THE VETERAN'S NARRATIVE.
Owing to comfortable refreshment and a night of undisturbed sleep,
General Butzou awoke in the morning much recovered from the weakness
which had subdued him the preceding day.
Thaddeus observed this change with pleasure. Whilst he sat by his
bed, ministering to him with the care of a son, he dwelt with a
melancholy delight on his revered features, and listened to his
languid voice with those tender associations which are dear to the
heart, though they pierce it with regretful anguish.
"Tell me, my dear general," said he, "for I can bear to hear it now--
tell me what has befallen my unhappy country since I quitted it."
"Every calamity," cried the brave old man, shaking his head, "that
tyranny could devise."
"Well, go on," returned the count, with a smile, which truly declared
that the composure of his air was assumed; "we, who have beheld her
sufferings, and yet live, need not fear hearing them described! Did
you see the king before he left Warsaw?"
"No," replied Butzou; "our oppressors took care of that. Whilst you,
my lord, were recovering from your wounds in the citadel, I set off
for Sachoryn, to join Prince Poniatowski. In my way thither I met
some soldiers, who informed me that his highness, having been
compelled to discharge his troops, was returning to support his royal
brother under the indignities which the haughtiness of the victor
might premeditate. I then directed my steps towards Sendomir, where I
hoped to find Dombrowski, with still a few faithful followers; but
here, too, I was disappointed. Two days before my arrival, that
general, according to orders, had disbanded his whole party.[Footnote:
Dombrowski withdrew into France, where he was soon joined by
others of his countrymen; which little band, in process of time,
by gradual accession of numbers, became what was afterwards
styled the celebrated Polish legion, in the days of Napoleon; at the
head of which legion, the Prince Poniatowski, so often mentioned in
these pages, lost his life in the fatal frontier river his dauntless
courage dared to swim. His remains were taken to Cracow, and buried
near to the tomb of John Sobieski.] I now found that Poland was
completely in the hands of her ravagers, and yet I prepared to return
into her bosom; my feet naturally took that course. But I was
agonized at every step I retrod. I beheld the shores of the Vistula,
lined on every side with the allied troops. Ten thousand were posted
on her banks, and eighteen thousand amongst the ruins of Praga and
Villanow.
"When I approached the walls of Warsaw, imagine, my dear lord, how
great was my indignation! How barbarous the conduct of our enemies!
Batteries of cannon were erected around the city, to level it with
the ground on the smallest murmur of discontent.
"On the morning of my arrival, I was hastening to the palace to pay
my duty to the king, when a Cossack officer intercepted me, whom I
formerly knew, and indeed kindly warned me that if I attempted to
pass, my obstinacy would be fatal to myself and hazardous to his
majesty, whose confinement and suffering were augmented in proportion
to the adherents he retained amongst the Poles. Hearing this, I was
turning away, overwhelmed with grief, when the doors of the audience
chamber opened, and the Counts Potocki, Kilinski, and several others
of your grandfather's dearest friends, were led forth under a guard.
I was standing motionless with surprise, when Potocki, perceiving me,
held forth his hand. I took it, and wringing it, in the bitterness of
my heart uttered some words which I cannot remember, but my Cossack
friend whispered me to beware how I again gave way to such dangerous
remarks.
"'Farewell, my worthy general' said Potocki, in a low voice, 'you see
we are arrested. We loved Poland too faithfully, for her enemies: and
for that reason we are to be sent prisoners to St. Petersburg.
Sharing the fate of Kosciusko, our chains are our distinction; such a
collar of merit is the most glorious order which the imperial sceptre
could bestow on a knight of St. Stanislaus.'
"'Sir, I cannot admit of this conversation,' cried the officer of the
guard; and commanding the escort to proceed, I lost sight of these
illustrious patriots, probably forever.[Footnote: The Potocki family
at that time had still large possessions in the Crimean country of
the Cossacks; for it had formerly belonged to the crown of Poland.
And hence a kind of kindred memory lingered amongst the people: not
disaffecting them from their new masters but allowing a natural
respect for the descendants of the old.]
"I understood, from the few Poles who remained in the citadel, that
the good Stanislaus was to be sent on the same dismal errand of
captivity, to Grodno, the next day. They also told me that Poland
being no more, you had torn yourself from its bleeding remains,
rather than behold the triumphant entry of its conqueror. This
insulting pageant was performed on the 9th of November last. On the
8th, I believe you left Warsaw for England."
"Yes," replied the count, who had listened with a breaking heart to
this distressing narrative; "and doubtless I saved myself much
misery."
"You did. One of the magistrates described to me the whole scene, at
which I would not have been present for the world's empire! He told
me that when the morning arrived in which General Suwarrow, attended
by the confederated envoys, was to make his public _entrée_, not
a citizen could be seen that was not compelled to appear. A dead
silence reigned in the streets; the doors and windows of every house
remained so closed that a stranger might have supposed it to be a
general mourning; and it was the bitterest sight which could have
fallen upon our souls! At this moment, when Warsaw, I may say, lay
dying at the feet of her conqueror, the foreign troops marched into
the city, the only spectators of their own horrible tragedy. At
length, with eyes which could no longer weep, the magistrates,
reluctant, and full of indignation, proceeded to meet the victor on
the bridge of Praga. When they came near the procession, they
presented the keys of Warsaw on their knees."--
"On their knees!" interrupted Thaddeus, starting up, and the blood
flushing over his face.
"Yes," answered Butzou, "on their knees."
"Almighty Justice!" exclaimed the count, pacing the room with
emotion; "why did not the earth open and swallow them! Why did not
the blood which saturated the spot whereon they knelt cry out to
them? O Butzou, this humiliation of Poland is worse to me than all
her miseries!"
"I felt as you feel, my lord," continued the general, "and I
expressed myself with the same resentment; but the magistrate who
related to me that circumstance urged in excuse for himself and his
brethren that such a form was necessary; and had they refused,
probably their lives would have been forfeited."
"Well," inquired Thaddeus, resuming his seat, "but where was the king
during this transaction?"
"In the castle, where he received orders to be present next day at a
public thanksgiving, at which the inhabitants of Warsaw were also
commanded to attend, to perform a _Te Deum_, in gratitude for
the destruction of their country. Thank heaven! I was spared from
witnessing this blasphemy; I was then at Sendomir. But the day after
I had heard of it, I saw the carriage which contained the good
Stanislaus guarded like a traitor's out of the gates, and that very
hour I left the city. I made my way to Hamburgh, where I took a
passage to Harwich. But when there, owing to excessive fatigue, one
of my old wounds broke out afresh; and continuing ill a week, I
expended all my money. Reduced to my last shilling, and eager to find
you, I begged my way from that town to this. I had already spent two
miserable days and nights in the open air, with no other sustenance
than the casual charity of passengers, when Heaven sent you, my
honored Sobieski, to save me from perishing in the streets."
Butzou pressed the hand of his young friend, as he concluded.
Indignation still kept its station on the count's features.
The poor expatriated wanderer observed it with satisfaction, well
pleased that this strong emotion at the supposed pusillanimity of his
countrymen had prevented those bursts of grief which might have been
expected from his sensitive nature, when informed that ruined Poland
was not only treated by its ravagers like a slave, but loaded with
the shackles and usage of a criminal.
Towards evening, General Butzou fell asleep. Thaddeus, leaning back
in his chair, fixed his eyes on the fire, and mused with amazement
and sorrow on what had been told him. When it was almost dark, and he
was yet lost in reflection, Mrs. Robson gently opened the door and
presented a letter. "Here, sir," said she, "is a letter which a
servant has just left; he told me it required no answer."
Thaddeus sprang from his seat at sight of the paper, and almost
catching it from her, his former gloomy cogitations dispersed before
the hopes and fond emotions of friendship which now lit up in his
bosom. Mrs. Robson withdrew. He looked at the superscription--it was
the handwriting of his friend. Tearing it asunder, two folded papers
presented themselves. He opened them, and they were his own letters,
returned without a word. His beating heart was suddenly checked.
Letting the papers fall from his hand, he dropped back on his seat
and closed his eyes, as if he would shut them from the world and its
ingratitude.
Unable to recover from his astonishment, his thoughts whirled about
in a succession of accusations, surmises and doubts, which seemed for
a few minutes to drive him to distraction.
"Was it really the hand of Somerset?"
Again he examined the envelope. It was; and the enclosures were his
own letters, without one word of apology for such incomprehensible
conduct.
"Could he make one? No," replied Thaddeus to himself. "Unhappy that I
am, to have been induced to apply twice to so despicable a man! Oh,
Somerset," cried he, looking at the papers as they lay before him;
"was it necessary that insult should be added to unfaithfulness and
ingratitude, to throw me off entirely? Good heavens! did he think
because I wrote twice, I would persecute him with applications? I
have been told this of mankind; but, that I should find it in him?"
In this way, agitated and muttering, and walking up and down the
room, he spent another wakeful and cheerless night.
When he went down stairs next morning, to beg Mrs. Robson to attend
his friend until his return, she mentioned how uneasy she was at
having heard him most of the preceding night moving above her head.
He was trying to account to her for his restlessness, by complaining
of a headache, but she interrupted him by saying, "O no, sir; I am
sure it is the hard boards you lie on, to accommodate the poor old
gentleman. I am certain you will make yourself ill."
Thaddeus thanked her for her solicitude; but declaring that all beds
hard, or soft, were alike to him, he left her more reconciled to his
pallet on the floor. And with his drawings in his pocket, once more
took the path to Great Newport Street.
Resentment against his fickle friend, and anxiety for the
tranquillity of General Butzou, whose age, infirmities and sufferings
threatened a speedy termination of his life, determined the count to
sacrifice all false delicacy and morbid feelings, and to hazard
another attempt at acquiring the means of affording those comforts to
the sick veteran which his condition demanded. Happen how it would,
he resolved that Butzou should never know the complete wreck of his
property. I shuddered at loading him with the additional distress of
thinking he was a burden on his protector.
Thaddeus passed the door of the printseller who had behaved so ill to
him on his first application; and walking to the farthest shop on the
same side, entered it. Laying his drawings on the counter, he
requested the person who stood there to look at them. They were
immediately opened; and the count, dreading a second repulse, or even
more than similar insolence, hastily added--
"They are scenes in Germany. If you like to have them their price is
a guinea."
"Are you the painter, sir?" was the reply.
"Yes, sir. Do they please you?"
"Yes," answered the tradesman, (for it was the master, examining them
nearer); "there is a breadth and freedom in the style which is novel,
and may take. I will give you your demand;" and he laid the money on
the counter.
Rejoiced that he had succeeded where he had entertained no hope,
Thaddeus, with a bow, was leaving the shop, when the man called after
him, "Stay, sir!"
He returned, prepared to now hear some disparaging remark.
It is strange, but it is true, that those who have been thrust by
misfortune into a state beneath their birth and expectations, too
often consider themselves the objects of universal hostility. They
see contempt in every eye, they suppose insult in every word; the
slightest neglect is sufficient to set the sensitive pride of the
unfortunate in a blaze; and, alas! how little is this sensibility
respected by the rich and gay in their dealings with the unhappy! To
what an addition of misery are the wretched exposed, meeting not only
those contumelies which the prosperous are not backward to bestow,
but those fancied ills which, however unfounded, keep the mind in a
feverish struggle with itself, and an uttered warfare with the
surrounding world!
Repeated insults infused into the mind of Sobieski much of this
anticipating irritability; and it was with a very haughty step that
he turned back to hear what the printseller meant to say.
"I only want to ask whether you follow this art as a profession?"
"Yes."
"Then I shall be glad if you can furnish me with six such drawings
every week."
"Certainly," replied Thaddeus, pleased with the probability thus
securing something towards the support of his friend.
"Then bring me another half-dozen next Monday."
Thaddeus promised, and with a relieved mind took his way homeward.
Who is there in England, I repeat, who does not remember the
dreadfully protracted winter of 1794, when the whole country lay
buried in a thick ice which seemed eternal? Over that ice, and
through those snows, the venerable General Butzou had begged his way
from Harwich to London. He rested at night under the shelter of some
shed or outhouse, and cooled his feverish thirst with a little water
taken from under the broken ice which locked up the springs. The
effect of this was a painful rheumatism, which fixed itself in his
limbs, and soon rendered them nearly useless.
Two or three weeks passed over the heads of the general and his young
protector, Thaddeus cheering the old man with his smiles, and he, in
return, imparting the only pleasure to him which his melancholy heart
could receive--the conviction that his attentions and affection were
productive of comfort.
In the exercise of these duties, the count not only found his health
gradually recover its tone, but his mind became more tranquil, and
less prone to those sudden floods of regret which were rapidly
sapping his life. By a strict economy on his part, he managed to pay
the widow and support his friend out of the weekly profits of his
drawings, which were now and then augmented by a commission to do one
or two more than the stipulated number.
Thus, conversing with Butzou, reading to him when awake or pursuing
his drawings when he slept, Thaddeus spent the time until the
beginning of March.
One fine starlight evening in that month, just before the frost broke
up, after painting all day, he desired little Nanny to take care of
the general; and leaving his work at the printseller's, he then
proceeded through Piccadilly, intending to go as far as Hyde Park
Corner, and return.
Pleased with the beauty of the night, he walked on, not remarking
that he had passed the turnpike, until he heard a scream. The sound
came from near the Park wall. He hurried along, and at a short
distance perceived a delicate-looking woman struggling with a man,
who was assaulting her in a very offensive manner.
Without a moment's hesitation, with one blow of his arm, Thaddeus
sent the fellow reeling against the wall. But while he supported the
outraged person who seemed fainting, the man recovered himself, and
rushing on her champion, aimed a stroke at his head with an immense
bludgeon, which the count, catching hold of as it descended, wrenched
out of his hand. The horrid oaths of the ruffian and the sobs of his
rescued victim collected a mob; and then the villain, fearing worse
usage, made off and left Thaddeus to restore the terrified female at
his leisure.
As soon as she was able to speak, she thanked her deliverer in a
voice and language that assured him it was no common person he had
befriended. But in the circumstance of her distress, all would have
been the same to him;--a helpless woman was insulted; and whatever
her rank might be, he thought she had an equal claim on his
protection.
The mob dispersed; and finding the lady capable of walking, he begged
permission to see her safe home.
"I thank you, sir," she replied, "and I accept your offer with
gratitude. Besides, after your generous interference, it is requisite
that I should account to you how a woman of my appearance came out at
this hour without attendance. I have no other excuse to advance for
such imprudence than that I have often done so with impunity. I have
a friend whose husband, being in the Life-Guards, lives near the
barracks. We often drink tea with each other; sometimes my servants
come for me, and sometimes, when I am wearied and indisposed, I come
away earlier and alone. This happened to-night; and I have to thank
your gallantry, sir, for my rescue from the first outrage of the kind
which ever assailed me."
By the time that a few more complimentary words on her side, and a
modest reply from Thaddeus, had passed, they stopped before a house
in Grosvenor Place. [Footnote: All this local scenery is changed.
There is no turnpike gate now at the Hyde Park end of Piccadilly;
neither is there a park wall. Splendid railings occupy its place; and
two superb triumphal arches, in the fashion of France, one leading
into the Park and the other leading towards Buckingham Palace,
gorgeously fill the sites of the former plain, wayfaring, English
turnpike-lodges.--1845.] The lady knocked at the door; and as soon as
it was opened, the count was taking his leave, but she laid her hand
on his arm, and said, in a voice of sincere invitation:
"No, sir; I must not lose the opportunity of convincing you that you
have not succored a person unworthy of your kindness. I entreat you
to walk in!"
Thaddeus was too much pleased with her manner not to accept this
courtesy. He followed her up stairs into a drawing-room, where a
young lady was seated at work.
"Miss Egerton," cried his conductress, "here is a gentleman who has
this moment saved me from a ruffian. You must assist me to express my
gratitude."
"I would with all my heart," returned she; "but your ladyship confers
benefits so well, you cannot be at a loss how to receive them."
Thaddeus took the chair which a servant set for him, and, with
mingled pleasure and admiration, turned his eyes on the lovely woman
he had rescued. She had thrown off her cloak and veil, and displayed
a figure and countenance full of dignity and interest.
She begged him to lay aside his great-coat, for she must insist upon
his supping with her. There was a commanding softness in her manner,
and a gentle yet unappealable decision in her voice, he could not
withstand; and he prepared to obey, although he was aware the fashion
and richness of the military dress concealed under his coat would
give her ideas of his situation he could not answer.
The lady did not notice his hesitation, but, ringing the bell,
desired the servant to take the gentleman's hat and coat. Thaddeus
instantly saw in the looks of both the ladies what he feared.
"I perceive," said the elder, as she took her seat, "that my
deliverer is in the army: yet I do not recollect having seen that
uniform before."
"I am not an Englishman," returned he.
"Not an Englishman," exclaimed Miss Egerton, "and speak the language
so accurately! You cannot be French?"
"No, madam; I had the honor of serving under the King of Poland."
"Then his was a very gallant court, I suppose," rejoined Miss
Egerton, with a smile; "for I am sorry to say there are few about St.
James's who would have taken the trouble to do what you have done by
Lady Tinemouth."
He returned the young lady's smile. "I have seen too little, madam,
of Englishmen of rank to show any gallantry in defending this part of
my sex against so fair an accuser." Indeed, he recollected the
officers in the Park, and the perfidy of Somerset, and thought he had
no reason to give them more respect than their countrywomen
manifested.
"Come, come, Sophia," cried Lady Tinemouth; "though no woman has less
cause to speak well of mankind than I have. I will not permit my
countrymen to be run down _in toto_. I dare say this gentleman
will agree with me that it shows neither a candid nor a patriotic
spirit." Her ladyship uttered this little rebuke smilingly.
"I dare say he will not agree with you, Lady Tinemouth. No gentleman
yet, who had his wits about him, ever agreed with an elder lady
against a younger. Now, Mr. gentleman!--for it seems the name by
which we are to address you,--what do you say? Am I so very
reprobate?"
Thaddeus almost laughed at the singular way she had chosen to ask his
name; and allowing some of the gloom which generally obscured his
fine eyes to disperse, he answered with a smile--
"My name is Constantine."
"Well, you have replied to my last question first; but I will not let
you off about my sometimes bearish countrymen. I do assure you, the
race of the Raleighs, with their footstep cloaks, is quite _hors de
combat_; and so don't you think, Mr. Constantine, I may call them
so, without any breach of good manners to them or duty to my country?
For you see her ladyship hangs much upon a spinster's patriotism?"
Lady Tinemouth shook her head.
"O, Sophia, Sophia, you are a strange mad-cap."
"I don't care for that; I will have Mr. Constantine's unprejudiced
reply. I am sure, if he had taken as long a time in answering your
call as he does mine, the ruffian might have killed and eaten you too
before he moved to your assistance. Come, may I not say they are
anything but well-bred men?"
"Certainly. A fair lady may say anything."
"Positively, Mr. Constantine, I won't endure contempt! Say such
another word, and I will call you as abominable a creature as the
worst of them."
"But I am not a proper judge, Miss Egerton. I have never been in
company with any of these men; so, to be impartial, I must suspend my
opinion."
"And not believe my word!"
Thaddeus smiled and bowed.
"There, Lady Tinemouth," cried she, affecting pet, "take your
champion to yourself; he is no _preux chevalier_ for me?"
"Thank you, Sophia," returned her ladyship, giving her hand to the
count to lead her to the supper-room. "This is the way she skirmishes
with all your sex, until her shrewd humor transforms them to its own
likeness."
"And where is the man," observed Thaddeus, "who would not be so
metamorphosed under the spells of such a Circe?"
"It won't do, Mr. Constantine," cried she, taking her place opposite
to him: "my anger is not to be appeased by calling me names; you
don't mend the compliment by likening me to a heathen and a witch."
Lady Tinemouth bore her part in the conversation in a strain more in
unison with the count's mind. However, he found no inconsiderable
degree of amusement from the unreflecting volubility and giddy
sallies of her friend; and, on the whole, spent the two hours he
passed there with some perceptions of his almost forgotten sense of
pleasure.
He was in an elegant apartment, in the company of two lovely and
accomplished women, and he was the object of their entire attention
and gratitude. He had been used to this in his days of happiness,
when he was "the expectancy and rose of the fair state, the glass of
fashion and the mould of form,--the observed of all observers!" and
the re-appearance of such a scene awakened, with tender remembrances,
an associating sensibility which made him rise with regret when the
clock struck eleven.
Lady Tinemouth bade him good-night, with an earnest request that he
would shortly repeat his visit; and they parted, mutually pleased
with each other.