THE WIDOW'S FAMILY.
Next morning Sobieski found himself rather better than worse by the
exertions of the preceding clay. When Nanny appeared as usual with
his breakfast and little William, (who always sat on his knee, and
shared his bread and butter,) the count desired her to request her
grandmother to send to Mr. Vincent with his compliments, and to say
her lodger felt himself so much recovered as to decline any further
medical aid, and therefore wished to have his bill.
Mrs. Robson, who could not forget the behavior of the apothecary,
undertook to deliver the message herself, happy in the triumph she
should enjoy over the littleness of Mr. Vincent's suspicions.
After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, she re-appeared in the
count's rooms, accompanied by the apothecary's assistant, who, with
many thanks, received the sum total of the account, which amounted to
three guineas for ten days' attendance.
The man having withdrawn, Thaddeus told Mrs. Robson, he should next
defray the smallest part of the vast debt he must ever owe to her
parental care.
"Oh, bless your honor, it goes to my heart to take a farthing of you!
but these poor children," cried she, laying a hand on each, and her
eyes glistening, "they look up to me as their all here; and my
quarter-day was yesterday, else, dear sir, I should scorn to be like
Doctor Vincent, and take your money the moment you offer it."
"My good madam," returned Sobieski, giving her a chair, "I am
sensible of your kindness: but it is your just due; and the payment
of it can never lessen your claim on my gratitude for the maternal
care with which you have attended me, a total stranger."
"Then, there, sir," said she, looking almost as ashamed as if she
were robbing him, when she laid it on the table; "there is my bill. I
have regularly set down everything. Nanny will bring it to me." And
quite disconcerted, the good woman hurried out of the room.
Thaddeus looked after her with reverence.
"There goes," thought he, "in that lowly and feeble frame, as
generous and noble a spirit: as ever animated the breast of a
princess! Here, Nanny," said he, glancing his eye over the paper,
"there is the gold, with my thanks; and tell your grandmother I am
astonished at her economy."
This affair over, the count was relieved of a grievous load; and
turning the remaining money in his hand, how he might replenish the
little stock before it were expended next occupied his attention.
Notwithstanding the pawnbroker's civil treatment, he recoiled at
again presenting himself at his shop. Besides, should he dispose of
all that he possessed, it might not be of sufficient value here to
subsist him a month. He must think of some source within himself that
was not likely to be so soon exhausted. To be reduced a second time
to the misery which he had endured yesterday from suspense and
wretchedness, appeared too dreadful to be hazarded, and he ran over
in his memory the different merits of his several accomplishments.
He could not make any use of his musical talents; for at public
exhibitions of himself his soul revolted; and as to his literary
acquirements, his youth, and being a foreigner, precluded all hopes
on that head. At length he found that his sole dependence must rest
on his talents for painting. Of this art he had always been
remarkably fond; and his taste easily perceived that there were many
drawings exhibited for sale much inferior to those which he had
executed for mere amusement.
He decided at once; and purchasing, by the means of Nanny, pencils
and Indian ink, he set to work.
When he had finished half-a-dozen drawings, and was considering how
he might find the street in which he had seen the print-shops, the
recollection occurred to him of the impression his appearance had
made on the pawnbroker. He perceived the wide difference between his
apparel and the fashion of England; and considering the security from
impertinence with which he might walk about, could he so far cast off
the relics of his former rank as to change his dress, he rose up with
an intention to go out and purchase a surtout coat and a hat for that
purpose, when catching an accidental view of his uniform, with the
star of St. Stanislaus on its breast, as he passed the glass, he no
longer wondered at the curiosity which such an appendage, united with
poverty, had attracted. Rather than again subject himself to a
similar situation, he summoned his young messenger; and, by her
assistance, furnished himself with an English hat and coat, whilst
with his penknife he cut away the embroidery of the order from the
cloth to which it was affixed.
Thus accoutred, with his hat flapped over his face and his great-coat
wrapped round him, he put the drawings into his bosom, and about
eight o'clock in the evening walked out on his disagreeable errand.
After some wearying search, he at last found Great Newport Street,
the place he wanted; but as he advanced, his hopes died away, and his
fears and reluctance re-awakened. He stopped at the door of the
nearest print-shop. All that he had suffered at the pawnbroker's
assailed him with redoubled violence. What he presented there
possessed a fixed value, and was at once to be taken or refused; but
now he was going to offer things of mere taste, and he might meet not
only with a denial, but affronting remarks.
He walked to the threshold of the door, then as hastily withdrew, and
hurried two or three paces down the street.
"Weak, contemptible that I am!" said he to himself, as he again
turned round; "where is all my reason, and rectitude of principle,
that I would rather endure the misery of dependence and self-reproach
than dare the attempt to seek support from the fruits of my own
industry?"
He quickened his step and started into the shop, almost fearful of
his former irresolution. He threw his drawings instantly upon the
counter.
"Sir, you purchase drawings. I have these to sell. Will they suit
you?"
The man took them up without deigning to look at the person who had
accosted him, and turning them over in his hand, "One, two, three,
hum; there is half-a-dozen. What do you expect for them?"
"I am not acquainted with the prices of these things."
The printseller, hearing this, thought, by managing well, to get them
for what he liked, and throwing them over with an air of contempt,
resumed--
"And pray, where may the views be taken?"
"They are recollections of scenes in Germany."
"Ah!" replied the man, "mere drugs! I wish, honest friend, you could
have brought subjects not quite so threadbare, and a little better
executed; they are but poor things! But every dauber nowadays sets up
for a fine artist, and thinks we are to pay him for spoilt paper and
conceit."
Insulted by this speech, and, above all, by the manner of the
printseller, Thaddeus was snatching up the drawings to leave the shop
without a word, when the man, observing his design, and afraid to
lose them, laid his hand on the heap, exclaiming--
"Let me tell you, young man, it does not become a person in your
situation to be so huffy to his employers. I will give you a guinea
for the six, and you may think yourself well paid."
Without further hesitation, whilst the count was striving to subdue
the choler which urged him to knock him down, the man laid the gold
on the counter, and was slipping the drawings into a drawer; but
Thaddeus, snatching them out again, suddenly rolled them up, and
walked out of the shop as he said--
"Not all the money of all your tribe should tempt an honest man to
pollute himself by exchanging a second word with one so
contemptible."
Irritated at this unfeeling treatment, he returned home, too much
provoked to think of the consequences which might follow a similar
disappointment.
Having become used to the fluctuations of his looks and behavior, the
widow ceased altogether to tease him with inquiries, which she saw he
was sometimes loath to answer. She now allowed him to walk in and out
without a remark, and silently contemplated his pale and melancholy
countenance, when, after a ramble of the greatest part of the day, he
returned home exhausted and dispirited.
William was always the first to welcome his friend at the threshold,
by running to him, taking hold of his coat, and asking to go with him
up stairs. The count usually gratified him, and brightened many dull
hours with his innocent caresses.
This child was literally his only earthly comfort; for he saw that in
him he could still excite those emotions of happiness which had once
afforded him his sweetest joy. William ever greeted him with smiles,
and when he entered the kitchen, sprang to his bosom, as if that were
the seat of peace, as it was of virtue. But, alas! fate seemed
adverse to lend anything long to the unhappy Thaddeus which might
render his desolate state more tolerable.
Just risen from a bed of sickness, he required the hand of some
tender nurse to restore his wasted vigor, instead of being reduced to
the hard vigils of poverty and want. His recent disappointment, added
to a cold which he had caught, increased his feverish debility; yet
he adhered to the determination not to appropriate to his own
subsistence the few valuables he had assigned as a deposit for the
charges of his rent. During a fortnight he never tasted anything
better than bread and water; but this hermit's fare was accompanied
by the resigned thought that if it ended in death, his sufferings
would then be over, and the widow amply remunerated by what little of
his property remained.
In this state of body and mind he received a most painful shock, when
one evening, returning from a walk of many hours, in the place of his
little favorite, he met Mrs. Robson in tears at the door. She told
him William had been sickening all the day, and was now so delirious,
that neither she nor his sister could keep him quiet.
Thaddeus went to the side of the child's bed, where he lay gasping on
the pillow, held clown by the crying Nanny. The count touched his
cheek.
"Poor child!" exclaimed he; "he is in a high fever. Have you sent for
Mr. Vincent?"
"O, no; I had not the heart to leave him."
"Then I will go directly," returned Thaddeus "there is not a moment
to be lost."
The poor woman thanked him. Hastening through the streets with an
eagerness which nearly overset several of the foot-passengers, he
arrived at Lincoln's-Inn-fields; and in less than five minutes after
he quitted Mrs. Robson's door he returned with the apothecary.
On Mr. Vincent's examining the pulse and countenance of his little
patient, he declared the symptoms to be the small-pox, which some
casualty had repelled.
In a paroxysm of distress, Mrs. Robson recollected that a girl had
been brought into her shop three days ago, just recovered from that
frightful malady.
Thaddeus tried to subdue the fears of the grandmother, and at last
succeeded in persuading her to go to bed, whilst he and Nanny would
watch by the pillow of the invalid.
Towards morning the disorder broke out on the child's face, and he
recovered his recollection. The moment he fixed his eyes on the
count, who was leaning over him, he stretched out his little arms,
and begged to lie on his breast. Thaddeus refused him gently, fearing
that by any change of position he might catch cold, and so again
retard what had now so fortunately appeared; but the poor child
thought the denial unkind, and began to weep so violently, that his
anxious friend believed it better to gratify him than hazard the
irritation of his fever by agitation and crying.
Thaddeus took him out of bed, and rolling him in one of the blankets,
laid him in his bosom; and drawing his dressing-gown to shield the
little face from the fire, held him in that situation asleep for
nearly two hours.
When Mrs. Robson came down stairs at six o'clock in the morning, she
kissed the hand of the count as he sustained her grandson in his
arms; and almost speechless with gratitude to him, and solicitude for
the child, waited the arrival of the apothecary.
On his second visit, he said a few words to her of comfort, but
whispered to the count, while softly feeling William's pulse, that
nothing short of the strictest care could save the boy, the infection
he had received having been of the most malignant kind.
These words fell like an unrepealable sentence on the heart of
Thaddeus. Looking on the discolored features of the patient infant,
he fancied that he already beheld its clay-cold face, and its little
limbs stretched in death. The idea was bitterness to him; and
pressing the boy to his breast, he resolved that no attention should
be wanting on his part to preserve him from the grave. And he kept
his promise.
From that hour until the day in which the poor babe expired in his
arms, he never laid him out of them for ten minutes together; and
when he did breathe his last sigh, and raised up his little eyes,
Thaddeus met their dying glance with a pang which he thought his soul
had long lost the power to feel. His heart seemed to stop; and
covering the motionless face of the dead child with his hand, he made
a sign to Nanny to leave the room.
The girl, who from respect had been accustomed to obey his slightest
nod, went to her grandmother in the shop.
The instant the girl quitted the room, with mingled awe and grief the
count lifted the little corpse from his knee; and without allowing
himself to cast another glance on the face of the poor infant, now
released from suffering, he put it on the bed, and throwing the sheet
over it, sunk into a chair and burst into tears.
The entrance of Mrs. Robson in some measure restored him; for the
moment she perceived her guest with his handkerchief over his eyes,
she judged what had happened, and, with a piercing scream, flew
forward to the bed, where, pulling down the covering, she uttered
another shriek, and must have fallen on the floor had not Thaddeus
and little Nanny, who ran in at her cries, caught her in their arms
and bore her to a chair.
Her soul was too much agitated to allow her to continue long in a
state of insensibility; and when she recovered, she would again have
approached the deceased child, but the count withheld her, and trying
by every means in his power to soothe her, so far succeeded as to
melt her agonies into tears.
Whilst she concealed her venerable head in the bosom of her
granddaughter, he once more lifted the remains of the little William;
and thinking it best for the tranquillity of the unhappy grandmother
to take him out of her sight, he carried him up stairs, and laid him
on his own bed.
By the time he returned to the humble parlor, one of the female
neighbors, having heard the unusual outcry, and suspecting the cause,
kindly stepped in to offer her consolation and services. Mrs. Robson
could only reply by sobs, which were answered by the loud weeping of
poor Nanny, who lay with her head against the table.
When the count came down, he thanked the worthy woman for her
benevolent intentions, and took her up stairs into his apartments.
Pointing to the open door of the bedroom, "There, madam," said he,
"you will find the remains of my dear little friend. I beg you will
direct everything for his interment that you think will give
satisfaction to Mrs. Robson. I would spare that excellent woman every
pang in my power."
All was done according to his desire; and Mrs. Watts, the charitable
neighbor, excited by a kindly disposition, and reverence for "the
extraordinary young gentleman who lodged with her friend," performed
her task with tenderness and activity.
"Oh! sir," cried Mrs. Robson, weeping afresh as she entered the
count's room, "Oh, sir, how shall I ever repay all your goodness? and
Mrs. Watt's? She has acted like a sister to me. But, indeed, I am yet
the most miserable creature that lives. I have lost my dearest child,
and must strip his poor sister of her daily bread to bury him. That
cruel Dr. Vincent, though he might have imagined my distress, sent
his account late last night, saying he wanted to make up a large
bill, and he wished I would let him have all, or part of the payment.
Heaven knows, I have not a farthing in the house; but I will send
poor little Nanny to pawn my silver spoons, for, alas! I have no
other means of satisfying the cruel man."
"Rapacious wretch!" cried Thaddeus, rising indignantly from his
chair, and for a moment forgetting how incapable he was to afford
relief: "you shall not be indebted one instant to his mercy. I will
pay him."
The words had passed his lips; he could not retract, though
conviction immediately followed that he had not the means; and he
would not have retracted, even should he be necessitated to part with
everything he most valued.
Mrs. Robson was overwhelmed by this generous promise, which, indeed,
saved her from ruin. Had her little plate been pledged, it could not
have covered one half of Mr. Vincent's demand, who, to do him
justice, did not mean to cause any distress. But having been so
readily paid by Thaddeus for his own illness, and observing his great
care and affection for the deceased child, he did not doubt that,
rather than allow Mrs. Robson a minute's uneasiness, her lodger would
defray his bill. So far he calculated right; but he had not
sufficient sagacity to foresee that in getting his money this way, he
should lose the future business of Mrs. Robson and her friend.
The child was to be buried on the morrow, the expenses of which event
Thaddeus saw he must discharge also; and he had engaged to pay Mr.
Vincent that night! He had not a shilling in his purse. Over and over
he contemplated the impracticability of answering these debts; yet he
could not for an instant repent of what he had undertaken: he thought
he was amply recompensed for bearing so heavy a load in knowing that
he had taken it off the worn-down heart of another.
* * * * * * *