Man is the lord of all the sublunary creation; the howling savage, the
winding serpent, with all the untameable and rebellious offspring of
nature, are destroyed in the contest, or driven at a distance from his
habitations. The extensive and tempestuous ocean, instead of limiting or
dividing his power, only serves to assist his industry, and enlarge the
sphere of his enjoyments. Its billows, and its monsters, instead of
presenting a scene of terror, only call up the courage of this little
intrepid being; and the greatest danger that man now fears on the deep,
is from his fellow-creatures. Indeed, when I consider the human race as
Nature has formed them, there is but very little of the habitable globe
that seems made for them. But when I consider them as accumulating the
experience of ages, in commanding the earth, there is nothing so great,
or so terrible. What a poor contemptible being is the naked savage,
standing on the beach of the ocean, and trembling at its tumults! How
little capable is he of converting its terrors into benefits; or of
saying, behold an element made wholly for my enjoyment! He considers it
as an angry Deity, and pays it the homage of submission. But it is very
different when he has exercised his mental powers; when he has learned
to find his own superiority, and to make it subservient to his commands.
It is then that his dignity begins to appear, and that the true Deity is
justly praised for having been mindful of man; for having given him the
earth for his habitation, and the sea for an inheritance.
* * * * *
* * * *
Interesting History Of
_THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI._
With a relation of the most remarkable occurrences in the life
of the celebrated COUNT PULASKI, well known as the champion of
American Liberty, and who bravely fell in its defence before
Savannah, 1779.
_Interspersed with Anecdotes of the late unfortunate KING of POLAND,
so recently dethroned._
(_Continued from page 182._)
In the mean time, the camp resounded with the cries of gladness, and our
victorious soldiers mingled my praises with those of Pulaski. At the
noise of my name, repeated by a thousand tongues, Lodoiska ran to her
father’s tent. She convinced me of the excess of her tenderness, by the
excess of her joy at our meeting; and I was obliged once more to
commence the recital of the dangers from which I had escaped. She could
not hear of the singular generosity of the monarch, when I was in the
power of the Russians, without shedding tears: “How magnanimous he is!”
exclaims she, amidst a transport of joy; “how worthy of being a king, he
who so generously pardoned you! How many sighs has he spared a wife whom
you forsake! how many tears the loving wife whom you are not afraid of
sacrificing! Cruel Lovzinski, are not the dangers to which you daily
expose yourself sufficient----”
Pulaski here interrupts his daughter with a certain degree of harshness:
“Indiscreet and weak woman!” exclaims he, “is it before me that you dare
to hold such a discourse as this?”
“Alas!” replies she in a mild accent; “alas! must I forever tremble for
the life of a father and a husband?” Lodoiska also made the most
affecting complaints to me, and sighed after a more happy futurity,
while fortune was preparing for us the most cruel reverse.
Our Cossacks, placed at the out-posts, now came in from all parts, and
informed us that the Russian army was approaching. Pulaski reckoned on
being attacked at the break of day; but he was not: however, about the
middle of the following night I was informed that the enemy was
preparing to force our entrenchments.
Pulaski, always ready, always active, was actually defending them:
during the course of this fatal night, he achieved every thing that
might have been expected from his valour and experience.
We repel the assailants no less than five different times, but they
return unceasingly to the charge, pour in fresh troops at every new
attack, and, during the last one, penetrate into the heart of our very
camp by three different avenues, at one and the same time.
Zaremba was killed by my side; a crowd of nobles fell in this bloody
action; the enemy refused to give any quarter. Furious at seeing all my
friends perish before my eyes, I resolved to precipitate myself into the
midst of the Russian battalions.
“Heedless man!” exclaims Pulaski, “what blind fury urges you towards
your destruction? My army is entirely routed---destroyed---but my
courage still remains! Why should we perish uselessly here? Let us be
gone! I will conduct you into climes where we may raise up new enemies
against the Russian name. Let us live, since we can still serve our
country! Let us save ourselves, let us save Lodoiska.”
“Lodoiska! am I capable of abandoning her?”
We instantly run to her tent--we are scarce in time: we carry her off,
precipitate ourselves into the neighbouring woods, and on the next
morning we venture to sally forth, and present ourselves before the gate
of a castle that was not altogether unknown to us.
It indeed belonged to a noble Pole, who had served during some time in
our army. Micislas instantly comes forth, and offers an asylum, which he
advises us, however, to make use of for a few hours only. He informs us,
that a very astonishing piece of news had spread abroad on the former
evening, and began to be confirmed, according to which the king himself
had been carried away out of Warsaw, that the Russians had pursued the
conspirators, and brought back the monarch to his capital; and that, in
fine, it was talked of putting a price upon the head of Pulaski, who was
suspected of being the author of this treason.
“Believe me,” says he, “when I assure you, whether you have engaged or
not in this bold plot, that you ought to fly; leave your uniforms here,
which will assuredly betray you: I will instantly supply you with
clothes which are less remarkable: and as to Lodoiska, I myself will
conduct her to the place which you have chosen for your retreat.”
Lodoiska now interrupts Micislas: “The place of my retreat shall be that
of their flight, for I will accompany them every where.”
Pulaski represents to his daughter, that she was not able to sustain the
fatigue incident to such a long journey, and that besides we should be
liable to continual dangers.
“The greater the peril is,” replies she, “the more I ought to partake it
with you. You have repeated to me a hundred times, that the daughter of
Pulaski ought not to be an ordinary woman. For the last eight years I
have constantly lived in the midst of alarms; I have seen nothing but
scenes of carnage and horror. Death has environed me on all sides, and
menaced me at every moment: will you not permit me to brave it now by
your side? Is not the life of Lodoiska connected with that of her
father? Lovzinski, will not the stroke that fells you to the ground send
your wife to the grave? and am I no longer worthy----”
I now interrupt Lodoiska, and join with her father, in stating the
reasons which determined us to leave her in Poland. She hears me with
impatience: “Ungrateful man,” exclaims she at length, “will you fly
without me?” “You shall remain,” replies Pulaski, “with Lovzinski’s
sisters, and I prohibit you----”
His daughter, now frantic with grief, would not permit him to finish the
sentence.
“I know your rights, my father! I respect them; they shall always appear
sacred to me: but you do not possess that of separating a wife from her
husband.”
“Ah, pardon me! I see that I offend you---my reason no longer maintains
its empire---”
“But pity my grief---”
“Excuse my despair---”
“My father! Lovzinski! hear me, both of you; I am determined to
accompany you every where!
“Yes, I will follow you every where, cruel men! I will follow you in
spite of yourselves!
“Lovzinski, if your wife has lost all the rights she had over your
heart, recollect at least her who was once the mistress of your
affections.
“Recal to your remembrance that frightful night, when I was about to
perish in the flames; that terrible moment when you ascended the burning
tower, crying out, let me live or die with Lodoiska!
“That which you felt at that terrible moment, I now experience! I know
no greater evil than that of being separated from you; and I now exclaim
in my turn, let me either live or die with my father and my husband!
“Unfortunate wretch! what will become of me, if you should forsake me.
Reduced to the cruel situation of bewailing you both, where shall I find
a solace for my miseries? Will my children console me? Alas! in two
years death hath snatched four away from me; and the Russians, equally
pitiless as death itself, have bereaved me of the last! I have only you
remaining in the world, and even you wish to abandon me! my father! my
husband! Will such dear connexions as these be insensible to my
sufferings! Have compassion, take pity on your own Lodoiska.”
. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . .
Her tears now intercepted her speech. Micislas wept; my heart was torn
with anguish. “You are resolved to accompany us, my daughter---be it so;
I consent,” says Pulaski, “but I wish that heaven may not punish me for
my complaisance!”
Lodoiska now embraces us both with as much joy at if all our ills had
been at an end. I leave two letters with Micislas, which he undertook to
transmit according to the direction: the one was addressed to my
sisters, and the other to Boleslas. I bade them adieu, and I recommended
to them, to neglect no means to endeavour to recover my dear Dorliska!
It was necessary that I should disguise my wife---she assumes a
masculine dress; we change our own, and we employ all the means in our
power to disfigure ourselves in such a manner as to elude research, and
prevent discovery.
Thus altered in our appearance, armed with our sabres and our pistols,
provided with a considerable sum in gold, with some trinkets, and all
the jewels of Lodoiska, we take leave of Micislas, and make haste to
regain the woods.
(To be continued.)
* * * * *