Thaddeus of Warsaw ... A new and illustrated edition revised, etc

Preface

AS IN TBE FIRST EDITION OF THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 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 pitymg memory, it is natural that after having made up my mind to assent to its pubUcation, in which much time and thought has been ex pended 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 favours 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 honoured heads in the author's family urged her "not to withhold it from the press;" observing, in nis persuasions, that the mistakes which many of my young con temporaries 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 him self." 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 dis appointments depress, from pious trust and honourable action. The pure fires t f such a spirit declare their sacred origin ; and. such is the talisman of those achievements which amaze every body but their accomplishes The eye fixed on it is what divine truth de.lcres it to be, "single!"

There is no double PBETACE. purpose in it ; no glancing to a man's own personal aggrandise ment 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 Cæsar 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 vainglory, 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 veri table touchstone, that of the truest observation, " Ye shall know a tree by its fruits." Let us look around 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 conse quent 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 PEEFACE. V issues to the test on his mind. Hence, Poland's sadly-varying destinies seemed to me the stage best calculated for the develop ment of my 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 revolu tion 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 pro duce such fruits — the demon hierarchy of the French philo sophers, 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 honour 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 aggres sions 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 commis sion of human life.

I have now described tho plat of my story, its aim and origin. If it be disapproved, let it be at once laid aside ; hut should it excite any interest, I pray its perusal may be accompanied with an indulgent candour, 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 VI PEEFACE. promising themes for an agreeable amusement ; but the battles are not frequent, nor do the cabinet councils last long : I beg the favour, if the story be to be read at all, that no scene may be passed over as extraneous, for, though it begin like a state - Eaper, or a sermon, it always terminates by casting some new ght 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 person ages 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 endeavoured to he 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 ; and that vice is the natural consequence of grovelling thoughts, which begin in mistake and end in ignominy." i P. Lonwir, 1603.

CONTENTS. chaj. I.Poland Page 1 2. Mill of Mabtemont 11 3. Opening of the Campaign 18 4. Pass of Volunna 24 5. Banks of the Vistula 30 6. Society in Poland 37 7. The Diet of Poland 47 8. Battle of Bezesc — the 10th of Octobee 52 9. The Last Days of Villanow 59 10. Sobieski's Depaetuee feom Waesaw 67 11. The Baltic 73 12. Thaddeus's Fiest Day in England 78 13. The Exile's Lodgings . 88 14. A ROBBEEY AND ITS CONSEQ.UENCES 94 15. The Widow's Family 98 16. The Money- Lendee 105 17. The Meeting of Exiles in 18. The Veieean's Nabbative 118 19. Feiendship— a Staff in Human Life 126 20. Woman's Kindness 132 21. Fashionable Sketches feom the Life 137 22. Honoueable Resoueces of an Exile 143 23. What aee these Weeds?— Love in Idleness — 148 24. Lady Tinemouth's Boudoie 152 25. The Countess of Tinemouth's Stoby 157 26.

TnE KlNDEEDSHIP OF MlNDS contents. CHAP. 27. Such Things wiee / Rage 176 28. Maey Beaufobt and hee tenebable Aunt 182 29. Hyde Paek 191 30. Influences of Chaeactee 190 31. The Geeat and the Small of Society 204 32. The Obdubacy of Vice— the Inhumanity of Folly 209 33. Passion and Pbinciple 217 34. Requiescat in Pace 225 35. Deep abe the Pueposes of Adveesity 231 36. An English Peison 236 37. Calumny the Pastime of Little Minds 251 38. Zeal is Powee 259 39. The Vale of Geantham— Belvoib 267 40. Somerset Castle, Leicesteeshiee 275 41. The Mateenal Heaet 284 42. Haeeowby Abbey, Lincolnshire 287 43. The Old Village Hostel 296 44. Lettees of Farewell 303 45. Deeehuest, Warwickshire 309 46. The Spibit of Peace 324 47. An Avowal 332 48. A Family Pabty 340 49. "When I foeget thee, O Jeeusalem!" 345 60. " We abe Beetheen " THADDEUS OE WARSAW.

Chapter I. Poland

The large and magnificent palace of ViUanow, whose vast domains stretch along the northern bank of the Vistula, was the favourite residence of John Sobieski, king of Poland. That monarch, after having deUvered 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 ! " * Another generation saw the spirit of this lamented hero revive in the person of bis 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 comfort able vtilages ; he furnished them with seed, cattle, and imple ments 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 igno rant 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 honour the king. And shall wo not respect laws wliich thus bestow on us, and insure to us, the fruits of our labours and the favour of Heaven : The good sense and truth of this answer were manUested in the event.

On the emancipation of these people, they became so prosperous in business, and correct in behaviour, that the example of the palatine was speedily foUowed by the Chancellor * In the year 1683, this hero raised the siege of Vienna, then beleaguered by the Turks; and driving them out of Europe, saved Christendom from a Mahometan usurpation. li Zamoiski,* 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 tena ttry, and within the bosom of his family, this iUustrious 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 pubtic and domestic peace was not to con tinue.

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 aU 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 aniversary 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 tittle time before, had laid upon the table.

She observed with anxiety the eagerness of his motion, and the ardour that was flashing ii-om his eyes. " Thaddeus," said she, " lay clown that sword ; I wish to speak with you." Thaddeus looked gaily 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 bim, and drew near the countess. "Why, my dear mother, do you distress yourseU? When I am in battle, shaU 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." Tlie countess paused—" Here, my son," said she, giving him a sealed packet, " take this ; it will reveal to vou 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 apartment : here you may be interrupted." * This fan.ily 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 pohtical mischiefs. 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 for ever, I would inform you who your father reaUy 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 into Italy. Grief for the death of my mother, had impaired his health ; and the physicians ordered him to reside in a warmer cUmate : 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 viUa. " 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 tively 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 unheed ingly I gave them indulgence. The hours which we passed together in the interchange of reciprocal sentiments ; the kind beaming of bis looks ; the thousand sighs that lie breathed ; the half-uttered sentences ; aU 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. Sack • ville died away. From being the object of bis constant search, he then sedulously sought to avoid me. When my father with draw to his closet, he would take his leave, and aUow 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 ViUanow, watching the de clining health of my mother, I knew nothing of the real world, the little I had learned of society, being drawn from books ; and, unconnected by experience, I was taught to believe a per fection 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 pubtic company. In such seclusion, the presence of Sackville, being almost my only pleasure, chased from my mind its usual reserve ; and gradually, and sumy, wou upon the B awakened affections of my heart.

Artless and unwarned, I knew not the nature of the passion which I cherished, untti it had gained an ascendancy that menaced my Use. " 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 Amo. My head rested against the base of a statue, which, because of its resemblance to me, SackviUe had pre sented to my father. Every recoUected 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 : — ' 0 ! were I pale as thou art, and this breast as cold and still, would SackviUe, when he looked on me, give one sigh to the creature he had de stroyed?' My sobs foUowed this adjuration, and the next moment I felt myseU encircled in his arms.

I struggled, and almost fainting with shame at such uttered 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, ' aU 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 articu lated, ' I wtil 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 fearfuUy asked what he in tended. ' You have given yourseU 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 Uft me into the chariot, was carried to the door of the nearest monastery, where in a few minutes we were married. "lam thus particular in the relation of every incident, in the hope that you, my dear son, will hnd 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 passed, my husband conducted me in silence back to the carriage.

My fuU bosom discharged itself in abundance of tears, while Sackville sat by me, without any movement, and mute. Two or three tunes I raised my eyes, in hopes of discerning in his some consolation for my hasty com pliance. But no ; his gaze, vacant aud 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 con sent. At length my sighs seemed to startle my husband ; and turning suddenly round, ' Therese,' cried he, ' 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 wtil publicly acknowledge you.' The agitation of his features and the feverish burning of his hand, whieh then held mine, alarmed me.

TrembUng from head to foot, I an swered, ' Sackville ! I have already erred enough in consenting to this stolen marriage. I wtil not transgress further, by con cealing it. I wtil instantly throw myself at my father's feet, and confess aU.' 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 whieh 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 honour to his father, never to enter into any matrimonial engagement without first acquainting him with the particulars ofthe 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 tittle forbearance on your part would make aU 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 whieh this distinguished stranger's ae comptishments 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 aU 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 uncontroUable. I had aheady haU risen from my chair to foUow him, when the palatine exclaimed, ' "What can it 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 has tened to my chamber ; where, throwing myseU on my bed, I tried, by aU the delusions of hope, to obtain some aUeviation 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 Sack ville. He was leaning against a piUar, 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 agitations almost choked me. I felt that the first word I should attempt to pronounce must give them utterance, and that their vehemence would betray our fatal secret. " When the servants had withdrawn, SackviUe rose, and said, in a faltering voice, 'Count, I must leave you.' 'Nay,' repUed the palatine ! ' you are unweU— disturbed — stay till to-morrow ! ' — ' I thank your exceUency,' 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 husbaud 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 feU back into the arms of my father. He did not, even by this imprudence, read what I almost wished him to guess ; but, with aU the indulgence of perfect confidence, lamented the distress of Sackville, and the sensibility of my nature, which sympathized so painfully with his friend. 1 durst not ask what was the distress of his friend ; abashed at my duptieity 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.