would abuse this liberty of which they had not had experience,
and become licentious.

"No," returned a venerable peasant; "when we were ignorant men, and
possessed no property of our own except these staffs in our hands, we
were destitute of all manly motives for propriety of conduct; but you
have taught us to read out of the Holy Book, how to serve God and
honor the king. And shall we not respect laws which thus bestow on
us, and ensure to us, the fruits of our labors and the favor of
Heaven!"

The good sense and truth of this answer were manifested in the event.
On the emancipation of these people, they became so prosperous in
business and correct in behavior, that the example of the palatine
was speedily followed by the Chancellor Zamoiski [Footnote: This
family had ever been one of the noblest and most virtuous in Poland.
And had its wisdom been listened to in former years by certain
powerful and wildly ambitious lords that once great kingdom would
never have exchanged its long line of hereditary native-princes for
an elective monarchy--that arena of all political mischiefs.] and
several of the principal nobility. The royal Stanislaus's beneficent
spirit moved in unison with that of Sobieski, and a constitution was
given to Poland to place her in the first rank of free nations.

Encircled by his happy tenantry, and within the bosom of his family,
this illustrious man educated Thaddeus, the only male heir of his
name, to the exercise of all the virtues which ennoble and endear the
possessor.

But this reign of public and domestic peace was not to continue.
Three formidable and apparently friendly states envied the effects of
a patriotism they would not imitate; and in the beginning of the year
1792, regardless of existing treaties, broke in upon the unguarded
frontiers of Poland, threatening with all the horrors of a merciless
war the properties, lives, and liberties of the people.

The family of Sobieski had ever been foremost in the ranks of their
country; and at the present crisis its venerable head did not hang
behind the youngest warrior in preparations for the field.

On the evening of an anniversary of the birthday of his grandson, the
palatine rode abroad with a party of friends, who had been
celebrating the festival with their presence. The countess (his
daughter) and Thaddeus were left alone in the saloon. She sighed as
she gazed on her son, who stood at some distance, fitting to his
youthful thigh a variety of sabres, which his servant a little time
before had laid upon the table. She observed with anxiety the
eagerness of his motion, and the ardor that was flashing from his
eyes.

"Thaddeus," said she, "lay down that sword; I wish to speak with
you." Thaddeus looked gayly up. "My dear Thaddeus!" cried his mother,
and tears started to her eyes. The blush of enthusiasm faded from his
face; he threw the sabre from him, and drew near the countess.

"Why, my dear mother, do you distress yourself? When I am in battle,
shall I not have my grandfather near me, and be as much under the
protection of God as at this moment?"

"Yes, my child," answered she, "God will protect you. He is the
protector of the orphan, and you are fatherless." The countess
paused--"Here, my son," said she, giving him a sealed packet, "take
this; it will reveal to you the history of your birth and the name of
your father. It is necessary that you should know a painful fact,
which has hitherto been concealed from you by the wish and noble
judgment of your grandfather." Thaddeus received it, and stood silent
with surprise. "Read it, my love," continued she, "but go to your own
apartments; here you may be interrupted."

Bewildered by the manner of the countess, Thaddeus, without
answering, instantly obeyed. Shutting himself within his study, he
impatiently opened the papers, and soon found his whole attention
absorbed in the following recital.

"TO MY DEAR SON, THADDEUS CONSTANTINE SOBIESKI.

"You are now, my Thaddeus, at the early age of nineteen, going to
engage the enemies of your country. Ere I resign my greatest comfort
to the casualties of war; ere I part with you, perhaps forever, I
would inform you who your father really was--that father whose
existence you have hardly known and whose name you have never heard.
You believe yourself an orphan, your mother a widow; but, alas! I
have now to tell you that you were made fatherless by the perfidy of
man, not by the dispensation of Heaven.

"Twenty-three years ago, I accompanied my father in a tour through
Germany and Italy. Grief for the death of my mother had impaired his
health, and the physicians ordered him to reside in a warmer climate;
accordingly we fixed ourselves near the Arno. During several visits
to Florence, my father met in that city with a young Englishman of
the name of Sackville. These frequent meetings opened into intimacy,
and he was invited to our villa.

"Mr. Sackville was not only the most interesting man I had ever seen,
but the most accomplished, and his heart seemed the seat of every
graceful feeling. He was the first man for whose society I felt a
lively preference. I used to smile at this strange delight, or
sometimes weep; for the emotions which agitated me were undefinable,
but they were enchanting, and unheedingly I gave them indulgence. The
hours which we passed together in the interchange of reciprocal
sentiments, the kind beaming of his looks, the thousand sighs that he
breathed, the half-uttered sentences, all conspired to rob me of
myself.

"Nearly twelve months were spent in these delusions. During the last
three, doubts and anguish displaced the blissful reveries of an
infant tenderness. The attentions of Mr. Sackville died away. From
being the object of his constant search, he then sedulously sought to
avoid me. When my father withdrew to his closet, he would take his
leave, and allow me to walk alone. Solitary and wretched were my
rambles. I had full leisure to compare my then disturbed state of
mind with the comparative peace I had enjoyed in my own country.
Immured within the palace of Villanow, watching the declining health
of my mother, I knew nothing of the real world, the little I had
learned of society being drawn from books; and, uncorrected by
experience, I was taught to believe a perfection in man which, to my
affliction, I since found to be but a poet's dream. When my father
took me to Italy, I continued averse to public company. In such
seclusion, the presence of Sackville, being almost my only pleasure,
chased from my mind its usual reserve, and gradually and surely won
upon the awakened affections of my heart. Artless and unwarned, I
knew not the nature of the passion which I cherished until it had
gained an ascendancy that menaced my life.

"On the evening of one of those days in which I had been disappointed
of seeing this too-dearly-prized companion, I strolled out, and,
hardly conscious of my actions, threw myself along the summit of a
flight of steps in our garden that led down to the Arno. My head
rested against the base of a statue which, because of its resemblance
to me, Sackville had presented to my father. Every recollected
kindness of his now gave me additional torment; and clinging to the
pedestal as to the altar of my adoration, in the bitterness of
disappointment I addressed the insensible stone: 'O! were I pale as
thou art, and this breast as cold and still, would Sackville, when he
looked on me, give one sigh to the creature he had destroyed? My sobs
followed this adjuration, and the next moment I felt myself encircled
in his arms. I struggled, and almost fainting with shame at such
utter weakness, implored to be released. He did release me, and, in
an agony of emotion, besought my pardon for the misery I had endured.
'Now, Therese,' cried he, 'all is as it ought to be! you are my only
hope. Consent to be mine, or the world has no hold on me!' His voice
was hurried and incoherent. Raising my eyes to his, I beheld them
wild and bloodshot. Terrified at his look, and overcome by my own
distracted thoughts, my head sunk on the marble. With increased
violence he exclaimed, 'Have I deceived myself here too? Therese, did
you not prefer me? Did you not love me? Speak now, I conjure you, by
your own happiness and mine! Do you reject me?' He clasped my hands
with a force that made me tremble, and I hardly articulated, 'I will
be yours.' At these words he hurried me down a dark vista, which led
out of the gardens to the open country. A carriage stood at the gate.
I fearfully asked what he intended. 'You have given yourself to me,'
cried he; 'and by that vow, written in heaven, no power shall
separate us until you are mine beyond the reach of man!' Unnerved in
body and weak in mind, I yielded to his impetuosity, and suffering
him to lift me into the chariot, was carried to the door of the
nearest monastery, where in a few minutes we were married.

"I am thus particular in the relation of every incident, in the hope
that you, my dear son, will find some excuse for my great
imprudence,--in the circumstances of my youth, and in the influence
which a man who seemed all excellence had gained over my heart.
However, my fault went not long unpunished.

"The ceremony past, my husband conducted me in silence back to the
carriage. My full bosom discharged itself in abundance of tears,
while Sackville sat by me, without any movement, and mute. Two or
three times I raised my eyes, in hopes of discerning in his some
consolation for my hasty compliance. But no; his gaze, vacant and
glaring, was fixed on the window, and his brow became heavily
clouded, as if he had been forced into an alliance with one he hated,
rather than had just made a voluntary engagement with the woman he
loved. My soul shuddered at this commencement of a contract which I
had dared to make unsanctioned by my father's consent. At length my
sighs seemed to startle my husband; and suddenly turning round, he
cried, 'Therese, this marriage must not be told to the palatine. I
have been precipitate. It would ruin me with my family. Refrain, only
for one month, and then I will publicly acknowledge you.' The
agitation of his features and the feverish burning of his hand, which
then held mine, alarmed me. Trembling from head to foot, I answered,
'Sackville! I have already erred enough in consenting to this stolen
marriage. I will not transgress further by concealing it. I will
instantly throw myself at my father's feet, and confess all.' His
countenance darkened again. 'Therese,' said he, 'I am your husband.
You have sworn to obey me, and till I allow you, divulge this
marriage at your peril!' This last stern sentence, and the sterner
look that accompanied it, pierced me to the heart, and I fell
senseless on the seat.

"When I recovered, I found myself at the foot of that statue beneath
which my unfortunate destiny had been fixed. My husband was leaning
over me. He raised me with tenderness from the ground, and conjured
me, in the mildest accents, to be comforted; to pardon the severity
of those words, which had arisen from a fear that, by an imprudent
avowal on my part, I should risk both his happiness and my own. He
informed me that he was heir to one of the first families in England;
and before he set out for the continent, he had pledged his honor to
his father never to enter into any matrimonial engagement without
first acquainting him with the particulars of the lady and her
family. Should he omit this duty, his father declared that, though
she were a princess, he would disinherit him, and never again admit
him to his presence.

"'Consider this, my dear Therese,' continued he; 'could you endure to
behold me an outcast, and stigmatized with a parent's curse, when a
little forbearance on your part would make all right? I know I have
been hasty in acting as I have done, but now I cannot remedy my
error. To-morrow I will write to my father, describe your rank and
merits, and request his consent to our immediate union. The moment
his permission arrives, I will cast myself on the palatine's
friendship, and reveal what has passed.' The tenderness of my husband
blinded my reason, and with many tears, I sealed his forgiveness and
pledged my faith on his word.

"My dear deceived parent little suspected the perfidy of his guest.
He detained him as his visitor, and often rallied himself on the hold
which this distinguished stranger's accomplishments had taken on his
heart. Sackville's manner to me in public was obliging and free; it
was in private only that I found the tender, the capricious, the
unkind husband. Night after night I have washed the memory of my want
of duty to my father with bitter tears; but my husband was dear to
me--he was more precious than my life! One affectionate look from
him, one fond word, would solace every pain, and make me wait the
arrival of his father's letter with all the sanguine anticipations of
youth and love.

"A fortnight passed away. A month--a long and lingering month.
Another month, and a packet of letters was presented to Sackville. He
was conversing with us. At sight of the superscription, he tore open
the paper, ran his eyes over a few lines, and then, flushed and
agitated, started from his seat and left the room. My emotions were
almost uncontrollable. I had already half risen from my chair to
follow him, when the palatine exclaimed, 'What can be in that letter?
Too plainly I see some afflicting tidings.' And without observing me,
or waiting for a reply, he hurried out after him. I hastened to my
chamber, where, throwing myself on my bed, I tried, by all the
delusions of hope, to obtain some alleviation from the pangs of my
suspense.

"The dinner-bell roused me from my reverie. Dreading to excite
suspicion, and anxious to read in the countenance of my husband the
denunciation of our fate, I obeyed the summons and descended to the
dining-room. On entering it, my eyes irresistibly wandered round to
fix themselves on Sackville. He was leaning against a pillar, his
face pale as death. My father looked grave, but immediately took his
seat, and tenderly placed his friend beside him. I sat down in
silence. Little dinner was eaten, and few words spoken. As for
myself, my agitation almost choked me. I felt that the first words I
should attempt to pronounce must give them utterance, and that their
vehemence would betray our fatal secret.

"When the servants had withdrawn, Sackville rose, and said, in a
faltering voice, 'Count, I must leave you.' 'Nay,' replied the
palatine; 'you are unwell--disturbed--stay till to-morrow.' 'I thank
your excellency,' answered he, 'but I must go to Florence to-night.
You shall see me again before to-morrow afternoon; all will then, I
hope, be settled to my wish.' My husband took his hat. Motionless,
and incapable of speaking, I sat fixed to my chair, in the direct way
that he must pass. His eye met mine. He stopped and looked at me,
abruptly snatched my hand; then as abruptly quitting it, darted out
of the room. I never saw him more.

"I had not the power to dissemble another moment. I fell back into
the arms of my father. He did not, even by this imprudence, read what
I almost wished him to guess, but, with all the indulgence of perfect
confidence, lamented the distress of Sackville, and the sensibility
of my nature, which sympathized so painfully with his friend. I durst
not ask what was the distress of his friend. Abashed at my duplicity
to my father, and overwhelmed with a thousand dreads, I obtained his
permission to retire to my chamber.

"The next day I met him with calmness, for I had schooled my heart to
endure the sufferings it had deserved. He did not remark my recovered
tranquillity, so entirely was his generous heart occupied in
conjecturing the cause of Sackville's grief, who had acknowledged
having received a great shock, but would not reveal the occasion.
This double reserve to my father surprised and distressed me, and to
all his suppositions I said little. My soul was too deeply interested
in the subject to trust to the faithfulness of my lips.

"The morning crept slowly on, and the noon appeared to stand still. I
anxiously watched the declining sun, as the signal for my husband's
return. Two hours had elapsed since his promised time, and my father
grew so impatient that he went out to meet him. I eagerly wished that
they might miss each other. I should then see Sackville a few minutes
alone, and by one word be comforted or driven to despair.

"I was listening to every footstep that sounded under the colonnade,
when my servant brought me a letter which had just been left by one
of Mr. Sackville's grooms. I broke open the seal, and fell senseless
on the floor ere I had read half the killing contents."

Thaddeus, with a burning cheek, and a heart all at once robbed of
that elastic spring which till now had ever made him the happiest of
the happy, took up the letter of his father. The paper was worn, and
blistered with his mother's tears. His head seemed to swim as he
contemplated the handwriting, and he said to himself, "Am I to
respect or to abhor him?" He proceeded in the perusal.

"TO THERESE, COUNTESS SOBIESKI.

"How, Therese, am I to address you? But an attempt to palliate my
conduct would be to no purpose; indeed it is impossible. You cannot
conceive a viler opinion of me than I have of myself. I know that I
forfeit all claim to honor, in the most delicate point of your noble
and trusting heart!--that I have sacrificed your tenderness to my
distracted passions; but you shall no more be subject to the caprices
of a man who cannot repay your innocent love with his own. _You_
have no guilt to torture you; and you possess virtues which will
render you tranquil under every calamity. I leave you to your own
purity, and, therefore, peace of mind. Forget the ceremony which has
passed between us; my wretched heart disclaims it forever. Your
father is happily ignorant of it; pray spare him the anguish of
knowing that I was so utterly unworthy of his kindness; I feel that I
am more than ungrateful to you and to him. Therese, your most
inveterate hate cannot more strongly tell me than I can tell myself
that to you I have been a villain. But I cannot retract. I am going
where all search will be vain; and I now bid you an eternal farewell.
May you be happier than ever can be the self-abhorring.

                      "R. S------."
                           "FLORENCE."

Thaddeus, after a brief pause, went on with his mother's narrative.

"When my senses returned, I was lying on the floor, holding the half-
perused paper in my hand. Grief and horror had locked up the avenues
of complaint, and I sat as one petrified to stone. My father entered.
At the sight of me, he started as if he had been a spectre. His well-
known features opened at once my agonized heart. With fearful cries I
cast myself at his feet, and putting the letter into his hand, clung,
almost expiring, to his knees.

"When he had read it, he flung it from him, and dropping into a
chair, covered his face with his hands. I looked up imploringly, for
I could not speak. My father stooped forward, and raising me in his
arms, pressed me to his bosom. 'My Therese,' said he, 'it is I who
have done this. Had I not harbored this villain, he never could have
had an opportunity of ruining the peace of my child.' In return for
the unexampled indulgence of this speech, and his repeated assurances
of forgiveness, I promised to forget a man who could have had so
little respect for truth and gratitude, and his own honor. The
palatine replied that he expected such a resolution, in consequence
of the principles my exemplary mother had taught me; and to show me
how far dearer to him was my real tranquillity than any false idea of
impossible restitution, he would not remove even from one
principality to another, were he sure by that means to discover Mr.
Sackville and to avenge my wrongs. My understanding assented to the
justice and dignity of all he said; but long and severe were my
struggles before I could erase from my soul the image of that being
who had been the lord of all my young hopes.

"It was not until you, my dear Thaddeus, were born that I could repay
the goodness of my father with the smiles of cheerfulness. And he
would not permit me to give you any name which could remind him or
myself of the faithless husband who knew not even of your existence;
and by his desire I christened you Thaddeus Constantine, after
himself, and his best beloved friend General Kosciusko. You have not
yet seen that illustrious Polander; his prescient watchfulness for
his country keeps him so constantly employed on the frontiers. He is
now with the army at Winnica, whither you must soon go; and in him
you may study one of the brightest models of patriotic and martial
virtue that ever was presented to mankind. It is well said of him
'that he would have shone with distinguished lustre in the ages of
chivalry.' Gallant, generous, and strictly just, he commands
obedience by the reverence in which he is held, and attaches the
troops to his person by the affability of his manners and the purity
of his life. He teaches them discipline, endurance of fatigue, and
contempt of danger, by his dauntless example, and inspires them with
confidence by his tranquillity in the tumult of action and the
invincible fortitude with which he meets the most adverse stroke of
misfortune. His modesty in victory shows him to be one of the
greatest among men, and his magnanimity under defeat confirms him to
be a Christian hero.

"Such is the man whose name you share. How bitterly do I lament that
the one to which nature gave you a claim was so unworthy to be united
with it, and that of my no less heroic father!

"On our return to Poland, the story which the palatine related, when
questioned about my apparently forlorn state, was simply this:--'My
daughter was married and widowed in the course of two months. Since
then, to root from her memory as much as possible all recollection of
a husband who was only given to be taken away, she still retains my
name; and her son, as my sole heir, shall bear no other.' This reply
satisfied every one; the king, who was my father's only confidant,
gave his sanction to it, and no further inquiries were ever made.

"You are now, my beloved child, entering on the eventful career of
life. God only knows, when the venerable head of your grandfather is
laid in dust, and I, too, have shut my eyes upon you in this world,
where destiny may send you! perhaps to the country of your father.
Should you ever meet him--but that is unlikely; so I will be silent
on a thought which nineteen years of reflection have not yet deprived
of its sting.

"Not to embitter the fresh spring of your youth, my Thaddeus, with
the draught that has poisoned mine: not to implant in your breast
hatred of a parent whom you may never behold, have I written this;
but to inform you in fact from whom you sprung. My history is made
plain to you, that no unexpected events may hereafter perplex your
opinion of your mother, or cause a blush to rise on that cheek for
her, which from your grandfather can derive no stain. For his sake as
well as for mine, whether in peace or in war, may the angels of
heaven guard my boy! This is the unceasing prayer of thy fond mother,

"THERESE, COUNTESS SOBIESKI.

"VILLANOW, _March_, 1792."

 When he finished reading, Thaddeus held the papers in his hand; but,
unable to recover from the shock of their contents, he read them a
second time to the end; then laying them on the table, against which
he rested his now aching head, he gave vent to the fulness of his
heart in tears.

The countess, anxious for the effect which her history might have
made on her son, at this instant entered the room. Seeing him in so
dejected an attitude, she approached, and pressing him to her bosom,
silently wept with him. Thaddeus, ashamed of his emotions, yet
incapable of dissembling them, struggled a moment to release himself
from her arms. The countess, mistaking his motive, said in a
melancholy voice, "And do you, my son, despise your mother for the
weakness which she has revealed? Is this the reception that I
expected from a child on whose affection I reposed my confidence and
my comfort?"

"No, my mother" replied Thaddeus; "it is your afflictions which have
distressed me. This is the first unhappy hour I ever knew, and can
you wonder I should be affected? Oh! mother," continued he, laying
his hand on his father's letter, "whatever were his rank, had my
father been but noble in mind, I would have gloried in bearing his
name; but now, I put up my prayers never to hear it more."

"Forget him," cried the countess, hiding her eyes with her
handkerchief.

"I will," answered Thaddeus, "and allow my memory to dwell on the
virtues of my mother only."

It was impossible for the countess or her son to conceal their
agitation from the palatine, who now opened the door. On his
expressing alarm at a sight so unusual, his daughter, finding herself
incapable of speaking, put into his hand the letter which Thaddeus
had just read. Sobieski cast his eye over the first lines; he
comprehended their tendency, and seeing the countess had withdrawn,
he looked towards his grandson. Thaddeus was walking up and down the
room, striving to command himself for the conversation he anticipated
with his grandfather.

"I am sorry, Thaddeus," said Sobieski, "that your mother has so
abruptly imparted to you the real country and character of your
father. I see that his villany has distressed a heart which Heaven
has made alive to even the slightest appearance of dishonor. But be
consoled, my son! I have prevented the publicity of his conduct by an
ambiguous story of your mother's widowhood. Yet notwithstanding this
arrangement, she has judged it proper that you should not enter
general society without being made acquainted with the true events of
your birth. I believe my daughter is right. And cheer yourself, my
child! ever remembering that you are one of the noblest race in
Poland! and suffer not the vices of one parent to dim the virtues of
the other."

"No, my lord," answered his grandson; "you have been more than a
parent to me; and henceforward, for your sake as well as my own, I
shall hold it my duty to forget that I draw my being from any other
source than that of the house of Sobieski."

"You are right," cried the palatine, with an exulting emotion; "you
have the spirit of your ancestors, and I shall live to see you add
glory to the name!" [Footnote: John Sobieski, King of Poland, was the
most renowned sovereign of his time. His victories over the Tartars
and the Turks obtained for him the admiration of Europe. Would it
might be said, "the gratitude also of her posterity!" For his signal
courage and wondrous generalship on the field of Vienna, against the
latter Mohammedan power, rescued Austria, and the chief part of
Christendom at that time, from their ruinous grasp. Where was the
memory of these things, when the Austrian emperor marched his
devastating legions into Poland, in the year 1793?]

The beaming eyes and smiling lips of the young count declared that he
had shaken sorrow from his heart. His grandfather pressed his hand
with delight, and saw in his recovered serenity the sure promise of
his fond prophecy.




CHAPTER II.

THE MILL OF MARIEMONT.


The fearful day arrived when Sobieski and his grandson were to bid
adieu to Villanow and its peaceful scenes.

The well-poised mind of the veteran bade his daughter farewell with a
fortitude which imparted some of its strength even to her. But when
Thaddeus, ready habited for his journey, entered the room, at the
sight of his military accoutrements she shuddered; and when, with a
glowing countenance, he advanced, smiling through his tears, towards
her, she clasped him in her arms, and riveted her lips to that face
the very loveliness of which added to her affliction. She gazed at
him, she wept on his neck, she pressed him to her bosom. "Oh! how
soon might all that beauty be mingled with the dust! how soon might
that warm heart, which then beat against hers, be pierced by the
sword--be laid on the ground, mangled and bleeding, exposed and
trampled on!" These thoughts thronged upon her soul, and deprived her
of sense. She was borne away by her maids, while the palatine
compelled Thaddeus to quit the spot.

It was not until the lofty battlements of Villanow blended with the
clouds that Thaddeus could throw off his melancholy. The parting
grief of his mother hung on his spirits; and heavy and frequent were
his sighs while he gazed on the rustic cottages and fertile fields,
which reminded him that he was yet passing through the territories of
his grandfather. The picturesque mill of Mariemont was the last spot
on which his sight lingered. The ivy that mantled its sides sparkled
with the brightness of a shower which had just fallen; and the rays
of the setting sun, gleaming on its shattered wall, made it an object
of such romantic beauty, that he could not help pointing it out to
his fellow-travellers.

Whilst the eyes of General Butzou, who was in the carriage, followed
the direction of Thaddeus, the palatine observed the heightening
animation of the old man's features; and recollecting at the same
time the transports which he himself had enjoyed when he visited that
place more than twenty years before, he put his hand on the shoulder
of the veteran, and exclaimed, "General, did you ever relate to my
boy the particulars of that mill?"

"No, my lord."

"I suppose," continued the palatine, "the same reason deterred you
from speaking of it, uncalled for, as lessened my wish to tell the
story? We are both too much the heroes of the tale to have
volunteered the recital."

"Does your excellency mean," asked Thaddeus, "the rescue of our king
from this place?"

"I do."

"I have an indistinct knowledge of the affair," continued his
grandson, "from I forget who, and should be grateful to hear it
clearly told me, while thus looking on the very spot."

"But," said the palatine, gayly, whose object was to draw his
grandson from melancholy reflections, "what will you say to me
turning egotist?"

"I now ask the story of you," returned Thaddeus, smiling; "besides,
as soldiers are permitted by their peaceful hearth to 'fight their
battles o'er again,' your modesty, my dear grandfather, cannot object
to repeat one to me on the way to more."

"Then, as a preliminary," said the palatine, "I must suppose it is
unnecessary to tell you that General Butzou was the brave soldier
who, at the imminent risk of his own life, saved our sovereign."

"Yes, I know that!" replied the young count, "and that you too had a
share in the honor: for when I was yesterday presented to his
majesty, amongst other things which he said, he told me that, under
Heaven, he believed he owed his present existence to General Butzou
and yourself."

"So very little to me," resumed the palatine, "that I will, to the
best of my recollection, repeat every circumstance of the affair.
Should I err, I must beg of you, general" (turning to the veteran),
"to put me right."

Butzou, with a glow of honest exultation, nodded assent; and Thaddeus
bowing in sign of attention, his smiling grandsire began.

"It was on a Sunday night, the 3d of September, in the year 1771,
that this event took place. At that time, instigated by the courts of
Vienna and Constantinople, a band of traitorous lords, confederated
together, were covertly laying waste the country, and perpetrating
all kinds of unsuspected outrage on their fellow-subjects who adhered
to the king.

"Amongst their numerous crimes, a plan was laid for surprising and
taking the royal person. Casimir Pulaski was the most daring of their
leaders; and, assisted by Lukawski, Strawenski, and Kosinski, three
Poles unworthy of their names, he resolved to accomplish his design
or perish. Accordingly, these men, with forty other conspirators, in
the presence of their commander swore with the most horrid oaths to
deliver Stanislaus alive or dead into his hands.

"About a month after this meeting, these three parricides of their
country, at the head of their coadjutors, disguised as peasants, and
concealing their arms in wagons of hay, which they drove before them,
entered the suburbs of Warsaw undetected.

"It was about ten o'clock P. M., on the 3d of September, as I have
told you, they found an apt opportunity to execute their scheme. They
placed themselves, under cover of the night, in those avenues, of the
city through which they knew his majesty must pass in his way from
Villanow, where he had been dining with me. His carriage was escorted
by four of his own guards, besides myself and some of mine. We had
scarcely lost sight of Villanow, when the conspirators rushed out and
surrounded us, commanding the coachman to stop, and beating down the
serving men with the butt ends of their muskets. Several shots were
fired into the coach. One passed through my hat as I was getting out,
sword in hand, the better to repel an attack the motive of which I
could not then divine. A cut across my right leg with a sabre laid me
under the wheels; and whilst in that situation, I heard the shot
pouring into the coach like hail, and felt the villains stepping over
my body to finish the murder of their sovereign.

"It was then that our friend Butzou (who at that period was a private
soldier in my service) stood between his majesty and the rebels,
parrying many a stroke aimed at the king; but at last, a thrust from
a bayonet into his gallant defender's breast cast him weltering in
his blood upon me. By this time all the persons who had formed the
escort were either wounded or dispersed, and George Butzou, our
friend's only brother, was slain. So dropped one by one the
protectors of our trampled bodies and of our outraged monarch. Secure
then of their prey, one of the assassins opened the carriage door,
and with shocking imprecations seizing the king, discharged his
pistol so near his majesty's face, that he felt the heat of the
flash. A second villain cut him on the forehead with a sabre, whilst
the third, who was on horseback, laying hold of the king's collar,
dragged him along the ground through the suburbs of the city.

"During the latter part of this murderous scene, some of our
affrighted people, who had fled, returned with a detachment, and
seeing Butzou and me apparently lifeless, carried us to the royal
palace, where all was commotion and distraction. But the foot-guards
followed the track which the conspirators had taken. In one of the
streets they found the king's hat dyed in blood, and his pelisse
also. This confirmed their apprehensions of his death; and they came
back filling all Warsaw with dismay.

"The assassins, meanwhile, got clear of the town. Finding, however,
that the king, by loss of blood, was not likely to exist much longer
by dragging him towards their employer, and that delay might even
lose them his dead body, they mounted him, and redoubled their speed.
When they came to the moat, they compelled him to leap his horse
across it. In the attempt the horse fell and broke its leg. They then
ordered his majesty, fainting as he was, to mount another and spur it
over. The conspirators had no sooner passed the ditch, and saw their
king fall insensible on the neck of his horse, than they tore from
his breast the ribbon of the black eagle, and its diamond cross.
Lukawski was so foolishly sure of his prisoner, dead or alive, that
he quitted his charge, and repaired with these spoils to Pulaski,
meaning to show them as proofs of his success. Many of the other
plunderers, concluding that they could not do better than follow
their leader's example, fled also, tired of their work, leaving only
seven of the party, with Kosinski at their head, to remain over the
unfortunate Stanislaus, who shortly after recovered from his swoon.

"The night was now grown so dark, they could not be sure of their
way; and their horses stumbling at every step, over stumps of trees
and hollows in the earth, increased their apprehensions to such a
degree, that they obliged the king to keep up with them on foot. He
literally marked his path with his blood; his shoes having been torn
off in the struggle at the carriage. Thus they continued wandering
backward and forward, and round the outskirts of Warsaw, without any
exact knowledge of their situation. The men who guarded him at last
became so afraid of their prisoner's taking advantage of these
circumstances to escape, that they repeatedly called on Kosinski for
orders to put him to death. Kosinski refused; but their demands
growing more imperious, as the intricacies of the forest involved
them completely, the king expected every moment to find their
bayonets in his breast.

"Meanwhile," continued the palatine, "when I recovered from my swoon
in the palace, my leg had been bound up, and I felt able to stir.
Questioning the officers who stood about my couch, I found that a
general panic had seized them. They knew not how to proceed; they
shuddered at leaving the king to the mercy of the confederates, and
yet were fearful, by pursuing him further, to incense them through
terror or revenge to massacre their prisoner, if he were still alive.
I did all that was in my power to dispel this last dread. Anxious, at
any rate, to make another attempt to preserve him, though I could not
ride myself, I strenuously advised an immediate pursuit on horseback,
and insisted that neither darkness nor apprehension of increasing
danger should be permitted to impede their course. Recovered presence
of mind in the nobles restored hope and animation to the terrified
soldiers, and my orders were obeyed. But I must add, they were soon
disappointed, for in less than half an hour the detachment returned
in despair, showing me his majesty's coat, which they had found in
the fosse. I suppose the ruffians tore it off when they rifled him.
It was rent in several places, and so wet with blood that the officer
who presented it to me concluded they had murdered the king there,
and drawn away his body, for by the light of the torches the soldiers
could trace drops of blood to a considerable distance.

"Whilst I was attempting to invalidate this new evidence of his
majesty's being beyond the reach of succor, he was driven before the
seven conspirators so far into the wood of Bielany, that, not knowing
whither they went, they came up with one of the guard-houses, and, to
their extreme terror, were accosted by a patrol. Four of the banditti
immediately disappeared, leaving two only with Kosinski, who, much
alarmed, forced his prisoner to walk faster and keep a profound
silence. Notwithstanding all this precaution, scarce a quarter of an
hour afterwards they were challenged by a second watch; and the other
two men taking flight, Kosinski, full of indignation at their
desertion, was left alone with the king. His majesty, sinking with
pain and fatigue, besought permission to rest for a moment; but
Kosinski refused, and pointing his sword towards the king, compelled
him to proceed.

"As they walked on, the insulted monarch, who was hardly able to drag
one limb after the other, observed that his conductor gradually
forgot his vigilance, until he was thoroughly given up to thought.
The king conceived some hope from this change, and ventured to say 'I
see that you know not how to proceed. You cannot but be aware that
the enterprise in which you are engaged, however it may end, is full
of peril to you. Successful conspirators are always jealous of each
other. Pulaski will find it as easy to rid himself of your life as it
is to take mine. Avoid that danger, and I will promise you none on my
account. Suffer me to enter the convent of Bielany: we cannot be far
from it; and then, do you provide for your own safety.' Kosinski,
though rendered desperate by the circumstances in which he was
involved, replied, 'No; I have sworn, and I would rather sacrifice my
life than my honor.'

"The king had neither strength nor spirits to urge him further, and
they continued to break their way through the bewildering underwood,
until they approached Mariemont. Here Stanislaus, unable to stir
another step, sunk down at the foot of the old yew-tree, and again
implored for one moment's rest. Kosinski no longer refused. This
unexpected humanity encouraged his majesty to employ the minutes they
sat together in another attempt to soften his heart, and to convince
him that the oath which he had taken was atrocious, and by no means
binding to a brave and virtuous man.

"Kosinski heard him with attention, and even showed he was affected.
'But,' said he, 'if I should assent to what you propose, and
reconduct you to Warsaw, what will be the consequence to me? I shall
be taken and executed.' 'I give you my word,' answered the king,
'that you shall not suffer any injury. But if you doubt my honor,
escape while you can. I shall find some place of shelter, and will
direct your pursuers to take the opposite road to that which you may
choose.' Kosinski, entirely overcome, threw himself on his knees
before his majesty, and imploring pardon from Heaven for what he had
done, swore that from this hour he would defend his king against all
the conspirators, and trust confidently in his word for future
preservation. Stanislaus repeated his promise of forgiveness and
protection, and directed him to seek refuge for them both in the mill
near which they were discoursing. Kosinski obeyed. He knocked, but no
one gave answer. He then broke a pane of glass in the window, and
through it begged succor for a nobleman who had been waylaid by
robbers. The miller refused to come out, or to let the applicants in,
expressing his belief that they were robbers themselves, and if they
did not go away he would fire on them.

"This dispute had continued some time, when the king contrived to
crawl up close to the windows and spoke. 'My good friend,' said he,
'if we were banditti, as you suppose, it would be as easy for us,
without all this parley, to break into your house as to break this
pane of glass; therefore, if you would not incur the shame of
suffering a fellow-creature to perish for want of assistance, give us
admittance.' This plain argument had its weight upon the man, and
opening the door, he desired them to enter. After some trouble, his
majesty procured pen and ink, and addressing a few lines to me at the
palace, with difficulty prevailed on one of the miller's sons to
carry it, so fearful were they of falling in with any of the troop
who they understood had plundered their guests.

"My joy at the sight of this note I cannot describe. I well remember
the contents; they were literally these:--

"'By the miraculous hand of Providence I have escaped from the hands
of assassins. I am now at the mill of Mariemont. Send immediately and
take me hence. I am wounded, but not dangerously.'

"Regardless of my own condition, I instantly got into a carriage, and
followed by a detachment of horse, arrived at the mill. I met
Kosinski at the door, keeping guard with his sword drawn. As he knew
my person, he admitted me directly. The king had fallen into a sleep,
and lay in one corner of the hovel on the ground, covered with the
miller's cloak. To see the most virtuous monarch in the world thus
abused by a party of ungrateful subjects pierced me to the heart.
Kneeling down by his side, I took hold of his hand, and in a paroxysm
of tears, which I am not ashamed to confess, I exclaimed, 'I thank
thee, Almighty God, that I again see our true-hearted sovereign still
alive!' It is not easy to say how these words struck the simple
family. They dropped on their knees before the king, whom my voice
had awakened, and besought his pardon, for their recent opposition to
give him entrance. The good Stanislaus soon quieted their fears, and
graciously thanking them for their kindness, told the miller to come
to the palace the next day, when he would show him his gratitude in a
better way than by promises.

"The officers of the detachment then assisted his majesty and myself
into the carriage, and accompanied by Kosinski, we reached Warsaw
about six in the morning."

"Yes," interrupted Butzou; "I remember my tumultuous joy when the
news was brought to me in my bed that my brave brother had not died
in vain for his sovereign; it almost deprived me of my senses; and
besides, his majesty visited me, his poor soldier, in my chamber.
Does not your excellency recollect how he was brought into my room on
a chair, between two men? and how he thanked me, and shook hands with
me, and told me my brother should never be forgotten in Poland? It
made me weep like a child."

"And he never can!" cried Thaddeus, hardly recovering from the deep
attention with which he had listened to this recital. [Footnote: The
king had his brave defender buried with military honors, and caused a
noble monument to be raised over him, with an inscription, of which
the following is a translation:--

"Here lieth the respected remains of George Butzou, who, on the 3d of
September, 1771, opposing his own breast to shield his sovereign from
the weapons of national parricides, was pierced with a mortal wound,
and triumphantly expired. Stanislaus the king, lamenting the death of
so faithful a subject, erects this monument as a tribute to him and
an example of heroic duty to others."] "But what became of Kosinski?
For doubtless the king kept his word."

"He did indeed," replied Sobieski; "his word is at all times sacred.
Yet I believe Kosinski entertained fears that he would not be so
generous, for I perceived him change color very often while we were
in the coach. However, he became tranquillized when his majesty, on
alighting at the palace in the midst of the joyous cries of the
people, leaned upon his arm and presented him to the populace as his
preserver. The great gate was ordered to be left open; and never
whilst I live shall I again behold such a scene! Every loyal soul in
Warsaw, from the highest to the lowest, came to catch a glimpse of
their rescued sovereign. Seeing the doors free, they entered without
ceremony, and thronged forward in crowds to get near enough to kiss
his hand, or to touch his clothes; then, elated with joy, they turned
to Kosinski, and loaded him with demonstrations of gratitude, calling
him the 'saviour of the king.' Kosinski bore all this with surprising
firmness; but in a day or two, when the facts became known, he feared
he might meet with different treatment from the people, and therefore
petitioned his majesty for leave to depart. Stanislaus consented--and
he retired to Semigallia, where he now lives on a handsome pension
from the king."

"Generous Stanislaus!" exclaimed the general; "you see, my dear young
count, how he has rewarded me for doing that which was merely my
duty. He put it at my option to become what I pleased about his
person, or to hold an officer's rank in his body-guard. Love ennobles
servitude; and attached as I have ever been to your family, under
whom all my ancestors have lived and fought, I vowed in my own mind
never to quit it, and accordingly begged permission of my sovereign
to remain with the Count Sobieski. I did remain; but see," cried he,
his voice faltering, "what my benefactors have made of me. I command
those troops amongst whom it was once my greatest pride to be a
private soldier."

Thaddeus pressed the hand of the veteran between both his, and
regarded him with respect and affection, whilst the grateful old man
wiped away a gliding tear from his face. [Footnote: Lukawski and
Strawenski were afterwards both taken, with others of the
conspirators. At the king's entreaty, those of inferior rank were
pardoned after condemnation; but the two noblemen who had deluded
them were beheaded. Pulaski, the prime ring-leader, escaped, to the
wretched life of an outlaw and an exile, and finally died in America,
in 1779.]

"How happy it ought to make you, my son," observed Sobieski, "that
you are called out to support such a sovereign! He is not merely a
brave king, whom you would follow to battle, because he will lead you
to honor; the hearts of his people acknowledge him in a superior
light; they look on him as their patriarchal head, as being delegated
of God to study what is their greatest good, to bestow it, and when
it is attacked, to de-fend it. To preserve the life of such a
sovereign, who would not sacrifice his own?"

"Yes," cried Butzou; "and how ought we to abhor those who threaten
his life! How ought we to estimate those crowned heads who, under the
mask of amity, have from the year sixty-four, when he ascended the
throne, until now, been plotting his overthrow or death! Either
calamity, O Heaven, avert! for his death, I fear, will be a prelude
to the certain ruin of our country."

"Not so," interrupted Thaddeus, with eagerness; "not whilst a
Polander has power to lift an arm in defence of a native king, and an
hereditary succession, can she be quite lost! What was ever in the
hearts of her people that is not now there? For one, I can never
forget how her sons have more than once rolled back on their own
lands legions of invaders, from those very countries now daring to
threaten her existence!"

Butzou applauded his spirit, and was warmly seconded by the palatine,
who (never weary of infusing into every feeling of his grandson an
interest for his country) pursued the discourse, and dwelt minutely
on the happy tendency of the glorious constitution of 1791, in
defence of which they were now going to hazard their lives. As
Sobieski pointed out its several excellences, and expatiated on the
pure spirit of freedom which animated its revived laws, the soul of
Thaddeus followed his eloquence with all the fervor of youth,
forgetting his late domestic regrets in the warm aspirations of
patriotic hopes; and at noon on the third day, with smiling eyes he
saw his grandfather put himself at the head of his battalions and
commence a rapid march.




CHAPTER III.

THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN.


The little army of the palatine passed by the battlements of Chelm,
crossed the Bug into the plains of Volhinia, and impatiently counted
the leagues over those vast tracts until it reached the borders of
Kiovia.

When the column at the head of which Thaddeus was stationed descended
the heights of Lininy, and the broad camp of his countrymen burst
upon his sight, his heart heaved with an emotion quite new to him. He
beheld with admiration the regular disposition of the intrenchments,
the long intersected tented streets, and the warlike appearance of
the soldiers, whom he could descry, even at that distance, by the
beams of a bright evening sun which shone upon their arms.

In half an hour his troops descended into the plain, where, meeting
those of the palatine and General Butzou, the three columns again
united, and Thaddeus joined his grandfather in the van.

"My lord," cried he, as they met, "can I behold such a sight and
despair of the freedom of Poland!"

Sobieski made no reply, but giving him one of those expressive looks
of approbation which immediately makes its way to the soul, commanded
the troops to advance with greater speed. In a few minutes they
reached the outworks of the camp, and entered the lines. The eager
eyes of Thaddeus wandered from object to object. Thrilling with that
delight with which youth beholds wonders, and anticipates more, he
stopped with the rest of the party before a tent, which General
Butzou informed him belonged to the commander-in-chief. They were met
in the vestibule by an hussar officer of a most commanding
appearance. Sobieski and he having accosted each other with mutual
congratulations, the palatine turned to Thaddeus, took him by the
hand, and presenting him to his friend, said with a smile,

"Here, my dear Kosciusko, this young men is my grandson; he is called
Thaddeus Sobieski, and I trust that he will not disgrace either of
our names!"

Kosciusko embraced the young count, and with a hearty pressure of his
hand, replied, "Thaddeus, if you resemble your grandfather, you can
never forget that the only king of Poland who equalled our patriotic
Stanislaus was a Sobieski; and as becomes his descendant, you will
not spare your best blood in the service of your country." [Footnote:
Kosciusko, noble of birth, and eminently brave in spirit, had learnt
the practice of arms in his early youth in America. During the
contest between the British colonies there and the mother country,
the young Pole, with a few of his early compeers in the great
military college at Warsaw, eager to measure swords in an actual
field, had passed over seas to British America, and offering their
services to the independents, which were accepted, the extraordinary
warlike talents of Kosciusko were speedily honored by his being made
an especial aid-de-camp to General Washington. When the war ended, in
the peace of mutual concessions between the national parent and its
children on a distant land, the Poles returned to their native
country, where they soon met circumstances which caused them to
redraw their swords for her. But to what issue, was yet behind the
floating colors of a soldier's hope.]

As Kosciusko finished speaking, an aid-de-camp came forward to lead
the party into the room of audience. Prince Poniatowski welcomed the
palatine and his suite with the most lively expressions of pleasure.
He gave Thaddeus, whose figure and manner instantly charmed him, many
flattering assurances of friendship, and promised that he would
appoint him to the first post of honor which should offer. After
detaining the palatine and his grandson half an hour, his highness
withdrew, and they rejoined Kosciusko, who conducted them to the
quarter where the Masovian soldiers had already pitched their tents.

The officers who supped with Sobieski left him at an early hour, that
he might retire to rest; but Thaddeus was neither able nor inclined
to benefit by their consideration. He lay down on his mattress, shut
his eyes, and tried to sleep; but the attempt was without success. In
vain he turned from side to side; in vain he attempted to restrict
his thoughts to one thing at once; his imagination was so roused by
anticipating the scenes in which he was to become an actor, that he
found it impossible even to lie still. His spirits being quite awake,
he determined to rise, and to walk himself drowsy.

Seeing his grandfather sound asleep, he got up and dressed himself
quietly; then stealing gently from the marquée, he gave the word in a
low whisper to the guard at the door, and proceeded down the lines.
The pitying moon seemed to stand in the heavens, watching the awaking
of those heroes who the next day might sleep to rise no more. At
another time, and in another mood, such might have been his
reflections; but now he pursued his walk with different thoughts: no
meditations but those of pleasure possessed his breast. He looked on
the moon with transport; he beheld the light of that beautiful
planet, trailing its long stream of glory across the intrenchments.
He perceived a solitary candle here and there glimmering through the
curtained entrance of the tents, and thought that their inmates were
probably longing with the same anxiety as himself for the morning's
dawn.

Thaddeus walked slowly on, sometimes pausing at the lonely footfall
of the sentinel, or answering with a start to the sudden challenge
for the parole; then lingering at the door of some of these canvas
dwellings, he offered up a prayer for the brave inhabitant who, like
himself, had quitted the endearments of home to expose his life on
this spot, a bulwark of liberty. Thaddeus knew not what it was to be
a soldier by profession; he had no idea of making war a trade, by
which a man may acquire subsistence, and perhaps wealth; he had but
one motive for appearing in the field, and one for leaving it,--to
repel invasion and to establish peace. The first energy of his mind
was a desire to maintain the rights of his country; it had been
inculcated into him when an infant; it had been the subject of his
morning thoughts and nightly dreams; it was now the passion which
beat in every artery of his heart. Yet he knew no honor in slaughter;
his glory lay in defence; and when that was accomplished, his sword
would return to its scabbard, unstained by the blood of a vanquished
or invaded people. On these principles, he was at this hour full of
enthusiasm; a glow of triumph flitted over his cheek, for he had felt
the indulgences of his mother's palace, had left her maternal arms,
to take upon him the toils of war, and risk an existence just blown
into enjoyment. A noble satisfaction rose in his mind; and with all
the animation which an inexperienced and raised fancy imparts to that
age when boyhood breaks into man, his soul grasped at every show of
creation with the confidence of belief. Pressing the sabre which he
held in his hand to his lips, he half uttered, "Never shall this
sword leave my arm but at the command of mercy, or when death
deprives my nerves of their strength."

Morning was tinging the hills which bound the eastern horizon of
Winnica before Thaddeus found that his pelisse was wet with dew, and
that he ought to return to his tent. Hardly had he laid his head upon
the pillow, and "lulled his senses in forgetfulness," when he was
disturbed by the drum beating to arms. He opened his eyes, and seeing
the palatine out of bed, he sprung from his own, and eagerly inquired
the cause of his alarm.

"Only follow me directly," answered his grandfather, and quitted the
tent.

Whilst Thaddeus was putting on his clothes, and buckling on his arms
with a trembling eagerness which almost defeated his haste, an aid-
de-camp of the prince entered. He brought information that an
advanced guard of the Russians had attacked a Polish outpost, under
the command of Colonel Lonza, and that his highness had ordered a
detachment from the palatine's brigade to march to its relief. Before
Thaddeus could reply, Sobieski sent to apprise his grandson that the
prince had appointed him to accompany the troops which were turning
out to resist the enemy.

Thaddeus heard this message with delight; yet fearful in what manner
the event might answer the expectations which this wished distinction
declared, he issued from his tent like a youthful Mars,--or rather
like the Spartan Isadas,--trembling at the dazzling effects of his
temerity, and hiding his valor and his blushes beneath the waving
plumes of his helmet. Kosciusko, who was to head the party, observed
this modesty with pleasure, and shaking him warmly by the hand, said,
"Go, Thaddeus; take your station on the left flank; I shall require
your fresh spirits to lead the charge I intend to make, and to ensure
its success." Thaddeus bowed to these encouraging words, and took his
place according to order.

Everything being ready, the detachment quitted the camp, and dashing
through the dews of a sweet morning (for it was yet May), in a few
hours arrived in view of the Russian battalions. Lonza, who, from the
only redoubt now in his possession, caught a glimpse of this welcome
reinforcement, rallied his few remaining men, and by the time that
Kosciusko came up, contrived to join him in the van. The fight
recommenced. Thaddeus, at the head of his hussars, in full gallop
bore down upon the enemy's right flank. They received the charge with
firmness; but their young adversary, perceiving that extraordinary
means were necessary to make the desired effect, calling on his men
to follow him, put spurs to his horse and rushed into the thickest of
the battle. His soldiers did not shrink; they pressed on, mowing down
the foremost ranks, whilst he, by a lucky stroke of his sabre,
disabled the sword-arm of the Russian standard-bearer and seized the
colors. His own troops seeing the standard in his hand, with one
accord, in loud and repeated cries, shouted victory. Part of the
reserve of the enemy, alarmed at this outcry, gave ground, and
retreating with precipitation, was soon followed by some of the rear
ranks of the centre, to which Kosciusko had penetrated, while its
commander, after a short but desperate resistance, was slain. The
left flank next gave way, and though holding a brave stand at
intervals, at length fairly turned about and fled across the country.

The conquerors, elated with so sudden a success, put their horses on
full speed; and without order or attention, pursued the fugitives
until they were lost amidst the trees of a distant wood. Kosciusko
called on his men to halt, but he called in vain; they continued
their career, animating each other, and with redoubled shouts drowned
the voice of Thaddeus, who was galloping forward repeating the
command. At the entrance of the wood they were stopped by a few
Russian stragglers, who had formed themselves into a body. These men
withstood the first onset of the Poles with considerable steadiness;
but after a short skirmish, they fled, or, perhaps, seemed to fly, a
second time, and took refuge in the bushes, where, still regardless
of orders, their enemies followed. Kosciusko, foreseeing the
consequence of this rashness, ordered Thaddeus to dismount a part of
his squadron, and march after these headstrong men into the forest.
He came up with them on the edge of a heathy tract of land, just as
they were closing in with a band of the enemy's arquebusiers, who,
having kept up a quick running fire as they retreated, had drawn
their pursuers thus far into the thickets. Heedless of anything but
giving their enemy a complete defeat, the Polanders went on, never
looking to the left nor to the right, till at once they found
themselves encompassed by two thousand Muscovite horse, several
battalions of chasseurs, and in front of fourteen pieces of cannon,
which this dreadful ambuscade opened upon them.

Thaddeus threw himself into the midst of his countrymen, and taking
the place of their unfortunate conductor, who had been killed in the
first sweep of the artillery, prepared the men for a desperate stand.
He gave his orders with intrepid coolness--though under a shower of
musketry and a cannonade which carried death in every round--that
they should draw off towards the flank of the battery. He thought not
of himself; and in a few minutes the scattered soldiers were
consolidated into a close body, squared with pikemen, who stood like
a grove of pines in a day of tempest, only moving their heads and
arms. Many of the Russian horse impaled themselves on the sides of
this little phalanx, which they vainly attempted to shake, although
the ordnance was rapidly weakening its strength. File after file the
men were swept down, their bodies making a horrid rampart for their
resolute brothers in arms, who, however, rendered desperate, at last
threw away their most cumbrous accoutrements, and crying to their
leader, "Freedom or death!" followed him sword in hand, and bearing
like a torrent upon the enemy's ranks, cut their way through the
forest. The Russians, exasperated that their prey should not only
escape, but escape by such dauntless valor, hung closely on their
rear, goading them with musketry, whilst they (like a wounded lion
closely pressed by the hunters, retreats, yet stands proudly at bay)
gradually retired towards the camp with a backward step, their faces
towards the foe.

Meanwhile the palatine Sobieski, anxious for the fate of the day,
mounted the dyke, and looked eagerly around for the arrival of some
messenger from the little army. As the wind blew strongly from the
south, a cloud of dust precluded his view; but from the approach of
firing and the clash of arms, he was led to fear that his friends had
been defeated, and were retreating towards the camp. He instantly
quitted the lines to call out a reinforcement; but before he could
advance, Kosciusko and his squadron on the full charge appeared in
flank of the enemy, who suddenly halted, and wheeling round, left the
harassed Polanders to enter the trenches unmolested.

Thaddeus, covered with dust and blood, flung himself into his
grandfather's arms. In the heat of action his left arm had been
wounded by a Cossack. [Footnote: Cossacks. There are two descriptions
of these formidable auxiliaries: those of clear Tartar race, the
other mixed with Muscovites and their tributaries. The first and the
fiercest are called Don Cossacks, because of their inhabiting the
immense steppes of the Don river, on the frontiers of Asia. They are
governed by a hetman, a native chief, who personally leads them to
battle. The second are the Cossacks of the Crimea, a gallant people
of that finest part of the Russian dominions, and, by being of a
mingled origin, under European rule, are more civilized and better
disciplined than their brethren near the Caucasus. They are generally
commanded by Russian officers.] Aware that neglect then might disable
him from further service, at the moment it happened he bound it up in
his sash, and had thought no more of the accident until the palatine
remarked blood on his cloak.

"My injury is slight, my dear sir." said he. "I wish to Heaven that
it were all the evil which has befallen us to-day! Look at the
remnant of our brave comrades."

Sobieski turned his eyes on the panting soldiers, and on Kosciusko,
who was inspecting them. Some of them, no longer upheld by
desperation, were sinking with wounds and fatigue; these the good
general sent off in litters to the medical department; and others,
who had sustained unharmed the conflict of the day, after having
received the praise and admonition of their commander, were dismissed
to their quarters.

Before this inspection was over, the palatine had to assist Thaddeus
to his tent; in spite of his exertions to the contrary, he became so
faint, it was necessary to lead him off the ground.

A short time restored him. With his arm in a sling, he joined his
brother officers on the fourth day. After the duty of the morning, he
heard with concern that, during his confinement, the enemy had
augmented their force to so tremendous a strength, it was impossible
for the comparatively slender force of the Poles to remain longer at
Winnica. In consequence of this report, the prince had convened a
council late the preceding night, in which it was determined that the
camp should immediately be razed, and removed towards Zielime.

This information displeased Thaddeus, who in his fairy dreams of war
had always made conquest the sure end of his battles; and many were
the sighs he drew when, at an hour before dawn on the following day,
he witnessed the striking of the tents, which he thought too like a
prelude to a shameful flight from the enemy. While he was standing by
the busy people, and musing on the nice line which divides prudence
from pusillanimity, his grandfather came up, and bade him mount his
horse, telling him that, owing to the unhealed state of his wound, he
was removed from the vanguard, and ordered to march in the centre,
along with the prince. Thaddeus remonstrated against this
arrangement, and almost reproached the palatine for forfeiting his
promise, that he should always be stationed near his person. The
veteran would not be moved, either by argument or entreaty; and
Thaddeus, finding that he neither could nor ought to oppose him,
obeyed, and followed an aid-de-camp to his highness.




CHAPTER IV.

THE PASS OF VOLUNNA.


After a march of three hours, the army came in sight of Volunna,
where the advanced column suddenly halted. Thaddeus, who was about a
half mile to its rear, with a throbbing heart heard that a momentous
pass must be disputed before they could proceed. He curbed his horse,
then gave it the spur, so eagerly did he wish to penetrate the cloud
of smoke which rose in volumes from the discharge of musketry, on
whose wing, at every round, he dreaded might be carried the fate of
his grandfather. At last the firing ceased, and the troops were
commanded to go forward. On approaching near the contested defile,
Thaddeus shuddered, for at every step the heels of his charger struck
upon the wounded or the dead. There lay his enemies, here lay his
friends! His respiration was nearly suspended, and his eyes clung to
the ground, expecting at each moment to fasten on the breathless body
of his grandfather.

Again the tumult of battle presented itself. About an hundred
soldiers, in one firm rank, stood at the opening of the pass, firing
on the now vacillating steadiness of the enemy. Thaddeus checked his
horse. Five hundred had been detached to this post; how few remained!
Could he hope that Sobieski had escaped so desperate a rencontre?
Fearing the worst, and dreading to have those fears confirmed, his
heart sickened when he received orders from Poniatowski to examine
the extent of the loss. He rode to the mouth of the defile. He could
nowhere see the palatine. A few of his hussars, a little in advance,
were engaged over a heap of the killed, defending it from a troop of
Cossacks, who appeared fighting for the barbarous privilege of
trampling on the bodies. At this sight Thaddeus, impelled by despair,
called out, "Courage, soldiers! The prince with artillery!" The
enemy, looking forward, saw the information was true, and with a
shout of derision, took to flight. Poniatowski, almost at the word,
was by the side of his young friend, who, unconscious of any idea but
that of filial solicitude, had dismounted.

"Where is the palatine?" was his immediate inquiry to a chasseur who
was stooping towards the slain. The man made no answer, but lifted
from the heap the bodies of two soldiers; beneath, Thaddeus saw the
pale and deathly features of his grandfather. He staggered a few
paces back, and the prince, thinking he was falling, hastened to
support him; but he recovered himself, and flew forward to assist
Kosciusko, who had raised the head of the palatine upon his knee.

"Is he alive?" inquired Thaddeus.

"He breathes."

Hope was now warm in his grandson's breast. The soldiers soon
released Sobieski from the surrounding dead; but his swoon
continuing, the prince desired that he might be laid on a bank, until
a litter could be brought from the rear to convey him to a place of
security. Meantime, Thaddeus and General Butzou bound up his wounds
and poured some water into his mouth. The effusion of blood being
stopped, the brave veteran opened his eyes, and in a few moments
more, whilst he leaned on the bosom of his grandson, was so far
restored as to receive with his usual modest dignity the thanks of
his highness for the intrepidity with which he had preserved a
passage which ensured the safety of the whole army,

Two surgeons, who arrived with the litter, relieved the anxiety of
the bystanders by an assurance that the wounds, which they re-examined,
were not dangerous. Having laid their patient on the vehicle, they were
preparing to retire with it into the rear, when Thaddeus petitioned the
prince to grant him permission to take the command of the guard which
was appointed to attend his grandfather. His highness consented; but
Sobieski positively refused.

"No, Thaddeus," said he; "you forget the effect which this solicitude
about so trifling a matter might have on the men. Remember that he
who goes into battle only puts his own life to the hazard, but he
that abandons the field, sports with the lives of his soldiers. Do
not give them leave to suppose that even your dearest interest could
tempt you from the front of danger when it is your duty to remain
there." Thaddeus obeyed his grandfather in respectful silence; at
seven o'clock the army resumed its march.

Near Zielime the prince was saluted by a reinforcement. It appeared
very seasonably, for scouts had brought information that directly
across the plain a formidable division of the Russian army, under
General Brinicki, was drawn up in order of battle, to dispute his
progress.

Thaddeus, for the first time, shuddered at the sight of the enemy,
Should his friends be defeated, what might be the fate of his
grandfather, now rendered helpless by many wounds! Occupied by these
fears, with anxiety in his heart, he kept his place at the head of
the light horse, close to the hill.

Prince Poniatowski ordered the lines to extend themselves, that the
right should reach to the river, and the left be covered by the
rising ground, on which were mounted seven pieces of ordnance.
Immediately after these dispositions, the battle commenced with
mutual determination, and continued with unabated fury from eight in
the morning until sunset. Several times the Poles were driven from
their ground; but as often recovering themselves, and animated by
their commanders, they prosecuted the fight with advantage. General
Brinicki, perceiving that the fortune of the day was going against
him, ordered up the body of reserve, which consisted of four thousand
men and several cannon. He erected temporary batteries in a few
minutes, and with these new forces opened a rapid and destructive
fire on the Polanders. Kosciusko, alarmed at perceiving a retrograde
motion in his troops, gave orders for a close attack on the enemy in
front, whilst Thaddeus, at the head of his hussars, should wheel
round the hill of artillery, and with loud cries charge the opposite
flank. This stratagem succeeded. The arquebusiers, who were posted on
that spot, seeing the impetuosity of the Poles, and the quarter
whence they came, supposed them to be a fresh squadron, gave ground,
and opening in all directions, threw their own people into a
confusion that completed the defeat. Kosciusko and the prince were
equally successful, and a general panic amongst their adversaries was
the consequence. The whole of the Russian army now took to flight,
except a few regiments of carabineers, which were entangled between
the river and the Poles. These were immediately surrounded by a
battalion of Masovian infantry, who, enraged at the loss their body
had sustained the preceding day, answered a cry for quarter with
reproach and derision. At this instant the Sobieski squadron came up,
and Thaddeus, who saw the perilous situation of these regiments,
ordered the slaughter to cease, and the men to be taken prisoners.
The Masovians exhibited strong signs of dissatisfaction at such
commands; but the young count charging through them, ranged his
troops before the Russians, and declared that the first man who
should dare to lift a sword against his orders should be shot. The
Poles dropped their arms. The poor carabineers fell on their knees to
thank his mercy, whilst their officers, in a sullen silence, which
seemed ashamed of gratitude, surrendered their swords into the hands
of their deliverers.

During this scene, only one very young Russian appeared wholly
refractory. He held his sword in a menacing posture when Thaddeus
drew near, and before he had time to speak, the young man made a cut
at his head, which a hussar parried by striking the assailant to the
earth, and would have killed him on the spot, had not Thaddeus caught
the blow on his own sword; then instantly dismounting, he raised the
officer from the ground, and apologized for the too hasty zeal of his
soldier. The youth blushed, and, bowing, presented his sword, which
was received and as directly returned.

"Brave sir," said Thaddeus, "I consider myself ennobled in restoring
this weapon to him who has so courageously defended it."

The Russian made no reply but by a second bow, and put his hand on
his breast, which seemed wet with blood. Ceremony was now at an end.
Thaddeus never looked upon the unfortunate as strangers, much less as
enemies. Accosting the wounded officer with a friendly voice, he
assured him of his services, and bade him lean on him. Overcome, the
young man, incapable of speaking, accepted his assistance; but before
a conveyance could arrive, for which two men were dispatched, he
fainted in his arms. Thaddeus being obliged to join the prince with
his prisoners, unwillingly left the young Russian in this situation;
but before he did so he directed one of his lieutenants to take care
that the surgeons should pay attention to the officer, and have his
litter carried next to the palatine's during the remainder of the
march.

When the army halted at nine o'clock, P.M., preparations were made to
fix the camp; and in case of a surprise from any part of the
dispersed enemy which might have rallied, orders were delivered for
throwing up a dyke. Thaddeus, having been assured that his
grandfather and the wounded Russian were comfortably stationed near
each other, did not hesitate to accept the command of the intrenching
party. To that end he wrapped himself loosely in his pelisse, and
prepared for a long watch. The night was beautiful. It being the
month of June, a softening warmth still floated through the air, as
if the moon, which shone over his head, emitted heat as well as
splendor. His mind was in unison with the season. He rode slowly
round from bank to bank, sometimes speaking to the workers in the
fosse, sometimes lingering for a few minutes. Looking on the ground,
he thought on the element of which he was composed, to which he might
so soon return; then gazing upward, he observed the silent march of
the stars and the moving scene of the heavens. On whatever object he
cast his eyes, his soul, which the recent events had dissolved into a
temper not the less delightful for being tinged with melancholy,
meditated with intense compassion, and dwelt with wonder on the mind
of man, which, whilst it adores the Creator of the universe, and
measures the immensity of space with an expansion of intellect almost
divine, can devote itself to the narrow limits of sublunary
possessions, and exchange the boundless paradise above for the low
enjoyments of human pride. He looked with pity over that wide tract
of land which now lay betwixt him and the remains of those four
thousand invaders who had just fallen victims to the insatiate
desires of ambition. He well knew the difference between a defender
of his own country and the invader of another's. His heart beat, his
soul expanded, at the prospect of securing liberty and life to a
virtuous people. He _felt_ all the happiness of such an achievement,
while he could only _imagine_ how that spirit must shrink from
reflection which animates the self-condemned slave to fight, not
merely to fasten chains on others, but to rivet his own the closer.
The best affections of man having put the sword into the hand of
Thaddeus, his principle as a Christian did not remonstrate against
his passion for arms.

When he was told the fortifications were finished, he retired with a
tranquil step towards the Masovian quarters. He found the palatine
awake, and eager to welcome him with the joyful information that his
wounds were so slight as to promise a speedy amendment, Thaddeus
asked for his prisoner. The palatine answered that he was in the next
tent, where a surgeon closely attended him, who had already given a
very favorable opinion of the wound, which was in the muscles of the
breast.

"Have you seen him, my dear sir?" inquired Thaddeus.

"Yes," replied the palatine; "I was supported into his marquée before
I retired to my own. I told him who I was, and repeated your offers
of service. He received my proffer with expressions of gratitude, and
at the same time declared he had nothing to blame but his own folly
for bringing him to the state in which he now lies."

"How, my lord?" rejoined Thaddeus. "Does he repent of being a
soldier? or is he ashamed of the cause for which he fought?"

"Both, Thaddeus; he is not a Muscovite, but a young Englishman."

"An Englishman! and raise his arm against a country struggling for
loyalty and liberty!"

"It is very true," returned the palatine; "but as he confesses it was
his folly and the persuasions of others which impelled him, he may be
pardoned. He is a mere youth; I think hardly your age. I understand
that he is of rank; and having undertaken a tour in whatever part of
Europe is now open to travellers, under the direction of an
experienced tutor, they took Russia in their route. At St. Petersburg
he became intimate with many of the nobility, particularly with Count
Brinicki, at whose house he resided; and when the count was named to
the command of the army in Poland, Mr. Somerset (for that is your
prisoner's name), instigated by his own volatility and the arguments
of his host, volunteered with him, and so followed his friend to
oppose that freedom here which he would have asserted in his own
nation."

Thaddeus thanked his grandfather for this information; and pleased
that the young man, who had so much interested him, was a brave
Briton, not in heart an enemy, he gayly and instantly repaired to his
tent.

A generous spirit is as eloquent in acknowledging benefits as it is
bounteous in bestowing them; and Mr. Somerset received his preserver
with the warmest demonstrations of gratitude. Thaddeus begged him not
to consider himself as particularly obliged by a conduct which every
soldier of honor has a right to expect from another. The Englishman
bowed his head, and Thaddeus took a seat by his bedside.

Whilst he gathered from his own lips a corroboration of the narrative
of the palatine, he could not forbear inquiring how a person of his
apparent candor, and who was also the native of a soil where national
liberty had so long been the palladium of its happiness, could
volunteer in a cause the object of which was to make a brave people
slaves?

Somerset listened to these questions with blushes; and they did not
leave his face when he confessed that all he could say in extenuation
of what he had done was to plead his youth, and having thought little
on the subject.

"I was wrought upon," continued he, "by a variety of circumstances:
first, the predilections of Mr. Loftus, my governor, are strongly in
favor of the court of St. Petersburg; secondly, my father dislikes
the army, and I am enthusiastically fond of it--this was the only
opportunity, perhaps, in which I might ever satisfy my passion; and
lastly, I believe that I was dazzled by the picture which the young
men about me drew of the campaign. I longed to be a soldier; they
persuaded me; and I followed them to the field as I would have done
to a ballroom, heedless of the consequences."

"Yet," replied Thaddeus, smiling, "from the intrepidity with which
you maintained your ground, when your arms were demanded, any one
might have thought that your whole soul, as well as your body, was
engaged in the cause."

"To be sure," returned Somerset, "I was a blockhead to be there; but
when there, I should have despised myself forever had I given up my
honor to the ruffians who would have wrested my sword from me! But
when _you_ came, noble Sobieski, it was the fate of war, and I
confided myself to a brave man."




CHAPTER V.

THE BANKS OF THE VISTULA.


Each succeeding morning not only brought fresh symptoms of recovery
to the two invalids, but condensed the mutual admiration of the young
men into a solid and ardent esteem.

It is not the disposition of youthful minds to weigh for months and
years the sterling value of those qualities which attract them. As
soon as they see virtue, they respect it; as soon as they meet
kindness, they believe it: and as soon as a union of both presents
itself, they love it. Not having passed through the disappointments
of a delusive world, they grasp for reality every pageant which
appears. They have not yet admitted that cruel doctrine which, when
it takes effect, creates and extends the misery it affects to cure.
Whilst we give up our souls to suspicion, we gradually learn to
deceive; whilst we repress the fervors of our own hearts, we freeze
those which approach us; whilst we cautiously avoid occasions of
receiving pain, at every remove we acquire an unconscious influence
to inflict it on those who follow us. They, again, meet from our
conduct and lips the lesson that destroys the expanding sensibilities
of their nature; and thus the tormenting chain of deceived and
deceiving characters may be lengthened to infinitude.

About the latter end of the month, Sobieski received a summons to
court, where a diet was to be held on the effect of the victory at
Zielime, to consider of future proceedings. In the same packet his
majesty enclosed a collar and investiture of the order of St.
Stanislaus, as an acknowledgment of service to the young Thaddeus;
and he accompanied it with a note from himself, expressing his
commands that the young knight should return with the palatine and
other generals, to receive thanks from the throne.

Thaddeus, half wild with delight at the thoughts of so soon meeting
his mother, ran to the tent of his British friend to communicate the
tidings. Somerset participated in his pleasure, and with reciprocal
warmth accepted the invitation to accompany him to Villanow.

"I would follow you, my friend," said he, pressing the hand of
Thaddeus, "all over the world."

"Then I will take you to the most charming spot in it?" cried he.
"Villanow is an Eden; and my mother, the dear angel, would make a
desert so to me."

"You speak so rapturously of your enchanted castle, Thaddeus,"
returned his friend, "I believe I shall consider my knight-errantry,
in being fool enough to trust myself amidst a fray in which I had no
business, as one of the wisest acts of my life!"

"I consider it," replied Thaddeus, "as one of the most auspicious
events in mine."

Before the palatine quitted the camp, Somerset thought it proper to
acquaint Mr. Loftus, who was yet at St. Petersburg, of the
particulars of his late danger, and that he was going to Warsaw with
his new friends, where he should remain for several weeks. He added,
that as the court of Poland, through the intercession of the
palatine, had generously given him his liberty, he should be able to
see everything in that country worthy of investigation, and that he
would write to him again, enclosing letters for England, soon after
his arrival at the Polish capital.

The weather continuing fine, in a few days the party left Zielime;
and the palatine and Somerset, being so far restored from their
wounds that they could walk, the one with a crutch and the other by
the support of his friend's arm, they went through the journey with
animation and pleasure. The benign wisdom of Sobieski, the
intelligent enthusiasm of Thaddeus, and the playful vivacity of
Somerset, mingling their different natures, produced such a beautiful
union, that the minutes flew fast as their wishes. A week more
carried them into the palatinate of Masovia, and soon afterwards
within the walls of Villanow.

Everything that presented itself to Mr. Somerset was new and
fascinating. He saw in the domestic felicity of his friend scenes
which reminded him of the social harmony of his own home. He beheld
in the palace and retinue of Sobieski all the magnificence which
bespoke the descendant of a great king, and a power which wanted
nothing of royal grandeur but the crown, which he had the magnanimity
to think and to declare was then placed upon a more worthy brow.
Whilst Somerset venerated this true patriot, the high tone his mind
acquired was not lowered by associating with characters nearer the
common standard. The friends of Sobieski were men of tried probity--
men who at all times preferred their country's welfare before their
own peculiar interest. Mr. Somerset day after day listened with deep
attention to these virtuous and energetic noblemen. He saw them full
of fire and personal courage when the affairs of Poland were
discussed; and he beheld with admiration their perfect forgetfulness
of themselves in their passion for the general good. In these moments
his heart bowed down before them, and all the pride of a Briton
distended his breast when he thought that such men as these his
ancestors were. He remembered how often their chivalric virtues used
to occupy his reflections in the picture-gallery at Somerset Castle,
and his doubts, when he compared what is with what was, that history
had glossed over the actions of past centuries, or that a different
order of men lived then from those which now inhabit the world. Thus,
studying the sublime characters of Sobieski and his friends, and
enjoying the endearing kindness of Thaddeus and his mother, did a
fortnight pass away without his even recollecting the promise of
writing to his governor. At the end of that period, he stole an hour
from the countess's society, and enclosed in a short letter to Mr.
Loftus the following epistle to his mother:--

To LADY SOMERSET, SOMERSET CASTLE, LEICESTERSHIRE.

"Many weeks ago, my dearest mother, I wrote a letter of seven sheets
from the banks of the Neva, which, long ere this time, you and my
dear father must have received. I attempted to give you some idea of
the manners of Russia, and my vanity whispers that I succeeded
tolerably well. The court of the famous Catharine and the attentions
of the hospitable Count Brinicki were then the subjects of my pen.

"But how shall I account for my being here? How shall I allay your
surprise and displeasure on seeing that this letter is dated from
Warsaw? I know that I have acted against the wish of my father in
visiting one of the countries he proscribes. I know that I have
disobeyed your commands in ever having at any period of my life taken
up arms without an indispensable necessity; and I have nothing to
allege in my defence. I fell in the way of temptation, and I yielded
to it. I really cannot enumerate all the things which induced me to
volunteer with my Russian friends; suffice it to say that I did so,
and that we were defeated by the Poles at Zielime; and as Heaven has
rather rewarded your prayers than punished my imprudence, I trust you
will do the same, and pardon an indiscretion I vow never to repeat.

"Notwithstanding all this, I must have lost my life through my folly,
had I not been preserved, even in the moment when death was pending
over me, by a young officer with whose family I now am. The very
sound of their title will create your respect; for we of the
patrician order have a strange tenacity in our belief that virtue is
hereditary, and in this instance our creed is duly honored. Their
patronymic is Sobieski; the family which bears it is the only
remaining posterity of the great monarch of that name; and the count,
who is at its head, is Palatine of Masovia, which, next to the
throne, is the first dignity in the state. He is one of the warmest
champions of his country's rights; and though born to command, has so
far transgressed the golden adage of despots, 'Ignorance and
subjection,' that throughout his territories every man is taught to
worship his God with his heart as well as with his knees. The
understandings of his peasants are opened to all useful knowledge. He
does not put books of science and speculation into their hands, to
consume their time in vain pursuits: he gives them the Bible, and
implements of industry, to afford them the means of knowing and of
practising their duty. All Masovia around his palace blooms like a
garden. The cheerful faces of the farmers, and the blessings which I
hear them implore on the family when I am walking in the field with
the young count (for in this country the sons bear the same title
with their fathers [Footnote: _Prince_, (ancient _Kniaz_) and
_Boyard_, (which is equivalent in rank to our old English Baron,)
are titles used by Russians and Polanders, both nations being descended
from the Sclavonians, and their languages derived from the same roots.
_Prince_ indicates the highest rank of a subject; _Boyard_
simply that of _Nobleman_. But both personages must be understood
to be of hereditary power to raise forces on their estates for the service
of the sovereign, to lead them in battle, and to maintain all their
expenses. The title of _Count_ has been adopted within a century or
two by both nations, and occasionally appended to the ancient heroic
designation  of _Boyard_. The feminine to these titles is formed by adding
_gina_ to the paternal title; thus _Kniazgina Olga_, means Princess Olga;
also, _Boyarda_, Lady. The titles of _Palatine, Vaivode, Starost_
and the like belong to civil and military offices.]), have even drawn
a few delighted drops from the eyes of your thoughtless son. I know
that you think I have nothing sentimental about me, else you would
not so often have poured into my not inattentive ears, 'that to estimate
the pleasures of earth and heaven, we must cultivate the sensibilities
of the heart. Shut our eyes against them, and we are merely nicely-
constructed speculums, which reflect the beauties of nature, but
enjoy none.' You see, mamma, that I both remember and adopt your
lessons.

"Thaddeus Sobieski is the grandson of the palatine, and the sole heir
of his illustrious race. It is to him that I owe the preservation of
my life at Zielime, and much of my happiness since; for he is not
only the bravest but the most amiable young man in the kingdom; and
he is my friend! Indeed, as things have happened, you must think that
out of evil has come good. Though I have been disobedient, I have
repented my fault, and it has introduced me to the knowledge of a
people whose friendship will henceforward constitute the greatest
pleasure of my days. The mother of Thaddeus is the only daughter of
the palatine; and of her I can say no more than that nothing on earth
can more remind me of you; she is equally charming, equally tender to
your son.

"Whilst the palatine is engaged at the diet, her excellency,
Thaddeus, and myself, with now and then a few visitors from Warsaw,
form the most agreeable parties you can suppose. We walk together, we
read together, we converse together, we sing together--at least, the
countess sings to us, which is all the same; and you know that time
flies swiftly on the wings of harmony. She has an uncommonly sweet
voice, and a taste which I never heard paralleled. By the way, you
cannot imagine anything more beautiful than the Polish music. It
partakes of that delicious languor so distinguished in the Turkish
airs, with a mingling of those wandering melodies which the now-
forgotten composers must have caught from the Tartars. In short,
whilst the countess is singing, I hardly suffer myself to breathe;
and I feel just what our poetical friend William Scarsdale said a
twelvemonth ago at a concert of yours, 'I feel as if love sat upon my
heart and flapped it with his wings.'

"I have tried all my powers of persuasion to prevail on this charming
countess to visit our country. I have over and over again told her of
you, and described her to you; that you are near her own age (for
this lovely woman, though she has a son nearly twenty, is not more
than forty;) that you are as fond of your ordinary boy as she is of
her peerless one; that, in short, you and my father will receive her
and Thaddeus, and the palatine, with open arms and hearts, if they
will condescend to visit our humbler home at the end of the war. I
believe I have repeated my entreaties, both to the countess and my
friend, regularly every day since my arrival at Villanow, but always
with the same issue: she smiles and refuses; and Thaddeus 'shakes his
ambrosial curls' with a 'very god-like frown' of denial; I hope it is
self-denial, in compliment to his mother's cruel and unprovoked
negative.

"Before I proceed, I must give you some idea of the real appearance
of this palace. I recollect your having read a superficial account of
it in a few slight sketches of Poland which have been published in
England; but the pictures they exhibit are so faint, they hardly
resemble the original. Pray do not laugh at me, if I begin in the
usual descriptive style! You know there is only one way to describe
houses and lands and rivers; so no blame can be thrown on me for
taking the beaten path, where there is no other. To commence:--

"When we left Zielime, and advanced into the province of Masovia, the
country around Praga rose at every step in fresh beauty. The
numberless chains of gently swelling hills which encompass it on each
side of the Vistula were in some parts checkered with corn fields,
meadows, and green pastures covered with sheep, whose soft bleatings
thrilled in my ears and transported my senses into new regions, so
different was my charmed and tranquillized mind from the tossing
anxieties attendant on the horrors I had recently witnessed. Surely
there is nothing in the world, short of the most undivided reciprocal
attachment, that has such power over the workings of the human heart
as the mild sweetness of nature. The most ruffled temper, when
emerging from the town, will subside into a calm at the sight of a
wide stretch of landscape reposing in the twilight of a fine evening.
It is then that the spirit of peace settles upon the heart, unfetters
the thoughts and elevates the soul to the Creator. It is then that we
behold the Parent of the universe in his works; we see his grandeur
in earth, sea, and sky: we feel his affection in the emotions which
they raise, and, half mortal, half etherealized, forget where we are,
in the anticipation of what that world must be of which this earth is
merely the shadow. [Footnote: This description of the banks of the
Vistula was given to me with smiles and sighs. The reality was once
enjoyed by the narrator, and there was a delight in the retrospection
"sweet and mournful to the soul." At the time these reflections arose
on such a scene, I often tasted the same pleasure in evening visits
to the beautiful rural environs of London, which then extended from
the north side of Fitzroy Square to beyond the Elm Grove on Primrose
Hill, and forward through the fields to Hampstead. But most of that
is all streets, or Regent's Park; and the sweet Hill, then the resort
of many a happy Sunday group, has not now a tree standing on it, and
hardly a blade of grass, "to mark where the primrose has been."]

"Autumn seemed to be unfolding all her beauties to greet the return
of the palatine. In one part the haymakers were mowing the hay and
heaping it into stacks; in another, the reapers were gathering up the
wheat, with a troop of rosy little gleaners behind them, each of whom
might have tempted the proudest Palemon in Christendom to have
changed her toil into 'a gentler duty.' Such a landscape intermingled
with the little farms of these honest people, whom the philanthropy
of Sobieski has rendered free (for it is a tract of his extensive
domains I am describing), reminded me of Somerset. Villages repose in
the green hollows of the vales, and cottages are seen peeping from
amidst the thick umbrage of the woods which cover the face of the
hills. The irregular forms and thatched roofs of these simple
habitations, with their infant inhabitants playing at the doors,
compose such lovely groups, that I wish for our dear Mary's pencil
and fingers (for, alas! that way mine are motionless!) to transport
them to your eyes.

"The palace of Villanow, which is castellated, now burst upon my
view. It rears its embattled head from the summit of a hill that
gradually slopes down towards the Vistula, in full view to the south
of the plain of Vola, a spot long famous for the election of the
kings of Poland. [Footnote: It was from this very assumption by the
nation, on the extinction of the male line of the monarchs of the
house of Jaghellon, that all their subsequent political calamities
may be dated. The last two sovereigns of this race were most justly
styled good and great kings---father and son--Sigismund I. and II.
But on the death of the last, about the middle of the sixteenth
century, certain nobles of the nation, intoxicated with their wealth
and privileges, run wild for dictation in all things; and as the
foundation for such rule, they determined to make the succession of
their future kings entirely dependent on the free vote of public
suffrage; and the plain of Vola was made the terrible arena. So it
may be called; for, from the time of the first monarch so elected,
Henry of Valois, a stranger to the country, and brother to the
execrable Charles IX. of France, bribery or violence have been the
usual keys to the throne of Poland. For the doors of the country
being once opened by the misguided people themselves to the influence
of ambition, partiality, and passion, and shut against the old tenure
of a settled succession, foreign powers were always ready to step in,
with the gold or the sword; and Poland necessarily became a vassal
adjunct to whatever neighboring country furnished the new sovereign.
Thus it was, with a few exceptions (as is still case of the glorious
John Sobieski), until the election of Stanislaus Augustus, who,
though nominated by the power of the Empress of Russia, yet being,
like Sobieski, a native prince of the nation, determined to govern
the people of Poland in the spirit of his and their most glorious
ancestors; and true to the vow, treading in the steps of the last of
the Jaghellons, he gave to Poland the constitution of 1791, which,
with the re-enaction of many wise laws, again made the throne
hereditary. Hence the devoted struggles of every arm in the country
in loyal defence of such a recovered existence.] On the north of the
building, the earth is cut into natural ramparts, which rise in high
succession until they reach the foundations of the palace, where they
terminate in a noble terrace. These ramparts, covered with grass,
overlook the stone outworks, and spread down to the bottom of the
hill, which being clothed with fine trees and luxuriant underwood,
forms such a rich and verdant base to the fortress as I have not
language to describe: were I privileged to be poetical, I would say
it reminds me of the God of war sleeping amid roses in the bower of
love. Here the eye may wander over the gifts of bounteous Nature,
arraying hill and dale in all the united treasures of spring and
autumn. The forest stretches its yet unseared arms to the breeze;
whilst that breeze comes laden with the fragrance of the tented hay,
and the thousand sweets breathed from flowers, which in this
delicious country weep honey.

"A magnificent flight of steps led us from the foot of the ramparts
up to the gate of the palace. We entered it, and were presently
surrounded by a train of attendants in such sumptuous liveries, than
I found myself all at once carried back into the fifteenth century,
and might have fancied myself within the courtly halls of our Tudors
and Plantagenets. You can better conceive that I can paint the scene
which took place between the palatine, the countess, and her son. I
can only repeat, that from that hour I have known no want of
happiness but what arises from regret that my dear family are not
partakers with me.

"You know that this stupendous building was the favorite residence of
John Sobieski, and that he erected it as a resting-place from the
labors of his long and glorious reign. I cannot move without meeting
some vestige of that truly great monarch. I sleep in his bed chamber:
there hangs his portrait, dressed in the robes of sovereignty; here
are suspended the arms with which he saved the very kingdoms which
have now met together to destroy his country. On one side is his
library; on the other, the little chapel in which he used to pay his
morning and evening devotions. Wherever I look, my eye finds some
object to excite my reflections and emulation. The noble dead seem to
address me from their graves; and I blush at the inglorious life I
might have pursued had I never visited this house and its
inhabitants. Yet, my dearest mother, I do not mean to insinuate that
my honored father and brave ancestors have not set me examples as
bright as man need follow. But human nature is capricious; we are not
so easily stimulated by what is always in our view as with sights
which, rising up when we are removed from our customary associations,
surprise and captivate our attention. Villanow has only awakened me
to the lesson which I conned over in drowsy carelessness at home.
Thaddeus Sobieski is hardly one year my senior; but, good heaven!
what has he not done? what has he not acquired? Whilst I abused the
indulgence of my parents, and wasted my days in riding, shooting, and
walking the streets, he was learning to act as became a man of rank
and virtue; and by seizing every opportunity to serve the state, he
has obtained a rich reward in the respect and admiration of his
country. I am not envious, but I now feel the truth of Caesar's
speech, when he declared 'The reputation of Alexander would not let
him sleep.' Nevertheless, I dearly love my friend. I murmur at my own
dements, not at his worth.

"I have scribbled over all my paper, otherwise I verily believe I
should write more; however, I promise you another letter in a week or
two. Meanwhile I shall send this packet to Mr. Loftus, who is at St.
Petersburg, to forward it to you. Adieu, my dear mother! I am, with
reverence to my father and yourself.

"Your truly affectionate son,

"PEMBROKE SOMERSET.

"VILLANOW, _August_, 1792."




CHAPTER VI.

SOCIETY IN POLAND.


"TO LADY SOMERSET, SOMERSET CASTLE, ENGLAND.

[Written three weeks after the preceding.]

"You know, my dear mother, that your Pembroke is famous for his
ingenious mode of showing the full value of every favor he confers!
Can I then relinquish the temptation of telling you what I have left
to make you happy with this epistle?

"About five minutes ago, I was sitting on the lawn at the feet of the
countess, reading to her and the Princess Poniatowski the charming
poem of 'The Pleasures of Memory.' As both these ladies understand
English, they were admiring it, and paying many compliments to the
graces of my delivery, when the palatine presented himself, and told
me, if I had any commands for St. Petersburg, I must prepare them,
for a messenger was to set off on the next morning, by daybreak.' I
instantly sprang up, threw my book into the hand of Thaddeus, and
here I am in my own room scribbling to you!

"Even at the moment in which I dip my pen in the ink, my hurrying
imagination paints on my heart the situation of my beloved home when
this letter reaches you. I think I see you and my good aunt, seated
on the blue sofa in your dressing-room, with your needle work on the
little table before you; I see Mary in her usual nook--the recess by
the old harpsichord--and my dear father bringing in this happy letter
from your son! I must confess this romantic kind of fancy-sketching
makes me feel rather oddly: very unlike what I felt a few months ago,
when I was a mere coxcomb--indifferent, unreflecting, unappreciating,
and fit for nothing better than to hold pins at my lady's toilet.
Well, it is now made evident to me that we never know the blessings
bestowed on us until we are separated from the possession of them.
Absence tightens the strings which unites friends as well as lovers:
at least I find it so; and though I am in the fruition of every good
on this side the ocean, yet my very happiness renders me ungrateful,
and I repine because I enjoy it alone. Positively, I must bring you
all hither to pass a summer, or come back at the termination of my
travels, and carry away this dear family by main force to England.

"Tell my cousin Mary that, either way, I shall present to her esteem
the most amiable and accomplished of my sex; but I warn her not to
fall in love with him, neither in _propriâ, personâ_, nor by his
public fame, nor with his private character. Tell her 'he is a bright
and particular star,' neither in her sphere nor in any other woman's.
In this way he is as cold as 'Dian's Crescent;' and to my great
amazement too, for when I throw my eyes over the many lovely young
women who at different times fill the drawing-room of the countess, I
cannot but wonder at the perfect indifference with which he views
their (to me) irresistible charms.

"He is polite and attentive to them all; he talks with them, smiles
with them, and treats them with every gentle complacency; but they do
not live one instant in his memory. I mean they do not occupy his
particular wishes; for with regard to every respectful sentiment
towards the sex in general, and esteem to some amiable individuals,
he is as awake as in the other case he is still asleep. The fact is,
he has no idea of appropriation; he never casts one thought upon
himself; kindness is spontaneous in his nature; his sunny eyes beam
on all with modest benignity, and his frank and glowing conversation
is directed to every rank of people. They imbibe it with an avidity
and love which makes its way to his heart, without kindling one spark
of vanity. Thus, whilst his fine person and splendid actions fill
every eye and bosom, I see him moving in the circle unconscious of
his eminence and the admiration he excites.

"Drawn by such an example, to which his high quality as well as
extraordinary merit gives so great an influence, most of the younger
nobility have been led to enter the army. These circumstances, added
to the detail of his bravery and uncommon talents in the field, have
made him an object of universal regard, and, in consequence, wherever
he is seen he meets with applause and acclamation: nay, even at the
appearance of his carriage in the streets, the passengers take off
their hats and pray for him till he is out of sight. It is only then
that I perceive his cheek flush with the conviction that he is seated
in their hearts.

"'It is this, Thaddeus,' said I to him one day, when walking together
we were obliged to retire into a house from the crowds that followed
him; 'it is this, my dear friend, which shields your heart against
the arrows of love. You have no place for that passion; your mistress
is glory, and she courts you.'

"'My mistress is my country,' replied he; 'at present I desire no
other. For her I would die; for her only would I wish to live.'
Whilst he spoke, the energy of his soul blazed in his eye. I smiled.

"'You are an enthusiast, Thaddeus,' I said.

"'Pembroke!' returned he, in a surprised and reproachful tone.

"'I do not give you that name opprobriously,' resumed I, laughing;
'but there are many in my country, who, hearing these sentiments,
would not scruple to call you mad.'

"'Then I pity them,' returned Thaddeus. 'Men who cannot ardently
feel, cannot taste supreme happiness. My grandfather educated me at
the feet of patriotism; and when I forget his precepts and example,
may my guardian angel forget me!'

"'Happy, glorious Thaddeus!' cried I, grasping his hand; 'how I envy
you your destiny! to live as you do, in the lap of honor, virtue and
glory the aim and end of your existence!'

"The animated countenance of my friend changed at these words, and
laying his hand on my arm, he said, 'Do not envy me my destiny.
Pembroke, you are the son of a free and loyal country, at peace with
itself; insatiate power has not dared to invade its rights. Your
king, in happy security, reigns in the confidence of his people,
whilst our anointed Stanislaus is baited and insulted by oppression
from without and ingratitude within. Do not envy me; I would rather
live in obscurity all my days than have the means which calamity may
produce of acquiring celebrity over the ruins of Poland. O! my
friend, the wreath that crowns the head of conquest is thick and
bright; but that which binds the olive of peace on the bleeding
wounds of my country will be the dearest to me.'

"Such sentiments, my clear madam, have opened new lights upon my poor
mistaken faculties. I never considered the subject so maturely as my
friend has done; victory and glory were with me synonymous words. I
had not learned, until frequent conversations with the young, ardent,
and pious Sobieski taught me, how to discriminate between animal
courage and true valor--between the defender of his country and the
ravager of other states. In short, I see in Thaddeus Sobieski all
that my fancy hath ever pictured of the heroic character. Whilst I
contemplate the sublimity of his sentiments and the tenderness of his
soul, I cannot help thinking how few would believe that so many
admirable qualities could belong to one mind, and that mind remain
unacquainted with the throes of ambition or the throbs of self-love."

Pembroke judged rightly of his friend; for if ever the real
disinterested _amor patriæ_ glowed in the breast of a man, it
animated the heart of the young Sobieski. At the termination of the
foregoing sentence in the letter to his mother, Pembroke was
interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who presented him a packet
which had that moment arrived from St. Petersburg. He took it, and
putting his writing materials into a desk, read the following epistle
from his governor:

"TO PEMBROKE SOMERSET, ESQ.

"My dear sir,

"I have this day received your letter, enclosing one for Lady
Somerset. You must pardon me that I have detained it, and will
continue to do so until I am favored with your answer to this, for
which I shall most anxiously wait.

"You know, Mr. Somerset, my reputation in the sciences; you know my
depth in the languages; and besides, the Marquis of Inverary, with
whom I travelled over the Continent, offered you sufficient
credentials respecting my knowledge of the world, and the honorable
manner in which I treat my pupils. Sir Robert Somerset and your lady
mother were amply satisfied with the account which his lordship gave
of my character; but with all this, in one point every man is
vulnerable. No scholar can forget those lines of the poet:--

 'Felices ter, et amplius,
    Quos irrupta tenet copula; nec malis
  Divulsus quærimoniis,
    Supremâ citius solvet amor die.'

It has been my misfortune that I have felt them.

"You are not ignorant that I was known to the Brinicki family, when I
had the honor of conducting the marquis through Russia. The count's
accomplished kinswoman, the amiable and learned widow of Baron
Surowkoff, even then took particular notice of me; and when I
returned with you to St. Petersburg. I did not find that my short
absence had obliterated me from her memory.

"You are well acquainted with the dignity of that lady's opinions on
political subjects. She and I coincided in ardor for the
consolidating cause of sovereignty, and in hatred of that levelling
power which pervades all Europe. Many have been the long and
interesting conversations we have held together on the prosecution of
the grand schemes of the three great contracting monarchs.

"The baroness, I need not observe, is as handsome as she is
ingenuous; her understanding is as masculine as her person is
desirable; and I had been more or less than man had I not understood
that my figure and talents were agreeable to her. I cannot say that
she absolutely promised me her hand, but she went as far that way as
delicacy would permit. I am thus circumstantial, Mr. Somerset, to
show you that I do not proceed without proof, She has repeatedly said
in my presence that she would never marry any man unless he were not
only well-looking, but of the profoundest erudition, united with an
acquaintance with men and manners which none can dispute. 'Besides,'
added she, 'he must not differ with me one tittle in politics, for on
that head I hold myself second to no man or woman in Europe.' And
then she has complimented me, by declaring that I possessed more
judicious sentiments on government than any man in St. Petersburg,
and that she should consider herself happy, on the first vacancy in
the imperial college, to introduce me at court, where she was 'sure
the empress would at once discover the value of my talents; but,' she
continued, 'in such a case, I will not allow that even her majesty
shall rival me in your esteem.' The modesty natural to my character
told me that these praises must have some other source than my
comparatively unequal abilities; and I unequivocally found it in the
partiality with which her ladyship condescended to regard me.

"Was I to blame, Mr. Somerset? Would not any man of sensibility and
honor have comprehended such advances from a woman of her rank and
reputation? I could not be mistaken; her looks and words needed no
explanation which my judgment could not pronounce. Though I am aware
that I do not possess that _lumen purpureum juveniæ_ which
attracts very young, uneducated women, yet I am not much turned of
fifty; and from the baroness's singular behavior, I had every reason
to expect handsomer treatment than she has been pleased to dispense
to me since my return to this capital.

"But to proceed regularly--(I must beg your pardon for the warmth
which has hurried me to this digression): you know, sir, that from
the hour in which I had the honor of taking leave of your noble
family in England, I strove to impress upon your rather volatile mind
a just and accurate conception of the people amongst whom I was to
conduct you. When I brought you into this extensive empire, I left no
means unexerted to heighten your respect not only for its amiable
sovereign, but for all powers in amity with her. It is the
characteristic of genius to be zealous. I was so, in favor of the
pretensions of the great Catherine to that miserable country in which
you now are, and to which she deigned to offer her protection. To
this zeal, and my unfortunate though honorable devotion to the wishes
of the baroness, I am constrained to attribute my present dilemma.

"When Poland had the insolence to rebel against its illustrious
mistress, you remember that all the rational world was highly
incensed. The Baroness Surowkoff declared herself frequently, and
with vehemence she appealed to me. My veracity and my principles were
called forth, and I confessed that I thought every friend to the
Tzaritza ought to take up arms against that ungrateful people. The
Count Brinicki was then appointed to command the Russian forces
preparing to join the formidable allies; and her ladyship, very
unexpectedly on my part, answered me by approving what I said, and
added that of course I meant to follow her cousin into Poland, for
that even she, as a woman, was so earnest in the cause, she would
accompany him to the frontiers, and there await the result.

"What could I do? How could I withstand the expectations of a lady of
her quality, and one who I believed loved me? However, for some time
I did oppose my wish to oblige her; I urged my cloth, and the
impossibility of accounting for such a line of conduct to the father
of my pupil? The baroness ridiculed all these arguments as mere
excuses, and ended with saying, 'Do as you please, Mr. Loftus. I have
been deceived in your character; the friend of the Baroness Surowkoff
must be consistent; he must be as willing to fight for the cause he
espouses as to speak for it: in this case, the sword must follow the
oration, else we shall see Poland in the hands of a rabble.'

"This decided me. I offered my services to the count to attend him to
the field. He and the young lords persuaded you to do the same; and
as I could not think of leaving you, when your father had placed you
under my charge, I was pleased to find that my approval confirmed
your wish to turn soldier. I was not then acquainted, Mr. Somerset
(for you did not tell me of it until we were far advanced into
Poland), with Sir Robert's and my lady's dislike of the army. This
has been a prime source of my error throughout this affair. Had I
known their repugnance to your taking up arms, my duty would have
triumphed over even my devotion to the baroness; but I was born under
a melancholy horoscope; nothing happens as any one of my humblest
wishes might warrant.

"At the first onset of the battle, I became so suddenly ill that I
was obliged to retire; and on this unfortunate event, which was
completely unwilled on my part (for no man can command the periods of
sickness), the baroness founded a contempt which has disconcerted all
my schemes. Besides, when I attempted to remonstrate with her
ladyship on the promise which, if not directly given, was implied,
she laughed at me; and when I persisted in my suit, all at once, like
the rest of her ungrateful and undistinguishing sex, she burst into a
tempest of invectives, and forbade me her presence.

"What am I now to do, Mr. Somerset? This inconsistent woman has
betrayed me into conduct diametrically opposite to the commands of
your family. Your father particularly desired that I would not suffer
you to go either into Hungary or Poland. In the last instance I have
permitted you to disobey him. And my Lady Somerset (who, alas! I now
remember lost both her father and brother in different engagements),
you tell me, had declared that she never would pardon the man who
should put military ideas into your head.

"Therefore, sir, though you are my pupil, I throw myself on your
generosity. If you persist in acquainting your family with the late
transactions at Zielime, and your present residence in Poland, I
shall finally be ruined. I shall not only forfeit the good opinion of
your noble father and mother, but lose all prospect of the living of
Somerset, which Sir Robert was so gracious as to promise should be
mine on the demise of the present incumbent. You know, Mr. Somerset,
that I have a mother and six sisters in Wales, whose support depends
on my success in life; if my preferment be stopped now, they must
necessarily be involved in a distress which makes me shudder.

"I cannot add more, sir; I know well your character for generosity,
and I therefore rest upon it with the utmost confidence. I shall
detain the letter which you did me the honor to enclose for my Lady
Somerset till I receive your decision; and ever, whilst I live, will
I henceforth remain firm to my old and favorite maxim, which I
adopted from the glorious epistle of Horace to Numicius. Perhaps you
may not recollect the lines? They run thus:--

  Nil admirari, prope res est una, Numici,
  Solaque, quae possit facere et servare beatum.

   "I have the honor to be,
     "Dear sir,
    "Your most obedient servant,
           "ANDREW LOFTUS.

 "St. PETERSBURG, _September_, 1792."

"P. S. Just as I was about sealing this packet, the English
ambassador forwarded to me a short letter from your father, in which
he desires us to quit Russia, and to make the best of our way to
England, where you are wanted on a most urgent occasion. He explains
himself no further, only repeating his orders in express commands
that we set off instantly. I wait your directions."

This epistle disconcerted Mr. Somerset. He always guessed the
Baroness Surowkoff was amusing herself with his vain and pedantic
preceptor; but he never entertained a suspicion that her ladyship
would carry her pleasantry to so cruel an excess. He clearly saw that
the fears of Mr. Loftus with regard to the displeasure of his parents
were far from groundless; and therefore, as there was no doubt, from
the extreme age of Dr. Manners, that the rectory of Somerset would
soon become vacant, he thought it better to oblige his poor governor,
and preserve their secret for a month or two, than to give him up to
the indignation of Sir Robert. On these grounds, Pembroke resolved to
write to Mr. Loftus, and ease the anxiety of his heart. Although he
ridiculed his vanity, he could not help respecting the affectionate
solicitude of a son and a brother, and as that plea had won him, half
angry, half grieved, and half laughing, he dispatched a few hasty
lines.

"To THE REVEREND ANDREW LOFTUS, ST. PETERSBURG.

"What whimsical fit, my dear sir, has seized my father, that I am
recalled at a moment's notice? Faith, I am so mad at the summons, and
at his not deigning to assign a reason for his order, that I do not
know how I may be tempted to act.

"Another thing, you beg of me not to say a word of my having been in
Poland; and for that purpose you have withheld the letter which I
sent to you to forward to my mother! You offer far-fetched and
precious excuses for having betrayed your own wisdom, and your
pupil's innocence, into so mortal an offence. One cause of my being
here, you say, was your 'ardor in the cause of insulted Russia, and
your hatred of that levelling power which pervades all Europe.'

"Well, I grant it. I understood from you and Brinicki that you were
leading me against a set of violent, discontented men of rank, who,
in proportion as each was inflated with his own personal pride,
despised all of their own order who did not agree with them, and,
coalescing together under the name of freedom, were introducing
anarchy throughout a country which Catharine would graciously have
protected. All this I find to be in error. But both of you may have
been misled: the count by partiality and you by misrepresentation;
therefore I do not perceive why you should be in such a terror. The
wisest man in the world may see through bad lights; and why should
you think my father would never pardon you for having been so
unlucky?

"Yet to dispel your dread of such tidings ruining you with Sir
Robert, I will not be the first to tell him of our quixoting. Only
remember, my good sir,--though, to oblige you, I withhold my letters
to my mother, and when I arrive in England shall lock up my lips from
mentioning Poland,--that positively, I will not be mute one day
longer than that in which my father presents you with the living of
Somerset; then you will be independent of his displeasure, and I may,
and will, declare my everlasting gratitude to this illustrious
family.

"I am half mad when I think of leaving them. I must now tear myself
from this mansion of comfort and affection, to wander with you in
some rumbling old barouche 'over brake and through briar!' Well,
patience! Another such upset to your friends of the Neva, and with
'victory perched like an eagle on their laurelled brows,' I may have
some chance of wooing the Sobieskis to the banks of the Thames. At
present, I have not sufficient hope to keep me in good-humor.

"Meet me this day week at Dantzic: I shall there embark for England.
You had best not bring the foreign servants with you; they might
blab. Discharge them at St. Petersburg, and hire a courier for
yourself, whom we may drop at the seaport.

"I have the honor to remain,

"Dear sir,

"Your most obedient servant,

PEMBROKE SOMERSET.

"VILLANOW, _September_, 1792."

When Somerset joined his friends at supper, and imparted to them the
commands of his father, an immediate change was produced in the
spirits of the party. During the lamentations of the ladies and the
murmurs of the young men, the countess tried to dispel the effects of
the information by addressing Pembroke with a smile, and saying, "But
we hope that you have seen enough at Villanow to tempt you back again
at no very distant period? Tell Lady Somerset you have left a second
mother in Poland, who will long to receive another visit from her
adopted son."

"Yes, my dear madam," returned he; "and I shall hope, before a very
distant period, to see those two kind mothers united as intimately by
friendship as they are in my heart."

Thaddeus listened with a saddened countenance. He had not been
accustomed to the thought of a long separation, and when he met it
now, he hardly knew how to proportion his uneasiness to the
privation. Hope and all the hilarities of youth flushed in his soul;
his features continually glowed with animation, whilst the gay
beaming of his eyes ever answered to the smile on his lips. Hence the
slightest veering of his mind was perceptible to the countess, who,
turning round, saw him leaning thoughtfully in his chair, whilst
Pembroke, with increasing vehemence, was running through various
invectives against the hastiness of his recall.

"Come, come, Thaddeus!" cried she; "let us think no more of this
parting until it arrives. You know that anticipation of evil is the
death of happiness; and it will be a kind of suicide should we
destroy the hours we may yet enjoy together in vain complainings that
they are so soon to terminate."

A little exhortation from the countess, and a maternal kiss which she
imprinted on his cheek, restored him to cheerfulness, and the evening
passed more pleasantly than it had portended.

Much as the palatine esteemed Pembroke Somerset, his mind was too
deeply absorbed in the condition of the kingdom to attend to less
considerable cares. He beheld his country, even on the verge of
destruction, awaiting with firmness the approach of the earthquake
which threatened to ingulf it in the neighboring nations. He saw the
storm lowering; but he determined, whilst there remained one spot of
vantage ground above the general wreck, that Poland should yet have a
name and a defender. These thoughts possessed him; these plans
engaged him; and he had not leisure to regret pleasure when he was
struggling for existence.

The empress continued to pour her armies into the heart of the
kingdom. The King of Prussia, boldly flying from his treaties,
marched to bid her colors a conqueror's welcome; and the Emperor of
Germany, following the example of so great a prince, did not blush to
show that his word was equally contemptible.

Dispatches daily arrived of the villages being laid waste; that
neither age, sex, nor situation shielded the unfortunate inhabitants,
and that all the frontier provinces were in flames.

The Diet was called, [Footnote: The constitutional Diet of Poland
nearly answers in principle to the British three estates in
Parliament--King, Lords, and Commons.] and the debates agitated with
the anxiety of men who were met to decide on their dearest interests.
The bosom of the benevolent Stanislaus bled at the dreadful picture
of his people's sufferings, and hardly able to restrain his tears, he
answered the animated exordiums of Sobieski for resistance to the
last with an appeal immediately to his heart.

"What is it that you urge me to do, my lord?" said he. "Was it not to
secure the happiness of my subjects that I labored? and finding my
designs impracticable, what advantage would it be to them should I
pertinaciously oppose their small numbers to the accumulated array of
two empires, and of a king almost as powerful as either. What is my
kingdom but the comfort of my people? What will it avail me to see
them fall around me, man by man, and the few who remain bending in
speechless sorrow over their graves? Such a sight would break my
heart. Poland without its people would be a desert, and I a hermit
rather than a king."

In vain the palatine combated these arguments, showing the vain quiet
such a peace might afford, by declaring it could only be temporary.
In vain he told his majesty that he would purchase safety for the
present race at the vast expense of not only the liberty of
posterity, but of its probity and happiness.

"However you disguise slavery," cried he, "it is slavery still. Its
chains, though wreathed with roses, not only fasten on the body but
rivet on the mind. They bend it from the loftiest virtue to a
debasement beneath calculation. They disgrace honor; they trample
upon justice. They transform the legions of Rome into a band of
singers. They prostrate the sons of Athens and of Sparta at the feet
of cowards. They make man abjure his birth right, bind himself to
another's will, and give that into a tyrant's hands which he received
as a deposit from Heaven--his reason, his conscience, and his soul.
Think on this, and then, if you can, subjugate Poland to her
enemies."

Stanislaus, weakened by years and subdued by disappointment, now
retained no higher wish than to save his subjects from immediate
outrage. He did not answer the palatine, but with streaming eyes bent
over the table, and annulled the glorious constitution of 1791. Then
with emotions hardly short of agony, he signed an order presented by
a plenipotentiary from the combined powers, which directed Prince
Poniatowski to deliver the army under his command into the hands of
General Brinicki.

As the king put his signature to these papers, Sobieski, who had
strenuously withstood each decision, started from his chair, bowed to
his sovereign, and in silence left the apartment. Several noblemen
followed him.

These pacific measures did not meet with better treatment from
without. When they were noised abroad, an alarming commotion arose
among the inhabitants of Warsaw, and nearly four thousand men of the
first families in the kingdom assembled themselves in the park of
Villanow, and with tumultuous eagerness declared their resolution to
resist the invaders of their country to their last gasp. The Prince
Sapieha, Kosciusko, and Sobieski, with the sage Dombrowski, were the
first who took this oath of fidelity to Poland; and they administered
it to Thaddeus, who, kneeling down, inwardly invoked Heaven to aid
him, as he swore to fulfil his trust.

In the midst of these momentous affairs, Pembroke Somerset bade adieu
to his Polish friends, and set sail with his governor from Dantzic
for England.




CHAPTER VII.

THE DIET OF POLAND.


Those winter months which before this year had been at Villanow the
season for cheerfulness and festivity, now rolled away in the sad
pomp of national debates and military assemblies.

Prussia usurped the best part of Pomerelia, and garrisoned it with
troops; Catharine declared her dominion over the vast tract of land
which lies between the Dwina and Borysthenes; and Frederick William
marked down another sweep of Poland. to follow the fate of Dantzic
and of Thorn, while watching the dark policy of Austria regarding its
selecting portions of the dismembering state.

Calamities and insults were heaped day after day on the defenceless
Poles. The deputies of the provinces were put into prison, and the
provisions intended for the king's table interrupted and appropriated
by the depredators to their own use. Sobieski remonstrated on this
last outrage; but incensed at reproof, and irritated at the sway
which the palatine still held, an order was issued for all the
Sobieski estates in Lithuania and Podolia to be sequestrated and
divided between four of the invading generals.

In vain the Villanow confederation endeavored to remonstrate with the
empress. Her ambassador not only refused to forward the dispatches,
but threatened the nobles "if they did not comply with every one of
his demands, he would lay all the estates, possessions, and
habitations of the members of the Diet under an immediate military
execution. Nay, punishment should not stop there; for if the king
joined the Sobieski party (to which he now appeared inclined), the
royal domains should not only meet the same fate, but harsher
treatment should follow, until both the people and their proud
sovereign were brought into due subjection."

These menaces were too arrogant to have any other effect upon the
Poles than that of giving a new spur to their resolution. With the
same firmness they repulsed similar fulminations from the Prussian
ambassador, and, with a coolness which was only equalled by their
intrepidity, they prepared to resume their arms.

Hearing by private information that their threats were despised, next
morning, before daybreak, these despotic envoys surrounded the
building where the confederation was sitting with two battalions of
grenadiers and four pieces of cannon, and then issued orders that no
Pole should pass the gates without being fired on. General
Rautenfeld, who was set over the person of the king, declared that
not even his majesty might stir until the Diet had given an unanimous
and full consent to the imperial commands.

The Diet set forth the unlawfulness of signing any treaty whilst thus
withheld from the freedom of will and debate. They urged that it was
not legal to enter into deliberation when violence had recently been
exerted against any individual of their body; and how could they do
it now, deprived as they were of five of their principal members,
whom the ambassadors well knew they had arrested on their way to the
Senate? Sobieski and four of his friends being the members most
inimical to the oppression going on, were these five. In vain their
liberation was required; and enraged at the pertinacity of this
opposition, Rautenfeld repeated the former threats, with the addition
of more, swearing that they should take place without appeal if the
Diet did not directly and unconditionally sign the pretensions both
of his court and that of Prussia.

After a hard contention of many hours, the members at last agreed
amongst themselves to make a solemn public protest against the
present tyrannous measures of the two ambassadors; and seeing that
any attempt to inspire them even with decency was useless, they
determined to cease all debate, and kept a profound silence when the
marshal should propose the project in demand.

This sorrowful silence was commenced in resentment and retained
through despair; this sorrowful silence was called by their usurpers
a consent; this sorrowful silence is held up to the world and to
posterity as a free cession by the Poles of all those rights which
they had received from nature, ratified by laws, and defended with
their blood. [Footnote: Thus, like the curule fathers of Rome, they
sat unyielding, awaiting the threatened stroke. But the dignity of
virtue held her shield over them; and with an answering silence on
the part of the confederated ambassadors, the Diet-chamber was
vacated.]

The morning after this dreadful day, the Senate met at one of the
private palaces; and, indignant and broken-hearted, they delivered
the following declaration to the people:--

 "The Diet of Poland, hemmed in by foreign troops, menaced with an
influx of the enemy, which would be attended by universal ruin, and
finally insulted by a thousand outrages, have been forced to witness
the signing of a submissive treaty with their enemies.

"The Diet had strenuously endeavored to have added to that treaty
some conditions to which they supposed the lamentable state of the
country would have extorted an acquiescence, even from the heart of a
conqueror's power. But the Diet were deceived: they found such power
was unaccompanied by humanity; they found that the foe, having thrown
his victim to the ground, would not refrain from exulting in the
barbarous triumph of trampling upon her neck.

"The Diet rely on the justice of Poland--rely on her belief that they
would not betray the citadel she confided to their keeping. Her
preservation is dearer to them than their lives; but fate seems to be
on the side of their destroyer. Fresh insults have been heaped upon
their heads and new hardships have been imposed upon them. To prevent
all deliberations on this debasing treaty, they are not only
surrounded by foreign troops, and dared with hostile messages, but
they have been violated by the arrest of their prime members, whilst
those who are still suffered to possess a personal freedom have the
most galling shackles laid upon their minds.

"Therefore, I, the King of Poland, enervated by age, and sinking
under the accumulated weight of my kingdom's afflictions, and also
we, the members of the Diet, declare that, being unable, even by the
sacrifice of our lives, to relieve our country from the yoke of its
oppressors, we consign it to our children and the justice of Heaven.

"In another age, means may be found to rescue it from chains and
misery; but such means are not put in our power. Other countries
neglect us. Whilst they reprobate the violations which a neighboring
nation is alleged to have committed against rational liberty, they
behold, not only with apathy but with approbation, the ravages which
are now desolating Poland. Posterity must avenge it. We have done. We
accede in silence, for the reasons above mentioned, to the treaty
laid before us, though we declare that it is contrary to our wishes,
to our sentiments, and to our rights."

Thus, in November, 1793, compressed to one fourth of her dimensions
by the lines of demarcation drawn by her invaders, Poland was
stripped of her rank in Europe; her "power delivered up to strangers,
and her beauty into the hands of her enemies!" Ill-fated people!
Nations will weep over your wrongs; whilst the burning blush of
shame, that their fathers witnessed such wrongs unmoved, shall cause
the tears to blister as they fall.

During these transactions, the Countess Sobieski continued in
solitude at Villanow, awaiting with awful anxiety the termination of
those portentous events which so deeply involved her own comforts
with those of her country. Her father was in prison, her son at a
distance with the army. Sick at heart, she saw the opening of that
spring which might be the commencement only of a new season of
injuries; and her fears were prophetic.

It being discovered that some Masovian regiments in the neighborhood
of Warsaw yet retained their arms, they were ordered by the foreign
envoys to lay them down. A few, thinking denial vain, obeyed; but
bolder spirits followed Thaddeus Sobieski towards South Prussia,
whither he had directed his steps on the arrest of his grandfather,
and where he had gathered and kept together a handful of brave men,
still faithful to their liberties. His name alone collected numbers
in every district through which he marched. Persecution from their
adversary as well as admiration of Thaddeus had given a resistless
power to his appearance, look, and voice, all of which had such an
effect on the peasantry, that they eagerly crowded to his standard,
whilst their young lords committed themselves without reserve to his
sole judgment and command. The Prussian ambassador, hearing of this,
sent to Stanislaus to command the grandson of Sobieski to disband his
troops. The king refusing, and his answer being communicated to the
Russian envoy also, war was renewed with redoubled fury.

The palatine remained in confinement, hopeless of obtaining release
without the aid of stratagem. His country's enemies were too well
aware of their interest to give freedom to so active an opponent.
They sought to vex his spirit with every mental torture; but he
rather received consolation than despair in the reports daily brought
to him by his jailers. They told him "that his grandson continued to
carry himself with such insolent opposition in the south, it would be
well if the empress, at the termination of the war, allowed him to
escape with banishment to Siberia." But every reproach thus levelled
at the palatine he found had been bought by some new success of
Thaddeus; and instead of permitting their malignity to intimidate his
age or alarm his affection, he told the officer (who kept guard in
his chambers) that if his grandson were to lose his head for fidelity
to Poland, he should behold him with as proud an eye mounting the
scaffold as entering the streets of Warsaw with her freedom in his
hand. "The only difference would be," continued Sobieski, "that as
the first cannot happen until all virtue be dead in this land, I
should regard his last gasp as the expiring sigh of that virtue
which, by him, had found a triumph even under the axe. But for the
second, it would be joy unutterable to behold the victory of justice
over rapine and violence! But, either way, Thaddeus Sobieski is still
the same--ready to die or ready to live for his country, and equally
worthy of the sacred halo with which posterity would encircle his
name forever."

Indeed, the accounts which arrived from this young soldier, who had
formed a junction with General Kosciusko, were in the highest degree
formidable to the coalesced powers. Having gained several advantages
over the Prussians, the two victorious battalions were advancing
towards Inowlotz, when a large and fresh body of the enemy appeared
suddenly on their rear. The enemy on the opposite bank of the river,
(whom the Poles were driving before them,) at sight of this
reinforcement, rallied; and not only to retard the approach of the
pursuers, but to ensure their defeat from the army in view, they
broke down the wooden bridge by which they had escaped themselves.
The Poles were at a stand. Kosciusko proposed swimming across, but
owing to the recent heavy rains, the river was so swollen and rapid
that the young captains to whom he mentioned the project, terrified
by the blackness and dashing of the water, drew back. The general,
perceiving their panic, called Thaddeus to him, and both plunged into
the stream. Ashamed of hesitation, the others now tried who could
first follow their example; and, after hard buffeting with its tide,
the whole army gained the opposite shore. The Prussians who were in
the rear, incapable of the like intrepidity, halted; and those who
had crossed on their former defeat, now again intimidated at the
daring courage of their adversaries, concealed themselves amidst the
thickets of an adjoining valley.

The two friends proceeded towards Cracow, [Footnote: Cracow is
considered the oldest regal city in Poland; the tombs of her earliest
and noblest kings are there, John Sobieski's being one of the most
renowned. It stands in a province of the same name, about 130 miles
south-west of Warsaw, the more modern capital of the kingdom, and
also the centre of its own province.] carrying redress and protection
to the provinces through which they marched. But they had hardly
rested a day in that city before dispatches were received that Warsaw
was lying at the mercy of General Brinicki. No time could be lost;
officers and men had set their lives on the cause, and they
recommenced their toil of a new march with a perseverance which
brought them before the capital on the 16th of April.

Things were in a worse state than even was expected. The three
ambassadors had not only demanded the surrender of the national
arsenal, but subscribed their orders with a threat that whoever of
the nobles presumed to dispute their authority should be arrested and
closely imprisoned there; and if the people should dare to murmur,
they would immediately order General Brinicki to lay the city in
ashes. The king remonstrated against such oppression, and to "punish
his presumption," his excellency ordered that his majesty's garrison
and guards should instantly be broken up and dispersed. At the first
attempt to execute this mandate, the people flew in crowds to the
palace, and, falling on their knees, implored Stanislaus for
permission to avenge the insult offered to his troops. The king
looked at them with pity, gratitude, and anguish. For some time his
emotions were too strong to allow him to speak; at last, in a voice
of agony, wrung from his tortured heart, he answered, "Go, and defend
your honor!"

The army of Kosciusko marched into the town at this critical moment;
they joined the armed people; and that day, after a dreadful
conflict, Warsaw was rescued from the immediate grasp of the hovering
Black Eagle. During the fight, the king, who was alone in one of the
rooms of his palace, sank in despair on the floor; he heard the
mingling clash of arms, the roar of musketry, and the cries and
groans of the combatants; ruin seemed no longer to threaten his
kingdom, but to have pounced at once upon her prey. At every renewed
volley which followed each pause in the firing, he expected to see
his palace gates burst open, and himself, then indeed made a willing
sacrifice, immolated to the vengeance of his enemies.

While he was yet upon his knees petitioning the God of battles for a
little longer respite from that doom which was to overwhelm devoted
Poland, Thaddeus Sobieski, panting with heat and toil, flew into the
room, and before he could speak a word, was clasped in the arms of
the agitated Stanislaus.

"What of my people?" asked the king.

"They are victorious!" returned Thaddeus. "The foreign guards are
beaten from the palace; your own have resumed their station at the
gates."

At this assurance, tears of joy ran over the venerable cheeks of his
majesty, and again embracing his young deliverer, he exclaimed, "I
thank Heaven, my unhappy country is not bereft of all hope! Whilst a
Kosciusko and a Sobieski live, she need not quite despair. They are
thy ministers, O Jehovah, of a yet longer respite!"

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER VIII.

BATTLE OF BRZESC--THE TENTH OF OCTOBER.


Thaddeus was not less eager to release his grandfather than he had
been to relieve the anxiety of his sovereign. He hastened, at the
head of a few troops, to the prison of Sobieski, and gave him
liberty, amidst the acclamations of his soldiers.

The universal joy at these prosperous events did not last many days:
it was speedily terminated by information that Cracow had surrendered
to a Prussian force, that the King of Prussia was advancing towards
the capital, and that the Russians, more implacable in consequence of
the late treatment their garrison had received at Warsaw, were
pouring into the country like a deluge.

At this intelligence the consternation became dreadful. The Polonese
army in general, worn with fatigue and long service, and without
clothing or ammunition, were not in any way, excepting courage,
fitted for resuming the field.

The treasury was exhausted, and means of raising a supply seemed
impracticable. The provinces were laid waste, and the city had
already been drained of its last ducat. In this exigency a council
met in his majesty's cabinet, to devise some expedient for obtaining
resources. The consultation was as desponding as their situation,
until Thaddeus Sobieski, who had been a silent observer, rose from
his seat. Sudden indisposition had prevented the palatine attending,
but his grandson knew well how to be his substitute. Whilst blushes
of awe and eagerness crimsoned his cheek, he advanced towards
Stanislaus, and taking from his neck and other parts of his dress
those magnificent jewels it was customary to wear in the presence of
the king, he knelt down, and laying them at the feet of his majesty,
said, in a suppressed voice, "These are trifles; but such as they
are, and all of the like kind which we possess, I am commanded by my
grandfather to beseech your majesty to appropriate to the public
service."

"Noble young man!" cried the king, raising him from the ground; "you
have indeed taught me a lesson. I accept these jewels with gratitude.
Here," said he, turning to the treasurer, "put them into the national
fund, and let them be followed by my own, with my gold and silver
plate, which latter I desire may be instantly sent to the mint. Three
parts the army shall have; the other we must expend in giving support
to the surviving families of the brave men who have fallen in our
defence." The palatine readily united with his grandson in the
surrender of all their personal property for the benefit of their
country; and, according to their example, the treasury was soon
filled with gratuities from the nobles. The very artisans offered
their services gratis; and all hands being employed to forward the
preparations, the army was soon enabled to take the field, newly
equipped and in high spirits.

The countess had again to bid adieu to a son who was now become as
much the object of her admiration as of her love. In proportion as
glory surrounded him and danger courted his steps, the strings of
affection drew him closer to her soul; the "aspiring blood" of the
Sobieskis which beat in her veins could not cheer the dread of a
mother, could not cause her to forget that the spring of her
existence now flowed from the fountain which had taken its source
from her. Her anxious and watching heart paid dearly in tears and
sleepless nights for the honor with which she was saluted at every
turning as the mother of Thaddeus: that Thaddeus who was not more the
spirit of enterprise, and the rallying point of resistance, than he
was to her the gentlest, the dearest, the most amiable of sons. It
matters not to the undistinguishing bolt of carnage whether it strike
common breasts or those rare hearts whose lives are usually as brief
as they are dazzling; this leaden messenger of death banquets as
greedily on the bosom of a hero as if it had lit upon more vulgar
prey; all is levelled to the seeming chance of war, which comes like
a whirlwind of the desert, scattering man and beast in one wide ruin.

Such thoughts as these possessed the melancholy but prayerful
reveries of the Countess Sobieski, from the hour in which she saw
Thaddeus and his grandfather depart for Cracow until she heard it was
retaken, and that the enemy were defeated in several subsequent
contests.

Warsaw was again bombarded, and again Kosciusko, with the palatine
and Thaddeus, preserved it from destruction. In short, wherever they
moved, their dauntless little army carried terror to its adversaries,
and diffused hope through the homes and hearts of their countrymen.

They next turned their course to the relief of Lithuania; but whilst
they were on their route thither, they received intelligence that a
division of the Poles, led by Prince Poniatowski, having been routed
by a formidable body of Russians under Suwarrow, that general, elated
with his success, was hastening forward to re-attack the capital.

Kosciusko resolved to prevent him, prepared to give immediate battle
to Ferfen, another Russian commander, who was on his march to form a
junction with his victorious countrymen. To this end Kosciusko
divided his forces; half of them to not only support the retreat of
the prince, but to enable him to hover near Suwarrow, and to keep a
watchful eye over his motions; whilst Kosciusko, accompanied by the
two Sobieskis, would proceed with the other division towards Brzesc.

It was the tenth of October. The weather being fine, a cloudless sun
diffused life and brilliancy through the pure air of a keen morning.
The vast green plain before them glittered with the troops of General
Ferfen, who had already arranged them in order of battle.

The word was given. Thaddeus, as he drew his sabre [Footnote: The
sabre (like the once famed claymore of Scotland) was the
characteristic weapon of Poland. It was the especial appendage to the
sides of the nobles;--its use, the science of their youth, their
ornament and graceful exercise in peace, their most efficient manual
power of attack or defence in war. It is impossible for any but an
eye-witness to have any idea of the skill, beauty, and determination
with which this weapon was, and is, wielded in Poland.] from its
scabbard, raised his eyes to implore the justice of Heaven on that
day's events. The attack was made. The Poles kept their station on
the heights. The Russians rushed on them like wolves, and twice they
repulsed them by their steadiness. Conquest declared for Poland.
Thaddeus was seen in every part of the field. But reinforcements
poured in to the support of Ferfen, and war raged in new horrors.
Still the courage of the Poles was unabated. Sobieski, fighting at
the head of his cavalry, would not recede a foot, and Kosciusko,
exhorting his men to be resolute, appeared in the hottest places of
the battle.

At one of these portentous moments, the commander-in-chief was seen
struggling with the third charger which had been shot under him that
day. Thaddeus galloped to his assistance, gave him his horse, mounted
another offered by a hussar, and remained fighting by his side, till,
on the next charge, Kosciusko himself fell forward. Thaddeus caught
him in his arms, and finding that his own breast was immediately
covered with blood, (a Cossack having stabbed the general through the
shoulder,) he unconsciously uttered a cry of horror. The surrounding
soldiers took the alarm, and "Kosciusko, our father, is killed!" was
echoed from rank to rank with such piercing shrieks, that the wounded
hero started from the breast of his young friend just as two Russian
chasseurs in the same moment made a cut at them both. The sabre
struck the exposed head of Kosciusko, who sunk senseless to the
ground, and Thaddeus received a gash near his neck that laid him by
his side.

The consternation became universal; groans of despair seemed to issue
from the whole army, whilst the few resolute Poles who had been
stationed near the fallen general fell in mangled heaps upon his
breast. Thaddeus with difficulty extricated himself from the bodies
of the slain; and, fighting his way through the triumphant troops
which pressed around him, amidst the smoke and confusion soon joined
his terror-stricken comrades, who in the wildest despair were
dispersing under a heavy fire, and flying like frighted deer. In vain
he called to them--in vain he urged them to avenge Kosciusko; the
panic was complete, and they fled.

Almost alone, in the rear of his soldiers, he opposed with his single
and desperate arm party after party of the enemy, until a narrow
stream of the Muchavez stopped his retreat. The waters were crimsoned
with blood. He plunged in, and beating the blushing wave with his
left arm, in a few seconds gained the opposite bank, where, fainting
from fatigue and loss of blood, he sunk, almost deprived of sense,
amidst a heap of the killed.

When the pursuing squadrons had galloped past him, he again summoned
strength to look round. He raised himself from the ground, and by the
help of his sabre supported his steps a few paces further; but what
was the shock he received when the bleeding and lifeless body of his
grandfather lay before him? He stood for a few moments motionless and
without sensation; then, kneeling down by his side, whilst he felt as
if his own heart were palsied with death, he searched for the wounds
of the palatine. They were numerous and deep. He would have torn away
the handkerchief with which he had stanched his own blood to have
applied it to that of his grandfather; but in the instant he was so
doing, feeling the act might the next moment disable himself from
giving him further assistance, he took his sash and neck-cloth, and
when they were insufficient, he rent the linen from his breast; then
hastening to the river, he brought a little water in his cap, and
threw some of its stained drops on the pale features of Sobieski.

The venerable hero opened his eyes; in a minute afterwards he
recognized that it was his grandson who knelt by him. The palatine
pressed his hand, which was cold as ice: the marble lips of Thaddeus
could not move.

"My son," said the veteran, in a low voice, "Heaven hath led you
hither to receive the last sigh of your grandfather." Thaddeus
trembled. The palatine continued; "Carry my blessing to your mother,
and bid her seek comfort in the consolations of her God. May that God
preserve you! Ever remember that you are his servant; be obedient to
him; and as I have been, be faithful to your country."

"May God so bless me!" cried Thaddeus, looking up to heaven.

"And ever remember," said the palatine, raising his head, which had
dropped on the bosom of his grandson, "that you are a Sobieski! it is
my dying command that you never take any other name."

"I promise."

Thaddeus could say no more, for the countenance of his grandfather
became altered; his eyes closed. Thaddeus caught him to his breast.
No heart beat against his; all was still and cold. The body dropped
from his arms, and he sunk senseless by its side.

When consciousness returned to him, he looked up. The sky was
shrouded in clouds, which a driving wind was blowing from the orb of
the moon, while a few of her white rays gleamed sepulchrally on the
weapons of the slaughtered soldiers.

The scattered senses of Thaddeus gradually returned to him. He was
now lying, the only living creature amidst thousands of the dead who,
the preceding night, had been, like himself, alive to all the
consciousness of existence! His right hand rested on the pale face of
his grandfather. It was wet with dew. He shuddered. Taking his own
cloak from his shoulders, he laid it over the body. He would have
said, as he did it, "So, my father, I would have sheltered thy life
with my own!" but the words choked in his throat, and he sat watching
by the corpse until the day dawned, and the Poles returned to bury
their slain.

The wretched Thaddeus was discovered by a party of his own hussars
seated on a little mound of earth, with the cold hand of Sobieski
grasped in his. At this sight the soldiers uttered a cry of dismay
and sorrow. Thaddeus rose up. "My friends," said he, "I thank God
that you are come! Assist me to bear my dear grandfather to the
camp."

Astonished at this composure, but distressed at the dreadful hue of
his countenance, they obeyed him in mournful silence, and laid the
remains of the palatine upon a bier, which they formed with their
sheathed sabres; then gently raising it, they retrod their steps to
the camp, leaving a detachment to accomplish the duty for which they
had quitted it. Thaddeus, hardly able to support his weakened frame,
mounted a horse and followed the melancholy procession.

General Wawrzecki, on whom the command had devolved, seeing the party
returning so soon, and in such an order, sent an aid-de-camp to
inquire the reason. He came back with dejection in his face, and
informed his commander that the brave Palatine of Masovia, whom they
supposed had been taken prisoner with his grandson and Kosciusko, was
the occasion of this sudden return; that he had been killed, and his
body was now approaching the lines on the arms of the soldiers.
Wawrzecki, though glad to hear that Thaddeus was alive and at
liberty, turned to conceal his tears; then calling out a guard, he
marched at their head to meet the corpse of his illustrious friend.

The bier was carried into the general's tent. An aid-de-camp and some
gentlemen of the faculty were ordered to attend Thaddeus to his
quarters; but the young count, though scarcely able to stand,
appeared to linger, and holding fast by the arm of an officer, he
looked steadfastly on the body. Wawrzecki understood his hesitation.
He pressed his hand. "Fear not, my dear sir," said he; "every honor
shall be paid to the remains of your noble grandfather." Thaddeus
bowed his head, and was supported out of the tent to his own.

His wounds, of which he had received several, were not deep; and
might have been of little consequence, had not his thoughts
continually hovered about his mother, and painted her affliction when
she should be informed of the lamentable events of the last day's
battle. These reflections, awake or in a slumber, (for he never
slept,) possessed his mind, and, even whilst his wounds were healing,
produced such an irritation in his blood as hourly threatened a
fever.

Things were in this situation, when the surgeon put a letter from the
countess into his hand. He opened it, and read with breathless
anxiety these lines:

"TO THADDEUS, COUNT SOBIESKI.

"Console yourself, my most precious son, console yourself for my
sake. I have seen Colonel Lonza, and I have heard all the horrors
which took place on the tenth of this month. I have heard them, and I
am yet alive. I am resigned. He tells me you are wounded. Oh! do not
let me be bereft of my son also! Remember that you were my dear
sainted father's darling; remember that, as his representative, you
are to be my consolation; in pity to me, if not to our suffering
country, preserve yourself to be at least the last comfort Heaven's
mercy hath spared to me. I find that all is lost to Poland as well as
to myself! that when my glorious father fell, and his friend with
him, even its name, as a country, became extinct. The allied invaders
are in full march towards Masovia, and I am too weak to come to you.
Let me see you soon, very soon, my beloved son. I beseech you to come
to me. You will find me feebler in body than in mind; for there is a
holy Comforter that descends on the bruised heart, which none other
than the unhappy have conceived or felt. Farewell, my dear, dear
Thaddeus! Let the memory that you have a mother check your too ardent
courage. God forever guard you! Live for your mother, who has no
stronger words to express her affection for you than she is thy
mother--thy

"THERESE 

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