REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
The dream-like amazement which enveloped the count's faculties after
the preceding scene was dissipated next morning by the appearance of
Dr. Cavendish. When he saw the general, he declared it to be his
opinion that, in consequence of his long and tranquil slumbers, some
favorable crisis seemed near. "Probably," added he, "the recovery of
his intellects. Such phenomena in these cases often happen
immediately before death."
"Heaven grant it may in this!" ejaculated Thaddeus; "to hear his
venerable voice again acknowledge that I have acted by him as became
the grandson of his friend, would be a comfort to me."
"But, sir," replied the kind physician, touching his burning hand,
"you must not forget the cares which are due to your own life. If you
wish well to the general during the few days he may have to live, you
are indispensably obliged to preserve your own strength. You are
already ill, and require air. I have an hour of leisure," continued
he, pulling out his watch; "I will remain here till you have taken
two or three walks round St. James's Park. It is absolutely
necessary; in this instance I must take the privilege of friendship,
and insist on obedience."
Seeing the benevolent Cavendish would not be denied, Thaddeus took
his hat, and with harassed spirits walked down the lane towards
Charing Cross.
On entering Spring Garden gate, to his extreme surprise the first
objects that met his sight were Miss Euphemia Dundas and Miss
Beaufort.
Euphemia accosted him with ten thousand inquiries respecting his
friend, besides congratulations on his own good looks.
Thaddeus bowed; then smiling faintly, turned to the blushing Mary,
who, conscious of what had passed in the late conversation between
herself and Lady Tinemouth, trembled so much that, fearing to excite
the suspicion of Euphemia by such tremor, she withdrew her arm, and
walked forward alone, tottering at every step.
"I thought, Miss Beaufort," said he, addressing himself to her, "that
Lady Tinemouth was to have had the happiness of your company at
Harwold Park?"
"Yes," returned she, fearfully raising her eyes to his face, the
hectic glow of which conveyed impressions to her different from those
which Euphemia expressed; "but to my indescribable alarm and
disappointment, the morning after I had written to fix my departure
with her ladyship, my aunt's foot caught in the iron of the stair-
carpet as she was coming down stairs, and throwing her from the top
to the bottom, broke her leg. I could not quit her a moment during
her agonies; and the surgeons having expressed their fears that a
fever might ensue, I was obliged altogether to decline my attendance
on the countess."
"And how is Miss Dorothy?" inquired Thaddeus, truly concerned at the
accident.
"She is better, though confined to her bed," replied Euphemia,
speaking before her companion could open her lips; "and, indeed, poor
Mary and myself have been such close nurses, my mother insisted on
our walking out to-day."
"And Lady Tinemouth," returned Thaddeus, again addressing Miss
Beaufort, "of course she went alone?"
"Alas, yes!" replied she; "Miss Egerton was forced to join her family
in Leicestershire."
"I believe," cried Euphemia, sighing, "Miss Egerton is going to be
married. Hers has been a long attachment. Happy girl! I have heard
Captain Ross say (whose lieutenant her intended husband was) that he
is the finest young man in the navy. Did you ever see Mr. Montresor?"
added she, turning her pretty eyes on the count.
"I never had that pleasure."
"Bless me! that is odd, considering your intimacy with Miss Egerton.
I assure you he is very charming."
Thaddeus neither heard this nor a great deal more of the same
trifling chit-chat which was slipping from the tongue of Miss
Euphemia, so intently were his eyes (sent by his heart) searching the
downcast but expressive countenance of Miss Beaufort. His soul was
full; and the fluctuations of her color, with the embarrassment of
her step, more than affected him.
"Then you do not leave town for some time, Miss Beaufort?" inquired
he; "I may yet anticipate the honor of seeing--" he hesitated a
moment, then added in a depressed tone--"your aunt, when I next wait
on the Misses Dundas."
"Our stay depends entirely on her health" returned she, striving to
rally herself; "and I am sure she will be happy to find you better;
for I am sorry to say I cannot agree with Euphemia in thinking you
look well."
"Merely a slight indisposition," replied he, "the effect of an
anxiety which I fear will too soon cease in the death of its cause. I
came out now for a little air, whilst the physician remains with my
revered friend."
"Poor old gentleman!" sighed Mary; "how venerable was his appearance
the morning in which we saw him in the Park! What a benign
countenance!"
"His countenance," replied Thaddeus, his eyes turning mournfully
towards the lovely speaker, "is the emblem of his character. He was
the most amiable of men."
"And you are likely to lose so interesting a friend; dear Mr.
Constantine, how I pity you!" While Euphemia uttered these words, she
put the corner of her glove to her eye.
The count looked at her, and perceiving that her commiseration was
affectation, he turned to Miss Beaufort, who was walking pensively by
his side, and made further inquiries respecting Miss Dorothy. Anxious
to be again with his invalid, he was preparing to quit them, when
Mary, as with a full heart she curtseyed her adieu, in a hurried and
confused manner, said--"Pray, Mr. Constantine, take care of yourself.
You have other friends besides the one you are going to lose. I know
Lady Tinemouth, I know my aunt--" She stopped short, and, covered
with blushes, stood panting for another word to close the sentence;
when Thaddeus, forgetting all presence but her own, with delighted
precipitancy caught hold of the hand which, in her confusion, was a
little extended towards him, and pressing it with fervor,
relinquished it immediately; then, overcome by confusion at the
presumption of the action, he bowed with agitation to both ladies,
and hastened through the Friary passage into St. James's Street.
"Miss Beaufort!" cried Euphemia, reddening with vexation, and
returning a perfumed handkerchief to her pocket, "I did not
understand that you and Mr. Constantine were on such intimate terms!"
"What do you mean, Euphemia?"
"That you have betrayed the confidence I reposed in you," cried the
angry beauty, wiping away the really starting tears with her white
lace cloak. "I told you the elegant Constantine was the lord of my
heart; and you have seduced him from me! Till you came, he was so
respectful, so tender, so devoted! Bat I am rightly used! I ought to
have carried my secret to the grave."
In vain Miss Beaufort protested; in vain she declared herself
ignorant of possessing any power over even one wish of Constantine's.
Euphemia thought it monstrous pretty to be the injured friend and
forsaken mistress; and all along the Park, and up Constitution-hill,
until they arrived at Lady Dundas's carriage, which was waiting
opposite Devonshire wall, she affected to weep. When seated, she
continued her invectives. She called Miss Beaufort ungenerous,
perfidious, traitor to friendship, and every romantic and disloyal
name which her inflamed fancy could devise; till the sight of Harley
Street checked her transports, and relieved her patient hearer from a
load of impertinence and reproach.
During this short interview, Thaddeus had received an impulse to his
affections which hurried them forward with a force that neither time
nor succeeding sorrows could stop nor stem.
Mary's heavenly-beaming eyes seemed to have encircled his head with
love's purest halo. The command, "Preserve yourself for others
besides your dying friend," yet throbbed at his heart; and with ten
thousand rapturous visions flitting before his sight, he trod in air,
until the humble door of his melancholy home presenting itself, at
once wrecked the illusion, and offered sad reality in the person of
his emaciated friend.
On the count's entrance to the sick chamber, Doctor Cavendish gave
him a few directions to pursue when the general should awake from the
sleep into which he had been sunk for so many hours. With a heart the
more depressed from its late unusual exaltation, Thaddeus sat down at
the side of the invalid's bed for the remainder of the day.
At five in the afternoon, General Butzou awoke. Seeing the count, he
stretched out his withered hand, and as the doctor predicted,
accosted him rationally.
"Come, dear Sobieski! Come nearer, my dear master."
Thaddeus rose, and throwing himself on his knees, took the offered
hand with apparent composure. It was a hard struggle to restrain the
emotions which were roused by this awful contemplation the return of
reason to the soul on the instant she was summoned into the presence
of her Maker!
"My kind, my beloved lord!" added Butzou, "to me you have indeed
performed a Christian's part; you have clothed, sheltered and
preserved me in your bosom. Blessed son of my most honored master!"
The good old man put the hand of Thaddeus to his lips. Thaddeus could
not speak.
"I am going, dear Sobieski," continued the general, in a lower voice,
"where I shall meet your noble grandfather, your mother, and my brave
countrymen; and if Heaven grants me power, I will tell them by whose
labor I have lived, on whose breast I have expired."
Thaddeus could no longer restrain his tears.
"Dear, dear general!" exclaimed he, grasping his hand; "my
grandfather, my mother, my country! I lose them all again in thee! O!
would that the same summons took me hence!"
"Hush!" returned the dying man; "Heaven reserves you, my honored
lord, for wise purposes. Youth and health are the marks of
commission: [Footnote: I cannot but pause here, in revising the
volume, to publicly express the emotion (grateful to Heaven) I
experienced on receiving a letter quoting these words, many, many
years ago. It was from the excellent Joseph Fox, the well-known
Christian philanthropist of our country, who spent both his fortune
and his life in establishing and sustaining several of our best
charitable and otherwise patriotic institutions. And once, when some
of his anxious friends would gladly have persuaded him to grant
himself more personal indulgences, and to labor less in the then
recently-begun plans for national education, he wrote "to the author
of Thaddeus of Warsaw," and, quoting to her those words from the
work, declared "they were on his heart! and he would, with the
blessing of God, perform what he believed to be his commission to the
last powers of his youth and health."
This admirable man has now been long removed to his heavenly country--
to the everlasting dwelling-place of the just made perfect. And such
recollections cannot but make an historical novel-writer at least
feel answerable for more, in his or her pages, than the purposes of
mere amusement. They guide by examples. Plutarch, in his lives of
Grecian and Roman Worthies taught more effectually the heroic and
virtuous science of life than did all his philosophical works put
together.] _you_ possess them, with virtues which will bear you
through the contest. _I_ have done; and my merciful Judge has
evinced his pardon of my errors by sparing me in my old age, and
leading me to die with you."
Thaddeus pressed his friend's hand to his streaming eyes, and
promised to be resigned. Butzou smiled his satisfaction; then closing
his eyelids, he composed himself to a rest that was neither sleep nor
stupor, but a balmy serenity, which seemed to be tempering his lately
recovered soul for its immediate entrance on a world of eternal
peace.
At nine o'clock his breath became broken with quick sighs. The
count's heart trembled, and he drew closer to the pillow. Butzou felt
him; and opening his eyes languidly, articulated, "Raise my head."
Thaddeus put his arm under his neck, and lifting him up, reclined him
against his bosom. Butzou grasped his hands, and looking gratefully
in his face, said, "The arms of a soldier should be a soldier's
death-bed. I am content."
He lay for a moment on the breast of the almost fainting Thaddeus;
then suddenly quitting his hold, he cried, "I lose you, Sobieski! But
there is----" and he gazed fixedly forward.
"I am here," exclaimed the count, catching his motionless hand. The
dying general murmured a few words more, and turning his face inward,
breathed his last sigh on the bosom of his last friend.
For a minute Sobieski continued incapable of thought or action. When
he recovered recollection, he withdrew from his melancholy station.
Laying the venerable remains back on the bed, he did not trust his
rallied faculties with a second trial, but hastening down stairs, was
met by Mrs. Robson.
"My dear madam," said he, "all is over with my poor friend. Will you
do me the kindness to perform those duties to his sacred relics which
I cannot?"
Thaddeus would not allow any person to watch by his friend's coffin
besides himself. The meditations of this solitary night presented to
his sound and sensible mind every argument rather to induce rejoicing
than regret that the eventful life of the brave Butzou was
terminated.
"Yes, illustrious old man!" cried he, gazing on his marble features;
"if valor and virtue be the true sources of nobility, thou surely
wast noble! Inestimable defender of Stanislaus and thy country! thou
hast run a long and bright career; and though thou art fated to rest
in the humble grave of poverty, it will be embalmed by the tears of
Heaven--it will be engraven on my heart."
Thaddeus did not weep whilst he spoke. Nor did he weep when he beheld
the mold of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, close from his view the last
remains of his friend. It began to rain. The uncovered head of the
officiating minister was wet; and so was that of a little delicate
boy, in a black cloak, who stood near, holding the aged rector's hat
during the service. As the shower descended faster, Dr. Cavendish put
his arm through the count's to draw him away, but he lingered an
instant, looking on the mold while the sexton piled it up. "Wretched
Poland!" sighed he; "how far from thee lies one of thy bravest sons!"
The words were breathed in so low a murmur, that none heard them
except the ear of Heaven! and that little boy, whose gaze had been
some time fixed on Thaddeus, and whose gentle heart never forgot
them.
Dr. Cavendish, regarding with redoubled pity the now doubly desolated
exile in this last resignation of his parental friend to a foreign
grave, attempted to persuade him to return with him to dinner. He
refused the kind invitation, alleging, with a faint smile, that under
every misfortune he found his best comforter in solitude.
Respecting the resignation and manliness of this answer, Doctor
Cavendish urged him no further; but expressing his regret that he
could not see him again until the end of the week, as he was obliged
to go to Stanford next day on a medical consultation, he shook hands
with him at the door of Mrs. Robson and bade him farewell.
Thaddeus entered his lonely room, and fell on his knees before the
"ark of his strength,"--the Holy Book, that had been the gift of his
mother. The first page he opened presented to him the very words
which had poured consolation onto his sad heart, from the lips of the
venerable clergyman when he met him on his entrance into the church-
porch before the coffin of his friend!
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and
whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die."
After reading this, how truly did the young mourner feel that "Death
had lost its sting--the grave its victory."
* * * * * * *