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 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. • 
 
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 BY LOUIS RELLSTAB. 
 
 
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 ^ NEW YORK: 
 
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 1849. 
 
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 District of New York. 
 
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»V. • T^( "1 
 
 
 
 ■ . «■ . 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 »'■ ■ • ■ 
 
 0t the Author nZ " TBi^Uen HunTrreHf atnr Ctorltje,** 
 
 fProm Blacknrood's Magazine for Aogust, 1848 ] 
 
 Ik the spring of the year 1815, a youth of sixteen, Lewis Rellstab by name, whom 
 death had recently deprived of his father, left the Berlin academy, where he was pursuing, 
 with much success, the study of music, to enter the Prussian army as a volunteer. Napo- 
 leon's return from Elba had just called Germany to arms; and the rising generation, 
 emulous of their elder brethren, whose scars and decorations recalled the glorious cam- 
 paign of 1813, flocked to the Prussian banner. But young Rellstab 's moral courage 
 and patriotic zeal exceeded his physical capabilities. Recruiting officers shook their 
 heads at his delicate frame, and inspecting surgeons refused to pass him as able-bodied. ^ 
 Rejected, he still persevered, entered a military school, and in due time became an of- 
 ficer of artillery.. Leaving service in 1821, he fixed himself at Berlin, and applied dili- 
 ijently to literary pursuits. He was already known as the author of songs of merit, some 
 t f which are popular in Germany to the present day ; but now he took up literature 
 as a profession, stimulated to industry by loss of fortune in an unlucky speculation. Of 
 great perseverance, and active mind, he essayed his talents in various departments of 
 the belles-lettres, in journalism, polemics, and criticism. As a musical critic, he ranks 
 amongst the very best. One of his early works, a satirical tale entitled " Henrietta, 
 VI the beautiful Singer," was disapproved by the authorities, and procured him several 
 in.)nths' imprisonment in the fortress of Spandau. At a later period, his systematic 
 ' , and incessarit opposition to Spontini, the composer, from whose appointment as direc- 
 "^■^^ Uii of the Berlin opera, he foretold" the ruin of the German school of music, procured 
 Ch,* him another six weeks of similar punishment. He has managed several newspapers in suc- 
 t» ciu-sion, and in the intervals of his editorial labors, has produced a number of fine tales 
 ^ aiul novels. , 
 
 ^ Rellstab is one of the few living Gernian novelists whose works rise high above 
 
 thj present dull, stagnant level of the light literature of his country. It is not now outin- 
 r* "^tent ion minutely to analyse Mr. Rellstab's literary abilities, or to criticise the twenty 
 ^^ compendious volumes forming the latest edition of his complete works. We propose 
 ^ confining ourselves to one novel, which we consider his masterpiece, as it is also his 
 Ion rest and most important work, and the one most popular in Germany. Not.with- 
 stan ling faults we might have glanced at, we hold " 1812 " the best novel of its class that 
 for a long time has appeared in the German language. Its historical and military chap- 
 
If BIOORAJrarCAL USTCa. 
 
 ters would, by their fidelity and spirit, give it high rank in whatever tongue it had been 
 written. And the blemishes observable in its more imaginative and romantic portions are 
 chargeable less upon the author then upon the foibles of the school and country to which 
 he belongs. 
 
 A translation from the German, unless it be of a short tale in a periodical, is a thing 
 almost unknown— certainly of rare occurrence. Miss Bremer's poultry-yard roman- 
 ces, and Christian Andersen's novels, reached us through a German medium, but are 
 originally Scandinavian. The only other recent translations of novels> in amount and 
 volume worth the naming, are those from the French of Sue, Dumas, and Co., amusing 
 gentlemen enough. The German literature of the last twenty years has yielded little to 
 the English translator, or rather ha» been little n>ade use of j for, without entertaining 
 a very exalted opinion of its value and merit, it were absurd to suppose that some good 
 things might not be selected from the hundreds of novels, tales, and romances, that 
 each successive year brings forth in a country where any man who can hold a pen, 
 deems himself qualified for an aotbor ; and where an astonishingly large proportion of the 
 population act upon this conviction. Mr. Rellstab's "1812" is one of the few ears of 
 wheat worthy of extraction from the wilderness of tares and stubble. 
 
 It is quite natural that Mr. Rellstab, whose youthful predilections were so strongly mili- 
 tary, who himself wore the uniform during his first six years of manhood, and who was 
 contemporary, It the age when impressions are strongest, of the gigantic wars waged by 
 Napoleon, ia ^pain, Germany, and Russia, should recall, with peculiar {Measure, at a 
 later period of his life, the martial deeds with which, in his boyhood, all men's mouths were 
 filled ; that he should select them as a subject for his pen, dwell willingly upon their 
 details, and bestow the utmost pains upon their illustration. His original plan of an 
 historical romance was far more comprehensive that the one to which he finally adhered. 
 He proposed employing as a stage for his actors all the European countries, then the thea- 
 tre of war. This bold plan gave great scope for contrast, allowing him to exhibit his per- 
 sonages, chiefly military men, engaged alternately with the Cossack and the Guerilla — 
 alternately broiling under the sun of Castile, and frozen in Muscovy's snows. But the 
 project was" more easily formed than executed ; and Mr. Rellstab soon found (to use 
 his own words) that he had taken Hercules'club for a plaything. The mass was too 
 ponderous to wield ; to interweave the entire military history of so busy a period with the 
 plot of a romance, entailed an army of characters and a series of complications difficult 
 to manage ; and that might have ended by wearying the reader. Convinced that his 
 design was too ambitious, he reduced it ; limiting himself to the Russian campaign — it- 
 self no trifle to grapple with. This plan be successfully carried out. Although well 
 drawn and well-sustained characters are early introduced, and although the reader 
 obtains, in the very first chapter, a mystery to ruminate, whilst of incident there is cer- 
 tainly an abundance, the real fascination of the book resides in the account of the ad- 
 vance to Moscow, of the conflagration of the city, and the subsequent retreat. The great 
 power and truthfulness with which these events are depicted, convey the impression 
 that the witter was an eye-witness of the scenes he so well describes. As this was 
 not the case, we cannot doubt that Mr. Reilstab obtained much information from some 
 who made that terrible campaign. He acknowledges his great obligation to Count 
 Segur's remarkable history. 
 
 . ,. . i 
 
 & 
 
r :lM;Vc-' '^'' 
 
 ,&^ 
 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE: 
 
 '%" 
 
 "^.- 
 
 OR, 
 
 »/ ■ 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 X 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 About sunset on a mild evening of April, 
 in the year 1812, Louis Rosen, a young 
 Grerman, arrived aH the small town of Duomo 
 d'Ossola, situate on the sloping side of the 
 Simplon. He was tired, for he had travelled 
 on foot from Baveno on the Lago-Maggiore, 
 that delightful region of gardens, which, at 
 all times, is sheltered by the Alps as by a 
 rampart, from the rough northerly winds. 
 The youthful traveller received the genial 
 impression ; but he came from Italy, the 
 sunny land of indolence and pleasure, which, 
 «ven while the whole continent was convulsed 
 by the storms of war, had succeeded in main- 
 taining its character of a joyous asylum of 
 the arts. But young Rosen was admonished 
 to seek a speedy return to his country by 
 those momentous events which had thrown 
 the one-half of Europe in arms against the 
 other. His mother and sister lived quiet and 
 retired at Dresden; more, however, from 
 choice than from necessity. Louis had lost 
 his father while yet a child. He knew not 
 in what manner, even, for his mother had 
 occasionally merely touched on the event. 
 
 The last four years had been a period so 
 quiet in Northern Germany, that even two 
 lone women had managed to meet the exi- 
 gencies of tlieir living without a protector. 
 But now the columns of the French armies 
 were again approaching from every point. 
 With the opening of the spring, Germany 
 was again converted into a vast military en- 
 campment. For these reasons was Louis 
 returning, for his heart prompted him to fly 
 to his mother's side, and his sister in her 
 letters had informed him that their parent 
 suffered much from a pulmonary complaint. 
 He obeye<l this call of duty, though with a 
 
 fascinated him, but because he dreaded again 
 to tread his native soil, so unfortunate, so de- 
 graded, on which he perceived deeper and 
 more incurable wounds than those inflicted 
 by the Frenchman's sword. Louis was of 
 that age which is most susceptible to feelings 
 of happiness and of sorrow. He was three 
 and twenty. His mind was prone to grave and 
 serious thought, for it had matured amidst 
 serious conjunctures. The years commonly 
 allotted to study, which others spent in 
 thoughtless chase after pleasure, or, at the 
 best, in a partial devotion to books, we^e, in 
 his case, a season of vigorous app^i<^tion. 
 It was now one year since he had beheld his 
 father-land — two that he had not seen his 
 mother and sister, for he had set out on his 
 travels from Heidelberg, where he had spent 
 his last year of study. He now again stood 
 before that snow-covered and gigantic wall, 
 which separates the sober soil of Germany 
 from the sunny fields of laughing Italy. 
 Oh ! how did his heart yearn after every- 
 thing beloved and honored beyond the Alps ; 
 how tenderly did he stretch forth his arms to- 
 ward his kindred, toward the sacred precincts 
 of the paternal fireside ! But all tiiat he loved 
 were immersed in trouble and sorrow : all 
 that he honored was profanely debased and 
 insulted ! It was for this that his feet bore 
 him so heavily and reluctantly toward his 
 home, to which, however, his heart so ardent- 
 ly drew him. 
 
 With these feelings possessing his breast, 
 he approached the friendly little town, the 
 last place in Italy which was to afford him" 
 a shelter. A hill by the roadside invited ' 
 him to ascend. From the top he looked - 
 down upon the landscape, which, as usual 
 in the South, looked more beautiful at the 
 evening-hour. The fields were clothed in 
 
 heavy heart; not that Italy had irresistibly the richest verdure, while on the other side oJ 
 
 •t. 
 
6 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWIlVE; OR, 
 
 the mountain-ridge which towered behind the 
 town, the flowers, perhaps, still lay benumb- 
 ed in their dull winter sleep. To the right 
 Louis had a view of the turnpike for a great 
 distance ; at his left, the market-place and 
 streets of Duomo d'Ossola Jay close at his 
 feet. He saw the merry, unconstrained 
 Italian girls, with their wide-brimmed straw- 
 hats, promenading the market-place ; the 
 fruit-woman, with her basket of tigs and 
 oranges ranged before her ; boys whirling 
 their balls dexterously into the air ; and some 
 French dragoons, of which the town held a 
 small detachment, sat conversing on a bench 
 before the guard-house. He heard the dis- 
 tant murmur of a medley of voices ; yes, 
 even detached notes from the songs of a 
 guitar-player reached him through the quiet 
 evening air. 
 
 Louis stood lost in reverie. Suddenly he 
 was recalled to himself by the horn of a 
 postilion, and the smart crack of a whip 
 struck his ear. An open travelling-carri- 
 age, with four fleet horses, came rattling to- 
 wards the town, on the road from Baveno. 
 Two women were the only occupants. One, 
 the elder, was apparently a domestic. The 
 younger, whose sombre garments were re- 
 lieved by a delicate lace- work of dazzling 
 whiteness, wore over her straw hat a green 
 travelling-veil, which she just then Uirew 
 back, so that it fluttered free in the air. 
 This sight awoke vividly a circumstance 
 ^n Louis' mind. On his way into Italy, 
 as he was descending the great St. Ber-f 
 nard, from Aosta, he had met with a fe- 
 male, whose image had never since left his 
 thoughts. While climbing the mountain, 
 just before arriving at the hospice, a com- 
 pany, seemingly of travelling English, passed 
 him, among whom appeared a slender female 
 figure, upon a mule, and who, as a protection 
 against the blinding whiteness of the snow, 
 had covered her face with her veil. 
 
 Animated by a strange excitement, the Ger- 
 man youth had done his best to overtake this 
 party, yet he did not succeed, the distance 
 between them being a very rough and ira- 
 practi cable • piece of mountai n-road. Thus 
 the green floating veil formed alone his bea- 
 con over the white snow-fields, until h van- 
 ished witliin the gate of the hospice. He 
 followed within, hoping to become acquaint- 
 ed with the object of his curiosity, in the 
 evening, at table, but in vain, for she did 
 not appear. The next morning, the travel- 
 lers had resumed their journey, at an early 
 hour. Hardly had Louis heard this, before a 
 singular determination formed itself in his 
 brain. A young, stout pedestrian, like him, 
 must certainly soon overtake a party of tra- 
 vellers encumbered with heavy baggage, es- 
 
 pecially as the road was deacendinr. In a 
 few hours he had indeed discovered uie green 
 veil, in a winding of the valley below. That 
 magical token after which he strained his 
 eyes, was actually seen fluttering in the 
 distance ! 
 
 After infinite toil, Louis had drawn quite 
 near the ti^vellers — so near 4hat he might 
 have called to them. The road wound again 
 around a sharp projecting rock ; he quick- 
 ened his pace, so as to reach it in time. But 
 as he passed round the point, he saw a small 
 house, closely embowered in vines, hardly a 
 hundred steps distant, before the door of 
 which were standing two country vehicles 
 adapted for use in these mountain regions. 
 The guide who had been leading the mule 
 of the cliarming unknown, was just then 
 assisting her to dismount, and an elderly 
 gentleman immediately oflered her bis arm, 
 to lead her to the char-a-banc. Louis has- 
 tened forward ; once, if but once, he wished 
 to behold the countenance of that lovely fai- 
 ry, who, l^ her magic chain, had drawn him 
 thus far a blind folbwer. Blessed chance ! 
 He all at once perceiwd something lying 
 glittering in the road ; it was a bracelet, hav- 
 ing a golden clasp. He picked it up, aDd 
 called aloud: "Stop! stop!" At the same 
 time, he beckoned with the hand, in token 
 that he had something to say. The guides 
 who had accompanied the travellers, turned 
 round and came towards him, but he hast- 
 ened past them, towards the veiled lady in 
 the wagon. ' 
 
 " Shall I have the pleasure," he said ,to 
 her, in German ; " shall I have the happi- 
 ness to return to you a lost trinket?" as he 
 reached her the bracelet 
 
 The young lady cast a look of surprise on 
 the finder, and then on her arm ; she now 
 first discovered her loss. 
 
 " It is indeed mine," she answered. " Ac- 
 cept my best thanks, sir." 
 
 The sound of these words struck upon 
 Louis' ear in quite a peculiar way ; for, 
 though uttered fluently, and with uncommon 
 sweetness, there was in them that strange 
 intonation which at once betrayed the for- 
 eigner. He felt a blush mantling his cheek, 
 and only raised his eye timidly toward the 
 speaker, who, at the moment, threw back 
 her veil. As be beheld that sweet face, 
 the soft brilliancy of the beauty it re- 
 vealed struck him with astonishment. Ho 
 felt as if an angel suddenly stood before 
 him ; a sensation of sweet oppression and 
 awe penetrated his breast. A pair of blue 
 eyes, shaded by long eye-lashes, lingered up- 
 on him with an expression of innocence and 
 goodness. A friendly smile played upon her 
 lips, and such a mild, noble grace was stamped 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 on her features, that Louis stood rooted to 
 the spot In vain he sought for words in 
 reply ; to the blush of surprise was added 
 that of embarrassment. As if affected by 
 th^* reflection of his glowing countenance, a 
 rosy tint spread also over the young lady's 
 cheek ; she bowed, in a friendly but tremu- 
 lous manner. The gentleman by her side 
 took off his hat, and the wagon rattled away. 
 Astonished, Louis followed it with a steady 
 gaze, hardly noticing that a second lady, but 
 older, also having a male companion, occu- 
 pied the other wagon, and hurried past him. 
 His eye wa^ riveted on the green veil, which 
 he saw floating in the breeze, and becoming 
 gradually lost in the distance. Long did he 
 remain thus standing, till the last trace of 
 the vehicle vanished, and the cloud of dust 
 which it had raised behind it had cleared 
 away. This sweet apparition had never left 
 the youhg man's imagination. He had 
 searched for it through Italy, but in vain : and 
 now, standing on the threshold of that land of 
 romance, he beheld again, suddenly — unex- 
 
 Eectedly — this signal of his longings — his 
 opes ! Scarcely, therefore, had he ob- 
 served these travellers, than with a beating 
 heart he ran down the hill and gained the 
 open space before the guard-house, just 
 opposite to the inn. He saw the carriage 
 standing at the door, with fresh horses al- 
 ready led out to be harnessed to it. A large 
 circle of idlers had collected round the trav- 
 ellers. An officer, issuing from the guard- 
 house, a paper in his hand, made his way 
 through the crowd and approached the car- 
 riagfr^oor : on his appearance the young 
 lady got out and took a few steps to meet him. 
 The officer bowed and addressed her with 
 great courtesy ; but his manner, and the de- 
 precating shrug of his shoulders, indicated in- 
 ability to comply with some wish she had ex^ 
 pressed. Louis drew nearer ; but as the lady 
 — of whose identity with her he sought he 
 grew each moment more convinced — had her 
 lace turned from him, he made the circuit of 
 the crowd to obtain a sight of her counte- 
 nance. Heavens, it was herself ! Her fea- 
 tures were paler and more anxious than at 
 their last meeting, and a tear trembled in her 
 beauteous blue eye. Yielding to an irresisti- 
 ble impulse, Louis approach^ her, resolved, 
 at the «sk of offence, to greet the lovely be- 
 ing whose apparition had gladdened his en- 
 trance into the glorious land he now was 
 quitting, and to remind her of the moment of 
 their first meeting and too speedy separation. 
 He was encouraged to this step by beholding 
 her unaccompanied, save by an old servant 
 seated upon the box, and by the elderly woman, 
 to all appearance an attendant, or hunjble 
 companion. He hastily stepped forward out 
 of the crowd, which had fallen a little back. 
 
 As he did so, the lady's glance met his and 
 so sudden and joyful a glow overspread her 
 features, that he could not for an instant 
 doubt her recognition of him. He was about 
 to salute and address her, when, with start- 
 ling haste, she exclaimed in French, " Here 
 is my brother !" and hurried to meet him. 
 Before Louis, astounded at what he took for 
 an extraordinary mistake, had time to utter a 
 word, she continued in Italian, and in a loud 
 tone, so that all around might hear and un- 
 derstand, "Thank God, broker, you are come 
 at last !" Then, in a rapid whisper, and in 
 Grerman, " I am lost," she said, "if you deny 
 me." With prompt decision, she turned to 
 the officer, took the paper from his hand, and 
 presented it to Louis. "This gentlemaa 
 would not admit the regularity of our pass- 
 port because you were not present," said she, 
 reverting to the French language. * " See 
 what trouble you give us, dear brother, by 
 your romantic partiality for byways ! You 
 are Count Wallersheim," she whispered in 
 German. 
 
 Startled and confounded as Louis was 
 by this strange adventure, he retained suffi- 
 cient presence of mind to understand that it 
 was in his power to render important service 
 to the beautiful woman who stood anxious 
 and tearful before him. Readily taking his 
 cue, his reply was prompt. "Be not uneasy, 
 dear sister," he said, " I will explain to the 
 gentleman." 
 
 He turned to the Frenchman, and in or- 
 der to gain time, and some insight into the 
 circumstances of the case, " I must beg you, 
 sir," he said, " to repeat your objections to 
 our passport. Ladies have little experience 
 in such matters." 
 
 "I have now," replied the officer, " not the 
 slightest objection to make. You are set down 
 in the passport as the companion of the count- 
 ess, your sister, and yet you were not with her. 
 The passport was, consequently, not in order. 
 The countess certainly told me you had left 
 her only for a short time, to ramble on foot, 
 and that you would rejoin her beyond the 
 town ; but at frontier places, like Duoma 
 d'Ossola, our orders are so strict that I should 
 have been compelled to detain the young lady 
 till you made your appearance. Rest as- 
 sured, however, count, that I should have 
 held it my duty to have had you sought upon 
 the rcftid to Sempione, to inform you of the 
 obstacle to your sister's progress. I strong- 
 ly advise you to remain with the countess so 
 long as you are in this district, or you will 
 inevitably encounter delay and annoyance. 
 Once over the Swiss frontier, you are out of 
 our jurisdiction, and travelling is easier." 
 
 [jouis stood mute with astonishment, whilst 
 the old servant got off the box, — took from 
 him without observation, the light travelling 
 
 X 
 
.^^'tfjprs- 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ponch that hnng on his shoulder, — laid it in 
 the carriage, and asked him if he would be 
 pleased to get in. Scarce conscious of what 
 he said, he gave. the officer his hand, and ut- 
 tered a few polite words. The servant put 
 down the carriage steps, — the gallant French- 
 man assisted the lady, who had muffled her, 
 self in her veil, to ascend them, — bowed low- 
 and repeated his wishes for their pleasant 
 journey. Louis, almost without knowing 
 what he was about, took his place by the 
 side of the enigmatical fair one, whose duen- 
 na had discreetly transferred herself to the 
 opposite seat, and the carriage rattled through 
 the streets of Duoroo d'Ossola. 
 
 CHAPTER II; 
 
 , ■*- 
 
 As long as they were passing through the 
 streets of the small town, and inhabited houses 
 stood by the wayside, the veiled one observed 
 a rigid silence, and indeed, with a sign of the 
 hand, checked the first attempt which Louis 
 made to obtain some IFght into this strange 
 adventure. He was thus for several min- 
 utes abandoned to his own conjectures. Du- 
 ring that time he framed a possible solution 
 to this riddle. According to all appearances, 
 his companion was an Englishwoman ; per- 
 haps the daughter of some man of rank. The 
 new war had served to redouble the hatred 
 andfjealousy of the French against all of that 
 nation ; she was thence, probably from poli- 
 tical causes, obliged to resort to cunning and 
 stratagem, to get out of a country which was 
 in the possession of the enemies of her. own, 
 and in which she, pertiaps, even, might be 
 looked upon as a fitting hostage, and thus be 
 arrested. The heart of Louis, therefore, 
 beat high from joy, that by a marvellous freak 
 of fortune, he had been singled out to render 
 a signal piece of service to a being, by whose 
 sweet charms he had been so sensibly touched, 
 and by whom he had for so long a time beien 
 held in tender and mysterious bondage. He 
 fixed his eyes upon her ; she sat trembling per- 
 ceptibly, and breathing heavily, by his side. 
 Finally the last houses by the road-side 
 had disappeared. The surrounding country 
 opened lonely. A steep and continued ac- 
 clivity obliged the postilion, who left his 
 saddle, to change the rapid into a slow pace, 
 so that the deafening rattling of the coach 
 ceased. It was then that the lovely veiled 
 one, with eager haste, seized Louis's hand, 
 pressed it between her own warmly, and 
 spoke, whispering from an oppressed bosom : 
 
 " You are my deliverer ! the preserver of 
 what I possess most precious on e^rtb !" 
 
 And, as if exhausted by mortal aogaisb, tad 
 from repressing the acutest feelings of her 
 breast, she drew a heart-rending sigh, saidc 
 on the bosom of her female companion, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 This elderly companion, althoagfa poBsea- 
 sing something cold and precise in her as- 
 pect and deportment, seemed now also moved. 
 She endeavored to calm the weeping girl ; 
 but in a language which Louis did not un- 
 derstand, and could not suppose was Euglish, 
 though imperfectly spoken. The unknown 
 arose, threw back her veil, directed her bine 
 eyes toward Heaven, and folding her hands 
 on her bosom, appeared to ofier up a silent 
 thanksgiving. Louis, who also felt himself 
 moved in his inmost heart, did not wish to 
 interrupt the emotion, but sat looking upon 
 her with increasingsurprise. She responded 
 with ingenuous frankness : " How shall I be 
 able to recompense you ?" 
 
 " Recompense ?" replied Louis, quickly. 
 "Fate has vouchsafed me, in the most wonder- 
 ful manner, a happiness of which I never 
 dared to dream, and you speak of recompense ! 
 What have I done for you ? I know only, 
 that like a goddess you have sudddenly ap- 
 peared to an unknown strange;, and over- 
 whelmed him with untold delisht !" 
 
 " Oh ! you do not know," she answered, • 
 " what you have done for me by your ready 
 and courageous action !" 
 
 She wished to say more, but was interrapt- 
 ed by the old domestic, who looked back, and 
 spoke some words in a foreign tongue, to 
 which she replied in a language equally un- 
 intelligible to Louis. Sometimes he thought 
 it was Spanish ; then again, Polish idioms 
 that he had heard. The carriage again 
 rolled away at a smarter pace, and the con- 
 versation was cut off. In the meantime, 
 they must soon begin climbing the long as- 
 cent of the Simplon, which on «the Italian 
 side is by far the steepest. Louis defi»rred, 
 therefore, his desire for a solution of these 
 mysteries until then. 
 
 They soon gained an open platform, where 
 the ^oad turned in such a manner, that they 
 could throw back one more parting glance 
 toward Italy. That fairy land lay before 
 them, glowing in the purple tints of the set- 
 ting sun ; the sombre, forest-clad spurs of 
 the Alps reached wide into the blooming 
 plains ; foaming mountain-torrents wound 
 their silvery course through the vallies ; the 
 white, shining little market-town stood out 
 in bright relief against the dark back-ground;' 
 the far distance was lost in a crimson twi- 
 light, which permitted a definite outline no 
 longer to be discerned. " Farewell !" said 
 Louis with emotion. His travelling-com- 
 panion once more turned her beautiful face, 
 while a soft feeling illumined her features. 
 
V- NATQL1X)N'» INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Her lips seemed to smile at a tear, which 
 suddenly suffused a hwnid sparlding over Uie 
 . pellucid crystal of her €ye. " Farewell !" 
 she repeated in a sweet-sounding tone, slight- 
 ly waving her hlhd. It was a deep-felt, but 
 not a painful adieu. 
 
 The road now being so exceedingly steep, 
 that the carriage moved again slowly, the 
 moment had finally arrived when a conver- 
 sation could be quietly maintained. Louis 
 was on the point of recurring to this singular 
 adventure, when his companion herself^ un- 
 solicited, began : 
 
 " You must be quite strangely impressed 
 with what has occurred ; but the events 
 which at present agitate all countries and 
 nations, often conspire to place individuals in 
 critical positions. Such is my fate. I al- 
 ready gave myself up for lost, and trembled 
 ■ for a more valuable object than my life, when 
 heaven sent you to my deliverance. But are 
 you willing to lend me your assistance still 
 farther ?" 
 
 " Until I draw my last breath," was the 
 prompt and gallant reply of the German 
 youth. 
 
 " Promise nothing," remarked the un- 
 known, " until you know what I have to ask 
 from your generosity. You will have to ac- 
 company me yet further in the character of 
 my brother, and as such, to escort me in in- 
 cessant travelling — even to Germany L And it 
 is not devoid of danger to you !" 
 
 Louis repudiated the thought that any dan- 
 ger could lessen his devotion. 
 
 " That 1 knew very well, and was assured 
 of beforehand," said the unknown ; " but 
 I have a harder confession yet to make. *' I 
 must appear ungrateful to you, and meanly 
 suspicious ; for I have to solicit your help, 
 without being allowed to impart my secret, 
 ' because indeed it is not mine. Others have 
 a more sacred right to it, and I am bound by 
 the most solemn obligations. I dare hardly 
 communicate any more than what you must 
 already have guessed at ; that I am not the 
 • Countess Wallersheim *, — that I am not even 
 a German, cannot have remained doubtful to 
 yo»." 
 
 " But by what name then may I venture to 
 address you ? Must circumstances always 
 conspire to keep me in ignorance ?" enquired 
 Louis, with concern, 
 
 " No, I hope not," answered his compan- 
 ion gently ; " and until then, you, may call 
 me Sister Bianca, if you choose. This name 
 must for the present content you." 
 
 " Sister ! Bianca !" Louis repeated after 
 her, and a trembling shudder of delight shot 
 through his heart. 
 
 " You may not only call me sister," said 
 the lady, coloring slightly, " but you must do 
 80, unless you wish to betray me. Yoa will 
 
 soon become accustomed to it, as well am to 
 the confidential ihott, which I must insist i|>- 
 on your using in public when addressing me 
 in German. But I must reveal to you some- 
 thing more touching my situation. Yoa 
 see me here, accompanied only by my dd 
 nurse, and an old faithful man-servant — the 
 only ones here who partially know my secret 
 We could travel free from all danger, if these 
 were the only sharers of this knowledge, but 
 unfortunately, it is already betrayed. Know 
 then that as far as the city of Milan, your 
 place was occupied by another. An outnu 
 geous advantage," she continued, blushing 
 deeply, " which this person endeavored to 
 take of my situation, compelled me to use a 
 lavorable moment to flee him. I cannot 
 doubt that out of revenge he has turned in- 
 former. Hence my haste, my terrible agony 
 in that small town ; for every moment the 
 order may arrive to arrest us. I have taken 
 a different route, it is true, from the one first 
 contemplated, made practicable by the indefi- 
 nite tenor of the passport which reads from 
 Rome, through Florence and Milan to Ger- 
 many, for properly I ought to have come by 
 the way of Verona ; but how easily may that 
 precaution be frustrated ! how easily the 
 traitor himself entertain such a thought, and 
 cause us to be pursued on both roads ! for 
 there is jio third left for me to choose. Vou 
 know now how much you risk ! and I must 
 also tell you, tliat the crime of which you 
 become an accomplice, would be very severe- 
 ly punished." 
 
 " The greatest of all crimes in this case 
 would be cowardice ;" said Louis, firmly. I 
 do not ' know," he added more feelingly, 
 " whether it would not make me happier to 
 sufier in your cause." 
 
 Bianca kept silence. 
 
 The night now closed in, shrouding all 
 surrounding objects with her darkening 
 curtains. The road became steeper; on 
 either side arose the grotesque and craggy 
 cliffs, while the stream of the Veriola, rushed 
 foaming and fretting below in the abyss. 
 Bianca seemed to 1^ exhausted by travel 
 and the anxiety which she had undergone. 
 She leaned back into the comer of the car- 
 riage, and fell into a slumber. The excited 
 feelings of Louis suffered no sleep tg ap- 
 proach his eyes. The appalling wonders ot 
 the road which he travelled contributed to 
 heighten the restless commotion in his breast, 
 and yet rocks, precipices, and cataracts were 
 reflected in his eye merely as so many indis- 
 tinct, confused and shifting masses of objects. 
 
 The road became wilder and wilder ; the 
 Veriola rushed through the rocky chasms as 
 in a rage ; rocky walls towered grim and 
 high toward heaven ; a fpw stars only twin- 
 kled through the narrow aperture of the pro- 
 
10 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 found defile. Suddenly, the road turned a 
 sharp comer, and Louis saw before him a 
 gigantic spectre, which rose in a tbreatenins 
 posture against the wall of rocks. A sound, 
 as of dull distant thunder, at the same time 
 struck his ear. 
 
 Bianca, awakened by the noise, cried out 
 in terror : " Merciful heaven ! what is. it ? 
 where are we ?" 
 
 " It is the waterfall at the entrance of the 
 great gallery," said the old servant, turning 
 around. In the meantime the carriage stop* 
 ped, and a bright ray of light shone in at the 
 windows. The postilion cracked his whip. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" enquired Bianca, 
 anxiously. "Are they going to arrest us 
 here ?" 
 
 " This is, if I am not mistaken, the boun- 
 dary of Lombardy ; on the other side of that 
 small bridge before us^, we shall be in Swit- 
 zerland," answered Louis. 
 
 " God be praised !" cried Bianca, drawing 
 a deep breath. " Gracious heaven ! only do 
 not forsake me till then !" she added in a 
 lower voice, lifting her beautiful eyes towards 
 the starry night above. 
 
 Two figures, enveloped in grey cloaks, 
 stepped up to the carriage, one holding a lan- 
 tern in his hand : the high helmets, with horse 
 tails, made them known as French dragoons. 
 
 " Votre passeport, Monsieur" was the po- 
 lite but decided demand. 
 
 " The pass, dear brother," said Bianca, 
 gently pressing Louis's arm. 
 
 Louis drew the paper from his breast-pock- 
 et, and handed it over. However little a 
 discovery here was to be apprehended, yet 
 the consciousness of his situation made his 
 pulse beat quicker. By daylight, an atten- 
 tive observer would have noticed the uneasi- 
 ness of his countenance ; he was, as yet, a 
 novice in such adventures. 
 
 The oflScer entered the house with the 
 passport; in five minutes he returned, giving 
 It back to Louis with the words : " Voire 
 Serviteur, Monsieur le Comie /" 
 
 " Forward !" cried the old domestic, and 
 the carriage rattled away over the bridge 
 towards the water-fall. The noise was deaf- 
 ening to the ear, and white clouds of spray 
 and mist enveloped the carriage as with a 
 thick mantle. On a sudden all this vanish- 
 ed, and the travellers were immersed in pro- 
 found darkness ; the thunder of the cataract 
 and the stream was heard only in a dull hol- 
 low reveberation. 
 
 " Where are we ?" enquired Bianca. 
 
 " I believe we are in one of the galleries, 
 through which the road passes." 
 
 "This is the gallery of Frissinone," the 
 postilion observed, who plumed himself not 
 a little on his fainiliarity with the terrors and 
 wonders of the road. 
 
 Neither Bianca nor Louis had noticed, that 
 while their eyes were riveted on the water- 
 fall, they had passed through a gap, or 
 rather gate, in the mountain. The carriage 
 proceeded slowly through •le cavern, where 
 no ray of light penetrated. Suddenly a half 
 obscure light fell from above ; the travellers 
 looked up in surprise, and saw a few twink- 
 ling stars; which, however, were as sud- 
 denly lost to view. They had just passed 
 beneath an opening in the vault, which, in 
 the day-time admits a kind of twilight into 
 these sombre mountain cuttings. In tea 
 minutes they emerged into the free air again. 
 Bianca drew a deep breath. " God be 
 praised," she said, " I was a little frightened 
 in that dark place ; but of what use is this 
 gloomy vault ?" 
 
 " Principally as a protection against the 
 avalanches which mostly fall at these pla- 
 ces. It is a gigantic structure, undertaken 
 by that Colossus, whose keen glance saw 
 the importance of this work in -affording 
 means of communication between his king- 
 doms. That, before which twentv genera- 
 tions have quailed in dismay, the bold crea- 
 tive spirit of Napoleon has made a reality, 
 and merely by a nod of the head." 
 
 " I look upon him as a prodigy ! but yet I 
 believe that this misanthropic spirit is more 
 terrible in devastation, than powerful in 
 creating," replied Bianca, with a woman's 
 shudder at the warUke events which, by 
 her words, she seemed to have in her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " He destroys, only to create anew," re- 
 joined Louis with animation ; " on the lava 
 ejected by the volcano, springs up the richest 
 verdure !" 
 
 " And think you not of those whom he 
 has buried under the ashes ?" asked Bianca. 
 
 Louis sighed! His soul was deeply af- , 
 fected. Undoubtedly he thought of the 
 buried ones, — he thought of his father-land ; 
 but still he was unable to withhold his ad- 
 miration of the man before whom all Europe 
 trembled. He had often been tortured by 
 this conflict in his own bosom, and now he 
 was going to meet similar dreadful conflicts 
 in returning to his home, and in witnes.sing 
 near' at hand that vast conflict, the black 
 thunder-clouds of which gathered every day 
 more ominous and pregnant with misery. 
 
 " We are born into the world," he said, af- 
 ter a pause, in a subdued voice, " to atone 
 for the guilt of our fathers. The iron car 
 of fate crushes (Is ; ah ! I know it but too 
 well ! But I do not lay the guilt on the 
 heads of those who execute the* sentence 
 pronounced by an inexorable Nemesis. His- 
 tory sits in strict and severe judgment. She 
 judges deeds, not the doers. It is from this 
 that we atone for the misdeeds of our fore- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 11 
 
 fathers — but our own likewise ; for dare we 
 to exonerate ourselves from cowardly apa- 
 thy and degeneracy ? Germany— oh ! let me 
 keep silence, for my heart bleeds at the 
 thought!" - 
 
 Both were silent ; the road inclined some- 
 what toward the ea6t, and there the gentle 
 moon all at once shone forth, floating in the 
 purest ether between two rugged peaks of 
 the mountain. At the same moment there 
 arose before them, high and promment, out 
 of the shadow of the lofty mountain-wall, 
 two silvery promontories of snow, like horns, 
 which dazzlingly reflected the light of the 
 moon. 
 
 " My God !" whispered Bianca, her bo- 
 som heaving with emotion, as she seized the 
 hand of her nurse, and pointed to the snow- 
 pillars. 
 
 " That peak to the left is the Sempione," 
 said the loquacious postilion, turning to 
 Bianca's old servant. 
 
 At the village Sempione, which appears 
 as if lying close under the snowy peak of 
 the mountain, the atmosphere began to feel 
 sensibly cold. The travellers tarried but a 
 few moments to. refresh, for Bianca urged 
 haste. Spring here had not yet commenced, 
 for in a short time they found themselves in 
 the midst of snow-drifts, piled up to a con- 
 siderable depth. In a few moments the pos- 
 tilion made a halt 
 
 " What is the matter ?" asked Louis. 
 
 " Hem, signer," was the answer ; " this 
 season of the year is not the best ; we must 
 be careful ; we have had some warm days, 
 and then the avalanches come «booting down 
 like the hawk on the sparrow. I must fire a 
 gun." 
 
 On this he pulled out an old rusty 
 musket, and fired it off in the air. The re- 
 port sounded far and wide through the desert 
 mountains, and a thousand echoes returned 
 the salite ; then all was still. 
 
 " We'll get along," said the postilion, 
 urging forward his horses. 
 
 All were in anxious suspense, for each 
 -one pictured in silence the horrors of being 
 buried alive under falling avalanches. In the 
 space of a few moments, all the narratives 
 which are so exciting to youthfql fancy, even 
 in the tenderest years, of these terrific mani- 
 festations of nature, were passed in review 
 in the memory/and with the same half deli- 
 cious shudder and awe with which they had 
 once been listened to. 
 
 A thundering crash is on a sudden heard 
 from above. 
 
 " Dio Sanio /" cried the postilion, look- 
 ing up. But instantly he struck his spurs 
 fiercely into the sides of the horse he rode, 
 flourished his whip, and the carriage flew 
 along like an arrow. 
 
 Bianca, in her terror, seized the hand of 
 her nurse. Louis, endeavoring to inspire 
 courage, cried : 
 
 " There is no danger ; these men know 
 their business well, and are uncommonly 
 careful." 
 
 But hardly were these words uttered, 
 when a terrible crash thundered right over 
 the heads of the travellers ; it seemed as if 
 the mountain was sinking with them into 
 the bowels of the earth. The horses reared 
 and sprang to one side, so that the carriage 
 was tnrown hard on to the edge of the preci- 
 )ice. But the undaunted postilion lost not 
 lis presence of mind ; with spur and whip 
 le forced the animals forward. The danger 
 of being hurled down the precipice endured 
 but for a second ; but they were not yet free 
 from the greater impending ruin ; for it 
 thundered and crashed, and bellowed terribly 
 all around them, and suddenly they were 
 enveloped in a sort of white cloud : the 
 ground shook ; a powerful concussion of the 
 air threw Louis down from his seat, while 
 Bianca clung in helpless and convulsive 
 anguish around the neck of the nurse. The 
 white cloud quickly became darkened, and 
 was changed as it were into w,reaths of black 
 smoke; the next instant, and the carriage 
 was arrested in its course by a dreadful 
 shock, as when a ship strikes the sunken 
 reef; the axle-trees cracked — the women 
 screamed — even Louis could not repress an 
 outcry «f terror. Everything suddenly be- 
 came shrouded in impenetrable darkness. 
 The rolling thunder was heard for a few 
 moments longer; gradually it died away, 
 and then all was silent and dark as the grave. 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 " That was a deliverance out of the lion's 
 mouth !" cried the postilion. " We have 
 reached the gallery in safety." 
 
 These words gave new life to the terror- 
 stricken travellers. 
 
 " We are not buried !" cried Louis, joy- 
 fully." 
 
 "The avalanche must have fallen very 
 closely behind us, signer," answered the 
 postilion ; ' " for the icicles and snow-duat 
 has almost blinded me, and you too, I think 
 But it has cost us one, if not both of the 
 axle-trees ; for I felt well enough that we 
 struck hard against the rock. But it was 
 no joke to dash on a full gallop into that 
 narrow hole, and in utter darkness too 1" 
 
 Louis did not hear the •last words of the 
 postilion, for he felt that Bianca was sink- 
 
 '^P* 
 
IS 
 
 ElGHTfitSN HWNl)<ttftW A»b tWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ing. He received her insensible form iti his 
 arms. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, sister!" he cried, 
 pressing her gently toward him. " Sister, 
 what aileth thee ?" 
 
 She answered not ; Louis trembled with 
 terror. Had that terrific moment deprived 
 her of life? 
 
 Sparks illumined the darkness. It was 
 the postilion striking fire ; by the aid of that 
 fitful light Louis saw Bianca lying, pale and 
 with closed eyes, in his arms, and the nurse, 
 also apparently senseless, had sunk back on 
 the seat of the carriage. 
 
 " Light ! light !" he cried, hastily. 
 
 " Directly, Signor !" ' 
 
 The lantern was lighted, and threw its 
 feeble rays on the gloomy stone caverns of 
 the gallery. The postilion raised the light, 
 saying : 
 
 " There is no one hurt, I hope ! But, 
 maldito ! where is the servant ?" 
 
 Louis now first observed that this man 
 was missing. " We must look for him," he 
 cried, gently depositing on the seat the pre- 
 cious burden he held in his arms. 
 
 They found the servant lying senseless, 
 close by the entrance of the gallery. He 
 bled somewhat in the forehead, but the in- 
 jury was trifiing, and he seemed otherwise 
 to be unhurt. The active postilion ap- 
 plied a handful of snow, while Louis was 
 trying to lift and rouse him into conscious- 
 ness. The old man soon recovered his 
 senses again. 
 
 " Where am I ?" he asked, more in aston- 
 ishment tiian in weakness. Louis did not 
 waste time in answering him, but hastened 
 back to Bianca, with the lantern in his hand. 
 He found her sitting, reclined in the car- 
 riage, apparently in a gentle slumber. When 
 the light of the laAern fell on her eyes, she 
 opened them, but closed them as quickly, 
 dazzled by the light, and drew a deep sign. 
 Louis took her by the hand, and called her 
 by name in a low, tender voice ; she then 
 opened her eyes wide, and asked, in an un- 
 certain tone, being still half-enchained by a 
 somnolent influence : " Who is calling me 
 thus ?" 
 
 " Thy brother, Bianca !" said Louis, gen- 
 tly. 
 
 " Brother ! brother !" she murmured anx- 
 iously, still unconscious, and leaned trem- 
 blingly forward against Louis' breast — who 
 pressed her to his heart, and imprinted a 
 gentle kiss on her brow. On this, she rose 
 quickly, looked upon him with timid and as- 
 tonished eyes : and withdrawing with maid- 
 enly modesty from his embrace, she said : 
 " My God ! the swoon — I do not know 
 what I have been doing !" 
 At the same time her eyes fell upon the 
 
 nurse, still sitting in a comer of the carriage, 
 her head thrown back in a state of utter ob- 
 livion. An expression of afiTright swept 
 across her countenance at this sight : she 
 opened her lips with an outcry, but it 
 died away in a heavv-drawn sigh. The 
 fainting woman moved, and pronounced a 
 few unintelligible words ; at least they were 
 such to Louis. 
 
 " She lives ! she lives !" cried Bianca, 
 joyfully, as she embraced the neck of the re- 
 cumbent invaUd, tenderly endeavoring to 
 bring her into an upright posture. " Oh ! 
 my Margaret, do you know me ?" 
 
 Their embrace was so passionate, that 
 Louis could not avoid the conclusion, that a 
 more intimate relation existed between them 
 than that of mistress and servant But 
 before he could arrive at any definite idea on 
 the subject, Bianca addressed him with the 
 anxious query : " But where is — for heaven's 
 sake—" 
 
 Iiouis divined what she wished to say, and 
 interrupted her by giving the welcome infor- 
 mation that the servant had sustained little 
 injury. In the meantime, this latter came 
 up, together with the .postilion. Bianca 
 made an impatient gesture towards him ; the 
 servant bowed respectfully, and said, with 
 earnestness : " I am very glad that the ladies 
 have received no injury ; I, also, happily have 
 escaped." 
 
 Bianca's looks betrayed some inward 
 struggling emotion ; she seemed to combat 
 some nidden thought, which she with diffi- 
 culty suppres_sed giving utterance. The old 
 servant, however, paid no particular atten- 
 tion to her, and said abruptly : '• Now, first 
 of all, we must look to see what damage the 
 carriage has received ;" on which he snatch- 
 ed up the lantern, and held it up to the axle- 
 trees. 
 
 " The carriage is knocked almcut into a 
 thousand pieces," reported the posmion, who 
 with Paul, the servant, began examining the 
 wheels. " The ladies will have to get cut 
 for a while." 
 Louis assisted the ladies to descend. 
 " Will the accident detain us long ?" asked 
 Bianca, with anxiety. 
 
 " Well, yes, Signora," answered the pos- 
 tilion, respectfully doffing his red woollen 
 cap. " We may drag along to the nearest 
 post-house — perhaps to Brieg; but then 
 there will be one -or two days' work for the 
 wheelwright. The off fore-wheel is hroke 
 right in two, and the spokes of the wheel 
 scarcely hold together -in the nave. The 
 pole, . too, is all gone to rack ; I won't say 
 anything of the body of the coach ; it is bad 
 enough, but don't count. The hind part is 
 not so bad, but the right wheel has sufiered 
 some too." 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 During this lucid description, Bianca cast 
 tineasy looks on her companion and Paul. — 
 Th< latter at last began : " It will all come 
 to rights, gracious Countess. I think if 
 smitn^and wheelwright are well paid, we 
 will escape with the delay of only a few 
 hoars. But certainly there is no time to 
 lose." 
 
 "Yes, friend," said the postilion, "all 
 very well ; but in this plight we cannot get 
 along. We must first cut a couple of sap- 
 lings—one to put under the axletree, and 
 the other to splice the pole with. The mis- 
 chief, however, is, that we won't find any 
 trees here that are fit ; for if, on former occa- 
 sions, I have scanned thjs place to any pur- 
 pose, I know that on this height there grows 
 no tree that we can make use of ; here is no- 
 thing but crooked, snarled brush-wood ; half 
 an hour's ride further down, it would do 
 much better." 
 
 " Let us go there, then," said Paul ; " for 
 we must get forward at all events ; the ladies 
 are in a hurry." 
 
 ' The postilion stood irresolute. Louis ^ 
 thinking, according to the Italian method, 
 first to ascertain how much the postilion 
 was to .be paid for this e^ctra service, offered 
 a very handsome reward if he would get the 
 carriage in order again. But the little black- 
 amoor, with the gipsy face, put on a wise 
 look, and said : 
 
 " That is very easily said, but not %o easily 
 Jone. When, at this season of the year, the 
 Avalanches begin to fall, there is no security 
 for fifteen minutes together. One of them 
 falling, sets others in motion. Yes, if we 
 had had frosty weather, it would be a differ- 
 ent thing. But I ^mell thaw, and then old 
 Nick can't trust to anything. It might be 
 very possible that you would have to wait a 
 long time till I came back. By daylight now, 
 one may turn himself about, and towards 
 rooming the danger will be over — for what 
 the sun loses by day, with the warmth, falls 
 before morning, and he must then melt off 
 new masses before any can fall again ; but 
 in the night-time the thing is not to be 
 thought of." 
 
 . Louis imagined how distressing a delay in 
 their progress would be to Bianca, though 
 the most threatening danger had subsided. 
 He said, therefore,, resolutely, "I will go 
 with you — we will share the danger toge- 
 ther." 
 
 " That would all be very well, Monsig- 
 nor," answered the postilion, without alter- 
 ing his dubious looks, " if we had to deal 
 with a couple of gallows-birds of robbers, 
 lurking behind the bushes ; but the ava- 
 lanche makes no bones of our being two, or 
 three, or twenty ; it makes a clean sweep 
 with everything in its way !" 
 
 " At least, let us try, my friend," said 
 Louis, seizing the lantern ; " I will go b^ 
 fore." 
 
 Bianca gave him a look of thanks,' which 
 served yet more to fortify him in his par* 
 pose. 
 " Have you an axe ?" he asked. 
 " Axe and rope lie in the chest under the 
 coaoh-box," said old Paul, who opened it 
 and took out the axe. 
 
 "Come along, then, my friend," said 
 Louis, resolutely to the postilion. "But the 
 servant can remain with the ladies." 
 
 " Well, then, may St. Borromeus help 
 us !" cried the postilion, between a sigh and 
 a malediction. 
 
 Paul stepped up.* "If any one must 
 go, sir Count, it is I ; and you ought to stay 
 behind, to protect the ladies." 
 
 Bianca was hesitating whether tc beg of 
 Louis to abandoBthe hazardous undertalung. 
 Two feelings, of equal but opposing power 
 — duty and sentiment — struggled in her 
 mind. His resolution left her no choice. 
 
 " No, I will go myself," he said, cheerful- 
 ly. " It must be as I have said." 
 
 With these words, he seized the lantern 
 and stepped forward, followed by the posti- 
 lion. 
 
 " May God protect you, my brotner !" 
 Bianca cried after him. The postilion; 
 being better acquainted with the way, took 
 the lantern out of his hand. Hardly had 
 they proceeded fifty steps, when he exclaim- 
 ed : 
 
 " Saint Borromeo ! I believe the gallery 
 is blocked up ! Look, Signer — the passage 
 is quite choked with snow. The avalanche 
 must have split, and fallen at both eiftis of 
 the gallery. We are caught like rats in a 
 trap ; for we have seen but too plainly how 
 the door was slammed to behind us." 
 
 It was as the postilion had said. A few 
 steps forward sufficed ^to convince Louis that 
 the outlet was entirely filled up with snow. 
 " What are we to do now ?" he said, 
 shuddering at the idea of being a prisoner 
 in this cavern. 
 
 " What must we do ? We must go back 
 to the ladies ; for here we cannot pass, until 
 we are dug out," answered the postilion. ' 
 " But will anybody help us ?" 
 " Pshaw ! — I have no fear of that. The 
 folks in Sempione must be stone-deaf if they 
 have not heard that avalanche. And if I am 
 not back with the horses to-morrow morn- 
 ing, they will seek me out, I'll warrant." 
 
 Somewhat calmed by this answer, Louis 
 returned to the ladies, and related to them 
 the condition in which they were placed. 
 Bianca listened with anxiety, but resigna- 
 tion ; and, raising her eyes heavenward, she 
 said : 
 
 k 
 
14 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 " We must endnre what God sends upon 
 ns ; He alone can order our fate. So let it 
 be. I am prepared for whatever may hap- 
 pen !" 
 
 The postilion, who could discover nothing 
 extraordinary in the case, tried to console 
 and cheer her. 
 
 " Signora, there is no danger ; they will 
 come and deliver ns ; to-morrow you will be 
 safe and sound in Brieg — that you may rely 
 upon. In the meantime, however, we will 
 try to give them a signal. No doubt we can 
 let in as much atr through the snow, that 
 the report of a musket may be heard. On 
 hearing us at the post-house, which can't 
 be far hence, they will ring the alarm-bells, 
 and at day-break there will be people enough 
 here to unearth ns." 
 
 Having said this, the mfrry and nimble 
 Italian busied himself directly with taking 
 out the pole of the carriage, with which he 
 intended to pierce a hole through the snow. 
 But while thus occupied, a distant rumbling 
 was heard. 
 
 Bianca started in affright. " What is 
 that ?" she asked. 
 
 " You'll hear directly," said the postilion, 
 assuming the posture of a listener. " There i 
 you have it ! — didn't I tell you ? It is a 
 second avalanche." 
 
 The report was repeated two. three times, 
 with increased loudness, one following the 
 other in rapid succession — then followed a 
 long-continaed, rattling noise, as of an im- 
 mense load of stones falling headlong down 
 an abyss ; it approached nearer — now it 
 rattled right over the heads of the listeners, 
 as if about to demolish the roof of the gallery. 
 Bianca clung, terrified, to the side of Mar- 
 garet ; even the men betrayed fear. But 
 the postilion laughed as he said : " It can't 
 rain through here !" Gradually the tumult 
 subsided, and was finally lost in a dull roar 
 in the depths below. 
 
 " Was I not right ?" asked the postilion. 
 " Had not the outlet been closed up against 
 us, we should never have found it again." 
 
 Bianca, in a silent prayer, returned thanks 
 to the Almighty that Louis' hazardous 
 enterprise had boen frustrated. 
 
 In the meantime^ the postilion had suc- 
 ceeded in taking out the broken carriage- 
 pole, and, with Paul's assistance, tied a stick 
 over the fracture. Having, in this manner, 
 rendered it serviceable in boring through the 
 loose snow, they both set to work to make 
 an opening somewhat in the shape of a 
 chimney-flue, at that end of the gallery 
 which lay towards the valley. Louis and 
 the women followed them, for the result was 
 of too much importance to them all, to allow 
 them to neglect witnessing the progress of 
 the work. The perforation of this air-hole 
 
 1 
 
 was efiected by a fannel-Iike exeaVa&n, 
 Paul and the postilion constantly tumiog 
 and pushing the pole with a narrow circular 
 motion. In a few minutes a considyable 
 mass of snow fell down from the increased 
 opening. 
 
 " Ah !" cried the postilion, " we have had 
 engineering and sapping enough ; the roof 
 has tumbled in." At the same time he 
 stooped down under the aperture, crying 
 out : " Why, indeed, the moon shines right 
 in through the window!" ;. 
 
 Paul brought up the musket. '■"'' . 
 
 " We will put in a couple more good 
 waddings on the top," said the postilion, " so 
 that it may give a better sound," — pulling 
 out, at the same time, some pieces of old, 
 dirty paper, which, after chewing hard to- 
 gether, he rammed down very tight. " Just 
 so," he 8g.id ; " but now I must be a little 
 elevated, so that I can reach to push the 
 muzzle out into the air, else the shot won't 
 be heard." 
 
 He then, without ceremony, let himself be 
 raised on the shoulders of Paul and Ijouis, 
 and fired off his musket. A loud report 
 filled the vault, which was as plainly repeat- 
 ed, extending far and wide in the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 " Bravo, bravissimo !" cried the postilion, 
 in self-exultation. " But now we must have 
 a da-caTpo, or it will not be understood." He 
 loaded and fired a second and a third time. 
 " Well," said he, " it is now in good train, 
 and we won't be forgotten." 
 
 The ladies, with Louis, had, in the mean- 
 time, resumed their places inside of the car- 
 riage, there patiently to await the coming 
 of day. Shortly they heard the distant sound 
 of a bell. It was the alarm-bell, with which 
 the information that some person is in danger 
 is conveyed from station to station. Their 
 deliverance was therefore secured. 
 
 m 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Towards morning, every eye was closed 
 slumber, for fatigue had at last over- 
 powered all thought and watchfulness. The 
 report of a gun first interrupted the death- 
 like silence, and awakened the travellers. 
 
 " That's the signal of approaching help," 
 cried the postilion, who had taken his seat 
 on the roomy coach-box, by the side of Paul 
 — words that changed Bianca's fright intc 
 lively joy. " We must return a prompt an 
 swer," he added, seizing the musket to loat' 
 it. He then proceeded, accompanied by th( 
 rest, to the end of the gallery, and firet 
 through the opening. 
 
 f% 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Directly after the firing, load cries of 
 men's voices were heard close by the cavern. 
 Before ten minutes had passed, men appear- 
 ed 4>efore the outlet of the gsdlery, so that 
 those within could converse with them. 
 They soon shovelled out an accessible pas- 
 sage, though the carriage as yet could not 
 be extricated. Thus were the gates of this 
 dismal dungeon finally unbarred. Louis 
 conducted the lady into the open air. With 
 silent rapture both greeted once more the 
 welcome light of day. A deep and quiet 
 valley lay open before them ; but the sur- 
 rounding heights were covered with tall and 
 slender pines, in their green winter-dress ; 
 and far away, below, was discovered the 
 friendly little town of Brieg, encircled by the 
 silver thread of the Rhone, ^nd glowing in 
 the midst of green fields, adorned in all the 
 opening charms of spring. 
 
 It was now proposed that the ladies should, 
 with younff Rosen, go l)efore on foot to the 
 next post-house, two miles distant, and 
 there wait till the carriage could be brought 
 thither. Louis found this proposition quite 
 sensible. He gave bis arm to Bianca, and 
 accompanied by Margaret, the gouvemarUe, 
 they set out. In an hour the post-house 
 was reached. 
 
 The landlady appeared. The repast call- 
 ed for proved a truly Swiss breal{fast. On 
 the tray stood a large cofiee-pot, and an- 
 other with chocolate; fresh butter, honey, 
 preserved fruit, and pastry. 
 
 They had not long to wait before the 
 carriage arrived ; which, by the assistance 
 of the people who had cleared the road, had 
 been put in tolerable repair. Bianca still 
 insisted on the necessity of flying ; and con- 
 sequently bade her landlady a hasty farewell. 
 
 The fugitives now proceeded jn a smart 
 trot on the much smoother road ; for their 
 new postilion, who had been a witness of 
 the liberal gifts which Paul, in the name of 
 his master, had bestowed upon the men 
 who had afforded assistance, made his calcu- 
 lation likewise upon a handsome douceur. 
 Thus they reached Brieg, in the Canton 
 Valais. 
 
 Arrived at the inn, Louis' first care was 
 to get the carriage mended. A smith and a 
 wheewlright were sent for ; they both declar- 
 ed that at least four hours would be neces- 
 sary to put it in travelling order. • 
 
 Bianca would rather have exchanged the 
 carriage for another ; but in- so small a place, 
 none was to be had. Suspicions, too, might 
 thereby be aroused, proving perhaps more 
 perilous than the delay itself. They had, 
 therefore, to coatent themselves with stimu- 
 lating the activity of the mechanics by pro- 
 mises of liberal payment. 
 
 Bianca with Margaret took possession of 
 
 a room at the inn, and Lonis took one ad- 
 joining. Paul remained below in the common 
 guest-room, where, being tired, he stretched 
 himself on a bench, ms strength seemed 
 nearly exhausted ; a few hours' rest were 
 therefore, perhaps, necessary in his case ; for 
 he was an agea as well as trustworthy ser- 
 vant. 
 
 Louis, though prompted by his inclina- 
 tion, deemed it improper, if not impertinent, 
 to intrude upon the ladies, who certainly had 
 need of repose. Wishing to improve his 
 leisure, by recording the events of the last 
 few hours in his journal, he found, to his 
 great dismay, that he had lost it. He re- 
 membered distinctly having had it in his 
 possession just before reaching Brieg, and 
 consequently must have lost it in the house, 
 or within a short distance of the town. All 
 search in his room and inquiries of the land- 
 lord, having proved fruitless, he determined 
 to make the not very promising attempt to 
 seek for it on the road. He reached the out- 
 skirts of the town without findinfr it, and 
 went on his way up the high road. With 
 rapid strides he walked on, but found nothing. 
 Already had he given up all hope, when he 
 perceived something red, shining on the grass 
 in the distance; he hastened to the spot, 
 and there indeed lay his lost treasure ! He 
 had retraced his steps for some ten or fifteen 
 minutes, when he heard the sound of a 
 horse's hoofs behind him. On looking back, 
 he sa.^ a horseman approaching full gallop ; 
 followed by a carriage, attended by another 
 horseman, also coming down at full speed. 
 This sight struck him as something singu- 
 lar. But ere he had time to arrange his sur- 
 mises in his mind, the foremost rider came 
 up, and called out to him in French : 
 
 " Do you belong to Brieg, sir ?" 
 
 " No," replied Louis, " I am a traveller, 
 and have just rambled out of the town." 
 
 " Can you tell us if a carriage and four, 
 with two ladies and a gentleman, and a ser- 
 vant on the box, has arrived there ?*' 
 
 Louis was on the point of answering No, 
 when the post-chaise came up and stopped. 
 It contained a civilian and a French officer. 
 The former leaned out of the window, and 
 repeated the horseman's question. This gave 
 Louis, who could not doubt the inquiries had 
 reference to Bii^nca, time to devise a safe 
 answer. He remembered that the post- 
 house was at the commencement of the 
 town, and that persons in haste would be 
 likely to change horses there without going 
 to the inn at all. This decided his reply. 
 
 " Certainly," said he quickly, " such a 
 carriage arrived some hours ago, with a bro- 
 ken a^e, I believe, which,was mended here. 
 But about a quarter of an hour back, just as 
 
 I 
 
■BSWWP/- 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELTB ; OR, 
 
 I left the town, the strangers resumed their 
 journey." 
 
 " The devil !'' exclaimed the man in the 
 carriage : " Which road did they take ?" 
 
 " The only one they could take, by Sion 
 to Greneva," replied Louis. " You see it 
 yonder, following the bank of the Rhone." 
 
 " Can we not cut across ?" inquired the 
 traveller, hastily. 
 
 " To be sure," said the postilion, answer- 
 ing for Louis ; "just below this we can turn 
 sharp to the left ; and if your Excellencies 
 are not afraid to ford the Rhone, even though 
 the water shoald come into the carriage a 
 little, we avoid the town altogether, and 
 save a good half-hour. If your Excellencies 
 allow me to take that rosul, never fear but 
 I will overtake the travellers. They must 
 now just be passing through yonder wood, 
 otherwise we should see their carriage on 
 the highway." 
 
 " Is the cross-road dangerous ?" 
 
 '* Not a bit ; only a little rough. In an 
 hour at most we will catch them, if your 
 Excellencies will bear me harmless for pass- 
 ing the post station." 
 
 " That will I," replied the officer in the 
 carriage ; " and what is more, you shall 
 have the twenty gold Napoleons I promised 
 you if you caught the fugitives before they 
 reached Brieg. Now on, and at speed." 
 
 The carriage dashed forward, the horse- 
 men galloping on either side. 
 
 Louis stood nearly petrified ; yet there 
 was no choice as to what course to pursue. 
 He hastened back with all possible speed to 
 notify the ladies. With greater speed than 
 the carriage even, he reached the inn, and 
 presented himself in Bianca's room. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, what is the matter ?" 
 she asked, when she saw how excited and 
 heated he was. 
 
 Gasping for breath, he began to relate 
 what had happened. 
 
 " Merciful heaven !" she exclaimed, inter- 
 rupting him, " then we are lost ! How did 
 that man look ? Had he not black hair and 
 eyes, a pale countenance, and teeth very 
 white ?" 
 
 " It appeared so to me," answered Louis, 
 " but he was so muflJed ifp that I could not 
 see his face distinctly, and I must confess 
 that I did not bestow any particular atten- 
 tion on his looks, the affair itself put me in 
 such a flutter ; but listen farther." He then 
 told them by what combination of circum- 
 stances the pursuers had been diverted from 
 the right track. 
 
 " God be praised !" cried Bianca, pressing 
 her female companion to her heart with great 
 emotion. " Oh ! you are our guardian 
 angel !" she said,* kindly, turning around to 
 Louis and holding out her hand. ** But we 
 
 have not a moment to lose." On wbloh she 
 arose, and rang the bell eagerly for Paul. - • 
 
 " We have at least two hours," said Louis, 
 " before they will perceive their error. The 
 postilion spoke of it taking^ an hour, and he 
 will be led on and on by an illusive hope, 
 and perhaps even proceed to the next station. 
 In that case, they cannot return before night- 
 fall, and ere that time I will, with God's 
 help, find some way of escape." 
 
 Bianca trembled violently ; she did not 
 decline the support of Louis' arm as he \oi 
 her to a seat 
 
 " God has so wonderfully protected us," 
 she said, more calmly, " that even now I put 
 my full trust in Him. You have a second 
 time become our preserver. Without th^ 
 accident which took you again to the road-^ 
 an accident which otherwise might haw 
 exposed us to the greatest calamities — wje 
 should have been unavoidably lost. But the 
 Lord is gracious !" I 
 
 While saying this, she raised her eyes t )- 
 ward heaven, tears of gratitude and acn le 
 suffering commingling. 
 
 Paul had entered the room. Margaiet 
 took him immediately aside, and spoke soi le 
 words to him in a low voice, on which t le 
 old servant started back, pale and terrifiedl 
 
 " We must away instantly," he cried-l- 
 " there is no other course. We cannot wait 
 till the carriage is repaired ; and if we coulm 
 it would be useless, as we have no othen 
 road to take but the one on which we must^ 
 meet our pursuers. There is nothing re- 
 mains for us to do, but to leave the town 
 siifgly, and on foot, and betake ourselves 
 straight to the mountains. Take, therefore, 
 your most indispensable articles, my lady 
 countess, and with Margaret leave the town 
 immediately. Follow the road along the 
 valley, up the Rhone, on its left bank. 
 Coming here. to-day, I observed that a well- 
 beaten path runs along the river, which no 
 doubt it follows up into the valley. In about 
 half an hour from this time, wait for me at 
 any safe point on the river's bank — some 
 place where you can be hid by the bushes, 
 and yet see the road to the town, so that we 
 may not miss one another. I will leave the 
 house in an opposite direction ; the Count 
 must leave towards another point still, so 
 that as far as possible it may not be known 
 which way we have taken. When we are 
 all together again, we must find guides to 
 conduct us across the mountains, and per 
 haps mules can be procured to lighten the 
 journey." 
 
 Paul delivered himself of these words with 
 so much gravity and force, that they sounded 
 almost like a command. His counsel was, 
 however, so sound and judicious, that it met 
 at once with implicit obedience. Louis 
 
 / 
 
 k 
 
y- 
 
 ,y 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 •'■o 
 
 Btood astonished at the cool and discrimi- 
 nating resolution of the old man, and his 
 clear, concise sentences. He seemed to im- 
 part his own resolute spirit to his hearers ; 
 for even Bianca, with all her terror, now 
 exhibited an energy truly surprising. She 
 gathered together her papers, her portfolio, 
 and some other trifles, while Margaret picked 
 up the most necessary articles of clothing, 
 packing some in a light work-bag, others in 
 a small basket, and tinaliy concealed a good 
 many things in the high-crowned bonnets 
 used by herself and the Countess. In less 
 than five minutes the two ladies left the 
 room. They were met by tlie chambermaid 
 in the passage. Bianca took her to a win- 
 dow looking toward Sion, exactly in an 
 opposite direction to that which she intended 
 to take, and pointing to a neighboring hill, 
 she asked : 
 
 " How far may it be to the top of that 
 hill ? Do you think we can go there for a 
 walk, and be back before evening ?" 
 
 " If the ladies are good pedestrians, it may 
 be done very well ; but it is a good hour's 
 walk," answered the girl. 
 
 " Then we won't be back much before 
 dark — perhaps later," said Bianca ; " just see 
 that my room is put in good order." 
 
 " Will their ladyships take supper in their 
 room ?" asked the girl. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; three covers ; but not till nine 
 o'clock," said Bianca — after which she, with 
 her companion, hastened down the stairs. 
 
 Louis Rosen, as may be supposed, was not 
 idle. Within five minutes of the departure 
 of these ladies, %e issued forth from the inn, 
 and carelessly whistling a tune, left the 
 house, as if minded to take a stroll through 
 the streets. He looked back on his way, to 
 ascertain if Paul was about, but saw nothing 
 of him. A few steps from the house he was 
 met by the steward of the inn. Him he 
 charged with the commission to Paul to go 
 again to the smith, so that the carriage might 
 be ready before nightfall, for he was deter- 
 mined at all events to set out after supper. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 With a beating heart, Louis gained the 
 open country, and now looked about to find 
 how to reach the road indicated, without be- 
 ing observed. The cross-path which he 
 Uirned into, lay right through some gardens, 
 *ven concealing the Rhone. He walked on 
 mpatiently, still finding himself hemmed in 
 
 by fences and hedges. At last he came Jo 
 an open spot, but found himself so far out on 
 the plain that he was unable to set himself 
 right. Half an hour had now elapsed since 
 Bianca had left the house ; every moment, 
 therefore, became more and more precious. 
 He quickened his steps, therefore, and finally 
 gained an eminence, from which he could see 
 the Rhone, What was his mortification 
 when he discovered that he was much farther 
 from the river than when he set out ; it even 
 seemed most advisable to go straight back 
 again. The Rhone just above Brieg trends 
 an angle so acute as almost to give it a 
 retrograde course. Louis, who had planned 
 his route according to the original course of 
 the stream, now beheld that part of the bank 
 forming the rendezvous far away behind 
 him. 
 
 The most advisable plan now appeared to 
 him, to go direct towards the river, and to 
 follow its downward course, in which case 
 he must fall in with the wanderers. He 
 hastened on as fast as his powers permitted. 
 Still a full half hour went by without his 
 reaching the margin of the river ; for fre- 
 quent gullies, hollows and marshy places 
 compelled him to take a very round-about 
 course. The sun had already sunk behind 
 the lofty wall of the Alpine ridge, and the 
 deep valley of Brieg began to sink into the 
 blue shades of evening. Now he heard the 
 murmur of the Rhone. He had a few rocky 
 eminences, overgrown with brambles and 
 blackberry-vines, yet to overcome, and then 
 he hoped to find the river-path. Invigorated 
 by the thought, he climbed resolutely up- 
 wards. The eminence was steep and high 
 — long, intertwined and tangled tendrils of 
 the blackberry covered the ground, like 
 snares, and with their sharp, long prickles 
 tore his boots and wounded his feet. He 
 finally conquered these obstacles, and found 
 himself on the summit. Passing quickly 
 across the ridge, he prepared for his descent 
 on the other side ; but he was suddenly 
 arrested in his career, for he stood on the 
 edgQ of a precipice, the impetuous waters 
 of the Rhone dashing along its base. No- 
 thing was left but to turn back, and follow the 
 ridge down the stream. " He was unable, to 
 his great annoyance, to dissever any trodden 
 path ; there was no choice, indeed, but to 
 follow the river on the steep ridge of the 
 bank, overgrown with thick bushes. Much 
 to his comfort, he soon found the ground 
 better, and suddenly it opened upon a wide, 
 well-trodden track. This certainly must be 
 the path which Paul had spoken of. Louis 
 pursued it, therefore, with renewed vigor. 
 Suddenly he discerned, through the increas- 
 ing dusk, two figures moving in the nearest 
 bushes, perhaps at a hundred paces distant. 
 
18 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 They were women, wearing high travelling 
 bonnets, and he saw a white garment. " It 
 is herself!" said his leaping heart, raised to 
 delirious joy. As he came near, he saw 
 that they were engaged in deep discourse, 
 their looks turned upwards to the snow- 
 capped mountain peaks, which, now that 
 the sun had set, shot up, cold and corpse- 
 like, against the dark horizon. Paul was 
 not with the ladies, and their demeanor alto- 
 gether denoted perfect indifference. This 
 troubled Louis considerably. Now they 
 turned round, their attention being aroused 
 by his eager approach. Heavens ! lie saw 
 that he was entirely deceived — they were 
 strangers ! 
 
 There he stood, paralysed ; with difficulty 
 he summoned force to make an inquiry. 
 One denied having seen any person, but the 
 other reminded her that about an hour before 
 they had observed, at some distance, in their 
 walk through the valley farther up, two 
 ladies in company with a man, taking the^ 
 way towards the Rhone. Louis hastily re- 
 turned thanks for the information, and, happy 
 in having obtained some clue, and to know 
 which way to go, he turned precipitately 
 back on his course facing the foaming stream. 
 The agony of haste lent him wings. He 
 soon regained the spot from whence he had 
 set out, and then indefatigably pursued the 
 river-path. But it was now perfectly dark 
 in this hollow, bordered on both sides by the 
 high wall of the Alps, and there was no 
 hope of having the light of the moon for an 
 hour to come. He was surrounded by 
 gloomy darkness ; the country became more 
 wild and rugged ; crags and masses of rock 
 still more steep and colossal towered over 
 his head ; the pinnacles of the snow-peaks 
 shone high above the black heights. The 
 Rhone thundered close by him, its waves 
 crested with foam. The bank now ran per- 
 pendicular, and soon the rocks hung threat- 
 ening over the abyss. Ijouis was aware 
 that he stood on the same spot he arrived at 
 upon first gaining the stream. The path 
 stole along under the projecting rocks. Per- 
 haps, at the very moment that he had been 
 standing there, hearing nothing beside the 
 rushing waters, Bianca had passed by under- 
 neath. The path became very laborious, 
 even dangerous, in that utter darkness* of 
 night; for now it clambered straight up the 
 steep, rocky parapet, and now again it led 
 downwards, equally abrupt. Louis almost 
 rejoiced on account of these dangers, in the 
 hope that it would so retard Bianca's pro- 
 gress that he must soon overtake her. With 
 fresh vigor he pressed onward. 
 
 Another hour's exertion, and he saw a 
 light glimmering before him ; a cottage was 
 near by, the first human habitation he had 
 
 seen on this road. A sweet prophetic voice 
 whispered him that there would he find the 
 object of his pursuit, for it was impossible 
 for her tender feet to have carried her any 
 farther. Quickly he advanced towards the 
 friendly beacon, and in a few moments he 
 stood before the house. He knocked. 
 
 " Who's there ?" was heard, in a rough, 
 nasal voice, while two wooden clogs clatter- 
 ed in slow measure over the floor." 
 
 " A traveller, who has lost his way," an- 
 swered Louis. 
 
 " Very well, friend ; I will open the door 
 in a minute," was the reply from within. 
 
 The bolt was slowly drawn, and an old 
 man, with hair and beard of silvery white- 
 ness, seen in the uncertain light of a kindled 
 faggot of pitch-pine, stood in the opening. 
 
 " Have you no other guests with you, good 
 father ?" asked Louis. 
 
 " Not a soul," answered the old man. 
 " Who should come to see a poor old man here 
 in the wilderness ? I am not even afraid of 
 bad guests, for nothing is to be found here to 
 tempt a covetous mind. But, who may you 
 be, dear sir ; and how came you this way so 
 late in the night?" 
 
 It required some moments for Louis, al- 
 most overwhelmed at the failure of all his 
 hopes, to give a reply. 
 
 " I lost my way in the mountains. I am 
 separated from my companions, concerning 
 whose fate I am in great anxiety. They 
 wished to ascend the valley from Brieg — I 
 followed after, and without finding the least 
 trace of them have finally gained this, the 
 first human dwelling in my way." 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered the old man ; " the 
 main-path in the valley runs along the bank 
 of the Rhone, but, in the dark, you probably 
 did not see the log-bridge which crosses the 
 water. This path terminates here." 
 
 " Can you not put me in the right road, 
 good father ?" cried Louis, eagerly. " I will 
 richly reward you." 
 
 " To-morrow morning, with great plea- 
 sure," replied the old man ; " but to-night 
 my old, weak limbs cannot serve me ; for in 
 the dark the track is dangerous, even to 
 hunters, who are acquainted with it." 
 
 Louis, tired as he was, would gladly have 
 wandered the whole night ; but a look at the 
 feeble, trembling old man, convinced him 
 that he would ask an impossibility, were he 
 to persuade him to follow him now. He ac- 
 cepted the hospitable invitation given him to 
 pass the night in the hut, and followed the 
 friendly host into the small, narrow room, dim- 
 ly lighted by the burning stick of pine wood. 
 
 " I am sorry that my son is not at home," 
 said the old man ; " he would do you belter 
 service. But he is gone to his cousin's 
 wedding, at Sion, and will not be back until 
 
fk NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 to-morrow night. So, you see, we must 
 manage the best way we can by ourselves." 
 
 " Dear father," said Louis, " I only stand 
 In need of rest, and that would flee from me, 
 «ven had f here the most sumptuous coach. 
 The only thing inrhich I have to request of 
 you is, that we set out bright aad early to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " So we will," said the old peasant .; " for 
 'the moon rises at three o'olocsk, and will give 
 us light ; but now, be pleased to accept of 
 a piece of brown bread and Alp-cheese, and 
 I can give you a drink of milk alsa This 
 morning i had a drop of wine left, but, to 
 tell the truth, I drank it myself." 
 
 Louis partodi of the simple meal with 
 the old man. It would have relished excel- 
 lently, had not his heart been filled with 
 80 much painful anxiety. But rest and food 
 ■would give him new strength, and with that 
 fresh hope also. The bed, therefore, of fra- 
 . grant rtionntain-grass, which the good old 
 man had prepared for him, was highly wel- 
 comed ; and he quickly sank into a sleep, 
 which, though disturbed by harassing 
 •dreams, yet prepared bis body for the new 
 and toilsome waRderings that awaited him. 
 
 •CHAPTER VI 
 
 "It is time, dear sir; the moon is ]ust 
 «ver the horn of the Simplon, and shines down 
 in the valley. If you are in a hurry, we 
 ought to be on the way." 
 
 Louis, yet half-dreaming, heard the old 
 man's words. He could not recollect where 
 lie was ; for, instead of his eyes being graet- 
 «d with the merry sunshine of Italy, he 
 opened them upon an obscure, narrow cham- 
 Tjer, where the moon was engaged in strange 
 rivalry with the Jurid light emitted by a 
 kindled faggot. It was not till tTie old man 
 reached him his hand, to assist him to gain 
 an upright position, and the full-orbed moon 
 shone right into his face through the small 
 casement of the hut, that he fully recovered 
 his consciousness, and responded to the 
 friendly summons by saying : 
 
 " Directly, good father; I was half dream- 
 ing — directly."" 
 
 With these words he sprang up, and in a 
 few moments was equipped for the journey. 
 
 " Will you not take something foi* break- 
 fast ?"asked his aged host ; " I have warmed 
 pome milk. The? morning air is sharp. A 
 warm drink is always bcHeficial, be it ever 
 TO little." 
 
 Louis was much affected with the simple- 
 hearted manner of the old man, and accepted 
 the proffered breakfast with pleasure. 
 
 The old man did not fasten the door oo 
 their departure. 
 
 " No one seeks anything here," he said ; 
 "only at night, when we are at home, we 
 draw the bolt, that no wild beast may push 
 its way in ; for there are terribly ferocious 
 wolves in these mountains." 
 
 Their path was lighted sufficiently by (he 
 moon, and soon the day began to break. 
 
 After having travelled some two hours, the 
 old man said : 
 
 " You see, sir, there is the bridge ovsr the 
 Rhone." 
 
 Louis saw at some distance two long 
 trunks of trees, without railings, placed across 
 the stream. He now recognised the spot by 
 some singularly-shaped boulders which had 
 attracted his attention before, but he had not 
 observed the bridge of logs. That a path 
 turned off here, oould not at all have been 
 discovered ; for as he came nearer he found 
 that the track leading to the bridge turned 
 off sharp to the rightit 
 
 Louis was about asking his conductor if 
 he was certain that the path on the opposite 
 bank of the river was the only one which the 
 wanderers could take, when an object fixed 
 his eye, which filled him with joyful surprise. 
 Just at the turn leading down to the Rhone, 
 he saw on the branch of a tree a rose-colored 
 ribbon fluttering in the wind. An exulting 
 start thrilled through his frame ; he hastened 
 to the bush, and found, with untold delight, 
 a small piece of Bianca's dress tied to it. 
 Snatching the reKc from the tree, he thrust 
 it into his pocket-book for safe keeping. He 
 now proceeded on his way cheerfully. But 
 on reaching the other end of the log-bridge, 
 which led them over the foaming billows of 
 the Rhone, the old man asked him: 
 
 " Whereto shall 1 conduct you now, dear 
 sir?" 
 
 " Of course, along the valley ; I thought 
 there was only one way," answered Louis. 
 
 " That is very true," replied the old man ; 
 " but yoH tdd me yesterday that your friend 
 intended to pass over the mountains further 
 into the Swiss territory. In that case, we 
 have a wide scope for choosing; for a good 
 many paths take us across the Alps into 
 Upper Bern. The question is, which do you 
 select ?" 
 
 Louis stood still, in perplexity. Suddenly 
 the thought struck him, that more guide- 
 ti>kens would appear. 
 
 " Let us go on," he said ; " only give me 
 notice when we come to any branching- 
 path. I will then make up my mind which 
 way to go." 
 They soon came to a road, practicable for 
 
«p» 
 
 2» 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OIj| 
 
 mountain-cars and mules. Louis was chiefly 
 concerned about hastening his progress, but 
 the old man could not increase his accus- 
 tomed slow pace. Indeed, after a while,, the 
 old man himself said : 
 
 " My dear sir, I see very well how it i& — 
 you would be glad to get on faster than I 
 am able. Had you not better take a younger 
 guide ? We shall presently reach a farm- 
 house, where I am acquainted, and where 1 
 can readily procure you a guide, who is well 
 acquainted with the roadrbethto Bern and 
 Zurich." 
 
 Louis, who only from kindness towards 
 kis honest companion had hiiherto refrained 
 from making the proposal himself, gladly 
 closed with the offer, and replied : 
 
 " It sliall not be any the worse for you, 
 good father y but I must positively find my 
 friends to-day — " 
 
 ^ Look, there comes my Joseph himself !" 
 interrupted the old man, with a joyous excla- 
 noation, pointing to a young man who ap- 
 proached tiiem on the road. " Heh ! Seppi !" 
 he called out to him, while yet at a distance ; 
 " wilt thou guide the gentleman? He wants 
 ta cross, the mountain." 
 
 " Willingly," answered tha lad, in hia 
 roogh, strong voice. 
 
 Louis bade the old man a hearty farewell, 
 ajad rewarded him so munificently that he 
 b«rst into expressions of gratitude, that were 
 Dot likely to have ceased hadi not Louis cut 
 them short by continuing his march. His 
 first business was to interrogate his new con- 
 doctor upon the subject of his missing 
 friends. But this time, also, it was without 
 av&il, for Joseph had not met with them. 
 
 "Heh, sir,"' said the boy, in his replies, 
 •* It is, indeed; a hard matter to search for 
 somebody, when we do not know which way 
 he is gone j for here we may take a good 
 many different paths. If we go over the 
 mountains by Naters, there below, we can 
 pass by the ' Jungfrau,' into the upper coun- 
 try. That would be the nearest way to Bern : 
 but it is, af this season, too dangerous, and, 1 
 don't believe that any one of the chamois 
 hunters would easily undertake it. By 
 Wesch, about three hours' walk farther up. 
 a path leads over the crest of the mounta/in. 
 We would- then leave the ' Jungfrau' to the 
 left ; and might, by the mercy of God, get 
 to Grindelvvald. But this, also, is a road 
 which may be travelled in summer time, but 
 not now. There is another road, up the 
 Maienwand to the Girimsel, — or, if we would 
 positively keep in the valley of the Rhone, 
 we would have to cross the Furka to Realp 
 Hospital, and then down the St. Gothard's 
 road. These are tire four principal roads ; 
 but any one who is fond of clambering and 
 climbing — of straying ajbcut,aad does not 
 
 mind going a round-about way, may taRe « 
 great many other smaller paths. But, we 
 coimtry-peoplc are not acquainted with these 
 c?eep-holes and by-ways. To travel these, 
 a smart hunter of the mountains is necessa- 
 ry ; one who roams about among them, by 
 day and by night. Now, in the spring of the 
 year, dear sir, when the enow is yet very 
 deep, and avalanches are freqi»ent, no one 
 ventures through these paths. I therefore 
 believe, Uiat your friends have taken the 
 road either over the Grimsd, or across the 
 Eurka ; ajid if they're in baste, the last-men- 
 tioned is the best — for it brings one quickest 
 on the high-road to Altorf, and then, by way 
 of Brunnea and Zug to Zurich. There is 
 hardly any nearer way to go to Germany. 
 The others are more direct, it is true ; but 
 are not, therefoVe, the nearest, because they 
 are so dangerous.^ And sheuW we be over- 
 taken by bad v/eather, wo- might have to lay 
 by for a week in the mountains. 
 
 Louis listened to this not very cheering- 
 description:. He determined to proceed up 
 the valley, as far as Maienwaad, at the same 
 time having every ty-path pointed out to- 
 him, in order to ascertain whether Bianca 
 had not left some other token behind her. 
 
 In a short time they arrived at the little 
 place called Naters, where, in all likelihood, 
 Bianca had passed the night. Louis made 
 strict enquiries, but no one could give him 
 the slightest intelligence. As they came out 
 of the hamlet to the spot where the path 
 branched off intt) the mountains, he looked 
 around, in "vain, for some fluttering signal — 
 not a trace of which was to be seen* 
 
 It was yet early forenoon when he arriv- 
 ed over Morill at Weseh, where he allowed 
 himself barely time for refreshment. He 
 continued his route, under increasing anxiety 
 and sorrow. The last inhabited place whicb 
 he found, was UrHchea. It was three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, when he arrived 
 there. Twelve hours had he now been wan- 
 dering, and the road had often been very dif- 
 ficult and toilsome. If seemed to him incom- 
 prehensible that he had discovered no trace 
 of Biaaca. Even by using the greatest , 
 speed, she could hardly have proceeded any 
 farther. Yes", even snpposiaw that slie had- 
 continued her flight through the night, she 
 raust have made the Is^tter part of the way 
 in broad daylight, when the appearance of 
 lady travellers at so early a season of the 
 year must excite much attention, and could . 
 by no maans have passed unnoticed. Louis 
 almost began to apprehend, that in order to- 
 escape the steps of her pursuer, she had ven- 
 tured to choose one of the more dangerous^ 
 paths of the mountains ; and he had tlius to 
 combat, not only the pain of separation, but 
 the fears arising fi-om the many dangers to> 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 91 
 
 which she might be exposed. His last and 
 only hope now was, that on coming to the 
 Alaienvvand, wliere the steep path winds up 
 to the Hospice on the Grimsel, he would find- 
 some token awaiting him, inviting him to take 
 that road, or else to continue the other over 
 the Gothard. His exhausted powers, how- 
 ever, did not allow him to pursue his journey 
 on foot ; he commissioned Josepli, therefore, 
 to hire two mules, the youth having already 
 informed him that these were to be had in the 
 place. After half an hour^s delay, Joseph 
 appeared with two well-saddled mules, and a 
 muleteer also — for Louis did not wish to part 
 with his cheerful companion. They mount- 
 ed their beasts, and continued the journey. 
 The Maienwand was soon reached. Louis 
 gazed at every shrub, every tree and bush, 
 with the most anxious solicitude ; but no 
 rosy tint revealed itself a-mong the, as yet, 
 •closed petals and buds of the shrubs in his 
 way. 
 
 It was now plain that if Bianca were yet 
 in advance, she must have taken the road 
 over the Gothard. Louis now entered upon 
 the lonely wilderness ; — only a few shep- 
 ierds' huts, or cabins, now abandoned, were 
 to be seen throughout the snew-covered val- 
 Jey. At the left of the wanderers towered 
 the glaciers of the Rhone, glittering in the 
 sunshine with a thousand variegations. On 
 their right arose immense walls of rock ; and 
 before them the two snow-pyramids of the 
 Purka lifted their heads in the pure airy re- 
 gions of blue ether. This valley may be 
 •compared to the portals of an eternally 
 frozen, glittering winter-palace, on whose 
 diamond pavement no green blade ever 
 springs, and where the warm sun-beam is 
 shivered into its seven chilly colors of re- 
 iractiou. 
 
 Silently following his guide, Louis rode 
 -on. As they reached the liigh snowy defile, 
 •through which the road is pointed out by 
 Jong poles, as land-marks, stuck into the i 
 anow — and as they were in the midst of the 
 freezing cold, at the foot of the two high and 
 sharp conical i\jcks, between which the fa- 
 mous road is formed, Louis turned to look 
 >back once more. The sun had already inclin- 
 ed towards the mountains, throwing his beams 
 alone on the blue misty heights. 
 
 " Let us haste," said Louis to the mule- 
 teer, wheeling about his animal. 
 
 " Yes, and we must be smart, too," an- 
 swered the lad, " if we would reach Ander 
 .Matt before night-fall. It is very possible 
 that we may have to take up quarters with 
 the Capuchins in Realp." 
 
 At an early hour they were in Realp, 
 where they stopped a few minutes with the 
 Capuchins, who live in a small hut, and by 
 whom thej were hospitably entertained with 
 
 bread, honey, milk, cheese, and wine. "This 
 hospitality is be^owed gratuitously ; what 
 the traveller chooses to pay, is his voluntary 
 gift; and the worthy pater, who spends his 
 da.ys in this unbroken solitude, receives it ia 
 the name of the convent, as a donation to 
 the poor. On Louis' enquiries after Bianca, 
 he was informed that on the 17lh of Octo- 
 ber, the last traveller had passed this way, in 
 confirmation of which, the monk placed be- 
 fore himthe^'Stranger's Register" of the last 
 year. Thus was the last hope of the young 
 man broken. He drew a deep sigh — strove 
 painfully to suppress his rising tears, and 
 arose to go. 
 
 "Our Heavenly Father comfort and bless 
 you," said the monk ; "you appear to be in 
 trouble !" With that, he kindly held out his 
 hand : Louis pressed it in silence, and hastily 
 left the narrow cell. 
 
 Buried in thought, Louis rode on. They 
 were now in the lonely valley called Urser, 
 on the summit of the Gothard, which, ia 
 summer, resembles a green meadow-brook, 
 flowing between banks of snow, but now 
 was arrayed as for burial in the white shroud 
 of stern winter. 
 
 'Gradually it grew darker. There arose 
 a keen and violent wind, tossing the snow- 
 flakes high in mid-air The cold increased. 
 Louis now began sensibly to feel the effects 
 of fatigue ; the body claimed its repose. He 
 observed, with a kind of self-reproach and 
 vexation, that the attainment of a shelter and 
 a comfortable bed had insensibly become an 
 object of ardent desire. 
 
 From time to time a glimpse of light, 
 proceeding from the windows of some dwell- 
 ing, giiided them like a twinkling star 
 through the chilly mist, which sunk down 
 upon -the valley. At length they reached 
 houses, and in a few minutes more they 
 came to a halt before an imposing looking 
 building, the lower story of which was en- 
 tirely illuminated. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 " Gob be praised," exclaimed Joseph, 
 " that we are here at last ! It was no trifle 
 of a day's-work. I am none of the weakest, 
 but we have travelled a good piece of road 
 to-day !" 
 
 The muleteer assisted Louis to dismount. 
 An officious waiter had already hastened to 
 offer the same service, and invite him into the 
 comfortable, well-warmed guest-room, where 
 other travellers, also just arrived^ were -sit- 
 ting at supper.. 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED* AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 To find himself suddenly within a com- 
 fortable room, to join once more hi the cheer- 
 ful circle of social life, produced in Louis' 
 breast the liveliest impressions. He looked 
 about, and saw a comfortable apartment, 
 along which was laid out a well-furnished 
 table, whereon a number of wax-lights were 
 burning. At the upper end of it, next to 
 the stove, sat three travellers, to whom sup- 
 per had just been served. 
 
 ' ' The gentlemen are already at table," 
 said the butler. " Will you please, sir, to 
 sit down and partake with them, or do you 
 wish to retire to a room first ?.^' 
 
 Louis, having no. dressing-case or other 
 matters to embairass him, drew near to the 
 strangers, and bowed t© them as he was 
 about taking a place at the table. They re- 
 turned his salute with so much courtesy 
 that he felt himself quite agreeably impress- 
 ed. He bestowed a closer scrutiny on the 
 guests. From their dress and bronzed coun- 
 tenances they seemed to be militaires ; they 
 had addressed him in French, but something 
 which he observed in their manners seemed 
 to betray another nation. Two of them,, 
 the elder perhaps thirty-six, and the yeunger 
 about twenty, possessed short black hair and 
 black v/hiskep»; the third, light hair, falling 
 in curls, and a florid complexion. Louis 
 sat down, and, mastering his dejection, en- 
 deavored to reciprocate the frank civility of 
 the strangers. 
 
 " May I ask if yoU' are from Italy, gentle- 
 men, or are you on your way thither ?•" he 
 politely inquired. 
 
 "Our way," answered the ddest, whose 
 large figure and noble countenance gave 
 him a most commanding appearance, " our 
 way will probably lead us far to the north ; 
 but we shall previously visit Germany — go 
 to Dresden, where the Emperor of the French 
 is expected about this time." 
 
 " It seems, then, that the wap is certain ?" 
 Louis remarked. 
 
 " We hope so," said the stranger, in a tone 
 that expressed something beyond the com- 
 mon pleasure of a soldier. 
 
 Louis kept silence. It grieved his Ger- 
 man heart to hear of his country being again 
 everrun by hordes of foreign soldiers •, and 
 yet the irresistible verdict of truth told him 
 that Gterraany had merited her degrading 
 position, and that however galliHg the stran- 
 ger's yoke might be — however grievous to 
 be necessitated, implicitly and uncondition- 
 ally, to join the conqueror and subserve his 
 schemes of colossal ambition, yet was it far 
 more honorable to the people than being 
 Blade a prey to the disgraceful, wretehed, 
 and selfish policy by which, and* espeaially i 
 since the death of the great Frederic, for a [ 
 century Germany had been so shamefully i 
 
 oppressed by her own princes. The three 
 words of the stranger, " We hope so," so 
 powerfully awakened the contest within his 
 own breast, and portrayed the truth in such 
 vivid colorings, that the painful apprehen- 
 sions which occupied his mind were mo- 
 mentarily expelled. 
 
 The stranger seemed to penetrate the- 
 emotion by which Louis was agitated. Af<^ 
 ter a few monaents' silence he answered with 
 dignity, and in the German language : " You 
 are surprised, sir, to hear me say of what», 
 in all probability, will prove a desolating 
 and cruel war, 'We hope so.' It affects 
 you the more from your being a German. 
 By a long sojourn, we have become half 
 Giermanized ourselves. Permit us, therefore, 
 to use the language of your country. Per- 
 haps to you it appears criminal that ve long 
 for a change in the affairs of the world ta 
 which one-half of Europe looks with appre- 
 hension and sorrow. It is, indeed, a hard 
 fate, tc be placed in a situation where one 
 can hope to preserve one^s most precious 
 blessings only through a great and universal 
 calamity ; but we find ourselves preeisely in 
 such an extremity." 
 
 He paused a moment, a» if Tendered silent 
 by emotion^ His noble features seemed to< 
 reflect the lofty melancholy of his soul ; a 
 dark cloud of brooding anxiety settled on 
 his brow ; he gazed vacantly, like one in a 
 dream, and as though the grave and weighty 
 reflections which pervaded his agitated bo- 
 6om were far removed from the exterior 
 world around bim. 
 
 An indescribable feeling kindled in Louis* 
 breast ; he ventured not to break the solemtt 
 stillaess. The two younger companions of 
 the stranger also kept silence, their mourn- 
 ful looks fixed on his countenance. 
 
 " We are Poles, sir," he said after a long 
 pause. We hope thai the coming struggle 
 will procure us a country — a home ; for now 
 we are exilep, roaming about, houseless and 
 forsaken. You wiJl now understand why I 
 dared to say, ' We hope far war !* " 
 
 Louis became so disturbed that he knew 
 not what to reply ; the stranger saved hin» 
 the trouble, by taking up the filled wine-glas» 
 beside his pkte, saying, " ' Our Country !' 
 Every brave man must driak this toast, be hia 
 nation what it may." 
 
 Louis tourited the glass with his own ; 
 the rest joined in the sentiment. 
 
 Apparently in dispatching this glass of 
 wine, the stranger bad also dismissed his 
 sombre mood. " We are travellers," he said/ 
 " who in extraordinary times have met in a» 
 extraordinary place. In the rocky dells and 
 caverns of the St. Grothard, spring up the 
 fountains which send forth their streams tc 
 the four quarters of Europe — into Germaay 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 33 
 
 into France, into Italy. On the other hand, 
 the roads of these countries centre at this 
 point, and intertwine with, each other in a 
 mutual bond. We stand, as it were, on the 
 cross-roads of the Continent. To-morrow, 
 one follows the Rhine or the Reuss, another 
 the Tessino, and a third the Rhone. The 
 moment of union should be enjoyed-^laid up 
 in sweet and joyful memorial ; for who can 
 tell if we may ever meet again ? We 
 three," he went on, turning to Louis, "know 
 each other ; we are countrymen and fellow- 
 soldiers. You will remain a stranger to us, 
 and we to you, if we do not allow a frank 
 confidence to rule the hour; a happy hour, 
 which, perhaps, all of us would hereafter 
 gladly look back upon. I propose, therefore, 
 that we exchange names. Mine is Stephen 
 Rasinski ; I am a colonel in the army of the 
 Emperor ; these gentlemen, my young friends 
 and comrades, are officers in the same regi- 
 ment, Count Boleslaus, and Count Jaromir ; 
 and you, sir ?" 
 
 '' My name is Louis Rosen ; I am a Ger- 
 man," replied Louis. 
 
 " Welcome, then ! Rosen is a pretty 
 name. Happy he for whom roses bloom, 
 even if they were only Alp roses. That time 
 is gone by with me ; for when close upon 
 forty, one dares no longer think on blossoms, 
 and may at the best expect nothing but a 
 little late fruit. Well, 1 have seen blossoms 
 also, and have seen them droop and die! 
 Here's to the development of those blossoms 
 — youth ! hope ! love I Come, my young 
 friends, this toast concerns you, more than 
 
 me 
 
 I" 
 
 should do on the coming day. Should he go 
 forward, or return ? Should he attempt to 
 search for Bianca on another road, or should 
 he pursue the nearest route into Germany ? 
 It had not escaped his observation that the 
 Poles were bound for the same point with 
 himself; and in the first moment, he came 
 near betraying his satisfaction ; but now he 
 was glad that he had restrained himself and 
 kept silence ; for by such a companionship, 
 he might deprive himself of the liberty of 
 pursuing his search. He determined, there- 
 fore, to part as soon as possible with his new 
 acquaintances, and without disclosing too 
 much of his object. 
 
 In the midst of these thoughts, he finally 
 fell sound asleep. 
 
 Louis responded to the call with peculiar 
 emotion. Rasinski's toast affected his heart 
 painfully, while it called forth a faint ray of 
 nope. 
 
 The conversation was continued on other 
 subjects. Count Rasinski seemed designedly 
 to avoid a return to the grave subjects which 
 he had at first introduced, and the young 
 officers paid a modest deference to his wish. 
 They talked about Italy, about Paris, of the 
 talents of Napoleon as a general and a states- 
 man — of his march over the great St. Ber- 
 nard, which was so near them — of the gi- 
 gantic preparations for the impending war — 
 of the bold plans of his active mind, gener- 
 ally, which led the French standards from 
 the pyramids to the Tagus, from tJie Tagus 
 to the snow-fields of Russia ; in short, they 
 spoke of every thing which then riveted the 
 attention of every thinking mind in Europe. 
 
 An hour passed thus impesceptibly ; sup- 
 per ended, and every one sought repose. 
 
 Excited b| his tumultuous thoughts and 
 feelings, Louis, notwithstanding the great 
 fatigues of the day, could not at once go to 
 sleep, but lay thinking on his bed what he 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 It was broad day when Louis was awak- 
 ened by a slight knocking at his door. On 
 saying " Come in," the youngest of the three 
 officers, the blond-haired Count Jaromir, made 
 his entree. 
 
 "Excuse me," he said, "that I disturb 
 you thus early ; but it would afford us all 
 so much pleasure to travel in your company 
 that I have been commissioned by my com- 
 rades to ask you about it ; a task which I 
 cheerfully fulfil." 
 
 Louis apologised for his drowsiness and 
 promised to rise immediately and join them 
 in the breakfast-room. In a few minutes he 
 did so. The officers greeted liim cordially. 
 Rasinsky declared that they could not pos- 
 sibly make up their minds to set out before 
 him, and leave him to go through the famous 
 St. Gothard alone. 
 
 "Two persons," said he, "who once cross 
 together the Devil's bridge, should become, 
 through recollection of the f^at, linked to- 
 gether for life." 
 
 » Louis acknowledged the trutli of this, 
 thanked the count very warmly, and accept- 
 ed his offer. 
 
 Mules were saddled ; the guides stood in 
 readiness. The travellers from the excellent 
 inn of " The Three Kings," at Ander Matt, 
 rode down the valley towards its blackened 
 gates. As on the Simplon, here opened a 
 gloomy cavern, called the loch of Urn ; 
 as there, the river rushes close by; a^ there, 
 light was momentarily admitted into the in- 
 terior of the cavern through a large oval 
 grating ; and the Reuss, like a white ghost, 
 was seen tossing and foaming on its course. 
 The tumult of the stream deafdued every ear. 
 I The cleft opened, and there they stood in the 
 
24 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 narrow passage, enclosed by towering rocks, 
 wh^re the raging Reuss plunges headlong 
 into the abyss, threatening to demolish every 
 barrier, even the boundaries of its own banks. 
 Across this seething cauldron, the narrow 
 bridge is thrown, and with such dexterous 
 boldness, that the old legend seems quite in 
 its place, vvhich says : 
 
 " It was not built bv human hand, 
 For none would dare." 
 
 The bridge creaks and trembles as the 
 travellers pass. Count Rasinsky halted a 
 moment, looked up into the rocky cleft above 
 him, and then into the foaming chasm beiow. 
 He wishes to speak, but the noise of tlje 
 tumbling waters deaden all human souncj. 
 And yet there reigns here the sombre feeling 
 of an eternal solitude ; for no bird flits, no 
 insect creeps, no grass, no poor tiny spire of 
 moss is seen : naked and immoveable masses 
 of granite alone rise steep and rugged into 
 the blue heavens. 
 
 For the space of an hour they rode over 
 the so-called '• Schullenen," on broad flags 
 of stone, smooth and bare. Over the nearest 
 huge and broken rocks towered the snow- 
 covered peaks of the Alps, now shrouded in 
 a grey mantle of clouds. Had it been less 
 early in the season, the valley would have 
 been more cheerful. As it was, winter held 
 here a much more rigorous sway, than on 
 theSimplon, the snow covering the tops of 
 the rocks, and even the topmost boughs of the 
 black fir-trees, which gradually became more 
 frequent. By and by the eminences became 
 clothed with under-wood, and a few blades 
 of grass might be here and there discovered, 
 peeping forth from their slight covering of 
 snow. 
 
 At an early hour they arrived at the vil- 
 lage of Amsteg, where the Schiichenthal, 
 among rugged clefts and crags, branches off 
 from the valley of the Reuss. Here the 
 travellers took breakfast, and then continued 
 their road to Altorf, winding through broad 
 green valleys and fresh meadows : the Reuss 
 here changes its character to the gentlest 
 and most peaceful of streams. 
 
 Louis' companions expressed a wish lo 
 take to the water on the lake of Vierwald- 
 Btatten, and hastened on, therefore, so as to 
 reach Fluellen, and from thence, if possible. 
 Lucerne before night. But as the last 
 hope which Louis cherished of finding Bi- 
 anca was on the nearest high-road to Ger- 
 many, he resolved to pursue his journey over 
 Zurich* to SchafThausen. 
 
 They bid each other a cordial farewell, 
 promising themselves a happy meeting in 
 Dresden. 
 
 It was nd without grief that Louis saw 
 his newly acquired friends\depart ; for it was 
 
 quite uncertain whether he would find them 
 again. The war drove everything before it. 
 
 There happened to be a pedlar at the 
 tavern, in Altorf, tvho, with his empty wagon, 
 was about returning to Zurich. Louis now 
 dismissed Joseph, secured a seat, and set out 
 immediately. Without accident, he arrived 
 in Zug late at night, and by noon of the 
 following day, having passed over the Alphis, 
 reached Zurich. This was a point which 
 Bianca must touch. He had arrived with so 
 little delay, that he could not doubt having 
 gained Zurich before her. He resolved, 
 therefore, to rest this and the following day, 
 and, meantime, piT&h his enquiries. He did 
 so ; but in vain. He even allowed himself a 
 third day. When even this last brought no 
 trace, he was compelled to set out. A few 
 days brought him to Heidelberg overSchaff"- 
 hausen and Freiburg. 
 
 It was on one of the early days of May 
 that Louis Rosen entered the charming city 
 where 'he had spent so many happy liours. 
 He trod again its streets, — but in sorrow. 
 His College-friends had left the place at the 
 same time with himself. A single year had 
 taken to flight, and within that short space, 
 what a change ! 
 
 Sorrowful and disturbed, Louis resolved to 
 pursue at once his route home. He enter- 
 ed a well-known saloon, for dinner, where he 
 found the guests, a few strangers, and some 
 unmarried professors, belonging to the Uni- 
 versity of Heidelberg. One of them held a 
 newspaper in his hand — from wliich he 
 seemed to impart to the company some im- 
 portant intelligence, about the approaching 
 campaign. 
 
 " What news, sir ?" asked Louis, without 
 feeling any particular interest in the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " As far as the war is concerned, nothing 
 definite, yet," answered one who sat near his 
 elbow. "Marching of troops — notices of 
 the arrival and departure of Generals — long 
 accounts of the great preparations of the 
 French emperor ; in short, everything we 
 have heard repeated every day, for weeks 
 past. But just read this advertisement j it 
 is, just now, tlip topic of our conversation." 
 
 Louis threw an indifferent look on the pa- 
 per ; but, scarcely had he glanced over the 
 first lines, than he became strangely agi- 
 tated. 
 
 The words wliich had excited the wonder 
 and curiosity of the company, and which 
 roused so violent a commotion in Louis' 
 breast, ran thus : 
 
 " To THE UNKNOWN FrIEND ! 
 
 " Imperishable thanks to kim, who be- 
 came a preserver in most immment peril — 
 who hailed the stranger as a sisler — who 
 guided and protected her, with the fidelity of 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 25 
 
 a brother ! If voluntarily he tore asunder 
 those bonds, as suddenly as a higher power 
 had formed them, let him know that his name 
 is still respected; that mournful gratitude 
 alone fills the heart. Should the inscrutable 
 changes of human events ever bring him 
 again into the path of the now far distant 
 mourner, he shall find a true sister, who 
 gladly will offer him any sacrifice, because 
 she has to thank him for all I" ' 
 
 « B ." 
 
 " Well, what say you to that ?" asked the 
 man, of Louis, whose eyes seemed riveted 
 upon the precious lines. 
 
 " Singular, indeed ! very singular !" he 
 answered hastily, endeavoring to quell his 
 emotion. " I find the letter so touching," he 
 continued, with a forced smile, " it awakens 
 a thousand conjectures. But, I always was 
 a romantic dreamer !" 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ••Well, now, dear mother, everything is in 
 order," said Mary, her eyes glistening with 
 joy, and a quiet smile playing on her mild 
 countenance, as she entered the room, and 
 laid a key on the table, by which her mother 
 sat sewing. " Now, he may come any mo- 
 ment he likes ; he will find everything ready 
 for him." 
 
 " Have you put the books into the book- 
 case, too ?" asked the mother. 
 
 " I have not forgotten the least thing," re- 
 plied Mary ; " and if he is still the same 
 brother — if his tastes have not entirely 
 changed — he will certainly be pleased with 
 his room. Everything has happened so luck- 
 ily ; — that we should directly find a house, 
 where there is room for all of us, and which 
 so well answers our wants ! But I can hard- 
 ly wait for the hour when he will arrive : 
 my heart has such a longing to beat 
 against his true, honest breast ! But, dear 
 mother, you do not seem to be glad enough ! 
 Have you any trouble ? any doubt ?" 
 
 On saying this, Mary tenderly put her arm 
 round her mother's neck. The mother look- 
 ed, with emotion, into the face of her daugh- 
 ter, radiant with gladdening hope ; and press- 
 ing her tenderly to her bosom, said : 
 
 " None Mary, none but those which al- 
 ways fill a mother's breast. We have not 
 seen Louis now for two years. He has been 
 far around in the world, — has seen it in its 
 most dazzling aspects : will his heart, always 
 proud and fiery, be content with our domestic 
 condition ? Will he look upon the path 
 which lies before him, with a cheerful eye ? 
 
 If you do not behold one feelmg the unalloy- 
 ed pleasure you experience yourself, do not 
 attribute it to lack of affection, but to a feel- 
 ing more deep, and, therefore, more anxious. 
 Because thy own young and untutored heart 
 knows no other world than our narrow circle, 
 and the few friends with whom we are inti- 
 mate ; because the entire sphere of thy 
 wishes is confined within the limits of easily 
 attained objects — dost think Louis will feel 
 satisfied here, at home ? Thou thinkest his 
 chamber charming, because the windows look 
 out upon the Elbe and his bed-room lies To- 
 ward our little garden ; but do not forget, that 
 at Heidelberg, he had the Neckar flowing 
 under his windows, and saw the proud castle 
 opposite reflect its shadow in the limpid wa- 
 ters : and remember, too, that he comes from 
 Switzerland and Italy ! As beautiful as our 
 scenery may appear, it will be insipid and dull 
 to him. Much more, when looking upon, 
 his future prospects in" life, he discovers that 
 he is ever to move in these shackles, think- 
 est thou that he will feel happy ?" 
 
 " Oh ! certainly he will, dear mother," an- 
 swered Mary. " His heart is always so good, 
 benevolent ; he always so dearly loved 
 
 so 
 
 the quiet pleasures of our little circle, that he 
 now, also, will feel happy with us. I think, 
 that the very first look at his room will re- 
 store his usual cheerfulness. Oh, that he 
 were only well here, to see how the broad 
 splendid Elbe glitters between the rose-bush- 
 es in his windows — how the evening sun 
 hovers over the blue hills, throwing his gold- 
 en tints into his chamber, through the leaves 
 and flowers ! When he finds his books all 
 put in order in the new book-case ; when he 
 sees father's portrait hanging over the sofa ; 
 and, on the other side, the dear little piano, 
 with the old familiar music books lying upon 
 it, — oh, certainly, dear mother, he will then 
 find himself happy with us !" 
 
 " Thou dear little simpleton !" said the 
 mother, smiling; "thou thinkest that be- 
 cause the neat and well-ordered chamber 
 constitutes thy girlish joy, it will meet the 
 wishes of a man likewise ? Thou knowest 
 nothing of men and the world yet, Mary !" 
 
 " But I know my brother ! I know Louis !" 
 she replied, and a pearly tear of sisterly af- 
 fection trembled in her blue eye. 
 
 A postilions's horn at this moment sound- 
 ed. 
 
 " 'Tis he !" cried Mary, running to the 
 window. The mother, too, started at the 
 sound, but presently recollecting herself, she 
 said : 
 
 " How thou imposest upon thyself, Mary ! 
 Dost think he would come with extra post- 
 horses, like some great lord ? Remember that 
 he can travel but with the' limited means of 
 a student. Perhaps, as it often happens," she 
 
96 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 added, with a smile — " he comes, lowly and 
 humble, back to his native place, with a con- 
 sumptive purse." 
 
 Mary, who by this time had become aware 
 of her mistake, said, turning to her mother : 
 
 " I imagine, to myself, all the different 
 ways in which he may come. If he give 
 only a gentle knock at the door, I shall think 
 that he means to give us a greater surprise. 
 If a stately carriage comes rolling along, 
 why — what hinders that he should not be 
 seated inside, in company with some friend 
 or travelling companion 1 When the front- 
 door opens on its hinges, and a man's step is 
 heard on the stairs, 1 always think of Louis ; 
 always hope that the door will be opened, and 
 he come in." 
 
 " Heavens ! it is he !" she suddenly ex- 
 claimed, as the door of the room actually did 
 open, and with the cry : " Brother ! dear 
 brother !" she flew towards the intruder and 
 hung aroniid his neck in the closest em- 
 brace. She kissed him, she wept, she laugh- 
 ed, and suffered herself to be half dragged 
 to where her mother sat, who tried to rise 
 from the sofa, but sank back overcome, until 
 Louis seized hold of both her hands, kissed 
 her amid tears of joy, and then hid his face 
 in her bosom. 
 
 The first moments past, now commenced 
 that gay and merry exchange of unfettered 
 cordiality ; those thousand-and-one question- 
 ings about trifles and recollections of days 
 gone by ; those sweet outpourings of the full 
 heart ; that communion of the sweetest feel- 
 ings of the soul, by the interchanging of 
 which a new existence is created, and every 
 little estrangement resulting from absence at 
 once swept away. 
 
 Pushing back the hair from her brother's 
 brow, Mary said, with a smile : 
 
 " Dear brother, your brow is as open and 
 handsome as ever ; and if I had seen no- 
 thing more than that, peeping over a hedge, 
 I could not fail to have known you." 
 
 Louis looked into his sister's clear, friendly 
 eye. He responded to her childish playful- 
 ness, and laying one hand across his fore- 
 head, while he covered his face with the 
 other, so that the ej'es only were visible, he 
 said : 
 
 " And I would have known you, sister, in 
 distant Sicily, though looking out between 
 the slits of some pretty green window- blind. 
 Thy blue eyes would have betrayed thee di- 
 rectly ; and yet they seem to me to be of a 
 purer azure than ever ; indeed thou hast, on 
 the whole, become much handsomer, sister !" 
 
 "Away with you !' said Mary, blushing as 
 she gently disengaged herself from his hand. 
 ** Go along ! ^t ns rather look at each 
 other without wasting compliments : and 
 thou must tell me of a thousand things. But 
 
 stop ! — first tell me, didst come in the car- 
 riage with the four post-horses, which passed 
 by just now ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Mary, I did," answered 
 Louis. " But I wanted to take you unawares, 
 and therefore got out at the comer. I slipped 
 into the house while the coach rattled by, 
 so that you did not even hear me open the 
 door." 
 
 " But tell me," said Mary, with a maiden- 
 ly curiosity, " how came you to arrive in that 
 handsome coach ?" 
 
 The mother seemed to have the same 
 question to ask. Louis replied : 
 
 " Singularly enough. In Switzerland I 
 became acquainted with some Polish officers, 
 and again we met at Leipzig. They insisted 
 upon ray joining them, and I gladly accepted 
 an offer so frankly made. But, dear mother, 
 I have to look to you to enable me to return 
 this civility, for it is almost indispensable for 
 me to tender them an invitation to visit oar 
 house." 
 
 " If they will not feel out of their ele- 
 ment," answered the mother, " thou must 
 know full well that thy friends will always 
 be welcome to me." 
 
 " But, brother, you have not seen your 
 chamber yet !" cried Mary, quickly, almost 
 taking the words out of her mother's mouth. 
 " Oh, I must show it to you this moment ! 
 And where is your baggage ?" 
 
 " No hurry about that," said Louis, laugh- 
 ing, for his travelling property was indeed 
 scant. 
 
 As Louis entered the quiet, friendly cham- 
 ber, an expression of sadness came over his 
 features. 
 
 " What beautiful roses !" he said, after 
 a pause ; " and full of buds !" 
 
 " They were always your most admired 
 flowers," said Mary, glad to see him turn his 
 face towards the window ; " but here are 
 some carnations also among them ; and do 
 they not form a beautiful foreground to the 
 landscape behind ? Does not the Elbe glit- 
 ter like silver between the leaves, and the 
 evening sun shine like gold through tliat 
 purple sky !" 
 
 " Purple ! azure ! gold I well, it sounds 
 well-nigh fairy-like — at least, quite Italian. 
 But you are right, sister; it is indeed beauti- 
 ful up here !" 
 
 Mary opened two other window-sashes, to 
 allow the mild cooling May-breezes fully to 
 ventilate the room. Louis, his arm encir- 
 cling the waist of his sister, stepped with her 
 to the window, and looked abroad over the 
 broad, shining river. He remained silent, and 
 so did Mary. But her silence was that of unal- 
 loyed happiness, arising from inward content- 
 ment ; his, the mute troubled fruit of despair. 
 
 Had the girl at this time raised her eyes 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 sr 
 
 to her brother, she would have read in that 
 pale countenance the painful conflict of his 
 suffering heart. 
 
 " Speak to me of our mother, Mary," at 
 length said he ; " she looks a little pale ; is 
 there any thing serious the matter ? Does she 
 oomplain of her lungs ?" 
 
 "The doctor gives us the best hopes," 
 replied Mary. 
 
 And how do you get along in these trou- 
 blesome times ? Do mother and you feel 
 much anxiety ?" 
 
 " Now you are here, Louis, I feel quite 
 easy and safe," answered Mary, gently cling- 
 ing to her brother. " 1 confess, the wild con- 
 fusion of war, even with its dazzling pomp, 
 has almost frightened me. To-morrow, it 
 is said, the Emperor Napoleon is to arrive. 
 Many princes are already come to meet him. 
 What power this man must possess ! How 
 does he constrain them to make these terri- 
 ble sacrifices, when, almost to a man, they 
 offer their services with the utmost reluc- 
 tance ? Excepting our king, who clings to 
 him with the craziest infatuation, who " 
 
 " Say no more, Mary," interrupted Louis. 
 " Judge not where the most skilful find it 
 difficult to decide^ Recollect that a prince 
 has to weigh and consider. Besides, can 
 such as we comprehend the irresistible power 
 exercised by a superior mind ? Duty and 
 inclination often clash and cross each other 
 60 strangely that the keenest intellect is at a 
 loss to discriminate between them." 
 
 " How ?" said Mary, in astonishment, 
 " Ypu, Louis, also an admirer of the man w ho 
 has plunged our country in misery, and who 
 sinks it yet deeper in woe every day ?" 
 
 " Dearest sister," answered Louis, " you 
 speak like a child — like many who see only 
 what is before their eyes but detect not the 
 chain of causes and events which have 
 brought about the unhappy state of Ger- 
 many ; who also are no longer impartial 
 judges, because they have taken sides in the 
 conflict. But let all this pass ; these are 
 serious matters, which are foreign to a 
 female's affairs, and which ought not to sad> 
 den the first moments of our meeting." 
 
 Thus saying, both left the chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 , On the day following young Rosen's arri- 
 val, the city of Dresden presented the impos- 
 ing spectacle of an innumerable multitude 
 of people, and the well ordered array of for- 
 midable armies. The -immediate cause of 
 this commotion and bustle, was the coming 
 
 of the Emperor. He was looked for with 
 a solemnity of expectation, which might be 
 called next akin to dread ; for his appear- 
 ance at this juncture was to be the signal 
 for an enterprise the astonishing boldness 
 of which filled the most daring spirits with 
 awe. 
 
 It was the fifteenth of May. 
 
 Louis had escorted his mother and sister 
 to the house of a friend, whence the ladles 
 could see the procession at ease. While 
 thus stationed, he all at once beard a voice 
 call out his name. It was Rasinski, who, 
 mounted on a handsome grey charger, was 
 galloping along the ranks of soldiers. He 
 managed the noble animal very gracefully, 
 and with a light and practised hand. 
 
 " Good evening, my dear friend of St. 
 Gothard !" he called out *.o Louis. " I 
 hardly thought that we should meet to-day, 
 for it is a very busy time with us. The Em- 
 peror will be here in an hour." 
 
 Louis ran down into the street, and mak- 
 ing his way through the soldiers, shook the 
 outstretched hand of Rasinski. As he 
 gazed on the dazzling uniform of the hand- 
 some cavalier, and ftritnessed the martial 
 satisfaction beaming from his eyes, a latent 
 feeling of envy sprung up in his breast. 
 
 " You look strangely at me, friend," said 
 Rasinski ; " Is there anything particular to 
 observe ?" 
 
 Louis was about to reply, when on a sud- 
 den the rolling of drums cut him short, and 
 the troopers, closing and dressing their 
 ranks, forced him to make a hasty retreat. 
 A general with a numerous retinue came 
 galloping from the direction of the palace. 
 It was the King of Naples (Murat) in his 
 fantastic gold-feed izened uniform, who, with 
 a truly royal bearing, came prancing through 
 the streets on his bright chestnut charger, 
 lie was on his way to meet the Emperor 
 at the field called the " Frcikerger Schlag.'* 
 The sparkling eye of this man rapidly scan- 
 ned the multitude ; he seemed satisfied. 
 Rasinski had backed his horse a little to 
 one side, and saluted the General respect- 
 fully ; he halted, spoke a few words with 
 him, and even shook him by the hand. This 
 distinguishing trait pruditced an evident 
 effect on the whole suite, and inspired a cer- 
 tain regard for the Polish officer, for even 
 the generals gave him a considerate notice 
 when he joined their ranks to follow in the 
 train. 
 
 This splendid cavalcade of marshals, gen- 
 erals, staff-ofiicers of the highest rank, and 
 many Gerinan princes, spurred swiftly down 
 towards the gate known by the name of the 
 « WillsdrufFer Thor," through which the Em- 
 peror was to enter the city. Every counte- 
 nance shone with radiance — the tip of ez- 
 
38 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 pectation could be read in every face. Louis 
 stood perplexed, when the clatter of gallop- 
 ing horses caused him to turn his head. It 
 was the two young Poles, Boleslaus and 
 Jaromir, hastening to overtake the retinue. 
 They observed Louis also, and as they flew 
 past gave him a friendly salute with the hand, 
 
 " Happy fellows ! " he thought, " what 
 can cloud your buoyant spirits, who have no 
 other wish for the future than to stake your 
 lives on the redemption of your basely sold 
 country i" 
 
 But while thus musing, Louis all at once 
 found himself in the embrace of a man and 
 received a boisterous kiss on the cheek 
 before he had time to ascertain what friend 
 it could be that bestowed upon him so hearty 
 a salute. 
 
 " Louis ! dost not know me then ?" exclaim- 
 ed the individual, perceiving but too plainly 
 the surprise depicted in the other's counte- 
 nance. " Is it possible that you have so entire- 
 ly forgotten me, or am I so greatly altered ?" 
 
 " What ! Bernard, my dear friend Ber- 
 nard ! " cried Louis, " why should I not 
 know thee ? But how could I expect to find 
 thee here ?" ' 
 
 " The deuce ! — at least just as much as I 
 could expect to find thee !" said Bernard, 
 squeezing the hand he retained with all the 
 warmth of true friendship. " Come along," 
 he added, " out of this crowd, A glass of 
 good Italian wine will taste delicious to him 
 who just comes from Naples. Come ; for I 
 want some dark corner on purpose, where I 
 can hear thee give an account of thy travels, 
 while we both take a hearty pull at the bot- 
 tle." 
 
 Louis took the arm of his gay schoolmate, 
 and together they pushed their way through 
 the crowd. 
 
 " Signor Longo, a flask of Syracuse or 
 Lacrymae Christi," cried Bernard, on enter- 
 ing the restaurant. " Come to the window, 
 Louis, and see the rabble scudding by to get 
 a sight of the Emperor." 
 
 The wine was brought, and the friends 
 touched each other's glasses. Scarcely hud 
 they done so, however, than bellowing, as 
 of distant thunder, struck the ear. 
 
 " The devil !" cried Bernard ; " don't you 
 hear the cannon ? The Emperor is coming ! 
 Look how the rabble is pressing on ! Quick, 
 Louis, let us go I" 
 
 With these words he seized Louis and 
 dragged him into the street. 
 
 The crowd, which swayed to and fro, with- 
 out any definite purpose, nov/ flooded from 
 every quarter, pressing and pushing towards 
 the WillsdruiTer. 
 
 It was already quite dark ; the street-lamps 
 were lighted and fire-balls, also, put up to 
 illumine the scene. 
 
 " We shall have a night-piece to contem- 
 plate," said Bernard ; " I Hke that. But as 
 the Emperor has not yet come, I wish he 
 would stay away a little longer, else we shall 
 not have either daylight or coal-pans enough 
 to see his face by." 
 
 It proved, in fact, a false alarm ; some 
 other carriage had been mistaken for the 
 Emperor's. The crowd settled back. 
 
 " I have no wish to return to that brick- 
 and-mortar hole again," continued Bernard. 
 " Let us ramble about the streets, to pass the 
 time." 
 
 The two young men wardered up and 
 down, among the moving and surging masses, 
 half-illumined by the red glare of the fire- 
 baskets. But, hark I the uproar of voices 
 rolls nearer and nearer ! 
 
 " Something is going on," cried Bernard, 
 as he forced his way up the steps of a house. 
 " There he comes !" he repeated, pointing to 
 a carriage, behind which were seen a num- 
 ber of horsemen, whose drawn sabres and 
 small, fluttering banners shone in the light 
 These were Polish Lancers, following the 
 carriage as a garde d'honneur. The Em- 
 peror had withdrawn into a corner, and 
 seemed unwilling to show himself. But just 
 opposite to the spot where Louis and Bernatd 
 were standing, a momentary halt occurred in 
 the procession ; he leaned forward, and his 
 countenance was in consequence seen quite 
 plainly by the strong reflection of the lights. 
 
 " There he is !" shouted Bernard again. 
 
 He and Louis kept their eyes immoveably 
 fixed on the Emperor's face. When at last 
 the head disappeared, and the procession 
 moved on, Louis awoke as from a trance, 
 and both moved away out of the crowd. 
 
 Grave and silent they proceeded side by 
 side. Suddenly Bernard quickly uttered, 
 " Good night, my friend ! we shall meet to- 
 morrow V and vanished in the darkness. 
 
 Louis went home thoughtful and grave. 
 Even the loving " good night," which Mary 
 gave him, could not dispel his unsettled 
 thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The next day, in the forenoon, Louis was 
 taking a walk on the Terrace of Bruhl. All 
 at once Bernard stood before him. 
 
 " Sake tibi .'" he exclaimed ; " I have 
 just seen our Zeus or Pluto, as you like, on 
 horseback." 
 
 " The Emperor ?" cried Louis, with inter- 
 est, answering the salutation by extending 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 hia hand. "Well, how does be look by day- 
 light?" 
 
 " Truly, I do not know how I shall de- 
 scribe him ," said the light-hearted Bernard ; 
 " there was so much noise all around ; bells 
 ringing, cannons firing, uproar among the 
 people, troops marching to the parade-ground, 
 — in a word, all Pandemonium let loose. 
 But when I now, as a painter, (the profes- 
 sion this young man followed, was that of an 
 artist,) endeavor to recall the Emperor to 
 mind, it was, methinks, a pale, sallow coun- 
 tenance, with a pointed, angular profile, such 
 as a dog may make in tearing a piece of pa- 
 per. A pair of greyish dark eyes, a short 
 thick-set body, and withal so mysterious in 
 its influence, that I could in nowise compre- 
 hend what ghost had bewitched me." 
 
 " Nor did I myself fail receiving this 
 influence," said Louis. "As the Em- 
 peror yesterday passed us by, I felt as if each 
 one who looked upon him in that mute 
 crowd felt himself irresistibly drawn towards 
 him — and in spite of the ringing of bells, the 
 thunder of cannon, and the hurrahs of the 
 soldiers." 
 
 " Thou talkest like a Thales," answered 
 Bernard, " yea, like Solon himself, whom I 
 hold in higher esteem, becauser he knew 
 how to give good laws to a gainsaying peo- 
 ple, whereas the former only studied the laws 
 of nature with tolerable success. But see ! 
 there comes a fine fellow ; be looks as if he 
 could be an Emperor too !" 
 
 "Look here, my friend," said Rasinski, 
 for it was he of whom Bernard spoke ; 
 " now we may at last commune together a 
 little seasonably. For five or six days I shall 
 be my own master ; and some of these, at 
 least, we shall be able to spend together. In 
 the meantime you may congratulate me. 
 The Emperor has commissioned me to or- 
 ganise a light regiment, which is to act as a 
 free corps, or volunteers ; and he has invest- 
 ed me with full authority to choose my own 
 officers and men. I could not have dreamt 
 of a more trustworthy or honorable post. It 
 will require three days yet to obtain all the 
 necessary orders and commissions in writing ; 
 and then, after making all necessary arrange- 
 ments, 1 am off immediately for Warsaw, 
 where I intend to select my comrades from 
 among my own countrymen." 
 
 Bernard had narrowly observed the hand- 
 some Pole ; scanning him as if he would 
 retain his noble proportions in his mind. 
 This singular gazing seemed almost offen- 
 sive to Rasinski ; Louis thought it time to 
 introduce them to each other. 
 
 " The best friend of my youth, Bernard, a 
 painter. — Count Rasinski, with whom 1 be- 
 <'ame acquainted on my journey over the St. 
 Crothard," he said. 
 
 " I hope nothing prevents us being all friends 
 together," said Bernard, with animation. 
 
 " Certainly, nothing," answered Rasinski, 
 smiling, and taking Bernard's half-offered 
 hand ; " for there is no truer axiom, than 
 that two bodies which are equal to a third, 
 are equal to each other. In the mean- 
 time — " 
 
 " You will be rny guest to-day, in order to 
 prove the truth of your axiom," promptly 
 Louis interfered. " I have," he continued, 
 " already given my mother the promise to 
 introduce yourself and your two younger 
 friends to my family — unless you disdain an 
 invitation to join the circumscribed circle of 
 the bourgeoisie." 
 
 " What strange talk is that, my young 
 friend ?" said Rasinski, pleasantly, raising 
 his finger with an admonishing signification. 
 " Can any thing be more charming to the 
 soldier, whose existence is nothing but a 
 constant heartless and hcwneless wandering 
 on the great highway of public events, than 
 the confidential and sincere family-circle ?" 
 
 " I thought a soldier could feel only the 
 puerility of such relations." 
 
 " Oh, my friend ! you cannot i)elieve how 
 greatly one who roams a stranger ever 
 learns to prize the happiness of the domestic 
 fire-side ! One day enjoyed in this manner, 
 becomes an inestimable treasure in his wan- 
 derings through the desert. It does one 
 good to be reminded by the intercourse with 
 others, »hat there was a time when we also 
 sustained the endearing relation of a son, a 
 brother, perhaps of a husband and a father !" 
 " Hem !" said Bernard, " there is some 
 truth in that." 
 
 " One who is accustomed," continued Ra- 
 sinski, " to see the horizon of existence 
 sliifting every day between storm and sun- 
 shine, may very naturally feel himself strait- 
 ened by the monotony of an unbroken life. 
 But he* who steadily and truly devotes him- 
 self to a uniform course, beholds a thousand 
 nice shadings and intermixtures of tints in 
 the dull, one-colored picture, which satisfy 
 his temperate mind, and present, as in a 
 magic lantern, the fitful drama of life. Of 
 course such a one must shun all violent rup- 
 tures. Clefts and gulfs might mar the 
 smoothness of his panorama. But is there 
 anything gained by accustoming ones-self to 
 the strongest stimulants ? Do not our facul- 
 ties »oon become so blunted that we scarcely 
 feel the difference between ice and burning 
 coals ? Just so is it that our blunted moral 
 sense speedily produces indifference and in- 
 sensibility." 
 
 " The river does very well for a skiff— the 
 ocean is for (he man-of-war's-man, and 1 be- 
 Ibng'to the latter," said the spirited Bernard. 
 " But, to speak of something else. Thy in- 
 
30 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 vitation, Louis, pleases me not. Do we not 
 have a lovely May-day, with sunshine and 
 blue skies ? I propose that we unite in a 
 trip out in free air." 
 
 *' Willingly," answered Louis ; " I propose, 
 then, a water-party on the Elbe." 
 
 " Excellent !" cried Rasinski ; " one day 
 out of doors knits together the hearts of men 
 quicker than a year in the society of the 
 saloon." 
 
 " But when ?" asked Bernard ; " I think 
 three o'clock would be the fittest hour." 
 
 " Well," replied Louis, " 1 will make haste 
 to engage a boat. But, at all events, I must 
 beg you all to meet at ray mother's house ; 
 for, in case any impediment should present 
 itself, my first plan can be carried into ef- 
 fect." 
 
 The friends separated after these words, 
 each going his own way. Louis remained 
 standing a few minutes near the edge of the 
 terrace — looked up the river, deliberating 
 within himself to what point the excursion 
 had better be directed. The proposition had 
 ^ined his approbation almost by surprise, as 
 Bernard, by his blunt, impetuous manner, and 
 Rasinski, by his eagerness in catching at 
 the idea to spend the day in the open air, 
 had left him no room to choose. Stili he felt 
 that it was not quite in order that his sister 
 should undertake an excursion of this kind, 
 in the company of so many strange gentle- 
 men — especially if she were to be the only 
 young lady present. The major part;* of the 
 inhabitants of Dresden were, moreover, rigid- 
 ly German in their mode of thinking, and 
 bore a cordial hatred toward the strangers, 
 as the oppressors and vampires of their 
 country. Mary deeply partook of these sen- 
 timents ; but, even setting that aside, there 
 were too many highly estimable people 
 among the opposing party, in the opinion of 
 whom, a young girl would place herself in a 
 dubious light by publicly associating with 
 the officers of tiie army, who were not in the 
 best odor, on the score of morals. The whole 
 affair was, therefore, very unpleasant to 
 him, and he was just planning in which way 
 he should best make the proposal to his 
 mother, when he saw her with Mary and 
 several other ladies coming down the ter- 
 race. 
 
 Before he had made up his mind whether 
 to advance to meet them or not, Mary, who 
 had recognised him at a distance, came 
 skipping lightly towards him, exclaiming: 
 
 " There you are, brother ! Oh, how glad 
 I am to see you ! Come along with me, and 
 you shall see some old acquaintances." 
 
 Saying this, she drew him forward toward 
 the ladies, who had stopped, seemingly for 
 the purpose of awaiting Louis' approach. 
 
 Led on by Mary, he stepped nearer, some- 
 
 what abashed. An elderly lady and two 
 young girls were in company with his mother. 
 These last smiled pleasantly, as his \ook, 
 doubtful and prying, rested upon them. This 
 was, howevfer, but for a moment. 
 
 " My dear auntT' he suddenly exclaimed ; 
 " and, is it possible I Emma and Julia ?" 
 
 " To be" sure,'' said the elderly lady; " but 
 is it lawful to forget one's next of kin ?" 
 
 Louis kissed the aunt's hand ; how ta 
 salute the daughters was a more critical 
 point ; for, though he had spent most of his 
 boyish days with them, yet a certain diffidence 
 interposed between the grown-up young man 
 and the ripening young maidens. 
 
 Emma and Julia were near relatives ot 
 Louis, for their parent was his own mother's 
 sister, a widow, and she was living with hei 
 daughters on a small farm a few miles from 
 Dresden. 
 
 They had unexpectedly come to the city 
 with their mother to see the Emperor, and to 
 witness the public festivities announced to be 
 given in honor of his visit to Dresden. 
 
 The most friendly interest was mutually 
 manifested by all concerned, and the joy of 
 meeting would no doubt have been yet more 
 unequivocally manifested, had the publicity 
 of the place not imposed some restraint. 
 Mary, therefore, urged a speedy return home, 
 where they might exchange their greetings 
 with all the warmth of a family relationship. 
 
 Hardly had the party arrived* home, and 
 sat down, when a knocking was heard at the 
 door. It was Bernard, who walked in gaily, 
 saluting all present. 
 
 He was received with the greatest cor- 
 diality by the mother of Louis ; Julia and 
 Emma, too, remembered him very well, for , 
 he had formerly made them frequent presents 
 of his little sketches, to satisfy their Childish 
 importunities. 
 
 " You are surprised, Louis," he said, " to 
 see me here so much before the time ; but 
 there are important things going on, which I 
 must communicate. The whole court are 
 going to Pillnitz to-day, to ascend the Pors- 
 berg, and then to go down by torch-light. I 
 thought that the ladies perhaps would be 
 pleased to see the show, and it requires an 
 earlier start. Nobody but myself in all 
 Dresden knows anything of the affair, for the 
 MarshaJ*of the Court has just told me of it, 
 by which we are great gainers ; for we can, 
 through this, get a good place at Pillnitz." 
 
 This intelligence of Bernard's was hailed 
 with raptures by the two country Misses. 
 It was determined to hurry their departure, 4 
 but to take, instead of a boat, a couple of 
 carriages, the procuring of which Bernard 
 undertook, at the same time pledging him- 
 self to look up Count Rasinski and his young 
 
NAPOLOEN'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 31 
 
 companions, and Notify them of the altered 
 arrangement. 
 
 The clock had but just struck two, when 
 one of the carriages bespoke by Bernard 
 was at the door; the other came a few 
 minutes later, in which were already seated 
 the three officers with Bernard. Louis hast- 
 ened down to welcome them. 
 
 When the door of the parlor opened, and 
 Rasinski, with his lofty figure, entered, there 
 Was no mistaking the glad surprise depicted 
 in the countenances of the females. The 
 three girls blushed, from a dim, yet correct, 
 consciousness that their looks had betrayed 
 the impression made upon them by the gal- 
 lant Pole. Louis' mother, though by no 
 means unaccustomed to society above her 
 present condition, felt for a moment confused, 
 but the friendly manner of Rasinski quickly 
 dispelled these feelings. On Louis present- 
 ing him as " Count Rasinski," he said, 
 pleasantly : 
 
 " My claims on the friendship of your 
 son, madam, are too recent to justify my 
 complaint that he did not introduce me as his 
 friend, else the first word which passed be- 
 tween us must have been an accusation from 
 me. 
 
 " Yet my son," said the mother, " seems to 
 count greatly on the rights of friendship, 
 when venturing to introduce you to a circle 
 where nothing can be offered but such gifts as 
 take their value from the sincere friendship 
 which prompts them." 
 
 " These are the only ones which I covet, 
 which are precious to my heart above every- 
 thing else," answered Rasinski. 
 
 Louis now introduced his gallant friend 
 and companions to the rest of those present. 
 As the gentlemen declined taking the proffer- 
 ed refreshments, there was nothing to delay 
 their departure. Rasinski escorted Louis' 
 mother down stairs, the latter his aunt. The 
 first carriage was occupied by the aunt, 
 Mary, Bernard, and the two young officers. 
 The mother, Rasinski, Julia, Emma and 
 Louis followed in the second, and the party 
 set out for the pleasures of Pillnitz. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The plan of a visit to the Porsberg had 
 been so suddenly resolved upon at court, that 
 but very few persons in the city knew any- 
 thing about it, and consequently our pleasure- 
 party found Pillnitz entirely deserted. Louis 
 embraced this opportunity for engaging a 
 private room at the inn, fearing that by-and- 
 bye the attendance would be so large that a 
 
 place could not be had. The ladies having 
 re-adjusted their toilets, proceeded to the 
 garden, where the shady walks offered the 
 most agreeable retreat from the close sultry 
 heat. Later, in the cool of the evening, they 
 intended to ascend the mountain, as at that 
 time they would not be molested by the many 
 vehicles, the court not being expected to 
 reach the top till half an hour before sun- 
 down. 
 
 The promenaders passed their time quite 
 pleasantly. Travellers, and especially mili- 
 tary men, who have long led a wandering 
 life, succeed generally much sooner in be- 
 coming familiar than others. The anticipa- 
 tion of a speedy parting teaches us to prize 
 fleeting moments. We take far more notice 
 of him whom we can see only for a short 
 time, perhaps to be separated for ever, than 
 we do of him whose path we expect will run 
 parallel with ours. 
 
 It could not be otherwise but that girld 
 brought up in the quietude of country-life, 
 I of good parts and understanding, but whose 
 education had, from circumstances, been de- 
 ficient in many points, should be strongly at- 
 tracted by the conversation of two lively 
 youths, in whose breasts glowed the noble 
 flame of a patriotic and warlike enthusiasm. 
 Jaromir, moreover, inherited that popular, 
 artless vivacity of the Poles, which received 
 a new charm from the singular accent with 
 which he spoke the German lanjruage, and 
 the cQnsequently quaint and laughable man- 
 ner in which he communicated his narratives. 
 Boleslaus, on the contrary, was of a grave 
 demeanor ; but the dignity of his counte- 
 nance, his high brow of sculptured marble, 
 shaded by dark locks clustering around it, 
 and his fiery eyes, secured to him a warm 
 interest in every beholder. 
 
 The youthful couples enjoyed, therefore, 
 their happiness in all innocence, without 
 troubling themselves with theories respecting 
 its cause ; it pervaded and agitated their 
 bosoms, as does a fair day in spring ; the 
 balmy and soothing influence of which flows 
 from the hidd»in fountains of the soul, pro- 
 voking a general longing after something, 
 without fixing our gaze on any definite object 
 of hope. 
 
 As the two friends, Louis and Bernard, 
 proceeded aftier their companions and were 
 just entering a shady avenue into which the 
 latter had turned, they encountered two 
 strangers, one of whom was dressed very 
 studiously, and carried the red ribbon of the 
 " legion of honor" at his button-hole. The 
 other kept at a short distance behind, so that 
 he seemed to be a valei, or at most, a secre- 
 tary. They were followed at a still greater 
 distance, by two servants in livery. Salut- 
 ing the young men courteously, the gentle 
 
32 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 man with the ribbon passed them quickly, 
 while the other stopped a moment, and look- 
 ed back to the servants. On turning round 
 again, Louis and Bernard were close upon 
 him. He seemed struck with their appear- 
 ance. With a hasty bow and a searching 
 look, he passed on. Bernard, more struck 
 by the stranger's physiognomy, than the 
 stranger himself by his own, looked back 
 after him, and observed the stranger doing 
 the same. In the meantime they liad pass- 
 ed the servants unnoticed. 
 
 " I should know that face," said Bernard ; 
 " it seems to me I have seen it before, some- 
 where." 
 
 "I was struck with that face, too," an- 
 swered Louis ; " but I have no memory for 
 common-place "countenances or with which 
 some remarkable circumstance is not con- 
 nected." 
 
 " Unless he crossed our path yesterday or 
 to-day," said Bernard, in a light manner, 
 " thou mayest have seen him at the South- 
 Pole, and I at the North." 
 
 " He appeared as if he knew you or my- 
 self," answered Louis ; " at least he looked 
 very sharply at us." 
 
 " May be that he recollects us both, and is 
 astonished to encounter us here in the gar- 
 den of Pillnitz. It is provoking! I know 
 that th*^ fellow will spoil my temper for the 
 whole arternoon; for I am sure that I will 
 keep thinking of him all the time, just be- 
 cause I shall endeavor to banish him from 
 my mind." 
 
 During this conversation, the two friends 
 had overtaken their companions, when Ber- 
 nard attached himself to Mary, to whom Ra- 
 sinski hitherto had paid marked attention. 
 
 The time to ascend the mountain drew 
 nigh. At; this requires the labor of an hour, 
 Louis thought it proper that the ladies should 
 take Slime rest and refreshment before be- 
 ginning the enterprise ; which accordingly 
 they did at the inn. 
 
 They tfien set out on their pilgrimage. 
 The several paths leading up were already 
 quite animated with pedestrians. Men and 
 women of all classes and conditions, were 
 seen climbing towards the summit. Upon 
 Louis with, his party reaching the rums, his 
 mother declared that the climbing was pain- 
 ful to her, and that she must forego enjoying 
 the prospect from the top, and remain where 
 she was; which, indeed, was not disagree- 
 able, as she observed several well-known 
 families from the city, whom she could join. 
 Her sister was of the same mind, and re- 
 mained also. The young folks, therefore, 
 continued their way alone, while the ma- 
 trons seated themselves before a tent put up 
 in the bushes near the ruins, in which re- 
 freshments were sold. 
 
 Louis and Bernard, who knew the way, 
 were the guides. They sought, wherever 
 practicable, to leave the main road and to 
 select more quiet paths, which wound them- 
 selves along through the woods. They were 
 here surrounded by a pleasant green twilight ; 
 the turf, covered with fresh springing flowers, 
 gave out its delicious odors ; the sky peeped 
 through the canopy of foliage ; fountains 
 purled and skipped \n light mimic cascades 
 across the path, and then dashed their wind- 
 ing streams down the declivity ; the birds 
 sang their loud carols ; a thousand insects 
 were heard humming. Spring breathed and 
 lived in bush and forest, in water and in air, 
 steeping the soul with a dreamy delight. 
 Now and then an opening in the forest per- 
 mitted a glance down the mountain. Pill- 
 nitz was seen mirrored in the broad river ; 
 now the eye wandered far away over the 
 blue hills towards the boundaries of Bohe- 
 mia ; and on looking through another open- 
 ing behind, offering an uninterrupted view, 
 there was seen the entire mountain in its 
 green descent, deep down into the valley, the 
 road all alive with a thousand varying fig- 
 ures, and the ruin in the back-ground, lean- 
 ing against a dark slope of the mountain- 
 forest. The walk was thus mueh shortened 
 by the pleasant variety of scenery, and the 
 summit was reached, without effort, and 
 without any sensible fatigue. 
 
 Festive preparations were here in progress 
 for the reception of the august visitors. A 
 great number of laborers and gardeners' 
 daughters were busily engaged, under the 
 direction of the royal gardener, adorning the 
 place with wreaths and festoons of flowers. 
 A splendid tent had been pitched on the 
 green sward, and even the ancient watch- 
 tower, from the pinnacles of which one could 
 see only over the tops of the neighboring 
 trees, was ornamented with flowers, present^ 
 ing a strange anomaly with the old crumbling 
 stones. Bernard cast a hasty glance over 
 the whole, and said : 
 
 " Very pretty ; not exactly artistlcal, yet 
 festive and gay. But you should have let 
 the tower alone, good people ! It looks as if 
 you were putting wreaths of flowers on the 
 bald pate of an octagenarian. ' FloVers be- 
 long to youth — wreaths are for bright flowing 
 locks." 
 
 So saying, he took, without farther cere- 
 mony, a just finished wreath from the hands 
 of one of the flower-girls, and with a dexter- 
 ous aYid graceful motion, pressed it on 
 Mary's bright brown curls. " The queen of 
 Spring!" he cried. 
 
 " Beautiful !" said Julia and Emma, look- 
 ing at Mary. 
 
 Bernard's idea found so much favor, that 
 Rasinski, slipping a few. coins into the hand 
 
vT 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 33 
 
 of the flbwer-girl), obtained two similar 
 wreaths, which lie presented to Emma and 
 Julia ; insisting that they also must decorate 
 themselves in the same way. They at tirst 
 declined, blushingly and with girlish dread 
 of making themt^elves appear singular ; bni. 
 Mary pressing them to cottiply, they finally 
 gave in. Yet they were mainly induced to 
 do this from the cir^mstance, of which all 
 now first became ^aware to tiieir surprise, 
 that they found themselves quite alone among 
 the worksnen, as no one of tlie spectator» 
 had arrived so high up. For this, they had, 
 unknown to them, to thank the officers, par- 
 ticularly Ras^inski ; for orders had been 
 issued to admit no one not belonging to the 
 court, beyond certain limits on the mountain ; 
 and to enforce this, sentries had been posted 
 on the inain-paih ; the smaller side-paths 
 were left unguarded. Two sentries were at 
 the top, but as Rasinski wore his rich uni- 
 form, and was accompanied by two young 
 officers, it was believed by the soldierB that 
 he had the amplest right and privilege to re- 
 main on the mountain. 
 
 They now ascended the tower ; Rasinski 
 offered his arm to Mary, to assist her up the 
 narrow st^ps. It was not the first time that 
 she had enjoyed the rich prospect, but still 
 its beauty aU^ays gave ner renewed pleas- 
 ure. Looking away over the dense green- 
 wood, which hitlierto had barred the prospect, 
 the eye wandered over the tall, graceful tree- 
 tops, wavincr to and fro in the wind, to an 
 alnK>8t unlimited distance. The greater part 
 of the surrounding country is extended in 
 imdulating hills, crowned with growing grain 
 and verdant forest, between which pictur- 
 esque villages and towns are scattered pro- 
 fusely, riiglier ridges of mountain rose up 
 around this beautiful panorama, like the rug- 
 ged shores of a placid sea^ set in diamonds. 
 The broad silvei celt of the Elbe, divides the 
 landscape into two distinct parts. The eye 
 dwells deliglited on the beautiful images re- 
 flected by the river, from the blue misty tow- 
 ers and steeples of Dresden, ever the vine- 
 yards of Ijoschwitz, to the rugged mountain- 
 peaks of Konigstein and Lilieustein. In the 
 midst of this tapestry, woven in variegated 
 colors, stands the green blooming mountain 
 itself, with its now gen'.le*, now abrupt slopes 
 and dells, as the heart of this wide-reaching 
 panorama. To the charm of a. wonder-in- 
 spiring prospect, it unites romantic and truly 
 picturesque views,*while the scenery in the 
 distance belongs less to painting than poetry ! 
 While all were engaged admiring the scene, 
 a dark, grey cloud arose above the moun- 
 tain. At the same time a hollow murmur 
 was heard, and the trees of the forest-clad 
 hills were seen waving and tossing to and fro. 
 A riolent gust of wind swept round the tower,' 
 
 and by the suddeness of the attack came 
 very near carrying off the shawls and bon- 
 nets of the ladies. 
 
 The girls looked at each other, perplexed 
 and anxious. The storm threatened to be- 
 come very violent, and was now so close 
 upon them, that escape was out of question. 
 1 heir situation was, therefore, somewhat 
 critical. But the spectacle in the meantime 
 i^ssumed so interesting a character, that in 
 some measure it crowded out their appre- 
 hensions. The black, portentous clouds 
 rolled up in heavy masses from the easterly 
 horizon, and gradually shrouded the moun- 
 tain in their grey mantle. The river, 
 roughly curled b} thfe wind, wound its dark 
 way under the vault of the lowering sky, 
 reflecting its shadow from the deep. In the 
 west, the clear light of the purest ether 
 shone from under the beetling clouds, which, 
 piled together before the sun's di;«k, were 
 bordered with a bright fringe of gold. 
 
 "Sublime!" cried Bernard, "I would 
 willingly give a dozen clear, sunshiny days 
 for a storm like fliis. What illuminations 
 arc thrown npon the landscape ! Night and 
 day pitc%fd together in sharp contest I Look, 
 how the Sonnenstein still shines over there 
 near Pima, and flashes against the dark-blue 
 clouds, piling up behind it. And the white 
 sails there on the Elbe, which float avi'ay 
 like sea-gnlls over the grey flood; the craft 
 really leave a track of foam behind them." 
 
 " It rains hard over there," remarked Louis, 
 pointing his finger to a certain point. •-, 
 " Where ?" asked Mary. 
 " There, on the right from the Konigstein, 
 where you. see those thick grey and violet 
 streaks shooting out of the bosom of the 
 cloud toward the earth ; it is very plain that 
 the rain is drawing more and more towards 
 the west." 
 
 " Could we possibly reach Pillnitz, before 
 the storm breaks out in earliest ? " asked 
 Mary. 
 
 " Hardly," answered Louis ; " and I would 
 advise no-one to make the attempt, for we can 
 all find shelter here in the little vault of the 
 tower, which they certainly will open to us. 
 But perhaps the storm may pass by alto- 
 gether, for the wind seems to increa.se so 
 much, that it may easily drive the clouds 
 away over our heads." 
 
 And so indeed it was, for the clouds, torn 
 in pieces, f-cuddcd away over the mountain- 
 peak, gathering their forces together on the 
 other side of the stream in a more compact 
 array, so that Louis' prediction seemed 
 about to bo verified. While they were yet 
 talking about it, a horseman came at a full 
 gallop up the mountain path. He brought 
 the intelligence to the head-gardener that 
 the ascent by torch-light had been suddenly 
 
 
 
 :M. 
 
t. '■t v^iv^fm 
 
 34 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 postponed, and that consequently, all prepa- 
 rations for the reception of the august party 
 were to be discontinued. The workmen, 
 on receiving this warning, hurried to put on 
 their laid-aside garments. The flower girls 
 threw their handkerchiefs over their heads, 
 and hastened down the mountain. 
 
 These proceedings, and especially the 
 flight of the women, naturally excited appre- 
 hension in the minds of the young girls. 
 Mary suggested that they might reach a 
 shelter, as well ^s the others, and perhaps 
 there might be some dwelling in the neigh- 
 borhood to rec^ve them. Louis quickly 
 ran down the stairs of the tower to enquire 
 of the»head-gardener. The latter was busily 
 engaged in having the tent ^ruck and the 
 implements used in its erection, put awsty in 
 the vault of the tower. To Louis' question 
 he answered, that they certainly might yet 
 reach Pillnitz in safety, as the passage down 
 the mountain could be made with much 
 more despatch than up ; and besides, the 
 weather here on the summit, wliere they 
 overlooked the entire horizon, always sgemed 
 more threatening and imminenlj^han it ac- 
 tually was. An hour might yet pass Ijefore 
 tJie rain would cpme. But if the ladies and 
 gentlemen should prefer to remain where 
 they were, he would willingly give them the 
 key to the little narrow room in the tower ; 
 this however, being now filled with tools 
 chairs and tables, was hardly capable of 
 holding even a few persons. 
 
 Louis thankfully accepted the offer, and 
 promised carefully to lock the door, and to 
 leave the key in Pillnitz. However experi- 
 enced the gardener might be, it appeared 
 now that he had deceived himself with 
 regard to the proximity of the storm. Louis 
 wished at least to leave it to the choice of 
 the ladies v;hether they would rather return, 
 than abide in the not very pleasant asylum 
 offered. lie took the key, therefore, and 
 hastened up the steps, to lay the matter be- 
 fore them. The votes were divided. The 
 men, especially Bernard, were strongly in 
 favor of remaining, as evidently no place of 
 refuse could be gained before the out-break- 
 ing of the storm in all its fury. The ladies 
 were disposed to commence an immediate 
 descent, mainly from a consideration of the 
 anxiety which their mothers must suffer 
 from their non-appearance. Their voices 
 being entitled to the greatest share of regard, 
 it was resolved to depart. But as Mary, 
 conducted by Rasinski, placed her foot on 
 the topmost step of ilie steep and narrow 
 stairs, a flash of ligfitning seemed to set all 
 in a blaze. Mary, l)linded and terrified by 
 tlie shock, drew hastily back, but her foot 
 slipped, and, but for Rasinski guickly seiz- 
 ing her, she might have had a terrible fall ; 
 
 at least, so imminent seemed the danger, 
 that Emma and Julia, who saw her totter, 
 rushed towards her, uttering a piercing cry 
 of terror. But Mary had quickly recovered 
 herself. 
 
 Rasinski supported her very carefully, 
 and helped her down with great caution. 
 When they had reached tlie ground, he first 
 noticed that she walked with some difficulty. 
 " The foot pviins me a little," she answered, 
 on his questioning her, " but it will soon be 
 over." She tried to command some twinges 
 of pain and to step boldly ; but she was una- 
 ble to do so ; the foot doubled under her, and 
 she had to hold firmly to Rasinski to avoid 
 sinking to the ground. 
 
 " I shall have to await the storm hero,** 
 she said ; " for I cannot possibly hurry 
 down." 
 
 " Not evep if I support you on the other 
 side, dear Mary ?" asked Louis, taking her 
 right ami. 
 
 Alary .essayed a few steps, and then said, 
 while the strug^e against pain was plainly 
 seen in her features, " I believe not even so." 
 
 "Let us carry her down," cried Bernard 
 with energy. 
 
 " No. no," said Mary, with a placid smile, 
 accompanied by a deprecating motion of the 
 hand ; " I can very well stay here ; Louis 
 will stay with me." 
 
 " Then we will all stay,'' cried Julia reso- 
 lutely, which resolution Emma immediately 
 seconded. 
 
 " I really think it will be the best thing we 
 can do," said Louis, " for the rain begins to 
 fall. Probably it will soon be p\^er, as it sets 
 in with such violence." 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 The last remaining workmen had now 
 left the place : the head-gardener was already 
 gone. Louis, who still had the key, was 
 therefore fully at liberty to make his arrange- 
 ments in the tower. He opened the narrow 
 receptacle, which being filled with tables, 
 chairs, tent-poles, and many other articles 
 piled up in disorder, hardly allowed the en- 
 trance of so many persona, much less any 
 convenience or comfort. The gentlemen set 
 vigorously to work to procure more room by 
 putting things together in a more compact 
 order ; they succeeded finally, so that they 
 could place eight chairs together for the 
 eight individuals present; the door had to be 
 left open to admit air and light, for it was 
 impracticable to effect a side-cpenlng, as the 
 windows were placed so high up. They 
 
NAPOLEON'S TNTASION XJF HUSSIA. 
 
 35 
 
 •were just in time witli the completion of the 
 arrangement. Large drops of rain were fall- 
 ing, and the wind lulled. A loud cls^p of 
 thunder just above the heads of the party 
 seemed to tear the heavy clouds into shreds, 
 and to open the windows of heaven. Big 
 pattering hail-stooes intermixed with sleet, 
 camt' down with the pouring rain. The ten- 
 der foliage of the trees was torn from the 
 branches with desolating vehemence. The 
 refugees might indeed congratulate them- 
 -selves that tiey had not ventured on the de- 
 scent. The three young girls sat together 
 pale and silent. Mary suffered great pain ; 
 sitting between Julia and Emma, she leaned 
 gently against the latter, while the former 
 affectionately held one of her hands. 
 
 The greatest violence of the storm endured 
 for about half an hour, when it began to 
 abate ; the lightning became less vivid, and 
 the rain, though yet pouring fast, had in 
 some measure moderated. 
 
 The girls laegan to breathe freer, and ^n- 
 
 ' joyed the pleasurable sensation experienced 
 
 after the passing away of inconvenience or 
 
 of danger, which in generous minds always 
 
 awakens a sweet emotion. 
 
 Bernard exclaimed : " It is too close here 
 in this cage; k must have some fresh air!" 
 With these words he sprang out in the open 
 air, wheie the refreshing spring-shower, now 
 falling only like a silvery mist, soon cooled 
 his glowing cheeks. Louis also stepped out. 
 They .proceeded together to the other side of 
 the tower, from whence they had a more 
 open prospect. 
 
 "It will rain this way for twenty-four 
 hours yet," said Bernard ; " but listen to 
 what I would say. Thou hast a sister, who 
 is worth more than thou and I put together. 
 Certes, she is not so bad, for a v/oman, and 
 I believe loves thee better than thoti dese-rv- 
 est. Tears have always been iny decided 
 aversion ; that is, in my own peepers, else I 
 would not go bail that I would loolj upon 
 thee with so friendly an eye." 
 
 " There is a tear in thine eye, now," said 
 Louis, " which thou needest not be asham- 
 ed of." 
 
 "All fudge and nonsense, man!" cried 
 Bernard v«xedly ; " nothing but a drop of 
 rain that fell on my cheek. I tell thee, that 
 tears in a man's eye are as al)horreHt to me 
 us a trooper's 03.tli, or mustaches on the lips 
 of a girl ; I do not even like to see women 
 weep, for it is contagious; hut only the 
 reality, understand ; lor I will not deny that 
 I love to sketch female countenances ia sor- 
 row, and can prove it on tlie spot." 
 
 So sayin?, he drew forth a sketch-book 
 with parchmrnt leaves, which he always 
 carried about him. 
 " In this little book," he said, " there is 
 
 many a face worth looking at, though blue 
 eyes do not always exhibit the smile of the 
 placid blue sky. Thy sister should most 
 assuredly be added, were it not that the un- 
 lucky rain prohibits one from doing any 
 thing. In feet, I should like to sketch the 
 entire group.; even that god of war, Rasin- 
 ski, who like the majestic eagle, shelters the 
 three doves under his wing." 
 
 " I &m glad that thou hast the sketches 
 with thee," replied Louis, " for I am afraid 
 we shall -have a tedious rain, and expectation 
 deferred makes the time seem doubly long. 
 If then we can beguile tfn hour with the 
 ■ladies, it would be a great thing indeed. Let 
 us' go in and show your book to the girls." 
 
 'iWe have examined the weather," began 
 tLouis, as they regained the company; " the 
 rain will gradually exhaust itself. In tl^ 
 mean time our friend Bernard will amuse 
 us with his fiketch-book, and thus we shall 
 finally be the gainers by our misfortunes." 
 
 " And are not the dealings of Providence 
 ever thus ?" said Mary, with a smile. 
 
 " CertjMtily," Bernard answered, " and I 
 will endeavor particularly to profit by them ; 
 For if I am to exhibit my little portfolio, it 
 would bdHmpracticable to have it pass from 
 hand to hand at the turning over of every 
 leaf, so I must be the interpreter. I must 
 therefore beg of you to obey my directions for 
 a mon^nt, while I make such arrangements 
 as shall secure to me the most enviable 
 place." 
 
 All were willJKg to yield to this pream- 
 ble. Bernard then placed four chairs in a 
 row, the light one nearest the door. Here 
 he 'made Mary take her seat, took his own 
 nest to her, •and placed £mnia and Julia on 
 his left. The remaining four gentlemen 
 took-standing .places behind. ^ 
 
 " WeH," said Bernard, " I aga going to 
 begin ; but-one thing I must stipulate. You 
 may ask any thing you please about men, 
 landscapes, about names, condition and loca- 
 tion ; but the female heads must remain 
 incog., for really I cannot allow every body 
 to look into secrets of this kind." 
 
 All acquiesced in this law, and with great 
 alacrity commenced examining the sketches. 
 Most of them, like the painter himself, were 
 bold and animated, taking their character 
 from a few fearless touches, more prominent 
 and sharp than carefully filled up, and sel- 
 dom ornamental or elegant. But withal he 
 had shown the more delicate graces of his 
 pencil. The contents of the book consisted 
 of sketches, romantic clusters of rocks, 
 groups of trees, now and then an entire land- 
 scape ; interspersed, were characteristic 
 heads nlf various nations, Norwegian fisher- 
 men, a hunter of the eider-duck, a dairy of 
 reindeers ; and such, like. In fine, every thing 
 
■ .'^T^T^' J 
 
 'A 
 
 EIGJITEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 was striking and characteristic, and owing 
 to llie nature of tlie objects, uncommonly at- 
 tractive. 
 
 " You will observe," said Bernard, turn- 
 ing leaf after leaf, " this highlander with Jivs 
 daugliter ; the sketch behind them is a part 
 of ' Loch liatrine.' Civilization now ad- 
 vances with every leaf, for before long we 
 will find ourselves in. the midst of the best 
 London society. Look ; there is, as I live, a 
 lady, whom 1 sketched by stealih, as she sat 
 on llie terrace in front of her cottage orn«ie, 
 whiJe I was hid in an elder bush." 
 
 They went on turning over the lea\«e8. 
 Some caricatures followed next, then some 
 pretty country-girl, perhaps. Finally they 
 were in Loudon. As he had already said, 
 Bernard passed by the female figures with- 
 out comment. Here and there was found a 
 sweet modest English ftice among the wanton 
 and debauched. 
 
 " Oh, how pretty 1" cried Mary, as Ber- 
 hard turned over a new. leaf, "how very 
 beautiful I" 
 
 Rcisinski stooped over- Mary's shoulder, 
 his attention being clmllenged holier excla- 
 mation. Almost in amazement, he cried also : 
 " By heavens ! a chnrnaing head." 
 
 "Indescribably ! " chimed in Mary ; " but 
 who is she ? This one you must inform us 
 about." 
 
 " But what if I had laid down my rule pre- 
 cisely on account of this head ?" answered 
 Bernard; "it is not so, certainly, yet lam 
 obliged to adhere to it. I purloined this face, 
 as Prometheus did the divine spark from 
 heaven, at the King's Theatre in London. 
 It was there I stole this head, with its soft, 
 passionate beauty." 
 
 " Oh, how affecting those tears are !"'said 
 Mary. 
 
 LotIs, who, not to incommode Rasinski, 
 had hitherto kept himself behind, now leaned 
 over to look at the portrait. To his amaze- 
 ment, he recognised — the likeness cf Bianca. 
 An involuntary, lialf-smothered cry escaped 
 liis lips. 
 
 " And could you really not learn anything 
 about her ?" Mary repeated. " Such a lovely 
 being could not remain unknown even in 
 that great Babylon of the world." 
 
 " Upon my word [ know nothing," answer- 
 ed Bernard. " I made some effort, it is true, 
 but with very bad success ; how, I will tell 
 you directly. The mild dignity of that coun- 
 tenance, the unspeakably touching grief 
 therein depicted — for, to tell the truth, I have 
 achieved only a caricature of the original — 
 made me almost — why should I not acknow- 
 ledge it — well nigh delirious, as I sat on my 
 seat in the pit. I would have that face, I' 
 vowed irrevocably to myself; but how should 
 I take it without attracting attention ? My 
 
 next neighbor was a merchant, who for at. 
 long period had resided in Constantinople, 
 and had there become somewhat addicted to 
 the use of oriental tropes and figures of 
 speech. We happened to be sUghtly ac- 
 quainted. This man noticed that I kept) 
 looking steadfastly at a certaiij), box in the 
 first tier, instead of on the stage, thougli 
 Juliet, on the stage, had just taken her fare- 
 well of Romeo. He said: 'That is a face 
 worth painting, sir ; especially when out of 
 the blue heavens of her eyes the moi.<t pearls 
 of its dewy essence glitters among the rose- 
 buds of her cheeks.' She was at the time, 
 you will observe-, shedding the sweetest tears 
 I ever beheld. ' Yes, yes, indeed, by Jove !' 
 said I ; ' but where, £(^d' how ?' ' Up there 
 is an empty box,' be whispered, 'which affords 
 the best possible point ol view ; if you enter 
 that, and leave tlieVoor of the lobby a little 
 aslant, it v.ull admit just so much liglit to fall 
 upon your leaf as you need, and you your- 
 self remain concealed m the .';iiadow.' 
 
 " I made all' speed .to follov/ this advice. 
 My position was pcrtoctly favorable; Isatin 
 the recess of the box quite unobserved, look- 
 ing that divine creature right in the face, 
 while her suflused eyes v. ere steadily direct- 
 ed toward the stage. Tlie deliyhlfut robbery 
 succeeded as adrnirably as ft was possible in 
 such circumstances. Absorbed in mv task, 
 I had not noticed that some one had entered 
 the bo.x. All at once, a harsh, disagreeable 
 voice called out: ' Sir !'^ — I started; — 'One 
 word with you, sir \* said the voice, which 
 belonged to a man of about thirty, wiio 
 beckoned me to come out into the corridor. 
 I perceived what the thing meant, and of 
 course fbllowed him. The unknown pre- 
 ceded me into the street. When tliere, he 
 began questioning me about what right I had 
 to take the portrait of a lady without her 
 knowledge, and so forth. I gave him short 
 answers, and we got quite warm. The up- 
 shot of it was, that a meeting was appointed 
 for the next morning, at eight o'clock, jn" 
 Hyde Park. The stranger then left me, 
 without again entering the theatre ; I, on the 
 contrary, retraced my steps to my box, in 
 order to give the portrait a few more touches. 
 But it was only to find the one opposite 
 entirely deserted. The beautiful creature 
 had vanished. I asked the door-keeper. — 
 'They have just left in their carriage,' was 
 the answer, but he knew nothing itbout who 
 they were. I hastened down into the pit, to 
 my merchant. He was no longer there. ^\y 
 only consolation now was the meeting i:i 
 Hyde Park, where I hoped at least to learu 
 the name of my antagonist. At half-past 
 seven, punctually, I was there ; but if I had 
 stood there till this hour, I believe no one 
 would have come. In fhort, I lof,; every 
 
UAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 37 
 
 trace, for even (he merchant did the same 
 day saddenly sail for the Levant, without my 
 being able to see him. 1 liave since shown 
 the lilteness to intimate friends, but no one 
 knows it. In vain did I frequent all the 
 theatres of liondon every night for three 
 months — never missing a representation of 
 Romeo and Juliet; but never have I suc- 
 ceeded in discovering the least trace or track 
 of my beautiful incognito." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Bernard's narrative had so fully rivetted 
 =die attention of every one, that it was not 
 observed that the rain had in the meantime 
 re-commenced, and that the darkness of night 
 ■began to spread around them. 
 
 Mary now first became aware of it, and 
 began to fefl some little anxiety. She tried 
 if she were able to v/alk, and would in that 
 case boldly face the weather ; but she found 
 it impracticable ; the foot was swollen very 
 much, and she suffered acute pain. Louis, 
 suffering under hk recent shock, stood buried 
 in deep thought, Mary gently took his 
 hand, and said, in a low voice : 
 
 " What shall we do now, dear brother 3 
 We are truly in a predicament ; I feel that I 
 cannot walk down, even if the weather should 
 clear off." 
 
 Louis reflected a moment, and then said: 
 
 " Now that the storm has set in again, the 
 matter is easily decided. 1 will go down, 
 and will send up the carriage for you. I am 
 so uneasy that I really long for a cooling 
 shower ; and it is high time, else night will 
 set in before the carriage comes up." 
 
 A contention now arose among the young 
 men, who should be the one to accompany 
 Louis. He himself would have bee^ clad tp 
 take Bernard with him, so as to question him 
 touching Bianca ; but, at the same time, it 
 seemed to him more proper that as an older 
 friend of the house, he should staj', so tlwit 
 the three gii'ls would not be left alone with 
 the officefs. He therefore declined all com- 
 pany, though Rasinski and his military 
 friends offered their services. 
 
 "It is entirely unnecessary," said Louis, 
 as they pressed liim with friendly importu- 
 nity. "One is quite sufficient; why, then, 
 trouble two persons aboKt it ?" 
 
 Without farther parley, then, he left, pro- 
 mising that in about an hour's time the car- 
 riage should be tliere to take them away. 
 
 The stipulated time passed amidst some 
 anxiety ; for, after their natural protector 
 
 and kinsman had left them, the girls began 
 distinctly to feel the awkwardness of their 
 position. 
 
 The rain kept pouring down furiously ; a 
 grey fog rolled itself around the mountain ; 
 gradually it grew quite dark. An hour had 
 now elapsed. Mary lioped every minute to 
 hear the carriage coming. She listened in- 
 tensely to every noise, in the b<:)pe of hearing 
 the crack of a wWp. By-and-bye she became 
 quite uneasy ; half an hour beyond the time 
 fixed had passed away without any sign of 
 the wished-for succor. 
 
 Night had now fully sot inr. Even cal- 
 culating on the rain and the beclouded state 
 of the sky, it must be quite late. Mary now 
 and then asked Bernard, in a low tone, what 
 o'clock it was ; at first lie gave her delusive 
 answets, but finally told her that he no longer 
 could see the time by his watch. 
 
 Mary was not disquieted by their own situa- 
 tion alone ; she began nov/ to tremble f >t the 
 safety of others. Had anything happened to 
 Louis, or to her mother ? To this was added 
 the pain of her foot, which had gradually 
 become so intense as to produce a slight 
 fever. 
 
 Neither Bernard, nor the other men, could 
 shut theif eyes to the conviction that some- 
 thing extraordinary must have happened, for 
 two hours had now elapsed since Louis had 
 departed. They began, therefore, to delib- 
 erate among themselves what was to be done, 
 and whether duty to their fi^nd ditJ not re- 
 quire them seriously to investigate the mat- 
 ter. Bernard considered it best to make a 
 clean breast, so as not to inorease the alarna 
 of the girls by a mysterious heiritancy, which, 
 after ail, conld not be maintstined. All 
 agreed in this. He therefore told Mary 
 plainly that he began to feel uneasy himself, 
 and considered it a duty to make searsli after 
 Louis. 
 
 Mary. responded by a pressure pf the hand, 
 for it had weighed on her heart a great v/hile 
 to beg of the gentlemen the very .service 
 which they ueiv voluntarily offered. But she 
 shrunk from it, both because they might look 
 upon her alarm as groundless, and because 
 she thought it would be asking too much 
 from them. 
 
 Bernard, beinj^ be.st acquainted v.ith the 
 road, under-took, with Jaromir, to go down; 
 Rasinski, as beinjj the oldest amon<r«them, 
 staid behind to protect the ladies, and kept 
 Boleslaus by him, as it was problematical 
 whether Mary's condition would not require 
 two men's help, 
 
 Bernard and Jaromir started. They pro- 
 mised that, happen what mitrht, they would 
 bring of send inielligence. Though the rain 
 fell in torrents, and they could not see a hand 
 before them, the travellers found little difli- 
 culty at first in following the right track 
 
38 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR', 
 
 They reached the ruin without accident, and 
 already thought themselves quite Hear their 
 destination, when all at once they found 
 themselves away from the road, floundering 
 througli the long, thick grass. They sought 
 to regain the path, but in vain. Not to lose 
 time, they resolved to press right ahead, down 
 through brush-wood, high grass or grain, as 
 they could not fail of the main bearing of the 
 way. This, however, was not so easily 
 done ; first, they found themselves impeded 
 by a pretty wide and deep ditch, which the 
 rain had filled, and after they finally effected 
 a passage ovtr that, were brought up all 
 standing against a thick and prickly hedge. 
 They had to grope their way along the hedge 
 the best way they could, to find an opening, 
 or eUe an end to it ; but were suddenly 
 checked by another fence running at angles 
 with the first, which compelled them to begin 
 climbing up the mountain again. Fortu- 
 nately, Bernard discovered a spot where they 
 could easily get over the fence. After doing 
 this, ihoy perceived a light at some distance, 
 which appeared as if proceeding from one of 
 the out-buildings belonging to the palace. 
 Could they only rea>ch that, they would, easily 
 find the inn. They soon noticed, however, 
 that the light waa not stationary, but moved 
 towards them ; they saw people with two 
 lanterns. Rejoiced to fall in with some one, 
 they proceeded to meet them, and soon step- 
 ped on tlje trodden path on which the others 
 were approacMlng. Bernard and Jaromir 
 being concealed by the darkness, and the 
 other party exposed by the light from the 
 lanterns, there was no difficulty to discern, 
 even at a distance, that it was composed of 
 two French gens d'armes, probably conveying 
 a prisoner. 
 
 Bernard, in his roamings through life, had 
 learned to exercise cauiion ; and to Jaromir, 
 in his calling as an officer of light dragoons, 
 it had become, as it were, a second nature 
 always to observe the tactics of a patrol 
 when in the dark. A mutual nudge was all 
 that was necessary, flierefor'e, to induce them 
 to suffer the people with the lanterns first to 
 come nearer, and to scrutinise them from 
 some dark nook by the wayside. Judge their 
 amazement, as the gens d'armes drew "nearer, 
 to discover Louis walking between them — a 
 surprise not at all relieved by Bernard recog- 
 nising in a fourth person^ closely wrapped 
 up in a large foul-weather cloak, and also 
 carrying a lantern, the identical individual 
 on horseback whom they had encountered 
 in the j>arden that afternoon ! 
 
 A slight pressure of the hand was suffi- 
 cient to keep the younj; men perfectly still. 
 Holding their breath, and standing close to 
 ff!p nnnti of a tree, they let the party pass 
 by aoout fifty paces in advance, when they 
 fallowed them very cautiously, the feeble 
 
 light thrown back from the lanterns assisting 
 tliem materially in keeping unseen. Ber- 
 nard had too much confidence in Louis, and 
 had known him too long, not to suspect at 
 once that there must either be some egregious 
 mistake, or, as in those days, alas ! was but 
 too common, some political move or villany 
 at the bottom ; which last, in fact, appeared 
 the most likely,, from the presence and co- 
 operation of the ubiquitous stranger. This 
 idea fi"xed itself so strongly in his mind, that 
 lie determined, at all hazards, to liberate 
 Louis from his sudden captivity. In those, 
 times, the only possible means of rescuing 
 the victim from the grasp of the minions iu 
 power, was to seize the very first moment to 
 deliver him, when probably he might bo 
 saved, and remain unmolested thereafter. He 
 whispered, therefore, to Jaromir : 
 
 "1 am afraid there is some villanous plot 
 going on. Could we only at this instant 
 manage to rescue our friend from the hands 
 of these men, we would soon find means to 
 save him from farther harm. Will you assist 
 me in the enterprise 1" 
 
 Jaromir, well knowing what risk he in- 
 curred by meddling with a guard, especially 
 with the almost sacred persons of the frenctv 
 gens d'armes, viewed the undertaking very 
 questionably ; but, on the other hand, he felt 
 so strong a friendship fo(| Louis, that he 
 thought lie could not refuse ; he possessed,, 
 besides, that buoyant quality of youth vvhicli 
 scans only the surface in calculating the con- 
 sequences of actions, or may be it was merely 
 a deeply-engraved trait of the Polish charac- 
 ter, which boldly rushes into a daring scheme,, 
 and either will not, or cannot stop to weigh 
 the issue. He gave his hearty assent to "the 
 proposal. 
 
 " Well, then," said Bernard, " you perceive 
 the road is elevated ; here, on the right of 
 us, runs a small ditch along the bottom of the 
 hill, deep enough, I'll warrant, to keep the 
 fellow who falls into it floundering about for 
 some lime •, on the 1< It.the road slopes down. 
 Now, if we softly follow the gens d'armes, 
 and suddenly rush upon them, we can tumble 
 one into the ditch, the other down the slope, 
 and then together topple over the man in the 
 big cloak. We shall in this way gain time 
 enough to make our escape with I^ouis." 
 
 There was no need for farther parley. On 
 tiptoe, but swiftly, t.he two friends followed 
 the party conducting the prisoner; unper- 
 ceived, they approached within ten steps of 
 them. Louis walked, as before, between the 
 two gens d'armes, the one on the left tread- 
 ing close to the edge of the path,, and the 
 other to the right, near the ditch. A few 
 paces in advance was the man in the cloak 
 with the lantern. 
 
 " 1 take the one to the right," whisnered 
 Bernard. "Now I" . 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 With the impetuosity of the war-steed, the 
 spirited assailants rushed on together, at the 
 same limo raising a horrible cry. Before 
 the gens d'armes could turn round, the two 
 runners charged upon them witii such irre- 
 sistible force that they dropt right and left, 
 as their assailants intended. According to 
 the preconcerted plan, the young men were 
 now about to rush upon the suspicious 
 stranger ; buf he saved them the trouble, for 
 he no sooner heard the shout than he hurled 
 the lantern far from him, and ran with all his 
 might down the road. Bernard did not think 
 it best to pursue him, but cried hastily to 
 Louis, who stood transfixed with astonish- 
 ment : 
 
 " We are your good friends ; fly wifh us 
 for your life !" 
 
 Louis, recognising his deliverers, did not 
 tarry ; the lantern of the gens d'armes having 
 been extinsuished in its fall, favored their 
 singular escape by an impenetrable dark- 
 ness. 
 
 The three young men now hurried back 
 in the dark, on the way they had come. 
 Bernard, at a full run, called out to the 
 others to follow him. 
 
 They had already run a good piece, when 
 they heard two shots fired behind them. 
 These procee led from the gens d'armes, who 
 discharjred their carbines in the direction of 
 the fugitives. 
 
 " Fire away !" cried Bernard ; " we don't 
 even hear the whizzing of your balls, much 
 less do they hit us !" 
 
 From the distance of the shots, as well as 
 from the time elapsed before they had been 
 fired, the runners might with safety conclude 
 that they were now perfectly secure. S:ill 
 they continued their route with all possible 
 speed. They came to a side path leading to 
 the left up t!ie mountain, which Bernard fol- 
 lowed ; having ascended about a hundred 
 paces, he said : 
 
 " Let us go slower, or else we shall lose 
 breath and strength ! — for the present wje are 
 safe ; but don't speak." 
 
 They now clambered np the path in silence. 
 Bernard listened now and then to detect if 
 they W3re pursued. All was still. In a 
 quarter of an hour, when they had reached a 
 thickly-grown spot of brush-wood, they eould 
 reasonably consider themselves clear from 
 all harm.' 
 
 " What are wo to do now ?" he ^sked, as 
 he came to a halt. 
 
 " First of all," said Louis, eagerly seizing 
 the hands of his companions, " accept my 
 warmest thanks, dearest friends. But ex- 
 plain to me how you became aware of my 
 arrest, and by what miracle you have effected 
 ray rescue." 
 
 Bernard .then related the accidental dis- 
 
 covery, and explained the secret motives of 
 his resolution. " 
 
 " You are indeed both my friends," replied 
 Louis, much moved ; " for I believe that I 
 was near my destruction. But what have 
 you not ventured !" he ad^ded, with. appre- 
 hension, as he embraced them both warmly, 
 
 " Ventured ?" said Bernard ; " nothing 
 that I am aware oft The whole affair, at 
 the worst, is only a student's freak, for which 
 they cannot hang u«, even if they should ap- 
 prehend us. But how can that be ? Who 
 knows, or suspects us ? We might now 
 boldly run right under the noses of the two 
 gens d'armes, and neither of them would be the 
 wiser on the score of knowing to wliom they 
 are indebted for the bath in the mud-puddle. 
 But what could have induced them to lay 
 their hands on you, Louis ?" 
 
 " The tale is wonderful enough, and yet, 
 an enigma to myself. It is so involved that 
 I had rather teJl it to you more at leisure, at 
 some other opportunity." 
 
 " Very well ;" Bernard answered. •' But 
 still we must know the leading points now, 
 so as to be able to act upon them and to 
 determine where you may be safest. Can 
 you, do you think, return to Dresden without 
 danger ?" 
 
 " I- believe not," answered Louis : " but I 
 will give you an outline of my story. You 
 remember the man in the garden, whom we 
 thought we had seen before ?" 
 
 " Certainly : go on." 
 
 " As I came down the mountain, and had 
 reached the ruins, I found there a great 
 many people, who had sought shelter from 
 the rain. Naturally, I looked about to see 
 whether my mother and my aunt were among 
 them. I did not find them. Most of t)ie 
 people were servants belonging to the court. 
 I then went on my way, but had scarcely 
 walked a hundred steps from the ruins, when 
 a French gens d'anno followed after me, 
 and accosted me rather roughly with his — 
 ' Bon Soir, Monskur /' I returned the sa- 
 lute, and was about to walk on, when he de- 
 clared that I must follow him. I asked why, 
 and where to ? It was not his business, he 
 said, to answer these questions. Uncon- 
 scious of any crime,'I resolved, however re- 
 luctantly, to obey, — for I expected that tiie 
 whole affair was a misunderstanding, which 
 would be cleared up in one moment. On 
 looking round, however, I observed a ivian in 
 regimentals, and another gens d'arinc, hasti- 
 ly following us. On their coming nearer, I 
 recognised that stranger. He came up to 
 me, and said, with a sort of cynical smile : 
 ' You must follow us to attend a short ex- 
 amination, sir!' 'I have already heard so, 
 with astonishment,' I answered, ' and should 
 be exceeding glad to know why !' As he did 
 
 # 
 
 i 
 
 #% 
 
f 
 
 40 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 not answer, I continued : ' I caunot suppose 
 that there is any ether than a mistake or vin- 
 dictiveness, and hope to obtain satisfac- 
 tion fur this shameful treatment!' " 
 
 " ' It will all be right,' he said, coolly, and 
 we proceeded farther down, towards 
 palace. 
 
 " I was very glad to meet no one ; for 1 
 need not assure you that I fell assliamed 
 enough, walking in this way betwi'Cn two 
 French bailiffs. Having arrived at the great 
 gate of the palace, I was condiictcd aside 
 into a small porter's-lodge, where, under 
 guard of tlie two gens d'armcs, I had to wait 
 more than an hour's time, during which, the 
 stranger absented him-eltl I employed this 
 time in coming to a decision, as to my course 
 of conduct. I 1 resolved to enter upon no ex- 
 planation, but merely to prole^t aj^ainat the 
 outrage of myarrest. I considered, of course, 
 particularly how to spare my mother the 
 alarm wiiich the case at all events must cause 
 her. But, as you will hear, all that I could 
 do, in that respect, was forestalied. After 
 an hour's absence, the stranger again appear- 
 ed. It was already quite dark, so I do not 
 exactly know which way they carried me ; 
 but 1 believe it was into one of the offices of 
 the palace. After ascending some narrow 
 stairs, and then going down a rather exten- 
 sive corridor, I was led into a room where I 
 found j!ie same man with the cross of the 
 Leaio:! of Honor whom we met in the gar- 
 den tliis* afternoon. He spoke nothing but 
 French. I complained of my arrest. He 
 smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said tha; 
 I knew t!i3 reason of my arrest very well. 
 He then proceeded to a formal examination ; 
 in the first place enquiring ray name. I de- 
 
 clared that 1 would not give it before I knew 
 the grounds upon which 1 had been seized." 
 
 " ' Yo!i are accused of hiyh-treason,' he re- 
 turned, impetuously. 
 
 *' ' And by whoui V I asked. 
 
 " ' By this gentleman,' lie answered, point- 
 ing to ih3 stranger. 
 
 " ' I do not know that gentleman,' I said, in 
 a ruill.'d nicoJ. 
 
 " ' So inuc'i tlie bet'er does he, therefore, 
 know you,' replied my inquisitor, witii vio- 
 lence. 
 
 " ' Well, then,' s^aid I, also much excited ; 
 * if that gon'.leman aocuses me of h'gi)-t.rea- 
 eon, he will be able, no dojd)t, to infonn you 
 of my name, also. I decline giving it my- 
 self, because I do not acknowledge the tribu- 
 nal b'fore which I stand.' 
 
 " The stranger did not know v/hat to an- 
 swer to these words, but stood irresolute and 
 embarrassed. Finally, he whispered some- 
 thing in the ear of my self-constituted judge, 
 who tticn said: 
 
 " ' Oi course we know your name ; but the 
 
 forms of enquiry demand that you declare it 
 
 yoursflf.' 
 
 " ' Yes : by the forms of a lega.1 enquiry,' 
 I answered. 
 " My inqui.-itor turned scarlet, on hearing 
 the j this objection. He took a few turns up and 
 down the f'uor, and then retired whh my ac- 
 cuser into an adjoining room. Both appeared 
 again in about a quartfcr of an kour. Ti:e 
 examiner came right up to me with a haugh- 
 ty mien, and .-aid : 
 
 " ' You will now be carried to a place, 
 which, perhaps, will have some efl'eci in sub- ^ 
 da'ng your obstinacy. You will follow that 
 gentleman.' 
 
 " The thought of my mother and sister, 
 and the anxiety they must endure on my ac- 
 count, then rushed on my mind. 
 
 " ' You will permit me, I truft, to apprise 
 some friends who came with me to this place, 
 of my fate ;'. I said. 
 
 '• ' I cannot permit it,' replied the inquisitor. 
 " ' IJow !' said 1; 'does your administra- 
 tion, of justice so strictly slum the light? 
 Such is the course observed by the Inquisi- 
 tion !' 
 
 " ' A prisoner who refuses to tell his name 
 Ins no possible claim to a favor of this 
 kind.' 
 
 " ' Wei], then, T wi 1 tell my name so ?oon 
 as I have ^iven information to my friends, and 
 I know that some one is at liberty to protest 
 agaim-t thi.s arbitrary violence. I will write 
 two lines : in ten minutes I can have them 
 back — signed. The proof in my hand that 
 my friends are actually apprised of my des- 
 liny, and I will answer every reasonable 
 question that may be proposed.' 
 
 '• My examiner- seemed irre.'-olute v;hat to 
 do. After a- short silence, he said : 
 
 " ' Your request is altogether inadmissible ; 
 I cannot permit any communication with your 
 friends. For the rest, we will find means, 
 I warrant you, to learn what we want to 
 know. Good bye.' 
 
 " With these words he left. I was very 
 much excited. The id^a which I depicted to 
 myself of my molher's grief, if I should thus 
 vanish without a trace, moderated my aver- 
 sion fur the stranger so far that I laid aside 
 all show of defiance, and accos-ted him in a 
 more gentle mood. 
 
 " ' I hope from your humanity, sir,' said i, 
 'that you will at least permit me to send my 
 friends a verbal message, so that they may 
 not suffer needless anxiety on my account.' 
 " ' I can only discharge my dmty,' he an- 
 swered, with freezing coldness. 
 
 " ' And in what does lliat con.-ist ? I hope 
 tliat I may be allowed to know to what place 
 I am to be conducted.' 
 
 " ' You will know well enough, when you 
 see it,' was his answer. 
 
# 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 41 
 
 " I must confess, that my anger against 
 this wretch, and concern about my friends, 
 brought tears into my eyes. With great dif- 
 liculty I mastered myself sufficiently not to 
 do or say things which could only have made 
 my situation more hopeless. At this moment, 
 one of the gens d'arines came in, announc- 
 ing, in a half-whispeiipbut still so loud that I 
 heard it, that ' the wagon was at the ferry, and 
 would wait on the other side of the Elbe. 
 The boat, also.' 
 
 " On receiving this intelligence, we started. 
 You already know my adventures after that: 
 for, on the road which we took, you, my dear 
 friends, became my deliverers." 
 
 '• The few minutes which we have devoted 
 in listening to your tale, Louis, have not been 
 uselessly spfent," said Bernard ; " for not till 
 then, could we have formed a plan of opera- 
 tion. It is the greatest luck that you did not 
 disclose your name. They will soon become 
 tired of their search : stiU it is very hazard- 
 ous to remain in Dresden. But what under 
 the sun do ihey want ?" 
 
 " At the first, I was too exasperated to re- 
 flect calmly on the subject. Now, however, 
 I have my surmises ; but for the present I 
 can enter into no explanations. Perhaps the 
 whole affair may be made the stepping-stone 
 to my happiness, and that in the most won- 
 derlul manner." 
 
 " Nothing could give me more pleasure 
 than that," replied Bernard. " In the mean 
 time we must think of others. Your, sister 
 is up at the tower, in a very unpleasant situ- 
 ation, and your mother below, perhaps in one 
 no better. We were going down to gather 
 intelligence, and to bring up the carriage. 
 This is the first thing we must do. As re- 
 gards yourself, I think it would be best to go 
 fight up to the tower, and wait for us there. 
 When there, you can say, in excuse for your 
 long absence, that something broke about the 
 carriage. Tell them, also, that we met you, 
 and undertook to arrange matters, while you 
 ha&tened on to bring them intelligence. Mean- 
 while, I vvill despatch everything down here ; 
 but on no consideration tell them a word 
 about your real adventure. And now, may God 
 be with you — for we have not a fnoment to 
 lose." 
 
 " Oh, my friends !" cried Louis ; " how shall 
 I thank you ? Who can estimate the misery 
 from which you have saved me ?" 
 
 " Never mind," said Bernard, " thank for- 
 tune, and not us." 
 
 With 4hese words, he seized Jaromir by the 
 arm, and both hastened down the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 ' I would give my best picture," he said 
 to Jaromir in descending, ** to fall in with 
 the two gens d'armes, and hear them ask us 
 to put them on the track of the two rascals 
 
 that turned them out of the saddle contrary 
 to all rules of the tournament." 
 
 Louis in the mean time continued his way. 
 As he came near the tower, a sudden "Who 
 goes there ?" was called in a prompt, firm 
 tone. He rt'cognised the voice of Rasinski, 
 who, takin<««turns with Boleslaus, performed 
 the duty of sentinel. 
 
 " Friend !" answered Louis gladly. 
 
 " At last '" was answered in return, and 
 Rasinski gave him joyfully his hand." How 
 glad your sister will be ; she has been so 
 alarmed about you !" 
 
 In a kind of triumph be led the returning 
 wanderer toward the tower, where the girls 
 were sitting in anxious silence, except Mary, 
 who was reclining, the pain of her foot requir- 
 ing that position. " Art thou here at last, 
 Louis!" she cried on hearing his voice, reach- 
 ing him her hand ; " how couldst thou leave 
 us so long in anxious suspense ?" 
 
 Louis apologised for his tardiness in the 
 best manner he could, and assured the girls 
 of a speedy deliverance from their odd kind 
 of imprisonment. 
 
 " 0^1, now that thou art with us, and 
 mother knows where we are, we will 
 wait cheerfully," answered Mary. 
 
 She asked him to sit down by her, but he 
 declined it, alleging that he was soaking wet 
 and would rather keep stirring. The mo- 
 tive, however, was his inward anxiety 
 whether Bernard would come or not; ho 
 hoped better to hide his feelings by walking 
 back and forth with the men outside, for the 
 rain had long ceased. 
 
 An uneasy half-hour having passed, the 
 sound of a whip and the rattling of a cariiage 
 were heard. Now the gleaii of lanterns 
 was seen among the trees and bushes, and 
 in a few minutfes Jaromir arrived, bringinrr 
 the news that both of the elder ladies were 
 coming up, so as to save a piece of consid- 
 erably round-about way. Immediately one 
 of the vehicles drew up ; the coachman 
 jumped nimbly down ; — it was Bernard. 
 
 " Here we are," he cried, " and I act as 
 postilion for the very satisfactory reason 
 that one of tlie two his made himself so 
 tipsy that he is good for nothing. We left 
 him in the straw, and I took the liberty to 
 constitute myself heir to his mantle, every 
 stitch in my jacket being as wet as if I had 
 been taking a swim with the fishes.* I am 
 almost dry now, ard you, Louis, must have 
 some dry covering." 
 
 So Joying, he took off the cloak and threw 
 it around Louis, whispering in his ear, " This 
 is your disguise ; they can't know what is 
 going on. You must drive the carriage back ; 
 the coachmen are bribed, and know what 
 they are to do." 
 
 Louis thanked his friend by a pressure of 
 
42 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; O 
 
 » 
 
 the hand for his clever precautions. And 
 now, the two mothers also arrived in safety ; 
 all trouble was lightened |rom the hearts of 
 the three girls, and they gave themselves up 
 to unrestrained joy ; yea, tiiey even went so 
 far as to be a little proud of the day's roman- 
 ce adventures, and were not the last to regale 
 themselves with the good wine \vhich Ber- 
 nard had found in the carriage. 
 
 Finally they prepared for departing. The 
 state of Mary's foot, as well as the lateness 
 of the hour, seemed to dictate the propriety 
 of a separation of ladies and gentlemen. 
 Bernard, moreover, had good reasons for pro- 
 moting this arrangement, as in case of an 
 untoward accident, it would he much better 
 that all the men were in the same carriage, 
 and in this way the carriage of the ladies 
 "Would hardly suffer any delay. The men 
 now being by themselves, Bernard briefly 
 recounted Louis' adventure. They all 
 agreed on acting in strictest harmony, and 
 Rasinski assured them that his Colonel's 
 uniform would be sufficient protection from 
 any danger of the moment. Louis pulled 
 the seal-skin cap of the coachman deep over 
 his eyes, wrapped himself closely in the 
 cloak, and sprang on the coach-box. While 
 they drove along Bernard entered more into 
 detail, and explained particulars so fully, that 
 no danger could be apprehended from mis- 
 understanding or ignorance. 
 
 The passage down was effected without 
 accident. They arrived at the ferry and 
 crossed tiie Elbe without hindrancis. 
 
 They had got about half way, when Ber- 
 nard called out to Louis to stop. 
 
 " It is very probable that you are entirely 
 unknown, but it is not quite certain. What 
 if they were to seek you in your mother's 
 house ? At least it would be the most pru- 
 dent plan not to pass the night there, but 
 keep yourself invisible to-morrow, until we 
 have reconnoitred the ground. I will find 
 some plausible excuse ; but just now you 
 must hail jour colleague, tl»e other coach- 
 man, and ask him to stop, and then every 
 thing else will be easy enough." 
 
 Louis did as Bernard desired. The latter 
 left the carriage, went up to liie ladies, and 
 begged of them not to take offence if they 
 were left to ride alone ', but the horses of the 
 other carriage were so weary, that they would 
 not st^r from the spot, and it was therefore 
 necessary to stop for an hour to rest and 
 feed. He took the coachman aside, >iave 
 him some; money, and said : " Fear nothing ; 
 we will follow you at a short distance, but 
 we have our .reasons why we wish to avoid 
 arriving at the same time with the ladies." 
 
 The coachman growled out something 
 like a " Very well," mounted his box, and 
 drove on. 
 
 As if now first remembering it, Bernard 
 ran after the carriage, and called out through 
 the window : *' One thing more ! We shall 
 in all probability arrive much later than you; 
 BO Louis will not disturb you, but stay over 
 night with us." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, he ha.^t- 
 ened back to his friend|| " All is right now," 
 he cried, in high spirit" Let who will come 
 to besiege, storm, blockade, or starve out 
 the fortressjthey will perish under our walls 
 of defence." 
 
 Five minutes after the ladies' carriage had 
 left, the gentlemen also drove on, keeping at 
 some distance behind, but never so great bat 
 that in case of need they might lend their 
 immediate«issistance. 
 
 Nothing suspicious met them on the road ; 
 they reached the gates of Dresden without 
 obstruction. The ladies passed the gate 
 without hindrance, but their own carriage 
 was stopped. 
 
 A police officer fhd a gens d'arme stepped 
 up, and asked whence they came and whO' 
 they were. Pursuant to agreement, Rasin- 
 ski undertook to be spokesman, and answer- 
 ed. The Count's uniform and rank appeared 
 to produce their impression ; the officials 
 stepped back a little and conversed together 
 in an under-tone. Bernard, who did not lose 
 sight of them, detected a third person, envel- 
 oped in a cloak, join them. His practised 
 eye, observant specially ot dra|)ery and cos- 
 tume, recognised with tolerable accuracy, in 
 the shrouded figure, the arch enemy of Louis. 
 They were therefore, indeed, in a dangerous 
 predicament. At length Rasinski leaned 
 out of the carriage and cried : " What have ' 
 we to wait here for novv ? It is late ; be 
 quick and despatch ns !" 
 
 There was still a few moments' delay, the 
 gens d'arme then came up, looked into the 
 carriage, lantern in hand, and said civilly : 
 
 " Excuse us. Colonel, but we have orders to 
 communicate something of ulmost impor- 
 tance to a person coming from PilJnitz, aa 
 soon as he arrives at the gate ; it is only my 
 duty to see if he i§ one of these gentlemen." 
 
 "The devil lake you I'' cried the Colonel. 
 " These two are my comrades — of the same 
 regiment — and the other is my friend, and 
 none of us have any intelligence to expect 
 here at the gate at this time of night. Let 
 us alone. Drive on, coachinan !" 
 
 Louis cracked his whip and drove smartly 
 ahead. Without farther molestati6n they 
 reached the Hotel de Pologne, where Rasin- 
 ski lodged with his two subalterns. Louis 
 was to remain there over night, while Ber- 
 nard undertook to see the carriage returned 
 to its owner. Further consultation and 
 measures were to be attended to as early aa 
 possible next morning. 
 
 ^. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Bernard got up early next morning to 
 look for Louis. His way led him down Cas- 
 tle-street, and he was pondering as he went 
 what was best to be doije in this vexatious 
 business and whether Louis would not do 
 well to absent hims^ from Dresden, at least 
 for a short time, ^en he brushed rather 
 rudely against a passer-by, seemingly also in 
 a great hurry. Both mechanically seized 
 their hats, in order to exchange their polite 
 apologies, when Bernard saw standing before 
 him the very stranger who was the origin of 
 this mischievous affair. 
 
 None but a person of the experience and 
 presence of mind which Bernard possessed, 
 could have kept his countenance under such 
 a contretemps. He apologised for his rude- 
 aess with the greatest affiibility; the rapid 
 shade of embarrassment which flitted over 
 his features might be attributed to the sud- 
 denness of the concussioH, as soon as to the 
 feeling inspired by the sight of the equivocal 
 stranger. 
 
 The person answered with equal polite- 
 ness. Bernard scrutinised his countenanee, 
 to discover whether he was recognised or 
 not. It appeared to him, as if the stranger 
 wavered. Suddenly the thought darted into 
 his mind : " Perhaps I may succeed in draw- 
 ing out this fellow, and make use of him 
 against himself?" Columbus did hot feel 
 more elated at the thought which revealed 
 to Iiim a new world, than Bernard did at this 
 idea. 
 
 " You are a stranger to me, it is true," 
 he answered, " but still I think we must 
 have met before somewhere." 
 
 " It appears just so to me, also," said the 
 stranger, with that expression of uneasiness 
 which accompanies uncertainty." 
 
 " By Jove ! now I remember !" cried Ber- 
 nard. •' Were you not in the garden at Pill- 
 nitz, yesterday ? Did we not meet you just 
 by those beautiful elders 7" 
 
 " True !"' exclaimed the stranger, his face 
 Jighting up with malicious joy; "just so. 
 But you were not alone." 
 
 " I was with a travelling companion, whom 
 I had met at the inn ;" Bernard rejoined, in a 
 
 NA^LEQirS INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 quite late at night, else I might be sitting on 
 the Porsberg yet. I am just on my way to 
 them now, to del^r my thanks : but as these 
 gentlemen are dRustomed to go out quite 
 early in the morning, be so good as to ex- 
 cuse me." 
 
 With these words, Bernard made a move- 
 ment as if to depart ; but the stranger to(^ 
 him by the hand. 
 
 " One word, I pray you. Who was, may L* 
 ask, your companion in the garden ?" 
 
 " Really," answered Bernard, " that I can 
 tell you as well as not, I travel a great deal, 
 back and forth. Some time ago, I met him in 
 Manheim, and then, a few days since, I found 
 him at the table d'hote, in Leipzig. We 
 drank coffee together at Rosenthal — went to 
 the opera, and had an oyster-supper after- 
 wards. Yesterday, again, we met by chance 
 in the garden at Pillnitz-, and were again 
 separated by chance, in the storm. That is 
 all that I know about him. Of his name and 
 condition I can give you no information — for 
 what traveller troubles himself about these 
 )articukrs ? But if you are interested, I can 
 )Ut you in the way of finding him — for we 
 lave agreed o» a rendezvous at Hegereuter's, 
 in the garden, at Plan, this afternoon." 
 
 " At what hour, if I may be so bold as to 
 ask ?" 
 
 " Four o'clock. Perhaps you would like 
 to make one of the party ; if so, give me 
 your address, and I will come and fetch you ; 
 tor I have everything ready, and know the 
 way perfectly." 
 
 " You would oblige me very much. Bu; 
 allow me to save yo||i, that trouble, sir, am 
 rather to call upon yoa. Will you please t( 
 let me know where you stay ?" 
 
 " On no account can I allow that ! But U 
 decide the matter, let us meet at three o'cloci 
 at Longo's, the Italian confectioner, close b} 
 here, in Castle-street. For the present 
 must take my leave. I hope to have the 
 pleasure of soon seeing you tigain." 
 
 Without staying for an answer, Bernard 
 turned on his heel and made down the street ; 
 but only for the purpose of slipping into one of 
 the nearest houses, and from thence, with 
 argus eyes, to watch the movements of the 
 ambiguous stranger. As soon as he thought 
 light tone. "We afterwards ascended theJit safe, he followed him, determined not to 
 
 Porsberg together; but the thunder-storm 
 separated us. Did it overtake you also ?" 
 
 « A little ; but—" 
 
 " I had my full share of it," Bernard pur- 
 posely interrupted. " I got wet to the skin ; 
 and to crown the matter, I had no conveyance 
 back ; for that vagabond of a hack-driver 
 whom I had engaged, left me in the lurch, — 
 somebody probably offering him higher fare. 
 But I fell in with some French officers, capi- 
 tal fellows, who*brought me into Dresden 
 
 lose the track. The gentleman entered a 
 respectable-looking house in Castle-street. 
 Bernard happened to have eome acquain- 
 tance with tlie porter of the house, and re- 
 solved to speak with him. He followed the 
 stranger, therefore, to the door of the house, 
 and asked the porter if he knew him. 
 
 " Not by name," he answered ; " but he 
 lives here, and belongs to the service of the 
 Baron St. Luces, I believe, as his secretary." 
 
 Bernard now knew all. With arrow-speed 
 
 ^aJk 
 
44 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND 
 
 E; or; 
 
 he hastened to RasinskL He found him at] against their own will. It is true as yet ife 
 ' reakfast with Louis and the two young of- seems they know only your person, and not 
 
 Arly listened to. your name ; but how easily may not that be 
 
 .Kasinski's brow ! found out! I will take it upon myself to 
 
 put your worthy mother in possession of all 
 
 necessary particulafs ; and then to examine 
 
 ticers. His story was ea^^ 
 At the name of St. -Luces, 
 contracted in deep furrows. 
 
 "That name bodes you no good, my 
 Mfend !" he said, turning to Louis. "The 
 man is, part councillor of Legr.tion p;ut 
 police-officer, part spy. Very able, but ex- 
 tremely intriguing and avaricious he is in- 
 dispensable, but despised. His legitimate 
 name is Rumigny ; but having brought him- 
 self into notice by his dirty services, he has 
 been elevated to the rank of what is called 
 nobility, an order which, f^ince the Empire, 
 has shot up so luxuriantly in France. I 
 know liim but too well. But what ir* the 
 world can he want with you ?" 
 
 Louis had, as yet, di^sclosed to no one his 
 adventure in Italy, to which, naturally, he 
 ascribed his arrest. He now related the 
 whole in detail, carefully concealing every- 
 thing trenching on the state of his own heart. 
 Bernard listened in fixed astoni..hment. — 
 Louis, then, also knew this mysterious 
 being. He had been with her, on so intimate 
 a footing ! Oh, how deeply, then, must that 
 sweet image be engraved on the heart of his 
 friend ! To him this same image had ap- 
 peared and vanished in an instant ; but now, 
 when he looked upon his friend in so iami- 
 liar a relation to the original of his ideal,.ii'3 
 heart was deeply moved, and he felt former 
 wounds, only slightly cicatrised, bleeding 
 afresh. Yet, in his usual manner, he con- 
 cealed his feelings under the cap and bell of 
 the harlequin. * 
 
 " By heavens ! a drolladventure ; admira- 
 ble !" he exclaimed. " Would there bo any 
 sense in troubling one's-self about thee any 
 farther. I could let myself be hanged ten 
 times over, to have a promenade over the 
 Simplon, in the delicious Italian night-air, by 
 the fide of such a divine creature, who had 
 adopted me as her brother. Who would care 
 a straw after such an adventure ?" 
 
 "Jesting apart," said Rasinsky ; "I fear 
 the thing will take a very grave turn — for, I 
 believe that, unknowingly, you have perform- 
 ed a deed which will hardly ever be forgiv- 
 en. At all events, you must rcm.ain concealed 
 for the present, till we are better instructed. 
 i\o one sees you here. I would also advise 
 your friend not to resort to the rendezvous, 
 before I have gained farther intelligence. 
 This I will do, forthwith." 
 
 " I fear nothing, as regards myself," an- 
 swered Louis ; " but what shall I say to m.y 
 mother and my sister ?" 
 
 " The whole truth, dear friend," replied 
 Ra.-inski; "for if your friends should be left 
 ill ignorance, or be quieted with false infor- 
 II) .Ltion, they might become your betrayers, 
 
 the state of circumstances, to do which, I 
 possess the very best m^ps." 
 
 Louis silently gave his hand in token of 
 thanks to his resolute friend. Bernard 
 stamped on the floor with his heel, in vexa- 
 tion ; while Jaromir and Boleslaus exhibited 
 the most friendly sympathy. 
 
 " We must lose no time," said Rasinski, 
 rising ; " I will set out immediately. You 
 will do better to step into the next room, and 
 suffer yourself not to be seen by any one. I 
 go first, my dear friend, to your mother ; cir- 
 cumstances will plead an excuse for my ear- 
 ly visit. Then T will begin my inquiries. 
 Yon shall hear from me at the very first op- 
 portunity." 
 
 He was about going, when he stopped at 
 the door, as if struck with some sudden idea. 
 
 " Yes, that is best," he said ; " I must beg 
 of you one thing, without which I can do 
 nothing; namely, a 'couple of lines, which 
 may be my credentials with your mother." 
 
 "She will place in you implicit confi- 
 dence," answered Louis. 
 
 "Place it in me yourself, first," said Ra- 
 sinski; ''the lines which I ask lor are ne- 
 cessary, in a certain case." 
 
 " With pleasure," answered Louis. 
 
 " Well, then, sit down and write: 'Dear 
 mother : I pray you to place unlimited confi- 
 dence in the bearer, and to follow his direc-. 
 tions.' " 
 
 Louis started, but wrote as Rasinski re- 
 quested. The latter immediately left. Ja- 
 #-omir and Boleslaus did the same soon after, 
 as they had to assist Rasinski fn forming the 
 new free-corps. 
 
 Bernard remained with Louis. For a while 
 they walked up and down the room together, 
 in silence — Louis, busily cogitating upon his 
 situation ; and Bernard, because the dormant 
 feeling lurking in the depths of his soul, had 
 been freshly awakened in all its strength. 
 For nearly an hour they irtterchanged only 
 detached and short sentences on unimportant 
 subjects. But the sound of approaching 
 footsteps put an end to all farther conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 Rasinski entered 
 brow furrowed. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL ^^ ^ 
 
 tlis eye was sad, his 
 
NA^LlAp 
 
 INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 45 
 
 "Friends, I believe you are men," he be- 
 gan, " and know how to bear up under ad- 
 versities of fate. Your affair is in a bad state, 
 and that through you, my dear friend," turn- 
 ing to Bernard, " for the porter of the liouse 
 where St. Luces lodges has betrayed you 
 
 " The devil ! and how is that possible ?" 
 eried Bernard. ' 
 
 " In the simplest way in the world. After 
 you had made enquiries about the stranger, 
 whom I now can name to you as Monsieur 
 Beaucaire, St. Luces' secretary, and was 
 leaving the house,' he was standing on the 
 balcony above. Of course, he was surprised 
 to find that you had followed him ; he there- 
 fore in his turn sought information about 
 you. By the most unlucky chance in the 
 world, it so happened too, that this same 
 porter was yesterday also in Pillnilz, and 
 saw you there v/alking arm in arm with our 
 friend Louis; whom unfortunateiy he knows 
 but too well, as you met St. Lucesand Beau- 
 caire. Thfe former is the greatest villain on 
 earth, and the latter seeins to be no better. 
 J^othing was wanting, then, for them to 
 learn every thing, except the well-laid plot, 
 which they guess at, by which Louis was so 
 boldly delivered out of iheir clutches." 
 
 " I am almost ready to drive a ball through 
 my head!" cried Bernard. 
 
 " And my mother ?" said Louis. 
 
 "Is already informed of every thing." 
 
 "•Has she been in any way molested?" 
 
 " Not yet, for the porter, fortunately, though 
 he knows your name, is ignorant of your res- 
 idence. They are now busy finding out that. 
 It will take them some hours to do it, and 
 these we must improve. I have already 
 formed a plan, and will soon have the neces- 
 sary preparations made. These hints must 
 suffice you for the present, for I must away 
 again tins minute." 
 
 " Wait one moment !" cried Louis. " How 
 would it do to release all of you who have 
 become entangled in my affair from ail an- 
 noyance and responsibility by simply taking 
 the step of voluntarily presenting myself for 
 exilmination ?" 
 
 "I would not answer for your life, my 
 youifg fiiend," answered Rasirieki gravely ; 
 "for you Isave, as I have been informed, as- 
 sisted in the escape of one of the mo.<t dan- 
 gerous cecret agents of our enemies in Italy, 
 who^e \r: c.k they had found and were pur- 
 suing, and with v.'hom they were sure of find- 
 ing soiiis most important papers." 
 
 " Did they tell you who this agent was ?" 
 asked Louis qi.ickiy, hoping to receive some 
 clue td the mystery ot the lost one. 
 
 " No," answered Rasinski, " I asked 
 about it, but the answer uas, that it is a di- 
 plomatic i^ecn t, known probably to none but 
 St. Luces. The circumstances are ,notl 
 
 yet fully developed, and the whole may re- 
 main a mystery for a length of time. Do 
 you really know^thing on that point ?'' 
 
 " N(;t the leastj^' ark-wered Louis ; " so in 
 that respect, at least, I am perfectly guilt- 
 ^ss." 
 
 ^ "Knowing or not knowing, even were 
 they to believe you, cannot avail any thing. 
 Our articles of war award you death. But, 
 take courage ! you may be called upon to 
 make some sacrifice but I think that I can 
 save you. For the jwesent, farewell. You 
 shall soGii hear from me again. One thing 
 more, you may trust my young comrades un- 
 reservedly; they are as true and devoted to mc 
 as if they were my own sons." 
 
 He left. 
 
 Louis and Bernard remained another hour 
 in anxious perplexity. At the expiration of 
 this time Rasinski returned. 
 
 " 1 will," ho began, '■ announce to you 
 your fate without circumlocution, for ye are 
 men. I can save you if you will j(.in myi 
 free-corps; the uniform may open the way 
 for you out of Dresden, for 1 know of no 
 other which the maclJnations of your ene- 
 mies have not already barred against you j 
 and you will, moreover, ^n this way be free 
 from all further search ; for once in the army, 
 you are under my protection and care. 1 
 know that the alternative is hard, but it is 
 the»)nly one." 
 
 " And could we not leave tlie city under the 
 uniform, and tliea take some other road ?" 
 asked Bernard, in whose mind there arose a 
 certain suspiciop agau^Rasinski. 
 
 " I can only give ^K passports to War- 
 saw. I have t|ie permeiron and means of do- 
 ing so. There you must report yourselves to 
 the commander of the division to v.hich I 
 belong. Should you follow any other route 
 than that prescribed you by my passport, yoa 
 would be taken up as deserters ; I myself 
 would not be able to shield you any longer. 
 And in what other manner would you escape 
 
 out of Dresden ? Where would you go ? 
 With tiie police you are already spotted men 
 and denounced as fupitives or skulking de- 
 linquents. Tlie authorities every where re- 
 ceive orders for your apprehension ; there is 
 not a single nook dn the entire continent, 
 where the power of the French police would 
 not reach you — witli the exception of the 
 army, where, in the first place tbey will not 
 seek you, and- where, in the second place, the 
 immediate interlerenee of the commander 
 frustrates all searcb." 
 
 " 1 shall know how to submit to that whicli 
 cannot be avoided," said Louis firmly ; " but 
 my mother — my sister, they wilt be left in- 
 consolable ! their sorrow v.ill cause ine in- 
 describable anguish ! and thee, my Ber- 
 nard ! Oh ! that I should plunge thee into 
 
 * % 
 
 a^ 
 
46 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED A! 
 
 turned away 
 sorrowfully to 
 
 his 
 bis 
 
 his abyss!" Here he 
 head, and put bis hand^< 
 brow. M 
 
 Bernard kept his eyes fixed on the ground, 
 gloomy and in silence ; after a few moments 
 iiad passfcd in this manner, he began : ^ 
 
 " Soldier or galley-slave, according to my 
 notion, is all one and the same. For my part, 
 I should with pleasure sooner let myself be 
 hanged. But even if fate did not now join our 
 destinies together, if I could fly to England 
 free as a bird — here^ is my hand upon it — ^I 
 would don the livery and bethy comrade. I 
 require nothing more than that thou believest 
 me." 
 
 Louis gave him his hand in silence, but 
 turned his head away in deep emotion. 
 
 " You will learn to like your lot yet, my 
 friends," said Rasinski ; " for I hope you 
 will become acquainted only with the agree- 
 able and glorious realities of our profession. 
 You enter as volunteers ; by some manage- 
 ment I will keep you near my own person. 
 We will live together as friends and mess- 
 mates, and lodge beneath the same tent. I 
 might raise you to the rank of commissioned 
 officers on the spot ; but it would be against 
 my conscience an3 your own choice ; for as 
 those in command, even of a small number, 
 you would assume responsibilities from 
 which the Emperor himself could not absolve 
 you. Not to run such risks, therefore^ you 
 must learn to Understand the service and 
 know what war is. Ypa cannot be stim- 
 
 NcAnvE^ 
 
 OR, 
 
 ulated by militar 
 therefore, which 
 be far better, 
 free intercourse 
 ship will |)Tocure for 
 leges and advantages 
 
 wSn t 
 
 ambition ; the relations, 
 
 all select for you, will 
 
 education secures you 
 
 the officers ; my friend- 
 
 you those other privi- 
 
 which are valued by 
 
 cultivated minds. When a few months shall 
 have rolled by, some means may perhaps be 
 found to brinff all to rijihts again. Look 
 upon your new pursuit merely as a disguise, 
 which you have assumed only temporarily ; 
 at all events, you would ho obliged to elude 
 the prying e^'es of yor.r enemies by some 
 kind of masquerading or other. That which 
 I propose seems to me at least the most hon- 
 orable, the easiest to be endured, and what is 
 particularly to be considered — the only safe 
 one." 
 
 The good sense and good will manifested 
 by Rasinski's speech, inspired confidence 
 even in the stubborn Bernard, and in some 
 degree allayed his violent opposition. Louis 
 confessed, that there was no choice left him ; 
 With the aid of a strong and enlightened 
 judgment he knew how to yield to necessity. 
 But it pained his noble soul exceedingly to 
 involve mother, sister, and friend in this com- 
 mon calamity. 
 
 " Does my mother already inow," he ask- 
 
 ed in a tremulous voice, " all that has hap- 
 pened?" ^ 
 " She is sufficiently prepared,'^ answere<i> 
 Rasinski, "and has submitted to the stem 
 decree of necessity with a fortitude which I 
 must admire. Your sister is much more 
 deeply affected." 
 
 " Mary !" exclaimed Louis in agony. 
 " Oh, I know well what it is that particularly 
 wounds her ! That true German hearts" 
 
 Dark cloudy shadows lingered on Ber- 
 nard's brow. 
 
 " But will they not lay my escape to the 
 charge of my mother ?" continued Louis. 
 " Will she not have to dread the vengeance 
 of those in power ? Should I learn that she 
 experiences the smallest insult, I will re- 
 turn !" 
 
 " Be easy, my friend," -answered Rasin- 
 ski ; " I have already arranged every thing, 
 so that your friends shall have nothing to 
 fear." 
 
 Bernard was silent; in his soul, compre- 
 hensively regarding every circumstance, the 
 terrible suspicion had been engendered that 
 Rasinski was insincere. He was alraelk 
 resolved to obtain certainty on this point by 
 one bold step, and to declare that he would 
 not obey, not become a soldier, but look out 
 for himself. Only his previously formed de- 
 termination to share Louis' fate, were it ever 
 so hard, kept him from committing this rash- 
 ness. " I will take my share in whatever 
 happens. I partake of the destiny and choice 
 of my friend ; more I cannot promise," he 
 said after a few seconds' pondering, reaching 
 the Count his hand. 
 
 Rasinski suspected what took place in his 
 mind 4 for a few moments it vexed him, but 
 his magnanimous spirit forgave the wrong 
 done him by the sus|Mcion almost as quickly 
 as he had discovered it. 
 
 " Listen to what has been done," said he. 
 " Jaromir and Boleslaus are already informed 
 of everything. 1 have procured a courier's 
 pass for Jaromir, under the pretext that I |^-. 
 must send him before me witii all possible 
 speed, on account ( f the organization ©t my 
 regiment. You both receive passes from me 
 as your chief, and go with him. -These 
 legitimate documents will be perfectly satis- 
 factory. Boleslaus, whose stature much re- 
 sembles yours, has caused a French regi- 
 mental tailor to measure him for two imiforms, 
 which will be ready tliis afierndon, so that 
 you may pass unknown out of the city, even - 
 in broad day. As to money and otlier neces- 
 saries, it will be my care to provide, when 
 first only you are in safety, and fof the pre- 
 sent Jaromir is fully supplied." 
 
 The latter just then entered the room. 
 Like most other young men, he was in ecsta- 
 cies at having been entrusted with this cora- 
 
 >>. • 
 
 
* 
 
 naAlh^' 
 
 S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 mitflon. He greeted his new comrades most 
 cordially, and promised them the happiest 
 
 " You do not yet know what a glorious 
 thing war is," he exclaimed. " It is very 
 pleasant here in Dresden — yea, wonderfully 
 charming," he said, coloring up, probably 
 thinking of some one of the beautiful girls 
 •with whom he had become acquainted on the 
 preceding day ; " but still I would not ex- 
 change the sweetest sojourn here, for my 
 horse and my sword. The choicest blessings 
 would render me miserable, were I never 
 again to join in the fray ! And then you 
 should see Warsaw, my native city ! Oh, 
 how it will please you !" 
 
 The amiable frankness of the youth did 
 not fail to make an impression. Boleslaus 
 also soon returned, bringing the intelligence 
 that the uniforms would be ready precisely at 
 six o'clock. This serious young man, how- 
 ever much attached to the profession of arms, 
 <elt the weight of the unhappy circumstances 
 in which L<)uis and Bernard were placed, 
 and granted- them his most hearty sympathy. 
 * Thus the time passed, in the most cordial 
 intimacy. At last the hour of departure 
 arrived. The uniforms came. Bernard and 
 Louis were duly clothed in their new habili- 
 ments. Jaromir prepared for his journey. 
 The postilion sounded his horn, they mounted 
 the vehicle, and rolled away through the 
 midst of the city and the walking crowds of 
 promenaders outside the gates, without one 
 in that crowd suspecting what a sad and 
 singular destiny lay hid beneath those rich 
 aiid dashing uniforms. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 It was late on a Sunday afternoon that 
 Jaromir, Louis and Bernard, from a neighbor- 
 ing erninence, caught the first glimpse of the 
 spires of Warsaw. The road for a consider- 
 able timR had wound through a dark pine 
 forest, which excluded every prospect. It 
 now made a bend, and ascended a hill over- 
 grown with fern and blackberry bushes. 
 From its summit, a widely-extended plain 
 was seen ; at the farther extremity of which 
 arose the stately palar.es and towers of the 
 city of Warsaw. The fiery Jaromir called 
 out a fierce " Halt !" to the postilion, and 
 wifh eyes kindling with exultation, sprang 
 from the vehicle. 
 
 " That is my native city !" he cried ; " for 
 eight years I have not seen it ; but still I 
 know every house, every gable-end, every 
 spire in it. Come, my friends, come, and let 
 
 as walk up the hill. Here runs a path 
 among the bushes, which leads through the 
 meadows, and t>^ again into the great road. 
 As we go alongH^ will point out to you the 
 most prominent objects of the place all 
 around ; far as your eye can reach, you see 
 not a church-steeple where there are not 
 Polish heroes buried who bravely fought for 
 their country. Oh! when will this land see 
 the seeds of liberty thrive which our fathers 
 have manured with their blood ! Look at 
 that village right before us. That is the 
 Wielka Wola, where Kosciusko fought in 
 1794 ; to the left, behind that pine grove, you 
 see the ptnnted tower of Opalin, and farther 
 down that of Wawryscew. At both places 
 flowed Polish blood in that same year, and at 
 Opalin fell my uncle, Casimir, Count Brc- 
 scinski ! Oh, my friends, here many a one 
 lies buried who merits our tears I I wish 
 we had arrived here at some other hour, for 
 it bodes me no good to see the towers of my 
 native city illumined by the setting sun." 
 
 He shook his head mournfully as a shadow 
 of patriotic sorrow clouded his open, cheerful 
 brow. 
 
 " Thou art an unskilled soothsayer," cried 
 Bernard, in a lively mood ; " I will expound 
 our advent in a different fashion. Dost thou 
 not return to thy father-land in the spring of 
 the year, when every plant buds and blossoms 
 anew ? Do not flowers spring up on the 
 very graves, and did not ewry orchard which 
 we passed to-day wave like a sea of blossoms, 
 when the gentle T)reeze plays through tlie 
 tree-tops ? Surely, thaMtood there adorned 
 like young brides, v.itl^Hir green garlands 
 of tender leaves partljffHdden under a deli- 
 cate veil of flowers. In the autumn, I pro- 
 mise you rich and ripe fruits ; then you will 
 gather the increase, and celebrate a harvest- 
 home, which shall send jojf and jubilee 
 through the length and breadth of the land !" 
 
 " Thou art a prophet t" cried Jaromir, 
 vehemently, clasping Bernard to his breast, 
 and planting a burning kiss on his brow ; 
 "if thy words are fulfilled, may the jubilee 
 sound over my grave, if I can only be as- 
 sured that I shall sleep in the free and happy 
 soil of Poland !" 
 
 During this demonstration, the young men 
 h^ descended tlie hill, and were now pro- 
 ceeding on a pleasant path through rich 
 meadow-lands — Jaromir continuing to direct 
 their attention to points in the immediate 
 vicinity rendered remarkable in history, at 
 the same time recounting those exploits by 
 which the Polish name had been immortal- 
 ized. After a good half-hour's walk, they 
 regained, the high-ruad, mounted their car- 
 riage, and drove rapidly towards the gates 
 of the capital. 
 
 On the other side of Wielka Wola, the 
 
48 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED 
 
 landscape became more animated and diversi- 
 fied by numerous passengers passing to and 
 fro on fpot, on horsebaipk, and in carriages 
 and wagons. Jaromir ♦irew his flashing 
 black eyes eagerly around, in hope to dis- 
 cover some friend or acquaintance. Fortune, 
 however, did not seem to favor him much. 
 Somewhat vexed, he exclaimed : 
 ^ " True enough, eight years makes one a 
 stranger in his own country; it appears I 
 know nobody liere, and still less am 1 known 
 by any one !" 
 
 He had scarcely uttered the words, when 
 a female voice from a carriage coming up 
 from behind, and passing them, uttered : 
 
 " Count Jaromir ! is it possible ? dr do I 
 deceive mysdf ?" 
 
 Jaromir quickly turned around on hear- 
 ing his name pronounced, and, forgetting 
 almost that he was on the public highway, 
 and in the company of strangers, he cried 
 out loudly : 
 
 " Countess Miciel*ka ! — God in heaven ! 
 do you know mc still ?" 
 
 The coaclimen, seeing that a conversation 
 had begun between Jaromir and the lady, 
 stopped their horses without further orders. 
 The Countess was a woman of a noble and 
 
 majestic person ; she tnight be somewhat "process of orgnnization. It had previously 
 
 over thirty, but her black nnd piercing eyes 
 glistened yet with the fire of youth under the 
 high and snow-white forehead, surrounded 
 with glossy curls of rich dark-brown hair. 
 In her youth she must have been of ravi-hing 
 beauty. Bernard's artfetical eye had record- 
 ed her as Rasin|ki's sister before Jaromir, 
 had found time MMtroduce her as such. He 
 delivered her aa||Pen letter from Rasinski, 
 which in a few Words explained .his con- 
 nexion with the friends and recommended 
 them to a hospitable welcome. 
 
 " How ^lad I am," said the Countess, 
 warmly, after hastily perusing the missive, 
 " that i liaiipened to encounter you directly 
 on your arrival ! Of course you will take up 
 your residence with me ; your time, I fear, 
 will only be too limited; you cannot, then, 
 complain if I wish to improve every leisure 
 moment, in order to obtain intelligence of my 
 brother, and of the fate of so many dear and 
 esteemed coi^ntrymen. On that account vou 
 must overlook my selfishness if I make you 
 my constant companions, or, if you chbose, 
 prisoners in my house." 
 
 She uttered these kin J words, under whose 
 modest guise she veiled her hospitable intent, 
 apparently more with cordiality than friend- 
 ship, so that all were sensible t^jat it was to 
 her a most joyful evenfc to meet her young 
 countryman, and to welcome him and his 
 comrades to her house. She replied to 
 Jaromir's ardent thanks by saying that she 
 would hasten forward to prepare for the re- 
 
 f 
 
 a:iAi|||' 
 
 -"J|i«».'-.v ' 
 
 ■^P" 
 
 VE; OR, 
 
 ception.of her guests. Her coachn^n put 
 her handsome greys into a brisk trot, Ihe^i 
 Countess giving a friendly bow as 8h6 
 drove by. • ^ - 
 
 "An excellent omen," cried Bernard— 
 " which is worth more, I ween, than thp 
 twelve vultures Romulus saw on the Anieh-i 
 tine hill, thongh a flight of birds hardly ever 
 prognosticated great things. In a city 19 
 which we are made welcome by such a Juno, 
 all Olympus certainly must open its doors." 
 
 Jaromir smiled. 
 
 Our friends arrived at the city gate, where, 
 being strangers, they experienced some de- 
 lay ; it was therefore night-fall when they 
 drove up before the palace of the Countess. 
 It was a spacious edifice, built in a noble 
 but somewhat antique style. Two lackeys 
 sprang to the steps, anoiho" received the 
 travellers and conducted them to the apart- , 
 ment prepared for their reception. • 
 
 " The Countess," said the valet, " begs the 
 gentlemen to make themselves comfortablej 
 and then, as soon as convenient, they will 
 please to join her in the saloon." 
 
 The travellers were quickly ready with 
 their toilets — that is, they had put on iTie 
 uniforms of the new regiment that was in 
 
 been agreed upon that Louis and Bernard 
 should lay aside their real names and adopt ' 
 others. The first, by a slight transposition 
 of letters, had taken the name of Soren ; Ber- 
 nard, in commemoration of an adventure 
 once at Loch Lomond, in Scotland, and being - 
 addicted to singularity, gave himself out as 
 Count Lomond. ' • 
 
 They now proceeded to the saloon. The 
 Countess met them at the door, with renewed * 
 welconwjs. Her tall and majestic figure was 
 now first seen to advantage, and it was ob- 
 served how striking was the resemblance to 
 her brother, even in that particular. 
 
 •' Let us be seated," she said, turning to 
 all around. " In the iirst place, I must know 
 something about those whom I have the^ 
 honbr to entertain as guests, which you will^ 
 pardon on the score of female curiosity ; for 
 my brother writes merely that Count Jaromir 
 is accompanied by two friends." 
 
 " Perhaps we are best qualified to give an 
 account of ourselves," replied Bernard. "In 
 me you behold a half-Scottish nobleman, 
 though born in Germany ; but I really believe 
 that my title of Count is worth no more than 
 my estates, which, indeed, 1 would not barter 
 too cheaply for the shadowy substanoes of a 
 magic- lantern. However, those to wltom a 
 name is of any value may well be satisfied 
 with that of Count Lomond. For my part, I 
 must confess that I am prouder of my pro- 
 fession than of my rank, and consequently •> 
 appreciate my pencil much higher than uiy * 
 
•#; 
 
 •iT:- 
 
 NAPOtEO!l?S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 escutcheon. You understand, then, most 
 gracious lady, that you see before you a 
 painter, who all his life-time has had the 
 duty imposed upon him of providing for the 
 wants of a nobleman, which, aside from his 
 being profoundly grateful, is the only merit 
 the latter possesses." 
 
 " Perhaps, then," said the Countess, smil- 
 ing, '• your pencil might renovate your escut- 
 cheon a little." 
 
 " Perhaps so," answered Bernard ; " but, 
 then, it certainly will be the last job which 
 he undertakes." 
 
 Without waiting for questioning, Louis 
 announced himself, giving as a reason for his 
 military choice, his general attachment to the 
 profession, and in which his friend shared ; 
 his motive in chosing the Polish costume was 
 founded, he said, on his acquaintance with 
 Count Rasinski. 
 
 " I am very grateful to you for the 
 thought," said the Countess, " that friendship 
 for my brother moved you to espouse the 
 cause of our country. Yes, we hope and 
 expect much from this war, which is now on 
 the eve of commencing ; it will to us be a 
 sacred contest." 
 
 "This also is a reason," replied Louis, 
 " why I wished to serve in a Polish division, 
 though a German myself; for the cause of 
 Poland, in this struggle, is unquestionably a 
 just and noble one. As a German, it is «ot 
 my business to fight for the French Emperor. 
 In the present situation of my father-land, 
 which is almost as wretched as is that of 
 Poland,' I cannot fight for him. To the 
 armies of Germany is reserved only the 
 doubtful honor of maintaining the fame of 
 German prowess ; there exists no higher aim 
 in this campaign for which the blood of my 
 countryman may be spilt." 
 
 " I even believe," said the Countess, " that 
 the majority would rather be beaten than 
 gain the victory." 
 
 " Certainly," answered Louis ; " but still I 
 would not count myself among that number. 
 Germany has need of another alliance than 
 that which Russia can offer us. The physi- 
 cal migiit of this Colossus may benefit my 
 country so far as to snatch it from the foreign 
 influence under which it now groans ; but I 
 fear lest this piece of service would cost us 
 too dear, and that in the end, perhaps, we 
 would only have made an exchange of mas- 
 ters. Be it my fate, however, to be subjected 
 to one of the two, no one will blame me for 
 preferring the dominion of a gigantic mind, 
 to the barbarous sway of mere physical 
 force." 
 
 " Unquestionably," cried Bernard, taking 
 
 the matter in his usual lively way, " a man 
 
 of honor, who is made to decide between the 
 
 sword and the knout, will choose the former. 
 
 3 
 
 We can find no spot better calculated to 
 warn us against Russia, than the capital of 
 Poland, where the wind yet stirs the ashes 
 of the firebrands the barbarous enewiy threw 
 within these walls." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed the Countess, painfully, 
 " we can still feel the cry of distress which 
 then arose ; it has not yet died away on the 
 breeze. I was a witness, though young, of 
 those heart-rending scenes ; but those spec- 
 tacles of terror are forever enstamped on my 
 soul. I can easier forget my own name, 
 than the impress of helpless despair which at 
 that tirae> lacerated every heart." 
 
 Having uttered these words, she rose, 
 overpowered with excitement, and walked 
 quickly a few times up and down the saloon. 
 The men kept silence. Finally, Jaromir be- 
 gan : 
 
 " There is a change coming, and it will be 
 otherwise ; the penance laid upon us by the 
 hand of an avenging Nemesis draws to an 
 end. I believe. Countess, that the time is 
 near when we are to be restored from our 
 Babylonian bondage to the fold of our fore- 
 fathers." 
 
 The Countess, still pacing the room, seem- 
 ed to have heard only the first words of 
 Jaromir. 
 
 " There is a change coming — it will be 
 otherwise !" she repeated. " It must be 
 otherwise. And if it continued thus for a 
 thousand years, still, the voice in my breast 
 would cry — ' It must be otherwise !' Or, do 
 you imagine that the mother, who lies bound 
 hand and foot on the groupd, while robbers 
 murder her infant, only bWeves in an aveng- 
 ing God ? No, she sees him ; his avenging 
 arm must punifeh the atrocious deed. He 
 must do it, or heaven is deaf to the voice of 
 entreaty, and there is no Ruler above us !" 
 
 Uttering these last words, she raised her 
 hand in a half-menacing, half-confident atti- 
 tude ; her eyes rolled, a noble anger flushed 
 her cheek. Only in the moi^t glistening of 
 a tear, still quivering on her eye-lashes, was 
 to be seen a trace of that gentler mood from 
 which her absorbing passion had forced her. 
 
 " How many times have I not undertaken," 
 she said, after a pause, moving her head with 
 sad and self-reproving expression, and letting 
 her upraised hand sink into its natural 
 position, " to make myself mistress of my 
 feelings ; yet always are they too strong foi 
 me ! Oh, this pain does not grow dull in my 
 bosom ! It rises afresh with every new sun. 
 and is not abated at his setting." 
 
 At this moment there was heard, borne on 
 the mild May breeze of the night, through 
 the open windows of the saloon, a sweet, 
 silvery voice, still at some distance, but quiL<> 
 distinct, blended in sweet melody with the 
 sound of a harp. All listened intently. 
 

 ^ 
 
 M 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED ANDl^TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ** The lovely siren, Frances AJisette," said 
 the Countess, smiling. " This little sorceress 
 has many a time dispelled those gloomy 
 dreams which crowd so heavily about me. 
 She is a young cantatrice, who belongs to 
 the theatre here in Warsaw." 
 
 All listened attentively to the sweet song- 
 stress; when she ceased, the Countess rang 
 a bell, and spoke a few words to the valet in 
 waiting. He left the room. 
 
 " I expect the visit of some female friends 
 this evening," she said, addressing her guests ; 
 •*I hope it will not be disagreeable to you*" 
 
 She was interrupted by the opening of a 
 side-door, and the entrance of a young lady 
 attired in a light summer -dress. The gentle- 
 men rose from their seats with polite alac- 
 rity, and the Countess rose to meet the new- 
 comer, took her by the hand, and presented 
 her with these words : 
 
 " My home-teompanion ; the name I with- 
 hold, as Count Jaromir must give us proof 
 whether he possesjses a retentive memory." 
 
 Jaromir looked at the charming figure with 
 that expression of uncertainty which a chal- 
 lenge of recognition is apt to prod^uce, when 
 one is not very firm iti his reminiscences. 
 The noble features of the incognito were 
 suffused with an amiable blush. In her 
 maidenly timidity she presented an alir;ost 
 nun-like appearance, in part occasioned by 
 the large many-folded white veil which she 
 wore. It was fastened by a golden pin in 
 her dark hair, thrown lightly behind the 
 tresses, resting on her cheek, and then float- 
 ing down over her shoulders almost to the 
 knee. On the other side it covered a freshly- 
 blown rose, its bright colors half-concealed 
 by the fine tissue. The slender stature, 
 more revealed than hid by the ample summer- 
 costume, the shyness and hesitancy observ- 
 able in the whole attitude, the bashful smile, 
 the timid yet trusting look, completed the 
 bewitching grace so conspicuous in that ap- 
 parition. 
 
 " Indeed," said Jaromir at last, " I feel 
 quite ashamed ; if you had any daughters, 
 Countess — " 
 
 " You would still guess wrong," she inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 " I was too much of a child," began the 
 unknown, in a sweet voice, " to dare enter- 
 tain any claim to be kept in mind, even by so 
 near a relative." 
 
 On this hint, Jaromir fastened his eyes 
 more searcliintrly on the charming creature; 
 she smiled sweetly, as if she would say : — 
 " Well, dost thou not know me yet ?" Then 
 suddenly he cried out : 
 
 " Lodoiska, is it thou ?" 
 
 " Found it at last," said the (jountess ; hut 
 Jaromir had seized Lodoiska's hand, kissed 
 it passionately, and then drew the blushing 
 
 girl gently towards him, embraced her, and, 
 according to Polish custom, imprinted the 
 unrestrained kiss on her brow. She ajQ8wer< 
 ed the greeting in a similar manner, 4 kittle 
 abashed,' but quite cordially. 
 
 " Tiie long-deceased parents of these two 
 young people were brothers," the Countess 
 began, in explanation to Louis and Bernard. 
 " The mother on her death-bed bequeathed 
 to me this lovely gift. She was my most 
 intimate friend," she added in a few moments, 
 sorrowfully, keeping her eyes fixed full of 
 benignity on Lodoiska.- " My foster-daughter 
 and her Cousin Jaromir were brought up to- 
 gether, and have throughout tiieir early 
 years regarded each other as brother and 
 sister." 
 
 And to say the truth, the intimacy between 
 Jaromir and Lodoiska was quickly re-estab- 
 lished. Jaromir sat down by Lodoiska, would 
 not let go her hand, and asked her a thousand 
 questions. 
 
 Not long after this, the rattling of a car- 
 riage was heard, and presently there entered 
 two elderly ladies, whom the Countess intro- 
 duced as her friends. The conversation now 
 became general ; the manners and language 
 were predominantly French ; but the Coun- 
 tess, who spoke the German very fluently, 
 often turned to Louis and Bernard, address- 
 ing them in that language, because she loved 
 it, and was very much pleased with the noble 
 eloquence in which Louis in particular clothed 
 his thoughts when speaking. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Thus was the party engaged in very ani- 
 mated conversation, in nowise curtailed or 
 embarrassed by the occasional crossings of 
 three distinct languages. 
 
 " I should be surprised," said the Countess, 
 during a momentary general pause, " if the 
 Colonel should not come, as he seldom 
 neglects passing an evening with me. I 
 know very well, it is true, that there is no 
 one to fetter him here in the house, but he 
 often meets with a favorite, and it would be 
 the case now, though I originally did not 
 design this surprise." 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking ?" asked 
 Bernard. " Whom can you be waiting for 
 that would be more likely to retain a man 
 captive in the house than the ladies already 
 present ?"' 
 
 " That remains- my secret, but not long, I 
 hope — at least till I can answer by deeds ; 
 
 ■*■ 
 
M 
 
 'mr 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 51 
 
 and indeed I can do so already," said the 
 Countess, looking toward the door, and hast- 
 ening ^o meet the young person who just 
 then entered. " How kind !" she said to the 
 new-comer, " to respond to my invitation by 
 each a friendly compliance. But your notes 
 drew me so sweetly and irresistibly that I 
 could not forego venturing the impertinent 
 request." 
 
 " Why will you always make me feel 
 ashamed ?" answered Frances Alisette, for 
 she it was,- in the most charming silver-tones, 
 while inclining to kiss the Countess' hand. 
 The Countess, however, averted it, and kissed 
 the lovely girl right heartily on her fresh 
 and pouting lips. " You know but too well," 
 said Frances, " how very happy it renders 
 me when I can spend an evening with you." 
 The character of this young girl was made 
 up of an affectionate tenderness and roguish 
 playfulness ; it was dubious whether she 
 was sincere in Xvhat she said, or whether she 
 only made sport of the Countess. But even 
 if the latter were the case, one could not 
 help forgiving it, as it was done with so 
 amiable a grace that no one could think of 
 taking offeree. Led by the Countess, she 
 now approached the company, saluted all 
 around with a friendly mien, as if knowing 
 them, and then seated herself between Jaromir 
 and Bernard. She immediately commenced 
 a lively chat, in which Bernard joined her ; 
 Jaromir seemed very much struck with 
 his pretty neighbor, but continued his confi- 
 dential chat with Lodoiska. Alisette was 
 merry and sad by turns ; she passed with 
 astonishing rapidity from one extreme to the 
 other, without the least affectation, design 
 or effort being perceptible. Her features 
 were ever the faithful mirror of her feelings, 
 or rather her expressions, either from habit 
 as an actress, or from natural facility. This 
 lent her a peculiar grace, difficult to describe : 
 her countenance in some respects was that 
 of a child, which instantly and distinctly be- 
 trays the slightest shade of pleasure or of 
 pain. But nothing could exceed her delight 
 when she learned that Bernard had seen 
 England and Scotland. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, " then I have at 
 last found somebody with whom I can talk 
 of the land where I saw my happiest days, 
 and my saddest too," 'she quickly added, 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 " You have passed both your Ijappiest and 
 your saddest days there ?" asked Bernard. "I 
 can^most say the same respecting myself. 
 But may I venture to ask what marred your 
 happiness ? for it would be rather venture- 
 some to enquire the source whente it 
 sprung" 
 
 capricious," cried Alisette, with mock dis- 
 
 pleasure, puckering her brow into many 
 formidable wrinkles. " Just like the men ; 
 for you all have the vanity-to imagine that 
 there can be no happiness without you." 
 
 " And is it not sufficiently modest," an- 
 swered Bernard, entering into her playful 
 mood, " that I at least presume that there 
 may be other causes of unhappiness ?" 
 
 " No. You must not jest about such 
 things," said Frances, mournfully, but in so 
 low a tone that her words reached Bernard, 
 only. " It was there that I lost my only sis- 
 ter, whom I loved above everything, and 
 who shortly before had become a widow, 
 leaving me no other memento than her littlo 
 orphan daughter, Nadine, who one day must 
 fill her mother's place with me. Oh, sir, you 
 cannot believe how much misery may be 
 crowded together in one short life ! You 
 rich and great ones little know into what 
 straits the poor, and particularly a helpless 
 girl, may too easily be brought ! But we 
 must leave this. It is not a fit subject for 
 discussion m company. But rather tell me 
 how you were pleased with England." 
 
 " Not so well as with Scotland," answer- 
 ed Bernard ; " for there I was attracted by 
 the wonderful character of the naturail 
 scenery,' and of the people. In Scotland, too, 
 I found a thousand-fold better subjects for my 
 pencil — for I am a painter." ^ 
 
 " You are a painter !" exclaimed Alisette, 
 joyfully. "Oh, that is excellent! Then 
 you have, no doubt, brought a good many 
 drawings with you, which you must let me 
 see ; for I have also travelled a good deal in 
 that country." 
 
 " Very willingly," replied Bernard, " But 
 for every leaf which I shall show you, you 
 must sing me a song." 
 . " A thousand, with pleasure," said Ali- 
 sette, merrily, every trace of seriousness 
 having vanished from her face, " Or do you 
 believe that I sing with reluctance? Oh, 
 no ; my whole soul is joyful when I sing," ^ 
 Bernard was about answering: 
 " Well, then, make yourself and others 
 happy," when their chat was broken off by 
 the entrance of a stranger, Colonel Regnara, 
 He was a man of stately mien, perhaps forty 
 years of age, but his lineaments seemed 
 to indicate that he had enjoyed life fastej 
 than is generally wholesome. A broad scar 
 descended his temple to the eye, but did not 
 particularly disfigure his brow. His look yet 
 possessed some waning fire ; his features 
 were marked, decided, indicative of mind 
 but without animation. As for the res^t, he 
 possessed that easy, gentlemanly demeanor 
 which a Frenchman seldom acquires but 
 with the age and rank of a Colonel ; and 
 
 . I ; ' 
 
 "You prove yourself at once both vain andi ^which the German assumes ten years ear 
 
 ISer. 
 
 ^."0^ ' 
 
 ** 
 
 .r.-U'c JF jU- iU^ 
 

 52 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 Regnard approached the hostess, and sa- 
 inted her with the graceful ease of a man of 
 the world. To the rest of the company, he 
 made a comprehensive bow, without signal- 
 izing any in particular. On Alisette, alone, 
 he hestowed a confident look. 
 
 " I see," he began, after the lapse of a few 
 moments, " something doubly remarkable to 
 me ; three entirely unknown gentlemen, in 
 an equally unknown uniform. May I beg 
 of you," turning to the Countess, " to make 
 me acquainted with my comrades in arms." 
 
 She then introduced the new-comers. 
 
 " So Count Rasinski will arrive soon ?" 
 the Colonel remarked, on learning the con- 
 nexion existing between himself and the young 
 men. " This gives me great pleasure — for 
 we have shared many a hot day together in 
 Spain and Italy. An excellent soldier," he 
 added, dividing his address between the 
 Countess and the young men; "the Em- 
 peror could have selected none better, as the 
 leader of a free corps. The Count has a 
 military eye, which grasps the relation of 
 great operations at a glance and judges 
 with precision at what point an apparently 
 trifling aid may be of incalculable service. 
 The majority of leaders of such troops err in 
 viewing their enterprises as detached, and 
 execute them accordingly. It is very well 
 to intercept one of the enemy's transports of 
 provisions ; to cut off a detachment, or ha- 
 rass and fatigue the enemy. But, on the 
 whole, it benefits but little. Tlie true parti- 
 san must either enact the part of the wasp, 
 which stings the huntsman's hand, at the 
 moment of firing ; or else assume that of the 
 mouse, which knaws the net in which the 
 lion is entangled." 
 
 The Colonel spoke on military subjects 
 with great perspicuity and decision, yet with- 
 out sinking into that disagreeable tone which 
 teems to presuppose giving instruction to 
 perfect tyros and imparting to them 
 the choicest lessons of wisdom. He threw 
 out the profoundest observations as only by 
 chance, as things which were understood of 
 themselves; and nothing appeared in his 
 generally passive and immoveable features 
 which savored of an exaction of obsequious 
 praise for the value 6f his dicta. So, in 
 this instance, everything he said bore, pro- 
 perly speaking, only the character of a eulo- 
 gy on Count Rasinski. 
 
 Jaromir responded to the Colonel's re- 
 marks approvingly, through which a conver- 
 sation on military matters was set on foot ; 
 to which Louis and Bernard listened with 
 much intere.st. This drew them somewhat 
 away from the ladies, and they were conse- 
 quently the more agreeably surprised, w hen, 
 suddenly a few chords were heard from the 
 opened piano. It was Frances Alisette, who, 
 
 on being snnnnoned to sing, bad, with a play* 
 fnl grace, seated herself at the instrument^ 
 and unconsciously made a few pascftges, 
 while looking thoughtfully up, as if seeking 
 something that would do to perform. 
 
 " Hist !" said the Colonel. " Now let as 
 listen, my friends ! Every sound of this sil- 
 very voice which passes unheard is an irre- 
 coverable loss." 
 
 All now looked at Alisette, who, with a 
 gentle undulation of her pretty little head, 
 sang a French romance, which she delivered 
 with much feeling, in all its soft, wave-like 
 melody ; now sinking, now hovering high in 
 the dominion of sound. It was, indeed, a 
 charming sight to behold her. For, without 
 betraying any design — without employing 
 any afl!ected play of the features, the expres- 
 sion of her countenance accordfid with that 
 of the music, and of the words, in their most 
 delicate turnings. The beautifully curved . 
 lineaments of her face seemed to be moved 
 by the 'faintest breath of sound, as the tiny 
 streamer of a pennon caressingly bends to 
 the faintest breath of air. 
 
 And what an indescribable grace dwelt in 
 those clear, silvery tones, which struck 
 the ear so delightfully, and seemed to pene- 
 trate the heart with such touching plaints 
 and entreaties. Every one listened with sus- 
 pended breath. Bernard suffered his eye to 
 rove all around. He would have been glad 
 to sketch everything in the room possessed 
 of eyes and ears ; for the interest depicted in 
 every countenance imparted to each a pecu- 
 liar character for the pencil to portray. From 
 long practice of deciphering the expression 
 of a countenance from the hidden depths of 
 the sould — being convinced that all forms are 
 subject to a spiritual law, which we do not 
 always readily understand — he was now 
 busily employed in interpreting those beauti- 
 ful hieroglyphics before him. An undertak- 
 ing, by the way, in which we often become 
 involved in more intricate mistakes, than if 
 trying to unravel the secrets of the Egyptian 
 catacombs from the magic writings of East- 
 ern priests. Two facts, however, did not 
 escape his observation. 
 
 Lodoiska seemed less employed by thu 
 song tlian in watching its effect on Jaromir. 
 He, on the contrary, was so completely lost 
 in contemplation of the singer, that he 
 did not notice how she directed all her words 
 and looks towards him, in quite a striking 
 manner. 
 
 Bernard made a third discovery, before the 
 song was concluded ; namely, that the Col> 
 onel appeared to have shared his second dis- 
 covery, and knitted his brow very portentously. 
 Bernard was too well versed in the school of 
 experience, not to draw a number of infer- 
 ences from what he perceived. Some ex-j. 
 
 %■ 
 
 *. 
 
'■I 
 
 ^-. 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 m 
 
 pres^ns which had fallen from the lips of 
 the Countess had left it to be plainly under- 
 stood that the Colonel labored assiduously to 
 gain the favor of the pretty Alisette. If she 
 then accorded the preference to the young 
 and handsome Jaromir, it might lead to seri- 
 ous difficulties, as the Colonel did not look 
 like a man who would patiently brook a 
 rival. With all the apparent innocence so 
 conspicuous in the demeanor and character 
 of Alisette, Bernard still had his doubts 
 whether this appearance was not deceptive. 
 In his life-time he had enjoyed frequent op- 
 portunities to learn, by experience, to what 
 extent women know to conceal their real 
 characters by their outward conduct ; and 
 bow difficult, therefore, it is to distinguish 
 if an innocent look proceeds from a pure 
 and innocent mind, or not He had but 
 very slight grounds of suspicion against 
 Alisette; and what lie had just noticed 
 might as easily be the result of accident as 
 of design, as Jaromir was standing directly 
 opposite to her. He felt, however, as if an 
 inward voice had spoken to him. The beauti- 
 ful clear blue mirror of placid waters which 
 reflects sunshine and sky in such deliehtful 
 refulgence, conceals a dangerous gim be- 
 neath ! On the contrary, Lodoiska's noble 
 and, mild features bespoke incontestibly the 
 inmost disposition of her souL, and without 
 being more than usually attracted by the 
 graces of her person, her aspect seemed in-^ 
 disputably to tell him« 
 
 " This one, thou mayest trust ; her eye is 
 also her heart." 
 
 But, did not that same eye, so anxiously 
 rivetted on Jaromir, appear to speak and say : 
 
 " Thou trusty friend of my youth, I love 
 thee faithfully in my inmost heart ! Must I 
 stand by and behold this tempting siren 
 weave around thee the silvery chords of her 
 music, and finally rob me of thee forevAl'' 
 
 As soon as Frances Alisette had finished 
 her song, she sprang up gaily, and flew to 
 Lodoiska, who was siting on a corner of the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Now, my dear Countess," she pleaded, 
 " you must give us a song ; your short 
 Polish national airs are so very charming, 
 however little I may understand of the 
 words." 
 
 " Oh, no, no," said Lodoiska gently de- 
 clining ; " how can I let ray saddening 
 strains and unsteady voice be heard after 
 your beautiful melodies !" 
 
 " Oh, but they are so sweet, so touching 1 
 For do you think that I have not overheard 
 you, when sometimes late in the night you 
 have sung these national airs by yourself in 
 your chamber ?" 
 
 Lodoiska blushed sweetly. 
 
 "Yes," continued Alisette, taking Lodoiska's 
 
 hand with a beseeching motion, " the night 
 and open window often betray the sweetest 
 secrets. That little song, for example," 
 humming the beginning of the melody, — " I 
 should love to hear you sing, I have already 
 heard two successive nights." 
 
 Lodoiska blushed without suspecting it. 
 Frances had placed her in an awkward po- 
 sition, as the words of the little song must 
 seem, to those who understood the Polish 
 idiom, really to betray some heart-secrets. 
 
 " The song," she said at last, " is a memo- 
 rial of early childhood, having often heard it 
 sung by my mother ; it is by pure accident 
 that I have sung it two successive evenings, 
 as the nightingale opposite kept me awaKe." 
 
 " Oh, then siag it the third evening also," 
 answered Frances, "pray, pray, dol" and 
 she coaxed so prettily that Lodoiska must 
 indeed have had some very weighty objec- 
 tion if she had returned a negative answer. 
 She would have been glad to give such an 
 answer, but she felt that it would be better 
 to appear willing to sing it, than by her refu- 
 sal to lend the words of the song a real im- 
 Jort, especially as she must suppose that 
 aromir and the Countess in all probability 
 already were aware what song it was by the 
 nctelody which Frances had hummed. She 
 yielded tlierefore to her entreaties, suffered 
 herself to be led to the piano,, sat down to the 
 instrument and began : — .. '^ 
 
 All aloue J love to wander, 
 
 Seeking out the stillest glade ; 
 From the gay I keep asunder. 
 Courting the deep forest-shade ; 
 By the wall of rocky ledges, 
 By the streamlet's verdant edges, 
 I sit me down to think : Oh when 
 Wilt thou return to me again ! 
 
 n. 
 
 On the pinions of the breezes 
 
 Lovely spring comes back amsdn. 
 Bringing with her ail that pleases — 
 
 Bringing happiness again. ^ 
 
 But in the Ibrest's dark recess, 
 To mourn alone 's my happiness ; 
 To sing the ditty — When, Oh when 
 Wilt thou return to me again I 
 
 IIL 
 
 And when the swallows' young forsjike 
 
 Our hospitable quiet roof, 
 Oh, that I could with them betake 
 Myself to flight from hence aloof ! 
 ^ If paleuess on my lip should rest, 
 
 Till thee I should have found — caress'd, 
 I'd never droop my wing ; but when 
 Wilt thou return to me again i 
 
 M 
 
«■■ 
 
 54 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 tf. 
 
 As the brook its ripple poors, 
 Ou and on to meet the sea. 
 So my tears would fall in showera. 
 Never to be dried away. 
 
 How much longer wilt thou tarry ? 
 Anguish makes my heart most weary. 
 My head in death must sink. Oh when 
 Wilt thou return to me again ? 
 
 Lodoiska possessed a sweet, touching 
 voice, from which out of timorousness she 
 elicited only low notes, but which in their 
 pure and distinct modulations resembled the 
 trembling sounds of the a^iian harp. In 
 combination with the gentle Uush on her 
 noble countenance, and the words seeming to 
 express the secret throbbings of her heart, 
 her song produced quite a peculiar impres- 
 sion. It was maidenly delicacy in some 
 measure embodied in these strains ; not 
 merely a specimen of art, but a sweet image 
 of nature iierself, created by her in son>e 
 consecrated moment, and endowed with all 
 the touching graces of life. It is easily 
 to be accounted for why it was that Lodo- 
 iska to-day repeated the song which she 
 yesterday would have sung with so much 
 freedom, with evident embarrassment. For 
 within only a few hours the seed of a perti- 
 nent import of the words applicable to the 
 reality of her own slate had commenced to 
 spring up ; this as yet but dimly-apprehended 
 foreboding produced a timidity and constraint 
 which otherwise she would have been un- 
 conscious of. A man is more inclined than 
 a maiden to look for omens in accidental 
 incidents, when they side with his wishes ; 
 Jaromir ventured therefore to apply these 
 words to himself, and in so doing his heart 
 beat with tumultuous joy. He reflected, that, 
 as mentioned by Frances, she had sung this 
 song in the solitary and silent watchesof the 
 night. Had she then been thinking of him i 
 Yes, yes, he said to himself, and he believed 
 what he so ardently wished. This supposi- 
 tion of her afiections meeting him half way, 
 quickly fanned his passion into a flame ; he 
 enjoyed the rare happiness of not doubting 
 ^ut that the beloved responded to his passion, 
 believing that he already saw her heart un- 
 veiled. Not by any act of hers, however, for 
 like the rose, she carried her feelings con- 
 cealed in the inmost blossom, but the hand 
 of an over-ruling Providence unfolded the 
 tender leaflets, and disclosed the jewel they 
 enfolded. 
 
 He was not led to this conclusion by a 
 thoughtless, mean-spirited vanity, but his 
 strong faith in a lovng heart, the buoyant 
 hopes of youth, which in its happy fancies 
 so easily intermixes ardent wishes and 
 sweet realization. But he m this case, did 
 
 I not delude himself with idle fancies, even if 
 perhaps he guessed more than had been re- 
 vealed — yea, than Lodoiska was capable of 
 revealing — her heart being yet hidden to her- 
 self beneath the cloistered veil. 
 
 By desire of the Colonel, to whom music 
 was more of a diversicm than a sentiment, a 
 duet was proposed ; but Lodoiska gave a 
 gentle but decided refusal. Time was not 
 allowed the Colonel, who was far from being 
 disposed to retreat so easily, to lay a scien- 
 tiiic siege, for the Countess summoned hitn 
 to conduct her to the supper table. He gal- 
 lantly offered her his arm ; Jaromir offered 
 his to Lodoiska ; Louis standing near one of 
 the elder ladies, escorted her, and Bernard 
 took Alisette under his left am, and the 
 other friend of the Countess, who would 
 otherwise have been left solitary, under his 
 right. " I place you at the side where my 
 heart beats," he said to Alisette half aloud, 
 who answered him by a look of cheerful con- 
 fidence. The folding doors of the splendidly 
 illuminated supper room were thrown opea 
 and the party entered and sat dowo. 
 
 n- 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The young soldiers did not retire to their 
 rooms till towards midnight. These rooms 
 were three, all openinjr on a long corridor, 
 the windows towards the garden. By this 
 arrangement the three friends could be 
 separate or together at pleasure. Each one 
 had his own apartment, but by takiiig only 
 a couple of steps could enter that of hi» 
 neighbor. Jaromir bid the other two a good 
 ni^t; he appeared to be tired. Bernard 
 and Louis remained yet some time together, 
 talking over the singular position of their 
 circumstances. This was indeed the first 
 confidential hour which they had spent to- 
 gether since their departure from Dresden ; 
 for, from several motives, they liad been 
 oWiged to perform the journey so rapidly, 
 that no time had been found for a quiet chat 
 together, which besides, the presence of Ja- 
 romir, yet a comparative stranger, had pre- 
 vented. 
 
 '* 1 wonder," said Bernard, " what prize 
 dame Fortune will next let us catch in her 
 net. I, as the great Count Ljomond, have at 
 least opened a door. Egad ! while here in 
 Poland, I begin to repent me that I did not 
 saddle myself with a dukedom, for in the long 
 string of the genuine pearls of Polish mag- 
 nates, a spurious one from Scotland would 
 soon be lost. Well, who knows what may 
 happen I" I ' ' 
 
■w 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 " I envy thee thy cheerful spirits," an- 
 8t*ered Louis, " but try how I may to look 
 mi my fate in a favorable light, I cannot suc- 
 M*ed. I believe that I must meet it earnestly 
 V /id resolutely; but there it stands before 
 '<iie, like a dismal barren rock, on which I 
 • fAnnot perceive as much available soil as 
 tould servo to rear a single poor shrub, 
 nuch less a flower!" 
 
 " A hand will appear," answered Bernard, 
 • which striking the rock, as Moses did of 
 »]d, will cause a rich and refreshing fountain 
 tO burst forth. There are hours in which 
 an invisible tripod of the Pythian prophetess 
 is placed under me, and when the Delphic 
 oracle speaks through my lips. I think that 
 I am at this very moment comfortably seated 
 on the inspiring stool, and the entire stock of 
 a magic-lantern is passing before me, por- 
 trayii)g foreshadowiogs of our coming i'or- 
 tunes with the most delicious coideur de rose. 
 1 cannot for my life see \Yhy we should not 
 earn our epaulettes in the very first engage- 
 ment, in the second, vault into the captain's 
 saddle, and in the third carry off the major's 
 cordon. If the Russian Emperor has no 
 more than even two or three brave generals, I 
 do not know why the war should not continue 
 at least for seven years, and that gives time 
 to mature a marshal's baton with a ducal 
 crown on the top of it, which will be very 
 nice to exchange for my Scottish patent of no- 
 bility. And tell me, would not Prince of 
 Petersburg, or Duke of Archangel, or even 
 in case I should command the right wing of 
 the army, Prince of Astrachan, sound just as 
 well as Prince of Pontecorvo, or of Mbitfera, 
 or of Dalmatia ? I think it would look pass- 
 WCh , ing well if I should assume the title of even 
 ^^4?! Duke of Kamtschatka, or Prince of the Lena, 
 < and adopt a mammoth's bone as my armorial 
 
 ^ ensign." 
 
 "Thou makest the war rather protracted," 
 said Louis, Smiling, " but yet I say the dis- 
 position is to be envied that on so black a 
 horizon can discern such gay imagery." 
 ■■ y " That is the talent of the painter," cried 
 
 Bernard, " and I have exercised it consider- 
 . ably. If I place myself before a very black 
 and threatening thunder-cloud, I see in the 
 piled up masses, in their bold arches and 
 sulphurous edges, the most magnificent 
 serial palaces and mountains. But thou 
 seeraest tired ; let us ascertain then if the 
 couches of this Juno who has taken us in 
 matches her otherwise truly Olympian re- 
 ^ • ception." 
 
 Louis shook Bernard by ihs hand, wished 
 
 , « him a good night, and pasfsed to his room. 
 
 Bernfird felt the stimulus of the noble tokay, 
 
 of which he had not sparingly partaken, 
 
 .i^ coursing too fiery through his veins to resign 
 
 ■> * himself to indolent slumber. He went to 
 
 K 
 
 the window, opened it, and looked into the 
 garden. A cooling night-breeze wafted 
 through the tree-tops and _ lightly waued the 
 bushes to and fro ; the moon vv^as low', near 
 the horizon, and consequently threw the dark 
 shadows of the building far away over the 
 green-sward ; but in places where nothing 
 intercepted her beams, she illumined the 
 paths and grass-plats with almost the clear 
 light of day. Bernard remembered that 
 Alisette had said to him at table, " Here we 
 sit directly opposite to my windows, into 
 which the moon shines all night with her 
 friendly beams." He took it into his head 
 to make the experiment to steal down into 
 the dining-saloon, which was on the other 
 side of the palace, from thence to watch the 
 windows of the charming girl a little while. 
 Resolve and execution were generally simul- 
 taneous with him ; he threw his dressing- 
 gown around him, therefore, and silently left 
 his room. Only a single half-expiring lamp 
 flickered at the end of the corridor. He 
 listened intently, to ascertain that all was 
 still. Not a sound was audible throughout 
 the whole building. With nimble feet he 
 approached the lamp which was suspended 
 in the centre groin above the great stair-case, 
 and in this manner threw its light into each 
 of the wings. Without meeting any person, 
 he went along the entire main-front till he 
 reached the other wing ; at the angle of the 
 corridor was another half-extinguished lamp ; 
 yet it gave light sufficient to enable one to 
 distinguish the several doors which led from 
 the passage into the apartments. The third 
 door was that of the dining-room ; this had 
 been observed by Bernard, who possessed 
 considerable acumen and a good memory. 
 He gently tried- the door whether it was 
 locked or not ; it was unlocked ; he went in, 
 and now stood all alone in the large obscure 
 hall, where the close-drawn white curtains 
 looked like so many pale spectres. Though 
 he stepped very softly, his motions caused a 
 kind of ghost-like whispering sound through 
 the vast space. Cautiously he approached 
 a window, parted the curtains a little, and 
 looked out over the way. Directly opposite, 
 across the rather narrov/ street, the other 
 jside of which was lighted by the moon, 
 was a small house, in which the windows of 
 the second story were closed by green blinds. 
 The shadow of the palace extended so far 
 that the lower part of the house was fully 
 obscured by it. Though nothing could have 
 been distinguished in the basement or at the 
 door of the dwelling, the objects on which 
 the bright moonlight rested were so much 
 the more discernible. According to descrip- 
 tion, this was Alisette's dwelling, and her 
 windows were in the second story. Ber- 
 nard's keen eye discovered a light shining 
 
 *:-■« 
 
 -.1^. 
 
56 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 through the blinds, and a moving shadow as- 
 sured him that some one there had not yet 
 gone tarest. 
 
 All fft once he heard the noise of a key 
 cautiously turned in the lock ; the front 
 door opposite was opened, and a tall figure, 
 wrapped in a cloak, slipped quickly out into 
 the street, and immediately vanished in the 
 shadows of the palace. The -figure crossed 
 the street and crept along under the windows 
 of the saloon, so that Bernard could not fol- 
 low it with his eyes, nor discover the direc- 
 tion it took. 
 
 Bernard was much astonished at what he 
 saw, when, connected with other observa- 
 tions and remarks, the idea was forced upon 
 him that the unknown figure was none other 
 than the Colonel, who had just paid a noc- 
 turnal visit to the girl. He now fixed his 
 eagle-glance on Alisette's window, to watch 
 whether she would yet show herself, and 
 thus corroborate his suspicions. But every- 
 thing remained quiet. A feeble light yet 
 shone through the blinds — now ond then ob- 
 scured by a passing shadow, but nothing 
 more could be seen. 
 
 Bernard persevered for about half an hour 
 i I his strict espionage at the window. But 
 1 s positively nothing more was to be gained, 
 .' .e resolved to return to his room. He turn- 
 3d round to go to the door, but remained 
 stationary — transfixed by amazement — for 
 the door opened, and a spectral figure, en- 
 veloped in a large white veil, made more dis- 
 tinctively apparent by the moonlight, which 
 fell through a window in the corridor, glided 
 into the saloon. Bernard shrank back, 
 alarmed. However extraordinary the appa- 
 rition might be, it was not the fear of ghosts 
 which fell upon him, but rather an apprehen- 
 sion of being caught in his singular night- 
 wandering. Holding his breath, he leaned 
 against a column, glad at not having the 
 white transparent window-curtains as a 
 back-ground. The door closed behind the 
 entering figure, which, with inaudible steps, 
 pursued its way the whole length of the hall. 
 In the deep obscurity, it appeared to the ob- 
 server's eye as a passing pillar of vapor, los- 
 ing itself more and more in the distance. 
 
 However keenly Bernard followed the 
 vision with his eyes, yet he could not dis- 
 cover which way it took. It was lost entire- 
 ly at the farther end of the hall. No door was 
 heard to open or shut ; but no one came back, 
 and not the slightest noise was to be heard. 
 He was at first uncertain whether the figure 
 did not linger in the saloon. Not unnecessa- 
 rily to betray himself, therefore, he remained 
 a good while immoveable. He then cau- 
 tiously approached the door — gained the cor- 
 ridor, and though the lamps were all extin- 
 
 guished, be reached his chamber without 
 further adventure. 
 
 , /He was surprised, on passing Jaromir'a 
 door to find that he was yet awake. He 
 heard him pacing the floor up and down. 
 With redoubled caution he passed by, to es- 
 cape betraying himself at the last moment. 
 Unperceived, he safely reached his chamber. 
 He threw himself upon his bed ; but a long 
 time elapsed, before the multitude of con- 
 jectures awakened in his mind by these ex- 
 traordinary occurrences suffered him to drop 
 into a sleep. ^ 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Jaromir was the first one awake. He 
 sprang from his couch and called his friends ; 
 for the sober hour of active duty had ar- 
 rived. 
 
 Bernard and L8uis were quickly in their 
 regimentals. They prepared to sally forth. 
 Everything in the house was yet perfectly 
 still. The streets even were yet silent. 
 Their way led them through the by-street in 
 which Alisette lived. Bernard, remembering 
 last night's adventure, looked sharply round. 
 The window-blinds were still closed. Jaro- 
 mir, on the other hand, looked tip at the win- 
 dows of the palace, which were screened by 
 white curtains. 
 
 " What does your eye seek up there ?" 
 asked Bfrnard, with some misgiving. " Turn 
 them this way, for in one of these houses 
 lives the pretty Frances Alisette, as she told 
 me herself, yesterday." 
 
 " And there lives — " cried Jaromir eager- 
 1'', but stopped suddenly short, for one of the 
 window-curtains, at which he was just then 
 looking, began to roll up — the window open- 
 ed, and Lodoiska leaned out of it. 
 
 She blushed scarlet on seeing the three 
 young men. Jaromir's face became suffused 
 with a sudden glow, and he was thrown into 
 such perplexity, that he came very near 
 omitting his morning salute ; while Bernard 
 and Louis had already offered theirs. 
 
 " What, Countess !" said Bernard, with 
 great freedom. " Are you not afraid of the 
 morning air. Those who know say it is in- 
 jurious to beauty !" 
 
 " I am almost always in the garden as 
 early as this," said Lodoiska, a little con- 
 strained. 
 
 " Then, those who know must be great 
 errorists," interposed .Bernard, with ready 
 gallantry. 
 
 Lodoiska modestly lowered her eyes and 
 smiled, but did not reply. 
 
w 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 t> 
 
 57 
 
 The friends made another bow towards the 
 window, receiving a friendly acknowledg- 
 ment in return. Lodoiska disappeared, and 
 they went on their way. 
 
 One look into Jaromir's bright eye reveal- 
 ed to so practised an observer of human fea- 
 tures as Bernard the whole state of his 
 heart. That he loved, and was loved in re- 
 ctum, was plainly to be seen. From the po- 
 sition of the rooms, Bernard at the same 
 time conjectured that the ghost which he 
 had seen in the diiiing-hall was none other 
 than Lodoiska. 
 
 " AheiH !" said Bernard, giving Jaromir a 
 roguish but searching look : " the young 
 Coantess seems to be the last one to bed, and 
 the first out of .it. If not very much deceiv- 
 ed, I saw her last night in the shape of a 
 ghost !" 
 
 " What didst see ?" asked Jaromir, quick- 
 ly ; " what was it, I pray thee ?" 
 
 " How ! art thou afraid of ghosts ?" asked 
 Bernard, a little maliciously. 
 
 " Oh, leave joking," interrupted Jaromir, 
 half-vexed, and half beseechingly. " Tell 
 me what thou didst see ; it concerns me a 
 good deal." 
 
 " Long after mtdnight," said Bernard, in 
 an imposing tone, " I saw the chamber-door 
 of a certain young officer standing open, 
 and he himself awaJce, though so veiy tired 
 after his journey !" 
 
 " Hast thou been listening, Bernard ? I 
 pray thee tell me !" Cried Jaromir again. 
 
 " Ah ! what will not an evil conscience 
 do !" was the merry answer. " Listened ? 
 No ! But I saw ghosts — ladies clad in white, 
 veiled and mystical figures." 
 
 "I am becoming quiie curious," said 
 liOuis. " Ghosts, adventures ? let us hear." 
 
 " Dear friends !" cried Jaromir, without 
 waiting for Bernard's answer, but seizing the 
 hands of both, " I will be frank with you ; 
 for I see I am already half betrayed. But 
 swear to keep it to yourselves, if you value 
 my happiness." 
 
 " Very willingly," answered Louis, giving 
 him his hand. 
 
 " By Styx !" said Bernard, doing the same. 
 " Though I think it hardly necessary, as I 
 know, or guess at the whole. But go on !" 
 
 Jaromir began : 
 
 " Lodoiska was the play-mate of my youth ; 
 she is my nearest relative. We had passed 
 indescribably happy days together on her 
 father's estate, near Narew. Shall I con- 
 fess to you, that while yet a mere boy, I lov- 
 ed the sweet girl ? She was thirteen, and I 
 seventeen. But she bloomed like the most 
 lovely rose-bud, and was already then so 
 good — so intelligent ! oh, a thousand times 
 more so than myself I About that time I 
 was compelled to part from her. I entered 
 
 the army : that is now six years ago. I have, 
 since then, roved through half the world, 
 and lived only amid the wild tumult and bus- 
 tle of war. But do you believe it, dear 
 friends, that the image of that tender child has 
 accompanied me everywhere ; and that none 
 of all the Spanish beauties and pretty French 
 women whom I have met with has made any 
 impression on ray heart derogatory to her 
 worth ! 
 
 " But, during years of military campaign- 
 ing much of our earlier feelings evaporates ! 
 When I thought of home, it is true, Lodois- 
 ka stood before me ; but the thought recur- 
 red more rarely, and in the incessant change 
 and crowd of objects, I gradually lost all 
 feelings of home. He who is at home no- 
 where, soon gets to feel at home any and 
 everywhere! It was not till again seeing 
 the towers of Warsaw that the old longing 
 vl^as awaked within me, and Lodoiika's im- 
 age again floated mild and lovely before my 
 vision. But I could think of her only as the 
 child of by-gone days I I said a thousand 
 times to myself that she must now be a 
 grown-up maiden ; but my heart refused to 
 acknowledge her as such." 
 
 " And I think yonr heart was right," in- 
 terrupted Bernard ; " for her soul is still that 
 of a child's, and shines forth through her 
 outward beauty as through a thin gauze. A 
 more guileless heart never dwelt in woman's 
 breast. I understand it — for I have sketched 
 many an angel , but, alas ! many a Jezebel, 
 too." 
 
 " Thou speakest exactly as if taking the 
 words out of my mouth," cried Jaromir, with 
 joyful animation, not hearing or noticing the 
 appendix Bernard tacked to his pleasing de- 
 lineation. " This was the cause of our be- 
 coming intimate as we had been on the day 
 we parted. When we separated for the 
 night, therefore, I felt quite crest-fallen. 
 Disquieting thoughts racked my mind : I did 
 not know what I wanted. The moon shone 
 brightly ; the night-air was so mild and 
 balmy. As I lay leaning out of my window, 
 I saw a figure in white, moving through the 
 dark copse, in the garden. Oh ! if that were 
 she, I thought, and I could yet say a few 
 words to her ! I hastened down, and bought 
 through all the shady walks, but in vain. 
 But suddenly I heard in the distance, but 
 very low, those little couplets which she sang 
 for us in the evening. I followed the sound, 
 and discovered the lovely creature in a bow- 
 er by the artificial fountain. At first, I in- 
 tended only to listen : but I soon got vexed 
 with myself, — went nearer — stepped sudden^ 
 ly before her, and spoke to her." 
 
 " Thou art indeed a bold man, my friend," 
 again interrupted Bernard ; but in gentle 
 tones of sympathizing concern. " Thou 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 mightest have trifled away a great deal iu 
 • that way." 
 
 " I know it, indeed ; but yesterday I could 
 not help it ; I could not have done other- 
 wise !" answered Jarorair, looking superla- 
 tively honest and self-complacent. 
 
 " Thou art absolved ; but go on confess- 
 ing," said Bernard with consummate gravity. 
 " I believe I should have done the very same 
 thing. But the Countess, what did she do ?" 
 
 " She was terrified, angry, scolded, entreat- 
 ed—" • 
 
 " I know all that," interrupted Bernard, 
 "If one is not already sold to the evil one, 
 when in love, then it is done afterwards. 
 But, proceed !" 
 
 " She gave me her hand, and was so good 
 and kind — and — ■" 
 
 Jaromir's young heart overflowed; his 
 transport beamed forth from his eyes. Speak 
 he could not — but he fell on the neck of Ber- 
 nard and Louis. 
 
 " Louis," he cried, " she consents to be 
 mine. Sweetly reluctant she gave me the 
 blessed promise ; but with trembling haste 
 drove me ofi" immediately. Perhaps at this 
 moment she is unlocking her pure heart in 
 prayer. Oh ! my friends, can one ever be 
 happier ?" 
 
 Jaromir, who had completely surrendered 
 himself to the tumult of love, did not notice 
 that Louis was grave and deeply affected ; 
 yea, that portentous folds gathered even on 
 Bernard's brow. The former was thinking 
 of Bianca. He contrasted the shadowy form 
 of his mournful fancy with the real, living 
 one which came decked with flowers to the 
 meeting of the youth at his side. 
 
 "^I wish you joy," said Bernard, shaking 
 Jaromir by the hand. " You may be blessed, 
 or at lest happy and contented. Soft arms 
 are easy fetters ; but still they are fetters. A 
 cage is a cage, be it even as narrow as that 
 in which John of Leyden was hung at the 
 tower at Munster, or as dark as the Black 
 Hole of Calcutta i or, to put both together, 
 as the hole into which we must all creep 
 at last. I understand now about that spec- 
 tral vision, which I found rambling about in 
 the ancestral hall." 
 
 Jaromir pricked up his ears. Bernard 
 then related his adventure in the saloon ; but 
 represented himself only as a whimsical fel- 
 low, who loved to stump about at night in 
 strange building?, but made no mention either 
 of the motive which had actuated him, or of 
 the suspicions he had conceived of Alisette's 
 conduct. 
 
 With this conversation the three friends 
 had arrived at the end of their walk ; name- 
 
 ^the parade ground, where Bernard and 
 uis were to commence their lesgtTns in the 
 details of the service. They found already 
 
 on the ground several troopers and non-com- 
 missioned officers belonging to two defective 
 squadrons of Polish lancers, which were to 
 constitute the nucleus of the new regiment. 
 The preliminary duty assigned to Jaromir 
 was to form a compact whole out of these frag- 
 ments. For the present he consigned his 
 friends to the modelling hands of an old grey- 
 beard, who was to instruct them in the first ru- 
 diments of manual service. 
 
 John Petrowski, a sergeant, who had 
 fought under Kosciusko, became their drill- 
 master. He entered upon his duty with a 
 kind of awe, which did not spring, however, 
 from respect to the exalted rank of his re- 
 cruits, but from sheer professional venera- 
 tion for the object itself. For here was the 
 question of moulding two warriors who were 
 to fight for the dear father-land ; for that 
 beloved, sacred, father-land, to which John 
 Petrowski in his vigorous manhood, when 
 his old chieftain, Kosciusko called the sons 
 of Poland to arms, so joyfully dedicated his 
 life. He was now on the confines of old 
 age — for the next spring he would have to 
 count himself among sexagenarians. But 
 still he oflfered his grey head, scarred by 
 many a sabre-cut, joyfully to the service of 
 his country ; and the old, sacred flame of 
 patriotism and a heroic spirit glowed yet • 
 within his aged breast, as wine becomes rich- 
 er and stronger through age. Two piercing 
 eyes flashed from beneath the half-bald fore- 
 head around which circled some grey locks. 
 The prominent aquiline nose arched towards 
 the severe and compressed lips which were " 
 nearly concealed by high grey moustaches , -• 
 on which John Petrowski prided himself not * 
 a little. J 
 
 His countenance seemed to say : Look at . ■*'' 
 me : as mouldered and weather-beaten an oak 
 as I seem, and though leturning spring lenda 
 me no ornament to soften my rough bark, still 
 I may, perhaps, brave the storm and the tem- 
 pest with greater strength and success than 
 yourselves. I have struck my roots deep 
 into the stony soil, and he that pulls me down ,|( 
 must tear away one-half of the hill along 
 with me. He gave the word of command : 
 " Shoulder arms ! carry arms ! ground 
 arms ! right about face ! march I halt !" 
 with the solemn gravity of a priest reading 
 mass. His disciples obeyed him with equal 
 zeal and attention. They accordingly made 
 rapid progress, and pupils and instructor 
 were delighted with each other. Thus the 
 whole day was spent by the three friends in 
 discharging professional duties : and thus 
 they had no leisure to see the lovely inmates » 
 of their dwelling till the evening. 
 
 Unalloyed happiness beamed from Lodo- 
 iska's eyes; the Countess welcomed Jaromir 
 so graciously that he entertained no doubt 
 
 .it 
 
.IPipUJI 
 
 |i,,, jmmmvr^'^m-i) j..''iisif'w -it-mf'twwsmfi^mgr^mmifm 
 
 ^•f>m 
 
 AWWil IM 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 of her favorable disposition to promote his 
 wishes. Bernard and Louis were aware 
 that a few undisturbed moments must be of 
 inestimable value to Jaromir ; they accord- 
 ingly paved the way for him by retiring to 
 their rooms before he could ask it of them. 
 Just before the supper-hour, Jaromir came 
 himself to call them, and told them, full of 
 joy:— 
 
 " The Countess too favors my suit, and is 
 so motherly and kind ; but she is severe too, 
 for she has commanded me to restrain my 
 desires until the arrival of Rasinski, as she 
 wishes to leave the decision of the matter in 
 his hands. Not a word, therefore, not a look, 
 my dear friends, which can betray our love ; 
 I have promised Lodoiska to be tractable and 
 obedient, and I will fulfil my promise like a 
 man." 
 
 " Bravely ! nobly !" cried Bernard, short 
 and gruff as was his custom ; " we will fol- 
 low thy example. And if thou remainest 
 firm, I will reward thee by painting a portrait 
 of thy bride, or at least take a sketch of her, 
 should there be time for no more." 
 
 ♦ / CHAPTER XXL '.^ 
 
 Several days passed thus uniformly one 
 after the other. Alisette and Regnard were 
 almost the only guests added to the family- 
 circle of which Louis and Bernard were now 
 - accustomed to count themselves members. 
 
 , * Regnard regularly brought news of the events 
 
 ' of the war, marching of troops and similar 
 . , matters, and generally introduced the world 
 with its affairs into the quiet household, 
 otherwise partially estranged from things be- 
 yond their own sphere. However strenuously 
 Jaromir endeavored to control himself, his 
 keen observation soon revealed to the Colonel 
 his attachment to Lodoiska, and that it was 
 
 * . reciprocated. His jealousy with respect to 
 , Alisette was therefore dissipated, and nothing 
 now marred their social enjoyment. Alisette 
 had been absent for two days, being busily 
 engaged in the rehearsal of an opera, which 
 was to be performed on the following night. 
 The Colonel, who attended one of these re- 
 hearsals, related a number of good tilings 
 about it, but had forgotten the name of the 
 " piece. 
 
 1^ "I much regretted," he said, " that I could 
 not stay to witness the conclusion, but I was 
 disturbed by an unpleasant occurrence. My 
 adjutant came and informed me that intelli- 
 gence had been received that a Russian 
 General, who has been in France on weighty 
 diplomatic business, and had been obliged to 1 
 
 flee that country, is now concealed in this 
 city, and intends to escape this very night. 
 As my regiment happens to be on guard at 
 the gates, I must go to post double sentries 
 at every point." 
 
 " And who may the fugitive be ?" asked 
 the Countess, with much apparent interest. 
 
 " That we do not know," answered Reg- 
 nard ; " some say it is General Cz****, who 
 certainly has been in Paris, has been engaged 
 in a number of intrigues and suspicious con- 
 nections, and by order of Napoleon was to 
 have been arrested. But he received timely 
 warning, and was already beyond Strasburg 
 before the telegraph could convey the order 
 for his apprehension. It is almost impossible 
 thai he can have lingered so long in the 
 enemy's territories. Others pretend to know 
 that it is Count Winzingerode, a German in 
 the Russian service ; there is something in 
 that. But there is still another name men- 
 tioned, and the truth of the matter is that no 
 one knows anything for certain. Mons. de 
 Pradt has received very indefinite advices." 
 
 The Colonel was yet speaking when an 
 orderly entered unannounced, and handed 
 Jaromir a sealed package. 
 
 " On the very same business," he exclaim- 
 ed, after having read the contents ; " I am 
 commanded to post sentinels throughout that 
 quarter of the city where our stables ire 
 situated — particularly every passage leading 
 to the Vistula," 
 
 " Yes, yes, they seem to push the matter 
 in earnest," remarked the Colonel ; " I shall 
 be cheated out of Alisette's lovely song, and 
 you out of your supper ! Such is a soldier's 
 luck." 
 
 " That is, however, easily endured," an- 
 swered Jaromir, with a smile ; " all that 
 vexes me is, that I shall have to deprive our 
 friends here of their evening's enjoyment, 
 and perhaps their night's rest too ; for I atu 
 short of suitable smart fellows, and as the 
 service during the day is fatiguing, I must 
 calculate on having three relieves. So, I 
 cannot help it, my friends ; you must under- 
 take your first duty by mounting gnard to- 
 night !" 
 
 " A polite way of giving orders !" said 
 Bernard, gaily. " Well, in God's name ! If 
 the game should double anywhere near me, 
 it shall not escape without having a shot, I'll 
 warrant you." 
 
 It was necessary to be expeditious ; they 
 took their leave of the ladies, therefore, 
 buckled on their swords, threw their cloaks 
 around them, and started. 
 
 Jaromir caused the call to be sounded, told 
 off the sentries, designated the posts, gave 
 the men their instructions, and the v/ord to 
 march off. 
 
 Bernard's post was the most distant in the 
 
 *# 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE • OR, 
 
 quarter. The way to it led through a lane 
 between two high walls, one of which was 
 the enclosure of a convent ; it was crossed 
 by another lane running down to the Vistula. 
 The next sentry was placed about two hun- 
 dred paces from the intersecting point, but 
 none farther down, as there was no other 
 access to the river. Jaromir posted his sen- 
 tinels himself. 
 
 " Thou art some distance away here," he 
 said, as Bernard, drawing his sabre, assumed 
 the attitude of a sentry on his post^j " I 
 would double my sentries if I had more men. 
 But it is just for that reason why I put you 
 on this post, as it requires one that will keep 
 a sharp lookout, and it is best too, as thou 
 speakest French, and there are so many 
 Frenchmen about here, whom a Polander 
 could not understand or be understood by. 
 Farewell. In two hours thou wilt be re- 
 lieved by Louis." 
 
 " You may let me stand here all night, for 
 all I care," answered Bernard ; " the night 
 is so mild and warm, that I am glad to think 
 that we are going to have some rain. And 
 as to my being lonesome, never mind that ; 
 I know very well how to beguile the time, 
 and do not need anybody to keep me 
 awake." 
 
 *' If anything should happen, fire off thy 
 pistol ; in such a case thou wilt have, imme- 
 diate aid from the nearest sentry," 
 
 " Do not be uneasy about me. A good 
 sentry needs no one to help him ; I will be 
 answerable for myself." 
 
 Jaromir went away, and Bernard was 
 alone. The sky became overcast with 
 clouds ; it was near midnight and very dark, 
 especially after the setting in of a warm, 
 drizzling rain. 
 
 The gable-ends and turrets of the old con- 
 vent opposite, the outlines of which had stood 
 out as dark shadows against the sky, were 
 now mingled into one indeterminate mass. 
 Only the feeble light of a night-lamp was 
 visible from some small windows. All was 
 as still as the grave. The languishing call 
 of the nightingale and the gentle murmurs 
 of the passing stream were the only sounds 
 to be heard. 
 
 " It is lucky that I have a pair of sharp 
 eyes," muttered Bernard to himself; "for 
 here one must keep them wide open to see 
 anything stealing past. It will be well to 
 put out my sword as a feeler now and then, 
 and, like playing at blind-man's buff, to throw 
 out my arms a little around me. Ah ! there 
 is some light ; they are hanging out a lantern 
 up there in the convent. That will do me 
 good service." 
 
 There was indeed a light visible in one of 
 the upper windows, as if some one was light- 
 ing another out. The light moved briskly i 
 
 to and fro a few turns, and then disapp(>ar> 
 ed. 
 
 " Now it is dark enough ; it cannot be 
 worse in the deepest pit of Bauman's c£.ve; 
 the confounded light has completely blinded 
 me. One' who wanted to escape here, cculd 
 not contrive a better way than to take a dj».rk. 
 lantern, first thrust it in the face of the sen- 
 try, then throw it at his head, and run for 
 dear life ! But stop ! what was that ? Was 
 it lightning ? Again !" 
 
 A feeble, flickering light, proceeding from 
 the river-side, penetrated the darkness. The 
 narrow lane did not admit of a distinct view 
 from whence it came ; but presently Bernard 
 plainly saw sparks flying, and discovered that 
 some person on the river, apparently near the 
 shore, was striking fire. 
 
 His quick apprehension immediately con- 
 nected this discovery with the appearance of 
 the light in the convent. Were these mutual 
 preconcerted signals? Suddenly he heard 
 some one stepping lightly T It was, then, no 
 delusion. Intently listening, with his head 
 bent forward, he stood holding in his breath. 
 Some one approached quickly, but with 
 caution ; he could distinguish a whispering 
 and muttering. They were now close upon 
 him. Bernard held out his sword, and cried 
 out, in Polish : 
 
 " Who goes there ?" » 
 
 A moment's silence ensued ; a dark figure 
 then approached with firm step, and answer- 
 ed in a deep, manly tone, a few words whicfi 
 were unintelligible to Bernard. They sound- 
 ed, however, like some pious benediction. 
 
 " I do not speak Polish," he said, in that 
 very language, at the same time making a 
 motion with his sabre, intimating that he 
 would suflfer no one to pass. 
 
 " French, then ?" replied a female voice 
 of Uncommon sweetness. 
 
 " Yes, but German better," answered Ber- 
 nard, in French. 
 
 " A German soldier!" exclaimed the same 
 voice, inadvertently, for a glad surprise was 
 implied in the manner of utterance. 
 
 " Yes, a German," answered Bernard ; 
 " and, as you understand that language, I 
 will tell you in plain German that no one 
 passes this way without a pass from the 
 officer on guard." 
 
 " My God !" replied the female, in trem- 
 bling accents, " we are in great haste. This 
 godly man goes to offer a dying person the 
 last consolations of earth ; he lies there 
 yonder by the river ; for that purpose we •? 
 have brought biin out of the convent. You 
 would not prevent such a pious deed, would 
 you?" 
 
 Bernard now first discovered that the 
 stranger was enveloped in a monk's habit, 
 and that another female figure was standing 
 
-^-^-f" 
 
 ^ 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 61 
 
 behind him. Nothing more could be dis- 
 tinctly Been in the obscurity. 
 
 " I dare not deviate from my orders. But, 
 if it is as you say, go along that lane between 
 the walls ; at two hundred paces distance 
 you will find the next sentinel ; inquire of 
 him for the lieutenant of the guard. He is 
 in the guard-house close by, and will un- 
 doubtedly suffer you to pass." 
 
 " The next sentry is two hundred paces 
 from here ?" said the man in the monk's 
 cowl, no longer in a sententious tone. 
 
 « Two hundred." 
 
 " That is pretty far." 
 
 " I cannot help that," answered Bernard. 
 
 The stranger seemed irresolute ; a deep 
 silence followed. At that moment the same 
 clear light was seen in the direction of the 
 river, but this time quite near, and the plash- 
 ing of an oar was distinctly heard. Bernard 
 was surprised, and turned toward the water. 
 The suspicion flashed upon his mind that this 
 incident was connected with the persons be- 
 fore him ; but the thought had hardly nur- 
 tured before he felt himself rudely seized by 
 the neck, and saw a poignard flashing against 
 his breast. The blow took effect, but was 
 turned aslant by the broad shoulder-belt of 
 buff-leather from which his sabre was sus- 
 
 Snded, and only made a scratch on the skin, 
 e tore himself away by a vigorous move- 
 ment, seized hold of the hand in which was 
 clutched the dagger, and aimed a blow of his 
 eabre at the head of his unknown enemy. 
 The party drew hastily back, avoiding the 
 blow, but slipped, and fell to the ground. 
 Bernard instantly pulled out his pistol, held 
 it to the breast of his fallen foe, and cried : 
 
 " Stir, and you are a dead man !" 
 
 But on the instant the female threw her- 
 self at his feet, raised her arms beseechingly 
 towards him, and cried, in accents of the 
 greatest terror : 
 
 " Have mercy ! mercy ! do not kill him I" 
 
 Bernard felt a strange thrill ; that voice 
 went to his inmost heart. He was on the 
 joint of calling aloud for help, but the ap- 
 )earance of the suppliant who encircled his 
 cnees convinced him that he had no danger 
 to apprehend in that quarter. 
 
 " I will take no revenge," he said, reso- 
 lutely, " but my duty imposes severity upon 
 me. You are my prisoner !" 
 
 " Send a bullet through my breast, young 
 man," said the prostrate man ; " for it would 
 be more abhorrent to me to be your prisoner 
 than to die !" 
 
 " Oh ! my father !" now cried the young 
 girl, as if beside herself, seizing his hand. 
 " No ! no ! — not so. He will have pity ! I 
 will entreat for you I" 
 
 She arose and turned to Bernard. 
 
 " Oh, «ir, your words betray you as a gen- 
 
 tleman! Your heart will understand a 
 daughter's grief. We are lost, unless you 
 permit us to go. Oh, be magnanimous — let 
 us escape ! I would offer you gold, but dare 
 not insult a man from whom I beg a noble 
 deed as a boon." 
 
 Bernard remained standing in conflict with 
 himself. 
 
 " I may not do it. Cease ! Every word 
 you utter only binds me more to my duty. I 
 believe — I know whom I have before me !" 
 
 The stranger had arisen from the ground. 
 
 " You are a German," he said. " What- 
 ever cause may have brought you hither, 
 your first duty is towards your father-land. 
 I swear to you that you do not violate that 
 duty by letting me go !" • 
 
 " No, by the eternal heavens, that you do 
 not !" cried the female, lifting up her hands 
 in testimony of her oath. " My entreaties do 
 not lead you to the commission of any crime. 
 Never, never will your heart reproach you 
 for the deed." 
 
 The clatter of arms was heard at a distance. 
 Some one appeared to be coming. Bernard 
 listened in great anxiety. 
 
 " Great God !" cried the suppliant," if you 
 wait one minute longer it will be too late ; 
 listen to the prayer of the sorely aflSicted !" 
 
 Bernard still remained standing, torn by a 
 violent struggle. Was he to betray the first 
 honorable trust which his profession imposed 
 upon him ? Was he not about plunging the 
 friend into ruin who had assisted in his own 
 deliverance ? And still his own fate, but 
 more than all, the indescribable power which 
 the pressing entreaties of the petitioner exer- 
 cised over his heart, prevailed. 
 
 " Flee, then," he said, hastily, letting his 
 armed hand fall to his side ; " but I dare, I 
 will not see which way you take ! Away ! 
 away !" 
 
 " Thanks, thanks !" whispered the beauti- 
 ful figure, her voice broken by tears and joy 
 together, as she seized his hand and en- 
 deavored to press her weeping countenance 
 against it. 
 
 On feeling the warm ]wessure of that face, 
 a thrill of delight coursed through Bernard's 
 frame. Meeting and separation to be crowd- 
 ed thus into one and the same moment! 
 Was he to suffer Ifiis miraculous affair to 
 pass without leaving a trace behind ? Ber- 
 nard wished at least some token; so he 
 quickly drew off a glove from the fair crea- 
 ture's hand ; but while his hand passed over 
 her slender and trembling fingers, he came 
 in contact with a ring. He endeavored to 
 draw it from her finger. She resisted for a 
 moment. 
 
 " This ring ?" she said ; " this very one ?" 
 
 To which Bernard replied : 
 
GS 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 " Yes, this very one must I have ; do not 
 speak loud — exactly this one, or none !" 
 
 But he had already torn it from her finger, 
 at the same time impetuously pushing his 
 own ring in the place of it. 
 
 " Well, then, take it," she said, as she 
 passed rapidly away from him ; " but I must 
 have it back when the war no longer tears 
 asunder every kindlier tie among fellow- 
 creatures. Farewell, and may the Almighty 
 ever bless my preserver !" 
 
 A few moments more, and Bernard heard 
 a boat loosening from the shore, and then 
 vigorous strokes of oars driving it through 
 the waves. He breathed freer. ' 
 
 " They are safe now, and it is high time, 
 for the relief guard is coming." 
 
 He could still hear the sound of the oars 
 as the guard came up, and the usual military 
 ceremony commenced. 
 
 " Nothing new on your post ?" asked the 
 non-commissioned officer, who happened to 
 be old Petrowski. 
 
 " Nothing," answered Bernard. 
 
 « Relieved !" 
 
 Louis now took his friend's place ; as for 
 Bernard, his tour of duty was over for the 
 night. He hastened home ; on his way he 
 fortified himself in the resolution closely to 
 lock up the whole occurrence in his own 
 breast, and not to communicate a syllable 
 about it even to Jaromir or to Louis, so that 
 at the worst, the fault would remain all his 
 own. 
 
 He reached his room. With all haste he 
 procured a light in order closer to examine 
 the ring. 
 
 " Confusion !" he cried out, as he held it 
 to the candle ; " confusion ! is it a trick of 
 Satan, or am I out of my senses !" 
 
 The ring in his hand was his own ! 
 
 " Oh, what a fool !" he cried, madly striking 
 his brow with his doubled fist; " these clumsy, 
 silly fingers of mine have changed the rings ! 
 I might almost beat my own numskull into 
 a mummy, and cry, with Franz Moor :* — 
 ' Stupid ! stupid !' " 
 
 He walked furiou|ly up and down. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !. Wow indeed 1 must tell 
 the story to all the world, for it is too ex- 
 quisite ! And did she notice the mistake ! 
 What a witless fool mxi§t not the preserver 
 appear to her ! Bernard ! Bernard ! it was 
 a masterly stroke ! Like the apprentice to 
 the astrologer, thou standest before the locked 
 portals, but hast forgotten the key which is 
 to open them to thee !" 
 
 He became melancholy ; tears started into 
 his eyes. He sat himself down, and leaned 
 his head upon his hand. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know it," he said, still talking 
 
 • In Schiller's play of "The Robbers."— Transl. 
 
 to himself; "I knew all that long ago; I 
 have often experienced it. It is my fate 
 which always pays me off in my own coin. 
 I ought to learn to know these tricks some- 
 time ! Not that I care about finding her 
 again ; for, at best, it is pretty sure that I 
 never shall. What in a dark night appears 
 so bewitching, is very likely nothing above 
 common by day — all trash and bother!" 
 
 Half-dejected, half-exasperated, Bernard 
 threw himself on his bed ; but it was long, 
 very long, ere sleep closed his 0ye-lids. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 ■ 
 
 The opera of which Regnard had spoken 
 was to be performed on that evening. Louis 
 was unable to ascertain who was the author 
 of the piece or the composer of the music, 
 either from its name or from the dramatis 
 persoruB mentioned in the placards. He felt 
 great curiosity, therefore, to hear the mnsic, 
 particularly as Frances had told the Countess 
 that it was very charming, and that she never 
 had had a part assigned her with which she 
 was so much pleased. At seven o'clock they 
 all drove to the theatre ; the Countess, Lodo- 
 iska, Regnard, and our three young friends 
 were altogether in the same box. Bernard's 
 eye roved with delight over the array of 
 beautiful women which adorned the first tier. 
 
 " Really," he said, jogging, Louis on the 
 elbow, " I never saw a theatre with such a 
 beautiful garland of flowers before. At 
 Drury-lane and Vauxhall I found the boxes 
 filled prettily enough ; the English women 
 are irresistible in their noble look, the ele- 
 gance of their attire, the soft, virgin expres- 
 sion of their blue eyes ; but, by St. Luke ! 
 the patron Saint of all limners, T vow to thee 
 they are, after all, nothing but false stones 
 when compared with the diamonds we find 
 flashing their fires here." 
 
 " But Lodoiska is still by far the hand- 
 .somest of them all," said Louis in a whisper, 
 " though I must agree with thee, that I never 
 have seen so rich a circle of beautiful 
 females." 
 
 '• She is not the handsomest, that you may 
 believe on the word of a professed connois- 
 seur like myself," replied Bernard ; " but 
 she is the most attractive, the sweetest, the 
 loveliest of them all. If all the beautiful 
 busts which are leaning over the front of the 
 boxes were changed into' marble, many a 
 nobler form would be seen ; yea, I do not 
 vouch but that Lodoiska would be eclipsed 
 by the Countess. But it would be a very 
 different affair, if we had all these individ 
 
 il 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 
 nals faithfally transferred on the canvasa, 
 where the magic effect of colors and looks 
 throws the tints of the rainbow over the pure 
 sarface of the countenance. Then, I con- 
 cede to you that Lodoiska would be the 
 primrose, the slender delicate lily, the modest 
 violet — in short every thing that is lovely, and 
 the most beutiful flower of the whole well- 
 stocked parterre." 
 
 The conversation was cut short by the 
 striking up of the music in the overture. 
 By the very first staves, Louis recognised 
 that the piece which they were about to hear 
 was no other than the well-known " Swiss 
 Family." He smiled a little to himself at 
 the great enthusiasm with which the Colonel 
 had spoken of the work ; but he was well 
 aware that Alisette, who would make a very 
 pretty appearance in the character of Erae- 
 line, in the advertisements had been re-bap- 
 tised with the pastoral name of Dorinna. 
 And the reality fully justified his conjecture. 
 The introductory scenes passed by without 
 producing any decided impression. But the 
 very first appearance of Alisette rivetted the 
 attention in the highest degree. She had 
 grasped the character she represented with a 
 perfect identity ; that is, she had transplanted 
 the fixed forms and colors peculiar to the 
 nationality of the Swiss, into a region of her 
 own, hal^ideal, and yet not divested of its 
 striking characteristics. In the costume 
 she had preserved some traces of that of the 
 Swiss, but here and there with arbitrary 
 alterations of her own. She wore her hair 
 in flowing curls, lightly festooned by a few 
 ribbons, one of which, of a dark color, bor- 
 dered the white open brow. Neck, bosom, 
 and shoulders were not so much covered as 
 in the real national costume, though she 
 retained the becoming black boddice. The 
 dress, on the contrary, was more deep and 
 modest than usual, reaching down to the 
 ankles, and it was not so puckered, but per- 
 mitted the form to be seen to very great 
 advantage. With consummate skill and 
 coquetry she had encased her neat little feet 
 in sober-looking stockings with flowered 
 clocks, and tight-fitting satin shoes, always 
 taking care to exhibit them in the most 
 attractive manner, so that whether walking 
 or stationary, she made the most graceful 
 appearance. When the first notes of her 
 sweet voice were heard, Louis was aston- 
 ished to observe her delicale organ was capa- 
 ble of filling the entire house. In every 
 part the voice was distinctly audible from its 
 faintest breathing to the fullest and most 
 powerful swell. No defect was perceptible 
 in the tide of warbling sounds, but the 
 enchanting songstress always found the ap- 
 propriate key and volume for the tenderest as 
 well as the most powerful expression of the 
 
 passions. And as she moreover transfused 
 with inimitable grace the spirit of the music 
 into the minutest motion of her frame, even 
 to the slightest play of mien or look, the 
 lovely image wihich she presented must 
 necessarily enrapture and fascinate every 
 heart. Lodoiska was dissolved in tears, even 
 during the first act. At the words : " Who 
 ever heard me complain !" the agitated girl 
 instinctively drew her hand to her heart as 
 if to seek some relief from its tremulousness. 
 She was in reality so carried away by her 
 sympathies that she actually experienced 
 the pain which Alisette counterfeited so well. 
 Or was it a prophetic voice which spoke, as 
 yet but darkly and confusedly within her 
 heart ? Was it a mysterious premonition, 
 called into existence through the proximity 
 of her who thfeatened to exercise a baneful 
 influence on the destiny of her life ? Did 
 she already behold the venomous head of the 
 viper concealed beneath the fragrant roses ? 
 Jaromir,whose fresh and lively imagination 
 became readily enchained by any passing 
 impression, was now all eye and ear. Ali- 
 sette led his heart where she listed, like 
 another Armida. Bernard indeed imagined 
 that she very frequently directed her looks to 
 the handsome youth, but she seemed also to 
 exercise absolute sway over every heart. 
 
 At the end of the first act Regnard left 
 the box ; Bernard, who followed him with 
 argus-eyes, saw him directing his steps to 
 the stage. It became more and more 
 evident to him that some sort of connection, 
 and that a very intimate one, existed between 
 Alisette and the Colonel, but he was almost 
 certain that the heart of the girl had but 
 a very small share in the matter. 
 
 Jaromir turning to Lodoiska, asked her : — 
 " Is it not beautiful ?" 
 
 " Ves ! but also painful," she answered, 
 heaving a sigh. 
 
 Louis, the only person who was acquainted 
 with the piece, and who possessed discrimi- 
 nation enough not to confound the merits of 
 the performance with those of the work itself, 
 expressed his opinion to the Countess with 
 more of sound judgment than of admiration. 
 She listened to him with much pleasure, as 
 indeed she generally did on any subject, being 
 much impressed by his serious and intelligent 
 views. Lodoiska also was quite willing to 
 be disenchanted from her oppressive excite- 
 ment. Jaromir alone seemed opposed to 
 allow any defect -or blemish to attach to that 
 which had seized on his untutored heart. 
 He bSjd until now been so far removed from 
 every thing appertaining to refinement, that 
 the first suggestions of a more beautiful 
 world would naturally appear somewhat en- 
 chanting. 
 
 The second act commenced, ajid in this the 
 
64 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED ANi) TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 tyro already made the discovery that he by 
 no means had arrived at the ultima thule of 
 wonders, for the interest increased amaz- 
 ingly. But the finale of the piece threat- 
 ened fully to overwhelm the young loving 
 hearts in the exuberance of their ex- 
 cited feehngs. Alisette was really so beau- 
 tiful, so pathetic, that the art even in the 
 eyes of the sober-minded Louis, became 
 exalted to the highest regions of purity. 
 
 The Countess and Lodoiska, accompanied 
 by Regnard, drove home, while the three 
 young men returned on foot, and conse- 
 quently arrived somewhat later. As they 
 were ascending the great Alight of stairs, 
 they were met by the Countess, her face 
 radiant with smiles. 
 
 " Not into the dining-hall," she said ; 
 " follow me first into the parlor, for the table 
 is not yet quite arranged." 
 
 The friends unhesitatingly followed the 
 injunctions of the hostess. No one but the 
 Colonel was in the room. 
 
 " Lodoiska," the Countess said, " is chang- 
 ing her dress, and we shall have to wait yet 
 a little while, as the lovely Alisette has prom- 
 ised to sup with us." 
 
 The friends sat quietly conversing, hav- 
 ing their backs toward the door, when Jaro- 
 mir suddenly felt two hands covering his eyes 
 from behind, leaving him to guess who the 
 unknown might be; but time was not 
 given him, for Bernard and Louis were 
 already on tlieir legs, uttering in joyful excla- 
 mation, " Count Rasinski !" while it was 
 Boleslaus who had covered Jaromir's eyes.^ 
 He embraced his friend and comrade with 
 stormy affection, and then greeted Rasinski 
 with equal impetuosity. 
 
 " How have, you been ? What have you 
 been doing?" were questions that passed 
 back and forth without any one waiting for 
 answer. 
 
 " A thousand cordial greetings from your 
 friends," were the first words which Rasin- 
 ski addressed to Louis, as soon as the first 
 ebullitions had subsided ; " My departure was 
 so sudden, that there was no time to send 
 long letters by me, but still I have a few 
 lines, and with the next mail you will have 
 more." 
 
 The news from his friends, this first con- 
 necting link with a happier past, naturally 
 awakened melancholy feelings in Louis. But 
 this melancholy was blended with a gentle 
 satisfaction that there still existed for him 
 loved beings, who watched his dark path of 
 life, and whose wishes and prayers surround- 
 ed him like guardian angels. From his heart 
 he thanked the bearer of such welcome 
 memorials, and begged to be put in posses- 
 sion of what was designed for him. 
 
 Bernard, ever circumspect, took the first 
 
 opportunity to call Count Rasinski aside and 
 acquaint him with their change of names. 
 
 " Excellent ! my young friend," said Ra- 
 sinski ; " you will make a good partisan, for 
 you keep your eyes and ears open to some 
 purpose. That is a good omen, I think ; 
 Count Lomond, you may put in your claim 
 for promotion : and I commend you besides, 
 for tacking the title of Count to your name 
 For, however rudely the times may shake old 
 things and new in the dice-box, lead will 
 ever sink to the bottom, and oil float on the 
 surface. Rank and wealth will therefore 
 only be things of worth when the Russian 
 Empire shall have become an Athenian Re- 
 public, and Madrid or Naples transformed 
 into a second Sparta. Something may be 
 made of you, my friend ; and Louis may be 
 willing or not, but he must attach a Counter. 
 Baron to the name of Soren, if only as a con- 
 venient handle in addressing him." 
 
 They then returned to the sitting room to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Well, that is a fact," said the Countess, 
 as they entered ; " your professional duties 
 seem very pressing, as you begin to attend to 
 them on the first moment of your arrival." 
 
 " Thou knowest, sister," answered Rasin- 
 ski, " that the soldier is no more than a wheel 
 in the machine, which* must turn according to 
 general laws if you will avoid its stopping, 
 or save the refractory part from being crush- 
 ed to atoms. But everything, I trust, is now 
 settled for to-day, and we are entirely at your 
 service, my lady-sister." 
 
 He then sat down by her side, and caress- 
 ingly took her hand in his. She looked at 
 him with affectionate concern, as if 'about to 
 examine whether he were indeed the beloved 
 brother of old. 
 
 " I do not know," she said, after a few 
 moments' scruntiny ; " but thou seemest to 
 me somewhat altered, Stephen. I observe a 
 furrow here on thy brow, which looks much 
 like those iron grief ploughs up from the soul. 
 Indeed, brother, thy brow is no longer that 
 clear open front v;hich inspired strength while 
 looked upon." 
 
 " Age, my dear Jeannot, exacts its claims 
 upon me," he answered, smiling. But the 
 deep seriousness of his aspect was not to be 
 disguised beneath so flimsy a veil. 
 
 " It is not the furrow of age ; it is one of 
 sorrow or care. Make thy sister the partici- 
 pant of one-half of thy troubles ; otherwise 
 her burden will be doubled, and thou unable 
 to prevent it ; for as thou knowest right well, 
 uncertainty magnifies danger." 
 
 This conversation between brother and sis- 
 ter was carried on unnoticed by the rest of 
 the company. The Countess reiterated her 
 request for confidence from her brother, which 
 he answered only by grave silence, looking 
 
 #..... L... 
 
 '-"■-^-' '^' 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 65 
 
 thoTightfully before him and slowly shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " Our countiy," he answered, at last, " de- 
 mands all the energies of our being, and 
 many other sacrifices besides. We offer them 
 cheerfully ; but no one ought to take um- 
 brage if we cannot be altogether insensible 
 to the pain which the loss or voluntary re- 
 nunciation of many blessings must entail." 
 
 The sister looked at him with pity, and 
 gave him her hand. He pressed it in silence, 
 and fastened a grateful loving look upon her 
 true and faithful features. 
 
 The attention of the party was now at- 
 tracted by a new object. Alisette entered the 
 parlor. She floated across the threshold of 
 the apartment like a May-queen ; for she car- 
 ried a rich bouquet in her hand, having placed 
 one of the roses in her own bosom. Making 
 a friendly courtesy, she quickly passed by the 
 gentlemen, and with light and buoyant steps 
 tripped up to the Countess, who, being last, 
 in pensive -broodings had not perceived her 
 approach. Neither did Rasinski become con- 
 scious of her presence till slie stood right be- 
 fore him, when he sprang up with some little 
 embarrassment, to salute her as a stranger. 
 
 " Here I am !" she exclaimed, in her silver 
 tones, makinjB[ a graceful courtesy. " But 
 may a poor Swiss maiden dare to appear in 
 this illustrious circle ?" 
 
 " Welcome, welcome !" answered the lady 
 of the house ; " and what an exuberance of 
 gifts does my sweet siren bring !" she cried, 
 . on seeing the nosegay of fragrant roses. " I 
 cannot shoW a single bud in my garden yet ; 
 but in your hands is the whole in full blow at 
 once." 
 
 "It is a piece of gallantry for which I 
 do not know whom 1 have to thank," Alisette 
 replied. "I was yet in my dressing-room, 
 busy changing my costume, when some 
 one knocked. My maid, Constance, opened 
 the door a very trifle and asked who it was. 
 Instead of an answer an unknown hand put 
 this rare bouquet into her hands. It is cruel, 
 is it not, to consign so many beautiful flow- 
 ers to so early a death ? My unknown and 
 munificent friend must have 'plundered all 
 the rose-bushes in Warsaw ; for they are yet 
 scarce, and of the wild ones certainly not 
 one is yet in flower." 
 
 ." How highly favored are these, then, to 
 have such a sweet destination !" said Ra- 
 siski, gallantly. 
 
 Frances now first looked at him, and was 
 surprised at seeing a stranger. 
 
 " My brother," said the Countess, intro- 
 ducing him, at the same time making him 
 acquainted with her by expatiating on the ex- 
 quisite treat which the art of the pretty can- 
 tatrice had afforded that evening. She seem- 
 ed to be very happy in receiving this homage 
 
 to her talents ; but declined all praise, by 
 modest deprecating words. She then play- 
 fully took the roses, and said : 
 
 " I must be grateful for so much kindness. 
 So many eulogies, so many roses ! here ! 
 here !" saying which, ^with pljiyful assiduity 
 she distributed to eaich one^ rose. ButReg- 
 nard received none. 
 
 " Yoti did not applaud me, and therefore I 
 give you no flower. But to you I will give 
 two instead," she said, turning to Jarotnir, 
 giving him the two most beautiful ones of 
 the whole collection. Without tarrying to 
 receive his astonished acknowledgment, she 
 turned with empty hands back to the Coun- 
 tess, who received her with a playful threat 
 of the uplifted finger, saying : 
 
 " Thou prodigal daughter ! Is that the way 
 you dispose of the gifts of your admirer? 
 If he only were here !" casting a glance at 
 Regnard. 
 
 "Would that he were. He would then 
 see that his present has afforded me the high- 
 est of pleasure : a thousand times greater 
 than if I had seen it wither sadly away, in a 
 vase on my toilet." 
 
 Lodoiska, silent as a shadow, had entered 
 the apartment, and stood unexpectedly at the 
 Countess' side. 
 
 " Ah ! there you are at last !" cried Ali- 
 sette, approaching with a salute. " How is 
 this, and you have no rose, and yet have ap- 
 plauded me prettiest of all ? Or do you sup- 
 pose that I did not see your tears ? When 
 my singing moved you to tears or to smiles, 
 I was assured that it indeed reached the 
 heart. And that I should not be able to give 
 you one single rose, as a token of my thanks ! 
 But here is one yet," she cried, joyfully look- 
 ing down upon the one at her boson\. She 
 took it and tried to fix it on Lodoiska's breast. 
 But the latter resisted, respectfully but de- 
 cidedly declining the honor. 
 
 This little contest between the two beauti- 
 ful girls presented indeed a charming pic- 
 ture. Alisette, in her white robe-like attire, 
 an image of spring — the youthful Hebe. — 
 Lodoiska, in a dark silk dress, serious and 
 yet amiable. The cheeks and lips of Alisette 
 glowing with the brightest vermillion — ^joy 
 flashing from her azure eyes — her slightlj^- 
 curled, bright chestnut hair flowing in waving 
 ringlets Tound her neck and shoulders. The 
 other, like the lily, a rosy tint on her cheek ; 
 the eye large, earnest, mild. Her marble 
 brow, and noble, snow-white neck, shrouded 
 by the rich tresses of her jet-black hair ; 
 feminine, yet dignified in her carriage ; lov- 
 ing, yet timid in her movements. Alisette, 
 ever in fascinating activity and motion ; the 
 other floating gently along, confiding and 
 calm. 
 
 She finally succeeded in fastening the rose 
 
86 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 in the golden zone by which Lodoiska's robe 
 was confined ; and the delicate flower was 
 beautifully set off against the dark-grey 
 ground of the dress. 
 
 " Now I am satisfied — now I am happy !" 
 exclaimed Frances, as she gained the victory. 
 " Now the rose first appears to me really 
 beautiful. I do not at all deserve it." 
 
 Bernard observed the speaker as she utter- 
 ed these words, and saw an expression of 
 sadness in the otherwise animated features 
 of the girl. It appeared to him as if she 
 felt some remorse in reflecting that her last 
 words contained a bitter truth with regard to 
 herself. 
 
 He thought to himself: is she really a 
 beautiful Magdalen, for whom the time of 
 penitence has not yet arrived ? At the same 
 time determining to pursue his watchful ob- 
 servations. When, therefore, the folding- 
 doors of the supper-room were thrown open 
 he stepped up to her and again offered his 
 arm as he had done three days before. She 
 accepted it with a friendly look, saying : 
 
 " You have not kept your word ; you have 
 not in many particulars. You was to give 
 me a sketch for every one of my songs •, yon 
 promised to let me see your sketch-book, and 
 you even were to take my likeness ! But all 
 this you have forgotten. You have not even 
 called to see me, though we are such near 
 neighbors. Well, it is something at any rate, 
 tliat you remember me now, and wish to sit 
 by me at table." 
 
 Bernard answered these sportive recrimi- 
 nations by making renewed promises ; the 
 company sat down to table, and he took his 
 place by his lovely neighbor with alacrity 
 and pleasure. 
 
 CHAPTER xxni. 
 
 V 
 
 To the days of pleasure and social inter- 
 course now succeeded those of grave, stern 
 professional obligation. Rai^inski had been 
 co;nmanded to hasten the completion of his 
 corps ; fatiguing duties were consequently 
 allottL-d to all concerned ; drills on horseback 
 and on foot were mulliplied ; guards had to be 
 mounted and relieved ; field exercise had to be 
 practised ; in short, neither officers nor men 
 found any time to devote to the recreations 
 of society. The Emperor was expected 
 every day, and Rasinski was ambitious of 
 presenting him a corps in some degree 
 organised and disciplined. The manifold 
 
 fcnde and pleasing ties and associations 
 ithcrto existing, were therefore severed by 
 the rude hand of necessity. With regard to 
 
 the ardent wishes of Jaromir, Rasinski had 
 granted his preliminary promise, and had 
 thus rendered the lovers inexpressibly happy ; 
 still he held it indispensably necessary to 
 write to an uncle of Lodoiska's and obtain 
 his consent to the match. Until then the 
 lovers were still compelled to guard their 
 secret, and to observe that distant behavior 
 to each other which etiquette enjoined. Ber- 
 nard and Louis were almost incessantly on 
 duty ; the latter with difficulty snatched a 
 quarter of an hour's leisure to write to his 
 mother and sister. Of course Bernard had 
 no time to think of pursuing his observations 
 with regard to Alisette, or to take the prom- 
 ised likeness of Lodoiska. 
 
 One evening Rasinski came home in un- 
 usual excitement, and entered the saloon, 
 where Jaromir, the Countess, and Lodoiska 
 were sitting, saying : 
 
 " Our destiny is decided. The Emperor 
 left Dresden the 29th of May, will stop 
 a few days at Posen, and then probably, 
 proceed to Thorn without coming to War- 
 saw. We have received orders to march on 
 the day after to-morrow, and to take the road 
 toward Kowno. One day more, therefore, 
 is our own ; we will sp^nd it here in the 
 social circle. To-day I may yet be a brother 
 and a friend ; to-morrow I can be only a 
 soldier." 
 
 His eye shone brightly as he uttered these 
 words, heightening the dignity and mild 
 earnestness of his fieatures. But on the ladies 
 this intelligence had a saddening effect, while 
 the men, who began to weary of a state of 
 suspense, were filled with joy. Lodoiska turn- 
 ed pale and trembled like a frightened deer ; 
 the countenance of Rasinski's sister betrayed, 
 to say the least, a mournful anxiety. 
 
 " So soon ?" she said, rising to meet her 
 brother. 
 
 " The war," continued Rasinski, " seems 
 now to be irrevocably declared. All the 
 negotiations of Narbonne are overthrown. 
 It is said that it is the destiny of our country 
 which constitutes the particular bone of con- 
 tention between the two Sovereign?. Napo- 
 leon wishes us to be acknowledged as a free 
 .and independent nation ; but Russia is not 
 accustomed to relinquish the prey which she 
 has once grasped with her bloody talons. 
 She shows her rapacious teeth. It remains 
 to be seen whether the Hercules, before 
 whose uplifted club all Europe trembles, 
 shall carry away the victory in this fearful 
 struggle with the monster." 
 
 A noble blush of anger colored Rasinski's 
 cheeks while thus speaking. His sister, 
 standing before him with sorrowful looks, 
 smoothed the hair from his brow and laying 
 her hand on his arm, said : 
 
 " Thou wast used to cherish a bolder and 
 
NAPOLEON'S INNASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 more joyous confidence formerly, though 
 fewer were the stars of hope which glim- 
 mered above the horizon. Take courage, 
 Stephen ! If we cannot repose on thy manly 
 strength, what is there to ^sustain and keep 
 us women ?" 
 
 Rasinski smiled. 
 
 " There are now and then moments, sister, 
 when every thing looks dark to me ; but they 
 do not last long, and when theoe is need of 
 fortitude and decision, these do not fail me. 
 But let it pass ; to-day and to-morrow I be- 
 long to you — to the quiet retirement of the 
 family circle, and I shall feel all the better 
 for it. I will restrain myself from trans- 
 cending that sacred boundary which the evil 
 genii of our existence for ever tempt us to 
 leap. For if I step beyond this magic circle, 
 the open ocean is ready to receive me, and 
 my defenceless bark would be at the mercy 
 of the hurricane. Moreover, we have do- 
 mestic arrangements to attend to," he said, 
 directing his look to Lodoiska ; " we will 
 not forget thy sweet foster-child." 
 
 Lodoiska cast her pretty eyes to the 
 ground, while a gentle blush rose on her 
 cheek. 
 
 •* Yes, my children," continued Rasinski, 
 stepping between Jaromir and Lodoiska, 
 " have you considered well what you are 
 about to do ? Who would not be happy in 
 contemplating your loves ? You are worthy 
 of each other ; Jaromir is noble-minded and 
 brave, and will know how to appreciate and 
 guard a heart such as yours, Lodoiska. 
 But are these times in which to form ties of 
 love ? Can we hope for a harvest from seed 
 sown in a whirlwind ? Who embarks when 
 the sea rages and foams ? Who would keep 
 a festival in a house tottering on the brink 
 of a precipice? Have you 4 measure by which 
 to estimate the fulfilment of your hopes 1 Ypu 
 cast yourselves into the swelling surge with- 
 out knowing whether the next wave will sepa- 
 rate you or throw you upon a happier shore!" 
 
 Lodoiska looked gently up to Rasinski 
 and said : 
 
 " But are not times of chinger and sorrow 
 the very ones which are better endured when 
 shared with a companion ?" 
 
 " But a man ought not to identify the fate 
 of another vvitii his own as long as it is 
 more vacillating than the rolling billow." 
 
 "Truly," cried Jaromir animatedly, "I 
 dare not sue for thy hand, for every thing 
 hangs on the cast of a die ; and yet I would 
 fain forge some link of hope !" 
 j» In pronouncing these last words, he looked 
 so piteously innocent and beseeching, that 
 Rasinski could not help giving a compas- 
 sionate smile. Taking them both by the 
 hand he answered : 
 
 " If you have truly and seriously weighed 
 
 this matter ; if it is not a mere efferveflcence 
 of the passing moment which actuates you; if 
 thou, Jaromir, canst so far master thy youth- 
 ful volatile disposition as to endure the ordeal 
 of long dismal years of trial, then indeed you 
 may have the right to enter into a bond 
 of betrothal, and no danger threatening from 
 without should keep you back. For I, too, 
 have learned to respect that laudable feeling, 
 which in the more serious moments of exist- 
 ence unites two loving hearts, in view more 
 of tlie cares and troubles than of the joys 
 which are in store for them. Thy uncle, 
 Lodoiska, has invested me with the power of 
 a parent, to betroth thee to Jaromir. If thou 
 dost not shrink from venturing the first step 
 on the territory of duty, I may join your 
 hands, and you may exchange the rings em- 
 blematical of your promises." 
 
 The gentle being stood trembling in sweet 
 confusion before her earnest fatherly pro- 
 tector, a deep crimson covering her face. 
 He gently raised her drooping head as he 
 repeated : " Wilt thou '" Instead of answer- 
 ing she sank silently on the bosom of the 
 Countess who had stepped to her side, still 
 sufiering her right hand to remain in that of 
 Rasinski, who placed it into Jaromir's. 
 
 " Oh, how unspeakably happy thou hast 
 made me !" he exclaimed, pressing the hand 
 of the trembling maiden to his glowing lips. 
 
 " She is now thy bride," said Rasinski, 
 " and every sacred obligation binds thee to 
 her. Wilt tho* have the courage to fulfil 
 these obligations?" 
 
 " Unto the death !" cried Jaromir, vehe- 
 mently drawing to his bosom the charming 
 creature who had devoted herself to him 
 with all the trustfulness of the female heart. 
 
 Boleslaus entered at this juncture ; he 
 became pale as a corpse on seeing the era- 
 brace of the happy (fties ; for in his heart he 
 had conceived a profound earnest love for 
 the beautiful Lodoiska, without suspecting 
 that she was the betrothed bride of his friend. 
 But he conquered his pain at once with an 
 equanimity and fortitude of which his severe 
 yet impassioned cliaracter alone was capa- 
 ble, and exhibited a calm and serene counte- 
 nance while the death-blow pierced his 
 vitals. He approached the group before him 
 with a firm step. 
 
 " I, too, may now wish you joy and hap- 
 piness ?" he said, turning to Jaromir. 
 
 " No," cried the other enthusiastically, 
 " for I am already in possession of the great- 
 est blessing which earth can offer !" 
 
 The friends embraced cordially ; Boleslaus 
 mad^ a solemn bow to Lodoiska, took her 
 hand, and said : 
 
 " May you be happy, uninterruptedly hap- 
 py i" but he trembled and turned pale ; it 
 was too much even for his youthful heroism. 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 " Do you know, Colonel Rasinski, that we 
 are to march the day after to-morrow ?" he 
 said, addressing the latter, in order to turn 
 the conversation into a new channel. 
 
 " Certainly. !" answered Rasinski. 
 
 "Also that Colonel Regnard marches 
 with his regiment, the dragoons, and the 
 three companies of flying artillery 2" 
 
 " I am acquainted with the orders only in 
 as far as they concern myself," answered 
 Rasinski ; " I must say, however, that I am 
 not over-well pleased with this large addition 
 to our force, because the more there are of 
 us, the worse quarters we shall have. I love 
 my country, but with regard to her hospi- 
 table towns and villages, they are better pre- 
 pared to starve out the enemy than to feed a 
 friendly army." 
 
 Bernard and Louis now also entered, thus 
 completing the family-circle. The betrothed 
 pair were presented to them also, and re- 
 ceived from them the sincerest congratula- 
 tions and wishes of happiness. 
 
 Rasinski in the course of the evening dis- 
 played a quiet joyousness and contentment, 
 which rendered him uncommonly amiable. 
 
 " What a pity," he said, in the course of 
 conversation, " that our friend Bernard has 
 so much to do with swords and lances ! There 
 has been no time allowed him to handle his 
 brush and pencil ; otherwise he must have 
 drawn me a likeness of our sweet bride." 
 
 Jaromir exclaimed : 
 
 " And he has even promi^d me to do it ; 
 he wanted to paint her full-length portrait." 
 
 " Well, if I have not had time to make a 
 picture, v^fhy can I not at least try to take a 
 sketch ?" interposed Bernard. " The evening 
 is our own ; even a hasty sketch is better 
 than nothing ; and a few hours furnish plenty 
 of time for that. It is a noble privilege of 
 our art that in such cases only a part of our 
 faculties are put in requisition, ami may dis- 
 turb us as little as others in our social inter- 
 course ; at any rate we exact but some very 
 trifling sacrifice— hand and eye are at work, 
 but the ear is at liberty to follow the train of 
 conversation, and the mind easily accommo- 
 dates itself to these several occupations. 
 Permit me, therefore, to fix my little extem- 
 pore atelier in this room — to place the can- 
 dles ^as I may require to have them, and 
 grant as a license for my eyes the otherwise 
 not very well-mannered indulgence, to fix 
 them steadfastly on the object of my industry ; 
 and I hope that I shall be able to bring some- 
 thing to pass which will be thought worthy 
 to serve as a small indemnity for the larger 
 performance, for v/hich there is indeed now 
 no time. You may continue your talk and 
 other pursuits perfectly unrestrained ; a like- 
 ness stolen in an unsuspected moment pos- 
 sesses often more truth and animation than 
 
 when the object solemnly and methodically 
 prepares to be transferred to the canvass." 
 
 All present joyfully acceded to Bernard's 
 propdsal,«nd he was installed in plenary form 
 to make every arrangement to suit himself. 
 He insisted only on the observance of one 
 condition, viz. : that no one should look at 
 his performance prematurely, as no artist 
 loves to have his operations watched during 
 the progress of his task. 
 
 He then brought in his drawing apparatus, 
 placed the lights in Order, changed a little 
 his position with regard to the others, and set 
 vigorously to work. 
 
 The conversation proceeded uninterrupted 
 between the others ; Bernard even took some 
 share in it, though on the whole he listened 
 more than he spoke, only throwing in a word 
 here and there, to join in this or that asser- 
 tion, fortifying it by some remark of his own, 
 or to launch a pointed shaft of remonstrance 
 or dissent. 
 
 The conversation turned only on common 
 topics, such as called forth a certain lively 
 interest, but did not originate any passionate 
 excitement of the mind. Bernard had made 
 this an object of request at the outset, because 
 it would become impracticable for him to 
 proceed in the " even tenor of his way" if 
 any violent emotions should find room to in- 
 terfere ; he knew with consummate skill how 
 to preserve the conversation in this calm and 
 even tenor, and to impose a check at the 
 right time, or to give the spur, according as 
 the conversation lagged or threatened to flow 
 on too rapidly. 
 
 " I have done f" he cried, when about two 
 hours had passed, springing up from his 
 chair with the paper in his hand. 
 
 Full of curiosity, they all crowded around 
 him to look. He stepped back a few paces, 
 and held up the paper mischievously, with 
 the blank side towards the company. 
 
 " No staring, no profane gazing, I beg," 
 he cried ; " your expectations are too high ; 
 it is a half-spoiled joke, nothing more. Had 
 I time to do it over* to-morrow, I would burn 
 this sheet before anybody had seen it. This 
 I swear by my artistical honor, which I iim 
 just about to expose to the pillory." 
 
 He now turned the paper about ; twO 
 sketches were visible upon it. The first rep- 
 resented Lodoiska, the second Jaromir; both 
 exhibiting the busts only, slightly sketched, 
 but executed with great spirit and most 
 speaking resemblance. Every one admired 
 the successful effort and the cleverness of the 
 performance ; Jaromir in particular, who cried 
 out in raptures : 
 
 " What a glorious gift ! what a welcome 
 surprise ! How shall I ever thank you 
 enough for this pleasure ! I can now take 
 
-"ry 
 
 I w *-« . t f A 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 with me the likeness of my beloved and leave 
 mine with her." 
 
 Louis was the only one who contemplated 
 the drawings- with fixed attention. In a few 
 minutes he said, laughingly : 
 
 " I could not think at first why thou didst 
 make those gothic frames around the heads ; 
 but knowing thee pretty well, I believed that 
 there must be some good reason for it, and I 
 think that I have found it out. The idea is 
 very good, and I think still better carried out 
 m the execution." 
 
 " Yes, yes, thou knowest my tricks," an- 
 swered Bernard, " and that I rarely go a 
 hundred steps together in a straight line. It 
 has become as a second nature to me, to 
 make some caper or other out of the plain 
 road, for ever since I was born, a grinning 
 baboon fias stuck to my shoulders, and is 
 not to be civilized or frightened away." 
 
 On hearing this speech, the rest became 
 exceedingly curious to know what the secret 
 was. As soon as they looked attentively, it 
 was quickly discovered. Bernard had sketch- 
 ed around each of the portraits a square and 
 apparently old fashioned frame ; in each cor- 
 ner of this frame appeared a face, which was 
 a most striking likeness of some one of the 
 persons present. At tl)c two upper corners 
 were Rasinski and his sister, and Louis and 
 Boleslaus below, taken off to the life. Be- 
 sides this he had ornamented each frame 
 with a flourish at the top, in which he had in- 
 troduced his own satyr's phiz looking down 
 with a mocking expression on his own work 
 underneath. 
 
 This humorous, but very agreeable addition 
 to the gift was acknowledged with enthusi- 
 astic approval. Bernard received praise from 
 every quarter, and particularly from Jaromir, 
 who expressed his joy with affectionate 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Such a sketch," he said, " makes me 
 really happy ; yes, it gives me more pleasure 
 than the most finished picfure ; for this I can 
 always carry with me, and solace myself with 
 looking at it. However faithfully her image 
 will ever accompany me, it is still something 
 very different when one can thus look at it 
 with his bodily eyes." 
 
 " Just as true," answered Bernard, " as it 
 is something quite different when one sees 
 the bgloved herself before one's eyes. Is it 
 not so?" 
 
 liodoiska lowered her eyes a little as Ber- 
 nard looked at her, but she raised them im- 
 lafldiately, and looked at Jaromir with inex- 
 pipsible tendernet-s, as if in confirmation of 
 what Bernard had said. 
 
 Much cause as every individual in the 
 circle miirht have for seriousness, this little 
 incident had diffused so pleasant and joyous 
 a radiance over the sombre colorings of their 
 
 minds, that if not merry, they were at least 
 serene and attuned to receive gentle and 
 pleasing impressions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 At eariy dawn the rolling of drums and 
 clang of trumpets sounded through the streets 
 of VVarsaw, calling the troops togetiier for 
 marching. Lodoiska listened to the noise 
 with a trembling heart, the prelude to the 
 thousand dangers which the beloved of her 
 soul was about to encounter. 
 
 The Countess observed these preparations 
 with less anxious solicitude, but with more 
 of patriotic hope ; she had within her too 
 much of the enthusiasm of a true daughter 
 of Poland not to look with pride upon the 
 warlike scenes with which those busy days 
 were so replete. She even beheld her brother, 
 the dearest object left her on earth, going 
 forth at the head of his regiment, with a feel- 
 ing of lofty and exulting gratification. 
 
 The clattering noise of sabres on the mar- 
 ble floor of the corridor announced the ap- 
 proach of Rasinski and his comrades, coming 
 in to bid the ladies adieu. They were all 
 dressed in full uniform, handsomely accoutred 
 with sashes and swords, and the chako with 
 its waving plumes ornamented their heads. 
 Military array generally imparts a martial 
 bearing to both body and mind. The men 
 were, therefore, let;s affected at the moment 
 of actual leave-taking than their previous 
 mood would have led one to suppose. Ra- 
 sinski pressed his sister to his breast with 
 fraternal tenderness, and said, in a firm, 
 manly voice : 
 
 " We are going forth in a noble cause ; 
 let no sorrow or repining take possession of 
 our souls ; let it breathe nothing b'ut a holy 
 fervor, burning within us in a clear flame, in 
 our country's behalf. We will purify our 
 desecrated altars, erect new hearths for our 
 scattered household-gods, again plant the 
 standard of the Jagellonians on our frontiers, 
 and cause their hallowed ensigns once more 
 to shine upon the glory of our nation ! Fare- 
 well, beloved sister ; let thy blessing and thy 
 prayers rest not upon me, nor upon us, but 
 upon our arms only ; offer up thy orisons to 
 the Almighty for victory alone ! Whether 
 we fall, or whether we return, matters no- 
 thing, as long as the white eagle of Poland 
 soars aloft in the clear sky of Liberty ! Fare 
 thee well ! May God preserve thee for bap- 
 pier days I" V ' 
 
 The arm, which in prophetic assurance he 
 had raised aloft, now dropped to his side ; 
 
;»^?wf .;i ' 
 
 70 
 
 EGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; uiC 
 
 once more he kissed his sister, imprinted a 
 kiss also on Lodoiska's pale cheek, then left 
 the apartment with hasty strides, and rushed 
 out to throw himself on his steed. 
 
 Jaromir clasped his bride to his heart amid 
 the scalding tears of youthful separation. 
 That heart l^at high in anticipation of battling 
 for his country's welfare, yet it bled at the 
 Beparaiion from the one to which it was 
 bound. Lodoiska could not weep, for a 
 shuddering chill, more cruel than the acutest 
 pain, rongealed her tears. Her ashy lips 
 and cheeks, her feverish trepidation alone 
 revealed the measure of agony she endured 
 It this solemn moment. 
 
 With regard to the other three young men, 
 :hough not being so near to Lodoiska s heart, 
 ;hey felt heavily the hour of parting. With 
 1 silent shake of the hand, they bade all 
 idieu. 
 
 And now the trumpets without sent forth 
 :heir loud, shrill call. The noise of many 
 lorsemen was heard. The Countess hasten- 
 ed to the window. It was Rasinski's new 
 regiment, which came dashing up before the 
 jalace to receive their leader. The regi- 
 nental band, discoursing patriotic music, pre- 
 ceded the cavalcade ; some of the officers 
 ivho had ridden on before, came up at a short 
 gallop to salute Rasinski. Mounted on his 
 Arabian grey, the latter, in manly beauty and 
 with the looks of a hero, issued from the gate 
 Df the court. He was followed by Jaromir 
 an a slender chestnut-colored hunter, that 
 Hew over the ground with the grace of a roe ; 
 I lew moments after Boleslaus issued forth 
 )n a black charger, its mane floating wildly 
 ibout its proud neck. 
 
 Now was heard the Joud greeting of the 
 ftrarriors, welcoming their chief; the band 
 struck up once more, the banners fluttered in 
 ;he morning breeze, the polished arms and 
 lelmets glittered in the sun, the horses 
 stamped and snorted, plumes and panaches 
 ivavcd, and the exciting spectacle grew mo- 
 nentarily more animated. The exulting and 
 jxalted leeling which penetrated the bosom 
 )f the Countess at the sight of this brave 
 jand, persuaded her that the same sight 
 vould assuage Lodoiska's grief, and brace 
 ler up to a noble exertion of strength. She 
 vent, therefore, to the sorrowing girl and 
 iummoned her aftectionately to follow her 
 )ut on the balcony to witness the departure 
 if the troops. 
 
 " Rouse yourself, take courage," she said, 
 nildly but importunately ; " every vigorous 
 xercise of the will become^ a defence against 
 he pain which threatens to overwhelm us. 
 fou will derive strength and consolation from 
 eeing your beloved, as a man and a hero, 
 ravely going forth to battle for his country, 
 iove is nurtured by respect, and with love 
 
 also fortitude to endure and to snffbr. Come, 
 arise, and exhibit a hopeful spirit to the de< 
 parting friend." 
 
 Lodoiska found herself wonderfully strength- 
 ened by these^ mild but Arm remonstrances. 
 She felt it in her loving heart to be a duty in- 
 cumbent upon her to alleviate instead .of 
 aggravating the hour of parting. Resolutely 
 girding up her strength, she followed the 
 Countess, who conducted her through the 
 adjoining saloon out upon the balcony. 
 
 The very sight of the dazzling crowd of 
 warriors was refreshing to Lodoiska's deeply 
 wounded bosom. The bells of the cathedral 
 just then commenced ringing, and the morn- 
 ing-masses were heard chiming in with the 
 boisterous notes of war. The blue vault of the 
 sky bent over the scene ; the birds twittered 
 merrily among the gently murmuring leaves ; 
 the bright morning breathed its vivifying in- 
 fluence into every breast. 
 
 Rasinski noticed the ladies on the balcony ; 
 he nodded to them with a friendly smile. His 
 countenance bore the stamp of a noble enthu- 
 siasm ; every trace of sorrow had vanished, 
 for this iron spirit ruled his most poignant 
 feelings. He wished to appear before his 
 men with unclouded brow, so that the cheer- 
 ful confidence of their chief might also inspire 
 them with courage and hope; he willed it, 
 willed it firmly, and thence it became possible 
 for him" to do it. The appearance of the 
 ladies, therefore, did* not disconcert him ; 
 without turning his eye from his men, or 
 neglecting the most trifling punctilio, he con- 
 trived to assure his sister that he was fully 
 aware of her presence and was glad of her 
 encouraging sympathy. With Jaromir it 
 was otherwise ; he allowed himself to be 
 diverted from the business in hand, and thus 
 afforded his comrades an opportunity of in- 
 dulging in a laugh at his expense ; for while 
 keeping his eyes rivetted on the balcony he 
 blundered with his horse right into the midst 
 of his own troop, and thus threw both men 
 and horses into a state of confusion. Boles- 
 laus, on the other hand, fixed his undivided 
 attention on his duty. With keen eye he 
 inspected men, horses, accoutrements, saddle- 
 gear and knapsacks ; on one occasion only 
 he threw a furtive glance to the female forms 
 on the balcony, as if on some stolen or un- 
 lawful object. 
 
 The regiment was drawn up in front of the 
 palace. The windows of every house were 
 crowded with spectators of both sexes. Many 
 a tear trembled in the eye of beauty, or hid 
 itself behind the veil which, according to 
 ancient custom on all public occasions, dis 
 tinguishes the Polish maiden from thft married 
 woman. 
 
 " Attention ! Right dress !" sounded Ra- 
 sinski's word of command, and spurring his 
 
-w . 
 
 NAPOLEON'SINVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 71 
 
 horse, he flew like an arrow to the end of the 
 right wing. The profoundest silence now 
 reigned ; every eye was fixed on the com- 
 mander, every ear eagerly listening for his 
 word. 
 
 " Draw sabres I" he cried, and the glitter- 
 ing weapons appeared. " Front rank, for- 
 ward ! — halt ! To the right,^ forward ! — 
 march !" 
 
 The front broke up, the soul-stirring notes 
 of the trumpets and bugles sounded loudly ; 
 Rasinski galloped to the head of his regiment 
 and defiled past the palace windows. On 
 coming in front of the balcony, he gave a 
 military salute, at the same time casting a 
 parting glance upwards. The Countess, in 
 answer to this, cast a white silken scarf, 
 which she had thrown lightly around her. 
 neck, down to the rider. This was done in 
 conformity with the ancient custom of Po- 
 land, which accorded to the females the privi- 
 lege, publicly, with their own hands, of be- 
 stowing upon thej warrior when going forth to 
 battle, some token to take with him. Ra- 
 sinski caught it on the point of his sword, 
 and immediately wound it around his arm. 
 The whole regiment gave a loud approving 
 hurrah. Directly there flew and fluttered 
 handkerchiefs, breast-knots, scarfs, ribbons 
 and veils from every window. The sister 
 did not give her token to the brother, not the 
 bride to her affianced, the wife not to the 
 husband ; no, the daughter of Poland gave it 
 to the son of Poland. The warriors caught 
 the sweet memorials with their swords and 
 lances. One beautiful lady, with rich, dark- 
 brown waving hair, standing at a window 
 opposite the palace, tore her veil in two, and 
 let both the halves drop down. By chance 
 it happened to be Louis and Bernard who 
 seized them on the points of their lances. 
 The fiery Bernard returned an impassioned 
 glance, and in wanton boldness even threw 
 up a kjss ; ihe beauty smiled graciously. 
 Louis saluted her also, but more sedately ; he 
 thought of another form, which ever floated 
 before his imagination as in the waste and 
 boundless domain of things irrecoverably lost ; 
 but nevertheless the beams of that soft and 
 friendly eye touched him with warm and 
 gentle impulse. Bernard cried out in 
 French : 
 
 " I am not a Pole, but I fight cheerfully 
 for Poland !" 
 
 His reward was a rose, which the lady 
 plucked 4^om a rose-bush standing by her in 
 the window. He caught it dexterously in its 
 fall, put it into a button-hole on his breast, 
 returned one more grateful salute to the 
 charming giver, and then galloped swiftly 
 back to his place in the ranks. 
 
 Lodoiska was undetermined what to do. 
 She could not throw down her veil without 
 
 betraying her deep grief and swollen eyes to 
 the gaze of the world. But she quickly 
 loosened a breast-knot from her bosom, which 
 she let fall, intending it for Jaromir, but the 
 envious wind carried it away, and Boleslaus 
 was the happy man to whose hand it came. 
 He pressed it to his lips, and threw an ardent 
 look up to Lodoiska. Jaromir noticed it, 
 and conceived the suspicion that it was not 
 meant for him, though Lodoiska immediately 
 let fall a second, which, wafted by a more 
 favorable breeze, landed of itself on Jaromir's 
 shoulder. As suddenly inflamed by anger as 
 by love, he had also as quickly forgiven as 
 he became incensed, looked up to his be- 
 trothed with a loving eye, took the knot, and 
 then fastened it as a proud trophy on his 
 breast. 
 
 The troops now turned into the small street 
 in which Alisette dwelt. She stood at the 
 window looking at the passing horsemen. 
 She saluted all the officers wiili. whom she 
 was acquainted, and was saluted in return 
 by almost every one, for they all knew the 
 charming songstress. With true French 
 naivete she wafted her adieus to certain in- 
 dividuals, now with a merry laugh, now with 
 a saddened smile, and when any one rode 
 close under the not very high window, she 
 wafted him a sweet-sounding adieu. Ber- 
 nard in particular received an uncommonly 
 friendly salute of this description, to which 
 he responded in the same manner, though 
 not without a vague sensation of regret that 
 he now parted, perhaps for ever, from this 
 fascinating creature. His former suspicions 
 against her would have been dissipated, had 
 he not observed, as he once more looked back 
 toward her, how evidently her countenance 
 changed as Jaromir, who was riding a few 
 files behind, approached her window. She 
 took out a bouquet of roses and forget-me- 
 nots, which she till then had kept concealed, 
 threw it to the handsome young cavalier, and 
 by words and looks bid him the most emphatic 
 farewell. Jaromir, blushing from contending 
 emotions, came to a halt, spoke a few mo- 
 ments with the bewitching young girl, and 
 thanked her in apparently the tenderest ac- 
 cents. 
 
 Ahem ! thought Bernard, with a shrug, for 
 he espied Lodoiska, who, in order yet longer 
 to gaze after the troops, had gone to a window 
 in the saloon, and had been an eye-witness 
 of the little scene, without Jaromir's being 
 aware of it. Soon after, he tried to seize a 
 moment to ride up to Jaromir. Having come 
 up with him, he said, in a half-jesting, half- 
 threatening manner : 
 
 " Recreant ! what hast thou done ? Real- ~ 
 ly, dost not blush for having offered thy 
 last parting salute to that seductive Phryne ? 
 

 72 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 She is the last one on whom thy lingering 
 thoughts dwell !" 
 
 " No, upon honor, no !" cried Jaromir ; 
 " my heart now as ever beats only for Lodo- 
 iska ; it belongs to her. But Alisette was 
 always so friendly towards nje !" 
 
 " Yes ; but too friendly ! Take heed to 
 thyself," answered Bernard. 
 
 Jaromir smiled. 
 
 " There is no danger ! But ride back to 
 thy station now — for we come directly to the 
 bridge of Praga, which we must pass in the 
 exactest order." 
 
 The column here stopped in its march — 
 for several other detachments flowed in at 
 this point, where several cross-streets meet. 
 Colonel Regnard, too, was to be seen at the 
 head of his regiment. The order of march' 
 was, however, quickly arranged. Rasinski 
 with his cavalry led the van. He was fol- 
 lowed by a detachment of dragoons. Reg- 
 nard with Jiis infantry closed in upon them, 
 and then the artillery brought up the rear. 
 
 It was a gorgeous spectacle to see these 
 troops covering the long bridge, while the 
 splendid Vistula mirrored from its placid wa- 
 ters the dazzling pageant moving in many 
 variegated forms. Both banks of the stream 
 were lined with multitudes of people. Far 
 and wide re-echoed the loud huzza. Shout- 
 ings, waving kerchiefs, and streamers shone 
 in the sunbeams. The clanging of arms ; 
 the tramp and neighing of gallant steeds ; | 
 the deafening thunder of cannon — all this 
 completed the imposing and warlike pano- 
 rama. Individual importance rose more 
 proudly in the sublime aspect of these mass- 
 es. Private grievings and troubles were sunk 
 in the tumultuous waves which heaved and 
 sustained the whole; and filled only by a 
 chivalric longing for the battle, manly hearts 
 looked joyfully forward to the future. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Everything on the estate of Count Dol- 
 gorownear Smolensko, on the Dnieper, was 
 in the greatest commotion. This was occa- 
 sioned by two items of news received but a 
 few hours before by the inmates of the cas- 
 tle, as well as by the inhabitants of the de- 
 pendent villages around, which had created a 
 general though widely contrasted state of 
 excitement. The first item was of a joyful, 
 nature ; for an avant-r.ourier had announced 
 the speedy arrival of the Count from St. I 
 Petersburg. He, with his family, had for i 
 two years sojourned in foreign lands. His i 
 vassals, during this period, had felt the loss! 
 
 of his severe, but in their eetimatioa, jast 
 and impartial jurisdiction. ' A general joy, 
 therefore prevailed, on hearing of his speedy 
 return. 
 
 But this joy was materially disturbed by 
 another piece of intelligence, which the over- 
 seer of the estate had brought from Smo- 
 lensko. The enemy, it was said, had actnally 
 passed the barriers of the Empire — the war 
 had commenced, and the Russian array was 
 already retreating at every point before the 
 irresistible power of the French Emperor. — 
 As usual, in such cases, the rumors were 
 much exaggerated. Some pretended already 
 to know that Prince Bagration had been com- 
 pletely routed. According to other reports. 
 General Barclay de Tolly had fallen in with 
 Marshal Davoust, and after a sanguinary 
 ba.ttle, been obliged to seek safety in retreat. 
 The greatest consternation had, therefore, 
 seized upon the inhabitants; for, ignorant of 
 the distances, they considered themselves on 
 the very brink of destruction. The people 
 gathered before the gates of the castle, ask- 
 ing for counsel and help. The overseer had 
 great difficulty in pacifying them. He suc- 
 ceeded, however, by representing that the 
 coming of the master had undoubtedly no 
 other object than to provide for his own peo- 
 ple in these critical circumstances. Not- 
 withstanding, a pusillanimous terror prevailed 
 in most minds, and the aged and venerable 
 clergyman of the village, Gregorius, was 
 obliged to employ all the influence and dignity 
 of his office in order to raise the confidence 
 of the desponding. 
 
 " Fear not, my friends," said this worthy 
 priest, stepping into their midst. " The peo- 
 ple of Rurik are under the protection of our 
 Heavenly Father and all the Saints. Do 
 you imagine that they will forsake us ? Do 
 you imagine that they would abandon our 
 holy altars to the profane insults of a ruth- 
 less enemy ? — Never, I tell you, can these 
 aliens subjugate the old stock of the Russes ! 
 The holy St. Ivan, whose golden cross glit- 
 ters on the cupola of the cathedral at Moscow, 
 is mightier than the many thousands which 
 the foreign conqueror leads. I tell you, it is 
 the star of their perdition which they follow ; 
 bloody it blazes before them, and lures them 
 on to certain destruction ! As the hosts of 
 Pharaoh perished in the billows of the Red 
 Sea, so these sacrilegious miscreants will lan- 
 guish and die in our forests of a thousand 
 years' growth, and which no axe I^s ever 
 touched. The howling wolf shau gnaw 
 their bleached bones ; the croaking raven«hall 
 fatten on their carcasses ; for with us is the 
 Lord of Hosts — the bands of angels. Wo 
 are shielded by the holy mother of God. 
 
 '' Be not faint-hearted, therefore, but arm 
 yourselves as the champions of the holy St 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 Ivan. From the Niemen, which bounds the 
 kingdom of Rurik in the west, to the proudly 
 flowing Volga — ^to the mountains of the Ural 
 which tower above the uttermost boundaries 
 of Europe, the enemy shall find no place of 
 rest. The hut of the Russ is the seat of 
 hospitality ; but he will set it on fire from the 
 flame of his own hearth sooner than it shall 
 offer a shelter to the enemy, who has come to 
 desecrate and despoil the sepulchres of our 
 Czars, and to overthrow the altars of our 
 God. Therefore, you must not flee, my 
 friends, but you must fight; Let him that is 
 not cut down by the axe of the husband take 
 his death from the poisoned food which the 
 wife sets before him. Do not tremble nor be 
 dismayed-; lament not ; do nt>t tear the sil- 
 vered hair and the whitened beard. You 
 shall yet live to see many happy days !" 
 
 Thus spoke the inspired priest to the as- 
 sembled hordes of the Mugiks, who listened 
 to him with mingled awe and surprise. He 
 had dwelt among them full fifty years as their 
 spiritual guide, and during four and seventy 
 summers he had seen the ice on the rivers 
 thaw away. 
 
 The castle was situated on an eminence 
 from which might be seen for a great distance 
 the Dnieper in all its windings. The river 
 meandered between steep green hills at the 
 base of which it ran along the road to Smo- 
 lensko. The towers of that city, reddened 
 by the evening sun, rose on the horizon. One 
 of the boors who had kept his keen eye look- 
 ing in that direction,' suddenly cried out : 
 
 " There comes the master !" 
 
 All turned their looks the same way and 
 burst simultaneously into a joyous shout on 
 seeing three carriages approaching on the 
 road. With Joud j ubilee they hastened down 
 the eminence to greet the new-comers. It 
 was, indeed. Count Dolgorowwith his wife and 
 their daughter, Feodorowna. The two ladies 
 . were seated in the first carriage. In the 
 second was the Count with a stranger o'f a 
 military aspect at his side. 
 
 On seeing the assembled serfs, the Count 
 ordered the carriages to stop and dismounted. 
 The serfs, with their hands crossed on their 
 -, breasts humbly welcomed their master, en- 
 ' deavoring to kiss the hem of his garment. 
 The women crowded with similar humility 
 around the Countess. Feodorowna, of ma- 
 jestic figure, was the only one who would not 
 suffer this servile homage, but reached out 
 her hand in a friendly manner to the matrons 
 and maidens who approached her. The 
 Count after a few minutes repulsed the affec- 
 tionate importunity of his serfs, but only in 
 as far as they incommoded him. He and 
 his lady spoke with kindness to the people. 
 The priest, whose steps were weakened by 
 age now, also, pressed through the crowd 
 
 and welcomed the Count with respect, but 
 without servility or sycophancy. 
 
 " What ! Father Gregorius ! I am glad to 
 see you," said Dolgorow. " You were the 
 first one I thought of with uneasiness, fear- 
 ing lest I should not be permitted to see you 
 again. It affords me ^reat pleasure that 
 the sun of this spring yet shines upon 
 you." 
 
 " My strength is yet unabated," replied the 
 clergyman. " It is true I am every day lia- 
 ble to be called before the throne of the Al- 
 mighty. But, thanks to his mercy, I am still 
 enabled to discharge the duties on earth 
 which the Lord has laid upon me." -^^ 
 
 In the meantime Feodorowna approached : 
 
 " Blessing and honor be upon your head, 
 venerable Father ! It is indeed a great joy 
 to me to see . you again, and in such health 
 and cheerfulness." 
 
 " May the mother of God be with thee 
 and preserve thee in her holy keeping," said 
 the aged minister, while laying his hand on 
 her gently bowed head. " The angels of the 
 Lord have guarded thee kindly, my daugh- 
 ter, and thou hast come back more beautiful, 
 than when, as a tender bud thou didst leave 
 us. The saints have heard my prayers — for 
 daily have I invoked them to grant thee their 
 succor." 
 
 Thus spake the old man, looking affection- 
 ately at the fair maiden whose childhood and 
 youth he had guided. 
 
 " Oh, certainly they have accompanied us 
 with their protection," answered Feodorowna, 
 with pious emotion ; " for God has been with 
 us in every extremity." 
 
 She seemed to wish to say something more, 
 but stopped abruptly, being deterred by a 
 glance from her father, to whom the great 
 intimacy of his daughter with the old priest 
 was disagreeable. Immediately afterwards 
 the stranger, a large, well-formed man in the 
 prime of life, stepped up to her and offered 
 his arm to assist her in ascending the now 
 steeper path. 
 
 The Count walked in the midst of his de- 
 pendents, speaking to individuals among 
 them, informing himself about their domes- 
 tic affairs and the most noticeable events 
 which had taken place in his absence. 
 
 " Thou hast lost thy wife, Isaac," he said 
 to a boor well stricken in years. 
 
 " Yes, my gracious master," answered the 
 old man. . " She died last fall, and I have 
 felt the want of a housekeeper ever since." 
 
 " Thy eldest son shall marry," answered 
 the Count. " Wasilof 's daughter will make 
 him a good wife. I will arrange about the 
 wedding one of these days." 
 
 The old man returned his most humble 
 thanks for this command — for such was, in 
 fact, the promised benefaction of the Count. 
 
74 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 The overseer enquired timidly about news 
 of the war. 
 
 " The enemy is marching to our frontiers," 
 answered the Count. " He is pressing on in 
 great numbers. My principal motive for 
 coming to my estates is to take such mea- 
 sures as tiie war may render necessary." 
 
 " I heard to-day, in Smolensko — " began 
 the overseer, with an air of importance and 
 concern. 
 
 " Ah ! probably the same silly stories with 
 which they have persecuted me," interrupted 
 the Count without giving any farther ex- 
 planation. 
 1^ The news-devouring overseer tried his luck 
 again, remarking with an expression of anx- 
 iety : 
 
 " We were very much alarmed." 
 
 But the Count, who did no^ love to chat 
 with his servants, without answering turned 
 away to the priest. 
 
 " I shall want your assistance, Gregorius, 
 to keep my subjects in good confidence and 
 spirits, especially when they are needlessly 
 alarmed by the spreading about of foolish 
 rumors." 
 
 The oVerseer slid shyly off on one side, glad 
 enough to escape thus easily the penalty for 
 his impertinence. 
 
 Gregorius answered the Count : 
 
 " I will enkindle the hearts of the people 
 in defence of the faith of their fathers — of the 
 ancient throne of the Czars, and of our hal- 
 lowed country." 
 
 " You will do well in this," answered the 
 Count. " But hatred is more powei"ful than 
 love, therefore, I would rather see that you 
 filled their minds with implacable hatred to 
 our enemies. Describe them as robbers and 
 assassins, who come only to lay waste our 
 fields, to desolate our villages and towns 
 with fire and sword, to drive away our flocks 
 and herds — to ravish our wives and daughters, 
 and slay our men." 
 
 " They may do all these things and com- 
 mit yet more atrocious deeds," answered 
 Gregorius. " It would still be my duty as a 
 priest to inculcate gentleness and a con- 
 ciliating spirit towards them. But they come 
 as the enemies of our God. the destroyers 
 and polluters of our temples. These crimes 
 we must avenge. All other goods, the per- 
 ishable vanities of life, we must only de- 
 fend." 
 
 A scowl on the Count's brow evinced his 
 dissatisfaction with the priest's answer. But 
 he said nothing, well knowing that he might 
 sooner shake a mountain from its base than 
 overcome the firmness and religious scruples 
 of old Gregorius. 
 
 They had in the meantime reached the 
 castle-gates. The Count entered his an- 
 cestral halls, while the people remained 
 
 without. Gregorius was the only one who 
 followed. 
 
 " Wait for us in the dining-hall, worthy 
 Father," the Count said. " As soon as we 
 have taken off our travelling dresses we will 
 look for you there. I myself will be with 
 you in a few minutes, to consult with you 
 respecting a matter of great moment." 
 
 With these words he disappeared through 
 the door which led to his own private rooms. 
 The ladies also retired to their chambers, to 
 change their habiliments. The stranger 
 was conducted into the reception-room. 
 
 Gregorius entered the hall where he was 
 to await the Count. More than two years 
 had passed away since he last entered these 
 apartments. The hall was built in an an- 
 tique and singularly mixed style. Four very 
 high bow- windows in golhic frames looked 
 out over the landscape towards the river, so 
 that the glowing sky of evening threw its 
 golden glories into the vaulted apartment. 
 The walls were adorned with black marble 
 pillars, between which were suspended in 
 old-fashioned frames the portraits of the 
 family ancestors. The flooring was of wood, 
 as were also the side-panels, having gilt 
 edges and divided into compartments in the 
 style of the time of Louis XIV. Two old- 
 fashioned chandeliers hung from the vaulted 
 roof, and against the walls round about stood 
 large branching candelabra bf bronze. The 
 whole bespoke splendor and wealth, yet pre- 
 sented a gloomy sombre aspect, extending 
 even to the prospect and sky, which, as seen 
 through the old gothic bow-windows assum- 
 ed the character of autumn rather than Rus- 
 sian spring-time — the month of June. 
 
 Gregorius, seating himself in one of the 
 old-fashioned arm-chairs, surrendered him- 
 self to his grave and mournful thoughts : 
 
 " I have lived four and seventy years, and 
 m jr life has ever been one of peace and de*, 
 votion — for no malignant influence threaten-"^ 
 ed the sanctuary entrusted to my care. And 
 now I must, in the far advanced decline of 
 my days; ray steps tottering on the borders 
 of the grave, exchange the olive-branch of 
 peace for the sword of vengeance. But be 
 it as the Lord wills ! His is the fructifying 
 dew, the gentle rain, the golden beam of the 
 sun. His also are the lightnings and thun- 
 ders of the darkened heavens. He sends out 
 his messengers and servants to bless and to 
 slay, to instruct the godly and guide them to 
 Himself, or to hnrl the evil-doers into the 
 darkest pit of hell from whence they have 
 risen. Gregorius bows his grey head sub- 
 mis.sively to the will of the Father !" 
 
 During this monologue of the old man, as 
 he sat with his ftice turned towards the set- 
 ting-sun — fitting emblem of his life — the 
 foldingHdoors of the hall parted and Count 
 
■•'3P* 
 
 NAPOLEbN'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 79 
 
 Dolgorof entered. In spite of his haughty 
 step and imperious look flashing from be- 
 neath his lofty brow, his whole being seem- 
 ed bowed down with grief and discomfort. 
 
 " I have to speak with you on weighty 
 matters, father Gregorius," he began, stepping 
 up to the old man to prevent his rising out 
 of the chair. " We must seize these moments 
 while we are alone." 
 
 Saying this he drew up a chair a^ seated 
 himself opposite to the 'priest. 
 
 " The times are serious," answered Gre- 
 gorius, slowly shaking his venerable head.' 
 
 " Before discussing matters concerning 
 the country and other public affairs, I have 
 something to say which concerns myself 
 alone. The strange gentleman who accom- 
 panies me is the Prince Ochalskoi, a Colo- 
 nel in the army of our sovereign. I wish to 
 betroth my daughter Feodorowna to him ; 
 but she is repugnant to the alliance, and en- 
 deavors to avoid my paternal commands by 
 the foolish resolve to enter a convent and 
 take the veil. You, Gregorius, possess great 
 influence over her mind, and I expect from 
 you that you will use it to bring her back to 
 her duty.^' 
 
 The priest was about to answer, but Dol- 
 gorof. interrupted him : 
 
 " Let me finish, father. You do not know, 
 perhaps, how much I have sacrificed in these 
 eventful days for the good of my country. 
 My ardent desire of occupying an important 
 position, to obtain offices and posts of honor, 
 through which I might share in the direc- 
 tion of public affairs, induced me to put 
 everything at the hazard. My great wealth 
 is shattered, and still 1 have not reached the 
 goal which was to remunerate me for all my 
 losses. My daughter's marriage with the 
 Prince would effect this. Not his incalcula- 
 ble riches only, but his powerful connexions 
 will afford me the means. Yes, I am already 
 under such great obligations to him that it 
 is only through his influence that I can sus- 
 tain the position which 1 now occupy. Her 
 father's honor and happiness is at stake. 
 You will now be able rightly to comprehend 
 w^hat is the duty of Feodorowna.^ To you, 
 reverend father, I look for succor. She has 
 confidence in you. I might use coercion ; 
 but i would gladly avoid resorting to any ex- 
 treme. I am fearful, besides, that the prince- 
 ly pride of the wooer will forbid thus ac- 
 cepting a bride brought to his arms, pot by 
 choice or persuasion, but by force — 'for he 
 loves Feodorowna." 
 
 Grregorius observed a few moments' silence, 
 and then answered complacently but firmly : 
 
 " It grieves me much to see father and 
 daughter at variance. But I know the heart 
 of Feodorowna ; it is noble, generous, kind, 
 and good. If it has turned to love holy things ; 
 
 if she is truly minded to take leave of tlus 
 deceitful world, and to consecrate her days 
 to pious retirement, the servant of the Lord 
 may not turn her steps aside from this safest 
 and purest path to eternal happiness." 
 
 The Count rose abruptly, as he looked at 
 the priest with fierce and rolling eyes : 
 
 " What ! Do I meet with opposition from 
 you also ? Docs it belong to the calling of a 
 minister of religion to protect and encourage 
 disobedient children ? But know, that if you 
 should urge matters to an extremity, I will do 
 likewise, and the issue will prove whether 
 the obstinacy of a girl, even when seconded 
 by a priest, will be able to contravene the 
 will and determination of a father." 
 
 Gregorius looked earnestly at the Count, 
 but without anger. 
 
 " You misunderstand me very much. 
 Count," he answered, " if you believe that 
 I would countenance or protect a daughter's 
 disobedience against her father. It is rather 
 the reverse ; for I intend to examine her, 
 whether she does act indeed in obedience to 
 the command of her Heavenly Father. You 
 will not dispute that His claims are superior 
 to yours." 
 
 The Count compressed his lips in anger, 
 but kept silence. He walked rapidly up and 
 down the hall for some time, while Gregorius 
 remained quietly seated in his chair, with 
 grave, pious aspect, as the glowing refrac- 
 tion of the evening-sky shone around his sil- 
 vered locks. Dolgorowstopped before him 
 and said with forced composure : 
 
 " Be reasonable, Gregorius, comply with 
 my wishes. Remember that there are many 
 things which you will have to ask for at my 
 hands. You wish to have new decorations 
 for your church ; these shall not only be 
 granted, but far surpass your expectations. 
 The sacred structure shall be built entirely 
 new from the foundation. The image of the 
 holy Virgin — " 
 
 " Would you bribe the Lord of heaven 
 and earth ?" answered Gregorius with a 
 smile. " Oh ! sir Count — for thirty years have 
 I lived on this estate under your government, 
 and yet you know me so imperfectly. Your 
 father—" 
 
 " Enough !" interrupted the Count, moodily. 
 " I did hope to gain my object by gentle 
 means ; but your stubbornness compels me 
 to use harshness. Well, then, you may have 
 your wish, and Feodorowna may make the 
 experiment whether she possesses power to 
 resist her father, who is irrevocably resolved 
 upon this marriage." 
 
 " The choice'of a husband depends upon 
 you," answered Gregorius ; " but her will is 
 still left free, whether she will ■ remain a vir- 
 gin and take the veil of the convent — for she 
 was born free, and not your vassal." 
 
76 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 " She is — " wildly exclaimed the Count, 
 still more exasperated by the priest's imper- 
 turbable calmness, but stopped suddenly 
 short, for the door opened and the Countess 
 entered the room. " To-morrow we will 
 speak further about the matter," he said 
 quickly, and in a low tone, as he rose to meet 
 his lady. With all the skill of a courtier he 
 could conceal every passion of his soul be- 
 hind a smiling expression of features. With 
 the easiest manner he said to the Countess : 
 
 " Welcome, my love — welcome to these 
 well-known halls. I hope that the many 
 cares which even now beset us will not pre- 
 vent our being right happy in our domestic 
 quiet — for a few days at least ; for our du- 
 ties will not allow our fjuest and myself to 
 stay here very long." 
 
 " I hope so too," answered the Countess, 
 " though I have no joyful anticipations of 
 the future in my heart; for what horrors are 
 not in store for our country in the course of 
 the few next months — months which were 
 wont to bring us nothing but pleasure." 
 
 " I hope, however, that the winter which in 
 this country is so severe and inclement 
 will this time become its best safeguard. 
 The terrors which seem ready to overwhelm 
 Russia are more dreadful in appearance than 
 in reality ; the enemy has no idea of the 
 walls and ramparts behind which this empire 
 is able, for seven months at least, to defy 
 every attack. We may, perhaps, be called 
 upon to sacrifice one year's harvest and ten 
 year's after-growth of our boundless forests, 
 but I fear no other mischief. If we surrender 
 our soil to the enemy for one summer season, 
 it will in the next give back the loss when 
 manured with, their blood. The great con- 
 queror of nations may be invincible in battle ; 
 it remains to be seen whether he can gather 
 harvests from fields of sand and ashes, or 
 shield his warriors under the bare heavens 
 from our wintry blasts. While we are 
 speaking, he must have crossed the Niemen ; 
 it is his Rubicon ; the dazzling fortunes of 
 Caesar had a melancholy conclusion. Have 
 yovL not, reverend father," turning to Grego- 
 rius, " also a stiong hope, that Russia will 
 rise victorious out of this contlict ?" 
 
 " The energy of her people and the grace 
 of her God will preserve her," answered the 
 priest. " If every community will treat these 
 invaders of our sanctuaries in the same man- 
 ner that I have reason to expect will be the 
 coarse pursued by the flock entrusted to me, 
 the host of Xerxes would not have power to 
 enslave or subdue our country." 
 
 Prince Ochalskoi entered, arrayed in the 
 uniform of his regiment. Dolgorow greeted 
 him, and drew him immediately into conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " I am much pleased," he proceeded, " tliat 
 
 you have been so active in using your influ- 
 ence with the people, Father Gregorius ; for 
 one of the main reasons for my visiting my 
 estates at this juncture is to consult wiUi you 
 and to make known the Emperor's com- 
 mands on this subject. It has been resolved 
 in General Council at St. Petersburg that 
 we shall let the enemy enjoy the show of 
 victory for a season, in order to render its 
 actual possession more certain to ourselves. 
 Our armies will oflfer resistance only in cir- 
 cumstances where the enemy must pur- 
 chase every advantage at an enormous sac- 
 rifice. It will be in vain for him to hope for 
 a battle ; in vain for him to exhaust the 
 strength of his troops in unremitting marches 
 and manoeuvres, in order to overtake the 
 phantom of conquest ever fleeing before him. 
 He will nowhere find a spot for his weary 
 soldiers to rest upon ; nothing but a waste, 
 howling wilderness will be there to receive 
 him, until dejection and finally mutiny shall 
 dissolve the bonds which hold army and com- 
 mander together." 
 
 " Heaven grant," said the Countess, half- 
 sighing, " that the plan may succeed — that 
 so many and great sacrifices may not be 
 offered in vain." 
 
 " What will be sacrificed," replied Ochal- 
 skoi, " but a few villages and towns, which 
 are as nothing in the immeasurable extent of 
 our Empire ! And to those who may lose 
 anything, the munificence of the Emperor 
 will amply make it up." 
 
 " But where is Feodorovvna ?" enquired 
 Dolgorow, who had alrcfidy looked towards 
 the door several times with an unquiet 
 glance. "Go," he said to a menial standing 
 at the door, " and announce to the Countess 
 Feodorowna that her presence is desired in 
 the hall." 
 
 The man departed and returned in a few 
 minutes, stating that there were some young 
 girls from the village with the Countess in 
 Iier room. 
 
 " No doubt her former playmates," re- 
 marked the mother, " whom she has already 
 invited to visit her." 
 
 " We shall have to wait an hour longer, 
 then, I suppose," said Dolgorow vexedly. 
 " At all events, tell the Countess that we 
 expect her presence at the supper-table, and 
 see to it that supper is soon served." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Feodorowna had scarcely entered her 
 chamber before she sent her maid to call in 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 77 
 
 some young girls who had beea brought up 
 with her in the castle as her playmates. 
 The lot of these poor girls appeared to her 
 very sad indeed, for after having partly tasted 
 of the happiness derived from more refiijed 
 society and higher attainments, they had been- 
 under the necessity of r^irning to a vassalage 
 and servitude, then first truly galling, and to 
 share the miserable dwellings and scanty 
 comforts of their parents. She therefore 
 remembered with strong affection these 
 companions of her childish days, with whom 
 she had spent many an hour of unalloyed 
 pleasure and innocent joy. They were three 
 daughters of peasants with whom she had 
 grown up — by name Kathinka, Olga, and 
 Axinia, all about Feodorowna's own age, 
 good creatures, but almost lost by that nar- 
 row, humbling, degrading servitude which 
 is forced upon vassals on a Russian estate. 
 They received therefore tiie caresses of Feo- 
 dorowna and the presents which she had 
 brought with her with a demure and abject 
 show of humility and fear, without ventur- 
 ing to manifest any emotions of pleasure and 
 gratification. Axinia, however exhibited a 
 deep state of feeling ; she was more grate- 
 ful for the love than for the gifts bestowed 
 upon her; but the tears which ^watered her 
 ciieeks seemed to indicate something differ- 
 ent. Some secret grief seemed to weigh 
 upon her mind. Feodorowna, enquiring 
 with much interest into tlie circumstances 
 of each one, sought also to ascertain the 
 cause of Axiiiia's sorrow. But the bashful 
 girl only looked down on the ground ; her 
 tears flowed more abundantly, but she re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 The servant entered, bringing the sum- 
 mons to appear at the supper-table. 
 
 " Do they expect me already ?" asked 
 Feodorowna. 
 
 " His Excellency," replied the servant, 
 making a profound reverence, " has at least 
 given orders to serve up without delay." 
 
 " Tell my father that I will cqpie directly," 
 answered Feodorowna, motioning to the 
 menial to go. " I must now dismiss you," 
 she said to the girls, " but come to me again 
 very early to-morrow ; and I hope thus to 
 see you every day, all the time that I shall be 
 able to remain here." 
 
 The girls departed ; but Axinia delayed, as 
 if she had something pressing on her mind. 
 
 " Dost wish for anything more, my dear ?" 
 asked Feodorowna, observing the counte- 
 nance of the girl, and taking her^hand in a 
 friendly manner. 
 
 Axinia was unable to answer by reason 
 of her tears ; she trembled visibly. 
 
 '• Wilt thou not confide it all to me alone ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes!" answered the weeping girl 
 vehemently. 
 
 " Well, then, come to-morrow morning, 
 or if thou canst, wait for me here in my 
 room till after supper. It is so light now 
 through the whole night, and Kathinka will 
 inform thy father that thou wilt come home 
 at a later hour." 
 
 Thankfully Axinia seized the hand of her 
 benefactress, kissed it most passionately, and 
 in scarce audible accents begged leave to 
 remain. Feodorowna hastened down, that 
 her father might not have to wait. She 
 entered the hall, where the supper-table was 
 already prepared. The father listened to 
 her apology for. her delay in gloomy silence. 
 Ochaiskoi addressed her with a few polite 
 phrases in that cold measured tone which is 
 always a better criterion of what is felt, than 
 the words themselves convey. They sat 
 down to table ; the conversation was con- 
 strained and carried on in monosyllables. 
 The disagreeable feeling incident to a differ- 
 ence existing between those present froze up 
 all free and cordial intercourse in the breast. 
 Even Gregorius was unable to respond to the 
 affectionate approaches of his pupil with that 
 unembarrassed cheerfulness which usually 
 prevailed between them ; for his feelings had 
 also been saddened by the conimunications 
 of the father. The supper was therefore 
 speedily dispatched, and the party separated 
 as frigidly as they had been sitting together. 
 Gregorius took his leave ; the old man bid 
 Feodorowna a tender but sorrowful good- 
 night. She was moved by his pitying looks, 
 which she rightly interpreted. She looked up 
 to heaven, reflecting how all her painful trials 
 originated with those parents to whom she 
 all her life had manifested only the most 
 devoted love, and for whose sake she had 
 made a thousand self-sacrifices ! To con- 
 ceal her tears, she retired in the deep recess 
 of a window, and looked out upon the land- 
 scape, which still glowed in the half-subdued 
 purple tints of the evening sky — the sun in 
 these northerly latitudes- scarcely dipping his 
 disk beneath the horizon, so that the evening 
 and morning auroras blend as it were 
 together and illumine the whole of the warm 
 nights of June by their roseate hues. The 
 river pursued its silent course between the 
 hilly banks ; two fishing boats lay gently 
 rocking on its rippling surface ; an eagle 
 sailed majestically with wide expanded wings 
 high above the forest-lops of the opposite 
 shore ; the towers of the fortified castle of 
 Smolensko rose like black basalt pyramids 
 out of the sea of molten gold which over- 
 flowed the horizon. A solemn stillness 
 reigned througho«t the entire landscape. 
 Feodorowna gazed sadly across the fields 
 and meadows in which she had played and 
 frolicked in the days of her childhood. 
 
 " Ah !" she sighed to herself, " is ray heart 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 an exotic on this soil ? Has it not been nurtur- 
 ed from its bounty ? Or have I become so 
 ^ spoiled and degenerated through the influence 
 of gentler manners and a more genial sky, 
 that I am unfitted for the rude North ? The 
 cradle of my existence does not look smilingly 
 upon me as once it did, but seems dark and 
 dismal, as if preparing to become my grave. 
 Is there then nothing true and enduring in 
 nature ? Are not the most hallowed bonds 
 changeable and deceptive ? Gracious Father 
 in heaven, forgive me ! but as my native 
 soil has become to me estranged and repul- 
 sive ; it is as if the hallowed* well-spring of 
 life had become troubled, as if the heart of 
 .the child no longer can beat in unison and 
 freedom with that of her parents ! Cold as a 
 serpent does this thought entwine itself 
 around my poor heart ! Can it then be true 
 that there remains for me only a duty dic- 
 tated by love, but that its living roots them- 
 selves are dead and decayed ? No, no ! it 
 can — it must not be — it is nothing but the 
 eternal arch-enemy who essays to delude me. 
 Nature is holy, true, faithful ; it is our 
 heart which is base and degenerate. Holy 
 mother of God I cleanse and purify mine, 
 breathe back into -it that once sacred love in 
 which the guileless child once was so 
 happy." 
 
 A grand and love-inspired resolve had 
 during these moments ripened in her soul ; 
 she would cast herself in supplication, 
 repentance and tears at the feet of her father 
 and mother, and by prayers gain from their 
 love what she had hitherto determined to 
 i, secure by her own firmness. She turned 
 hastily around ; " she saw that the hall was 
 deserted ; only a few menials remained busy 
 removing the remains of the evening meal. 
 Her parents — Prince Ochalskoi — all had 
 already departed without the customary 
 good-night ; the latter probably, because 
 Dolgorowhad taken iiim by the arm, and led 
 him to his own room to have a secret con- 
 ference together. Deeply affected by a pain- 
 ful sense of finding the warm and swelling 
 effusion of her heart thus violently checked, 
 it required a strong effort to preserve her 
 outward composure. The soothing thought 
 then rushed to her heart, that an unfortunate 
 fellow-being was waiting for her to alleviate 
 ^ her sufferings. 
 
 " I will lovingly take her to this wounded 
 heart, whatever grief or trouble may assail 
 and torture her ; from me she shall meet 
 with nothing but that love and sympathy 
 after which I myself long so ardently in 
 vain." 
 
 Filled with these thoughts she ascended to 
 her chamber for the purpose of listening to 
 Axinia's complaints. 
 . As she quickly opened her chamber-door, 
 
 her nimble step bein|[ scarcely audible, she 
 saw the girl on her knees in fervent prayer 
 before an image of the Virgin which stood 
 in a niche sunk into the opposite wall. In 
 order not to disturb the fair devotee, Feo- 
 dorowna stood fixed on the threshold. Ax- 
 in ia was kneeling in ^uch a, position that only 
 one-half of her profile could seen; but this 
 was radiant with a magical rosy light which 
 fell through a side-window into the chamber. 
 She kept her alabaster arms raised and 
 her hands folded towards heaven ; the head 
 was turned up to her celestial patroness. 
 Her rich brown hair hung in two finely- 
 plaited tresses over her bared neck. Feo- 
 dorowna noiselessly closed the door behind 
 her and advanced cautiously a few steps, so 
 that she obtained nearly a full side-view of 
 the girl's countenance. She then first ob- 
 served the cold chrystaUized tears which 
 trembled on her pale cheek to which even 
 the strong rosy reflection of the evening sky 
 could not impart a more joyous complexion. 
 Her bosom rose and fell with deep but silent 
 sighs, the lips moved as if whispering a pray- 
 er ; the eye was so intently fixed on the 
 countenance of the divine mother, her soul 
 so fully gone forth in earnest importunate 
 supplication Ihat she was insensible to the 
 approach of any one, even when Feodorowna 
 stood close by her side. It was not until she 
 mildly accosted her, by saying : " Axinia, 
 thou prayest !" that she arose in great trepi- 
 dation and terror, stood trembling before her 
 loving mistress, and endeavored abjectly to 
 stoop down and kiss her hand. 
 
 '• No, no, not so !" said Feodorowna, tak- 
 ing her lovingly into her arms, and looking 
 at her with ineffable kindness. " Be again 
 the old intimate friend and playmate. Un- 
 burthen thy heart to me, poor thinor, for I 
 perceive that thou hast some deep sorrow." 
 
 " Oh ! you will spurn me from you, despise 
 me !" <;ried the girl, disengaging herself and 
 wringing her hands in despair. 
 
 " Axinia, what aileth thee ? "Bpeak, tell it 
 to me ?" said Feodorowna in shuddering an- 
 ticipation. 
 
 " No, no, I cannot !" cried the unhappy 
 girl, covering her glowing face with both 
 hands ; the anguish of her heart almost 
 depriving her of breath. 
 
 What need was there of more words ! Every 
 feature of the girl dissolved in agony and 
 shame, spoke but too plainly. 
 
 "Axinia, thou art fallen? — Thou?" said 
 Feodorow»a, in a tone of the deepest con- 
 cern, but not reproachful. 
 
 The girl as if crushed by an avalanche, 
 sank to her feet. 
 
 " Crush the wretch in the dust !" she cried 
 wildly ; " Oh ! have pity, and let me suppli- 
 cate no longer " 
 
 I" 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RI;SSIA. 
 
 79 
 
 Feodorowna stooped down towards her 
 compassionately, and tried to raise her up. 
 
 " Ob, thou unfortunate ! stand up and 
 compose thyself ; thou hast sought consola- 
 tion from me ; I will not spurn thee away 
 from me." 
 
 " No ! let me lie prostrate at your feet," 
 cried Axinia, as she buried her face in Feo- 
 dorowna's garments and clung firmly to her 
 knees. 
 
 Feodorowna laid her hands upon her head 
 as if in benediction, and said : 
 . " May God be <hy judge ! My heart, also 
 liable to human errors, shall not condenm 
 thee. I will weep with thee, will lighten thy 
 trouble, if I can. Oh ! thou wast so good, 
 Axinia, thou wast kind even to me ; thou 
 hadst a soft affectionate heart ; it cannot 
 have become a bad one. I will not cast thee 
 off, for I know what the heart of the wretch- 
 ed pines for. Have confidence in me ; stand 
 up, be frank and tell me every thing ; it is 
 the first step you must take in retrieving 
 your error." 
 
 Axinia slowly raised her head and looked 
 up at Feodorowna. 
 
 " Oh ! you are gentle and kind as a saint," 
 she exclaimed, while tears streamed from 
 her eyes. She covered the hand with kisses 
 which was held out to her as if for rescue, 
 and suffered herself to be raised by her kind 
 mistress, for her trembling limbs almost 
 refused their aid. Feodorowna led her to a 
 couch, and seated herself by her side. 
 
 A long interval elapsed before the tumult 
 in Axinia's breast permitted her to make a 
 confession of her crime. The Count had in 
 his service a young German, named Paul, in 
 the capacity of gardener, whom he had highly 
 favored. This young man, had long cher- 
 ished an attachment for the pretty Axinia, to 
 which her father, Wasilof, was opposed, as 
 the Count was absent, and his approbation 
 was indispensable. The old man, the father, 
 also entertained scruples because Paul pro- 
 fessed the Protestant faith. Axinia, how- 
 ever, had in the meantime bestowed upon 
 him hep warmest affections, and they had 
 long mutually cultivated their secret desires. 
 At the approach of the vernal season, which 
 prompts every germ with a sweet impulse 
 passion in these young hearts became too 
 
 fowerful for the strict injunctions of duty, 
 'aul, in whose German breast the abject 
 sentiments of vassalage could not take root, 
 believed himself, moreover, possessed of an 
 inherent right to exercise the prerogatives 
 of a free man, and imagined that if Axinia 
 once were his wife by the ties of love, the 
 law also would yield to his wishes. With 
 reckless importunity he urged the loving, 
 yielding maiden ; her resistance grew weaker I 
 and weaker, and finally utterly evaporated! 
 
 in the sweet intoxication of her susceptible 
 heart. His fervent entreaties and burning 
 kisses gained the victory over her tears, her 
 apprehensive sighings. She awoke only 
 when too late from the blissful agony of her 
 delirium, and then with horror first recog- 
 nised the true aspect of the deed, and became 
 aware of the adder concealed under the roses 
 upon which she had reposed in her dreams 
 of happiness. 
 
 Her heart filled with mortal anguish, she 
 closely concealed herself in her father's cot- 
 tage, not even again seeing her lover. Anx- 
 ious sleepless nights succeeded to days of 
 anguish. Thus passed a whole month. 
 Paul, in the meantime, wandered about, silent 
 and distracted. The intelligence of the 
 Count's speedy arrival inspired him with 
 new life. He resolved to disclose every 
 thing to his master, to whom he was much 
 attached, and beg the beloved from his hands. 
 Mingling with the crowd, he hastened to 
 meet him, indulging a rather trembling hope. 
 The first thing which he heard, on his drawing 
 near, was the promise given by Dolgorowto 
 marry his beloved Axinia to the son of old 
 Ivan. He knew that the Count never 
 recalled sueh resolutions and promises. In 
 mortal agony he hastened to Axinia, who 
 had stayed at home, sad and silent, while the 
 rest were welcoming the returning lord and 
 his family ; for she dared not venture to pre- 
 sent herself before the eyes of her much- 
 loved mistress. While Paul yet tarried with 
 Axinia in dumb despair, both being at a loss 
 what to do in their extremity, the message 
 arrived from Feodorowna, summoning her to 
 attend her former play-mate at the castle. 
 Impelled by the strength of her love, and the 
 misery which every moment rendered more 
 imminent, necessity forced her to act, and she 
 resolved to disclose every thing to her mis- 
 tress, and strengthened by the hope emana- 
 ting from this resolve, she presented herself 
 .at the castle. She had now accomplished 
 this resolution, and her mishap had met with 
 a consoling, soothing sympathy, and her 
 error a kind forgiveness. 
 ■ When Feodorowna had fully heard Axin- 
 ia's confession, she endeavored by kind 
 words to encourage the desponding heart of 
 her friend. 
 
 "All may yet be well, Axinia; I will to- 
 morrow morning, as early as practicable, 
 entreat my father to give his consent to your 
 marriage with Paul. Some recompense will 
 be found for the promise given to old Ivan. 
 Should my father think like myself, he will 
 consider the promotion of your marriage with 
 Paul a duty from which he cannot absolve 
 himself. Now, go thy way home and to 
 rest in good hope ; it is now too late for 
 to-day ; but quite early to-morrow morning I 
 
 jiMLi 
 

 80 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 will send for Paul and speak with him my- 
 self. Now, good night ; dry up thy tears, 
 Axinia ; God has seen thy repentance and 
 thy sorrow ; he will forgive thee ; and if 
 thou hast endured bitter days and disconso- 
 late nights, believe me, thou art not the only 
 unhappy one on the earth." ^ 
 
 Feodorowna tuYned quickly away after 
 saying these words. Covering her face 
 with her handkerchief she sank weary and 
 exhausted on the pillows of her couch. 
 Axinia, with a feeling of profound gratitude, 
 took the hand of her mistress, passively hang- 
 ing down from the couch, impressed upon it 
 a thousand tearful kisses, and then silently 
 left the room. Every thing was already 
 hushed in the building ; Jeanette, the wait- 
 ing-maid, a native of Alsace, who spoke both 
 German and French, and who had been taken 
 into Feodorowna's service only a few weeks 
 previous at St. Petersburg, was yet in the 
 ante-room waiting her mistress's orders. She 
 accompanied Axinia to the gate, which the 
 old porter opened, gruff and grumbling 
 though he did it. In accordance with the 
 regulations of the house, now more strictly 
 enforced as the master had returned, all the 
 servants and menials had long ago retired to 
 their respective abodes. However gladly, 
 therefore, Axinia would have imparted the 
 fortunate turn which their afikirs had taken 
 to her lover, knowing how surely he was 
 anxiously waiting for such a communication, 
 it was impossible for her to effect it now. 
 Somewhat frightened by the lateness of the 
 hour, she speedily trod her way to her father's 
 cottage in which she passed the first night 
 for a month without sitting on her bed in 
 hopeless misery till break of day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 It was quite late before slumber visited 
 the weary eyelids of Feodorowna ; she di"d 
 not, in consequence, awake till the sun was 
 already far advanced in his diurnal journey. 
 On ringing the bell for her maid, the girl en- 
 tered, much excited, and with tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " What is the matter with thee, Jeanette ?" 
 she asked in surprise. 
 
 " Ah, gracious Countess, how dreadfully 
 do they abuse people in this country ! the 
 unfortunate man will certainly not survive 
 the horrible punishment!" 
 
 " Who ?" asked J'eodorowna, in astonish- 
 ment. " What has happened ? Who is 
 abused ?" 
 
 Amid sobs and tremblings, Jeanette sfiam* 
 mered'out: 
 
 " The Count is too much exasperated ! 
 Oh, heavens ! if such a thing should ever 
 
 happen to me ? His young blood is and 
 
 forty blows of the knout ! He sunk to the 
 ground pale as death, only on hearing the 
 Count give the command." 
 
 Feodorpwna felt more dead than alive. 
 
 " Who ? who ?■' she cried, as if beside 
 herself, and recoiled with a blanched cheek 
 on Jeanette's uttering : , . 
 
 " Paul !' 
 
 I 
 
 The girl rushed to, the assistance of her 
 mistress, who was on the point of fainting 
 away. But her dizziness was only momen- 
 tary ; she collected herself by a strong effort, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " Give my orders immediately to the peo- 
 ple to stop ; I will be responsible ! Haste, 
 quick, before it is too late !" 
 
 Jeanette flew like a hunted roe through 
 the ante-room, down the stairs, and into the 
 court-yard, where three menials were already 
 busy tying up the unfortunate wretch to the 
 whipping-post. 
 
 Feodorowna meanwhile dressed herself 
 in the greatest haste, threw a shawl over 
 her shoulders, and hastened with uneven 
 steps to her father, for she already guessed at 
 the cause of this new misfortune. She found 
 him walking up and down in his room in a 
 furious state. He received her with scowling 
 looks and the harsh words : 
 
 "What wilt thou?" ' 
 
 " Pardon for the unfortunate man, my 
 father ! Oh ! recall your precipitate com- 
 mand. It was not your humane heart which 
 pronolinced that dreadful sentence." 
 
 " Dost know his crime ?" cried the Count, 
 rolling his eyes wrathfuUy. " All these 
 foreigners are hypocrites and traitors ; the 
 hour has arrived when vengeance will over- 
 take them. They pretend to insist that our 
 laws do not apply to them ; they shall at 
 least learn that we have power to chastise 
 them, and that those who will obey no law 
 shall also enjoy the protection of no law. 
 Should J suffer such an outrage against the 
 sacred person of the master to go unpunished, 
 I should be worthy the contempt of my vas- 
 sals. To lift his hand against his rightful 
 master ! It was wanting only that a daugh- 
 ter who denies the obligations of filial obedi- 
 ence should stand up in the defence of a 
 criminal and mutinous menial !" 
 
 Feodorowna's courage did not desert her. 
 However much alarmed by this harsh recep- 
 tion, she approached her father with the 
 niost affecting appeals. 
 
 "I am not acquainted with the trespass of 
 the unfortunate man ; I only know that his 
 punishment is cruel — it is terrible. Have 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 the milder customs which you have witnessed 
 in other lands not made you sick of the cruel, 
 inhuman and bloody laws which hold their 
 sway over the inhabitants of this country ? 
 Besides, I was already determined to move 
 your heart this very day to an act of grace 
 towards this unhappy youth. His destiny is 
 linked to that of — " 
 
 " I believe thou art in league and concert 
 with my lawless and incontinent servants," 
 cried the Count, angrily. " So, it seems that 
 tliou are cognizant of the crimes here com- 
 mitted earlier than myself? Who has dared 
 to make my daughter a confidant of a crime 
 which ought never to be named to a maiden's 
 ear ?" 
 
 A blush of anger and shame rose to the 
 cheek of Feodorowna. She was about an- 
 swering in the full dignity of a conscious 
 rectitude, but quelled the rising ebullition, 
 and said gently : 
 
 " The playmate of my childhood, dearest 
 father, the unhappy Axinia, confided to me 
 late last evening, amid tears of anguish and 
 despair, the nature of her offence. What 
 can be more natural than that she should 
 wish to pour the sorrows of her heart into 
 the bosom of sisterly affection ? No, my 
 father, you cannot be so unjust toward your 
 daughter as to throw any injurious suspicion 
 upon her !" 
 
 While speaking these words, Feodorowna 
 looked so grieved at her father, with her 
 moist and liistrous blue eyes, that even he 
 in his stern anger could not resist a gentler 
 emotion. With great seriousness he said : 
 
 " I might possibly have pardoned the au- 
 dacity and folly of the young man, being a 
 stranger, for so lightly esteeming the honor 
 of one of Russia's daughters as to trample it 
 under foot, if with humility and at the proper 
 season he had confessed his offence. Why 
 suffered he me yesterday to give my word ? 
 Have I ever forfeited it even to the meanest 
 of my vassals ? Should I ever dare to do 
 such a thing without blushing for myself? 
 The lad, however, in cowardly consciousness 
 of his guill, dared not acquaint me with his 
 delinquency by writing to St. Petersburg, as 
 he misrht have done. And this morning 
 quite early he comes to me like a madman, 
 imperiously demanding what he ought to 
 have petitioned for in deepest humility and 
 contrition ; and on my stern refusal he throws 
 himself upon me like a savage beast, and 
 threatens to take my life with that knife 
 yonder !" 
 
 Dolgorowhere pointed to a garden-knife 
 lying on the table. 
 
 "Oh, pardon the delirium of a desperate 
 man," entreated Feodorowna, " and crown 
 the work of mercy by a still nobler act of 
 humane compassion !" 
 6 
 
 " Enough !" answered the Count, sternly ; 
 " let what is past take its course ! She is 
 indeed an amiable daughter who wishes to 
 see the murderer of her father rewarded for 
 his deed !" 
 
 " Oh, God of mercy and power !" cried 
 Feodorowna, wringing her hands in despair ; 
 " must this shocking inhumanity then be per- 
 petrated ! And my prayers cannot save the 
 unfortunate wretch ! Father ! father ! there 
 is a God in heaven ; he will one day judge 
 you as you have judged others ! What 
 mercy can you hope for when you steel your 
 heart against all compassion ! Oh, land of 
 horrors ! where despotism bears ruthless 
 sway ! Father, listen to the prayers of your 
 daughter ; extend the divine prerogative of 
 mercy !" 
 
 Feodorowna, with her arms raised in a 
 supplicating attitude, stood pale and trembling 
 before her father, and was about sinking to 
 his feet, when a female voice was heard outr 
 side, and immediately after Axinia rushed in 
 with dishevelled hair. 
 
 " Let me, let me ! I must, T must !" she 
 cried in wild accents, tearing herself away 
 from the servants, who endeavored to keep 
 her back ; and then throwing herself at the 
 feet of Dolgorowshe cried, while embracing 
 his knees : 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy !" 
 
 Her voice was choked by breathless anx- 
 iety ; she pressed her face violently against 
 the .feet of her master, who looked at her 
 only the more sternly, aiid though feeling 
 himself in the wrong, was yet too proud to 
 give ear to the voice of humanity. 
 
 " Trouble me not, shameless wench !" he 
 exclaimed. " Thank my kindness that I am 
 willing to hide thy disgrace by an honorable 
 marriage !" 
 
 Axinia relaxed her hold, and feebly disen- 
 gaging her arms, raised her pale, despairing 
 countenance ; she then first observed Feodo- 
 rowna. 
 
 " Oh ! intercede for me— pray for me !" 
 she said faintly, endeavoring to crawl to her 
 upon her knees, but sunk, her face down- 
 wards, exhausted on the floor. 
 
 Feodorowna struggled with a fearful reso- 
 lution ; her bosom heaved and trembled like 
 an aspen-leaf. Finally she approached her 
 father with tottering steps. 
 
 " Father '" she cried, " show mercy ! I 
 will, I must ! Oh ! on this bench of torture 
 the ' yes' is extorted from me ! Well, then, 
 be it so ! — the rescue of two innocent victims 
 is at stake ! I cannot suffer them to bleed — 
 I dare not do it. Grant them pardon — and I 
 am Ochalskoy's wife !" 
 
 More her overstrained powers did not per- 
 mit her to utter ; like a corpse she sank in- 
 sensible into Dolgorow'sarms. 
 
f» 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDIED AND TWELVB; OR, 
 
 He let her gently down into a chair, and 
 then rang the biell. 
 
 " Go down into the court-yard and let the 
 gardener Paul be cast loose ; his punishment 
 is deferred for the present," he cried to the 
 servant. " Call the Countess's maid at the 
 same time ; she is taken unwell." V 
 
 Feodorowna sat motionless, her head lean- 
 ing backward in the chair, her white arms 
 passively hung down, her azure eyes hid be- 
 neath the closed eye-lids. Axinia still lay 
 on the ground in a state of insensibility. A 
 tiger would have been moved by this spec- 
 tacle of heart-rending misery, this touching 
 image of self-devoted suffering. But the 
 shaft recoiled from the cold and hardened 
 breast of Dolgorowas if encased in steel 
 armor — his sensibilities and better impulses 
 being blunted and obliterated by the con- 
 taminating heartlessness prevalent among- 
 the higher classes, which froni his youth had 
 poisoned and indurated his soul. 
 
 " It will pass," he thought to himself with 
 indifference ; for the sufferings of Feodo- 
 rowna appeared to him as nothing more than 
 the folly of a visionary ; and Axinia's misery 
 affected him not in the least, belonging as 
 she did to a class of beings whom from a 
 child he had looked upon as mere machines. 
 He was now exceedingly rejoiced that this 
 occurrence had been the means of removing 
 the obstacles which no longer ago than yes- 
 terday stood immoveably in the way of the 
 success of his plans. He hastened there- 
 fore, to find OchalAoi, in order to acquaint 
 him with what had just taken plaice, and left 
 Jeanette, who had just entered, to take care 
 of her mistress. The latter soon re-opened 
 her. eyes, and shortly assisted the maid in 
 calling Axinia back to life. When the girl 
 finally awoke from her swoon, she looked 
 wildly around, her eyes appearing to follow 
 some object she was unable to name. At 
 first the consolatory addresses of Feodorowna 
 were spoken to deaf ears, but at lengtli she 
 was enabled to comprehend, as Feodorowna 
 said to her : 
 
 " Compose thyself, Axinia ; the frightful 
 dream is past; thou wilt be happy !" 
 
 The tortured girl, on hearing this, sank 
 into the arms of her benefactress, who ex- 
 tended them to receive her, and pressed 
 her affectionately to her heart. 
 
 " Thou wilt be happy, Axinia," she cried 
 once more : " but thou little knowest at what 
 price !" was secretly re-echoed in her own 
 breast. 
 
 Long did they keep each other in a close 
 embrace ; the deluge of sorrow and bliss 
 which had buoyed up their hearts, had also 
 overflowed and obliterated every barrier 
 separating their conditions in life, and they 
 embraced like those saved from shipwreck. 
 
 But Feodorowna's strength was once tnore 
 deserting her. 
 
 " Oh, conduct me to my room ! I am 
 utterly exhausted !" she uttered, entreat- 
 
 ingly- 
 
 Jeanette and Axinia led her slowly and 
 cautiously to her chamber, where she found 
 the solitude and rest which enabled her to 
 contemplate the issue of the tangled web of 
 her destiny with a steadier and clearet 
 vision. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The solemn betrothal was to be celebrated 
 forthwith. The proper nuptials must be de- 
 layed for some time, on account of some in- 
 dispensable formalities ; and it had to be de- 
 termined by the course which events might 
 assume when this festivity could most appro- 
 priately be consummated. Her father enter- 
 tained no fears lest Feodorowna might re- 
 tract, for he well knew that, from principle, 
 she held a given promise to be too sacred a 
 thing to be infringed upon under any pretext 
 whatever. 
 
 DolgorowandOchalskoi went to wait upon 
 the Countess, and impart the news to her, 
 for, "being habitually a late riser, she as yet 
 knew nothing of what had taken place, but, 
 as may easily be conjectured, was very much 
 rejoiced at the information. 
 
 In the meantime Feodorowna had spent a 
 sorrowful hour with Axinia in her room, 
 when the girl first learned the whole chain 
 of circumstances which had brought about 
 the interview with her father. In order to 
 inform Paul of what Feodorowna designed 
 to do for them both, she had sought to speak 
 with him from the earliest hour of morning, 
 but without succeeding. 
 
 She was about setting out for the casflo 
 the third time as the overseer, who was Paul's 
 bitter enemy, standing in the outer gate, was 
 communicating with scornful expression the 
 intelligence of Paul's impending punishment 
 to those around him. 
 
 No sooner had she comprehended the dread- 
 ful import of this information, which she im- 
 mediately suspected was connected with het 
 own fortunes, than she beheld Paul in the 
 court-yard tied up to the post of torture. 
 
 To iiave seen this, then to fly up the mar- 
 ble step of the castle, to press frantically 
 through the crowd of menials to the Count's 
 own room and to throw herself at his feet, 
 was the work of a moment. Fortunately 
 Jeannette had arrived at the right time wilt»% 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 83 
 
 Feodorowna'e orders to postpone the punish- 
 ment. 
 
 Paul was now untied and conducted into 
 a small room used for the confinement of 
 prisoners. Axinia had at first some fears 
 respecting him,^ut Feodorowna solemnly 
 assured her that there was nothing more to 
 fear. At the same time she sent down the 
 order by Jeanette that Paul should immedi- 
 ately be set at liberty and brought into her 
 presence. 
 
 Dolgorowsent to request his daughter to 
 attend him. She went crushed, but yet com- 
 posed — pale, but without tears. The parents 
 were alone. Her father was more compla- 
 cent than usual, and the mother also appear- 
 ed kind. 
 
 " Thou wilt now yield obedience and com- 
 ply with our wishesf Feodorowna ?" she said 
 in a mild tone. This, for several months, 
 was the first expression of love from the mo- 
 ther's heart — a parent so ardently beloved 
 and revered by the daughter. 
 
 " Yes, my mother," she replied ; " I am 
 ready to sacrifice the happinetss of my life to 
 a duty from which nothing can absolve me. 
 But f make it an indispensable condition that 
 I shall have full liberty to dispose of those 
 two unfortunate persons." 
 
 "It is granted," said Dolgorow almost with 
 an expression of kindness. 
 
 " I must stipulate for a second condition," 
 continued Feodorowna. The step which I 
 am about to take I must be allowed to carry 
 into effect with perfect composure and wo- 
 manly dignity. I will not venture to appear 
 before my future husband with the distorted 
 features of sorrow and pain ; for my looks 
 would too strikingly contradict the assent 
 which my lips would have to utter. It would 
 offend him, and I do not wisb t6 do that — for 
 from the moment that I select him for my 
 husband he is entitled to my respect. I re- 
 quest, therefore, to be allowed the space of 
 three days, in which to school my heart and 
 to gather up my broken senses. The pious 
 counsels of father Gregorius will stand me 
 in stead In this painful conflict. With the 
 rising of the fourth sun from this time I shall 
 be ready to interchange the ring of betrothal 
 with the Prince. Until then I beg to be left 
 in my solitude." 
 
 " This also is granted thee," said the fa- 
 ther. " Thou knowest that thy father and 
 mother have always loved thee, and nothing 
 but thy stubborn, incomprehensible disobedi- 
 ence could ever turn their hearts away from 
 thee." 
 
 Feodorowna raised her eyes to heaven 
 and sighed deeply. Oh, how gladly would 
 ahe have given credit to these words ! but 
 she felt it to be impossible, for they were too 
 much belied by acts. How were it possible 
 
 for truly kind and loving parents to consign 
 their child to vears, yea, a life-time of silent 
 suffering ? ifiesides, there were no looks of 
 love to be discovered in their countenances 
 or ey^s — only mocking words of dead forp 
 mality dictated by selfish policy. 
 
 Feodorowna returned to her room. 
 
 She found Paul in the ante-room. He was 
 pale, and looked much troubled, for he had 
 been too rudely tossed about on the raging 
 storm of angry passions and soul-harrowing 
 anxieties to gather hope and courage at once 
 from the dawning of a milder sky. He now 
 received new life, as it were^ from the assu- 
 rance which Feodorowna gave him that his 
 fate rested entirely in her hands. She bid 
 him follow her. When in the room she her- 
 self led him tc the happy and blushing Ax- 
 inia. She joined their hands together, and 
 said : 
 
 " Be happy ! You were not without guilt, 
 but you have severely atoned for it. Conse- 
 crate now your affections by the holy bonds 
 of matrimony. But, Paul, when that is done 
 leave this country and return to thy native 
 clime. Wo unto him who must call this his 
 father-land ! Happy is he who knows an- 
 other home ! I can protect you no longer 
 than while I am here among you. It will 
 probably be only a few weeks. As soon, 
 therefore, as the way is open for you, go seek 
 other lands where milder laws rule alike over 
 all. , Now leave me . Go, and may you be 
 happy !" 
 
 She turned away to conceal the pains which 
 this interview gave her. 
 
 Axinia, taking her hand, said timidly, but 
 with an expression of the tenderest affection : 
 
 " Have you really forgiven me everything? 
 Oh, do I deserve it ? Oh, look at me kindly 
 once more !" 
 
 Feodorowna turned round. She looked at 
 her through her tears with a friendly smile : 
 
 " Thy heart is pure and undefiled ! To 
 those who love for the sake of love much is 
 forgiven. I freely forgive thee all. And if 
 the bloom of thy happiness could spring up 
 from my grave, I would bless thee out of the 
 cold and silent tomb ! But, go — go !" 
 
 Silently they left the room. 
 
 " Heavenly Protectress ! Thou gracious 
 mother of God, who hast the power !" Feo- 
 dorawna now breathed, bending the knee 
 before the image of the Virgin ; " grant me 
 comfort and strength. . I put my trust in thy 
 blessed mercy and grace ! Thou wilt not 
 leave me alone in this cold and dismal night 
 of existence. The rays from thy gentle brow 
 will illumine my path, even should the 
 whole heavens be shrouded in blackness and 
 wrath !" 
 
 A comforting calm entered her heart after 
 this prayer. She accepted it thankfully, 
 
M 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 blessing the band whicb is able to heal our 
 deepest wounds — the eye which never loses 
 sight of us even in the darkest recess of the 
 abyss. A ray of light seemed • to pierce 
 through the black cloud of her future and 
 kindled a feeble spark of hope in her soul. 
 
 "Despair not," a voice seemed to say; 
 " even when thou canst see no outlet nor 
 path that may lead to a happy goal. The 
 heavens in serene and eternal purity still 
 dwell behind the cloudy veil.' A breath of 
 the Almighty disperses the clouds, and above 
 thee stands the blue unspotted vault with the 
 blessed sun dispensing his reviving light over 
 thy soul forever." 
 
 Feodorowna stepped to the window. The 
 earth was arrayed in her gay spring gar- 
 ments ; even in this northerly wilderness 
 they imparted the graces of youth. The 
 river sported on its dark blue path through 
 the green fields ; the J^rowns of the fir-trees 
 were wafted to and fro by gentle zephyrs ; 
 the singing of the thrush trilled from' the 
 bushes ; the lark carolled m t)»e sky over 
 the meadows ; the swallows careered over the 
 mirror of waters ; the flocks hung upon the 
 sharp declivities of the green hills which de- 
 scended into the stream : whithersoever the 
 eye turned all was pregnant with life, joy 
 and goodness ! The solemn tones of the bell 
 summoned the people to early worship — for 
 it was a day of festival ! A sweet melan- 
 choly took possession of the sufierer. The 
 dreams and images of her youth crowded 
 with their wonted mystical power around her 
 heart. Gently her tears began to flow. — 
 Every pearly drop which escaped from her 
 eyes brought relief to her oppressed breast. 
 She breathed freer, and became insensibly 
 filled with an increasingly trusting faith. 
 
 " God is near unto me !" she exclaimed, 
 strengthened and joyful. " I feel His blessed 
 power in my soul ! Take courage then, 
 Feodorowna ; thou hast done according to His 
 commandment ; He wiH not leave thee or 
 forsake thee !" 
 
 Thus strengthened and upheld by the pow- 
 er within, she resolved to go to the ch«rch 
 and share in the devotions of the country- 
 people. 
 
 On her return she found the castle in great 
 commotion. The horse of a Cossack which 
 she saw tied at the gate, informed her while 
 yet at a distance that a messenger had arriv- 
 ed. It was not long before her father came 
 to her in her chamber, and said : 
 
 " Thou knowest, my daughter, that I scru- 
 pulously fulfil my promises; but I come at 
 this time to be in part released from them by 
 thee. Thou hast desired three days in which 
 to prepare thyself for the betrothal. I should 
 have been glad to have allowed them, but a 
 few minutes ago an express arrived, sent to 
 
 me by the General, with letters to myself 
 and Prince Ochalskoy. The enemy has 
 actually passed the Niemen and is rapidly 
 advancing. This obliges us to depart for the 
 army this very day. My departure is press- 
 ing — that of the Prince is necessary. In 
 Ruch circumstances thou wilt certainly con- 
 sent to renounce the delay, as it is of the ut- 
 most importance to me to see a family affair 
 settled and arranged, at least as far as may 
 be possible, before I put my own life and 
 your future husband's at the hazard of war." 
 
 Nothing but the pious and resigned frame 
 of mind which Feodorowna had been enabled 
 to attain, could have given her strength to 
 meet her father's wishes. Still she felt an 
 inward shudder that struck a chilling terror 
 to her heart. 
 
 " If it must be so," she said, with diflScul- 
 ty, " I am ready to obey ; only allow me one 
 hour's time to collect myself, my father I" 
 
 " Well ; in the meantime we will make 
 our preparations for the journey," he an- 
 swered. " Every minute is now of very great 
 importance. I will send for thee in an hour." 
 
 So saying he left the apartment. 
 
 Feodorowna sank exhausted into a chair. 
 She had possessed courage to rerionnce her 
 rights, but the decisive moment drawing 
 nigh again awoke the dreadful struggle ii> 
 her breast. 
 
 " There is yet time to draw back — this 
 heart may yet choose," she cried, wringing 
 her hands. " One hour hence and all is over I 
 No — it is already over with thee, for thoti 
 gavest an irrevocable promise. Fulfil, then,, 
 with fortitude the duty which the arm of the 
 Almighty lays upon thee. He alone who 
 crushes thy heart has power to heal it again. 
 Put thy trust, in Him !" 
 
 She rang her bell, and Jeanette appeared. 
 
 ''^Thou must dress me for my betrothal, 
 my dear," she said, feebly. " In one hour I 
 am to pronounce the decisive word." 
 
 She trembled violently. The girl suspect- 
 ed what were the feelings of her mistress. 
 She wept in silence, while performing her 
 little offices. 
 
 " What dress do you wish ?" she asked, 
 when Feodorowna was attired, excepting the 
 last garment. 
 
 " The black one — no, the white one. I 
 am in mourning for no one. I am the bleed- 
 ing sacrifice myself. Oh, that I were a bride 
 whom they adorned for the grave 1" 
 
 Such was the outcry wrung from a heart 
 torn by excruciating anguish. She sank ex- 
 hausted in Jeanette's arms, and wept on her 
 bosom in overwhelming sorrow. 
 
 She roused herself again, and directed a 
 look of devotion toward the image of the Vir- 
 gin, which just then was illumined by a ray 
 of the sun 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 ** One consolation, one hope, remains, how- 
 ever, indestructible in my breast," she said, 
 in gentle accents. " Why then should I de- 
 spair ? When all earthly troubles are at an 
 end, the hour must come when thou wilt 
 bless thy child with imperishable happiness !" 
 
 From that moment she became calm. She 
 looked beautiful in that white silkdress, like 
 a lily with its head drooping. Supported by 
 the arm of Jeanette she glided down into 
 the hall. The parents, Ochalskoi, and Gre- 
 gorius, were already there in waiting. 
 
 " I wish that Father Gregorius would bless 
 my betrothal, even if it should not be custom- 
 ary," was Feodorowna's last request, uttered 
 in a raild tone, yet so as to allow of no de- 
 nial. 
 
 Gregorius spoke a few words. The rings 
 were then exchanged, and the bride silently 
 admitted the embrace and the kiss from him 
 Co whom she had now solemnly given herself 
 away. But she turned pale in his arms, 
 fetched a sigh and sunk insensible, in which 
 state she had to be carried back to her 
 chamber. 
 
 She was left to the care of her mother, 
 for the horses were already icapatiently 
 stamping before the carriage in which Dol- 
 gorowandOchalskoi immediately set out for 
 the army. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 On the twenty-second of June Rasinski 
 with his regiment joined the main body of 
 the army which the Eraperor Napdeon com- 
 manded in person. An order received on 
 die march had accelerated his progress. 
 The other detachmeats, Regaard's regiment, 
 the attilleiy and two squadrons of Ijeavy 
 cava.lry could not advance so rapidly. The 
 sun was sinking behind the blue fcH-est winch 
 cncirclfed the western horizon, when on 
 ascending an eminence the French army 
 first became visible. Dark masses of troops 
 covered farther than the eye could reach the 
 gentle hollow which girts the chain of hills 
 skirting the banks of the Niemen, and bor- 
 dering the great forest of Pilwisky. Rasin- 
 ski, with Bernard and Louis, whom he em- 
 ployed as orderlies, were about a thousand 
 steps in advance of the regimeoL 
 
 " Holy God 3" he exclaimed, " What a 
 world in arms ! Look, my friends, look there ! 
 Over a mile extends that line of closely- 
 nacked columns; and from that other side 
 are other innumerable masses drawing near. 
 What a stupendous mind that must be 
 which can uaite the strength of so manyi 
 
 thousands into one focus by his own creative 
 will ! You will find every dialect of Europe 
 in this encampment. From the dwellers by 
 the Ebro and by Vesuvius, the sons of the Alps 
 and the Pyrenees, to the slavish hordes which 
 inhabit our steppes, every city, every town 
 and village has sent some of its sons hither. 
 And ali with glowing enthusiasm and impUcit 
 obedience follow the steps of this one man- 
 They obey him and have faith in him, as if 
 he were a god before whom men bow without 
 comprehending i Look at that splendid 
 train of artillery coming up that hill ! I esti- 
 mate its strength a-t four or five hundred field- 
 pieces, and still it is not one-half cf what 
 Napoleon brings to hurl destruction into the 
 midst of the hostile ranks." 
 
 Rasinski stopped his horse and looked 
 attentively around. 
 
 " Here, in the direction of those three pines, 
 lies Kowno; it will probably be fiercely de- 
 fended by the Russian^ ; there, at that point 
 you will see the road from Konigsberg, which 
 joins our road in the underwood before us. 
 That small place below by the wood, is Pil- 
 wisky ; that pointed steeple farther to the 
 left belongs to the little town of Schirwindt. 
 Observe the topography of this ground nar- 
 rowly, my friends, for 1 may have to dispatch 
 you this very night to both of these places, as 
 I suppose the staffis quartered there." 
 
 While Rasinski was thus making his com- 
 panions acquainted with the features of the 
 neighborhood, his regiment bad come up. He 
 placed himself at its head and marched in 
 regular order towards the encampments. 
 
 Before he had reached the first vidette, a 
 general officer came galloping to meet him : 
 
 " I am ordered. Colonel," he said to Rasin- 
 ski, *' to point out to you the spot where you 
 are to hivouac with your regiment for the 
 night. Your arrival has been already an- 
 nounced. You will pitch your encampment 
 on that hill over there, next to the Imperial 
 Guard." 
 
 Rasinski imntediately perceived the dis- 
 tinctioi) conferred upon himself and his 
 troops in this arrangement, and while offering 
 his thanks for the informatioH, expressed 
 his satisfaction in lively terms. 
 
 The regiment, under the guidance of the 
 general officer, now proceeded through the 
 midst of the camp towards the spot desig- 
 nated for their bivouac. The most diversi- 
 fied scenes and objects were observed during 
 this march. They came first to a long 
 train of heavy artillery, and passed long 
 drawn-up parks oi' ammunition v/agons. 
 
 " These are the iron sinews of the mon- 
 ster," said Louis to Bernard as they rode by. 
 
 " Or rather his jaws, breathing fire and 
 death," answered Bernard. " I have a 
 strange feeling," he continued after a few 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 moments. " While entering these portals of 
 the temple of War, I appear to myself so 
 little and insignificant, I atn so entirely stript 
 of all self-sufficiency and sense of power to 
 act, that I seem to myself a mere empty nut- 
 shell tossed about on the rolling ocean. 
 Nevertheless, I shall find some capital work 
 here for my sketch-book, for at every ten 
 paces I see some characteristic before me, 
 and J perceive that one needs only to ride 
 through a military encampment to become 
 another Philip Wouverman — if one has a 
 pencil by him, and is not such an artist 
 already beforehand." 
 
 They had now arrived at the first bivouac 
 of the infantry, and could leisurely contem- 
 plate the several groups which had gathered 
 around the camp-fires. In the distance was 
 heard the half-intercepted sound of music, 
 playing the Marseilloise Hymn. Immedi- 
 ately in the foreground were a dozen grena- 
 diers extended around a large fire. A sap- 
 per, with a bushy beard, was industriously 
 stirring their evening-meal m a cainp-keitle. 
 Every instant he was obliged to secure his 
 long beard from the shooting flames ; some 
 young fellows close by made themselves 
 merry at his expense, laughing at his dilem- 
 ma. One with a bandaged head was lying 
 asleep ; his comrades had furnished him 
 with a pair of prodigious pair of moustaches, 
 traced out with charcoal. Two were per- 
 forming a mock-light with their fists. The 
 rest were sitting or lying about in a circle, 
 looking lazily at the regiment passing by, 
 without it seeming to attract special atten- 
 tion from those accustomed to such every- 
 day events. They pointed the finger uncer- 
 emoniously to any thing particular, and one 
 fellow, when Bernard looked at him ratlier 
 sharpfy, made up a face at him, at which the 
 others set up a hearty kugh. 
 
 A few paces farther was another group 
 lying about, listening very attentively to a 
 musical genius who was performing on a 
 flageolet the old romance r " II pleat, il pleut, 
 berg^re." This favorite little ditty seemed 
 to awaken the tender passion in a sergeant 
 who was endeavoring to estaWigh a conver- 
 sation with a pretty sutler'^s girl behind the 
 circle of his prostrate comrades, discoursing 
 to her the most refined gallantries and chuck- 
 ing her under the chin with a certain pater- 
 nal benignity, while his animated eyes be- 
 trayed rather a warmer inclination for the 
 merry vixen. She kept nodding her head in 
 time with the music, not paying any great 
 regard to her gallant, only now and then 
 repulsing his caressing hands. 
 
 " Love is at home every where," said Ber- 
 nard, laughing; "her blossoms thrive even 
 in the bivouac. The only eternally barren 
 Boil in which she will not flourish, is my 
 
 heart. For as yet I cannot exhibit any herb- 
 arium worth mentioning of the shoots of 
 happy love." 
 
 Louis said nothing. He pursued his own 
 gloomy thoughts, which had been strongly 
 aroused by Bernard's words. 
 
 " Well, thou great lout !" cried Bernard, 
 somewhat angrily, for a large heavy dragoon 
 with his black horse-hair streamer hanging 
 down from his helmet, mounted on a real 
 plough-horse, rode right upon him, almost 
 jerking him out of the saddle. 
 
 The fellow swallowed the " loot" without 
 looking about him, and went on his way. 
 
 "A shameless cross-eared ass with hia 
 long legs thrown over that great awkward 
 Norman beast," grumbled Bernard ; " the 
 fellow made a regular charge on me with 
 his elephant." 
 
 "Those are the civilities of a eamp," 
 cried the laughing Jaromir, who had wit- 
 nessed Bernard's mishap. " Thou wilt have 
 to put up with such compliments until thou 
 hast learned to recrprocate them." 
 
 "Pah !" answered Bernard, "in that par- 
 ticular I was born a master ; I compare 
 rudeness to certain echoes, which give back 
 the sound not only quadrupled, but also 
 much louder. In my case the old proverb : 
 ' As you shout in the woods so il will shout 
 to you back,' is not properly applicable, for I 
 rejoice to see a raw bumpkin in a reflecting 
 mirror where I can cut him out an ugly 
 face." 
 
 They came to the bivouac of the cavalry, 
 where the horses stood tied to long out- 
 stretched lines. The smart stamping and 
 neighing of the animals much enlivened the 
 scene. One of them tore himself loose as 
 the regiment was trotting by, wishing no 
 doubt to join the brotherly ranks ; a few 
 dragoons were instantly after him to seize 
 him, but he kicked furiously, capsized some 
 camp-kettles with the ready-cooked suppers 
 among the coals and ashes, and then made 
 off with splendid bounces and caracols. A 
 battalion of infantry lying near by sef up an 
 exuhing laugh at this ehase' and tried to 
 turn the animal back by their shouts. The 
 Polish troopers also turned their heads 
 towards the scene and laughed, when sud- 
 denly the loud word of command sounding 
 from Rasinski : " Right dress f eyes right I" 
 brought them back into the tight shackles of 
 discipline. 
 
 It was to a French general that Rasinski 
 paid this tribute of military deference. He 
 bestrode a superb grey l^rb, whose trim- 
 mings and sweat-cloth were richly covered 
 with gold-embroidery and stitchings. He 
 answered the salute by slightly raising his 
 hat, and as they defiled past he fixed his 
 large scrutinizing eye on the men. The 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 87 
 
 Athletic figure, the sombre fire working in 
 his eye, the severe lines on his high fore- 
 head, in short, the tout-ensemhle gave him 
 that imposing presence, through which the 
 soldiers often derive the most unbounded 
 confidence in their leader. The men all 
 along, too, stood reverently still, keeping 
 themselves in strict disciplinarian order until 
 he passed by. 
 
 Louis, on whom this figure had made quite 
 an impression, said in a whisper to Boles- 
 laus, who was riding at his side : 
 "Who is that general ?" 
 " Marshal D^ivoust, the Prince of Eck- 
 muhl," answered the latter with a grave and 
 important mien, which indicated the respect 
 which he also entertained for this celebrated 
 soldier. 
 
 " Marshal Davoust !" repeated Louis to 
 Bernard, and they both gazed intensely after 
 him, until he was lost amidst the hubbub of 
 the camp. 
 
 It had already begun to grow dark when 
 the regiment reached the spot selected for 
 their resting-place. The space which they 
 were to occupy was distinctly marked out 
 by the location itself; they were on the top 
 of a hill, of which the crowning surface was 
 perfectly smooth and barren, but bordered 
 all around by bushes and underwood. A 
 few hundred paces on one side, on the sum- 
 mit of a somewhat higher eminence, the 
 Emperor's tent was pitched. From its cen- 
 tre pole floated the tri-coior. Two of the 
 " Old Guard" stood sentry at the door. 
 Generals, officers, adjutants, orderlies, &c., 
 came and vyent without intermission. Ber- 
 nard looked steadily over towards the tent, 
 in which at that moment the fate of Europe 
 was deciding. But there tvas not much 
 time allowed him to indulge in idle musings ; 
 the most agreeable portion of a soldier's 
 labor was begun. Pickets were driven into 
 the ground to portion off the temporary sta- 
 bles for the horses, by uncoiled foraging- 
 lines being tied from one to the other ; cook- 
 ing places were marked out ; some set about 
 retching wood and straw ; others brought 
 'vater. In a little while the merry fire of 
 the bivouac blazed up ; the men laid them- 
 selves down around it, entered into familiar 
 chat with each other, and all became more 
 cheerful. A good dram, which Rasinski 
 caused to be distributed increased the gene- 
 ral hilarity ; even lively war-songs and sol- 
 diers' ditties sounded loudly, until the shades 
 of night and the fatigues of the day invited 
 the leaden wings of Morpheus over the 
 breathing throng and changed the busy hum 
 of the camp into solemn and thoughtful 
 silence. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 It wa's past midnight. Rasinski, wrapped 
 up in a horse-cloak, lay by a larger fire than 
 the others, under a wide-branching oak, 
 asleep on a thin bed of straw, without the 
 shelter of a hut or a tent. Boleslaus, Jaro- 
 mir, Bernard, and other younger officers 
 were lying around him on the ground. 
 
 An orderly stepped within the circle of the 
 sleepers and asked Louis, whose watch it 
 was by the fire, to show him Colonel Rasin- 
 ski. Before he could answer, the latter 
 started up. His slumbers hardly ever im- 
 peded this man's habitual alertness. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asked. 
 
 The orderly gave him a sealed note, which 
 Rasinski read by the light of the camj>fire. 
 
 " Very well, comrade ; I will be punctual," 
 he said, after having ascertained the con- 
 tents. 
 
 The orderly departed. Rasinski called for 
 his groom. 
 
 " Saddle my roan immediaftely," he said ; 
 " and you too, my friends," turning to Louis, 
 and to Bernard, who had also awakened, 
 " saddle your horses, for we must away in- 
 stantly." 
 
 The young men sprang briskly up and 
 hastened to their horses ; for they had made 
 it a rule to perform all the duties of the com- 
 mon soldier themselves, so as not to become 
 squeamish and effeminate, or awaken the 
 jealousy of others. They returned mounted 
 in a few minutes. Rasinski was already on 
 horseback. The rest of the officers, who had 
 been lying around the fire, had awakened 
 and risen. 
 
 " Most probably I shall be back before day- 
 break," said Rasinski ; " should, however, 
 anything occur during my absence, you must 
 address yourselves to Major Negolinski, as 
 the senior officer of the regiment. He has 
 already been notified to that effect. Au 
 revoir /" 
 
 They left at a slow pace, and rode down 
 the hill through the underwood, straight to- 
 wards the Emperor's tent. 
 
 " What o'clock is it ?" asked Rasinski. 
 
 " Half-past one," answered Bernard. 
 
 " Then we are almost too early. The 
 Emperor wishes to reconnoitre the banks of 
 the Niemen at the first dawn. I am com- 
 manded to join his suite, as I am well ac- 
 quainted with the neighborhootl. I recom- 
 mend to you, my dear friends, to observe the 
 utmost silence, for the Emperor hates every 
 idle noise at those weighty moments when 
 he deliberates on his gigantic schemes." 
 
 Both the young men were by these words 
 wrought up to a state of intense expectation. 
 For the first time they were to be witnesses 
 of one of those momentous occasions when 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 the autocrat of Europe stretched forth the 
 first threads of a bold and all-comprising 
 woof. They were in a measure introduced 
 into the workshop of the world's history ; 
 they were approaching the fountain-head of 
 events which, growing into a river and ex- 
 panding into an ocean, was destined to carry 
 the destiny of entire nations on its roaring 
 and tumultuous waves. 
 
 Silently they rode along through night and 
 forest, following the rigidly-silent guide be- 
 tween the gloomy camp-fires which glimmer- 
 ed to the right and left towards the tent of 
 the Emperor. There they found a number 
 of generals and other officers already as- 
 sembled. A few minutes afterwards the 
 Emperor issued from his tent and mounted 
 his horse. The morning twilight already 
 began to appear ; but the entire landscape 
 was yet enveloped in a greyish veil, here 
 and there made more impenetrable by the 
 mist of the morning. In less than a quarter 
 of an hour they had reached the wood-clad 
 hills which line the course of the Niemen. 
 The beautiful stream glided in pale lustre 
 between the dusky banks, reflecting the ex- 
 piring stars on its surface. On the other 
 side lay the territory of Russia. 
 
 The Emperor halted on the hill, and for 
 some time looked attentively on every side. 
 1 le then spurred down the hill at a short 
 gallop towards the river. As his horse trod 
 on the wet sandy beach, he sank suddenly 
 down by the fore-feet, fell, and threw his 
 lider over his head. 
 
 For a moment every one was stunned by 
 ;ui accident which looked very much like a 
 bad omen. Rasinski was so struck that he 
 involuntarily exclaimed : 
 
 " A Roman would turn back !" 
 The deep silence which prevailed among 
 all present, together with the stillness of the 
 morning, which so easily transmits every 
 sound, made these words audible to every 
 one. Even the Emperor, who had quickly 
 sprung to his feet, must have heard them, for 
 he suddenly looked up, but said nothing. 
 Calmly he remounted his horse, and con- 
 tinued his reconnoitring. He called Rasin- 
 ski near him, and spoke often to him with 
 great animation. He rode for a good hour 
 along the river-side, then turned back, and 
 galloped dowi. to the bottom of a hill. By a 
 gesture he summoned Marshal Uerthier to 
 his side, and while pointing with his hand 
 towards the river, ordered him at the setting 
 of the sun that day to throw bridges across 
 at three separate points of the bank, which 
 he distinctly indicated. After having done 
 this, he returned to his tent, and Rasinski 
 with his two companions repaired again to 
 their bivouac. 
 
 The day crept along under many restless 
 
 anticipations. Napoleon's tent was taken 
 down. He removed to a farm-house close 
 by, which he left every now and then to take 
 a ride through the encampment, and to ani- 
 mate the courage of the troops by his pre- 
 sence. As the sun rose higher, the atmos- 
 phere became exceedingly close and sultry. 
 The sufibcating heat of the long summer-day 
 of the north threatened to stifle them all ; the 
 sun shot down his fiery beams ; the troops 
 kept themselves quietly in the camp ; the 
 only business attended to was the care of 
 horses and of arms ; but even that was very 
 fatiguing in the burning heat. Every shady 
 nook was eagerly sought out and occupied ; 
 a cooling drink was the only luxury for 
 which the men struggled. They imagined 
 that they were carrying war into Egypt or 
 Syria, rather tlian into frozen Russia. 
 
 At last the shadows grew longer and the 
 sun began to decline. Towards eight o'clock 
 a few detachments of pioneers departed for 
 the river to construct the bridges. Expecta- 
 tion rose in proportion as the decisive moment 
 drew nearer. Sleep would on that account 
 alone have fled the eyelids of the eager sol- 
 diers. 
 
 Finally, at midnight, came the order to 
 break up the camp. All were ordered to 
 march in the utmost silence ; not a whisper 
 was to be heard, not a spark of fire allowed 
 to be seen. 
 
 Rasinski ordered his men to mount, and in 
 close column they struck into a wide road 
 which conducted to the river. In half an 
 hour they came to a halt on a hill covered 
 with grain wet with the dew. The hungry 
 horses pulled up the young corn ; the men 
 laid themselves down on the moist ground. 
 Every one waited the breaking of day with 
 impatience. Dark clouds of mist and fog 
 delayed the hour considerably. At last a 
 brisk wind sprang up, scattered the vapors, 
 and unveiled the first tender purple streak 
 of day streaming from out the depths of the 
 land of the Russ. The eye could now range 
 over the opposite shore, for it could be plainly 
 seen from the hills on which they were 
 islanding. What a prospect suggestive of 
 dark forebodings was there ! The eye roved 
 over nothing but interminable forests and 
 wide barren wastes. What ! were they 
 come to conquer such a desert, inhospitable 
 country, looking more like an immense 
 prison-house than anything else, and with 
 the sacrifice of so many thousand lives and 
 rivers of blood ? A saddening dejection took 
 possession of the minds of the warriors. On 
 a sudden there sounded a loud trumpet-call ; 
 the sun rose bloody but flashing over the 
 black fir-tops of the forest, and the refreshing 
 wafting of the morning-breeze filled the breast 
 with joy and strength afresh. Every eye 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 was turned back to the point from which the 
 war-lijje signal for marching had proceeded. 
 It was from the Emperor's tent, which during 
 the night had been pitched on the highest 
 point of the river's bank. The tent siione 
 prominently in the morning sun ; the tri- 
 colored banner, with its white, blue and red 
 divisions, waved proudly in the breeze. A 
 dazzling retinue of marshals and generals 
 was stationed before the tent. The Emperor 
 appeared, made a salute in military style, 
 and vaulted on the back of his Arabian grey. 
 As if moved by a single nod, the several 
 columns broke away from the edge of the 
 forest. In a few moments more every hill 
 was covered with black waving masses, their 
 glittering arms reflected by the glowing 
 morning sun. The whole expanse moved in 
 dazzling splendor ; the heart expanded at the 
 sight of these stupendous forces. The dark 
 masses splitting into three broad streams, 
 poured down through the sand-fields towards 
 the three bridges which connected the two 
 banks of the Niemen. In the mirror of these 
 waters their numbers were multiplied. The 
 Emperor set out and rode, accompanied by 
 his staff, along the columns towards the 
 middle bridge, and crossed over. He did not 
 tread the hostile shore hesitating, doubtful or 
 timorous ; no : impetuous and fiery he cross- 
 ed the bridge. On the other side he halted 
 and let the troops pass by him. The glance 
 of his grey, piercing eye enkindled an inex- 
 tinguishable courage in the breasts of his 
 soldiers. They greeted him with loud jubilee, 
 which made the welkin ring, and which the 
 silent shades of the deep desert forests seem- 
 ed to hear with astonishment. 
 
 It was not till towards ten o'clock in the 
 forenoon that Rasinski with his regiment 
 passed the bridge. The Emperor looked 
 upon him complacently, as the the Poles in 
 their own language raised the cry of, " Long 
 live the Emperor !" He then suddenly turn- 
 ed his horse about, and spurred with the 
 arrow's speed down the sandy road, deep 
 into the forest, so that he completely vanished 
 out of sight of his troops. A vague feeling 
 of uneasiness immediately seized upon every 
 breast as they saw him who had brought 
 them into these deserts of the North suddenly 
 disappear. But he soon returned with the 
 hanging bridle-reini He looked uneasy and 
 displeased ; he seemed to be much offended 
 because he did not find the enemy, which his 
 heart, so eager for the contest, and so proud 
 in anticipation of certain victory, had so 
 ardently wished to see present. 
 
 Slowly the massy columns proceeded up 
 the stream. They now heard a distant can- 
 nonade. Every one listened ; again there 
 was a roar, a rumbling noise, as of the distant 
 crash of heavy artillery. 
 
 The utmost interest and anxiety was mani- 
 fest on every countenance ; the ranks closed 
 up nearer together, and were more strictly 
 put in order. Adjutants flew hither and 
 thither. It was supposed that one of the 
 side-divisions under the King of Westphalia 
 or the Viceroy of Italy, had commenced an 
 engagement. Then the dull roar sounded 
 yet louder ; but it was not that of a battle in 
 the distance ; it was the crashings of a 
 rising and violent thunder-storm. 
 
 Black and sulphurous streaks crossed the 
 heavy clouds which now advanced over the 
 lower forest-clad hills ; the river rolled along 
 its dark and now agitated fcillows ; the sun 
 vanished from the firmament. On every side 
 the dark curtains' of the storm-spirit were 
 drawn around the but now clear Ad pure 
 sky; the thunder rolled and crashed all 
 around; a stifling heat impeded the breathing 
 of man and beast. Silent and slow the army 
 marched onwards ; nothing was heard but 
 the mysterious grumblings of the thunder 
 high above the crowns and deep into the re- 
 cesses of the gloomy forest. Now the wind 
 also arose in terrible power, sped furiously 
 on its behest, and lashed the waves high and 
 foaming between the two shores. Suddenly 
 a livid flame shot through the heavens, setting 
 as it were the entire horizon on fire, the 
 Niemen reflecting back the burning Pande- 
 monium in bloody red. The soldiers looked 
 at each other with blanched faces. A deaf- 
 ening crash burst over their heads, the sky 
 was rent in twain, and in hissing cataracts 
 the rain rushed down upon them. 
 
 Such was the reception of the French on 
 the soil of Russia ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Since Louis' absence the days had passed 
 silently and drearily for mother and daughter. 
 Mary bore her grief with great patience. — 
 She complained not, she wept not, but sought 
 her only consolation in a redoubled attention 
 and care for her mother. A melancholy re- 
 signation had spread over her whole being, 
 which gave to her even a new and more ten- 
 der claim. She became better through her 
 grief, as is generally the case with noble 
 souls, and in the same degree as her own 
 sufferings rose, so also did her compassion 
 and attention increase for the sufferings of 
 others. She consecrated to her mother all 
 the thoughts of her soul as the sickness of 
 her parent had taken a more dangerous turn 
 from the anxiety and suspense which Louis' 
 fate had thrown her into. 
 
90 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 Strange as it may appear, this season of 
 tjials was a beneficial one for Mary — for the 
 claims of duty, the attentive fostering her 
 mother demanded, deprived her of the contin- 
 ual thinking of her own grief, which in this 
 manner unobservedly lost its harshness and 
 began to heal, so that in a short time she no 
 more fi^t the hot pain of the wound itself, 
 but only the beneficial feebleness which fol- 
 lows after violent bleeding. She was also 
 forced to be constantly active, and this drew 
 her much from corroding thought and solici- 
 tude. She was likewise assisted by Julie or 
 Emma who occasionally came in from the 
 country to give her company and assistance. 
 With astonishing quickness half the sum- 
 mer thus passed away, and the days already 
 began to shorten perceptibly, when the mo- 
 ther thought herself again strong enough to 
 vi^t the baths of Toplitz, whither she gener- 
 ally went every year. July was not yet over, 
 when in the company of Mary she set out 
 upon this journey. 
 
 On a clear morning, when the sky decked 
 with its serene azure the earth, andf the sil- 
 very net of dew lay in all its brilliancy over 
 the fields, they left Dresden. The hours of 
 noon they passed in a solitary inn on the 
 roadside not far from Peterswalde. Mean- 
 while, the glowing atmosphere was pleas- 
 antly cooled by a thunder-storm which ter- 
 minated in a fertile shower of rain. They 
 continued their journey while the rain-drops 
 were still slowly falling, although the clouds 
 had dispersed and blue stripes looked through 
 the thin foggy veil. The sun threw his glit- 
 tering rays upon foliage and fields which 
 shone with the brilliant decoration of the 
 rain-drops. Thus they reached the Moiien- 
 dorf mountain which they slowly ascended. 
 With the afternoon sun they reached the top, 
 and the little church and now the whole 
 kingdom of Bohemia lay spread out at their 
 feet. Although Mary had often before en- 
 joyed this majestic view, still she was always 
 agreeably surprised and charmed by the re- 
 newal. She left the carriage with her mo- 
 ther and walked down the road to the chapel 
 in the shadow of which they sat down on a 
 bench. 
 
 The Ertzgebirge was there with its green 
 shadowy forest majestically spread out to- 
 wards the south-east. In its deep valleys the 
 clean houses of many villages, castles, and 
 convents were seen. The lengthened forests 
 often projected far into the country until 
 interrupted by corn-fields and meadows. The 
 high-road turned in many windings like a 
 brilliant white stripe down the mountain, 
 then struck the forest and intersected all the 
 rich villages of the- Valley. 
 
 With pleasure Mary rested her eye upon 
 this well-known landscape. With a dreamy 
 
 foreboding she looked upon the high blae 
 colossal Milischauer, which, like a majestic 
 pair of wings, rise in the heart .of Bohemia, 
 occupying the major part of the boundary of 
 the eastern horizon. Further off, behind 
 them, where the dispersing thunder-clouds 
 were now going, was the immense country 
 where were all those dearest to her upon 
 earth. In deep veiled silence her heart also 
 beat for the man whose manly noble appear- 
 ance, whose noble spirit had gained her 
 deepest respect, and whom she would, per- 
 haps, have followed had not holier ties forced 
 her to remain in her fatherland. 
 
 The steep descent obliged the carriage to 
 stop several times ; therefore the ladies could, 
 take a nearer foot-path which soon united 
 with the highway. There they again step- 
 ped into the carriage, and now in a few 
 hours reached their well-known place of so- 
 journ. Here they were received by their old 
 hosts, the farmer Holder and his wife, to 
 whom they had already been announced,' and 
 Mary had the pleasure of being recognised 
 by all the children of the house. In a few 
 minutes they were settled in their little quiet 
 garden-room, and felt themselves as comforta- 
 ble as in their own house. The door of the 
 sitting-room led immediately into the tolwa- 
 bly large garden, planted with fruit-trees and 
 vegetables, and many pretty flowers, and fur- 
 nishing a view of the Schlossberg with its 
 beautiful ruins in the distance. 
 
 With excellent sense and feeling Mary 
 understood how to make herself comfortable 
 under all circumstances. It had become a 
 second nature to her to make all around her 
 look gaily and homelike. Without herself 
 knowing why, a disorderly room often caus- 
 ed her the greatest displeasure, while on the 
 contrary, the arranging and decorating a 
 place which she had chosen for a sojourn 
 gave her the greatest happiness. Not that 
 she loved splendor or modern elegance, but 
 all around her must have a friendly appear- 
 ance. 
 
 The manner in which she placed a flower- 
 pot, arranged her work in a room, spread the 
 books which she intended to read first, her 
 notes, her small drawings, all this created a 
 comfort which every one was surprised at, 
 when on entering he but cast a glance 
 around the apartment. Even now it wag 
 her first occupation to open the trunks and 
 decorate the room. But her fondness for 
 order was not directed to outward splendor 
 alone ; it reached everywhere whit^ier the 
 eye of a strange observer could not reach. 
 In her work-box, her bureau, the same neat 
 and comfortable order might be found as in her 
 room — yes, in her dress, in her hair even, the 
 observer recognised the exercise of the same 
 pains. Is it tl^n astonishing that this harmo- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 91 
 
 nioas unison of places and things was also 
 evident in her character. By female order 
 and government she would have rendered 
 even a dungeon a comfortable abode — how, 
 then, should she not be able by a pious resig- 
 nation ; by a continual attention to every 
 duty ; by a ready recognizance of everything 
 pleasant which happened to her, to give a 
 milder form to the sad combinations of a 
 painful fate — by a firm resolute will to curb 
 in a beneficial manner the violence of excited 
 passions. 
 
 To this quality of the mind she added a 
 mild gaiety which did not leave her even in 
 periods as sad as that which she now lived 
 in, and which communicated itself even to 
 those around her. And, although it is hard 
 to decide whether this power was gained by 
 exercise of will, or by a natural happy tem- 
 per, its blissful consequences exercised their 
 influence also upon her. For, when through 
 it she consoled those nearest and dearest to 
 her, and especially her mother, she was her- 
 self happier, more hopeful, and although 
 through a gloomy veil, she looked into the 
 future with a freer and more confiding eye. 
 
 On the first evening the two ladies did not 
 leave the house. Mary had ordered the tea- 
 table to be brought into an arbor of the gar- 
 den, which, overshadowed by wild vines and 
 blooming panseys', afforded a cool seat and a 
 beautiful view of the Schlossberg, the ruins 
 of which shone gilded by the setting sun. 
 Hither she invited the daughters of thp host, 
 Anne and Therese, the former a smart child 
 of twelve years, who had already to thank 
 Mary for many instructive things she had 
 taught her. The other, a fair curly-haired 
 creature of four years, whose funny gaiety 
 made her to Mary as dear as a sister, even 
 had she not been the godmother of the child. 
 Anne thought herself honored by the per- 
 mission to sit like a littl<? lady with her knit- 
 ting-work at the tea-table of the strangers. 
 Therese amused her by her merry prattling, 
 and naive questions. Mary attended to both 
 with the friendliness of an elder sister, and 
 by agreeing with their childish representa- 
 tions engaged them to unrestrained mirth and 
 delight. 
 
 With the next day the arrangements which 
 had to be made for the convenience of both, 
 began. An early rising was necessary, the 
 other occupations had to be arranged accord- 
 ingly, including; the promenades which the 
 physician had ordered. Mary accompanied 
 her mother everywhere. During the bathing 
 hour of the latter she used to take a prome- 
 nade, generally in the castle-garden, with 
 some acquaintances of Dresden, who had 
 also come to visit the baths. Although living 
 very retired, on these promenades Mary be- 
 came gradually acquainted with the diflfer- 
 
 ent, sometimes odd figures, who congregate 
 
 at the baths. 
 
 Finally it was known with whom each 
 passed their time ; those who left were missed 
 — new arrivals immediately observed. The 
 great freedom of conversation which exists 
 at a bath causes one to fall easily into the 
 connexion even of strangers. Young men 
 also willingly joined the group in which Mary 
 figured — for from a distance already her fine 
 figure excited curiosity ; her beautiful, but 
 very modest dress, enticed them to step nearer 
 to her ; the mild expression of her features, 
 the faithful glance. of her blue eye, and espe- 
 cially her agreea-ble behavior — equally far 
 from bashful retirement as from coquetry or 
 arrogance — were so charming that old and 
 young used all endeavors to enter into con- 
 versation with her. 
 
 Thus Mary's appearance at the morning 
 promenades had gradually made her ac- 
 quainted with the bathing world, and her 
 presence at a small rural restival, which was 
 to be arranged, was considered indispensable, 
 if it should not want its finest decoration. 
 It happened, therefore, on a certain morning, 
 as she took her usual promenade with her 
 friends near the fountain, that she was ap- 
 proached by a deputation of young men, at 
 whose head was an Austrian captain of 
 cavalry, Arnheim, who visited the bath for a 
 wound of the arm, which he had received in 
 the Battle of Wagram. With a modest bear- 
 ing he addressed her tJius : 
 
 " In the name of the bath company, I have 
 to ask a great favor of you. Miss Rosen ; but 
 almost fear that you will refuse it." 
 
 " Certainly not !" said Mary, kindly. " If 
 the compliance is within my power. Ye^ I 
 do not know," she added, with an innocent 
 smile, " what I could do which would be of 
 any interest to the company." 
 
 " Until now you have been to us only the 
 morning star which vanished with the in- 
 creasing day," continued the captain, giving 
 to his simile a light jocund turn. "We 
 would ask you to shine for us once also as 
 the evening star. For to-morrow we have 
 arranged a small festival, and we should be 
 sorry for it to lack the decoration your pre- 
 sence would give to it. May we dare to hope 1^ 
 
 At the same time the other young men 
 united their prayers to those of the captain. 
 
 " I shall most willingly accept the invita- 
 tion," said Mary, kindly, "if my mother 
 permits it." 
 
 " Receive our most hearty thanks before- 
 hand," rd|)lied the captain, with animation, 
 and the other young men also expressed 
 themselves thankfully and gaily. 
 
 " But where are you going to celebrate 
 your festival ?" asked Mary, after some mo- 
 ments. 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 *• We have agreed," replied Arnheim, " to 
 make a little excursion into the mountains 
 and amuse ourselves with jokes and recrea- 
 tion, and if possible, by dancing in the open 
 air as well as we can. We thought to drive 
 to Aussig and thence in a boat go up the 
 Elbe to the Schrukenstein. The rest we will 
 leave to the favor of the weather." 
 
 " The choice of the entertainments could 
 not be more in accordance with my inclina- 
 tions," replied Mary. 
 
 The young men expressed their thanks 
 and joy once more, and then retired to ^oin 
 the other promcnaders. The family from 
 Dresden, which Mary had joined, had also 
 been invited to the festival, and the daughters 
 immediately offered to take Mary with them 
 if her mother should refuse to participate. 
 
 " I am sorry that is only too certain," said 
 Mary ; " for she cannot expose herself to the 
 uncertainty of the weather. In spite of the 
 warmth of the seupn, the chill of the stream 
 and the evening Mr would be dangerous to 
 her. I, therefore, willingly assent to be pre- 
 sent at the festival under your protection, 
 not that I am in a humor which promises me 
 much enjoyment, but because I should be 
 sorry to decline so kind an invitation." 
 
 Whilfe saying this, her mother came out of 
 the bath. Mary immediately communicated 
 to her what had happened, and received her 
 most ready consent. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 The clearest morning had dawned. It 
 just struck nine o'clock when, in a light 
 white summer-dress, decorated only with 
 some bows of lilac ribbon, after having giv- 
 en to her mother a parting kiss, with gay 
 steps Mary went through the garden to go 
 through the back gate, the nearest way to 
 the family of her friends who were to be her 
 protectors. A carriage already stood before 
 the door of the house, and the two young 
 girls gaily hastened down the stairs to re- 
 ceive Mary. 
 
 " We shall have the finest weather," they 
 said, after the first salutations were exchang- 
 ed. " I shall be glad to see again the beau- 
 tiful landscape which for a long time I have 
 not visited," Mary responded. 
 
 During this conversation the parents step- 
 ped out, bade Mary welcome, and all went 
 down the steps to enter the carriage. They 
 soon left the town and were rolling between 
 dewy bushes and hedges, meadows and corn- 
 fields towards their rendezvous. It was 
 thought a little surprising that no carriage 
 
 was yet seen on the road, as a great number 
 of persons were expected to participate in the 
 festival. On a small hill about a quarter of 
 a mile from the town, all were relieved in the 
 most agreeable manner. From the distance 
 already it was seen that the way was crossed 
 by a garland of flowers, which on coming 
 nearer was discovered to be a beautiful arcE 
 of honor. This splendid flower-chain was 
 suspended between the tops of two young 
 beeches which stood by the road-side, and 
 the bushes which surrounded them vrere 
 decorated with wreaths of flowers, suspended 
 from branch to branch, thereby forming a pic- 
 ture which, although not very symmetrical, 
 had a wonderful charm lent to the fantastic 
 disorder. 
 
 Joyfully the eyes of the young girls rested 
 upon this dedication to the amusement of the 
 day. Suddenly, as the carriage stood under 
 the arch, two horsemen came galloping out 
 of the bushes on either side, their hats deco- 
 rated with leaves and flowers. These were 
 followed by others who drew themselves up 
 on either side of the way and gave a gay 
 morning salute to the ladies. The guides 
 rode up to the carriage and handed each of 
 them a fragrant bunch of flowers. It was 
 the captain who saluted Mary in this man- 
 ner. He and another horseman then accom- 
 panied the carriage, riding on either side of 
 it. They wished at the same time that the 
 carriage might go as slow as possible, that 
 those from the town might join them and 
 then form a long and gay line. 
 
 " Then we are the first ?" said Mary, while 
 the carriage drove on and the captain rode at 
 the side. 
 
 " Certainly," he replied. " We had desir- 
 ed the ladies to leave exactly at six o'clock, 
 and we had arranged that we, who are on 
 horseback, should receive the visitors here 
 on the height. But See ! our procession gains 
 quite a respectable appearance ! Only ob- 
 serve how carriage follows carriage to join 
 in the line I" 
 
 Indeed three carriages were seen accompa- 
 nied by their riders driving at intervals down 
 the mountain whence they had just come. 
 They quickly reached the first, and bow drove 
 just as slow. As the road, to the point 
 where the arch was erected could always be 
 kept in sight, it was a gay amusing sight to 
 observe the arrival of the carriages which, 
 through the colored shawls, dresses and hats 
 of the ladies, and the flowers with which the 
 riders were adorned, bore a lively contrast to 
 the meadows and fields, and brought a bril- 
 liant array of colors into the calm picture of 
 the landscape. The different points on which 
 the eye rested came nearer and nearer, and 
 soon formed into a rich colored chain, which 
 moved through the fields. It turned accord- 
 
NAPOLEOirS INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 ing to the windings of the road, rose with it 
 upon every slight hill and most picturesquely 
 sank again into the valley. Ft was charming 
 to see it half disappearing behind the bushes, 
 half shining through the green foliage of 
 the branches, or to see it beaming against 
 the steep wall of a rocky height. The whole 
 procession passing under the serene sky, 
 illumined by the morning sun, afforded a gay 
 view, thereby .tempering joyfully the pre- 
 sent moment and most happily commencing 
 the festival. 
 
 As there were now no more to join the line, 
 quicker motion was gradually made ; conse- 
 quently a hill about half way between 
 Toplitz and Aussig was soon reached, where 
 breakfast was taken in the open air. The 
 hill commanded an agreeable view of the 
 vicinity. At its foot between thick bushes 
 lay a village, through which a rivulet from 
 the mountain bent its gay course ; behind it 
 the waving corn-fields were seen spreading 
 over the hills. Around this beautiful fore- 
 ground the high mountains drew their 
 blue boundary wall, covered with the fc^s of 
 the morning. Behind the chosen resting 
 place the mountains rose steeper, and were 
 thickly covered with woods, which were 
 drawn down to the left towards the town of 
 Aussig, whence they fell otf to the Marien- 
 berg. There also, by a line of dark forest- 
 hills, the valley of the Elbe was discovered, 
 although the stream itself could not be seen. 
 An old linden tree offered the beat shade 
 for the breakfast ; some branches which lay 
 around were quickly changed into rural 
 seats ; the cushions from the carriages were 
 laid down on the turf, thus making Turkish 
 seats for the ladies, which afforded a com- 
 fortable repose. Soon the whole company 
 were settled, and all looked at each other 
 with happy self-content. Every one praised 
 the managers of the fete ; these went busily 
 around asking after the wishes and wants 
 of all, and trying to get instructions from the 
 ladies to know how this or the other thing 
 might be arranged in a still more comfortable 
 way. Meanwhile refreshments had been 
 provided ; in the hands of the men full glasses 
 were seen ; the spirit of the wine diffused its 
 enlivening influence ; merriment and jokes 
 flew about everywhere ; the tie of sociabil- 
 ity already united those present, as if they 
 had been long acquainted. Mary herself 
 became gay in this gay company ; but even 
 in the most happy moments, her joy was of 
 a quiet nature. With a charming smile on 
 her lip, she enjoyed the scene of youthful 
 hilarity. As she cast her eyes over the 
 the assembled crowd and looked at the dif 
 ferent faces, of which, in this gay company, 
 there were the serious and the comic, the 
 charming and repulsive, she was most of all 
 
 struck by two ladies, who sat oa cushions, 
 leaning against the trunk of a tree, just op- 
 posite but somewhat far from her, and who 
 seemed highly entertained by the saUies of 
 an older and a younger man. She asked 
 the Captain, who had thrown himself down 
 on the turf at her side, who the two ladies 
 were ? 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know exactly myself; 
 so much only I know, that they are strangers 
 who arrived yesterday, and who are not yet 
 on the batMng list. To the festival they 
 were invited only this morning, when the 
 many carriages which passed the hotel ex- 
 cited their attention. It chanced that one 
 of the managers, who had remained to ar- 
 range something, and whose room is on the 
 same corridor with theirs, met them as they 
 were going to the fountain. They asked 
 him what was going forward, and naturally, 
 he could not Ixit offer an invitation to the 
 festival. As the carriage in which they 
 were to drive to the bath stood before the 
 door, they had only to change the direction 
 to join our company. And I think we have 
 lost nothing by it, for the mother shows 
 traces of great beauty, and the daughter is 
 indeed a charming creature. I have not had 
 an opportunity to obtain an introduction, but 
 their whole appearance announces them 
 people of quality. I shall immediately go 
 over and ask Baron Erlhofen himself for 
 their names, so that you may have full infor- 
 mation." 
 
 Before Mary could prevent him the Cap- 
 tain jumped up. Meanwhile she had time 
 to examine closer the two strangers, and she 
 must acknowledge that she had seldom be- 
 fore seen mwe noble figures, especially the 
 elder, who possessed so imposing an appear- 
 ance that the younger.although endowed with 
 great beauty, sank in comparison with her. 
 The Wack h&vr which covered the white fore- 
 head, gave, combined to the large dark eye, 
 that noble melancholy to the face to which 
 elder features so powerfully assuine. There 
 was no great resemblance between the two, 
 yet a natural relation was so perceptible, that 
 the slightest glance would have recognised 
 a near coimexion between them. 
 
 While Mary gave herself up to these im- 
 pressions, the Captain returned, and said : 
 
 " I can now give you full information : the 
 ladies are Poles, the elder is a Countess 
 Johanna Micelska, the younger her foster- 
 daughter, Lodoiska." 
 
 Mary was pleasantly surprised, for from 
 the letters of her brother, these names were 
 known to her, as well as that "Johanna wa« 
 Rasinski's sister. Yet she was in a pain- 
 fully strange embarrassment, as she did not 
 know if Rasinski had ever mentioned her ; 
 her relationship with Louis could certainly 
 
94 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 not have been communicated, as he had 
 taken another name, yet it was possible that 
 he had mentioned her, especially as all 
 Mary's letters went under the address of 
 Rasinski, and the answers of Louis and Ber- 
 nard were always enclosed by him in a let- 
 ter from himself, and sealed with his seal, 
 when he sent them to Mary's mother. She 
 longed to speak to the lady, to inquire after 
 her brother and Bernard. Her pleasure in 
 the amusements of the festival was gone ; 
 all her thoughts were directed to this one 
 point ; she was almost unable to turn her eye 
 away from the Countess. The Captain 
 commenced a conversation with her, and she 
 needed all her strength to be enabled to give 
 the necessary answers. Although the culti- 
 vated man spoke animatedly, although with 
 brilliant pleasantry he described the social 
 importance of such a festival, Mary had 
 often with a slight confusion to observe, 
 that though she had attentively looked at 
 him, she had not heard a word of what he 
 had said. She did not see how charming the 
 groups were reposing, she did not hear how 
 merry jokes resounded everywhere. It was 
 therefore agreeable to her when, afler half 
 an hour, the company rose, and the Captain 
 offered her his arm to conduct her back to 
 the carriage. But here there was some con- 
 fusion, for they did not a41 know the carriage 
 in which they had come, and as most of them 
 were hired carriages from Toplitz, few only 
 could find them again. Thus they came to 
 a friendly dispute, which was still more con- 
 fusing through the jocular intermeddling of 
 some young men. Even Mary met with a 
 similar difficulty, as strange ladies had 
 already taken possession of the carriage 
 which she and her party believed themselves 
 to have claim to. "The confusion was great, 
 but quite amusing, especially as the young 
 men had bribed the coachmen to assert, that 
 they could give no decision in the matter, as 
 they had always turned their backs to their 
 masters, and consequently could not know 
 who had occupied the different vehicles. 
 The quarrel soon became a general one ; for 
 now. with true social disinterestedness, every 
 one wished to be wrong and yield to the 
 other, but this was certainly worse still, and 
 no remedy for the evil. Finally Baron Erl- 
 hofen, one of the managers of the festival, a 
 stout man of forty, and of s )me influence, 
 asked in a loud voice to be heard. Universal 
 silence was claimed that his speech might 
 be listened to. He gaily jumped upon the 
 trunk of a tree, waved his handkerchief to col- 
 lect his auditors together, then began : 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen ! I am neither a 
 Cicero nor a Demosthenes, yet in my case 
 both these great orators would have had to 
 struggle with difficulties. History informs 
 
 us of the confusion at the buildin;T of the 
 Babylonian Tower ; it speaks of the pailia 
 of the Labyrinth, of the indissoluble Gordian 
 Knot, of the mixed seeds which Cinderella 
 had to pick out ; but all this vanishes before 
 the terrible confusion and blindness with 
 which some demon intended to draw us into 
 greater misfortune. The iron men who rose 
 from the dragon's teeth which Jason sowed 
 by Medea's order, did not slay each other 
 with such fury for the stone which the 
 Robber of the Golden Fleece threw among 
 them, as we, my noble friends, were about to 
 do in the struggle for the hired carriages of 
 Toplitz. Trojans and Greeks did not fight 
 with such passion for the faithless Helen, 
 nor did Pallas and Aphrodite so wildly quar- 
 rel about the apple of Eris as our beauties 
 about their places in that line of beautiful 
 vehicles. All the wisdom of Minos or King 
 Solomon would be unable to decide this dis- 
 pute. The wise in this noble assemblage 
 may therefore decide, whether I am not in- 
 deed^ great man if I should point out the 
 means to arrange all ; and whether in this 
 case I have not deserved a laurel for my 
 brow. My proposition is, that as in our nomad 
 state a revolution is indispensable, we should 
 immediately adopt a real Lycurgean law, and 
 establish liberty and equality on a greater 
 scale than ever seen in the French Republic, 
 by cutting off all private possession, and de- 
 claring all those handsome carriages, with 
 the horses, to be a national property. Our 
 company must, therefore, be regarded as the 
 cargo of a ship, which differs only in the 
 point that this latter is driven by sails, as we 
 by horses. To establish an equal division, 
 most respected friends, it appears to me most 
 advisable that we form a polonaise, and thus 
 dancing, ship away by pairs. If this prop- 
 osition, which is to save us from a terrible 
 calamity, should meet with your approbation, 
 ladies, inform me of it by giving your tender 
 hand to the engaged cavalier, and willingly 
 follow me, who has the intention to proceed 
 as dux gregis, to which station the exalted 
 capacity of my spirits has elevated me." 
 
 For this speech, which he delivered in the 
 most serious tone, the Baron received uni- 
 versal applause. The law was received at 
 once with acclamation. The Baron engaged 
 the Countess Micelska ; every gentleman 
 who had not come on horseback offered his 
 hand to a lady, and even some who had been 
 in the carriages, not having had their claims 
 disputed, left them, and also subjected th«jm- 
 selves to the rule of this modern Lycurgus. 
 Erlhofen led the procession several times 
 round the place, until all had joined ; he then 
 took his way to the next carriage, of which 
 he and the pair which followed him took pos- 
 session. So everything was arranged in the 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 best and quickest manner, and even the most 
 severe mothers and gouvernanies yielded for 
 the time to the arrangements of chance, even 
 when it brought very young couples together. 
 Surprise also played its part to increase the 
 pleasure, for only on entering a carriage was 
 it known who would be the second couple. 
 At the beginning of the dance, Mary said with 
 a throbbing heart that she would enter the 
 8ame carriage with the Countess, being asked 
 by the Captain, who had given his horse 
 into the charge of a friend. Although the 
 state of her feelings caused her some embar- 
 rassment, yet now it must be decided wheth- 
 er she would remain unknown to the Count- 
 ess, ffiT it was certain that Erlhofen and the 
 Captain, especially as both were managers 
 of the festival, would introduce the ladies to 
 each other. This was done as soon as they 
 were in the carriage ; scarcely had Erlhofen 
 pronounced Mary's name, than the Count- 
 ess immediately asked, if she was from Dres- 
 den, and whether she had known Colonel 
 Rasinski, her brother. 
 
 When Mary replied to both questions in 
 the affirmative, the Countess asked after her 
 brother ana ber mother, and if they were 
 both present ? 
 
 " My mother," said Mary, much confused, 
 "is in Toplitz; illness prevents her from be- 
 ing present at the festival ; my brother is 
 travelling at this moment, so that I am my- 
 self unable now to give information of where 
 he is." 
 
 The Countess expressed the hope at least 
 to make the acquaintance of her mother, as 
 she intended to stay at Toplitz four weeks. 
 
 " Dresden," she remarked, after a short 
 panse, " has been a happy place for my 
 brother, although his sojourn there lasted 
 only a short time. For he gained these two 
 iriends, who from inclination towards him 
 entered his regiment, and stayed for some 
 time in my house at Warsaw. You will 
 know them — Count Lomond and Herr Von 
 Soren ?" 
 
 Mary sunk into a painful embarrassment. 
 All deception, even the most innocent devia- 
 tion from truth, was so foreign to her heart 
 that she shrank from it, even in cases as 
 pressing as the present ; and then she knew 
 not how far Bernard and Louis had asserted 
 to be acquainted with her. Almost inaudibly 
 and deeply blushing she replied : 
 
 " O, yes, I know them distantly." 
 
 Hut her confusion did not escape the eye 
 of the Countess, who gave to it another 
 meaning. She thought herself-justified in 
 suspecting from Mary's great agitation that 
 her heart was more entangled in this con- 
 nection than a young girl may betray. With 
 a smile, which was suppressed as soon as it 
 appeared, she dropped the conversation, and 
 
 immediately passed to other things. With 
 the address of one used to the world, she 
 immediately began to speak about the gay 
 festival, of which she had so unexpectedly 
 become a sharer. Mary, on the contrary, 
 inquired after the daughter of the Countess, 
 whom she thought Lodoiska to be. 
 
 " For her sake," she replied, " I visit the 
 bath — less because her health requires the 
 use of it, than to procure for her some dis- 
 traction, which in our native city of Warsaw 
 cannot be found, as it lies too near the pre- 
 sent scene of war. Nothing, therefore, could 
 be mote agreeable to me than to be saluted 
 immediately on my arrival in so friendly a. 
 manner. I have also observed that this omen, 
 if we may call it one, has made a favorable 
 impression on Lodoiska. She loves such 
 things, and is altogether a dear dreamer. I 
 am sorry that for several months already she 
 has had so great an inclination for melan- 
 choly that I almost despair of oi^er reviving 
 in her the merry enjoyments of life." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 
 During this conversation, which drew the 
 ties of mutual connexion still closer, the pro- 
 cession had approached iis destination. Al- 
 ready the little town of Aussig was seen, as 
 it lay picturesquely along the banks of the 
 Elbe. The horsemen, who till now had &d- 
 companied the carriage, rode in advance, to 
 announce the arrival of the ladies and pre- 
 pare everything "for their reception. The 
 whole town became excited when this line 
 of young cavaliers made its entry. The 
 neat girls in their Bohemian bonnets looked 
 with their brilliant black eyes at the noble 
 gentlemen, and smiling half -bash fully, half- 
 gaily, quickly drew back their handsome 
 heads when a glance was cast up to them, or a 
 salute, to which the young men in their 
 merry impudence were very much inclined. 
 The host of the inn was soon informed ; in 
 haste he and his people came running to 
 receive the visitors and take charge of the 
 horses. 
 
 " All is in the best order, gentlemen," said 
 the host ; " the whole house is at your ser- 
 vice — the rooms are cleaned and decorated — 
 for a good table I have taken care — in short, 
 I hope the noble ladies and gentlemen will 
 be satisfied with me." 
 
 " We will see," said Baron Heilborn ; " we 
 are the managers of the festival — we will 
 look at everything. In ten minutes at the 
 latest the carriages will arrive with the ladies, 
 and then nothing must be wanting. Have 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 you flowers enough to strew over the stairs, 
 and is the entrance bountifully decorated 
 with wreaths ?" 
 
 " I think so, your honor," replied the host; 
 " and not only the entrance, but the dining- 
 saloon also, as well as it was in our power." 
 V During these words they ascended the 
 steps and examined the upper part of the 
 building, which had been prepared for the 
 reception of the guests. Gorgeous rooms 
 could certainly not be expected ; for four 
 roughly-white-washed walls, on which the 
 low ceiling was almost painfully pressing, 
 half broken doors painted with a feddish 
 brown color, small dim windows set in lead, 
 and a floor from bad boards somewhat un- 
 even, could not certainly form a brilliant 
 palace ; and with the exception of some 
 stucco-work on the ceiling, there was nothing 
 that could be called architectural about it. 
 But the host had hung large wreaths of oak 
 branches 0{i the doors, between which also 
 some flowers appeared ; the taste displayed 
 in the arrangement was certainly not the 
 most happy — still it had a gay rustic aspect; 
 green leaves and flowers always look pretty, 
 even if they are not artistically arranged. 
 The saloon was decorated in the same style 
 as the doors ; along the white walls the green 
 full oak, wreaths were arranged in charm- 
 ingly-turned arches about a foot beneath the 
 ceiling. On entering, the gentlemen looked 
 around, and then gave the host a thundering 
 " Bravo !" for a merry heart is satisfied with 
 all that tries to accord with its humor. 
 
 The young men hurried down, ordered the 
 stairs and hall of the house to be strewn 
 with flowers, and then idly placed themselves 
 at the door to await the arrival of the others. 
 
 In all the windows round, the inhabitants 
 of the town were to be seen ; a lot of children 
 had assembled around the house. Although 
 they were mostly poor and half-naked, still 
 joy shone from all their eyes. The host 
 wanted to chase them away, that the noble 
 company, as he said, might not be molested ; 
 but Heilborn prevented it, saying : 
 
 " Leave the children to their amusement ; 
 they do not interrupt ours. If others are 
 seen to be merry, then one's-self becomes 
 more so; therefore let the children jump 
 about, cry and laugh, and clap their hands 
 as much as they please. We shall see who 
 will be the gayest, they or we." 
 
 The first carriage now drove over the 
 rugged pavement of the town; all heads 
 turned towards the comer where the street 
 from the city gate opens to the market. A 
 shout burst from the children as the white 
 horses which drew the first carriage emerged 
 from the street. 
 
 " Let us imitate the children," exclaimed 
 Heilborn. " Let us salute them." 
 
 With these words he drew his handker- 
 chief from his pocket and waved it in the 
 air. The others imitated his action, and the 
 children redoubled their acclamations. The 
 Countess, Mary, the Captain and Erlhofen 
 were in the first carriage, which was imme- 
 diately followed by the others. The younjj 
 men hastened to the carriages to assist the 
 ladies in alighting. 
 
 " Here we are," cried Erlhofen, gaily ; 
 " and behold a whole crowd of the people to 
 receive us ! This is worthy, this is right ; 
 I am pleased with this, my companions in 
 this Olympic festival." 
 
 At the same time he drew out a long green 
 purse, took a handful of small silver and 
 large copper coin, and threw it among the 
 crowd, exclaiming aloud : 
 
 " Panem et circenses .'" 
 
 He then jumped down, and hastened 
 through the door after the ladies, who had 
 preceded him. 
 
 Carriage after carriage now drove up, and 
 figures in beautiful summer attire jumped 
 out and passed through the door of the inn. 
 The abundantly-strewn flowers drew almost 
 from every lip a thankful comment. Finally 
 the last charming foot lightly stepped from 
 the carriage. In the saloon and the adjoin- 
 ing rooms, Erlhofen, assisted by the Captain, 
 Heilborn and the other managers, were occu- 
 pied meanwhile in procuring seats for the 
 ladies, and in assisting them to put away 
 their shawls, cloaks, parasols, reticules and 
 all those thousand trifles the ornaments of 
 ladies. 
 
 When the first confusion had in some de- 
 gree subsided, and order became restored, the 
 first question put was, what shall be done 
 now ? Erlhofen showed some inclination to 
 ascend again the oratorial pulpit, and deliver 
 a Ciceronian speech, but the Captain inter- 
 rupted him, saying : 
 
 " A state must be governed, and in critical 
 moments even a republic must have a dicta- 
 tor. If we discuss and vote about every- 
 thing, we shall probably lose so much time 
 that, when the bestof a thousand different pro- 
 jects has been chosen, we shall want leisure 
 for its execution. I therefore propose that 
 we elect a king and a queen, whom we will 
 obey to-day. These can then, if necessary, 
 nominate their ministers ; in short, take the 
 government of the whole upon their shoul- 
 ders." 
 
 This proposal was carried by universal 
 acclamation, and the election of a monarch 
 commenced, the first choice being left to the 
 ladies. Erlhofen was at once elected, with 
 the liberty of choosing a queen, whom he 
 should raise to the throne by his side. With 
 a proud mien, the crowned-head stepped 
 within the circle, casting kind, but inquiring 
 

 * NAPOLEON'S INVA^dN or RUSSIii^^'? ♦ 
 
 97 
 
 «♦ 
 
 gbnces around upon the fairer portion of his 
 Hibjecta. Then with solemn steps he ap- 
 proached the Countees Micelska, bent a knee 
 before her, and said : 
 
 She wiK}m fate has led h^her mnst be 
 my consort ; may she share with me the most 
 'envited throne of Europe, for it is the least 
 troilblesome one." 
 
 Smiling, the Countess rose and gave him 
 ber hand, as she replied, graciously : 
 lii, '*\ shall reign, but so as befits a woman, 
 'by persuasions, and obedience to the orders 
 of my royal partner," 
 
 Loud applause greeted the royal couple, 
 who immediately entered upon their duties 
 by nominating a cabinet. 
 
 " Justice," said Erlhofen, " we shall ad- 
 minister ourselves. A secretary of war we 
 hope we shall not need ; finances will not be 
 arranged before the evening ; but it is neces- 
 sary aiat we should have a minister of the 
 household, and one of public amusements. 
 And as the business of these' ministers may 
 be very extended, and as we do not care 
 about payirfg any salary, we will nominate 
 to this post two, three, four persons ; in short, 
 all the ipanagersof the festival, to whom we 
 shall hereafter give our special orders." 
 
 All were completely satisfied "with this 
 arrangement of the newly-chosen royal pair, 
 and all seemed inclined to pay strict obedi- 
 ence. The first order was, that a walk 
 should be taken to the Marienberg, near the 
 ci'y, commanding a charming view of the 
 valley of the Elbe, and that could be ascended 
 without any great difiiculty. During this 
 promenade, other things were to be arranged. 
 By couples they set out. It was a gay pro- 
 cession, which lightly and fflily moved, first 
 through the- streets of the t6wn, between the 
 gossipping inhabitants, and then over the 
 soft .grass and through the shadowy bushes. 
 Shawls, ribbons and dresses waved in the 
 breeze; the'light-coloi-ed parasols shone 
 through the green hedges. Following the 
 windings of the mountainous path, they al- 
 ready began to ascend the mountain, between 
 the vines and hedges which cross it. A 
 treble line was seen moving one over the 
 ottier, until higher up, at a turn of the road, 
 they disappeared in the dark copses which 
 crown the summit. Erlhofen, with the 
 Countess on his arm, walked at the head of 
 bis people ; from time to tiine he stopped, 
 partly to repose, partly to point out the beau- 
 tiful views in the valley. The summit was 
 soon gained, j^^mmanded a view, alti^ugh 
 not exjtensive, most charming, of the neigh- 
 boring country. The streets of the town 
 Were, seen, as if they stood upon a tower. 
 
 " From this point we can easily overlook 
 our monarchy," said the Baron, pointing to 
 the inn by the market ; " we can also connt 
 
 our army, which, in the form of a fortress dt 
 carriages, is arranged there on the market- 
 side of the town. The valley of the Elbe, 
 the beauty of which is to charm us to-day, 
 undoubtedly now belongs to us, and I cannot 
 imagine what could be said against oar gov- 
 erning the sun, which will lo-day warm ftie 
 air for us^— the moon, to whom I have given 
 a particular command to be ready to light 
 us home." • 
 
 " The most beautiful part of our dominion," 
 said the Countess, looking graciously around, 
 " seems to me the living part of it." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Erlhofen, " your 
 majesty is right! When. I look upon our 
 subjects here, I can almost assert that no 
 monarch of Europe reigns over so civilized, 
 patriotic and obedient a people. For although 
 iu/our dominion we are wanting the many 
 usual arrangements, we have the best 
 grounds of excuse. We have no police, be- 
 cause we have no vagabonds; a lawyer 
 could not live among us, because no l4,w- 
 suits will occur where all are tranquil ; poor- 
 houses we have none, because there are no 
 beggars but such as might pray for a kiss, 
 to which we trust that in time of need we 
 might in this respect lend a generous ear." 
 
 " Not too hasty, dear monarch," replied 
 the Countess, smiling ; " do not let us too 
 early praise the good' of our empire. Who 
 knows whether quarrels and revolutions will 
 not soon break out ? At least your last decla- 
 ration will make the creation of a court neces- 
 sary — a court of love, that is to say." 
 
 *' There we will preside together, queen," 
 cried the Baron, with animati6n ; " and I 
 wish that a complaining couple already stood 
 before us." 
 
 Holding such converse, the most charming 
 spot had been selected, where in the shadow 
 of the thicket soft moss afiforded a pleasant 
 place of repose. The king gave the law, 
 that 'all his subjects should make themselves 
 comfortable, and obediently they fulfilled his 
 command. 
 
 "I think," began the monarch, " we should ' 
 ari:ange our amusements partly after our 
 powers, partly after the hints which nature 
 itself will give us. In these calm hours of 
 the forenoon,* when the sun rises higher and 
 higher, and the warmth increases every mo- 
 ment, who cannot while reposing enjoy the 
 beautiful? tlie afternoon only is suited for 
 active amusements, when at every moment 
 a cool breath of air fans us. Now conversa- 
 tion and jokes will be the most pleasant for 
 us ; for then we shall have time to listen to 
 the agreeable humming of the insects, to 
 turn our eyes upwards to the top of the trees 
 as they hardly move by the slight breeze, 
 quietly whisper among each other, «ind let 
 the sunbeams and the bine sky mutually - 
 
 * 
 
 *:* 
 
96 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 { 
 
 you flowers enough to strew over the stairs, 
 and is the entrance bountifully decorated 
 with wreaths ?" 
 
 " I think so, your honor," replied the host; 
 " and not only the entrance, but the dining- 
 saloon also, as well as it was in our power." 
 . During these words they ascended the 
 steps and examined the upper part of the 
 building, which had been prepared for the 
 reception of the guests. Gorgeous rooms 
 could certainly not be expected ; for four 
 roughly-white-washed walls, on which the 
 low ceiling was almost painfully pressing, 
 half broken doors painted with a I'eddish 
 brown color, small dim windows set in lead, 
 and a floor from bad boards somewhat un- 
 even, could not certainly form a brilliant 
 palace ; and with the exception of some 
 stucco-work on the ceiling, there was nothing 
 that could be called architectural about it. 
 But the host had hung large wreaths of oak 
 branches 0(i the doors, between which also 
 some flowers appeared ; the taste displayed 
 in the arrangement was certainly not the 
 most happy — still it had a gay rustic aspect; 
 green leaves and flowers always look pretty, 
 even if they are not artistically arranged. 
 The saloon was decorated in the same style 
 as the doors ; along the white walls the green 
 full oak, wreaths were arranged in charm- 
 ingly-turned arches about a foot beneath the 
 ceiling. On entering, the gentlemen looked 
 around, and then gave the host a thundering 
 " Bravo !" for a merry heart is satisfied with 
 all that tries to accord with its humor. 
 
 The young men hurried down, ordered the 
 stairs and hall of the house to be strewn 
 with flowers, and then idly placed themsplves 
 at the door to await the arrival of the others. 
 
 In all the windows round, the inhabitants 
 of the town were to be seen ; a lot of children 
 had assembled around the house. Although 
 they were mostly poor and half-naked, still 
 joy shone from all their eyes. The host 
 wanted to chase them away, that the noble 
 company, as he said, might not be molested ; 
 but Heilborn prevented it, saying : 
 
 " Leave the children to their amusement ; 
 they do not interrupt ours. If others are 
 seen to be merry, then one's-self becomes 
 more so; therefore let the children jump 
 about, cry and laugh, and clap their hands 
 as much as they please. We shall see who 
 will be the gayest, they or we." 
 
 The first carriage now drove over the 
 rugged pavement of the town ; all heads 
 turned towards the corner where the street 
 from the city gate opens to the market. A 
 shout burst from the children as the white 
 horses which drew the first carriage emerged 
 from the street. 
 
 " Let us imitate the children," exclaimed 
 Heilborn. " Let us salute them." 
 
 With these words he drew his handker- 
 chief from his pocket and waved it in the 
 air. The others imitated his action, and the 
 children redoubled their acclamations. The 
 Countess, Mary, the Captain and Erlhofen 
 were in the first carriage, which was imme- 
 diately followed by the others. The younj* 
 men hastened to the carriages to assist the 
 ladies in alighting. 
 
 " Here we are," cried Erlhofen, gaily ; 
 " and behold a whole crowd of the people to 
 receive us ! This is worthy, this is right ; 
 I am pleased with this, my companions in 
 this Olympic festival." 
 
 At the same time he drew out a long green 
 purse, took a handful of small silver and 
 large copper coin, and threw it among the 
 crowd, exclaiming aloud : 
 
 " Panem et circenses .'" 
 
 He then jumped down, and hastened 
 through the door after the ladies, who had 
 preceded him. 
 
 Carriage after carriage now drove up, and 
 figures in beautiful summer attire jumped 
 out and passed through the door of the inn. 
 The abundantly-strewn flowers drew almost 
 from every lip a thankful comment. Finally 
 the last charming foot lightly stepped from 
 the carriage. In the saloon and the adjoin- 
 ing rooms, Erlhofen, assisted by the Captain, 
 Heilborn and the other managers, were occu- 
 pied meanwhile in procuring seats for the 
 ladies, and in assisting them to put away 
 their shawls, cloaks, parasols, reticules and 
 all those thousand trifles the ornaments of 
 ladies. 
 
 When the first confusion had in some de- 
 gree subsided, and order became restored, the 
 first question put was, what shall be done 
 now? Erlhofen showed some inchnation to 
 ascend again the oratorial pulpit, and deliver 
 a Ciceronian speech, but the Captain inter- 
 rupted him, saying : 
 
 " A state must be governed, and in critical 
 moments even a republic must have a dicta^- 
 tor. If vve^ discuss and vote about every- 
 thing, we shall probably lose so much time 
 that, when the best of a thousand different pro- 
 jects has been chosen, we shall want leisure 
 for its execution. I therefore propose that 
 we elect a king and a queen, whom we will 
 obey to-day. These can then, if necessary, 
 nominate their ministers ; in short, take the 
 government of the whole upon their shoul- 
 ders." 
 
 This proposal was carried by universal 
 acclamation, and the election of a monarch 
 commenced, the first choice being left to the 
 ladies. Erlhofen was at once elected, with 
 the liberty of choosing a queen, whom he 
 should raise to the throne by his side. With 
 a proud mien, the crowntd-head stepped 
 within the circle, casting kind, but inquiring 
 
Bsni^ 
 
 NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA' 
 
 97 
 
 glances aronnd upon the fairer portion of his 
 sabjecta. Then with solemn steps he ap- 
 proached the Countess Micelska, bent a knee 
 before her, and said : 
 
 " She whom fate has led hither must be 
 my consort ; may she share with me the most 
 envied throne of Europe, for it is the least 
 troublesome one." 
 
 Smiling, the Countess rose and gave him 
 her hand, as she replied, graciously : 
 
 " I shall reign, but so as befits a woman, 
 by persua^sions, and obedience to the orders 
 of my royal partner." 
 
 Loud applause greeted the royal couple, 
 who immediately entered upon their duties 
 by nominating a cabinet. 
 
 " Justice," said Erlhofen, " we shall ad- 
 minister ourselves. A secretary of war we 
 hope we shall not need ; finances will not be 
 arranged before the evening ; but it is neces- 
 sary that we should have a minister of the 
 household, and one of public amusements!. 
 And as the business of these ministers may 
 be very extended, and as we do not care 
 about paying any salary, we will nominate 
 to this post two, three, four persons ; in short, 
 all the ipanagers-of the festival, to whom we 
 shall hereafter give our special orders." 
 
 All were completely satisfied with this 
 arrangement of the newly-chosen royal pair, 
 and all seemed inclined to pay strict obedi- 
 ence. The first order was, that a walk 
 should be tnken to the Marienberg, near the 
 city, commanding a charming view of the 
 valley of the Elbe, and that could be ascended 
 without any great difficulty. During this 
 promenade, other things were to be arranged. 
 JBy couples they set out. It was a gay pro- 
 cession, which lightly and gaily moved, first 
 through the streets of the town, between the 
 gossipping inhabitants, and then over the 
 soft grass and through the shadowy bushes. 
 Shawls, ribbons and dresses waved in the 
 breeze; the « light-colored parasols shone 
 through the green hedges. Following the 
 windings of the mountainous path, they al- 
 ready began to ascend the mountain, between 
 the vines and hedges which cross it. A 
 treble line was seen moving one over the 
 other, until higher up, at a turn of the road, 
 they disappeared in the dark copses which 
 crown the summit. Erlhofen, with the 
 Countess on his arm, walked at the head of 
 bis people ; from time to time he stopped, 
 partly to repose, partly to point out the beau- 
 tiful views in the valley. The summit was 
 soon gained. Itcommanded a view, althfugh 
 not extensive, most charming, of the neigh- 
 boring country. The streets of the town 
 were, seen, as if they stood upon a tower. 
 
 " From this point we can easily overlook 
 our monarchy," said the Baron, pointing to 
 the inn by the market ; " we can also count 
 
 our army, which, in the form of a fortress of 
 carriages, is arranged there on the market- 
 side of the town. The valley of the Elbe, 
 the beauty of which is to charm us to-day, 
 undoubtedly now belongs to us, and I cannot 
 imagine what could be said against oar gov- 
 erning the sun, which will to-day warm the 
 air for us^— the moon, to whom 1 have given 
 a particular command to be ready to light 
 us home." ■ 
 
 " The most beautiful part of our dominion," 
 said the Countess, looking graciously around, 
 " seems to me the living part of it." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Erlhofen, " your 
 majesty is right! When. I look upon our 
 subjects here, I can almost assert that no 
 monarch of Europe reigns over so civilized, 
 patriotic and obedient a people. For although 
 in.our dominion we are wanting the many 
 usual arrangements, we have the best 
 grounds of excuse. We have no police, be- 
 cause we have no vagabonds; a lawyer 
 could not live among us, because no law- 
 suits will occur where all are tranquil; poor- 
 houses we have none, because there are no 
 beggars but such as might pray for a kiss, 
 to which we trust that in time of need we 
 might in this respect lend a generous ear." 
 
 " Not too hasty, dear monarch," replied 
 the Countess, smiling ; " do not let us too 
 early praise the good' of our empire. Who 
 knows whether quarrels and revolutions will 
 not soon break out ? At least your last decla- 
 ration will make the creation of a court neces- 
 sary — a court of love, that is to say." 
 
 " There we will preside together, queen," 
 cried the Baron, with animation; "and I 
 wish that a complaining couple already stood 
 before us." 
 
 Holding such converse, the most charming 
 spot had been selected, where in the shadow 
 of the thicket soft moss afforded a pleasant 
 place of repose. The king gave the law, 
 that'all his subjects should make themselves 
 comfortable, and obediently they fulfilled his 
 command. 
 
 " I think," began the monarch, " we should 
 arrange our amusements partly after our 
 powers, partly after the hints which nature 
 itself will give us. In these calm hours of 
 the forenoon,' when the sun rises higher and 
 higher, and the warmth increases every mo- 
 ment, who cannot while reposing enjoy the 
 beautiful ? the afternoon only is suited for 
 active amusements, when at every moment 
 a cool breath of air fans us. Now conversa- 
 tion and jokes will be the most pleasant for 
 us ; for then we shall have time to listen to 
 the agreeable humming of the insects, to 
 turn our eyes upwards to the top of the trees 
 as they hardly move by the slight breeze, 
 quietly whisper among each other, and let 
 the sunbeams and the blue sky mutually 
 
 * • 
 
'T'T^i.-r'w^W 
 
 98 
 
 • EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 glance^through their voluptuous verdure. A 
 quiet, refreshing play I am agreeable to, but 
 none of those wild games in which we run 
 to lose our breath, which, especially for a 
 majesty, would be unfit." 
 
 All were of his opinion, and at the request 
 of the ladies the Countess proposed a game 
 of forfeits. This created many jokes, for the 
 king not only proposed, but even ordered 
 many liberties in the redeeming of the for- 
 feits. When this was ended, a general de- 
 parture was ordered, to find a new place for 
 settlement, as the sun began to burn incon- 
 veniently, and the thin foliage could no 
 longer prevent his eyes from exercising their 
 strength. The monarch sent his ministers 
 as messengers on all sides to discover a 
 pleasant retreat. After a few moments the 
 Captain returned, and asserted to have found 
 a place which had all the appearance of 
 making a pleasaot resting place. All fol- 
 lowed him, and he conducted the company 
 down the hill ; then he turned into a foot- 
 path which ran along the mountain, and soon 
 entered the darkened forest, where tall bushes 
 afforded the coolest shade. From the rock a 
 clear fountain sprang out, which emerged 
 into a basin formed by the water itself, and 
 then overflowing its bank, gaily bounced into 
 the valley. The declivity of the mountain 
 formed the most comfortable seats ; the roots 
 of an old beech tree covered with moss 
 served as an elevated seat, admirably suited 
 for a throne for the royal couple. Still, in 
 spite ofTiie dark forest, the place commanded 
 a beautiful view ; for a high arch in the trees, 
 formed by the foliage and branches, permitted 
 the eye to see tlie brilliant mirror of the 
 waters of >he Elbe, over which the old castle 
 Schreckenstein rose on its black rock. Op- 
 posite, the view opened into the valley, from 
 which the swans upon the stream shone like 
 spots of silver. The beauty of the place sur- 
 prised the company so much that it 'was 
 greeted with a universal shout. The mon- 
 arch seated himself on the soft throne ; the 
 queen took her place at his side, the rest 
 arranging themselves in a semi-circle on the 
 declivity of the mountain bv pairs on the 
 turf. 
 
 " This place is too beautiful even for play," 
 commenced the queen. " It is almost too sa- 
 cred to be the scene of frivolous jokes. But 
 it would be charming to listen to any story- 
 teller or singer, who could give us informa- 
 tion about the wonders of this valley. Have 
 none of our subjects spoken to the spirit of 
 this rock ? Has the mountain-spirit or the 
 charming nymph of the stream appeared to 
 none of them ? Has she addressed none of 
 our knights, who in hunting lost himself in 
 the mysterious darkness of the forest ? Has 
 she offered to none thirsting the refreshing 
 
 cup ? Has she never loosened the helmet for 
 a loved one, and invited him to repose bis 
 head in her lap ? And has she told none 
 of her castle deep in the bosom of the rocks 
 or under the silvery coral of the waters ? 
 Has she sung to none sweet songs, ac- 
 companied by the rushing of the waves and 
 trees to charm him into a sweet slumber 7 
 Has she introduced none into her palaces and 
 permitted them to look at the dances of the 
 nymphs and their sisters ? Or there is, per- 
 haps, a happy one among us whom she has 
 drawn with her into the mysterious grotto, 
 there in charming solitude to caress him ? 
 Alas ! I fear the time of wonders js over — 
 that there is hardly a poet left to tell us of 
 those golden days when gods made free with 
 mortals ! If there is one among us who 
 feels that the old dreams have not yet vanish- 
 ed— >-that the kind beings whom our ancestors 
 knew are still wandering around, although 
 frightened into the deepest seclusion by the 
 unholy noise and commotion of the world, 
 let him stand forth !" 
 
 All remained silent, but all smiled at the 
 pleasant manner in which the Countess had 
 thrown a bait for a story. Finally a young 
 man of about twenty, who, by his modest, 
 almost girl-like, behavior, as well as by his 
 handsome, fair, curled head, and the tender 
 blush and roundness of his cheeks had alrea- 
 dy been remarked by all, rose and said : 
 
 " I am, perhaps, the youngest of the whole 
 company, and I have no claim upon their at- 
 tention ; yet I have been bred up among 
 these mountains, and I know many a beauti- 
 ful legend which lives among the people 
 here." 
 
 "O, tell, quickly, tell !" cried many voices, 
 interrupting this introduction, which had been 
 uttered in a blushing and bashful manner. 
 But the Countess rose and said : 
 
 " It is kind of you to be so obedient to the 
 commands of your sovereign. Let the nar- 
 rator occupy a place where he can be seen 
 and heard by all. Take your seat, sir, on 
 my throne, so long as your story lasts." 
 
 The Countess had not finished speaking 
 when Erihofen jumped up and exclaimed : 
 
 " May heaven forbid my ever seeing my 
 queen derived of her throne ! But the 
 poets and the singers are the real kings — 
 for they govern hearts, especially those uf 
 the ladies. He may, Uierefore, occupy 
 my throne and sit at the side of the queen, 
 whose charming presence "will doubless in- 
 spire him." 
 
 Ja\ applauded this resolution, and the 
 youth, Berno, took his seat at the side of the 
 Countess. After a short pause he told a tale 
 which had been composed by himself about 
 the traditions of these mountains. It was 
 the story of one of the favorites of the in- 
 
 1\ 
 
 >,*•; 
 
 ;♦■ # 
 
 ^i 
 
 1 
 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 habitants of the mountains and streams, who 
 eains the love of a virgin, who lives in the 
 depths of the mouatain<lake, and swears to 
 her eternal fidelity. But he has' to submit to 
 hard trials, — mysterious powers begirt him 
 everywhere. The object of bis heart arms 
 him with a secret, wonderful talisman 
 againiit the influence of the spells, yet he is 
 blinded, because faithless, and suddenly sees 
 himself abandoned by all the deceiving ima- 
 ges of his fancy aed thrown into the deepest 
 misery. Deopairing, he ends his life by 
 throwing hiiii^f into the lake, at -the bottom 
 of which is the crystal palace of his love. 
 Since that time its blue waves have become 
 dim and gloomy, and even the clearest sky 
 looks into the depths of -its waters only as in 
 4 black mirror. , . 
 
 •CtlAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 When Berno had finished his story all 
 minds were in a certain, fearful excitement. 
 His representation had been animated, and 
 h\a auditors in so close proximity to the 
 scene that they looked upon the land:Kape 
 with the samefeelii^s with which we regard 
 the spot which history informs us v/as once 
 the scene et' a greatand decisive event. 
 
 "Is there really such a lake near here ?" 
 
 With this question the Countess first inter- 
 rupted the universal silence, 
 
 " It is but little known," replied Berno, 
 " and to tell the truth, hardly worth visiting if 
 it were notfor the sake of the tradition. But 
 es it often happens, our fore^thers, spite of 
 their romantic talent f©r poetry, do not seem 
 -to have developed so much taste for natural 
 beauties regarding the spots to which they 
 attached tlieir traditions As might have been 
 ■expected from such poetic minds." 
 
 " Thii3 accusation appears to me Jiet alto- 
 gether ^ust," observed Mary.; " for we find 
 many traces -indicating that eur fathers have 
 very clearly felt the beautiful, .imposing, and 
 solemn in nature. It is proved by the names 
 of the prominent mountain-rocks and preci- 
 pices. Secondly, the tradition certainly was 
 jiot entirely A^oluntary, and if even it was 
 partly created by the place itself, yet it must 
 have demanded an event, an action, so that 
 it might be regarded as a child of the action 
 and place combined. And how «ften de we 
 find that the -scene of an action stands in the 
 closest connexion with the action itself." 
 
 " You are certainly in the right," replied 
 Berno, with a slight blush. " Yet we often 
 fiod the finest traditions loca^d upon places 
 
 of little importance. My tale is one of these, 
 and -serves for an example." 
 
 " Be this as it may," said the Countess, 
 "your story has furnished us an agreeable 
 hour. I, as monarch, have to fulfil the duty 
 of rewarding the poet of this, my ^:ourt of 
 love, and this shall be done in a truly royal 
 manner. The story has grown out of the 
 •pure soil of nature, it shall be rewarded by 
 the,gift3 which she produces. -It commences 
 in an afiecting manner, exhibiting fidelity as 
 the real soul of love, and thereby especially 
 protecting our sex, which has to suffer so 
 much from the faithlessness of men. It is 
 therefi^re but justice that female hands should 
 reward our loving subject. It is my com- 
 mand, therefore, that all the young ladies of 
 my coupt go and .pick the finest flpwers of 
 the field. On their return we will ourselves 
 choose three of them to wind a wreath of 
 these flowers, and then chance, shall decide 
 which of the three is to crown the poet and 
 be his companion as long as our stwereignty 
 lasts." 
 
 Univer.sal -applause was the response to 
 this order. The gentlemen gaily clapped 
 their hands and praised aloud the Queen, 
 who knew so well how to govern her court 
 of Love. With comic .pathos Er-lhofen seiz- 
 ed a branch as sceptre, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Hark ye ! ray people ! J hereby give my 
 solemn sanction to the decision of my royal 
 consort. Go, therefore, ye virgins and do 
 not return until you have deprived tiie do- 
 minions of our empire of their finest deco- 
 rations." 
 
 The young Jadies now jumped up and ran 
 into the green forest to commence picking 
 flowers. Many of the men were inclined to 
 accompany them, but this -the Q,ueen firmly 
 forbid. £re long the ladies had filled their 
 baskets and returned to the company. They 
 poured out their supply on the turf, and the 
 queen looked at them With scrutinizing plea- 
 sure. 
 
 " Very well," she said. " Now I shall 
 nominate those who are to wind the wreath." 
 
 lier choice fell upon Mary, Lodoiska, and 
 Louisa, the pretty daughter of a respectable 
 man of 'I'oplitz. The girls sat down and 
 began their wori ; the garland soon became 
 filled imd rounded under their soft fingers. 
 When it wasiinished the Countess took three 
 flowers, a wild rose, a daisy, and a violet, 
 which, although late in the year, had been 
 found Oft s^ shadowy place. The ey^s of the 
 poet weie tied — the Countess gave a flower 
 to ea«ch of the three young ladies, and desir- 
 ed Berno to make a choice. He named the 
 rose, and Lodoiska became his companLoa. 
 She was to press the full, fresh, fragrast 
 wreath upon Berno's fair curling head.^— ' 
 Bashfully, and with a slight blush, sha took 
 
 %^- 
 
* 
 
 ^IPP 
 
 IM 
 
 ETGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 it Bemo bent his knee before her, and with 
 beating heart received the recompense for hi« 
 poetical talent. 
 
 "May this wreath give you as much plea- 
 sure," said Lodoiska, " as your beautiful 
 story has caused in our hearts." 
 
 At these words, the blush again vanished 
 from, her eheek, and only that slight smile 
 remained which gave so captivating a charm 
 to lier handsome features. Bemo rose, took 
 her hand, kissed it with farvor, and replied. in 
 the words of the poet :. 
 
 " Let my reward not b© your punishment !" 
 He now gave her his arm and conducted her 
 to a seat, where he sat down at her side. 
 
 Meanwhile the sun had risen nearly to the 
 meridian. It was time to return if the din- 
 ner was. not to be spoiled. King Erlhofen 
 prociaimfed this to be the most important, bu- 
 siness of his empire, and vowed that he who 
 should, exercise disobedience or treason on 
 this point, siiouW be severely punished for 
 his oflence. Obediently his consort took his 
 arm and the procession moved downwards. 
 
 The dinnes waa ready ;. in a, rough-and- 
 tumble manner, all took 'their seats to partake 
 of it. Erlhofen and the Countess presided, 
 as was their due, and the Monarch gave 
 many different speeches upon the merits of 
 good eating and drinking. 
 
 The warmth in the saloon, although the 
 windows were open, soon became se oppres- 
 sive,, that the younger part of the company 
 began to hng for a change. It wa& with 
 joy, therefore, that. Heilborn and Amheim 
 were received, when they came in and an- 
 nounced that two boats were in readiness <wi 
 the Elbe to take the company- to the Schreck- 
 enstein. Erihofen would willingly Iwive re- 
 inained at the table some time longer, espe- 
 cially as the supply of champagne was not 
 yet near exhausted, but the young people 
 were not to be kept ba«k; even the roy4l 
 authority itself had no power over them. 
 All broke up gaily, the couples forming as 
 before, and the cortege set out on the way to 
 the banks of the river. 
 
 The boats,^ with their gaily waving 
 streamers, made so beautiful an appearance, 
 that the best hope was. entertained for the 
 pleasantest of trips. A fine band of wind- 
 instruments — Bohemian nwuntainesrs — was 
 heard from a boat which had been hired spe- 
 cially for ihe occasion. The boatmen- in 
 handsome dresses, with ribbons and flowers 
 on ;heur boats, greeted the company with k 
 vociferous hurrah I Planks were thrown to 
 the boats, over which the ladies tripped 
 gracefully, tlie couples took their seats on 
 the benches, the music struck up a gay 
 quickstep, and under the joyful acclamations 
 of the people who had collected on the shore. 
 they pushed off up the stream. 
 
 Now, only, after having gained the mrddle* 
 of the river, one could look deep into the 
 majestic forest valley, out of which the Elbe 
 flows. Behind, the town gaily rose on the 
 green shore, reflecting itself in the mirror of 
 Ihe waves; in front, rose dark wood-clad 
 mountains, hanging steep down into the 
 stream, and casting their dark image upon 
 the mirror of the deep. To the left, the view 
 was bounded by the black rock of the 
 Schreckenstien, which rising borixontally 
 from its companions, stretches its top far out 
 over, the waves, so that the Stalls and ruins 
 of the towers atits summit seem to be hang- 
 ing in the skies; A fresh breeze which blew 
 out of the valley, made the oars unnecessa- 
 ry ;, the sails could now be set. Swiftly and 
 smooth the banks passed before the eyes of 
 the tourists, showing to them the charms of 
 a continually, clianging picture. Now they 
 passed under a high mountain, whicli cast its 
 broad shadow across the stream, now the 
 boats danced on tlie silvery .waves, shining 
 ^n tlie rays of the sun,. while the banks lay 
 in the green twilight of the forest, casting 
 their image into tlie gaily-playing waters. 
 Now the bed of thestraam became narrower;: 
 foaming and roaring i^ rushed over and be- 
 tween rocks ; im>w again it became broader, 
 transformed into a quiet lake in the depth of 
 which the clouds oalml^assed. In an hour 
 the destination, the Scffeokenstein and its 
 rocky castle, were reached. 
 
 " 1 thought the rock was higher," said Lo- 
 doiska to Berno, while standing on the bank,, 
 she looked up to the spires of the towers. 
 " It appeared from afar macb more majestic. 
 And it is the first steep rock I have ever seen^ 
 for in Poland the country is nearly all level 
 — it has only forests and bushes." 
 
 " Only let us ascend to the top," replied 
 Berno, "then you will soon find lhat4he rock 
 is not so very trifling ; certainly it. looks so 
 now, contrasted with the mountains which 
 rise much higher behind." 
 
 Lodoiska still kept her thoughtful gaze- 
 upon the proudly overhanging top. 
 
 " Mountainous countries are beautiful," 
 she said after a short pause. " Poland has 
 also mountains, but only in the southern part 
 where the Garpathfans rise. I have never 
 been there." 
 
 While this couple thws conversed, part of 
 tJie coropai>y were already asoending the 
 rock. . Berno therefore offered iiis arm to his 
 charming companion and cx)nduotcd her up 
 the steep path. When they had almost reach- 
 ed the summit Lodoislsa wanted lo turn 
 round and enjoy the view,. but Betn© prayed 
 her not to do so. 
 
 " Let me have the pleasure of giving you' 
 the surprise from the finest view of the whole 
 scene. I would ask you to close your ey«» 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 lOi 
 
 «ttogefheT, if the way were not so rugged. 
 The ground is too rough, there are too maay 
 «tones laying in the way, and the path often 
 turns too a^uptly to permit walking with 
 -closed eyes. Keep your eyes only on the 
 path before you, do not look either to iM 
 right or left, then you will soon be richly 
 rewarded." 
 
 Lodoiska kindly promised this, and trusted 
 entirely to Berno, who had now taken her 
 hand. 
 
 In a short time the summit was reached, 
 when Berno led Lodoiska through tlie ruins 
 io a corner tower, which is approached by 
 ascending a few decayed steps, and then 
 ]eads to a small open space with large bow- 
 windows, where the ground is seen under 
 the feet and one seems to fly over the mir- 
 ror of the Elbe. Before entering, Lodoiska. 
 -adopting Berno's advice, had closed her 
 «yes, and by him she was now brought to the 
 main window. 
 
 "Now," said Berno, "open your eyes! 
 It is now time to look around." 
 
 " Gracious God !" exclaimed Lodoiska, 
 stepping back with affright as she caught 
 eight of the horrible abyss underneath her. 
 £ut in one moment she had recovered her- 
 self, and although trembling still, she again 
 went up to the window and looked down, 
 without even claiming Berao's hand. "What 
 fearful fascination !" she said in « sup- 
 pressed voice, "^ow charmingly are the 
 beautiful and dreadful mingled here !" 
 
 " Well," asked Berno, " is the rock high ? 
 iDoes it deserve the name of Schrecken- 
 «tein-?" 
 
 " It does, it does.! O, how charming !" 
 <exo)aimed Lodoiska, whose fear now gradu- 
 ally melted into astonishment. -" How small 
 -our boats look in the gulf below i Even the 
 garden erf" the caetle-ward, right under us, 
 looks only like a tiny patch. Only look at 
 the swallows, they fly now as much below 
 «ts as they generally fly above us." 
 
 " But the birds of prey are still high over 
 our heads," observed Berno, pointing at a 
 hawk flying across ^the valley, waving ma- 
 jestically its broad wings. 
 
 Lodoiska rai«ed her eye. The bird seemed 
 to rest almost metionless on its outspread 
 " wings. Suddenly, witli the swiftness of an 
 arrow, he shot down upon a herd of pigeons, 
 flying far below him. The frightened birds 
 quickly dispersed ; with high-beating wings 
 the hawk followed one of them. They 'flew 
 towards the tower ; but almost at the -eame 
 moment that the pigeon had reached the safe 
 retreat, the enemy had reached at and seized 
 the frightened bird with its cruel claws im-; 
 inediately before Lodoiska's eyes. She saw 
 some feathers fly and heard the fearful cry 
 of ihe jsigeoQ. hi the.^igbt, the hawk passed 
 
 so near the tower, that its grey bro«d wings 
 touched<the «toaes, but then, frightened at the 
 sight of the people, without leaving bis prey, 
 mounted again high into the air. 
 
 The women — ^for Mary, the Countess, and 
 some other ladies of the company had mean< 
 while also entered the tower— l«K>ked on 
 this scene with suspense and compassion — 
 compassion for the frightened bird, whom no 
 one could help, and the fear allied to sus- 
 pense from the v/i!d, hoarsely-crying bird of 
 prey. Lodoiska lool:ed strangely pale and 
 trembled violently. With her face turned 
 away, she stepped back, and when her eye 
 fell upon the Countess, threw herself on her 
 breast, ejaculating a few words in the Polish 
 tongue. Her protectress answered in the 
 same language, but with a kind, consoling 
 expression. Then she turned to the others 
 and said, as if to seek an apology for a slight 
 breach of etiquette : 
 
 " She has lately dreamt of something like 
 this." 
 
 " Yes, it was a dream, a very sad dream,** 
 murmured Lodoiska, with a painful smile, 
 " but I shall not think of it more," 
 
 ■•■J- 
 
 CHAPTER XXX\. 
 
 To expunge the Jittle untoward circum- 
 stance just related from the memory, Berno 
 proposed a resort to the games of the country. 
 The different entertainments were commenc- 
 ied, — shooting with cross-bows, throwing 
 the rings, and j^aying of shuttle-cock, in 
 which latter Ledoii^ka appeared unsurpass- 
 ingly graceful. The sun had already sunk 
 towards the mountains, and his rays had 
 already received that slight red color, through 
 which in the late afternoon hours the land- 
 scape receive such a warm illumination. 
 
 Not without cause was it feared that the 
 sudden chill which springs up at sundown in 
 mountainous countries would be felt by the 
 party. The wish to return was therefore 
 generally expressed, although with regret, 
 for the sweetest part of the day was now 
 passing before them. Still Arnheim urged 
 that nothing would be more charming than 
 the time when the purple of evening unites te 
 the silvery light of the moon, to ride down 
 the waves of the stream without moving 
 the oars. Several new voioes pronounced 
 against a sudden departure, and Anally it 
 was decided to divide the company. Who- 
 ever feared the chill of the evening, was to 
 go back in the first boat, the others to follow 
 an hour afterwards ; yet all were agreed that 
 4he sapper should be taken together. After 
 
1-Of 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDREI> AND TWELVE ; OK, 
 
 this friendly settlement of opinions, the ma- 
 jority of the company took their way down 
 »he mountain ; the others to which belonged 
 the Royal couple, Mary, Lodoiska, the Cap- 
 tain and Berno, resolved at the instance of 
 the latter to climb higher up, whence the sui^ 
 prising beauty of the valley of the Elbe was 
 best to be seen. 
 
 The way up this ascent possessed extraor- 
 dinary charms ; hidden, as if secretly wind- 
 ing its course through the forest, it gradually 
 rose higher and- higher to the top. Between 
 the rustling fbliage peeped the brilliant sky ; 
 bslow, lay the silvery streanrr. Through 
 the larger spaces among the trees, the aspect 
 of the valley was entrancing, changing as it 
 did at every turn of the road. Ghradually all 
 became still and' secluded, the path became 
 almost lost in ihe high grass, the soft fbliage 
 disappeared and the darker shadows of a 
 pine forest received our wanderers. Now 
 really was the wilderness of the mountains 
 reached.* No longer was there a path, but 
 softly one trod the carpet of moss spread 
 ever the ground; The air was filled with the 
 balsamic fragrance of herbs. Berries were 
 here in abundance, the dark red fruit shining 
 brilliantly from under its cover of leaves. 
 High solitary bushes of fern rose at the side 
 ©f the granite blocks from under which liv- 
 ing springs spurted their tiny streams. A 
 solemn waving and rustling passed through 
 the tops of the pines. In fii;e. Nature here 
 looked ijpon Man with her simple, majestic 
 features. 
 
 Berno, who was intimately acquainted 
 with the country, turned with securky upon 
 a course different totheonc they had follow- 
 ed till nwv, to reach a high- rock lying in the 
 middle of an open plain, of grass. This mass 
 of rock looked like an immense sarcophagus, 
 the upper corner projecting da-ringly over the 
 plain. On the extreme summit a yosng 
 pine had twisted its tough roots round the 
 stone. 
 
 Our wanderers thought they were entirely 
 alone on the height, wiien, to tlieir astonish- 
 ment, a white greyhound came running to 
 them, first barking at them from the distance, 
 but then ctinfidentially approaching and' re- 
 turning Lodoiska's caresses by gaily jump- 
 ing up arid coaxiogly pressing his head into 
 her lap. 
 
 Gaily running before theBi, the fleet animal 
 disappeared behind ihe rock. 
 - " Probably some huntsman," said Berno, 
 " for there is ricli booty here for lovers of the 
 chase." 
 
 The party approached the rock. On its 
 other side they discovered; as Berno had 
 justly suspected, two gentlemen in sporting- 
 dress, both fast asleep. 
 
 " They must be visitor* to the bath>" said 
 
 Berno, is a low tone, " for yesterday I sbw 
 them in Toplitz. They probably put up at 
 the Golden Lien, for after the morning pro* 
 menade they entered there, and although I 
 stayed about over an hour, I did not see theiD 
 come out again." 
 
 All at once a shot was heanl.. The hound: 
 barked aloud rousing the sportsmen out o£ 
 their sleep. They seemed astoDished at' 
 finding' a number of ladies and geatlemeit' 
 near them. But they quickly jumped up> 
 saluted the party, and at the same time ex- 
 cused themselves for the position in which 
 they had been found. They were French* 
 men. Being fond of the chase, they had ac- 
 cepted the invitation of a Bohemian noble,, 
 whose acquaintance they had niade on the 
 journey from Prague to Toplitz, to spend a 
 few days on his property ; but they had lost 
 him during the day, and were now reposing 
 after some hours' hard exercise. The shpt 
 just heard must have been fired by their . 
 friend, for soon afterwards a beautiful pointer 
 made his appeararice. A long time did nol' <|jr: 
 elapse before the gentleman was himself 
 seen breaking out from among the treeav 
 This was Baron Sidlayek, a rich proprietor 
 of the vicinity, well-known by Erlheten, Anv 
 heim and Berno. Salutes were exchanged 
 with that heartiness which ie- created by an 
 unexpected meeting, and the Baron asked 
 permission to join the company with his tw» 
 friends, whom he introduced as- Messieurs, 
 de St. Luces and Beaucaire. Accidentally 
 Mary had stood at some distance, and had 
 not heard the names of these gentlemen^; 
 otherwise she would certainly have been 
 much frightened, for she knew, through Ra- 
 sinski, how closely they were conrtected with 
 the fate of her brother. 
 
 After rcstiag sufficiently, and drinking in 
 the beavties of Nature around them, they 
 turned their steps towards the eastle> With 
 true French gallantry, the two strangers aj>- 
 
 E reached the ladies, and were soen as well- 
 nowu as the oldest friends. The patii at 
 times being so contracted as to allow of de- 
 scent only by pairs, the elder of the strangers,. 
 St. Luces, held the Captain a little back, aiui 
 with the usual social curiosity asked hinv 
 the names and rank of those presenti Beai- 
 caire also approached to listen. The names 
 Erlhofen, BernO) even those of the Countess 
 and Lodoiska, seemed, indifferent to them ; 
 but when Arnheim mentioned Mary's name, 
 the oldest of the strangers interrupted him. 
 
 " How ? Rosen ? from Dresden ? Did 
 you hear, Beaueaire ?" 
 
 "Certainly," replied the latter, with a 
 mien, the strange expression of which strueL 
 the Captain. 
 
 " Perhaps you know the- lady already^ 
 gentlemen ?" said Arnheim^ 
 
 t 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 103 
 
 " Slightly," replied St. Luces. " I have 
 seen her Beveral times at the theatre in 
 Dresden, where I stayed for some months, 
 and as her charming appearance pleased 
 me, I inquired for her name. That is our 
 whole acquaintance." , 
 
 These words amounted to nothing, for 
 during their utterance the speaker threw 
 such significant glances at Beaucaire, that 
 the Captain felt convinced that the remem- 
 brance of some particular occurrence must 
 liave thus excised his curiosity. We may 
 as well say, too, that whether he knew it or 
 not, Arnheim had ftlt a lively sentiment to- 
 wards Mary, a feeling not likely to be allay- 
 ed by the particular interest shown by an- 
 other, who, for what he knew, might prove 
 a rival. 
 
 " Tell me," added the Frenchman, " is 
 this young lady alone, or with her rela- 
 ' tions ?" 
 
 " As far as I know," replied Arnheim, 
 " only with her mother, who is kept at home 
 fim account of ill health." 
 
 " Then her brother is not here with 
 them ?" . 
 
 " Her brother ? I know nothing of him ; 
 still it is not impossible, for it is only these 
 few days I have had the honor of being ac- 
 quainted with the young lady. I cannot give 
 you any information about her family con- 
 nexions." 
 
 " Still the brother may be expected ?" said 
 St. Luces, clinging to the thought with an 
 eagerness which proved his interest in the 
 matter. 
 
 " The lady herself will be able to give you 
 . the best information," replied the Captain, to 
 whom the continual interchanging of looks 
 between the two strangers became more dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 But they asked no more questions, and 
 Arnheim disengaged himself from them, 
 which was less difficult, as both had halted 
 a little, and were now seemingly engaged in 
 a low conversation. Therefore he now tried 
 to approach Mary's side. His desire was to 
 tell her that she was known to the two 
 strangers, and learn from her what kind of 
 acquaintance that was about which she 
 seemed not to care in the least. At a turn 
 of the road he succeeded in cutting off those 
 going before him and reaching Mary's side. 
 
 " You are the only one in the company," 
 * he said to M ry, after the first compliment, 
 " who is not a stranger to the two gentle- 
 men. They claim to have already obtained 
 that good fortune in Dresden." 
 
 " Know me ?" replied Mary, quickly. — 
 " They seem to be French officers, but I 
 never was acqilainted with them." 
 
 "Perhaps not intimately," replied Arn- 
 heim ; " yet vour name was known to the 
 
 older gentleman'; he asserts he has seen yoa 
 repeatedly at the theatre." 
 
 " Impossible !" replied Mary. " For more 
 than a year I haj|3 not visited the theatre, 
 and never when a French garrison was 
 quartered at Dresden." 
 
 Her answer was so prompt that Arnheim 
 feared he had given her offence ; indeed 
 Mary did feel hurt, for with her devotion to 
 her country, and her firmly-rooted hatred 
 against its enemies, she would almost have 
 regarded it as a crime to have manifested 
 that respect for French offiders which was 
 due to those of her own fatherland. 
 
 " I assure you," said Arnheim, " that I 
 only repeat what those gentlemen have j.ust 
 told me themselves," 
 
 " I most willingly believe it," replied Mary, 
 in a milder tone, as she feared to have 
 offended Arnheim ; " but you know there is 
 something in these Frenchmen, which con- 
 strains them to act without principle, even 
 when a lady's reputation is at stake. Jt is 
 possible that these gentlemen know me, from 
 having seen me in the street or on the pro- 
 menade ; yet I can assure you that this ac- 
 quaintance exists only on their side." 
 
 Arnheim, to whom it was agreeable to find 
 his suspicions confirmed, broke off a con- 
 versation evidently distasteful to Mary. The 
 subject was mentioned no more. 
 
 The Schreckenstein was once more reach- 
 ed. Here again they stopped for a short 
 time, and just when the setting sun overcast 
 the clear sky with a rosy tint, and the pale, 
 full moon rose out of the dusky horizon, they 
 entered the boat, to float down the stream to- 
 wards the town. 
 
 The company gave themselves up to the 
 enjoyment of the pure silent evening. The 
 expected chill had not come — a pleasant air 
 only curled the waves. The tops of the 
 mountains appeared melted in the purple twi- 
 light, blended with the silver moonlight. The 
 mirror of the Elbe gave back the shores in 
 their boldest lines. A cool, refreshing fra- 
 grance rose from tlie waters. All sat silent, 
 without speaking, in the blissful quiet state 
 which wakens all the poetry of the heart. 
 Suddenly the silvery sounds of a guitar were 
 heard. 
 
 All listened. In every breeze rose the 
 swelling tide of feeling, which the moving 
 bark and the song of the gondolier creates 
 within Us. It was as though the stream and 
 its beetling banks had suddenly passed under 
 an Italian sky, as if it were the waves of the 
 Brenta or Po on which they were floating. 
 
 The performer proved to be the handsome, 
 fair Berno, who touched the strings to sing 
 a ballad he had composed from a tradition of 
 the Schrekenstein. The boatmen sat listen- 
 ing directing their eyes to the singer, pleased 
 
^ 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 at Ihe surprise. The other listeners signal- 
 ized each other to preserve silence. Nothing 
 but the low rushing of the waves at the keel 
 was heard. The moon cast her rays on Ber- 
 no's face. Li lie an inspired improvisator, he 
 cast his large blue eye up to the light and 
 with a well-sounding voice sang the verses 
 of the tradition, the burden of which told 
 how a tyrannical father maliciously pushed 
 into the abyss the lover of his daughter, 
 when d-uring the night he climbed up tlie 
 steep rock. In her grief the young girl also 
 cast herself into the stream, and the eternal- 
 ly floating waters form the grave of the lov- 
 ing couple. Berno sang with a mild agree- 
 able voice and lent to his ditty really deep- 
 felt expression. 
 
 The song concluded, all were silent. Even 
 St. Luces and Beaucaire had enough of so- 
 ciable tact not to speak, although they were 
 curious to know the aim of the song, the 
 words of which they had not understood. 
 
 Shortly the increasing life on shore, to- 
 gether with several boats with people from 
 the town, interrupted the pleasant calmness 
 which till now had reigned over the land- 
 scape. Gradually the boats neared the shore 
 and arrived at the landing place. Part of 
 the company who had preceded them were 
 assembled there and hailed them with friend- 
 ly salutes. In merry disorder they returned 
 to the inn, where the saloon, brilliantly light- 
 ed with tapers, received the company. The 
 table was bountifully supplied with fruit, cold 
 viands, and wine. 
 
 Finally, about midnight they must sepa- 
 rate and return home. Erlhofen could not 
 let this occasion pass without delivering an 
 appropriate address. He rose from his seat, 
 IBUed his glass,, and said : 
 
 " After a short, but, I hope, more honora- 
 ble reign than ever jnonarcli enjoyed, I come 
 like the great Emperor Charles to lay down 
 my sceptre. No revolution has overthrown 
 me, nor has the hand of death overtaken me, 
 but of my own will and pleasure does my 
 sovereignty cease. The only painful chance 
 to which the resignation of your sovereign 
 leaves you is a fall in the rugged road to Top- 
 litz. Go, then, my subjects ! farewell !." 
 
 With these words the magnanimous mon- 
 arch emptied his glass — ottered his arm to 
 his queen and conducted her to the carriage. 
 All followed in pairs as before, and rolled one 
 after the other away in the beautiful moon- 
 light 
 
 ► * CHAPTER XXXVL «;.^i*« 
 
 The morning had dawned when Mary 
 silently stepped through the back door, the 
 key ot which she had secured, that she might 
 be able to reach her bed-room without dis- 
 turbing any one. She was surprised at see- 
 ing a lamp still burning in her mother's room. 
 Cautiously stepping near, she looked through 
 the vine-covered windows. A bright lamp 
 was burning there ; the light threw a dark 
 shadow over the bed, and upon an arm-chair 
 near it ; here sat a female tigure whose fea- 
 tures Mary could not distinguish. A violent 
 trembling seized her at this sight ; she felt it 
 even in her tottering knees, wliich rendered it 
 almost impossible for her to keep on her 
 feet. 
 
 Had her mother suddenly fallen sick again ? 
 Had any other misfortune happened ? — 
 Alarmed at these thoughts she finally gained 
 her room and with fear opened the door 
 which led into her mother's chamber. As 
 she entered, the hostess awoke from the light 
 slumber which she had fallen into — for it 
 was she who had been sitting by the bedside. 
 She immediately recognised Mary. With a 
 sign of the finger she bade her be silent, and 
 then pointed to the slumbering sick mother. 
 In painful expectation Mary stopped at the 
 door. On her tiptoes, Mrs. Holder got up, 
 and they both stepped into the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, what is the matter ?" 
 Mary exclaimed with a violently heaving 
 breast. 
 
 " Do not be so much alarmed, dearest 
 lady," replied the hostess, endeavoring to 
 calm her. " The accident will not have any 
 bad consequences. This morning your mo- 
 ther and myself were on the promenade, to- 
 gether with many of the bathing guests, when 
 we suddenly heard shouts of ' Mad dog ! mad 
 dog !' All ran to seek refuge in the houses. 
 We also fled to get out of the way. Look- 
 ing behind us, we saw the furious animal 
 running in the saihe direction we had taken. 
 Fear gave wings to our feet, and we soon 
 reached the hill, where, you know, the large 
 chestnut trees stand. The same moment the 
 dog ran past us into the town, where he was 
 killed. But the excitement and the fear had 
 deprived us of breath, and your mother suf- 
 fered a serious shock. This is the cause of 
 her illness." ** 
 
 Mary trembled and changed color while 
 listening to these words. Now she breathed 
 lighter, and said with firmness : 
 
 "" Tell me all, dear Mrs. Holder — yes, all. 
 I must and will know it, if I am to be the 
 attendant of my mother. Has the physician 
 been here ? What did he order /" 
 
 " We sent itnmediately for him. When 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 105 
 
 ke learned she bad been tbrowing ap bkmd, 
 he said she must be kept«trictly quiet." 
 
 " Hemorrhage !" cried Mary, overwhelm- 
 ed with the fearful import of the word. " Al- 
 mighty God ! this, too, and you sent not for 
 
 me 
 
 I" 
 
 It proved too much for her. The whole 
 strength and resolution of her soul were 
 crushed and benumbe^ by this unexpected 
 blow. Convinced of the real nature of her 
 mother's sickness, the most gloomy forebo- 
 dings rose in her breast. She permitted Mrs. 
 Holder to lead her to a seat, upon which she 
 sank down exhausted. • 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," said the hostess, in 
 a consoling voice. " The physician has given 
 us the best hopes. He merely ordered quiet- 
 ness, that there might not be a relapse. 
 Therefore lie quietly down to sleep, and I 
 will watch by the bed of your mother. She 
 is aware of my being with "her, and she might 
 perhaps be alarmed were she suddenly to see 
 that you had undertaken the care of her. 
 For she desired that you might not be told 
 dLnjrthing on your return, as to-morrow all 
 would be right again, and you not plunged 
 into useless sorrow and fear. Yet I have 
 not dared to take this wholly upon myself ; 
 but now you must quietly remain in your 
 room and sleep, otherwise you may fall sick 
 yours^f. You must be much exhausted 
 after the long ride." 
 
 Mary was certainly tired ; yet she would 
 have found sufficient strength even to bear 
 this new calamity, had not the suddenness of 
 the blow struck her so hard. She was obliged 
 to acknowledge that in her present agitat- 
 ed state, she was unfit to take care of her 
 mother. Nothing was thus to be done but to 
 accept the kind oifer of the hostess, who, 
 with much compassion, insisted upon her en- 
 joying some hours' repose at least. She did 
 permit herself to be persuaded, although she 
 was convinced that no pleasant sleep would 
 befall her. Yet the great exhaustion of her 
 body, combined with her excitement of mind, 
 created such a weakness that she soon fell 
 into a slumber. Thus her body, at least, 
 gained that necessary repose which she 
 would never have voluntarily given it. 
 
 After a few hours had elapsed, Mrs. Hol- 
 der stepped to her bed-side and awoke her 
 with a few kind words. 
 
 She quietly rose, hurriedly dressed herself, 
 ?ind went into her mother's room. She had 
 firmly resolved to subdue her feelings, and 
 not to betray her grief, even by the slightest 
 expression. 
 
 " Good morning, my dearest mother," said 
 she, in a low voice ; " how are you ? Are 
 you somewhat better ?" 
 
 The mild, calm features of the invalid ex- 
 pressed that resignation to her sufferings 
 
 which, for many years already she bad borne 
 
 with Christian firmness. She mildly smiled 
 at l^r daughter, though she was unable to 
 speak. Slightly turning her hand, she offer- 
 ed it to her beloved child — for she had not 
 strength enough to hold it up. With. the 
 keen eye of loving care, Mary saw. through 
 the thin veil of calmness with which her 
 mother sought to hide her real state. After 
 the first glance at the sufferer's face she felt 
 convinced of the dreadful truth — she is lost 
 to thee ! In the languishing eye — on the pale 
 lips, she read it more intelligibly than in the 
 mute salute — in the loss of speech, so unlike 
 her kind, friendly mother. Her heart trem- 
 bled under the touch of this new grief, so 
 suddenly befalling her. Yet she pursued 
 her resolution and smiled whilst her breast 
 was torn by the extremest anguish. 
 
 " My dear, good mother," she said, " whilst 
 I, without anticipating any calamity, had joy 
 and pleasure in abundance, a terrible misfor- 
 tune befell you and caused you new suffer- 
 ings ! But I sincerely hope that they will 
 pass as quickly as they have come. Only 
 be quiet ; do not try to speak ; do not console 
 me ; do not pronounce a word. I can read 
 in your eyes all your wishes — all your de- 
 sires, and my careful attention will always 
 understand what you would express in 
 words." 
 
 She immediately began to adjust the sunk- 
 en pillows under the head of her mother, and 
 place them in a position that her mother 
 could breathe easier. She then poured out 
 a cup of the tea the physician had ordered, 
 which she gave at intervals to the invalid 
 when she desired it. Mary asked : 
 
 " Shall I read something to you ?" 
 
 A motion of her mother's eye was, to ^ 
 Mary, an order to get a prayer-book, from 
 which she generally read every morning. 
 With a gentle but firm voice she com- 
 menced. 
 
 The simple piety, the ptire solemnity of 
 soul which was expressed in the lines, 
 strengthened even her foreboding heart, and 
 caused it to regain new courage, to raise it- 
 self above all earthly fears and sorrows. 
 After she had read a few prayers, she came to 
 a passage which seemed to have been written 
 purposely for their present condition. Deeply 
 touched by the great truths it contained, she 
 read it with an elevated voice, with an in- 
 creasing resignation and confidence ; even 
 her mother became strengthened by the happy 
 words of consolation, and listened to them 
 with animated eyes. Mary, who at intervals 
 peeped at the invalid over the book to gather 
 her wishes, observed the impression made 
 upon her. 
 
 " Shall I read it once more, mother ?" said 
 she, for she knew that it afforded her pica- 
 
106 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 sure to hear those passages read again that 
 had pleased her the most. 
 
 The invalid smiled and nodded her head. 
 Mary read : 
 
 " There are times in human life when the 
 clear sky seems to be hidden from us, when 
 one gray, gloomy cloud rises after the other 
 and rests over our heads. We often think 
 then that our measure is filled, and that there 
 is not a lot more hard, not a fate more bitter 
 than ours. But these are the thougiits of a 
 despairing mind, which does not recognise 
 the great benefactions of God. His grace is 
 too abounding to permit you to empty the 
 cup of misery ; you coiMd not bear it ; before 
 you drank half, your earthly powers would 
 fail. But why do you think that you have 
 exhausted the deepest suffering ? Because 
 you have no longer a thankful heart to feel 
 the rich bounty of those divine favors which 
 still surround you, even when you feel the 
 sharp sting of pain. The worm gnaws at 
 the tree, but the crown of it is still decorated 
 with abundance of fruit. But you only weep 
 at what you have lost, and close your eyes 
 against what still remains to you. A mother 
 loses a beloved child ; in her deep grief she 
 weeps over it, and does not see that a bloom- 
 ing wreath of sons and daughters still sur- 
 round her. And if all should be taken from 
 you — if an orphan should stand alone, dis- 
 consolate and suffering, without advice or 
 assistance — if she should nowhere see the 
 path leading from the gloomy abyss of pain 
 into the glad vales of joy — would not the 
 ever-loving Father remain to her ? Was it 
 not His hand that made those thousand paths, 
 from which the mortal eye can no longer find 
 an outlet ? Is not the pain, which befalls 
 ^ you merely the passing pain of earth ? And 
 does not eternal joy dwell in the unlimited 
 habitations of heaven ? If heA all is dark 
 as night — if fogs and clouds hide the stars, 
 * do not a thousand suns shine in the great 
 world far abov^ the earth? Ay, does not 
 even half this earth still shine in the bril- 
 liancy of light, while the other half is envel- 
 oped in the quickly-passing darkness of 
 night ? As sure as the dawn of rosy morn- 
 ing is the bliss which follows the short hour 
 of trial. Therefore, dear friends, be confiding. 
 There is one eye which can pierce through 
 the darkest cloud, and count the tears of 
 those sufferers who look up for succor ; 
 there is one heart which can feel the pain of 
 each suffering breast that does not faithlessly 
 turn from Him ; there is one arm which can 
 stretch into the deepest abyss, and take the 
 extended hand of the helpless one that is 
 sincerely ready to grasp it. This eye always 
 •watches over you, this heart beats with 
 yours, this hand leads you through the dark 
 paths of suffering and danger. Therefore 
 
 confide, for wherever you wander the Lord 
 is with you ; He does not abandon those who 
 are faithful to Him." 
 
 During her eager reading, Mary had not 
 observed the entrance of the physician, who 
 had been standing at the door for some 
 minutes listening to her, without having been 
 observed either by her mother or herself. 
 He now approached, but acted as though just 
 arrived, for he wished to spare Mary the 
 slightest confusion. After wishi^ng her a 
 friendly good morning, . he approached the 
 invalid, felt her pulse, and looked attentively 
 at her. 
 
 " Hem," said he, somewhat solemnly, 
 " we must continue the anodynes." 
 
 After asking some questions about the in- 
 valid, he took pen and paper and wrote out 
 a prescription, the speedy preparation of' 
 which he recommended ; he then prepared to 
 depart. Under the appearance of decency, 
 but iri reality to be informed of the real state 
 of her mother, Mary accompanied him, as 
 she was certain that she could bear even the 
 most fatal truth with more firmness and reso- 
 lution than that state of uncertain- fear which 
 adds to real danger. With anxious but de- 
 cided calmness she desired the practitioner 
 to inform her of all. 
 
 " My de&r child," replied the physician, in 
 a friendly tone, " you will do well to^ act in 
 accordance with those beautiful words of 
 consolation which, on entering, I heard you 
 read. I have little hope ! If she vomits 
 blood again, then all is over. At noon I 
 think this will be decided !" 
 
 Although Mary was composed, although 
 her resolution! to subdue every rising feeling 
 had been firm, yet this sudden sentence of 
 death deprived her for a moment of herself. 
 She broke out into bitter, silent tears, and in 
 exhaustion leaned upon the physician's 
 shoulder, who now endeavored to revive her 
 courage with softened, consohng words. In 
 a few minutes she recovered. 
 
 " It is over now," she said, feebly ; " I feel 
 that I have sufGcient strength to remain by 
 my mother's couch. I thank you for not 
 having kept her real situation from me; I 
 now consider the worst ascertained, and 
 with composure I resign myself to the loss 
 of the dearest, the only treasure I possess on 
 earth !" 
 
 " Think of the eye which counts those 
 tears of yours, of the heart which beats for 
 you, of the hand which will lead you through 
 the solitary path of life," said the physician, 
 " that will give you courage and strength in 
 the last hour. Farewell now ! In a few 
 hours you will see me again. If during that 
 time anything should happen, send for me, 
 and I will immediately attend." * 
 
 With these words he took Mary's hand 
 
NAPOLEON'S niVASKMC OF RUSSIiu 
 
 lez 
 
 pressed it with friendly warmth, aq^ then 
 quickly left the room. 
 
 Piously Mary fell on her knees, and from 
 her inmost soul prayed God to give her 
 strength in the hour of trial. Once more she 
 shed assuaging tears, then the beneficence 
 of a firm mental resolirtion returned to her, 
 and with a lighter heart she returned to bei 
 mother. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVm 
 
 Oif returning Hbme, St. Luces and Beaacaire 
 had been too much tired to discuss the events 
 of the day ; but on the following morning, 
 when the servant brought coflFee to Beaucaire, 
 his first thoughts, were about the discovery 
 which he had made the preceding day, and 
 the carrying out the plans he had immedi- 
 ately framedj He therefore went* to St. 
 Luce&whoDFhe already found at the v^iting 
 desk.* After saluting him he observed : 
 
 " I beUeve that we made a fortunate day's 
 sport yesterday ; at least we are on the track 
 of a noble quarry, that may bring us a thou- 
 sand napoleons." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," replied St. Luces 
 smiling, " but the question now is, how are 
 we to proceed about it. I am arranging the 
 steps in this affair, that is to say, I am writing 
 to Dresden, to get some documents, by which 
 I can claim the assistance of the Government 
 here, for as we are situated now, we can do 
 nothing at all." 
 
 " That is not what / should do," replied 
 Beaucaire ; " I fear that would not put us fur- 
 ther in the affair. We have to deal with the 
 inhabitants of a conquered country, towards 
 whom we have to act caiitiously, otherwise 
 we might long ago have forced the mother 
 and sister to inform us of the brother's where- 
 abouts, for there can be no doubt that she is 
 ♦ acquainted with it. Should we, therefore, 
 wish to inform ourselves through the confes- 
 sion of the women, nothing in the world 
 would be easier. I doubt that the necessary 
 documents would be given to us ; and even 
 if they were, we should have a disagreeable 
 scene, for the result of which I would not 
 answer j for we must not forget that the pres- 
 ent close relationship between the Emperor 
 and Austria causes Utter feelings towards us. 
 I think tliere is another way by which we can 
 get possession of the secret" 
 
 " And what is it ?" asked St. Luces, atten- 
 tively. 
 
 " We must not be stingy," eontinued Beau- 
 caire with a winning, nmicious smile, " but 
 
 out of the thousand napoleons expend about 
 fifty, which should be given to the postmaster 
 here, if he would give up to us for examina- 
 tion all the letters which are sent off, or arrive 
 for the two ladies. Do yoii not think that 
 our hot knife will be able to open the seal of 
 a lady's letter as well as that of a carefully 
 closed diplomatic dispatch I" 
 
 " I only fear that we have been recognised^ 
 and excited suspicion !" 
 
 " Who should have known us ?" exclaimed 
 Beaucaire. " If the young girl had done so, 
 we should have remarked it immediately ; but 
 I am sure that she has not even heard our 
 names, as she was too far distant when we 
 were presented, and from the moment that I 
 was informed who she was ; I kept my eye 
 constantly upon her." 
 
 "And so did I," replied St^ Luces; "but 
 then^ sir, her behavior — in her glances I be- 
 lieve I have observed that if she does not 
 know us, she has at least some suspicion." 
 
 " And if the women shohld know both of 
 us well, what then would follow ?" exclaimed 
 Beaucaire. "At any rate, their caution could 
 be only directed to the leavings not to the 
 arriving letters, and these latter would pro- 
 bably give us more light than the former." 
 
 St. Luces walked thoughtfully up and down* 
 the chamber. 
 
 " Do you not fear that the stupid honesty 
 of the officials will frustrate your plans, and- 
 even perhaps injure us ?" 
 
 " I think, Sir Baron," replied Beaucaire, 
 somewhat miffed, " that I have given you 
 sufficient proof already that I know how to 
 arrange negotiations of greater difficulty, and 
 in winch more was to be lost, than this. 
 Be tranquil and leave the affair to me; I will > 
 find mAis to spin the thread which shall ^ 
 noose our adventurers." * 
 
 St, Luces still paced the room irresolute ; 
 at length he took the hand of his friend and 
 said : " Well, well^ I will leave it to you. 
 I will even give you the greater part of the 
 reward, only do not injure our reputation 
 *for skilfulness. It is because the trace is 
 lost here, because we cannot employ coer- 
 cive means which irritate the people against 
 us, that I wish this affair to be finished by an 
 able coup. We are closely linked, my friend, ♦ 
 you follow my course, step after step. If I 
 advance, you occupy the vacancy I leave be- 
 hind; rest assured, I shall always give my 
 hand to draw you on before another coula 
 pass between us. Once more : this affair I 
 leave wholly to you; still I shall not draw 
 back, if it take a disagreeable turn." 
 
 " You may implicitly confide in me," said 
 Beaucaire, humbly bowing ; " I will hurry to 
 cast the net, for we have no time to lose." 
 
 Witii these words he withdrew, retirihg to 
 his room to dress. Shortly after he set oat ■ 
 
ids 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 to p«t his project agoing. His first 1»u»nes8 
 was to enter a cofiee-house, to look through 
 the list of arrivals. He entered into conver- 
 sation with some citizens, to inform himself 
 of the character of the postmaster, and what 
 he heard seemed to him favorable for his 
 plan. 
 
 He therefore quietly repaired to the post- 
 ofBce. But to his great disappointment, he 
 learned that the postmaster had that morning 
 left for Dresden, and would not return for a 
 fortnight This information was given to 
 him by an old clerk, in whose sharp, wrinkled 
 features, and shining grey eyes, Beaucaire 
 thought he read somethiilg favorable to his 
 views. 
 
 "Are you then doing his business the 
 meanwhile V he asked cautiously. " Perhaps 
 I can address myself to you about a favor 
 for wiiich I would be very thankful." At 
 tliese words, he in a friendly manner reached 
 his hand to the old man, and dexterously 
 slipped a few gold pieces into the latter's 
 palm. This was Beaucaire's usual trial-shot 
 to inspect the soil on which he wanted to 
 step. He gave it before he said for what 
 purpose, convinced whoever takes money 
 ^in such cases, before he knows whetheY- it is 
 a reward for his trouble, or a bribe, manifests 
 beforehand that his conscience is not in the 
 way. Yet Beaucaire worked cautiously ; he 
 at tirst merely asked for a quicker delivery of 
 his own letters, and when the old man thjis 
 proved himself greedy after money, dropped 
 some hints about his real object. He had 
 not finished speaking, when both were inter- 
 rupted by the arriving mail. The official 
 opened the list containing the superscriptions 
 of the letters. Beaucaire threw ^ passing 
 glance at it, and guided by his gQ(m fortune, 
 caught sight of the name of Rosen. 
 
 As the hawk darts upon the pigeon, so did 
 Beaucaire in his rapacious eagerness fall 
 upon his booty. The hurry with which in 
 his excitement he wished to gain possession 
 of the letter, like to have lost him his caution^ 
 but as if knowing his man, he said in a low 
 quick tone — '• Give me that letter for a quar- 
 ter of an hour, and twenty gold pieces are 
 yours !" At the same time he thrust his hand 
 into his pocket to take out the money. The 
 officer pretended to hav^ heard nothing, but 
 quietly pushed the letter aside, and with a 
 quick grasp received the gold, looking with 
 an iron glance into the way-Ust which lay 
 open before him on the table. Beaucaire 
 understood the hint; he therefore, without 
 ceremony, took possession of the letter. With 
 astonishment he saw, from the mail-stamp, 
 that it eame from head-quarters. He imme- 
 diately hurried home, and with a triumphant 
 mien entered the room of St. Luces, and ex- 
 claimed: "How now, Sh- Baron,' if victory 
 
 sho<Ud be already in my hand ? if the k«f «f 
 
 the mystery should be mine 'already ?" 
 
 " What do I hear ?" exclaimed St. Luces, 
 quickly jumpiag up. Beaucaire gave him the 
 letter, and with astonishment 8t Luces read 
 the address. 
 
 " Well, what do you say ? This letter must 
 give some disclosures." 
 
 "How so?" asked St Luces. ^^ ',-.'/. 
 
 " Patience a moment, we shall immediately 
 see all," replied Beaucaire, beginning to open 
 the letter. " See here !" he exclaimed, and a 
 malicious joy spread over his face. " It be- 
 gins — ' Dearest mother,' and ends ' Your 
 ever faithful L.' Are these traces ? Have 
 we the guiding thread in our hands now 1" 
 
 " You have been very lucky indeed," said 
 St Luces, " yet this certainly will not help us 
 much, for the fugitive will have certainly ta- 
 ken another name; the army numbers half a 
 naillion of combatants, and among all these, to 
 find the one whom we seek, would be so 
 problematical that I should hardly like to en- 
 gage myself in the search." 
 
 " My discovery is so lucky," replied Beau- 
 caire — " I am so satisfied with Ahe nlanner in 
 which I made it, that for the present^! will 
 wait But who knows whether the contents 
 of it will not give us more ample informa- 
 tion." 
 
 Beaucaire sat down and read the letter 
 through. His features gradually expanded 
 with a malicious joy. At the close he ex- 
 claimed: "We have nothing mone to wish, 
 for from this letter, we see almost without a 
 doubt, that the two fugitives we seek are in 
 the army, and pj-obably in the regiment of 
 Count Kasinski. For, although no name is 
 written, yet there remains hardly a doubt to 
 any one who knows the location of the regi- 
 ment. We have, consequently, nothuig more 
 to do but to give the information, and perhaps 
 to find out the names which the young men 
 have most likely taken. From my present 
 connection with the .post, nothing will be 
 easier than to watch and secure the answer 
 to this letter." 
 
 St. Luces felt inwardly vexed at the fortune 
 which had guided Beaucaire to his discovery, 
 for he had not the least disposition to do justice 
 to his adroitness. But he was cunning enough 
 not to express the least of his thoughts. With 
 quick steps he paced the room, endeavoring 
 to appear as if solely absorbed with the 
 means of pursuing the discovery. Secretly he 
 had other thoughts which were directed to 
 two different aims. At any price he w^ished 
 to destroy Beaucaire's discovery, or rather 
 use it for himself With apparent sincerity 
 therefore, he heaped praises upon him. " I 
 must acknowledge my great respect for your 
 talents and activity, ray dear Beaucaire," he 
 said; "in this afiair you have acted with a 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 109 
 
 reacEncss and subtlety that cannot be sur- 
 passed I willingly acknowledge that in the 
 first moment I felt a touch of displeasure, 
 created in me throv^h envy of so masterly a 
 mancBUvre." 
 
 The cunning of all villaios reaches only 
 ^ certalta point, beyond which the artful net 
 of their mental comlrinations, from lack of 
 reason, becomes a great folly. Beaucaire's 
 subtleness formed its limits; vanity now 
 blinded his eyes. He generally looked at 
 things from the right side, but was not proof 
 against flattery on the, score of his talents. 
 St. Luces ^possessed in a high degree the art 
 of giving to his manner any complexion he 
 pleased, and used it without scruple to de- 
 eeive even those who had been witnesses of 
 its employment agiiinst others. It was im- 
 possible for Beaucaire to restrain his pride and 
 self-importance. The keen eye of St. Luces 
 pierced through him ; the .stronger he could 
 confirm him in his self-gratulation, the firmer 
 he would be able to keep him under himself. 
 
 For the present nothing more could be 
 Bndertaken. Beaucaire, after re-sealing the 
 letter, hurried with it to the office, that it 
 ^^ might at once be sent on its destination. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX Vra. 
 
 While with filial care Mary watched at 
 the bedside of her sick mother, she did not 
 suspect the plots which malice and rapacity 
 were laying. Alas ! even had she known her 
 . present sorrow would have made her forget 
 these prospective woes, for in deep grief the 
 weakness of the human heart is its only sal- 
 vation — ^it can contain only a limited mea- 
 sure. Mary's heartfelt, but mute jH-ayers, 
 was for the preservation of her mother. Like 
 a guardian angel she sat by the invalid and 
 with mild constancy, with indefatigable perse- 
 yerance, kept from her everything that might 
 disturb her. But in the wisdom of Providence 
 it was ordered otherwise. The plant Which 
 had nurtured the tender blossom at its side 
 was about to be torn away forever. 
 
 For a lo»g time the mother had been 
 quietly resting on the cushions with a mild, 
 painful smile on her lips. Mary's observing 
 eye had for some time pierced a secret strug- 
 gle in the features of her mother; often al- 
 ready had she fearfully asked for the cause, 
 and inquired whether she was suffering. By 
 mute gestures, or by a feeble " no," she had 
 always denied it. Now suddenly she spoke: 
 " My daughter, I feel — it will soon be over ; 
 the attack returns — I shall not survive it. A 
 Becret for you and your brother—your father— 
 
 the papers in the secret drawer of my writing^ 
 desk — alas, my daughter, in your arms ! . 
 
 With these words, which almost breathless 
 she had pronounced, she languidly extended 
 her arms tmvards her daughter. A cramp 
 seized her breast, and with the assistance of 
 Mary, who tearfully embraced her, she tried 
 to raise herself Meanwhile, while support- 
 ing her mother with the right, she grasped 
 with the left hand the bell, standing at the 
 bed-side, and rang it violently. " Tlie doctor I 
 the.doctor!"she exclaimed breathlessly, when 
 Mrs. Holder entered and quickly rushed out 
 again, to call for assistance. 
 
 Oh, my mother ! do not leave your daugh- 
 ter r'-these were th4 only words which, bathed 
 in tears, Mary could pronounce. Her mother 
 was too exhausted by the cramp to hear, 
 or even to answer. These several minutes 
 passed horribly for Mary, who being alone, 
 and herself in want of assistance, had to 
 summon all the firmness of her soul, to pre- 
 vent becoming unfit for tlie assistance she had 
 to give the invalid. A fcarful vomiting of 
 blood gave breath to tlie sufferer, but with 
 it her last remains of strength vanished, and 
 pale and speechikss she sank bock upon 
 the cushions. 
 
 Trembling, tlie pale image of pain, with 
 silent, but inevitable tears, M;iry sat at the 
 bedside, and observed 1m)W the dearest soul 
 she had on earth liberated itself from the ties 
 of the body. The mother vacantly and 
 dreamingly looked on lier dauglrter. Her 
 breath was faintly moved by a low, feeble 
 inspiration in tlie struggle with death; she 
 strove to contract her hpe, but they were 
 shortly overspread with a pious smile — the 
 reflection of another world- One more mild 
 glance of love, and the eye fiides. Mary 
 bent over to catch her last breath, but in vain 
 — the sufferer's sjMrit had fled. 
 
 The severe sentence of 'fate was fulfilled, 
 Mary now stood alone in the world. 
 
 The first to interrupt the solemn silence 
 were the physician and Mrs. Holder. The 
 former hsid hardly thrown a glance at the 
 couch, before he exclaimed : " We have 
 come too late, I thought that relief was im- 
 possible." These words started Mary from 
 her dumb, chilling bereavement. She turned 
 towards the ^:ind Mts. Holder, who stood 
 there, full of grief, and tried to say, in a mild 
 v(Mce : " My mother is dead 1" but with every 
 syllable her grief choked her utterance, until 
 fainting, she fell into the arms of the hostess. 
 But this swoon, caused by a sudden burst of 
 feeling— till now suppressed — lasted not long. 
 Soon the stream of life ceased wildly to rush 
 over its banks, and quietly ran again in its 
 calmer bed. 
 
 Mary, not willing to leave all to Mrs. Hol- 
 der, took care herself to put tlie deceased 
 
 ^-^^.■■ 
 
 i^M^ 
 
 M, 
 
. •" -T-: 
 
 ■'^^}i^- 
 
 110 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 upon a clean bed, and to dress the corpse in 
 8um)le neatness. 
 
 The two daughters of the hostess, Ann 
 and Theresa, came in as Majy had finished 
 this pious duty. Shrouded in white, the de- 
 parted lay on a litter, the face mild without 
 an expression of pain. 
 
 The two children brought a basket of flow- 
 ers, which their mother had given them to 
 decorate the couch of the deceased. Ann, 
 the older, was to fulfil this duty, but tears 
 prevented the poor child from speaking; 
 while Theresa gaily exclaimed : " Look only 
 at Ihe beautiful flowers, tliey are all for you." 
 
 Mary looked at the children with a melan- 
 choly smile. She kissed* the older one, and 
 fondly pressed her to her breast ; then, when 
 the little Theresa laughingly extended her 
 hands towards her, she took her by the arm. 
 The child embraced her, and in the embrace 
 Mary hid her tearful face. 
 
 Now the child also began to weep, but only" 
 because the grief of others frightened her. 
 With loving, becoming words, Miuy tried to 
 console her, and said : " Do not weep, ftiy 
 sweetheart, I am cheerful again.! Come, we 
 will take the flowers and strew them on my 
 mother's bed. Do you not see how calmly 
 she sleeps ]" 
 
 The child became calm again, and said: 
 " I will help you." 
 
 " Yes, so you shall, Theresa, you shall 
 reach to me all the flowers." She now ^ave 
 the basket to the little girl, who put it by 
 her side, and with her gentle hand now be- 
 gan to hand her every flower. Ann assisted 
 her in arranging them on the couch of the 
 deceased; tlie painful duty was performed 
 almost in silence, onl}' . Theresa sometimes 
 gained a friendly word from Mary by her in- 
 nocent, thoughtless questions, and her some- 
 times even merry exclamations. 
 
 The deceased now lay simply decorated 
 on the litter ; the last pious duties of a daugh- 
 ter Mary had fulfilled. Silently, with folded 
 hands, she stood at her side, her eyes resting 
 upon the lifeless face of her mother. The 
 features of life were there still; it was not yet 
 the cold, stift" impress of death, it still seemed 
 as if siie lay only in slumber. For a moment 
 Mary thought it impossible that every tie of 
 this life was now severed — that this eye 
 would never again cast a friendly glance upon 
 her — ^that frame, these lips, no tender words 
 would delight her more! Violent anguish 
 oppressed lier. Quickly taking the l^nds of 
 the children, she left the apartment. 
 
 As Mary stepped outside the door, two 
 female figures stood before her. They were 
 the Countess and Lodoiska, who, for the pur->. 
 pose of continuing the connexion greated on 
 yesterday's excursion, came to make a visit to 
 Mary and her mother. 
 
 They were astonished at the sight of her 
 pale, tearful aspect ; but it lasted only a few 
 seconds, for to the question of the Count- 
 ess : " My God, what has happened to you P' 
 Mary replied in a feeble voice : " You enter 
 the house of death !" Overwhelmed by the 
 force of her grief, she sank fainting kito the 
 arms of the Countess. With warmth the 
 latter pressed her to her breast. "Be my 
 daughter!" she said mildly, t^pou which Lo- 
 doiska, taking Mary's hand, added : " And 
 my sister !" 
 
 Oh, how blessedlyj how mildly did these 
 consoling words from feeling souls touch the 
 bleeding, trembling heart ! How quickly does 
 one warm moment hke this dissipate the cold 
 iron hmits which life for a long time often 
 places between men. Years of insignificant 
 commingling do not knit hearts so firmly 
 together, as a simple, deeply touohing event 
 On the clear stream of joy the souls of men 
 unite ; but firmer by far on the gloomy surfs 
 of misfortune. 
 
 Thus, in this moment, the thre6 ladies 
 had been united for life, and with her clear 
 percej/tion, Mary immediately felt this great 
 blessing, which in sad hours God sends to his 
 children. The earnest, confidential consola- 
 tion of the Countess, and the kind, sisterly love 
 of Lodoiska, so warmly touched Mary's heart, 
 that it appeared to her like a crime to conceal 
 anything from those whose love had been 
 given so entirely to her. The resolution to 
 tell them what Rasinski had done for her 
 brother, became a pressing necessity to her. 
 " I cannot," she said, raising her open, blue 
 eye to. the Countess — "I cannot bear to stand 
 before so noble a protectress, half veiled in 
 mistrustful reflections. You have asked mo 
 about my brother! Oh, you know him, for 
 under the name of Louis Soren, he and his 
 friend Bernard found a hospitable reception 
 at your house." 
 
 " How 1" exclaimed the Countess, with ex- 
 cessive surprise : " that young man, whom we 
 all loved for his maijly behavior, your bro- 
 ther?" 
 
 " He is, but it must remain the deepest 
 secret," said Mary, who now related the whole 
 combination of circumstances by which LoiiLs 
 had been thrown into his disagreeable posi- 
 tion. In the course of her conversation, she 
 uttered also the names of St Luces and Beau- 
 caire, at which the Countess, who had an at- 
 tentive eye to all circumstances, immediately 
 recollected meeting yesterday with the two 
 strangers, and expressed a fear, but too well 
 founded, that they might be the dangerous 
 men. Mary also, now recollected v^hat Arn- 
 heim had told her, and there was hardly a 
 doubt left After having madfe this commu- 
 nication to the Countess, she looked inquir- 
 ingly and fearfully at her. " Only courage 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 must not be -lost," said the resolute woman, 
 « and very careful we must be. Although, as 
 a Pole, I admire and respect the Emperor of 
 the French, and look upon France as our pro- 
 tecting ally, yet I know all the oppressions 
 and horrors, which are committed by the of- 
 ficer appointed to the administration of hos- 
 tile countries, who, being neither soldiers, 
 nor men of courage, do not respect manliness, 
 and only look to triumph over the weak. 
 Among these, probably, your adversaries are 
 to be found. Therefore, be careful. How 
 do you send your letters ?" 
 
 "Under the address of Count Rasijjski," 
 repUed Mary, not without a blush. 
 
 " Well," said the Countess quickly, without 
 observing Mary's confusion, "give me your 
 letters. 1 know many officers in my brother's 
 regiment ; I can alter the address and arrange 
 so that the letters ' will be opened by im 
 brother. Consequently, my dearest, in fu- 
 ture you will conduct your correspondence 
 with your brother through me." 
 
 During this conversation they had returned 
 to the house, and Mary conducted the pro- 
 tectress and the friend whom she hjwi found 
 to the lifeless corpse of her in whom she had 
 lost both. 
 
 Silently the three women stood around the 
 coffin, Mary leaning on the deeply-touched 
 Lodoiska, and silenuy weeping. 
 
 "How friendly this face is!" said the. 
 Countess, as she placed her hand upon the 
 brow of the dead to brush the hair a little 
 back. "How quietly must the soul have 
 passed from the body ! How composed, how 
 holy, how calm !" 
 
 " Oh ! she was as mild as the evening star," 
 said Mary ; " like it she departed, and upon 
 this calm friendly face the dawning of the 
 soul still shines, from the better world into 
 which she went, back upon us. But soon 
 the long, impenetrable night will set in which 
 will hide her from us forever !" 
 
 She spoke of the burial. 
 
 Smilingly Theresa and Aim bounced in. 
 They held a letter in their hands. It was 
 from Louis, the same which an hour ago 
 Beaucaire had opened with vile hands. 
 
 "From my brother to my mother!" said 
 Mary, And again broke forth in tears. " Alas ! 
 the poor one, he knew not that she to whom 
 he wrote these lines would never read them. 
 For his life we tremble, as a thousand dan- 
 gers surround it, yet who knows, perhaps he 
 will be the only one of us living. Oh! then 
 I should deeply pity him! But no! The 
 trials of God will not be so severe !" she 
 continued after a few moments' pause, with a 
 pious expression in her features : " He will 
 not separate us. His consoling angels will 
 support me, and their protecting hand will 
 guard my poor brother*" . , 
 
 The Countess now proposed to Mary to 
 leave the house of death, to come and live 
 with her, that she might not remain alone in 
 
 a desolate dwelling, but have a confiden- 
 breast, on which her weary head might 
 Mary thankfully consented, for she was 
 frightened at the thought of the first lonely 
 night. Lodoiska, who, fully participating in 
 her grief, but remained most silent when her 
 heart was fullest, as she had not the gift of a 
 ready tongue, still remained with Mury to as- 
 sist her in some necessary requirements. 
 The Countess returned home to prepare every 
 thing for Mary's reception, who, assisted by 
 Lodoisca, brought her httle property into the 
 best order, took only some books, papers, 
 dresses and work which she wanted in the 
 new dwelling, and then di-essed herself in 
 her mourning suit. . 
 
 With kisses and tears, Mary parted from 
 the children, and after bestowing many thanks 
 upon the mother, and covering her face with 
 a black veil to hide it from the curious gaz- 
 ing of the crowd, she, with her young friend, 
 set out for her new habitation. 
 
 In the door stood Mrs. Holder and her two 
 daughters. The good woman shook Mary's 
 hand once more, while she wiped away her 
 tears with her apron. Bashfully and sadly, 
 Ann hid herself behind her mother, but little 
 Theresa coaxingly raised her arms up to 
 Mary, and exclaimed: "Mary, come home 
 soon again !" 
 
 • "Soon, soon, and very often, my dear 
 child !" said Mary, while her voice was almost 
 overcome with tears, raising the little child in 
 her arms. Then she tore herself away, and 
 instantly made an effort to recover her failing 
 strength. 
 
 ■■■: ■■: ■ ---^ Vl 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Early in the morning of the third day, 
 the deceased had been buried. Only Mary, 
 the Countess, Lodoiska, and Mrs. Holder had 
 been present at the sorrowful, but consoling 
 ceremony. Mary appeared composed; she 
 did not realise the fears of the Countess, who 
 earnestly prayed her not to be present at the 
 last sad solemnity. In her firm and tender 
 soul she quickly bowed to all past and inevi- 
 table; only the doubt, the fear of what was to 
 come, violently moved her. She trembled 
 beneath the threatening hand of fate ; if the 
 crushing blow had fallen she had struggled 
 against it with moral firmness, with true 
 Christian faith. 
 
 Throughout the whole day she continued 
 resigned, and with calm feeling participated 
 

 112 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 'mf 
 
 in the conversation. Only when the sun 
 turned red and sank behind the blue moun- 
 tains, apd the' melancholy silence of evening 
 spread over the landscape, she became sor-i 
 rowful again and shed profuse tears. She 
 desired to repair to the grave of her motner ; 
 her consoling friends wanted to accompany 
 her, but she prayed to go alone. 
 
 The grave was covered with fresh turf; 
 it had no other decoration as yet. The church- 
 yard lay lonely, fearfully, beneath the shadow 
 of high trees. In pensive mood Mary sat 
 down on the grave, her tears fell silently and 
 fast. Suddemy she was startled by the ap- 
 proach of manly steps ; she looked back and 
 saw St. Luces, who came directly to her. 
 
 Disagreeably interrupted by his presence, 
 she rose, returned his respectful salute with 
 a slight^ embarrassed nod, and was about 
 leaving the church-yard. But with quick 
 steps he joined, and then addressed her : 
 
 " Excuse me, if I have interrupted yonr 
 solitude; chance brought me hither; I had 
 not recognised yon before, otherwise I should 
 have quietly withdrawn." 
 
 St. Luces was equally false with his tongue 
 as with his eyes ; for just as false as were his 
 words were the seemingly confused glances 
 and the sadness which, with the greatest art, 
 the hypocrite expressed in his features. For 
 three days he had been seeking by every pos- 
 sible means to find an occasion . to speak to 
 Mary. The news of the sudden death of her 
 mother was most welcome to him, for it fa- 
 vored his doubly villanous plans. Mary's 
 charming loveliness had already, when he saw 
 her for the first time, kindled in him a detes- 
 table passion. With tliat quick circumspec- 
 tion with which all villains calculate on the 
 oppressed situation of others, he drew,up an 
 infernal plan, first to excite the fear of the 
 sister by threats against her brother, and then. 
 Tinder the promise of saving him, gain her 
 favor. No wonder, therefore, that he was 
 displeased with Beaucaire's greedy cunning, 
 which drove him directly upon his prey. His 
 displeasure would have been greater still, had 
 he only known, or only suspectedthat he was 
 his rival, and tried to attain the same end — but 
 with greater'liberties, and therefore, with less 
 artful malice. 
 
 St. Luces was seeking for a love intrigue ; 
 he calculated that the heart of the mourner 
 was the most easily betrayed by the consola- 
 tion g\ven by a feigned compassion; in one 
 word, he wished to dishonor Mary, but not 
 without giving to her the opportunity of hiding 
 her weakness under a kind of sacred shrine, 
 as he thought, of uniting the safety of her 
 brother to her favor. 
 
 Beaucairc had the same plan, but in a ruder 
 form: "with the executioner's sword over the 
 brother's head, he designed to force the fright- 
 
 ened sister into his arms. He desired only 
 sensual enjoyment, and was regardless of the 
 hatred of his victim. 
 
 St Luces being better educated, and having 
 had many such adventures during his lile, in 
 which his great address and prepossMeing 
 appearance favored him — for in his youth he 
 had been a handsome man — ^thought that the 
 charm of such a connexion must be greatly 
 increased by the facility with which the fe- 
 male mind is deceived. He did not wish to 
 be recognsied under his disguise before be 
 would himself dissolve the connexion firtMn in- 
 difference or satiety. These plans St. Luces 
 and Beaucaire most carefally .hid from each 
 other, and neither suspected the intention of 
 his opponent: first, because they follo^yed 
 their victim through totally different routes; 
 and, secondly, because neither thought the 
 <4ier subtle or base enough to extort any ad- 
 vantage from the state of things. Beaucaire 
 wtis continually spying about to find out the 
 station of Louis in the army, and the name 
 which he now used. Like the ant-eater, he 
 therefore lurked in the hidden darkness in 
 eagernessonly for a letter from Mary to her 
 brother, to take hold of him with his nuiligr 
 nant claws. Then he wanted to step before 
 the unhappy girl, paralyze her by the Medusa's 
 head of his discovery, an(^ then sacrifice the un- 
 willing girl. The death of the mother was, 
 •therefore, welcome also to him ; for Jie right- 
 ly supposed that the next d^ Mary would 
 give her brother information of it. lie there- 
 fore had spent money enough to gain the in- 
 terest of the treacherous official of the post 
 office. But for this time he spent it in vain, 
 for Mary's letter had long since been des- 
 patched by the Countess, who had given it to 
 a countryman going to Dresden, where it was 
 delivered. Of St. Luces' intentions Beaucaire 
 had not the least suspicion, as by flatteries and 
 attentions he was so easily lulled into self- 
 deception. He therefore felt no objection to 
 St. Luces' promise ; the less so, as the latter 
 always arranged and concealed them with the 
 greittest tact. 
 
 It-was the first time that St. Luces had met 
 Mary alone. She replied to his address in a 
 few .bashful words, and wanted to withdraw ; 
 but he acted as if he had not observed it, and . 
 by a quick answer forced her to stay. " How 
 maliciously does fate alw'ays lurk in our pjith! 
 Who would have thought that you, on return- 
 ing from that merry excursion, would find so 
 fearful a misfortune lying at your threshold. 
 Oh, believe me, your loss was so touching, 
 that it has left no lieart unmoved; even now 
 all thoughts, all conversation continually turns 
 upon it ; there is hardly an eye in the place, 
 filled as it is by so many strangers, which 
 does not shed a tear for your bitter fate." 
 
 Mary shuddered, for she knew what influ- 
 
 
 
 .Ai._ 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 lis 
 
 ence St. Luces had exercised upon the fate of 
 her brother, and therefore, she felt a jcertain 
 fear at his proximity. Yet she tried to ap- 
 pear composed. 
 
 " I know well," she said, after some mo- 
 ments, " that the sudden death of my mother 
 has created a sensation, especially as it stood 
 in connexion with an occurrence by which 
 many were appalled. But this misfortune 
 must be doubly oppressive to the mourners 
 who love best to seek uninterrupted solitude." 
 
 St. Luces well understood the meaning of 
 the last words, but he did not wish to under- 
 stand them, and knew how to subdue his an- 
 ger excited by them. " Ceilainly, certainly," 
 he said ; " but what the sufferer seeks is not 
 always the best. You should not at least 
 so wholly give yourself up to grief; for some 
 time you should devote to those who really 
 are»your friends." He was silent ; Mary also. 
 
 " It has almost become dark ! It seems to 
 me a duty to accompany you, as you can 
 hardly return to the town alone," St. Luces 
 venturned once more. 
 
 " You are right, I ought to have gone be- 
 fore," said IMary kindly, saluting him and re- 
 tiring. 
 
 Hardly had she reached the gate of the 
 chUrch-yard when she agam heard his steps 
 close behind her. 
 
 "I have struggled with' myself," he said, 
 quickly stepping up to her, " whether it is not 
 my duty to tell you the whole truth without 
 being asked to do so, whether these are not 
 grounds important enough to excuse my med- 
 dling with the affairs of total strangers. Know 
 then, that it was not accident which brought 
 me hither. I sought you. A danger is threat- 
 ening one who is very dear to you ; his place 
 of refuge will soon be discovered, if it is not 
 at this moment. Through heedlessness you 
 may be involved in the same unhappy fate. A 
 feeling," — here he fixed his eye in confusion 
 upon the ground, — " which younger men only 
 feel, but which possessed me the first mo- 
 ment I saw you, which I cannot subdue, has 
 ])romptcd me, I fear, to transgress my duties. 
 More I cannot Say — ^be careful 1" 
 
 With these broken words he turned to 
 withdraw. Mary, who had listened with 
 trembling astonishment, cried after him : 
 
 " For lleaven's sake, sir, explain yourself — 
 I pray you to explain !'' 
 
 St. Luces stopped — he seemed to struggle 
 with himself. " Explain ? ■ Is it not enough 
 that you understand me ? I transgress my 
 duty — ^and yet, when I see your tears, who 
 can resist them f He made one step nearer 
 to Mary and took her hand, which, irresolute, 
 she neither gave nor withheld. 
 
 At this moment the branches close by 
 them rustled, and Berno stood before them. 
 Mary's pale fiice was overspread by a deep 
 blush, on being found in this solitary place, 
 
 in so confidential a position, alone with a 
 stranger. She did not suspect that Bemo 
 was her guardian angel, for in tfie surprise, 
 St. Luces miglit perhaps have succeeded in 
 gaihing her confidence, and thus have totally 
 destroyed her. 
 
 Bemo himself was still too young and inno- 
 cent for drawing an ingenious suspicion from 
 so trifling a circumstance. His poetical rov- 
 ings had led him to the grave-yard, where 
 many an early friend lay sleeping. 
 
 When he saw Mary, of whom he had like- 
 wise heard, he approached and addressed her : 
 
 " Oh, you are here. I see you again after 
 that beautiful, never-to-be-forgotten day. — 
 Who would have thought that I " 
 
 Guided by a feeling of purity and inno- 
 cence, he took Mary's hand and kissed it with 
 youthful respect. It was as if a veil fell 
 from Mary's eyes, and a heavy weight from 
 her heart. For when Berno's true feelings 
 stood by the side of St. Luces' hypocrisy, siie 
 saw the victory of the simple features of 
 truth over the artful vizard of deception. The 
 ditterence was striking. Mary shuddered, al- 
 though she knew not clearly why. A smile, 
 a pressure of her hand, was the only answer 
 which she could give. It thanked the young 
 friend for his compassion and for his guile- 
 lessness, for a glance at his features convinced 
 her that not the slightest spark of suspicion 
 had entered his pure soul. 
 
 " It is late : I must go," she said, after a 
 few moments. 
 
 " Yes, so late that I cannot possibly let you 
 go alone," exclaimed St. Luces ; and Bemo 
 added, with the purest kindness — 
 
 " Yes, we certainly must accompany 5'ou.'' 
 
 Mary breathed easier when this pure guar- 
 dian angel joined her ; but in the features of 
 St. Luces the awkwardly concealed rage at 
 Berno's interference appeared so strikingly, 
 that even with the most plausible words he 
 was unable to suppress the suspicion which 
 was rising in Mary's soul. 
 
 Little was spoken during the walk. Mar}' 
 hurried to get home. When they were in 
 the first street of the suburb a strange figure 
 came up from behind, closely passing the 
 three, cast a rapid glance sideways, saluted, 
 and in passing said, " Bon soir, Monsic-^ir dc 
 Sl Luces .'■' This latter returned the salute 
 in some confusion, for it was Beaucaire. 
 
 The hotel in which the Countess lived was 
 reached. With a mute, confused salute, 
 Mary took leave of her companions. She 
 ran immediately up stairs and told what had 
 happened. The Countess expressed increased 
 suspicion against St. Luces for his equivocal 
 conduct. 
 
 The clock of the castle church had just 
 struck ten, and, according to the fashion of 
 the bathing place, the ladies prepared to go to 
 bed, when the bell of the door was violently 
 
114 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 rang. The servant brought a letter which an 
 unluiown man had deUvered. The address 
 was to Mafy. She opened it, and found only 
 a shp of paper with the words : " Beware of 
 M. de St Luces ! — Your Friend." 
 
 WJio was the mysterious admonisher ? In 
 vain the ladies tried to guess. The only one 
 whom they could suspect was Berno. And 
 yet wfiat could he know or suspect ? 
 
 Filled witli new, painful anxieties, Mary had 
 lain down to rest, but frightful scenes ever 
 crept into hex dreams, and often she awoke 
 from the deep trouble of her feverish slum- 
 ber. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Mary had only desired to stay in Toplitz 
 until her mother should be buried and the dif- 
 ferent necessary steps made wliich the law 
 prescribes in cases of death. Then it was 
 most natural that she should repair to the 
 sister of the deceased and place herself under 
 her protectioij and that of her other friendly 
 relatives. She had only by letter given in- 
 formation of the sad event, and was still ex- 
 pecting an answer. 
 
 After this impatient, painful, half-sleepless 
 night, she was finally refreshed during a soft 
 morning slumber, with the pleasant dreams 
 which held lier in their ties beyond the usual 
 hour. When she opened her eyes it was 
 broad daylight, and the sun already shone 
 over the tops of the opposite houses into her 
 room. Almost ashamed at having slept so 
 long, she quickly dressed and entered the 
 common breaktast-room. On opening the 
 door, she saw, witli astonishment, several 
 ladies in mourning. Before she had time 
 for observation she found herself locked in the 
 embrace of loving arms. It was Emma, who, 
 oitting at the window, near the door, had seen 
 her first. The happy, surprised, yet melan- 
 choly exclamation of both gii-ls caused the 
 other ladies, who had not heard Mary's noise- 
 less openirg of tlie door, to spring up and 
 hasten towards her. They Avere Julia and 
 her mother. All three had come to see Mary 
 in her dreary solitude, and take lior back to 
 their home. 
 
 Love and friendship struggled now. The 
 Countess and Lodoiska would not part with 
 Mary, yet her reliitives wished to take her 
 with them as soon as possible. Finally, it 
 was resolved that the Countess ai:d Lodoitka 
 should accompany Mary and remain for some 
 days on the farm. The departure was fixed 
 for the next morning. 
 
 After they had been for some time in an 
 absorbing conversation, the visitors expressed 
 
 a wish to see the grave of the deceased. 
 Mary conducted them thither. 
 
 They had almost reached the city gates 
 when they saw a crowd of men collected in 
 a side street, which blocked up the way. 
 They were about to inquire into the cause, 
 when Berno stepped up to them and told 
 them that one of the post office clerks had 
 just been arrested, as it had been proved that 
 he had taken money and letters containing 
 money ; and that the judges were now en- 
 gaged in searching the dwelling of the cri- 
 minal. 
 
 This event would not have attracted Mary's 
 attention to any great degree had she not 
 suspected that she was also injured by this 
 treachery. Now, it was possible, even pro- 
 bable, that St. Luces was informed of all, and 
 that his warning had a foundation ; but she 
 had been cautioned also against him. Who 
 was to solve these riddles to her ? Who was 
 it that knew so intimately her most secret 
 connexions 1 
 
 While she still entertained these frightful 
 and confused thoughts, a pretty peasant girl, 
 although her appearance betrayed a loose 
 mode of life, approached her and offered her 
 flowers for sale. Mary refused ; but the girl 
 renewed her prayer with the flattering address 
 ■of a persuading pedlar. 
 
 " This bunch you will certainly take," she 
 said ; " there are there roses in it, and so late 
 in the season." At the same time she almost 
 forcibly pressed it into Mary's hand, adding, 
 in a low tone, "For your brother's . sake !" 
 Mary was frightened, and the girl smiled and 
 continued, with feigned indiil'erence : " Yes, 
 keep this, it is the fairest of all, and costs but 
 throe kreutzers." Mary wanted to question 
 the girl, but with a wink of the eye she closed 
 her lips and whispered the words, " Deepest 
 secret." 
 
 Meanwhile Berno, to show himself oblig- 
 ing, wanted to buy flowers for the ladies from 
 the girl. He did so ; and with a gay spirit the 
 girl took the money and threw another glance 
 at Mary, as if to say, " Do not betray your- 
 self by a syllable;" and gaily ran away to of- 
 fer her fragrant vendibles to other promena^ 
 ders. 
 
 iVIary was so struck with the adventure that 
 she trembled even at the grave, which they 
 soon reached. Her thoughts were not with 
 the deceased, but in the midst of the world's 
 confusion. Being so little versed in the mys- 
 teries of intrigue, she had not thought of ex- 
 amining closely tlie bunch of flowers ; an ac- 
 cidental glance, however, led her to obserA'e a 
 slip of paper in it. With excited expectations 
 she unobscnedly drew it out and read the 
 words : " You can save your brother if you 
 will come this evening, precisely at nine 
 o'clock, alone, into the castle garden, at the 
 old linden tree. He is lost if you stay away 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 115 
 
 or 'betray a syllable. For the second time, 
 beware of M. de St. Luces !" 
 
 After reading these lines, Mary stood as if 
 petrified. What new and horrible secret, if 
 this invitation and yesterday's warning came 
 from the same hand ! The paths of her life 
 thus entangled in a deep labyrinth — more fear- 
 fully they approached the brink of an abyss. 
 Alas, she deeply felt that a storm had driven 
 her far from the holy island of innocent child- 
 hood. The soft carpet of the meadows, on 
 which, beneath the peaceful shades, she had 
 till now unobservedly but happily wandered, 
 was shaken and swallowed up by a terrible 
 earthquake. In its place now rolled the vast 
 and boundless ocean, and frightfully lashed 
 its waves against the dangerous cliffs. 
 
 Ought she to disclose the secret ? Ought 
 she to put confidence in those who loved her, 
 and rely upon their protection ? But could 
 they save her brother if passion or malice 
 wished to destroy him 1 
 
 " No, I will risk it ; it is my holiest duty to 
 enter upon it," she thought with resolution ; 
 " finally, these riddles must be solved. And 
 who is it that tempts me, then, to meet a new 
 misfortune ? May it not be some magnani- 
 mous friend, whom I might draw into diffi- 
 culty, if I should break the secret? You, 
 my mother, look from the blissful regions 
 into my trembling heart ! May your guardian 
 spirit hover over me, and in Him I will con- 
 fide !" After this firm resolution her soul be- 
 came calm. 
 
 The day passed, and the ninth hour ap- 
 proached. Mary went into her room, sealed 
 the mysterious paper she had received, and 
 enclosed it in an envelope, on whicli she wrote 
 these words : " To those dear to me ; but to 
 be opened only if I shall not have returned 
 before midnight." This letter she put upon 
 the table ; when, Avrapping herself up in her 
 cloak, she quietly left the room and the house, 
 to repair to the appointed place. 
 
 It was already dark and gloomy. She 
 trembled, but kept her purpose. With fear 
 she entered the long silent walks. The lin- 
 den tree stood in the remotest part of the 
 garden. This increased her fear. A gar- 
 dener met her and looked at her with evident 
 surprise. Suddenly, it struck her that she 
 might secure the assistance of this man, with- 
 out disclosing anything to him. She turned 
 round and accosted him. "My friend, are 
 you inclined to earn a good reward?" she said. 
 " For that, I am ready at any time," said the 
 man. 
 
 " Then sit down for an hour on this bench, 
 or keep yourself moving ; but take care you 
 are not observed. This first ; when I return 
 you will get thrice as much. But, if you hear 
 me cry aloud for assistance, then hurry to the 
 large linden tree yonder, near the garden 
 waU." 
 
 "Where the man in the cloak stands f 
 asked the gardener. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mary, alarmed. 
 " Hem, hem ! Your grace had better 
 not go there at all," he replied, shaking his 
 head. " To that man, strangers in the gar- 
 den are just as unwelcome as they may be 
 agreeable to your grace. He has just given 
 me five guilders to give up work and go 
 home." 
 
 " May be so," siud Mary, trembUng ; " nei- 
 ther do I want you to come there : only stay 
 near the place." With these words she gave 
 him more money. 
 
 The gardener again shook his head and re- 
 mained silent for some moments. Finally, he 
 said, " Well, I shall do what I can. I will 
 stay here, and your grace may confide in me. 
 But take good care. The man appears to me 
 just like an ItaUan brigand, whom I got ac- 
 quainted with when I was in Naples, in the 
 service of the Duke of Clary. But,- your 
 grace will excuse my talk. You will best 
 know what you have to do, and with whom." 
 " Certainly, certainly," said Mary, with a 
 tone which clearly expressed the contrary. 
 She was shaken in her resolution ; but, with 
 renewed strength she said to herself: " The 
 dearest thou hast, thy reputation, thou hast 
 risked already ; and now, thou shouldst trem- 
 ble for thy life ? Folly ! And what interest 
 should anybody have in thy death ? It is no- 
 thing — it is an imaginary danger; and the 
 duty of a sister demands what I am doing." 
 With quick steps she continued her way. 
 When she drew near the linden tree she saw 
 a dark figure walking up and down. Slowly 
 and reluctantly she approached ; but the un- 
 known person had scarcely observed her, 
 when he quickly stepped up and addressed 
 her in these words : " I am glad to see that 
 you had courage to comply with my re- 
 quest" 
 
 An icy shudder ran through Mary's veins 
 when she heard this voice. It was Beau- 
 caire's; towards whom, from the first, she 
 had entertained an ungovernable aversion. 
 But she composed herself, as she clearly felt 
 the necessity of arming herself against this 
 man with all the firmness and spirit which 
 the feeling of innocence and right can gi\|e to 
 a woman. 
 
 " I was, indeed, obliged to come," she re- 
 pUed ; " for you frightened me hither with a 
 mysterious threat, which makes it a duty to 
 take a step, which, under other circumstan- 
 ces, I would not have done at any price." 
 
 Beaueaire seemed displeased with this an- 
 swer, which, by its firmness, seemed to cut 
 him off at once from the fulfilment of his 
 wishes. He felt that his undertaking would 
 not be easy ; tlierefore, he resolved to ad- 
 vance with an iron head and a shameless 
 tongue. " You speak," he commenced, " in 
 
lift 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 a proud tone, which, it appears to me, is to- 
 tally unbefitting you. Know, then, that the 
 fate of your brother is in my hand ; that I 
 alone am able to save or to destroy him. I 
 know his place of refuge ; he has taken a 
 cunning choice : at least he is where least of 
 all he will be sought — in the army." 
 
 Mary stood speechless ; terror hiad deprived 
 her of breath. 
 
 " You might, therefore," added Beaucaire, 
 with ironical importance, " well do something 
 more than what I have till now asked of you 
 — ^if you care about the assistance of a man 
 on whose lips hangs the death or the life of 
 your brother. But do you feel ill ]" . 
 
 Mary had been obliged to lean for suj^rt 
 against the trunk of the tree. Almost em- 
 bracing her, with rude impudence Beaucaire 
 conducted her to a garden bench close by. 
 
 " Tell me," said Mary, forcibly raising her- 
 self, " what I can do for my brother. I will 
 not shrink from the severest task. The ful- 
 lest thanks of a loving sister you may be 
 sure of, if you will be kind enough to point 
 out to me the means of saving liim." 
 
 " Before all things," interrupted Beaucaire, 
 quickly, " tell me in what manner I can safely 
 transmit papers of importance to your bro- 
 ther, for he must immediately \yi informed, 
 and provided with tlie means for escajring ; 
 as the discovery of his retreat is liable to 
 take place every day, even every hour." 
 
 Mary had already regained so much com- 
 posure as not to be surprised by the 
 subtle question of Beaucaire." " Give to me 
 whatever you may have to send to my bro- 
 ther," she quickly said ; " I shall safely for- 
 ward it to him. Of any other way I cannot 
 tell you." 
 
 Beaucaire at this answer gnashed his teeth 
 with rage. Mary had hardly made it, than 
 she was herself astonished at the haj^ re- 
 ply. But, in the short space of a few seconds 
 a Ung train of thoughts and a combination of 
 circumstances had passed tlirough her mind, 
 which necessarily filled her with the strongest 
 suspicions of Beaucaire. The accident with 
 the post oflicial now left her no doubt that 
 the privacy of lier letters had been invaded. 
 With accuracy she recalled to her memory 
 the'contents of Louis' last letter, to consider 
 whether anything in it could give any infor- 
 mation about his residenoe, his name, or situ- 
 ation. With free breath she recollected that 
 nothing but his presence in the army could 
 have been betrayed by the letter. With that 
 keen eye and the increased mental power 
 which in moments of danger inspire innocent 
 souls, she, in whom no guile found a lodg- 
 ment, discovered tlie snare of ruin in which 
 she was about to be caught ; although she 
 could not suspect the blackest depths of the 
 abyss into which Beaucaire wished to drag 
 ber. 
 
 *It appears," he finally said, with an in. 
 jured tone, " that you mistrust me ; although, 
 by this meeting I have already given you 
 some proof of my good intentions towards 
 you. But, consider that I have also need to 
 be cautious. In my position I cannot act en- 
 tirely regardless of the severity of the law. 
 If, from compassion, I risk its infringement,, I 
 must have full security that no responsiWlity 
 can possibly fall upon me. On such danger- 
 ous tracks one can trust only one's-self " 
 
 " How !" exclaimed Mary with animation, 
 "do you fear to be betrayed by the aster 
 whose tHt>ther you save?" 
 
 " Not intentionally, but carelessness, want 
 of precaution, of knowledge of circumstan- 
 ces." 
 
 " All this is impossible in this ease," inter- 
 rupted Mary, " for the method which I take 
 would simply prevent inconvenience." 
 
 " So you mistrust me ?" said Beaucdire fu- 
 riously. 
 
 Mary trembled ; it was not her intention to 
 exasperate him. With a soft tone of voice 
 she therefore replied : " I hold the secret of 
 another; you will certainly not ask me to 
 betray it. From the faithfiilness with which 
 I fulfil this older duty you may take assur- 
 ance that I shall be still more careful, more 
 cautions towards you, wtio bestow on me a 
 kindness which my eternal thankfulness would 
 be unable to reward." 
 
 Beaucaire felt confused; the noHe, firmy 
 and yet mild behavior of Mary exercised an 
 irresistible power over his callouS' heart, so 
 that he almost lost all courage to make to her 
 those offers tor whicli, in reality, he had alone 
 asked this interview. Involuntarily his con- 
 versation \vith her, which, by means of the 
 consternation of his first threats, he thought 
 to bring at once to the desired conclusion, had 
 taken a totally different turn, and he now saw 
 himself completely cut off from the course he 
 had thought to pursue. But his anger at 
 himself, because his resolution was shaken by 
 ^r words of a feeble girl, his shame at his 
 hardened villany, caused him suddenly to 
 throw off his mask. 
 
 "■ For thanks," he said, " I hope indeed, and 
 I have a right to expect that a handsome 
 sister, who alone possesses the best means, 
 will pay the debt for an important service 
 rendered to her brother." 
 
 With these word» he seized Mary's right 
 hand in both of his, and kissed it in a man- 
 ner, which suddenly opened to the frightened 
 girl a new view of the hidden background of 
 his intentions. 
 
 Alarmed, she shrank back and exclaimed : 
 " Gracious God ! what do you want ?" But 
 Beaucaire held fast, trying to draw her closer 
 to him, and said : " Be not so frightened, my 
 dear ; the life of the brother is well worth the 
 kiss of a sister !" i „ ■ 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 117 
 
 " Wretch !" cried JH?jy, who now perceived 
 the whole villany. " Leave me, or I will cry 
 for help." 
 
 " Silence, silence I" replied Beaucaire, Avith- 
 out releasing his grasp ; " listen to me. Your 
 brother is in the army ; to-morrow I leave for 
 head-qoarters. There I shall find means in 
 two hours to find out where he is, and only 
 twenty-four hours by court martial intervene 
 between the accusation and the execution. 
 Your brother has merited death, his life is in 
 my hands, and in yours. Will you " 
 
 " Never !" exclaimed Mary, forcibly tearing 
 herself from him. "My brother would de- 
 spise a fife which he must purchase thus! 
 Dare not approach me ; a single cry from me 
 brings me help." 
 
 " Do not fear force," replied Beaucaire, with 
 suppressed fury, " I am no savage beast that 
 will tear you. Yet for the last time I advise," 
 he continued with icy coldness; "do not 
 refuse my ofier for the last time. Here, 
 behind the castle garden is a carriage — 
 it will take you to a safe place. There I will 
 meet you within two hours, and hand you the 
 papers which will safely guide your brother 
 to England, whither he can go unmolested. 
 You may send them to him in your own way. 
 Make now your decision." 
 
 Mary stood with the most violent struggle 
 going on within herself. Suddenly she cast 
 herself at Beaucaiye's feet, embraced his 
 knees, and with violent sobs exclaimed : " No, 
 it is impossible ! I cannot believe in the re- 
 ality of your terrible threats. It is only a 
 cruel experiment, too cruel. Stop, I pray you, 
 put an end to my fears, and to my tears. Let 
 me not longer remain in this dreadful torture. 
 I did you injustice, and now you punish me 
 for it. But it is enough, I have atoned enough ! 
 Return now to the truth ! Alas, you do not 
 know the pangs in the heart of a sister, who 
 is trembling, for the life of an only brother, 
 alas, the only friend whom she now pos- 
 sesses on eaxth." 
 
 "Get up, somebody comes," said Beau- 
 caire roughly, but in a low voice. 
 
 It was the old gardener, whose attendon 
 had been excited by the animated conversa^ 
 tion, and approached. 
 
 " No, no !" exclaimed Mary, " not before you 
 sweai'to me " 
 
 " You are mad," replied Beaucaire wildly, 
 as he raised her by force. "Will you fol- 
 low me or not ? for time passes !" 
 
 " Never !" exclaimed Mary, with returning 
 strength and consciousness, raising herself 
 majestically. " My brother would curse, and 
 despise me. Go then, bloody monster, and 
 fulfil thy crime! Add this new horror to 
 the nameless wrongs thy accursed people 
 have heaped upon our country. I care for 
 nothing more I Death is but for a moment^ 
 
 the other world is eternal. Murder me too, 
 if thou wouldst. We do not tremble at 
 death ! I am a woman, who knows how to 
 die. Think not then that our men do not 
 also know how ! My brother will bless me 
 for having refused to save his life by so dis- 
 graceful an act." 
 
 Beaucaire stood tortured by fury and 
 shame before this noble insulted woman ; he 
 was afraid of flying, and did not dare to stay. 
 " You will repent your madness !" he finally 
 exclaimed in a suppressed, low voice, as the 
 gardener approached nearer. He pressed his 
 hat over • his eyes, and departing with quick 
 steps was soon lost in the dark walks. 
 
 Mary had covered her tearful face ; in a few 
 moments she raised it again, and uttered, 
 looking towards the sky : " Thou, my mother, 
 who art above the stars, thou wilt be near 
 me, since now I am left alone on earth." Ex- 
 hausted, she tottered to the bench and sank 
 down. The kind old gardener now stepped 
 up to her and asked: 
 
 " Did I act roughly, to interrupt your grace ? 
 But God knows, I heard such violent talk, 
 that I got frightened lest something dreadful 
 might happen." 
 
 " No, good old man," replied Mary, " you 
 did right! But will you see me home now? 
 I am so exhausted ; I will willingly reward 
 you for it" 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," he rephed, 
 and supported by his arm, Mary left the gar- 
 den with tottering steps for the house of her 
 friends. 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 " What the deuce is that again ?" Bernard 
 exclaimed, who, wrapped up in his cloak, lay 
 by the bivouac fire ; and as, by the grasp of a 
 man's hand, he was arooseid from a few mi- 
 nutes' slumber. " Ah ! it is thou, Louis," he 
 immediately added, on recognising his friend. 
 " Back already ? Well, didst thou meet with 
 an)rthing particular at Witepsk ?" 
 
 " Yes, several things," replied Louis ; " but 
 art thou not angry with me for disturbing 
 thee at tliis unseasonable hour 1" 
 
 " I am not so very tired, but that I can talk 
 yet for an hour or so. Say on what thou 
 hast to say." 
 
 "First, guess whom I met with in Wi- 
 tepsk ?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps the Grand Mogul, or the 
 Pope, or the King of England ?" 
 
 " No ; seriously, BemaiS." 
 
 " Seriously, I tell thee : for how, among so 
 
i'l8 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE,- OR, 
 
 many thoasand chances, should I hit upon 
 the only true one ? So all my guessing 
 would come to nothing. But whom didst 
 thou see ?" 
 
 " I was passing by a house in a cross street, 
 when suddenly I heard a sweet female voice. 
 I turned round in surprise ; and, in a window 
 half concealed by roses and flowers, I saw 
 the young cantatrice from Warsaw." 
 
 "What! Frangoise Alisettef cried Ber- 
 nard, interrupting his friend, in' perfect as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " Yes, herself." 
 
 " Art thou certain ? Didst speak ■with 
 ber?" 
 
 " No ; because she drew back the instant 
 she saw me. I am sore my eyes did not de- 
 ceive me." 
 
 " Ahem !" mumbled Bernard to liimself 
 " Should my suspicions prove to be so very 
 correct ; listen, Louis, I would almost bet 
 anything that Colonel Regnard is there with 
 his regiment." 
 
 " Thou art mistaken. I met hhn, it is true ; 
 but his regiment is qunrtered at Ostrowno." 
 
 " Pish !" answered Bernard, " that is only 
 five leagues ; and these any one can ride hi 
 two hours with ease." 
 
 " Now, listen to another thing. I think ft 
 would be best not to say anything about this 
 to Jaromir, if he don't know it already."^ 
 
 " I do not think he does ; but why ?" asked 
 Louis in sui-prise. 
 
 " For various reasons. I think, in the first 
 place, that Regnard is jealous of him, and 
 that might cause an unpleasant catastrophe ; 
 secondly, I somewhat suspect that the colo- 
 nel is not far from having good cause, at least 
 in as far as the bewitching Alisette is con- 
 cerned. Already, in Warsaw, she threw some- 
 sheeps' eyes at Jaromir, which might become 
 dangerous to an mexperieneed greenhorn like 
 him, in these matters. Silence is therefore, 
 no doubt, the most advisable." 
 
 " Just as thou tiiinkest best," said Louis, 
 consentingty. 
 
 This colloquy between the two friends was 
 broken off by a pistol-shot, heard close by. 
 The men, who were resting around the fire 
 of their out-posts, sprang to their arms, ex- 
 pecting instantly to be engaged in a skirmish. 
 They listened for a repetition of the report ; 
 all remained silent, except that persons were 
 heard speaking in an earnest and animated 
 manner, in the direction of the farthest ad- 
 vanced vidette. Boleslaus, who had the com- 
 mand there, sent Serjeant Petrowski with a 
 {)atrol, to learn what had happened. The 
 atter returned, after a few minutes, bringing 
 with him, as prisoners, a young man and 
 woman, the latter of whom, from her dress, 
 seemed to be a Russian. The young woman 
 in great terror clung closely to her compa- 
 
 nion's arm, and tremblingly endeavored to 
 hide herself from the curious and somewhat 
 rude looks of the surrounding soldiers. 
 
 "'Pon honor, a pretty chiM!" Bernard 
 exclaimed, turning to Louis, as they passed 
 by, and the watch-fire threw its light upon 
 the group ; but scarcely had he uttered the 
 words, when the young man stopped and ad- 
 dressed him. " Oh ! sir, you are a German ; 
 help a poor countryman in trouble, as he 
 speaks (Mily German or Russian, neither of 
 which these Poles can or will understand." 
 
 " Very willingly. I will go with you," an- 
 swered Bernard. 
 
 Boleslaus had also came up, and asked the 
 Serjeant who these people were, and what 
 they wanted. 
 
 " They have just been stopped, while tra- 
 velling in a kibitka," answered the old grey- 
 beard. " When we challenged them, they gave 
 no answer, but tried instantly to turn back ; 
 and when the sentry fired his pistol, they 
 stopped. They are probably spies," 
 
 Bernard now interfered, and aslied per- 
 mission of Boleslaus to address them in Ger- 
 man. "Where do you come froml" he deman- 
 ded, in that language ; " what are your names, 
 and the object of your journey ?" 
 
 " Oh ! sir," replied the man, " our ob- 
 ject is only to get back to Germany, where I 
 was born. My name is Paul ; and "this is my 
 wife Axinia, a Russian, Till now I have 
 sened as gardener on the estate of Count 
 Dolgorow ; but when the war broke up ever)'^- 
 thing, he dismissed me, to go home to my na- 
 tive country." 
 
 " Have you any papers, my friends, which 
 will confirm this statement V* w^as further 
 asked by Bernard. 
 
 "Oh ! yes ; the ver}' best papers, sir," Paul 
 answered, taking from his poeket-book his 
 certificate of baptism, his testimonials of ser- 
 vice, and a Russian passport, dated at Smo>- 
 lensko ; all of which he handed to Bernard. 
 
 " The papers may all be very ccwrect ; but 
 Russian passports, you must understand, are 
 not of any value in passing through a Frencli 
 army. Though I feel sorry for you, yet you 
 will have to be sent back," 
 
 " Oh, Heavens ! then I am lost !"' cried Paul ; 
 " for it is only tkrough a miracle, as it were, 
 that I have been able thus far to escape the 
 hordes of roving Cossacks, with ray little pro- 
 perty, for they are prowling about every- 
 where. I pray you, good sir, if possible, help 
 us through ; for v/e are truly honest persons, 
 and ask for nothing but to be allowed to pur- 
 sue our journey \vithout molestation." 
 
 " Why did you not follow the high road t« 
 Witepsk ? and why do you travel in the nigbt 
 time ? That looks suspicious, my friend." 
 
 " Only to avoid the Cossacks ; and besides, 
 we were told that we might pass by the wing 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 IIS 
 
 of the army, and then, without further diffi- 
 culty, reach Boiszikowo, and then the high 
 road to Wilna." 
 
 " Well, you would meet with marauders 
 enough there too," Bernard observed ; con- 
 sidering in his own mind in what way he 
 could possibly help them. " They seem to 
 be altogellier honest and inoffensive people," 
 he said to Boleslaus ; " but, even if you let 
 them pass, sir, it will not help them much, for 
 they will be stopped again at every step ; and 
 the more so, as the young woman is a kind 
 of article for which I would not take the in- 
 surance upon myself on this desolate route, 
 from here to Wilna, with marauders and 
 night wanderers constantly cruising about, 
 and the Jews and peasants to rob them of 
 everything the others may leave." 
 
 '■ What is the matter there V suddenly dcr 
 manded a voice. It was Rasinski, who, in his 
 cloak, and his cap pressed over his eyes, un- 
 expectedly stepped between them. Bernard 
 reported the case. 
 
 " In whose service were you employed?" 
 said Rasinski. 
 
 " In Count Dolgorow's," Paul replied. 
 
 " Your papers ?" 
 
 Paul showed them. 
 
 Rasinski quickly read them. " It is as you 
 assert ; this is, the Count's signature. I shall 
 assist you to continue your journey. To-night 
 you must stay in the camp ; to-morrow, a de- 
 tachment of sick and wounded returns to 
 Wilna — you may join them ; I will procure 
 you the necessary passports." 
 
 Paul thanked him in words of gratitude, 
 and still more, with happy looks ; joy re- 
 turned into Axinia's bashful features. Ra- 
 sinski now, for the first time, seemed to ob- 
 serve her. In a friendly manner, he stepped 
 up to her, and asked her in Russian : " And 
 you want to go to Germany too, although 
 you are a daughter of the land of Rurik, as 
 your dress shows V 
 
 Blushing, Axinia cast down her eyes. " It 
 was the will of the young Countess Feodo- 
 rowna," she replied. 
 
 " And why did tlie Countess send you to 
 Germany ?" he continued, after a short pause. 
 
 " She thought we would be happier there." 
 
 " At this time ? That is rather question- 
 able ; that country is not overstocked with 
 contentment just now. Is the Countess Feo- 
 dorowna a daughter to Count Dolgorow?" 
 
 " She is, noble sir," replied Axinia, bowing 
 her head affirmatively, and with -an expression 
 of humility. " I was brought up with her as 
 her playmate and companion ; I have to thank 
 the countess for everything." Then her 
 emotion became too powerful to say more. 
 
 '' If you love hex so much, why then did 
 you leave her, or why did she send you 
 away ]" 
 
 Axinia blushed. 
 
 " I understand," continued Rasinski, with a 
 smile ; " well, it is the duty of the wife to fol- 
 low her husband. You have done right. 
 Give to these persons a place down there by 
 the hill, where they can safely remain over- 
 night," Rasinski said, beckoning with his 
 head. 
 
 " Well, my friends," he commenced, when 
 the two strangers v*ere gone, " to-morrow 
 we continue our march ; I have not told you 
 this before. Every moment I expect the ar- 
 rival of Jaromir with despatches from Wi- 
 tepsk ; then I shall be able to tell you whither 
 we are to go ; for I do not think that we shall 
 remain with the bulk of the army. It is high 
 time to come to action." 
 
 "Certainly," exclaimed Bernard, "if the 
 enemy only will make a stand. Till now we 
 have fought only shadows. Whenever we 
 saw the enemy right before our eyes, and 
 could cry out to him, as Achilles did to Hec- 
 tor, ' stand and fight !' then the phantom van- 
 ished again in tlie gloomy night I ackn6w- 
 ledge that this kind of warfare, has wholly 
 disgusted me. Surely, even the greatest 
 warrior must catch the enemy before he can 
 whip him." 
 
 " That is the nature of a defensive war, 
 wlien the ground by its extent is unfavor- 
 able to the attacking force ; even tlie old Scy- 
 thian inhabitants of this country conducted 
 their wars witli the Persian kings in this 
 way," replied Rasinski. " I was prepared for 
 it from the beginning, for I know the Russian 
 and his country. But this is exactly my con- 
 solation. We have not yet reached the spot 
 where the heart of this empire beats ; — we ' 
 have been fighting almost entirely on our 
 own ground and soil — on the territory of old 
 Poland ; — for Lithuania also obeyed the sway 
 of the Jagellonians. This soil is not sacred 
 to the Russian. Now first we touch his fron- 
 tiers — here begins his country and his church. 
 Mark me : here the sons of Rurik will defend 
 their thresholds and their altars ; and the 
 nearer we approacli the seat of the holy Ivan 
 — the majestic Moscow — ^the stronger the po- 
 pulation will arm itself against us. Not all 
 the inhabitants of the Russian empire have a 
 fatherland. The outer provinces are like 
 suburbs or antechambers, in which a host of 
 homeless slaves are lying. These are rea- 
 dily sacrificed ; but in the interior of the 
 house live the sons of the family, and va- 
 liantly will tliey defend their altar and sanc- 
 tuary. Then, it is battles, and I hope vic- 
 tories will not fail us." 
 
 A horseman was heard approaching, at a 
 rapid pace. It was Jaromir. Quickly he 
 handed his despatches to Rasinski, who im- 
 mediately began reading them by the light of 
 the fire. 
 
ISO 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 " To-morrow, at four o'clock, we break up. 
 To-night then let us enjoy the short repose 
 which is allowed us ; for the next day will 
 perhaps demand the exertion of all our ener- 
 gies." 
 
 With these words, he returned to his 
 tent, while the others laid themselves down 
 around the watchfires, and were soon fast 
 asleep. 
 
 When the day dawned, Rasinski and his 
 regiment were already on the march. They 
 passed over long hills by the edge of a pine 
 forest, extending far into the country to their 
 right, while the landscape on the left lay ex- 
 tended in hills and bushes. Boleslaus, Jaro- 
 mir, Louis, and Bernard rode at Rasinski's 
 side. 
 
 " The Emperor has formed a daring re- 
 solution," commenced Rasinski ; " you see 
 that we take a direction which leads us far to 
 the left of the enemy, who has encamped at 
 Rudnia and Inkowo. We shall cross the 
 Dnieper there, our left protected by the river, 
 advance upon Smolensko, pass the Russian 
 army, and throw ourselves between it and 
 Moscow — a truly gigantic manojuvre, which 
 if successful will decide the whole campaign 
 at once. That in which, through the fault of 
 the King of Westphalia, Davoust did not suc- 
 cced agaiast Bagration, is now to be put in 
 operation against Jiim and Barclay de Tolly to- 
 gi'ther. Our orders are to defeat the advanced 
 cavalry which may still be hovering on our 
 right wing, and to keep it at sucli a distance 
 Ihat t!ie movements of the main army will 
 not be too early observed." 
 
 The sun had now risen, and threw its rays 
 over the extensive landscape which could be 
 overlooked from the height. 
 
 " Do you see those columns advancing ?" 
 said Rasinski, pointing to the left. " That 
 l)lack stream before us is quite near ; from the 
 cloud of dust there we can see that it is ca^ 
 valry marching ; and near that hill, which is too 
 far off for us to distinguish the troops them- 
 selves, you see at least the brilliant reflec- 
 tion of their arms. Much may be decided 
 in the next few days." 
 
 Louis, with a strange feeling, overlooked 
 the plain on which the black lines of troops 
 were marching. 
 
 ," Will what is here being done and decided 
 be for the blessing or curse of the world ?" 
 he asked earnestly of himself. "What if 
 the powerful spirit which moves these masses 
 should here find the end of his exploits, as of 
 old, Alexander did in India ! Should he fail in 
 this vast undertaking, what if the rude and 
 colossal power of the north should prove its 
 preponderance and might to all Europe 1 Or 
 if, on the contrary, the current of victory 
 should flow on into the very heart of old 
 Russia — if the standard of France should be 
 
 planted on the seat of the Czars, and be un- 
 folded to the breeze from the proud pinna- 
 cles of the Kremlin? — ^would, in that mo- 
 ment, the independence of Germany be se- 
 cured? Would not all then be obliged to 
 yield to France and French arrogance? — 
 Would not the word ' fatherland' become to 
 us a vague and hollow sound ?" 
 
 He was disturbed in these meditations by 
 Bernard, who being a painter, looked upon 
 every exterior object from the same point of 
 view as he would look upon a picture. 
 " What strange peculiar charms these dead 
 landscapes have !" he said ; " only see what a 
 fine contrast those black crowns of the fo- 
 rest trees form with the sky : this sad mono- 
 tony really has something touching ; like the 
 desert, it makes a grand impression upon the 
 mind. And those unbroken woods that cross 
 the country there below, the naked hills be- 
 tween them with their shining red heatlier, 
 and the colorless sky, with the long gray 
 stripes of cloud; — sometimes I would love 
 better to paint this than even Swiss scen- 
 ery." 
 
 During this conversation they had come to 
 a cross-path : to the left, the hills descended 
 into the valley towards Ligna;to the ri^ht, 
 they entered the forest towards Babinawiczi 
 and Orsza. Rasinski cliose this latter road ; 
 but seeing that he was no longer able to 
 overlook the adjoining country, he was ob- 
 liged to send an advanced guard out, and 
 scout on both sides. Jaromir received the com- 
 mand of the former, Boleslaus was charged 
 with the latter. Louis and Bernard remained 
 near Rasinski, who employed them as his 
 aids to send orders to the detached troops. 
 They marched until evening without meeting 
 an enemy. During the night the soldiers 
 partly rested in bivouac, partly on the skirt 
 of a miserable hamlet, completely abandoned 
 by its inhabitants. At dawn of day the re- 
 giment continued its march, and approached 
 Rasasna, where the army was to pass the 
 Dnieper. 
 
 The Emperor had already arrived, with the 
 corps of Davoust. The bridges of Rasasna, 
 which had quickly been repaired, were al- 
 ready filled with troops, winding over them 
 in long black lines. Rasinski joined them, 
 and then encamped on the other side of the 
 river, behind Rasasna, in the vicinity of the 
 Emperor's tent. A Lithuanian Jew, who 
 from love of money had become Rasinski's 
 spy, undertook for a liberal reward to go still 
 some miles further, to inform himself whether 
 the approach of tlie army was known to the 
 enemy, and whether they had made prepara^ 
 tion to oppose them. 
 
 Towards three in the morning, and in 
 profound darkness, the spy reappeared in the 
 bivouac. Bernard had just awakened and 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 121 
 
 stirred up the fire, when the strange fignrfe of 
 the Israelite, stealing noiselessly along (wa- 
 riness and caution had become his second na- 
 ture,) entered the circle of light cast by th« 
 flames. Like a prowling and mischievous 
 sorcerer, he suddenly stood before Bernard, 
 who started at tliis strange and unexpected 
 apparition. A black robe, confined at the 
 waist by a leathern girdle, draped his meagre 
 person; a red and pointed beard descended 
 low upon his breast ; his pale wizened coun- 
 tenance peered forth from out a mass of tan- 
 gled hair ; his grey eyes had a cunning and 
 malicious twinkle. A constrained smile dis- 
 torted his lips, as he accosted Bernard in Jew- 
 ish dialect. 
 
 '* Young gentleman ! tell me quick where 
 my lord colonel sleeps. I am in haste to 
 speak with him, young gentleman !" 
 
 "The fellow looks like the devil changed 
 into a fox," muttered Bernard to himself 
 " So they have not hanged you, eh, Isaac 1" 
 
 " Father Abraham ! what is that for a 
 question, young gentleman 1 D'ye think old 
 Isaac would have lived so long, had he not 
 known to keep his neck out of the coil of 
 hemp ? But take me to my lord colonel : it's 
 in great haste !" 
 
 "Come, son of Abraham," said Bernard, 
 parodying the Jewish mode of speaking ; " set 
 thy shoe-soles upon the tracks of my feet, so 
 shalt thou come to the presence of him whose 
 gold thou covetest. Forward !" And wind- 
 ing his way through the groups of weary 
 soldiers wha lay sleeping round the watch- 
 fires, he guided the old spy to the spot where 
 Rasinski, wrapped in his cloak, reposed upon 
 a little straw. The colonel's watchful ear 
 warned him of the approach of strange foot- 
 steps ; he was roused in an instant, and look- 
 ed keenly into the surrounding darkness. 
 
 " Ha, friend Isaac !" he cried ; " well, what 
 news ! Are they of weight ?" 
 
 The Jew nodded mysteriously, and drew 
 the count aside. Bernard would have returned 
 to his fire, but Rasinski signed to him to re- 
 main. The count spoke long and low with 
 his Hebrew emissary, and listened with the 
 strongest interest as it seemed to the report 
 of the latter. The spy's countenance each 
 moment assumed a more important expres- 
 sion, and was lighted up even at shorter in- 
 tervals by his false and repulsive smile, as he 
 saw that Rasinski appeared satisfied with the 
 intelligence he brought. 
 
 " Accursed Judas I" quoth Bernard to him- 
 self. " I could not put faith in that villanous 
 physiognomy, though the fox snout of it 
 were to guide me into paradise. And yet 
 Rasinski is a judge of men ; that there is no 
 denying." 
 
 " Isaac had made his report, he stood sub- 
 missively before Rasinski, and awaited his 
 
 orders with the deepest humility. The col- 
 onel produced his purse ; the Jew's visage was 
 lighted up with joy ; lust of gold gleamed in 
 his eyes. But when he clutched in his ex- 
 tended palm a handful of gold pieces, he 
 broke out into fulsome expressions of de- 
 light and gratitude. • & 
 
 " God of Abraham !" he cried, endeavor- 
 ing to seize and kiss Rasinski's hand, " bless 
 my dear benefactor, who saves me from per- 
 ishing in these days of war and misery ! Hun- 
 ger would rend the poor Jew's entrails, till he 
 howled like a starving wolf in winter, did not 
 you, noble sir, deign generously to relieve 
 him." 
 
 By word or gesture Rasinski commanded 
 silence. The Jew turned to depart, pulling 
 out at the same time a leathern bag wherein 
 to stow his gold. With this empty bag he 
 unintentionally drew out a purse, whose 
 strings had got entangled with those of the 
 bag, and which fell heavily to the ground. 
 Visibly alarmed, Isaac stooped to pick it up, 
 but Bernard, who had observed his counte- 
 nance by the fire-side, conceived a sudden sus- 
 picion, and sprang forward with a like inten- 
 tion. The grass being high, and the light not 
 falling on that spot, both men felt about for 
 a few moments in vain. At last Bernard 
 seized the prize. 
 
 " Give it here, my dear young g«ntle- 
 mans," cried Isaac eagerly ; " it is my small 
 and hard-earned savings. Now-a-days noth- 
 ing is safe, except what one carries with one. 
 Give it me, I entreat !" 
 
 The anxious tone and hast}' gestures with 
 which he spoke these words, not only 
 strengthened Bernard's suspicions, but also 
 attracted the attention of Rasinski. 
 
 " Humph ! heavy," said Bernard signifi- 
 cantly; "very heavy. Nothing less than gold 
 there, I expect." 
 
 Rasinski approached. 
 
 " Heaven bless you !" cried Isaac, " a little 
 silver and copper, nothing more. Perhaps an 
 old ducat or two amongst it." And he hastily 
 extended his arm to seize his property. 
 
 Bernard drew back his hand, held the purse 
 to the fire-light, and loudly "exclaimed: 
 
 " Silver ? copper ? What I see through 
 the meshes is gold, and that of the brightest !" 
 
 " Show it here !" said Rasinski, stepping 
 quickly forward. Bernard, laughing, handed 
 him the purse ; the Jew dared not object, but 
 he trembled visibly, and expostulated in a 
 humble and cringing tone. "Most generous 
 sir !" he said ; " it is the trifle I have rescued 
 from the exactions and calamities of war. You 
 will not rob a helpless old man of his little 
 all." 
 
 " Rob I" repeated Rasinski, disdainfully. 
 " Am I marauder 1 But you will not make mo 
 believe," he continued, in an accent of me- 
 
122 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 nace, "that this gold has been long in your 
 possession. Think you I do not know what 
 a Jew of your sort can save in Lithuania ? A 
 likely tale indeed that whilst passing as a spy 
 from one camp to the other, you carry this 
 treasure on your person! Ten foot under 
 ground in the Ijiickest forest, you still would 
 not think it safe. And why deny it to be 
 gold ? Where are the silver and copper 
 amongst these fine new ducats ? Confess, 
 Jew — whence have you this gold?" 
 
 Isaac trembled in every limb. 
 
 "What would you of me, most gracious 
 lord count?" stammered he. "How should 
 old Isaac possess other gold than what he has 
 saved during his sixty years of life ? Where 
 should he bury it ? Where has he land to dig 
 and delve at his pleasure ? And if I wished 
 to conceal that I have saved a few ducats, sure 
 it is no crime in times like these ?" 
 
 " IVIiserable subterfuges !" replied Rasinski. 
 " Here, take your gold — I desire it not. But 
 mark my words ! molten I will have it poured 
 down thy lying throat, if thou hast deceived 
 me in this matter ! These ducats look like 
 the guerdon of weightier information than you 
 have brought me. If you have betrayed 
 aught to the enemy, if our present plan mis- 
 carries, tremble, for your treachery shall meet 
 a fearful reward !" 
 
 The Jew stood with totteriner knees and 
 pale as death ; suddenly he prostrated himself 
 at Rasinski's feet, his face distorted by an 
 agony of terror. 
 
 " Pardon ! mercy !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Justice !" sternly replied Rasinski. " Let 
 his person be searched for papers." 
 
 An officer and two soldiers seized the 
 Jew, dragged him to the next fire, and bade 
 him strip from head to foot. In a few mo- 
 ments it was done. Gown and hose, shoes 
 and stockings, were examined without any- 
 thing being found. Even a cut from the shoe- 
 soles brought nothing to light. Meanwhile 
 Isaac stood shivering in his shirt, following 
 with anxious glances each movement of the 
 soldiers. As each portion of his dress passed 
 muster and was thrown aside, his counte- 
 nance cleared and brightened. 
 
 "As sure as Jehovah dwells above us!" 
 . he exclaimed, " I am an innocent old man. 
 Give me back my money and my clothes, and 
 let me home to my hut !" 
 
 " There, put on your rags !" cried a corpo- 
 ral, throwing him his breeches. Isaac caught 
 them, but at the same moment the soldier 
 threw him his gown in the same unceremoni- 
 ous way. It fell over the Jew's face, envel- 
 oping him in its folds. Seeing this, the 
 mischievous corporal seized one end of the 
 loose garment, and pulled it backwards and 
 forwards over the head of Isaac, who stag- 
 gered to and fro, bhnded and confused, but 
 
 still struggling violently and crying out for 
 mercy. Rasinski was on the point of check- 
 ing this horse-play, when the Jew stumbled 
 f nd fell, thus disentangling himself from the 
 gown, which remained in his tormentor's 
 hands. But to the utter dismay of the Israel- 
 ite, and simultaneous with his robe, a wig 
 was dragged from his head, leaving him com- 
 pletely bald. At first nobody attached im- 
 portance to the circumstance, and the soldiers 
 laughed at this climax of the Jew's misfor- 
 tunes, when Bernard's quick eye detected 
 upon the ground a scrap of paper, which had 
 been concealed between scalp and wig. He 
 clutched at it; but was forestalled by Isaac, 
 who, in all haste, caught it up and threw it 
 into the blazing watch-fire, where it instantly 
 disappeared in a flake of tinder. This suspi- 
 cious incident gave rise to a new investigar 
 tion. The Jew denied everything : he swore 
 by the God of his fathers he knew of no let- 
 ter, and had thrown nothing into the fire, but 
 had merely picked up his handkerchief. Upon 
 examining his head, however, it appeared that 
 the hair had been recently shaved off, and that 
 Isajic had no real occasion for a wig. Here 
 again the wary Jew was ready with his justi- 
 fication. 
 
 "God of mercy!" he cried, what I have 
 done for your service proves my perdition. 
 When, driven by need and hunger, I under- 
 took your dangerous commission, I bethought 
 me how I could best be useful to you. Could 
 I tell what duties you would require of me 1 
 Had I not even heard that they consisted in 
 carrying letters and papers, skilfully conceal- 
 ed? Therefore did I break the law by laying 
 a razor on my head ! And now I am punished 
 for my sin. But is it for you Christians to 
 condemn me, because I have transgressed to 
 5o your pleasure ?" 
 
 Spurred by the fear of death, Isaac con- 
 tinued in this strain with irrepressible volu- 
 bility; and there was no denying that his 
 excuses and reasons were plausible enough. 
 Nevertheless, Rasinski found strong grounds • 
 for suspicion. He ordered the Jew to be kept 
 in custody, and that, when the regiment went 
 out, he should follow on a spare horse. 
 
 " If I see by the enemy's movement," said 
 he to the Jew as he was led away, " that- he 
 has notice of our project, you are ripe for the 
 gallows, and shall not escape it. If there is 
 no evidence of your treason, you shall be free 
 to get yourself hung elsewhere ; for beyond 
 Liady you will be useless, seeing that the 
 Russians do not tolerate your blood-sucking 
 race in their land ; the only good trait I am 
 acquainted with in their character. Away 
 with you — let him be well guarded." • 
 
 Thus, screaming, the Jew was dragged ^ 
 away under the curses and scoffs of the rude 
 soldiers, and secured under guard ; for the 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RCSSIA. 
 
 trade of a spy, though unhappily necessary 
 in war, is too mean and despicable for even 
 those whom he serves to feel compunction 
 at punishment instead of reward. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 At day-break the whole French army 
 was again in motion. Rasinski had received 
 orders to join the van-guard, under the King 
 of Naples. On a by-road, pointed out by 
 Isaac, he gained so much ground as to be 
 able to pass some very long lines of infan- 
 try, commanded by Marshal Davoust, and 
 thus to reach his point of destination without 
 any farther obstacle. Here he found Prince 
 Murat, who, surrounded by his staff, with a 
 calm eye reconnoitred the ground before 
 them. Rasinski rode up to him to report 
 such information as he had received from 
 Isaac, and at the same time expressing his 
 apprehension that the spy might have made 
 use of a double mask, and had, perhaps, been 
 even more useful to the enemy than to the 
 army of the Emperor. 
 
 " If only what the Jew has said be true," 
 said the king, " vigorous measures may yet 
 save all. We must intercept the corps of 
 General Newerovvskoi — destroy it, and thus 
 reach Smolensko before him. From its pre- 
 sent encampment the main army of the enemy 
 cannot possibly reach the fortress before be- 
 ing overtaken by us. The present is a mo- 
 ment in which the campaign of the whole 
 year may be decided. Rapid movement is 
 our first duty now ; we will not neglect it." 
 
 These words were the signal for breaking 
 up. The route of the army ran along the 
 Dnieper, but so that a considerable space 
 was still left between the stream and the 
 high-road. Rasinski and his regiment march- 
 ed nearest the river. He sent forward a 
 patrol under the command of Jaromir ; an- 
 other on his right, commanded by a younger 
 officer. To the lefl he was sufficiently pro- 
 tected by the river. 
 
 " A disagreeable business,'' said Rasinski 
 to Louis, as they rode along, " thus to follow 
 the flying enemy and be unable to teach him. 
 The Cossacks must have been here a short 
 time before uh — for hrjre are fresh tracks of 
 smajl, unshod horse-hoofs. Probably we 
 have to thank them for the loss of all the 
 bridges, and that we mtist ride through all 
 these small lakes, created by the rain. But 
 what is that yonder ? Jaromir sends us a 
 message !" 
 
 A lancer was seen approaching. Rasin- 
 ski galloped towards him, to receive the in- 
 
 formation the sooner. Jaromir reported that 
 at the moment he reached the top of the hill, 
 he had suddenly caught sight of two Cos- 
 sacks, who as quickly had disappeared among 
 the trees. They probably belonged to a 
 larger detachment. 
 
 " Should we finally have got them ?" ex- 
 claimed Rasinski, his eyes beaming with joy, 
 giving orders, at the same time, to advance 
 at a trot. The regiment rode up the hill, 
 from which a wide level ground could be 
 overlooked, chequered here and there by 
 small clumps of underwood. The brush- 
 wood seemed only about a hundred steps in 
 front, and nearly the same deep — yet it in- 
 terrupted the view. The patrals were re- 
 called, and in closed files the whole corps 
 quickly advanced. When near to the thicket, 
 Rasinski divided his corps, and ordered one 
 squadron to ride to the left — the other to the 
 right, around the thicket, while he ^jfh the 
 centre squadrons continued straight forward. 
 Fresh horse-manure, found on the way, and 
 many tracks of unshod horses, confirmed the 
 previous supposition of a large troop of Cos- 
 sacks having passed over the ground only a 
 few moments before. The wood now opened, 
 and Uirough the trees one could look into the 
 open field. 
 
 " There they are !" cried Rasinski, point- 
 ing with his finger to the numerous pikes 
 seen in the cornfield. " They shall escape 
 us no longer ! sound the attack !" 
 
 The trumpet sounded. Like a whirlwind 
 the masses issued from the thicket. 
 
 " By files, right and left wings forward !" 
 Rasinski shouted, as they reached the open 
 space, and the deep columns changed into 
 an extended front. The two squadrons that 
 had rode round the little wood now also 
 came up and joined them at full speed. 
 
 The noise and clatter created by a rapidly 
 advancing regiment of horse, must suddenly 
 have betrayed them to the Cossacks, who 
 were quietly riding along, evidently not 
 aware that the enemy was so near. A 
 skirmish seemed not to be their intention. 
 They put their horses in motion, and in full 
 career rode forward until they disappeared 
 behind the bushes which were thickly scat- 
 tered over the field. 
 
 When the cloud of dust which they raised 
 had subsided, a small town was seen at a 
 distance of not more than three or four miles. 
 
 " That must be Krasnoi," said Rasinski. 
 " Where is the Jew, Isaac ? — he must tell us." 
 
 Is^ac, placed on a baggage-horse, with his 
 hands tied behind him, liad hitherto followed 
 the. regiment among the train and servants. 
 He was looked for there, but in vain. He 
 had made his escape during the bustle of the 
 pursuit. 
 
 " Then the Cossacks still have done us 
 
m 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 soii^e damage," said RasinskI, angrily. " I 
 would gladly have seen that Jew brought to 
 the haltet." 
 
 Meanwhile a slight skirmish had begun 
 between a corps of iiifantry and some of 
 General Newerowskoi's light-horse, which, 
 after a gallant defence, were repulsed. Ra- 
 sinski's regiment entered the camp with the 
 sinking sun. The men had just settled 
 themselves comfortably around a large fire, 
 when the unexpected roar of artillery was 
 beard. All then was commotion, but they 
 soon learned it to be only a salute of rejoic- 
 ing. 
 
 This feu de joie was fired in honor of the 
 late victorious engagement with the Rus- 
 sians, and also of the £mperor's birth-day. 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Rasinski ; "I had 
 almost forgotten that to-day is the fifteenth 
 of Auansi. The salute is worth something, 
 for it JKs f red with Russian powder, obtain- 
 ed among this day's booty. Do not let us 
 forget tMs day is the fifteenth of August, 
 but in a merry circle drink the Emperor's 
 health." 
 
 The invitation was gladly accepted. A 
 large fire was soon blazing. The officers of 
 the regiment, with Louis and Bernard, who 
 were always regarded by Rasinski as be- 
 longing to himself, arranged themselves 
 around it. 
 
 " Our drinking cups are certainly not the 
 most elegant," said Rasinski, after filling 
 every one's porringer, cup, glass, or what- 
 ever he had in his hand. " The table is not 
 too sumptuously supplied, but the guests, I 
 think, are as noble as ever collected in the 
 proudest saloon. So welcome, comrades !" 
 
 Suddenly his features assumed a serious 
 cast. Majestically he stepped into the midst 
 of his recumbent brothers-in-arms, and rest- 
 ing his left hand on the pommel of his sword, 
 while raising the filled cup in his right, he 
 commenced, in a solemn voice : 
 
 " Friends ! After long years, we this diy, 
 led by the great Emperor of the French, first 
 step upon the soil of old Russia, arms in 
 hand ! We stand on the soil on which our 
 fathers fought many a glorious battle with 
 their detested neighbors. Recollect, brothers, 
 that there was a time when the banners of 
 Poland waved from the Kremlin of Moscow, 
 when our wocivades gave to the Russians 
 their Czar. The Czar, Boris Godunow, who 
 built the old town of Smolensko, which, behind 
 those hills is covered with the darkness of 
 night ; and erected those walls and -towers 
 which, perhaps, to-morrow we will take by 
 storm — that same Czar, Boris Godunow, up- 
 held his throne by the valor of our forefathers. 
 Those were Poland's most palmy days ! and 
 they will return ! Like the phoenix from his 
 ashes, the white eagle will ascend from the 
 
 smoking ruins, under which our fathers lie 
 buried. The cinders are glowing deep be^ 
 neath the ashes. In the breast of every son 
 of Poland lives the mighty fire of ancient 
 heroism — of ancient love of the fatherland ! 
 The day of retribution, of vengeance, of 
 justice, is at hand. History has created the 
 
 freat man who will carry out our destiny, 
 bllowing his banners, we rush to victory 
 over our enemies ! Rise, then, drain this 
 cup to his success. Vite VEmpireur I Vive 
 la Pologne ! Vive la Liberty .'" 
 
 As wind fans and spreads the crackling 
 fiames, so the inspiring words of Rasinski 
 entered the hearts of his companions-in- 
 arms — hearts throbbing with patriotic devo- 
 tion and thirsting for valorous deeds. Like 
 statues they had stood, listening to every 
 word from his lips, the flashing eye only be- 
 traying life in their breasts. Now they 
 sprang up. Amidst tears and exclamations 
 they repeated the cry — " Vive VEmpereur! 
 la Pologne ! la Liberie .'" and then drained 
 their cups to the bottom. A thousand echoes 
 repeated the cry — for other approaching 
 troops had so greatly enlarged the festive 
 circle, that it could no longer be measured 
 by the eye. When Rasinski had emptied hie 
 cup, he threw it high in the air, opened his 
 arms, and pressed his next comrade to his 
 breast. Friends surrounded him, threw 
 themselves at his feet, took hold of his hands 
 and covered them with tears. A delirious 
 ecstasy pervaded the breast of every man, 
 each embraced his fellow. Deep grief and 
 nameless raptures struggled in every soul ; 
 it was as if the lightning-stroke had touched 
 every heart. Old men became boys again, 
 and the rosy cheek of Jaromir, as well as 
 the grey beard of old Petrowski, were moist- 
 ened with tears. 
 
 It was long before these perturbed feel- 
 ings, so violently aroused, were allayed. 
 Solemn silence succeeded. They remained 
 composedly lying around the fire, abandon- 
 ing themselves to the delightful feelings of a 
 cordial communion. Gradually the flames 
 of the camp-fires waned. After the day's 
 hard exertion, tired nature sank into redou- 
 bled exhaustion. Sleep fell upon all around. 
 Jaromir rested his head on Bernard's shoulder, 
 who readily supported him until he also sank 
 down with him upon the turf. Louis still 
 remained awake for a considerable time. All 
 was silent around him. The brands and 
 embers fell together ; the flame died gradu- 
 ally away ; the vault of heaven threw a dark 
 mantle of clouds over the camp. Through 
 the wreathing smoke, reddened by the reflec- 
 tion of th« fire as it ascended, the glittering 
 stars of night were seen. A sombre, grand, 
 and silent picture. 
 
 And dark it became in lionis' soul. His 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 13$ 
 
 hopelessness, mourning fatherland — the be- 
 loved ones far away — the dear picture of an 
 unknown being, who bad vanished, perhaps 
 forever, but by whom his heart was still en- 
 tirely monopolized — these were the painful 
 images portrayed on the tablets of his 
 memory. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 " Thers are the towers of Smolensko !" 
 cried Hasinski, when, at the head of his re- 
 giment, he had reached the hill from which, 
 at a league's distance, the old fortress is 
 seen. " We shall now march down this 
 hill, hidden by the bushes ; thus we may gain 
 unobserved the side of the city till within the 
 range of the guns. 1 fear," he added, in a 
 tone of concern, " that we shall have a hard 
 struggle here. Do you see yonder clouds 
 of dust on the other side of th6 Dnieper ? 
 That cannot be from our troops ! I wish 
 that Jew w^as in the lowest pit of hell ; for 
 there is hardly a doubt that he either guess- 
 ed or hedrd something of the Emperor's in- 
 tention, and has informed Barclay de Tolly. 
 I'll wager my head that those are the columns 
 of the main army of the Russians approach- 
 ing." 
 
 " Well, then, we shall have the long-wish- 
 ed-for battle !" replied Bernard, with an in- 
 quiring look, to inform himself more fully 
 respecting Rasinski's fears. 
 
 " Perhaps, but not surely yet. At all 
 events, under more unfavorable circumstan- 
 ces than if we had reached Smolensko before 
 this, occupied it, and thus cut off the enemy 
 from the road to Moscow. In that case, he 
 would have been obliged to take the fortress 
 from us ; as it is, we will have to sacrifice 
 thousands before it. If we had only suc- 
 ceeded in cutting off Newerowskoi, we 
 would have gained at least one great advan- 
 tage." 
 
 Impatiently Rasinski rode alone up an ad- 
 jacent hill, from which he could have an 
 uninterrupted view. Meanwhile, the regi- 
 ment continued on the road pointed out, 
 which, by circuitous windings, brought them 
 nearer to the town. 
 
 " The country is not entirely without 
 beauty," said Louis to Bernard, as an open- 
 ing in the forest afforded them a view into 
 the valley of the Dnieper. " Do you see 
 yonder castle, on the other side of the river, 
 upon the hill ?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Bernard ; " a stately 
 edifice. It seems to be of a strange, ancient 
 style of building, as it looks from here. Per- 
 haps we will soon pass a night there — for 
 
 probably that, and the large village lying 
 there below, are both as deserted as all the 
 places we have passed through." 
 
 " It certainly is a wretched wilderness 
 through which we wander," replied Louis. 
 " But that castle makes a strange impression 
 on me. Here I feel for the first time, that 
 the distance, the singularity, exercise a pow- 
 erful influence. The style, the situation, all 
 attracts me wonderfully and strangely." 
 
 " In me, too, some sparks of a wonderful, 
 romantic feeling, begin to kindle," observed 
 Bernard. " How would it be, if a charming 
 princess should live there, and upon storm- 
 ing the castle we should be the means of 
 rescuing this fairy from the smoking ruins ? 
 To me it seems as if J already saw the red 
 flames playing around the curious battle- 
 ments !" 
 
 " Do not joke so terribly," said Louis. 
 " Your prophecy might, at least, be easily 
 fulfilled, in so far, that such a terrible misfor- 
 tune might break in upon the ill-fated in- 
 habitants.". 
 
 " And possibly they themselves apply the 
 torch to their dwellings, for it seems to me 
 that the castle is not far from the highway, 
 which runs along the other side of the Dnie- 
 per, and hitherto we have found on our road 
 but few villages and castles which were not 
 laid waste. ' It appears the Russians had 
 rather leave us a desolate province than an 
 undestroyed town. But there comes our 
 Colonel back at full speed." 
 
 Rasinski came, indeed, at so rapid a pace 
 that the horse foamed, and the dust whirled 
 up high around him. While yet at a dis- 
 tance, he hiade a sign with his sword. His 
 next officer. Major Negolinski, understood 
 the signal, and ordered the regiment to ad- 
 vance at a gallop. They had to ride down 
 into a valley and then up the opposite hill. 
 In a few moments the summit was reached, 
 and now Smolensko lay right before them. 
 From the same sjjot the view opened far into 
 the landscape, and the different corps of the 
 Grand Army were discovered approaching 
 the town, within cannon-shot distance on 
 many points. But on the other side of the 
 river numberless Russian columns were also 
 seen marching at their utmost speed, to oc- 
 cupy Smolensko before them. 
 
 " Forward ! forward !" cried Rasinski. — 
 " Down into the valley, along the river ; per- 
 haps we may succeed in surprising the ene- 
 my." 
 
 He again advanced far in front, as if vdsh- 
 ing to anticipate the moment of meeting the 
 enemy. 
 
 Upon reaching the river, Smolensko was 
 seen lying upon its two steep hills on either 
 side of the Dnieper, close in front of the 
 attacking soldiers, almost hanging over them. 
 The roaring of cannon and explosion of 
 
198 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 small arms commenced. Dust and smoke 
 covered the valley and the stream. The 
 battlements of the town-wall and its high 
 towers soon alone rose above the salphurous 
 canopy. The riders followed their leader, 
 without knowing whether they had friends 
 or enemies before them. Suddenly Rasinski 
 came back. 
 
 " Halt !" he shouted in a voice of com- 
 mand. The regiment stood as if rooted to 
 the ground, " First squadron, left wheel ! 
 Regiment, march !" 
 
 Slowly Rasinski led his men back again 
 through the valley, and over the rocky plain 
 towards the height, covered with trees, 
 which was out of the reach of the fortress. 
 " It was too late," he observed to his aids. 
 " The King of Naples wanted to attack the 
 town from this side with the cavalry, Mar- 
 shal Ney on the other with the infantry, and 
 thus try to shake it by surprise. But the 
 Russians are too well fortified and have too 
 many guns. Besides, the main army must 
 be here in half an hour, and it would be 
 madness to begin the struggle just now. — 
 Still it is to be hoped that they will try to- 
 morrow to dispute the possession of the for- 
 tress by a battle. For here, indeed, it is the 
 question of defending the gates of their 
 country." 
 
 The regiment entered into bivouac. 
 Towards evening an aid of the general 
 staff came into the camp and inquired for 
 Rasinski. He was ordered to repair to the 
 Emperor, where not only all the Marshals, 
 but also all officers who knew the country 
 and the language were assembled. To dis- 
 patch quickly his orders, Rasinski desired 
 Bernard and Louis to accompany him. They 
 found some trouble in reaching the Empe- 
 ror's tent, as, by his order, ail the troops 
 which had approached the town had to place 
 their bivouacs further back. 
 
 " What does this manoeuvre mean ?" ask- 
 ed Rasinski, of the aid who returned with 
 him. 
 
 " The Emperor wishes to leave the battle- 
 field, open to the enemy. He hopes that to- 
 morrow the Russian columns will finally 
 make a stand and accept the battle." 
 
 " And our position ?" continued Rasinski. 
 " There, on that amphitheatre of hills, 
 which, in a semicircle, environ the town. It 
 is true, there are only precipices and narrow 
 passes which are left to us, dangerous enough 
 in retreat." 
 
 *' The Emperor has erased the word * re- 
 treat' from his dictionary," replied Rasinski. 
 " In any other commander the fault would 
 be great. He is sure of his victory. He 
 has wanted nothing but an enemy to achieve 
 it. Would to heaven the enemy may now 
 give him the chance !" 
 
 " Would to heaven the enemy may now 
 give him the chance !" 
 
 " How ! I hardly believe it Why should 
 he offer battle in front of the fortress, when 
 he can do it in its rear ?" 
 
 " Bagration, it is said, is very eatrer for a 
 battle." 
 
 •* But Barclay is so much the less so." 
 
 " He is not liked ; the Russians hate him ; 
 the Emperor is his only support. Attacked 
 on his own soil, it must deeply wound the 
 Russian's honor to be aompelled to retreat 
 without offering opposition. Barclay will be 
 obliged to fight, or the army will no longer 
 obey him. Notwithstanding his unlimited 
 power, the commander still in some respects 
 stands controlled by his army ; and it is the 
 hardest thing inthe world to restrict the pug- 
 nacious soldiers from giving battle ; it is at 
 the same time a most dangerous undertaking, 
 for just at the decisive moment he will fall 
 back, if his ardor has been previously curbed. 
 A commander must not only be able to un- 
 derstand the topography of his ground, he 
 must also have an insight in the disposition 
 of his men ; if he makes a mistake there, he 
 will not acomplish much with all his tactics." 
 
 " Do you expect any good result from the 
 battle ?" asked the officer after a short pause. 
 
 "The most complete victory, without a 
 doubt, but it will cost "blood." 
 
 " A great deal, no doubt. We have already 
 suffered losses in the attack upon the fortress 
 to-day. Of the battalion with which Mar- 
 shal Ney attacked, two-thirds have fallen. 
 They were placed in the cross-fire of the 
 Russian batteries : one single ball had such 
 terrible effect that it struck down twenty-two 
 men. We could plainly see it from the height 
 where we stood." 
 
 " To fall, is the soldier's solemn destiny," 
 replied Rasinski, "But listen!— firing of small 
 arms?" 
 
 " The Emperor has ordered the first divi- 
 sion to annoy the enemy, and thus, perhaps, 
 entice him to cross the river." 
 
 During this conversation, passing between 
 watch-fires and encamped troops, and behind 
 marching columns, they had finally arrived at 
 the encampment of the Guards, where the 
 Emperor's tent was pitched on a woody emi- 
 nence. He was seen just then riding away 
 with a small suite, probably to reconnoitre 
 the country. In full gallop Rasinski rode 
 after him, Louis and Bernard following at 
 some distance. For about half an hour the 
 Emperor rode from one hill to another. Of 
 what was said, Louis and Bernard could hear 
 nothing, as with several other orderlies and 
 younger officers, they were at least thirty or 
 forty paces behind the Marshals. Now the 
 Emperor stopped and spoke to Marshal Ney 
 and the King of Naples; he then made a sign 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 197 
 
 for Rasinski to approach, whom he seemed 
 first to give a circumstantial order, and then 
 converse with in lively gesticulation. Rasin- 
 skj immediately turned about, beckoned Louis 
 to accompany him, and ordered Bernard to 
 follow the Emperor and his suite, and then to 
 wait before the Imperial tent, until he should 
 receive a written or verbal order for him. 
 
 The Emperor returned to his tent about 
 nightfall. He was followed by Marshals Ber- 
 thier, Ney, Murat, Davoust and the Viceroy 
 of Italy. Two men of the Old Guard were 
 posted at the entrance of the tent ; Bernard 
 and the orderly officers kept close to receive 
 orders. In the course of a quarter of an 
 hour those three were dispatched. Bernard 
 remained alone, and must with patience await 
 what would come. All was silent once 
 more; the exhausted troops lay in their 
 cloaks and slept. Every little noise could be 
 heard quite distinctly. Thus Bernard could 
 distinguish an animated conversation going 
 on within the tent. Only a word here and 
 there was understood, most frequently the 
 names " Smolensko" and " Moscow." He 
 would have liked to ride -a few steps nearer, 
 but the two bearded grenadiers, with their 
 high bearskin feaps, who, with measured steps 
 and a noble, martial air, perambulated up and 
 down before the tent, held him by their dark 
 and bushy faces at a respectful distance. 
 
 " They speak of the battle, which we may 
 perhaps have to-morrow," Bernard finally 
 ventured to observe; "can you understand 
 the conversation, my friends ?" 
 
 "The emperor's sentinel hears nothing, 
 comrade," replied one of the grenadiers with 
 a severe look. 
 
 " Neither does he speak," added the other 
 in atone of reproach. 
 
 Hardly were these words uttered, when 
 Marshals Ney and Davoust, both evidently 
 highly excited, with a quick step came out of 
 the tent and took their way in different direc- 
 tions without bidding each other good night. 
 It was apparent that they were reciprocally in 
 no friendly humor. Bernard clearly distin- 
 guished the voice of the emperor, who spoke 
 loudly and with irritation. A few moments 
 afterwards the Viceroy of Italy left the 
 tent The sentinels presented arms when he 
 pp.ssed. But this ordinafily kind and conde- 
 scending man did not return their salute — he 
 seemed to be so powerfully excited, so com- 
 pletely absorbed and preoccupied, that exter- 
 nal matters were entirely lost upon him. By 
 the light of a fire which burned not far from 
 the tent, and which was used for the impe- 
 rial kitchen, Bernard could see the expressive 
 features of the prince, on whose brain dark 
 clouds of sorrow had gathered. There was 
 so much nobleness and gentleness in those 
 features, so much manly resolution, united 
 
 with mild majesty, that the impression they 
 made upon the beholder could never be eradi- 
 cated. With steady look Bernard still follow- 
 ed the figure, when the clattering of a sabre 
 again drew his attention to the entrance of 
 the Imperial tent. It was the King of Na- 
 ples, who in his chivalrous, martial costume, 
 a heron feather stuck in his fur cap, emerged 
 with rapid steps from the tent, murmuring 
 some unintelligible words to himself which 
 however, sounded as the echo of anger and 
 excitement. Without observing Bernard, he 
 passed close before his horse. Bernard now 
 plainly heard thep King exclaiming, stamping 
 his feet on the ground as he walked, in a half- 
 suppressed voice : 
 
 ^^Moscoto! Moscou! Cette ville nousper- 
 drar 
 
 But hardly had he advanced a few steps 
 when, as if recollecting something, he stop- 
 ped, turned round, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Where is the orderly of Colonel Rasin- 
 ski ?" 
 
 Bernard wanted to spring from his horse, 
 but the King cried : " Stay where you are ! 
 This order for the Colonel ! — quick !" 
 
 With these words he withdrew, and Ber- 
 nard rode back to the bivouac of his regi- 
 ment. Endowed with a happy capacity for 
 observation and finding his way in any place, 
 despite the darkness and the labyrinth of 
 watch-fires, which surrounded him on every 
 side, he succeeded in a short time in finding 
 the encampment of his comrades. With 
 eager haste Rasinski opened the dispatch and 
 read it by the fire. 
 
 The qjght passed without any occurrence. 
 The piquets had been doubled and part of the 
 soldiers remained under arms, yet the repose 
 of the others was not disturbed. At dawn 
 of day, they expected to see the enemy drawn 
 up in order of battle. But in this they were 
 deceived. The whole wide plain which had 
 been left to him for a battle-field was empty. 
 The town, with its old massive walls, sur- 
 rounded by eighteen towers, lay gloomy and 
 silent in the dusk of morning ; not the least 
 stir or sound seemed to proceed from it: The 
 whole French army was under arms, the 
 troops could at any moment be brought into 
 order of battle. The emperor, accompanied 
 by several iparshals and aids, was seen riding 
 repeatedly over the plain. He rode up one 
 hill after the other and looked aroimd, in the 
 hope, finally, of discovering the enemy from 
 some point arranging themselves for the en- 
 counter. 
 
 One of the Marshals, Belliard, rode up to 
 Rasinski, beckoned, and then pxssed some 
 words with him. Immediately he ordered the 
 first squadron which Boleslaus commanded to 
 follow him. 
 
 They rode for some distance up the 
 
I» 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 Dnieper. At a turn of the road they met 
 some twenty or thirty Cossacks, who, as 
 soon as they saw the enemy, galloped away 
 across the field, like a herd of frightened 
 deer. In a moment they had disappeared ; 
 but, a few minutes afterwards, they were 
 seen again, from the top of a hill, and just as, 
 on their little horses, they were swimming 
 across the river, at a place where a bend in 
 its course concealed it from view. 
 
 " The devil ! " cried Rasinski, suddenly, 
 turning to the Marshal, and pointing with his 
 sword in the distance ; " do you see yonder 
 columns 'i That is the Rus^an army in full 
 retreat, on the road to Borodino !" 
 
 The Marshal cast a discontented look in 
 the direction indicated. " The Emperor will 
 be beside himself with vexation. Till now, 
 he had still hoped to see that army come forth 
 to battle, and Davoust confirmed him in this 
 illusion ; now, all such hopes must vanish, for 
 those columns of artillery, infantry, and ca- 
 valry, which fill the road, are too numerous 
 to expect otherwise. But, I will immediately 
 report it to him." In a gallop, the Marshal 
 set out across the field, to head-quarters. 
 
 Rasinski commanded Boleslaus to recon- 
 noitre up the river, whether he could not find 
 a fording-place, by which cavalry, and, if need 
 be, artillery and infantry, might reach the 
 other bank ; for he very justly concluded, that 
 the Emperor would give orders to attack the 
 enemy in flank, and cut off" his retreat. 
 
 For more than an hour Boleslaus rode with 
 his men, along the river's margin. In every 
 spot which had the appearance of a ford, he 
 was the first to make the attempt t£ riding 
 through it; but he did not find what he 
 sought for, and came near losing some men 
 by the experiment. Displeased at his bad 
 success, he was on the point of returning, 
 when he heard the thunder of a battery be- 
 hind him. He looked back, and beheld the 
 whole shore lined with heavy masses of ar- 
 tillery, which played upon the Russian- army, 
 as it moved slowly along the opposite bank. 
 Now, they also posted some batteries to si- 
 lence the hostile fire, and soon their terrible 
 effects were seen. A dense black cloud, like 
 some huge monster, spread over the field ; — 
 red, vivid flashes alone penetrated the smoke, 
 immediately followed by the deafening thun- 
 der. Boleslaus, who had given up the hope of 
 finding a fording-place, resolved to go back 
 with his men ; and now he had the field of 
 death and desolation before him ; for, not only 
 were these batteries constantly playing upon 
 each other, but the whole field before Smo- 
 lensko was shaken by an obstinate fight. 
 
 The Emperor had ordered the attack upon 
 the town, of which he now wished to gain 
 the speedy possession. Dark masses of in- 
 fiintry were, therefore, advancing from every 
 
 point, to disperse the enemy, after weakening 
 him by the cannonade. The earth seemed to 
 tremble in dismay beneath the horrible din — 
 dense clouds of smoke sailed slowly over the 
 field and cast their sombre shadows on this 
 scene of destruction. 
 
 The sun, like a bloody eye, looked down 
 tlirough the opaque atmosphere. The fright- 
 ened birds fluttered away, and left the scene 
 Excepting the deep, growling thunder of tlie 
 battle, which Boleslaus heard only from the 
 distance, no sound was to be detected. In 
 deep silence, nature lay motionless, — no 
 breath of air stirred the trees ;— everything 
 seemed as if paralyzed by the unhallowed 
 doings of men, and to await its own hour of 
 dissolution. Silent and sad, Boleslaus rode at 
 the head of his men, over the hill, and ap- 
 proached the bloody field. The engagement, 
 which would have filled the warriors with 
 courageous ardor, if they had been al- 
 lowed to throw themselves into its desola^ 
 ting vortex, did notv, as they were compelled 
 to look on from a distance and could take 
 no part in the affray, create in them an oppo- 
 site feeling of discontent. Being placed be- 
 yond the sphere of action, they felt more 
 keenly its terrible realities — ^more deeply, be- 
 cause they were able to scan it more fully. 
 
 " I believe Satan himself is at work in that 
 hollow there," said Petrowski, pointing to a 
 place where the French artillery stood enve- 
 loped and almost hidden by the thickest smoke. 
 
 " They seem to stand in the faces of three 
 cross-fires," replied Boleslaus. 
 
 " Ah ! sure enough ; those three clouds 
 over there rain lightning upon them ! And 
 they hit ! The tumbrils and ammunition 
 chests are flying into the air as if they were 
 standing on counter-mines. There, a reserve 
 battery is coming up at a trot ; they must 
 have been cut up dreadfully by this time. 
 The Muscovites seem to get savage. If we 
 only had them in the open field, so that the 
 cavalry also might come at them ! The sa^ 
 bre is to-day as light in my hand as a walk- 
 ing-stick. By thunder! I would — hell and 
 destruction ! — another tumbril gone !" And 
 the spot which Petrowski had pointed out did 
 truly, at this particular juncture, as they 
 drew nearer, present no bad specimen of a 
 fire^vomiting volcant). The smoke hovered 
 over the place in black, towering columns ; 
 then passed slowly away, and rolled itself in 
 dense and heavy masses across the field, be- 
 hind the battery. The fire of the enemy be- 
 came, for this reason, more and more murder- 
 ous, because he had the advantage of the 
 wind, and his antagonist plainly in sight. 
 Thus, balls and shells poured incessantly into 
 the batteries with destructive effect; the 
 ground literally trembling under the feet of 
 the combatants. 
 
=»':•:.'•>.: 
 
 ='^v>P- 
 
 •'. -r. 
 
 '"W'^- 
 
 ■,** 
 
 ^^ liAHMbBcnrs INVASION OP rimqUiP*''^ 
 
 m 
 
 
 «We will hi^^'td fam a little more to the 
 IM^ otherttote we shall come within range," 
 sdd Boleslans to Petrowski. 
 
 *So I think, too," replied the old man; 
 * we might lose a couple of horses unneces- 
 sarily ; and I do not like to lose, when I can 
 g«t nothing in return." 
 
 •• Thou art right, old moustache ; and there 
 is nothing for us to do but "to ride round 
 that hill," replied Boleslaus, after having exa^ 
 mined the ground. 
 
 They turned down into a hollow where 
 they were soon under cover from the enemy's 
 fire, but where they could no longer see the 
 ensanguined battle-ground. In a short time 
 they reaiikd the bivouac, and Boleslaus re- 
 ported to^Asinski his unsuccessful exer- 
 tions. 
 
 ** I know it already," he replied ; " for while 
 thou wert gone, we have found some persons 
 who are acquainted with the localities. But 
 there is a passa^ further up the stream, 
 which, however, we can only make use of to- 
 wards evening with any advantage; it is impas- 
 sable for artillery, as tlie banks are very steep 
 and overgrown with brushwood. To attack 
 the Russians in the rear with»a whole corps, 
 is therefore impossible ; still, we might, per- 
 haps, alarm them a little, capture a troop of 
 marauders, and make some booty. This 
 charge has been entrusted to us. I am glad 
 of it ; we shall, at least, have some small 
 share in the affair of this day, where cavalry, 
 however, could do nothing more than stand 
 still and look on?' 
 
 Meanwhile, the battle, under the walls of the 
 town, continued with tlie greatest fury. Ra- 
 sinski and his officers had takenup a position 
 from whence they could observe the whole 
 scene. The position of the batteries near 
 the river vvas still one where death and mas- 
 sacre reigned paramount. The eyes of the 
 spectators were with painful anxiety directed 
 towards the spot wliiere so many of 'their 
 comrades haAt to be sacrificed, in order to en- 
 sure the success of the day. A troop of 
 horsemen emerged from the thick whirling 
 smo^ and took*their way across the level 
 ground, towards the Emperor's tent. When 
 t^lj^ came nearer, all with astonishment be- 
 held the King of Naples. He rode slowly, 
 returned the respectful salute of the officers, 
 arid passed them without giving a look be- 
 hind. But one of the officers of his suite 
 rode up to RasinskL /It was Cplonel Reg- 
 naid. 
 
 " For God's sake, tell me," said Rasinski, 
 " what business had you over there in thjit 
 seething cauldron ? and the king, \Vhat did he 
 wiant there ?" 
 
 '_' What he wanted ? Hardly what he is 
 doing now-Wding back again. Strange 
 words must havie passed yesterday between 
 
 him and the empft^*, fbr he is complete!^ 
 changed. He insisted upon being shut down 
 in that infernal hole. When we begged of 
 him to ride back, he exclaimed, ' I will see no 
 one destroyed with myself !*^and wished to 
 send away his aids. They unanimously as- 
 sure him that they would not stir a step. In 
 that moment a bomb\truck the horse of his 
 favorite, Duteuil, to the ground, so that he 
 thought him dead. In consternation he leaped 
 from his horse, and drew him out from under 
 the weltering animal himself. When he saw 
 that he was still alive and uninjured, he em- 
 braced him, and said: 'Let us ride back, 
 then.' " 
 
 Bernard listened to this relation with ex- 
 cited attention, for he connected it, in his own 
 mind, with what he had observed yesterday 
 before the tent of the Emperor, but which he 
 had communicated to no one. 
 
 " And is it surmised by any one, what took 
 place between the Emperor and his brother- 
 in-law ?" asked Rasigski. 
 
 " By everybody," replied Regnard, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders; "he, as well as Duroe, 
 Dara, Loban, and in fact all of us, are dissa- 
 tisfied enough with this campaign, and he has 
 probably haii a quarrel vath him about it. 
 The old song with the old chorus. Well, if 
 we lose twenty thousand men to-day, in tafc- 
 ing that heap of stones, it will be sung loud 
 enough to-morrow in the whole camp. At 
 least, every one will hum it silently to him- 
 self, or have it sounding in his cars. Good 
 morning !" And vnth these words he rode 
 on, not without having given cause for se- 
 rious thoughts in Rasinski's mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XUV. 
 
 The attacks upon Smolensko were inces- 
 sant during the whole day. The Russians 
 defended themselves with coolness, and made 
 great havoc. Thousands of warriors fell on 
 the field of death to rise no more, and still 
 the prize of these sacrifices had not been at- 
 tained, when the sun began to decline, and 
 finally sunk behind the clouds. 
 
 The favorable moment had now arrived 
 for the execution of Rasinski's plans. He or- 
 dered his men to mount, and then marched 
 along the Dnieper, but so far from the banks 
 (that he could not be discovered from the 
 other side. After proceeding far about so, 
 hour, tliis precaution became unnecessary, ftr 
 it became perfectly dark. '♦ 
 
 "Let every one obsen'e the strictest si- 
 lence. No one must smoke, or strike fire !" 
 
 This order, from Raspiski, was transmitted 
 
 ■.'^^ 
 
 ♦ 
 
 
 
1S8 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 Dnieper. At a turn of the road they met 
 some twenty or thirty Cossacks, who, as 
 soon as tliey saw tlie enemy, galloped away 
 across tlie iield, like a herd of frightened 
 deer. In a moment they had disappeared ; 
 but, a few minutes afterwards, they were 
 seen again, from the top of a hill, and just as, 
 on their little liorses, they were swimming 
 across the river, at a place where a bend in 
 its cour^^e concealed it from view. 
 
 " The devil ! "' cried Rasmski, suddenly, 
 turning to the Marshal, and pointing with his 
 sword in the distance ; " do you see yonder 
 columns '{ That is the Rus^an army in full 
 retreat, on the road to Borodino !" 
 
 The Marshal cast a discontented look in 
 the direction indicated. " The Emperor will 
 be beside himself with vexation. Till now, 
 he had still hoped to see that army come forth 
 to battle, and Davoust confirmed him in this 
 illusion ; now, all such hopes must vanish, for 
 those columns of artillery, infantry, and ca- 
 valry, which fill the road, are too numerous 
 to expect otherwise. But, I will immediately 
 report it to him."' In a gallop, the Marshal 
 set out across the field, to head-quarters. 
 
 Rasinski commanded Boleslaus to recon- 
 noitre up the river, whether he could not find 
 a fording-place, by which cavalry, and, if need 
 be, artillery and infantry, might reach the 
 other bank ; for he very justly concluded, that 
 the Emperor would give orders to attack the 
 enemy in flank, and cut oft" his retreat. 
 
 For more than an hour Boleslaus rode with 
 his men, along the river's margin. In every 
 spot which Jiad the appearance of a ford, he 
 was the first to make the attempt of riding 
 througii it: but he did not find what he 
 sought for, and came near losing some men 
 by the experiment. Displeased at his bad 
 success, he was on the point of returning, 
 when he heard the thunder of a battery be- 
 hind him. He looked back, and belield the 
 whole shore lined with heavy masses of ar- 
 tillery, which played upon the Russian- army, 
 as it moved slowly along the opposite bank. 
 Now, they also posted some batteries to si- 
 lence the hostile fire, and soon tiieir terrible 
 effects were seen. A dense black cloud, like 
 some huge monster, spread over the field ; — 
 red, vivid flashes alone penetrated the smoke, 
 immediately followed by the deafening thun- 
 der. Boleslaus, who liad given up the hope of 
 finding a fording-place, resolved to go back 
 with his men ; and now he had the field of 
 death and desolation before him ; for, not only 
 were these batteries constantly playing upon 
 each other, but the whole field before Soio- 
 lensko was shaken by an obstinate fight. 
 
 The Emperor had ordered the attack upon 
 the town, of which he now wished to gain 
 the speedy possession. Dark masses of in- 
 fantry were, therefore, advancing from every 
 
 point, to disperse the enemy, after weakening 
 him by the cannonade. The earth seemed to 
 tremble in dismay beneath the horrible din — 
 dense clouds of smoke sailed slowly over the 
 field and cast their sombre shadows on this 
 scene of destruction. 
 
 The sun, hke a bloody eye, looked down 
 through the opaque atmosphere. The friglit- 
 ened birds fluttered away, and left the scene 
 Excepting the deep, growling thunder of the 
 battle, which Boleslaus heard only from the 
 distance, no sound was to be detected. In 
 deep silence, nature lay motionless, — no 
 breath of air stirred the trees; — everything 
 seemed as if paralyzed by the unhallowed 
 doings of men, and to await its own hour of 
 dissolution. Silent and sad, Boleslaus rode at 
 the head of his men, over the hill, and ap- 
 proached the bloody field. The engagement, 
 which would have filled the warriors with 
 courageous ardor, if they had been al- 
 lowed to throw themselves into its desola- 
 ting vortex, did no«v, as they were compelled 
 to look on from a distance and could take 
 no part in the affray, create in them an oppo- 
 site feeling of discontent. Being placed be- 
 yond the sphere of action, they felt more 
 keenly its terrible realities — more deeply, be- 
 cause they were able to scan it more fully. 
 
 " I believe Satan himself is at work in that 
 hollow there," said Petrowski, pointing to a 
 place where the French artillery stood enve- 
 loped and almost hidden by the thickest smoke. 
 " They seem to stand in the faces of three 
 cross-fires," replied Boleslaus. 
 
 " Ah ! sure enough ; those three clouds 
 over there rain lightning upon them ! And 
 they hit ! The tumbrils and ammunition 
 chests are flying into the air as if they were 
 standing on counter-mines. There, a reserve 
 battery is coming up at a trot ; they must 
 have been cut up dreadfully by this time. 
 The Muscovites seem to get savage. If we 
 only had them in the open field, so that the 
 cavalry also might come at them ! The sa- 
 bre is to-day as light in my hand as a walk- 
 ing-stick. By thunder! I would — hell and 
 destruction ! — another tumbril gone !" And 
 the spot which Petrowski had pointed out did 
 truly, at this particular juncture, as they 
 drew nearer, present no bad specimen of a 
 fire-vomiting volcano. The smoke hovered 
 over the place in black, towering columns ; 
 then passed slowly away, and rolted itself in 
 dense and heavy masses across the field, be- 
 hind the battery. The fire of the enemy be- 
 came, for this reason, more and more murder- 
 ous, because he had the advantage of the 
 wind, and his antagonist plainly in sight. 
 Thus, balls and shells poured incessantly into 
 the batteries with destructive effect; the 
 ground literally trembling under the feet of 
 the combatants. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 1S9 
 
 "We will have to turn a little more to the 
 left, otherwise we shall come within range," 
 said Boleslaus to Petrowski. 
 
 *"• So I think, too," replied the old man ; 
 ** we might lose a couple of horses unneces- 
 sarily ; and I do not like to lose, when I can 
 get nothing in return." 
 
 ** Thou art right, old moustache ; and there 
 is nothing for us to do but "to ride round 
 that hill," replied Boleslaus, after having exa^ 
 mined the ground. 
 
 They turned down into a hollow where 
 they were soon under cover from the enemy's 
 fire, but where they could no longer see the 
 ensanguined battle-ground. In a short time 
 they reaidted the bivouac, and Boleslaus re- 
 ported to^Rasinski his unsuccessful exer- 
 tions. 
 
 " I know it already," he replied ; " for while 
 thou wert gone, we have found some persons 
 who are acquainted with the localities. But 
 there is a passage further up the stream, 
 which, however, we can only make use of to- 
 wards evening with any advantage; it is impas- 
 sable for artillery, as the banks are very steep 
 and overgrown with brushwood. To attack 
 the Russians in the reai- with»a whole corps, 
 is therefore impossible ; still, we might, per- 
 haps, alarm them a little, capture a troop of 
 marauders, and make some booty. This 
 charge has been entrusted to us. I am glad 
 of it ; we shall, at least, have some small 
 share in the affair of this day, where cavalry, 
 however, could do notliing more than stand 
 still and look on.*^' 
 
 Meanwhile, the battle, under the walls of the 
 town, continued with the greatest fury. Ra- 
 sinski and his officers had tjiken up a position 
 from whence they could observe the whole 
 scene. The position of the batteries near 
 the river was still one where death and mas- 
 sacre reigned paramount. The eyes of the 
 spectators were with painful anxiety directed 
 towards the spot where so many of their 
 comrades had to be sacrificed, in order to en- 
 sure the success of the day. A troop of 
 liorsemen emerged from the thick whirling 
 smoke, and took 'their way across the level 
 ground, towards the Emperor's tent. When 
 they came nearer, all with astonishment be- 
 held the King of Naples. He rode slowly, 
 returned the respectful salute of the officers, 
 and passed them without giving a look be- 
 hind. But one of the officers of his suite 
 rode up to RasinskL Jt was Colonel 
 nard. 
 
 " For God's sake, tell me," said Rasinski, 
 " what business had you over there in thvit 
 seething cauldron ? and the king, vVhat did he 
 want there ?" 
 
 " What he wanted ] Hardly what he is 
 doing now—riding back again. Strange 
 words must have passed yesterday between 
 
 9 
 
 Reg- 
 
 him and the emperor, for he is completely 
 changed. He insisted upon being shut down 
 in that infernal hole. When we begged of 
 him to ride back, he exclaimed, ' I will see no 
 one destroyed with myself!' and wished to 
 send away his aids. They unanimously as- 
 sured him that they would not stir a step. In 
 that moment a bombVruck the horse of his 
 fevorite, Duteuil, to the ground, ko that he 
 thought him dead. In consternation he leaped 
 from his horse, and drew him out from under 
 the weltering animal himself. When he saw 
 that he was still alive and uninjured, he em- 
 braced him, and said: 'Let us ride back, 
 then.' " 
 
 Bernard listened to this relation with ex- 
 cited attention, for he connected it, in his own 
 mind, with what he had observed yesterday 
 before the tent of the Emperor, but which he 
 had communicated to no one. 
 
 " And is it surmised by any one, what took 
 place between the Emperor and his brother- 
 in-law ?" asked Rasigski. 
 
 " By everybody," replied Regnard, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders; " he, as well as Duroe, 
 Dara, Loban, and in fact all of us, are dissa^ 
 tisfied enough with this campaign, and he has 
 probably had a quarrel with him about it. 
 The old song with the old chorus. Well, if 
 we lose twenty thousand men to-d:iy, in tak- 
 ing that heap of stones, it will be sung loud 
 enough to-morrow in the whole camp. At 
 least, every one will hum it silently to him- 
 self, or have it sounding in his cars. Good 
 morninEf!" And with these words he rode 
 on, not without having given cause for se- 
 rious thoughts in Rasinski's mind. . 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 The attacks upon Smolensko were inces- 
 sant during the whole day. The Russians 
 defended themselves with coolness, and made 
 great havoc. Thousands of warriors fell on 
 the field of death to rise no more, and still 
 the prize of these sacrifices had not been at- 
 tained, when the sun began to decline, and 
 finally sunk behind the clouds. 
 
 Tlie favorable moment had now arrived 
 for the execution of Rasinski's plans. He or- 
 dered his men to mount, and then marched 
 along the Dnieper, but so far from the banks 
 ,that he could not be discovered from the 
 other side. After proceeding for about an 
 hour, tliis precaution became unnecessary, for 
 it became perfectly dark. 
 
 "Let every one observe the strictest si- 
 lence. No one must smoke, or strike fire !" 
 
 This order, from Rasinski, was transmitted 
 
 
m 
 
 £I6HT££N HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 from file to file. He kept by his dde a young 
 man from the neighborhood, who served him 
 as guide ; he conversed with him in the Rus- 
 Man language, so that none of those around 
 him could understand what was said. The 
 whole expedition was to be kept secret. 
 They were in a wood of considerable extent, 
 when Rasinski ordered n halt. Accompanied 
 only by the guide, he rode forward, command- 
 ing the regiment to await his return. 
 
 The expectations of all were powerfully 
 aroused. Deep silence prevailed all around. 
 The roar of the battle, which for a length of 
 time hud been heard in the distance, liad 
 ceased. The setting in of night had put an 
 end to the bloody drama. The wind only 
 was heard, as it rustled among the branches 
 and tops of the trees ; and from time to time 
 was distinguished the monotonous cry of the 
 solitary moor-fowl. Half an hour passed 
 away in this manner. Rasinski returned and 
 gave orders to advance. This was done at a 
 slow pace. They had to ride up and down 
 some steep hills and declivities, overgrown 
 with serub-wood and fern. Unexpectedly 
 they found themselves on tlie edge of an ab- 
 rupt precipice ; the Dniep?r was rushing be- 
 neath. " By twos, forward I — follow me !" 
 said Rasinski, in a low voice, yet so that he 
 was heard by those nearest to him. In low 
 and continuous accents the order was repeated 
 through the whole line. His horse carefully 
 picked [lis way down the steep descent, after 
 which ho passed through the river, in this 
 place not more than three feet deep. Boles- 
 laus followed with his squadron. The others 
 had to wait a considerable time on the ele- 
 vated bank, as the passage could only be ef- 
 fected quite slowly. 
 
 Bernard, ever attentive to localities and 
 everything around him, jostled Louis on the 
 elbow, and pointing with his linger towards 
 the opposite shore, said : " Are not those win- 
 dows over there dimly lighted ? I think I 
 must be very much mistaken if we are not in 
 the vicinity of the castle that attracted our 
 notice yester morning." 
 
 " May be so," replied Louis ; " but only see 
 that brilliant light behind us. What can that 
 mean? Tlie whole sky above the forest shines 
 like buminof jjold." 
 
 " Perhaps it is the rising moon," said Ja- 
 ] omir, who had approached. 
 
 " That cannot be," said Bernard ; " for the 
 moon does not rise until midnight." 
 
 Now, a red, vivid fksh, as of lightning, 
 pierced the blackened heavens, throwing a 
 bloody reflexion across the turbid billows of 
 the stream below. 
 
 " That is fire," cried Jaromir. " Look — 
 look ! — Now it bursts forth ; the flames rise 
 in awful orrandeur. It must be Smolensko 
 
 burning 1" 
 
 (..jjfe. 
 
 There was shortly no doubt left of tius 
 fact ; for the lurid glow, intersected ^7 
 brighter belts of fire, rose every moment witn 
 greater vehemence on the horizon, and began 
 to throw its illuminating glare even on the 
 spot where tlie troops were posted. Now, 
 the black battlements and tufrets of the for- 
 tifications of the town began to stand out in 
 bold relief against the golden, ignited back- 
 ground; and the tops of the nearest trees ap- 
 peared as if decorated with a halo of late 
 evening glor)\ Such a beautiful, yet ten^fic 
 picture, filled every breast with a strango 
 shuddering. 
 
 " Seest thou now that I was right?" added 
 Bernard, turning to Louis and poioting to the 
 other bank ; " dost thou now reJ^nise the 
 castle in the light of those flames ? Hark ! 
 the bell in the village ! It is the alarm-bell, 
 I think." , 
 
 And, indeed, at the distance of hardly a 
 mile before them, lay the ancient structure. 
 A mysterious sensation took possession of 
 Louis' bosom. Could.it be that the prophecy, 
 uttered half in jest, was about coming true ? 
 Were carnage, murder, and flames to rage 
 even here ? 
 
 But there was no time allowed him to fol- 
 low these meditations, for, at that instant, the 
 troop to which he belonged set itself in 
 motion to pass through the river. Bernard 
 rode close by his side. When their horses 
 entered the water, he said, half jokingly, half 
 shuddering : " Do we ride through the Phle- 
 gethon, the Styx, or the Cocytus ? One does 
 not know whether it is a black or a fiery river 
 of the infernal regions." The bloody reflex- 
 ion of the flames, which fell far across the 
 waves, gave rise to this remark. " At least," 
 he continued, " to us it is the Rubicon which 
 we pass. Jacta est aha I We hardly know 
 whether we shall succeed in passing over, 
 much less if we shall ever repass it alive. At 
 any rate, I will now make my will, brother, 
 dost thou hear ? Whether the fishes in the 
 Dnieper or the ravens of old Russia shall riot 
 on my flesh, thou art my universal heir. But 
 my heart — I do not require that thou shouldst 
 extract that callous lump of flesh out of my 
 bosom — ^take it with thee back to thy sister 
 Mary, and divide it between you." 
 
 " How comest thou, just now, to speak of 
 my sister?" asked Louis, much moved. 
 
 " She is a jewel of a girl — a charming, ex- 
 cellent child, and deserves a better brother 
 than thou art ! But why she stands before, 
 my soul just at this moment, as if I had 
 drawn her portrait as faithfully as a mirror, I 
 know not : for though we see the bloom of 
 ideas, we know not where they were sown. 
 Enough, though my thoughts make some 
 twenty or thirty trips every day of my life to 
 Dresden or Toplitz, they have just now taken 
 
 M 
 
 # 
 > 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 131 
 
 ^ eiXri excursion, and speed like swallows 
 towards their home. True, there must be 
 some reason for it, for everything in creation 
 is the effect of a cause. I will make a me- 
 morandum, that, on the 17th of August, 
 just at ten o'clock at night, I thought of 
 Mary, and that just in this minute she has 
 become ten times dearer to me than ever." 
 
 Louis warmly pitssed the hand of his 
 friend. Although he often thought that he 
 discovered indications of a silent but deep af- 
 fection for his sister dwelling in Bernard's 
 breast, and with which he had been infinitely 
 pleased, yet the eccentric man had never per- 
 mitted even his friend to see clearly through 
 the distorting, many-colored prisms of his 
 jocund disposition. And then Louis always 
 had a feeling as if Bernard's soul was moved 
 by so many more elevated feelings and deeper 
 and impetuous passions, that the delicate 
 blossom of love, for such a gentle, shrinking 
 being as Mary, could hardly take root in this 
 turbulent chaos. He replied : " It is quite 
 natural that thou shouldst think of her. In 
 moments of estrangement the images of our 
 beloved ones rise before us with increased 
 distinctness." 
 
 " Yes, yes, thou art right," said Bernard, 
 partly in joke and partly to change the cur- 
 rent of the subject; "the present picture is 
 shaded infernally black, but light will soon be 
 shed upon it ; for those torches down there 
 upon the edge of the sky shine brighter and 
 brighter ; we shall soon be able to see the 
 mice running across the field. But I find the 
 Dnieper is confoundedly cold, and thy horse 
 has, besides, showered a whole mouthful of 
 water over my hips. Wouldst behave like a 
 good comrade, thou shouldst teach thy horse 
 better manners. God be praised I — land ! I 
 never had much taste for sea voyages." 
 
 While thus chatting together, they rode up 
 the other bank, which they found yet steeper 
 than the one they had left. 
 
 When the regiment was assembled, Ra- 
 sinski, at whose elbow the guide stendily re- 
 mained, placed himself at its head, and rode 
 full speed towards the castle, right before 
 lijm. 
 
 "^ They were now only a few hundred paces 
 from it. Rasinski commanded a halt. "Friends," 
 he said, " we are within reach of a prize. In 
 yonder castle, as I am I believe correctly in- 
 formed, are assembled many Russian gener- 
 als and nobles, to celebrate a marriage. My 
 intention is to seize them all by surprise. 
 Now let us quietly approach until we see the 
 ground clear before us, so that no further ob- 
 stacle can arrest our course. But then let 
 us fall upon them like a whirlwind ! Now, 
 forward, friends ! — be brave, be quick — dar- 
 ing, but cautious. Forward !" 
 
 They advanced until they reached a shelv- 
 
 ing ground. Rasinski then gave the word fof 
 the attack to be sounde(L Putting their 
 panting steeds on the gallop, the whde de- 
 tachment rushed forward on the path to the 
 castle and the adjoinmg village. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 The momentous events which had crowded 
 the sensibiUties of Feodorowna in so short a 
 space of time, and seriously affected the se- 
 renity of her mind, were well calculated finally 
 to overwhelm her. She had sunk upon a 
 sick bed ; a violent fever raged throughout 
 her highly-excited system : the physician 
 considered her sfcite very critical. Axinia 
 would therefore on no consideration leave the 
 bedside of her dear mistress, although Paul 
 as well as herself entertained great fears 
 about their own fate for the future, in case 
 Feodorowna should die before they could 
 succeed in getting out of the country. Axinia 
 was the more deterred from relinquishing her 
 part ; as the patient evidently could endure the 
 presence and attendance of no one else, and 
 immediately fell into an irritated and conse- 
 quently dangerous state, as soon as other as- 
 sistance offered to come near her. This was 
 especially the case with regard to her mother: 
 her presence always inspiring Feodorowna 
 with a certain terror, and throwing her into 
 spasms of anguish as often as she approached 
 her couch. In her calmer moments Jeannette 
 was permitted to take the place of the ex- 
 hausted Axinia ; but as soon as the fever in- 
 creased, Feodorowna, with the impatience in- 
 cident to disease, again asked for Axinia. 
 Nearly a month passed in this melancholy 
 manner. Feodorowna began slowly to amend, 
 but she was so reduced by sickness that her 
 life was still in imminent danger. Though 
 such violent paroxysms of fever were no 
 longer tp be apprehended, yet it seemed very 
 doubtful whether the system retained suffi- 
 cient vital power to rally from such utter 
 prostration. But the mild season which set 
 in just then had a beneficial influence upon 
 her. July, with its ardent sun spreading a ricii 
 glow over even these northern wilds, quick- 
 ened the bruised and broken stamina of life 
 into the expansion of a renewed bloom. Feo- 
 dorowna recovered almost against her will : 
 and if the deep, hidden grief which corroded 
 her heart had not manifested its traces on her 
 cheek and lips, and slightly dimmed the bril- 
 liant azure of her eye, her charming person 
 would have developed itself in a loveliness 
 resembhng that of a rose in whose chalice 
 the trembling drops of a passing shower still 
 
 ¥ 
 
■ •» 
 
 132 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 glisten. But she was not refreshed by the 
 showers of heaven — she was broken solely by 
 its storms. 
 
 He who is himself a sufferer has a heart 
 full of sympathy for the wishes and sufferings 
 of others. Feodorowna therefore felt that it 
 was her first duty to dispel the last threaten- 
 ing cloud from Axinia's mind — ^to hasten her 
 marriage and departure with Paul. Father 
 Gregorius pronounced the benediction of the 
 church over the young couple, and on the same 
 day they left the castle, laden with rich pre- 
 sents, to seek through the track of the war 
 the way to the enjoyment of quiet felicity on 
 a different soil. 
 
 Feodorowna now remained entirely alone ; 
 for in defiance of the great sacrifice she had 
 made, notwithstanding the resignation with 
 which she had yielded to the command of her 
 parents, her motiier continued ever frigid and 
 unfeeling. She did not seem even to hai'bor 
 any pity for the consuming sorrows and pain 
 which Feodorowna endured for her sake. It 
 ;s true ?he had never shown herself other- 
 wise, and in former years had returned the 
 warmest love of her daughter only with a 
 kind of haughty complacency. 
 
 Feodorowna had been accustomed to this, 
 and saw in those stiff and chilling formali- 
 ties, nothing but the sacred superiority of the 
 maternal relation, which she felt bound to 
 obey and lionor. But now she felt, that a 
 living, self-sacrificing child stands in need of 
 a mother's heart of a different stamp. Thus 
 tier love had been transmuted into the awed 
 terror of forced respect, and that which had 
 so strongly manifested itself during her sick- 
 ness, now appeared at least in its most prom- 
 iaent traces. She was seized>vith a kind of 
 indefinable terror whenever she found herself 
 in the presence of those with whom her 
 wounded breast ought to have found consola- 
 tion and relief. 
 
 Ochalskoi and Dolgorow were with the 
 army ; but the latter had sent written word 
 during the first days of August, that he should 
 shortly arrive at the castle, to celebrate the 
 nuptials of Feodorowna with the Prince, 
 for which now, all the preparations had 
 been completed. . The obstacles which till 
 now had existed, had rested chiefly in the 
 family of Ochalskoi, who according to an old 
 family compact, needed the consent of some 
 relations before he could marry. These per- 
 sons' private interests were concerned in the 
 fulfilment of this compact, and as from selfish 
 motives they would rather have seen the 
 * Prince married to a nearer relation, it had 
 cost some trouble to overcome their objections, 
 and this had not been done without some sac- 
 rifices on the part of 0chalskoi. He had 
 BOW obtained three days leave of absence to 
 celebrate his marriage, after which his young 
 
 wife and her mother, were immediately to 
 journey over Kalouga to bis domains in Asia, 
 that they might be entirely removed from the 
 distracted scenes of the war. This was at the 
 very moment when the.great Russian army 
 had quickly thrown itself into Smolensko so 
 as not to be cut off by the French. On the same 
 night, when the army had already began its re- 
 treat from the fortress to Moscow, Dolgorow 
 and Ochalskoi arrived at the castle. The mar- 
 riage which waste be performed by Gregorius, 
 was fixed to take place the following morn- 
 ing. In accordance with Dolgorow's wish, 
 the nuptial night was to be passed at the 
 castle ; but on the next morning the gen- 
 tlemen were again to repair to their posts in 
 the army, while the ladies were to set out 
 upon their journey toOchalskoi's eststes over 
 Jelina and Kalouga. 
 
 The appalling moment had then arrived 
 when Feodorowna saw the dark prison open 
 before her in which she was to sigh away 
 her entire future existence. Even the sweet 
 consolation to have by this sacrifice establish- 
 ed the happiness of others, became powerless 
 in view of the approaching reality. The 
 poor victim had no more tears to shed. She 
 looked upon her future with a cold shudder 
 only. Everything conspired to make the day 
 a dreadful one. In the distance was heard 
 the deep roar of the cannon from the beseigcd 
 fortress ; whenever she went to the window 
 of her chamber, she saw long straggling . 
 lines of hiTsemen, who being the last remains 
 of the great retreating army, passed in disor- 
 der over the field, along the high road to Mos- 
 cow, about half a mile from the castle. The 
 sight of these hordes of Tartars and Cos- • 
 sacks, who came from countries not yet 
 reached by European culture, and among 
 whom she was to reside in future, filled her 
 with gloomy horror. *' Oh why did I become 
 acquainted with lands more beautiful, man- 
 ners more refined, men more civilized ! " she 
 sighed. " But neither was I happy there ; only 
 brief and pleasant dreams, reflected their 
 charm? upon the dark background of my 
 days." 
 
 Lost in painful revery, the unhappy bride 
 stood at the window, looking out upon the* 
 sterile landscape, through which raged the 
 havoc of war, and out upon the lead-colored 
 sky, towards which the clouds of battle heavi- 
 ly rolled. Suddenly she felt herself slightly 
 touched by the hand. It was Jeannette car- 
 rying the bridal dress on her arm. Feodo- 
 rowna shrank in dismay, a sigh escaping her 
 at the same time ; yet no words of com- 
 plaint were heard from her lips ; passively , 
 she suffered herself to be adorned like the 
 victim led to the altar. 
 
 Jeaniiette had just placed the bridal wreath 
 among her tresses when Ochalskoi entered, 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 133 
 
 to offer hia devoirs and to conduct her to the 
 charch, where Gregorius was awaiting them. 
 When she must yield to unavoidable neces- 
 sity Feodorowna ever summoned a heroic for- 
 titude to her aid. In silence, but with a firm 
 step she descended the broad stairs, leaning 
 on Ochalskoi's arm. In the saloon she was 
 received by her parents and the assembled 
 guests. There were only a few male 
 relatives of the two families, mostly el- 
 derly gentlemen of high rank, and several 
 generals, who being Ochalskoi's superiors, 
 had been invited. The procession, headed by 
 the young bridal pair, moved towards the 
 church. The inhabitants of the village had 
 assembled and formed a double line, through 
 which Feodorowna passed, saluting her 
 friends on either side with a melancholy affa- 
 bility. Flowers were strewed on her path ; 
 but they could not cover the yawning gulf 
 which the bride saw opening beneath her. 
 
 The guests and the people were also sol- 
 emn, for a marriage ceremony celebrated un- 
 der circumstances such as the present, when 
 the cheerful tolling of the bells was accom- 
 panied by the not distant roar of a dreadful 
 conflict ; with hundreds of bleeding victims 
 sinking, while words of peace and blessing 
 are pronounced, cannot be called a happy 
 event ! Gregorius spoke with deep emotion, 
 grave but consoling ; all listened in solemn 
 silence. In a few minutes the rites of the 
 church were performed and the procession 
 took its way back to the castle where a din- 
 ner was prepared for the assembled guests. 
 During the repast, the cannonading contin- 
 ued, in fact increased in violence. The 
 Countess Dolgorow became alarmed, and 
 suggested whether it would not be best to 
 break up the festivity. 
 
 "We are here in perfect safety," said 
 one of the generals at the table ; " Smolensko 
 is the key of this road. As long as that gate 
 is shut no enemy can trouble us. And we 
 are moreover secured against any little annoy- 
 ance by large troops of Cossacks, who patrol 
 up and down along the banks of the river." 
 
 ''Yet I wish," said Dolgorow with a dark 
 look, " that more efficient measures might be 
 adopted for our defence, although it comports 
 well with my family plans that this has not 
 been-done ; for otherwise I would hardly have 
 found a leisure day on which the marria le 
 of my daughter would have been possible. 
 But the welfare of the land is paramount 
 with me, and I think it would have been 
 more serviceable to the country had a battle 
 been accepted when offered to us under such 
 favorable circumstances as here has been 
 the case. I candidly confess that I cannot 
 sympathize in the views of the Field-Marshal, 
 who ever seeks safety in retreat." 
 
 " No more does any one of us," replied the 
 
 general^ in a decided tone. " If Count Bar- 
 day de Tolly were a born Russian, he would 
 not bear the disgrace of our country so philo- 
 sophically. But here, when I see none but 
 true Russians together, I may say a word in 
 confidence. I think that the greatest part of 
 this state of affairs has passed by ; it is said 
 that the Emperor has at last yielded to the 
 pressing arguments of all classes, and of 
 men high in office, and that he has determin- 
 ed to confer the chief command upon another." 
 
 " The Prince Bagration ? " asked Dolgo- 
 row quickly. 
 
 " I am not yet at liberty to mention names," 
 replied the general, '' but ho is a noble, well- 
 deserving Russian. Already negotiations 
 have been entered into with him. A brother 
 in arms of Suwarow will restore to Russia 
 its ancient glory." 
 
 " Then it is Prince Kutosow and none 
 other," said Ochalskoi with great anima- 
 tion. " To tfiat worthy old man, be he our 
 commander-in-chief or not, let this bumper 
 be drained." At the same time he stood up 
 and raised the brimming goblet to his lips. 
 The rest followed his example, touching each 
 others' glasses. 
 
 " Be our leader, who he may," said Dolgo- 
 row in a loud voice, " we will word our toast 
 in such a manner that it can apply to none 
 but a worthy object. To that son of Russia, 
 who inflicts a bloody revenge for the wrongs 
 done his country." 
 
 " Vivat hurrah ! " cried they all, amid the 
 clatter of glasses and goblets. 
 
 The Countess Dolgorow rose.her eye beam- 
 ing with unusual brilliancy, her habitually 
 cold and rigid ftfitures quite animated. 
 
 "Then I also will bear in mind the ancient 
 custom of my country," she said, " and thou 
 Feodorowna follow ray example." 
 
 With these words she look the veil from her 
 head, tore it in pieces and distributed strips 
 among the gentlemen sitting nearest to her. 
 The bride also took off her veil, beneath which, 
 till now, she had tried to hide her agonized 
 features. A virgin blush overspread her coun- 
 tenance when she tore and divided it. 
 
 "Accept ir, my husband," she said in a trem- 
 ulous voice, " take with you into the battle this 
 memento of the wife you leave behind ; take it 
 also, ye worthy defenders of my coantry. Mav 
 it in the hour of danger remind yoa that it is 
 the aim and purpose of your valiant deeJs to 
 preserve inviolate to the daughters of Russia 
 the sanctuary of female purity, and that their 
 warmest, heartful thanks will be awarded 
 you when once crowned with laurels, you 
 can return this emblem of consecration, enno- 
 bled by previous drops of blood from heroic 
 patriots." 
 
 Feodorowna had cast her eye to the ground 
 while she uttered these words to the old war- 
 
134 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 rior, who occupied the place of honor at her 
 
 right. He replied by seizing her hand and 
 
 imprinted an impassioned liiss upon it, saying, 
 
 '• Bearing the memory of sucn a hand, one 
 
 foes into battle as gaily as to a wedding party, 
 hope, charming lady, soon to return to you 
 this sign, embroidered with true Russian 
 blood, for I should be truly proud of doing 
 so, that you might redeem it according to the 
 custom of our country." 
 
 A deeper blush now colored Feodorowna's 
 cheek, because the privilege, thrice to kiss 
 the fresh lips of the woman, or virgin, whose 
 keepsake was thus returned, could, accord- 
 ing to the old custom, never be refused to the 
 valiant son of his country, by any daughter 
 of Rurik's race, a custom which long since 
 had been expunged from the manners of the 
 day, only recorded in historical tradition, and 
 which lately had again been called into ex- 
 istence. For in any great crisis in their 
 fortunes nations love to remember the usages 
 of their fathers, the antiquated manners of 
 their couutry, their heroes, and their national 
 history with growing gratitude ; often not 
 without inwardly reoroaching themselves for 
 having so long forgotten these hallowed tra- 
 ditions. 
 
 The evening had set in when the banquet 
 broke up, and the guests dispersed to pass 
 the time in the adjoining rooms. Feodorow- 
 na looked forward with trembling anxiety 
 to the approaching hour when, left alone with 
 her husband, she would be compelled to en- 
 counter the last fearful struggle with her 
 lacerated heart. 
 
 It was then that Jeannette approached her 
 at a moment when she had i^tired to an ad- 
 joining room from the comPfny to arrangS 
 something about her dress, informing her, 
 that Gregorius was in her chamber, urgent- 
 ly desiring to see her. Feodorowna hasten- 
 ed gladly to comply with the request of the 
 worthy old man. Alas ! her whole heart was 
 drawn towards him, for from him alone she 
 expected to receive consolation and strength 
 for the trying ordeal which she was about 
 to encounter, She^ found him in her room, 
 with an expression of countenance more seri- 
 ous than usual. * 
 
 " My daughter," he addressed her, " the 
 hour has come, when I must speak to thee 
 of important things. Thou art now irrevo- 
 cably the consort ot Prince Ochalskoi, for the 
 sacred rites of the church have united you. 
 Death alone can dissolve the union." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear father," faltered Feodorow- 
 na, " I know it, but I shall not falter in' the 
 discharge of my duties. To him, to whom 
 with repulsive heart I gave my word I shall 
 be faithful and devoted until the end of my 
 days. Alas ! I hope this will not be far off! " 
 
 Overcome with grief she leaned her weary 
 
 head on the breast of the venerable priest. 
 
 " It is not of this that I wish to speak, 
 dear daughter," replied Gregorius, mildly, 
 " for I am convinced of the strength of thy 
 virtues. I came to impart to thee a secret 
 which thy nurse Rushka, entrusted to me as 
 a last confession on her death-bed, and which 
 in case death should have taken me from 
 this world, she penned with her own hand 
 in these pages. I promised her on my sacer- 
 dotal oath not to divulge their contents to 
 thee until thy marriage should be celebrated. 
 This has taken place, and I may now open 
 my lips. Thou art not Dolgorow's daughter, 
 no native of this country. Germany is thy 
 native land, but thy parents have long since 
 departed this world. Count Dolgorow took 
 thee as his child because his wife gave him 
 no hope of becoming a father. These are 
 the portraits of thy parents which Rushka 
 gave to me." 
 
 With these wbrds he handed to Feodo- 
 rowna a letter and an open pocket-book with 
 two portraits, representing a young lady and 
 an officer. 
 
 Like a statue Feodorowna stood before 
 Gregorius, her eyes staring and fixed, and 
 making fruiltess attempts to speak. Half 
 unconsciously she took the things which 
 Gregorius handed to her and put them on 
 the table before her. Finally, pressing her 
 folded hands violently against her bosom, she 
 uttered with a shrink of terror the words : 
 "Not their daughter! — and yet — Oh, Almighty 
 God ! " 
 
 " Calm thyself, my child," said Gregorius 
 mildly, " turn thy heart humbly toward Him 
 who wonderfully guides the fate of man. I 
 have discovered to thee what was most im- 
 portant and most necessary. Read these 
 papers and thou wilt learn everything further 
 to be known in this matter. I must now leave 
 thee. Let the first violent emotion subside 
 which now labors in tumultuous billows with- 
 in thy breast. When thou art alone thou 
 wilt soon regain thy self-possession. — 
 Shouldst thou stand in need of me more, send 
 for me." 
 
 With these words the old man left the 
 room. Feorodowna was unable to give a re- 
 ply ; she staggered to a seat and rested her 
 heavy head in her hands. It was long before 
 she was able to open the papers which were 
 to disclose to her the secret of her life. The 
 likenesses of her parents lay before her ; with 
 fixed gaze she looked upon them, but the 
 streaming tears drowned her sight. Finally 
 she opened the five seals of the letters address- 
 ed to her, and read what Rushka had written 
 with her own aged and trembling hand as 
 follows : I 
 
 *'My Deae Child:— ^■'* 
 
 " As long as I lived, an awful oath, ford- 
 
.'^<KAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 IS5 
 
 Uyeolorted from i^«ealed my lips;. when 
 I am no more, my voice shall still sound from 
 my grave, to disclose to thee the mystery in 
 which thy youth is enveloped. Thou art 
 neither the daughter of Dolgorow nor of the 
 countess. Thou wert but a few days old 
 when in Germany, after thy mother's death, 
 they adopted thee as their own child. At 
 that time the count had been married already 
 four years ; he had given up the hope of ever 
 becoming a father. The loneliness of a 
 childless life, but more than this, the desire 
 to see strange countries, had induced him to 
 undertake extensive journies. In May of 
 the year 1 793 he was at Pyrmont ; here he 
 became acquainted with thy mother, who, as 
 a widow, accompanied her son, a beautiful 
 boy five years old, with brown curly hair, 
 named Berno ; thou wert at this time yet 
 unborn. She had come hither to regain her 
 impaired health. Her name was Louisa 
 Waldhekn ; her husband was an officer, and 
 had been killed in a duel. Thrown by this 
 disaster into a state of indigence, and being 
 sickly, expecting the birth of another child, 
 handsome and gentle as she was, she attract- 
 ed, notwithstanding her secluded habits the 
 attention of several of the richer bathing 
 guests. The Countess Dolgorow, who had 
 hired the second story of the house in which 
 thy mother occupied a small room, proposed 
 to receive her as a companion, and undertake 
 to teach the count and herself the Ger- 
 man language. Thy mother, urged by her 
 pressing wants, accepted the offer ; three 
 months later, when we had. already left Pyr- 
 mont, and were on a journey to Switzerland 
 and Italy, thou wast born. In a solitary inn, 
 not far from Freibourg, in the Black Forest, 
 thou first opened thine eyes upon the light of 
 day. As the confinement of thy mother ap- 
 proached, the count first wanted to leave her 
 with the good people on the spot, let me stay 
 with her, and himself to continue the journey 
 with the countess until we sHould be able to 
 follow them. But a tlight indisposition of 
 the countess herself induced him to partici- 
 pate in our seclusion until thy mother should 
 be fully restored. But she did not recover ; 
 on the eleventh day after thy birth she died. 
 I was her attendant in the last hours of her 
 life ; when dying siie entrusted to me the care 
 of her children and handed me her whole 
 little property to keep for you. Among otlier 
 trinkets there were her own. and her hus- 
 band's weddinj? rings. Immediately after 
 the interment, I remarked that the count was 
 revolving some important plan in his mind ; 
 he often locked himself up with the countess, 
 and they frequently had long and animated 
 conversations together ; several times when 
 I was present, ite spoke in English, which I 
 did not understand ; I could only ascertain 
 
 that thou wert the subject of their dis- 
 cussion, as they both often looked at thee 
 with marked attention. A few days after- 
 wards the count discharged the two German 
 servants whom he had with him, under the 
 pretence that in Italy he wanted to engage 
 native help ; he gave them money fur their 
 journey and sent them back to their homes. 
 Finally, one morning, he called me and told 
 me that it was his intention to adopt thee as 
 his daughter. I was of course very glad at 
 this, for the fate of the two children liad often 
 weighed heavily on my mind ; but my joy 
 soon turned to the deepest sadoess when h& 
 declared that he would provide for the brother 
 in a different manner, as it . must remain a 
 profound secret that the countess was not 
 the child's mother. ' Then the two are to 
 be separated '? ' I exclaimed in fear and 
 amazement. ' It will be no misfortune for 
 them, since they have never known each 
 other,' replied the count harshly. I was silent 
 and confused. ' But,' he continued, ' you are 
 the only one who knows the secret; but I de- 
 mand of you that you take a solemn oath on 
 the consecrated Host, never to divulge it. 
 If thou refuse, recollect that thyself and thy 
 brothers are my serfs — that with one word 
 I can plunge you all back into the most gall- 
 ing servitude.' This threat was terrible. 
 Through the kindness of the old count, the 
 father of thy foster-father, my brothers, had 
 already become rich merchants in Moscow. 
 But the pride of the Russian nobles to pos- 
 sess rich serfs was the reason that, though 
 otherwise welWisposedy he had not gives 
 them their letters of emancipatioii. I knew 
 what was the terrible lot which awaited tliem 
 if [ should refuse to take the oath. And 
 moreover, as the count's resolution seemed to 
 secure thy happiness, as I considered that 
 thou couldst lose nothing in a brother whom 
 thou hadst never known, and when finally on 
 my prayers he promised to provide for the 
 boy liberally, I resolved to submit to Iiis will. 
 But now, in the approaching hour of death, 
 knowing that thou art fiir away from 
 me, my dearest child — the upbraidings 
 of an awakened conscience forbid that I 
 should envenom and crush thy true and 
 loving heart by persevering in an eternal un- 
 truth. The countess could come into pos- 
 session of a great portion of her estates when 
 she had become a mother and left issue. It 
 was not afl'ection, but self-interest, the basest 
 egotism which prompted both of them to adopt 
 this plan. It is only two years ago, shortly 
 before his departure for England, that she 
 received this inheritance, which was just 
 about sufficient to repair the count's finances, 
 which had -become greatly embarrassed 
 through extravagance and love of splendor, 
 which his means did not warrant' Now be 
 
 "^'^ 
 
1^6 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 thinks to gain a rich son-in-law through thy 
 means, whose beauty and angehc kindness 
 captivate every heart. Thou hast been 
 educated to take thy rank among the rich 
 and nohle ; ihou hast gained the prerogatives 
 of being free-born ! O my dear ! these pre- 
 rogatives are infinitely great. Shouldst 
 thou learn the secret of thy birth too soon it 
 might pnt tiiese advantages in jeopard}'. It 
 iijlitit tijeretore nut be imparted to thee until, 
 by thy mirriage with a free-born Russian, 
 the privilpges of thy position in society shall 
 have been irrevocably confirmed. I have 
 confessed all to good father Giegorius, which 
 like a heavy weight burdened my soul ; I en- 
 trust him with this paper, that he may guard 
 it in ihc vestry of the church, and destroy it in 
 case thou shouldst die unmarried, or deliver 
 it into thy iiands when no one can deprive 
 thee of th;it which has been purchased with 
 the loss of a brother." 
 
 Ftodorowna was obliged to lay the paper 
 aside, the bursting tears preventing her from 
 reading any farther. But she scion recovered 
 from this weakness, by a burning impa- 
 tience, especially to learn something respect- 
 ing her brotiier's fate. 
 
 "Having taken the oath my master thus 
 exacted from me, I left the apartment. The 
 little, five-years old boy, thy brother, ran 
 gaily but quietly up to me and with his tiny 
 hngiers pointed to the cradle to show me how 
 gently thou wast sleeping. I now recollect- 
 od the two rings. A dark foreboding, for 
 which I could not account to myself, prompt- 
 ed me to secure to the boy, at least this one 
 memento. Quickly I took his Sunday dress 
 and SL' wed the rinf jnto the linin". It was 
 well that I did so — for in a few moments the 
 count entered and ordered me to dress the 
 boy, as he would drive out with him. An 
 ominous look told me what was his intention. 
 With tears I executed the command. The 
 boy could not understand why I wept, but 
 was glad of the drive he was to have. His 
 impatience — yes, his impetuosity, for he was 
 as wild and lively as he was good-natured — 
 made him hardly able to await the moment 
 when he could enter the carriage with the 
 count. 
 
 *• ' Something hurts me, here !' he cried ; 
 angrily, when 1 buttoned his coat, putting his 
 hand to the ring. Afraid, lest in this manner 
 he might himself betray what I had done, I 
 quickly cut open one of the folds, that the i 
 )re?sure might not be so great. If the count ' 
 lad discovered my secret, it would have gone 
 lard with me. But I could not act other- 
 wise. To my great astonishment I saw that : 
 post-horses were put to the count's travel- ' 
 ling carriage. Some minutes afterwards he 
 entered it with the child, and 1 have never 
 seen the boy since. What has become of I 
 
 him I know not — for on ^e next morninf I 
 left with the countess and thyself, following 
 the count, who, it was said, had gone on 
 before. Three days afterwards we met him 
 at Cologne. He was silent and I did not 
 dare to make inquiries. Thence we travel- 
 led into Holland, then to England, because 
 existing circumstances made an Italian lour 
 hazardous. It was three years before we 
 ! returned to Russ^ia. Thou wast now regard- 
 ed as the Countess Peodorovvna Dolgorow, 
 and as such thou wast brought up. The 
 ring, my dearest child, wliich I, at my de- 
 parture, prayed thee never to part with, but 
 to keep always in memory of me, is thy 
 mother's wedding ring. By it thou mayest 
 some day, perhaps, find thy brother. 1 know 
 of nothing more I have to reveal to thee. — 
 But I adjure thee keep these secrets faith- 
 fully, and do not impart them even to thy 
 foster-parents — for I am afraid their revenge 
 would overtake my still living brothers. No 
 mortal but thyself and pious father Gregori- 
 us are cognizant of these things, and his 
 lips are sealed by the sacred inviolability of 
 the confessional." 
 
 "Now f;ire\^ll, my dear child! Forgive 
 me, whatever wrong I have done thee, for the 
 sake of that love which I alwavs entertained 
 for thee. Mayest thou be happy on earth as 
 thou art good and beautifbl ; then thou wilt 
 not shed so many tears, not pass so many 
 anxious and restless nights as I have endur- 
 ed. Thy three-seore and ten years old faith- 
 ful nurse, Rushka." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 I ^ 
 Feodorowna was thrown into the greatest 
 excitement by tjje perusal of this letter. In 
 her consternation she could form no resolu- 
 tion. Now she wanted to call Gregorius, 
 now run down to her pjirents, and now again 
 disclose everything to her husband. She 
 gtized with tear-bedimmed eyes upon the por- 
 traits of her parents. "Oh, how charming 
 the features of my mother, how noble and 
 manly those of my father !" The sight of the 
 unknown departed penetrated her soul with 
 a softening emotion. "Oh, you would have 
 loved your daughter n,ow truly ?" she sighed, 
 " alas ! now I know why I was sacrificed." 
 For a long time she stood irresolute, painful 
 thoughts laperating her heart. Finally she 
 rung the bell and ordered Jeannette to call 
 Father Gregorius. He had been waiting in 
 the antechamber. " Oh, my father, my pre- 
 server, what shall I do ?" she exclaimed, raia- 
 ing, aa he entered, her hands. 
 
^ 
 
 ,<;f,;: 
 
 * 
 
 m 
 
■■*J 
 
 t ^ aA ' ;.. 
 
 ^ 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Wt 
 
 He felt Rashka's ring on her finger. *^ This 
 is the only token," she said, " by which I am 
 to recognise my brother. Alas, and but a 
 short time ago, I was- near losing it forever ! 
 But God watched over me ! It happened — 
 
 forgive me — ^I was about to trouble you 
 with a silly story, and at this time, when mo- 
 ments are so precious. What is your advice, 
 my father? I am no longer Count Dol- 
 gorow's daughter, I am no longer bound to 
 sacrifice myself for his sake." 
 
 " The sacrifice has been made by thee," 
 interrupted Gregorius wildly, but with holy 
 earnest. " Thou art the wife of Prince Och- 
 alskoi, the indissoluble band of the Church 
 has united you, and this band death alone can 
 annul." 
 
 " Oh heavenly mercy !" exclaimed Feodo- 
 rowna" — " nor even when extorted by fraud 
 and falsehood !" . 
 
 " Not even then, my daughter !" 
 
 " Theil let me be styled his wife, but never 
 shall I be such until the brother of whom 
 they have robbed me shall be restored to my 
 sight. Alas, why did not the light of truth 
 break one day sooner upon this black tissue 
 of deception, before I was irrevocably fet- 
 tered. Father, you couM have saved me from 
 this abyss, but your iron tongue remained 
 mute !" 
 
 Exhausted, she fell upon a seat ; her arms 
 fell at her side. Gregorius approached her, 
 took her gently by one hand, while with the 
 other he pointed towards heaven. "Vows 
 are sacred, are inviolable, my daughter. The 
 Lord blesses those who faithfully observe 
 their solemn engagements. Reflect that 
 the prayers of the dying, that fate ^" - 
 
 "How!" exclaimed Feodorowna passion- 
 ately ; " should the fear of a fresh imposition 
 from him who robbed me of my brother deter 
 me fjBom demanding my most sacred rights ] 
 Rushka fears the fate of her brothers — must 
 
 1 therefore forever renounce my own good 1 
 No ! I will confront Count Dolgorow and 
 ask him, ' Where is my brother V ^ With a 
 word he can restore him to me." 
 
 *' Deareht daughter, thou art beside thyself, 
 thou dost not know what thou wouldst do," 
 replied Gregorius in a consolatory voice ; •' be- 
 come calm and thou wilt act differently. How 
 if Count Dolgorow should deny the truth of 
 Rushka's confession ? And must he not do 
 so to avoid drawing down the worst conse- 
 quences upon his own head ? Or dost thou 
 think that he who possesses courage to do 
 the deed, would lack enough to d^end it ? 
 What proofs hast thou against him ? Wil[ 
 not his declaration receive as much credence 
 as that of the serf, Rushka? Hast thou not 
 been christened as his daughter ? Did not I, 
 myself, in this church, touch thy temples with 
 the holy symbol ? Oh, my daughter, subdue 
 
 thy overwrought feelings, for thou wouldst 
 only heap sorrow upon sorrow ! Thou 
 wouldst gain nothing but the enmity of father, 
 mother and husband, and cause conten- 
 tion, strife and confusion, without obtaining 
 either counsel or credit for thyself. And 
 canst thou forget the holy vows pronounced 
 but a few hours .ago ? Is it thy husband who 
 deceived thee ? Canst thou refuse fidelity and * 
 obedience to him because others have done 
 thee wrong ? And was not this wrong accom- 
 panied by a thousand instances of kindness 
 bestowed upon thee? Hast thou not been 
 fostered with care? Were not thy foster 
 parents the same as if they had given thee 
 life ? No, my daughter ! do not forsake the 
 path of humility and endurance which the 
 Lord has traced out for thee. If there is 
 any hope left to thee of ever again finding 
 thy brother, it is to be found only in a resolu- ' 
 tion to bury the secret in uncomplaining 
 silence within thine own bosom. And dost 
 thou know whether thou dost not perhaps 
 draw down misery upon his head, if thou 
 shouldst ever demand that he be restored to 
 thee? Conjecture how far away he maybe 
 from thee ! Listen to the words of thy old 
 faithful pastor, and promise him that thou 
 wilt follow his advice, and as long as he shall 
 still wander on this earth he will stand by • 
 thee in unshaken fidelity. And should the 
 Lord call him home, his prayer shall ever in 
 the other world entail the blessing of heaven 
 upon thee." 
 
 The old man's right hand grasped both of 
 Feodorowna's. Her breast rose convulsively *" 
 in a violent mental struggle. "Well, then, 
 be it so," she faltered. " That also is over- 
 come. I promise to be silent. But," she 
 continued, rising in a majestical attitude and 
 pointing to heaven : " I swear, and may the 
 Almighty hear my oath ! — I swear from this 
 hour unceasing search after my brother, and 
 if I find him, no power on earth shall pre- 
 vent me from pressing him to my heart and 
 exclaiming : '1 am thy sister !' — I must now 
 go down again ; I can do it, for I am com- 
 posed. Now leave me, my father ; but come 
 and see me once more to-morrow, before I 
 leave this castle Torever." 
 
 She stretched him her hand. Gregyius 
 laid his right hand upon her drooping n^d, 
 pronounced a blessing over her, and left in 
 silence. * 
 
 Feodorowna still needed some moments to 
 collect herself. She was on the point of 
 leaving the room when the door opened knd 
 Ochalskoi entered. In alarm, she involunta- 
 rily took a step backwards. But Ochalskoi 
 with engaging softness approached her, and 
 taking her hand, said: "Did I frighten you, 
 my dear ? You will certaiiily pardon me, it 
 my love impels me to see* you. We have 
 
 ' V 
 
 .iJki' 
 
138 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 missed you nearly an hotur. I cannot blame 
 you for withdrawing from the company, but 
 you will understand that the same wish has 
 actuated me. Feodorowna! the happiest 
 hour of my life has arrived! I clasp the 
 most lovely, the most beautiful of her sex 
 within my arms. The wall of external cir- 
 cumspectntess is now broken down; will you 
 • not lovingly, entirely be mine ?" 
 
 While speaking these words he embraced 
 her, kissing her pale lips and cheeks. Trem- 
 bling, she could neitlier oppose nor respond 
 to his tender words ; silently she permitted 
 the embraces to which he had acquired a right. 
 " If thou art willing Feodorowna," he con- 
 tinued, " this is the moment of our auspicious 
 union. We must resolutely snatch the fleet- 
 ing moments of happiness allowed in these 
 iron times. It would be cruel to retard them 
 were it only for a second. Charming girl, you 
 would not trifle ? We are now in the sweet 
 sanctuary of love, and no one will disturb us. 
 Your mother herself told me to seek you. 
 The guests have just left the castle. The 
 peasants and servants alone, in their way, 
 celebrate the day of our happiness with 
 games and dances. I have already sent away 
 Jeannette. Sweetest, it is only one short 
 night we can steal from a cruel fate, which 
 to-morrow demands our separation." 
 
 The anguish of her heart had deprived the 
 unhappy girl of speech. Ochalskoi imagined 
 that her silence proceeded from virgin bash- 
 fulness, that her quiet endurance was loving, 
 yielding resignation, the feverish throbbing 
 of her breast, the excitement of blissful emo- 
 tion moved with increasing ardor ; he pressed 
 his burning lips to her pale countenance, his 
 right arm held her closely embraced, while 
 liis left hand, as if in tlie officious dalliance 
 of love, unloosened her rich tresses. 
 
 Feodorowna, with already ebbing strength, 
 endeavored to extriciite herself from Ochal- 
 skoi's embrace. He attributed her eftbrt to 
 the promptings of maidenly timidity — espe- 
 cially that the lights were still burning on the 
 table. 
 
 •* I understand thee, dearest," he whispered ; 
 "it is only in hallowed obscurity that the 
 tender blossoms of love may be plucked." 
 
 With a quick motion he extinguished the 
 tapers, and drew the fainting girl into his lap, 
 at the same time seating liimself upon the 
 ottoman. * 
 
 "The bridal chamber is ready, Feodorowna 
 ^thy ba.shful struggles are in vain. Now no 
 mortal, no deity can any longer despoil me of 
 
 my sacred right of culling this charming rose 
 Fly ! thou timid roe, hide thyself beneath the 
 soft, silken cover of the couch which is to re- 
 ceive u^ both — fly ! but I shall follow thee — 
 two minutes mor^and we are forever one and 
 onited!" 
 
 Here he momentarily released the agonized 
 girl from his encircling arms. She would es- 
 cape from him, but she no longer knew what 
 she did. Trembling, she staggered towards the 
 door of the room — she opened it, but with a 
 loud shriek, as she recoiled and fell senseless 
 to the floor. 
 
 Ochalskoi, frightened himself, sprang up, 
 for upon Feodorowna's opening the door, he 
 saw her figure illumined by a red glare; while 
 a broad line of a reflected blaze darted into 
 the room. 
 
 " Death and hell, what is this !" he exclaim- 
 ed. 
 
 It was the flames of burning Smolensko, 
 which had just broken through the canopy of 
 smoke, that till now had kept them smothered. 
 The fortress lay directly opposite the window 
 of the bridal' chamber, the curtains of which 
 had not been drawn. 
 
 Ochalskoi raised the fainting Feodorowna, 
 held her in his arms and tried to re-assure her ! 
 " Compose thyself, dearest ! It is a terrible 
 bridal torch which lights us to happiness, but 
 it shall not frustrate our sweet conjunction ! 
 The time will come when tlie torch of revenge 
 will be brandished in our hands !" 
 
 The eyes of Feodorowna remained closed, 
 Ochalskoi knew not whether to call for 
 assistance, or try alone to recover her 
 from her swoon. Her death-like paleness was 
 hidden from him by the lurid glare of the 
 fire. The rosy tints of the evening aurora 
 seemed to have suff'used themselves over her 
 pallid form. Ochalskoi's desires were but 
 more fiercely kindled by the sight " Thou 
 wilt awake on my bosom, my sweet one," he 
 said, half-whispering to her, half-talking to 
 himself, wholly absorbed in contemplating 
 her charms. " I do what I dare," he said in a 
 faltering tone, as he took her up in his arms, 
 and bore her to the bridal-couoff 
 
 With an unsteady hand he unfastened the 
 belt of her dress, and the clasp at her waist, 
 that she might breathe more freely. 
 
 " Feodorowna, awake !" he cried, imprinti;ig 
 burning kisses upon her swelling bosom ; •* or 
 no, repose in this charming insensibility until 
 thou art warmed into new existence by the 
 ardor of my embraces !" 
 
 At this moment tlie report of three shots 
 was heard. 
 
 " What was tbat ?" cried Ochalskoi, spring- 
 ing up from his bride. Quickly he threw open 
 the window and looked out. The confused 
 cry of many voices, followed by the rattling of 
 musketry and pistols, reached his ear. " As- 
 sault ! treason !" he cried frantically. " Death 
 and destruction, and at this very moment 
 too!" After uttering this exclaniation of 
 rage, Ochalskoi rushed violently out of the 
 chamber. 
 The castle was already in « state of indie* 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 IM 
 
 acnbable tumult The servants and peasants 
 had first been interrupted in their sports by 
 the alarm bell which announces the confla- 
 gration. Then the reports of the shots were 
 heard, and every one thought that the enemy 
 waa already within the walls of the castie. 
 On the corridors, stairs and court-yards, even 
 through the apartments, male and female do- 
 mestics, musicians, peasants and peasant girls 
 were running in the wildest disorder. 
 
 " Bar the door," roared Dolgorow. " Up 
 with the draw-bridge ! All of you run to the 
 castle yard. Never fear ! It can be nothing 
 more than a blind alarm !" But while, by 
 means of such measures, he in vain tried to 
 restore some confidence and order, a peasant 
 rushed in breathleaj}, and cried : 
 
 " The enemy, the enemy ! They are falling 
 upon us ! Let every one fly to ihe woods !" 
 
 Amidst loud cries and lamentations the 
 frightened servants, peasants, and the girls ran 
 . out into the yard and garden, some to hide 
 themselves, others to seek safety in flight 
 Others, again, r&n out of the castle gate to 
 reach their houses in the village. To draw 
 up the bridge or to close the gate was conse- 
 quently rendered impracticable. 
 
 Dolgorow in the greatest rage struck at the 
 fugitives with his sword, thereby still more 
 increasing the fright and confusion. 
 
 A troop of Cossacks now darted by the 
 gate and cried : " The enemy ! the enemy ! 
 Fly and set fire to everything !" 
 
 The tumult and confusion were now past 
 description. No one could hear the other 
 speak. 
 
 "It is in vain to offer resistance," cried 
 Ochalskoi, who, meanwhile, had armed him- 
 self with sabre and pistols; " let me save the 
 women. We may escape tlirough the garden 
 into the forest, which will afford us security." 
 
 " That gate at least shall be closed," roared 
 Dolgorow, quite beside himself, " otherwise 
 a shameful flight will be of no service to us." 
 
 Now at last his commands were followed 
 by obedience ; for a moment the entrance be- 
 came unincumbered. Himself, Ochalskoi, 
 and three intrepid servants quickly disengaged 
 the chains with which the gat^ were secured 
 to the wall, closed them, and drew the massive 
 iron bars. 
 
 It was indeed high time, for just at this mo- 
 ment, Rasinski, at the head of his lancers, 
 came dashing down the hill, and the gate was 
 barely closed ere the clattering of hoofs was 
 heard at the draw-bridge. 
 ^ Dolgorow and Ochalskoi flew up the stairs 
 V to the bridal chamber to save Feodorowna, 
 while the countess collected her valuables, 
 and whatever was most necessary in a flight 
 such as this. The noise of > the attack had 
 aroused the unhappy girl from her swoon. 
 She had already adjusted her dress — ^for hav- 
 
 ing now become indifferent to the greatest 
 alarms, which she no longer drea&d, she 
 had collectea her most valuable property- 
 consisting only of papers h,nd the portraits of 
 her parents. Quickly she threw her cloak 
 around her, and at the side of her father and 
 her husband hurried down the saloon, where 
 the countess was awaiting them. As they 
 reached the lower story, the assailants were 
 battering so furiously at the gate that it every 
 moment threatened to break down, and afford 
 them an entrance. Nor were the fugitives 
 able to gain the yard without much interrup- 
 tion and delay, for a number of the servant* 
 and inmates having recovered from their 
 panic, were hauling together straw, liay, and 
 other combustible materials in great quanti- 
 ties, wherewith to barricade the passage to 
 the interior of the house. " We will cut 
 them off from us by a rampart of fire," cried 
 Dolgorow, discharging his pistol into the 
 dry rubbish, which ^mediately caught 
 "Heap on, my men, let the smoke choke the 
 dogs as they enter !" cried the enraged Rus- 
 sian. The servants, in their eager zeal, nearly 
 extinguished the flame by the superabun- 
 dance of materials. " That's the way, lads !" 
 cried the count, "set the whole castle on 
 fire, if we must leave it; we'll never be- 
 queath it to our enemies." 
 
 Seeing that his order was executed, Dol- 
 gorow hastened towards the garden, through 
 which Ochalskoi and the ladies were already 
 flying to escape by the postern gate. In a 
 few moments the servants also had overtaken 
 their masters, and when they looked behind 
 them, a black, thick column of smoke was 
 seen ascending from the castle-yard. 
 
 " They will not stay long in those quar- 
 ters," said one of the servants with a grin. 
 " In every outhouse and stable there's a bun- 
 dle of straw burning. It will light us on our 
 way through the woods.* I think it is only a 
 pity we could not get the horses along." 
 
 " Silence," shouted Dolgorow, " our flight 
 must be as much concealed as possible." All 
 then pushed their way in silent speed. 
 
 The fugitives had not yet reached the 
 outer wall of the park when the red &ame 
 shone brightly through the trees of the gar- 
 den. They gained the open country through 
 the postern gate, and hastened onward on a 
 narrow post-path leading to the not distant 
 forest Af they reached the edge of the 
 woodland a small party of horsemen turned 
 the angle of the garden wall at full gallop, in 
 pursuit of the fugitives. These hurried in 
 full run towards the woods, but with the 
 swiftness of lightning the horsemen followed 
 them, and before they had reached the wished- 
 for securitjr, balls were whistling through tjie 
 startled au*, and drawn swords braaoisbed 
 among them. -, . ■ - " .- 
 
% 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 Bv means of two heavy logs which had 
 quickly been procured, Eiasinski had burst 
 open the door of the castle. Ho was met on 
 its opening by a dense stilling mass of smoke 
 and flame. But the wind rushing in through 
 the entnmce, drove tlie, fire on towards the 
 yard and garden, and the burning straw, rub- 
 bish and hay, were also swept away by the 
 violent draught of air; it foUowod that no 
 artificial means were required to efiect an 
 entrance. The wind alone accomplished 
 it in the space of two minutes, and nothing 
 but some ashes and smoke lingering in the 
 front part of the castle gave evidence of 
 the origin of the fire. Kasinski immedi- 
 ately pressed forward with the men. " Guard 
 every entrance — suffer no one to leave the 
 premises ! Boleslaus, ride with your squad- 
 ron around the castle-wall to the lefL Ja- 
 romir, you to the right. Bring all the pris- 
 oners here. Let none assault the village. 
 The castle is our rendezvous for the present." 
 
 With these words Rasinski dismounted, 
 and accompanied by the guide, Louis, Ber- 
 nard, and several officers and soldiers, passed 
 quickly up tiie stairs to search the interior. 
 They passed without hindrance through a 
 long suite of rooms, all the doors of which 
 they found open, betraying the hurried escape 
 of the occupants. Much disappointed, he 
 finally stopped in the great saloon and vex- 
 edly exclaimed : 
 
 " Can it be a failure ? I fear the flames of 
 Smolensko have defrauded us of our prize, 
 and have been tiie means of prematurely, dis- 
 persing the guests of the wedding party." 
 
 The guide shrugged and replied : " It is not 
 my fault, your honor, my information was 
 correct. If the fortress had not been set on 
 fire, we would have been in the castle before 
 a soul had suspected, and the generals as well 
 as all the other great folks been our pris- 
 oners." 
 
 " You have earned your reward — ^take it," 
 replied Rasinski, throwing him a purse of 
 gold, which tiie guide pocketed with eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " If we now only had some infantry and a 
 couple of cannon," said Rasinski, turning to 
 the officers, '• I would not hesitate a moment, 
 but immediately attack the enemy's rear- 
 guard, and at least frighten them by the un- 
 expected attiick. But as it is, it would be- 
 folly to advance farther into the country. 
 The patrols of infantry and troop of Cos- 
 sacks which we saw in the village will, no 
 doubt, have given the alarm, and a strong 
 force might be sent against us, and as we 
 have only a narrow passage to retreat by, our 
 situation might become very critical. We 
 nlust call in our scattered force and recross 
 the river as we best can." 
 
 The officers all coincided in the opinion. 
 
 Boleslaus soon after returned with Ids 
 men, followed by Jaromir. The latter brought 
 in some of the count's menials as prisoners. 
 He reported : " Close by the woods I over- 
 took the fugitives. They were the inliabi- 
 tants and servants of the castle, with some 
 ladies among them. At a brisk pace we 
 dashed upon them ; some fled, while others 
 attempted to defend themselves. By the 
 fight of the flames from the castle-yard, I ob- 
 served an officer with a young lady in his 
 arms trying to escape in the tliicket. I quickly 
 dismounted to overtake them. As I plunged 
 through the bushes and approached him, ho 
 dropped the lady and turned. I called out to 
 him to surrender, instead of which he fired at 
 me, but missed. I instalitly returned tho 
 shot ; he fell ; I was in the act of running up 
 to him when some Russians threw themselves 
 between us, pressed me back, and almost 
 overpowered me. Fortunately I/eached an 
 open space, where my men could assist me. 
 They saved me ; and we madewthree prisoners. 
 According to what they assert, the man I liit 
 was prince Ochalskoi, who, this very day 
 was married to the daughter of Count Dol- 
 gorow, the owner of this castle." 
 
 " I wish we had been successful in making 
 that one capture," exclaimed Rasinski impa- 
 tiently, " but I do not blame thee for it, Ja- 
 romu- — ^thou didst more than thy duty. For- 
 tune has not been sufficiently favorable to us. 
 Let us now break up, lest she play us. a. 
 worse trick." 
 
 The prisoners proving of no importance 
 whatever, were released, with the caution that 
 they would be shot if caught again. Thus 
 Rasinski succeeded in hiding from them ' the 
 way by which he retreated, for at the moment 
 of crossing the Dnieper, an attack would have 
 placed hira in a fearful dilemma. Besides, 
 he wanted purposely to leave the enemy in 
 the opinion that he was backed by a strong 
 force which had crossed the Dnieper during 
 the night. 
 
 Thus the retreat began, the burning stables 
 and outhouses being left to the flames. It was 
 only when, havir.g crossed the ford, and his 
 force was passing along the other bank, that 
 Rasinski noticed that Petrowski and Bliski, 
 two of his best and most intrepid officers, 
 were missing. He immediately sent back 
 Boleslaus witli a few men to search for them. 
 It was two hours before the latter ret\n-ned, 
 and wholly without success. Two brave 
 companions were given up for lost 
 
 " Must we indeed leave these two braves • 
 to be sacrificed ?" cried Rasinski, deep lines 
 overspreading his brow. " Friends, let us 
 hope still. Perhaps they have only lost tlieir 
 way and will find us by-and-bye. We will 
 advance slowly and make signals occasioi^ 
 ally. Here we are safe." 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA, 
 
 141 
 
 This plan was pursued; the soldiers gladly 
 obeyed, for the probable lot of their comrades 
 weired heavily upon their minds. Sorrow 
 and indignation filled their breasts; and in 
 profound silence they wended their way along 
 the banks of the river. 
 
 « Hark ! What is that ?" Rasinski said to 
 Boleslaus, who rode by his side. " There is 
 some noise over the river. It was like some 
 one throwing himself into the water. Halt !" 
 " True enough, there is somebody swim- 
 ming," said Boleslaus in a low voice ; " shall 
 we hail him V 
 
 " Wait a little, until we can have a clearer 
 view. We don't know yet. We are close 
 upon the fortress ; but hark ! — ^there are two 
 swimmers !" " Who goes there ? Halt ! 
 Give the countersign !" 
 
 " Good friend," replied Petrowski, and all 
 burst out into a shout of joy. In two min- 
 utes the missing braves were on shore. 
 
 "No nonsense!" cried Bliski jokingly, 
 pushing back some of his comrades ; " we are 
 all mud and water from head to foot. By 
 the gods, it was rather a cold bath !" 
 
 " Where's your horse ? speak !" said Rasin- 
 ski. 
 " Bliski saved me !" began Petrowski. 
 " Pshaw ! let me tell the tale," interrupted 
 the merry Bliski. " His horse stumbled and 
 fell as we were riding back to the castle; 
 three of tbo'se Russian rascals rushed upon 
 him and wjuited to plunder him. Fortunately 
 I saw it and jumped forward. Qne of the 
 dogs then struck my horse a blow on the 
 nose with a bludgeon, so that he reared fjiri- 
 ously and threw me down on the sand. All 
 the better for that, thou^t I, as I quickly 
 jumped to my feet. The rascals had not 
 spirit enough to stand against two of us, 
 but like the horses, ran oif. We tried to 
 reach the castle on foot in the hope that our 
 horses might have followed the track of the 
 others. But the people flying from the vil- 
 lage intercepted our way. We had to go 
 back into the forest, and cruised about there 
 for some time, the burning nouses of Smolen- 
 sko being our guide. Suddenly we came to a 
 wide road, which i immediately recognised as 
 the highway to Moscow, for I have long been 
 in Russia and am well acquainted with the 
 country. Just as we were about leaving the 
 wood, Corporal Petrowski, luckily saw a troop 
 of horsemen approaching. We quick\y lay 
 down among the bushes silent as sleep. 
 Hardly had the horsemen passed when we 
 heard the rumbling of artillery. There were 
 at least a nundred pieces of cannon and am- 
 munition carts, besides a gi-eat number of 
 other wagons. Then came infantry — in long 
 closed lines, then again cavalr}' — in short, a 
 whole corps were passing bv us for over an 
 hour. Finally the field agam- became clear, 
 
 we arose and looked around ; for some time 
 we followed the road, then turned to the left 
 and luckily reached the river." . 
 
 'Although Rasinski was highly pleased to 
 see his men safe, yet Bliski's narrative had 
 awakened his thoughts to another point 
 His suspicion that part of the garrison if not 
 the whole had left the fortress, had now be- ^ 
 come almost a certainty. He resolved there- 
 fore to attempt entering the town By the 
 water-gate which was accessible for cavalry, 
 and there perhaps be the first to enter the 
 place. He commanded all to preserve silence 
 and to keep close to the margin of tiie river. 
 Thus he reached the first houses, without 
 having encountered even a sentinel. The day 
 was just beginningto dawn when he entered 
 the streets. No sound, no trace indicated that 
 a human beingf yet linofered amongr the half- 
 ruined heap of stones. On turning into a cross- 
 street, Rasinski with surprise saw cavalry ap- 
 proaching to meet him. They belonged to 
 Prince Poniatowski's division ; in happy state 
 of feeling greetings were interchanged, and 
 both parties continued their way. Rasinski 
 rode close to the main wall. Suddenly he de^ 
 tected a man cautiously creeping along in the 
 obscurity. He thought it was a Russian, and 
 called out to him in that language, but he did 
 not reply, and tried to escape. In the hop* 
 that the man might perhaps inform him 
 whether there were still soldiers in the fortress, 
 Rasinski and some lancers set out in pursuit 
 and soon overtaking him, they surrounded 
 him in such a manner that he could not escape. 
 " Vive VEmpereur .'" cried the brave soldier, 
 levelling his musket at Rasinski. He then first 
 recognised the French uniform, and was soon 
 on friendly terms with the man whom he had 
 taken for an enemy. He was a corporal be- 
 longing to Marshal Davoust's corps, who had 
 ventured on the desperate attempt of scaling 
 the wall and entering the fortress alone. Thus 
 the" glory of having first entered the place 
 became pretty dubious. The principal ob- 
 ject was gained, however — ^they were within 
 the walls. 
 
 Very soon after they convinced them- 
 selves that the Russians had left the 
 town, and that, after destroying the bridges, 
 they had retreated across the river, probably ' 
 still occupying part of the town situated on 
 the other side. 
 
 The sun rose ; his rays fell upon a terrible 
 scene. Smoking ruins spread in every direc^ 
 tion. Heaps of corpses, bleeding and scorched, 
 lay everywhere about. Some" were seen stif- 
 fened and blackened by smoke and lire scat^ 
 tered over the smouldering ruins. Portions 
 of the bodies were entirely stripped of 
 flesh ; only the naked, calcined bones stared 
 the gazer in the face. Rasinski commanded 
 a halt so as to avoid uselessly choking up 
 
 i.diiL 
 
I i 
 
 142 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWfilVE'; OR, 
 
 1^ imrrow streets already encumbered with 
 ruins and heaps of bones, stones and ashes, 
 while himself and Jaromir rode on to the for- 
 tress to gain a nearer view of the scene of 
 destruction. 
 
 " A sad victory," he said to Jaromir ; " it 
 seems iiardly worth while to employ such 
 ' immense forces for the subjugation of a 
 country where instead of towns and villages 
 one finds nothing but the ashes. Even the 
 spirited, thoughtless Jaromir, thougii accus- 
 tomed to the terrors of war, felt a shudder 
 creeping over him as he rode through this 
 chaos of ashes and corpses. " Very possibly," 
 he replied to Rasinski's observation ; " and it 
 is still more incoinprehensible to me how 
 this devastated land is to nourish the vast 
 masses which overflow it." 
 
 " The wolf will have to fly to Poland or 
 Prussia," observed Rasinski, frightened him- 
 self at the half-jeering tone of his voice, " for 
 here he must starve. — Hark ! Music !" 
 
 The French guards were just entering the 
 town, the band striking up one of that nation's 
 favorite airs. The merry sound in that hour 
 and place seemed like the bitterest mocking. 
 Rasinski backed his horse into an adjoining 
 street to let the troops pass. The musicians 
 played the Marseillaise hymn, the fiery strains 
 of which always kindle the highest enthusi- 
 asm in every French heart, and call the 
 gleam of courage into every eye. But at 
 this time they spoke in an unknown tongue 
 to the experienced warriors. Deep earnest 
 was expressed in their features ; the eye was 
 firmly fixed upon the destruction around 
 them, and the eyebrows contracted with a 
 vexed disappointment." 
 
 No trace of despondency could be traced 
 on the rough, sunburnt faces of the warriors, 
 neither did a ray of joy appear in their faces, 
 decorated as they were with broad scars, but 
 with proudly erect, but gloomily furrowed 
 brow they marched on over the corpses, bones 
 and glowing ashes — resembling an approach- 
 ing thunderstorm in their mute, iron-like in- 
 flexibility and power. 
 
 And now came the Emperor on his white 
 Arabian charger. His scrutinizing eye pene- 
 trated everywhere, witliout however stopping 
 his animated conversation with Count Lobau, 
 who rode at his side. 
 
 " The Emperor looks just as on the parade 
 at Dresden," observed Jaromir in a low voice, 
 but yet in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " That is his manner," replied Rasinski ; 
 " always the same in storm or sunshine. But 
 let us follow ; I long to know what will be 
 his next movement. Perhaps he may throw 
 business enough on our hands." 
 
 With these words he and Jaromir dashed 
 across the smoking ruins past the lines of the 
 marching troops, to joui the general's staff, 
 
 with which the Emperor was insi^cting' ^ 
 fortress. 
 
 « ♦;. 
 
 If'- 
 
 CHAPTER XLVn. ' ' 
 
 "Hang me if I'm not tired of this life," 
 said Bernard, throwing a heavy bag from his 
 shoulder, while Louis assisted him.* "For 
 myself, I would never have travelled the 
 weary and dangerous road into the robber 
 den of these Mougiks, but my poor emaciated 
 roan must at least for once have something 
 better than green oats and stubble." 
 
 " Thou hast been fortunate," replied Louis; 
 " we did not find even that. Everything is 
 desolate and waste — all the villages burnt and 
 abandoned. I should like to know what will 
 be the end of all this ?" 
 
 '< Never mind. It is true jve are embarked 
 on the wild ocean ; but we have a Columbus 
 on board, with a compass that will guide him 
 for a long time to come. But help me to feed 
 the horses ; I cannot possibly let the poor 
 animals wait." 
 
 " Willingly," replied Louis. 
 
 *' It is well," said Bernard, pouring the oats 
 into the haversacks and hanging them before 
 the hungry beasts ; " it is well we are here by 
 ourselves, and have at least this old bam for 
 a stable, in this rough rainy weather. If we 
 were in the open field we would have as many 
 uniftvited guests as there are flies round a dish- 
 ful of cream. Look how the poor devils re- 
 lish it ! Ah ! my good fellows, such oats are 
 like an oyster supper to you." 
 
 While both were eagerly engaged in the 
 pleasant occupation, Rasinski entered unob- 
 served, on his way back from head-quarters. 
 
 " Upon my word," he said, " you feel as 
 rich and fine as if in the stubles of St. Cloud. 
 Where did you find this treasure ?" 
 
 " Good morning, colonel," said both the 
 young men, wheeling round. 
 
 " Good feed for once, sir I"' continued Ber- 
 nard. " I had been listening to the dragoons ; 
 they had brought in some oats from the fo- 
 rest over there. Aha ! thought I, there nvay 
 perhaps be a few more of t!ie same sort. 
 Like a keen-scented terrier I followed ^he 
 track of their clumsy boots, and soon came 
 to a village which eight days ago might have 
 contained a dozen houses, but now musters 
 only a dozen scorched chimnies. On one of 
 the hearths the fire had gone out too soon — 
 one half of the hut was still standing, I 
 crept in over ashes and coals, and in a dark 
 corner I found this bag, which the dragoons 
 either had overlooked or hidden away." 
 
 « Smart as ever I" said Rasinski gaily, but 
 
*< NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSLA. I- J 
 
 wHh a troubled expression, at which both 
 irrere struck. 
 •* Lucky, only tolerably lucky," replied Ber- 
 
 " Louis, for you I have a letter, and impor- 
 tant news for all of us. To-morrow we shall 
 at last have a battle." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Bernard, with a joy- 
 ful animation. 
 
 " At last !" said Louis, absorbed by the 
 news of the final arrival of letters from home, 
 which for weeks he had been expecting in 
 vain. While he opened them, Rasinski 
 slightly touched Bernard's shoulder, and 
 •winked to him as he glanced at Louis. 
 
 Bernard did not understand what he meant, 
 but kept silence as^he looked at Louis atten- 
 tively. The latter stood reading in violent 
 emotion : he turned pale, and large tears ran 
 down his cheeks ; he covered his face with 
 one hand, with the other handed the letter to 
 Bernard. The latter seized it with warmth, 
 while Rasinski consolingly laid his hand upon 
 Louis' shoulde!-, and looked, at him with a 
 heart-felt sympathy. 
 
 "My mother — my mother! Read your- 
 self!" was all that Louis found strength to 
 ■ utter, as he tendered the letter to Bernard. 
 
 " I kn6w it already," said Rasinski ; " I 
 knew it ffom my sister who sent your letter 
 enclosed." 
 
 For some time all three stood absorbed in 
 gloomy reflection. Bernard first broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " Let us go," said he, " over to the huts 
 where Jaromir and Boleslaus are in quarters ; 
 on the eve of battle, we must at least have 
 one more meeting. But is it to be a battle 
 in earnest ?" 
 
 Rasinski shook off his gloomy reveiie and 
 replied : " In earnest 1 Yes, as surely as the 
 heavy stroke which has smitten our friend ! " 
 He passed his hand twice across his brow, 
 painfully, as he added : " Kutosow will fight 
 to-morrow — there is no doubt of it. The 
 Emperor has already reconnoitred the battle- 
 ground. Yesterday was but the prelude. 
 The seventh of September is destined to be 
 distinguislied in the records of history." 
 
 " It will be a red-letter-day in the almanac 
 then, and blood-red too, I think," replied Ber- 
 
 atttomn, the birch and beech trees were al- 
 ready scattering their leaves upon the ixat, 
 every green thing hid withered and changed " 
 its attire; the heavens hung colorless in 
 leaden dulness above the fields, chilling gusts 
 of wind now and then whistled through the 
 denuded branches, and the atmosphere felt 
 thick and humid. 
 
 While they gazed upon this moving plat- 
 form Jaromir and Boleslaus came up. Rasin^ 
 ski had informed them of the death of Louis' 
 mother, as contained in the letter. With much 
 sympathy they approached to evince their af- 
 fection towards their mutual friend. The 
 youthful Jaromir did not repress a tear. Bo- 
 leslaus manifested his feeling in silence. 
 
 They went down the hill together to lay 
 themselves down by the watch-fire before 
 Rasinski's hut, in which the latter had or- 
 dered all his officers to assemble, it being the 
 custom to pass the evening preceding a battle 
 in company together. 
 
 The sun had set ; since noon the orb had 
 been hidden behind dense and black clouds. 
 The night air blew very sharp, so that even 
 with the fire and their heavy cloaks, those 
 (Seeking repose were unable entirely to ex- 
 clude the chilling blast. The whole day had 
 passed in a gloomy, death-like silence, as if in 
 tacit forecast, by both armies, of a desperate 
 fight. Thus also passed this night. 
 
 The grey of dawn already began to appear 
 when the sudden report of cannon from the 
 enemy's lines interrupted the torpor and si- 
 lence without and within. All sprang up, 
 questioning and listening. At such an hour, 
 and un^er such circumstances as the present, 
 the firing of a gun is invariably the signal of 
 some important event ; every one looked to 
 being prepared for whatever was to follow. 
 But this time the expectation was foiled. It 
 was ascertained in a few minutes that the 
 shot had been fired upon a group of horse- 
 tten composing Napoleon's suite. The Em- 
 peror, driven by impatience and fear that the 
 Russian army might again by a silent retreat 
 during the night destroy his hopes qf a bat- 
 tle, had mounted his horse, and under co- 
 ver of the dawn proceeded once more to ex- 
 amine the exact position of the enemy. To 
 his great joy he was reassured that the' day of 
 
 nard. " Well, all the same to me : the greater battle had arrived, for he discovered the long . 
 
 the harvest death mows, the more calmly I 
 will look on it. What more tiresome than 
 the long catalogue of deaths in a great em- 
 pire summed up at the end of a year ? No 
 battle is so murderous as a year in the quiet 
 course of time." Thus saying, the two friends, 
 saluting their colonel, left the spot. 
 
 They ascended a small eminence together, 
 from which they, overlooked the whole field, 
 now covered with men and horses. The fo- 
 liage had already assumed the hues of 
 
 lines of reser\'es spread over the field, the im- 
 mense quantities of ammunition and wagons 
 lining the road coming from Moscow, and the 
 formidable fortifications within the enemy's 
 position. 
 
 Half an hour after the firing of this soli- 
 tary shot the proclalnation of the Emperor 
 was issued. Rasinski received it by the hands 
 of an aid. He immediately assembled his 
 men around him, and by the smouldering 
 blaze of the camp fire he read as follows : — 
 
';r'-.*7^-^i»r-y 
 
 144 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDBED A|fD imEVfB ;^B, 
 
 * Soldiers ! — ^Thc day of battle you have 
 80 long wished for has arrived ! Victory is 
 in yopr hands. It is necessary to ua^ It will 
 secure to you abundance, safe winter quarters, 
 and a speedy return to your homes. Behave 
 yourselves as at Austerlitz, at Fnedland, at 
 Witepsk, at Smolensko ; so that your remo- 
 test descendants may with pride say of their 
 ancestors : ' He fought in the great battle un- 
 Her the walls of the Moskwa !' " 
 
 These brief sentences sanlcdeep and stir- 
 ring into the hearts of the warriors. An ex- 
 alted enthusiasm flashed from every eye ; and 
 when Rasinski drew his sabre and raising ijt 
 high in the air exclaimed, " Vive T Empereur .'" 
 the cry of inspiration burst forth from a thou- 
 sand tongues, re-echoing loudly through the 
 air, even into the ranks of the enemy.. 
 
 The ex*igencies of the coming day demand-, 
 ed great exertion ; Rasinski therefore or- 
 dered his warriors to court repose, that the 
 day might find them fresh and invigorated. 
 To keep up the spirits of the officers, and 
 especially to divert Louis, he proposed an ex- 
 cursion through the encampment of the 
 guards towards the imperial tent, erected not 
 far from the bivouac of the cavalry. 
 
 They soon reached the large quadrangle 
 which the guards for more ettectual, security 
 had formed around the Emperor's lodgment. 
 The sight of tliese picked and well-approved 
 warriors, among wliom scarcely a brow was 
 seen without bearing honorable scars, or a 
 breast without the insignia of honor and 
 bravery, was calculated to inspire an ambitious 
 mind with an ennobling self-confidence. 
 Even Louis became erect and attentive, des- 
 pite his melancholy, as he passed along ihe 
 lines of these heroes. Bernard, more excit- 
 able, felt quite transported. 
 
 " A whole gallery of originals !" he ex- 
 claimed, turning to his friends ; " I could find 
 sketching here for ten years to come. What 
 a study of heads ! Look only at that grena* 
 dier cleaning his gun ! With what earnest 
 does he examine his weapon ! — it is seen in 
 every lineament of his countenance; he re- 
 gards it as a sacred companion. Look how 
 he catches the reflexion of the fire, and con- 
 templates himself in the polished barrel, as if 
 it were a looking-glass ! The old boy may 
 ^well look at himself. He must be pleased 
 with that broad scar parting his eyebrows. 
 Now he has finished his task ; he gives a few 
 grips and takes aim. In imagination he has 
 his man marked already. Look too at that 
 bewhiskered serjeant there dressing his bleed- 
 ing forehead I Plow indifferent he acts ! That 
 brow of liis must be used to scars ! It is 
 covered with hieroglyphics, probably en- 
 graved bv some I\Iameluke sword at the pyr- 
 amids. That forehead of thine is no less 
 than an album I Whoever has left his con- 
 
 tribution there vdll no doubt dwell inlfy £»• " 
 mory, though hardly in the charactM* <^» 
 friend. See that fellow yonder shaving him- 
 self, and as careful and smooth as if he war© 
 going to a Sunday's pic-nic at the'Barriere 
 de Neuilly or the gay wine-shops of SL 
 Denis, where grisettes are so plenty. I believe 
 this fellow does not know any d^erence be- 
 tween figuring in a francaise with his sweet- 
 heart and storming a battery in the front rank 
 of his regiment He has musk; at bpth fro- 
 lics. I will bet that he feels certain of enter- 
 ing Moscow to-morrow. His whole physi- 
 ognomy is an exclamation of ' Vive la beunh 
 telle /' though he appears old enough to tell a. 
 tale about Marengo and the bridge <rf Arcole. 
 Success to thee, honest friend ! — ^be to-mor- 
 row as merry as thou art to-day, and go to 
 thy supper humming tlie carmagnole just aa 
 much void of care as thou art now." 
 
 " But I have seen these same warriors in 
 quite a different humor," replied Rasinski ; 
 " however animated the camp may appear to 
 the novice who examines it for the first time, 
 those acquainted with it for years look upon 
 it with wholly differeht optics. You may 
 read resolution — fortitude to meet even the 
 worst in the faces of these men ; but you find • 
 no longer that buoyant confidence, that burn- 
 ing desire for conflict and victory which for- 
 merly illumined their faces on the eve of 
 battle. Look, there is the tent of the Empe- 
 ror. What can be %.e cause of this crowd 
 pressing towards it?" 
 
 Soldiers were seen hastening in great 
 crowds towards the tent and gathering around 
 it in a mass. Those returning looked joyous 
 and conversed with much animation.. Ex- 
 clamations of glad surprise fescaped from the 
 dense crowd. 
 
 " What is the matter thtfre ?" asked Rasin- 
 ski of a grenadier coming back. 
 
 " The matter, my colonel ? Something 
 very beautiful and pleasant! A child, a 
 charming child! The son of the Emperor! 
 Yes, my colonel, it is a beautiful picture ! I 
 am also a father. I have a son only eight 
 day^s older. I cannot have his portrait sent 
 after me, but I have it in my heart. The 
 rogue sits here, (pointing to his breast, which 
 was decorated with the cross of the legion 
 of honor,) so faithfully counterfeited that I 
 would no other. Only go, my colonel, and 
 see it yourself!" 
 
 The soldier, garrulous from joy, was forced 
 aside by the living stream. Rasinski and his 
 companions forced their way towards the tent 
 The crowd was very great. All they could" 
 make out from the djstauee was, that close 
 by the Emperor's tent, and under the giiar- 
 dianship of two bearded grenadiers, there was 
 a portrait of the Kmg of Rome exposed to 
 the view of the army. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 Mi 
 
 "There is to me something very touching 
 in this," said Louis to Bernard ; " that in the 
 midst of warlike preparations, not only the 
 chieftain but also the loving father appears, 
 and that he thus lets his braves participate in 
 his joys." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Rasinski, smiling, " he 
 possesses great insight into human nature. 
 He could not remind his bearded heroes in 
 any better way of the happiness of home 
 than by such a reminiscence. Now every 
 heart beats for the fatherland — ^for la belle 
 France — where are left behind, by one his 
 children, by another his young wife, who per- 
 haps meanwhile has become a mother, by a 
 third his merry sweetheart. There is no 
 other road to Paris but through Moscow. 
 That they know well. Like enraged lions 
 they will fall ppon all who would obstruct 
 their passage." 
 
 "I should think," observed Louis, "that 
 just such reminiscences would tend to sadden 
 their hearts and make them hate a war which 
 forces them far away from all that is dear." 
 
 " Justly," replied Rasinski, " except on the 
 eve of a battle. Fatigue the soldier endures 
 with difficulty — danger he meets cheerfully — 
 he would rather venture than suffer. The 
 time of toil is now over ; now comes a brief 
 interval of danger: this he goes to meet 
 gladly ; for he entertains more hope of gain 
 than fear of loss by it. Show him only vic- 
 tory as a sure prize, and he- would not hesi- 
 tate to storm hell itself! But it must be 
 made sure to him. His articles of faith are : 
 victory, peace, and a speedy return home. 
 Excite his feelings by holding out the last, 
 and you need not fear for the two first." 
 
 " Good evening, count !" said a welcome 
 voice — -Colonel Regnard's. " It is pleasant 
 to meet a friend once more to-day. To-mor- 
 row vain inquiries will be made after many. 
 I think the battle will do honor to the dispo- 
 sitions taken. One does not march eight 
 hundred leagues for the sake of an affair of 
 outposts." 
 
 " Till now we have not had much of any- 
 thing else," replied Rasinski. 
 
 " Every kind of fruit must have time to be- 
 come ripe, count. In Russia the harvest 
 comes later than with us. Mark me, to-mor- 
 row the scythes will be busy. The Russians 
 are this time in terrible earnest." 
 
 " Is there any sure information of it here ?" 
 
 " There is no longer a doubt. I have just 
 heard the report of a deserter. Old Kuto- 
 80W, assured of our intention to attack him, 
 resolves to stand his ground like a man. And 
 with reason ; for the Russians are prepared 
 for a decisive struggle, and have deliberately 
 devoted themselves to death or our over- 
 tlirow. Did you hear in their camp those 
 strange strains of music, or observe their 
 
 10 
 
 movements when they were paraded under 
 
 arms ?" 
 
 " I did ; and what does it mean ?" 
 
 "It was the oration preparatory to the 
 wedding which we are to celebrate. The old 
 prince, accompanied by the priests and arche- 
 mandrites, went in procession through the 
 camp. They carried a sacred image, which they 
 have saved from Smolensk©, through the lines 
 of the army. The Russian worships this as 
 a miraculous and protecting relic. His reli- 
 gion fills him with fanatical courage. His 
 priests have consecrated him for the battle : 
 whoever falls is secure of bliss in another 
 world. They have been told : — *■ You fight 
 to-morrow for the altars of your God ; you 
 must protect your holy city of the Moskwa, 
 which the enemy otherwise will destroy — 
 you must save your wives, daughters, and 
 sisters from dishonor and bondage.' Such 
 words take effect. The Russian longs now 
 for the martyrdom of falling before our balls. 
 J have read the proclamation also, but it is 
 not exactly flattering to us. I assure you it 
 would be difficult to excite the fury of a bull- 
 dog to a degree equal with that which old 
 one-eyed Kutosow has inspired in his soldiers. 
 To me the affair looks infernally serious. 
 To-morrow, depend upon it, w^e shall find the 
 enemy on his own ground, and perhaps after 
 to-morrow loo. An iron wall is not so easily 
 overthrown. Fanatics are tougher than iron." 
 
 " What ! You have doubts about our vic- 
 tory, Regnard ?" exclaimed Rasinski. 
 
 " Not at all ! But it will be a bloody one. 
 By to-morrow night, twenty or thirty tliou- 
 sand men will probably bite the dust, and lay 
 side by side as peacefully as they have, dur- 
 ing the day, furiously assailed each other. 
 Peradventure we be among the number, co- 
 lonel, let us here bid each other farewell, 
 for I must back to my corps." He extended 
 his hand to Rasinski, who shook it cordially. 
 
 " Farewell, gentlemen !" Regnard said, 
 turning to the others. " I hope we shall see 
 each other again on the field or in Moscow." 
 
 With these words he disappeared in the 
 crowd. Hardly was he gone when Petrow- 
 ski quickly approached and handed Rasinski 
 a sealed despatch. 
 
 " We must get back," he s;iid, after having 
 read it. " There are many dispositions to be 
 made during the night. Come, friends, there 
 is no time to lose." 
 
 They again reached their encampment. 
 Rasinski ordered the fires to be extinguished 
 and the men under arms. An adjutant soon 
 afterwards brought an order to march. Tho 
 regiment set itself in motion. While riding 
 it was observed that all the fires of the French 
 had been put out, or only emitted a few fiiint 
 sparks. In the Russian camp, on the con- 
 trary, they were burning high and bright, 
 
146 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 creating a widely-spreading and starry amphi- 
 theatre along the dusky horizon. 
 
 The march was a short one, and in direc- 
 tion of the centre of the army. 
 
 " Halt !" cried Rasinski, as tliey reached the 
 broad base of a Iiill. To the right the ground 
 was covered with bushes which farther down 
 merged into the forest. Heavy masses of 
 cavalry seemed to be collected here. About 
 eleven o'clock they had taken ^ final position. 
 Rasinski ordered his men to dismount with- 
 out unsaddling their horses. The men took 
 up their couches on the ground. Mute, eager 
 expectation quickened the pulsation of every 
 heart. Sleep came reluctantly and late ; but 
 finally, bodily exhaustion overpowered men- 
 tal excitement, and notwithstanding the chill 
 autumnal night, the hardy warriors were soon 
 buried in the profoundest slumber. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 And now da-\vned the eventful morning of 
 battle. The sky was clear. Here and there 
 the early mist rested on the deep sunken bed 
 of the Kalotscha and a few other rivulets in- 
 tersecting the field, but the fresh morning 
 breeze quickly dispersed it. 
 
 The sun rose behind the sombre tops of 
 the pine forest, and threw his dazzling beams 
 over the field where the masses of the French 
 army were already drawing up in array. The 
 interminable lines of bjiyonets glittered in 
 bloody red, the gilt eagles gleamed brightly, 
 and the full counterpart of the sup was re- 
 flected from the burnished armor of the cui- 
 rassiers. 
 
 " It is the sun of Austerlitz I" cried the em- 
 peror, who, having taken his station on a hill 
 on the left flank of the cavalry, and close by 
 a redoubt stormed two days before, pointed 
 with his finger at the blazing orb. 
 
 Rasinski and several other commanders 
 liad rode up the hill, in order better to over- 
 look the battle-field. He had halted so near 
 that he could hear the Emperor's ^vords. The 
 generals to wlioni they were addressed made 
 no reply. 
 
 Louis and Bernanl, who had followed R:x- 
 sinski, halted close behind their chief. They 
 too heard the loud exclamation of tlie Em- 
 peror. 
 
 The batteries, which, during the night, had 
 taken up a position too ftir removed from the 
 fortifications of the Russians, were now seen 
 advancing to occupy the more proximate hills. 
 The enon)v did not take adv.mtage of this fa- 
 vorable moment. It seemed iis if, in this war, 
 where he had ever acted only on the defen- 
 
 sive, he did not wish to be the first to shed 
 blood even on a battle-field of his own choice, 
 but would rather even now leave it to the 
 option of the aggressor. 
 
 Suddenly the deep roar of artillery is heard 
 on the left. Smoke and dust are seen rising 
 near the village of Borodino. The solemn 
 silence is broken — ^the black magic veil of fate 
 is torn — the lightning descends with destruc- 
 tive energy. 
 
 The hand of destiny lets loose the iron 
 wheel of its decrees. It rolls onward in ruin- 
 ous grandeur, crushing whom it may. No 
 power can now grasp its spokes and check 
 its progress. 
 
 The Emperor's orders fly through the field. 
 Instantly every hill belches forth its thunders. 
 Smoke and flames burst from their summits. 
 The castle shakes ; the air vibrates with the 
 terrible concussion. Like a river of hell 
 breaking through its banks the black stream 
 of smoke rolls across the expanse. The 
 bloody orb of the sun can hardly pierce 
 through these floating darknesses. 
 
 The battle now extended over the whole 
 plain. Not far to the right of the spot where 
 Rasinski halted beyond the reach of the guns, 
 were three of the enemy's redoubts, which 
 from their yawning jaws vomited their iron 
 messengers of death among the advancing 
 troops. 
 
 " M.arshal Davoust will lose many of his 
 men," said Rasinski, as he observed that ge- 
 neral's columns deploying on the plain to 
 storm the terrible redoubts. 
 
 Firm, compact, and in double-quick time 
 these masses, which through severe discipline 
 had become as one body, advanced upon the 
 intrenched enemy. Thirty pieces of artillery 
 accompanied them. They became so enve- 
 loped in dust and smoke that nothing could 
 be seen of them. 
 
 With an eagle glance Rasinski scanned the 
 battle-field. On the right wing Poniatowski 
 had also commenced the attack. He de- 
 bouched from the woods which covered his 
 position and repulsed the enemy's left 
 wing with decided preponderance, though 
 slowly. 
 
 From the fiery volcano, whicli seemed to 
 have swallowed up Davoust and his division, 
 an adjutant now came dashing back at full gal- 
 lop. He rode straight up to the spot where 
 the Emperor stood — some hundred steps in 
 advance of his first one, to get a better view 
 of the field. 
 
 Nothing could be caught of the report of 
 the aid ; but immediately afterwards he was 
 seen in company with General Rapp, riding 
 at a rapid pace into the thiekes-t of the fray. 
 
 In order to inform himself, Rasinski rode 
 up to a transport of wounded ollicers passing 
 near him. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 147 
 
 «• Well, comrades, how goes it ? You are 
 the first victims ?" 
 
 ♦' We shall not be the last," answered a 
 captain, his broken arm hanging loose at his 
 side ; " the batteries up there play a perfect 
 deluge. Greneral Compans has fallen. The 
 marshal is wounded ?" 
 
 "Diivoustr ' 
 
 "Who else?" 
 
 « The battle goes hard, then 1" 
 
 " It will be easier to count the lining than 
 dead !" 
 
 " Thanks, comrade — a speedy recovery ;" 
 saying which Rasinski rode back. 
 
 The battle had now become general. Mar- 
 shal Ney was now advancing with his three 
 divisions. 
 
 A wounded general was now brought out 
 of the conflict It was Rapp, who, as soon 
 almost as he got within fire, was struck from 
 his horse by a cartridge ball. On this day 
 this fearless soldier received his twenty-second 
 wound. Slowly he was borne up the hill 
 where the Emperor stood. Ney's divisions 
 now deployed into the open field. Though 
 galled by the enemy's destnictive fire, they 
 advanced steadily towards the heights. It 
 seemed as if something decisive might come 
 of this movement, and that the cavalry might 
 also be called into action. Rasinski therefore 
 remained close by his regiment, to be ready 
 at a moment's warning. 
 
 The King of Naples rode up. His aids 
 were flying round on every side. He collect- 
 ed the light cavalr}' to attack the enemy on 
 the heights. Rasinski received orders to join 
 him. The whole mass set out on an easy 
 trot, to be nearer at hand in the decisive mo- 
 ment. Now the drums of the infantry beat 
 the attack. They flew like lightning up the 
 heights. The thunder of the artillery re- 
 doubled ; — ^the whole plain was a sea of 
 smoke, dust, and fire. It became impossible 
 to notice who fell or who ad\'anced. Sud- 
 denly the thunder of the artillery became 
 mute — a loud hurrah resounded through the 
 air — the redoubts had been carried by the va- 
 liant corps of Ney and Davoust. 
 
 With the impetuosity of a tempest the ca- 
 valry, led on by the chivalrous King of Na- 
 ples, now travei'sed the battle-field. Dust 
 and stones flew up high — the ground trem- 
 bled under the shock of hoofs — the horses 
 snorted — the dreadful din deafened every ear. . 
 Bernard threw a glance at Louis, who rode 
 by his side. It was returned. Words were 
 no longer audible. 
 
 The heights were reached in a few min- 
 utes. The Russian troops, expelled from 
 their batteries, were mostly dispersed in the 
 field and easily forced still farther back by 
 the cavalry. But now suddenly the renewed 
 roar of artillery was heard ; and at the same 
 
 moment an avalanche of balls and cartridgea 
 burst upon the lines of the attackmg forces. 
 At the same time fresh forces were seen de- 
 ploying in black masses on the heights skirt- 
 ing the destroyed village of Semenowski, 
 which lay right before them. It was Prince 
 Bagration, who, by the order of Kutosow, 
 advanced uith fresh troops to succor the 
 defeated battalions. The heights all around 
 were lined with cannon, and from almost 
 every point their murderous contents were 
 showered upon the advancing columns. Ra- 
 sinski's regiment suddenly seemed to become 
 the target at which all these batteries spon- 
 taneously directed their aim ; — ^for such a 
 quantity of balls and cartridges were hurled 
 against their front and flaiik that in a few 
 moments the greatest carnage and confusion 
 arose. The murderous fire opened large 
 gaps in the ranks — horses and men fell pell- 
 mell — ^the loud cries of the wounded and dy- 
 ing filled the air and tortured the ear. It was 
 as if they had been caught by a sweeping 
 hurricane, from the manner in which deatli 
 rioted in their lines. 
 
 Rasinski raised his sword on high, and with 
 the whole strength of his voice shouted, 
 " Advance !" The intrepidity of their leader 
 infused fresh courage into the wavering sol- 
 diers, and they advanced to a desperate at- 
 tack. But at this instant a hail-storm of 
 grape-shot met them, so dense as almost to 
 daiken the atmosphere. Louis' horse was 
 struck by a ball. The animal reared almost 
 perpendicularly, made a side-long plunge, and 
 threw his rider to a considerable distance. 
 Bernard saw this, but it was impossible to 
 think of giving assistance ; for with an irre- 
 sistible impulse the crowd bore him onward 
 over the fallen. 
 
 Short as was the time, the dispersed Rus- 
 sian infantry had again collected and advanced 
 in closer column. Death broke in upon the 
 French upon every side. All bonds of obedience 
 and order were quickly severed. The officers 
 were lost in the dust and smoke or shot 
 down ; — no word of command could be heard 
 — confusion now completely gained the up- 
 per hand. 
 
 Two squadrons of dragoons*that had ad- 
 vanced farther, shattered by the terrible fi.re 
 of grape and canister, turned, and in their 
 flight tumbled among those of Rasinski's 
 men who still remained. By this shock the 
 Poles were partly borne away with the re- 
 treating stream — partly scattered asunder. Iii 
 a few minutes the whole line of cavalry was 
 annihilated or in flight. 
 
 Among the rest, Bernard was thrown out 
 of line. Confounded by the overwhelmino- 
 din and tumult, he looked around for Rasin- 
 ski, resolved to share his fate. All at once 
 he perceived some Cossacks coming up, and 
 
 ifiaLl!. 
 
148 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 before he was aware they had nearly surround- 
 ed him. He quickly turned his horse round, 
 and then discovered the King of Naples in 
 imminent danger of capture. He flies to his 
 assistance, followed by others. They suc- 
 ceed ! Murat shakes his waving heron plume 
 as a signal A cannon ball strikes his horse 
 from under him ; but he himself is unhurt. 
 Resolved to die gloriously or to conquer, he 
 flings himself into the redoubt, followed by 
 the few who are with him. Bernard, spring- 
 ing from his horse, whose gaping wounds 
 render him useless, follows, to share the fate 
 of the rest. Two hostile regiments of cui- 
 rassiers in firmly closed ranks now come ca- 
 reering against the redoubt. Those within 
 S've themselves up for lost, when Marshal 
 ey appears with his rallied infantry, for the 
 second time, on the edge of the hill. The 
 artillery galloping up on the left, with their 
 iron throats open a breach in the moving wall 
 of the approaching Russians; the infantry 
 give a volley, and with fixed bayonets follow 
 up the shock. The enemy pauses — wavers — 
 his lines are broken, thinned by the destruc- 
 tive fire of artillery; — some retreat, influ- 
 enced by an irresistible panic fear, while the 
 more resolute are hurried away in the tumult, 
 and the next moment the field is covered with 
 fugitives. The victors press forward on 
 every side ; and it is only when they behold 
 the safety of their commander secured, that 
 they stop, breathless and spent, with their ex- 
 traordinaiy exertions. 
 
 Bernard: took advantage of the first practi- 
 cable moment to look after the wounded left 
 on the hill, and to search for Louis. Some 
 field-otficers who had fallen on the blood- 
 soaked field had been already brought in. 
 There was no time to bestow much attention 
 on others. Although incurring the greatest 
 risk, Bernard dared to explore the space which 
 had been left free between the two armies, 
 and where the fallen of his regiment must 
 lie. A harrowing sight met his view as he 
 passed over the field of destruction. The 
 dead did not so much awaken his sensibilities 
 as did the hopelessly wounded, calling out for 
 help in their tortures, and whose misery he 
 was unable to assuage. Shuddering, and with 
 averted face, he passed them. They stretched 
 forth their mdtilated bleeding arms, they 
 called to him in heart-rending tones. Impos- 
 dble ! He must away. Dead men and horses 
 impeded his every step. One unfortunate 
 wretch, lying on the ground in convulsions, 
 seized hold of him, and like an iron fetter 
 twined his arms around his feet. " Help me ! — 
 save me ! — let me not perish here !" He 
 groaned. He was a German. Bernard heard 
 the accents of his fatherland ! Could he re- 
 pulse a countryman ? — a fellow-soldier, who 
 with entreaties embraced his knees, who was 
 
 writhing before him, his frame shockingly 
 mutilated, and the entrails gushing forth from 
 his body ? Should he quench the last glim- 
 mering spark of hallowed life by a kick from 
 his foot ? In no other way could he disen- 
 gage himself from those tight-clasping arms ! 
 Then he exclaimed, " Louis, God must help 
 thee ! — I cannot !" 
 
 With tears coursing down his cheeks he 
 stooped down to the miserable man to take 
 him on his shoulders and carry him to a place 
 of safety ; but the vics-like grasp with which 
 the wounded man clung to him at once began 
 to relax — the arms fell back unnerved— ^e 
 uplifted face with the starting eyes sunk to 
 the ground — ^the terrible agony was over — 
 life had fled! 
 
 A chilling shudder crept through Bernard's 
 frame. He stepped tremblingly back and 
 pressed his hands to his eyes. A voice at 
 that moment suddenly calls out his name 
 from a distance — a note as from the regions 
 of the blessed strikes his ear. He looks up 
 — ^it is Louis on horseback, who comes to seek 
 the friend whom he has given. up for lost! 
 With winged speech he approaches — ^they are 
 in each other's arms — ^tears of joy flow from 
 their eyes ! But there was no time to tarry. 
 The roaring torrent of battle suffers no one 
 to dally idly on its billows ; they tear every- 
 thing along with them. "Mount quickly," 
 cried Louis. The next instant Bernard is 
 seated behind Louis, and they hasten to the 
 place where Rasinski is again rallying his 
 men. 
 
 Jaromir and Boleslaus received their 
 friends with exultation. 
 
 " You live ! You are uninjured !" was the 
 mutual salute. Full of joy, Rasinski rode 
 up. 
 
 " Bring a horse here !" he cried, and im- 
 mediately one that had galloped in riderless 
 from the field was placed at Bernard's ser- 
 vice. 
 
 During the few following moments, Louis 
 recounted that after falling from his horee, 
 though somewhat stunned, he soon recovered. 
 He crawled away from under tlie animal, 
 caught a horse running loose, and again 
 joined the regiments, until the sudden shock 
 of the retreating dragoons had swept him 
 back along with the rest. 
 
 But the whirlwind of battle has once more 
 set in. By order of the King of Naples the 
 cavalry regiments are again brought together, 
 to complete the overthrow of an enemy 
 already shaken and riddled by the heavy 
 cannonade. Rasinski rejoins the chivalrous 
 brigades, commanded by Bruyeres and Nan- 
 souty. These masses charge the foe and 
 throw him back upon his centre. Innumera- 
 ble corses, the sacrifice of success, cover the 
 battle-field. The brows of the hills behind 
 
* NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 149 
 
 the village of Semenowskoi are still covered 
 with formidable batteries, each piece inces- 
 santly disgorging its hail-storni of grape and 
 canister into the valley. Victory balances 
 and sways to and fro like the stormy waves 
 of the deep. Every step in advance is pur- 
 chased at the price of human life. Gore and 
 bleeding corses mark the path of retreat. 
 Finally the infantry, collecting all their ener- 
 gies, make a charge up the steep acclivities. 
 The enemy's fire is silenced, and another 
 interval of repose ensues. 
 
 Rasinski halted with his regiment in the 
 hollow of a ravine sheltered from the hostile 
 fire, while the infantry transferred the fight 
 to a region impracticable for cavalry. Grave 
 and silent, he rode along the line, calculating 
 the number of the missing. A dark cloud 
 overspread his brow, when he found that half 
 his men only had been left unscathed by the 
 deadly fire. Full one-third lay among the 
 dead, the rest wounded. Yet the sun was 
 only in the meridian, and the bloodiest work 
 was perhaps still to come. An aid of the 
 King of Naples now brought him an order to 
 repair to the left wing, and with his regi- 
 ment cover the artillery, who were advanc- 
 ing en masse. The officer, at the same time, 
 rode with him to the top of the nearest hill, 
 to point out the spot assigned to him by this 
 command. 
 
 The battle had now extended far towards 
 the last and strongest entrenchment of the 
 enemy. Kutosow was drawing up his re- 
 serves, to commence the second, act of the 
 drama, with unabated courage and obstinacy. 
 To defeat this, the Emperor now ordered the 
 whole line of his artillery to advance and 
 break up these concentrating masses. Ra- 
 sinski followed after three batteries of heavy 
 artillery, which took up their position at a 
 somewhat advanced point — a point at which 
 they might easily be surprised by the ene- 
 my s cavalry were not immediate protection 
 at band. 
 
 And now recommenced the work of 
 slaughter. The din of battle heard hitherto 
 was the distant grumbling of thunder com- 
 pared with the convulsions of two hundred 
 guns. The Russians were drawn up in 
 long-extended columns on the opposite emi- 
 nences. With fearful precision the balls 
 struck into the very midst of these masses ; 
 whole lines falling, yet replaced by fresh 
 rows of victims. 
 
 " They make an obstinate resistance," 
 said Rasinski, who, from the place where he 
 stood, was furnished with an excellent view. 
 " But they sacrifice themselves in vain. In- 
 stead of taking their stand there, they should 
 move farther back, or make a rapid advance. 
 They will pay dearly for this error." 
 
 The regiment, for the moment, having no I 
 
 other duty than that of looking on, Bernard, 
 Louis, and the others, gathered around their 
 commander. 
 
 " See !" exclaimed Jaromir, " how the blue 
 sky shows itself through the gaps in that 
 black wall, every time the balls strike it. 
 They must be lunatics thus to sacrifice their 
 best men !" 
 
 " But we are losing our time too, I fear,** 
 replied Rasinski. " If the Guards were now 
 brought up to secure the advantages we have 
 gained, the whole Russian army might be 
 thrown back upon its right wing, and become 
 wedged in between the Mosqua and Kolo- 
 scha. I do not see how they could es- 
 cape." 
 
 " The King of Naples, as I myself wit- 
 nessed, when in the redoubt," remarked 
 Bernard, " sent messages ^o the Emperor, 
 soliciting the advance of the Guards." 
 
 " Marshal Ney, also," said Boleslaus. 
 
 " And he refused ?" 
 
 " It seems so." 
 
 " That is unaccountable ! Incomprehen- 
 sible ! He is at too great a distance from 
 the battle-field. He should stand here where 
 we are. He would then soon change his 
 views." 
 
 " I cannot suppose," said Louis, " that a 
 commander, such as the Emperor, should 
 not have more valid reasons for refusing this 
 request, than those advanced by the parties 
 who made it." 
 
 " I can guess what may be his reasons," 
 replied Rasinski. " We are certainly not 
 yet so far advanced on either wing^ as in the 
 centre. But Prince Poniatowskoi is now, 
 also, pressing forward ; and the Viceroy has 
 never yet fought without success. But is 
 not that Regnard coming yonder ?" 
 
 It was indeed he. With a bandaged head 
 and arm he slowly emerged from uie fight, 
 accompanied by two of ms men. Rasinski 
 rode up to him. 
 
 " Well, how goes it now, friend ?" he call- 
 ed out. 
 
 " With me infernally bad, as you see. — 
 Still I have my life insured not to be taken 
 off in this battle. I am only slightly wound- 
 ed ; but the uncommon fatigue and loss of 
 blood have made me so weak that I can hard- 
 ly keep my seat. Then bad luck, vexation, 
 and the strangest anomalies are enough to 
 drive one crazy !" 
 
 " What is the matter, then ?" asked Ra^ 
 sinski, in deep earnest. 
 
 "How can you ask? Do you not see 
 how the battle goes ? it is plain the Empe- 
 ror is Emperor no more, or rather he is Em- 
 peror, but no longer the General. He is said 
 to be sick, shaken with the fever — nobody 
 can understand him. Victory lies before 
 him, and he who would once have leaped 
 
150 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 int» Charybdis to snatch the prize, now hesi- 
 tates to stretch forth his hand and take it. 
 Murat, Davoust, and Ney, have entreated 
 him to send the Guards to their assistance. 
 He has refused. They have orders merely 
 to show themselves on the heights, that the 
 enemy may take alarm. It is as if a demon 
 of hell had assumed his shape to destroy us." 
 
 " But we shall conquer, nevertheless." 
 
 " True ! How is it possible to result oth- 
 erwise ? I know what fighting is, but I 
 never saw Frenchmen fight as they do to- 
 day !" 
 
 " The enemy also does his best !" 
 
 " That he does ! He defends himself like 
 a wounded boar ; but it is just against such a 
 foe that the soldier is transformed into the 
 lion. Farewell, friend ! I must have my 
 wounds dressed. I can hardly keep in the 
 saddle." 
 
 The Colonel of dragoons held out his 
 hand and proceeded on his way. 
 
 The battle still raged in terrible fury. It 
 was now the chivalrous Eugene Beauharnois 
 who had. the must difilcult work to perform. 
 On an eminence equi-distant between the 
 villages of Borodino and Semenowskoi, the 
 enemy had fortified his position by a formida- 
 ble redoubt, from which four-and-twenty 
 pieces of ordnance incessantly poured forth 
 a torrent upon the attacking regiments. 
 
 " There lies the victory !" Rasinski ex- 
 claimed, as he fixed his eye upon this point, 
 against which both armies now directed their 
 whole strength. 
 
 " That redoubt rs the palladium of the 
 Russians," he again exclaimed, his eye 
 flashing fire. " But it must become ours. 
 The Emperor will now evince to the world 
 that he is still the general and tactician, as 
 at Marengo and Austerlitz !" 
 
 Orders now came for Rasinski to join the 
 other masses of cavalry, which were to 
 charge the enemy's infantry, which, for the 
 third time, had been rallied by the indomita- 
 ble Kutosow. 
 
 The French troops were collected in a 
 hollow, throu;rh which flowed a streamlet, 
 and under shelter of the elevation of the 
 surrounding ground. At the same time vast 
 columns of infantry were seen unfolding 
 their lines and marching up to storm the re- 
 doubt. 
 
 " I believe it would be easier to storm 
 Olympus, than this infernal laboratory of the 
 Cyclops," said Bernard to Louis, pointing to 
 the redoubt. 
 
 But the columns were already advancing 
 at a quick pace with fixed bayonets. — 
 Then came a horrible crash. A deluge of 
 grape poured its death-mission among the 
 assailants. The high whirling clouds of 
 dust precluded the possibility of distinguish- 
 
 ing who fell or who remained standing. But 
 soon the eagles again glittered in their splen- 
 dor, and with maddening breathlessness again 
 the Frenchmen advanced. The devouring 
 monster on the summit seemed to have be- 
 come mute ; but it was only to make more 
 sure his prey. The column formed once 
 more into a solid phalanx, it darte'd its fiery 
 tongues from its four-and-twenty pieces, and 
 a roar which shook the heavens and earth 
 reverberated through the air. As the furi- 
 ous hail-storm rages over the field, and pros- 
 trates stalks and ears level with the ground, 
 so did this scythe of destruction now mow 
 down the French warriors. To all appear- 
 ance one-half of the men had been swept 
 away at one blow. The iron stream 
 which rolled over them hardly gave them 
 time to draw breath. The insatiable furies 
 of carnage, wrapped in suflbcating clouds, 
 launched their hellish lightnings forth on 
 every side. Unable to succeed, the attack- 
 ing columns wavered, broke away, and dis- 
 solved in irregular flight. Fresh troops were 
 led on to the assault ; but with unabated 
 fury the destructive stream from the redoubt 
 covered the field. Corpses fell upon corpses, 
 forming a rampart of flesh around this dead- 
 ly crater. 
 
 The wings of the Russian army rested 
 against either side of this redoubt. Impreg- 
 nable as Gibraltar, they defied every eflbrt. 
 Their infantry contributed greatly to the 
 destruction of the assailants. Murat sends 
 two regiments of cavalry against thesd 
 columns, to turn them and then storm the 
 redoubt in front. But hardly are they within 
 range, when death breaks their lines. A bul- 
 let stretches their valiant leader, Montbrun, 
 on the ground. Those who sec him fall halt 
 and waver. Quickly General. Caulaincourt 
 dashes forward and takes Montbrun's place. 
 
 '• Friends !" he cries, " we will avenge the 
 fallen hero^this is no time for weeping !" 
 
 The King of Naples orders the whole 
 combined mass of cavalry to advance. Two 
 regiments of Saxon cuirassiers constitute 
 the left wing — a Polish regiment joins them. 
 Then follows Rasinski with his men, suc- 
 ceeded by the rest of the cavalry. 
 
 Slowly they mount until they reach the 
 level ground. The word of command is 
 given ; the trumpet sounds ; the mighty tor- 
 rent rushes swiftly across the field ; the 
 thunder of the artillery is drowned by the 
 heavy trampling of horses, and the war-cry 
 of the Franks. A cloud of dust envelops 
 them in the darkness of night. The flashes 
 from the enemy's guns form a guide to the 
 goal. Closely wedged, knee to knee, they 
 push onward. Nothing surely can with- 
 stand the shock of this formidable body. 
 The die on which hangs two imperial desti 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 151 
 
 nies is thrown high in air. The play is for 
 ihe mastery of the world. With terrible 
 power the French cavalry rush upon the 
 enemy's lines and throw them back into the 
 plain. This sight rekindles the ardor of the 
 repulsed infantry, which is promptly again 
 put in motion against the redoubt. 
 
 With a piercing shout of rage the foot- 
 men advance. The iron death-missiles again 
 iiour into their ranks and carry off thousands, 
 i'orward they struggle over the mangled 
 corpses of their comrades. The eagles fall. 
 Forward ! Their officers sink, struck by the 
 death-hail. Forward ! is the cry, that they 
 may breathe their last on the ^eld of victo- 
 ry. And they rush on, straight into the 
 black thundering pit of destruction. The 
 earth has become a raging ocean — all around 
 the breakers roar — the abyss yawns, glaring 
 on every side. Once more the sluices of 
 hell open, roar, and hurl flames and death 
 among the assailants. Their line lies pros- 
 trate. But " Forward !" is-the cry of the rem- 
 nant as they still press on. 
 
 On a sudden all is still. Tt^e thunder is 
 hushed ; the black curtain of smoke is rent, 
 and a brilliant light strikes the darkened 
 vision of these heroes. "Can it be? Does 
 another wall of fire rise before us ? No ! — 
 we hear the shout of friends — ^the gladden- 
 ing cry of " Victory !" 
 
 It was the valiant cuirassiers who carried 
 the redoubt ; and proudly did the sun mirror 
 itself in the burnished steel of those breast- 
 plates which covered hearts of still more 
 inflexible metal. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 The formidable redoubt is taken. The 
 intrepid foes are overthrown and defeated. 
 But soon they are incorporated with the yet 
 unbroken masses. The enemy seems to 
 meditate a renewal of the contest. He is 
 aware that he must give way, but he will 
 not flee. With wrathful glances towards 
 the scene of battle, he slowly retreats and 
 takes up a new and secure position. His 
 hills and his streams are to him powerful 
 auxiliaries. There is no rivulet which does 
 not oSer its steep banks as a shelter to the son 
 of the soil, and protect him against the pur- 
 suing enemy. There is no hill which does 
 not answer for a fortress to form a fresh im- 
 pediment in the way. 
 
 Thus it did not become the task of the 
 U^bt cavalry to increase the confusion. The 
 
 usual lighter after-play did not here succeed 
 the more serious performance, furnishing 
 booty and prisoners. The iron messen- 
 gers of the artillery alone struck furiously 
 the heels of the slowly retreating enemy, 
 until silent, hallowed night gloomily spread 
 her dusky mantle over the agonies and hor- 
 rors of this eventful day. 
 
 Still llasinski was ordered to cover the 
 pursuing artillery, and protect them from the 
 attacks of the cavalry of the enemy, that 
 might turn about. 
 
 Now, when the curtain of night had been 
 drawn around them, and even this last con- 
 flict was over, Rasinski rode leisurely back 
 with his squadrons over the battle-field, in 
 search of a fitting place for their bivouac. 
 The profound obscurity did not permit them 
 to distinguish anything clearly. The sky 
 was overcast with lowering clouds, drawn 
 together by the day's cannonade. A chill- 
 ing, drizzling rain, driven by the rough au- 
 tumn winds, dashed in the exhausted war- 
 rior's faces. To the terrible tumult of the 
 day succeeded deep, gloomy silence. It was 
 only from the agitated tops of the forest-trees 
 that a hollow rustling was heard, while flut- 
 tering carrion-crows, already scenting their 
 prey, kept up their disgusting croakings over 
 the heads of the riders. The aspect of na- 
 ture all around sorted well with the tone 
 pervading every breast. Hushed silence 
 sealed every lip. 
 
 Is this the feeling after a victory ? thought 
 Louis, with an inward shudder. His ow^n 
 fate at this moment appeared to him as a 
 dark troubled dream, out of which he must 
 awake. Trembling, he cast a backward 
 glance on the path of his life, which from a 
 gentle valley had towered to the dizziest 
 heights, and now conducted him into the 
 darkest abyss. A few months ago, when 
 the vernal buds of a luxuriant vegetation 
 opened on the sunny plains of Italy, his 
 breast was yet filled with calm and silent 
 happiness. He then looked soberly and pla- 
 cid upon life; though many dark clouds had 
 passed over his head, yet he felt happy and 
 contented in his limited circumstances. 
 Then he built charming castles in the air, 
 indicated by a peaceful future, remote from 
 the turmoil of the world. He thought of 
 Mary, of his mother, of their quiet domestic 
 comforts; of the serious claims of the 
 sciences, and of business which awaited 
 him. He felt himself so very happy as 
 a son and a brother. Even the wonderful 
 emotions of his heart, called into existence 
 by that charming, fascinating being, whom 
 he had met at the foot of St. Bernard, 
 brought only the smile of melancholy long- 
 ings upon his lips. That which he had ever 
 regarded as a dream, as a passing, vanishing 
 
1^ 
 
 EIGHTEEN- HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 apparition, could not possibly strike any very 
 deep root of sadness into his soul. 
 
 He knew grief only from contemplating 
 the fate of his native country, which cer- 
 tainly cast some very dark shadows upon the 
 background of his otherwise peaceful days, 
 and that certain pain which often might be 
 called a pleasure, arising from those unalloy- 
 ed and vague desires and impulses which 
 agitate every youthful breast. With these 
 feelings he had ascended the hill before 
 Duomo d'Ossola. 
 
 And now, on finding himself in the heart 
 of Russia, on a battle-field covered with 
 corses, drenched in blood — when he reflect- 
 ed that his beloved mother was sleeping far 
 away in the silent tomb — that his only sister 
 was left solitary and bereaved — that the im- 
 age of Bianca had sunk into the gulf of eter- 
 nal night — these were moments when, in 
 convulsive agony, he would exclaim : 
 
 " Oh, that I could arouse me from this 
 horrible dream !" 
 
 As they rode, Bernard 's horse stumbled 
 and fell on his knees, so that the rider was 
 well-nigh thrown over his head. "What 
 is this ! " he exclaimed, pulling up the beast 
 •' I thought it was a body." 
 
 Bernard was right. They were crossing 
 that part of the field where the Russian ar- 
 tillery had done the most terrible execution. 
 Till now they had only traversed the ground 
 over w4iich the French artillery had step by 
 step followed the enemy. 
 
 ** We are now on the high-land behind 
 Semenowskoi," said Rasinski ;" a great many 
 dead must be lying here, and probably many 
 badly wounded. Ride carefully, lest we 
 chance to increase the suiTerings of these 
 helpless wretches." 
 
 This humane order it was impossible to fol- 
 low, for now the number of carcases of men 
 and animals covered the ground so thickly, 
 that they came in contact with the horses' 
 hoofs almost at every step. 
 
 "Let us turn to the left down in that 
 meadow," said Rasinski ; " there death cannot 
 have raged so fearfully. It will be some- 
 thing out of the way, but we shall reach our 
 destmation sooner than by being arrested as 
 we are at every step." 
 
 As long as they continued on the ridge of 
 the hill, the ground was still thickly sown 
 with dead bodies. 
 
 " I am glad that the night hides from us 
 this horrid spectacle," Louis remarked. — 
 *' Fancy may be stronger than reality, but 
 still her vagaries could not be so shocking 
 as the sight which daylight would reveal to 
 us here." 
 
 The little band rode silently over the field 
 of death. Frequently they fancied they heard 
 groans and cries, but these expressions of 
 
 suflfering were drowned in the rustling of 
 the forest-trees, the heavy tramp of the 
 horses' hoofs, the rattling of the sabres, or 
 the snuffing and snorting of the heavily- 
 breathing horses. 
 
 Every one breathed more freely, as they 
 reached the lower ground where death had 
 not found its victims so fully exposed. Pol- 
 lowing the course of the little rivulet, they 
 passed the foot of the hill on which were 
 erected the three redoubts against which 
 Rasinski and his regiment had directed their 
 efforts. 
 
 " Halt— front ! " he shouted. The regi- 
 ment, or the handful that was left of it, now 
 fronted the very eminence on which they had 
 lost the full half of their number. 
 
 " Up there," said Rasinski to his dovoted 
 followers in his powerful voice, " there on 
 that hill lie our brave and faithful comrades. 
 Let us offer up our silent prayer for them." 
 
 With these words he took off his Polish 
 zapka with the waving plume, and inclined 
 his uncovered head. In deep solemnity the 
 warriors followed his example. For some 
 minutes a hallowed silence prevailed. The 
 leader then resumed his erect posture and in 
 a short gallop rode down the line. On the 
 summit of a little elevation he stopped. — 
 " Right and left wheel into circle !" It was 
 done. " Halt ! " he finally cried, and com- 
 menced : " Comrades ! this day has been 
 bloody, but glorious. More than two-thirds 
 of our brother-soldiers are missing in our 
 lines. One-half of our own number have 
 purchased the victory with their lives ; the 
 others are lying severely wounded. We 
 mourn over the brave ones who have fallen, 
 but their loss must not discourage us ; it ought 
 rather to heighten our zeal. Banish, then, all 
 gloomy thoughts from your breasts. ' We 
 have been victorious, and after a victory the 
 warrior's face should beam with joy. The 
 struggle is over ; only a few days, and the 
 reward will be yours. Yes, my brothers, 
 this is indeed a glorious day ; for although, 
 during the battle, fortune was sometimes 
 against us, you have fought like true sons of 
 Poland — it is my pride to have been your lead- 
 er." 
 
 " Hurrah for our Colonel, the gallant Ra- 
 sinski !" cried they all. Greatly moved, 
 Rasinski returned a soldier-like salute. The 
 trumpets then sounded, and with re-adjusted 
 files, and in close order, the body proceeded 
 on to the bivouac. 
 
 Soon a cheerful fire crackled and burned 
 high. The projecting branches of the trees 
 of the forest hard by were illuminated by its 
 exhilirating blaze. Bernard, Louis, Jaromir, 
 Boleslaus, and the officers whom the battle 
 had spared all threw themselves on the ground 
 in a circle with their colonel in their midsL 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 " Well, friends," said Rasinski, " it has 
 been a toilsome day for us ; do you know 
 how many there are leftof us ? Three hundred 
 and twenty-five, all counted. The battle has 
 cost us three hundred and seventy !" 
 
 The officers regarded each other with sad- 
 ness. They were no more than five in num- 
 ber. Seven had been carried from the battle- 
 field severely wounded., eleven cut off by 
 deati), and of those who now sat by the 
 fire none were entirely unhurt but Rasin- 
 ski, Jaromir, and the captains Bernecki, 
 Jelski, and Bernard. Louis had been some- 
 what bruised by the fall of his horse. 
 
 " I am grieved for all whom we miss," 
 said Rasinski, " yet I may say, that one loss 
 affects me more especially. It is that of our 
 old friend Petrowski, this brave old man, who 
 carried more scara than hairs on his head, 
 but in whose breast still glowed the fire of 
 youthful courage and patriotism." 
 
 " Ah ! Petrowski is dead ! And where- 
 abouts did he fall ! " asked Bernard. 
 
 *' Up there by the redoubts, where we were 
 repulsed, and where the most of ours met 
 their fate. He would not turn, but was ex- 
 erting himself to make his section stand their 
 ground, when a cannon-ball passed right 
 tiirough him an4 his horse too. They fell, 
 the one over the other. I saw it all, but it 
 was impossible to assist him, being ourselves 
 swept away. 
 
 " Might he not be among the wounded ?" 
 asked Louis. 
 
 ^ No, dear friend — I have receiveil the re- 
 port. And then I saw death too plainly 
 stamped on his face. He lies up there. — 
 Should we have time to-morrow, I will see 
 if I cannot give a suitable burial to the old 
 hero's remains. His comrades may then tell 
 at home where lie the bones of this gallant 
 Pole." Rasinski shook as if with the ague as 
 he added, " But this only serves to unman 
 ns. Who knows what accident might rouse 
 us from our slumbers during the night? let 
 us enjoy a short season of rest while we can." 
 
 The wearied soldiers were soon wrapped 
 in forgetfulness. But in the middle of the 
 night, impatience and care tore Rasinski 
 from his slumber. Wrapped up in his cloak, 
 he passed through the lines of the sleepers 
 lying around the fire. The watches alone 
 were up and looking fixedly into the fire ; 
 they either thoughtfully or thoughtlessly 
 stirred up the embers. 
 
 " What time is it, friend ?" asked Rasin- 
 ski. 
 
 " Midnight." 
 
 " Did you hear nothing ? No report of 
 cannon in the di^stance— no beating of drums?" 
 
 " Only dead silence !" 
 
 " Strange," murmured Rasinski ; " we 
 ought to pursue, and not give the enemy this 
 
 repose. But the victors are perhaps even 
 more exhausted than the vanquished." 
 
 He bent his way towards a hill which 
 commanded an extensive view. The battle- 
 field lay before him, black and silent. As 
 on the evening before, the fires shone in a 
 bright semicircle in the Russian camp. Sin- 
 gly and expiring they burned on the ground on 
 which the conquering army was encamped. 
 
 " This, then, is the fruit of so terrible a 
 battle ? The enemy mistaken in his position ? 
 To-morrow, perhaps, the sun will again rise 
 as bloody ? Only one such victory more, and 
 we are lost !" He paced violently up and 
 down. A confused noise of voices from a 
 distance reached his ear. It was the well- 
 known Russian battle-call, which sounded 
 from the camp. " Would they risk an attack 
 during the night ?" 
 
 Meanwhile he heard a rustle close behind 
 him in the bushes. 
 
 " Who goes there ?" 
 
 •* It is I," replied Louis' voice. ** The 
 heavy dreams would not permit me to sleep. 
 I followed you, when I saw that you ascend- 
 ed the hill.'^ 
 
 Rasinski laid his hand upon Louis* 
 shoulder and sighed : " Oh, my frieiul," said 
 he, " were you as experienced a soldier as I 
 am, you would understand that victory is 
 sometimes destructive. This war cannot 
 have a happy termination. The Emperor is 
 blinded. He does not know old Russia. He 
 thinks to advance to Moscow, there to dictate 
 a peace. And should he succeed in entering 
 the old capital of the Czars, only just two 
 days' march before us, he does not know 
 that he will then only stand at the threshold 
 of this gigantic Empire. The most fertile 
 provinces are yet untouched. They have 
 resources enough to nourish the flying in- 
 habitants who live on this side of Moscow, 
 while us the winter here will devour. And 
 as yet we are not in Moscow. Do you see 
 the bright fires of the Russian camp yonder^ 
 do you hear their war-cry ? If they are re- 
 solved, if their leader has ability and strength 
 of purpose, they will still give us three ti- 
 tles before we see the golden spires of that 
 city shining in the sun. And then ? When 
 thousands and thousands have been swept 
 away, how shall we keep the immense terri- 
 tory we have conquered ? A boundary is 
 set to every human power ! Accustomed to 
 the greatest successes, to realise the almost 
 impossible, our great leader has overrated 
 his strength and misunderstood his means. 
 He must break down under the gigantic 
 weight of his undertaking, which, rolling 
 backwards, must crush him." 
 
 Louis was silent — the gave himself up to 
 glowing meditations. Rasinski also remain- 
 ed silent, and stared into the darkness. 
 
Ib4 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 "Oh, friend," he finally added, and in a tone 
 Louis had never heard from him before, 
 " what if, in looking upon this field of destruc- 
 tion, the question is asked, why do these 
 thousands bleed ? Alas, you do ndt suspect 
 the horrible picture of human misery that 
 lurks behind the mask of ambition ! I do not 
 bewail the dead ; they have found their rest. 
 To fall in battle, is the fate, the glory of the 
 warrior. But how many thousands, perhaps, 
 lie here on the rack of unutterable suffering ! 
 This rough, piercing night makes us trem- 
 ble with cold, although unhurt and refreshed. 
 How then must it be with those who, with 
 broken limbs, with mutilated frames, are 
 abandoned to the influence of the cold, their 
 wounds bleeding, while frost and fever al- 
 ternately seize them ? In agony they count 
 the lazy hours of the night, until assistance 
 shall be given to their misery. They think 
 of home, of parents, from whom the iron 
 hand of war tore them ; the father sees before 
 his eyes the image of his tender children, the 
 husband the figure of his loving wife, the 
 youtli that of the weeping bride ! Buried 
 among cold corpses, surrounded by those who 
 in the struggle of death curse themselves 
 and their creator, they lie in horrible solitude 
 or in still more terrible company, while every 
 fresh minute pours upon them a new stream 
 of horror and misery. Louis ! He who sees 
 the battle, only sees the smiling face of war. 
 Look at the battle-field to-morrow and you 
 will shrink back in dismay before the grin- 
 ning face of the hideous spectre ! " 
 
 E-vcitcd by his words, Rasinski here seized 
 Louis' hand and continued " But see it you 
 shall and must ! You must know what a 
 man dares to do for glory and his country. 
 This sight will finish your education." 
 
 Exlmusted, he threw his arms around Louis' 
 neck, and rested his head upon his breast. He 
 shed no tears, but his heart beat violently 
 and his chocks burned as if with a fever. 
 Louis had no words of consolation, only the 
 pressure of love for the man on whose manly 
 power he had often already supported him- 
 self, and whom he now saw so overpowered. 
 But it was only for a few minutes. Rasinski 
 had soon recomposed himself; he rose and 
 with melancholy friendship, said : 
 
 "My breast becomes calm like one in 
 which the heart beats no more ; now it is 
 over : I have given freedom to the choking 
 oppression — the dream is passed — I am my 
 own master again. You will never see me 
 weak when the moment of action claims 
 firmness. I wished ta trust my sorrows to 
 the night alone : now the breast of a friend 
 divides them, and you will help me to bear 
 them." 
 
 Arm in arm they went down and sought 
 repose with the rest. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 . As day broke, an orderly brought Rasinski 
 information that the Emperor intended to hold 
 a review of the troops. At an early hour the 
 regiment mounted and took its place in the 
 line. Now, only had it become known, 
 through the aids who rode to and fro, that 
 the Russian army had commenced its retreat 
 during the night The king of Naples had 
 gone with part of the cavalry to inform him- 
 self whether they would retire towards Mos- 
 cow or on the route through Kalouga. A 
 firm, rigid pursuit with the whole army, the 
 emperor thought he could not ask of the 
 exhausted and almost decomposed troops. 
 
 Arranged in a long line, the regiments 
 crowned the crest of the hills, lining the 
 battle-gi'ound now lying before tliem. Like 
 a dreary desert was its aspect, but they were 
 too far distant to recognise one of the thou- 
 sands lying scattered there. The army itself 
 presented but an indifferent plight. The 
 troops had collect(jd around their eagles, but 
 they looked neither gay nor proud of victory. 
 Their uniforms were mostly black with the 
 smoke of powder and dust, torn by balls and 
 cuts of the sabre. Hunger, cold, too great 
 exertion had exhausted the strength of these 
 braves. The usually fierj»eye looked dis- 
 spiritedly from underneath the bushy eye- 
 brow. A deep expression of seriousness was 
 depicted on their wrinkled foreheads; it 
 seemed to increase with every glance, upon 
 the bloody fields where thousands of their 
 comrades slept. And these fields of death 
 and blood were the sole trophies of victory 
 which had been gained! Many regiments 
 had dwindled to one-third their original num- 
 ber ; a small band, they stood around their ea- 
 gles, hardly numerous enough to defend them. 
 
 Thus they awaited the Emperor. 
 
 With earnest features he rode through their 
 lines. He saluted the soldiers, praised their 
 courage, promised rewards, promotions, de- 
 corations. The officers set up the cry : " Vive 
 FEmpereur!" and the warriors joined it 
 But it was only the old custoni — a duty of the 
 heart — no free enthusiasm, which bravely and 
 happily breaks through its bonds. And then, 
 where the thunder of thousands of voices 
 formerly resounded, only hundreds' were 
 heard — the lips of many were closed forever. 
 
 After reviewing the troops, the emperor 
 turned his horse to ride over the battle-field. 
 Many generals and superior officers followed 
 him. Rasinski, and at his request, Bernard 
 and Louis, also followed at some distance. 
 
 " See what grey clouds cover the sky," 
 said Bernard to Louis as they rode slowly 
 along by each other's side. " It is as if heaven 
 itself were afraid to show a gay face on the 
 scene." i 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 155 
 
 A transport of wounded passed them. 
 The expression of most of the sufferers was 
 one of silent resignation. A few looked dar- 
 ing and wild, and as though they would raise 
 themselvefS above their hapless fate, broke 
 out into exclamations of pain. A very small 
 number seemed to feel joy at having found 
 assistance, or looked gratefully around. 
 
 Now they reached the first points around 
 which death had raged violently. The ground 
 being uneven, many of the wounded had 
 crept hither to find a protection against the 
 chill of the air. They were lying in holes in 
 the earth, and trembling with frost and fever. 
 The teeth of an old grenadier rattled terribly, 
 but no sound of pain escaped him ; he looked 
 fiercely only from his deep sunken eyes at 
 the passers. Ijouis would have dismounted 
 to assist the miserable wretch, had not two of 
 his comrades arrived with a litter, on which 
 they laid him, and carried him away. 
 
 A few steps farther, Bernard, elbowing 
 Louis, said : " Is not that pitiable ?" 
 
 A young man with fair hair, in whose soft, 
 almost maiden features, in spite of pain and 
 misery, youthful beauty was still depicted, 
 lay across the way, his dying eyes fixed on 
 the comers. Low words of complaint 
 seemed to stand on his half-opened lips ; im- 
 ploringly he cnst his eyes upon some soldiers 
 who were taking up the wounded near him. 
 He seemed to murmur: " Oh, come, and help 
 me also !" 
 
 Louis could bear it no longer. He jumped 
 from his horse, approached the unhappy 
 youth, and bent down to assist him. A grey- 
 headed grenadier roughly spoke : 
 
 "Let him lie, comrade; he cannot be 
 helped; you only lengthen his sufferings. 
 How should a man with one leg and a crushed 
 breast be able to make his way from this ter- 
 rible country to France? Leave him, and 
 help those who may still be saved? Wish 
 him a good sleep, and go !" 
 
 The unfortunate sufferer heard the words 
 which tore the last thread of hope without 
 pity, and sighing deeply, he looked up in 
 Louis' face. The latter's eye became dim. 
 With compassionate interest he bent over 
 him, and said : 
 
 " It is not so bad yet, friend ; I mean to 
 carry you up there — keep up courage !" 
 
 The wounded boy looked thankfully at 
 him ; he could not smile, so horribly had pain 
 contracted his muscles, but a slight shade of 
 hope lighted up his dying eye. Louis would 
 have raised him at the instant, but the misera^ 
 ble soldier had still his knapsiick at his 
 back. The weight was too much, and he was 
 obliged to desist. Bernard thereupon alighted 
 to assist him. Both the friends stooped over 
 softly to raise the helpless boy — ^his head fell 
 
 back — Ah I ma mere .'" escaped his lips, and 
 slowly he sank down a corpse. 
 
 For a moment both stood appalled. They 
 gazed on the body in mute bewilderment, 
 then slowly remounted. 
 
 Shortly they were on the space where 
 the conflict had been waged so obstinately 
 the preceding day. Here tlie whole field 
 was covered with corpses. ; but few wounded 
 were to be seen, for as soon as the morning 
 dawned, hundreds of soldiers had been en- 
 gaged in getting them into the wagons. More 
 horrible was the scene of death on wliich they 
 now stepped. In innumerable masses, Rus- 
 sians and Frenchmen covered the field, for 
 here the struggle had for a long time been 
 undecided. Terrible mutilations appeared 
 everywhere ; the torn limbs lay singly around, 
 or were carelessly thrown into heaps. Dur- 
 ing the wild struggle of death, the bodies of 
 mutilated horsesi had fallen upon the dead 
 and wounded, so that in the cold features of 
 those found lying under the carcasses of these 
 animals, the terror in which they had breathed 
 out their spirit under the horrible burden 
 was expressed. Broken helmets, cuirasses, 
 guns and sabres shone among the bleeding 
 heaps ; pieces of broken cannon lay arouni 
 It was difficult to lead the horses through this 
 terrible labyrinth without human bodies be- 
 ing injured by their hoofs. 
 
 The Emperor halted. With a keen eye he 
 looked around. His glance passed over the 
 scene of horror at his feet. He did not look 
 at the field of death, but at that of battle, 
 with the discerning ken of a chieftain. He 
 seemed to wish to be alone, his suite was or- 
 dered by a sign to retire. They dispersed in 
 different directions over the battle-field. Mar- 
 shal Berthier alone remained at the Emperor's 
 side. 
 
 Rasinski and his companions rode towards 
 the place where yesterday he and his regi- 
 ment had first got within fire. Soon the 
 Polish uniforms were seen glittering around ; 
 they could be distinguished from afar by their 
 brilliant blue color, 
 
 " Here I sought thee yesterday," said Ber- 
 nard to Louis. " By the great cross of Nu- 
 remberg, I am glad to see thee now riding 
 at my side." 
 
 " Could we only succeed in finding the 
 body of brave old Petrowski, I should feel 
 happier," said Rasinski, attentively casting hia 
 glances over the field, and looking closely 
 among the dead of his regiment. " Herea- 
 bouts I saw him fall. But is not that Jaromir 
 coming ?" 
 
 "We' are in march. Colonel Rasinski," 
 exclaimed Jaromir, riding up. "Just now 
 the order arrived. Boleslaus is already gone 
 with the regiment. I remained behind to 
 seek you. We take the road to Uliga, on 
 which we are to reconnoitre the byways of 
 the old road to Moscow, as it is supposea that 
 
156 
 
 Et6HTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 the Russians turned thither, to march upon 
 Kalouga and Tula." 
 
 " Who brought the order?" 
 
 " An aid of the king of Naples." 
 
 "Did you find feed?" 
 
 Jaromir shook his head. 
 
 " Then the horses must starve." 
 
 " Some hay and half-rotten grass was all 
 we could pick up, but we hope to get some 
 provisions in the villages on the road. 
 
 "How are the men?" 
 
 "Refreshed, but not sufficiently; deter- 
 mined, but not gay. The victory is incom- 
 plete. They know that we have made only 
 eighteen hundred prisoners, and after such a 
 battle, we ought at least to have double that 
 of thousands. The twenty-four heavy pieces 
 of cannon, and some smaller ones, is all that 
 is captured. 
 
 "And over seventy thousand killed and 
 wounded !" returned Rasinski, gloomily. 
 
 " Counting both sides," replied Jaromir. 
 
 " A terrible victory ! Forty-two generals 
 have fallen, among them Coulaincourt and 
 iiontbrun. Marshal Davoust, too, is wound- 
 ed." 
 
 " But not dangerously !" 
 
 Rasinski said no more. They had now 
 reached open ground, and rode over at full 
 speed to join their regiment and once more 
 throw themselves into the roaring sea of 
 belligerent strife. 
 
 CHAPTER U. 
 
 Oh the fourteenth of September, the first 
 body of the army's cavalry, among whom 
 were Rasinski's, reached the " Sacred Moun- 
 tain" from the top of which they saw, for the 
 firat time, the old seat of the Czars spread 
 out before them ui the valley. It was two 
 in the afternoon. A brilliant autumnal sun 
 broke through the thin clouds, passing over the 
 clear blue sky. In a-thous9,nd different tints 
 shone the numberless cupolas of the churches 
 and palaces, which, glittering in gold and 
 green, rose high above the other buildings of 
 the city. From the forest of spires, the 
 Kremlin rose like a crowned head, while 
 crowds of pigeons circled, fluttering their 
 brilliant wings in the sun's rays around the 
 spires of the towers. 
 
 An involuntary exclamation of gladness 
 and awe burst from every breast. " The 
 cry of " Moscou ! Moscou !" resounded 
 everywhere. Like a golden prize for the 
 victor— like a brilliant crown for the valorous, 
 
 the capital lay before the eyes of those 
 braves who, from the beautiful streams of 
 France and Germany, had dared to invade 
 the horrid deserts of Old Russia. Those 
 foremost called to their comrades behind. 
 Those wearied with the exertions of the 
 march, felt a new return of strength in their 
 veins; all recollection of their pains, sorrows, 
 dangers and privations suddenly vanished. 
 Like a stream which suddenly overflows its 
 banks and rushes on in a rapid course, so 
 did the crowd of soldiers stream up the, hill. 
 The thronger the masses of the army became 
 on the summit, the louder were the rever- 
 berations through the silent sky. 
 
 " This, then, is the Capital of the Czars, 
 rich in fables and wonders !" exclaimed Ber- 
 nard, after gazing some time. " We have 
 found it at length behind the forests and 
 wastes which protectingly surround it !" 
 
 "It is time," said Rasinski, casting a 
 glance back upon the army ; " high time !" 
 
 Loiiis gazed upon the imposing city with 
 that reverential wonder that at the same 
 time eases and elevates the heart. 
 
 " A glorious picture !*' exclaimed Bernard 
 with animation. " Oh, what a pity that it 
 cannot be painted ! Observe the masses of 
 cupolas there in their brilliancy and splendor ; 
 then the confused crowd of tops of houses 
 below, and the green stripes and spots mark- 
 ing the gardens tliat like veins wind their 
 way through the stones ; the silvery gleams 
 which the stream brilliantly throws upon the 
 landscape ; and look at this terrible army, 
 which like a black flood, rolls over the 
 fields. See only how the bayonets shine in 
 the sun, and the plumes and metal of the 
 cannon seen yonder in a long line at the 
 edge of the forest. Here and there the eye 
 is lost in a labyrinth ; for the last towers of 
 the city already disappear in blue fogs, and 
 the long train of carriages and the rear of 
 the army are enclosed in invisible regions." 
 
 During this conversation they had slowly 
 ridden down the hill. For some time the con- 
 fusion had prevailed that is generally crea- 
 ted by extraordinary events on the march ; 
 but the men were finally got into line. 
 
 Thus they approached nearer and nearer 
 to the city, expecting every moment to meet 
 a resolute enemy. Suddenly they halted — -a 
 rumor ran through the lines that the King of 
 Naples was engaged in amicable conversa- 
 tion with the leader of the Cossacks. Al- 
 ready hopes were entertained that the strug- 
 gle would end here — that peace was at hand 
 — that the reward for all their pains and 
 dangers was secure and immediate. Risin- 
 ski was desirous of learning the truth ; he 
 therefore rode a little in advance. He found 
 it true that Murat had really spoken to 
 some Cossacks and made them presents. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 1&7 
 
 jBat thoy had only accompanied a single 
 o&cer, who claimed an unmolested retreat 
 for the rear-guard of Kutosow's army ; if 
 this were refused, they threatened to set the 
 city on fire as they left it behind them. The 
 Emperor, informed of this, had consented, 
 and they now began to enter the city. 
 
 While Prince Eugene and Prince Poniatow- 
 ski with their corps proceeded along the right 
 and left of the main road, thereby surround- 
 ing the city, Rasinski and his soldiers fol- 
 lowed the King of Naples, who cautiously ad- 
 vanced in a straight line. He fully counted 
 on serious fighting in the streets. 
 
 And now they passed through the streets 
 of the suburb. They were empty and deso- 
 late, as had been the villages they had passed 
 in numbers on their way to this long desired 
 point. 
 
 " The people must be terribly afraid of 
 us," observed Bernard to Jaromir, who rode 
 close by his side ; " they show us neither the 
 tips of their noses, nor an inch of their 
 beards 7 Is there not a single handsome 
 child curious enough to peep out of these 
 small windows ? It is well enough for the 
 enemy to fear us, but the girls should not be 
 afraid. Are we cannibals ? What the devil 
 do they take us for ?" 
 
 " I suppose," replied Louis, " that the in- 
 habitants of these suburbs have fled to the 
 city. They fear, perhaps, the first invasion ; 
 and it is not improbable that a skirmish may 
 have been fought here. In that case, he who 
 cannot use arms is certainly the worst off." 
 
 " And especially here," said Rasinski, 
 turning round, having heard the conversation, 
 " where the wooden houses would burn as 
 quick as dry straw, so soon as the first gre- 
 nade was cast into them." 
 
 " It would be an infernal trick," observed 
 Jaromir, if our winter quarters should be 
 burned down. It appears to me, that a re- 
 pose of six or seven months, which I expect 
 to have here, will benefit us." 
 
 Rasinski was silent, but on his brow could 
 be read that he did not agree with Jaromir's 
 hope. " The thirf^ most desirable," he said 
 after a pause, " would be a peace as soon as 
 possible. And were this to arrive, the pres- 
 ence of the Emperor is more required in the 
 centre of Europe than here, almost on the 
 frontiers of Asia." 
 
 Boleslaus rode earnestly and silently for- 
 ward, as usual, without taking part in the 
 conversation. 
 
 Suddenly the line halted again. As Ra- 
 sinski was not at the head, he could not see 
 what obstacle stood in the way. But on 
 looking forward, he saw Colonel Regnard 
 coming down the street. This officer still 
 wore his arm in a sling, and a broad black 
 plaster on his forehead. 
 
 " Good evening. Colonel," cried RasinskL 
 " What is the matter with the head of the 
 column ?" 
 
 " Ah ! friend Rasinski. How goes it ?" 
 replied Regnard. " I am happy to see you 
 well, although I knew before from the report 
 that you had been saved from the carnage of 
 that horrid engagement. What stops us ? 
 Nothing but a broken bridge over the Moskwa, 
 which will be immediately repaired. But," 
 added he, beckoning his friend, when he con- 
 tinued the conversation in an inaudible tone. 
 
 Bernard, who with his keen eye always saw 
 through the meaning of another, remarked a 
 strange agitation in Rasinski's features. 
 Even Regnard's countenance underwent a 
 foreboding change. Something extraordinary 
 or dangerous must have happened, and of 
 this he was informing Rasinski. But their 
 conversation lasted only three minutes when 
 Regnard continued his way. With gloomy 
 brow Rasinski turned to his men. He 
 seemed on the point of communicating what 
 he had heard from the Colonel, when the 
 colunm was again set in motion, and as is 
 always the case after a stoppage, had to ad- 
 vance quickly. Soon they reached the stream 
 of the Moskwa ; the bridge had been so im- 
 perfectly repaired that they preferred riding 
 through the flat river. Bernard observed that 
 Rasinski looked with excited attention at the 
 houses and streets the nearer they came to 
 the real city. Finally they reached the walls 
 which enclosed it. 
 
 " Here the streets are wider and the houses 
 larger," said Bernard. " Those buildings 
 ahead look like palaces. 1 think we shaJl 
 now make the acquaintance of the long 
 beards and pretty girls of the place." 
 
 " The contrary is what I fear," said Ra- 
 sinski, turning around and speaking in a low, 
 but very concerned tone. "According to 
 Colonel Regnard's information, the whole 
 city is as desolate as the large cemetery we 
 passed on entering." 
 
 These words, designed for those nearest to 
 him, filled all with cold terror. 
 
 " How ! — Impossible !" exclaimed Jaromir ; 
 " that would be a signal for a renewal of the 
 war — for the most resolute resistance, even 
 after we had reached the heart of the em- 
 pire." 
 
 " That is indeed to be feared. The fore- 
 bodings are now being fulfilled which gloomily 
 rose in my mind on first entering old Russia. 
 We have no longer to fear the Emperor Alex- 
 ander and his armies — we have no longer to 
 fight with them, but against an immense popu- 
 lation, burning with the fury which fanaticism 
 kindles in the hearts of man. Deeply sunk as 
 they are in superstition — slavish in obedience 
 to tiieir Gods as to their sovereign, it would 
 be impossible to persuade them that we are 
 
166 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 not come to destroy their altars — to plunder 
 their churches — to dishonor their women. 
 It will no longer be a war between two pow- 
 ers, where the decision is made on the battle- 
 field, or in the council of ministers ; no, a 
 whole people arms itself against us — a peo- 
 ple who curse us as the scum of hell. The 
 single is the enemy of the single ; — hatred 
 is implanted in the breast of the wife and 
 the boy. There is no longer a noble, majes- 
 tic struggle of thoughts, nonor, or glory, but 
 all degenerates into horrible murder, strife 
 and bloodshed, where victory and defeat are 
 equally terrible." 
 
 A gloomy fire lighted his eye as he spoke ; 
 his high forehead was drawn into deep folds, 
 and profound grief contracted his lips. Ber- 
 nard looked at him fixedly. The beauty — 
 the noble solemnity of his manly face made 
 him for a moment forget why these clouds 
 had gathered over it in so earnest a majesty. 
 Really, he thought within himself, man is. 
 most beautiful when a noble pain from the 
 depth of his heart shines through the light 
 cover of the eye upon his face. For this 
 reason tlie ancients presented their heroes in 
 those earnest atlitudes. Even in the image 
 of their Gods the slight breathing of sorrow 
 appears which ennobles and beautifies the 
 features." 
 
 The streets through which they passed made 
 a strange impression : alive with the clang of 
 war, they yet were deadly still, for the houses 
 on either hand stood like silent tombs, whence 
 no sound or sign of life proceeded. Not a 
 single chimney smoked. The cupolas of the 
 cathedral glittered in shining gold, encircled 
 with wreaths of green ; the pillars of palaces 
 towered in lofty magnificence. But the glo- 
 ries of this noble architecture resembled the 
 dismal finery of a corpse laid out in state for 
 a last melancholy exhibition, so mute, so 
 rigid was all it enclosed. This mixture of 
 the wanton splendor of life with the pro- 
 found stillness and solitude of death was so 
 painful that it oppressed the hearts of those 
 rough warriors, who as yet, however, w.ere 
 far from suspecting the terrible truth. 
 
 For two hours the troops had perambulated 
 this stony desert, in whose labyrinthine mazes 
 they became ever more deeply involved. 
 Their progress was of the slowest, for the 
 King of Naples, slillrefusing to believe what 
 each moment rendered more apparent, was in 
 constant expectation of a surprise, and could 
 not banish the idea that the foe cunningly 
 inveigled him into this confused and treach- 
 erous network of streets and lanes in order the 
 better suddenly to assail him. He therefore 
 sent strong detachments into every side-street 
 to seek the enemy supposed to lurk there. 
 None was detected. A dreadful stillness 
 reigned in the huge city, where erst the din 
 
 of traffic deafened every ear. There waa 
 heard but the dull, hollow hoof-tramp of the 
 horses, and the jar of the weapons dismally 
 reverberated from the tall, dead walls ; eo 
 that when the column halted complete silence 
 spread like a shroud over the awe-stricken 
 host. For the soldier was infected with the 
 gloom of the scene, so that, although enter- 
 ing the hostile capital, no cry of victory or 
 shout of joy escaped him; bat grave and si- 
 lent, scrutinizing with astonished eye the 
 surrounding edifices, in vain quest of a trace 
 of life, he entered the metropolis of the old 
 Czars. 
 
 Now the walls and pinnacles of the Krem- 
 lin rose in dark majesty above the intruders' 
 heads. For the first time a refreshing sound 
 was heard — a confused jumble of human 
 voices and warlike stir. It was a party of 
 the inhabitants, collected in a dark swarm 
 round a train of carts conveying provisions 
 and wounded men, who had not been soon 
 enough got out of the city. A few Cossacks, 
 left behind to escort them, spurred their ac- 
 tive little horses and quickly disappeared in 
 the maze of streets, uninjured by the bullets 
 sent after them. Suddenly, from the Krem- 
 lin, at whose doors the French had now ar- 
 rived, issued a horrible uproar of howling 
 voices. Rasinski, at the noise of the firing, 
 had galloped to the head of the column, fol- 
 lowed by Bernard, to ascertain its cause ; 
 and even his manly heart, long accustomed to 
 sounds and perils of every description, beat 
 quickly at the ghastly tumult. His eye fol- 
 lowed the direction given by his ear, and he 
 beheld, upon the Kremlin's walls, a group of 
 hideous figures, both men and women, furi- 
 ously gesticulating, and evidently resolved to 
 defend the entrance to the holy fortress. 
 The women's tangled and dishevelled hair, 
 the wild bristling beards of the men, the dis- 
 torted features and frantic gestures of all, 
 their horrible cries, and rags, and filth, and 
 barbarous weapons, composed a picture 
 frightful beyond expression. 
 
 " What !" cried Rasinski, with a start, 
 " has hell sent against us ifs most hideous d&> 
 mons ?" 
 
 " Are they men or spectres ?" inquired the 
 shuddering Bernard. 
 
 Again the grisly band set up their wild and 
 horrid shriek, and shots were tired from the 
 wall into the compact mass of soldiers. 
 The King of Naples waved a white handker- 
 chief in sign of truce, and called to Rasin- 
 ski to tell the people in their own language 
 that no harm should be done to them if they 
 abandoned their useless and desperate oppo- 
 sition. Rasinski rode forward, but scarcely 
 had he uttered the first word of peace, when 
 his voice was drowned in a horrid yell, whilst 
 the women furiously beat their breasts and 
 
 5 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 159 
 
 tore'their hair. Once more Rasinski called 
 to them to yield. Thereupon a woman of 
 colossal stature, whose loosened hair fell 
 wildly on her shoulders, sprang upon a turret 
 of the wall. 
 
 " Dog !" she cried, " with my teeth will 
 I rend thee, like a hungry wolf her prey ! 
 Robber ! thou shalt be torn like the hunter 
 who despoils the she-bear of her cubs ! 
 Curse upon ye, murderers of our sons and 
 husbands ! Curse upon ye, spoilers of our 
 cities ! A triple curse upon the godless 
 crew, who defile our holy altars, and scoff 
 the Almighty with a devil's tongue ! Woe 
 shall be your portion, worse your sufferings 
 than those of the damned in the sulphur-pit ! 
 Curses, eternal curses upon ye all ! 
 
 Rasinski shuddered. This menacing 
 figure, although fearful to behold, excited not 
 loathing. Wide robes of black and grey 
 shrouded the person of the Pythoness ; a blood- 
 red cloth, half-cap, half-turban, was twined 
 around her head. Her grizzled hair fluttered 
 in the wind, her glittering eye rolled wildly 
 in its orbit, whilst her open mouth poured 
 forth curses, and her upraised hands appealed 
 to heaven to fulfil them. 
 
 Summoning all his strength, Rasinski once 
 more shouted, in his lion-like voice — 
 
 " Madmen ! do you reject mercy ?" 
 
 Another wild howl, accompanied with 
 threatening gestures, drowned his words. 
 By a sign he warned the King that all was 
 in vain, and Murat gave orders to burst open 
 the door. The artillery was already unlim- 
 bered, and three shots whose thunder re- 
 sounded fearfully in the empty city, crashed 
 through the barrier, which broke and shiv- 
 ered at the shock. As it opened, a dense 
 throng of the mad Russians streamed out, 
 and dashed headlong into the French ranks. 
 The invaders would fain have spared them, 
 for they were too few to prompt a powerful 
 foe to needless bloodshed ; but the fanatical 
 patriotism of the infuriates made mercy 
 impossible. Like ferocious beasts, they threw 
 themselves upon their foes, thinking only of 
 destroying all they could. One raging mad- 
 man, armed with a tree-branch, fashioned into 
 a huge club, struck down two Frenchmen, 
 and with a few agile leaps was close to the 
 King of Naples — as usual foremost in dan- 
 ger — when Rasinski sprang forward and cut 
 at him with his sabre. But the blow fell 
 flat ; with the fury of a goaded hound, the 
 wounded man sprang upon the Count, drag- 
 ged him with giant strength from his saddle, 
 hurled him to the ground, and threw himself 
 upon him. In a moment Bernard was off his 
 horse, and grappling the lunatic, who strove 
 ^0 throttle Rasinski, pulled him violently 
 backwards. A French officer sprang to his 
 assistance. With the greatest difficulty they 
 
 unlocked the fierce grasp in which the Rus- 
 sian held Rasinski ; and when this was done 
 the wretch gnashed his teeth, and strove to 
 use them on his prostrated opponent. But 
 Rasinski had now an arm at liberty, and 
 when his furious foe advanced his head to 
 bite, he struck him with his clenched fist so 
 severe a blow in the mouth, that a thick dark 
 stream of blood gushed over his breast and 
 face. Nevertheless, the barbarian yielded not, 
 but made head against the three men with all 
 the prodigious strength of his muscular body, 
 until a bullet from the pistol of a dragoon, 
 who coolly put the muzzle to his breast and 
 shot him through the heart, laid him lifeless 
 on the ground. 
 
 Rasinski and Bernard shuddered at this 
 struggle ; it was too much like the true 
 butchering of the barbarians, and must na- 
 turally fill a noble, manly breast with disgust. 
 
 Meanwhile the others, who still resisted, 
 were partly cut down, or with despairing 
 howls had taken to flight. It did not seem 
 worth while to pursue them, therefore they 
 were permitted to disperse through the deso- 
 late streets of the city, and the King of Na- 
 ples continued the march with his men. 
 
 It now became more necessary than ever 
 to use the greatest caution in proceeding 
 through the labyrinth of streets. The sol- 
 dier who saw all these rich houses and pa- 
 laces abandoned by their proprietors, natu- 
 rally directed his thoughts to the booty which 
 he hoped soon to gain. Many tried to leave 
 their ranks, but, as an example to the rest, 
 a general promptly shot with his own hand a 
 dragoon who was slipping away into another 
 street. 
 
 Rasinski received orders to occupy a 
 large palace, the appearance of which indi- 
 cated much wealth in the proprietor. With 
 the few men he had left to him, and a batta- 
 lion of riflemen for support, he separated from 
 the corps of the King of Naples, and in the 
 middle of the town formed a camp. He for- 
 mally took possession of the palace and the 
 surrounding houses, with no living being to 
 oppose. Boleslaus received orders to take out 
 of the houses all such things as might serve 
 for clothing or food to the soldiers. 
 
 Thus the troops for the present established 
 an orderly bivouac in the middle of the street, 
 or ratlier square, opposite the palace. In this 
 building Rasinski established his head-quar- 
 ters, and Louis and Bernard were installed 
 in their duties of service. 
 
160 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER LIL 
 
 The mansion which Rasinski and his two 
 young friends occupied was of antique and 
 noble structure. The gate was high, vaulted, 
 and strongly mounted with iron ; it had been 
 necessary to force it open, on account of its 
 being bolted from the inside, a sign that there 
 were either people still in the building, or 
 that they had fled through the garden. The 
 latter seemed the most probable. When the 
 two winding stairs, which from both sides 
 of the hall conducted into wide corridors on 
 the second floor, were ascended, doors lead- 
 ing to a long line of rooms and saloons were 
 discovered. They appeared to be of a splen- 
 dor and richness which, even in Russia, 
 could not be common ; but the furniture, the 
 form of the mirrors, the papering, and gild- 
 ing proved that the decorations had been 
 owned and used by at least the last progeni- 
 tors of the present proprietors. 
 
 In the room adjoining the stairs Louis and 
 Bernard arranged the office. To the right 
 of this was a spacious saloon, and next to 
 that a smaller one, which Rasinski arranged 
 for himself, and which seemed to have been 
 a kind of boudoir. To the left of the office 
 Louis and Bernard chose their sleeping apart- 
 ments, consisting of two large rooms. 
 
 It was night. In the streets large watch- 
 fires burned briskly, with the men lying 
 around in bivouac. Rasinski had gone down 
 to inspect the troops and to provide for their 
 wants. Bernard's steps were directed to the 
 taking a survey of the wings of the building. 
 Louis was sitting in the half dark room he 
 had chosen for his dwelling. In the midst 
 of the evening dusk, of the reflected light of 
 fires on the windows, of the gloomy sound of 
 confused voices, and the clattering of arms, 
 Louis had given himself up to his dreams. 
 The beautiful pictures of past times passed 
 like brilliant apparitions before his mind's 
 eye. Since the intelligence of his mother's 
 death this was the first solitary, calm hour 
 which tlie busy movements of war had given 
 him. A gloomy melancholy overspread his 
 soul. Leaning his head upon one arm of the 
 chair he sat plunged in reverie, and thought- 
 lessly his eye passed over the high, vaulted 
 room. Thus he had not remarked Bernard's 
 entrance, remaining standing in the half open 
 door, looking at him. But, through the twi- 
 light, the latter saw tears rolling down Louis' 
 cheek, and the sparkling of the fire reflected 
 in them. 
 
 " So, plunged in thought, brother ?" said he, 
 addressing him, 
 
 " Alas ! Bernard," said Louis, " is it you ? 
 Yes, I am indeed oppressed by gloomy 
 thoughts. How can a human being feel 
 otherwise in this terrible place ?" 
 
 f " Hem !" observed Bernard ; " neither is 
 my heart a cornucopia of pleasure ; and if 
 with my recollection^ I play latema magica, 
 the devil and his grandmother pass along the 
 wall. But, as to this place here, I must tell 
 you that it is haunted." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " We are not alone in this house, I can 
 swear." 
 
 "What grounds have you for this suspicion?" 
 
 " Several. I went through the long corri- 
 dors towards the wing of the building adjoin- 
 ing the garden. Taking hold of the latches 
 of the doors, I found them all locked except 
 one. This I passed through, and was sur- 
 prised to find a comfortable warmth there. I 
 looked around and found myself in a kind of 
 kitchen, where there were still ashes on the 
 hearth. The ashes were warm. Yes, I even 
 discovered, on poking among them with my 
 sabre, that coals were still glowing." 
 
 " The occupants were probably here as 
 late as this morning." 
 
 " So I thought ; but, suddenly I heard a 
 noise beneath me, as if something heavy had 
 fallen. That astonished me. I hurried to 
 the corridor again and discovered a small stair- 
 case which leads into a lower story, where I 
 again found a corridor, containing a suite of 
 rooms, with locked doors. I tried to open — 
 to break them — but they were too firmly 
 bolted. I knocked, called, shouted, but re- 
 ceived no answer. Finally, tired of all this, 
 I went away. But, as I ascended the small 
 stairs again, I heard something rustle, and 
 at the same time, steps, as of a female foot 
 Assured that my ear did not deceive me, I 
 hurried up ; and, although I looked around 
 everywhere, yet I could not discover the 
 least thing. Soon I saw something white 
 shining on the floor in front of the door of 
 the kitchen. I took it up. See, it is a rib- 
 bon ; and I will swear a sacred oath it was 
 not there just before. I looked around to dis- 
 cover the fair one who had lost it, but in vain. 
 All remained silent — all was locked. But I 
 will not say whether it was a good or evil 
 spirit, a spectre, or even the famous White 
 Lady, who haunts these corridors." 
 
 " How strange !" said Louis, thoughtfully. 
 " Could the unfortunate inmates be hidden, 
 for fear of injury ?" 
 
 " Possibly. Yet I am fonder of spectres, 
 enchanted ladies who are panting for liberty, 
 walled-up nuns, whose souls can find no 
 rest, and who must walk in these halls. 
 About midnight I shall pursue a second re- 
 connoitring— .will you be of the party ?" 
 
 " Most willingly; if your own exhaustion 
 does not engage you to do something better," 
 said Louis, smiling. 
 
 " What ! are you sitting here in the dark, 
 my friends ?" exclaimed Rasinski, who at 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA- 
 
 I€l 
 
 this moment entered. " It is time to have 
 candles Ht, and fire also, for in these halls the 
 evenings are cold." 
 
 He ordered his groom to bring a light and 
 kindle a fire in the small room which he oc- 
 cupied. This was the only small room in 
 the house which had a chimney, and which 
 of an evening gave a more comfortable 
 warmth than the ponderous stoves in the 
 other apartments. • » 
 
 " I have just received letters for myself 
 and you," continued Rasinski ; " let us go 
 and read them together, then relate to one 
 another what each of our friends writes us 
 from home. It is a pleasant omen to me to 
 have received a welcome salute already, on 
 the first day of odr residence in this capi- 
 tal." . 
 
 Rasinski's groom lit a lamp, and shortly 
 the fire burned brightly. Rasinski now 
 handed to Louis two letters, of different 
 dates, but which had arrived at the same 
 time — a circumstance not uncommon with 
 field-mails. 
 
 Bernard whistled and stirred the fire with 
 the tongs, while Louis and Rasinski read. 
 " It is very pleasant to have no correspond- 
 ents," he observed ; " there is then no post- 
 age to pay, no answers to make, nor even to 
 read." He continued to whistle. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you are happier than we," ex- 
 claimed Louis, suddenly, and with violence 
 dropping the hand in which he held the letter 
 he had just read. " From receiving such let- 
 ters as these may Heaven spare you !" 
 
 " What is it ? What is the matter ?" asked 
 Bernard, starting from his seat. 
 
 " I can suspect it, after what my sister 
 writes to me," said Rasinski ; " it is a name- 
 less villany ; but they shall not succeed." 
 
 " Black as night and {Poisonous as the 
 rattlesnake," exclaimed Louis, almost be- 
 side himself. " And for my jp,ke the unpro- 
 .tected must suffer such au outrage !" 
 
 " What is it ? Speak, in Satan's name," 
 said Bernard, with flashing eyes, for he sus- 
 pected something of the truth. 
 
 " Read, read !" said Louis, handing him the 
 letter. 
 
 Bernard hastily took it, thinking to read it 
 quickly over, but as hastily as he had taken 
 it he cast it away, and exclaimed, " There 
 are too many lines ; they cross each other 
 like a heap of poisonous spiders. Tell it me 
 in two words, for I have not patience to 
 Bwallow the poison slowly." 
 
 " It is revolting {o all in whose breast 
 beats a manly heart," said Rasinski, as he 
 paced the room with rapid strides. " The 
 villains who pursue you have found the un- 
 happy sister; — chance, or their infernal 
 tricks have discovered the secret, and " 
 
 •* She is in prison ?" cried Bernard, vio- 
 11 
 
 lently interrupting him, whilp the fire of rage 
 flamed in his eye. 
 
 " No, happily not," continued Rasinski ; 
 " but the wretch has made her the most re- 
 volting proposals, and as a price, the bro- 
 ther's head " 
 
 " Say no more, Colonel !" exclaimed Ber- 
 nard, in a half-commanding, half-praying 
 tone. " Must the brother hear it twice ?" At 
 the same time he embraced Louis, and with 
 convulsive energy pressed him to his breast. 
 " Oh, the charming rose ! What pains, what 
 horror must ijer loving heart have felt, when 
 the poisonous worm wound itself up to her ! 
 But we must thank Grod that she is saved ! 
 for I see by your looks that she is, or you 
 would not stand here thus. Still my inmost 
 soul trembles. Dear Louis !" 
 
 And anew they embraced. Rasinski laid 
 his hands upon their shoulders and said with 
 emotion^ " We have cause to thank God !" 
 
 " Let us now read what she writes to you," 
 interrupted Bernard, with a voice full of emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " I have not opened ihe second letter yet," 
 said Louis ; " the first has put me into too 
 powerful an excitement. Perhaps this will 
 give some explanation." 
 
 " Let us hear." 
 
 " Dresden, August 1 9th. 
 " Dear Brother : — What a time this is ! 
 Hours are now as fruitful of events as former- 
 ly were years. We left Toplitz the morning 
 following the scene, which on the same even- 
 ing I hurriedly informed you of. This night 
 we passed in the village of our aunt ; in the 
 morning we all, unobserved, drove hither. 
 On her death-bed, mother spoke to me of a 
 secret ; but pain and grief then so overpow- 
 ered me that I did not remark what she 
 said ; for what could then be important to 
 me in this world ? And yet — but hear. 
 Mother poihted out to me that a secret drawer 
 of her writing-desk contained papers of im- 
 portance. O, Louis ! with what emotion did 
 I read them ! As soon as they can possibly 
 be forwarded in a safe way, you shall re- 
 ceive all the documents touching this dread- 
 ful story ; now I can only give you an 
 extract, which the flying minutes permit me. 
 Our real name is not Rosen ; our father was 
 called Steinfels, and owned an estate in 
 Franconia. His confiding heart was his 
 misfortune. In March, 1793, he visited a 
 friend of his youth, called Waldheim, who 
 had been an officer, but having been taken 
 prisoner by the French, then lived in Stras- 
 bourg, whither his wife had followed him — a 
 woman, whose charms, according to our 
 mother's description, were beyond all com- 
 parison. A Frenchman, Rumigny, insulted 
 this lady by dishonorable proposals." , ■ « 
 
169 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 Here Louis stopped for a moment, as Rasin- 
 eki was interrupted by the entrance of an or- 
 derly, who transmitted to him some informa- 
 tion. But on receiving a sign he immediately 
 continued : 
 
 " When they were rejected he sought re- 
 venge in the blackest calumnies.' The in- 
 sulted husband, who knew his faithful wife, 
 heard of this. He ciiallenged the calumnia- 
 tor, forced him to a duel ; and father was tlie 
 second. But the wretch, who had several 
 companions with him, fired against the rules 
 of the duel, and laid the ill-fated Waldheim 
 on the ground. Our father was beside him- 
 self; but in the moment, care to save perhaps 
 the life of the fallen was more important 
 than the forcibly suppressed feeling of re- 
 venge. Our father could not immediately pun- 
 ish the villains. His friend died in a few 
 moments. Our parent challenged the mur- 
 derer ; he was answered in scorn. A human 
 feeling now overpowered him — Loufb ! who 
 could condemn him — he sought for the wretch, 
 to take revenge, or force him to fight. His 
 faithful servant, Willhofen, accompanied him; 
 but the villain had received warning, so en- 
 ticed his antagonist into the net. By scorn 
 he provoked him, father lost his self- 
 cimmaiid, sword in hand he rushed iipnn 
 his antagonist, but was disarmed, and taken 
 prisoner along with the faithful Willhoren. 
 To destroy his victim with more certuinty, 
 the villain endeavored to represent him as a 
 spy, a traitor to France, who stood in the 
 service of another power. He was sent to 
 Paris. Tlie guillotine threatened him. But 
 VVillhofon, who participated in all his mise- 
 ries, found in JLhe goaler a countryman from 
 Alsace. Thiis latter favored their escape, 
 and they both got to Havre, on board a Dutch 
 vessel. From thence, father first wrote 
 to motlipr, informed lier of all that had hap- ' 
 pened, and conjured her to go immediately to 
 Hamburgh, where he would meet her. She 
 went thither, and in vain awaited the arrival 
 of her husband. Days and weeks, finally a 
 month passed hy,uiul herdreadful uncertainty 
 did not end. Meanwhile she was irift)rmed, 
 that through the power of the French rulers, 
 which then already extended everywhere, 
 even at home, a proscnntion had been com- 
 menced against our father for murder, and 
 that he was called upon to stand before his 
 judges. What more shall I tell yoi\? He 
 never returned, his property was confis- 
 cated, and when the French took posses- 
 sion of Franconia, his name was declared 
 infamous, and himself set down as a traitor on 
 the lists of the Parisian police. This in- 
 duced our mother to take the name of Rosen, 
 and retire with us to Dresden, where her 
 • sister, our aunt, lived a widow. A thousand 
 other particulars! would tell you, my dearest 
 
 brother, if at this moment it could be done 
 abo"e all, the boundless love and care, which 
 together with other reasons, induced our 
 mother to forbear communicating to her 
 children the secret hanging over the head 
 of our father. But a day will come when 
 the sisterly breast can freely and unreservedly 
 pour itself into your heart. Now grief 
 weighs me down. In another quarter of an 
 hour I leave for Warsaw, with the Countess 
 Micelska, and there I shall be safe from all 
 persecution. Oh, if you only were safe 
 too ! But the horrors of war still threaten 
 you in front, and black treason is at your back. 
 Oh, Louis, and you bear a»ms for those who 
 brought such misery upon your father and 
 your country ! I do not reproach you ; but 
 can misfortune still rise higher ? can we sink 
 deeper into dishonor ? My warmest prayers 
 Idaily send to heaven in your behalf! But 
 from my inmost soul I also pray for the libe- 
 ration of oUr country from the iron yoke 
 under which it now bends. I must con- 
 clude. Salute your friends for me, Bernard — 
 the noble Rasinski, — Alas ! were it otherwise 
 in this world! Your Mar-j." 
 
 Surprise and emotion almost*eprived Louis 
 of power to read the letter to the end. Now 
 only it was that he plainly and clearly re- 
 collected some of the earlier events of his 
 childhood — for at the time of the misfortune, 
 he was five years of age. Now only when 
 they were explained, did several slight allu- 
 sions, hints and words of his mother about 
 the fate of his father, rise like brilliant stars 
 above the horizon of the past. But much 
 still remained veiled in dark clouds! Ra- 
 sinski had been especially moved by the last 
 words of the letter, touching a wound in 
 his heart of which even Louis had no suspi- 
 cion. He stood leaning with his arms folded 
 against one of the pillars of the chimney, 
 and gloomily looking down. 
 
 Upon Bernard the letter seemed to have 
 made less impression, for his soul was still 
 occupietl with the contents of the first. He 
 sat on the other side of the fire, playing with 
 his ring, and turning it round on his finger. 
 
 " In tiie first moments only, my good Louis," 
 he commenced after a pause, " such informa- 
 tion moves us greatly. A father who has not 
 been heard of for twenty years must be 
 considered dead ; and grief for one who has 
 been absent such a length of time is not 
 generally lasting." 
 
 •' You are so good and faithful, Bernard," 
 replied Louis, " you so thoroughly understand 
 the heart of your friend, do you not know 
 that it must touch and agitate him to hear 
 that perhaps he has still a father, who may 
 have suffered constant misfortune, boundless 
 misery, and who may even now be suJSer- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 163 
 
 ? 
 
 If you were in such a situa- 
 
 ing still 
 tion 
 
 " And am I not ? Perhaps I have a father 
 and mother still in this world, and perhaps I 
 might even find them ; but I assure you that 
 I shall care little about those who for twenty 
 years have cared nothing for me. It is cer- 
 tainly different with you, as you know that 
 your father did not abandon you ; you lost 
 him early ; and everything proves that he was 
 a noble gentleman." 
 
 " Do you tell me that you have still parents 
 living ?" said Louis in astonishment. 
 
 " I learnt it myself only two years ago, in 
 London, when my foster-father died ; but at 
 that time my head was full of other things — 
 and since then time has made me indifferent 
 to it. By this ring (he threw it over the 
 table to Louis) I was to recognise my true 
 parents ; and yet three months ago I should 
 have parted with it freely for something 
 dearer to me, had I not been a fool. My 
 foster-father, whom I thought my own, 
 was a poor pastor in a country near* Wurz- 
 burg. When in my tenth year I began to 
 draw tolerably well, he sent me to his brother, 
 in Dresden, whom you know. It is not ne- 
 cessary to tftll you that I found no comfort 
 with this harsh old Pliilistine. Finally I 
 broke the chains and began to travel. About 
 this time my foster-father, the priest, died, 
 and his brotlier was his heir — that is to say, 
 he received the papers he had left. Among 
 them was one which he sent to me to Lon- 
 don. With his own hand he wrote upon it, 
 something like the following : — ' One even- 
 ing, when I was in bed, I heard the bell of 
 my door violently pulled. The housekeeper 
 opened it ; a boy, about five years old, who 
 could not possibly reach the bell-string, stood 
 before it ; it was you. He had a letter in his 
 hand addressed to me, I opened it, and found 
 a note for two thousand florins on a banker 
 of Frankfort., which was mine on condition 
 that I would educate the child who carried 
 it — that I was known to be an honest man, 
 deierviny; of this confidence — and that some 
 time hence enquiries would be made after the 
 child. [ have done my duty according to my 
 be?t ability, although war soon afterwards 
 deprived me of what I had received for the 
 boy. ilis tiilent for painting induced me to 
 spiid him to my brother, in Dresden. His 
 linen was marked with the letter B. ; in con- 
 sequence I called him Bernard. This, and 
 the gold weddi'>g-ring, which at a later pe- 
 riod was accidentally found sewed up in the 
 boy's dress, and which bears the initials B. 
 W., are the only signs by which he may at 
 so!ne future time recognise his own pa- 
 rents.' 
 
 '• This document and ring was sent to 
 London by my uncle — or at least by him 
 
 whom I always considered as such — with the 
 order that I should either there or at home 
 make enquiries after my real parents. Nei- 
 ther was there anything else left for me to 
 do, for you know that my uncle died so sud- 
 denly, two years ago, that even my answer 
 did not find him alive. Thus our destinies 
 are the same. But I can assure you, Louis, 
 that I did not move a finger for the purpose 
 of making a discovery. What can I do with 
 parents who have not cared for me during 
 my life ? Rich or poor, noble or abject, it is 
 the same to me ; love they could never have 
 entertained. With you it is certainly other- 
 wise — but also far more improbable — for 
 what reasonable man counts upon the high- 
 est number in the lottery ? I would only try 
 to find out the rascal Rumigny, or whatever 
 his name is, and kill him perhaps. But your 
 father ; — twenty years' disappearance is tan- 
 tamount to dead." 
 
 " No, Bernard," exclaimed Louis, " I can- 
 not feel thus. Powerfully the hope of again 
 finding a father works in my breast, and if I 
 should succeed, I might perhaps make the 
 last days of his life happy. And this love is 
 nearer to me than revenge upon one who has 
 perhaps long since avenged his own guilt. 
 No, I hope still !" 
 
 " That hope will last just eight days. 
 During the next few months, the feeling will 
 rise now and then ; but when years have 
 passed, and all remained the same, you will 
 see them expire like an unfed flame." 
 
 Meanwhile Rasinski had taken and atten- 
 tively examined the ring. 
 
 " Hem ! What letters, did you say, were 
 inscribed on the ring ?" 
 'B. W." 
 
 '•If," observed Rasinski, in the tone of 
 reprimand, " such tender ties are disregarded, 
 then certainly it is impossible to follow them! 
 I do not read B. W., but plainly L. W. on 
 the ring." 
 
 " Impossible !" replied Bernard, quickly 
 seizing the ring, and holding it to the light. 
 Delusion of hell !" he exclaimed, 'suddenly 
 turning pale. " B. W. was inscribed on my 
 ring, or may I be eternally damned. Do yoii 
 joke with me ?" he suddenly exclaimed, turn- 
 ing to Rasin.ski. 
 
 " How can you think it !" said the latter, 
 rising. Louis also looked at his friend in 
 the greatest agitation. In his features there 
 was aan animation he had never seen there 
 before — his composure was lost — he seemed 
 totally overpowered by the feelings of his 
 breast. 
 
 Suddenly he laughed wildly and furiously. 
 " It is nothing, I say, nothing. One of the 
 most gigantic accidents of chance, about 
 which certainly one might lose one's reason ! 
 I believe fate will take revenge upon me. I 
 
164 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 did not believe in its wonders in common 
 life ; now it scorns me with them — ^but almost 
 too cruelly I Ah !" and he pressed his hand 
 before his eyes, "who can now tell me 
 whether I am mocked by the grinning appa- 
 ritions of a dream, or whether reality shows 
 these scornful faces to me. Take hold of 
 me, in the devil's name ! shake me that I may 
 awake and throw off the weight which 
 threatens to crush my heart." 
 
 " Bernard, dear Bernard !" said Louis, press- 
 ing his hands, " what is the matter with 
 you ? Compose yourself, recollect yourself, 
 and speak. What unnerves you so terri- 
 bly ?" 
 
 Like one, who from senseless convulsions 
 returns to life, and in deadly exhaustion is 
 unable to keep his balance, Bernard now fell 
 into the arms of his friend. 
 
 CHAPTER LIIl. 
 
 DuRiKG the first evening of their residence 
 in Moscow, Jaromir and Boleslaus were sepa- 
 rated from their friends, as their presence 
 to control the soldiers seemed indispensable. 
 But when the bivouac fires were burning, and 
 the soldiers had arranged themselves as well 
 as they could, and through the care of Ra- 
 sinski had been sufficiently provided with 
 provisions, it could well be permitted to some 
 leaders to leave their posts for a short time 
 and let their comrades meanwhile fill their 
 places. Jaromir did so. Although he had 
 seen and experienced much already, the en- 
 trance into a new and celebrated capital was 
 still an event which charmed and moved him 
 in diflferent ways. In wonder he had gazed 
 upon the palaces, the long streets, the large 
 squares ; the Kremlin, with its towers and 
 battlements, made upon him a powerful im- 
 ,pression. He wished to walk through these 
 streets, to visit the bivouacs of his comrades, 
 to converse with them ; in short, to enjoy the 
 amusement of a warrior's leisure, after the 
 long exertions he had been subjected to. 
 Boleslaus remarked Jaromir's aspirations, 
 and beini; of a kind disposition, offered to 
 take his place, even before Jaromir had asked 
 him to do so. Arm in arm, with two officers 
 of the infantry regiment, put under Rasfhski's 
 orders for the time, he gaily began his walk 
 through the streets of the wonderful city, 
 just as it began to grow dark. 
 
 " These two towers here, with their golden 
 cupolas, we must keep in sight," said he to 
 his companions ; " they will show us our 
 way back." 
 
 Lebrun and Lacoste, his companions, were 
 
 gay and merry as Jaromir himself. " Marl- 
 borottgh s'en va en guerre" sang Lebrun, 
 with a pleasant voice and agreeable intona- 
 tion, and the others joined him. 
 
 Perambulating several streets, in which 
 they met corps of artillery, they came to the 
 Kremlin. Here large bivouacs were esta- 
 Wished, The "Young Guard'' had chosen 
 this place for their camp. 
 
 The long lines of pyramids, formed by 
 guns stacked together, shone brilliantly in the 
 reflection of the watch-fires which had been 
 lit along the streets. The soldier is always 
 fond of decorating his camp- with wariike 
 emblems, and so even here in front of every 
 battalion, a trophy of drums and eagles had 
 been erected. In the places where long 
 streets opened, cannon were placed, with 
 burning matches sticking in the ground be- 
 hind them. For the amusement of the men, 
 music was heard from every side. But there 
 were only a few who had still strength and 
 good humor enough to prefer a merry dance — 
 the beloved Francaise, to quiet repose on the 
 straw-covered pavement. On the whole, the 
 camp presented the animated, but not the 
 merry sight 'which such a nomadical town 
 generally gives, especially after a day of tri- 
 umph. The dresses of most of the soldiers 
 were torn, or blackened with powder ; the 
 Guards were not an exception either, although 
 they had nqt fought at Borodino : — but after- 
 wards, when Kutosow again took a fortified 
 Dcsition near Krimskoy, three* miles from 
 Moscow, they honorably participated in the 
 battle. Here and there a merry song was 
 heard. ; but most of the bearded warriors 
 lay wrapped up in their cloaks, sleeping, or 
 carelessly looking into the fires, beside which 
 their smoking cooking-pots stood. 
 
 " Let us proceed to the quay where those 
 magnificent houses stand," said Jaromir. 
 
 There were soldiers here too. It was the 
 " Old Guard." But very little order prevailed 
 among these otherwise excellently- drilled 
 troops. The doors of the houses were broken, 
 and the privates had sought their comfort in 
 the wide halls ; the officers v»ere lolling in 
 the windows of the upper stories. The sol- 
 diers were bringing wood and straw ; others 
 brought bedding, carpets, cushions, bolsters, 
 which they found in the abandoned houses, 
 to procure for themselves comfortable couch- 
 es, for the soldiers were the happy heirs of 
 the emigrants. The bivouac presented a 
 striking, almost oriental appearance, from 
 these decorations ; especially as there were 
 some Mamelukes of the Emperor, with long 
 pipes in their mouths, comfortably stretching 
 themselves on a magnificent embroidered red 
 carpet and blue bolsters, which- they had 
 found in the adjoining palace. 
 
 " Hem ! — you have provided yourselves 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA- 
 
 165 
 
 comfortably," said Lacoste ; " the guard must 
 certainly have a preference. But no one 
 knows whether you have carried the bivouac 
 into the house or the house into the bivouac. 
 WhJ? did you not lie down on the cushions 
 inside ?" 
 
 " The orders are for a bivouac, '^wn capi- 
 'Jiine," replied a sergeant with brilliant black 
 iioustaches ; " yet I hope it will not last long. 
 \fter all, in so beautiful a night, ca ira 
 
 " Beautiful night ! The wind appears to 
 iie to be blowing roughly enough," replied 
 *aromir. 
 
 " If it wrll only not extinguish the fires," 
 «plied the sergeaiit, Jaughing, " then it is 
 .^ood." 
 
 " Rather ss.y," observed Le'jrun, " if it only 
 xJoes not increase them. Your bivouacs, friend, 
 ere not the most orderly betvreen the Ebro 
 and the Moskwa,. Finm your arrangements 
 the straw might burn under vou during the 
 night, when all sleep and the watchers kire 
 drowsy." * 
 
 " Indeed," said Jaromir, laughing, " vor^ 
 would do it nicely were you to burn your own 
 winter quarters down. Straw and hay arc 
 scattereu here like powder." 
 
 "Pshaw! Straw is not powder. Wlicf 
 easily burns is also easily extinguished," re- 
 turned the sergeant. 
 
 " Not always," replied Lacoste ; " with a 
 cigar I could set your bivouac on fire, but it 
 would be difficult to find in flat Moskwa as 
 much water as it would take to extinguish it 
 again." 
 
 " We shall soon have order established, 
 mon capiiainej'^ replied the sergeant, bowing, 
 while the officers continued their way. 
 
 " Yet I am surprised that this is permitted," 
 observed Jaromir, " for it is really danger- 
 ous." 
 
 " Certainly," said Lacoste, shrugging his 
 shoulders ; " but the Emperor is not hard 
 towards the garde. He confides too much in 
 the belief that they are all veterans, who are 
 well acquainted with war and discipline, and 
 who know their own wants so well that they 
 are able to judge what is best to be done. It 
 is so on the march, in the camp, and in the 
 "battle ; but you know well tiiat when once 
 the day of repose has come for the soldier, 
 it is hard to get him to work. As long as he 
 is occupied it goes right, and you can heap 
 upon his shoulders as much as he can bear ; 
 but when at last he has stretched out his 
 tired limbs in the bivouac of a conquered ca- 
 pital, the devil may take care of things, for 
 he won't. He also trusts somewhat to good 
 fortune. His consolation is, the balls which 
 do not hit." 
 
 During this conversation they walked on. 
 Every new step they took would have aiforded 
 
 a picture to the hand of an experienced 
 painter. Here an old warrior lay asleep, as 
 if only to be awakened by the trump of the 
 last judgment, not feeling that the soles of 
 his boots already began to burn at the fire. 
 Jaromir kindly pushed him aside, that the 
 poor devil might not finally be obliged to go 
 barefooted. There was a sutler-woman who, 
 surrounded by a set of merry soldiers, knowing 
 how to combine female artfulness with pride 
 of honesty in her trade, served many at a 
 time. Farther off, players, singers, dancers, 
 and near to them a group of comfortable 
 chattering old grey-beards, with more scars 
 on their bodies than hairs on their heads ; 
 again, a sick man who, with tied-up head, 
 had wrapped his cloak around him and thrown 
 himself upon the straw; a piper who, in the ^ 
 habit of a sans-culotte, had picturesquely sat 
 down upon a drum to mend his own breeches ; 
 even a mother with a two-year-old boy sat 
 ' playing with her children by the fire. It was 
 the only sweet reward for that faithfulness 
 and love which had given her the courage to 
 wander through these immeasurable deserts. 
 
 Jaromir was in the act of passing through 
 a crowd of soldiers, who stood around a wa- 
 gon loaded with rice, to receive their allow- 
 ance, when he felt his coat pulled by some 
 one. He looked around ; it was a nicely- 
 dressed jockey, a boy who appeared to be 
 about fifteen years of age, and whose presence 
 in camp must certainly create astonishment. 
 An English hat, with a broad brim and a 
 black plume, adorned his head and half lo- 
 vered his face. 
 
 " What do you want, boy ?" asked Jaro- 
 mir, surprised. 
 
 The boy bent his head a little, as if 
 abashed, and said, " I am desired to beg you 
 to follow me." 
 
 Jaromir's astonishment increased when he 
 looked closer at the boy. The dusk, the red 
 glow of the walch-fires, and the deep shadow 
 of the brim of the ha.t, gave a particular ro- 
 mantic charm. to the face. The features ex- 
 cited lively recollections in Jaromir's breast 
 but to which he could give no distinct direc- 
 tion. Siill he must have seen that boy before 
 somewhere. 
 
 "Follow!" he repeated. - - 
 
 " Willingly — but whither ?" 
 
 " After me," said the boy, who had already 
 half-turned around and endeavored to get 
 out of the crowd. Jaromir hurried after, 
 fearing that he should lose him in the throng. 
 
 His young guide turned into a narrow 
 alley, through which they soon reached an 
 open square. Now, suddenly the Kremlin, 
 with its black gigantic towers and walls, rose 
 before them in the twilight ; and in the last 
 rays of the evening sun glowed the golden 
 cross of St. Ivan on the top of the metropo. 
 
166 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 litan church, high in the blue ether of 
 heaven. Involuntarily Jaromir stopped for a 
 moment and looked up ; but his guide, some 
 steps in advance, now looked back as if to 
 engage him to proceed, then waved with his 
 hand, exprebsive that he should not lose time. 
 They came to the portal of a magnificent pa- 
 lace ; the boy entered the gate and stopped 
 for Jaroiiiir lo conji; up. He then took his 
 hand smd said, 
 
 " Now I must cor;ductyou more cautious- 
 ly, otherwise you would not find the way." 
 
 And indeed the size of the hall rendered 
 the light of one lamp insufficient. The broad 
 stairs which led to the upper story could 
 liardly be seen. Jaromir stopped. Should 
 he enter in this desolate city a strange house ? 
 He was not afraid, yet he hesitated to confide 
 himself to the guide. 
 
 " Stop, boy !" he said, " no further shall I 
 go before you tell me whither." 
 
 " A Pole, a soldier, and to fear !" said he, 
 in an almost scornful torje. 
 
 This answer displeased the valiant youth. 
 " Fear !" he exclaimed ; " I almost believe 
 that you think you frighten me. On, in the 
 devil's name ! — but you are my warrant for 
 all that may happen." 
 
 The boy did not answer, but offered his 
 hand to Jaromir, who took so firm a hold of 
 it that his little guide could not escape. He 
 then with his right hand drew his sabre and 
 said, 
 
 " Now, forward, v/hither you will !" 
 The silent boy conducted him up the steps, 
 opened a door, and led him through a number 
 of rooms, which to all appearance stood 
 empty. Jaromir's heart beat. A strange 
 feeling arose within him, as if approaching 
 some danger ; and yet he was driven by ex- 
 pectation to gain the solution of the mystery. 
 They had now reached a room which was 
 completely dark. The boy locked the door 
 behind him, and with a quick, unexpected 
 turn escaped from Jaromir's grasp, and in a 
 pleasant voice cried out to him in the dark- 
 ness of the room : 
 
 " Wait hfere for a moment." 
 Jaromir tried to catch the boy, but he had 
 vanished, and a second door being closed, in- 
 timated that he must have left the room. 
 
 Alone in the dark room, Jaromir became 
 uncertain what course he should take. He 
 tried to open the door through which he had 
 entered, but in vain; it resisted his efforts. 
 
 " What if this be some retreat where thou 
 art threatened by the enemy ?" he sard to him- 
 self. " But wliat could be the reason for se- 
 lecting thee from so many thousands ? How 
 accidently wert thou met ! There are heads 
 of more importance in the army than thine. 
 But what iu the world can they want? 
 What is this mystery ?" 
 
 Disturbed by these thoughts, I.e stepped to 
 the window, which, being closed by heavy 
 silk curtains, was observed only by a narrow 
 streak of light. He drew the curtains aside ; 
 the room was on the garden-side ; on* the 
 other shone the two towers in the reflection 
 of the watch-fires, which stood near Jaromir's 
 quarters, and were to serve him as guides. 
 If he was not deceived the nearest way to his 
 soldiers lay through the garden. He also 
 recollected having s^cn a long garden-wall, 
 which ran along the street in which his bi- 
 vouac lay. With military circumspection, he 
 immediately collected all these circumstances 
 in his mind,, and no longer ddubted that 
 should the worst come, he could get into the 
 garden, there reach the wall, and from thence 
 be able to call for the assistance of his 
 friends. In his thoughts he had already 
 planned a retreat, in case he were attacked. 
 To attain the garden was the only difficulty 
 — the jump from the window being too haz- 
 ardous. But chance favored him ; close at 
 his side he suddenly heard a floor turn on \ta 
 hinges. Following the sound, he discovered 
 a tapestried door, which, being badly closed, 
 moved by the wind ; he opened it and stood 
 in a corridor, the window of which opened 
 into the garden, and as it was not closed by 
 any curtain, he had sufficient light to over- 
 look the place. After the first few steps he 
 found a smalT stair-case, which, to his great 
 satisfaction, conducted direct to the garden, 
 the entrance to which was not even locked. 
 He was now in the full possession of his 
 liberty ; but a feeling of shame and honor 
 drove him back. Satisfied with having se- 
 cured his retreat, he was resolved to confront 
 the adventure. He had just reached the dark 
 room again, when the door through which 
 his guide had disappeared opened, and a fee- 
 ble stream of light shone into the room. A 
 female figure, wrapped in white veils and 
 dresses, entered with an easy, graceful step. 
 She held in her hand a lamp of an antique 
 form, the light of which was dimmed by a 
 thick glass. Jaromir, who had prepared him- 
 self for an enemy, or at least for a diplomatic 
 or dangerous military order, was greatly as- 
 tonished. With some confusion he bowetJ. 
 but the stranger placed the lamp upon 
 the marble-table, stepped up to him, and 
 without raising her veil, asked in a lovely 
 voice, and which appeared to be well known 
 to him : 
 
 " Can you guess who stands before you ?" 
 " By heavens, no !" exclaimed Jaromir, 
 " but I must know you !* 
 
 " You have no faithful recollection," re- 
 plied the unknown ; " and yet I recognised 
 you in the midst of the whole crowd, and my 
 heart then ceased to be oppressed on your 
 account. I hoped to find a friend— a protec- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 167 
 
 tor. Bat yet, I must beg you to be it to me !" 
 With these words she raised her veil and 
 
 looked bashfully towards the floor. The 
 
 twilight which was in the room still hid the 
 
 features, which were not turned to the light. 
 
 Jaromir, excited to the utmost, took her band 
 
 and quickly drew her towards the light ; she 
 
 made only a feeble resistance, and bashfully 
 
 her head dropped down. 
 
 " Alisette ! you ?" he exclaimed in great 
 
 astonishment, having now recognised her. 
 
 " How is it possible that you should be 
 
 here ?" 
 
 With a timid expr^sion, she cast her blue 
 
 eye, in which a tear was lingering, up to him, 
 
 and said in a trembling voice : 
 
 " It is indeed almost incomprehensible to 
 myself, yet there exist times and circum- 
 stances which may bring even women into 
 the strangest and most extraordinary posi- 
 tions. Alas ! I feel deeply," she continued, 
 casting down her eyes, " how strong appear- 
 ances are against me — you condemn mc be- 
 cause you see me here ! But if you knew — " 
 
 " I swear to you !" exclaimed Jaromir, 
 " that my heart will never be able to nourish 
 an unworthy suspicion !" 
 
 " O, you kind friend !" said Alisette with 
 emotion, taking his hand and pressing it with 
 warmth. ShQ,then sank down on the sofa 
 in exhaustion, and pressed her head into the 
 silk cushion. She seemed silently to weep. 
 Jaromir stood before her, and with beating 
 heart gazed upon the beautiful girl. Her 
 head rested upon her soft, thinly -covered 
 arm ; her curls fell gracefully over her cheeks 
 and neck, her right arm hung down. Silently 
 he sat at her side, and taking her hand, said 
 with sincere emotion : 
 
 "Compose yourself, poor girl !" 
 
 She slowly raised herself. " Alas !" she 
 sighed, " my strength forsakes me when the 
 picture of my life presents itself in lively 
 colors before my soul. Only pardon me ! — 
 You must now hear what fate brought me 
 hither. But first answer me one question. 
 Did you not recognise me before ?" 
 
 " You ! When ?" asked Jaromir. 
 
 " Then you really did not recognise me in 
 my male attire ?" 
 
 " Impossible ! And you were the gay, 
 charming messenger yourself? Now I under- 
 stand. 
 
 " The gay messenger !" interrupted Ali- 
 sette with a bitter expression. Oh, if you 
 but knew what it has cost me to play this 
 part ! But I stood on the stage, where I had 
 often already stood with a crushed and bleed- 
 ing heart, showing a merry face. But will 
 you listen to me ? Will my story not annoy 
 you ? Will you not refuse^ me advice and 
 assistance ?" ~- 
 
 " A wretch I should be, did I not do all for 
 you that lay in my power!" exclaimed Ja- 
 romir, and he pressed her tender hand, which 
 was still resting in his, to his lips. 
 
 " Now tell me, tell me all !" said Jaromir ; 
 " dry these bitter tears, for you have found a 
 friend — a brother I" 
 
 " And I will trust him like a brother," re- 
 plied the maiden, slightly pressing his hand. 
 
 " Perhaps you do not know," she began, 
 " that I hate my callinnr. Why — shall a wo- 
 man — a girl, first explain it to you ? But the 
 most pressing need, care for the only child 
 that a dear sister left, whom I lost in Eng- 
 land, forced me to this miserable life. My 
 talent, which I thought to possess only to 
 beautify the life of others and my own, had 
 to bend under the oppressing slavisliduty of 
 caring for bodily existence. Let me throw a 
 veil over the sad fate which first led me upon 
 this rough road. In Warsaw you found me 
 — the hours which I passed in the house of 
 the Countess — the few days when I saw you 
 there, were the happiest of my life. Oh, 
 how willingly would I have stayed there, but 
 the revolting proposals of a man, in whose 
 hands all tny affairs were then placed, forced 
 me to leave a city where I had been so'happy, 
 but from whence a rude storm had suddenly 
 chased all those who gave me their friend- 
 ship in return for my confidence ; they are 
 dispersed to all parts of the world. I after- 
 wards followed you — only a few days after 
 the Countess had departed. Without advice 
 — without assistance — nothing was left me 
 but to seize the first chance which the sliip- 
 wreck had left to me. The manager of a 
 theatre, who had placed the firmest confi- 
 dence in the power and victories of the Em- 
 peror, occupied himself in the engagement of 
 actors for a French stage, intending to enter- 
 tain the army during tkeir winter sojourn in 
 Russia. At first it was rumored that the 
 Emperor would remain at Witepsk ; thither I 
 followed the guide of my uncertain fjte. I 
 risked my life in the midst of the bustle of 
 war ; without fear, I dare say, for I had be- 
 come acquainted with the storms of life. 
 But we had hardly arrived at Witepsk when 
 the army left that place, and the town became 
 as desolate as before. Not to lose the great 
 expense which had been incurred, the mana- 
 ger resolved to follow the army. He was 
 firmly convinced that the Emperor would 
 soon be in Moscow. He thereforp endeav- 
 ored to persuade us not to separate from him. 
 Still, I should certainly have returned either 
 to Poland or Germany, but — " here she stop- 
 ped for a moment. " But why should I be 
 ashamed to own it!" she continued blushing 
 slightly, " I had no money to<lo so I" 
 
 " Oh, why did you not come to me — to 
 Count Rasinski !" interrupted Jaromir. " Our 
 
1$8 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 position was very near the citv, and I visited 
 it daily." 
 
 " O, had I seen yon," replied Alisette, " I 
 should perhaps have had the courage which 
 such a prayer claims. But to any one else 
 shame would have held me bock. The Count 
 I saw once ; proudly and earnestly he passed 
 on hid noble charger; I stood at the window, 
 but he observed nie not." 
 
 " The impossibility of returning," continued 
 Alisette, after a pause, " drove me on in the 
 roaring stream. The manager only provided 
 for the most necessary wants ; in all other 
 respects, he gave promises of Moscow — ^per- 
 haps merely to cut off every other resource 
 from us. The proximity of the army, the 
 resting-places at night, which were often of 
 the strangest kind, the necessity of being 
 constantly amongst men, induced me to adopt 
 male attire. I considered it a piece of good 
 fortune that I succeeded in getting a place on 
 the baggage-wagon of a general — for I then 
 passed lor one of his sen-ants — consequently, 
 the journey became less inconvenient. A few 
 days after the battle, we passed thi-ough still 
 smoking Srnolensko. Then, for the first time, 
 T gained sight of tlie horrors of war. Almost 
 benumbed with terror, I tremblingly passed 
 through the streets, strewed on either side 
 witli half-bin-ned corjwes and human limbs. — 
 I had finally to close my eyes from these ter- 
 rible objects. But these scenes were renewed 
 daily. I have seen perha})s, things more 
 frightful than you have, for when you pro- 
 ceed on the road of victoiy, you do not cast 
 your eye back upon the tracks the monster of 
 war leaves behind him. I have seen them, 
 these unliappy creatures, alongside the road, 
 tliese pale spectres with sunken eyes, who 
 wailed forth their gloomy complaints ! I have 
 seen them, and had to pass without being 
 able to render them assistance. And tlirough 
 this desert, filled with misery and horror, I 
 was driven by my flite ! Every step of the 
 tired iiorses made return more iniposgJfcle. — 
 Tlie stream advanced slowly ; I saw mat it 
 carried me towards an abyss. But was I able 
 to return alone on a roiid where every one of 
 my footsteps would have touched a human 
 being in the agonies of death ? How could I, 
 a weak girl, have found tiie way back, where 
 thousands of men, accustomed to the hard- 
 ships of war, have perished, through their 
 strength having forsaken them ? Almost des- 
 pairing at the continued horror which filled 
 my soul, I finally floated calmly on the wave 
 of fate, supporting the gloomy despondency 
 into which I had sunk. I thought no more of 
 resistance. Thus I heard the thunder of the 
 terrible battle ; thus with my face covered, 
 I rode over the field of death, from which al- 
 ready a poisonous smell arose ; thus finally, 
 dear friend, I to-day reached this city. As 
 
 every one here indifferently oocnpied the 
 enipty dwellings, I also came to this palace, 
 the front wing of which is occupied by two 
 ladies, whose fete is the same as my own, 
 but who bear it with more tranquillity— I ought 
 to say with light-minded carelessness. Thus, 
 then, J was the most abandoned being in this 
 immense city, in this great empire, from the 
 first moment I entered it. An hour ago 
 I dared to leave my seclusion; a . good stai 
 directed you toward me ; the rest I need not 
 tell you," she added in a lower tone, as she 
 confusedly bent her lovely head. 
 
 This wonderful adventure, the solitary se- 
 cret place, the loveliness which appeared even 
 in the slightest motion, and in the tones of Fran- 
 (joise Alisette's voice, the captivating relation 
 and lively description, the thouglit of her fe- 
 male helplessness in the colossal movements of 
 war, where ever the single man is lost in the 
 immeasurable field of action — ^but above all, 
 the iiTCsistible charm of tears from a beau- 
 tiful eye, — all this pressed so powerfully upon 
 Jaromir's youthful heart, that it became en- 
 circled in the purple net which the lovely 
 girl had thrown over him, even before he sus- 
 pected it. From the confidence which she gave 
 him, he grew daring in what otherwise would 
 have been inconsistent witli his nature. It 
 seemed to him as if she had put her whole 
 fate into his h.ands — as if he were now the 
 master of all her actions and will. . 'With a 
 sudden impulse, he pressed his lips upon her 
 hand, and drew the i-esisting girl nearer, his 
 glowing cheek touching that of Alisette's. Ho 
 trembled in the sweet pleasure of love. She 
 too trembled in the arm he had cast around 
 her slender figure. 
 
 " Sweet, charming being," said he tenderly, 
 in a low voice, " be my sister — ^I will be your 
 brother. Wipe away your tears, and think 
 no more of your fate ; all is now over !" 
 
 " Oh, what unhoped-for happiness !" ex- 
 claimed Alisette. She hid her charming face 
 in Jaromir's breast — ^like a bashful, flying 
 dove she clung to him, and he held her in his 
 embrace, in the proud conviction of his manly 
 protection. 
 
 " You have seen my bride later tlian I,'* 
 said he, after some minutes, " O, speak of her 
 to me ! Was she as sad as her letters tell V 
 
 At the word bride, Alisette shrunk convul- 
 sively back ; a quick oppressed " Ah !" burst 
 from her lips. " Tlie beautiful Countess Lo- 
 doiska I have only seldom seen," said she, 
 with painful emphasis. " The day following 
 the march, she was at the ball in the Saxonian 
 palace, where I had to appear and sing in the 
 concert." 
 
 " At the ball !" murmured Jaromir, with an 
 expression which plainly showed that this in- 
 formation was equally unexpected and diaa- 
 greoable to Mm. 
 
 "rf 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 •Prince lidmowski conducted her." 
 " Did she dance with him ?" asked Jaronur, 
 quickly. 
 
 " With him alone but little. They sat mostly 
 in a niche of the window, talking. They also 
 drove home soon, as the Pruice intended to 
 take supper with the Countess." 
 
 Jaromir was silent. A flush of anger man- 
 tled his cheeks, but he mastered his tem- 
 per and the jealousy which rose within him. 
 No ! — he thought — she surely loves you, and 
 her sadness is as true as her letters describe. 
 Why should she not accept the company 
 of one of the most familiar friends of the 
 house ? Should she stay away from a pub- 
 lic festival, which had, perhaps, even a pa- 
 triotic character ? You are unjust Jaromu-, 
 both to her and yourself! 
 
 In his open features, Fran9oi3e read what 
 was passing in his breast. ' 
 
 '• You are distracted, dear friend," she said, 
 in a tone of compassion ; " the recollection of 
 your beautiful bride must certainly be touch- 
 ing. Does she often write to you ?" 
 
 " Since the day preceding the battle I have 
 had no letters. Her last was dated Toplitz ; 
 but she writes often, and with the most ten- 
 der friendship." 
 
 The last words he spoke with emotion ; 
 it was like a prayer to excuse his suspicions. 
 But suddenly the thought struck him : " Why 
 did she not write that she had been at the 
 ball V All else that happened to her she has 
 most accurately described, informed me of her 
 occupation day after day — why " 
 
 Alisette interrupted him in these thoughts. 
 
 " How much I wished to have taken leave 
 of the Countess and your bride ! But it was 
 impossible. Thrice I was announced, but 
 found no one at home. The porter informed 
 me that they had gone to the country, from 
 whence they would only return at a late hour ; 
 and the next morning I was awakened by the 
 rolling of their travelling-carriage." 
 
 "To the country?" said Jaromir in as- 
 tonishment, for he had not been informed of 
 that either. " Whither ? Do you know the 
 place ?" 
 
 " No," replied Alisette, evidently confused 
 and pausing ; " it is difficult for me to recol- 
 lect Polish names." 
 
 " Perhaps Wikgolsky, the domain of lier 
 uncle ? Or Pulawy, where the Princess 
 Czartowski resides ?" 
 
 By a motion of her hand Alisette replied 
 ia the negative. 
 
 " But whom to visit ? You certainly know 
 the name of the proprietor ?" 
 
 " The porter did not know," replied Ali- 
 sette. 
 
 " That is impossible, dearest ! If he knew 
 tlie place he must also have known the pro- 
 l»ietor. I conjure you, girl, to speak the 
 
 m 
 
 AM- 
 
 truth," ho added, with renewed warmth, 
 sette shrunk tremblingly back. 
 
 "Good God:" 
 
 " The truth ! Was it Czarnowriki ?" 
 
 " I believe it was." 
 
 " There lives Lichnowski !" exclaimed Ja- 
 romir, furiously jumping up. " She /is as 
 faithless and false as was ever woman. She 
 has hidden this visit from me, which she 
 would not have done had it been an innocent 
 one. She sent me a journal — she rendered 
 an account of every hour, of every minute. 
 A saint could not have led a more pure, quiet, 
 and virgin life. Oh, the hypocrite !" 
 
 Tears rolled down the cheeks of the youth ; 
 impatiently he wiped them off, and stamped 
 with his foot upon the ground. 
 
 " It seems worth while for a man to weep 
 for her, like a boy !" 
 
 But his tears only fell the more abundantly. 
 
 Without daring to speak a word, and 
 trembling in every limb, AUsette remained 
 seated. She looked like a child who has 
 caused a great misfortune, without knowing 
 it, and who, grown pale from fright, without 
 daring to interfere, tremblingly looks at the 
 growing consequences. 
 
 " Be calm !" she implored, in a mild voice ; 
 " sit down by me again. PeAaps you do 
 great injustice to the poor girl." 
 
 " No !" exclaimed he violently, " I do not 
 do her injustice. Unknowingly you, kind 
 girl, have betrayed to me more than you sus- 
 pect. Now tell me the whole truth. What 
 more do you know ?" 
 
 " Indeed nothing," she replied. 
 
 " Alisette !" said Jaromir passionately, tak- 
 ing both her hands, and resuming his seat, 
 " Alisette, you have implored my protection 
 and assistance ; now I Want your confidence 
 in return. Tell me all — all you know or think !" 
 
 " I certainly know nothing ; and what I 
 think, alas ! — I dare not think !" 
 
 "Tell me only. one thing," said he, with 
 bareJ* suppressed anger ; " did Prince Lich- 
 nowifi follow the Countess to Toplitz ?" 
 
 " He left on the same day," answered Ali- 
 sette, tremblingly. 
 
 " Oh ! you are kind ; you would not have 
 betrayed me thus !" he exclaimed, in a soft 
 voice, with his left arm pressing the hardly 
 resisting girl to his breast. " But 1 will for- 
 get her ! She shall not have the triumph of 
 seeing a man weep for her ! In the battle I 
 thought only of her ; her sorrowing image 
 alone stood before my soul. I saw neither 
 horror nor danger. Death seemed sweet to 
 me. Oh ! how foolish to me was this aspi- 
 ration !" 
 
 In proportion as Jaromir's conviction of the 
 infidehty of his betrothed increased, did an 
 excited passion for. Alisette £ll his breast. 
 He pressed burning kisses upon the lips of 
 
170 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 the too loving girl, and her resistance died 
 away before them. 
 
 The dark figure of bis evil demon stepped 
 before him, raised a threatening hand, and 
 held it over hia head. One step more and the 
 cold touch falls upon thy head ! — the poison- 
 ous breath enters thy breast! Is no kind 
 genius near ? Does not the pure figure of 
 thy bride step between thee and her ? 
 
 "Will you be mine? — eternally mine?" 
 exclaimed Jaromir with the most passionate 
 tenderness. " Can you pardon him who mis- 
 understood you — who blindly shut his eyes to 
 the gem in your heart ? Allsette, I must atone 
 for this great injustice. Pardon the blind !" 
 
 " Oh ! incomprehensible mercy of heaven !" 
 exclaimed Allsette, submitting to his em- 
 brace. Her bosom heaved, her lips pressed 
 her lover's, her breath died away in his kiss. 
 Jaromir trembled with rapture. Till now he 
 had only known the pure flame of love, and 
 feeling from afar its mild, ennobling warmth, 
 adored it. Daringly he now stepped too near 
 the sanctuary. Like glowing metal the fire 
 raged through his veins — blind ecstasy suc- 
 ceeded — and all was hushed. 
 
 With a shudder Alisette awoke and wished 
 to tear herself from the arms of her lover, 
 but he would not loose her. 
 
 " You are mine for ever !" he exclaimed, 
 conjuringly raising his right hand towards 
 heaven ; " that I have sworn ! And I will 
 keep my oath. Take then, faithful, loving 
 one, the ring of the traitress ! This ring shall 
 be the pledge of our union. It has been sa- 
 credly consummated, and is inviolable !" 
 
 He drew Lodoiska's ring from his finger 
 and placed it on that of Alisette. Speech- 
 lessly she hung on his breast. 
 
 " Oh ! I am a sinner ; but you, you are the 
 guilty cause of it. For your sake I have re- 
 ceived this sin upon my soul. You will not 
 abandon me !" 
 
 Weeping, she hid her Mead in her dress. 
 
 The high-rising flame had sunk. JJHimir 
 now saw how much had been destroyed by 
 its violence. A cold feeling of sadness now 
 crept into his soul. 
 
 " Love you ?" he exclaimed with heartfelt 
 melancholy. " Without you, earth has no 
 charms left for me ! you are the only star 
 which shines upon me. Should you — no, 
 no ! — ^you will always shine for me, dearest ! 
 Your lender heart has healed the wound 
 which a poisonous traitress tore in my heart ! 
 Ah ! you were my good angel in that terrible 
 moment !" 
 
 The gloomy knell of the tower-bell, which 
 announced the ninth hour, aroused the two 
 lovers. 
 
 '* You must go," said Alisette, springing 
 op ; " were you to be found here, I should 
 be lost !" 
 
 " Lost ! Who dares to interrupt us ?" 
 
 " For God's sake, hush ! — I hear a noiae ! 
 it is the corridor door. We are in the dark— 
 if any one should come ! Dearest, if my 
 life, my honor be dear to you, leave me now ! 
 You know not what a female heart feels. 
 Shame would crush me, if the women— oh ! 
 I implore you, I beseech you, fly ! There is 
 still time ! Here, through this door, down 
 into the garden !" 
 
 She herself put the sabfe which he had 
 taken off" into his hand, and with entreating 
 words pressed him to go. 
 
 " Bashful roe !" said he, smiling ; " how 
 charming is this fear ! Be quiet — you can 
 still raise your eye before those who are spot- 
 less ! Your soul is still pure ; your heart 
 yet a virgin sanctuary !" 
 
 " Oh, then spare my heart !" she faltered, 
 "If you love me, go ! Let this be the first 
 proof you give me !" 
 
 He embraced her once more, kissed her 
 brow with melancholy tenderness, and has- 
 tened through the tapestried door. 
 
 " Farewell ! To-morrow ! to-morrow !" 
 Alisette whispered in a tender voice, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Unseen he reached the garden. He wished 
 now to make trial whether it really adjoined 
 the street in which his bivouac lay ; so shaped 
 his course through the dark walks. In a 
 few minutes he reached the wall, and 
 after a short search found the porch, which 
 was only fastened on the inside. He quickly 
 drew back the old rusty bolt, and really 
 found himself on the place he supposed — 
 about a hundred steps from the watch-fires 
 of his men. This secret path was to him a 
 reward from heaven — a new sign of his pro- 
 tecting Deity. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 When Bernard became calmer, Rasinski 
 and Louis insisted that he should relate the 
 whole story. In his rough, good-humored 
 manner he recounted the incidents of the so- 
 journ in Warsaw, and the adventure of the 
 ring. ^ 
 
 Bernard now left the room. ;^ '^'^ 
 
 Louis betook himself to Mary's letter a 
 second time, absorbed in thought over the 
 new turns the stream of his life had taken. 
 Rasinski, filled with deep thoughts, walked 
 up and down the apartment. 
 
 It now struck nine. I '* 
 
 " Bernard is right," said Rasinski ; " ex- 
 hausted nature must not remain overpowered. 
 V^e must lie down and repose. Who knows 
 if we shall not be interrupted during the 
 night ? for, to tell the truth, I do not feet. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 m 
 
 ^nite at ease in this abandoned city. The 
 rrecian fleet left Troy only to return during 
 the night." 
 
 These words reminded Louis of the obser- 
 vations Bernard had made, forgotten through 
 the unexpected news from Germany. He 
 . related to Rasinski what Bernard had seen. 
 " Hem ! In that case we cannot possibly 
 have anything hostile to expect," he replied 
 " Probably they are frightened servants, or 
 old sick persons who, being unable to fly now, 
 hide themselves for fear of us. Rostopchin 
 describes us in all his proclamations as mur 
 derers and abusers of the temples ; we cannot 
 therefore be angry at the poor people dread- 
 ing us and hiding from us, as if we were 
 monsters. Let us leave them in peace, at 
 least for this night. To-morrow I will order 
 the whole castle to be searched. The watches 
 at the gate, my servants, who sleep in the an- 
 te-chamber, and ourselves are sufficient secu- 
 rity. Good night, Louis ! I think" to-morrow 
 will decide something." 
 
 In passing through the long saloon separa- 
 ting his sleeping apartment from that of Ra- 
 sinski, Louis almost felt a tremor at finding 
 himself alone, where the least sound, the 
 slightest motion resounded from the high 
 vaulted walls. The door between his and 
 Bernard's room was open. He looked in. 
 Bernard was not there. 
 
 Louis went and looked forth from the cor- 
 ridor window, whence he saw his comrades 
 lying in deep sleep around the fires. One 
 officer only was awake, walking with rapid 
 and impatient steps to and fro. By the light 
 of the fire Louis recognised Jaromir. 
 
 •• What do you there ?" Louis uttered softly. 
 
 " Alas ! Louis,' is it you ?" replied Jaro- 
 mir, recognising hil friend. " You come just 
 in time. Would you like to. read a letter 
 from Lodoiska ? Half-an-hour ago Boleslaus 
 handed one to me, on returning from a walk 
 through the city. Have you had letters ?" 
 
 " Yes, important ones, and of the strangest 
 , kind." • 
 
 ' " Mine is of the strangest kind too. There, 
 
 read it" '' 
 
 " You forget, my dear fellow, that I do not 
 understand Polish sufficiently. Read it to 
 •»*me yourself." 
 
 - " Read ! Ah !" sighed he, heavily, passing 
 '* his hand several times over his eyes. 
 '. « You are ill, friend ?" 
 V " Exhausted. The wild soldier's life some- 
 times distresses me. I cannot, indeed, read 
 the letter to you. The fire blinds me too 
 much ; my eyes pain me. To-morrow, per- 
 haps." 
 
 " You are ip a very sad humor to-night," 
 returned Louis, mildly. "Did you receive 
 unpleasant news? Rasinski did not tell us 
 about it, although he had letters from his 
 sister." 
 
 " Prom his sister ? What can she write to 
 him ? Alas ! Louis, would that I had fallen in 
 the redoubt with so many of our comrades !" 
 
 " Gracious Grod !" exclaimed Louis, in 
 alarm, " what is it ? What does Lodoiska 
 write ? Tell me, at least,' though you cannot 
 read!" 
 
 " No, I will read, should my eyes burst in 
 the eflfort !" These words he uttered vio- 
 lently, and drawing a letter from bis pocket, 
 opened it. He beckoned Louis to come down 
 to the watch-fire, and then read as follows : — 
 
 " Mt only beloved Fkiend — We return 
 at last to our native city. A few minutes 
 more and we are on the way to Warsaw. 
 Then again I shall be for a few days nearer 
 to you, who always recede farther and far- 
 ther. Oh ! my beloved, when will this terri- 
 ble war end ? When will you return from 
 the fat desert whither the storm has blown 
 you ? With what boundless love will these 
 arms receive you ! Alas ! Jaromir, I have 
 often sad, fearful hours, when I think that a 
 gloomy fate may step between us and our hap- 
 piness. The most ardent prayer to the Holy 
 Virgin is then my only consolation. All that 
 the kind friends who s\jirround me do to solace 
 me does not touch my breast, but prayer en- 
 ters my inmost heart. Be likewise pious, my 
 Jaromir. Do not forget that sacred voice in 
 the breast which impels us humbly to the feet 
 of the Almighty — the Merciful ! For, who 
 shall protect you in the storm of battle if 
 His face is turned away from you ? Dear 
 Jaromir, lay open yonr pure soul before our 
 Heavenly Father. Do not scorn the weak- 
 ness of the girl who engages you to pious be- 
 lief, because she finds her sole consolation in 
 it. I know well that man considers himself 
 suffieiently strong without divine assistance ; 
 but, dearest, this is a delusion. Before Him 
 the powerful are weak. I feel myself strong, 
 inviicible when,~S,fter ardent prayer, the hand 
 of ^ Almighty rests upon me. Then my 
 gloomy dreams and forebodings vanish — then 
 I see the angel of the Lord guiding and pro- 
 tecting you with shield and sword — then the 
 sun of a blissful future shines upon me ; and 
 although gloomy hours return afterwards, as 
 night follows the day. yet the brilliant stars 
 shine through the darkness, and the horizon 
 remains in its golden morning glory. Soon, 
 dearest, I shall be nearer to you, in our na- 
 tive city, where everything, even the sound 
 of our language, reminds me of you. There 
 I shall be by ftr more happy than here. The 
 carriage is just entering the gate. My heart 
 beats with joy and longing. Farewell ! — 
 farewell ! May a thousand angels protect 
 you, and happily lead you home ! 
 
 " YouK Lodoiska." 
 
 " A noble, excellent girl ! Love, piety, in- 
 
19: 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 neeence, trath !" exclaimed Louis, as Jaro- 
 nur concluded. The latter embraced bim 
 and convulsively pressed bis glowing face 
 against the bosom of his friend. Louis did 
 not suspect what kindled this terrible fire in 
 his breast. He thoirght it was the longing 
 for his bride and for home. 
 
 " Compose yourself, friend," he said mildly ; 
 " the day will come when you will see her 
 again, and perhaps it is not far distant." 
 
 Jaromir stood without saying a word. A 
 tumult worked in his breast. " Miserable 
 thou art !" said his conscience ; — " wretched 
 if this be not the language of truth ; doubly 
 miserable if it be !" 
 
 As he continued silent, Louis to give a 
 turn to the scene, asked after Bernard. 
 
 " I have not seen him," answered Jaromir, 
 striking his head ; " I have seen no one — no- 
 thing ! Louis ! I must leave you ! I must be 
 alone ! I pray you leave me to myself !" 
 
 Louis looked after the young man with 
 emotion, as he watched him witli quick steps 
 hurrying down the street. 
 
 Slowly he then returned to his room. He 
 repaired to the window once more. A gloomy, 
 murky glow was seen in the midst of the 
 dark figures who reposed on the ground. — 
 Their deep, heavy breathing was heard at a 
 distance ; even the fire-watchers were nodding. 
 Deathlike silence reigned throughout this 
 whole immense city. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 Finally, sleep overpowered Louis also ; 
 he closed the window, wrapped his cloak 
 closely around him, and threw himself upon 
 a sofa standing in one corner of the room. — 
 Anxiety for Bernard and Jaromir kept him 
 awake for some time. But gradually he "lost 
 himself in the regions of dreamland. 
 
 He dreamt that he was engaged in battle, 
 fighting, surrounded by enemies. A figure 
 opened in heaven — it was his mother, who 
 beckoned him to follow her. She led him into 
 her comfortable parlor, and said : 
 
 " Where have you been so long V 
 
 He felt the joy of return. He saw her on 
 the promenade in Pillnitz — the gay friends of 
 his youth accompanied him. Suddenly, Mary 
 and Bianca approached him, leaning like sis- 
 ters on each other's arms. 
 
 " Yes, yes, love each other, dearest objects 
 I possess on earth!" he murmured in his 
 sleep, while a smile played upon liis dormant 
 lip. He wished to approach and give them 
 his hand ; but a stranger held him back. It 
 was Rasinski, who told him to take to his 
 horse quickly. The lovely figures disappeared, 
 
 he found himself in the bustle and tumult of 
 the march. 
 
 Innumerable lines of soldiers passed him ; 
 he joined them, but new figures still con- 
 tinually rose up at his side and pressed on- - 
 ward. Halts and advances were made at the 
 same time — as the double and contradictory 
 in a dream often does. He now thought that 
 he entered Moscow with Bernard and Ra- 
 sinski, and rode through the streets, which, 
 in immeasurable length, were spread out be- 
 fore him. The houses and palaces whirled 
 before his eyes ; ever was the one he occu- 
 pied before him ; but new streets, before he 
 could reach it, continually rose up between. — 
 With every step the distance seemed to in- 
 crease. Finally, Rasinski, Bernard, and him- 
 self reached the gate; they alighted and 
 ascended the stairs. In exhaustion, he laid 
 himself down in the same room, and upon the 
 same couch on which he really reposed. — 
 Dreams and reality began to mix confusedly 
 together. He heard the call of the sentry from 
 the street, and awoke. But as his disturbed 
 vision saw only the same objects—as the reflec- 
 tion of the watch-fires still illuminated the 
 room — as his waking ear still heard the same 
 sounds as when sleeping— he soon fell back into 
 the embraces of Morpheus. Thus, between 
 dreaming and waking, he saw the door of his 
 room slowly open and a veiled figure in mourn- 
 ing enter, that carried a dim-burning lamp in its 
 hand. Like a spectre, it totteringly approached ' 
 the bed, and with its right hand it raised the 
 veil which covered its face. The light of the 
 lamp fell full upon the countenance— it was Bi- 
 anca ! — ^but with pale and sorrowful features. 
 "Where is Mary?" asked Louis? "and 
 why dost thou appear in those weeds, dear- 
 est ? Alas ! dost thou ^Iso weep for my 
 mother ?" 
 
 With a painful eagerness he stretched out 
 his hand towards the figure. Mute and trem- 
 bling, it stood before him. It seemed as if 
 she desired to bend over him ; but suddenly 
 shrank back, held her hand remonstratingly 
 before her, and*slowly shook her head. 
 
 " Would you fly ? Why do you scorn me, 
 charming vision ?" said Louis, in the dawning 
 confusion 'of the dream. " Do not appear, if 
 you would leave me so quickly !" 
 
 He shuddered ; the night-frost touched and 
 shook him ; he wrapped himself up close in. 
 his cloak. 
 
 The vision had vanished ; but through the 
 darkness of the night the dreamer heard 
 the"words : 
 
 " Fly ! fly ! Danger threatens your life under 
 this roof! Take this as your warning !" 
 
 He felt a touch on his cheek ; he awoke, 
 — ^but the whole picture of his dream lay 
 before him a£. if in a cloud. Bianca's figure 
 had disappeared like a shadow. He tried to 
 collect his broken senses when a shot from 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 173 
 
 the adjoining room was heard. This martial 
 sound immediately roused him from his slum- 
 bers ; he thoroughly awakened and sprang up. 
 At that moment, he heard Rasinski's voice in 
 the adjoining room, calling to him and Ber- 
 nard. He hurried into the saloon, which was 
 lit, not only by the reflection of the fires from 
 the street, but also by a night-lamp. Ra^ 
 sinski advanced with hasty steps to meet 
 him, and almost at the same moment, the men 
 who had been awakened by the report, rushed 
 in from the ante-chamber. 
 
 "Lights! lights!" called Rasinski. They 
 liurried to obey the order. 
 
 " What is it ? What has happened ?" asked 
 Louis. 
 " We are haunted ! have you seen nothing T 
 
 " Nothing in the least, but " 
 
 " A black figure, to all appearance a woman, 
 has but now passed through my room !" 
 
 " How ?" exclaimed Louis, in a startling 
 accent, " a dark veiled figure ?" 
 
 « The same." 
 
 " And this you really saw ? It was no 
 vision ?" asked Louis. 
 
 •' No, by heaven ! for I was then as much 
 awake as I am at this moment," replied Ra- 
 sinski. " I thought that I heard some one 
 lightly pass by my bed, and I awoke ; for you 
 know that I am a light sleeper. I saw a 
 shadow glide along the wall, while a dim ray 
 of light seemed to fall into the room through 
 the open door of the saloon. ' After all, I 
 concluded it to be the flitting reflection of 
 the fires in the street. I had wrapped myself 
 up, and once more closed my eyes, when I 
 heard the same low rustling as before. I 
 jumped up ; the same black, veiled figure 
 passed close by my bed. Who goes there ? 
 I exclaimed. The figure visibly shi'unk 
 back, but did not answer ; — with quick steps 
 it hurried through the room, ' Answer, or I 
 fire !' I exclaimed, and seized my pistols." 
 
 " Almighty God !" exclaimed Louis, in- 
 voluntarily falling upon Rasinski's arm, as if 
 to prevent such an act. 
 
 " I fired. The report was followed by an 
 exclamation from a female voice." 
 
 " She is killed !" cried Louis, rushing to- 
 wards Rasinski's apartment. 
 
 But the latter, now for the first time re- 
 marking the excitement of his friend, held 
 him back, quickly adding : 
 ' " It was only an exclamation of fright. 
 Immediately afterwards I heard a door 
 quickly open and shut. I jumped out of the 
 bed, and hurried towards the mysterious ap- 
 parition ; but whether the flash and smokq of 
 the shot had blinded tne, or the darkness of the 
 room favored the escape of the visitor, it at 
 all events vanished, as though sunk in the 
 earth. This way she cannot have fled, for 
 she had not time to reach the door." 
 
 The servant Boon returned with candles, 
 whereupon Rasinski repaired to his chamber, 
 to commence a close search. Louis with 
 tumultuous feelings accompanied him. The 
 room was found empty. There were two 
 doors in it — one leading into the saloon, the 
 other conducting to the other apartments. 
 But this latter was closed by two arm-chairs 
 which stood in the same position as on the 
 preceding evening ; and no one could have 
 made their exit that way, without either hav- 
 ing overthrown or pushed them aside. The 
 servants were assured that no one had en- 
 tered the chamber from the saloon, as they 
 had slept immediately before the door, ren- 
 dering it necessary to step over them, either 
 in entering or retiring. In the direction 
 where Rasinski had firwl at the vision, there 
 was no door ; it was that comer of the room 
 which was not on the side of the saloon, but 
 on that of the other apartments. Rasinski 
 attentively examined the tapestry. 
 
 " There is my shot !" he said, pointing to 
 an abrasion in the wall, where the ball was 
 still sticking. " Consequently I did not de- 
 ceive myself ! A secret door must be here !" 
 
 In curiosity all stood around him — Louis' 
 heart beating with indefinable dread. Sud- 
 denly it occurred to his mind that all he be- 
 lieved himself to have dreamt might have 
 been " a dream which was not all a dream." 
 
 " Take this as your warning !" were the 
 words of the apparition. 
 
 He quickly took a lamp and hurried back 
 to his room. His first glance fell upon the 
 sofa — he discovered nothing — but when he 
 cast his eyes around, he discovered some- 
 thing white lying on the floor, near the win- 
 dow. He took it up ; it was a veil. When 
 the web touched his hand, he immediately 
 felt the same touch which had before so won- 
 derfully surprised him. He spread it open ; 
 the end was drawn through a kind of ring ; 
 he quickly opened it ; gold became visible, 
 and a green stone glittered before his eye. 
 
 " Gracious God ! is it possible !" he ex- 
 claimed, and warm tears streamed down his 
 cheeks. He had the same bracelet in his 
 hand which the long lost Bianca had dropped 
 at the foot of the St. Bernard ; the same 
 dear treasure to which he was indebted for 
 the first sight of her adorable countenance 
 Wild with excitement, he was about hurrying 
 to Rasinski, when he observed a slip of paper 
 pinned to the veil. In trembling haste he 
 took out the gold pin fastening the missive, 
 unfolded it, and in extreme agitation read 
 these words : 
 
 " You were once my preserver. You pro- 
 tected me with brotherly love and fidelity. 
 Who can unravel the wonderful designs of 
 Providence, which then united, afterwards 
 
 li.-.'Ai' 
 
174 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 separated, now re-unite, and soon will tear 
 us asunder forever ? But the moments are 
 dear. Leave this house quickly — immedi- 
 ately ! The greatest danger threatens you ! 
 The abyss of destruction yawns under your 
 feet — the soil which, you tread is only a thin 
 covering of it — one moment too late, and it 
 breaks ! More I dare not reveal. Alas ! 
 this already is considered a great crime ! but 
 a greater Jaw of thankfulness comrrianded 
 me to commit it. Tlie future is darkly veiled 
 — the waves of my life are roaring in the 
 tempest. Whatever my fate may be, with 
 sisterly faithfulness my heart shall always 
 retain the recollection of my noble friend I 
 
 " BlANCA." 
 
 Louis stood, hardly able to command his 
 senses, staring fixedly upon the paper, when 
 Rasinski entered. 
 
 " Where are you ?" he asked. " We have 
 discovered a door ; I have sent for an axe to 
 open it, for it is necessary that this affair 
 should be explained. But has Bernard not 
 
 returned yet ? What is it ? what is the 
 
 matter with you ?" he asked with surprise, 
 as Lnuis stood motionless, extending him 
 the slip of paper. 
 
 Rasinski quickly read it. 
 " I believe that higher powers are en- 
 gaged here !"' he exclaimed, after the pe- 
 rusal ; " a more wonderful event never 
 happened to mo. But danger ! what danger 
 threatens us ?" Verbally this sentence can- 
 not possibly be understood ! We must follow 
 the mysterious apparition. Come, let us mu- 
 tually seek to unravel this thread !" 
 
 Rasinski drew Louis along. In his room 
 they already found the assistants engaged in 
 prying open the door with an axe. After a 
 short eff)rt it gave way. 
 
 "Now be resolute, but cautious!" said 
 Rasinski. Seizing a light with his left hand 
 and a pistol with his right, he proceeded. 
 
 Tiiey found themselves in a narrow, low 
 corridor.. sufficiently wide and hi<^h to admit 
 a tall person. It spomed to be made within 
 the wall itself, running parallel with the 
 broader corridor outside ; but it sank percepti- 
 bly down, in some places precipitously so. 
 
 " There's a smell of tire and brimstone 
 here !" said Rasinski, after advancing about 
 thirty paces ; " do you detect it ?" 
 
 " Nothing surer !" replied one of the ser- 
 vants. " Something gleams too, forward 
 there !" 
 
 Twenty steps further, and they were met 
 by a thick, sulphurous smoke, causing the 
 flame of the lamp to turn into a sickly hue. 
 
 " Should the warning be as dangerous as 
 that paper tells us," said Rasinski, in a low 
 tone, turning to Louis, " I think it is unad- 
 visable to go farther !" 
 
 Louis, whose heart beat in the hope of 
 finding a trace of his visitor, replied : 
 
 " As yet we may well dare to advance, 
 for the retreat is not cut off. Let me lead, 
 colonel !" 
 
 " No ; it is better that I go first," replied 
 Rasinski ; " eagerness might entice you to 
 act unreasonably, and forget the necessary 
 caution." 
 They penetrated about twenty steps further; 
 the sulphurous mist became thicker and 
 thicker ; it could scarcely be breathed. Sud- 
 denly a blast of wind met them as if a door 
 had opened somewhere; at the same lime 
 the three lights which they carried went out. 
 The next instant was heard a resounding 
 blow which shook the whole building. 
 
 "That was a mine!" exclaimed Rasinski, 
 " we must return !" 
 
 Even Louis now perceived that it was im- 
 possible to advance. They turned to find 
 their way back, but in a few moments such a 
 dense smoke and suffocating heat attacked 
 them that they could with, great difficulty 
 breathe. 
 
 " Quick ! quick !" exclaimed Rasinski. 
 
 Holdins their handkerchiefs close to their 
 mouths, they plunged forward to reach Ra- 
 sinski's room, upon gaining which they found 
 little relief, for it was also filled with dense ' 
 vapor. Rasinski hastened to the window 
 and with his pistol struck the frame. The 
 glass fell rattling into the street, and thus let 
 in the pure air. Louis ran to the door of Ihe 
 saloon, but here too, the smoke pervaded, issu- 
 ing apparently from the floor. However, the 
 lamp was still burning, enabling him to 
 reach his own room and seize his arms, cloak 
 and saddle-bag. The veil, bracelet and hand- 
 kerchief of Bianca he had already thrust in 
 his breast. He hurried back to Rasinski. 
 
 From the street-" Fire ! Fire!" now re- 
 sounded, followed by the roll of the drums of 
 the bivouac, to which the yelling trumpets 
 joined their hasty harsh notes. 
 
 Rasinski, Louis and the servants, hurried 
 down the large staircase into the street. 
 At the porch Bernard joined them in full 
 haste from the rear of the mansion. 
 
 " God be praised ! you are safe !" he ex- 
 claimed. " I feared that I had come too 
 late !" 
 
 The whole danger could now well be seen. 
 A black impenetrable cloud hung over 
 the palace ; red spiral flashes shot through 
 it. Dense smoke poured from almost ever ' 
 window ; from the lower story, it rolled in 
 thick clouds, ascending in a high column 
 towards the roof. A single glance told the 
 truth : the fire was the work of incendia- 
 rism. 
 
 In trembling amazement all stood awaiting 
 the end of the scene. r ■ i 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 m 
 
 Raeinski ordered his men under arms, and 
 the roll of the drum to be called. All were 
 present. 
 
 " There is as yet no wind," he said ; " the 
 flame is somewhat smothered, and we may 
 yet for a while remain." 
 
 He called Jaromir, whom he commanded 
 to ride immediately to the Kremlin and in- 
 form the Adjutant-general of the Emperor. 
 ' The young officer daslied away at a gallop. 
 
 With the excitement of awe the troops 
 looked upon the building, expecting every 
 moment the ffames to break through. Sud- 
 denly a brilliant glare fell over the whole 
 palace, as if illuminated by the quick-rising 
 sun. The sky shone in red brightness, as a 
 sea of fire vaulted over them. Rasinski 
 rode down the street to the garden-wall, 
 whence he could obtain a better view all 
 around. 
 
 " Gracious God !" he exclaimed with hor- 
 ror, as he saw another large building near 
 the Kremlin, from whose high roof the flames 
 were just breaking forth. " That is no acci- 
 dent ! Incarnate devils are at work here !" 
 
 He was about to ride back when Bernard 
 came up with the information that a maga- 
 zine was burning at the end of the street. 
 
 Now Rasinski was convinced — now, all 
 depended on resolute action. 
 
 " Whence does the wind come ?" he 
 asked, looking around. 
 
 " I think from the southwest !" replied 
 Bernard. 
 
 "Good! — but it seems to be wavering. 
 We must retreat !" 
 
 Until now everything had been hushed. 
 All at once in the distance, from all sides, 
 drums and trumpets were heard. A bustle 
 followed, as if some camp had been surprised. 
 Cavalry mounted their horses — infantry took 
 to their arms and hurried into line. 
 
 Meanwhile, the dreadful element burst 
 forth in every direction ; the wind increased 
 in strength — driving the fire like a burn- 
 ing sea over the town. NOw bodies of 
 men wrapped in the darkness of impenetra- 
 ble smoke, pressed into the narrow streets, 
 not easily te find an outlet. Anon flashed an 
 illumination as in broad day. Arms glittered 
 in the reflection as if dipped into the fresh 
 blood of the enemy. 
 
 Rasinsl^i and his men reached a street yet 
 unscathed. The iieiglit of the houses on 
 both sides likewise prevented the reflection 
 from being as glaring as before ; they strug- 
 gled in a kind of twilight, yet the sky was cov- 
 ered with clouds of smoke streaked with fire. 
 At the end of the street was a bridge, for the 
 moment choked up by the artillery retreating 
 hurriedly to save the munitions and powder 
 wagons carelessly left in the city. Rasinski 
 commanded a halt. 
 
 " Said I qot," whiapered Rasinski to Ber- 
 nard and Louis, " that we should see no end 
 to misfortune ? I wish Jaromir were back — 
 he may not find us again !" 
 
 " I will go in search of him !" said Bernard 
 with animation. 
 
 " That would not help him, and only add to 
 my solicitude. You gave me trouble enough 
 by your disappearance last evening. Where 
 were you then ?' 
 
 " In the garden. I found it impossible to 
 sleep. Besides I made a discovery, whicii 
 though of no lisfe to us now, yet throws some 
 light on this terrible business." 
 
 All listened with intense anxiety. 
 
 " I was on the eve of returning to the 
 palace," commenced Bernard, " for midnight 
 had passed, but in passing through the walk 
 which leads to the portal, I suddenly saw a 
 light glimmer through the bushes. It was 
 a figure wrapped in a cloak carrying a lan- 
 tern. At first 1 believed it some one in search 
 of me, yet I thought it expedient for me to 
 hide behind a tree until I knew who was 
 approaching ; for during the day I had made 
 certain discoveries in the castle." 
 
 " We know about that," interrupted Ra- 
 sinski. 
 
 " From my hiding-place I saw that the 
 figure with the lantern was followed by 
 several others. They turned from the side 
 walk into the main one and approached. 
 They numbered ten. The man with the lan- 
 tern was foremost ; after him followed a man 
 closely wrapped up in a cloak, and support- 
 ing a veiled lady; the rest of the group 
 pressed close after. These last appeared to 
 be servants — two women among them; one 
 young and charming, but the other tall and 
 fantastically dressed, indeed the very picture 
 of the furious woman we saw on the walls 
 of the Kremlin. The last four were men, 
 who carried something on their shoulders I 
 could not recognise, but which looked like a 
 wrapped-up human body. Having passed, I 
 returned to :he castle. VVhen half-way there 
 I became aware of a smell of pitch and brim- 
 stone. Hem! thought I, these must be the 
 devil's children. Suddenly the earth trembled 
 beneath my feet, and a deep, heavy noise 
 shook the silent night. I comprehended all. 
 Swift as lightning I hurried towards the 
 building, and emerging from the bushes I 
 discovered it on fire. I was running to give 
 the alarm when I met vou." 
 
 " Oh ! Bernard '' 
 
 y Forward !" shouted Rasinski, interrupt- 
 ing Louis, " the passage is clear !" 
 
 Arrived on the bridge, all could again look 
 around. The fire was fast creeping west- 
 ward, the reflection fcowing brilliantly in the 
 dark river. 
 
 " The wind shifts !" said Rasinski, watcb- 
 
 mj^. 
 
 m^ 
 
m 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 ing the direction of the smoke, and flames. 
 •* See how the sparks fly over the Kremlin ! 
 We must again change our course." 
 
 An aid now arrived ai full gallop, and in 
 a loud voice shouted : 
 
 " The cavalry and artillery through the 
 gate on the road to Petersburgh !" 
 
 He then turned his horse to carry the or- 
 der to other corps he might meet in the streets. 
 
 " Well, at least we know what we have to 
 do," said Rasinski ; " I confess that I was at 
 a loss how to act." 
 
 They turned into a street which conducted 
 to the desired gate ; but they soon found 
 themselves in tiie midst of confusion. Co- 
 lumns of infantry, with the bearded sappeurs 
 at their head, were coming at a quick pace. 
 
 " Give way ! give way !" exclaimed the 
 leader, pressing forward with his men. 
 
 Thus the cavalry, pushed aside, could only 
 advance step by step. Meanwhile the flames 
 behind them spread awfully. Black and 
 glowing clouds whirled high over the spires 
 of the palaces, hiding the sky and its stars. 
 
 But the streets were not darkened. Houses 
 and pavements glowed, as if illuminated by 
 the blood-red torches of the furies. The storm 
 raised by the sea of fire fell with a raging 
 burst on the glowing waves, and carried on- 
 ward sparks, embers, and ashes, which 
 poured down like thick rain. 
 
 Thus was a great event, in all its gigantic 
 majesty, displayed to the eye of man in his 
 weakness. 
 
 CHAPTER LVl. 
 
 At full speed Jaromir rode through the 
 streets towards the gate of the Kremlin. A 
 singular fear came over him as he rode alone 
 through the abandoned city. No second fire 
 had been discovered by him yet, no flames 
 had yet burst from the roofs of other build- 
 ings ; still he had a dark foreboding of the 
 truth, and the black stone walls of the city 
 appeared to him like a cold, broken sea of 
 lava, which would suddenly open its subter- 
 raneous depths to swallow them up. 
 
 His way lay through narrow, crooked 
 streets, the high houses of which prevented a 
 distant view for some time ; but on reaching 
 an open space, he saw the ruddy smoke ris- 
 ing in three different places at once, and sud- 
 denly a brilliant light fell on his path. 
 
 They were the first flames breaking 
 through the roof of the bazaar. Soon the sky 
 reddened in other pla#s, and before he had 
 reached the Kremlin he heard the drums of 
 the soldiers statiohed there. An aid came 
 
 galloping past him ; he called oat to learn to 
 whom he must make his report. 
 
 " All is prepared,'' the oflScer replied. 
 " The Emperor has been informed — Marshal 
 Mortier is in motion. We are carrying the 
 order for the cavalry and artillery lo leave the 
 city as soon as possible. The sappeurs, 
 miners, and infantry, on the contrary, are to 
 assemlile and assist in extinguishing the fire. 
 All reports are to be made to Marshal Mor- 
 tier." 
 
 Jaromir saw that he could do nothing bet- 
 ter than ride back and inform Rasinski of 
 these orders. He set out with speed, but 
 quickly lost himself in a labyrinth of streets. 
 Finally, he reached an open place as bright as 
 day. With surprise he observed that he was 
 close to the spot where his bivouac lay, hav- 
 ing struck it from a diflerent side. The burn 
 ing building on his right was the same which 
 Rasinski had occupied ; the flames flew high 
 over the roof — the smoke whiriing in thick 
 clouds over the opposite houses, and covering 
 the entire view on that side. Of troops no- 
 thing more could be seen ; but by the still 
 burning bivouac fires, Jaromir saw that their 
 march had been hurried. 
 
 The unhappy humor in which he had lately 
 been thrown had been momentarily chased 
 away by the more portentous scene, but 
 now, with the flames in twenty different 
 places, fears for Alisette filled his breast. 
 
 " Has she been warned ? Has she fled in 
 time ?" were his shuddering ejaculations. 
 
 He rode at full speed towards the gate of 
 the garden. It was too narrow to ride through. 
 Quickly he jumped down from his horse and 
 opened the gate. Now he plainly saw that 
 the palace was lost, although the flames 
 had not gained full power yet. Without car- 
 ing for his horse, he quickly ran through the 
 shrubbery to reach the walk which led direct 
 through the park. 
 
 Breathlessly he reached the end of the 
 garden. The palace stood before him silent 
 and lonely ; no one seemed to have been 
 awakened throughout its wide walls — no one 
 suspected the danger. The occupants had 
 then either fled, or slept to wake in destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Without stopping, but with a heart pain- 
 fully beating for his beloved, Jaromir threw 
 himself into this crater of death — ran up the 
 stai-rs, and stood now before the door of a 
 room. It was locked. He knorked — no 
 answer. Alisette might sleep in the adjoin- 
 ing room, and did not hear him; with a vio- 
 lent kick he burst open the^door. 
 
 "Alisette!" he exclaimed. "Alisette! 
 Where are you ?" 
 
 All remained silent. Had she escaped, or 
 would he still find her in another room ? 
 By the light of the fire which streamed 
 
 .J^ 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 177. 
 
 through the high trees, he sought and found 
 the^door of the adjoining apartment. He 
 entei'ed ; here too, all was silent, but a ni^- 
 lamp was burning on a table in the corner. 
 This he took up and advanced. All remain- 
 ed silent; nothing was heard even of the 
 continually increasing noise in the streets. 
 
 Jaromir's suspicion that Alisette still 
 slept was nowise abated. He quickly glanced 
 roand the apartment, then passed . through 
 it. He opened the door of a second chamber 
 and looked in. Here he saw a bed with 
 closed silk curtains. A secret shudder ran 
 through his veins. 
 " Alisette ! Alisette !" he exclaimed wildly. 
 " Who is there ?" asked a voice, with a tone 
 of sadden fear. 
 
 •• Alisette, I come to save you — the palace 
 is in flames !" 
 
 With these words he approached the bed 
 whence the voice came. 
 
 " Back ! back !" cried the girl, holding the 
 curtains tightly with one hand, and stretching 
 forth the other against her lover's nearer ap- 
 proach. Jaromir thought that this fear was 
 created by a feeling of bashfulness. He had 
 no time to conquer it, however, for a manly 
 voice the next moment exclaimed : 
 " What the devil is all this ?" 
 Jaromir stood paralysed. Alisette uttered 
 a loud scream. At the same moment the 
 man jumped out of the bed. 
 
 "Who breaks in here?" he demanded, 
 shaking with rage ; but before Jaromir could 
 answer, Alisette threw herself at his feet 
 and embraced his knees, exclaiming : 
 " Do not condemn me ! I am innocent !" 
 In stupid amazement Jaromir stood be- 
 numbed — crushed. Alisette convulsively 
 clung to his knees. Her dishevelled hair 
 fell over her naked shoulders and heaving bo- 
 som. 
 
 " I will not rise before you have pardoned 
 me !" she exclaimed, pressing her face to 
 the floor. " And if you will not, then trample 
 me under your feet, that I may die on the 
 spot !" 
 
 Jaromir neither saw nor heard. A rough 
 hand now took his arm and shook him viu 
 lenlly. 
 
 " I demand an instant explanation, Count !" 
 said the man. 
 
 Bewildered, Jaromir looked around. Flame 
 was just breaking through thereof of an ad- 
 jacent building. By its light he recognised 
 Colonel Regnard standing before him in a 
 cloak with which he had quickly enveloped 
 himself. The young man s^irank back ; 
 Alisette, half-fainting, sank upon the floor. 
 
 " I demand again what brings you here," 
 cried the Colonel furiously ; " answer me, if 
 you are not a coward !" 
 
 Regnard did not think that danger from 
 
 12 
 
 fire was so near ; he saw it certainly, but 
 like an old soldier, took little heed. 
 
 Alisette now sprang up in alarm. She 
 threw herself between Jaromir and the 
 Colonel, and wringing' her hands, exclaimed: 
 
 " For heaven's sake, let us fly ! — I will 
 confess all !" 
 
 But with a dreadful burst of rage, Jj,romir 
 seized the naked arm of the praying girl — 
 shook her as the lion would shake a roe, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " Confess, wretch ! Didst thou calumni- 
 ate Lodoiska ?" 
 
 " Pardon ! Mercy !" tremblingly cried 
 the temptress, and would have thrown her- 
 self again on her knees at his feet. But furi- 
 ously Jaromir dashed her from him, causing 
 her to fall upon the bed, while he exclaimed : 
 
 " Accursed viper ! Fly, that I tasif not 
 become thy murderer !" 
 
 Regnard seized his arm, but the superior 
 strength of Jaromir's youthful powers over- 
 came it. 
 
 " We shall meet again ; now save your- 
 self; for the palace is burning — " 
 
 A subterraneous explosion cut short tHh 
 last words. The palace trembled — the win- 
 dows rattled, and stones fell from the shaken 
 roof. 
 
 " Hell and the devil ! What is that ?" ex- 
 claimed Regnard. 
 
 "Almighty God!" exclaimed Alisette, 
 wringing her hands. 
 
 " To such as thee, Grod shows no mercy !" 
 cried Jaromir, threateningly raising his hand. 
 " These vaults fall in over thy crimes, and 
 the flames of hell will take hold of thee !" 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! Save me !" cried the 
 miserable woman, approaching Jaromir ; but 
 she was unable to stand on her feet, and fell 
 to the floor. 
 
 " We cannot let her perish !" said Reg- 
 nard resolutely ; " help me to carry her 
 down." 
 
 He tried to raise her ; Jaromir stood gazing 
 like a statue upon the inanimate girl. Mean- 
 while the door of the adjoining room opened, 
 and the foster child of Alisette — the little, 
 three year old daughter of her sister, entered, 
 and weeping, said in a stammering voice : 
 
 " Oh, I am so afraid !" 
 
 At the sight of this helpless being, human 
 feeling returned to Jaromir's heart. 
 
 " No ! you shall not perish, dear creature," 
 he said mildly ; " neither you nor this sinner !" 
 
 He took the child and wrapped her in 
 one of Alisette's shawls. This latter had 
 already been covered with a cloak by Reg- 
 nard, but he was unable to lift her on ac- 
 count of his wound. Jaromir gave hira tho 
 child, saying : 
 
 " Take you the little one !" ^' 
 
 He then approached Alisette, raised her 
 
178 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 with youthful strength, and made for the 
 door. " Follow me," he said, " the garden 
 is still within our reach." 
 
 Breathless and with burned hair they 
 gained a safe retreat in the garden. They 
 there set down their burdens and drew 
 breath. 
 
 " We are in safety !" said Jaromir in the 
 gloomy* tone of indifftrence. " A gate leads 
 through the garden-wall, in case that of the 
 palace should be burning. As to what con- 
 cerns us, Colonel, I think we shall meet 
 again !" 
 
 Regnard replied not. He now suspected 
 all, and felt that he could not ask further ex- 
 planation from the unhappy youth. Jaromir 
 quickly passed through the garden to rejoin 
 his friends. 
 
 The faithful animal, although not fastened, 
 still stood at the garden gate, as if expecting 
 his master. Jaromir sprang into the saddle 
 and rode at full speed through the streets. 
 
 On all sides buildings were tottering and 
 falling. The night was brighter than day. 
 Only where the sraoke and thick rain of ashes 
 lilted the air was it dark. Lines of houses 
 were burning in solitude — all had fled. 
 Wherever the fire took, a struggle with the 
 too powerful element was in vain. The flames 
 crackled all around. It seemed to Jaromir 
 .as if the furies of hell had been unleashed to 
 pursue him. The atmosphere, heated like a 
 fnrna:ce, could scarcely be breathed. His 
 eyeballs burned — the pain piercing through 
 to his brain. 
 
 " And must I die here thus ?" he cried in 
 despair. 
 
 With exertion he opened his eyes and 
 stared into the crackling sea of fire, to spy 
 nut an outlet somewhere. A gust of wind 
 arose, powerfully assuaged the flames, and 
 severiag them into glowing walls, broke its 
 way through, Jaromir rode into the open 
 aperture ; for a moment the flames parted to 
 a great distance and gave him an insight to 
 the place where safety was to be found, but 
 already they closed again over his head. 
 •Suddenly, thunder rolled and rattled terribly, 
 a roof fell in, burning beams and glowing 
 Btones crashed and tumbled ; Jaromir's hojse, 
 struck by a large stone on the back, dropped 
 beneath him. Benumbed he lay on the ground ; 
 but recovering the shock, proceeded on foot. 
 Already he gave himself up forlost. With half- 
 closed eyes, for he could not bear the full 
 brightness, he made towards the place 
 where for a moment he had seen an open 
 space. Suddenly, in this desert of flames an 
 earnest, manly voice readied his ear. 
 
 " Can you point a way out of these burn- 
 ing streets ?" he was asked. 
 
 Glad at having found at least one compa- 
 nion m death, he turned to the side whence 
 
 the sound proceeded ; but suddenly, he stood 
 petrified as he perceived the Emperor who, 
 accompanied by few attendants only, emei|^ 
 frpm a narrow, crooked alley. This man 
 himself — he on whose decision the fate of all 
 depends, is seen floundering amid a burning 
 sea of fire, where safety is nowhere to be 
 found. No, he cannot be lost ! 
 
 This prophetic incident gave him new 
 strength and composure. His own courage 
 rose upoif witnessing the calm resolution of 
 that man who, with the same unchanged fea^ 
 battle, looked upon the desolation around 
 tures with which he guided the storm of 
 him. 
 
 The guides of the great chief seemed con- 
 fused by horror, for they vainly sought the 
 old traces of the streets. 
 
 " Do you know of no outlet ?" the Empe- 
 ror asked. 
 
 " Yes, I think so," replied Jaromir firmly ; 
 " but the way leads throuorh the flames yon- 
 der." ^ 
 
 " Well, then, we have no time to lose," re- 
 plied the Emperor, turning his steps in the 
 direction J^ftromir pointed out. Jaromir 
 took the lead, proudly resolved to succeed or 
 become the first victim. But, as if the ele- 
 ments even in their rage did not dare to op- 
 pose the conqueror, the wind dispersed the 
 flames, and opened through them a way for 
 him. Jaromir rushed on over burning em- 
 bers and ashes. Their breath became fire, 
 their eyes burned to the brain; lips and 
 tongues became scorched and blistered ; but 
 suddenly, a fresh wind blew into their glowing 
 faces, the open, free air was reached, and at 
 the last extremity, the united cry burst forth 
 — " Noire Empereur est sauve .'" 
 
 CHAPTER LVn. 
 
 September had arrived, but the heavens 
 were still cloudless and bright ; the days 
 glided away calmly in sunshine and mild 
 weather. It is true that the foliage had be- 
 gun to change color — even to fall; yet the 
 rielils were decked in luxuriant verdure and 
 adorned with a variety of autumnal flowers. 
 Consequently, the countess, Lodoiska, and 
 Mary had a pleasant journey ; what was 
 wanting in the. landscape was made up by 
 the beautiful season ; the happy quietude of 
 which, uniting with the light touch of melan- 
 choly aroused by viewing nature in autumn, 
 gave a zest to the sympathy of friendship, 
 and harmonised well with the frame of mind 
 of the two young ladies. , .„ 
 
 ■4 
 
NAPOLEOJrS INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Hi' 
 
 The palace of the coantess, though its ar- 
 ^aog^ments corresponded with a brilliant 
 style of living, was, h9wever, quite a homely 
 abode, such.as ladies who wish to pass the 
 days in xetirement, desire. They had moved 
 to the lower part of the left wing, which 
 opened upon the garden. The glass door of 
 the saloon opened directly upon a slightly 
 sloping grass-plot, surrounded by alder and 
 jasmine bushes. Rose-bushes were planted 
 in a semi-circle ; tlieir blossoms had withered 
 long ago, but in their place, glittering in the 
 middle of the terrace, was a rich mcdalHon 
 of late-blooming flowers, among which a bed 
 of many-colored starwuods, carefully nursed 
 by the gardener, were conspicuous. In that 
 inner part of ihe wing which looked over the 
 court-yard and garden lived Mary and Lodo- 
 iska. They loved each other as sifters, and 
 would, under other circumstances, have been 
 attached to each other, were it only on ac- 
 count of their mutual condition. Vines were 
 trained up to tiie windows of their bedrooms, 
 being close to the iron railings which crossed 
 the lawn from one wing to the other, separa- 
 ting it from the gardens : but the fruit seldom 
 ripened on this espalier, still they disguised 
 the wall in a remarkable manner ; and the 
 sunbeams, without being entirely shut out, 
 were agreeably modified by the green and 
 tremulous shade. From their bedrooms they 
 passed through a library to the boudoir, which 
 adjoined the saloon, on the opposite side of 
 which were the apartments of the countess, 
 running parallel with those of Lodoiska and 
 Mary, and separated from them by a corridor. 
 Even these possessed a view over the gar- 
 dens, but limited by the wall, which here was 
 only tliirty paces distant, and the intervening 
 space, planted with thick shrubbery, nicely 
 concealing the wall which skirted the street 
 where FranSoioe Alisette had been living, in 
 a range projecting from the side of the main 
 building. A row of tall poplars beyond the 
 wall deprived the inhabitants of the street of 
 any view into the garden, or through the win- 
 dows of the palace. Thus all was quiet and 
 secluded, and the dwelling caught from the 
 dark thicket in which it was ensconced a 
 shade of mournfulness which well corres- 
 ponded with the secret feelings of its occu- 
 pants. 
 
 In this manner, secluded even in the midst 
 of a populous and busy city, the three ladies 
 lived a peaceful life, spending their time in 
 the pursuit of female occupations. Seldom 
 was a visit received — more seldom returned. 
 Their retirement became daily more agreeable 
 to themselves, and they enjoyed it with 
 greater pleasure the more they became ac- 
 quainted with each other, and their mutual 
 affection increased. The countess, who much 
 exceeded the two maidens in years, surpassed 
 
 them also in the more solid advantages of 
 mind. She was endowed with all the tender- 
 ness of the female character, yet under the 
 control of judgment ; and she was exempt 
 from the weaknesses of feeling which more 
 particularly belong to the inexperience of 
 youth. Growing up during important changes 
 of the times, she was at an early age drawn 
 from the narrow sphere of ordinary female 
 life into the more active and rapid career of 
 the world. She had abandoned her home to 
 live altogether for the sake of her fatherland. 
 Her soul sympathised with the public desti- 
 nies — she was an enthusiastic daughter of her 
 nation. Upon Mary also the important events 
 of the day had exercised an enlivening in- 
 fluence ; even she burned for an oppressed 
 fatherland, though in quite a different way. 
 The countess took an active, spirit^ part in 
 the public afTairs, her heart already throbbed 
 for them from habit, and she missed the loss 
 of her quietude of mind no more. She 
 eagerly perused the newspapers and political 
 pamphlets of the day ; she was familiar with 
 the history of all the more important occur- 
 rences, followed them with acuteness, and 
 anticipated the consequences on her country 
 of events to come. Mary, on the contrary, 
 loved, above everylhing, her country and the 
 nation to which she belonged. She was 
 German in language and principle ; her noble 
 hatred was directed merely against the ene- 
 mies and oppressors of her own country ; — 
 other destinies of the world she looked upon 
 not with indifference, indeed, but from a dis- 
 creet distance, and with that limited sense of 
 female regard which does not require direct 
 participation in them ; tharefore she willingly 
 returned to her homely and quiet sanctuary, 
 and was patient since she could not act. 
 With the deliverance of her fatherland her 
 participation in public affairs would cease, or 
 at least fall back into that retirement natural 
 to the discreet female. By the contest she 
 hoped merely to gain a quiet sanctuary of 
 German simplicity. On the contrary, the 
 wishes of the countess always extended be- 
 yond the threshold of home. Mary wished 
 for her country's happiness, rest, and peace ; 
 it was the habitual tendency of thought in 
 the countess to dwell on its splendor, glory, 
 and power. On the exciting picture of a na- 
 tional war Mary beheld her countrymen only, 
 and her nearest friends, as their representa- 
 tives ; the countess, on the contrary, kept her 
 eyes on the heroes of her nation, and fol- 
 lowed anxiously the fate of its chieftains. In 
 the principal place of her picture Mary surely 
 beheld on the battle-field, in the foreffround 
 her brother, Bernard, and, as she bashfully ad- 
 mitted, Rasinski. The countess was in the 
 midst of the fight ; her eyes followed the ban- 
 ners and their noble bearers — even in her 
 
m 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 brother she beheld the generoas leader fore- 
 most in peril, as became him, on the day of 
 decision. Lodoiska, on the contrary, wholly 
 kind and loving, heard the dull thunder of the 
 battle from the distance only, but saw before 
 her eyes the bleeding lover, sick or dying on 
 the ground. Love filled so entirely her tender 
 heart that there was no room for any other 
 thought. Even the superstitious reverence 
 with which she daily attended the celebration 
 of mass was subordinate to the anguish of 
 feeling, as her prayers arose chiefly for the 
 friend of her soul. As is generally the case 
 with noble minds, each of the ladies consi- 
 dered the other to be better and more accom- 
 plished than herself, only because she pos- 
 sessed what was wanting in themselves. 
 Thus Lodoiska regarded her protectress with 
 the most profound respect, and humbly sub- 
 mitted to Mary because she was astonished 
 at the power of both in compelling her to love 
 them. The countess and Mary revered the 
 sacred flame in Lodoifika's breast, which se- 
 parated every unworthy particle from the pu- 
 rity which filled the heart of the girl. 
 
 Upon the table of the Countess was spread 
 a map of Russia. Guided by the newspaper 
 reports, she could minutely follow every 
 march, every movement of the army, tracing 
 the line with pins, the heads of which she 
 had furnished with ingenious signs, to ena- 
 ble her with a rapid glance to discern, not 
 only enemy and friend, but also the position 
 of each separate corps. For Rasinski's regi- 
 ment hcd Lodoiska taken a golden pin from 
 her hair ; its bright head showed her every 
 day where her heart should seek her destined 
 husband. t 
 
 " Even we," said Mary, " here at a distance 
 — when the battle is over we receive intelli- 
 gence that our dearest are still unharmed 
 among the living — even we read the reports 
 of it with anxiously beating hearts. How 
 would it be, if destruction were so near us as 
 the inhabitants of Smolensku ? If, like them, 
 we knew our fathers, brothers and husbands 
 were before the gates, engaged in a struggle 
 for life, for liberty, country^for our lives and 
 for our honor 7" 
 
 " My excited feelings would carry me to 
 the walls," cried the Countess, as usual 
 when animated, pacing the apartment with 
 rapid steps. " I would watch the progress 
 of the battle with my own eyes !" 
 
 " I should not be aWe to do that " repJied 
 Mary, with a mild countenance. " Still I be- 
 lieve," she continued, in the uncertain tone 
 of modesty,, *' that I should possess firmness 
 enough to nurse the wounded !" 
 
 " Alas ! and I !" exclaimed Lodoiska, 
 sighing, " I should certainly be capable of 
 nothing save praying in the sanctuary of the 
 Blessed Virgin for the departed !" 
 
 On a close September morning, Lodoiska, 
 in coiiformity with her daily practice, accom- 
 panied by a female sen'ant, repaired to ■the 
 nearest church. Her path carried her past 
 the hotel of the French Minister at Warsaw, 
 Herr Von Pradt. Before the door stood a 
 courier's vehicle, and she observed a remark- 
 able commotion among the servants. Some 
 intelligence of importance must have arrived. 
 She approached with tremWing heart. Too 
 bashful herself, she directed her servant to 
 make the necessary inquiries and rejoin her 
 as she slowly repassed the hotel. As, how- 
 ever, she came past the door, an officer in 
 uniform came out ; he started on perceiving 
 her, and appeared to know her. Rapidly ad- 
 vancing, he bowed, and addressed her : 
 
 " I hope perhaps too much from the accu- 
 racy of your memory, if I presamed that 
 you still remember me, gracious Countess ?" 
 Lodoiska started with maiden bashfulness ; 
 yet she instantly recognised Captain Arn- 
 beim, from Toplitz. 
 
 " f do, indeed, sir, remember yoo," was her 
 answer ; " though I remained but a few days 
 at Toplitz — and indeed it is but a short time 
 since we left that place. What brings yoo 
 to Warsaw, Captain ?" 
 
 " I am perfectly restored to health now, 
 and on my way to the army in Volhynia." 
 
 " It seems as if even just now important 
 information has arrived for the French Min- 
 ister," said Lodoiska, turning round to see 
 whether her servant was approaching. 
 
 " Of the most important character," an- 
 swered the Captain ; " the courier has broaght 
 the news this very moment. A great battle 
 has been fooght within two days' nareh of 
 Moscow." 
 
 " Much blood is then shed ?" fahered Lo- 
 doiska, trembling, and growing pale. 
 
 As they walked along, Arnheim observed 
 not how violently she was agitated by hia 
 words, and continued : 
 
 " Blood, without an example in the histoiy 
 of war I The number of the dead and wound- 
 ed is not exactly known yet — but according 
 to the report, estimated from sixty to seventy 
 thousand, on both sides ! The victory of the 
 Emperor is pnrchased by immense sacri- 
 fice r" 
 
 Suddenly the picture of the battle stood 
 before Lodoiska in all its dreadful colors, 
 and filled her mind with such horror that she 
 was overcome with her emotions ; — a deadly 
 pallor overspread her countenance j — she 
 stepped backward a pace or two,, and ex- 
 claiming in a faint voice : " Holy virgin !" 
 sank to the earth. 
 
 Arnheim immediately raised her in hisanns. 
 In his embarrassment he looked around for 
 aid, when Lodoiska's servant speedily ft|K 
 proacbed, crying in a lamentable tone : ■»•;' 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 ■* For heaven's 8d,ke, what is the matter 
 writlitheJady?" 
 
 " The news of a battle has alarmed her ; 
 let us carry her into the Minister's hotel !" 
 said Arnheim. 
 
 Lodoiska, however, opened her eyes again. 
 A dark gk)w of shame passed over the mar* 
 ble of her cheeks ; and she sighed heavily. 
 She was not able to speak ; yet she raised 
 herself, and leaned upon the arm of the 
 servant. 
 
 " How can I obtain forgiveness for my im- 
 prudence?" said Arnheim. " We soldiers 
 are rude to that degree, that on the intelli- 
 gence of a battle we never think of the 
 victims." 
 
 " You are not to blame," answered Lodo- 
 iska, ** it was only my foolishness." Then 
 her tears burst forth. " I must go home ; 
 excuse me, only," she added, with difficulty. 
 " Dare I offer you my arm, or shall I call 
 for a coach ?" asked the Captain. 
 
 " I shall feel obliged to you, if you would 
 
 please to support me, as I am rather feeble." 
 
 Arnheim gave her his arm, while on the 
 
 other side Lodoiska leant upon her servant ; 
 
 and thus they proceeded to the palace of the 
 
 Countess. 
 
 Happily Lodoiska's \swoon was but for a 
 moment. The attention of the crowd in the 
 street was so earnestly directed towards the 
 Minister's hotel, that the occurrence passed 
 off unobserved. Turning into a lane, the 
 party reached the palace unmolested by the 
 curiosity of troublesome spectators. 
 
 The Captain had no difficulty in explaining 
 to himself the cause of the sudden terror of 
 Lodoiska ; for who had not a friend, a brother, 
 a father in the army ? Meanwhile, he was 
 too discreet • to make any further enquiries, 
 and endeavored to modify the frightful im- 
 pression of his first information by every 
 consolatory suggestion. 
 
 Having arrived at the gate of'the house, 
 Lodoiska said : 
 
 "I thank you, from my heart, for your 
 kindness. I would certainly ask you to ac- 
 company me farther ; yet " 
 
 Arnheim interrupted her, and replied with 
 animation : 
 
 " Seclusion is necessary in the first mo- 
 ments of agitation ; still I trust you will not 
 deny me the happiness of seeing you on a 
 more favorable occasion." 
 
 Lodoiska looked gratefully at him, as she 
 replied. 
 
 " I should be very sorry if we should not 
 see you again ; we shall, I hope, be able to 
 bid you welcome under less painful circum- 
 stances." 
 
 So saying, she gave him her hand, and 
 turning quickly, entered the house. With 
 difficulty she reached the quiet garden- 
 
 room, where Mary was the first friend sh* 
 met. 
 
 " Lend me your strength, Man? !" cried 
 she, opening her arms to her friend. " Lend 
 me your strength, dearest, that I may endure 
 this agony until further information !" 
 
 " Gracious heavens ! what has occurred ?" 
 exclaimed Mary, frightened, while gently 
 embracing the girl, and conducting her to a 
 couch. After a few minutes, and in the great- 
 est agitation, Lodoiska said : 
 
 " A battle hiLs been fought ; seventy thou- 
 sand dead and woaaded cover the field. Th« 
 dreadful thought of tbia terrible scene will 
 drive me to madness. Alas « Mary, I see 
 nothing but blood, and the pale features of 
 the dead !" 
 
 The Countess entered ; by the servant she 
 had already been informed of what had oc- 
 curred. Her feelings on the victory were 
 less excited than the anguish of her friends. 
 Kindly and calmly she approached the terri- 
 fied Lodoiska, saying : 
 
 " Come to my heart, dearest daughter ; 
 shed your tears upon the breast of your 
 friend ; you will then be calm, and can 
 await with composure farther tidings which 
 must soon reach us." 
 
 This example of firmness and gentle sym- 
 pathy sensiWy awakened the courage of the 
 desponding girl. 
 
 After a few minutes a servant entered, 
 announcing that Captain Arnheim anxiously 
 desired admittance, as he brought good 
 tidings. 
 
 Agreeably surprised, though somewhat 
 embarrassed, Mary learned now, for the first 
 time, the presence of this acquaintance from 
 home, whose great attention to her could not 
 have escaped her notice. Ixxloiska, occupied 
 only with the battle, which caused her so 
 much sorrow, had not thought of him at all ; 
 and through the servant the Countess only 
 knew that a strange officer had supported 
 and conducted Lodoiska home. 
 
 " Bid him welcome !" said the Countess, 
 addressing the servant. 
 
 With trembling hearts all listened to his 
 quick steps in the saloon. 
 
 " Excuse my sudden entrance," he said to 
 the Countess ; " but I could not possibly deny 
 myself the pleasure of being the bearer of 
 this note, which no doubt will remove your 
 apprehensions with respect to the battle." 
 He then handed her an unsealed paper, on 
 which were marked with lead-pencil a few 
 words in the Polish language. 
 
 " A thousand, thousand thanks !" said the 
 Countess, after having rapidly perused the 
 paper. " Here, Lodoiska, read yourself what 
 my brother writes : 
 
 " Dear Sistek — ^The battle is over ;— • 
 
18S 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ,• OR, 
 
 I am alive ; — our nearest friends are unhurt. 
 More in my next." 
 
 Lodoiska turned her looks to heaven, and 
 folded her hands over her hreast, unable to 
 utter a word. Even Mary was deeply agitated. 
 
 "All escaped !" said she, and a tear of the 
 sincerest emotion trembled in her eyes. 
 " That is more than I dared hope myself. 
 Receive my gratitude for your message !" 
 
 As great happiness or misfortune unbo- 
 soms noble l>eart3, that they no more observe 
 the conventional barriers of life, thus Mary, 
 unfettered by restraint, stepped forward to 
 Arnheim, and kindly gave him her hand. He 
 was abashed in the extreme, because of 
 Mary's presence here, "which he did not 
 expect, and of which he had not been aware 
 before. With agreeable surprise he seized 
 the offered hand, and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 " You here, Mademoiselle J" he exclaimed, 
 gazing perplexedly. 
 
 " I have availed myself of a most friendly 
 invitation," answered Mary ; "■ yet to meet 
 with a countryman, and especially one with 
 whom we are intimately acquainted, in a 
 foreign place, \a truly a happy occurrence." 
 
 " Yes — certainly, certainly J" exelaimed 
 the Captain, pressing her hand with such 
 earnestness as to cause Mary gently to with- 
 draw it. 
 
 " We ' owe you our grateful acknowledg- 
 ments. Captain Arnheim," said the Coun- 
 tess. " But how did you get the paper ?" 
 
 "In the simplest manner prossible," an- 
 swered the Captain. " I had just announced 
 myself at the bureau of the legation as the 
 courier arrived. An officer who is employed 
 there, told me that, as usual, t}»e courier 
 brought a number of loose letters and memo- 
 randa, partly on small pieces of paper un- 
 sealed—partly on prepared covers, and partly 
 written with pencil, \rf which those who 
 had taken part m the battle dispatched the 
 earliest information to their respective friends. 
 This caused me to think that there might be 
 some news for you, gracious Countess. I 
 hastened back to the bureau, and actually 
 found this open note written with pencil. 1 
 applied for it, todeliverto you forthwith, which 
 was obligingly consented to, as the legation 
 is anxious to see these letters immediately 
 dispatched." 
 
 " Do you believe, sir," asked the Countess, 
 " that this victory will decide the war ?" 
 
 " Beyond all doubt, madame. Two short 
 days' march from the ancient capital of the 
 country, it will throw that city into the 
 hands of the Emperor, and by this the fate of 
 Russia may be decided." 
 
 "But the empire extends far beyond Mos- 
 cow; the most flourishing^ an J populous 
 provinces are situated at the foot of the 
 
 southern portion of the) Ural, I would oot 
 consider Russia entirely conquered, even if 
 both its capitals were in the hands of the 
 Emperor." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Arnheim, " hot 
 its moral strength is Iwoken by the taking of 
 its ancient capital. The continuation of the 
 war is undoubtedly possible by physical 
 force, but the moral power being destroyed, 
 the result is precarious. Too many impor- 
 tant and conflicting interests are attached to 
 the capital of a country. It is the central 
 point of wealth, commerce and trade ; and-as 
 a violent blow need only crush one of the 
 nobler organs to destroy the whole body, 
 the invasion of an enemy and the capture of 
 a capital, exercise a fatal influence on every 
 resource of a country." 
 
 " Thus Napoleon's conquest over the civi- 
 lised world ia then decided!" said Mary, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Of the European eemtinent at least. 
 The result of this battle may be hailed as 
 a victory by all Europe. Against whom, it 
 may be asked, is the war carried on ? In 
 ray opinion, not against Russia, but against 
 Engkind. fiy th^ defeat of the Russian 
 army, the Emperor is now at last master of 
 the European coasts — for of SpaMn and Por- 
 tugal he will soon be in possession. Then ho 
 can dictate his own conditions to England. 
 The power of England is great in itself, and 
 still greater by its alliances on the continent, 
 and therefore, the continental powers- must 
 first, as they now really are, be conquered, 
 ere that little island could be humiliated. 
 This aim seems now within the Emperor's 
 grasp. Look, therefore, for a general peace, 
 so necessary to the belligerent nations — abo\-« 
 all, to conquering France. Many evils will 
 cease, which, by the force of circun>stances, 
 the Emperor has been compelled to inflict on 
 the European people. Austria will be the 
 representative of Germany. Napoleon will 
 with pleasure see that country in a condition 
 peaceful towards himself, and in every way 
 possible he will aid in promoting its pros- 
 perity. Many old and evil habit^ in Ger- 
 many had to be rooted out before a new edi- 
 fice found safe ground and a free space. 
 The Emperor of France, as the representative 
 of a powerful and newly awakened era, has 
 abolished the old forms. Those existing at 
 present are merely transient. He knows 
 himself, that there exists nothing solid — for he 
 daily demolishes what he had built for the 
 necessity of the moment, and allows nations 
 and leaders alike suddenly to change and 
 alter their duties. When once, however, he 
 shall have reached the aim of his vast de- 
 signs — when once the continent shall be as 
 firmly united in its inner parts as the vast 
 provinces of which it consists are externally 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 163 
 
 drcamscribed — ^then the great man will lay 
 a solid, lasting foundatioa on which to erect 
 a splendid edifice for the future. For that 
 purpose this last battle was necessary. No 
 one feels more deeply than myself the 
 hard sacrifices that Germany has had to 
 make ; but now they will be put an end to 
 — they were a punishment for old and heavy 
 oSences ; iiistory shows no nation exempt 
 from a similar atonement for old public sins." 
 
 Arnheim uttered these thoughts with much 
 animation ; he spoke for all parties, and there- 
 fore even those of a different opinion listened 
 to him with pleasure. His words had com- 
 forted Mary in the very depths of her heart, 
 and her looks brightened into a gentle smile 
 as she tendered him her sincere thanks. 
 
 The Countess rose in great emotion. 
 
 " When even you," she said, " entertain so 
 many hopes as a consequence of this great 
 campaign, how must our hearts beat who 
 have fought in this battle for the liberty of 
 our fatherland ? Would that the day were 
 come — the long-expected day, when Poland, 
 at present bowed down into the dust, could 
 again proudly raise her noble head. Would 
 ■ that the White Eagle could spread its lone 
 pinions, and be capable of once more hazard- 
 ing the daring dight to the sun of liberty ! 
 Oh, may this victory be thrice-blessed ! The 
 blood of the fallen will not then have been 
 spilled in vain I" 
 
 Suddenly, the ringing of the bells of the 
 cathedral sounded through the trees, which 
 . rustled in the fresh wind. 
 
 " At this unusual time ? — What may that 
 signify ?" asked the Countess. 
 
 The ringing of the bells increased — from 
 near and distant steeples the merry chimes 
 interrupted the quietude of the forenoon. 
 
 " The celebration of the victory !" observed 
 the Captain. 
 
 " And a victory it is, for which we must 
 thank heaven !" added the Countess. " How 
 proud I feel at these sounds. From the dark 
 thunder-cloud of battle a new morning is 
 perhaps dawning for our country. Now can 
 I expj^n the restlessness of my heart; I 
 must join the congregation of the praying, 
 grateful people, and uplift my ardent soul to- 
 wards heaven in prayer !" 
 
 She called for a shawl and flung it over 
 her shoulders. Arnheim offered her his arm. 
 Mary and Lodoiska followed. 
 
 In the streets all was motion and life. The 
 people thronged across the squares towards 
 the churches where the bells were ringing, as 
 on the holiday of a saint. Beneath the hotel 
 of the minister waved the tri-colored banner. 
 The troops present in the city assembled to 
 je marched to church in parade. As if by 
 a mawic power the working-day was changed 
 into a great festival. The people were at- 
 
 tired in their festive garments ; men, wome'i, 
 children — all rushed in variegated group;* 
 to the sacred edifices. 
 
 How brightly sparkled the lively dark 
 eyes of the maidens and youths! From be- 
 neath the veils of the former their raven 
 black hair fell beautifully down and covered 
 their white necks; the latter had proudly 
 pressed upon their forehead the high cap 
 trimmed with gold, from which rich tassels 
 escaped, and girded themselves with man's 
 truest ornament — the sword. 
 
 Mary felt almost alarmed when she beheld 
 this general enthusiasm. .\las ! — in her 
 own* country she had never witnessed any- 
 thing similar. And would they there rejoice 
 over this victory? Were not their hearts 
 with the enemy, though forced by their desti- 
 ny to combat against him ? And would this 
 battle have really such happy consequences 
 as their hopes led them to believe ? 
 
 Engaged in such reflections the party ap- 
 proached the church, the wide gates of which 
 were open. The solemn tones of the organ 
 saluted the ear of the advancing worshippers, 
 while the louder and loftier peals of bells 
 summoned them from afar. The holy flame 
 burned in the chandeliers at the high altar, 
 and before all the images of the saints. Al- 
 ready were the spacious halls crowded almost 
 to overflowing, and yet renewed crowds press- 
 ed in. It was with great difficulty that the 
 Countess reached her private oratory, from 
 within the grates of which she could cast a 
 glance over the whole. Opposite, in the choir, 
 were the seats of the French embassy — to the 
 left the high altar — to the right the pulpit. 
 The lattice of the pew was a great conve- 
 nience to Mary, who, aa she attended divine 
 service without joihing in its ceremonies, 
 necessarily appeared only as a spectatress, 
 although her heart throbbed so gratefully for 
 the preservation of her nearest friends, that 
 her prayers for a happy turn in the destiny 
 of her country fervently passed her lips. 
 
 While the Countess and Lodoiska kneeled 
 with rosaries in their hands, Mary remained 
 on her retired seat. Arnheim had not en- 
 tered the pewof theCountess^-custom sepa- 
 rating men and women in the church. 
 
 Lodoiska prayed with the fervor of an 
 enthusiast, her eyes constantly resting upon 
 the image of the virgin suspended opposite 
 her. She moved her lips, but no sound was 
 audible. In her eyes shone the purest thank- 
 fulness — the holy melancholy of gratitude. 
 The Countess was serious; even when 
 kneeling, she maintained the majesty of her 
 carriage, and sublimity was displayed on her 
 open forehead. Occasionally she raised her 
 large dark eye in holy earnest appeal to the 
 Power above. 
 Mass having been brought to a close, tlta 
 
184 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ladtes left the church. Close by the gate the 
 crowds crossed each other in such a way as 
 to cause a temporary check to their progress. 
 From both sides those who had been sitting 
 in the choir came down the stairs; from 
 three sides those from the nave of the church 
 pressed on. Arnheim had not been able to 
 rejoin the ladies ; they were alone, keeping 
 close together. 
 
 Now, the French minister with his splen- 
 did retinue also descended the stairs. The 
 stream of people brought them into the 
 immediate vicinity of the ladles. By de- 
 grees Mary observed herself entirely sur- 
 rounded by uniforms, and she was obliged to 
 lower her head to avoid the often equivocal 
 looks of these men ; then she heard a few 
 French words spoken in a voice known to 
 her. She turned her eye in the direction, 
 but, as though she had trodden on a serpent, 
 she shrank back and grew pale. She saw 
 before her the feared, detested Beaucaire, 
 and at a distance of two paces from him St. 
 Luces also. ' 
 
 Mary had to summon all her composure not 
 to betray herself by a scream ; her knees 
 trembled and she could hardly make a step 
 forward. Surely she would have sunk to 
 thp ground, had not the throng forcibly kept 
 }«er upright. Her feelings resembled those 
 of a wanderer, who suddenly discovers tliat 
 having sat down to rest close to a sleeping 
 viper, fleeing or remaining will bring destruc- 
 tion upon him. 
 
 The position of Beaucaire and St. Luces at 
 this moment made it impossible for them to 
 .see Mary ; yet she could not know whether 
 bhe had not long ago been observed by both. 
 Oh, what would she have given if, like Lo- 
 doiska and the Countess, she had worn a veil 
 to conceal her face ! She bent her head 
 down and covered it with her handkerchief, 
 thus endeavoring to hide it as much as pos- 
 sible—but the pressure of the crowd gradually 
 forced her towards the danger, and she felt 
 that the moment was not distant when she 
 should touch the person of her unprincipled 
 persecutor. She would have given a hint to 
 the Countess, but every word was perilous, 
 and might have betrayed her. Submitting to 
 her fate she awaited silently, but in agony, 
 what should come— when suddenly the multi- 
 tude turned sideways, another gate having 
 been opened. The Countess followed, and in 
 a few minutes they reached a free passage, 
 and hastened home, Mary communicating 
 her imminent danger by the way. 
 
 The next morning they learned that Cap- 
 tain Von Arnheim, with two French officers 
 of the Commissariat Department, answering 
 to appearance of St. Luces and Beaucaire — 
 had the preceding day been suddenly dis- 
 patched on to Wihia. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIIL . , , 
 
 The following days passed quiet as usu41. 
 The great battle was everywhere the con- 
 stant topic of conversation. By-and-by fresh 
 particulars were received. The storming of 
 the large redoubt was but briefly dwelt on ; 
 none, however, had omitted to write some- 
 thing about the great losses, the obstinacy of 
 the battle, the terrible fire of the artillery, 
 and the superhuman exertions and hardships 
 of the army. 
 
 On the fifth day a second letter arrived 
 from Rasinski, in which lay small notes 
 scribbled with pencil, from Louis and Jaro- 
 mir. Rasinski wrote :— | 
 
 " Dear Sister — For four days we have 
 been in ceaseless pursuit of the enemy, and 
 have daily skirmishes. We push our way, 
 however, only slowly, as the Russians retire 
 in good order. It would not have been so if 
 our exhaustion had not made it impossible to 
 pursue them faster. The care of our wounded, 
 and of providing for our pressing wants, 
 claims almost every moment of our time. 
 Thus I can only write these few lines at 
 present. We have lost many dear friends. 
 Two-thirds of my regiment fell on the hills 
 of Semenowski, and among them, my old 
 faithful Petrowski, whose dead body I could 
 not even search for and bury. For centuries 
 past no such battle has been fought. Our 
 exertions cannot be described ;j)ut still, by 
 the blessing of heaven, we are in good spi- 
 rits and bodily vigor. Over the bloody battle- 
 field of Borodino the sun of Poland's liberty 
 will rise ! Therefore, Johanna, mourn not 
 those who are dead. Their country will 
 erect monuments to them, that their glory 
 may shine for ever. Farewell, Johanna ! — 
 The morning dawns at last. Be happy ! 
 
 " Tht Brother.'' 
 
 Louis' note was as follows :— > | 
 
 " Mart — I require days to express the 
 feelings of my heart, and I can hardly spare 
 minutes. On the evening before the battle I 
 was informed of the death of our viother. 
 Oh ! how thy letter comforted me ! In the 
 midst of the conflict my heart was with thee 
 alone, poor sister, and the threatening dan- 
 gers almost lost their power over me. Ber- 
 nard is the most faithful friend in the world ; 
 he supposed me fallen, and made search for 
 me among the dead. Yet we met again 
 alive. Farewell ! Despair not ! The day 
 of reunion and happiness will dawn for us 
 also. That the terrible battle spared me. 
 may be to thee a confirmation of that !" 
 
 Jaromir only wrote : — | 
 
 « LosoisKA— Dearest of my life ! tremble 
 
 L 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 185 
 
 no i(pore ; all dangers are past. The battle 
 was fierce. Even I have to mourn many 
 brothers and comrades — myself protected by 
 thy prayers ! Thee I thank for all — happi- 
 ness and life ! Oh, could I only first sink 
 down to rest upon thy heart ! Boleslaus, 
 Lools, and Bernard are safe. Farewell, 
 dearest ! and think of thine ever faithful 
 
 " Jaromir," 
 
 This first information, under the hands of 
 their relatives, made the ladies happy beyond 
 description. Every particle of doubt was 
 dispersed ; they gave themselves up entirely 
 to their blissful feeling. 
 
 Thus a week passed. 
 
 Then the information was received that 
 the grand army had entered Moscow. From 
 the palace of the Czars the bulletin was 
 signed by which the Emperor made known 
 this event to astonished Europe. The great 
 aim — the anxiously-desired peace — was at- 
 tained ; for, with whom should war be made, 
 when there were no longer enemies to sub- 
 due ? Now, hopes were revived in all hearts ; 
 now, at last, one fancied the day of rest — the 
 remuneration for such immense sacrifices — to 
 have arrived. The Pole felt himself once 
 more free. He hoped again to have a father- 
 land — a king sprung from the bosom of the 
 people — a history ! In those feelings the 
 country was happy and proud. 
 
 In her warm breast Mary nursed the buds 
 which Arnheim's views had planted there. 
 
 Five days more, and the rumor was circu- 
 lated first by the Jews who came from Brzese 
 litewski that Moscow had been set on 
 fire by the Russians. As usual, some exag- 
 gerated, while others pretended to know with 
 certainty that the whole mighty affair was 
 but the destruction of a few buildings which 
 had accidentally taken fire. At the French 
 minister's hotel the strictest silence was 
 maintained ; to no one was communicated the 
 contents of the despatches brought by the 
 couriers ; yet, louder and ever increasing, the 
 painful rumors were spread abroad, and soon 
 no one daired to contradict them. Finally the 
 mischief could be concealed no longer. It was 
 publicly admitted in the official notes of the 
 French minister that, in their furious despair, 
 the Russians had devoted their capital to de- 
 struction. Whatever was said, was said with 
 the design lo mitigate the dread occasioned 
 by the information, and to prevent the sup- 
 position that this occurrence could be hurtful 
 to the French army, or in any way menace 
 its prospects. The deed seemed, at all events, 
 too monstrous — too unexampled — if its conse- 
 quences could not be clearly defined. Only 
 under the certainty of saving Russia, could 
 Moscow have been sacrificed to the flames, 
 as one would cast burning torches into the 
 
 houses of Paris only if the safety of France 
 was at stake. Such was the firm belief of 
 every one. A mute, cold terror prevailed — 
 a shudder shook the hearts of the most dar- 
 ing. The times had accustomed them to co- 
 lossal events — to deedsunheard of; this last, 
 however, exceeded by far the limits of all 
 imagination. 
 
 Thus the deepest consternation and deject 
 tion succeeded the short intoxication created 
 by the victory. 
 
 The Countess resembled a marble statue, 
 so pale had she grown after this frightful in- 
 telligence had reached her. She trembled — 
 not for the fate of her brother or her friends 
 — she trembled for the fate of her country. 
 
 In the burning of Moscow she fancied she 
 beheld a terrible picture of the future destiny 
 of Warsaw, and in her overwhelming grief 
 she prophetically exclaimed — 
 
 " Who knows how near the day is at band 
 when the flames will close over the pinnacles 
 of the city of my fathers, as an atonement 
 for the terrible burnt-oflering with which 
 Russia has purchased its liberty ?" 
 
 Lodoiska lost all her presence of .mind. 
 Mary alone maintained in her deportment 
 that calmness which is the sweetest fruit of 
 faith and knowledge. She alone was not 
 precipitated into the abyss of despair. In her 
 self-possession the Countess needed no conso- 
 lation ; shocked, but firm, she stood without 
 fear by the opened gates of despair. Lodo- 
 iska, however, was shaken by the storm like 
 a pliant vine ; she needed a support, and the 
 sweet solace offered by Mary, whose Jove for 
 her taught her the l>5st method of keeping 
 hope alive, was at hand to support her. Lo- 
 doiska in secret fear shrunk back from the 
 resolute bearing of the Countess, in whose 
 serious look and features, expressive of lofty 
 sorrow, she fancied she read a concealed 
 reproach. . ;v«.i ■ 
 
 Rapidly, however, did the state of affairs 
 change. In these times every frail vessel of 
 life was reeled on a stormy ocean ; now, firom 
 the top of the waves one beheld the haven — 
 safety and victory ; now the waves towered 
 high, hardly permitting a glimpse of heaven 
 to be caught. Later news from Moscow 
 brought the information that the army was 
 not dangerously situated ; that, in spite of the 
 dreadful conflagration, there were buildings 
 enough left for winter-quarters; and that, 
 although tbe war still continued, preliminary 
 negotiations for peace were already entered 
 into. 
 
 The consternation created by the earlier 
 reports of the evil vanished, and fresh hopes 
 arose. The ladies only awaited news from 
 their friends to enjoy the general happineM 
 prevailing. 
 
186 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 One evening they received two letters ; 
 one of them, written by Jaromir, was directed 
 to Lodoisiia, the other from Rasinski to his 
 sister. This was looked on as strange, as 
 all notes generally were enclosed in Rasin- 
 ski's letters. Lodoiska was at vespers ; thus 
 the Countess broke the seal of Rasinski's let- 
 ter only ; it was dated the 16th of September, 
 the day after the breaking out of the fire. He 
 wrote :— 
 
 V 
 
 " Dearest Sister — As for us, we have 
 escaped a great evil in the most wonderful 
 manner. The half of Moscow is enveloped 
 in flames. Ah unexampled confusion pre- 
 vails. Having been obliged to leave the city, 
 we are now encamped in the fields. I avail 
 myself of the present moment — the first I 
 can spare, to inform you that we are all 
 alive and unhurt. I know not when this 
 letter can be forwarded. Colonel Regnard, to 
 whom I spoke but just now, will deliver it to 
 the field mail. 
 
 " Thy Brother." 
 
 In the letter was a separate piece of paper, 
 with the superscription : — " For thee alone !" 
 Its contents ran : — 
 
 " We missed Jaromir ! Keep it a secret 
 from Lodoiska. That he has perished I can 
 hardly imagine. I dispatched him with a 
 message to Marshal Mortier ; he has not re- 
 turned, but in this extensive city, and with 
 the great confusion now prevailing, nothing 
 is easier than to go astray. To-morrow we 
 shall meet again, I hope. To thee alone I 
 communicate this, as I have solemnly prom- 
 ised never to conceal anything from thee. 
 Therefore, believe me also, when I say that 
 I feel no apprehensions about the safety of 
 Jaromir." 
 
 The Countess having perused these lines, 
 thought it quite natural that the letter from 
 Jaromir, arriving at the same time with the 
 one for her brother, would give some expla- 
 nation of his non-appearance. Not without 
 probability she judged it to have been written 
 later for the purpose of entirely tranquilising 
 Lodoiska. She rejoiced at the prospect of 
 the girl's agreeable surprise on her return 
 from vespers. 
 
 !(,. In a short half-hour Lodoiska made her 
 ^pearance. The Countess went to meet 
 her, holding the letter jestingly over her head, 
 and saying : 
 
 " What will you give me for this letter, 
 Lodoiska 7" 
 
 " From Jaromir !" she cried, her eyes 
 sparkling with joy. A warm kiss was the 
 reward the over-happy girl paid for the trea- 
 sure. Her cheeks colored with joyful anti- 
 cipation — she unfolded the letter and held it 
 up to the light ; the next moment she started 
 
 aside and grew pale as death — her hand 
 sunk powerless, and the letter fell to* the 
 ground. Before the Countess or Mary could 
 render her assistance, she fell senseless to 
 the floor. 
 
 " In heaven's name, what is it ?" cried the 
 Countess, endeavoring, aided by Mary, to 
 raise the prostrate girl. They succeeded in 
 placing her upon the sofa. The Countess 
 rang the bell, and Mary, taking the letter 
 up from the floor, saw at a glance that it 
 contained but one line. She dared not read 
 it, but the Countess took it without hesitation, 
 and read the following words : 
 
 " Hypocrite ! Traitress ! We are separated 
 forever. " Jaromir." 
 
 Both ladies stood speechless and paralyzed. 
 
 " A blow sufficient, indeed, to crusb.the 
 poor girl !" said the Countess at length, in a 
 tone of the deepest indignation. " It is mean 
 as it is detestable — an insult without ex- 
 ample !" 
 
 In violent agitation she walked the apart- 
 ment to and fro ; to satisfy herself, Mary 
 read the unfortunate paper over again, and as 
 if chilled by its import, put it away from her. 
 
 " Unhappy girl !" she said, bending over 
 Lodoiska ; " how shall we be able to soften 
 thy grief !" 
 
 Lodoiska's servant entered; she was 
 frightened at the sight of her mistress. 
 
 " Lodoiska is suddenly taken ill," said the 
 Countess ; " tell Casimir to run for a physi- 
 cian. Who could have thought that suspicion 
 could rest upon this pure soul ! This heart, 
 which was consumed by the fire of its love, 
 is accused of faithlessness ! Abominable ! 
 detestable ! and what proofs can that frivolous 
 wretch, who, with rough heels, tramples to 
 the ground the flowers of his own priceless 
 happiness — what proofs has he for this scan- 
 dalous impeachment ? — An idle word — a ca- 
 lumniating breath — or a mischievous story 
 from some malicious knave among hib com- 
 rades !" 
 
 The servant entered again, and Lodoiska 
 was deposited on her couch in her own room. 
 Mary sat down by her side, awaiting return- 
 ing' consciousness. .In solemn, deep grief 
 the Countess stood silent at the fool of her 
 bed, with her eyes constantly fixed upon the 
 inanimate girl. 
 
 At last Lodoiska opened her eyes, and 
 
 gainfully looking up, she gave her protectress 
 er hand as she murmured from the very 
 depth of her soul, "Oh, how miserable I 
 am! 
 
 :>'.• 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 187 
 
 .■t--\-i- 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 It was night. The rising storm swept 
 over the plain and whistled sadly through the 
 dark pine woods as Rasinslii reached his 
 place of bivouac. He was attended by a 
 diminished body of faithful soldiers, which he 
 dared no longer call a regiment. They were 
 weiry and hungry, their limbs benumbed 
 with cold and rain. 
 
 " We will encamp here," said Rasinski, — 
 *' at the foot of these hills. We have at least 
 protection against the storm." 
 
 Rasinski had chosen for his place of en- 
 campment a projecting point of an old pine 
 forest. Tall trees grew on the precipitous 
 but not lofty hills, which encompassed an al- 
 most circular valley. The limbs of these 
 ancient trees interlaced each other. The 
 forest, therefore, was dense enough, and a 
 dark growth of brush-wood ran up the sides 
 of the hills. 
 
 The place, it is true, afforded some shelter 
 against the autumnal wind ; yet it was gloomy 
 and cold, since even in summer, the sun 
 scarcely penetrated the thick mass of vege- 
 tation, and still less in the latter part of the 
 autumn. A few birches only, with their 
 white trunks and pale-yellow leaves, stood 
 like ghosts in the dark back-ground. 
 
 " A good ambush," said Bernard, entering 
 the narrow inlet. 
 
 "Very convenient for a gang of robbers," 
 replied Rasinski. 
 
 " If we were all assembled," continued 
 Bernard, "our resting-place might be too 
 small ; still, there is ample room for a hun- 
 dred." 
 
 Rasinski directed his men to dismount and 
 make every preparation for piclteting and 
 feeding their horses under as good shelter as 
 could be obtained. A party was detailed for 
 foraging — another for cutting wood, and an- 
 other for carrying water. The remainder 
 were ordered to undertake the stable duty. 
 
 Having thiis given his orders, Rasinski 
 seated himself, low-spirited and weary, on 
 the trunk of a falten tree thickly covered 
 with moss. His hands rested upon the hilt 
 of his sword, and his countenance bespoke 
 gloomy thoughts. « 
 
 " Where shall I let them make our fire. 
 Colonel ?" enquired Bernard. 
 
 " Wherever you please ! Beneath the large 
 pine yonder !" replied his chief. 
 
 Rasinski remained sitting motionless and 
 lost in deep thought, while Bernard with a 
 couple of men made preparations for a place 
 where their commander might sleep. Heavy, 
 mournful forebodings agitated the mind of 
 the brave soldier. He looked as frowningly 
 as the night and forest around him. Soon, 
 however, his very disquietude aroused him. 
 
 Walking to and fro, he now and then gave a 
 short but precise order, for, although restless^ 
 uess prevailed in his heart, his attentive eye 
 observed everything. 
 
 " Do you not feel inclined to lie down by 
 the fire, sir ?" said Bernard, once more ap- 
 proaching him. " Look, it is already crack- 
 ling, and lights up these old trees with their 
 gigantic arms." 
 
 " I wonder whether Boleslaus and Louis 
 will be back to-night ? I am anxiouslv wait- 
 ing for news from Jaromir !" said Rasinski, 
 as if he had not heard Bernard's words. 
 
 "Endeavor to forget that, sir," said Ber- 
 nard, entreatingly. " It is a feverish dream 
 — nothing else. Such an infernal night as 
 that which Jaromir first passed in Moscow 
 was enough to call up the wildest fancies of 
 an excited imagination ; and then his lying 
 in the hospital, without friends, and amidst 
 the lamentations of the maimed and dying! 
 Mind my words : as soon as he is restored 
 to health and his senses invigorated, his me- 
 lancholy dream will utterly vanish !" 
 
 " I have not forwarded the letter," observ- 
 ed Rasinski after a pause. " I would not do 
 it." 
 
 " And you acted right. Yoo acted in ac- 
 cordance with your true faith and sound dis- 
 cretion — for what reason could then be as- 
 signed for the erroneous opinion ?" 
 
 "For the fact itself," replied Rasinski, 
 " the proof was certainly wanting ; yet, to 
 arouse apprehensions in my heart, half of 
 the evidence would have been sufiicient. In- 
 deed, I believe that Jarornir has secretly of- 
 fended Lodoiska, and that it is not a feverish 
 dream only that reminds him of it. But now 
 I remember what he said to Louis the even- 
 ing previous to the conflagration. He was 
 not sick ; no wound tormented him ; no great 
 exertions had exhausted his physical strength ; 
 the scenes of that terrible night had not as 
 yet made any dreadful impression upon his 
 mind, and still——" 
 
 " As fat" as I can interpret what Louis told 
 me on the subject," interrupted Bernard, 
 "even then Jaromir doubted Lodoiska's af- 
 fection for him. This, however, might have 
 been mere suspicion, created at the moment, 
 in his young and ardent breast. The next 
 minute he felt ashamed of his words, and ex- 
 cused himself. Such was his state of mind 
 on the night the fire commenced, and having 
 probably mingled the terrors of the scene 
 with his own agitated thoughts, he formed 
 from the whole a fearful combination of evil. 
 It was then that he wrote the letter to her, 
 which makes you so uneasy. When Louis 
 and Boleslaus return, we shall, I trust, be 
 more particularly informed; Jaromir, no 
 doubt, has told them all." 
 
 " I feel cold. Let us lie down by the fire, 
 
*'m>' '■■ 
 
 188 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 I am very weary. A terrible war is this ! — 
 The whole day on horseback, looking at the 
 enemy, and no engagement ! — a great enemy, 
 indeed, if a Cossack waits for a pistol-shot. 
 Ah ! were oar horses only as serviceable as 
 they were when we crossed the bridge of the 
 Vistula, this trifling would soon be put an 
 end to ! It is said that the negotiations for 
 peace have proved abortive. Kutusow, I be- 
 lieve, knew that long ago. They are not de- 
 ferred without good reason. The winter 
 must annihilate us here. I am with the 
 greatest anxiety looking for Boleslaus' re- 
 turn from Moscow. I hope he has succeeded 
 in procuring a part, at least, of what we are 
 80 seriously in need." 
 
 " If Louis brought me a pair of fresh horses 
 only," jested Bernard, " he certainly would 
 make my legs a trifle more comfortable, and 
 I am in no small want of a new furred coat 
 tu replace this worn and half-burnt cloak." 
 
 " Spare your jesting, Bernard," said Ra- 
 sinski, earnestly ; " you have not yet experi- 
 enced how sharp the tooth of misery can 
 bite. I have too often seen how those better 
 equipped and provided for than we, have 
 been obliged to defend themselves against its 
 keen edge. Already, although we have suf- 
 ficiency of fuel, the night-frost throws too 
 many of our men on the sick list. How will 
 it be when the winter sets in, when——" 
 
 " Well, I think we should repair to Mos- 
 cow ; fifteen versts we are able to march, I 
 suppose 7" 
 "Do you?" 
 
 A sentry challenged at this moment, and 
 the reply was heard indicating an arrival 
 from Moscow. 
 
 " That is Boleslaus !" exckimed Rasin- 
 ski, hastily rising. 
 
 In a moment Boleslaus jumped from his 
 horse and saluted his friends. 
 
 " Where is Louis ? What news do' you 
 bring from Jaromir?" asked Bernard and 
 Rasinski, together. 
 
 " The service, in the first place," replied 
 Boleslaus. " I have been successful. Great 
 as was the want and the number of applicants, 
 I have yet been able to procure some neces- 
 saries. Your liberality, Colonel, enabled me 
 to pay the highest prices !" 
 
 " Speak not of that," interrupted the latter. 
 " I made a bargain with the Jews. They 
 brought me eighty pair of boot-soles, and 
 thirty pair of new boots ; I could find only 
 sixty cloaks ; most of them are old, though 
 still fit for use, and part of them thickly lined. 
 I also bought three sheep-skin coats, which 
 for years perhaps have covered the bodies of 
 Russian peasants, and yet are not to be de- 
 spised. The winter will come, and we Poles 
 are at least partly acquainted with it. It 
 appears as if the French would not believe 
 
 that the pleasant fall-weather could cease. 
 I told them they would bivouac there onljf 
 three nights." 
 " Where are the things you bring ?" 
 " Louis is convoying the transport with 
 some men. They are coming oa a wufon. 
 for which I made application. I rode tMoaA 
 of them. I trust they may find as safe ic 
 this lurking-hole." 
 
 "The storm drove us hither," observed 
 Rasinski. " We will despatch some men to 
 meet the transport. Bernard, detail a few 
 men to the main road and desire them to halt 
 there." Bernard hereupon left. 
 
 '< Well," continued lUsinski to Boleslaus, 
 " what you have brought for us we were in 
 great want of. Is all the money gone ?" 
 
 " Not all ; I could not make so free with 
 
 your property. I have yet forty ducats left." 
 
 " On such an occasion you should not 
 
 have been sparing. I wish you had pur« 
 
 chased some worsted stockings." 
 
 " If there had been any, I would have spent 
 the last penny for them. Indeed, the other 
 things are actually not so necessary yet. — 
 Still, you must have somethyig reserved for 
 yourself. It will be difficult to raise money 
 again !" 
 
 " The money invested for the benefit of my 
 comrades yields the noblest interest. I know 
 they will not forsake me in need, and the 
 cloak I purchase for the soldier to-day, cov- 
 ers me to-morrow, if the night is cold and the 
 faithful comrade sees that his commander is 
 in want of it. Think you that a weighty 
 purse would keep me warm ?" 
 
 " Your* generosity prompts your profusion, 
 sir," replied Boleslaus ; " yet it would be 
 opposed to my honor and my conscience to 
 take such advantage of your kindness. We 
 should also bear a small share in what is 
 done for the men. I am therefore embolden- 
 ed to refund to you what we consider it our 
 duty to supply." 
 
 Rasinski was about to remonstrate, when 
 he was interrupted by the entrance of Ber- 
 nard, who said to Boleslaus : 
 " Now tell us somethiiig about Jaromir." 
 " By-and-bye ; first, matters of impor- 
 tance ; the negotiations for peace are broken 
 
 off." 
 
 « I thought so !" replied Rasinski, with a 
 sigh. ' 
 
 " Kutusow has suddenly attacked the King 
 of Naples and repulsed him. The Emperor 
 received the intelligence at the Kremlin, 
 while reviewing the troops under the com- 
 mand of Marshal Ney. He instantly exclaim- 
 
 ed, " Is it war ?— well; be it so !" Orders 
 were despatched in all directions, and to-mor- 
 row evening the army will move on Kalouga. 
 We, and all those regiments who have had 
 their stations north-easterly, march for Moi- 
 
^^'»'^:^- 
 
 NAPOWION'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 cow to-morrow, to join the Grand Army. — 
 Here is the route." 
 
 " Thus tfce war will be renewed," said Ra- 
 sinski. 
 
 •* I presume so. We are now to force our 
 WKf to the southerly provinces, where we 
 may hope to obtain a firm footing before the 
 winter sets in — or at least reacL Kiew, and 
 be quartered there during; the cold season." 
 
 " It was time, indeed ! God be praised 
 that this decision is at last adopted. If the 
 war is carried in that direction, I shall still 
 entertain hopes. In those regions the winter 
 commences half a month later at least, and 
 is considerably milder. The country is rich, 
 and can support us better by far than the 
 desert we have traversed. This news is, in- 
 deed, worth something. Now about Jaromir. 
 Is he restored to health ?" 
 
 Boleslaus hesitated for a moment. 
 
 •* Yes — if we may call it restoration. His 
 injuries from the fire are healing — ^the vio- 
 lent fever has ceased — he even feels himself 
 strong enough to march. He will not re- 
 m^n in the rear, and I should think he has 
 recovered sufficient of bodily strength, but — " 
 
 «Well?" 
 
 " His mind is depressed, the brightness of 
 his eye dimmed, his clear brain now clouded. 
 He is no more our healthy, cheerful Jaromir. 
 I am afraid he " Boleslaus paused. 
 
 After a few moments, however, he continu- 
 ed : " The Emperor has sent him the cross 
 of the Legion of Honor. He refuged it, with 
 the words, 'Accident only directed me; 1 
 must not accept of this mark of distinction. 
 May the Emperor honor me with it when I 
 have deserved it !' No remonstrances had 
 any influence upon him; he remained firm. 
 f You remember well how ardently for years 
 he desired to obtain this distinction ?" 
 
 " I do, I do !" replied Rasinski, " there is 
 a gloom in his mind that cannot be lit up by 
 all the flames of burning Moscow. Did he 
 say anything about his letter to you ?" 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " He must, however, have virritten it full 
 one day before your arrival." 
 
 " Wgat were the contents 7" inquired Bo- 
 leslaus. 
 
 "He* it." 
 
 Rasinski took the folded letter from his 
 pocket, and read as folbws :— . 
 
 ** Rasinski — You have been a second fa- 
 ther to me,— to-day I give you that dear name 
 for the last time ; from this moment you are 
 my commander only — and that you may still 
 be — since I have not yet lost the honor of a 
 soldier. The last favor of your former friei^- 
 ship I solicit from you. Forward the en- 
 closed letter to Lo^oiska. Three times I have 
 written to her, a repentant, praying for for- 
 giveness. I did so during the troubhra dreams 
 
 of my delirium ; I destroyed the letters, how- 
 ever, and sent none of them. I am restored 
 to health — I am conscious of what I do, and 
 I act as I am compelled to act. 
 
 " Jabotiik." 
 
 " What has he written to Lodoiska ? Nay, 
 conceal it not from me," said Boleslaus, in 
 great agitation. 
 
 Rasinski unfolded another letter and read : 
 
 •' Lodoiska — We are separated forever — ^I 
 only am guilty. Throw my ring into the 
 stream ; thine I have already cast away ! 
 Answer me not ; in the overflow of thy forgiv- 
 ing heart thou wouldst perhaps pardon me ; 
 but I must not be forgiven. Thus may the 
 torture of thy silence punish me — I banish 
 myself from thy presence forever. 
 
 " Jabohib " 
 
 Boleslaus bent his sorrow-stricken coaa- 
 tenance to the ground. A terrible stcM-m of 
 conflicting feelings caused his heart to throb 
 violently. Jaromir himself break the tie 
 which united him to Lodoiska ! A star of 
 hope beamed through the dark clouds, and 
 threw its mild rays into Boleslaus' breast. 
 Shalt thou drink intoxicating happiness from 
 that goblet which poisons thy friend ! Whilst 
 thy lips, trembling with delight, touch the 
 edge of the cup, the lips of thy friend will 
 become pale, closed for ever ! No, Boleslaus, 
 — if the dark serpent of guilt enfold his heart 
 — if visions of sombre and melancholy im- 
 port overshadow his mind and depress his 
 energies — ^yet, nevertheless, shalt thou take 
 no advantage of the infirmity of thy friend ! 
 Be a man! Turn away thine eyes from 
 that heavenly portal which appears to open 
 to thee ! It is an unsubstantial vision — thou 
 shalt not enter therein. The rose-colored 
 brightness in which thou fanciest to cool 
 thy glowing heart is*but the reflection of con- 
 cealed flames from the abyss below. Jf thou 
 but follow the allurement — if thou but over- 
 step the sacred limits — thou shalt precipitate 
 thyself into a yawning abyss. Thou hast 
 no room for doubt here ; the bride thy friend 
 renounces is but the holier object to thee. 
 Every thought to the contrary, every hope is 
 treason against the ties of true brotherly lovo. 
 
 In the fiery ordeal of these stormy feelings, 
 Boleslaus' noble heart steeled itself to a firm 
 determination of honorable resistance to all 
 unworthy temptations. 
 
 " Well,^' said Rasinski, after a solemn 
 pause, " what say you to this letter 7 Is it 
 the offspring of fever, or is his heart bur- 
 dened with some hidden guilt in which he is 
 involved 7" 
 
 Boleslaus was prevented from answering 
 by a loud challenge of the sentry, the reply 
 to which announced the arrival of Louis. — 
 The friends greeted him cordially. Their 
 
' • iifiv^vrf-s 
 
 m 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 first duty was to make dae distribntion of the 
 clothing and other articles Louis had brought, 
 which duty occupied more than an hour; — 
 Meanwhile the night was far advanced, and 
 the weary soldiers required rest. Bernard 
 questioned Louis about Jaromir, but he knew 
 no mofe than others. With singular tena- 
 city of purpose the youth had kept his secret 
 within his own breast ; he called down pun- 
 ishment for his offence ; he would accept no 
 compassion, nor yet ask forgiveness. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 On the evening of the eighteenth day of 
 October, the French army commenced its 
 retreat from the capital of the Czars, in which 
 it had remained either much too long or too 
 short a time. Napoleon, however, had not 
 yet admitfed the necessity of retreat, since 
 he had not yet been taught the power of the 
 elements to subvert his own ; — he still 
 thought of attacking Kutusow's troops, who 
 made a stand at Kalouga. To attack, was 
 to defeat them, and open for himself a way in- 
 to the southern provinces. His design was to 
 bring forward his reserves to increase and 
 ensure his means of communicating with 
 Poland ; to make the right wing of the army 
 his point d'appui, and thus maintain himself 
 in the heart of the hostile country until a 
 more favorable season should arrive. Many 
 voices had already been raised in favor of 
 retreat ; and apprehensive that the dread of 
 a long and inactive winter would dispirit the 
 troops, they were urgent in their desires to 
 carry it into effect without delay. But there 
 were other counsellors and opposite counsels ; 
 and these, more rash and improvident, from 
 their agreement with the daring spirit of the 
 Emperor, exercised a fatal influence on his 
 decision. 
 
 On the morning of the nineteenth, the 
 opening of a pleasant day, Napoleon himself 
 left Moscow. Although the army had march- 
 ed the whole night, fresh masses were con- 
 stantly passing the gates of the half-destroyed 
 city. In lines extending far beyond the point 
 of vision, they proceeded forward on the 
 wide main-road. It was not merely the 
 number of soldiers that formed the immense 
 train ; there were also innumerable vehicles 
 laden with booty, the numerous trains of ar- 
 tillery and baggage wagons which they 
 would not leave behind. On both sides the 
 columns of infantry and cavalry moved for- 
 ward, marching over the fields alongside the 
 road, so as to leave it free to the wagons. — 
 Nevertheless, the enormous amount of bag- 
 ^^age obstructed the passage. The Emperor 
 and bis suite were delayed by the confusioa 
 
 arising from the entanglement of the nume> 
 rous vehicles. It was at this interesting 
 point that Rasinski, who during the night 
 had bivouacked before the gales of Moscow, 
 arrived with his few horsemen through a 
 by-lane of the suburb, to join the army. He 
 was obliged to halt, and perceived the Em- 
 peror immediately in front of him. In the 
 features of Napoleon great displeasure was 
 expressed at the impediments he met with. 
 With evident dissatisfaction he looked at the 
 vast number of superfluous wagons. He 
 also cast his sharp look at Rasinski, who sa- 
 luted him respectfully, yet he said nothing, 
 and appeared only to count, in serious mood, 
 the small remnant of the regiment. At last 
 a passage was opened, and with his retinue 
 he rode through it at speed. 
 
 Rasinski, however, could not proceed, but 
 was obliged to await a more favorable mo- 
 ment. This did not displease him, since he 
 desired to be joined by Jaromir, whom Louis 
 had been despatched to-< bring from the hos- 
 pital. The marching orders had come so 
 unexpectedly that there had been no time to 
 communicate them to Jaromir. Boleslaus, 
 therefore, had taken care to keep his baggage 
 and horses in readiness, and thus Jaromir 
 had nothing to do but to mouht. By sending 
 Louis to him, Rasinski had presumed that 
 Jaromir, by his friendly persuasions, might ' 
 be induced, at least for a friend, to remove 
 the mysterious veil beneath which he con- 
 cealed what had occurred. The truly pater- 
 nal sympathy which Rasinski entertained 
 for Lodoiska and Jaromir \^a8 so predomi- 
 nant within him, that even the present sud- 
 den turn of the war could not erase it. He 
 soon observed his friends at a distance, who 
 approached him at a rapid pace. According 
 to the usual ceremonial of the service, Jaro- 
 mir reported himself to Rasinski as restored 
 to health and able to join the regiment. He 
 looked pale, and appeared with difficulty to 
 keep himself in the saddle ; his voice was 
 suppressed, and the fire of bis eye somewhat 
 dimmed. ' 
 
 With paternal compassion, and not with 
 the air of a commander, Rasinski gave him 
 his hand and said — 
 
 " Welcome to us again, Jaromir*, sorry 
 were we for your accident — welcome once 
 more." 
 
 At these words Jaromir lost the firm car- 
 riage he had forced himself to assume. With 
 a serious countenance he looked at his friend, 
 yet he had no power over the tear that trem- 
 bled in his eye. In great agitation he seized 
 th# hand offered by Rasinski, but dared not 
 return its hearty pressure. He was only 
 able to murmur in a desponding tone : 
 
 " I am an object far more deserving your 
 reproof than your kindness." 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Rasinski's experienced eye looked into the 
 very depth of the youth's heart ; it was now 
 clear to him that some conviction of guilt, 
 and no vision of fancy, darkened the mind of 
 - his unhappy friend. Rasinski and his men 
 at length proceeded onward in silence and 
 reached the hills. Merciful heaven, what a 
 sight ! Three wide and long streams of sol- 
 diers and baggage-wagons wound their vvay 
 over the fields; the ruins of Moscow seemed 
 inexhaustible, and yet the yan of the masses 
 was lost to the eye at the edge of the hori- 
 zon. The open field was covered to the right 
 and left with stragglers, both horse and foot. 
 Rasinski halted under a hill, from whence, 
 by their white plumes, he recognised the 
 Emperor and his suite far beneath the hillock 
 in the middle of the thronged wagons. 
 
 " What will be the end of all this ?" said 
 Rasinski, looking over the mighty train. 
 " How will the army be able to move with 
 such heaps of baggage ? My ho]}e is that 
 the first attack of tl^ Cossacks will rid us at 
 least of the half of this troublesome super- 
 fluity. How blindly has covetousness col- 
 lected this ruinous plunder ! How miserably 
 has avarice laden itself with a burthen under 
 which it must eventually sink !" 
 
 " I should not wonder if the Emperor or- 
 dered the whole baggage to be burnt as soon 
 as we reach the open field," observed Jaromir, 
 gazing about with unaffected indifference. 
 
 " That he will not do," answered Rasinski, 
 "for he will not deprive the soldiers, who, 
 setting peril and death at defiance — have 
 marched over two-thirds of Europe— of their 
 reward in this so oflen-promised booty. Be- 
 lieve me, however, that before nightfall they 
 will commence discharging their tallast them- 
 selves. See those two men yonder ! To 
 judge from their appearance they must be 
 officers' servants, and yet they have put 
 themselves before a hand-cart, dragging it 
 with great difficulty. Their strength will not 
 last them six hours, and still, blinded by ava- 
 rice, they forget that the distance between 
 here and Paris is eight hundred leagues. 
 How long will their axles last ? When one 
 of them' breaks, who can procure another ? 
 The artillery is hardly able to do it. The 
 Emperor, though looking at it with dis- 
 pleasure, will let time inform the misers of 
 the imfiracticability of their designs. Look 
 there ! a wagon is upset : do you see ? Al- 
 ready — half a mile only from Moscow, some 
 one will be compelled to part with what he 
 probably intended to carry with him to Paris !" 
 The wagon pointed out by Rasinski was 
 overladen with booty — an axle broke, and 
 down it came on the road. Immediately the 
 file stopped — those pressing on behind crying 
 indignantly : " Forward !" 
 
 upset cart, and there being no room to pass by, 
 one of the drivers behind cried out : 
 " Throw that trash out of the way !" 
 Immediately an irresistible force was ready 
 to obey the sudden command. In vain the 
 owner grumbled and cursed, and strove to 
 defend his booty. In less than two minutes 
 he was surrounded on all sides ; and not only 
 was the cart pillaged of all it contained, but 
 the horses were unharnessed — the wheels 
 taken off, and the body of the vehicle broken 
 up and thrown aside ; so that the road was 
 once more clear. The howling fury of the 
 
 f)lundered man was drowned in the scornful 
 aughter of the bystanders ; no one troubled 
 his head about the matter, or dreamed of af- 
 fording assistance to the despoiled individual, 
 who might consider himself fortunate that his 
 horses were left him. 
 
 " If this happens on the first day's march, 
 at the gates of Moscow," observed Rasinski, 
 "what is to be expected when an enemy 
 threatens these heavy-laden masses ? Yonder 
 marauder has saved nothing but his pair of 
 lean horses. The others may think them- 
 selves lucky if they save as much from the 
 first feint-attack of half a hundred Cossacks ! 
 The fellow now howling and cursing is the 
 luckiest of them all ; for he is the first reliev- 
 ed from his useless drudgery. This very day 
 he will have abundant opportunity to l^gh 
 and scoff in his turn, perhaps at his despoilers 
 themselves ; and before a week is over, he 
 will bless his stars that he has been saved the 
 profitless toil. The difference is merely that 
 he loses to-day what others will lose to-mor- 
 row and the day after : of all these thousands 
 not one will ultimately profit by his booty." 
 
 " I am glad," said Bernard, " that we are 
 so near the last, for I do not suppose that the 
 regiments in advance can form any idea of 
 the kite-tail they are dragging behind them. 
 After all, the scene is a gay one. The ex- 
 pedition of the witches on the Brocken could 
 not appear more fantastic than the masque- 
 rade before us just now. At the building of 
 the tower of Babel it was not cursed with so 
 many different languages as here, and a 
 police record of all the things stolen in Lon- 
 don for a thousand years would be but a jest 
 beside the inventory of this motley crew. I 
 do not believe there is a copper kettle — a fry- 
 ing-pan — an old trencher — a pair of tongs, 
 not even a broken stick left in Moscow, so 
 much trash is there heaped upon this rampart 
 of carts." Turning towards Jaromir to cheer 
 him up a little, he said : " Look at that train ^ 
 of wagons yonder, which the Emperor will % 
 soon overhaul ; that is a company of Ama- 
 zons, I think, for I see nothing but women, 
 and they, too, are dressed as if they were 
 I about to perform an oriental fairy play." 
 
 It was impossible immediately to raise the ' " Why they really are the troupe who 
 
^^f:^-IFT"*~-'' " 
 
 193 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 were playing at Moscow," observed Louis. 
 At the mention of players Jaromir started 
 as he cast a glance at the train. Alisette 
 was probably among them; he had reason 
 for believing so. 
 
 After that terrible night he had heard 
 nothing about her, although he had visited the 
 hospital twice, to call on sick officers of his 
 regiment, and consequently had seen Reg- 
 nard also ; yet Regnard had never touched 
 upon the subject, and perhaps he was in- 
 duced so to act either through magnanimity 
 in consciousness of his wrong, or out of com- 
 passion for Jaromir. At all times Regnard 
 was more than punctilious in affairs of honor, 
 but the unhappy turn the occurrence had 
 taken with regard to Jaromir, as well as 
 Francoise Alisette, made his intentional for- 
 getfulness natural ! Whether his connec- 
 tion with her — for he had supported her, and 
 was the cause of her coming to Moscow — 
 still lasted ; or whether he had left the faith- 
 less woman to shift for herself, Jaromir knew 
 not; he would even never have learned that 
 she had been saved that night, had not an ac- 
 cidental mention of the name of the girl by 
 an officer of Regnard's regiment proved to 
 him that she was still alive. Now she was 
 perhaps scarcely a hundred paces from him ! 
 The main-road dividing itself here, and Ra- 
 sinskf, waiting only for a more favorable 
 moment to gain it, it might so chance that 
 they would meet each other again face to 
 fade. This thought made his heart beat vio- 
 lently. He felt, that if the traitress had una- 
 wares appeared before him, he should have 
 lost all self-command. His attention being 
 called to it now by the hint from Bernard, he 
 had time to prepare himself, and thus he de- 
 termined, if an accident should bring him 
 into her immediate presence, to treat her with 
 the coldest contempt. 
 
 " What shines so bright yonder ?" asked 
 Bernard suddenly. " It must be the magic 
 mirror of the Arabian Nights. What lies 
 there on that eight-horse wagon ? Is it a 
 quiver of forked lightnings, or a living fire- 
 brand as a sample of the conflagration ?" 
 
 Louis and Rasinski looked in that direc- 
 tion also, for in the midst of the black figures 
 who formed the march beneath, there actu- 
 ally flashed something resembling a beaming 
 sun. The crowd of horsemen and wagons 
 prevented them from distinguishing for some 
 time what it was. When, however, for a 
 moment an opening was made, they detected 
 an immense golden cross. 
 
 " It is," said Jaromir, in a solemn voice, 
 " the cross of St. Ivan, which stood on the 
 tower of the Kremlin. The Russians regard 
 it as their holiest relic — as the palladium of 
 their capital. From my windows I saw when 
 it was taken down. The day was foggy, 
 
 and the evening twilight had already set in. 
 Flights of ravens whirled through the air, and 
 fluttered, croaking about the tall, shining 
 steeple. A scaffold was erected — ladders 
 were put up — capstans placed round about 
 and lines arranged ; the workmen were unin- 
 terruptedly active, and yet the flocks of ra- 
 vens did not go away, but with hoarse cries 
 they surrounded the brilliant cross, now in 
 wide — now in narrow circles. A crowd of 
 Russians were standing under my window ; 
 there were many women among them. They, 
 crossed their arms over their breasts, and rev- 
 erentially, and in a low tone they murmured 
 their prayers. One of these women, of a 
 tall figure, dressed in strange apparel, with a 
 red scarf twisted like a turban around her 
 grey hair, raised her hands high, and tracing 
 mysterious signs in the air, continually pro- 
 nounced some incomprehensible words in a 
 mystic tone of voice. The sight was a 
 solemn one, and when the capstans were set 
 in operation and the cryss began to bend 
 downwards, the whole crowd broke out into a 
 loud howl, beat their breasts, tore their hair, 
 and as if frightened by the appearance of a 
 horrible monster, burst away in all directions. 
 It seemed as if they had entertained the hope, 
 by their prayers and conjurations, to save the 
 holy relic, and as if horror had now over- 
 whelmed them as they saw it fall by the 
 means of infidel hands. The air suddenly 
 resounded with a loud and dissonant croak- 
 ing, the rookery of ravens, as if scaied 
 to see their old home, under which for cen- 
 turies they had built their nests, removed from 
 its resting-place, flew away in a dense and 
 dark mass, and disappeared in the increasing 
 gloom of the evening." 
 
 " A true picture of that night !" exclaimed 
 Bernard. "The woman you mentioned I 
 have myself seen, I think, on the walls of the 
 Kremlin, the first day we were in Moscow. 
 She actually looked like a mother of witches 
 — a true witch of Endor." 
 
 The others were silent, although every one 
 felt himself agitated by a singular feeling. 
 Bernard kept his eyes fixed on Jaromir. 
 How was his youthful appearance changed ! 
 Even his light curls were hanging idly and 
 heavily beside his temples. " Is it the same 
 man ?" asked Bernard of himself. " Compare 
 him with the portrait you drew of him at'War- 
 saw— would you find any resemblance ?" Lay- 
 ing his hand familiarly on the shoulder of his 
 young friend, he said — " Cheer up I Indulge 
 no sad forebodings. The war before us re- 
 quires courage and strength. You were a 
 soldier once — you are now a disheartened 
 woman ! Heretofore your spirits sustained 
 my own — you seem now to despond, and I am • 
 well-nigh fallen into despondency myself- 
 Brother of my heart, cheer up anew ; shake 
 
' NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 off the weight that bows down your resolu- 
 tion, and raise your head again like a rtan !" 
 ^ Jaromir was about answering, ifrhen a turn 
 round a hill, which had for some time pre- 
 vented them from seeing the main-road, 
 brought the horsemen into the line of mai:ch. 
 Rasinski observing an opening by which he 
 could pass through the chain of wagons, put 
 his men into rapid motion, placing himself at 
 their head. 
 
 Thus the conversation that Bernard had 
 begun was interrupted. Rasinski's plan 
 proved successful ; unexpectedly he broke 
 into the opening and soon reached the main- 
 road with his soldiers, keeping them between 
 the wagons. " Now," he said with satisfac- 
 tion, '• we can travel on the road as long as 
 we please, and leave it when we think pro- 
 per." 
 
 As usual on such occasions, their progress 
 was occasionally checked ; at one time they 
 were compelled to halt for several minutes ; 
 at another to ride at full speed. This made 
 the march very unpleasant ; and moreover, it 
 had lost its former interest, as they had no 
 full view of the wagons, their observation be- 
 ing limited to objects immediately around 
 them. 
 
 The Emperor was behind Rasinski's horse- 
 men; before them were driven a number of 
 wagons covered with banners captured from 
 the enemy. Turkish, Tartarian, and Russian 
 trophies were mingled together. 
 
 " Give way ! give way for the Emperor !" 
 was shouted behind them, and Rasinski com- 
 manded his troops to break for the purpose of 
 occupying only half the width of the road. 
 The Emperor hastened forward for some dis- 
 tance, but suddenly he put his horse to a trot, 
 . and appeared to converse with people who 
 were on a wagon by his side. The driver ur- 
 ged on his horses to keep pace with the swifter 
 animal on which the Emperor rode. Thus the 
 wagon advanced by degrees and passed by the 
 side of the Polish horsemen, leaving them to 
 the left, while Napoleon kept to the right of 
 the wagon, in which were seated three hand- 
 some women and one child. When tifc Em- 
 peror approached, Jaromir looked at him with 
 irresolution, for it would partly have made him 
 glad and partly pained him to be recognised ; 
 the Emperor, however, was conversing with 
 a lady thickly enveloped in rich furs, who, to 
 judge by her attire, appeared to be the wife 
 of some officer of rank. 
 
 " You must not lose courage," he said. 
 " Next winter we can make good at Peters- 
 burg what we have ileglected at Moscow. 
 A pleasant journey to you." 
 
 With these words he passed on without 
 •observing Jaromir. But the young lady 
 turned her head to the left. — It was Ali- 
 
 sette! 
 
 She was disconcerted ; and growing paw, 
 she suddenly averted her countenance. Ja^ 
 romi^s feelings were in a state of violeflt 
 commotion. Anger and disgust took alternate 
 possession of him ; yet by an effort he retained 
 his self-possession, and directing a glance 
 of scorn upon her as she furtively raised her 
 eyes towards him, he turned his horse in an- 
 other direction. Alisette pulled the veil over 
 her face, endeavoring to conceal the flame of 
 anger and shame which colored her cheeks. 
 No other had recognised her, and now she de- 
 sired to be recognised by no one. Therefore, 
 she placed her little niece upon her lap and 
 played with her until Rasinski had got in ad- 
 vance of the wagon, which now proceeded 
 more slowly. As soon as they came to even 
 ground by the road, Rasinski broke to the 
 right with the design of reaching the head of 
 the column, it being his main object to over- 
 take the regular troops and join his corps in 
 the rear, from which he had been deterred 
 since the preceding night. 
 
 x^- 
 
 13 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 Seven /lays had elapsed since the Empe- 
 ror had left Moscow. The army stood by 
 Malo-Jaroslawetz, which had been taken by 
 storm the day previous. Orders to march 
 forward were anxiously expected, and it was 
 hoped that a battle might be defought against 
 the whole strength of Kutosow, before Ka- 
 louga. In a small, miserable hut, in which 
 Rasinski had taken up his abode, Louis, Ber- 
 nard, Jaromir, and Boleslaus awaited his re- 
 turn from head-quarters, whither he had rid- 
 den late in the evening. 
 
 Jaromir's grief and the cause of it, as well 
 as Alisette's presence in the army, were no 
 longer a secret to the friends, for he had 
 made a clean breast of it to Rasinski. 
 
 In his pure, noble mind, Boleslaus felt Ja- 
 romir's anguish almost as keenly as the 
 young man did himself. Familiar with the 
 manly contest of self-control, he had gained 
 the last decisive victory over himself; and 
 thus, in the midst of his own sadness, a 
 cheerful feeling, the reward of a moral tri- 
 umph, had entered his soul. 
 
 Louis and Bernard also felt the purest 
 sympathy for Jaromir, and had already for- 
 given him his error ; both of them, however, 
 were too much occupied by the events at 
 Moscow, as well as by their own wonderfully 
 interwoven existence, to enter entirely into 
 that of their friend Jaromir's. 
 
 Boleslaus led Jaromir out of the hut, which 
 was built upon a small hillock. In the in&- 
 
 *; 
 
. .■ii.i.iK.vmi 
 
 IN 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 lancholy light of the already vraning moon, 
 they overlooked a wide plain, covered by a 
 vast encampment and immense quantities of 
 baggage. The Lanja encircled the field 
 with its winding stream ; behind it arose 
 steep hillocks, crowned with dark pine-trees. 
 In those forests Kutosow was occupying an 
 impregnable position. Beneath those hillocks 
 lay the smoking ruins of Malo-Jarcslawetz, 
 which, but the day preceding, had been the 
 theatre of a terrible conflict. 
 
 The distant gallop and snorting of a horse 
 interrupted the stillness. It was Rasinski 
 coming at full speed. Jaromir and Boleslaus 
 hastened to meet him. He saluted them, 
 dismounted, and threw the bridle to an or- 
 derly, with instructions to give the animal a 
 good meal. He then announced that they 
 were about to move. 
 
 " Do we advance ?" asked Jaromir, when 
 they re-entered the hut. 
 * " Advance I We must forget that word in 
 this campaign," answered Rasinski, sadly. 
 " One thing only is wanting to complete the 
 Emperor's reputation — a famous 'retreai. 
 From this day the world will have this also 
 whereof to speak." 
 
 The deep-furrowed forehead, the measured 
 tone, with which Rasinski gave this infor- 
 mation, aroused a melancholv foreboding in 
 all. 
 
 " Retreat ? — to Moscow ? — or whither ?" 
 inquired Boleslaus. 
 
 " To Moscow ! — to plant our banners on 
 the ruins of the Kremlin !" said Rasinski. 
 ** Have you forgotten already the earthquake 
 of the day before yesterday ? That was Mor- 
 tier blowing up the old capitol of tlie Czars. 
 At noon, yesterday, the Emperor received 
 information that the Cossacks were swarm- 
 ing about the ruins of Moscow. Mortier is 
 in march toward Werreja; lie has taken 
 General Winzingerode prisoner. Such is 
 the latest intelligence- from that quarter ; — 
 the latest in this is, that within an hour we 
 shall be in march b-ick to Smolensko." 
 
 'To Smolensko!" 
 
 " Till midnight the council of war remained 
 sitting. The discussion was stormy. Murat 
 would attack Kutosow. Bessieres, who had 
 reconnoitred the position of the latter, de- 
 clared it impregnable. Napoleon said, 
 
 " ' We have done enough for our glory ; it 
 ia time to act for our safety.' 
 
 " Davoust desired that, at least, we should 
 throw ourselves upon Platoflf and his Cos- 
 sacks, and thus open a way to Medyn. The 
 Emperor decided upon a retreat over the 
 Mojaisk. Thus we will have to retrace the 
 sorrowful road we traversed some two months 
 ago." 
 
 " The Emperor retreat !" exclaimed Jaro- 
 mir, staring incredulously at Rasinski. 
 
 " And thus the'bloody victory of yesterday 
 ia also to prove fruitless?^ observed Boles* 
 laus, with.a solemn shaJie of his head. 
 
 " It has, at least, furnished aoother stone * 
 to our great captain's pedestal," replied Ra- 
 sinski. " I have seen the battle-field — it looks 
 terrible ! Bleeding and mutilated wretches 
 are yet crawling from among the smoking 
 ruins. There is no victory in Russia at 
 which humanity must not shudder. Flames 
 are always there — the scourging companion 
 of the sword. In this way these Scythians 
 carried on their wars in these deserts thou- 
 sands of years ago. And what a conflict ! 
 The valiant Delzon, at the head of his sol- 
 diers, makes an attack — a bullet stretches 
 him on the ground. The soldiers, seeing 
 their commander falling, become discoura<.'ed ; 
 they hesitate — they retreat — the Russians 
 press forward. Delzon's brother, to save the 
 dead body, throws himself alone into the ca- * 
 nopy of smoke poured out irom the advancing 
 guns of the enemy. Clasping him within 
 his arms, he raises him up, then a murderous 
 ball strikes him also ; with the dear burden 
 he sinks to the earth, and breathes his last 
 upon the cold heart of his brother ! The 
 Italian recruits have fought for the first 
 time, and like young lions that chase their 
 first prey. No nation is exclusively brave — 
 all men are brave who are commanded by 
 heroes." 
 
 " And the most daring of heroes commands 
 a retreat !" exclaimed Jaromir. 
 
 '• Who knows whether the most daring is 
 not necessary for that purpose ?" answered 
 Rasinski ; " besides, other troubles are grow- 
 ing. The Emperor is receiving letter after 
 letter from Germany, which make the sincer- 
 ity of his German allies more and more to be 
 doubted. Marshal Macdonald reports the 
 Prussian regiments fight reluctantly against 
 the Russians, although his bulletins speak 
 publicly to the contrary. With the inac- 
 tivity of the troops commanded by Prince 
 Schwarzenberg, the Emperor is also dissatis- 
 fied; he sees in it that Austria is no sincere 
 ally, notwithstanding the family ties which 
 have united the two Emperors. The agents 
 in the interior of Germany write of secret 
 confederacies of German patriots against 
 France and French government — of wide- 
 spread and loudly-spoken rumors — of incau- 
 tious words — of secret understandings with 
 the very army of the enemy !" 
 
 An orderly was announced, bringing the 
 order for breaking up. Within half an hour 
 the men, all in the saddle, were in full re- 
 treat. 
 
 Rasinski's countenance was clouded ; he 
 said nothing, but looked frequently in the di- 
 rection of the theatre of yesterday's conflict, 
 which lay yet enveloped irt the veil of night. ^ 
 
UAVOVBOKS INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 196 
 
 As the Toad wound round a lonely, sterile 
 till, he rode up it alone. On its stormy sum- 
 mit he halted, looking over the desolate pla- 
 ces of death. The smoke from the ruins 
 mingled itself with that from the watch-fires, 
 which the rear^guard had kindled to deceive 
 the enemy. On the other side, thwugh the 
 woods, numberless stars were seen to Bicker 
 in the darkness, indicating the encampment 
 of the Russian army. 
 
 A trembling shook the strong frame of the 
 soldier. The wind whistled over the hillocks 
 and murmured through the tops of the old 
 pine trees stretching their branches above 
 Hasinski's head. His steed pawed the earth 
 and shook his mane floating wild in the wind. 
 Dread forebodings, which seemed to paint the 
 terrible future to his mind, gained more and 
 more their power over him. He turned his 
 •hoTBe and rejoined his friends. 
 
 CHAPTER LXH. 
 
 " This night- wind has been rough !— What 
 a fog hovers about!" exclaimed Bernard, 
 shaking himself, as he sprang up from his 
 place by the nearly extinguished fire. " I 
 thought we should feel cold with no more 
 fire ^an these thfee charred logs ! HaUoo, 
 Louis! Get up, lad; have you no ears for 
 the trumpeter ?" 
 
 Louis opened his eyes and looked at hin( 
 as at a stranger. 
 
 " Why ! don't you know me ?" said Ber- 
 ^nard, jestingly. " You really look as if you 
 had just fallen into this world from one of the 
 •planets." 
 
 " And it is very nearly the fact," replied 
 Louis, who began to recover from the deep 
 sleep into which his fatigue had thrown him. 
 
 " A devil of a night, Loais. The damp 
 fog penetrates a man to the very marrow. 
 But on horseback, perhaps, we may feel bet- 
 ter." 
 
 As well as circumstances would permit, 
 the two friends made their rough toilet and 
 then repaired to their horses, v/here most of 
 their comrades were preparing forthe march. 
 In a short time all were again in retreat. 
 
 At midnight they had lam down to rest, 
 and it had hardly yet begun to dav/n ; in con- 
 stant apprehension of being pursued by the 
 Russian army, the retreat was niade with the 
 greatest celerity. 
 
 As daylight fully tfame, the fog began to 
 disperse. Rasinski pointed with his sword 
 to some hillocks, enveloped partly in mist. 
 " That is the Mojaisk," he 6aid ; " we are 
 now on our old road again. Sioce it was de- 
 
 termined that we should positively retreat by 
 this r«ad, it had been better we had turned 
 into it direct from Moscow. We have lost 
 full eight days, and might have been very 
 near Smolensko by this time." 
 
 " Are you going to pass that crowd ?" 
 asked Bernard. 
 
 "No," answered Rasinski; "we turn to 
 the left here, through the rivulet, for yonder 
 everything will be stopped again. It is a 
 great advantage to us that we need not so 
 strictly follow the orders as the rest of the 
 army. Every one, however, begins to look 
 out for himself. See you how the artillery 
 is proceeding up the hill, yonder? The guns 
 are almost fast in the deep mud, and yet 
 their number of horses is doubled." 
 
 " VVe shall have frost, I think," observed 
 Louis; " the air is clearing up." 
 
 " That would not be so bad," said Bernard, 
 " for it is horrible work marching in this soft 
 mire." 
 
 " Spare your prayers for the winter ; it 
 will overtake us soon enough !" replied Ra- 
 sinski, ,i/i a serious voice. " Our march is 
 troublesome now, but still endurable. In 
 Russia the winter remains not standing on 
 the threshold — it instantly reigns in the plen- 
 iUide of its power. So don't waste your 
 breath through misconceiving your object." 
 
 " I think it will come without our will or 
 desire," said Bernard ; " the north-easterly 
 wind blows upon our back, which, however, 
 is better than yesterday, when it blew the 
 drizzling rain into our faces I scent some- 
 thing like snow in the air." 
 
 While thus conversing, they had reached 
 the brook and rode across it, where it was 
 easily fordable. On the other side they 
 joined the artillery, which, forming the head 
 of the train, had gained a considerable start. 
 
 •* Bless me !" exclaimed Bernard, " how 
 sharp the wind blows !" 
 
 Widi the experienced eye ©f a soldier, Ra- 
 sinski looked attentively over the plain. It 
 offered but little variation, extending itself in 
 all directions to an immeasurable distance; 
 nothing interrupted the dead, comfortless 
 grey of this landscape, but the black ranges 
 of pine wood forest at the uttermost edge of 
 the view. 
 
 The sun had shone for a little time, but 
 soon the heavens began to be darkened by 
 clonds. 
 
 Several columns of infantry had by de- 
 grees overtaken the cavalry, which could 
 proceed but slowly on account of the ex- 
 haustion of the horses. Various uniforms 
 were mixed together in confusion. Disci- 
 pline, with regard to regiments, could no 
 longer be maintained ; every one protected 
 himself against wind and weather as well as 
 be could. By manv it was already found 
 
■ r 
 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED ANIT TWELVE; OR, 
 
 distressing to endure the toils of the march. 
 I While Rasinski's attention vv<as directed to 
 this motley crowd, he observed a horseman 
 among them who a]:^eared to be an oflScer 
 of rank. It was Regnard. 
 
 " Rasinski ! Is it' you ?" he said, riding 
 towards him and giving him his hand. 
 
 " It is, indeed !" answered Rasinski, hear- 
 tily, who had made it his rule always to exr 
 hibit good spirits when his men could see and 
 * hear him. 
 
 " You are easily satisfied — with Hie it has 
 gone somewhat harder," said the dragoon 
 officer. "One of my eyes has-been inflam- 
 ed ever since the fire of Moscow. I suffer 
 much from it, and these damp autumnal 
 nights have done their best to increase the 
 evil." 
 
 " It is a matter of little moment, I hope, — 
 such things cease with the cause." 
 
 " Sometimes, yes ; like hunger for in- 
 stance ; if the cause, however, lasts too long,, 
 the cure will be too late. Sach may easily 
 be the case with me. Still, I don't care a 
 fig," he continued, after a few moments; 
 " one sees too much even with one eye here." 
 "How so?" 
 
 " IXd yoa not pass, through the battle- 
 field ?" 
 
 "■Ho; I took a bye-road with my men." 
 " Yon lost nothing by that. The whole 
 is still a hospital. Three thousand wouimI- 
 ed men are lying there, and will probably 
 remain. I shudder at the bare thought of it* 
 For these seven weeks they have lingered in 
 agony and wretchedness ! They are half- 
 frozen to death ; the greatest part of them 
 are lying upoii. rotten straw, and in many 
 cases without blankets ! Scarcely their old 
 eloaks have been left them. Their wounds 
 are dressed with oakum, although they are 
 
 served in Elgypt— let me not perish hers. Tc 
 France, to France — nay father !' He coul^ 
 say no more. The Emperor then, ordered 
 him to be placsd in his own carriage, and to , 
 be taken good care of. I aided, myself, itt 
 raising him up, but before we got him into 
 tlie vehicle he expired." 
 
 " He is happy !" i 
 
 "Certainly! I can imagine, however, the 
 misery and anguish of those remaining, when 
 a dying v/retch seea the future wiSi such 
 dread that the hope of escaping it gives him 
 such strength in Itis laat moments." 
 
 " And must they, then, be left behind ?" 
 asked Rasinski, shuddering at their condition. 
 
 " Can you carry, tliem away ? — and can 
 they endure tlie march ? The Emperor has 
 ordered that every baggage-wagon shall take 
 up a>man ; they Will endeavor to save those 
 who can yet be saved. The others will b« 
 left to the mercy of the enemy." 
 
 " Tender meroieSj indeed!" groaned Ra- 
 sinski. 
 
 " They may call themselves happy," con- 
 tinued Regnard, adjusting the bandage over 
 his inflamed eye, "if they but soon fall into 
 the hands of the enemy. Should he tarry 
 longf they must perish in the most miserable 
 manner. The greater part of them can't 
 move themselves.^It begins to get thick 
 
 in a state of gangrene even to the very 
 bones." 
 
 " Speak not so loud," said R-asinski ; "pic- 
 tures like these discourage the men." 
 
 " Pictures are unnecessary ; they have 
 seea the miseries themselves. When wc were 
 marching through, those who still v/ere ca- 
 pable of moving stretched forth their hands, 
 crying, " Take us with yon — let u& not per- 
 ish here !" The rumor tliat we were retreat- 
 ing had been spread. They iiad some com- 
 fort in hope before — despair is now their 
 portion. They lamented and moaned aloud ; 
 some of them cursed Iteaven and earth. A 
 dragoon — I recognised him by the cloak — 
 both of whose feet had been amputated, had 
 crawled with his miserably-dressed stumps 
 to the threshold of the hut in which he lay, 
 and with raised hands, as a pale spectre of 
 utter hopelessness, implored my aid as I 
 passed. The Emperor came past at the time, 
 and the wretched man cri^d, * Sire, I have 
 
 agrain. 
 
 TI19 fog had actually descended, moist 
 and cold, upon the fields^ imaking it impossi- 
 ble to see objects at the distance of a hun^ 
 dred feet. 
 
 * " I have never seen weather like this be- 
 fore," said Bernard. 
 
 "^ The wind has shifted to the north-weet,"^ 
 said Louis, who had attentively observed the 
 changes. Wrapping their cloauks more close- 
 ly around them, the officers proceeded silent- 
 ly on. 
 
 Deep silence prevailed— the dull rumbling 
 of the artillery was alone heard in the dis- 
 tance. A fev/ slight undulations of the 
 ground had accidentally brought Louis about 
 thirty paces to the right of his friends. Sud- 
 denly his horse stumbled ; he pulled up tli» 
 animal by the bridle, and bent forward to pee 
 against what it had stumbled. It was a half-* 
 decayed, haif-aaked body. The face, chang- 
 ed by putrefaction and birds of prey into a 
 disgusting disfigurement of humanity, stared 
 Ijorribly at hitn. An involuntary cry escaped 
 his lips ; and his horror increased when, look- 
 ing around him,. he observed many more hu» 
 man bodies, half consum.ed, in the deep fur- 
 rows of the land close by. 
 
 " What is it ?" askea Bernard, liearing the 
 outcry. 
 
 " Look around you !'.' answered Louis^ 
 fearfully. 
 
 They had all rode on. in the grey, fog, with* 
 
N^APOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 m 
 
 sirt faying any attention to 'the way or the 
 wround. A blast of wind dispersed the fog 
 for a moment, allowing a view ©f some two 
 hundred paces, 
 
 " We are on the battle-field !" exclaimed 
 Rasinsiri. 
 
 " Indeed! I did not suppose that we were 
 RO near," said Bernard, looking around. 
 
 With grave «.ttention they permitted their 
 eyes to wander over that desolate and silent 
 field of death, which seven weeks before 
 shook with the terrible uproar of a conflict 
 of nations, and the thunder of a thousand 
 guns. As when, in the dusk of evening, the 
 eye first catches sight of a few stars, and at 
 every Euceeeding minute discovers more, un- 
 til at last the whole vault is seen spangled 
 throughout, so did now the fearful signs of 
 destruction multiply, under the horror-stricken 
 eyes of the soldiers revisiting this scene of 
 carnage. A thick atmosphere was moment- 
 arily dispersed by the wind : it appeared as 
 though it removed the curtain for all to be- 
 hold. Horror penetrated the stoutest hearts 
 as this terrible charnel-house gradually de- 
 veloped itself. First they saw only a few 
 corpses, struck by the hoofs of their horses; 
 anon, the numbers multiplied beyond the 
 power of counting ; and it was soon evident 
 that every dark elevation discovered by the 
 eye was not a stone, nor a fallen tree, nor a 
 mound, but a human body, or a mass of bodies 
 piled up together. At every step forward 
 the picture o£ destruction became more and 
 more loathsome. The wind drove a poison- 
 ous and pestilential vapor in their faces, an 
 odor so disgusting that the horses, starting 
 aside, would scarcely obey their masters ; 
 and only when urged by the spur would they 
 take their way over the fearful road. They 
 saw large elevations, where masses of 
 i)odies had been thrown together and so 
 loosely covered with earth, that the storm 
 and rain had almost washed this scanty co- ! 
 vering away. In many places the dead as- 
 sumed the most horrible positions; the bones 
 of some were half covered with putrescent 
 flesh ; many were naked and already bleached; 
 -—of others, the heads, covered with rough, 
 bloody hair, were sunk down to the ground, 
 the legs unnaturally turned upwards-; and of 
 •not a few, the arm was lifted high, as if en- 1 
 deavoring to work themselves up from their ! 
 -mouldering grave. Single limbs, half gnawed j 
 'by wolves and birds, of prey, were spread 
 about. Grinning skulls, with hollow sockets 
 or bloody hair dreadfully hanging about 
 them, stared from the ground. 
 
 Mingled with these terrible remains were 
 the warlike memorials of the battle. Crushed 
 gun-carriages, wheels, drums, rusty balls, 
 pieces of broken muekets and swords, shin- 
 ing helmets and cuirasses, lay strewn over 
 
 the field. At the first view one could dis- 
 cern the places where the cavalry and artil- 
 lery had fooght.; they were covered with car- ^■ 
 casses, partly entire and partly reduced to 
 s-keletons. The mist, rolling in long lines 
 across the field, at ene time concealed, at 
 another disclosed these scenes of horror ; and 
 at length it was so much dispersed as to al- 
 low the sight to range unrestricted as far as 
 the dreadful signs of destraction and death 
 were visible. 
 
 " Do you see that hill yonder ?" said Ra- • 
 sinski, pointing with his finger to an un- 
 sightly ruin, which appeared to rise through 
 the haze. "That is the terrible redoubt 
 where we left so many of our men. Ah i 
 now we may indeed recognise these fields of 
 glory and herror, where tliirty thousand of 
 our comrades Shed their blood !" 
 
 They approached nearer once more, to tra- 
 verse a place which naturally would inspire 
 them with the most vivid recollections. All 
 Vi^ere silent Each one bore its sorrowful re- 
 membrance deep within his breast. How 
 much more fearful looked the battle-field now 
 than when the roaring thunder deafened the 
 ear, end the heavy guns rolled over the 
 ground! Then it was the grim countenance ' 
 of an enraged giant, now the horror-stricken 
 visaeje of a satiated Nemesis. 
 
 When Rasinski and bis frieads — for the 
 regiment pursued its vvay on the main-road 
 — approached the redoubt, the horses were 
 scarcely able to proceed, from the number of 
 obstacles covering the ground. * 
 
 " What can that be on the rampart yon- 
 der ?" uttered Rasinski, at a di-stauce of som** 
 hundred paces from the entrenchment. 
 
 " I can't discern it yet," answered Bernard ; 
 " it looks like a broken pyramid." 
 
 " It is wood which is piled up, perhaps," 
 said Louis. 
 
 " That can scarcely be," observed Bernard, 
 shaking his head : " a singular shape, indeed.: 
 it would puEzle a painter!" 
 
 As they came nearer, the sun broke out 
 brilliantly through the clouds. On a sudden 
 the redoubt brightly shone, v/hile a gloomy 
 grey still prevailed around. 
 
 " They are skeletons !".ef:cl&imed Rasin- 
 .s^ki, who seemed to possess the keenest sight. 
 " See yoH how the bones are shining, bleached 
 by the w'nd and rain ?" 
 
 Not without awe they rode forward, at a 
 more rapid pace, and found that Rasinski was 
 but too true an interpreter. The dead piled 
 up in the interior of the redoubt projected 
 high above the wall. Chance had brought 
 their backs against each other, in a half-up- 
 right position. Being the most exposed to 
 the elements and beasts of prey, the bones of 
 those uppermost were almost entirely laid 
 bare; and the skeletons seemed how seated 
 
 '-*.. 
 
iw- 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; GB; 
 
 '41 
 
 I 
 
 en a throne of corpses, grinning in triumph. 
 
 An unearthly revulsion of feeling penetra- 
 
 ?jft. ted even the cold-blooded Regnard, as he 
 
 gazed on this mockery of man. He con- 
 
 jA traded his brows and shook himself, as if an 
 
 ^ ague-chill had pierced his marrow. 
 
 " This is Canlaincourt's mausoleum," he 
 said at last. " Cbme, let us be off!" 
 
 To reach the column again, they rode on 
 at a quick pace, constantly stumbling over 
 corpses and frajrments. A deep hollow way 
 « crossed the fields it vi^as the same on which 
 thny had returned to the encampment the day 
 after the battle, and which the next day they 
 found tilled with the wounded and helpless, 
 who had sought a shelter there against the 
 severity of the night. 
 
 * Suddenly a sound of wailing reached their 
 ears. All stopped and listened". Tliey looked 
 far around, without being able to discover 
 whence the voice came. 
 
 " ft must be in that cavity behind us," cried 
 Rasinski, quickly turning nis horse and hast- 
 ening to a small elevation half covered with 
 underwood. 
 
 " Father of mercies !" cried he, dismount- 
 ing from his horse. The others did not at 
 first discern what gave rise to this exclama- 
 tion ; but their lips and cheeks grew pale 
 when they at length discovered a man iu the 
 carcass of a horse, which had been ripped 
 up, and who from his disgusting abode 
 stretched out his hands towards Rasinski, im- 
 ploring assistance. 
 
 # " Heaven defend us !" he exclaimed, press- 
 ing both hi& hands against his face ; " it is 
 Petrowski !" 
 
 Struck dumb with amazement, Louis, Ber- 
 nard, Boleslaus,. and Jaromir sat aghast in 
 their saddles. Jaromir was the first to dis- 
 0^, mount to aid Rasinski, who stood before Pe- 
 trowski, pressing both his hands. He had 
 turned the face of tlie dying man towards 
 Jaromir ; in his aspect was visible a convul- 
 sive effort to overcome the agony ho suf- 
 fered. Drops of cold sweat moistened the 
 forehead of the hero, and large tears rolled 
 down his cheeks — be v»as unable to i^ak. 
 
 " You among the living yet, old" faitljful 
 comrade .'" cried Rasinski alter a long si- 
 lence, employed in giving vent to his op- 
 pressed feelings. " 1 made search for you in 
 vain among the dead." 
 
 The old man, emaciat*^d by misery and 
 starvation, luid still a tear left for this last 
 show of attention. 
 
 " Praise be to Heaven ! I am thankful I" 
 were the only words he was capable of uttCB- 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh, Father Almighty !" exclaimed Ra- 
 sinski. " Tfiis living being, dwelling in the 
 bowels of corruption ! His food what the 
 ■^ hungry wolf and the vulture have slighted ! 
 
 Fifly times has the sun passed over hitt amC 
 seen bis bopeleas misery V f 
 
 Jaromir, Bernard, Louis, and Boleslaus 
 hastened forward to lift the wretched man 
 from his tomb y but his eyes were sunk deep 
 into the sockets, and he glared unconscious- 
 ly npon his visitors. Yet a smile seemed to 
 steal over his^ features, harrowed up though 
 -they were by inconceivable suffering. He 
 breathed but once more — hie head fell upon 
 his breast, and his spirit took its departure 
 from earth ! 
 
 Rasinski held firmly the hands of the dy- 
 ing soldier ; his moistened eyes rested upon • 
 the pale features, which, though struggling 
 with agony, yet maintained their manly ex- 
 pression. . 
 
 " Look at this noble brow, marked with \ 
 scars and adorned with silvery locks ! He 
 was a faithful soldier! Alas I that such 
 should be his miserable fate !" t 
 
 " No, his end was blessed !" said Louis, 
 whose aspirations were heavenward, and 
 who conceived that Providence had dealt 
 kindly with the old man, in directing the 
 footsteps of his old friends and companions to^ 
 the scene of his release from all earthly want. 
 
 " All is over 1" said Rasinski,. uttering a^ 
 deep groan. 
 
 Silently they remounted their horses and 
 rode to their regiment, which they overtook 
 at the farthest edge of that plain which his- 
 tory, faithful to the mighty deeds of the past, 
 will point out to posterity throughout all ge- 
 nerations. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIIL 
 
 After two more toilsome days the army 
 reached Viazma, where the Emperor ordered • 
 a halt, to await the rear-guard,, commanded 
 by Marshal Davoust. The troops were 
 almost exhausted, and many, weakened by 
 sickness or wounds, had been left behind. 
 
 Rasinski had: been fortunate enough to* 
 lose none of his men,.a6cribable to his early 
 care in providing them with warm and ser- 
 viceable clothing. Giving a good example 
 of courageous principles himself^ he had been* 
 able to preserve the spirit of fidelity and obe- 
 dience among them, which, under such hard» 4 
 circumstances, is the fhief means of safiety.. 
 The soldier is utterly lest, if he give way to- 
 want, cold, and fatigue. Rasinski allowed 
 no man to absent himself, not one to remain ' 
 behind; nor did he allow any slovenliness 
 about horses, clothing, or arms. His officers,, 
 as well as Louis and Bernard^ were active in 
 maintaining this discipline ty emolatiiig hi» 
 example. - : ' 
 
 , 1^ 
 
 M 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 At Yiszma, Rasinski sacceeded Id pro- 
 viding tolerable accommodations for men 
 and horsesJ Three side walls with a frag- 
 ment of a roof, the remnants of an old house, 
 were used as a stable for the horses ; as, how- 
 ever, there was not room for all, they were 
 changed every eight hours. Sufficient straw 
 had been procured to make beds for them, 
 but their feed was scanty enough. For 
 himself and men, Rasinski had taken pos- 
 session of a tenement, which appeared 
 scarcely capable of holding thirty people ; by 
 an exact division, however, of the narrow 
 space, it was possible to procure sleeping 
 places for sixty. The alternation every 
 eight hours during which that number slept, 
 while the others took care of the horses, the 
 watch-fires, and the cooking, enabled the 
 commander to give his men a reasonable 
 share of both rest and warmth. 
 
 Before daybreak the columns were again 
 set in motion. Their way led through vast 
 pine forests, the dull uniformity of which 
 seemed to increase the immense distance of 
 the army from its native land. Rasinski 
 was ordered to form in the rear, to urge for- 
 ward those who lingered behind ; for during 
 the last two days so many had dropped off, 
 that it became indispensable to check the 
 disorder as speedily and as effectually as 
 possible. He found that the superfluous 
 baggage^carts, and many others which im- 
 peded the march, had been burnt, and the 
 horses belonging to therti put before the 
 guns. The columns made but slow progress ; 
 at every step an additional supply of horses 
 became necessary for the transportation of 
 the artillery. The Emperor was compelled 
 to direct that every second horse now attach- 
 ed to the ammunition wagons and the wag- 
 ons of the officers of rank should immedi- 
 ately be transferred to the gun-carriages. 
 Now it was that wagons, already overladen 
 and deprived of half of their means of trans- 
 port, were compelled to diminish their loads, 
 or be altogether abandoned. The road was 
 soon thickly strewn with all manner of arti- 
 cles^-even costly works of art and luxury 
 were thrown from the wagons as so much 
 ^filuele^s trash, and only fit for the flames. 
 
 " You recollect the occurrence at Moscow, 
 where the wagon was upset and plundered ? 
 Was I not right in saying, that man was the 
 luckiest of all ?" Rasinski observed. 
 
 " We do," said Jaromir. 
 
 " As far as Smolensko," Rasinski contin- 
 ued, " we shall be able to struggle onwards^ 
 although not without difficulty. There are 
 provisions there. But listen J was not that 
 a gun ? Indeed it was ! A second, a third ! 
 The report comes from the direction of Vi- 
 azma ! Are the Russians upon us ?" 
 
 All listened attentively. Booming sounds 
 
 interrupted the peaceful morning. Soon, 
 however, they ceased, and nothing was heard 
 more. Meanwhile, Rasinski had become 
 very apprehensive. Until now they had 
 only had to combat the hardships of a long and 
 wearisome journey ; but should the enemy 
 have marched with combined forces to attack 
 them, it was impossible to foresee what would 
 become of the army. It did not satisfy him 
 that the guns were silent again ; ever famil- 
 iar with the Russian manner of fighting, he 
 was sure that at least a detachment of dar- 
 ing Cossacks had fallen upon some of 
 Davoust's troops ; and although, perhapSj 
 repulsed, proved the near presence of the 
 enemy's forces. Meditating on the conse- 
 quences which an attack would produce, he 
 rode thoughtfully at the head of his men. 
 
 "Bliski!" he called, beckoning to this 
 officer, " you have been a long time in 
 Russia, are you particularly familiar with 
 the roads between Malo-Jaroslawetz, and 
 Smolensko ?" 
 
 " I think I am, sir ! I have crossed more 
 than thirty times in a kibitka !" answered 
 the light-hearted soldier, and not without a 
 certain pride that his commander should 
 avail himself of his knowledge. 
 
 " How far is it from Malo-Jaroslawetz to ^ 
 Viazma over Medyn ?'' 
 
 " One day's march at least, may be two, 
 nearer than the way we have come. If the 
 Cossacks had felt inclined, they might have 
 attacked us on the road halfway from Viaz- 
 ma to Gjatz." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" said Rasinski, 
 smiling a nod of approval at the sound judg- 
 ment of the man. 
 
 " By the Blessed Virgin, Colonel," replied 
 Bliski, with animation, " I almost wish they 
 had tried, I owe them something yet for this 
 wound above tlie eye, and the cut on my 
 arm! But who knows ! we may meet them 
 at Darogobuge !" 
 
 " Why there ?" demanded Rasinski ; 
 though he very well knew why. 
 
 "Because the main-road from Kalouga 
 there crosses the road to Smolensko. We 
 shall have something to do there, I think." 
 
 " Wli^t is the distance between Kalouga 
 and Darogobuge ?" 
 
 " About a hundred and eighty versts." 
 
 " And is the road good ?" 
 
 " That depends upon the season ; now 
 probably passable on the higher, and miry on 
 the lower ground. When it snows, how- 
 ever, it is the best sleishincr route in the 
 whole Empire." " • ' 
 
 " But it looks not like snow yet." 
 
 " Who knows, Colonel ? The season has 
 come, and that fruit will ripen as surely as 
 plums in autumn." ^ 
 
 " Well, Bliski, return to your comrades ; 
 
 P 
 
 % 
 
■T.'V 
 
 900 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED ^ND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ■* 
 
 I know now what I wanted to learn. Yon 
 are acquainted with the conntry, and will 
 find the way when I want you." 
 
 •' Never fear, sir," answered Bliski with 
 flashing eyes. "I could find the way from 
 here to Madrid." He then joined his com- 
 rades. 
 
 The road warping somewhat, and there 
 bcinor no longer woods alongside, it was easy 
 to notice a dark crowd of people in advance, 
 who seemed to be very busy. At the same 
 time wagons were driven into the field. 
 
 "Another aw^o-da-/e .'" said Bernard, laugh- 
 ing as he turned to his friends. " More 
 horses for the artillery, it seems." 
 
 The hurry and tumult as they rode up to 
 this spot attracted the attention of the whole 
 ■Regiment. The sun shone brightly — sud- 
 denly its dazzling rays were thrown back 
 from the middle of the crowd of people as- 
 sembled. 
 
 " That is the cross of St Ivan !" cried 
 Bernard, instantly recalling to his minli the 
 occurrence at Moscow. 
 
 A large pond was visible near the road 
 into which numerous persons were busily 
 employed casting the contents of the bag- 
 
 Sige-carts. They beheld the trophies col- 
 cted at Moscow thrown into the lake. 
 Costly ornaments, taken from the magnifi- 
 cent palaces, curious cannon which the Rus- 
 sians had captured in their Eastern wars, and 
 finally, the great Cross of St. Ivan itself, were 
 relentlessly flung into the muddy element. 
 
 A keen, icy wind arose towards evening. 
 Though the tired warriors lay down close to 
 the fires, their limbs, not turned towards the 
 fire, were stiffened with cold. 
 
 "The day dawns late," said Bernard to 
 Louis, as soon as they got on the march. 
 " The sky must be overclouded, for no star 
 can be seen. How did the night agree with 
 you?" 
 
 " It was really a severe night; every day 
 adds to the hardships," replied Louis. 
 
 The day duwned'omlnously fortlie retreat- 
 ing army — heavy banks of clouds rested 
 above — the horizon appeared every moment 
 to increase in volume and density. The fog 
 hovered close over the pine forests alojg the 
 road, and nearly touched the tops of the tall- 
 est trees. It gradually began to fall. 
 
 " We may still hope to enjoy a clear day," 
 said Louis to Rasinski. 
 
 " Truly," answered the latter ; although 
 well knowing the difference between a Ger- 
 man and a Russian winter, he believed the 
 contrary. 
 
 The log did not pass into rain, nor disperse 
 before the rising sun, hut curled itself along 
 the skirts of the woodsi. For a time there 
 w^s a marked stillness in the atmosphere, 
 bnt shortly the cold increased, and the wind 
 
 commenced blowing afresh. Suddenly tfta 
 fog seemed to dissolve — large flakes of snow 
 began to fall, and before time was had to re- 
 cover from surprise at the change, the whole 
 air was filled with this harbinger of winter. 
 
 In sullen humor the troops held on their 
 way. The field appeared in a few minutes 
 to be changed into a rigid, traceless, unbound- 
 ed ocean ; — and how would they be able to 
 trace their path over this desert, where no 
 sun, no star, no distant mountain or tower 
 could be discovered, and no road was discern- 
 ible ? Those warriors who had marched from 
 the Pyramids to the mouth of the Tagus — 
 from the mountains of Calabria to the roar- 
 ing Belt — from the Pyrenees to the foot of 
 the Ural — in constant battles, and defying 
 all dangers — those warriors felt now, for the 
 first time, the vision of fear haunting their 
 hearts. 
 
 The masses of snow became more and 
 more heavy. Not satisfied with those which 
 it shook from the clouds, the storm also stir- 
 red up those on the ground, and whirled 
 them in the faces of the soldiers. Drifting 
 over hill and. plain, it filled the whole valley 
 through which the road ran. 
 
 " One would think that the feet of so many 
 thousands would soon make a hard path," 
 said Louis, " but before us we find no foot- 
 track, and behind us we leave none — so rap- 
 idly are they effaced by the storm." 
 
 The line was checked. At first Rasinski 
 thought it was only a momentary delay. — 
 Soon, however, he perceived that a serious 
 obstacle must have been met with — for the 
 halt lasted too long. At length an adjutant, 
 who, with the greatest difficulty, had worked 
 himself and horse through the snow, ap- 
 proached Rasinski. 
 
 " I bring you the order, Colonel, forthwith 
 to send half the horses of your regiment to 
 the aid of the artillery. They can't get for- 
 ward ; before us is a defile where the snow 
 is heaped up to the height of a man." 
 
 "Mast my men dismount?" inquiredRa- 
 sinski, both surprised and alarmed. 
 
 " It is a hard necessity, but the same or- 
 der is going through all the regiments. Even 
 the Emperor's Guard are required to resign^ 
 their horses and walk. Saddles and baggage 
 remain — the soldiers^ can follow them." 
 
 Rasinski saw that there was no help for 
 this state of things ; still it cost him a hard 
 struggle to deprive his men, unaccustomed 
 to walk, of their horses. He betrayed, how- 
 ever, no dissatisfaction. Without delay he 
 otdered the first and second squadrons to 
 wheel by sections to (he right, and desired 
 them to ride out from the regiment into the 
 road. They were then broken into half-sec- 
 tions, and ^llowed the adjutant at the head 
 of them, under Rasinski's command. Tbey 
 
 k ■ #^ 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 aad to put their horses tweive-by-twelve to 
 the guns of the nearest division, which in the 
 confusion could be done only with ropes and 
 miserable fragments of harness. The sol- 
 diers walked by th<eir sides. 
 
 " You do the work to-day," said Rasinski ; 
 " to-morrow your comrades will do it." 
 
 Bernard and Louis belonged to the first 
 squadron ; they would also have given up their 
 steeds, but retained them, because they were 
 appointed by Rasinski to serve as his orderly 
 officers. Both of them were aware that the 
 time wfts past when preference was possi- 
 ble even if allowed. The strong law of ne- 
 cessity, which equalizes all conditions, would 
 soon be put into force. A few such days 
 more, and there were only comrades — no lon- 
 ger officers and soldiers. They therefore 
 rode up to Rasinski, asking his permission to 
 share the fatigues of their fellow soldiers. 
 
 " Would that I could obviate it," he re- 
 plied ; " but it is a fact that to-morrow you 
 would be obliged to do what you wish to do 
 to-day, you are right." 
 
 Riding instantly to the head of the column, 
 they reported themselves to the artillery offi- 
 cer in command of the division. He directed 
 them to aid in putting their horses to a how- 
 itzer — the exhausted team which had dragged 
 it being in the greatest want of an additional 
 force. 
 
 In this way it was just possible for the 
 artillery to advance ; but the difficulty was 
 great, for the wheels sunk to the axles in the 
 snow, while the snow and earth together 
 formed a mass of mire which adhered with 
 great tenacity to the wheels. The sounds 
 of lashings and execrations rose high above 
 the tumultuous throng ; and although twenty 
 or thirty horses were attached to some of the 
 guns, the aid of many men was requisite to 
 force them forward. 
 
 After some time, fatigue completely over- 
 powered both man and beast. Discipline in 
 the several regiments began to disappear, 
 and numbers of enfeebled men dropped be- 
 hind. Many no longer continued on the road 
 — the tracks were lost in the snow drifts, and 
 each wanderer endeavored to find a better 
 way for himself ; thus it was that as often as 
 a hill was seen bared by the blast, vast num- 
 bers crowded upon it in the hope of enjoying 
 a brief respite from their labors.^ Many, how- 
 ever, paid a terrible penalty ; for behind these 
 bills were often deep chasms and precipices, 
 which, deceitfully filled, presented an appa- 
 rent level with the ground. On a sudden, 
 men found themselves immersed to the mid- 
 dle, or even to the shoulders ; others, blinded 
 by the drifting snow, stumbled over their fal- 
 len comrades and were precipitated deeper 
 into their wintry grave. Thus was it often 
 observed that three or four men suddenly dis- 
 
 appeared beneath the snow. Pew only were 
 able to work themselves through ; the great- . 
 er part lost their strength entirely, and the 
 musket, or the weapon with which they en- 
 deavored to help themselves, slipped out of 
 their frozen hands. They would rest a few \ 
 minutes to catch breath, but the cold instant- 
 ly seized their limbs — in a faint voice they * 
 cried for assistance, but there were none to 
 hear their cry, nor could human aid reach 
 them ; all were suffijrers or suppliants, and 
 each had enough to occupy all his energies. 
 When the first victims fell, all hearts were 
 struck with pity and dismay ; yet when their 
 number increased — when with the approach- 
 ing darkness, hundreds, and even thousands, 
 remained on the field, compassion was swal- 
 lowed up in dread, and a sigh was all that * 
 could be spared for those struck down. The 
 snow, as their winding-sheet — heaven's white 
 shroud — soon covered them. At first, a slight 
 elevation indicated the resting-place of the 
 dead ; but in a short time the desert was even 
 again, and every trace of a grave effaced. 
 
 Night came, but no stars were visible. 
 The heavens, becoming more charged, inces- 
 santly poured down the icy destruction. The 
 violence of the storm increased, and the eye . 
 could scarcely discover a path for the uncer-^ ' 
 tain foot ; all who strayed aside, or lagged ^ 
 behind, disappeared in the profound darkness. 
 Whosoever fell was soon swallowed up in 
 the deep-bedded snow — their dying eyes last 
 opened on the darkness of that fearful 
 night. 
 
 Around and within Dorogobuge the army 
 encamped ^ after this terrible day. With 
 bruised and stiffened limbs, the soldiers 
 reached their resting-place. To the weary, 
 the sick, and the wounded, every step had 
 been a torture ; and yet the tBoublesome pre- . 
 parations for the bivouac were now to be 
 made, and straw and food for the horses, and 
 wood and provisions for themselves, to be pro- 
 cured. With his accustomed zeal and activi- 
 ty, Rasinski had succeeded in securing a 
 miserable house, which gave shelter at least 
 to half of his men. He remained outside 
 himself, by persuasion and example to en- 
 courage the wearied soldiers to complete 
 their work for the day by cutting wood, 
 bringing provisions, and clearing the snow 
 from the place where they were to sleep. 
 With sorrow he found, however, that fifteen 
 of his solcliers were missing. He entertained 
 no hopes of seeing them again. In addition 
 to this, twenty-three horses had died. Where 
 would it end? The darker coming events 
 appeared, the more Rasinski felt the necessi- 
 ty of showing an unclouded front to the pres- 
 ent^that they who derived their courage from 
 bis might not look up to him in vain. He 
 spoke kindly to them, consoled them, and ak- 
 
 *i': 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
 ■a 
 
 Jf 
 
 # • 
 
909 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 rf 
 
 horted them to observe order and keep their 
 courage undaunted. 
 
 The firm, confident tone of his words, the 
 
 undeniable truth of them, and his clear brow 
 
 restored the hope of even tlie most despond- 
 
 4i ing ; and thus trust and fidelity flourished 
 
 even in their hour of distress. 
 
 Some men approached, carrying fresh-cut 
 A wood, and a spot was cleared from the snow, 
 on which a fire was built. It was a long 
 time before it caught, as the wood was 
 young and wet ; but after an hour that embar- 
 rassment was also conquered, and through 
 the foresight of Rasinski — there being some 
 provisions at hand, which he sparingly but 
 equally divided among them — ^the over-wea- 
 ried soldiers were partially recruited. 
 , Louis was exhausted to the last degree ; 
 *" the thought, however, of his lonely sister, and 
 
 her inconsolable grief in case he should be 
 lost, had given his weak frame strength to 
 endure the hardships under which he often 
 believed he should sink ; and perhaps would, 
 if Bernard with his energetic temperament 
 had not faithfully supported him. How would 
 it be when these trials were redoubled ? He 
 ^ trembled inwardly at the thought, which could 
 not be wholly suppressed. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 Sbiolknsko, "the promised land," lay at 
 last before the gaze of the exhausted soldiers. 
 Its dark pinnacles and towers rose gloomily 
 above thef white fields of Ivan. There lay 
 the promised shelter from the raging ele- 
 ments — there, food to satisfy the cravings of 
 that hunger now preying upon its own vitals 
 — there warmth for the frozen limbs — there 
 rest for the weary, strength for the fee- 
 ble, and a new life for the exhausted in mind 
 and body. 
 
 The ten thousand Greeks did not again 
 gaze upon the blue waters of the Ar- 
 chipelago with more rapture, nor did the 
 storm-worn crew of Christopher Columbus 
 pour out their warm thanks to the Almighty 
 for their success with more fervent gratitude, 
 than did these unhappy men, whwi they at 
 length caught sight of the haven which 
 would put an end to their miseries. Exulta- 
 tion was visible on their pale, thin faces ; and 
 a last spark of courage and strength light- 
 ed up even in the weakest and most weary 
 hearts. 
 
 The advanced guard was already within 
 an hour's march of the walls of the lortressr 
 when from both sides of the road stragglers 
 began to appear. Singly, and in small par- 
 
 ties at first, bat soon in larger bodies, these i* 
 
 starved spectres, no longer maintaining the - 
 appearance of soldiers, rejoined the line. 
 These were the men who had lost or thrown 
 away their arms — who had broken all ties of 
 discipline and obedience ; and entertaining ^ 
 
 the hope that alone, sdecting their own road, 
 and following their own will, they would bet- 
 ter secure their safety — had dared to plunge 
 into the unknown wilderness in search of 
 that shelter and food which they had found 
 was denied to them while remaining with 
 their regiments. Thus they wandered by 
 hundreds like gangs 'of robbers, and hovered 
 about the army, in front, in rear, and on the 
 flanks. 
 
 'i^he wild Btare of hunger gleamed in J| 
 their rapacious eyes, already inflamed with 
 disease or begrimmed with dirt and smoke ^ 
 filthy rags alone covered the emaciated bo- f^ 
 
 dies of these marauders, who like harpies * 
 grasped at and defended everything within 
 their reach. No persuasion could restrain, 
 no force control a ferocity that bordered oft 
 insanity.- Wheresoever they found aught 
 that could be eaten, they fell upon it like 
 beasts of prey, and devoured it in so furious 
 a haste, that many fell choked to the ground < 
 
 and expired. No example, however, could - 
 
 deter those who came after ; in a state of de- 
 lirium they rushed into the same danger, not- 
 withstanding their comrades had perished be- 
 fore their eyes. The bowlings and groanings 
 of the dying made no impression, nor was a 
 glance of compassion cast upon them. Each 
 recognised himself alone, and the present 
 moment, as the only period of life. 
 
 These terrible marauders appeared sud- * 
 denly, as accident sooner or later brought 
 them to the road from the nearest forests 
 through which they had made their way. At 
 a short distance from the city the crowds be- 
 came so large that the regiments of the " Old" • 
 and "Young" Guard that yet maintained some 
 discipline were alone, and with difficulty, ena- * 
 bled to penetrate. The sides of the valley, 
 which here forms the bed of the Bnieper, 
 drew nearer to a point and contracted the 
 space of the road. On both sides, these va- 
 gabonds made their appearance, endeavoring 
 to clamber down the slopes, covered with 
 snow and ice, and reach the road. As they 
 rushed down, numbers slipped or stahibled 
 and rolled over, reddening the snow with the 
 blood from their hands and faces, which were - ~ 
 lacerated by the sharp ice. The cries of '' 
 these miseraWe beings as they fell, unable 
 again to rise, were unheard or unheeded. 
 
 The gales of the wty were now visible. — 
 Even among the Old Guard, a military corps 
 consolidated by the strictest discipline, order 
 could no longer be fully preservea ; numbers 
 like hungry tigers rushed from the ranks to * 
 
 \ * 
 
 \ .^.wi- 
 
NAPOiSEON'S INTASiaN OF RUSSIA. 
 
 sat 
 
 be the first t» reach the place of refuge. And 
 the temptation and the evil were the greater 
 since many of those gangs of stapving 
 wretches, who had traversed the forests as 
 deserters and plunderers, had already reached 
 the walls of the <;ity and thronged about them 
 in the wildest confusion. 
 
 For hours many of these wretches, rigid 
 with cold, and tormented with hunger, had, 
 under the very walls of tlieir refuge, vainly 
 implored the mercy of those within, who had 
 with9ut pity closed the gates of the place. 
 
 Tlie marching troops heard these dreadful 
 bowlings for food, mingled as they were with 
 heart-rending cries of agony. Under a like 
 apprehension of perishing, they rushed forth 
 from their linetftnd endeavored, as ^uch as 
 their weakened strength would permit, to get 
 the start of each other. In vain Marshal 
 Bessieres threw himself in the way of those 
 who ceased to obey — in vain the officers en- 
 deavored to restrain them by force. The tu- 
 mult threatened to spread throughout the 
 whole column, when suddenly the Emperor 
 appeared in front, and by a sign commanded 
 a halt. Respect for the sacred, person of their 
 great chief, in whom they put their last con- 
 fidence during these times of distress, brought 
 even the roost daring back to their senses. 
 
 " Soldiers, return to your ranks !" he said 
 ia an austere voice. He was instantly 
 obeyed. 
 
 He now rode forward at the head of the 
 troops himself, and in mournful silence, and 
 preserving the strictest order, the soldiers 
 marched into the town. 
 
 Rasinski with his regiment followed im^ 
 mediately after the Old Guard. Only half 
 were on, horseback : the others- walking, while 
 their horses tugged in front at the gun-car- 
 riages. As they rode over the ridge of the 
 valley, Louis pointed with his hand across 
 the field, saying to Bernard — 
 
 " Do you remember that castle yonder ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Bernard, " I thought it was 
 %urnt down : it stands tolerably safe on its 
 legs yet. 
 
 " I hardly know why, bat I feel singularly 
 towards that venecable pile, with its towers 
 and pinnacles," said Louie. 
 
 " The same with me ; and we are, I believe, 
 less easily recognised than the castle: for 
 wh^ I look at yoilr long beard and the black 
 lines of smoke in your face, I can easily 
 ^ imagine- my own appearance. It would be 
 worth while to have our likenesses taken, to 
 show the people of Germany and France 
 what a figure the victorious French army 
 cut on its second visit to Smolensko." 
 
 "Be comforted, friends," said Rasinski, 
 leaning back; " a time of rest will come : we 
 shall then find opportunities of appearing 
 • more to our taste. ' 
 
 They rode now through the gate of the 
 
 upper town ; the eastern past is situate oa 
 the height, and llie western below on the op- 
 posite bank of the Dnieper. While travers- 
 ing tl^ street, they looked ominously at each 
 other. 
 
 " Truly," said Bernard, in a low voice, to 
 Louis, " Smolensko does not look much like 
 proving our Capua." 
 
 " If the whole town is as desolate," an- 
 swered Louis, " it will not offer us more to 
 eat than the road on which we came hither.'* 
 
 " I don't understand how we shall ever be 
 able to boll even an ounce of rice here," 
 whispered Bernard. " Look ! — the window- 
 frames are all broken out. Every small piece 
 of wood has been seized." 
 
 " And yet, I think we had better take pos- 
 session in time," answered Louis ; " for when 
 those wretches shall have forced an entrance 
 tliere will not one stone be left on another." 
 
 " I think so too," replied Rasinski, who had 
 heard the whole conversation ; " and I am 
 determined without delay to carry tlie right 
 of the first occupant into efiect : yet, I hope 
 to find the lower town in a better cwadition." 
 
 " Those carcasses yonder," said Bernard^ 
 pointing to a by-lane, " promise nothing good. 
 To me they appear exactly as if the flesh 
 only but half-an-hour ago had been torn <^. 
 However poor my steed is, I would not dare 
 to tie him up here ; ten minutes, and I would 
 hardly find anything but bones in his place." 
 
 " There must be abundance of provisions," 
 observed Rarfnski, " or the orders of the Em- 
 peror have been wofully neglected." 
 
 An adjutant interrupted the conversation 
 by traopnitting an order to turn to the 
 right, where the quarters of the cavalry were 
 fixed. 
 
 With the small number yet surrounding 
 him, Rasinski led the way thrcmgh a crook- 
 ed, half-destroyed lane, and reached an open 
 place where a few large sUxie buildings, 
 which probably had been used for ware- 
 houses, afforded stables for the horses in 
 the lower parts, and q^uarters for the men 
 overhead. Even there the houses were 
 round totally empty, in the upper parts only 
 remained a ^Vindow-frame here and there ; 
 the doors had been lifted off their hinges, the 
 planks torn up from the floors. J^totwith- 
 standing, these half<lestrc^ed buildings af- 
 forded a dry shelter, and if they could only 
 procure wood and provisions, and straw and 
 feed for their horses, the halt there seemed 
 to promise a tiote of luxury in comparison 
 with their former exigent state. 
 
 In a few minutes their quarters were oc- 
 cupied and the horses put into the stables. 
 Rasinski 's indefatigable care had been at- 
 ' tended with such good results that since the 
 day at Dorogobuge he had kept all his men 
 but a few who had died of exhaustion. It 
 now bec»me his first duty to dispatch Bolea- 
 
 1.1^.. JSi> 
 
SOI 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR. 
 
 Itms for the rations and Jaromir for horso 
 feed, each accompanied by a proper number 
 of men. 
 
 Boleslaus took twelve, and started for the 
 magazines. Here he found an indescribable 
 tumult. No sooner had it been made known 
 that provisions were stored there, than the 
 
 • hungry soldiers and marauders, like a horde 
 of wolves round a carcass, thronged the 
 doors and filled the air with their cries and 
 bowlings. Several succeeded, in spite of 
 the sentries, in breaking open the doors, when 
 in blind voracity they rushed upon the sup- 
 plies and devoured them raw. In this most 
 found their death ; and what nad been suffi- 
 cient for saving hundreds \^s uselessly 
 wasted, to satisfy the furious desires of a 
 few. Though fearful the extremity, it be- 
 came necessary to put an end to this lawless 
 violence. The Inspectors of the magazines 
 were obliged to call up regular troops, with 
 bayonets and swords, to keep their own com- 
 rades off. The tumultuous crowds were 
 fired upon and dispersed ; they left the ground 
 covered with dead. 
 
 Through this frightful scene Boleslaus 
 had to make his way ; he performed his 
 duty with earnest, but at the same time with 
 4|itbe most painful feelings. Even those who 
 were authorised to receive provisions were 
 so numerous, that hours passed away before 
 he could obtain what he was entitled to. It 
 was with the greatest difficulty that upon 
 receiving his supplies he reached the quar- 
 ters of the regiment. 
 
 Jaromir had been luckier, for at the maga- 
 zines of horse-feed the crowds had not been 
 so large. 
 
 As soon as Boleslaus made his report, Ra- 
 sinski shook his head, saying, 
 
 " These are critical signs ! We shall not 
 be able to stay here long — wo must exert 
 ourselves manfully if we expect ever to 
 reach the confines of Poland. Under such 
 a totaj absence of discipline, a resolute 
 atta4;k would destroy us. I sent Bernard 
 and Louis to procure ammunition ; but few 
 regiments had applied before them. When 
 the soldier no longer thinks of defence, what 
 may not be the result? Even to receive 
 their pay not a third have appeared." 
 
 " Give them only two days to refresh them- 
 selves ; they will then be more accessible to 
 admonition, and \vill return to obedience !" 
 said Boleslaus. 
 
 " Will it not then be too late ? Have they 
 not thrown away their arms ? Are they not 
 already an incumbrance to the obedient and 
 willing, without doing anything for their 
 own support or delivery ? The Emperor 
 must be enraged at such conduct." 
 
 Jaromir, Bernard and Louis came in from 
 the stables. 
 
 •• It is the first time the horses have been 
 
 really well fed since we left Moscow,''' saH 
 Jaromir. " By well fed, I mean that we 
 have given them half chaff, half hay, and 
 together not the third of the usual allow- 
 ance ; yet one can see how the animals rel- 
 ish it !" * 
 
 " Well, then let us think of ourselves," 
 said Rasinski. " For a long time it is the 
 first repast we have taken together, sitting 
 under a roof." 
 
 After the repast, their fatigues soon closed 
 their eye-Hds— undisturbed by the pain of 
 stiffened limbs or those half-roasted by their 
 too near proximity to the fire. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. -• 
 
 It was bright day when they awoke ; but 
 perhaps they would have rested longer, had 
 not hunger awakened them. Fortunately 
 they could this time satisfy it. Rasinski 
 left to try if it were possible to procure suffi- 
 cient food for the residue of their march. 
 
 During his absence Regnard visited their 
 quarters and informed them that a general 
 had been arrested at Paris, Mallet by name, 
 who had been endeavoring to raise a revolt 
 by forged testimonials of the Emperor's 
 death ; and that although the new dynasty 
 had survived its birth only a few hours, yet 
 the news of it had made a deep impression 
 on the Emperor, who exclaimed to Count 
 Daru : 
 
 " What if we had remained at Moscow !" 
 
 " Is this the intelligence which has just 
 arrived?" inquired Bernard. 
 
 " At Dorogobuge the Emperor had already 
 received the dispatches," continued Regnard, 
 " but he thought it necessary to keep them 
 secret. It is said, too, that bad news is in 
 from the rear. At Viazma a severt engage- 
 ment has been fought, in which we have 
 lost many men. Prince Beauhamais was 
 obliged to leave half his artillery and all the 
 baggage at the swollen Vop, over which he 
 could not effect his passage -with sufficient 
 rapidity. But fortunately, it did not faU a 
 prey to the Cossacks, for it was all destroyed 
 by being blown up. But the rear divisions 
 are reported to have suffered dreadfully, 
 which is credible enough when we consider 
 what we ourselves have lost by hunger and 
 cold ! Those marching after us 'must have 
 found less than we ourselves, and have also 
 had to defend themselves from the enemy." 
 
 Jaromir had silently retired while Regnard 
 spoke ; amid such desolation and misery, 
 the fortunes of Alisette were not indifferent 
 to him. He felt pity for the unfortunate, 
 
 M 
 
 #. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 20^ 
 
 «■■*.■ 
 
 whos0 indiscretion would now be so fearfully 
 punished. During these last days his extra- 
 ordinary exertions and sufferings had insen- 
 sibly but powerfully drawn his thoughts 
 away from the grief on which it ordinarily 
 * meditated. But a brief hour of rest and re- 
 lief had arrived, and immediately this old 
 enerny revived within him. 
 
 Bernard and Louis followed Regnard 
 down into the street. The parties had be- 
 come well acquainted with each other since 
 the commencement of their disastrous retreat 
 from Malo-Jaroslawetz. They now enjoyed 
 for the first time since that day an opportu- 
 nity of changing their clothes and making 
 their persons comfortable. 
 
 The shoes of the men having wholly given 
 out, on Bernard and Louis, was imposed 
 the task of repairing to the depots to obtain a 
 fresh supply. Ou this errand they set out 
 with but precarious chances. 
 
 Arrived at the depot, they soon came up 
 with two commissaries, who stood with their 
 backs towards them. Hearing the sound of 
 approaching steps^, these turned about — to- the 
 amazement not only of the strangers them- 
 selves, but also of Louis and Bernard. 
 
 " Ah ! met once more 1" said the young- 
 est coinmissary, rubbing his hands, while a 
 sinister smile stole over his features. In the 
 strangers, Louis and Bernard recognised 
 Beaucaire and St. Luces ! 
 
 '•Gen d'armes'" called Beaucaire, be- 
 fore Louis could utter a word, " arrest these 
 men instantly and take them to the guard ! 
 They are traitors that have sold themselves 
 to Russia I" 
 
 It was only by these words that Bernard 
 discovered whp he had before him y for he 
 had spoken to Beaucaire in Dresden but a 
 few minutes in the street, and though his 
 physiognomy had impressed itself upon his 
 memory, the vast differerice in his present 
 appearance had for a moment confused his 
 otherwise acccurate ken. In an instant 
 rage took possession of his faculties. 
 
 " Thou liest, villain !" he "exclaimed in 
 great excitement, and stepping bltek a pace 
 or two be drew his sword. " Whoever ap- 
 proaches me, i will instantly pass this sabre 
 through his b^^dy !" 
 
 Louis also soon perceived that resolute 
 action furi^islied the only chance of escape, 
 in a twinkling lie bestowed a powerful kick 
 upon the gen d'anne, grasping bis arm and 
 threw him down in the snow: the next mo- 
 ment this functionary's sword was in his 
 grasp. 
 
 in the neighborhood were soldiers. 
 
 " Comrades, help ! help !" cried. Bernard. 
 " These rascals, who let us starve of hunger, 
 are about to add murder to abuse and rob- 
 bery!" 
 
 But as is always the case in excitement, 
 these words were uttered in a foreign tongue. 
 They were, therefore, but imperfectly under- 
 stood; Bernard was looked upon as a for- 
 eigner, and unfortunately, upon foreigners the 
 French soldiers had begun to look with sus- 
 picion. They believed, and perhaps not 
 erroneously, that their allies, especially the gk 
 Germans, silently rejoiced at the misfortunes ^ 
 in which the Emperor and his army were in- 
 volved. St. Luces, adroitly availing himself 
 of this feeling, called out in French : 
 
 "These are German traitors !— the paid 
 spies of Russia !" 
 
 Words producing a fearful effect ! The 
 French soldiers, easily excited, and of a quick * 
 temperament, instantly set about attacking 
 the victims thus pointed out to their ven- 
 geance. Bernard would not surrender, but * 
 Louis endeavored to restrain him. 
 
 " Do not attempt violence ; we might do 
 some, mischief !" said he. " Rasinski will 
 not desert us ; upon him we must rely." 
 
 Bernard continued to express his indigna- 
 tion in gestures of defiance, and in half- 
 uttered execrations. 
 
 . " We are your prisoners, sir," said Louis, 
 addressing himself to St. Luces; "we shall 
 demand a speedy inquiry into this extraordi- ^ 
 nary accusation. We are soldiers of the 
 Polish array — Count Rasinski is our com- 
 mander ; he will know how to protect us — 
 I request that you instantly make him ac- 
 quainted with our arrest." • 
 
 The gen d'armes took away the young 
 men's swords, who, by the order of St. Luces, 
 were led into the building. The subaltern 
 officer would have put them into the guard- 
 room near the door, where the magazine 
 guard was stationed, but Beaucaire inter- 
 posed : * 
 
 " No r they are criminals who have for- . 
 felted their lives. They must be put under 
 close confinement. Let it be in one of the 
 dungeons near the fosse. 
 
 " Louis," said Bernard, as they walked to 
 their prison, " I fear we have been very fool- ♦ 
 ish in neglecting either weapons or flight. 
 Who knows if Rasinski will ever learn what 
 has become of us until too late for interfer- , 
 ence !" 
 
 Louis seemed to be struck with the truth 
 of this remark. His own generous nature 
 would not allow him hastily to ascribe so 
 great malice even to such an enemy as Beau- 
 caire. But he recollected that perhaps no 
 one more than Beaucaire had more need of 
 avoiding publicity, even in this matter ; he 
 thought of the proposals that had been made 
 by the wretch to his sister ; and it became 
 fatally certain that baseness like this would 
 not hesitate to seek the vilest means of 
 revenge. He cast a look at the sergeant of 
 
im 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 the gen d'armes who accompanied them at 
 the head of three men. 
 
 " You are a soldier !" said Louis to the 
 man ; " you will not refuse a comrade a 
 favor?" , 
 
 " None that my duty does not forbid," 
 said the kind-hearted sergeant. 
 .^ " Wc are innocent. We are the victims 
 
 of a malicious plot. If our Colonel, Count 
 Rasinski, does not hear of our arrest, we are 
 lost. Give me your word you will let him 
 know it ?" 
 
 " Certainly I will, if my orders are not 
 against it." 
 
 " He will well recompense you for it ! 
 Accept of my thanks in advance ;" and Louis 
 in his gratitude was about to transfer his 
 purse to the hands of the sergeant. But 
 the man drew back a pace. 
 
 " No bribery," said he, touching the cross 
 on his breast ; " I shall do my duty as a 
 friend, but as a soldier: away, witlf your 
 money. How can this help us here ? We 
 have plenty and to spare of this useless 
 trash !" 
 
 " You are a man of honor. Let us at least 
 shake hands in token of friendship and ffood 
 faith." 
 ^ The sergeant silently but honestly held 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Here we are at the end of x)ur walk," 
 said he, and at the same time opened a door 
 bound ijith iron, and descended a flight of 
 stairs, at the bottom of which they turned 
 into a passage on the right hand, and ap- 
 proached a second door, which the sergeant 
 unlocked. Bernard and Louis entered their 
 dismal prison, and the door was instantly 
 closed upon them. 
 
 It was a damp, cold vault — a small round 
 hole, about the size df a man's head, was the 
 only aperture for light and ventilation. 
 
 '' What an accursed place," murmured 
 Bernard — "Cold as ice itself, and wet besides. 
 The chamber of Death ! Only see ; the 
 ^ walls are covered witli a tapestry of half- 
 frozen vapor as thick as one's finger. Bah I 
 the smell of it is poison ! Are we left to 
 make our bed upon the naked floor ? Not a 
 place to lie down, or materials for sleeping. 
 It's a mercy of Heaven we have our cloaks ; 
 or we should freeze to death before sun- 
 set." 
 
 " I hope we shall be set at liberty before 
 that time," s tid Louis, striving to convey an 
 expression of hope. 
 
 " Orestes i" e.vclaimed Bernard. " Let me 
 then be thy Pylades." And he embraced 
 him with a cordiality too ardent to admit a 
 doubt of its sincerity. 
 
 An hour, and yet a second elapsed ; they 
 waited in vain to be called before their 
 judges The coldness in the damp vault 
 
 seemed to mcrease every moment. Itonnd 
 about, the walls were covered with fine 
 crystals of ice, and the floor was even here 
 and there covered with snow, as the wind 
 had driven it in through tlw barred window. 
 Their weariness induced the prisoners to lie 
 down upon the stone floor ; but the cold soon 
 forced them to rise again. Only in the con- 
 stant exercise of walking could they defend 
 themselves against the torpidity of cold. 
 Their hands and feet were already benumbed. 
 Thus passed hour after hour^ it began to 
 grow dark. Louis became momentarily 
 more uneasy ; Bernard whistled away his 
 pains and sorrows. 
 
 " I fear," said Louis at last, " Rasinski 
 does not know what has become of us. Oth- 
 erwise we should ere this have heard from 
 him." 
 
 " Time appears long to us, my friend, in 
 this cage ! We have only been a few hours 
 in this place. Who knows what tedious 
 proceedings must be gone through, before he 
 can get at us ?" 
 
 Louis was silent ; grief pressed heavily 
 upon him. 
 
 "Good thought! I recollect something, 
 Louis," Bernard suddenly exclaimed. — 
 " When the Terrorists were condemned 
 by the Directory to exile in Guiana, I believe 
 among them was a Collot d'Herbois, the bad 
 actor, but who, nevertheless, succeeded ad- 
 mirably in enacting the part of a tyrant." 
 For the purpose of accustoming them, to 
 limited fare in the wilderness, they were fed 
 during the voyage on half-allowance of 
 ship's rations. The poor wretches began 
 to roar out lustily for food. At length the 
 captain, annoyed by their incessant clamor, 
 directed more food to be thrown to them to 
 stop their throats. So we ought to do now — 
 thunder at the door till somebody takes no- 
 tice." 
 
 With this he kicked violently against the 
 door, so that the hollow sound reached 
 through the vault. But he fell back, ex- 
 hausted m so useless an effort. 
 
 " FuriOT !" he exclaimed, grinding his 
 teeth horribly — " I did not think of the in- 
 tolerable pain of frozen feet. It felt as if 
 the foot had come between the hammer and 
 anvil. But I was rightly serv'cd. Patience 
 is wisdom's true doctrine, and it is folly to 
 battle Avith our destiny." 
 
 At this moment they heard the bolts of the 
 outer door withdrawn, and footsteps descend- 
 ing the stairs. 
 
 « It has done some good after all !" said 
 Louis, aroused. 
 
 Full of expectation, both directed thtjir 
 eyes towards the door. The sergeant enter- 
 ed with his men. 
 
 "I have received orders, to lead you to 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 907 
 
 your examination," said he ; '' follow me." 
 
 Accompanied by the soldiers, they left the 
 dungeon. They were conducted through 
 the yard. 
 
 " Have you attended to my request ?" 
 whispered Louis. 
 
 The sergeant returned a look which 
 plainly intimated silence. They were duly 
 ushered into a large vaulted roooi. On a 
 table at the end of it burned a Jight. At 
 their first entrance they almost swooned, 
 for the room being very highly heated, and 
 they themselves nearly frozen, the sudden 
 change proved too powerful to support. The 
 ii sergeant, remarking it, ordered them to sit 
 down upon a bench by the wall, and to 
 remain there until he returned. Leaving 
 the three men to guard them, he entered an 
 adjoining room. 
 
 " Have you not a morsel of bread, com- 
 rades ?" said Bernard ; " we are almost 
 . fainting with hunger." 
 
 One of the men pulled a piece of black 
 bread from his pocket, broke it in two, and 
 handed it to Bernard. 
 
 " Take it," said he, " but more I cannot 
 give you. That was all my ration to-day, 
 and God knows whether we shall get more 
 to-morrow !" 
 
 At this moment the sergeant came in 
 again. He saw Bernard dividing the bread 
 with Louis, and demanded, 
 
 " From whom did you get that bread ?" 
 
 " Prom me," said the soldier, firmly, step- 
 ping forth and recovering arms. 
 
 " Thou art a brave man, Cottin, but thou 
 hast done wrong. I did not wish to see any- 
 thing. Do you remain standing sentry be- 
 fore the door. You. others, down again to 
 the guard-room." 
 
 The soldiers left the room. 
 
 " I coiild not execute your commission in 
 time," said the (lergeant, now accosting 
 
 Louis 
 
 " for Count Rasinski had orders 
 
 With his Polish Lancers forthwith to join 
 the corps of Marshal Ney. He had been 
 gone two hours, when I went to s^k him." 
 
 Stunning news for the unhappy listeners ! 
 The prisoners both turned deadly pale. At 
 this moment a bell rung in the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 " I must lead you in," said the sergeant, 
 to Louis ; " you are the firet to be heard." 
 
 "Bernard," said Louis, turning to his 
 friend, "thou canst save thyself; promise 
 me that thou art willing to do so. If 1 am 
 here to be made a vi(;tim, consider that thou 
 must be the brother of my sister." 
 
 " Keep thy head above water, friend !" 
 
 replied Bernard — but he failed to catch the 
 
 offered hand of Louis. " Who will condemn 
 
 iiee ? Yield not an inch to any one of 
 
 hem." . 
 
 " Away, away," cried the sergeant ; 
 
 " there's no time for delay." 
 
 Louis stepped boldly forward, and reso- 
 lutely passed through the room to the pres- 
 ence of his judges. 
 
 Bernard remained alone. He stretched 
 himself upon the bfinch to sleep, but he had 
 exacted too fnuch from his will. Heavier # 
 than the burthen of weariness — that of sor- » 
 row lay upon his soul. Luckily for him, the 
 examination lasted not long ; for, within a 
 quarter of an hour appeared the sergeant, to 
 summon him also. 
 
 " What has become of my friend ?" were 
 his first wordd. 
 
 " I jdo not know," was the answer ; and in 
 the mien of the- austere soldier one could 
 read that he woUld answer nothing, whatever 
 he might know. 
 
 With a bold face Bernard walked into the 
 room. At a long table there sat St. Luces 
 and Beaucaire ; two younger men sat oppo- 
 site to them, closely occupied in writing. 
 
 " We ought to know each other," said St. 
 Luces, looking sharply at Bernard. 
 
 " 'Tis possible," replied Bernard, " but I 
 know not how I came to have that honor." 
 
 The contemp^ous tone in which he ut- 
 tered these words gave them a significant 
 sense. 
 
 " Indeed ! — very agreeable, pleasant, truly. 
 Perhaps this countenance also is not quite 
 unknown to you," said Beaucaire, raising an 
 object lying before him. It was Bianca's 
 portrait, found in Louis' pocket. 
 
 " I drew it," Bernard carelessly answered. 
 
 " I think I remember that very well," re- 
 marked Beaucaire ; " it was probably at the 
 theatre in London." 
 
 These words fell like a bright flash upon 
 Bernard's heart. He looked sharply at Beau- 
 caire, and suddenly the darkness of his me- 
 mory was dispelled. He had seen this same 
 man sitting in the box with Bianca. All his 
 feelings were instantly enlisted in the hope of 
 soon hearing something touching the subject 
 that exerci!«ed so deep an influence upon his • 
 and Louis" fortunes. Forgetting the relation 
 in which he now stood before Beaucaire, he 
 hurriedly exclaimed — 
 
 " Who is this lady ? You ought to know, 
 sir, for you were in her company." 
 
 Beaucaire smiled like a demon. 
 
 " You see, Monsieur St. Luces," he said, 
 turning to the party accosted, " we have to 
 deal with fine people. The gentlemen assume 
 their part with great tact." 
 
 " Sir I" exclaimed Bernard. 
 
 " Silence !" replied Beaucaire, suddenly 
 assuming the tone of a commander. " Do 
 you think if it had not seemed convenient to 
 us for other purposes, we should allow this 
 insolent tone in a criminal like you ?" 
 
 uv£&^.j(«&k.. ■io.A.^,. 
 
308 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 ■ Bernard's eye rolled wildly. Not the in- 
 solence of Beaucaire, but bis own rising 
 wrath, bereft him for a moment of speech. 
 He cast an anxious glance around the room, 
 as if in search of a weapon. Beaucaire as- 
 cribed his silence to fear, and continued : 
 
 " Now, reply to the questions I shall put 
 to you. How came you into the service of 
 the Grand Army ?" 
 
 Bernard's first ebullition had subsided. He 
 felt that he must soar proudly above the base 
 villain before him. This he could not better 
 do than by observing that solemn silence 
 which but now had been imposed upon 
 him. 
 
 " Did you not hear my question ? How 
 came you in the army ?" 
 
 Bernard took a chair that stood near by, 
 moved it forward to himself, and sitting 
 down there, without farther ceremony began 
 whistling a tune. 
 
 Beaucaire grew pale with passion. 
 
 " Sergeant!" he exclaimed, after some mo- 
 ments, " lead the prisoner back to his con- 
 finement !" 
 
 In obedience to the command, the sergeant 
 stepped up to Bernard, nodded towards the 
 door, and marched with his prisoner out of 
 the room. 
 
 Beaucaire then ordered both writers to re- 
 tire. He was alone with St. Luces. 
 
 " A damned process !" exclaimed St. Lu- 
 ces, rising. " I do not see what we can ac- 
 complish with these obstinate Germans, be- 
 yond sligiit appearances. Your passion, 
 Beaucaire, has thrown us into a dilemma of 
 a most disagreeable nature." 
 
 " I am confident we shall find the way out," 
 replied the cold-blooded Beaucaire, not with- 
 out a certain pride in the superiority of his 
 daring. " We have testimony that one of the 
 prisoners acknowledges this portrait to have 
 been drawn by his hand. This circumstance 
 alone impresses me with a strong conviction 
 that both of them have been in secret coa- 
 nexion with Dolgorow. This will be suffi- 
 cient for a convincing report. Who allowed 
 this Dolgorow to escape over the boundary ? 
 Was it not this fellow, in conjunction with 
 his accomplice ?" 
 
 " Do not carry the matter too far," said 
 St. Luces, bitterly. "Of existing connec- 
 tions, at least, we will make no mention. 
 Who wants to prove too much, generally 
 proves nothing." 
 
 " M. St. Luces," replied Beaucaire, some- 
 what piqued, " allow this to be a matter of 
 mine. The circumstance that we even find 
 these two men here at Smolensko, in the vi- 
 cinity of which is Dolgorow's chateau, ought 
 not to remain unnoticed." 
 
 " You have yourself told me," answered 
 St. Luces, " that you have never seen this 
 
 property, and that you do not know even tbe 
 name of it or its locality," 
 
 " It is true," interrupted Beaucaire ; " but 
 my ignorance in this matter is satisfactorily 
 accounted for by the fact of my having en- 
 tered Dolgorow's service only in London, * 
 when I could not possibly acquire any know- 
 ledge of his private and domestic affairs. I 
 only accompanied him on his travels. Bo- 
 sides which, my occupation as secretary in 
 no respect rielated to mere family affairs — all 
 of which he himself took care of. The less 
 the proof tbe more room for conjecture — 
 sayl." 
 
 St. Luces paced up and down the room, = 
 peevish and disquieted. 
 
 " I know not what it is that really disgusts 
 rae in this matter. Is it that this Master Von 
 Rosen is linked to somebody whom once I 
 knew ? — Or is it some other fancy that de- 
 ludes me 2 — Be it what it may, I fear an un- 
 fortunate result." 
 
 Beaucaire smiled. i 
 
 " I pledge myself to its auspicious termi- 
 nation. Count Rasinski can no longer be 
 dangerous to us ; he is away, and I believe,"^ 
 he added, with a sardonic grin, " we shall 
 not see much more of him or his regiment." 
 
 " The Emperor esteems him. Should he 
 lay a complaint " 
 
 " He would lose thereby the favor of the 
 Emperor. Or, do you believe it to be a re- 
 commendation that two spies are serving in 
 his regiment ? And consider how angry the 
 Emperor is with us and our colleagues, be- 
 cause he did not find the magazines as he 
 expected. I heard of an inspector in the np- 
 jter town whom yesterday he ordered to be 
 shot. If he finds time to examine our ac- 
 counts and supplies, you know that " 
 
 St. Luces bit his lips. 
 
 " What, therefore^ can be more- advanta- 
 geous to us than to draw him favorably to- 
 wards us by some proof of our zeal ? Such 
 an opportunity as this could not happen more 
 fortuitously -^ for the Emperor's suspicions of 
 foreign i^nfederacies are increased every 
 day: an* since the last events at Paris he 
 has become quite alarpied. Our prisoners 
 are mutual friends, and wTiat is more — Ger- 
 mans ; they serve probably under fictitious 
 names ; and, above all, are found in the ranks 
 of a Polish reginuent. This last alone is suf- 
 ficient to render them just objects of suspi- 
 cion." 
 
 " Well, then," exclaimed St. Luces, " do 
 what you please ; but I absolve luyself of tbe 
 consequences." 
 
 "Do you resign to me the emoluments 
 also ?" asked Beaucaire, sarcastically. 
 
 " Certainly, in this matter, Monsieur de . 
 Beaucaire," replied St. Luces proudly. 
 
 " It was not I who introduced the subject," i 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 909 
 
 said Beaucaire coldly. " Yon agree, then, 
 that I make up the report for the general in 
 tendant and hand it to him, for the purpose 
 of being laid before the Emperor ?" 
 
 " Do what you please." 
 
 " You will sign it with me ?" 
 
 " Since I cannot avoid it, yes." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Saying these words, Beaucaire went away. 
 
 Bernard was conducted back, not to the 
 cell, where death was certain during the 
 night, but to the guard-room, where, to his 
 great joy, he found Louis. Room was made 
 on the benches for the young men's repose ; 
 but entire silence was enjoined, under pain 
 of being thrust into their former prison. In 
 this unlooked-for accommodation the good- 
 ness of Sergeant Ferrand was appreciated. 
 Neither Louis nor Bernard opened their lips, 
 and thus passed the night 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 Morning had not yet dawned when the 
 sergeant vehemently shook Louis' arm, and 
 called on him to rise. He started up and so 
 did Bernard, awakened by the same hand 
 and voice. 
 
 " You are ordered up to the court-martial. 
 Q,uick I Here, take a warm dram and a 
 mouthful of food, that you may hear your 
 sentence with firmness." 
 
 Louis with difficulty recovered his senses, 
 yet half unconscious he took the bread of- 
 fered to him, and seized the bottle of warm 
 mead which the sergeant held in his hand. 
 
 " Are we now allowed to speak with each 
 other ?" asked Bernard. 
 
 " As much as you please, poor fellows ! — 
 Now you have all things freely granted 
 yon." 
 
 Bernard shrunk back. 
 
 " Is our sentence pronounced ?" he asked 
 quickly. 
 
 " You'll hear it but too soon," was the ser- 
 geant's answer. 
 
 " Tell us at once, I beseech you !" said 
 Louis in a quick, mournful voice. 
 
 " By Heaven!" exclaimed Ferrand, " it is 
 difficult for me to say any more to you ; for, 
 whatever you may have done, you are brave 
 soldiers. Would that you had fallen before 
 a battery. It is no pleasure, I assure you, to 
 take aim at a comrade." 
 
 " So we shall be shot ?" gasped Bernard, 
 not in fear, but agitation. 
 
 " Such is the sentence !" 
 
 " Holy Father {" exclaimed Bernard, as he 
 threw himself upon Louis' breast, and pressed 
 him vehemently in his arms. 
 14 
 
 The sergeant kindly touched Bernard's 
 shoulder, and said — 
 
 " Show yourself a man, comrade. Death 
 is near to us all. Who knows whether I 
 survive you long ? Do not give your accu- 
 sers the pleasure of seeing you tremble at 
 your fate." 
 
 " Tremble !" said Bernard, his eyes flash- 
 ing fire. " Lead on !" 
 
 Striding resolutely forward, they followed 
 their guide up into the council-room. They 
 found it vacant, but there lay some papers on 
 the table. 
 
 " That paper there contains the sentence," 
 said the sergeant, as be pointed to one 
 folded up, but with the seal broken. " It is 
 from the commissary-general. A quarter-of- 
 an-hour ago it arrived. I carried it up my- 
 self, and heard Baron de St. Luces read it." 
 
 " I should like to read it," said Louis. 
 
 " Let us see first if we are likely to be sur- 
 prised," observed the kind sergeant. 
 
 He opened the dOorof the adjoining room 
 and looked into it. 
 
 " They are still over yonder. Read — but 
 quickly." 
 
 Louis took the letter. Its contents ran 
 thus : 
 
 " I have presented your report to the' Em- 
 peiwr. ' If the suspicion amounts to a cer- 
 tainty, the delinquents must be shot without 
 further ceremony, for there needs an exam- 
 ple,' was his answer. If your representations 
 of the matter be religiously true, there can 
 be no doubt of their guilt. We have here 
 neither time nor opportunity to enter into long 
 examinations ; nor have we the means to 
 carry criminals along with us. Let the ex- 
 ecution, therefore, be instantly carried into 
 effect, and without the walls ; so that it may 
 cause no unnecessary alarm." 
 
 " So we may yet breathe an hour," said 
 Bernard, when Louis had replaced the letter 
 upon the table. " Well, well, let it come ; — 
 the world has more misery than joy !" 
 
 Here the door opened. St. Luces, Beau- 
 caire, and the two clerks entered, and took 
 their seats. 
 
 St. Luces prepared to speak first, but 
 seemed to be confused. Louis fooked un- 
 dauntedly in his face. Bernard fixed his 
 fierce glance upon him, as tliough he would 
 pierce his dastardly soul. 
 
 " The sentence of the council " began 
 
 St. Luces, with a wavering voice. 
 
 " Sentence of council ! — Sentence of des- 
 potism, you had better call it, sir !" interrupt- 
 ed Bernard. 
 
 " Do you defy us ?" exclaimed St. Luces, 
 more confused than angry or resolute. 
 
 " I defy everything, now. So do not seek 
 to iDtimidate me." 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 •* The sentence, Monsieur de Beaucaire," 
 said St. Luces, biting his lips. 
 
 Beaucaire, tlius exhorted, read the doom 
 of the victims, with a clear and unwavering^ 
 voice. 
 
 " f am condemned to death," said Louis ; 
 " although I know, before God, I am inno- 
 cent ; and 1 know further, that my friend 
 here is most iniquitously murdered, and has 
 never yet been guilty of any infringement of 
 your laws. I believe I possess, at least, the 
 right conceded to every criminal, of requiring 
 the execution of my last will. I therefore 
 demand my papers and my pocket-book." 
 
 " These must remain with the records," 
 replied Beaucaire, coldly ; " they contain the 
 proofs of your guilt." • 
 
 •' Well, to this also I must submit ! It is 
 not too late to ask for pen and paper ?" 
 
 Beaucaire took out his watch, and looked 
 inquiringly at St. Luces. But he received 
 no answer, either by gesture or words. 
 
 " Too late !" said Beaucaire ; " Sergeant, 
 are your men ready ?" 
 
 " They are, sir." 
 
 "Then let them enter. We must be 
 off!" 
 
 " Then this also is denied to me ? — a sa- 
 cred right, that is claimed by the meanest 
 criminal." 
 
 " Circumstances do not permit it," replied 
 St. Luces, not daring to raise his eyes up to 
 Louis. • 
 
 " Well, then," exclaimed Louis, with an 
 expression of noble indignation, "thus may 
 the crime you now perpetrate ^pon us here- 
 after fall upon your own heads ! Away ! — 
 I have nothing more to do upon earth but to 
 die !" 
 , Twelve armed men now marched in. 
 
 " Separate the prisoners !" said St. Luces. 
 
 The sergeant came between them ; but 
 they reached their hands to each other. — 
 Faithfully and calmly thpy looked in each 
 other's faces, and tears bedimmed their 
 sight. 
 
 " Farewell, brother !" exclaimed Louis, in 
 a manly and audible voice. 
 
 " To meet again !" said Bernard, solemnly 
 raising his hand up to heaven. 
 
 The soldiers parted them — each section 
 guarding its prisoner. 
 
 With steps that resounded gloomily, they 
 left the apartment. Passing by Beaucaire, 
 Bernard cast a look so terrible upon him, 
 that even this hardened villain turned pale. 
 
 St. Luces, remarking it, said — 
 
 " Let us take care of ourselves ; this rash 
 fellow is capable of anything.* 
 
 Both of them followed the detachment, at 
 seme distance. 
 
 They took their way through the yard, out 
 by a small side-door of the building. It was 
 
 yet but the grey of the morning : lingering 
 stars yet gave some light. Through desolate 
 and dreary lanes, where the fires of the bi- 
 vouac were yet smoking, and around which 
 were encircled dark linesof slumbering— or, 
 perhaps, frozen soldiers, they at length 
 reached the bridge of the Dnieper. Tfey 
 then marched through the upper town, and 
 arrived, finally, besiw the fortress-wall. A 
 few hundred paces from the wall was an 
 eminence, covered with snow, from which 
 protruded a dark pine thicket. This was the 
 place chosen for the execution. An officer 
 was stationed there, with a detachment of 
 twenty men. ft 
 
 The party halted upon reaching this emi- 
 nence. 
 
 " Here, then, is the end of our career," said 
 Louis, pointing to a marked place in the 
 snow, on which he was to receive death. 
 " This termination of our soldiership was 
 little dreamt of, when four months ago we 
 passed this place .'" 
 
 Bernard appeared to meditate. Something 
 evidently absorbed all his thoughts ; for he 
 answered not, although Louis stood quite 
 near him. 
 
 '* Pay attention, Louis !" he at length cau- 
 tiously whispered, "for we may, perhaps, 
 even yet escape. If we can but reach the 
 angle of that wood, we are saved ; mark those 
 three pines — let that be our rendezvous." 
 
 Louis trembled with re-awakened emo- 
 tion. His heart beat violently. He looked 
 towards the hill and saw the three pines, 
 standing relieved against the morning light. 
 Desire for life was rekindled in him. Hope 
 inspired energy, and great was the transition 
 from the gloom of approaching death to the 
 light of recovered hope-! 
 
 Seizing a favorable moment, Bernard sud- 
 denly knocked down the two foremost sol- 
 diers, spranff from amongst his guards, and 
 shouting toXiOuis to follow, bounded like a 
 roebuck towards the forest. He had cleared 
 the way for Louis, who. prepared for the sig- 
 nal, availed himself of the opening, and spnl 
 across the snowy field. The soldiers stood 
 astonished. " I* ire !" cried the officer ; and 
 a few obeyed the order; but already severa. 
 were in full pursuit of the fugitives, prevent- 
 ing the others from firing, lest they should 
 shoot their comrades. Seeing this, all threw 
 down their muskets and joined in the chase. 
 Louis sought to keep near Bernard, in order 
 not to sever his fate from that of his trusty 
 friend. But the number of their pursuers 
 soon forced them to tak»3 different directions. 
 The hunted and the hunters were alike im- 
 peded by the snow, which had been blown oft 
 the steep side of the hillock, but lay in thick 
 masses on the table-land, and at every Btep . 
 the feet eank deep. Already Louis saw the 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA, 
 
 Sll 
 
 daciky foliage of the pines close before him, 
 already he deemed himself to have escaped 
 his unjust doom, when suddenly he sank up 
 to the hips, and, by his^ext movement, up to 
 the breast in the snow, which had drifted into 
 a fissure in tlie earth. In vain he strained 
 every muscle to extricate himself. In a few 
 seconds his pursuers reached him, grappled 
 him unmercifully, and pulled him out of the 
 hole by his arms and hair. 
 
 Ill-treated by the soldiers, driven forward 
 by blows from fists and musket butts, Louis 
 was dragged, rather than walked, to the 
 plac? appointed for his death. Even the 
 scornful gaze with which Beaucaire received 
 him was insufficient to give him strength to 
 enjoy in the last moments of his life an inward 
 triumph over that contemptible wretch. But 
 he looked anxiously around for Bernard, to 
 8ee whether he again was the companion of 
 his melancholy lot. He saw him not ; he 
 evidently was not yet captured. The hope 
 that his friend had finally effected his escape 
 comforted Louis, although he felt that death, 
 now he was alone to meet it, was harder to 
 endure than when he was sustained by the 
 companionship of the gallant Bernard. 
 
 He was now again at the post, to which 
 two soldiers secured him with musket-slings, 
 his arms behind his back, as though they 
 feared fresh resistance. ' The sergeant step- 
 ped up to him, a handkerchief in his hand. 
 
 " I will bandage your eyes, comrade," said 
 he, compassionately ; " it is better so." 
 
 In the first instance Louis would have 
 scorned the bandage, but now he let his kind- 
 hearted fellow-soldier have bis way. Sud- 
 denly it occurred to him that he might make 
 the sergeant the bearer of his last earthly 
 wishes. 
 
 " Comrade," said he as the man secured 
 the cloth over his eyes, " you will not refuse 
 me a last friendly service. So soon as you 
 are able, go to Colonel Rasinski, who com- 
 mands our regiment ; tell him how I died, and 
 beg him to console my sister. And if you 
 outlive fliis war, and go to her in Warsaw or 
 Dresden, and tell her that^ — " 
 
 He was interrupted by several musket- 
 shots close at hand. 
 
 " Are those for me, already V cried Louis 
 — for the sergeant had let go the handker- 
 chief, now secured round his head, and step- 
 ped aside. For sole reply Louis heard him 
 exclaim — " The devil ! what is that ?" and 
 spring forward. At t^e same time arose a 
 confused outcry and bustle, and again shots 
 were nred just in the neighborhood — one bul- 
 ' let whistling close to Louis' head. He heard 
 horses in full gallop, whilst a mixture of 
 words of command, shouts, clash of steel 
 and reports of fire-arms resounded on all 
 Bides. 
 
 " Forward !" cried the Toice of the ser^ 
 geant. "Close your ranks ! — fire !" 
 
 A platoon fire from some twenty nmskets 
 rang in Louis' ear ; he imagined the mnzzles 
 were pointed at him, and an involuntary tre- 
 mor made hia whole frame quiver. But he 
 was still alive and uninjured. The complete 
 darltness in which he found hiihself — the 
 bonds that prevented his moving — the excite- 
 ment and tension of his nerves, caused a 
 host of strange wild ideas to flit across his 
 brain. Hearing upon the left the stamp of 
 hoofs and shouts of charging horsemen, he 
 thought for a moment that Rasinski and his 
 men had come to deliver him. Then, how- 
 ever, he heard the howling war-cry of the 
 Russians. A " hourra" rent the air. The 
 contending masses rushed past him; the 
 smoke of powder whirled in his face ; cries, 
 groans, and clatter of weapons were all 
 around him. He was in the midst of the 
 fight; in vain he strove to break his bonds, 
 that he might tear the bandage from his 
 eyes ; he continued in profound obscurity. 
 
 "Is it a frightful dream?" he at last 
 gasped out, turning his face to heaven. " Will 
 none awake me, and end this horrible suffer- 
 ing ?" 
 
 But no hand touched him, and little by 
 little the tumult receded, and was lost in the 
 distance. 
 
 Thus passed a few minutes of agonizing 
 suspense ; Louis writhed in his fetters ; a 
 secret voice whispered to him, that, could he 
 burst them, he might yet be saved, but they- 
 resisted his utmost efforts. Then he again 
 heard loud voices, which gradually approach- 
 ed, accompanied by hurried footsteps. On a 
 sudden a rough hand tore the cloth from his 
 eyes. 
 
 Thunderstruck, he gazed around. Three 
 men with long beards, whom he at once re- 
 cognised as Russian peasants, stood before 
 him, staring at him with a mixture of scorn 
 and wonder. On the ground lay several 
 muskets and the bodies of two French sol- 
 diers. Louis saw himself in the power of 
 his enemies, whom a strange chance had 
 converted into his deliverers. 
 
 With the slightest knowledge only of 
 the language, and stunned by the circum- 
 stances in which he was placed, it was no 
 way surprising that for a time Louis was at 
 loss for the words to procure his liberation. 
 But his suppliant look, his fettered hands, 
 spoke as intelligibly. Yet, the hatred of 
 bitter enmity would not interpret it ; the 
 ferocity of national antipathy overpowered 
 the more tender voice of pity. One of the 
 three put forth his hand to seize the prison- 
 er's foraging cap — Louis resisted. The bar- 
 barian, thereupon, lifted his weapon, and was 
 about to dash out his brains, when a friendly 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 hand arrested the arm raised for the stroke. 
 It was the hand of a man of venerable ap- 
 pearance, who, covered by a dark, wide, 
 furred cloak, had just emerged from the for- 
 est. With a soft, but earnest voice tlie old 
 man uttered some words of remonstrance. 
 The three men, thereupon, took off their 
 caps, and bowing with reverence, crcfssed 
 their arms over their breasts. Louis recog- 
 nised in him his angel of deliverance. His 
 patriarchal countenance and dignified de- 
 meanor were a guarantee that he would 
 succor him and not leave him to perish. 
 The peasant, who had before menaced him, 
 now approached with an open knife, and cut 
 the slings with which he was bound. Louis 
 was free ! Full of gratitude, he would have 
 seized the hand of the old man, but the latter 
 drew back in deprecation of the homage, as 
 though he would say : — I would not sufTer 
 thee to be cruelly murdered while helplessly 
 bound ; but thou art the ravager gf my coun- 
 try, — the insulter of my God, and dost out- 
 rage all that is sacred to us ; therefore, I 
 will hold no communion with thee." 
 
 The peasants laid hold of him as a prisoner, 
 compelling him to go forward into the for- 
 est. As Louis accompanied them, he passed 
 closely by one of the lifeless French soldiers. 
 It was the honest fellow who yesterday had 
 shared with him his bread. " How wonder- 
 ful is destiny," he thought — " he that pitied me 
 only a few minutes ago, lies now inanimate 
 before me ! Honest heart, may'st thou find 
 thy reward where thou art gone !" 
 
 In a few minutes they reached the wood, 
 which they soon found thickly timbered. 
 The men halted at a spot where already 
 some of their friends awaited them. By-and- 
 by came others from the dh"ection of Smo- 
 lensko — many of them with French soldiers 
 as prisoners. Louis looked with deep inter- 
 est about him, to ascertain if the sergeant 
 was amongst them — but he could not detect 
 him. Other troops soon arrived ; it was 
 clear, these men had prisoners with them, 
 for Lotiis heard their lamentations and 
 groans. In the confusion of the crowd he 
 sought to discover who might be his compan- 
 ions in misfortune. Presently the party 
 opened its ranks; and to his very great 
 astonishment, Louis beheld Beaucaire and 
 St. Luces, half-naked and trembling, in the 
 hands of their enemies. 
 
 The eyes of the newly-arrived captives in 
 turn fell upon Louis. St. Luces, concealing 
 his face with both hands, stood silent in fear, 
 and trembling. But Beaucaire ground his 
 teeth with ferocious rage, and muttered a 
 scarce half-intelligible curse, of which Louis 
 distinguished only the words traitor and spy. 
 Louis threw back an indignant glance, and 
 replied, 
 
 " You are mistaken ! I am but a captive, 
 even as yourself. God has sent you your 
 punishment!" 
 
 The Russians were almost all armed peas- 
 ants. They collected their captives in one 
 body, and disposed their force around them. 
 Then resuming their march, tbej^ penetrated 
 deeper into the forest. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 Fbom the hour that the castle of Count 
 Dolgorow had been surprised and burnt 
 down by Rasinski, the proprietor had not 
 again made his appearance on his estate. 
 After the enemy's retreat over the river, the 
 peasants commenced a system of plunder in 
 the burning building, and sought to take pos- 
 session of all that the flames bad not yet de- 
 voured. But old Gregorius came among 
 them ; and in all the dignity of authority, 
 lifted up his voice against their proceedings. 
 
 " Check the flames, my friends," he ex- 
 claimed ; " save the property of your master, 
 and conceal it in your huts ; but never dare 
 wickedly to appropriate it to yourselves. 
 The curse will readh every son of Russia, 
 who violates his fidelity to his master." 
 
 By these exhortations the reverend Father 
 bridled the avaricious greediness of the serfs, 
 who would take advantage of the first mo- 
 ment of their liberty, to enrich themselves by 
 the property of their master. His word was 
 law — his very look, a sacred commandment 
 Therefore did they obey him, and exert all 
 their powers to save the castle from entire 
 destruction. They secured all the costly 
 furniture yet uninjured, and carefully hid it 
 away in the deep cellars, which are never 
 wanting in Russian dwellings — even the 
 meanest Thus the main building of the 
 castle was saved from the fury of the flames, 
 and stood yet almost free from injury. But 
 in the apartments all was waste and deso- 
 lation, in most of them the windows were 
 shattered, the walls blackened by smoke, 
 and all ornament entirely defaced. The 
 edifice, it is true, etill maintained its stately 
 appearance externally ; but within, its con- 
 dition was such that scarce a single room 
 was left perfect, the greater number being al- 
 together uninhabitable. 
 
 More than three months had elapsed since 
 the conflagration, and yet the Count had not 
 returned. In the meantime the iron stream 
 of war had expended itself so broadly over 
 the country that it stopped all communica- 
 tion with the interior. Gregorius, who would 
 not leave bis flock, but remained as its fiutb- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 mi 
 
 M shepherd, had, for this reason, heard but 
 little since that hour, either from the Count; 
 or from Feodorowna. His hand had blessed 
 her at the altar when she became a bride, 
 and his lips had uttered prayers for God's 
 blessing upon her, both here and hereafter. 
 
 The days had passed uniformly ; autumn 
 had stripped off the leaves of the trees. 
 The green of the firs and pines became every 
 day darker ; soon they were crowned with 
 hoar frost, and finally the snow spread its 
 broad cover over them, the hills, and the fro- 
 zen streams. 
 
 Day after day, the grey clouds of winter 
 gathered more gloomily : the snow swept 
 down more densely ; the storm roared more 
 hollow round about the house ; and the hopes 
 of the pioua Father were exalted. He saw 
 in his spirit the angel of vengeance of the 
 Almighty, riding upon the wings of the storm, 
 ^ and brandishing the sword of destruction 
 over the heads of the blaspheming invaders. 
 With prophetic forebodings lie saw the long, 
 gloomy flights of the ravens spread in the 
 t^yilight over the tops of the forests ; and 
 at night, when the wolf, made furious by 
 hunger, came howling from the wood, even 
 up to the closed door of the house, he 
 thought — " Where shall the armies of the 
 transgressors find rest and shelter, if the 
 hungry beast of prey prowls around even our 
 dwellings!" 
 
 Indulging such contemplations, the old 
 man oftentimes wasted the night on his couch, 
 when all around him were fast locked in 
 slumber. 
 
 At midnight there was a hasty knock at 
 his door, and a manly voice cried : 
 
 ♦* Open ! awake, good Father Gregorius ! 
 Thy hospitable house must give shelter to 
 late travellers !" 
 
 The old man thought he recognised the 
 voice. In haste he cast his cloak over him, 
 opened the window, and looked out. A sleigh 
 was before the door. 
 
 " Who knocks thus late ?" asked Grego- 
 rius. "Do my ears deceive me, or do I 
 recognise a well-known voice ?" 
 
 *♦ You ought well to know it, good Father," 
 answered the stranger ; " I am Dolgorow." 
 
 " Grod of Heaven ! You yourself !" ex- 
 claimed GregoriuG ; and he hastened with his 
 lamp to open the door. 
 
 The Count stood before him. 
 •" Bid me welcome. Father ; you must give 
 me shi;lter this night, and also to both my 
 companions in the sleigh. I have matters 
 of importance to relate to you." 
 
 Gregorius directed his light upon the sleigh. 
 There sat two women in it. Anticipating 
 the truth, he advanced from the door of his 
 house, and approached the travellers. A 
 tall figure, covered with a thick veil, met 
 his gaze. 
 
 " Father Gregorius, I greet you !" she 
 said, in a soft voice, and he recognised his 
 beloved ward, Feodorowna, as she fell 
 weeping into his arms. 
 
 Her mother followed her — Gregorius rev- 
 erently leading her into his dwelling. 
 
 " What brings you under my humble roof?" 
 said he, ^yith an agitated voice ; for the pale 
 face of Feodorowna made him anxious, and 
 she wore a veil of deep mourning. 
 
 " I will answer all questions for her !" re- 
 plied Dolgorow. " For the present be kind 
 enough to give the women an apartment 
 where they may rest ; for we havq been hur- 
 ried along, day and night, without rest or in- 
 termission. Do not disturb any of the peo- 
 ple — for our presence must yet remain a 
 secret." 
 
 " Yes, do assign us a place of 'rest, dear 
 Father," said the Countess in a faint voice ; 
 " I am exhausted !" 
 
 Gregorius led the women to a quiet room, 
 which overlooked the garden, and was well 
 arranged for the reception of guests, and as 
 was the whole house, also well warmed. The 
 Countess sank instantly down upon a couch. 
 Feodorowna, reaching her hand toTier fatherly 
 friend, said : 
 
 "To-morrow, dear Father — to-morrow, I 
 will speak with you as long as you please." 
 
 " But do you not require now some refresh- 
 ment — some food or warm beverage ?" asked 
 the old man. 
 
 " Nothing, dearest Father !" replied Feodo- 
 rowna, " but rest ; and that we shall find here 
 as we wish it." 
 
 " Gregorius returned to Dolgorow, whom 
 he found pacing the room with long strides. 
 
 " Father !" said the Count to him, laying 
 his hand u|K)n his shoulder ; " Father, great 
 events have occurred. Russia hails the ap- 
 proach of days of splendor, after a long night 
 of ignominy and suffering !" 
 
 " What ? Can I put trust in your words ? 
 So my warm prayers have been fulfilled ?" 
 
 " Thou knowest that the enemy is return- 
 ing!" 
 
 " True — but I fear, only to escape from the 
 winter of Russia." 
 
 " The winter of Russia has overtaken him. 
 It is too kte to escape. He will not again 
 see the boundaries of the country over 
 which he so haughtily broke. Would'st thou 
 believe we have indeed burned Moscow ! 
 Does not the mariner cast away into the sea 
 the costliest goods, so that he may again raise 
 buoyant upon the waves the vessel which 
 has been unhappily stranded upon a shoal ? 
 Does not the pirate blow up himself and his 
 enemy at once ? And are not Russia's sons 
 men that are able to do the same ? Old man, 
 learn to think better of us ! The flames of 
 Moscow were not kindled by an enemy's 
 torch. Its splendor will beam upon the most 
 
914 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 dreadful, but also the mightiest deed in the 
 annals of Russia." 
 
 " What ?" exclaimed Gregorius, raising 
 his hands in astonishment — " What ?" 
 
 " Let this pass, now ; it is as I have told 
 you ; but we have more important matters to 
 speak about. From that night of horror, up- 
 rose the thunder-cloud of ruin, pouring down 
 its vengeance upon the rash man who led the 
 armed hosts of £urope to ravage and deso- 
 late our country. He will live to see the 
 day of ignominy, when he shall himself turn 
 to flight. The pride of the invincible is 
 broken — vengeance has overtaken him — ere 
 this we had hoped to annihilate him. It is 
 now too late, indeed ; but he will not escape 
 his destiny. Listen to me attentively, worthy 
 Father, for your aid is also required. You 
 will not haVe forgotten how the nuptials of 
 my daughter were interrupted. You see her 
 now in the mourning veil of the widow, for her 
 husband is no more. As we fled, enemies 
 overtook us close to the forest behind the 
 garden. A bullet struck the Prince ; he 
 sank, but we succeeded in concealing him in 
 the forest. Upon a litter of twigs we carried 
 him to the next village, and there we found 
 means to transport him slowly to Moscow. 
 We were followed closely by the enemy, 
 whose approach kept us constantly in motion 
 until we reached Moscow, for he preferred 
 death to the horrorof falling into their hands. 
 From Moscow, I myself hastened back to 
 the army. I fought at Borodino, where we 
 lost nothing beyond a wilderness covered 
 with dead bodies. The Frenchman paid 
 dearly for his victory there. Wounded, al- 
 though slightly, I repaired to Moscow, where 
 the Prince in his palace, attended by me and 
 his wife, lingered on his sick couch. He had 
 been unable to obtain rest at first, and in con- 
 sequence, the wound had become worse — to 
 that degree, that there was little hope of re- 
 covery. The enemy soon appeared before 
 the capital. During the investment Ochal- 
 skoi struggled with death. We had carried 
 him into a remote wing of the palace, where 
 we could have remained in concealment if the 
 burning of the city had not been determined 
 on. With the setting sun, Ochalskoi closed 
 his eyes forever. We waited only fof night 
 to fly in secret from the palace. But even 
 the dead body of my son-in-law we would not 
 leave to the enemy, for I had promised the 
 dying man to spare no pains to deposit his 
 remains safely in unpolluted ground. We 
 sttcceeded in gaining the open fields — the 
 flames of Moscow lighting us on our flight. 
 Soon we reached the thick forest, and beyond 
 it the road to St. Petersburg. I repaired, ac- 
 companied by my wife and, daughter to our 
 Emperor. From thence was now spread 
 the broad net into which we allured the 
 
 arch-enemy of our country. With hopes 
 of peace we kept him in suspense, till he 
 finally discovered, that himself, so long ac 
 customed to delude others, was this time the 
 deluded. Yet, even then there was time to 
 retreat, although at great cost, beyond tha 
 boundaries of Russia. But his pride strug- 
 gled long against the disgrace of a retro- 
 grade movement. In his boasted invincibility 
 he tried to cleave himself a new path. II 
 failed him; his hour was come; he must 
 turn and flee. But it was now too late. Al- 
 ready the fine threads we had spun around 
 our arch-enemy began to contract. The 
 Almighty was invoked to our aid — for it was 
 a holy work. He commanded his sun to 
 shine deceitfully, veiling with his mild beams 
 the proximity of howling winter — that fierce 
 destroyer who now suddenly breaks forth 
 from his ambush. No flight can save them. 
 For this I came hither. Now, Father, it be- 
 comes us to awaken the sons of Russia with 
 holy resentment against these proud trans- 
 gressors who have laughed at our tears — 
 our groans, and our prayers. Thou must aid 
 me in stirring up the people, gathering them, 
 and leading them against the enemy. For this 
 purpose have I come hither from the capital. 
 I hastened as the wind — for I hoped we should 
 reach Smolensko before the French Emperor, 
 and make ourselves, by a sudden surprise, 
 sure of the fortress. Then he would have 
 fallen here in the heart of Russia. But that 
 is now too late. I know that he has been 
 here since yesterday. It was only with 
 great peril, and on by-ways, through the 
 fqrests that I could make good my course 
 hither. But where I crossed the great road, 
 I saw already awful traces of the ruin that 
 had overtaken him. It is covered with dead 
 and fragments. Not one ought to escape — 
 not one must be permitted to tell the tale of 
 disaster at home. Only by the dead shrine 
 — by the terrible disappearance of every 
 trace — should those at home learn what fate 
 has overwhelmed their chief and his follow- 
 ers. When the morning dawns, Gregoriua, 
 assemble the people by the tolling of the 
 church-bell. Fill their hearts with the flame 
 of just indignation ; call upon them for ve;i- 
 geance upon the enemies of their country and 
 their God. Not even children or women 
 should remain unemployed. Therefore, I 
 brought both wife and daughter along with 
 me, that they may give an example of the 
 duty of noblewomen inhabiting Russia. — 
 Then I will come amidst them ; send some 
 out as messengers round about, and before 
 evening sets in we shall have armed thou- 
 sands to lead against the enemy. They are 
 to break out of the recesses of the forests as 
 the lion upon his prey ; they are to rush 
 suddenly upon the disheartened fugitives — 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 SIS 
 
 rfven as the black thnnder-cloud pours doi«vn 
 its hail-stones upon the scattered flock. That 
 is now our duty, Gregorius ! Thou wilt help 
 as to perform it manfully." 
 
 " As certain as the face of the Lord shines 
 upon my grey hairs," replied the old man, 
 in a tone of inspiration, and raising his right 
 hand to Heaven. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 WiTHooT the loss of a moment, or looking 
 behind him, Bernard reached at full speed 
 ■ the angle of the forest. His pursuers were 
 close upon him, but the golden prize of 
 liberty that glittered before him gave him 
 wings. Grod's hand protected him ; for 
 although some bullets, in passing by, nearly 
 grazed his head, yet none struck him. 
 
 Now the thicket covered him. Although 
 it checked the speed of his flight, it con- 
 cealed at the same time, the direction of it, 
 and presented the same obstacles to his pur- 
 suers. Bending forward, and holding his 
 left arm over his eyes, he rushed headlong 
 forward, not caring for the shrubs, that la- 
 cerated his hands and face. Finally his 
 breath failed ; he stood still for a moment, 
 for respiration. He listened anxiously, if 
 perchance there were to be heard any steps 
 behind him. All around him was silent as 
 the grave. After a brief rest, he cautiously 
 advanced somewhat deeper into the forest, 
 until he reached a dense thicket that would 
 have concealed him even from any passing 
 close to liim. It was not before reaching 
 this point, that he allowed himself a longer 
 rest, to consider what was next to be done. 
 
 " Thou art saved for this time," thought he, 
 breathing deeply ; and thankfully did he 
 raise his eyes to heaven. " Would that Louis 
 were but here I And then ! — aye, what then ? 
 Both of us in the solitude of the desert, aban- 
 doned to the cold, to hunger, to the fury of 
 the inhabitants ? Shame on thee, Bernard ! 
 wilt thou despair even in the very hour when 
 thou hast got proof that there is nothing 
 lost where all is not lost ! Look well to 
 the future ! — watch it narrowly, even as a 
 fencer watches his adversary; the attack 
 and the defence are alike important" 
 
 With these thoughts he continued his way 
 in the direction of the hill with the three 
 pines. In the shadows of the forest twilight 
 was yet linorering ; silence brooded over soli- 
 tude. Suddenly he heard the sound of drop- 
 ping shot. 
 
 " Holy Father ! should it be Louis, whom 
 they have seized again," exclaimed Ber- 
 nard, standing as though rooted to the 
 gronnd, with his body bent forward in the 
 
 direction of the sound- There fell again 
 the sound of shot, and yet once and again ! 
 " No," he thought, his breast relieved from 
 painful oppression, " that is not the dreadful 
 sound, I feared." But still he felt quite un- 
 able to explain this firing — especially as it 
 was mingled with -confused clamor — for it 
 was echoed from a distance, and the tumult 
 reached him but partially and heavily through 
 the still forest, 
 
 " If I could but learn where the enemy 
 could have sprung out of the soil, I should 
 believe it to be a fight. I might know, indeed, 
 if I could but get a glance over the plain !*' 
 
 He hurried towards the edge of the forest, 
 but before he had reached it, the firing and 
 alarm was over. He would have made fur- 
 ther researches, had he not heard steps in 
 the neighborhood, as of one who walked 
 rapidly through the brush-wood. 
 
 Bernard now became jrresolute. He 
 hesitated whether to hasten to reach the 
 point of their rendezvous as agreed upon, or 
 to go back and strive to discover what had 
 become of Louis. After short reflection he 
 chose the latter. 
 
 " He may wait for me a quarter of an hour 
 longer ; it is better that he endure tliis, than 
 that I perhaps leave him without help, and 
 without the consolation of a friend, in the 
 hands of his enemies. Is he already a vic- 
 tim? No, no ! it is impossible ! But if he 
 has fallen, I desire to fall also!" 
 
 There was a certain dauntless pride in 
 Bernard's heart, which confirmed him in 
 this resolution. He would not allow it to be 
 ^aid, that he, to save himself, had forsaken 
 his friend. 
 
 Bernard's internal anxiety increased ; the 
 more impetuous became the struggle of his 
 feelings, the nearer he approached the place 
 where he hoped to obtain certainty respect- 
 ing the fate of his friend. At length he 
 reached the edge of the forest, and could 
 look over the hill where death had but lately 
 awaited him. He was alone — no sign of 
 life within sight or hearing ; Bernard ven- 
 tured forth. The snow was crossed by 
 numberless tracks ; bodies of horsemen, too^ 
 must have taken their way over the hill. 
 He picked up a military cap — it was stain- 
 ed with blood; it offered undeniable evi- 
 dence that a skirmish must have been fought 
 here. At a distance he observed dead bodies. 
 What ! — if Louis should be among them ? 
 He hastened on at full speed. Heaven be 
 praised ; — no ! — they are French uniforms ! 
 
 Three men lay stretched out upon the 
 snow. The nearest one was recognised by 
 Bernard ; it was honest-hearted Coitin, who 
 had divided his ration ; tlie other two were 
 unknown to him. His joy on account of the 
 appearances in favor of Louis' escape left 
 
Hh 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 no room for the indulgence of grief over the 
 kind-hearted Cottin. His flight must hare 
 Deen successful. Yes — he must be waiting 
 at the three pines on the hill. 
 
 Yet not alone in obedience to this gener- 
 ous impulse did Bernard retrace his steps. 
 Absorbed in reflections lie had not seen *a 
 body of troops issue from the gate of the 
 city. These men had been detached, but too 
 late, to support their comrades. They had 
 already marched some distance into the 
 plain, and had approached within a few 
 hundred paces, when Bernard first perceived 
 them. But time and space were yet in his 
 favor ; and he fled speedily on his way to 
 the place agreed upon for their meeting. 
 
 After half an hour be reached the spot. 
 The pines stood alone upon a height, sur- 
 rounded only by low bushes, which did not 
 intercept his view. In front he saw the 
 towers and wall^f Smolensko, behind which 
 arose the snow-covered heights which ran 
 parallel with the banks of the Dneiper. In 
 the distance a long blue line of woods stretch- 
 ed athwart the horizon. This line indicated 
 the road from Moscow. On his right hand 
 the view was interrupted by a wood ih his 
 immediate vicinity. On the left hand he 
 looked into a wider plain, but the eye fell 
 only upon interminable pine forests in the 
 distance, which seemed to cover the view in 
 that direction. Behind him, and on his own 
 side of the river, was a second line of heights, 
 which obscured his further observations ; but 
 he knew that beyond them the plains were [ 
 open and extensive. 
 
 He cast only a superficial look over this 
 dreary, desert landscape ; his eye searched 
 for Louis in every direction. He could dis- 
 cover no trace of him. At first gently, then 
 louder and louder, he called the name of his 
 friend ; but his voice echoed in vain through 
 the deep solitude of the waste. 
 
 Now he became anxious. A thousand 
 possibilities presented themselves to his sus- 
 picion — each bordering upon the truth, but 
 not really attaining it. 
 
 He wandered in every direction over the 
 hill, and searched every bush. He carefully 
 examined the surface of the snow, in the 
 hope of discovering some track of the wan- 
 derer. But all in vain. He enlarged the 
 circumference of his observation, and actu- 
 ally twice or thrice made the entire circum- 
 ference of the hill ; but he found no track of 
 human footsteps save his own. And the 
 eonvletion was forced upon him, that none 
 but himself had approached the hill. 
 
 This conviction fell with a heavy weight 
 upon his breast. Was Louis saved, or was 
 he not ? Had he misunderstood him ? Had 
 he changed his flight in another direction ? Or 
 bail circumstanced forced him to seek safety 
 
 on the other side of the forest ? Did he pei«- 
 ish in the battle ? 
 
 These and many other questions suggest- 
 ed themselves to the anxious Bernard ; but 
 he knew of no answer to them. Thi.s one 
 dreadful calamity was more and more deeply 
 impressed upon him — that he was separated 
 from his friend, and that only some favorable 
 turn of fortune which lay beyond bis con- 
 trol could again bring them together. 
 
 Noon advanced. By long wading through 
 the snow, Bernard's feet had become thor- 
 oughly wet; and his legs were weary in the 
 extreme. Hunger came upon him with pow- 
 erful acuteness ; for the body, well nourished 
 for two days, had regained strength, so as to 
 be able to resist for a time the cravings of 
 this great enemy ; but the more intolerable, 
 therefore, was the present pain. Somd reso- 
 lution must be taken. Of two alternatives 
 a chwce must be made : he must either re- 
 turn to the city, and deliver himself up to 
 certain and ignominous death ; or be must 
 venture to proceed alone on his perilous 
 journey, where countless panics and priva- 
 tions awaited him, and to encounter which, 
 the faint hope of ultimate safety was scarce- 
 ly a sufficient incentive. 
 
 And whither should he take his way ? 
 Without weapons to defend himself against 
 a hungry wolf, or to fell wood for firing ; 
 without food, wjthout money to purchase it, 
 it seemed impossible for him to make good 
 safe return. There remained nothing but 
 to retrace his way, so as to reach the corp» 
 I of Ney, which was at least twp days' march 
 in the rear. If Louis was free, he reflected, 
 such also would be his only resolution. 
 Therefore was this the only chance on which 
 he could rely to meet bis friend again. 
 
 He broke off a short pine -branch, and 
 trimmed it with his pocket-knife, so as to 
 make it serviceable, not only as a walking 
 staff, but as a weapon of defence in case of 
 need. Thus be commenced bis dreary way 
 to regain the great road. His prospects 
 within and without were dreadful enough. 
 He bad to pass through an almost impene- 
 trable forest, and wade through snow knee- 
 deep. His progress was slow, indeed ; and 
 although the road was distant only about 
 half-an-hour's ordinary walk, yet after two 
 hours' toil he had not yet reached it. He 
 dared not enter it in the immediate vicinity 
 of Smolensko; and the many obstacles ii> 
 his way, and the circuitous paths he was 
 obliged to follow, had more than doubled the 
 djrect line. His strenuous exertions and 
 his hunger, at length so exhausted his bodily 
 powers, that he was obliged to lie down. 
 With some twigs he brushed the loose snow 
 aside, and made himself a rude couch, upon 
 which he stretched himself to rest. Hi» 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 217 
 
 {p%at eSbrt now was to avoid sleep, for he 
 knew well that sleep would become • torpor, 
 and torpor terminate in death. Yet much 
 effort was not requisite ; for the pangs of 
 hunger and the torments of his thoughts 
 w6re sufficient to drive sleep away, while as 
 yet mere bodily fatigue was the least of the 
 evils he endured. To allay in some measure 
 the pains of hunger, he cut the young resin- 
 ous shoots out of the pine twigs, and tried to 
 eat them. This bitter food, and some snow 
 he had taken to quench his thirst, was the 
 only refreshment attainable in his present 
 desperate situation. After an hour of rest 
 he started anew, and soon reached the great 
 road. But what a view presented itself to 
 him ! It was too plainly marked out with 
 half-naked bodies, projecting out of the snow. 
 Small hillocks, lightly covered with snow, 
 against which the foot of the traveller con- 
 tinually stumbled, were the graves of as many 
 miserable sufferers. Weapons cast away, 
 pieces of uniforms, baggage, dead horses, 
 would have rendered the way taken by the 
 army conspicuous enough ; even if there 
 had not been visible a great broad road, 
 deeply hollowed out by the artillery and bag- 
 gage-wagons. 
 
 A silent horror crept through Bernard's 
 frame, "as he found himself now alone amidst 
 the traces that indicated the dreadful path 
 of desolation which deifith had pursued 
 through the wilderness of snow. The road 
 assumed the appearance of an immensely 
 lengthened grave-yard, — but where no hand 
 of religion or friendship had interred the 
 dead. A shroud of snow formed alone the 
 cold covering of the fallen victims of ambi- 
 tion. Bernard expected soon to reach a vil- 
 lage. Beyond a turn in the road it lay be- 
 fore him. But there was no longer a house 
 to bft recognised ; all were torn down or 
 burnt. Here and there a tall chimney and 
 charred wall projected through the snow. 
 He rightly conjectured that some troops had 
 bivouaced in the neighborhood, and that the 
 men had used all the wood for their fires. He 
 soon discovered, also, the dark and yet smok- 
 ing fire-places along the edge of the forest. 
 He approached them in the hope of finding 
 something that might appease his hunger. 
 In vain ! Here there were no dead bodies, 
 for here it was that the strong and hearty 
 had rested, and the fires had protected them 
 from the cold. Bernard thrust his staff into 
 the smouldering ashes and uncovered a yet 
 burning log. It was a proof that the place 
 had been left only that morning. On the 
 snow he found a button ; he raised it. A 
 tl^ll of joy passed over him ; he saw upon 
 it the devices of his own regiment This 
 small but important token gave him new 
 hope. Rasinski bad halted here. As it was 
 
 not until afternoon that he marched out of 
 Smolensko, he must have bivouaced here 
 for the night, and was perhaps scarcely half 
 a day's march distant from the place. 
 
 If Bernard could but have obtained a mor- 
 sel of food, and could have rested only a few 
 hours, he would have -been able to reach his 
 friends perhaps before night. But he was 
 too far exhausted by bodily fatigue, over and 
 above the painful emotions of his mind. 
 Now, for the first time, he felt himself un- 
 nerved. His energies were shaken. Bodily 
 weakness unmanned him. His heart sunk 
 within him as the dreary sense of solitude 
 and desertion came over him. The unfail- 
 ing resolution with which he would arouse 
 the couitige and resources of others, was 
 unequal to the task of arousing himself. 
 He was utterly overcome. 
 
 He folded his arms in silence, and bent 
 himself forward in a crouching position, on 
 account of the severity of the cold. He sat 
 against a half-ruined wall, and was soon ab- 
 sorbed in disheartening reflections. 
 
 Silence pervaded throughout. The dark 
 pine forest stood before him in grim array ; 
 the trees bent their branches to the earth 
 with the weight of the snow ; — grey clouds 
 floated slowly and heavily over the dismal 
 landscape. Nature appeared in a state 
 of torpidity. All was motionless, frigid, and 
 repulsive. 
 
 " What further need of suffering ?" said 
 Bernard, suddenly rising and stepping for- 
 ward. " Do not thousands slumber here be- 
 fore me ? The end is but to sink into the 
 cold arms of death. The pain will be short : 
 for an instant only can the hand of death be 
 upon thee ; and in an instant, there is an end 
 at once of all pain and trouble." 
 
 Then a voice seemed to whisper — 
 
 " Why repine ? Beyond these clouds of 
 storm is the blue expanse of day and life, 
 which once thou hast seen. Even when sur- 
 rounded by friends, and indulging in pleas- 
 ures, wast thou happy ? Was there not some 
 hidden perplexity — some yearning — preying 
 upon the unsatisfied heart? Did the bril- 
 liancy and variety of life's pleasures then 
 administer comfort to the weary breast ? 
 Thou didst drink of the cup of pleasure, but 
 it did not quench thy burning thirst ; it only 
 often augmented thy desires ! And now, 
 when the hour of rest is at hand, thou tura- 
 est from it with horror and disgust ! Thou 
 wilt cling fondly to a miserable slavery, rather 
 than submit to the terms of thy redemption. 
 Is hope, also, so delicate a plant, that it must 
 needs perish in this ice-bed ? Is the 
 whole force of manhood insufficient for the 
 resuscitation of that spark which should ne- 
 ver die ? Look the spectre of despair steadily 
 in the face, and he will quail to the dust be- 
 
218 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE j OR, 
 
 neath the eye of a man. It tarries with thee, 
 only because a vain and foolish imagination 
 chooses to sport with its unworthy creations. 
 The mirror in which these phantoms are seen 
 is false. Break it — and they vanish for- 
 ever !" 
 
 But in vain did reason contend with the 
 tremendous reality. In vain did the spirit en- 
 deavor to rend the bond that held it in subor- 
 dination to the wants of the body. Despair 
 still clung with tenacity ; and Bernard felt its 
 cold influence stealing deeper and deeper into 
 his heart, without the power either to fly or 
 resist. 
 
 " Here let it be, then — beside this fallen 
 tree," he uttered, folding his cloak around 
 him, and throwing himself on the ground. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 Bernard had scarce lain down when he 
 heard a noise in the wood, that struck him as 
 the footstep of a man. Starting, he looked 
 about, and shortly observed the low under- 
 wood shaken, and presently open. A strange 
 and singular figure stepped out before him — 
 a man clothed in grey fur, with a red cloak 
 about his head. He looked cautiously about 
 him. 
 
 " Who are you ?" he exclaimed in French, 
 as his eye rested on Bernard. 
 
 " I live !" answered Bernard, raising him- 
 self painfully. 
 
 " But it looks as though that would not be 
 long," replied the stranger. " Are you worn 
 down with hunger ?" 
 
 Bernard nodded his head. 
 
 " Then, perhaps I can help you," said the 
 other, approaching ; " but tell me, which way 
 runs the road to Smclensko ?" 
 
 " Two hundred paces below this spot is the 
 road." 
 
 " Thank God ! And how far to the city ?" 
 
 " Four hours' travel." 
 
 " Any Cossacks on the road ?" 
 
 " No ; I have seen none." 
 
 "Heavenly Father! thou wilt yet save 
 me !" Ejaculating these words, the stranger 
 sank upon his knees, raising his eyes gradu- 
 ally upwards, while abundant tears rolled 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 " Here, my good friend, help your- 
 self," he said, after a brief pause ; holding 
 out a piece of bread to Bernard : " thou hast 
 refreshed me — I will refresh thee. Partake ; 
 and here is also something to drink." At the 
 same time he drew a bottle of brandy out of 
 his bosom, and presented it to Bernard. 
 
 " So then, the end is not yet !" murmured 
 Bernard, with deep emotion. " Thanks to 
 you, friend ; you are my preserver !" 
 
 " And thou art mine !" 
 
 " But from whence do you come, bjF the 
 way of the forest ?" asked Bernard. 
 
 "From a place seven-fold more terrible 
 than the jaws of hell !" replied the stranger, 
 as he sat down. " The day before yesterday, 
 hunger drove me, with many others of my 
 comrades, out of the ranks of the regiment. 
 Our object was to seek food in the nearest 
 villages. Suddenly, in the midst of the fo- 
 rage, a horde of peasants fell upon us, and be- 
 gan butchering us without mercy. We fled 
 in every direction : but there were the cursed 
 Cossacks at hand, who pursued us as shep- 
 herd dogs pursue the scattered sheep, and 
 drove us back into the hands of the peasants.*' 
 
 " But the first fury of these villains was 
 satisfied ?" 
 
 " With stripes and blows they collected us 
 together in a body, and tied us together like 
 dogs, driving us before them. We trusted 
 they would have mercy upon us, and carry 
 us a,way into generous captivity. Woful 
 mistake ! Having arrived in a village, about 
 two hours' journey from the road, they first 
 stripped us, so that we stood half naked in 
 the piercing cold. They then thrust us all 
 together into the church. Crowding closely 
 together, we strove to keep each other warm. 
 But this did not last long ; two of us were 
 taken out again. Soon after, we heard the 
 report of fire-arms, in single discharges, with 
 considerable intervals. After each shot, a 
 wild shout seemed to rend the air. At first, 
 we could not comprehend what this signified ; 
 but when, by the help of some of the men, I 
 climbed up to a small window, I saw — may 
 the devil seize the rascals ! — I saw they had 
 bound our comrades to a tree, and were firing 
 at them as at a target /" 
 
 Bernard grew pale. 
 
 " I got down again, and betrayed nothing ; 
 for there was nothing to be done to help us. 
 
 " ' Shooting at a mark,' said I ; ' nothing 
 more.' 
 
 " But it rankled in my breast. The door 
 being opened again, the blood-hounds led out 
 two more victims. I was silent, because it 
 would presently grow dark, and I hoped to 
 save ourselves during the night. In the night 
 we broke open the door leading to the tower, 
 and by means of the bell-rope succeeded 
 in letting ourselves down. The sentinel be- 
 fore the church had fallen asleep. 1 plunged 
 his own side-arm into his heart ; the^villain 
 never moved a muscle. Then I threw over 
 me the fur of the Russian, and, taking his 
 arms, I passed on to the guard-room, at th« 
 end of the village. My comrades I directed 
 to follow me in silence. Here lay all the 
 rascals snoring, and beastly drunk — peasaats 
 and Cossacks all mingled together. Their 
 cloaks and furs they had thrown up in a heap ; 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 319 
 
 for there was a suffocating heat in the room. 
 In the corner there stood a basket of bread 
 ind some bottles of brandy. My first thought 
 was retaliation for our murdered countrymen, 
 by burning the whole together ; but the op- 
 portunity now being favorable, I took three 
 of the men, and we packed up as many 
 clothes and as much food as we coold, and 
 carried them outside. At once we hastened 
 away with our treasures to a neighboring 
 thicket, and honestly divided the spoil. Our 
 preparations for departure were speedy 
 enougii; but the peasants must have dis- 
 covered our flight betimes, for suddenly they 
 were close upon us. It was then each man 
 for himself. We fled in all directions whither- 
 soever accident might lead. I succeeded in 
 reaching a thick wood, where I concealed 
 myself until the tumult had passed by. I then 
 struck cautiously in the direction of the main- 
 road. As long as it was dark I got along 
 prosperously ; but at daylight, the forest 
 seemed alive with Russian scouring parties ; 
 and I had to resort to every precautionary 
 measure to enable me to escape their obser- 
 vation. Before an hour had passed, they 
 were close upon my heels. I soon lost all 
 correct notions of my way, and despaired of 
 reaching the great road. But I hope now, 
 with God's help, to reach Smolensko this 
 night Hereafter I shall take good care to 
 keep in the ranks, and die honorably Hke a 
 soldier, instead of a prey to these monsters 
 in human form. A soldier may die a nobler 
 death than as a target for boors !" 
 
 " All true enough, ray worthy friend," re- 
 plied Bernard, whom the food he had swal- 
 lowed had wonderfully restored ; " and I wish 
 you all success. I hope to gain my object, 
 as I hope you will obtain yours. Even in our 
 precarious position, where every hour is full 
 of peril, we need not despair — not even if 
 Death should be staring us in the face. He 
 may lay his hand upon us ; but we can leave 
 him our cloak, and slip out unhurt." 
 
 " Aye, aye, comrade ; — courage must sur- 
 /ive. But what were you saying about your 
 object ? Where are you bound ? — onward ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " To the rear ? What, back again among 
 those devils ? Are you crazy !" 
 
 " Death is more imminent here than 
 there." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 Bernard after a moment's reflection related 
 his story, convinced that this honest soldier 
 would not betray him. 
 
 " Accursed generation of vipers ! Venom- 
 ous reptiles ! These pen and ink scoun- 
 drels !" Thus did the honest soldier anathe- 
 matize the devoted objects of His hatred, when 
 Bernard had ended his narration. " But all 
 that you need not care for. Here danger j 
 
 lurks in every step ; for the enraged peasants 
 are skulking like wolves behind every treeu 
 A single man cannot escape ; therefore, I ad- 
 vise you to come with me to Smolensko. 
 Who knows you ? You can put on my fur 
 dress. Who asks now, who or what one is ? 
 Each has enough to do for himself. Have 
 we not, alas ! thousands of stragglers ? Well, 
 come along with me. I'll carry you safe in, 
 as sure as my name is Jean Lacoste, a true 
 Norman. Come, let us be off: It is getting 
 dark ; we have had some rest ; — the nearer 
 to Prance the better !" 
 
 They arose and walked along in conversa- 
 tion with each other. Suddenly they heard 
 the sound of a shrill whistle from the forest. 
 Bernard listened in alarm : but Lacoste, seiz- 
 ing his arm and drawing him hastily forward, 
 cried : 
 
 "Run, run — as fast as your legs can 
 carry you ! — the devils are close upon our 
 heels !" 
 
 Bernard mechanic^py followed the rapid 
 stride of his companion, although he could 
 not yet believe in the imminent danger — hav- 
 ing never until now been a witness to an 
 hostile surprise of this nature. 
 
 " If we can only get round that point," said 
 Lacoste, as he ran along, " we can throw our- 
 selves at once into the forest on our left. But 
 it is confounded unlucky that we cannot 
 reach the nearest wood, within three hundred 
 yards — on the snow they see us too well." 
 
 The whistling was repeated from the op- 
 posite side of the road. 
 
 " This is pretty much the same as march- 
 ing once in Calabria, when a band of robbers 
 fell upon us," exclaimed Lacoste. " But 
 these fellows are much worse. I had rather 
 see a dozen wolves behind mc, with their 
 hungry jaws agape, than a Cossack's horse 
 in my rear. But, come along ; here's the fo- 
 rest. How slow we go — we seem to crawl 
 like snails." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my friend," said Ber- 
 nard ; " everything is silent as death." 
 
 "It is A shame to be afraid," murmured 
 Lacoste ; " but I can't help it. Where there 
 is nothing to be won — not even honor — but 
 all to be lost, then indeed peril strikes cold to 
 the heart ; and one may be apt to see what 
 only imagination pictures. Now, it is because 
 to-day I have seen the vagabonds prowling 
 about for their prey, like wild beasts, be- 
 hind every tree and in every bush, I cannot 
 help thinking there is, or at least may be, a 
 ferocious peasant or plundering Cossack." 
 
 " Now, heaven be praised ! we have reached 
 the point. Let us edge away into the wood ; 
 we can always keep in the direction of the 
 road." 
 
 Believing themselves to be safe, they slack- 
 ened their pace. 
 
S20 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR. 
 
 " Comrade, you have a gold ring on your 
 finger ; take care that it is not too tight," 
 continued Lacoste, after a few moments. " I 
 can't forget that I saw the rascals in cold 
 blood cut oflf our captain's finger, because 
 the ring could not b« easily drawn off. We 
 don't know what may happen ; so you had 
 better either throw it away, or at least con- 
 ceal it." 
 
 The apprehension that he might possibly 
 lose the ring, of such mysterious interest to 
 him, fell heavily upon Bernard's heart. 
 
 " Throw it away I" he replied ; " I cannot, 
 for it is infinitely dear to me ; and where 
 should I conceal it, that avarice may not 
 find it ?" 
 
 " That can easily be done. You have long 
 flowing hair, where it can readily be con- 
 cealed. Give it to me ; I will attach it to 
 this smooth curl, which does not hang so low 
 as the others." 
 
 " But, is it safe ?— will it not slip out ?" 
 afiked the anxious owiAr. 
 
 " If you do not tear out the lock on which 
 it hangs, certainly not ; and I'll conceal it so 
 deeply, that a jackdaw, taught to steal gold, 
 could not discover it. 'Tis true the fingers 
 
 of the Cossacks are the Lord preserve 
 
 us ! — what is this ? Do you hear nothing ?" 
 
 This interruption of his remarks was sud- 
 den. His voice fell low and tremulous, and 
 be laid his finger on his lips. 
 
 Bernard shook his head. But soon after 
 he heard a distant murmur, as of a group of 
 men conversing earnestly with each other. 
 
 " Here comes one — step aside !" whispered 
 Lacoste. 
 
 Saying this, he cautiously moved into the 
 thicket, Bernard following his example. 
 
 Scarcely were they concealed, than a troop 
 of ten or twelve peasants, armed with pikes, 
 came suddenly in sight. The fugitives were 
 alarmed — their hearts beating violently. But 
 they trusted that twilight and the brushwood 
 would conceal them. At this moment, a dog 
 made his way through the snow, and stopping 
 in front of the thicket, began to bark. The 
 peasants, hearing him, looked cautiously 
 around them. 
 
 " Nothing remains for us now but flight, 
 comrade — you to the left, I myself to the 
 right!" exclaimed Lacoste. At the same 
 moment taking a leap out of the bushes, and 
 running as fast as his strength permitted, he 
 plunged deeper into the woods. The dog 
 followed his track with a loud barking ; Ber- 
 nard, obedient to the direction of his adroit 
 companion, took as rapidly an opposite direc- 
 tion. Without looking back, he hastened 
 through the deep snow and the thick brush- 
 wood until hie breath failed him. He halted, 
 and listened attentively as he carelessly 
 looked about him. All was silent. He 
 
 heard no more either of dogs barking or 
 voices of men — only the fearful rustling of 
 the night-wind through the tops of the tall 
 firs. Cautiously he ventured again in the 
 direction of Smolensko, because he hoped tq 
 meet there with his companion in misfortune. 
 He soon regained his own tracks in the snow. 
 These he followed with great circumspection, 
 fearing the presence of his enemies. But 
 the forest appeared entirely desolate. His 
 track led him, after a full quarter of an hour, 
 to the spot from which he had fled. To his 
 delight he discovered also Lacoste's foot- 
 steps, and he indulged the hope of again 
 finding him. Following them up, he soon 
 saw them, to his grief, mixed with many 
 others — a token that the poor fellow had been 
 pursued. For a considerable distance they 
 penetrated the forest ; then it appeared that 
 they turned back in the former direction. 
 Bernard was irresolute : he reflected upon 
 the prudence of following the track out of 
 the forest into the open road. He searched 
 in the hope of discovering Lacoste's foot- 
 steps alone, leading from this place of con- 
 fusion further into the forest. But he found 
 nothing to justify his hopes. He began to 
 fear that the unhappy man had fallen; into, 
 the hands of his enemies. His generous^ 
 heart bade him not to abandon his preserver 
 so long as he had the power to search with- 
 out seriously compromising his own safety. 
 Thus he followed the footsteps that led to the 
 great road — yet with great caution, and atten- 
 tively listening to catch every suspicious 
 sound. At this moment he thought he heard 
 a stifled groan. He stopped and listened. 
 The moaning was repeated ! He was not 
 mistaken; a living being must be near at 
 hand. Inclining his head forward, he made 
 in the direction of the sound. Now he heard 
 the moaning close beside him, yet he saw no- 
 thing. The snow was trampled by many 
 steps ; a gigantic pine stood a few paces on 
 one side. From that spot the grcfiining came. 
 Bernard was going round the tree, in search 
 of the object of his solicitude, when on a sud- 
 den he started back with an involuntary cry of 
 horror ! His eyes became riveted on an half- 
 naked and blood-stained body, which appeared 
 to be fastened to the trunk of the tree. Mas- 
 tering his reluctance, he fearfully approached 
 this object. He soon discovered that the miser- 
 able being was transfixed to the tree," and was 
 no other than his preserver and companion, 
 Lacoste. 
 
 " Father of Mercies !" he loudly exclaimed, 
 scarce able to retain bis position. " Art thou 
 yet alive, my friend ? and cannot I save 
 thee?" The dying man slightly nodded his 
 head in token of his recognition of Bernard, 
 but he could not speak. With reluctance, but 
 yielding to necessity, Bernard seized the 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 S91 
 
 broken shaft of a pike, which was driven 
 throngh the shoulder of the sufferer, and drew 
 it out. But a second passed through the re- 
 gion of the loins, and would not at first yield 
 to his utmost efforts; finally he succeeded in 
 tearing out this also. This being effected, 
 the poor wretch fell forward on his knees. 
 Bernard caught him up in his arms and gently 
 lowered him upon the ground, with ftis back 
 leaning against the trunk of the tree. He 
 breathed deeply only twice ; his head fell for- 
 ward heavily upon his breast. His sufferings 
 were at an end ! 
 
 Bernard held him yet for a while in his 
 arms, encouraging the vain hope that the 
 passing life might return. But all in vain. 
 It was not regret for the loss of his friend ; it 
 was horror at the mode of losing him, that 
 racked his feelings. Yet holding the head in 
 his lap, he fixed his motionless eye on va- 
 cancy ; no tear escaped him — he uttered 
 neither sigh nor groan. The silence was 
 unbroken around him-, even the wind rustled 
 no longer through the trees. Dark clouds 
 lay heavy and portentous in the air. Two 
 ravens alighted on the loftier branches of the 
 pine and croaked ominously, as awaiting 
 their prey. 
 
 " At least, you shall not mutilate this 
 body !" exclaimed Bernard, as he arose. 
 With such aid as his staff could render, he 
 opened a broad furrow under the pine in the 
 deep snow. Then he arranged the hair and 
 clothes of the dead body. Being about to 
 button the shirt, he felt something sharp. He 
 discovered that the zealous soldier had fast- 
 ened his most precious treasure — the cross of 
 the legion of honor — on the inside of his shirt 
 with a needle. " It is now thy last duty to 
 grace the sepulchre of a soldier," he said, 
 apostrophising the valued token ; " albeit, no 
 mortal eye may again see thee !" 
 
 He now hastened to dispose of the body 
 in its cold resting-place, and roUetl huge mass- 
 es of snow over it, until they formed a con- 
 siderable hillock. With the same iron that 
 had pierced the body of the departed soldier, 
 he affixed the ribband and cross to the tree, 
 immediately above the grave, that it might 
 bear honorable testimony of the termination 
 of a soldier's career. 
 
 Bernard folded his arms in sorrow, as he 
 stood awhile beside the grave. " Here, take 
 thy rest now, until spring shall remove this 
 cold shroud and call up flowers around thy 
 mortal remains. Thou didst deserve a lees 
 perishable monument, indeed — but be content ; 
 here no man obtains a worthier ! Fare thee 
 well !" 
 
 He turned from the melancholy spot and 
 departed, he scarce knew whither. His reso- 
 lution was to exert his every energy for his 
 
 safety — but he was aware of the perils, and 
 so prepared for the worst. 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 As Louis, with his fellow prisoners, was 
 being conducted through the forest, his vigi- 
 lance was continually on the alert in the hope 
 of discovering some trace of Bernard. He 
 was in doubt whether he had more to hope or 
 to fear. It would have been an invaluable 
 consolation to him to share his joys and his 
 griefs with him; but his generosity was 
 proof against the taint of self-love. He fos- 
 tered the secret, although feeble hope, that 
 Bernard had been more fortunate in his ef- 
 forts to escape, and would soon rejoin Ra- 
 sinski and friends. 
 
 After a walk of about one hour they came 
 upon a clear space surrounded by woods. 
 Here large watch-fires were blazing, around 
 which lay groups of armed peasants. With 
 astonishment Louis saw many women among 
 them, whom the general hatred of the in- 
 vaders had divested of their domestic habits, 
 and inspired with contempt of exposure and 
 fatigue. Some were preparing victuals, others 
 cleaned weapons, and an elderly i^iatron was 
 seen in close attendance upon the wounded. 
 
 At first no one seemed particularly to re- 
 gard this arrival. But when they perceived 
 the prisoners that were brought in, curiosity 
 was excited, and they collected togetlier to 
 gaze on the unfortunate captives. The hope- 
 lessness in their countenances contrasted 
 painfully with the expression' of scorn and 
 wild joy of the conquerors. Louis needed 
 all his nerve to enable him to preserve his 
 serenity. The circumstance that he was 
 not, as th^ others, stripped of his clothing, but 
 still covered with a warm cloak, prevented 
 him at least from trembling with cold, and 
 was, therefore, very advantageous to him. 
 But his garment awakened the avarice of his 
 enemies. They crowded around him, and their 
 sentiments were but too easily interpreted by 
 their gesticulations, and claraor,and increasing 
 irritation. At length a large, bearded ruf- 
 fian, who might well indulge the proud design 
 of seizing the lion's share of the plunder, ap- 
 proached him and endeavored to remove the 
 cap from his head. Louis stepped back a 
 few paces, and raised his hand as if to de- 
 fend himself from the rude attack of the 
 Russian. The savage in an instant lifted 
 his formidable cudgel and threatened to strike 
 him. And this he would indeed have done ; 
 but suddenly there arose a loud cry of a fe- 
 
t. 
 
 m 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 male voice, and at the same moment a noble 
 form, enveloped in costly furs, and with her 
 face veiled, broke through the circle of pea- 
 sants an4 threw herself upon the Russian's 
 raised arm. 
 
 The boor turned hastily round ; but when 
 
 he discovered who it was that arrested the 
 
 ^ blow, his wrath was suddenly changed into 
 
 'the deepest submission, and he stepped back 
 
 with servile reverence. 
 
 Louis was amazed at the mystery of this 
 new rescue from impending destruction, — it 
 was as sudden as effective. He fixed his 
 looks upon his preserver, but he could not 
 utter a word of thanks. She stood before 
 him awhile unmoved, scarcely breathing — so 
 deep was het emotion — and with difficulty 
 remaining firm on her feet. Her hands 
 were elevated, and folded, as in the attitude 
 of prayer. At length she threw back her 
 veil ; her voice was soft and tremulous, and 
 scarcely audible, as she said, 
 
 " Do you recognise me ?" 
 
 Had an angel of peace suddenly descended 
 from the mercy-seat, and stood in radiance 
 before him, Louis could not have been more 
 struck with awe. He fell on his knees be- 
 fore the long-lost fiianca. He grasped her 
 hand in both his own, and bent his head over 
 it. His tears streamed apace — his joy was 
 excessive. 
 
 " Thus do I repay thee !" said she, raising 
 her blue eyes, swimming in tears, to heaven. 
 "Oh, Almighty Father! thy hand directed 
 my steps !" 
 
 The people who stood around cgntempla- 
 ted the group in grave astonishment. 
 
 " What is the matter here ?" suddenly 
 asked a rough, manly voice. Louis awoke 
 at once from his blissful trance and rose to 
 his feet. A horseman gallopped into the 
 circle ; his noble steed and commanding per- 
 son denoted a man of rank. 
 
 It was Count Dolgorow. 
 
 " Oh, my father !" exclaimed Bianca in a 
 passionate tone, " behold here our pre- 
 server !" 
 
 " How ? who?" asked the Count, casting 
 his eager eye upon Louis. But suddenly he 
 cut short his surprise by exclaiming : " Thou 
 here, miserable villain !" And at a leap he 
 descended from his horse, rushed among the 
 mass of the prisoners, and dragged Beau- 
 caire from among them, trembling with cold 
 and dismay. 
 
 Dolgorow, whom revenge aroused more 
 readily than gratitude, had grounds for this 
 sudden display of his character. In England 
 and Italy, where Dolgorow was entrusted 
 with important affairs, Beaucaire had been his 
 secretary and secret agent. When the war 
 of the year 1812 broke out, and Napoleon or- 
 dered the Russian and English agents in all 
 
 countries to be rigidly sought after and a|>> 
 prehended, Dolgorow's operations were de- 
 tected. He was obliged to fly hastily and in 
 disguise out of Rome. Beaucaire obtained a 
 passport as a German count, Waliersheim. 
 Feodorowna assumed the name of Bianca, and 
 represented herself as his sister. Dolgorow 
 himself was described as an old servant ; his 
 wife ad the governess of the young Count- 
 ess. Thus they commenced their perilous 
 journey. In Milan, Beaucaire, who had con- 
 ceived a coarse passion for the Count's 
 daughter, believed he enjoyed a favorable 
 opportunity for accomplishing his object. 
 He ventured to make proposals, which Feodo- 
 rowna scornfully rejected, and which inflam- 
 ed her father's wrath, nothwithstanding the 
 extreme peril of his position. He inflicted 
 chastisement upon the knave, and dismissed 
 him with ignominy. Beaucaire lost not a 
 moment in betraying him. But the Count 
 had anticipated the traitor ; he was prepared 
 to fly speedily, and changed his route by 
 keeping, instead of through Verona to In- 
 spruck, the road over the Simplon. There 
 Louis had met with them. The Preserver 
 and the Traitor had now at the same time 
 alike fallen into his hands. The hour of re- 
 payment had come. 
 
 "Holy Father! How strange a fate!" 
 exclaimed Feodorowna, when her eye fell 
 upon the miserable wretch, whom Dolgorow, ' 
 in spite of his struggling, tore from out the 
 trembling mass. 
 
 Beaucaire saw her now also, and in an 
 agony of despair, tearing himself loose, he 
 fell down at her feet. Convulsively he 
 clasped her knees, exclaiming : " Have pity 
 on me. Countess ; intercede for me ! • My 
 love for you — and that alone, has been my 
 
 rum 
 
 I" 
 
 Bianca was indeed moved with compas- 
 sion for the trembling wretch, and raised an 
 imploring Ibok towards her father. But his 
 wrath was inexorable. 
 
 " Seize him, and cast him into the flames, 
 that every Russian may see how a traitor is 
 punished !" he roared. 
 
 Bianca was petrified with terror. Beau- 
 caire, in the agony of his desperation, clnng 
 the more tenaciously to her feet, endeavor- 
 ing to conceal his head in her lap. She 
 would have fallen, had not Louis hastily ad- 
 vanced to her assistance and sustained her. 
 
 " Do your duty !" shouted the enraged 
 nobleman. " Tear him away from the Prin- 
 
 cess 
 
 I" 
 
 Upon this' two men readily sprang ont 
 from the crowd, and seized the doomed man 
 by hil hair ; two others seized his feet, and 
 a Cossack, unsheathing his knife, drew its 
 keen edge deep across his hands, which 
 would retain their hold of Bianca's dress. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA, 
 
 SS3 
 
 ' No sooner was the wound inflicted than the 
 hands relaxed their grasp. Amid insults 
 and execrations of the bloodthirsty peasants, 
 , he was forcibly dragged to his doom. His 
 cries and his prayers were alike unheeded ; 
 his torment was enjoyed by his savage exe- 
 cutioners ; and the mob, ever ready to en- 
 courage and participate in deeds of violence, 
 * followed their despairing victim. 
 
 " Watch the other prisoners !" said Dol- 
 gorow, and hastily etrode through the people, 
 who respectfully gave way, towards the 
 ' place where his terrible sentence was to be 
 executed. Bianca bad reclined her head 
 upon Louis' shoulder. ' A strange mixture 
 of horror and delight filled his soul. A sud- 
 den shout rose high in the air. Involun- 
 tarily he directed his eye to the dreadful 
 spot He saw Beaucaire raised above the 
 heads of the mob — bis face distorted as in the 
 agony of unutterable torments. In vain 
 were his bloody arms thrown in frantic en- 
 ergy around. His savage tormentors cast 
 him headlong into the glowing fire. A fear- 
 ful cry arose over the deep murmuring of the 
 spectators. It entered deep into Bianca's 
 heart; she shrank aghast from the con- 
 sciousness of the wretch's sufferings. She 
 hid her face on Louis' breast. He also 
 stood motionless and speechless with unimag- 
 inable terror. He was scarce able to turn 
 away his eyes from the fearful spectacle, 
 and not much less wa^ he afllected when 
 they rested on the pale features of Bianca. 
 
 The tumult around the fire subsided, and 
 was succeeded by a fearful silence. Bianca 
 recoiled from the sight of the theatre of that 
 terrible tragedy. She looked upward, and 
 her eyes rested upon the noble features of 
 Louis, made more definable by the emotion 
 therein depicted. Here her feelings were 
 more intensely centered. Her life indeed 
 did not betray the secret of her heart, which 
 then perhaps for the first time she had truly 
 discovered — but it was too plainly revealed 
 in the beaming eye. Louis devoutly believed 
 in the mysterious ordinations of Providence, 
 and in Bianca, at this moment, be saw only 
 bis destined companion for life. He could 
 not but recognise that marvellous interposi- 
 tion whereby they now met once more. He 
 presumed to interpret her look as auspicious 
 evidence ; and he would have addressed her, 
 had not Dolgorow at that moment returned 
 from witnessing his judicial sentence, and 
 interposed his authority. He bent a search- 
 ing look upon his daughter, as if it appeared 
 to him that her too obvious agitation might 
 have its origin in something more nearly 
 and deeply interesting to herself than the 
 fearful punishment of Beaucaiifc. 
 
 "Princess Ochalskoi," (and he spoke 
 haughtily and coldly,) " I have not forgotten 
 
 the circumstances under which we contract- 
 ed our obligations to this young man. Bat 
 perhaps our account is at last balanced, 
 since I see him here, an enemy of Russia, 
 and among the invaders who have dared to 
 violate the soil of our country. But a Rus- 
 sian is generous. It shall be my duty, young 
 man, to see you safely restored to your own 
 people. But should you fall a second time 
 into my hands, the fate of all other captives 
 will be yours ; — death, or perpetual captivity 
 in the mines of Siberia." 
 
 Louis' pride was awakened by the haughty 
 demeanor of Dolgorow; but suppressing it, 
 he replied : " If you send me back to the 
 French army, my death is certain, and you 
 yourself will be its cause." 
 
 " How is this ?" demanded Dolgorow, with 
 interest, 
 
 " What I did for you on the Italian fron- 
 tier was in ray own country adjudged by the 
 French authorities a crime meriting death. 
 I was proscribed ; deprived of all power of 
 making my escape by flight; the only re- 
 maining alternative was accepting the aid 
 of a noble friend, and entering the army. 
 This very morning I was about to sufl^r 
 death, pursued and betrayed by the miserable 
 being who has even now undergone the 
 dreadful punishment of his crime, A sudden 
 attack by your people saved me. But a 
 dear friend " 
 
 Dolgorow interrupted him : " If you speak 
 the trutii, you are justified, and I believe 
 you. In this case you will take care. Prin- 
 cess, that our preserver be carried to the 
 castle, Solanow is to guide you. My duties 
 will for the present keep me here, but I shall 
 join you as soon as possible. But go now 
 and apprise the Countess of our situation," 
 
 Bianca obeyed, and accompanied by two 
 servants, took her way to a kind of a hut, 
 erected behind the camp-fires, 
 
 " We shall soon meet again," be said, ap- 
 proaching Louis, and bowing politely. Her 
 look pierced him to the heart; she smiled 
 sadly and hopefully, while a lofty benignity, 
 as in the countenance of a saint, bean^ on 
 her features. With respect he bowed bis 
 head ; in raising it again he saw the noble 
 form, as a vision from on high, passing 
 through the ranks of the peasants, who rev- 
 erentially did obeisance, as in duty bound, to 
 their chieftain's daughter. 
 
 Dolgorow would have departed, but Louis 
 detained him. 
 
 " I must yet further intreat your kind ofl5- 
 ces for a friend, who has perhaps, as I have, 
 fallen into the hands of your people. He 
 has been my preserver, and has thus brought 
 upon himself the wrath of the French author- 
 ities ; he was to have been shot with me this 
 morning, but was, with me, saved by your 
 
;984 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDREP AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 people. He escaped the French soldiers, but 
 may have fallen a captive to the Cossacks." 
 
 " If he does fall into our hands, he shall 
 be brought to you," said Dolgorow ; " but by 
 what name is he known ?" 
 
 « Count Lomond is the name under which 
 he entered the service, and which he also 
 now will continue to use." 
 
 " I shall make the necessary arrangements 
 on his account." 
 
 A greyheaded soldier of about sixty, wear- 
 ing the uniform and beard of a Russian, but 
 resembling a German in features, approached 
 Dolgorow, and bowing respectfully, made 
 some request. 
 
 " Be it so," replied Dolgorow ; " if you be- 
 lieve you have found a countryman, Solanow, 
 speak to him." 
 
 « My dear sir," said the old man, in the 
 €rennan language, to Louis, " permit me to 
 ask you a question. I think I can trace in 
 you a resemblance to one before known to 
 me. Is your name Steinfels ?" 
 
 "Wliat?" exclaimed Louis, betraying ex- 
 treme astonishment, as he recognised the 
 name as the same with that used in Mary's 
 letter. " Why do you ask ?" he stammered 
 forth. 
 
 " I served a German master of that name," 
 said the old soldier, " it is true he is long 
 since dead, but when I see before me his 
 image, like ^" 
 
 " When and where did he die ?" exclaimed 
 Louis, hastily interrupting the old man. 
 
 " The sea has swallowed him. We were 
 once imprisoned at Paris, but we made our 
 escape to Havre, and got on board a Dutch 
 vessel." 
 
 « When was that?" asked Louis, in breath- 
 less suspense. 
 
 " Eighteen years ago." 
 
 " Because of a duel ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That was my father!" exclaimed Louis 
 wholly overwhelmed. He seized the hands 
 of the soldier, who stood before him trem- 
 bling and irresolute. " And who art thou ?" 
 
 " A simple man, dear sir," replied the old 
 man, as the tears rolled down his cheeks ; " I 
 was only his groom — ^Willhofen is my true 
 name." 
 
 "Honest, faithful servant!" exclaimed Louis, 
 "and here I find thee? And my father is 
 really dead?" 
 
 "Doubtless long ago! We were ship- 
 wTCcked in the North Sea ; the sea swallow- 
 ed most of us. A few, I myself among 
 them, were saved ; the captain of a Russian 
 vessel picked us up." 
 
 Here the old man hesitated, signifying by 
 a side glance that he was not allowed to 
 speak more. But Louis guessed the fate of 
 the unfortunate captives. 
 
 Dolgorow had in the meantime repaired to 
 the other prisoners, to examine them. They 
 stood trembling before him; most of tiiem 
 were young soldiers. 
 
 " Are there any (lermans among you V* 
 asked he loudly. 
 
 Louis heard the question and listened ; he 
 Waited for the answer, feeling it to be his 
 duty to endeavor to effect the liberation of 
 his countrymen. But no answer was given. 
 
 Count Dolgorow arrested the attention of 
 the soldier Willhofen. 
 
 " The prisoners now delivered over to 
 your charge are to be conveyed to the castle, 
 and probably yet further. They are service- 
 able. For the others we have neither place 
 nor food — an ounce of lead will remove all 
 difficulties." 
 
 There were twenty-one captives doomed 
 to slavery. Only one was set aside as too 
 old for work. This was SL Luces. 
 
 Not having understood the Count's words, 
 St. Luces fancied that from his appearance 
 and fine linen, and from his clothes (of which, 
 however, he was by tliis time pretty well 
 stripped,) his captors had discovered him to 
 belong to the higher classes. The pallid 
 horror which had spread over his features 
 since the terrible fate of Beaucaire, was re- 
 placed by a fiiint gleam of hope. He ven- 
 tured to address the Count in French. 
 
 " I trust, sir," he said, " I sliall be treated in 
 conformity with those laws of war which all 
 civilised nations respect. I am not a mili- 
 tary man, but belong to the civil service ; my 
 rank " 
 
 " You are a Frenchman," sternly inter- 
 rupted Dolgorow — " one of those vampires 
 who have sucked the blood and marrow out 
 of half the nations of Europe; more con- 
 temptible and odious than the soldier, for he, 
 at least, fights with fair and open weapons." 
 
 " They would willingly," persisted St. Lu- 
 ces, again trembling with apprehension, " ex- 
 change me against Russian prisoners !" 
 
 "Prisoners! what prisoners have you?" 
 cried Dolgorow, with bitter scorn. " Thou- 
 sands, certainly, are set down in your bulle- 
 tins, but wliere can you show them ? You do 
 wrong to remind me of that. Think you 
 we know not how your ruthless assassin 
 bands have treated the few who fell into 
 their hands ? Think you we have not found 
 them lying with shattered skulls upon the 
 roads in rear of your flying columns ? Did 
 we not meet with them shut up in churches, 
 bams, and stables, dead in the pangs of 
 famine? Away with ye! We shall find 
 enough to exchange, when exchange we 
 will.'"* 
 
 * " Upon the evening of this long day's inarch, the 
 imperial column approaching Gjatz was surprised to find 
 upon tine load ttle tradiea of RuMiuis quite recently 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 235 
 
 In the meantime, Solanow, or Willhofen, 
 had well scriuinized tiie feHtiires of the 
 trembling unTortunatP. He whispered a few 
 Russian words to Dolgorow, and then ad- 
 dressfd the prisoner : 
 
 " What is your name, sir?" 
 
 " I am the Buron Rnmigny de St. Lnces." 
 
 " Rnmigny !" exclaimed Willhofen, his 
 features assuming an expression of sudden 
 indignation. " Father of Heaven ! Tny ven- 
 geance does not slumber!" he exclaimed, 
 elevating his hands towards heaven: "Vil- 
 lain that thou art, dost thou know me ? 
 
 Hast thou forgotten that thou but hold — 
 
 here — look here ? Knowest thou this man ?" 
 
 He hastened forthwitti to Louis, and drew 
 him hastily towards Rumigny, saying : 
 
 " Steinfels is his name ! The dead arise to 
 avenge themselves ! 'I'his is the murderer 
 of your father, the murderer of the excellent 
 Waldheim — and lo ! the hour of retribution 
 is at hand." 
 
 The eyes of the despairing wretch were 
 fixed upon Louis, and he strove to speak, 
 but language failed him. Louis was moved 
 with the deepest awe at this partial solution 
 of a great mystery. For a moment his an- 
 ger fiercely boiled within him — but his more 
 generous nature soon regaitjed its ascend- 
 ency. It was oniy pity that filled hi-* breast, 
 when he contemplated the wretch, tortured 
 by the expectation of death and by remors^e, 
 and broken down under the weight of liis 
 guilt. 
 
 "Willhofen," said Loui?, addressing the 
 old soldier; " Vengeance is mine, saith the 
 Lord ! Let, therefore, the Almighty accom- 
 plish his own work. It is our duty to for- 
 give." 
 
 A tear stood in the eye of the veteran but 
 he remained silent. 
 
 Mliiin, hII with their heads cloven in the same nnnner, 
 nnd with their hrninsi scattered aniiind. It was knnwn 
 IhHt two thniismid prisoners preceded the cottinin, 
 escorted l)y Spaniard.s. Portuguese and l'ole<. Various 
 opinions were emitted ; some were indignant, otlicrs 
 iip|)roved or remained indilTercnt, Hccordlng to ihc 
 character of each. Around the Emjieror these different 
 iiii,)ressions found no voice, until Caulainconrt hnrst 
 out and exclainied, 'that it was an atrocious cruelty. 
 This, then, is the civiltzition we bring to Rn<!<ia ! 
 What clfect would this liarbarily liwe upon the en- 
 emy ? Did we not leave him our wounded and a host 
 of prisoners f Would he lack the opportunity of hor- 
 rible reprisals'?' Najio'eon maintained a glooniv silence, 
 but upon the morrow these murders had ceased. The 
 unfortunate prisoners were allowed to ilie of hunger in 
 the enclosures into which, at niuht, they were huddled 
 like cnttle. Doubtless it was still a hirlnrity; but 
 what could be done ■? Exchange them ? The enemy 
 refused. Set Ihem free t They would have hastened 
 to proclaim oar destitution, and soon they would have 
 retarned with their cnnipanions to harass our rnnrch. 
 In this ung|Mrini! war to have given them life w(mld 
 have been to sacrifice ourselves. We were cruel froui 
 necessity. Thefmili was, to have ever P'ltced ourselves 
 in lo terrible nn alternative. 
 
 " On the other hand, during our march into the inte- 
 rior of Rnssia, our captive soldiers were not tresteii 
 more liumanely, although the Russians had nut iiupe- 
 rktiu necessity for ancxcu>«.''— &gur. 
 
 Louis would have made some intercession 
 with Dolgorow, but with astern lebuke the 
 Count cut nhorthis prayer. 
 
 *' Here ilie law must take its course I" he 
 said firmly, "if the prisoner has at any 
 lime done you a wrong, your forgiveness 
 may benefit him herc;atter, but here it can 
 be of no service to him." 
 
 He nodded to a Cos»ack near him and ut- 
 tered a few Russian words. The wretched 
 prisoner whose frame now appeared to be 
 utterly paralysed, was instantly conveyed 
 away. 
 
 A brief pause ensued — then was heard a 
 sharp ffolley, announcing the termination of 
 a guilty career, which Louis did not desire, 
 but could nut lament. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXr. 
 
 Dolgorow mounted his charger, and col- 
 lecting all his men capable of bearing arms, 
 put hin:oelf at their head and net out in the 
 direction of the main road. Willhofen and 
 four pt^iisants with apuars remained on guard 
 ov'er the prisoners, wlio were allowed lo warm 
 themselves by the great fire. An allowance 
 of bread and brandy was distributed among 
 them. Louis' hi)pes were bent on aguio 
 seeing. Bianca. He therotore usked Willho- 
 fen what would be their next step. 
 
 " We must await here the commands of 
 the Princess, who is yonder with the sick 
 Countess in the hut," answered he. " She 
 is probably expecting the return of the sledge 
 which has carried some wounded men to the 
 village." 
 
 The designation of " Princess" had already 
 before this affected Louis painfully. He 
 >isked : '• Is the Princess then not the daugh- 
 ter of the Count?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Willhofen, " but mar- 
 ried the Prince Ochalskoi." 
 
 " Married !" exclaimed Louis, and he grew 
 pale. 
 
 '• And be'ter for havinjbeen so," continued 
 Wtllhofen, " for the Prince is dead. I be- 
 lieve, between ourselves, it was but half a 
 marriatre afier all. For on that very even- 
 ing, the casile was surprised by the French ; 
 and in the attack the Prince received a mor- 
 tal wouni of which he died at Mo.scow." 
 
 Louis' attention was intensely arrested. 
 
 " Here on this spot in the forest I was 
 obliged to conceal him for a short time, nnlil 
 we obtained a wagon to convoy him and his 
 young bride to his hunting chateau." 
 
 " Here ? — here ?" said Loaia, interrupting 
 the narrative. 
 
»6 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 " Just here ; for the castle is situated at 
 DO great distance ; the high trees aloue in- 
 tercept the view of it : There, yonder — — " 
 "When was the attack made by the French?'' 
 " On the seventeenth of August ; I remem- 
 ber it as if it were but yesterday." 
 
 "Merciful Father!" exclaimed Louis, 
 throwing himself upon his knees in a parox- 
 ysm of excitement ; " Great Disposer of hu- 
 man events ! who will murmur against 
 Thee ! Accept my warmest, purest thanks ! 
 Prove me, Father, even with Thy chastening 
 rod, prove me, and I shall not relinquish my 
 hope and trust in Thee ! Despair shall not 
 enter into my thoughts, for wonderfully hast 
 Thou hitherto watched over me and guided 
 me ! Thou wilt accomplish all things in Thy 
 wisdom and to Thy eternal Glory .'" 
 
 Willhofen witnessed the fervency of this 
 prayer with astonishment. He supposed it 
 to originate in some secret desire connected 
 with his present situation — but be dared not 
 attempt to penetrate the mystery. 
 
 When Louis arose and paced to and fro 
 with much animation, Willhofen approached 
 him and seized his hand. 
 
 " Piety is a treasure of great price, dear sir," 
 he said, " and 1 trust your prayer may be 
 heard. 1 have myself often prayed fervently to 
 the Lord, and I hope he will hear me also. 
 Has he not already brought me back from the 
 distant region of Asia, where I was lost as a 
 serf of Prince Ochalskoi, to the neighbor- 
 hood of my own country, and to the presence 
 of the son of my old master ? And now your 
 interest with the Count is such, that I trust 
 your prayer may prevail on him to grant me 
 my liberty. Will you not intercede ?" 
 
 " Certainly !" said Louis, and pledged his 
 hand on the promise. "But what did you say ? 
 a serf to the Prince ?" 
 
 " Yes, truly ; but his possessions have now, 
 bytbe contract of marriage, fallen to the 
 Count. Ah, if it depended on the Princess, 
 to give me my liberty, then would I have pro- 
 cured it long since. To the Count Dolgorow 
 I have not yet presumed to offer my petition." 
 A servant approached and spoke to Will- 
 hofen. 
 
 " The Countess Dolgorow requires your 
 immediate attendance," said Willhofen. 
 " Follow this man, be will guide you." 
 
 Louis followed the servant, not without 
 solicitude. They walked over to a hut, 
 hastily constructed of pine branches, fiianca 
 came out to meet him ; she was friendly, but 
 melancholy could be traced on her features. 
 " I shall lead you to my mother," said she 
 in an under-tone : " You have already made 
 her acquaintance upon our flight out of Italy. 
 Do not be ofTended by the perhaps too cold 
 and formal reception you may meet with. In 
 this country the freedom of social intercourse, 
 
 unlike Germany, is but little known ; here 
 rank takes precedence over all, and the na- 
 tional pride and hatred against strangers are 
 at this moment both so powerfully aroased, 
 that scarce even the warm instincts of gra^ 
 titude can rise superior to their claims." 
 
 " Gratitude ?" replied Louis. " Who 
 ought to l>e grateful here ? You, to whom 
 I scarcely rendered a service, and if so, in it- 
 self the most auspicious incident of my life ; 
 or I, that owe you all — all !" 
 
 " You appear to ' desire to balance our ac- 
 count by assuming a reciprocity of services," 
 said the Princess. " You refer probably to 
 your escap^ from the fate of perishing, as 
 those two unhappy wretches have perished ?'* 
 " Should I also," answered Louis after 
 some hesitation, " be unmindful of the warn<- 
 ing I received at Moscow ?" 
 
 " So you haye recognised me by my to- 
 ken ?" said Feodorowna, with an indescrib- 
 able grace. 
 
 " Could I ever forget !" replied he, auda- 
 ciously. 
 
 A slight blush overspread the pale features 
 of the lady. Allowing the lashes ot tier eyes 
 almost to close : she said softly, 
 
 "And I also cannot forget the few hours of 
 happiness we once passed together. Oh ! why 
 did you leave us so soon — so abruptly ?" 
 
 " Do you imagine it to have been ray 
 choice V exclaimed Louis. " Oh, no ! do me 
 not that injustice !-— an evil genius parted us. 
 He led my steps astray. Too late I must have 
 reached the banks of the Rhone." 
 
 " My father urged us on with haste," said 
 Feodorowna. "1 endeavored by some token — '* 
 "Oh, I found it," said Louis, interrupting 
 her, and at the same instant he tenderly but 
 cautiously raised her hand to his lips. " Yet 
 it was after a long night of hopeless anxiety 
 and watchfulness that the morning star of 
 hope once more arose before my sight. I 
 shall never forget the moment when I saw 
 this ribbon, blooming as a rose among the 
 branches. Even to this very hour I l»ar it 
 next my heart. Here it is !" 
 
 A tear of joy filled the eye of the lady, as 
 she recognised the token of her wanderings 
 in the hands of her lover. 
 
 " We retired immediately beyond the 
 river, and entered a perilous road through 
 the mountains." 
 
 The Princess endeavored in vain to con- 
 trol her too apparent emotion. 
 
 " And I thought myself on the same path, 
 as I pursued my way up the valley and over 
 the Gothard. I was continually searching 
 for some trace of you, until in Germany that 
 
 inauspicious paper " 
 
 " Did then my last farewell find you after 
 all ?" said Feodorowna, not without a smile 
 of internal satisfaction. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 217 
 
 «* It was indeed the bitterest cup ever pre- 
 sented to ray lips by the hand of adver- 
 sity. 
 
 ** Yet has Providence blessed it — we must 
 be grateful," replied Peodorowna, religiously 
 acknowledging the Divine mercy. "I could 
 not then have believed that we should again 
 meet, but now we must recognise the over- 
 ruling power that directs the varied course 
 of our lives !" 
 
 " Truly, a wonderful power !" exclaimed 
 Louis, in a transport of gratitude. " Oh ! if 
 you had but known how near I have been 
 to you in the meantime !" 
 
 Bianca looked surprised. 
 
 " At Moscow, do you mean ?" 
 
 " No, not far from hence. I was at the 
 storming of that castle." 
 
 " You, yourself!" exclaimed she, looking 
 at him with an expression of doubt. She 
 raised her eyes and hands towards heaven, 
 and poured out, the intensity of her feelings. 
 
 "Almighty Father in lieaven ! — how could 
 I for a moment doubt thy grace ! Oh ! you 
 do not know," she continued, turning to 
 Louis, " you cannot guess from what an un- 
 happy fate that irruption redeemed me ! — 
 But," she added, hastily and cautiously, " for 
 heaven's sake, keep your own secret ; let it 
 not be known to any living being that you 
 were present on that fatal night ; — there is 
 one who would never forgive it." 
 
 Thus speaking, they entered the hut. Upon 
 a couch Louis saw the Countess Dolgorow, 
 whose features, although sickness and sorrow 
 had somewhat disfigured them, he recognised 
 instantly. 
 
 She looked upon him with far less of kind- 
 ness than patrician condescension. 
 
 " I am glad," she said, in grave and mea- 
 sured language, " that we find an opportunity 
 of recompensing the service you rendered us 
 in Italy ; although I am sorry to find you 
 amongst those who have brought the horrors 
 of war into our country." 
 
 " On that point, may it please your lady- 
 ship," said Louis, proudly, " I believe I have 
 already sufficiently justified myself." 
 
 " You may now enjoy the opportunity of 
 cqpnpensating your compulsory error. God 
 has conquered the armies of the enemy — ruin 
 is bursting over them — the just cause pre- 
 vails. It depends now on yourself alone to 
 partake in the victory." 
 
 Louis was silent for some moments. His 
 answer was tranquil and resolute. 
 
 " You will allow me. Countess, to attempt 
 the justification of my resolution. I myself 
 believe the cause of RussiaUo be just. It was 
 only with reluctance I took part in the con- 
 flict against her. I have done nothing more 
 than the honor of a man and of a soldier, 
 who has made his choice of a profession, re- 
 
 quired. As an individual, I could neither re- 
 sist nor direct the course of martial events. 
 This acquits me of all personal responsibility 
 to this country. Perhaps nobody in the 
 whole army wished the war ; therefore, 
 should no single soldier be required to repre- 
 sent the general wrong. He could not avert, 
 and should not be made to atone for the evil. 
 To the noble leader, under whose protection 
 I had put myself — to my dear companions in 
 arms, my sentiments were not unknown : but 
 honoring them, they so spared me in this deli- 
 cate matter, that they sought to exempt me 
 from every duty which might be peculiarly 
 painful to my feelings. I myself had to strive 
 against the indulgence, to avoid dishonorable 
 suspicion of my honor, and my courage as a 
 soldier. Whatever friendship — whatever bro- 
 therly love — whatever esteem and benevo- 
 lence could suggest, was cheerfully accorded 
 to me by my companions in arms. I am sure, 
 that under such circumstances, you will not 
 require that \ should treacherously betray 
 my friends, or take up arms against them. 
 If, indeed, a paramount duty to my country 
 should demand it, I should certainly obey : — 
 yet, even in that case, I should act with more 
 reluctance and dissatisfaction than heretofore, 
 against Russia. For, whatever may be the 
 want of sympathy between great masses of 
 men, yet the feelings of individuals are always 
 more or less affected and involved: and I 
 would rather draw my sword to my own cer- 
 tain destruction, than against my noble and 
 dear friends, with whom I have shared the 
 perils and fortunes of the war." 
 
 The Countess seemed to be sensible to 
 Louis' independent reply. In Feodorowna's 
 eye there beamed a secret joy and emotion, 
 on account of the lofty sentiment of him to 
 whom her heart was already disposed to 
 commend its every hope of happiness and 
 prosperity. 
 
 " The cause of Russia is that of your own 
 country — it is that of all Europe," replied the 
 countess, after some reflection ; " but I feel 
 myself too weak to explain to you now. You 
 will accompany us to the hunting-chateau, 
 some distance off: it is situated so deeply in 
 the forest, that it is secure against every hos- 
 tile surprise. However, we cannot move 
 from this place before evening, because our 
 sledge is conveying some of the more se- 
 verely wounded to a village far distant from 
 here. In the meantime, our people are 
 desired to provide you with everything you 
 may require." 
 
 Saying this, she inclined her head, as if 
 signifying to Louis that he might withdraw ; 
 but Feodorowna, visibly perplexed by the 
 cold, haughty tone of the Countess, interposed 
 her mediation. •> 
 
 " This duty I shall take upon myself, dear- 
 
238 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR 
 
 est mother; the preserver of our lives must 
 not find us nngratt'lul !" 
 
 " I hope he will become duly acquainted 
 with Russiarj magnanimity, and iearii how to 
 appreciate it," answered ibeCounteas, proudly 
 and repulsively ;" but I would pray ihee, my 
 daughter, not to leave me um lonjr ; as tlitnj 
 knowest that I necessarily want thy assist- 
 ance in my present condition." 
 
 Louis bowed and departed ; but Ft?odorow- 
 na followed him instantly. 
 
 " I entreat of you "to do nothing that is 
 likely to attract undue attention," said Louis, 
 gently, to her, when they were in the open 
 air. " The most brilliant prospects are dovv 
 before me — what more can I desire ?' 
 
 " Oh ! you are so ready with charitable sng- 
 gestitms !" replied Feo«lor«>wna ;"but I myself 
 must, in some degree, excuse my mother. She 
 is truly devoted to her country ; and this is 
 the reason why you find U8 now in this sin- 
 gular situation. She would, by ail means — 
 and in this she has not alone followed the 
 will of my falhrr — arouse and inflame the 
 courage and zeal of the people by her pre- 
 sence, by exhortation, by aid to the unfortu- 
 nate, and hy that active influence which is 
 readily exacted by those occupying a lofty 
 position in society, when they desire to sway 
 the feelings of ihose below them. Tuis duty 
 she lias practised with sncli energy, surpass- 
 ing that of ordinary women, that she now lies 
 f;iintinor an I exhausted, and is compelled to 
 retire to that forest chateau, whiilier we are 
 now about to proceed." 
 
 This discourse was here interrupted by the 
 old man who had saved Louis from the ven- 
 geance of the angry multitude when, some 
 few hours before, he was lx>uiid lo the stake, 
 in expectation of immediate death. The old 
 man now advanced from the forest. It was 
 Father Gregorius. 
 
 " I salute thee, my d,iughter," he said, ad- 
 dres.-ing Feodorowna, in the R,ussian lan- 
 guage. *' Ilast thou pity upon this unfortunate 
 prisoner ?" 
 
 " To this venerable old man," exclaimed 
 Louis, recognising liim,and seizing his hand 
 with a w irm expression of gratitude, " I owe 
 first my life, and the greatest blessing that 
 has b^-en bestowed upon it." 
 
 •• So indeed. Father Gregorius, thou hast 
 saved him for my sake !" exclaimed the young 
 lady, with touching emotion ; " and he was 
 once the preserver of my father, of my mo- 
 ther, and of myself. Ah ! he has been twice 
 my preserver. You have indeed protected 
 him for me !" 
 
 " Dear daughter !" replied the kind-hearted 
 old man, " the commandment of the Lord re- 
 quired his salvation. He was helpless, faint, 
 bound ; our enemiA were also his enemies ; 
 and thus he belonged to us. May he now 
 
 become entirely one of us, and draw Ms 
 sword against ihe invaders, who are already 
 blasted by the bolt of Divine vengeance !" 
 
 Limis was silent, for he llnder^tood not the 
 words, spoken in Russian ; but Feodorowna 
 replied without hesitation : 
 
 " No, my Father ; this we must not ask at 
 his hand-. How heavily soever his comrades 
 may have sinned against him, he must not 
 execute vengeance on them ; — he must not 
 become a traitor to ihose who speak his own 
 mother tongue, and who dwell in the same 
 country with him. Russia's holy cause may 
 well be left to her own children. They are 
 strong enough to workout their own ven- 
 geance and retribution. It ought to be their 
 glory and their jealous pride to sufTer no 
 ^tranger to partake in the work which they 
 themselves are able to accomplish. There- 
 fore, my Father, let us honor the feelings 
 of this our guest, for his own people. His 
 well-being is of deep interest to me. To thy 
 care I commend him as a guest ; — thou wilt 
 do the duty of a father to him, until I send 
 lo thee. Divide thy ii.eal and thy couch with 
 him ; for, as thmi seest, he is exhausted with 
 fitigue and anxiety. To thee I transfer him; 
 and it is well that thou should^t know that 
 thy daughter accounts him as a dear brother ; 
 to thee, therefore, let him be a dear son !" 
 
 Feodorowna t^poke with a warm zeal. 
 Greg«rius held out his right hand to his 
 uuest, in token of a kind and fatherly recep- 
 tion of him. 
 
 " Salve ! Sisfelix, quomodo mihi es exop- 
 talus !" 
 
 Louis had not hitherto been aware that he 
 stood in the presence of a servant of the Lord. 
 He was not a little rejoiced at discovering 
 the means of intelligible communication, and 
 he promptly replied : — 
 
 " Salce, mi Pair ! Ex animo sralias tibi 
 a^o, salcatori vilcc mecc I Sisfelix quomodo 
 beniqmus es." 
 
 Feodorowna took leave of Louis and went 
 bick to her mother. He himself followed 
 'be venerable priest, who led him to a second 
 hut, before which there blazed a large fire. 
 With unfeigned thanks he accepted the meal 
 which the old man offered to him. While he 
 eonsnmed the simple but nourishing food, 
 Willhofen also arrived, and, at the benevo- 
 lent invitation of the old man, sat down l)eside 
 them. This afforded Louis the first oppor- 
 tunity of inquiring after his father, and re- 
 sponding to the inquiries of Willhofen after 
 his mother./ It was a melancholy truth, in- 
 deed, that both were under the necessity ot 
 speaking of the departed ; but the tender re- 
 miniscences called up by their conversation, 
 were tinged with something of pleasure, as 
 well as pain. 
 
 Only one care— one grief — lay upon Louis 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 929 
 
 breast — Bernard's fate. 'Tis true, the un- 
 subdued energy of hope was yet awake ; yet 
 the very sceues he had but lately witnessed 
 were sufficient to excite the most gloomy ap- 
 prehensions. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 It was almost night before Louis again 
 heard anything about Feodorowna. Although 
 he was well pleased to find himself in the so- 
 ciety of the worthy clergyman who had fur- 
 nished him with warm furs — Hlihough he 
 heard many interesting particulars from 
 Willhofen, which deeply moved his feelings; 
 yet his heart beat wiili restless anxiety for 
 the object of his thouiihts, and he feared evtry 
 moment some accident might deprive him ui 
 the expected reunion. 
 
 At length a^ne.-isage was delivered from 
 her, desiring him to prepare for departure. 
 Gregorius and Willhofen accompanied him 
 to the hut, where stood the sledge, to whirh 
 the horses were air /ady aitaclied. The two 
 ladies soon came fcirih, closely enveloped in 
 furs and veils. Tlie Couiite»s was carried ; 
 she was evidently much fatigued. Fa^sing 
 by Louis, she snluted him with a slight incli- 
 nation of her head ; Feodorowna, on the con- 
 trary, stretching out her hand to her friend, 
 said: 
 
 " In a few hours we shall have reached the 
 place of rest", you will, I hope, rejoice at it. 
 YoH must pardon us, that our sledge has no 
 suitable place for you." 
 
 Limis soon discovered what it was th^t of- 
 fended Feodorowna's delicacy — namely, that 
 he must sit upon a servant's seat. He kindly 
 and respectfully quieted her regrets, as he 
 assisted her into the carriage. 
 
 " My eyes will watch for you, and my 
 hand -hall guard you, during the darkness of 
 tlie night ; it ii a charge that renders ine 
 happy." 
 
 Saying this, he swung himself up into the 
 fore-seat, where Willhofen l(X)k his place by 
 his side. The coachman sat upon the btck- 
 seat, handing the reins to Willhofen ; two 
 servants, on horseback, rode on before. 
 
 After having taken leave of the ladies, 
 Gregorius held out his hand to his youfg 
 gue.it, for whom he speedily had conceived a 
 sincere affection. Louis pressed it with the 
 warmest gratitude. The sleigh was soon in 
 motion, and dashed away with rapid ty. 
 
 Their way laj through the midst of a dense 
 forest. It was dark indeed, and the sky was 
 dall and gloomy ; still they were enabled to 
 trace their path on tiie snow. Silence reigned j 
 
 everywhere. The hollow rnstl'ng among the 
 pine branches, occasioned by the passage of 
 the sleigh and the hard breathing of the 
 horses, were the only sounds that disturbed 
 the frozen solitude. 
 
 Louis had now leisure to reflect upon the vi- 
 cissitudes he had but so recently experienced. 
 A lifetime of events in the short space of one 
 day ! His powers of endurance assailed 
 on every side, were sustained in equilibrium 
 by the very incidents that environed them. 
 To any one of the several trials both the 
 mind and the body might well have given 
 way. He now enjoyed a few moments of 
 comparative tranquillity, and was enabled to 
 arrange the confused images that vexed his 
 thoughts, and pass them in review before 
 him. The present and the past — the remote 
 and the proximate — were how subject to his 
 apprehensions ; grief and joy, care and hope, 
 trod cIospIv upon each other! His own fate 
 was as the image of an autumnal landscape — 
 where the shadtjw of a passing cloud is 
 clearly defined in the sun.hinc — where the 
 green and the withered leaves are strangely 
 intermixed with each other. 
 
 "The lost is found, and beside thee !" he 
 mentally syliloquised ; " the breath of her 
 lips istthine own; thy hand can touch her! 
 But canst thou ever clasp her to thy heart ? 
 Will not the brazen portulof fate again grate 
 its harsh thunder before the opening Para- 
 dise? — and will thou not be excluded in the 
 chill d.irkness of despair? And thy friend, 
 roo! — the faithful — the invaluable friend! — 
 AJas ! — the terrible calamity, so graciously 
 av-erted from this unworthy head, has fallen 
 but too fatally on his! or death has visited 
 him in all the terrors of winter and wilder- 
 ness ! And has he thus passed away from 
 the glad precincts of light and life? Ah! 
 how fearful to think that no hand to aid — 
 no voice to comfort — to love — to soothe — 
 ministered to the wants, the regrets and the 
 affections of the dying sutferer! Oh, AI- 
 mghty Father ! cliastise not too severely hira 
 whom Thou deignest to bless ! Alas ! this 
 is indeed an affliction scarce compensated 
 hy the love of woman. No, no! If. cannot 
 l)e, that f purchase happiness at such a price ! 
 Weighed down with grief for one so ruth- 
 lessly lost — the hand is unable to raise this 
 new cup to my lips." 
 
 '• It is getting quite dark !" said VVillhofen. 
 "These forests are fearfully wild. Haik! 
 Do you hear the wolf? He howls with hun- 
 ger. If he scent us in the wind he will soon 
 be on our track. Holla ! ray lad — you there 
 before. Ride close up with ns. Are your 
 guns loaded ? We may have to use thrm." 
 
 Louis looked back with anxiety upon the 
 women. But the night and the thick veils 
 they wore, rendered it Impossible to recog- 
 
830 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 oise their features, or distiagaish whether or 
 not they were under any apprehension. 
 
 " Is there any danger ?" he quietly asked 
 Willhofen. 
 
 " Not much. Be under no alarm !" 
 
 " I am not anxious for my own sake," an- 
 swered Louis ; " but we have women with us." 
 
 " That's nothing. We have three guns, 
 and to you I resign my cutlass. Hark ! 
 There must be a whole pack ; hear how they 
 howl !" 
 
 They proceeded but slowly through the deep, 
 nntrodden snow. The air was at rest, and 
 the deep and constant howling of the hungry 
 brutes was distinctly heard in the distance. 
 
 " The horses already scent their enemy," 
 said Willhofen in an under tone ; " do but 
 see how instinctively they turn their ears to 
 the sound and snort. Paulowitch and Ste- 
 panow !" he exclaimed to the horsemen ; 
 " make use of your spurs, and hurry on with 
 all speed to the corner near the great pine. 
 There the road breaks off far to the right, 
 and perhaps we may escape detection by the 
 beasts." 
 
 He snapped his whip and urged on the hor- 
 ses. Shortly the road turned round a lofty old 
 pine, whose trunk formed the angle of the 
 wood. The horsemen, in the act of turning 
 the corner, suddenly reined in their animals. 
 
 " What's there ?" asked Willhofen. 
 
 " Here lies a man in the way !" replied the 
 horseman. 
 
 " So it is !" exclaimed Willhofen. 
 
 " Dead or living ? Hallo ! Answer !" 
 
 " He does not move ; it must be a corpse. 
 We must remove him from the road, or the 
 sleigh will not be able to pass." 
 
 He stopped and would have given the 
 reins to Louis — but the latter exclaimed : 
 
 " I will help you. We must see if he is 
 really dead." 
 
 The driver taking the reins, Louis and 
 Willhofen descended for the purpose of re- 
 moving the obstruction out of the way. 
 
 " Father of Mercies ! it is Bernard !" ex- 
 claimed Louis, having bent himself down, as 
 if about to raise the body. "Bernard, art 
 thou yet living ? If there be but one spark of 
 life in thee, I entreat thee, give me answer !" 
 
 He knelt weeping, close by the frozen suf- 
 ferer — raised his head — pressed it against 
 his breast, and endeavored in his embrace to 
 warm the cold and pale countenance of his 
 firiend 
 
 " What's the matter ?" the Countess now 
 called out impatiently. 
 
 Feodorowna had heard the exclamation of 
 Louis, and in an instant sprang out of the 
 low sleigh. 
 
 " Do you find your nnhappy friend here ?" 
 {the asked in a trembling voice, as she wit- 
 nessed Louis' anxiety. 
 
 " A friend ! Oh, the only one — now frozen 
 
 — perchance dead ! Ob, Bernard ! hear 
 I" 
 
 me 
 
 " Perhaps there is yet hope !" said the ten- 
 der-hearted lady : " we will try what can be 
 done for him." 
 
 Saying this, she approached and laid her 
 hand upon the breast of the stranger. 
 
 " Methinks he breathes yet," she said joy- 
 fully. 
 
 " No, no ! he is dead — he is lost !" ex- 
 claimed Louis, almost distracted. "This 
 blow is more than I can bear !" 
 
 In the agony of his distress he pressed the 
 cold form of his friend to his heart. 
 
 " We will take the unfortunate man into 
 the sleigh," said Feodorowna in a tone of the 
 softest pity ; " his powers may return if we 
 cover him up warm. In an hour we shall 
 reach the castle, and then no means shall be 
 left untried to awaken him to life." 
 
 Louis made no answer, save only by seiz- 
 ing Feodorowna's hand and pressing it to his 
 lips. She drew it softly back; her heart 
 prayed to the bountiful Father of Heaven, 
 that he would avert this alHiction from her 
 lover. Willhofen and Louis raised the mo- 
 tionless body. When they brought him to 
 the sleigh, the Countess Dolgorpw exclaimed : 
 
 " My God, what means this ? What have 
 we to do with this dead body ?" 
 
 " Oh, my mother !" said Feodorowna, " it 
 is an unhappy being in whom there is yet 
 life. Perhaps we may yet save him." 
 
 " It is impossible !" replied the Countess, 
 vehemently ; " hearest thou not the wolves ? 
 We are in danger — we must not now over- 
 burden the sleigh; and besides, there is no 
 room — in one word, I cannot suffer it. Make 
 haste and come in, I command you !" 
 
 Willhofen stood irresolute. But Louis 
 threw himself down at Feodorowna's feet, 
 exclaiming : '* By all that is sacred, I en- 
 treat you, save my friend. Take my life, but 
 save him !" 
 
 " Mother !" exclaimed Feodorowna ur- 
 gently, "humanity, the commandment of — 
 love " 
 
 " Fool ! — for dragging along a dead body, 
 we living are to become the prey of the 
 wolves ! No, I say, no ; I command you to 
 hasten to reseat yourself instantly." 
 
 " So, then, 1 will remain here," exclaimed 
 Louis, unable to restrain his feelings. Again 
 he clasped tlie cold form of his friend and 
 covered it with his fur cloak. " Dear Ber- 
 nard, thou most faithful of friends, here shall 
 thou again awaken to life on tny bosom, or 
 here will I die with thee !" His tears choked 
 further utterance. 
 
 The Countess vehemently repeated her 
 
 orders. " Further delay will cost us our 
 
 J lives. Solanow — reseat yourself and hurry 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 SSI 
 
 forward — obey my orders. Let him remain 
 who will !" 
 
 " Mother, mother !"• exclaimed Feodorow- 
 na, aeiaing her hand, "the life of a man is 
 at a stake — the life of our preserver — " 
 
 " And who now desires to become our de- 
 stroyer," interrupted the Countess. " Come 
 in, or I leave you here also !" 
 
 The howling of the wolves distinctly indi- 
 cated their approach. The servants durst 
 neither obey nor disobey. Feodorowna stood 
 in terrible conflict with herself. " Well, 
 then," she said, after a powerful struggle 
 with her feelings, " thus must I myself de- 
 cide. If I must add to my misery the pow- 
 erful name of Princess Ouh'alskoi, for once 
 at least it shall stand me in good stead. To 
 me belong these horses, these serfs ; you 
 know your Princess, your mistress ! Upon 
 your life, I now command you not to leave 
 this helpless being behind you !" 
 
 She stood upright in commanding majesty 
 before her people. The Countess in wrath 
 and astonishment closed her lips. 
 
 " Hasten ! save yourself and your friend 
 with us !" said Feodorowna quietly to the 
 half-paralysed Louis. 
 
 Willhofen ran to aid Louis in lifting Ber- 
 nard upon the seat, where Louis covered 
 him with his own fur, and clasped him firmly 
 in his arms. 
 
 " I will stand here upon the pole," said 
 the ready-witted servant ; " so there will be 
 room enough for all three of us." Securing 
 himself with all haste in his new position, 
 he seized the reins, crying, " Now forward, 
 lads !" 
 
 The horses, too well aware of the near 
 approach of the wolves, were impatiently 
 pawing the snow beneath their feet, and 
 snorting with 'increased vehemence. They 
 gave evident signs that they felt their own 
 safety at stake, and once at liberty they 
 dashed rapidly and gallantly 'through the un- 
 derwood. 
 
 The sleigh was crashing through the 
 brushwood, when suddenly a large and pow- 
 erful wolf darted out of the thicket, and 
 made a fearful spring at the horses. But 
 the adroit Willhofen stretched the beast 
 upon the ground at the very moment, it 
 would have fastened its fangs in the throat 
 of the leader. 
 
 " So much for this fellow — and he is for- 
 tunate we do not rob him of his fur," said 
 the merry-hearted Willhofen, without par- 
 ticularly regarding the loud exclamation of 
 the Countess. 
 
 Some minutes passed without the appear- 
 ance of any new enemy. The harsh echoes 
 of the howling seemed to recede. 
 
 " They have become shy," said Willhofen 
 tarning to Louis, who, yet holding his friend 
 
 to his bosom, had scarcely remarked what 
 had happened. " Be at ease, most graciooB 
 ladies," he continued, addressing the occu- 
 pants of the sleigh ; " the brute will give us 
 no further trouble. In five minutes we shall 
 be out of the forest, and then the path is 
 smooth as a mirror. Once there, and not 
 even a meteor can overtake us." 
 
 The darkness of the forest was relieved : 
 they had arrived at a place covered only by 
 low bushes ; it might be traversed in about a 
 quarter of an hour. The sleigh flew rapidly 
 along a route well hardened by more fre- 
 quent use. it soon turned into a straight 
 alley or artificial road ; and in a few minutes 
 the castle lay before the eyes of the trav- 
 ellers. 
 
 " Thus far all well !" exclaimed Willhofen, 
 as he drew up before the door, out of which 
 two aged servants were advancing with lan- 
 terns, for they had heard the loud cracking 
 of the whip. "Only see how the horses 
 reek! From the great pine to this spot 
 in less than twenty minutes — and half the 
 way in the deep srow ! Full ten good 
 versts." 
 
 Saying this, he jumped ctf. The servants 
 assisted the ladies in getting out of the 
 sleigh. 
 
 Silent and without acknowledgment the 
 Countess leant on the arm of one of the 
 servants with the lanterns, and entered tb« 
 door. 
 
 Bianca lost not a moment in directing im- 
 mediate attention to be bestowed upon Louis 
 and his unhappy friend. Then she turned 
 to Louis and said : " Here you are my guest, 
 this castle belongs to me ; if heaven preserve 
 you through this trying visitation, I trust 
 you will here pass many an hour in tran- 
 quillity and happiness." 
 
 Louis, who still remained sitting, as he 
 held Bernard's head in his arms, turned to- 
 ward her when ehe cddressed him. Her 
 soft voice found an easy passage to his 
 heart. 
 
 " Ever kind as a messenger of mercy from 
 above," he began — but at this moment Ber- 
 nard moved and drew a deep sigh : " He 
 lives !" exclaimed Louis in the wildest agi- 
 tation and regardless of all else. " Bles^ 
 be God ! He lives, he lives !" 
 
 In the first flush of hope and joy he pas- 
 sionately embraced the form of his friend. 
 
 " Where am 1 1" asked Bernard, opening 
 his eyes. 
 
 " In my arms !" exclaimed Louis. 
 
 Feodorowna raised her eyes to heaven. 
 A bright ray of hope shone upon her also. 
 For the first time after long days of sorrow 
 and suflfering, a peaceful serenity once mort 
 filled her breast. 
 
 Willhofen assisted Louis in conveying the 
 
939 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 half-inanimnte youth into the room prepared 
 for his receptitin, and there they aepusi ed 
 him upon a couch. The faithtul servant 
 then hastened to procure the nec<-8sary rem- 
 edies for his recovery. The torpid senses 
 of the sufferer soon began to reawHken. 
 " Louie," he faintly murmured, " d<» I fee 
 
 ?'ou once more? Are we yet among the 
 iving— or hnve we passed away from earth ? 
 Or is all this some dream ?" 
 
 " We are yet ahve indeed— a gracious 
 Pnividence has preserved us. But, dear 
 Bernxrd, there are other wonders to bo seen 
 besides thi-»." 
 
 Willhofen entered the apartment with 
 medicines and stimulants prepared in hntste 
 by FeodorownA — a servant brought woollen 
 wrappers and other suitable appliances. 
 Thet^e latter were now the less necessnry, 
 since Bernard had already go far revived as 
 to be ab'e to speaic and partially to move. 
 But Willhofen urged him to take the medi- 
 chies, — alleging their potipncy in confirming 
 the returning powers of body and mind. 
 Bernard rait^ed the cup to his lips. A few 
 drops imparled a fresh sense of life; and 
 the moral power of expectation soon accom- 
 plislicd the work of entire recovery. 
 
 " (*ome, Ossip," said Willliolen to the 
 servant, " we are no longer of any service 
 here, and there is yet much to be done in 
 other places." So they both left the room. 
 
 " Brother," said Bernard, with deep emo- 
 tion, when they found themselves alone, "on 
 thine own breast hast thou warmed me lo 
 life again. Marvellous indeed and inscru- 
 table are the ways of Providence ! Under 
 His bles-iiig there is not a drop of blood in 
 my veins that may not be justly claimed as 
 thine own !" 
 
 He raised his hand on high as he spoke, 
 and the generous sentiments of his heart 
 were nobly expre.ssed in his care-worn fea- 
 tures. His unsnl)diied spirit bade defiance to 
 the assaults of fate, and rivalled the elas- 
 ticity of steel, whose resistance increases in 
 proportion to the adverse pressure. 
 
 " But now tell me," he continued more 
 calmly, " where are we ? how have we 
 escaped ? J rememl)er nothing but that I 
 was wandering about in the forest. And 
 what are your own adventures, Louis ?" 
 
 Louis was about to answer, when the 
 door opened, and Feodomwna entered, with 
 her veil thrown back and clothed in mourn- 
 ing. A iiirandole, tliat stool on the table 
 near the door, cast a clear light upon her no- 
 ble features. 
 
 " Behold my preserving angel,", said Louis, 
 respectfully pointing out the lady to her ad- 
 miring guest. 
 
 " Your friend lives ? — Thanks be to the 
 Father of mercies !'* 
 
 Her voice was low and tremulous ; and 
 as she advanced her gesture and counte- 
 nance betrayed a confused state of mind. 
 
 Bernard raised his astonished eyes to her 
 fare. 
 
 " These features I know," he exclaimed. 
 " But lutw, or where, I cannot say — and this 
 V(»ice, too — I have heard it before !" 
 
 Feodomwna stiiod with her eyes fixed, 
 equally spellbound, upon Bernard's face. 
 The sight of him awakened memories strange 
 and dilticuU of explication. Under the im- 
 puljic of a generous and tender confitlence, 
 she held out her hand to him. Bernard 
 bent down his head, as if to kiss-it, but the 
 moment he fixeJ his eye upon it, he htartcd, 
 as if stung by an adder. His face, already 
 pale, changed into marble, his lips became 
 blanched and spf echless ; and his eyes im- 
 moveably Hxed, he remmed tlie gaze of the' 
 lady's mysterious countenance. At length 
 he raised his hands quickly to his temples, 
 and pressed them closely, as if severe pain 
 were seated there. 
 
 " Whit I ails thee ?" asked Louis, partici- 
 pating at once in his too apparent excite- 
 ment. 
 
 *• Nothing, nothing I" exclaimed Bernard, 
 wildly ; but he Irenibled Irom head to foot. 
 " Ni>ihin£; bat a fanciful dream. And yet I 
 dread to be awakened out of it. For hea- 
 ven's sake untie this knot in my hair — -I can- 
 not tear it out." 
 
 While speaking, he made a violent effort 
 to disengage a lock of his hair. Louis felt 
 the knot, and readily unloosed it. Bernard's 
 ring fell upon the floor; he hastily caught it 
 up again and offering it to Feodorowna, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Methinks, this ring looks like yours, — 
 I changed it once iu Warsaw — it bears 
 the letters Oh! I am becoming distract- 
 ed !" he uttered suddenly, as a dark cloud 
 gathered upon his wrinkled brow: "Oh; 
 save me, Louis, from this madness. Touch 
 me — that I may know if I am yet awake." 
 
 Feodorowna took the ring out of his hand. 
 As she examined it, comparing it with her 
 own, her eye grew dim. Trembling, she 
 sunk down upon her knees, folded her hands 
 in prayer, and lifting her eyes to heaven, itp- 
 plored its mercy. 
 
 " Great fountain of all blessings, try me 
 not too severely ! If this heart dues not de- 
 ceive itself, it will break — so great a weight 
 it cannot bear ! Have mercy upon my 
 weakness !" 
 
 She held the rings averted from her sight, 
 and turned her eyes aside, in fearful antici- 
 pation of the story they had to announce. 
 Then, again pressing both vehemently to her 
 breast, as tliough they were the most precious 
 of earthly possessions, to lose which would 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSS'lA. 
 
 23S 
 
 be to lose life — and more than life. Again, 
 will) sudden resolution, she fixed an intent 
 Titze upon them. She trembled — her bosom 
 le.iVed — the deep blush of the rose was upon 
 ler Cheeks. Anon, she grew pale as the 
 ijnow, or ihe lily. The rings fell from her 
 hand — she stretched out her arms towards 
 Berniird — her lips moved, but the agitation 
 of ti>e breast suppressL'd every sound ;— yet, 
 atixieiy at lenylh lound an uilennce : '• Bro- 
 ther ! — Brotlier !'' she exclaimed, and fell 
 swottiiing into Bernard's extended arms. He 
 hild the lovely lady fondly pressed to his hu- 
 so n ; but iiis impaired strength almosi failed 
 him ; — tears fell fast and frequent from his 
 eyes '<>ind bedewed the head of her whom he 
 cla.^pjd in innocent unconsciousness to his 
 hean. 
 
 " Louis, Louis!" he at length uttered, in a 
 ten ler voice ; " ihou an better, purer than I, 
 — pray, tMen, to the Ecern.tl Failier, that she 
 die not in my arms — he will hear thy entrea- 
 ties ! Beloved one, raise thy head !" Yet once 
 mure live in all thy love and tenderness upon 
 th3 breast of thy loving brother !" He raised 
 his sisier in his arms, and gently deposited 
 her upon the couch whereon he himself, a few 
 minutes previous, had been awake.ned to life. 
 I'liere, she once more opened her deep (due 
 eyes, and raised her languid arm with ihc de- 
 sign of casting it around the neck of her bro- 
 ther. The sacred gush of affection sprang 
 forth for her relief. She soon breathed freely 
 and happily ; and this happiness was no less 
 felt than expressed in the beaming radiance 
 of her countenance. 
 
 •' Is it then true ? Yes, yes — thou art In- 
 deed my broiher ! There is a voice within 
 whicii does not deceive me. It speaks a truth 
 more pUinly than can be testified by the ex- 
 ternal senses. I do indeed recognise thee — 
 I have now a heart tint I can call my own 
 upon this earth — a breast that does not 
 rudt^ly repulse me, when there I seek repose. 
 Is if not true, my broiher ? Thou wilt not 
 again forsake me ?" 
 
 " For.-ake thee !" said Bernard, pressing 
 the trembling obj»>ct more closely to his 
 breast. " Even as the plant in the dark val- 
 ley looks for the light of heaven, so have I 
 looked and longed for thee, iny dear sister I 
 And now, canst thou believe that 1 would shut 
 out tho flower of my hopes from the beam 
 of light and life which is now poured down 
 npiin ir ? For the first tinie in life does the 
 light break through the clouds in which I 
 have been enveloped ! For the first time, 1 
 see this beautiful world glorified in all its rosy 
 splendor ! Grey, barren, and immersed in 
 thick mist, it once lay before me; — now it 
 
 Blows in a thousand rich and warm colors ! 
 o, notliin>r shall again part us — not even 
 death itself! — for, in the self-same hoar in 
 
 which he tears thee from my arms, will I fol- 
 low thee beyond the precincts of the grave 1" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIIL 
 
 The sounds of voices and footsteps were 
 heard in the corridor. 
 
 " Who comes ?" said Bernard, suddenly 
 starting up. '• Who comes ? Whom have 
 1 to fear or to fly from ?" 
 
 " Here, every one !" exclaimed Fe<»dorow- 
 na, hastily disengaging herself from his arms. 
 " Here every one is to be dreaded as an in- 
 sidious enemy to all pure and secluded hap. 
 piness. Let no sound of the voice beiray us; 
 it is the first demand of tliy sister ; — ah ! do 
 not let |t go unheeded !" 
 
 Willhofen, two servants, and Feodorowua'a 
 damsel, Jeannetie, came in. The Utter ac- 
 costed her mist' ess, leliing her that the Coun- 
 tess Uolgorow desired her pre.-ence. 
 
 '• I will no this moment," replied Feodo- 
 rowna. " Farewell !" she continued, turning 
 to Bernard and Louis ; " in half an hour, at 
 farthest, we will see you again ; for 1 ex- 
 pect you will appear at supjier in the saloon.*' 
 
 Her looks required an atiiruHtivc answer. 
 Bernard and Louis bowed in silence, as she 
 glided out of the room. 
 
 " We c-«me with a supply of clothinsr, 
 worthy gentlemen," said Willhofen. " Tho 
 Princess has directed the wardrobe of ihe 
 late Piince to be opened, ihnt you may make 
 all necessary changes. You must pardon 
 this unceremonious offer, only excusable ia 
 the present nece.ssity." 
 
 " H-tnd them to me, my friend," said Ber- 
 nard. "Thoa seest we are not clad in conit- 
 dresses ; besides, torn cloaks and bursting 
 boots do not defend us so well from the cold, 
 as when new and sound. Show us the sup- 
 plies. Ah ! if they only fit decently ! Louis, 
 let us not grow vain ; we are not used of late 
 to see ourselves so decked out. VVhy, <mly 
 look ! — I ini(>ht readily pass for a Russian 
 prince, in this fine fur cloak !" 
 
 Bernard spoke intentionally in an easy and 
 jesting tone, because Louis was silent. His 
 object was to evade any suspicion which 
 might arise in the minds of the servants, 
 touching their guests ; for he desired that 
 they should have no reason to isiippose that 
 anything extraordinary had occurred. Ac- 
 customed to command even his deepest IceU 
 ings with an external show of jest and goiid- 
 humor, he now had no difficulty in concealing 
 from observation all trace of the passions 
 which had but so recently agitated him. 
 
9M 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 Willhofen admired the gay and hearty man- 
 ner of the youth. 
 
 "Truly," he exclaimed, "it was lucky, 
 friend, that we lifted you upon the sleigh ; 
 for, to become food for wolves, at your early 
 years, would really have been too hard. But 
 will you not, pull on these fur boots? The 
 wind whistles here a little sharper than in 
 Germany." 
 
 While dressing, Louis and Bernard for the 
 first time enjoyed an opportunity of relating 
 their adventures during their separation. 
 
 Bernard mused in silence on the story. 
 
 " Wonderful enough," said he, at length ; 
 " and Beaucaire and St. Luces have got tneir 
 deserts at last. There are times, Louis, 
 when I could become a believer, and put faith 
 in a Power above, who is interested in and 
 directs our affairs, and is ever present, yet 
 invisible, by our side, to lead us through all 
 our extremities — to reclaim our errors, and 
 conduct us to our final destination. It is not 
 until the final accomplishment of designs 
 that we discover the means and the way by 
 which the same has been reached. Ah ! — 
 truly, various and countless are the strange 
 occurrences of human life !" 
 
 " Well, my friend," he continued, turning 
 to Louis, " why so mute and so downcast : 
 Is thy liberty not yet confirmed ? Perceivest 
 thou not yet that thy green veil, out of the val- 
 ley of Aosta, will flourish here, as well on 
 the snow as on the hospice of St. Bernard ? 
 I am rejoiced to repeat that name, since I 
 bear it myself." 
 
 Speaking thus, he seized Louis' hand and 
 pressed it warmly. His keen eye, deeply 
 searching the heart of his friend, easily de- 
 tected the cause of his melancholy. But, 
 with a vision equally clear, he saw also that 
 the tender buds of pure love must soon burst 
 into full bloom, and that the brother might 
 then auspiciously join the hand of the sister 
 to that of the friend. , 
 
 Both were dressed. They descended to 
 the saloon, which Willhofen had indicated to 
 them as the dining-hall. It was lighted by 
 a huge flaming fire, that had been kindled 
 for the occasion. The table, with covers for 
 four persons, stood near the fire. 
 
 Willhofen set the girandole he bore in his 
 hand upon the table. 
 
 " Make yourselves at ease, gentlemen," he 
 said ; " the saloon will soon be warm ; the 
 stoves are heated likewise, but it requires 
 some time for them to throw out their warmth. 
 I shall now announce to the Princess that 
 you are waiting here." 
 
 He went out. Now Louis and Bernard 
 were alone. Looking long at each other, 
 they fell into an embrace, which was not the 
 less sincere as it was silent. 
 
 " Louis," said Bernard at last, " if we only 
 
 remember where we awoke this momiog, and 
 reflect upon where we shall slumber this 
 night, then shall I really begin to believe, 
 like a good child, in miracles and angels !" 
 
 " An angel indeed it is who works these 
 mysteries !" replied Louis, with deep feeling. 
 " His protecting wing was extended over us 
 — his careful hand led us back out of the 
 dark region of death. The greatest marvel 
 remains — he seems to have assumed a visible 
 form !" 
 
 The door from the inner apartment at this 
 moment opened, and Feodorowna walked in. 
 
 " Ah ! behold ! — again is it present by our 
 side, to bless us ; but tne radiance of its beauty 
 is too great for the weak sight of man !" 
 
 And Louis turned his face aside, that he 
 might conceal his tears. 
 
 " Sister !" said Bernard, cautiously, ob- 
 serving that she came alone. " Sister ! — yet 
 once again must I greet thee by that sweet 
 name ! 
 
 " Brother !" she ejaculated, stepping un- 
 hesitatingly towards him, with the smile of 
 an angel upon her lips. She laid her head 
 upon his bosom, while he cast his arms 
 around her, and kissed her forehead. 
 
 Brother ! — sister ! — what sounds can be 
 sweeter ? Brother, sister ! 
 
 " And friend .'" added Bernard, out of the 
 fulness of his feelings, seizing the abashed 
 Louis by the hand. " See, my sister, tliis 
 man was the clear star of my night of life, 
 until thy beauteous sunlight rose upon me ; 
 he will not be extinguished and grow pale, as 
 the faithless stars of the flrmajnent : for, ne- 
 ver did a cloud conceal him ; and the more 
 dismal the night the more friendly did he 
 shine upon me. Oh ! I wish that he was thy 
 brother ! — then hadst thou found one better 
 than myself!" 
 
 " Bernard," uttered Louis in a tone of re- 
 proach ! 
 
 " Oh ! I knew our friend before you met 
 with him !" replied Feodorowna. " My 
 heart is indebted to him deeply on an old ac- 
 count of gratitude ; and within these few 
 hours that debt has increased." 
 
 " How is this, my dear sister ?" asked 
 Bernard. 
 
 " May I confess it to thee, brother," she 
 responded, affectionately looking up to him. 
 " Wilt thou not be angry with me ?" 
 
 " Be angry with thee ?" 
 
 " Behold !" she continued, in graceful con- 
 fusion ; " the worthiness of the friend excuses 
 me with the brother. Indeed I should have 
 confided in thee," she added more rapidly ; 
 " but I desired to leave to him the happy ex- 
 planation, since the noble alone seeks and 
 loves the noble." 
 
 She concealed her lovely and blushing 
 face in Bernard's bosom. ., 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 235 
 
 **The same acknowledgment do I also 
 owe him, sister," replied Bernard, with mark> 
 ed emphasis. 
 
 " Why so?" she asked in surprise. 
 " Is he not bound to me through my sis- 
 ter ?" 
 
 She cast down her eyes to the ground ; the 
 loveliest blush tinged her cheek, and she re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 Bernard was the first to speak again. 
 " I have believed in the miracle, before it was 
 explained," he began, " but speak, my sister; 
 by what signs didst thou recognise me so 
 distinctly as thy brother ? I myself had but 
 only vague arid remote conjectures." 
 
 " I came hither," she replied, " on purpose 
 to explain all to thee. See here the token 
 whereby the sight of thy features filled me, 
 from the beginning, with so strong a suspi- 
 cion of the truth." 
 
 She held out to him both the portraits she 
 had received from Rushka through Grego- 
 lius. Bernard gazed upon them with the 
 ■ eye of an artist, and instantly recognised the 
 undeniable resemblance in the male portrait 
 to himself, and the female to Feodorowna. It 
 became instantly a dear consolation to his 
 heart, that his new fortune was no dream ; 
 that it rested firmly upon reality. Suddenly 
 he resumed : 
 
 " And knowest thou also the name of our 
 parents, sister? For I have grown up rudely 
 among strangers, and have scarcely learned to 
 attach any value to the names and history of 
 those who cast me so unmercifully forth in 
 the world." 
 
 " Oh, speak not so cruelly !"^ replied Feo- 
 dorowna, with pious horror. " The memory of 
 our parents may be dear to thee. 'Tis true, 
 I am not able to give thee full information 
 concerning them. Yet even herein will you 
 find enough to employ your future thoughts, 
 and cause you to dwell with pity and love on 
 the memory of the past." 
 
 " Thou art right, even as thou art amiable ; 
 for I must be eternally thankful to them for 
 the blessing at least that they gave me thee 
 for a sister." 
 
 " Saying these words, he took the letter, 
 in which Rushka had disclosed to Feodorowna 
 the story of her birth, and read it hastily. 
 
 In the meantime Louis and Feodorowna 
 conversed together. Louis began to relate 
 to Feodorowna the strange discovery of 
 Willhofen, and that man's connection with 
 his own father's history. Bernard, half read- 
 ing, half-listening, suddenly exclaimed : 
 " Louis, what do you call the name of this 
 friend of your father's, for whose sake he 
 was driven into exile ?" 
 " Waldheim," replied Louis. 
 " Waldheim !" exclaimed Feodorowna, in 
 
 and Bernard assumed the guise of a question. 
 " Thus do we continually detect new 
 threads of this most remarkable web ; yet I 
 know not any means of ascertaining the exact 
 truth," answered Bernard. 
 
 At this point of the conversation, Willhofen 
 entered the room. 
 
 " I am a fool !" continued Bernard, involun- 
 tarily striking his forehead. " Let me see the 
 portraits. My perception must be frozen by this 
 severe winter, else I might myself have conjec- 
 tured that there exists here an adequate wit- 
 ness." He took up both the portraits he had 
 received from his sister, and turned to Will- 
 hofen. " Come hither, my friend," he accost- 
 ed him, " nearer, quite near to us, to the 
 light !" 
 
 Willhofen approached with deference and 
 respect. 
 
 " Dost thou recognise these pictures ?" 
 A glad surprise glistened in the eyes of 
 the old servant ; he trembled, scarcely able 
 to speak. 
 
 " Do I know them ?" he replied. « Ah ! 
 how vivid the past lies marked before me. 
 Have I not an hundred times seen them 
 hanging in the room of Master Waldheim, 
 the captain of cavalry, at Strasburgh, over 
 the sofa ? And perchance he yet lives there, 
 and the beautiful woman as well !" 
 
 Scarcely had Willhofen spoken these 
 words, when Louis exclaimed t " What ? my 
 
 father " 
 
 " Sacrificed himself for mine," interrupted 
 Bernard. " Seest thou, my friend," he con- 
 tinued with emotion, " that I have many an 
 old debt to repay — not to mention the new 
 ones that have since been added to them !" ' 
 " What a marvellous chain !" exclaimed 
 Louis. * What a day of judgment and of re- 
 tribution !" He thought of St. Luces and 
 Beaucaire, visited by the hand of vengeance 
 in the self-same hour wherein a happier fate 
 extended to him and to his friend the auspi- 
 cious consummation of all their labors and 
 all their hopes of years gone by. 
 
 Feodorowna haid listened to these develop- 
 ments in mute astonishment Now she uttered 
 in her turn : " What ! didst thou know my 
 mother, Solanow ?" 
 
 The man started with agitation : " The 
 Countess Dolgorow ?" he asked, looking at 
 Ffiodorowna with curious and scrutinising 
 eyes, as if he sought in her face an explana- 
 tion of her singular question. 
 
 Feodorowna felt alarmed at having betray- 
 ed her secret. Bernard remarked it, and 
 calmed her apprehension ; " Fear nothing 
 dearest ; this man is faithful. I will be se- 
 curity for him — but now nothing must longer 
 remain a secret from him." 
 After this he explained the whole 
 
 ^ , .„ -_ ^ „._ V. mysteiy 
 
 great surprise, while her look towards Louis ' to Willhofen, and recommended him to ob> 
 
236 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 serve aecrecy and precaution. The old ser- 
 vant responded affirinaiively to the injiinciion, 
 and hul.i out hin right hand, with tke true 
 Gerintn cordiality, as a pledge of the s^irne. 
 
 "At Irtst I discover," he said, "how it 
 was lliat the features of the Princess, when 
 first I looked upon them, seemed to be weh 
 known to me. Yes, and truly, my young 
 sir — yi>urs too. But, you must excuse 
 my prHtilini;. F came here, in fact, to ask iC 
 you wnuid please to direct tliat supper be 
 servcJ." 
 
 '•The Countess Dolgorow must fir.-t be 
 asknil," repi ed Feodorowna, upon wliich 
 Wil[h;WV'n, bowing respecttully, left the room. 
 
 II" returned will) the intelligence that the 
 Countess was so much fatigued that she had 
 gone to bed. 
 
 Supper was served. The presence of the at- 
 tendants contineil the warm sentiments of new- 
 ly aw.ikened affection within the narrow limits 
 of conventional formality. But Feodorowna 
 knew well how lo add the grnce and charm 
 of fiiendly kindness to the dutie? of hospita- 
 lity — so thai not only her lover, but the proud 
 spirit of her brother, bore the rei^traiot im- 
 posed upon them with becoming subinission. 
 Tht^y enjoyed to the full even this hour of 
 control — i«nd it passed too rapidly away. 
 
 Feodorowna arose ; the servants removed 
 the table and left the saloon. Feodorowna 
 ordered Willhofen to remain close at hand 
 and hold hiiuself ready. 
 
 " i\.nv I am again thy .sis'er," commenced 
 she, with an amiable familiarity, leaning 
 tow.irds Bernard — "now I belong again en- 
 tirely to thee !" 
 
 *' TlnHi art indee<l a blessing to me !" re- 
 plied '. c, looking in her innocent countenance. 
 
 Ld.is maintained a vehement struggle with 
 himself, llis heart felt no longer the anxious 
 torment, suspended between the loftiest iTopes 
 and ttie dei^pe.-t despair. But he ft-lt that 
 the hrtiid of the brother, who knew his love, 
 must not lead him to the sis:er, — but that hr 
 himself must dare and act with manly de- 
 cision. He who refuses to risk all in pursuit 
 of his loftiest ambition, is not wortly of its 
 accomplishment. This reflection in>pired 
 him with a true sense of his duty; yet not 
 without trepidation he prepared to obey the 
 dictaies (if an honorable suit. 
 
 '• Bianca," he said, in a tremulous voice, 
 " for the sister of my friend will certainly 
 allow me the use of this name — since it tells 
 of the Uiiforgotten hour of our first meeting — 
 Bianca — on my lip now hangs the fondest 
 wi>li <>t my heart. Dost thou not guess ere I 
 pronounce it? If not, must it remain unutter- 
 ed anrJ I St for ever ? Let this moment decide." 
 
 She blushed, — a sweet confusion painted 
 itself on her face*, her beautiful eye was de- 
 pressed to the ground as sho replied : 
 
 " My heart ? — T know not — if I may dare 
 obey It — it has decided long since !" llere 
 she con<-ealed her face, h*ir eyes overflowing 
 with sweet tears, on the bosom of her brother. 
 
 B rnard enfolded her softly in his arms. 
 
 Louis gently took her hand, but he dared 
 not draw the lovely form to his breast. His 
 eir heard the word indeed that opened lo him 
 the brighte-t heaven of bliss — hut his heart 
 WHS perplexed with the horrors of doubt. Too 
 suddenly, loo pow rfully did the response to 
 his hopes fall upon him. He trembled lest 
 the images of his blissful dream should be dis- 
 solved ; the vast ext* ntof his good fortune de- 
 prived him of the power to renliee its fulness 
 or its truth. 
 
 She suffered her hand to remain in his, 
 and drew it n<it back, while he covered it 
 with warm kisses ; but she kept her face con- 
 cealed in the bosom of her brother. 
 
 " Do not blush, my sister," said Bernard 
 in &n agitated voice, " if thou hast to make a 
 noble confession. Believe me, a rose docs 
 not more gracefully adorn the bosom of wo- 
 man than pure love. Thy heart could not 
 mi -take , it has known and chosen the noblest 
 object on which to bestow its regard." 
 
 She now raised her head, and her eyes, 
 glistening in tears, she turned herself in 
 maiden inodesty to her lover. 
 
 " Father of Mercies !" she murmured, di- 
 recting her eyes gratefully to heaven. 
 
 Words and looks were alike absorbed in 
 sacred tears. VVithont affectation or reserve, 
 she permitted her lover gently to enfold hia 
 arm around her and hold her in his happv 
 embrace. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 Thus was formed a holy bond that united 
 hree aff-ctionate hearts. They revelled in 
 I e memory of the past — directing their happy 
 ' oughts to the first moments of their meet- 
 ing, wherein the serd was planted whoso blos- 
 som now crowned thrm with unutterable hap- 
 piness. Louis told of the day when he first 
 noticed the green veil upon a wide plxin ot 
 snow, and impelled by irresistible curiosity, 
 hastened to secure the attractive priza 
 
 '• Oh, Bianca !" he said tenderly, " believe 
 me, even then, I built up fanciful dreams— en- 
 chanting castles of future life. And now a 
 miraculous power has guided us to this point 
 of happiness I" 
 
 Feodorowna gave him her hand, and smiled 
 in tender acknowledgment of his love. 
 
 "Yes, yes; thou art real!" he continued, 
 " thus didst thou smile when I looked fur the 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 237 
 
 first time upon thy face. Ah ! Bianca, dost 
 thou not remember the valley of Aosta — tlie 
 but concealed by the clusterinjj graMs — the 
 
 E'gantic chestnut overdliadi)wing the beautiful 
 wn ? Oh ! it is an image that will never 
 be etfaced from my memory — for it is con- 
 nected with tlie vision of her my soul adores!' 
 
 She lo'iked at him with an expression of 
 most in -fFable sweetness Thesiiver !i<ihtof a 
 •tear trembled in her blie eye, as she replied : 
 
 " Ah ! it was beautiful there !" 
 
 " And dost thou know^ sister," remarked 
 Bernard, " where I first saw thee ?" 
 
 " Our first meeting was happy !" she re- 
 
 Elied. '* Thou didst save thy sister in an 
 our of imminent danger, to which she was 
 exposed together with those to whom she 
 had consecrated her youthful duty !" 
 
 " No ! I knew thee much earlier," he said, 
 smiling; "not in the romantic rural hut, but 
 amidst the splendor of the rich and coroneted. 
 It was in London, while witnessing the play 
 of Romeo and Juliet. Dost thou not recol- 
 lect, sister ?" 
 
 " How ?" she uttered, astonished. " Art 
 thou that young painter ?" 
 
 " No other, my dear sister ! Yesterday, 
 and I could have produced thee the proof; for 
 Louis possessed the portrait for a long time. 
 The rascal, Beaucaire, robbed us of it. But 
 who was that proud English fool who chal- 
 lenged mp, and afterwards failed to keep his 
 appointment?" 
 
 " Oh, my brother !" replied Bianca, " thus 
 early did 1 derive from thee a weighty benefit 
 The Englishman, Lord Glover, was the bride 
 groom destined for me. That event caused 
 a quarrel between him and my father, be- 
 cause he disapproved of the nobleman's hav- 
 ing shrunk from the duel. So the offended 
 pride of the Englishman soon brought about 
 the dissolution of a scheme, from whirh, not 
 all my supplications and tears could procure 
 my escape." 
 
 " What ! would they have forced thee ?" 
 exclaimed Bernard impetuously. 
 
 " The daughter !" replied Bianca, softly 
 and Srmly, " believed it to be her duty to obey 
 her parent ; her heart did not then know what 
 love was." 
 
 " But afterwards you married, sister?" 
 
 Louis sttrted at these momentous words. 
 
 Bianca blushed deeply ; her modesty was 
 pained, as she replied in a subdued tone : 
 
 " I was compelled by circumsfeinces. I bear 
 now the name of Octialskoi. But I know you 
 will readily forgive your innocent sister." 
 
 In a few words she recounted the story 
 of her m"-rriage. Louis sympathised in se- 
 cret and in silence ; but Bernard's proud 
 spirit was fired with displeasure. He rose 
 from his seat and paced the room with un- 
 certain steps. 
 
 " Dear sister !" he rpplied, after some 
 minutes, " from this story, I learn clearly 
 that our welcome here is but on a precari- 
 ous tenure. We have enjoyed an hour of 
 sweet intermission iVom misfortune; but we 
 shall be necessarily again driven into action. 
 Tell m?, is Count Doljiorow aware that the 
 secret of your birtli is known to you ?" 
 
 " He knows it not. I have been silent on 
 the subjt'ct, being desirous not to involve 
 Ruirhka's brothers." 
 
 And do you still apprehend danger in de- 
 claring your sfcret to him ?" 
 
 '■ The greatest," she exclaimed quickly. 
 
 " So then, you really fear " 
 
 " All, my brother — for thee — for myself — 
 for thy friend !" 
 
 " Then we must take up our own cause. 
 The strictest secrecy, however, is clearly 
 necessary. Sister, I have but one more ques- 
 tion to ask. Will you accompany us to Ger- 
 many ? Are you prepared to cast aside 
 rank, power, and riches, and follow the for- 
 tunes of your brother and your friend, who 
 oflTer nothing beyond their hearts and hnnds." 
 " Oh, my brother !" exclaimed Bianca, 
 throwing her arms around him, " can you 
 indeed ask if I am willing to fulfil the most 
 fervent wish of my heart ?" 
 
 "Well, then," said Bernard, resolutely, 
 " this is the course we have to pursue* — se- 
 crecy for the present, and flight so "oon as 
 a fit opportunity shall offer. And now we 
 must piirr. for the present, lest our pnitracted 
 conversation should excite suspicion. To- 
 morrow's sun may perhaps throw further light 
 upon our fortunes." 
 
 In Bernard's decisive character, there was 
 ihe true spirit of control which commanded 
 a ready obedience. The Princess yielded to 
 it, and took her departure — yet not before she 
 bestowed a kind embrace, and a glance of 
 affecti sn upon her companions. Sne passed 
 through the door leading to the apartments of 
 the Countess. Bernard and Lauis betook 
 themselves to their bed-rooms. 
 
 In the antechamber Willhofen awaited 
 them. He had been assigned to them as 
 their particular attendant; and in this capa- 
 city he now lighted them through the pas- 
 sages to their- room. 
 
 "Friend — honest servant of my father! 
 wilt thou adhere as faithfully 1o the son as 
 thou didst to the father?" said Louis, as 
 they closed the door. 
 
 "Sir!" exclaimed Willhof-n joyfully, 
 " were it only that you are a German, and 
 speak my own language, I should he ready 
 to serve you ! But, permit me, worthy sir, to 
 offer a word of admonition. You are standing 
 on a dangerous precipice here. The Count 
 and the Countess Dolgorow entertain far 
 other views than does the Princess." 
 
S38 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 " Willhofen !" replied Louis, " we are not 
 blind to the dangers with which we are be- 
 set — and we look to you for advice how we 
 best may escape from them. You already 
 know so much of our history, that you must 
 necessarily be well prepared. The" Princess 
 is the sister of my friend, and my betrothed. 
 She has resolved to follow us to Germany. 
 Can this be speedily and safely done ?" 
 
 " Possible, it is indeed," answered Will- 
 hofen ; " but very difficult. Do you suppose, 
 if it were really easy, I would not have fled 
 long since ? For this reason alone, I in my 
 old age again took up arms, so that I might 
 approach the German frontier ; for I hoped to 
 find an opportunity for flight. But hitherto, 
 it has been entirely impossible, and especially 
 is it so now, when we consider the multitude 
 of peasants, and Cossacks, and the masses 
 of French stragglers that cover the country. 
 Into whose hands soever we fall, we are 
 surely lost ! I say we, worthy master, for 
 you will allow me, I hope, to fly with you ?" 
 
 " We hope so, too, my friend !" replied 
 Louis. 
 
 " If you do but secure our flight hence, my 
 friend," said Bernard, " you shall live to a 
 happy old age in Germany." 
 
 "Great God!" exclaimed the old man; 
 would he but grant the declining sun of my 
 life to set in peace over that land ! I shall 
 try what can be done. I possess some influ- 
 ence with the Countess; I'll see if she gives 
 me her confidence ; for we must ascertain at 
 once if she suspects any of our designs. If 
 her suspicion be already awakened, then we 
 have no time to lose ; our only chance is in 
 good fortune and promptitude." 
 
 " Do what you think best, my friend," said 
 Louis, " and bring us prompt notice." 
 
 Willhofen left the room, and the two friends, 
 undressing, were soon fast asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 " The Princess nas risen long since," said 
 Willhofen, entering the room next morning ; 
 " but she ordered me expressly not to awake 
 you. Yet, it is time, for it is nearly noon." 
 
 " Noon !" exclaimed Bernard, springing 
 from his bed with a feeling of shame. 
 
 " Oh ' the Countess is also still in her 
 bed," answered Willhofen ; " the prisoners 
 even are not yet marched off; yesterday was 
 a day of hard work for us all," 
 
 " What prisoners ?" asked Bernard. 
 
 "The Frenchmen we seized yesterday," 
 replied the old man. " See there. — they are 
 
 forming them for a march further into the 
 country." 
 
 Ber^jLrd stepped to the window. The sight 
 of twenty unfortunate men, standing with 
 pale faces — badly clothed — half dead with 
 hunger, and trembling with cold or terror, 
 wounded him to the heart. 
 
 " Where are they to go ?" he asked. 
 
 " Probably," answered Willhofen, in a tone 
 of pity, " where I languished so many years 
 — to Siberia ; the way thither is easily found 
 — but back from there is difficult indeed !" 
 
 " And how got you there ?" exclaimeMl 
 Louis. " Who had the right to send a ship- 
 wrecked mariner into exile ?" 
 
 " It was in due course of law," said Will- 
 hofen, bitterly. " Unknown and destitute I 
 was thrown on the coast. A Russian inn- 
 keeper lent me five roubles — I could not re- 
 pay him. For this my services were duly 
 made over to him, and he sold me to old 
 Prince Ochalskoi, who, at that time, was 
 forming a colony on his lands near Perm." 
 
 " What ! for five roubles ?" 
 
 " For eighteen years I languished in exile, 
 vainly regretting the home and the friends I 
 had so cruelly lost." 
 
 " Be of good cheer, my old friend !" said 
 Bernard, laying his hand on his shoulder, 
 " henceforth things will mend. The day 
 has been fine, if the evening be serene. But 
 what is the matter here ? The prisoners ap- 
 pear to be separating again ?" 
 
 Willhofen looked out. A Cossack had 
 entered on horseback into the yard, and 
 spoke to the peasants that accompanied the 
 party. 
 
 "I'll soon see what's the matter!" said 
 Willhofen, and hastened out of the room. 
 
 In a few minutes he returned with the in- 
 telligence that Dolgorow had ordered the 
 prisoners to remain, as he hoped to increase 
 their numbers to-morrow or the day after, by 
 a timely attack on the French rear-guard. 
 
 " Then do me the favor, friend," said Ber- 
 nard, " to see that these unfortunate men are 
 as well cared for as possible." 
 
 Willhofen promised to do his best, and 
 went away. 
 
 Bernard and Louis, meantime, had dressed 
 themselves, and now descended to the sa- 
 loon, where they had been informed Bianca 
 waited for their appearance at the breakfast 
 table. But when they entered, they found 
 the apartment vacant, although the table was 
 prepared. A servant soon entered, and an- 
 nounced to them from the Countess Dolgo- 
 row, that the Princess would not make her 
 appearance. 
 
 Louia felt annoyed, but Bernard scarcely 
 noticing it, sat down to breakfast. The ser- 
 vant having retired, Louis observed : 
 
 " What can have happened ? ■ Can it be 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 339 
 
 that the indisposition of the Countess shoves 
 symptoms of danger ? I was in high glee in 
 the anticipation of oar happy reunion this 
 morning — for I believed that the brilliant 
 light of day was alone wanting to throw re- 
 ahty upon our good fortune. 
 
 " If, indeed, there be no fresh evil in store 
 for us to-day," said Bernard, as he rose 
 from the table. " I fear there is no good at 
 hand. My sister could not have prevailed 
 upon herself, without the most urgent reason, 
 to neglect to welcome again a lost brother, 
 only, yesterday reclaimed. Let us be particu- 
 larly cautious not to betray ourselves by too 
 many earnest inquiries." 
 
 " Do you really believe there is any new 
 peril now besetting us ?" asked Louis with 
 alarm. 
 
 " I believe anything -that is possible, may 
 occur — but I fear'notbing !" replied Bernard, 
 firmly. " Perhaps it is only prudence on the 
 part of my sister, that she keeps herself pur- 
 posely away from us for fear of betraying 
 herself. I am not sufficiently acquainted 
 with Russian usages, to be able to say what 
 is and what is not befitting the character of 
 a hostess. We must have confidence in her, 
 for she has exhibited already as much forti- 
 tude as love. Exercise but a reasonable 
 amount of patience, and all will be explained." 
 
 Louis was not satisfied — he paced the 
 apartment without speaking. 
 
 Soon after this, Willhofen returned to in- 
 form them that the prisoners, in consequence 
 of the orders of the Princess, were . well 
 cared for, and that their troubles were more 
 on account of the fate that awaited them, 
 than tlie pressure of their present wants. 
 
 Several hours elapsed, yet Bianca did not 
 make her appearance. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 Bernard proposed to Louis to walk out 
 into the fresh air ; (he latter assented. They 
 passed out in front of the gates of the castle, 
 thus getting a more accurate view of the 
 building. 
 
 It was surrounded by a dense, thickly 
 overgrown forest, through which there were 
 hewn out four broad ways, crossing each 
 other at right angles. These roads were 
 well-trodden ; but within the forest the snow 
 lay loose and deep, so that it was evident 
 that the traveller could not quit the roads, 
 with any reasonable hope of penetrating the 
 forest either on foot or mounted. 
 
 " The building seems to be old," said Ber- 
 nard. " Gothic, modern Greek Barbarian — 
 
 *all styles mingled together. Both those 
 round-towers, with their long, thin points, 
 must have been reared in former ages. How 
 far may we be distant here from the great 
 road?" 
 
 " Four or five hours' journey, I heard 
 Willhofen say," replied Louis ; " Smolensko 
 lies seven hours from hence." 
 
 " So I too estimate the distance," Bernard 
 remarked. " It must lie in that direction. 
 We should be obliged to take our way 
 through the broad alleys." 
 
 " It is the same by which we arrived yes- 
 terday," said Louis. 
 
 " Do you hear ?" exclaimed Bernard sud- 
 denly, and inclining his head to the side 
 whence the sound came, he put his hand to 
 bis ear to catch the distant echo. 
 
 " That is the thunder of cannon in the di- 
 rection of the great road ; but very distant." 
 
 " The forest intercepts the sound," said 
 Louis, endeavoring to distinguish the remote 
 and confused rumbling. 
 
 " It is probably the corps of Marshal Ney 
 repelling an assault — and yet further proba- 
 ble that Rasinski is in the midst of the 
 fight." 
 
 " Rasinski," exclaimed Louis : " what anx- 
 iety may hk noble heart not be suffering on 
 our account ! Oh ! that I could communi- 
 cate to him but one brief notice of our con- 
 dition !" 
 
 " Really it would be desirable," said Ber- 
 nard ; but he shook his head, as if the wish 
 were impracticable. 
 
 " I must own, that comfortable as we are 
 in this castle, I nevertheless would prefer 
 finding myself with my sister under his pro- 
 tection, to remaining here. This dreadful 
 march must some time come to an end. 
 Every day we would be nearer home and 
 the stores of the army. The road will soon 
 become quite level — I believe the greatest 
 difficulties have already been overcome." 
 
 " Ah," said Louis, " if we could but once 
 more set foot upon the soil of our country." 
 
 As they listened to the distant reverbera- 
 tions, the two friends continued to pace up 
 and down. In the meantime, it had become 
 late in the afternoon, and twilight was ap- 
 proaching. They re-entered the castle ; this 
 hour having been intimated to them as 
 that of dinner. The cloth was already 
 spread, but only for two guests ; even Will- 
 hofen could not give any further information 
 of the Princess, or the reason of her absence, 
 except that probably she was in attendance 
 upon the invalid Countess. 
 
 " Keep up your spirits before the servants," 
 whispered Bernard to Louis, who felt per- 
 plexed in the extreme ; " no one should be 
 permitted to suspect that we are anxious 
 about anything." 
 
240 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 Siying tliis, ho filled a glas^ of wine, and 
 
 Kledged Louis, in fimiliar manner, to the 
 ealtli of the noble inhabitants of the castle 
 During the whole dinner time he was calm 
 and cheerful, and even jested with ?he ser- 
 vant-<, of whom Ire asked some Russian 
 wortis, that he might make himself under- 
 stood hy iliem. IJecominjj dark, lights were 
 brought in. Bernard, desirous that their 
 conversation should not flag, commenced 
 talking about Scotland. Louis listened in 
 secret misgiving — his fears were becoming 
 more and more vivid every moment. U was 
 no\y seven o'clock ; the ordinary politeneiFS 
 towards guests required that the hostess 
 should vi^it them. Cianca must have been 
 hindered by the most urgent circumstances. 
 
 Partly for amusement, partly to conceal 
 his disquietude, each had taken down a bonk 
 from the [)ook-case ; and sitting on either side 
 of the tnble, they began to read a volume of 
 Voltaire. The servants in the meantime 
 completed their duties, and left the room. 
 
 But scarcely had they been a moment 
 alone, than Willliofen came in, looked cau- 
 tiously around, and finding no interruption, 
 quietly and secretly handed a note to Ber- 
 nard. 
 
 He immediately read a few wwrds written 
 with pencil in English : " D^r brother, 
 when all are asiee}), come under the window 
 of my bedroom." 
 
 Having run his eyes over this important 
 communicdtinn, he asked Willhofen if he 
 was aware uf the contents of the note. 
 
 " I believe I am," replied the man — " it 
 was given to me by the Princess' waiting- 
 woman." 
 
 Bemird took a few unquiet turns np and 
 down the apartment. After some inconclu- 
 sive meditation, he asked Willhofen if he 
 knew thesituatiim of the Princess' room. 
 
 Th>> man answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " VVtjeii all are a-leep, 1 must be under 
 her window. Can you conduct me thither 
 with safety and certainty ?" 
 
 " Easily enoujrh, sir," replied Willhofen, 
 •and in the meantime, 1 shill take good 
 care that the watchman shall tind itanea.-ier 
 job to open the old gate than his own 
 eyes." 
 
 " What time do the people go to bed ?" 
 
 "Before midnight; at twelve o'clock we 
 are safe — except the thieving mice we shall 
 meet no living creature about |he castle." 
 
 '• Then come to us about that hour, in our 
 own apartments, and remember, my friend, 
 this is an important service you have to 
 render me." 
 
 Willhofen assented, and for the present 
 took his leave. 
 
 Bernard and Louis soon afterwards retired 
 to their own room, where they impatiently 
 
 awaited the arrival of midnii^ht. The hours 
 appeared to creep slowly along. 
 
 They listened anxiously to every sound in 
 the castle. They heard with nervous, inter- 
 est the opening and shutting of the various 
 doors, the footsteps of the servants along 
 the passages and upon the stairs, and the 
 voices of those who called and those v\ ho 
 answered. Occasionally unbroken silence 
 would prevail for the space of several min- 
 utes; — then suddenly the drawing of a bolt, 
 or the noise of some other domestic work, 
 would again interrupt the stillcess of. the 
 hour. Thus they kept their impatient watch, 
 until it seemed that the whole castle was 
 deep buried in slumber. 
 
 "All Is still as the grave," said Bernard, 
 quietly opening the door, and thrusting his 
 head into the corridor. 
 
 " It must be near midnight ; I wish Will- 
 hofen would come and relieve us from our 
 uncertainty." 
 
 Louis was tormented with the alternations 
 of hope and fear. But he said little, not de- 
 siring to increase Bernard's apparent inqui- 
 etude. 
 
 '• How the wind whistles through the 
 chimney ! It may be a beautiful night with- 
 out, but T think it has become somewhat 
 colder. Our windows are covered with frost 
 in spite of the glowing stove. But hark ! 
 there is a rustling sound along the passage. 
 It is approaching the door. . Probably it is 
 Willhofen — that old man is a fox ; he comes 
 softly upon his toes, and I believe without 
 shoes." 
 
 He listened, he heard as it were the sound 
 of a step cautiously advancing. Bernard, 
 partially opening the door, whispered : 
 
 '• Is it you, friend ?" 
 
 " It is I," answered the gentle voice of a 
 female, who at the same time pushed open 
 the door, and entered the room. She seem- 
 ed to be the Princess' maid-servant, who ap- 
 peared to have assumed a partial disguise, as 
 her features were half-concealed in a ker- 
 chief bound routid her head. 
 
 The two friends htood mute. Bernard 
 suspecting some unlucky mischance of an 
 intrigue, peevishly said to her, " You are in 
 error here, young woman." 
 
 " No. I have not missed the light door," 
 answered the girl, in a well-known voice, at 
 the same time taking off the kerchief which 
 covered half her (ace. It was Bianca. 
 
 " Sister, is it you, in this disguise 1" ex- 
 claimed Bernard ; " for heaven's sake, what 
 does all this mean ?" 
 
 " Necessity has imposed this course upon 
 me !" replied Bianca ; " being a Cfiptive, I 
 could reach you only in disguise." 
 
 " You a captive 7" exclaimed both Bor- 
 nard and Louis. , 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 241 
 
 * Let me be quick, for the moments are 
 precious," replied Bianca. " I fear our se- 
 cret is half if not entirely betrayed. We 
 must have been watched yesterday. When 
 I left you and repaired to the Countess, I 
 found her in the greatest excitement ; she 
 sat up nearly dressed on the sofa in waiting 
 for me. Upon my entering the room, she 
 hastily collected her papers, and began to 
 speak of indifferent matters ; but in her 
 countenance her extreme disquietude was 
 not to be mistaken. Although I suspected 
 what might have happened, I made no inqui- 
 ries through fear of arousing her temper, i 
 betook rnyself very shortly to my work-room, 
 which is contiguous to the dwelling-room of 
 the Countess ; and thence to my bed-room, 
 where Jeannette was waiting for me. I suf- 
 fered her to undress me at once, and then I 
 sent her away. Full of apprehension I did 
 not lie down. Slightly opening the door of 
 my work-room, I discovered that the Count- 
 ess was yet awake, and that she was con- 
 versing with some one. I could not distin- 
 guish what was said, but I thought I recog- 
 nised the voice of the Count's confidential 
 valet. At length, all became entirely silent, 
 and I went to rest. But in the night I dis- 
 tinctly heard the gate open and a sleigh 
 driving away. This morning I presented 
 myself to my foster-mother. So strong were 
 the traces of doubt and suspicion on her 
 countenance, that I could not but believe 
 that our secret was at least partially discov- 
 ered. But the Countess betrayed nothing 
 in words. I had already resolved on taking 
 breakfast by myself in my own room, to 
 avoid giving cause for observation ; but I 
 would have come to dinner. The Countess, 
 however, intimated to me that she expected I 
 would pass the day with her, it not being 
 seemly that I should, while she remained 
 indisposed, dine alone with two strangers. 
 She added, that it might lead to some diffi- 
 culty if I continued intercourse with .you 
 during the absence of the Count. I submit- 
 ted to her will ; but 1 was more and more 
 confirmed in what I had surmised, that some- 
 thing must have transpired. In the course 
 of the forenoon I was going into my room, 
 when I perceived accidentally that the door 
 leading into the corridor was fastened, and 
 the key taken away. Now I saw through 
 all ; I was a prisoner of the Countess ; she 
 must have learnt our secret. The Count's 
 valet has not made his appearance during the 
 day ; I suppose he has been sent to the 
 Count. I resolved therefore to inform thee, 
 my brother, of all these matters — and I sent 
 thee a note by means of Jeannette and Sola- 
 now. But I reflected afterwards that our 
 conversation at the window might prove 
 very dangerous. I requested Jeannette, 
 16 
 
 therefore, to remain in my room all night, 
 under the pretext that I was myself fatigued, 
 and particularly indisposed. When she had 
 fallen asleep, I quietly put on her clothes, 
 and passed undetected through the room of 
 the Countess. And now I ask thee, my 
 brother, what are we to do ?" 
 
 " Immediate flight seems to me to be the 
 only means of safety," Bernard instantly re- 
 plied. " If it were possible to reach Smo- 
 lensko this very night !" 
 
 " Possible it certainly is. But, are we to 
 encounter such an extremity before com- 
 pelled by peril so to do ? Oh ! my brother! 
 although the sacred bond of love and confi- 
 dence, which should connect the hearts of pa- 
 rents and chiMren, has been rudely torn asun- 
 der, nevertheless, I feel myself fettered by a 
 thousand ties of duty and gratitude. Must I 
 separate myself from them as a stealthy fu- 
 gitive, in the night-time ? If at length so 
 compelled to act, tny conscience will, at least, 
 upbraid me with cruelty and cold ingrati- 
 tude." 
 
 " But, dear sister, what will you do ?" re- 
 plied Bernard. " You confess that you dare 
 not acknowledge your brother before your 
 assumed parents. Besides, have they been 
 actuated by parental love in their dealings ? — 
 or, have they not rather sacrificed you, for 
 the unworthy purpose of making a profit out 
 of your beauty ?" 
 
 " It IS but too true ! But the germs of 
 duty implanted in the breast of infancy, have, 
 in the course of eighteen summers, matured 
 into strength. I once loved my parents with 
 deep veneration, for I had received only ben- 
 efits at their hands ; now, indeed, experience 
 has rendered that love cold and formal. Yet, 
 notwithstanding the heart has been robbed of 
 its warm spirit of filial love, it must ever re- 
 main bound by the ties, and subject to the 
 calls of gratitude. The benefits we receive 
 from others, although they may not have ori- 
 ginally flowed from pure motives, are not less 
 binding on our conscience. And now, bro- 
 ther, I throw myself upon you for advice. 
 Your firm decision and manly arm must di- 
 rect and protect me amid these doubts and 
 difficulties." 
 
 As she said this, she took his hand and 
 looked up into his face with an earnest and 
 imploring gaze. 
 
 " Thou art right, sister," he answered ; — 
 " noble alike in thy womanly patience and in 
 thine all-forgiving heart ! I, with my prouder 
 and harsher feelings, think otherwise, and in 
 my own way, am right also. We must fly," 
 he added, decisively ; " I urge thee to that 
 course, and will take all the responsibility 
 upon myself. You must accompany us, sis- 
 ter — it is necessary — and this step must be 
 taken, let what will follow." 
 
342 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 " Yes, I believe he is right," said Louis, 
 approaching the object of hia heart. " In this 
 case, the authority of the brother is superior 
 to any that can detain you here." 
 
 " There may be a greater, and that may be 
 thine," said Bernard, gravely. " Do not blush, 
 sister, and mistrust not its truth, because it 
 happens at the same time to coincide with 
 the warmest desires of thine own heart. I 
 know full well that noble-hearted men are 
 ever afraid to do that which is rioht, if it 
 chance to be in accordance with their private 
 desires. The most self-denying are not alone 
 or always the most virtuous. Confide in me, 
 I can decide dispassionately; break the fetters 
 which, forged half by love, half by power, 
 hinders the free decision of thy will." . 
 
 " Well, thus shall it be," she said, after 
 some moments of internal conflict;"! obey 
 thee, my brother !" 
 
 " And instantly," interrupted Bernard ; " for 
 every minute's delay is pregnant w^ith dan- 
 ger." 
 
 '* And whither do you design to fly ?" asked 
 Bianca. 
 
 " To Smolensko." 
 
 " What !" she exclaimed in alarm ; " and 
 does not the sword of death there hang over 
 your head ?" 
 
 " Sinre our cruel accusers have so fear- 
 fully perished," answered Louis, " I do not 
 apprehend any future peril. Not our crimes, 
 but the desire to make us criminal, brought 
 us into jpftpardy." 
 
 " Then 1 will readily go along with you 
 even thither. Willhofen will find us a sleigh." 
 
 " We expect him here every moment, be- 
 cause he engaged to conduct me at midnight 
 to the window," answered Bernard. " But 
 what is that noise ? Hark ! — the crack of 
 whips and sound of bells, quite distinct !" 
 
 Bianca grew pale. 
 
 " A sleii^h is driving up to the gate of the 
 castle. It is my father !" 
 
 " Whether he be there or not," exclaimed 
 Bernard, " now is the moment for flight. 
 Hasten back to thy room, sister, before the 
 arrival of the ?leigh shall awake the people 
 in the house. As soon as all shall be quiet 
 again I will be under thy window." 
 
 He made her haste away. She glided with 
 hasty steps down the long corridor. Scarcely 
 had she vanished when the approachinif sleigh 
 stopped before the gate of the castle ; and so 
 loud and vehement was the knocking, that it 
 could not be doubted the proprietor himself 
 was demanding admittance. 
 
 The gate opened. Bernard listened through 
 the half-open door. Two men came up the 
 stairs, but a confused noise of voices led to 
 the conjecture, that others who had arrived 
 remained below. Now Bernard recognised 
 the valet, who, with a girandole in his hand 
 
 lighted a gentleman, closely enveloped ia 
 furs, whom Louis declared to be the Count. 
 He took his way to the apartments of the 
 Countess. Again, all became silent — not a 
 sound was to be heard. 
 
 Bernard and Louis waited about a quarter 
 of an hour in anxious expectation. Then a 
 gentle knock was heard at the door; — it was 
 Willhofen. The benevolent and intelligent 
 old man had already divined almost the whole 
 particulars of the matter. He was of opinion 
 that for this night there was nothing more to 
 be Attempted, without rendering the situation 
 of affairs more perilous than at present. Un- 
 der this view, he undertook to throw a note 
 from Bernard into the window of the Prin- 
 cess, making her acquainted with the resolu- 
 tion at which they had arrived. Having suc- 
 cessfully accomplished this object, he returned 
 to make his report, and engaged to watch ac- 
 curately every movement, and give timely 
 notice of all that should happen. 
 
 The night was passed by all parties in a 
 state of feverish excitement, and sleep was 
 perpetually disturbed by so many sources o* 
 uneasiness. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 The Countess Dolgorow had conjectured 
 rather than discovered the relation which 
 Bianca bore to her guests. By accident Jean- 
 nette had betrayed liie secret, and it happened 
 in this way : — At the moment Bianca first re- 
 cognized her brother, Jeannette came with a 
 message for her mistress. Arriving at the 
 door, she heard loud and earnest expressions 
 used, and distinguished the words, " brother" 
 and " sister." Surprised at these words, she 
 stopped and listened, but without any un- 
 worthy design, beyond curiosity. Willhofen 
 and other servants appro.iched, and thr sound 
 of their steps on the corridor was heard by 
 Louis, wJio had not detected the lighter steps 
 of the girl. The approach of these people 
 had interrupted the first confidential endear- 
 ments of the brother and sister. Jeannette 
 probably remarked on her entrance, that some- 
 thing extraordinary had occurred. The Count's 
 valet,. James, happened to be the girl's favored 
 admirer, and commanded her confidence. In 
 the weakness usual to her sex, the girl 
 thoughtlessly communicated to him all her 
 observations, and perhaps a little more, little 
 dreaming that in so doing she put in fearful 
 jeopardy the fortunes and the happiness of 
 her beloved mistress. But James was cun- 
 ning enough in dealing with matters of this 
 kind. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 343 
 
 " Listen, Jeannette," said he to her ; " if the 
 Princess tells you nothing about these matters, 
 by no means betray, by word or look, thj^t 
 you know or suspect anything about them. 
 There is nothing more dangerous for servants 
 than to detect secrets of their masters and 
 mistresses against their will. Although it 
 may at first appear to be advantageous, yet 
 in the end it is always attended with unpro- 
 fitable conseqliences. We are compelled, 
 therefore, even under palpable circumstances, 
 to observe a discreet silence." 
 
 The intimidated girl was by this warning 
 deterred from holding any communication 
 with her mistress ; and, with the best inten- 
 tions herself, she did not suspect mischief in 
 others. But James commenced a system of 
 espionage so adroit, that, in the course of 
 an hour or two, he had succeeded in discover- 
 ing that the Princess, at least, concealed her 
 thoughts and views from the knowledge of the 
 Countess. This was a sufficient basis for his 
 operations, and he determined to make the 
 best use of his knowledge, so far as it tended 
 for his own advantage. He repaired accord- 
 ingly to the Countess, and, speaking to her at 
 first only in hints, he was gratified to find that 
 the lady entered with the deepest interest 
 into the nature of his communications ; and, 
 with this encouragement, he proceeded to en- 
 large upon all he knew, as well as all he was 
 disposed to suspect. The Countess promised 
 him a rich reward if he would be silent to 
 everybody, and fulfil only her orders in this 
 matter. James, avaricious, astute, and enter- 
 prising, agreed to the terms, without saying a 
 word thereon to Jeannette, whose devotion to 
 the Princess he well knew ; the same night he 
 set oft' with letters from the Countess to her 
 husband, and had now returned with him. 
 The information must have proved to the 
 Count of the most vital importance, since for 
 a season he suspended his zealous persecu- 
 tion of the enemies of his country, for the 
 purpose of looking atVer his own atfairs. 
 
 He found tlie Countess, whose indisposi- 
 tion had its origin in unusual fatigue, yet un- 
 dressed. The mental excitement in wliich she 
 had been since yesterday had restored her to 
 the full, th(j)ugh morbid, force of her energies. 
 
 " Now, what do you say to my discovery ?" 
 she I'.ceosted him, when she found herself 
 alone with him. " What do you resolve to 
 do r' 
 
 " First of all," replied Dolgorow, " I must 
 know how far your information is correct, 
 and whether Feodorowna is aware that you 
 are acquainted with her present condition." 
 
 The Co\intess, in relating her story, did not 
 forget the measures of precaution she had 
 taken all day to prevent a meeting of the bro- 
 ther and sister. Dolgorpw, during the whole 
 narration, paced with folded arms, up and 
 
 down the apartment — a deep gloom settled 
 upon his brow. 
 
 " And which of the two strangers is to be the 
 brother ?" he asked, as the Countess finished. 
 
 With marked confusion, the Countess con- 
 fessed that she did not know. She had hith- 
 erto certainly supposed it to be Louis, hav- 
 ing been naturally led to this conclusion by 
 her own observation of the manner in which 
 Bianca had treated him, and of which she had 
 complained. But now that the Count put 
 the question direct to her, she at once per- 
 ceived that there was a difficulty for which 
 she could not satisfactorily account, and which 
 appeared to involve the whole matter in doubt 
 
 " It is much to be regretted that you re- 
 sorted to the unfortunate measuxe of confin- 
 ing her," said Dolgorow, whose tone of voice 
 betrayed displeasure. " I do not comprehend 
 of what use it could be to you. It was only 
 an unhappy resort to the severity of maternal 
 authority, which, since her marriage, has no 
 longer any legitimate existence. How did 
 she bear this interference with her personal 
 liberty?" 
 
 " She did not make any objection to it." 
 replied the Countess, perplexed. 
 
 " Then there is at least some hope that she 
 did not detect your object," said the Count, 
 and he expressed himself as relieved of a 
 portion of his anxiety. 
 
 The Countess, it is true, knew very well 
 that it was otherwise, for the proof was ma- 
 nifested to her eyes all day, in the fact that 
 her own room had been the only passage for 
 the servant girl. But she confirmed Dol- 
 gorow's presumption that she might escape 
 Ills further reproaches, whicii were not very 
 delicately conveyed to her ears. 
 
 '• That may eave us much trouble," he 
 said with more tranquillity : «' and even if the 
 Princess should really have noticed the fact, 
 the whole may be represented as an accident 
 imputable to the servants. For this night, 
 therefore, we can undertake nothing further ; 
 to-morrow, I myself, will see and observe. 
 For Heaven's sake, take no more steps in this 
 matter, until we at least know -exactly how 
 far our secret is betrayed. That this fellow 
 James should know anything of our afl^airs, 
 is in itself a great evil. It is true, the whole 
 truth is a paradox to him, and I can easily 
 perceive he does not doubt but that Feodo- 
 rowna is our own daughter ; but he thinks 
 an unexpectedly-returned brother to be a son, 
 whom we, for some good reason best known to 
 ourselves, have hitherto kept at a distance. 
 Yes, I suspect his sole object and design was, 
 to excite your jealousy by the discovery. But 
 this is of little importance. It is only un- 
 fortunate that such a fellow should have any 
 occasion to indulge remarks or saspicions on 
 such a subject." 
 
d44 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 Dolgorow was silent for a time while he 
 paced to and fro in deep meditation. But 
 the importance of the subject compelled him 
 to resume : 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, it is but a false alarm. 
 Yet the more need have we to be cautious 
 in our proceedings, for we cannot know how 
 long Feodorowna and her presumptive brother 
 have been in secret communication, and 
 whether or not they have had the precaution 
 to deposit their proofs in places which are 
 inaccessible to us. We might in this latter 
 case be thrown into a most fearful dilemma. 
 I shall not know the whole until to-morrow. 
 It is true, I came with the resolution of tak- 
 ing at once the most decided steps, and I 
 think, Countess, you know me well enough 
 to be aware that I do not hesitate in my pro- 
 jects. We are not so timid and weak-hearted 
 in Russia ; I know as well as others in these 
 dominions, that an obstacle in our path must 
 be removed at any hazard. But there is no 
 need of haste ! Perhaps I may succeed in 
 finding a better and surer way by going 
 round the bush. Good night ! — I shall sleep 
 more quietly than I believed. Yet one 
 thing, — we must not contradict ourselves. 
 My arrival here was accidental ; do you un- 
 derstand, Countess, accidental ! For the 
 rest, I shall be the first to-morrow kindly to 
 greet Feodorowna, and express my surprise 
 and anger that her door was locked." 
 
 Saying this, he took his leave, following 
 James, who waited for him in the ante-cliam- 
 ber, to his own room. 
 
 But the disquieting state of his mind suf- 
 fered him not to sleep ; the long slumbering 
 conscience was deeply and rudely awakened. 
 Whatever might be the denouement of this 
 strange drama, he at least learned that the 
 seed of crime, be it ever so deeply buried — 
 be it ever so widely scattered by the storm 
 — will yet germinate until its bitter fruits are 
 fully matured. 
 
 " Fool !" he soliloquised, " why dost thou 
 so torment thyself? Thy ends are secured 
 — thou art in possession, and who shall de- 
 spoil thee ? But if the Ochalskois should 
 discover that there had been deceit ? As fa- 
 ther of Feodorowna, even thy rights are valu- 
 able ! But who will contest tliem with thee ? 
 The lips of the only being who could have 
 testified, are sealed forever — Rushka sleeps ! 
 Vain phantoms of a diseased imagination, 
 why should they terrify me ?" 
 
 Nevertheless, they did torment him until 
 morning dawned upon the scene. 
 
 In the meantime, his plans were matured, and 
 he possessed dexterity and power to execute 
 them. His first visit was to Bernard and 
 Louis, whom he welcomed as guests to his 
 house. W^ith the experience of a courtier 
 he played the obliging host, inquiring after 
 
 their health, and into the manner of their re- 
 ception and entertainment, without betraying 
 the, remotest clue to his insincerity. Louis, 
 knowing the world little, and whose noble 
 heart was never easily aroused to suspicion, 
 would have readily permitted himself to be 
 deceived by this conduct. Bernard, on the 
 contrary, feared evil the more, the more 
 gracious the Count feigned himself to be ; 
 he therefore assumed the same*mask in re- 
 turn, and pretended to yield him his most 
 open and generous confidence, while cau- 
 tioasly concealing his inward sentiments. 
 He succeeded to admiration in playing the 
 part of a confiding recipient of the Count'* 
 bountiful kindness. He proceeded even so 
 far in this, that he openly related to the 
 Count his adventure with Bianea in London : 
 " I arp that painter," he said, with all the 
 ease of the world's man. " We artists claim 
 a fair countenance to a certain degree as our 
 property, and who can forbid us ? There- 
 fore, you must, my dear Count, excuse my 
 familiarity with the lady — a familiarity which, 
 by courtesy, ought not to be judged by the 
 ordinary laws of conventional propriety." 
 
 " We are not such barbarians here in 
 Russia t" replied Dolgorow, with a smile, 
 "as not to concede to the artist so sacred a 
 privilege. But do you possess the portrait ?" 
 
 " I had it two days ago, or rather my friend 
 here, to whom I made it a present, since it 
 awakened in his mind some agreeable re- 
 membrances. His pocket-book, in which it 
 was kept, was taken from him by those vil- 
 lains, who, by your command, I learn, yes- 
 terday received their just doom. In whose 
 hands it now is, I know not." 
 
 " There were delivered to me yesterday," 
 replied Dolgorow : " two pocket-books, one of 
 which was found on the prisoners. But I 
 own I have not yet thought to open them. I 
 am now, indeed, desirous of seeing if this por- 
 trait be there." 
 
 Saying this, he hastened to his room, and 
 returned with two pocket-books, one of 
 which he held opened in his hand. It was 
 the one belonging to Louis. The Count, 
 holding the picture towards Bernard, ob- 
 served : 
 
 " Do you recognise your work ?" 
 
 " How should I not ?" 
 
 "Then it is just that you take back your 
 property." 
 
 " It is, as I said, no longer mine, but that 
 of my friend." 
 
 The Count handed to Louis the pocket 
 book, out of which all the papers had vanisli- 
 ed. Dolgorow had but just taken ^hem out, 
 inasmuch as he hoped to find some informa- 
 tion in them. He excused himself by observ- 
 ing, that the pocket-book had been handed 
 over to him in this condition ; so that proba- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 945 
 
 My fieancaire had already rifled it of its con- 
 tentb. The second pocket-book was neitlier 
 Bernard's nor Louis' property; the Count, 
 therefore, retained it, and retired for the pur- 
 pose of paying Feodorowna a morning visit, 
 
 " It is of infinite value to me that this por- 
 trait has come again into my possession," said 
 Ix)uis. " 1 feel myself quite happy and at ease; 
 all danger seems to be passsd, and the Count 
 is a man, I should think, worthy of all confi- 
 dence." 
 
 " Truly, one might laugh," said Bernard, 
 ' " if the lime and the place were not more 
 convenient for cursing or praying ! We might 
 merrily exult indeed, were it not that so wise 
 and good a man as thou art is as blind as 
 an owl. Oh, Louis ! Louis ! thou art too good 
 for this world — as I fear my sister is also — 
 seeing she suffers herself to be so deceived. 
 Will you then remain an infant through life, 
 and willingly cherish a snake in your bosom, 
 because it has a variegated skin ? Will you 
 never learn that the beautiful but ferocious 
 tiger feigns sleep when most intent upon his 
 
 £rey ? Is not a trap baited to allure its victim ? 
 >o not roses conceal thorns ? Louis, Louis ! 
 this smiling courtesy of Dolgorow is, to my 
 mind, more foreboding to us, than if he stood 
 before us with a drawn sword 1" 
 
 " You look too much on the dark side of 
 things, Bernard," replied Louis. 
 
 " You think so ?" returned Bernard, almost 
 scornfully. "Is it nothing, that Bianca is a 
 prisoner ? This hasty arrival by night, is it, 
 think you, an accident ? Louis, if the means of 
 escape were now open to us, it would be far 
 more prudent to take our instant departure 
 than remain nere another hour. Were it 
 not for my sister, you and I should leave 
 this accursed place before the next hour 
 strikes." 
 
 Willhofen entered, interrupting their dis- 
 course. He announced breakfast awaiting. 
 They descended to the saloon. Here they 
 waited alone for some minutes, when Dol- 
 gorow made his appearance. He was as 
 courteous as before, invited tliera to be 
 seated, and- himself offered them chocolate 
 and viands, 
 
 " Our ladies," he said, " rise somewhat 
 late. We probably shall not see them be- 
 fore dinner. The Countess was yesterday a 
 little indisposed, and this circumst;uice de- 
 prived the Princess of the pleasure of per- 
 forming the duties of hostess towards you. 
 I think they will to-day make up for their 
 former neglect." 
 
 Bernard ventured to introduce the subject 
 of politics. 
 
 " Perhaps we had better not converse on 
 thi.s topic," replied the Count, with much 
 suavity. " I myself being a Russian, should 
 perhaps be obliged to tlunk quite otherwise 
 
 than you, who have your old assooinles in the 
 French urmy. it i.s of peiuiiar interest to 
 me," he continued, " that I have mot with 
 both of you elsewhere. When we were 
 accidentally separated at the foot of the 
 Simplon, over which, through your kind and 
 effectual aid," he added, addressing Louis, 
 " we so happily made good our passage, I 
 turned again tlu'ough the mountains to I^rne 
 — departed thence to the Tyrol, and gained 
 the great road to iMunich. In passing through 
 Germany we experienced no molestation until 
 wearriv(;d at Warsaw, where we were on the 
 point of being betrayed, and it was only after 
 strict and cautious concealment among our 
 friends that we finally succeeded in escaping 
 by night." 
 
 " We were also at Warsaw," said Louis. 
 
 Bernard made a sign to Louis to be cau- 
 tious in his.speecli ; he immediately interposed 
 his own remarks on general subjects, and 
 alluded only in a cursory and indefinite man- 
 ner to their residence there. Tiie Count 
 asked a variety of questions ; he spoke about 
 England ; inquired into the particulars of Ber- 
 nard's earlier years and his subsequent travels, 
 and in fact contrived, with great ingenuity, 
 to extract a tolerably accurate account of the 
 career of both the young men. Bernard, it 
 is true, answered with the greatest circum- 
 spection, but it was not possible to conceal 
 everything, and the Count was soon so well 
 informed of Louis' person:d history, that he 
 could not doubt but tiiat Bernard was the 
 brother of Feodorowna, if indeed one of 
 them stood so related at all. He scrutinised 
 Bernard's features with a view to confirm or 
 invalidate the truth of this supposition. But 
 here the Count was at fault. It happened 
 that Bernard resembled mainly liis father, and 
 Bianca her mother — between them there ex- 
 isted rather a contrast than a natural resem- 
 blance, and yet there were still some peculiar 
 and half-concealed outlines. Louis' features, 
 on the other hand, presented fir gi-eater pro- 
 bability of relationship. Bernard suspected 
 Dolgorow's design, and ingeniously contrived 
 to introduce an accidental allusion to his 
 birth in Dresden, alleging himself to Ik; the 
 son of a poor chorister in the Church of the 
 Holy Cross, who died some three years before, 
 and by his last will left to his son the freedom 
 of pushing his way in the world, and roaming 
 whithersoever he i)leased. 
 
 Dolgorow remained indeed in a perplexing 
 state of doubt as to v.hether or not liis secret 
 was detected — whether or not some am- 
 biguous circumstance, some half-understood 
 words, some exaggerated trifle, had not pre- 
 sented to the jealous eye of suspicion the ap- 
 pearance of discovery. That he might not ex- 
 cite attention by protracted or anxious inqui- 
 ries, he proposed to his guests a trial of skill 
 
946 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 on the chess-board. Louis excused himself as 
 but little acquainted with the game, but Ber- 
 nard accepted the proposal apparently with 
 great readiness. A servant soon set the board 
 before them, and they sat down to play. 
 Louis remained in the room, a silent spectjitor 
 of tiie contest. 
 
 •' I have a powerful antagonist," remarked 
 the Count after a few moves. " It will give 
 me some trouble to defend myself." 
 
 " Your judgment, Count Dolgorow, proves 
 your superiority," Bernard answered politely. 
 Tliey continued playing for some time, 
 and seemed to participate deeply in the inte- 
 rest of the game, although in truth the minds 
 of both the players were secretly intent on 
 fir other and more importiuit objects. Ber- 
 nard possessed that degree of self-command 
 wiiich enabled him to pay attention to the 
 game, and he did not suffer himself to betray, 
 by any indiscretion or neglect, his indifference 
 to tlie lienors of victory. 
 
 Thus passed the hours of the forenoon ; 
 the dinner hour was approaching. The Coun- 
 tess as well as Bianca were expected to ap- 
 pear at table. When the Count, in the 
 morning, had visited his daughter, he had 
 remarked that attendance at dinner was a 
 domestic duty which could not be neglected, 
 but that yesterday it was necessarily inter- 
 rupted by the indisposition of the Countess. 
 In spite of Dolgorow's ingenuity in governing 
 his words and actions, and assuming every 
 variety of address, Bianca knew him well. 
 Slie was well acquainted with his career in 
 diplomacy, and did not, therefore, allow her- 
 self to be deceived by his apparently unas- 
 suming demeanor. But when he made the 
 attempt to pass through the door that formed 
 the proper egi-ess from lier room, and pre- 
 tended to be surprised that it was locked, she 
 obtiiined the fullest certainty that he was 
 enacting a part ; especially as he, at the same . 
 time, and with a certain zeal which an in- 
 difii'reut circumstance would not have called 
 forth, ordered Jeannette to ask his valet if 
 he had the key, and to take care that the door 
 was quickly opened. In the meantime he 
 retired through the Countess's room, and 
 soon after tlie lock shot back in the door. 
 But Bianca knew but too well that she had 
 not by this acquired her real liberty, but only 
 the appearance of it ; and that now her every 
 movement would be watched the more nar- 
 rowly. Nevertheless flight did not appear to 
 her to be utterly impossible. Her feelings, 
 therefore, were more in need of consola- 
 tion than her reason of support. She nmst 
 break through old and sacred ties, and 
 assume others of a character far more en- 
 dearing; and she must leave parents, and 
 country, and a splendid name, and enter on 
 an entirely new world. Although fully de- 
 
 termined to do her duty in this matter, yet in 
 the very hour of performance she could not 
 but feel the numberless ties which the cus- 
 toms of life entwine around us, and whose 
 powers to bind us we are not sensible of, 
 until on the point of breaking through theta 
 for ever. In her extremity, she wrote a letter 
 to Gregorius, her paternal friend and adviser 
 — the depository of her secret — entreating him 
 urgently, so soon as it should be possible, to 
 come to the castle ; but she was cairtious 
 enough not to explain to him the motive of 
 her prayer. Williiofen engaged to despatch 
 the letter by a sure messenger, and intimated 
 an hour afterwards that he had succeeded. 
 
 Now her heart felt itself wonderfully re- 
 lieved ; her confidence in the dear old teacher 
 was unbounded ; she felt that his presence 
 would afford her protection and consolation ; 
 for it was his duty to offer her both, and 
 where his duty pointed, she knew that his 
 courage was not to be shaken. 
 
 She accompanied her mother to the dining- 
 room. Here she again saw Louis and Ber- 
 nard after a separation so painful to her 
 feelings. Her heart palpitated with unusual 
 vehemence ; yet, with great exertioti, she so 
 far commanded her feelings as not to incur 
 any great peril. She had always been re- 
 markable for liberality and benevolence, and 
 her established character, therefore, protected 
 her from remark on account of her behavior 
 to her guests. Thus she continued to pass 
 the hours of dinner without incurring any 
 new suspicion of her connexion with the 
 visitors. Bernard himself so managed the 
 thread of the conversation as to lead it to the 
 subject of travels, and of his/)wn in particu- 
 lar, and of England and the fine arts ; and 
 he contrived also to lead Louis into these 
 general subjects, wherein, with great good 
 sense, he acquitted himself to admiration. 
 All this proved a great relief to Bianca. Even 
 Dolgorow himself was shaken, and enter- 
 tained the hope that all his apprehensions had 
 no firmer basis than accident or miscon- 
 struction. 
 
 At length they rose from the table, and the 
 ladies prepared to retire. Bianca seized a 
 moment when she believed herself unnoticed, 
 and whispered to Bernard the words : 
 
 " Be confident — I hope for a fortunate 
 change." 
 
 But Dolgorow, who at that moment was 
 reading letters brought in by James, chanced 
 accidentally to be looking over the paper 
 near a mirror, in which he saw the entire 
 persons of Bernard and Bianca. He noticed 
 their familiar approach, remarked their whis- 
 pering and emotion. It is true he had not 
 heard a syllable, but in the conduct of both 
 he perceived the confirmation of a suspected 
 confidence, which could be justified only 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 247 
 
 by be nearest relationship ; and he was the 
 more impressed wlien both — the door being 
 unexpectedly opened — suddenly changed the 
 expression of their countenances, and as- 
 sumed again the formal bearing of ordinary 
 courtesy. 
 
 In fact, what really had occurred, never 
 could have taken place between the Princess 
 Ochalskoi and a stranger without name or 
 rank. Dolgorow therefore was suddenly put 
 in possession of irrefutable proof of what 
 had heretofore amounted only to suspicion. 
 He was so much tiirown off his guard as to ^ 
 be betrayed into the exhibition of an impa- 
 tient gesture and a half-suppressed exclama- 
 tion of anger ; and the consciousness of having 
 betrayed this weakness after the circumspec- 
 tion he had hitherto observed, and his recent 
 inclination to abandon his suspicions, only 
 irritated- him the more. But as rapidly as 
 he had lost his balance he regained itagain, 
 repeating, for appearances' sake, the exclama- 
 tion, and vehemently stamping on the ground, 
 and referring his excitement to the informs^ 
 tion he had received in the letters he was 
 reading. 
 
 " It is unheard of — unpardonable !" he ex- 
 claimed, fiercely crushing the letter in his 
 hand. " Such proceedings are enough to drive 
 a man crazy !" 
 
 Even Bernard was hoodwinked by this 
 
 {)retext, not suspecting that his own secret 
 lad that moment been discovered by the 
 Count. Dexterously availing himself of this 
 explosion of the Count's wrath, he addressed 
 him in a tone of respectful sympathy : 
 
 " I apprehend with regret, Count Dolgorow, 
 that you hjfve received some unpalatable 
 intelligence." 
 
 " IIow can it be otherwise ?" replied Dol- 
 gorow, " ever new excuses for inveterate 
 errors ! It is all one system of perversion ; 
 absurd changes ; propositions and orders per- 
 petually at variance with each other, and de- 
 stroying alike confidence and co-operation I 
 There is no end of vexation to the soldier 
 and the patriot I Pardon me, my friends, 
 but I must retire for a time, that my indigna- 
 tion may exhaust itself without offence to 
 others." 
 
 Saying this, he bowed and left the room', 
 and at the same time the ladies also took 
 their departure. ♦ 
 
 Scarcely had Dolgorow entered his room, 
 when he rang the bell for his man, designing 
 to question him yet once more about all he 
 had actually seen and heard. 
 
 James aptly perceiving how important 
 this matter was to his master, thought it 
 prudent to be silent ; partly because he did 
 not choose to divide the discovery with any 
 other party, and partly to retain himself in 
 good repute with Jeannette ; for, to have rela- 
 
 ted all he knew, would necessarily have in- 
 volved her to whom he was indebted for the 
 more important particulars. He therefore 
 answered the Count's questions very unsa- 
 tisfactorily. The Count at length dismissed 
 him, and remained in meditation. A sudden 
 light seemed to beam upon him. " Fool 
 that I am," he exclaimed, " how could I be 
 so stupid as not to think of it before !" Either 
 the one or the other of them must have 
 some letters or documents, or other means 
 of recognition, otherwise it is impossible that 
 they could have become known to each 
 other. This will prove a source of correct 
 information. To commence, then, let us 
 see what we can find by examining Feodo- 
 rowna's apartment. 
 
 He rang the bell. James answered it. 
 
 " Is the Princess in her room ?" 
 
 " No, sir. Her ladyship is with your gra- 
 cious Countess." 
 
 " All right ! You can go." 
 
 So soon as the servant had departed, Dol- 
 gorow lighted a small dark lantern, con- 
 cealed it under his cloak, and hastened to 
 Bianca's room. He succeeded in entering 
 unnoticed. Instantly bolting the door, he 
 commeneed the examination. He had taken 
 with him some master-keys, against, which 
 scarce any lock stood proof. Thp>.-e keya 
 were a part of his implements as a diploma- 
 tist, wherewith he was enabled in security 
 to possess himself of the contents of letters 
 not intended for his eye indeed, but of im- 
 portance to his interests or design*. With 
 the help of these instruments he succeeded 
 very soon in opening Bianca's writing-table. 
 After a brief search he found among her pa- 
 pers that of Rushka, lying uppermost, hav- 
 ing been returned to her hands only but a 
 short time before. This removed all doubts, 
 saying nothing of the additional evidence he 
 obtained from the pocket-book in which he 
 f )und the portraits of the parents. The re- 
 semblance of these portraits to the children 
 was not to be mistaken. It needed no te- 
 dious unravelling or lengthened inquiry to 
 attain this truth — thai Bernard was the long- 
 Io-:t and recently-found brother. He care- 
 fully replaced every thing in its proper place, 
 unlocked the door, and hastily returned to 
 his room. His ingeniiity was now taxed for 
 the design best suited for the purpose of de- 
 stroying; at once the nascent mischief. Nor 
 was he long in coming to a conclusion. In 
 the first, place, Feodorowna's silence must 
 be enforced by menace denounced against 
 the dearest objects of her love. This was 
 not a difficult task for this unscrupulous 
 man : but it so happened that there were ob- 
 stacles in the way of its practical accom- 
 plishment. He determined, indeed, that Ber- 
 nard and Louis must partake of the fate of 
 
r948 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE , OR, 
 
 the Frenchmen now prisoners in the castle. 
 Their lives were then dependent on Feodo- 
 rowna's consent to swear upon the host, 
 never to betray his secret. But to effect all 
 this, there was required a stronger body of 
 men than was now at his disposal in the 
 castle. Except the servants, of whom the 
 greater number were serfs of Feodorowna, 
 and on whom Dol^orow could not rely in 
 case of extremity, there was not an efficient 
 number at his disposal. Bernard and Louis 
 alone could make such a resistance, that 
 probably they would perish in the conflict, 
 and then the security for the secret was lost. 
 Dolgorow was unprepared for any attempt 
 endangering the life of the Princess, partly 
 because lie knew that her serfs would regard 
 such a deed with utter abhorrence, and 
 would probably avenge it, — partly because 
 he foresaw that the Countess would never 
 give her consent to so base a deed, and above 
 all, because he himself fell that such an act 
 would exceed even his own measure of 
 wickedness. Even the worst of men can 
 imagine something beyond the reach of their 
 own vicious will, and hesitate to transcend 
 the imaginary barrier. 
 
 The deepest abyss of crime is not utterly 
 unfathomable — a point may be reached where 
 the hand of man can be stopped in its course. 
 There is no reasonable being so utterly prof- 
 ligate as not to be capable of acknowledging 
 a limit, however remote, to his vileness, be- 
 yond which he trembles to penetrate ; and 
 would rather lose the reward of his criminal 
 efforts, than incur the imaginary guilt of 
 transgressing its pale. The moral govern- 
 ment of Providence is manifest herein. For 
 that power alone can set bounds to the imma- 
 terial thoui^hts of man, and by their opera- 
 tion control the direction and check the ex- 
 travagance of his evil propensities. 
 
 Dolgorow decided upon his plan. He re- 
 solved to concentrate a sufficient body of 
 men in the neia^hborhood of the castle as a 
 security against ^11 resistance. Then Louis 
 and Bernard were -to be invited to come 
 abroad, and unexpectedly seized, gagged and 
 carried away. When they should have pen- 
 etrated some distance into the forest, Dolgo- 
 row purposed to tell them that their fate and 
 that of Feodorowna depended on the preser- 
 vation of his secret ; and With this warning 
 they were ta be despatched with the other 
 prisoners to the interior of the country. Only 
 when all this was effectually accomplished, 
 was Feodorowna to be made acquainted 
 with the matter, and then it would be easy 
 to extort from her the promise of secrecy by 
 threatening the lives of the prisoners. 
 
 Willhofen was suspected by Dolgorow as 
 an accomplice. He resolved therefore upon 
 getting rid of him also, by selecting him as 
 
 the messenger to carry orders for the ad* 
 vance of troops to the neighborhood of the 
 castle, and at the same time convey to the 
 person who held the command of the pea- 
 santry a sealed note not to allow Willhofen 
 to return to the castle, but to occupy him 
 otherwise until further instructions. 
 
 This well-matured scheme was put into 
 instant execution. He wrote the order, 
 sealed it, rang the bell, and desired James to 
 summon Willhofen to his presence. 
 
 " Here is an important despatch, Sola- 
 now," he addressed him. " You must in- 
 stantly get to horse, and depart with speed. 
 I hold you responsible for its being delivered 
 within three hours at farthest." 
 
 The old man bowed in silence, took the 
 packet and went away. 
 
 Now Dolgorow had time to reflect. The 
 danger seemed averted, the threatening cloud 
 dispersed. He could no!: anticipate that his 
 plan was already forestalled before the com- 
 mencement of its execution. 
 
 CHAPTER Lxxvnr. 
 
 BiANCA knew well that she was betrayed, 
 and the manner of it. Jeannette had been 
 sitting at work in the Princess' room. When 
 the light began to fail her, she had moved 
 into a large arm-chair in the embrasure of 
 the window, which was very deep in the 
 thick wails of the castle. There she worked 
 as long as she could see. Ib the twilight 
 she ceased, and after sitting idle for some 
 time, fell asleep. Suddenly she was awak- 
 ened by a noise, and, raising her head, she 
 saw a strange light in the room, and detected 
 with astonishment the Count, standing be- 
 fore the opened writing-table of the Princess. 
 Involuntarily the witness of this action, she 
 feared to betray herself; the great silk cur- 
 tains so covered the window, that she could 
 not easily be perceived. She therefore re- 
 solved not to stir, and to pretend to be asleep. 
 Yet she distinctly observed all that Dolgo- 
 row was about. She noticed that he de 
 parted with great circumspection, noiselessly 
 opening and closing the doors. These cir- 
 cumstances convinced the girl that there was 
 some secret plot in hand involving the Prin- 
 cess, whose late unhappy disagreement with 
 her parents had been all along known to her. 
 She connected these circumstances with 
 what she had overheard at the door and had 
 confided to James. She apprehended that she 
 had endangered the happiness of her mistress 
 by her imprudence. Her conscience smote 
 her, and she at once determined to acquaint 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 her with all she had seen and heard. With 
 this good design, she was on the point of 
 hastening to the presence of the Princess, 
 when the latter unexpectedly entered the 
 room. Jeannette soon related her story and 
 and all that had happened. Bianca had no 
 diflSculty in at once comprehending the 
 whole matter ; she saw that she was entirely 
 betrayed, and that there was no time to be 
 lost. Instantly she resolved upon speaking 
 with her brother. Jeannette was directed to 
 lock the door, and particularly instructed 
 should any person require admittance into 
 the room, to answer that the Princess was 
 dressing, and that no one could then be per- 
 mitted to enter. Bianca covered her head 
 with the dress usually worn b)' her maid- 
 servant, and favored by the darkness of the 
 corridor, hurried away to the quarter of the 
 castle in which were the apartments of Louis 
 and Bernard, and having entered their room, 
 soon made them acquainted with all the par- 
 ticulars. Flight was resolved on that same 
 night. Gregorius she knew would wil- 1 
 lingly receive her, if they could but succeed 
 in reaching his dwelling before he should 
 himself have commenced his journey hither 
 in obedience to her late invitation. Should 
 this resource fail them, they (fetermined to 
 hazard every peril and endeavor to reach 
 Smolensko, filled although it was with the 
 refuse of the Grand Army, and scarce worthy 
 the name of a place of refuge. 
 
 Willhofen, it was determined should be 
 the companion of their flight. He was in- 
 structed as to their designs, and promised to 
 keep horses and a sleigh in readiness. For 
 the making of these necessary preparations 
 he had but just left the room, when James 
 met him, and summoned him to the Count. 
 In anticipation of the cause of this sudden 
 summons, he entered the apartment, preserv- 
 ing his undisturbed presence of mind and 
 his accustomed serenity of features. Be- 
 traying no suspicion, Dolgorow presented 
 him with the despatches, which Wilhofen 
 immediately carried over to Bernard's room, 
 where Bianca was still remaining. The let- 
 ter was opened and Bianca read it, for jt was 
 written in Russian. Dolgorow's plan was 
 in a moment laid bare to them. 
 
 The necessity of flight was now as appa- 
 rent as urgent. No time was to be lost — 
 this very hour they must betake themselves 
 to flight. While Willhofen prepared the 
 sleigh and horses, under pretext of getting 
 ready to carry his master's despatches, Bi- 
 anca returned to her room and made hasty 
 provision for her journey. She could no 
 longer avoid making Jeannette acquainted 
 with her design. The girl was unwilling to 
 leave her mistress, and in tears entreated to 
 be permitted to share the fortunes of her 
 
 mistress. Bianca was compelled to consent, 
 inasmuch as she justly dreaded Dolgorow's 
 indignation, upon discovering the girl's par- 
 ticipation in the betrayal of his designs. 
 The poor girl therefore was soon deeply en- 
 gaged in making up her wardrobe, while 
 Bianca occupied herself in collecting her 
 money, jewels, papers and many other valua- 
 ble matters, all of which were readily enclosed 
 in a case, easily carried, and, if necessary, 
 concealed. Bernard and Louis had in the 
 meantime, by Willhofen's admonition, provi- 
 ded themselves with pistols belonging to the 
 household. Louis went down in the yard, 
 with the design of following Willhofen out 
 of the yard, with the sleigh, as soon as 
 he left it on horseback. Bernard remain- 
 ed to conduct and protect his sister. A sig- 
 nal was to be given from the window to the 
 parties in the yard, indicating that the Prin- 
 cess and her maid were ready. 
 
 The nature of the suspense in which Louis 
 stood looking up to Bianca's window, can be 
 better imagined than depicted. The imminent 
 danger of delay, the possibility of being be- 
 trayed, the peril of being plunged into the 
 direst misfortunes, contrasted with the bril- 
 liant dreams of prospective happiness, con- 
 verted this suspense into torture, and pro- 
 longed each successive second into an hour of 
 agony. At length Bernard stepped with a 
 light to the window, and there suddenly ex- 
 tinguished it. That was the signal agreed 
 upon. Willhofen mounted his horse and rode 
 quickly towards the gate, which he ordered to 
 be opened. Louis followed him with the 
 sleigh ; under the gateway and near the great 
 steps, according to agreement, he was to await 
 the descent of Bianca and Bernard, and then, 
 as rapidly as the horses could fly, to follow 
 Willhofen, who galloped on in advance. That 
 they might not be instantly pursued, Willhofen 
 had taken the precaution to collect all the 
 bridles into one bundle, and had thrown them 
 over a ruined part of the wall into the ditch 
 of the castle ; which, it is true, was frozen, 
 but where nobody would think of looking for 
 such articles. They therefore entertained a 
 reasonable expectation that before dawn it 
 would be difficult to pursue them. Darkness 
 favored the undertaking. With great care, so 
 that no one might hear the tramping of the 
 horses upon the snow, Louis brought the 
 sleigh to the gateway. Willhofen was 
 already outside, remaining on the bridge. By 
 the obscure glimmer of the lamp that hung 
 in the vaulted arch-way, Louis saw three 
 forms upon the upper steps of the stair- 
 case. 
 
 " Is it thou Bernard ?" he whispered. 
 
 " Here we are," was the answer, and at 
 the same instant Bianca approached to enter 
 the sleigh, 
 
tso 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR 
 
 Bat at this moment was heard Dolgorow's 
 fearful shout : 
 
 " Treachery ! Ho ! there — awake ! Shut 
 
 the gate — seize the traitors !" he cried. At 
 
 the same instant a drawn sword flashed above 
 
 Bernard's head, and, under the suddenness of 
 
 , the blow, he fell to the ground. 
 
 Bianca uttered a piercing shriek, and in fall- 
 ing, struck Dolgorow's arm, which was about 
 to deal a second and a heavier stroke. 
 
 " For the mercy of Heaven, spare him ! — 
 he is my brother !" she exclaimed, in a tone 
 calculated to pierce the stoutest heart. 
 
 Louis was astounded ; but, quickly recover- 
 ing himself, he jumped frofai the sleigh, tore 
 the pistol out of his girdle, and discharged it 
 at Dolgorow. The ball penetrated the shoul- 
 der, and he tottered backward. 
 
 " Fly, unhappy lady ! — fly !" exclaimed 
 Louis, and would have embraced Bianca ; but 
 already, three servants, who had been dozing 
 in the guard-room, near the gate, hastened to 
 the scene, and seizing him beliind, threw him 
 to the ground. 
 
 "Seize the traitors I — ^bind them !" exclaimed 
 Dolgorow furiously, and the servants, mo- 
 mentarily increasing their numbers, soon over- 
 powered the unfortunate and unaided young 
 man. Dolgorow himself grasped Bianca, lift- 
 ed her up by force, and bore her away, as she 
 struggled, up the stairs, into the hall of the 
 castle. Her strength failed her, under her 
 terrible misfortune, and all resistance was 
 soon at an end, as indeed it was vain. 
 
 Jeannette followed her mistress. The ser- 
 vants, without waiting for further instructions, 
 dragged the unconscious Bernard along with 
 them, and followed the retreating steps of the 
 Count. 
 
 In the upper corridor the Countess met 
 them, having been alarmed by the discharge 
 of fire-arms and the general tumult, without 
 knowing the cause. 
 
 " Take your daughter to your apartment. 
 Countess !" exclaimed Dolgorow. "The 
 honor of our house is in the greatest jeo- 
 pardy !" 
 
 " I am not your daughter !" exclaimed Feo- 
 dorowna, whose consciousness had returned. 
 "I no longer acknowledge your rights. You 
 have murdered my brother !" 
 
 With great energy she wrenched herself 
 from the arms of the Count, and hastened 
 back to meet the servants, who were dragging 
 along Bernard and Louis. 
 
 " You are my vassals," she addressed them, 
 in a tone of excited despair : " I command you 
 to release these unfortunate men, and to lend 
 immediate aid to the wounded !" 
 
 Dolgorow had hastened after her. 
 
 "Whoever neglects to obey my commands," 
 he exclaimed, with his sword raised on high, 
 and in a voice of thunder, " I will cleave his 
 
 traitorous skull! Who dares dispute my 
 orders, or brave my vengeance ?" 
 
 The serfs of the Princess stood irresolute, 
 wavering between fear and the impulse of 
 conscious duty ; but, two of Dolgorow's own 
 men bowed humbly before him, saying : 
 
 " Our master has only to command us, and 
 we- shall know what to do." 
 
 " I have told you already," cried Dolgorow, 
 in towering wrath. " Bind these dogs, and 
 cast them into the deepest vault of the castle !" 
 
 " No — it shall not be ! — it is impossible !" 
 Bianca exclaimed, clasping her brother within 
 her arms, and pressing his blood-stained head 
 to her breast. " I do not leave thee, my bro- 
 ther ! — if thou diest, thou diest in my arms !" 
 
 Struck with respect for her sorrows, even 
 the rough serfs retreated, seeming to feel a 
 higher duty than that of a slavish obedience. 
 
 Dolgorow stamped with his foot, and cursed 
 them in his anger. 
 
 " Throw her dovra also, if she will not 
 leave him !" he fiercely exclaimed, stepping 
 himself towards his unhappy victim, for the 
 purpose of tearing her from the body of her 
 brother. 
 
 Louis' feelings were tortured with ineffable 
 pangs at sight of this brutal enormity. Un- 
 der this emotion, he forced himself upright 
 amid the ignorant slaves who held him, and, 
 in the dignity of his virtuous indignation, 
 addressed the savage noble before him : 
 
 " Hold thine hand. Count ! Dost thou not 
 fear the retribution of Heaven? The Great 
 Judge sees all, and. from his justice thou canst 
 not escape !" 
 
 Dolgorow turned himself proudly round. He 
 was struck, for even he felt the promptings of 
 the monitor within. Yet, his long-continued 
 hardness of heart struggled against the emo- 
 tion, as against a cowardly fear, and he en- 
 deavored to conceal his weakness behind tho 
 veil of redoubled insolence. A smile of 
 scorn was on the lips that replied : 
 
 " It shall be mine to show you that you 
 will find it still more difficult to escape 7ny 
 wrath and my justice !" 
 
 At this moment was suddenly heard a 
 strange hollow noise, succeeded by a loud 
 clamor of confused voices. 
 
 The attention of all was an-ested. They 
 heard the noise approaching. 
 
 " What's the matter there ?" exclaimed Dol- 
 gorow. " Go down, one of you, and see what 
 is the cause of this tumult." 
 
 One of his men was in the act of obeying 
 these instructions, when louder and more dis- 
 tinct noises were heard, as of a body of men 
 forcing their Way up the stairs. The vaulted 
 roof reflected a strong light from below, and 
 clearly indicated the approach of people with 
 torches. 
 
 Dolgorow, in evident alarm, hastened to- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 351 
 
 wards the stairs. The cry and tumult of those 
 forcing their way up increased every moment. 
 
 " Here ! here !" exclaimed a strong voice, 
 * follow me !" 
 
 Louis recognised Willhofen's voice. In an 
 instant, a bright hope that this faithful man 
 ivould bring succor, arose within him. This 
 hope received its confirmation in the echo of 
 a shot, immediately succeeded by a second 
 discharge, and a furious outburst of human 
 voices. 
 
 Dolgorow,against whose person these shots 
 had been firpd, made a speedy retreat. He 
 held his hand to his side, where he seemed to 
 have been wounded ; but he continued reso- 
 lutely to brandish his sword, and encourage 
 his men to resist the attack. They were un- 
 armed and hesitated. 
 
 " Fight, villains ! or I myself will cut you 
 down !" Dolgorow roared, alike against his 
 own people and his unknown assailants. 
 He stormed in fury, and the vaulted hall re- 
 echoed with his indignant epithets. 
 
 The frightened slaves relinquished their 
 hold of Louis and Bernard, and hastened to 
 their master. Suddenly, a strange light il- 
 luminated the whole apartment, and Louis at 
 once recognised the faithful Willhofen, who, 
 with a sword in his right liand and a blazing 
 torch in his left, appeared at the top of the 
 stairs. He rushed impetuously forward, fol- 
 lowed by a crowd of people, armed with poles 
 and implements of husbandry. They hesitii- 
 ted not in their bold advance, and unchecked, 
 they fell furiously upon the Count and his 
 people. Dolgorow's men were unable to with- 
 stand the impetuous assault — ^they turned and 
 fled along the corridor. Dolgorow would 
 have stood firm, but he was carried away by 
 the flying mass, and fell to the ground. The 
 assailants still pressed forward, and, before 
 ■ Louis could well recover from his surprise, 
 Willhofen seized liis hand, and triumphantly 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " We are safe, sir !" 
 
 Louis, in the excess of his joy, embraced 
 the old man, and hailed him as their de- 
 livere. 
 
 Bianca knelt on the ground ; the head of 
 her wounded brother lay in her lap. Slie 
 spread her hands over his pale and blood- 
 btained face ; — iier trembling lips were not 
 able to utter a word, yet, in her uphfted eye 
 glowed a flame of purest gratitude for this 
 merciful interposition. 
 
 " Dear brother ! only once again open thine 
 eyes !" she murmured, and essayed to raise 
 his fallen head. His consciousness happily 
 began to return; he opened his eyes, and 
 lisped, 
 
 " Where am I T 
 
 " In the arms of thy sister !" Bianca ex- 
 claimed, with re-awakened joy. 
 
 Louis had bent down beside her, to assist 
 her in raising the exhausted patient. He care- 
 fully wiped away the blood from his forehead, 
 and made anxious and tender inquiries into 
 the nature and extent of the wounds. 
 
 " I feel easy," said Bernard, " but exceed- 
 ing weak and confused. What has happened 
 here ? — where are we ?" 
 
 His friend and his sister led him on to his 
 apartment. Here Bianca herself washed his 
 wound, and secured it with a bandage. Will- 
 hofen also now entered, and Louis pointed to 
 him, exclaiming : 
 
 " This is our preserver ! — but how he be- 
 came so he has not yet explained to us." 
 
 " I scarce know myself," replied Willhofen. 
 " I remained upon the bridge, waiting for you, 
 my dear sir, when I suddenly heard a loud 
 cry, and immediately afterwards the report of 
 a pistol-shot. Turning in that direction, I 
 saw the people rushing out of the guard- 
 room towards the sleigh. Now I knew but 
 too well what was, the matter. Irresolute 
 whether to fly or to remain, I stood a silent 
 spectator of the tumult. But, when the men 
 had carried all up stairs, and the gateway was 
 clear, it suddenly occurred to me that the 
 French prisoners might aid us. I lost no time 
 in proceeding to the yard. The man who 
 stood on guard at the gate, with a rusty mus- 
 ket, was not aware of an attack. To jump 
 from my horse, to throw him down, to snatch 
 his musket out of his hand, and put it out of 
 his power to give the alarm, was the work of 
 an instant. I had but to draw back the bolts 
 of the outer door, and turn the key in the 
 lock of the inner, and the prisoners were free. 
 The little French I learned in my youth now 
 stood me in good stead. I soon made them 
 comprehend, that if they had the courage 
 to try, they might effect their deliverance. 
 There was no necessity to repeat the propo- 
 sal. They followed me into the yard. When 
 I had them in the open air, I led them to a 
 heap of billet-wood, that lies immediately to 
 the right, in the corner, and directed them to 
 arm and follow me immediately to the gate. 
 Tn the meantime, I had closed the outer gate, 
 so that the fellows might not prematurely 
 make their escape into the woods, and leave us 
 to fight our own battle. I tore a burning 
 brand out of the stove in the guard-room, and 
 others followed my example. I led the way 
 up the stairs, and with a wild cry, the French- 
 men were close at my back, eager for the fray, 
 and — ^but the rest you know. Now we are 
 masters of the castle ; but we shall do wisely 
 in getting away from it this very hour; 
 for, no man knows what the next will bring 
 forth. 
 
 " Brave old maD !" exclaimed Bernard, 
 " Thou art still a true German, even amid 
 the deserts of Russia. I feel new life, my 
 
253 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRfeD AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 friends ; let us hasten to gain the open air." 
 
 " The horses are yet harnessed," answered 
 Willhofen ; " we can instantly depart. But 
 hark! what is that?" 
 
 There was a loud knock at the gate with- 
 out, accompanied by the crack of a whip, 
 and the ringing of sleigh bells. This inter- 
 ruption caused a momentary alarm. 
 
 "Be quiet — we will soon see what it is," 
 said Willholen ; " if there are many of them, 
 we can keep them out. Against a few we 
 can easily maintain our position — for our 
 enemies here are now harmless." With this 
 brief remark, he went out to observe the 
 new visitor from one of the front windows. 
 
 It was not long before he returned with a 
 smile. 
 
 " There is no danger, gracious lady," said 
 he ; '• it is Father Gregorius !" 
 
 " Heaven itself has sent him to me '." ex- 
 claimed Bianca. " Oh, the kind old man ! 
 setting at naught, both night and winter, in 
 his zeal to comply with my urgent request. 
 Open the gate — quick — no, I myself will go 
 to meet him." 
 
 She hastened down so rapidly that Will- 
 hofen was scarcely able to follow her. After 
 a few minutes she returned by the side of the 
 old man, to whom she was as dearly attached 
 as a daughter to her parent. 
 
 " See, Father — here he is — it is my brother!" 
 
 Bernard reverently stood up, for Grego- 
 rius' facial aspect was that of a saint. A 
 blessed calm seemed to overspread his fea- 
 tures ; and his eye was bright with the ray 
 of adoration habitually directed to the Al- 
 mighty. 
 
 " Thus, wonderfully does He, whose ways 
 are inscrutable, direct us in our paths !" said 
 the old priest, as he stood before them : " thus 
 does He fashion the destinies of men on in- 
 visible threads which He alone is able to 
 blend or disrupt. Thou hast my blessing, my 
 son," he continued approaching Bernard, and 
 laying his hand on his head ; " and may that 
 of Heaven rest upon thee. Even now the 
 Father of Mercies is with thee — even here 
 where his ministers of wrath are pouring out 
 retributive justice upon the heads of our in- 
 vaders — even herej where the wilderness of 
 snow and the sharp arrow of the icy North 
 wind, are preparing destruction for myriads 
 of infidel transgressors — here has He pre- 
 served to thee alone th.s tender blossom, 
 which He now transfers to thy care and pro- 
 tection and love. Thou earnest with the 
 sword, but the angel of the Lord hath wrested 
 it from thine hand, and in lieu thereof placed 
 a palm !" 
 
 " 1 receive it with all reverence and grati- 
 tude !" answered Bernard, bending in hu- 
 mility over the hand of the priest. 
 
 •* Oh, Father !" said Bianca, in a tone of 
 
 supplication. " Thou shonldst be the peace- 
 maker ; thy pious words should cleanse the 
 heart of man from the hatred and blood- 
 thirstiness that stain it. It is mine now, 
 to relinquish the older ties with which I have 
 hitherto been bound to this family, and to 
 folfow a holier duty — to obey a mightier 
 power. I would have done this work kindly 
 and gradually, if possible ; but enmity has 
 arisen, and peril imposes the necessity of 
 haste. Be thou the mediator between me 
 and my foster-parents; I do not deserve 
 their hatred, but even an unjust curse would 
 pain me through the remainder of my days. 
 Wher6 is my father? Where is my mo- 
 ther ? I wish earnestly to see them !" 
 
 "They are under guard in the saloon I" 
 answered Willhofen. 
 
 " Then we will go to them," said Bianca, 
 earnestly. " Brother, wilt thou be able to 
 accompany me ? Louis, wilt thou also follow 
 me ? Soften your hearts for a work of 
 reconciliation !" 
 
 " What heart can resist so benevolent a 
 prayer ?" said Louis. " The most obdurate 
 resentment, if indeed I could entertain it, 
 would melt like snow under the genial breath 
 of spring." 
 
 Bernard seized her hand, and softly press- 
 ing it, whispered : 
 
 " I am resolute and inflexible by nature ; 
 the demon of evil is powerful within me. 
 But, sister, one hair of thy silken lashes may 
 lead me whithersoever thou wilt, and bind me 
 more effectually than a ten-linked chain of 
 iron. Let us go." 
 
 In the saloon they found Dolgorow. His 
 brow was clouded — he was pale with pas- 
 sion and bodily pain. The Countess sat in 
 an arm-chair, exhausted and in tears. 
 
 " What do you desire ? — So you also are 
 one of the conspirators, Gregorius ! You, 
 too, have apostatised from your allegiance to 
 your country and your God ?" 
 
 The old man heeded not the insult offered 
 by the angry Count, but kindly approached 
 him, and mildly said : 
 
 "Lidulge no words of hatred or anger in 
 this hour, when the eternal Disposer of hu- 
 man affairs is looking down upon you with an 
 eye of stern displeasure. Utter no words of 
 enmity now, when we approach you with 
 love ! You once broke and cast from you the 
 holy ties of our nature; but the eye of God 
 was not asleep — and he has again brought 
 those together who should never have been 
 separated. Do not harbor resentment against 
 those who bear no guilt — compensate for a 
 cruel course by a repentant act. She who 
 has so long called you father is about to leave 
 you — a newer and holier duty calls her away 
 — but let her not depart without a reconcilia* 
 tion and your blessing !" 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Dolgorow was silent ; he moodily turned 
 away his head. 
 
 " Father ! mother !" said Bianca, in a tremu- 
 lous voice, and hesitating to approach them : 
 " I cannot easily forget those endeared 
 names, first learned from, and long applied to 
 you. I suffered much indeed, but I enjoyed 
 much also ; therefore can I never forget the 
 sacred claims of gratitude. To be compelled 
 to leave you is painful enough, but here 1 
 must now^ have been always a stranger. No 
 custom — no long preserved habits of life, 
 eraW' the instincts of nature, or reconcile us 
 to error. Oh, ray parents ! let not this part- 
 ing be in violence or anger. Spare me and 
 yourselves agony, which we can escape only 
 by wise and humble submission ! Let us 
 separate in peace !" 
 
 Bianca, as a suppliant, approached the 
 Countess, and seized her hand which hung 
 motionless by her side. 
 
 "Have I ever neglected my duty as a 
 child towards you, my mother ? Even the 
 most painful sacrifice I could offer to paren- 
 tal authority, was offered in silence — a silence 
 the more impressive, as I knew that such 
 a sacrifice was beyond the just power of 
 parents to exact. A ruling Providence rid 
 me of my fetters even before their embrace 
 could insult my person. Recognise in this 
 the merciful dispensation of the Almighty ! 
 Bow to His will, and look \yith approval upon 
 what you can no longer prevent or change. 
 That, at least, may prove some compensation 
 to me for the hours of unforgotten misery 
 I endured in obedience to your will, when I 
 relinquished all my hopes of life !" 
 
 The Countess turned aside, unmoved by 
 these entreaties, yet unable to control her 
 tears. Her tears were for herself. — Dolgo- 
 row stood apart, cold and inflexible. 
 
 Bianca was in despair, distressed beyond 
 measure. 
 
 " Oh, Father Gregorius !" said she, " let but 
 your solemn voice be once lifted up in serious 
 exhortation — if they will but hear the voice 
 of man, surely thine will prevail. Alas ! 
 they will not hear their daughter !" 
 
 The old man approached the Countess, 
 but equally addressed both her and Dolgo- 
 row. 
 
 " Love your enemies ; do good to those 
 that hate you — is enjoined on man in Holy 
 Writ — and the Lord requires obedience at our 
 hands !" began the aged minister. " You 
 have but to fulfil a lesser diity — to recom- 
 pense love with love — to abstain from inflict- 
 ing pain where there is no demerit. This is 
 a law, which the savage observes towards 
 the savage. Look forward to the mercy you 
 will yourself require in your last hour — that 
 hour, sooner or later, must come ; and can 
 you say that it is not even now at hand. I 
 
 exhort you by the love borne to all of us by the 
 blessed Redeemer ; remember his mercies, 
 and be yourself merciful, ere you perish in 
 the hardness of your heart !" 
 
 " Enough !" exclaimed Dolgorow, furiously 
 starting forward. " You have become an 
 apostate priest and counsellor of the enemy ! 
 What want you now from me ? I am your 
 prisoner. Will the Princess Ochalskoi, a 
 daughter of Russia, suffer the Count Dolgo- 
 row, her father, the defender of her country, 
 to be fettered by traitors ? She has succeeded 
 in her designs — let her now farther deter- 
 mine !" 
 
 " Merciful heaven ! this is too much !" ex- 
 claimed Bianca, concealing her head in Gre- 
 gorius' robe. The old man supported her 
 trembling frame. 
 
 " Sister, come, or I shall be released from 
 the promise I have given!" said Bernard, 
 whose resentment was kindUng against the 
 prisoner. 
 
 Louis stepped forward with noble bearing 
 and confronted Dolgorow. 
 
 " Can you roilly dare thus to defy the 
 Great Judge, not of your deeds alone, but 
 your very thoughts ? Cease, at least, to tor- 
 ture a noble spirit, and a pure being with un- 
 worthy slander and insult. No one tliat 
 hears you here can be deceived by any false- 
 hood that you can utter." 
 
 Dolgorow did not answer. 
 
 Gregorius raised his hands to heaven, and 
 poured forth a solemn praye»: 
 
 " Heavenly Father ! — give to this, thy in- 
 nocent daughter, thy grace and blessing. She 
 is weak and innocent before thee !" 
 
 After this he laid his hands on Bianca's 
 head: 
 
 '• Receive the blessing of the Lord ! His 
 mighty arm shall lift itself over thee, pro- 
 tecting thee against the wrath of the wicked ! 
 And albeit thy true parents should pronounce 
 a curse upon thee, yet that should harmlessly 
 pass, seeing that the shield of the Lord is 
 spread above thine head. Depart in peace, 
 whithersoever the sacred affections of thine 
 own pure heart doth lead thee. Guiltless 
 art thou, and so shall the fulness of joy re- 
 served for the fiuthful, await thy comng 
 years." 
 
 Having pronounced this benediction, the 
 aged.priest turned to leave the saloon. Bianca 
 endeavored to follow him, but required the 
 aid of Bernard and Louis to support her 
 steps. 
 
 Willhofen met them at the gate : 
 
 " Let me entreat you, dear sir, make haste 
 into the sleigh; we have no time to spare — 
 we must be away. Wrap yourselves up 
 warm, for the night is bitterly cold. I am 
 ready to conduct you on horseback, 'for I 
 must ride to keep myself warm." 
 
954 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 Louis followed the advice of his honest 
 friend. He assisted Bernard in placing his 
 sister in the sleigh, and then took his seat on 
 the part designed for the driver, and once 
 more took the reins into his hand. 
 
 Bianca took care of her brother, who still 
 felt himself weak from tiie loss of blood, 
 and whose wound became more painfully 
 affected by the piercing nature of the cold. 
 As a greater amount of room was requisite 
 for the accommodation of Bernard, Bianca's 
 waiting-maid was transferred to the care of 
 Father Gregorius, who took her into his own 
 sleigh. 
 
 Willhofen had, in the meantime, collected 
 the captive Frenchmen, who, without loss 
 of time, provided themselves with the cloth- 
 ing, victuals, and aitns which were to be 
 found in the castle. Taking aside their 
 commander, a young officer, he suggested to 
 him the best course for him to pursue. 
 
 " Follow the track of the sleighs," he said, 
 " until yoti come to three great firs, near 
 which stimds a sign-post. Here, if you 
 should see the track of the sleigh turning to 
 the left, turn to the right, for by that road 
 you will reach Smolensk© in two hours.. 
 The night is starlight, and with the aid of the 
 snOw you will get along safely. The Coun- 
 tess had better remain in the castle, but take 
 the Count along with you as a hostage, in 
 case any Russian peasants or Cossacks should 
 meet you on the way. I Avill answer for 
 their not injuring a hair of your heads, if his 
 life depends on it. And if you follow my 
 advice, you will allow him to return uninjured, 
 as soon as you sliall reach the city, for it is 
 not advisable to tempt the vengeance of his 
 enemies ; and moreover, if you allow him to 
 return in peace, it may be of service to you 
 at some future day. But, at all events, 
 hasten to leave the castle immediately, for 
 here you are not safe for an hour against 
 unexpected guests. If you desire to obtain 
 horses, there are yet several in the stables, 
 but the bridles are lying in the castle ditch 
 behind the old wall. And now, farewell !" 
 
 The old man sprang upon his horse and 
 galloped fortli from the castle gate. The 
 two sleighs followed at full speed. Soon 
 afterwards the delivered prisoners commenced 
 their march, taking their hostage, Dolgorow, 
 in their midst. They left the castle in a com- 
 pact and orderly body. 
 
 Once only Bianca turned her head. When 
 the towers of the castle vanished at length 
 from her sight, she breathed more freely and 
 composedly. The dark forest veiled her 
 within its solemn shades ; she bent down her 
 lovely head upon the bosom of her brother, 
 and found relief in tears, such as joy, rather 
 than sol-row, is wont to pour forth. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 Before dawn of day, Rasinski, at the 
 head of the brave fellows who yet remained 
 of his regiment, and occupying the centre 
 of the columns formed by Marshal Ney's 
 departing divisions, left the encircling walls 
 of Smolensko. The sky was overcast ; not 
 a star was visible through its dark canopy. 
 The only light which, in some measure, re- 
 lieved the darkness, was the feeble reflection 
 of the mantle of snow which covered th» 
 fields. Surrounding nature was sad and 
 silent ; the rumbling of the few field-pieces 
 which could yet be brought away on their 
 carriages, and the clatter of arms, were the 
 only sounds which broke upon the ear in this 
 oppressive silence ; for the soldiers uttered 
 not a word, but plodded noiselessly, and 
 brooding, through this wilderness of wintry 
 desolatioti. 
 
 After an hour's march, these warriors, the 
 last in retreat from inhospitable Russia, 
 reached a dense forest of fir-trees. Suddenly ' 
 a hollow crash was heard in the rear, and, at 
 the same time, the reflection of a strong 
 light shone upon the tops of the old trees. 
 Every one looked up in listening attention, 
 fur they believed, at first, that what they 
 heard was the discharge of the enemy's ar- 
 tillery. 
 
 " It is nothing," said Rasinski to Jaromir, 
 who rbde by his side ; " they are blowing up 
 the walls and towers of the fortifications. It 
 is the old prerogative of war to leave nothing 
 to the enemy of which we cannot keep pos- 
 session ourselves." 
 
 The dull, heavy reports continued yet some 
 time longer. Day began to break. Gradu- 
 ally the lines of marching troops and trains 
 of wagons became visible. 
 
 " Keep a good look-out on the men, Jaro- 
 mir," said Rasinski; "I will go to ascertain 
 how it fares with our sick and wounded." 
 
 Having said this, he rode along the line 
 to the wagons on which were carried the 
 wounded of whose lives and recovery hopes 
 were still entertained. All others had, from 
 necessity, been resigned to the tender mercies 
 of the enemy. 
 
 Boleslaus, wounded by a shot in the side, 
 but not dangerously, lay with others of the 
 regiment on a wagon procured through the 
 untiring efforts of Rasinski. 
 
 " Well, how do )'ou get alonjr, friends ?" 
 Rasinski asked his men, extending his hand 
 to Boleslaus. 
 
 " As well as we can," answered the young 
 officer, sitting pale and anxious, with his 
 face deeply hidden in his doak, while his 
 head was tied around with a black silk- 
 handkerchief to protect it from the cold 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 "Have yoa been able to learn anything, 
 Colonel ?" 
 
 " It was all in vain," answered Rasinski, 
 Badly. " This insatiable war, which has 
 already devoured so many brave and noble 
 fellows, craved these also for his prey ! I 
 would not cocn plain if they were of our own 
 people ! I would have consoled myself with 
 the thought that they had fallen in their 
 country's cause ; the battle was a cast of the 
 die with them ; they hazarded life and limb 
 upon it, like the rest of us. To one, the die 
 turns up the grim tyrant, death ; to another, 
 the pleasures of life. We are prepared for 
 either — we know what is before us, and must 
 not murmur. But these our friends ! — they 
 did not join us and come hither from choice ! 
 War, which wields a trenchant sword over 
 every other head, ought to have covered 
 them with its broad aegis ! Alas ! this all- 
 devouring wretchedness and terror has swal- 
 lowed them up too. It must be borne and 
 surmounted, Boleslaus ; for we are men, and 
 not children." 
 
 " Who can tell," answered Boleslaus, sor- 
 rowfully, " how soon we may join them !" 
 
 '• Ttiere is nothing I more desire," replied 
 Rasinski, misunderstanding his meaninij;. 
 
 " I mean that here death does not suffer 
 comifades to be long separated," said the 
 young man, slowly shaking his head, and 
 turning his large black eyes, first, on the 
 miserable objects. around him, and then into 
 the distance, as if contrasting the ^piring 
 energies of these sufferers with the un- 
 ' bounded space which they would have to 
 traverse be lore arriving at the delectable 
 spots of their home. 
 
 " Dost thou mean it so ? — then certainly 
 thou art right," answered Rasinski. " Art 
 thou so weakened by thy wound that it re- 
 minds thee of dying ?'" 
 
 " No," answered Boleslaus ; " 1 feel better. 
 Perhaps I may be able to mount my horse 
 again in a few days. Even to-day 1 could 
 walk or ride a short distance." 
 
 "Well, then, farewell!" said Rasinski, 
 quickly, and weil-niuh harshly, fearing .to 
 let his ieelinjrs overcome hira ; " I will not 
 forget to attend to you, comrades," he added, 
 turning to the rest of the invalids, and then 
 seitinj/ spurs to his horse, he hastened back 
 to Jaromir. 
 
 Boleslaus, whose serious and reserved 
 chiiracier possessed a keener sensibility than 
 he was accustomed to manifest, was very 
 deeply affected by the loss of Bernard and 
 Louis. There was hardly room for any 
 other conjecture than that they were dead ; 
 for as they must have learned that Rasinski 
 had been suddenly ordered to unite himself, 
 with his regiment, to Ney's corps, they must 
 certainly have endeavored to join him, or 
 
 at least would have tarried for him at Smo- 
 lensko. There were still many in the city 
 who would have given them information, 
 Colonel Regnard among others, who, with 
 the Viceroy of Italy, was the first to leave 
 the fort, when Rasinski and his men had 
 already entered it. But to no one had they 
 applied ; no one had perceived a trace of 
 them. If they had departed in advance, or 
 if an opportunity of reaching their home by 
 a%iore direct or easier route had presented 
 itself, they would infallibly have taken care 
 to impart such a movement to Regnard, and 
 through him to Rasinski. The real truth 
 of their fate was unknown to all, and thus 
 they were reckoned among the vast number 
 of those who were daily found missing from 
 the ranks. 
 
 Rasinski bore the afflicting loss with that 
 manly fortitude with which he rose above 
 even the heaviest blows of adversity ; Jaro- 
 mir, in his disturbed mood, envied those ivho 
 were delivered from the galling load of life ; 
 while Boleslaus suffered the keenest sympa- 
 thy of a devoted brother. 
 
 Thus he now sat sunk in mournful revery, 
 while his eye wandered over the moving 
 troops and train of wagons which, mi the 
 grey morning, were almost lost to^iew. 
 The road passed over an elevation, which, in 
 its declivity, was coated over with ice, so 
 that the weak and tired animals were unable 
 to pull up the trifling ascent, notwithstand- 
 ing the exertions of the drivers, with the aid 
 of their whips and curses. The wagons 
 and guns were thus stopped in their pro- 
 gress, and while .the horse and infantry 
 passed on, they remained behind. After a 
 while, however, they all succeeded in sur- 
 mounting the impediment, which, to each 
 successive wagon or gun-carriage, became 
 less formidable, as the ice was broken up 
 by its predecessdr, and of course became less 
 slippery. The last vehicles had nearly 
 gained the highest part of the ridge, and 
 Boleslaus was on one of these, when one, 
 overladen with women and baggage, in spite 
 of all the efforts of horses and drivers, was 
 unable to come up. Those behind cursed 
 and raved, insisting that the cart should be 
 left behind. They would have driven by, 
 but in passing over, the most level part had 
 at once been selected by the foremost wa- 
 gon, and every attempt to reach the summit 
 by another path would have been far more 
 difficult, if not impossible. In this way two 
 wretched horses strained every muscle and 
 sinew to scramble up the slippery ascent, 
 but in vain ; equally fruitless was it to seek 
 help from the men, as there were none but 
 sick and wounded, and the drivers themselves 
 belonged to the same category. At last the 
 two poor animals, when half-way up the bill, 
 
256 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 fell down exhausted, and not being able any 
 longer to hold the wagon hack, it began a 
 retrograde motion, dragging the horses along 
 with it. A cry of terror and dismay arose 
 at this sight, as well from those in the vehicle 
 itself, as from those whom it threatened 
 behind. But there was no one in real dan- 
 ger but the former, for the wagon slid down 
 sideways; one of the wheels sunk into a 
 deep gully ; the other struck against a blocj^ 
 of ice, and the wagon was overturned with 
 a great crash. • 
 
 By their own troubles and need of deliver- 
 ance, the feelings of these people had become 
 so blunted and torpid, that those behind ma- 
 nifested more satisfaction that the object 
 was out of the way, than they did pity for 
 the fate of their sick comrades and the help- 
 less women scattered on the road. These 
 had, however, quickly gathered themselves 
 up again, and seeing their conveyance per- 
 fectly useless, they hastened, with their traps 
 and little property in their arras, towards the 
 nearest wagons, to seek for places there ; 
 but they were, for the most part, roughly re- 
 pulsed. 
 
 When Boleslaus saw wounded soldiers 
 and w(%en driven back with savage bitter- 
 ness by the whips of the drivers, he was cut 
 to the heart. He raised himself and cried 
 out: 
 
 " Friends, don't leave your comrades be- 
 hind ! Come here, old man !" he cried to 
 an old grenadier, severely wounded ; " come 
 here, we will take you up, and one of us 
 can go on foot by turns. I will be the first 
 myself to try it." 
 
 So saying, he reached out his arms to the 
 aged warrior to help him into the wagon, 
 while he got down himself. 
 
 This example had a good eflfect. It was 
 resolved to take one of the wounded into 
 each wagon. But there were not as many 
 wagons as there were claimants, and a 
 young woman, closely enveloped in a fur 
 cloak, and with a child about three years of 
 age in her arms, and apparently the wife of 
 some officer, was repulsed everywhere, while 
 her two companions had already found places. 
 
 Shall the mother perish in this desert, on 
 account of her child ? thought Boleslaus, a 
 shudder passing over him the while. But a 
 deeper horror came over him, when he saw 
 the unfortunate woman suddenly fling down 
 the child into the snow-bank, and thus freed 
 frouj her encumbrance, run to the next 
 wagon :* 
 
 • At the gates of the town (Smolensko) nn infamous 
 act struck ;ill witnes.-es with a horror that still survives. 
 A mother abandoned her son, a child of five years old • 
 in spite of his cries and tears she repulsed him from' 
 her overlottded sledi;e, wildly exclaiming that '' he had 
 not seen France! — he would not regret it! But as to 
 her, she knew France! — she must see her country 
 
 " Take me alone, then !" she cried, in 
 tones of heart-rending anguish ; " you will 
 at least save one life ?" 
 
 This unnatural conduct of the mother 
 filled even these men, hardened &S they were 
 to every misery incidental to war, with a 
 feeling of horror and disgust. Bolcslaua 
 ran to the crying child, which was nearly 
 smothered in the deep snow, and took it up. 
 But how did his heart quiver, when, in that 
 little creature, he recognised the foster-child 
 of Alisette ; and herself, in the pitifully in- 
 sane suppliant begging to be saved. 
 
 " Almighty God !" he cried, horror-struck, 
 this is the hand of retribution !" 
 
 All feeling of pity and commisseration was 
 banished from the men by this act of the 
 wretched woman. A rude feeling of plea- 
 sure even at having it in their power imme- 
 diately to avenge such an outrage, usurped 
 its place in their breasts. 
 
 " Give us the child, we will save the poor 
 innocent," cried a chasseur from the wagon 
 into which Alisette had made a fruitless at- 
 tempt to climb, while at the same time ho 
 drove back the unhappy women with heavy 
 blows of his fist. Boleslaus obeyed the call, 
 hardly knowing what he did. The chasseur 
 reached out his hands towards him, lifted the 
 little creature into the wagon, and the un- 
 couth bearded warrior took it in his arms, 
 and kissed and caressed it with great affec- 
 tion. In the meantime Alisette had rushed 
 to the next wagon, endeavoring by tears and 
 wringing of hands to move the people there 
 to compassion. But indignation had hard- 
 ened every heart against her, and a grey- 
 headed sergeant cried out to her ^n harsh ac- 
 cents : " Away with you, wretch ! you may 
 run on foot through the snow !" 
 
 " Oh ! have pity on my youth," whined 
 Alisette, throwing herself on her knees and 
 wringing her hands. 
 
 Boleslaus now approached, touched her 
 on the shoulder, and said earnestly yet mild- 
 ly : " Compo.<e yourself, Alisette ; you must 
 bear your fate patiently. The. trial must be 
 endured and conquered ; I will assist you as 
 far as I am able." 
 
 The unhappy woman, still on her knee?, 
 had been looking at him with half-insane 
 eyes, during these words ; it was not till he 
 had finished speaking that she seemed to 
 recognise him. 
 
 " Oh, in hnppier days you could sue so 
 humbly for a song ! And now you are wil- 
 
 figain !" Twice did Ney have the poor child replaced 
 in its mother's arms ; thrice she threw it ujion the 
 frozen snow. But amongst a thou^^and instances of 
 sublime and tender devotedness, this solit;iry crime was 
 not left unpunished. This unnatural parent was herself 
 abandoned upon the snow, whence her victini was 
 raised and confided to another mother. At the Beresina, 
 at Wilna, and Kowno, the orphan was seen, and he 
 ^nally escaped all the horrors of the reii'eat— S«£-ur 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 ssr 
 
 ling to give me over a prey to nameless tor- 
 ture ! I shall perish in this wilderness !" 
 
 On siiying this, she sprang up, rushed vio- 
 lently to the wagon, where the child sat 
 trembling, clinging to the breast of the old 
 yager ; and before any one was aware what 
 waa her intention, she snatched the child 
 away, and the second time threw the inno- 
 cent creature in the snow, crying, " Let it 
 lie there ; it does not yet know how sweet 
 is life — how terrible death appears in this 
 place; but save me; I know how beautiful 
 thiri world is, for I have seen happier days !" 
 
 With these words she made a convulsive 
 effort to fasten herself upon the wagon, nut 
 even heeding the hard knocks ana blows 
 dealt her from the hand of the chasseur. 
 
 " Away, reptile !" he cried in exaspera- 
 tion ; " away, viper ! Whoever takes you np 
 would call down the wrath of God upon him- 
 self. Let the wolves tear thee to pieces 
 here, thou worse than she-wolf!" 
 
 At the same time, assisted by the others, 
 he violently wrenched away her hard-clutch- 
 ing hands, and flung her back, so that she 
 fell stunned on the ground. 
 
 Boleslaus had in the meantime again taken 
 the child into his arms, bleeding as it was 
 from its violent full, and handed it over to 
 the old soldier. When he then beheld Ali- 
 sette lying prostrate, her hair flying loose, 
 and her wandering eye and trembling hands 
 feebly directed towards heaven, her misery 
 seemed to him greater than the enormity of 
 her crime. He went to her, and raised her 
 from the ground. When in some measure 
 she recovered from her stupefaction and be- 
 came aware that again it was Bolesiaus 
 who with manly kindness tuld her to be 
 calm, i=li_e threw herself in an agony of de- 
 spair before him, embraced his knees, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " You must save me ! You cannot give 
 me up to these horrors ! I will not leave 
 you until you swear to save me !• 
 
 She clasped his feet so lightly, that weak 
 as he was from his wound, he was unable to 
 extricate himself. It was in vain that he 
 cried to her to compose herself and arise ; in 
 her pliren^y she did not hear a word he said. 
 Meanwhile the wagons began to move on- 
 wards again ; two had ascended the slippery 
 ridge ; that to which Boleslaus belonged was 
 just following ro encounter the same difficul- 
 ties ; four only were behind, and were sta- 
 tionary. It was high time for those who 
 out of kindness and pity had volunteered to 
 take turns in walking, to be on their way. 
 Five or six of these men had gathered around 
 Boleslaus, partly to be near the officer, which 
 always inspires confidence, as being a more 
 distinguished station, and partly attracted by 
 the scene going forward. On perceiving 
 17 
 
 that he was unable to tear himself from thd 
 unfortunate woman who held him firmly fet- 
 tered, they tore her by force away from him, 
 and threw her back into the snow. 
 
 '* Push on. Lieutenant !" cried a young 
 soldier ; " forward, or we will be left. The 
 lady has a good pair of legs ; she can get 
 along better than we." 
 
 On this the young soldier took hold of him 
 on one side, and a dragoon on the other, and 
 eo they carried him away between them. In 
 his weakened state, this exciting scene, which 
 had in so many ways roused his feelings, 
 so aflected him, that he could scarcely stand 
 erect. Yet he turned around once more, and 
 cried out to Alisette, now entirely giving 
 way to despair: 
 
 " Muster all your courage, unhappy wo- 
 man, and as you value life, try what yoa can 
 do!" 
 
 But she was deaf to these counsels of rea- 
 son, which required calmness, patience and 
 resolution, sentiments which found no place 
 in a heart dead to all but waywardness and 
 indulgence. She had witnessed the increasing 
 horrors of this war from day to day, with a 
 feeling of boding dread ; but deceived and ren- 
 dered callous by her infatuation, her eyes had 
 been firmly closed against the possibility of 
 so shocking a fate ever befalling her. She 
 had been accustomed to regard it as such an 
 unheard-of stroke of fortune, that now, when 
 the hour had come, she lost all power and 
 self-possession. Nothing would have been 
 lost, had she not seen utter destruction al- 
 ready in the mere necessity, hard enough it 
 is true, to meet great privations. Thus she 
 worked out her own ruin. In considering 
 what she must relinquish, she lost all re- 
 membrance of what still was left to her ; the 
 awful retribution of an immoral and vitiated 
 nature, which covets only to enjoy life mere- 
 ly for enjoyment's sakp, and employs every 
 faculty and means for that end alone, now 
 descended upon her devoted head with over- 
 whelming force. She was utterly unpre- 
 pared to meet days of severe endurance ; 
 she shrunk before them in utter hopeless- 
 ness, unprepared for the smallest exertion. 
 It was not till the last wagon was put in 
 motion, and the horses, amidst loud cries and 
 heavy blows, were crawling up the icy ac- 
 clivity, or straining every fibre in their bod- 
 ies — not till she was seized with the dread- 
 ful certainty of being left utterly alone, that 
 she rushed like a maniac with her dishevel- 
 led hair streaming about face and shoulders, 
 after the departing vehicle. In her phrensy 
 she endeavored to cling to the last wagon, 
 but the men, who already feared that the 
 horses would not be able to overcome the 
 difficulty, thrust at her with their swordx 
 and bayonets, inflicting several wounds and 
 
258 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 severe contusions. Impelled by mortal an- 
 guii^h, she now laid hold of the hind-wheel ot 
 the wagon, which from the frozen snow with 
 which it was clogged had ceased to turn 
 round, and thus let herself be dragged along. 
 But as this very much increased the load for 
 the weak and weary animals, a wounded cui- 
 rassier, who was lying in the wagon, drew 
 his pistol and threatened to shoot her down, 
 unless she let go her hold. Her hands, 
 paralyzed by this new and sudden terror, 
 sank powerless to her side, and she sank 
 moaning in the road. It was thus that Bo- 
 leslaus saw her as he threw a last look 
 after her; he struggled irresolutely with 
 himself, whether to return to her once more, 
 but the soldiers pulled him onward by main 
 strength, while the young soldier who had 
 spoken before, cried : 
 
 ♦' Let her alone ; a mother who would 
 murder her child is thus justly punished !" 
 
 At Korithnia the retreating army was 
 overtaken by night ; some went into bivouac, 
 others established themselves in the ruined 
 houses of the little place. Rasinski, as 
 usual, had through his indefatigable activity 
 procured such accommodations for his peo- 
 ple as, under the circumstances, to make 
 their lot not an unenviable one. 
 
 But they had not had lime to establish 
 themselves by their camp-fires, when a 
 shower of balls flew over their heads. 
 
 " We are attacked !" cried Rasinski, spring- 
 ing up: " to arms ! quick ! to horse !" 
 
 In a moment he was himself on horse- 
 back, and had already begun putting his 
 men in order, when Marshal Ney came to- 
 wards him at full gallop, and cried out : 
 
 " Colonel, reconnoitre the left flank of the 
 camp with your men, and report to me in- 
 stantly on falling in with the enemy." 
 
 The Marshal spurred on into the midst of 
 the camp, collecting and arranging the sur- 
 prised troops. Rasinski, at the head uf his 
 few but resolute followers, rode forward in 
 the darkness, in order to seek out the en- 
 emy who had announced their presence in 
 so formidable a manner. It appeared strange 
 that they had bnt once discharged their guns 
 and then observed complete silence ; but the 
 fighting in this retreat, through darkness, 
 forests, and impassable deserts of snow, was 
 so replete with extraordinary occurrences, 
 that every day and every night developed 
 some new and unheard-of trait in the history 
 of this war. 
 
 Rasinski thought that he discovered some 
 dark-looking masses on a height close by 
 the camp, as if lying on the snow. 
 
 " Is that brushwood or is it people ?" he 
 inquired, turning to Ja^mir. 
 
 " Nothing is to be distinctly seen yet," 
 answered the latter. 
 
 " In God's name, let us up to it then !** 
 returned Rasinski, riding nearer. But the 
 ground soon shelved down with an alxnpt 
 pitch which tl'ey could not descend on li 'tse- 
 back, and which compelled them to T't'ow 
 along the steep edge. Suddenly, like a 
 frightened flock of birds, fifteen or twenty 
 Cossacks hurried away from a corner of the 
 hollow, and on their small, nimble horses 
 galloped up the other side, which was not so 
 Sleep. Rasinski commanded his men to 
 fire, — more to scare Than hurt the enemy. 
 They fled hastily across the field, and were 
 soon lost in darkness. In a few ininiites 
 those large masses on the white snow iilso 
 were in motion, and it became evident ttiat it 
 was a pretty large detachment of Co^stu ks, 
 who now retreated, being warned of the en» 
 my's approach by the flight of the first few, 
 and by the firing. 
 
 Cautiously Rasinski led his men down a 
 less dangerous path. He now speedily dis- 
 covered the cause of the noise, which iliey 
 had taken for a discharjre of artillery. They 
 encountered a number of field-pieces with 
 their tumbrils attached, filled with ammuni- 
 tion, but the guns were spiked, having been 
 left beliind for want of means of conveyarce. 
 A little farther back they found guns and 
 ammunition-wagons blown up. Pro-bably 
 the Cossacks just seen had set fire to several 
 of these wagons, and were prevented only 
 by the irruption of Rasinski from blowing up 
 the whole. 
 
 Rasinski was glad to detect the true 
 cause of the alarm, and wished therefore to 
 return quickly, so as to report to the mHr>hal. 
 But as he rode along through the hollow, he 
 saw a man about thirty paces before him, 
 running at full speed ahmg the edge of the 
 hill. Thinking that it was a Rus.-ian, he 
 called out in that knguage, commanding 
 him to stop. The fugitive sfemed struck 
 aback, but again vigorously pursued his 
 course. "Jhe hill being of easy ascent at 
 this place, Rasinski and Jaromir spurred on 
 after him, followed by, two troopers, so as 
 not to suffer a man to escape, who might 
 communicate important information about 
 the strength and distance of the enemy. He 
 fled with all his powers, but sank at length, 
 exhausted, in the deep snow, and was seized 
 by his pursuers. To the great astonish- 
 ment of Rasinski, the prisoner, in surrender- 
 ing, cried out: "Does any one among joo 
 speak French ?" 
 
 " The devil ! I should know that voice," 
 answered Rasinski, in French. " \Vl;o are 
 you ?" 
 
 " Rasinski, is that you ? — is it possible ?" 
 cried the prisoner, joyfully extending his 
 arms towards him. " I am Regnard ; do you 
 not know me?" < 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSI^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ♦* Regnard ! how in (rod's name came you 
 here ?" asked Hasinski in glad surprise. 
 
 " Tiie tale is siiori and clear, but not very 
 edifying," answered Regnard; "and you 
 shall hear it more circamstantially than will 
 please you; but in the meantime I advise 
 you nut to tarry here.i bouts, but to seek a 
 safer place, if one is to be found. There are 
 more Russians in this vicinity than there are 
 trees in the forest. But wtiere do you come 
 from ?" 
 
 " With Marshal Ney from Smolensko," 
 answered Rasinski ; " our bivouac is not five 
 hundred yards from here." 
 
 '* Then let us make haste to get to it. I 
 will t<'U you all as we go along." 
 
 Jaromir ollered the Colonel his horse, 
 which he declined, but walked between him 
 and Ra^iinski rapidly towards the bivouac. 
 
 " You know," he began, "that I marched 
 out of Smolensko with the Viceroy. Yes- 
 terday we were attacked by the Russians, 
 about three hours' march from here, and 1 
 was taken prisoner. The Cossacks drove 
 me before tliem with their knouts, or cautS' 
 chous, until I found a, Russian general, to 
 whom I cried out in French, to save me from 
 such infamous treatment. But the brute 
 only set up a loud laugh, saying that the 
 knout of the Co:3sacks makes as little dis- 
 tinction between the rank and condition of a 
 soldier as the cannon-balls do ; and that con- 
 sequently I must rest satisfied. 
 
 Rasinski ground his teeth with indigna- 
 tion. " These savages," he cried, " who 
 themselves are kept under by the law of the 
 lash, certainly cannot respect the honor of 
 a brave opponent ; but go on, go on !" 
 
 " They would have been glad to get rid of 
 me, by sending me to Tobolsk or to Irkutsk, 
 but luckily or unluckily, so few prisoners 
 had been made that they were not considered 
 worth a separate transport ; thus I was drag- 
 ged along with the CossHck:s into whosie 
 clutches I had fallen. About ten minutes 
 ago, a pack of these fellows had blown up a 
 battery left in the mire by our people, but 
 they must have been disturbed in their work 
 by you or somebody else ; for these valiant 
 heroes came to the pulk stationed up there 
 by the woods, driving through the snow on 
 their little animals, to report that the enemy 
 was approaching. The Cossack, however, 
 is intrepid only against a flying, exhausted 
 and delenceless enemy. Show him a bold 
 front, and he is off in double-quick time. 
 This did these fellows, when I took advantage 
 of a momentary confusion among them, to 
 ransom myself by flight. I fell in with 
 you. Well, Rasinski, now I am your pri- 
 soner, you need not fear that I will run away 
 again." 
 
 " But you speak of an engagement, in 
 
 which the Viceroy was engaged 9 How did 
 that turn out ?" asked Rasinski. 
 
 " J Was riuing by the side of the Prince ; 
 we were both ab::orbed in gloomy reflections, 
 constantly called up by the dismal look of 
 things around us. We were about two 
 hours' march from Krasnoi, when the niea 
 took alarm at something marching around 
 us in great numbers. VVe crowded together 
 and formed one compact mass. Suddenly 
 the heights before us tiecame crested by dark 
 masses, and with terror we beheld the ene- 
 my in numbers far superior to our own, in- 
 terposing themselves between us and ou^ 
 home. But what yet more stirred tiie heart 
 of every soldier, this impassable rampart ruse 
 between us and our Emperor. We now 
 tirst became «aware that through the more 
 rapid pace of our horses, we were an hour's 
 march ahead of our corps, and that the roads 
 were swarming with only the emaciated, 
 powerless and unarmed fugitives. At the 
 same moment a Russian (^cer came riding 
 up, and summoned us to surrender. ' Twentj 
 thousand Russians block up the way before 
 you,' he cried, ' and fifty guns are ready to 
 tear you in pieces ; your Emperor with his 
 guard is entirely routed ; perhaps at this mo- 
 ment he is a prisoner.' I saw the rage of 
 the Viceroy, which even deprived him of the 
 power of speech. I cried out therefore with 
 all my might, • Away with you ! — if yoa 
 have twenty thousand men, we have eighty 
 thousand. A Frenchman never surrenders 
 before fighting.' The Russian rode back, 
 and not two minutes had elapsed, before the 
 hills on our front and flanks were crowned 
 with batteries. A blaze shot forth, and thick 
 clouds of smoke rose over the white snow- 
 masses, as if the jaws of ice-bound Hecla 
 were opening around us. A shower of 
 grape and canister burst upon us. The un- 
 armed and defenceless fugitives press to- 
 gether like a frightened flock of sheep, wl)en 
 the wolf breaks in among them. Tlie Vice- 
 roy is beside himself at t^ing separated from 
 his corps ; he feels that he must place him- 
 self at their head, and yet cannot make up 
 hLs mind to abandon the helpless multitude 
 around him. 
 
 "But the chief of his staff, General Guil- 
 leminot, urges him to hasten back, while we 
 collect the despairing people around us, try 
 to reduce tlieui to order, and inspire them 
 with courage to offer what resistance they 
 can. Among those scattered about in the 
 hollow were a number of officers, colonels, 
 even generals, all on foot. They quickly 
 assume the command of the momentarily 
 formed companies; the general becomes a 
 captain ; the colonel his lieutenant ; the 
 subaltern enters the ranks as a private 
 Every one does the best he can with the 
 
m 
 
 ETGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 arms yet left to him. Only a few have mns- 
 kets ; most have only their side-arms, which 
 thpy use to cot wood with in the bivouac ; a 
 great many have nothing but a cudgel as a 
 support to their enfeebled bodies. But cour- 
 age, the kindling fire of revenge, compen- 
 sates for every deficiency. Thus we reso- 
 lutely advanced against the enemy, while the 
 Viceroy made the best of his way back. 
 
 **For one hour did we stand under that 
 ilestrnetive fire of grape and canister; in 
 ▼atn we waited for Eugene to come up with 
 hfs troops, and break open the way of escape 
 towards Krasnoi. He must, no doiibt, also 
 hhve been attacked by overwhelming forces, 
 for we heard a heavy cannonading in our 
 rear and in front also. The road from Smo- 
 )ensl{o to Krasnoi seemed as one uninter- 
 rupted battle-field. At last, seeing no hope 
 of rescue in our front, we determined to re- 
 treat, and open ourselves a path to the Vice 
 roy, from whom some heavy columns of the 
 Russians already began to cut us off. We 
 clang together in masses, like a phalanx, 
 and again turned our steps into the wilder- 
 ness. The enemy, who had advanced close 
 up to the main road, did nut at first compre- 
 hend our purpose; he seemed astonished, 
 and suffered as to pass half-way by him, 
 calKiig out to us, as we hurried past hia lines, 
 lo surrender. We did not Ksten to him. 
 Those who came too near were answered 
 with ball and thrusts of the bayonet. Upon 
 this, terribly did the fury of the enemy ex- 
 plode. At one and the same instant ten 
 thousand men and thirty cannons dash 
 their whole fire upon us, and half our brave 
 fellows lie drsmembered or dead strewed 
 upon the snow, which they crimson with 
 their Uood. The rest, however, pressed for- 
 wartl resolutely ; they cast no look back fo 
 bid thetr fallen comrades furewell. The 
 thunder of the enemy's artillery crashed be- 
 hind us, hrs balls mowed down whole mnks 
 at a sweep — still a small band succeeded in 
 reaching their friends, who received them 
 with open arms. I believed also that I had 
 happily attained that goal ; but the evil one 
 sent a pack of Cossacks after us, — those. 
 Termin now first plucked up courage to ad- 
 vance to make prisoners of any poor devil 
 lagging behind. Thus I fell in their power 
 — and the rest you know " 
 
 " We are very happy to have heard it from 
 yourself at least," said Rasinski, giving the 
 dragoon his liand. " But what about the 
 Viceroy ? — do you know his fate ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Rasinski ; for had he been 
 •Iain, I would not have spoken first of my- 
 self. He fought like a lion all day. You 
 will perhaps see the marks he has left be- 
 hind him. Finally night threw her protect- 
 ing shield around btra. Be it, either that the 
 
 Russians wished to spare him this day, for, bjr 
 heaven ! we did not sell our lives cheaply—* 
 or be it, that they made themselves too sure 
 of their triumph, they made no determined 
 effort to bring matters lo an issue, content- 
 ing themselves with guarding every pass 
 and passage of escape. But in the morning, 
 the nest was empty afVer all, and the sua 
 rose just in time to show to the Russians the 
 gallant band marching on towards Krasnoi, 
 and beyond all possible reach of successful 
 pursuit. I myself saw their bayonets glit« 
 tering in the morning sun, and — but do not 
 laugh at me, I beg — but seriously, I uttered 
 an orison of thanksgiving — the first since I 
 was a boy." 
 
 " But how was this march effected ?" ask- 
 ed Rasinski and Jaromir together. 
 
 " This time, we have to thank you, the. 
 Poles," answered Regnard, with emotion, 
 " and if France has a memory, she will re- 
 member as long as Frenchaien and Poles 
 exist, that she is indebted to you for the 
 lives of a whole division of the army, and 
 the preservation of the bravest and most 
 humane general that ever led Frenchmen 
 info the fire !" 
 
 Rasinski's attention was aroused to the 
 utmost. 
 
 "^ Listen I It is the truth — for a dying 
 countryman told it to me, who, poor fellow, 
 was unable to hold out. Night had set in. 
 The Viceroy gave liimself up for lost ; but 
 still be was determined to- make the desper- 
 ate attempt of outflanking the enemy. By 
 the demonstrations of the Prince, they had 
 been induced to concentrate their main force 
 on the left side of the road, which determined 
 the Viceroy to pass him by the right. In 
 the middle of the night, he silently breaks up, 
 without putting out his watch-fires. Hold- 
 ing their breath, and with cautious steps, they 
 pass through the snowy desert along the 
 Russian lines. At this moment, as if all the 
 powers of nature, as well as the infernal re- 
 gions, were leagued against us, the full 
 moon arises behind a bank of heavy clouds, 
 illuminating the snowy suriace with her 
 light. Our people see the Russians bo 
 plainly before them, that they must be seen 
 by them in return. The courage of the 
 bravest even begins to sink. A Russian 
 sentinel surmises what is going forward ; he 
 challenges ; and at tltis crisis the noblest sol- 
 diers of France, the pride of her armies, her 
 bravest warriors were irretrievably lost — had 
 not a Pole saved all. Colonel Kliski " 
 
 '■ Ah h my brave countryman 1" interrupt- 
 ed Rasinski, with kindling eyes, already 
 guessing the sequel. 
 
 " Colonel Kliski, without a moment's de 
 lay, gallops forward, and cries out ia a dii' 
 guisra voice to the Russ : 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 261 
 
 •• • Art thou mad ? Hold thy tongae, in- 
 ttantly ! Doet thou not see that we belong 
 to OuvHroflTs corps, and are stealing into the 
 enemy's rear V 
 
 " Tne man, hearing his own mother tongue, 
 stands still in amazement. Several ot his 
 comrades, and some otiicers tou, who hear 
 these word«, step nearer, and otter ' a good 
 eveninLT.' Kliski remains still, speaks to tliem 
 in a lotv but friendly maimer, begs theai to 
 keep back the Cossacks, so that they may not 
 do mischief by their rashness ; and thus tar- 
 ries in the midst of the enemy, until he clearly 
 sees that our troops have gained a clear 
 passage. Now he spurs away after thein ; 
 and within the hour, the escape is success- 
 fully completed." 
 
 Manly tears rose into Rasinski's eyes as 
 he listened to this exploit of his countryman. 
 
 " Brave Kliski !" he said again, " thou 
 wert always the pride of Poland ! — ^thou wilt 
 continue to be such fur ages to come !" 
 
 " Yes, France owes a heavy de!)t of grati- 
 tude to you, Poles !" resumed Reguard. 
 ** She would deserce the contmnpl of all honest 
 men, if she did not foreotr remember it, and 
 reward you for it, when time shall prepare the 
 opporluniiy to do so." 
 
 " Hut, from whom did you receive your in- 
 formation ?" asked Rasinski. 
 
 "From Captain Lebrun," he answered, 
 *♦ of the Fortieth ; a brave youth, who deserved 
 a better fate." 
 
 " 1 knew him," said Jaromir, with some 
 emotion. " At Moscow, lie was in bivouac 
 close by our quarters. We even tuok a walk 
 together through the city on the hrst evening. 
 And he has fallen ?" 
 
 *' He had been wounded during the day's 
 fighting," continued Regnard, '' but still he 
 exerted himself to the utmost to periorm the 
 necessary march. The army was already 
 secure when his strength failed him ; he fell 
 behind, and was picked up by the roving Cos- 
 sacks. By accident we met, when he told 
 me what had happened. The barbarous 
 treatment which he received — for we were 
 not even supplied with food — the loss of blood 
 — in short, it was too much for him. Now 
 he lies quiet under the snow, as do many 
 thousands more of ours ! — who cares about 
 it 1" 
 
 However much Regnard endeavored to 
 maintain the dry, careless tone of a narrator, 
 those who knew him more intimately could 
 not but observe the admixture of grief and 
 emotion, which he could not suppress. But, 
 indeed, times and seasons were such, that the 
 most hardened were rendered feeling and 
 tender, and the most callous had to shed 
 scalding tears. 
 
 By this time they had arrived at the bi- 
 vouac. Jaromir was plunged in deep and 
 
 mournful reverie ; for the remembrance of 
 Lebrun called up before his soul all the inci- 
 dents of those days which became so event- 
 ful to htm, with renewed force and liveliness. 
 Even the disgusting and harrowing scenes 
 of terror, with which he was now every day 
 surrounded, faded in contrast with those 
 glowing images stamped upon his memory. 
 Thus, all pain, as well as all happiness, has 
 its seat in the inner sanctuary of the soul ; 
 and no external circumstance can penetrate 
 the breast as deeply, as self-created sorrows 
 or joys seat themselves there. But he was 
 yet in ignorance of Alisetie's fate ; — the for- 
 bearance of Boleslaus had kept it from him, 
 well knowing how powerfully it would shake 
 bis whole being. 
 
 Rasinski and Regnard waited upon the 
 Duke of Elchingen, to present their reports. 
 The Marshal listened with the most marked 
 attention to what Regnard disclosed about 
 the events of the day previous. He inquired 
 minutely concerning the numbers and the 
 probable objects of the enemy. The answers, 
 of course, could not be very satisfactory. 
 
 " I see that there is a hot day in reserve 
 for us ; but it will be a day of glory !" he said, 
 with the resolute and calm mien and voice of 
 a hero. " To-day let our warriors rest ; they 
 will learn betimes that they have to combat 
 not only the terrors of nature, but an enemy 
 far superior in numbers. I trust we shall 
 conquer both. We will set out two hours 
 after midnight." 
 
 Ney then dismissed Rasinski and Regnard. 
 They found Jaromir and Boleslaus, the only 
 remaining officers of the regiment, at the 
 watch-fire. Regnard inquired for Bernard 
 and Louis. A look from Rasinski left tiim 
 no doubt as to their fate. 
 
 " Dead — these also \" he said, shaking his 
 head. ** This soil, encrusted in ice as with a 
 coat of mail, is as bloodthirsty as a vampire !'* 
 
 Jaromir, while relating all that was known 
 about the two missing ones, endeavored once 
 more to create a hope in their behalf; but 
 Rasinski, generally so full of courage and 
 conlidence, where others had long abandon- 
 ed all hope, rejected every consolation of that 
 nature. 
 
 " In this case I see nothing for me to build 
 a hope upon," he said, " and for that reason 
 I am the less concerned about what may 
 await me there" pointing with his hand to 
 the region throngh which their route was to 
 lead them. " Thus things are brought to a 
 level at last." 
 
 " I have another trouble at heart," said 
 Regnard, after a short silence. " My young 
 friend there will pardon me, if I should hap- 
 pen to touch upon a disagreeable matter. 
 Does any one know what has become of 
 AUsette 7" 
 
EIGHTEEN HIJNDREt) AND TWELVE , OR, 
 
 Jaromir^a look fell gloomily to the ground ; 
 with a shudder he wrapped himself closer in 
 his cloak. * 
 
 " After a certain occurrence in Moscow, I 
 separated myself from her," said Regnard, 
 who, of the same creed with most military 
 men, regarded his immoral connexion with 
 the girl as a matter of perfect indifference. 
 *' I knew very well that she was thoughtless 
 find volatile, but I did not want to know it in 
 that chape. I still take an interest in her 
 fate, ana a deep one in that of the child ; for 
 I am its father. I procured horses and a 
 wagon for her in Moscow, and left her a 
 liberal sum Tor travelling expenses. But now 
 all this will be insufficient. I have not had 
 a sight of her since the first day of our de- 
 parture. It may go hard with her in the end. 
 While in my captivity over there, 1 had 
 fnough of my own thoughts about it — 
 thoughts too easily forgotten when the hour 
 of trial comes upon as. It is my earnest 
 purpose to take care of her and the child ; for 
 it was I who induced her to follow into Rus- 
 sia. You, my friend, I doubt not, will afford 
 me your assistance in carrying this into ef- 
 fect ?" 
 
 Boleslaus, painfully embarrassed, kept si- 
 lence ; fur he felt keenly how shocked Jaro- 
 mir, would be on learning the truth of the 
 Case : but the child was alive — even close by ; 
 and of this the father must be told, as he 
 wished to take care of it. It was, therefore, 
 a very welcome circumstance to liim, when 
 Jaromir arose, too powerfully excited by the 
 Recollections awakened by the conversation 
 }ie had just overheard, and with hasty strides 
 left the spot. 
 
 " Hem ! I am sorry for that," said Regnard, 
 conjecturing the cause ; " but I cannot un- 
 derstand why the man should be so sensi- 
 'tive." 
 
 ^ Let us be thankful. Colonel, that we are 
 alone," replied Boleslaus. " 1 can give you 
 information about that unhappy woman." 
 
 He then recounted the occurrences of 
 which he that morning had been a witness, 
 and which now first filled his soul with hor- 
 ror, at this dereliction from nature, bordering 
 on insanity, since he knew that Alisette was 
 really the mother of the innocent. Nothing 
 but the distracted torpor into which the sur- 
 rounding dreadful wretchedness might throw 
 a mind unaccustomed to look to anything 
 higher than an animal existence, could fur- 
 nish him with the least explanation of so 
 abandoned a state of the heart. 
 
 " What wickedness !" cried Regnard, as 
 he learned the facts. " But where is the 
 child ? — Is it saved ? — Tell me everything." 
 
 ♦' It is probably only a few steps from here, 
 lying in sweet slumber," said Boleslaus ; " I 
 will lead you to it." 
 
 They went together to the bivooac of the 
 wounded chasseur, who shared his attentions 
 to the child wiih a sick woman, the widow ot 
 a drummer. The old soldier rose respectfully 
 on Regnard 's approach. 
 
 " Comrade !" said the latter, much excited, 
 " 1 owe thee more than my life, fur thou bast 
 saved my child I" 
 
 " The mother would not have done so much 
 for it," answered the chasseur ; '^ but it is now 
 comfortable enough, sir. Just please to look 
 — there it lies and sleeps like a priticess !" 
 
 The child was packed around with hay, in 
 a kind of basket, and covered with a light 
 cloth. The widow of the drummer, who had 
 been killed at Viazma, sat by its side, tend* 
 ingit. 
 
 Regnard looked upon his child sadly. He 
 lightly kissed its brow, taking care not to 
 wake it. He then turned round to the old 
 yager and the widow : 
 
 " My friends," he said, " if (iod should sec 
 fit that we regain France, I will reward yoa 
 according to my ability. At present I am as 
 poor and destitute as yourselves, for I am just 
 fresh from a Russian stripping. Be faithful 
 to me. We will divide our cares and joys for 
 the little angel between us. For the moment, 
 I have nothing else to offer you but this shake 
 of the hand !" 
 
 "And truly, that is the best, after all, cap- 
 tain," cried the chasseur, giving him a close 
 grip in return. " A hand en which we may 
 rely is better than heaps of guld. if I should 
 stick fast in the snow, you'll draw me out, 
 ril be bound. During these last few days, I 
 know of many a one who would still be march- 
 ing with us, if his comrade had not been too 
 tired and discouraged just to stay with him 
 three minutes, to help him out of a snow-pit, 
 into which as boys they had jumped a hundred 
 times a day and crawled out again, only for the 
 sake of the sport. Yes, colonel, on such a 
 hand we may rely. But gdd — that is not 
 very current here. When, four days ago, we 
 marched into Smolensko, a soldier of the ar* 
 tillery was fitting by the ga.te, on the road- 
 side, and had a lump of pure silver, as big aa 
 a child's head, lying in his lap. Perhaps it 
 had been melted down from one of the saints 
 in the Muscovite churches, and had made the 
 journey in the guise of a cannon ball, in some 
 limber-box. Well, he offered to sell that 
 large lump of fine silver for a piece of bread 
 and a bottle of rum. But do you suppose 
 that he gut rid of it on these terms, though 
 thousands passed by him? Not he. He 
 was fortunate, when an Italian colonel of* 
 fered him in exchange a piece of bread as 
 large as my hand, and a small dram from his 
 hunting-fiask, altogether not worth nwre than 
 two sous. Yes, my colonel, that is the war 
 things change; but the heairt of a Frencb 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 HI 
 
 soldier does not change. That is my cpin- 
 iofi, col .nel. Done I— I strike the bargain ! 
 Hand for hand ! Aly wounds, I think, will 
 Boon be better, and then perhaps we can help 
 one aiiotlier." 
 
 The old man would gladly have chattered 
 another quarter of an hour, had not Regiiard 
 internipied him, by askin^; him for his name 
 and tht' regiment lie belonged to ; for the fa- 
 cings and other marks on his uniform were 
 already torn and defaced. 
 
 " And you tra,vel in the same wagon with 
 that g 'od woman ?" he added. 
 
 " Certainly, as long as our horses are able 
 to dra^ us along ; but if the forage is no bet- 
 ter than it is atout here, it will not be a great 
 while before they give in." 
 
 " And what is your name ?" " ' ■""''' 
 
 "Jacques Desire Pailier, mon capitaine! 
 and this woman is the widow Rene." 
 
 " Very well, Pailier and Madame Rene, we 
 ■hall see each other again. Now, good night, 
 and sec that you keep my little daughter snug 
 and warm." 
 
 They then returned to their bivouac, 
 where fatigue soon plunged all into forgetlul- 
 oess. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 A PALE moonlight penetrated the grey 
 clouds — the wind moaned with hollow mur- 
 mur over the snow-tields, when the soldiers 
 again broke up their night lodgings. No 
 sound rf drum announced their departure. 
 They prepared themselves in the deepest si- 
 lence lor their dreary march. Marshal Ney 
 had cansed Regnard to be supplied with a 
 horse, and retained him at his side in the ca- 
 pacity of aid. Rasinski marched, riding at 
 the head of his men, in close order, as if ex- 
 pecting the enemy in front. 
 
 For several successive hours they strug- 
 gled on, amid the usual difficulties and dan- 
 gers, without meeting with the least nftilesta- 
 tion. For the latt few days the cold had 
 somewhat abated, so that their sufferings 
 were not so severe from that cause as they 
 had been : the weather even had the appear- 
 ance of changing into a thaw. The sky was 
 lightly overcast, but another fall of snow was 
 not to be apprehended. The sun now began 
 to purple the clouds in the rear of the army, 
 and an incipient dawn spread itself over the 
 dead <:iud sterile landscape. They had for 
 some time been accustomed to find on their 
 inarch, in every hollow and gully, arms, knap- 
 sadtile.", helmets, muskets — even cannon and 
 tumbrils, with soldiers, who tiad perished irooi 
 
 hunger or exhaustion. But nere these mark? 
 of dissolution increased to such a degree as 
 to arouse the apprehensions of even the bra- 
 vest. However dreary the night had been» 
 with its mys^tical veil hiding many horrors 
 from sight, the day, in lifting this veil, became 
 far more appalling. 
 
 Suddenly, the heavens were darkened by 
 clouds in the east, and the sun, emerging 
 from beneath the line of the horizon, «liot 
 forth menacing, and throwing his beams 
 like a river of blood, iu its length across the 
 snow-white wintry desert. The shadows of 
 men and animals stretched far away, like 
 lank spectres, over the glistening plain in 
 groteir'que confusion of a thousand forms. 
 Agreeably surprised, every eye turned to the 
 orb. For more than a week they had seen 
 no trace of the sun. This day, he once more 
 appeared ; but the splendid meteor which 
 otherwise gladdens and invigorates the breast 
 of the most desponding, now excited only an 
 anxious shudder ; for he stood on the firma- 
 ment resembling a fiery god, shooiing forth 
 his scowling threatenings from beneath his 
 brows of dark overhanging clouds. It seemed 
 to have thrown back its pombre covering only 
 for the purpose of casting a more veng^'ful 
 look upon the horrors and devastations which 
 the earth held up to view. 
 
 " Thus the sun rose at Borodino," said Ja- 
 romir, in a low voice, to Rasinski. " The 
 Emperor called it the sun of Austerlitz." 
 
 Rasinski for certain reasons did not wish 
 to enter upon such a subject, at this time. 
 
 " I think we shall have a clear day, if ih© 
 wind does not shift," was all be replied. 
 
 The friends were interrupted by an ouJcry, 
 which broke out in their front. In surprise^ 
 Rasinski turned his head in the direction from 
 which it proceeded, and saw at a glance the 
 cause of the terror that had befallen the men. 
 They had just reached the summit of a small 
 acclivity, and the whole projecting |^in la.j 
 before them. There, on the white expanse 
 of snow, .as far as the eye could reach, la/ 
 in black contused masses, carcasses of men 
 and horses, wrecks of broken guns and gun- 
 carriages, wagons, arms, fiamp-fumiture, and 
 bai'gage. 
 
 This was the battle-ground on which 
 Prince Eugene — attacked on every side — 
 had so bravely defended himself two days 
 previously. 
 
 Profound silence succeeded iii the ranks of 
 the soldiers. The unexpected sight had burst 
 upon them like some monstrous spectre, and 
 seemed to drive back the vital powers to the 
 heart with a paralyzing force. Hardly a 
 breath was to be heard, as if no one Mt 
 emboldened to disturb by human sounds the 
 solemn spectacle of this vast cemetery, where 
 death himself had become stark and stiff* in 
 
i64 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 thn icy embrace of winter. Even Ney was 
 7i8ibly afiecied, but only for a moment. The 
 next, he cast his eagle glance over the pros- 
 pect, seeking for the enemy, and the most ad- 
 vantageous position in which to meet him. 
 
 " Soldiers !" he cried, turning to the men 
 coming up ahd crowding in dense masses 
 around him : " soldiers ! — here our comrades 
 have celebrated a festival of glory, and hewed 
 themselves a path through the Midst of their 
 enemies. Let their example be followed ! 
 Perhaps fortune may grant us the achieve- 
 ment of a similar feat even to-day !" 
 
 Rasinski also maintained in his counte- 
 nance that firm composure which outwardly 
 never forsook him. 
 
 " My friends !" he exhorted his men, " those 
 who lie here died an honorable death. This 
 snow is crimsoned with noble blood. It must 
 fire you witti indignation — it calls for re- 
 venge ! Think of that when I shall be able 
 to point out to yon the enemy !" 
 
 Anger flashed in his eyes while he spoke. 
 He proudly raised his head erect, and un- 
 consciously put his hand to his sword. His 
 look pierced like a kindling tongup of light- 
 ning the hearts of the warriors. Under such 
 a leader their courage could never falter. By 
 his eye he, in one moment, broke the chilling 
 fetters of dread which had struck through 
 their breasts at the sight of this silent Gol- 
 gotha ; and again courage stretched her free 
 pinions in conquering strength. 
 
 They proceeded onward. As they gradu- 
 ally descended the gentle declivity, they ap- 
 proached nearer and nearer to the scene of 
 the recent action, and finally wound their 
 way through the very midst of the de>-oIation. 
 The marshal was the foremost : with grave 
 calm- .ess he examined the aspect of things. 
 The position which the troops had occupied 
 in the battle could be clearly distinguished. 
 
 " Here stool the Fourteenth," said the hero 
 of this^ainpaign, pointing to a spot on one 
 side, wnere the glittering front-plates of 
 crushed shakos still showed the number of 
 that regiment. 
 
 " The Italian Guard must have fought in 
 that place," rejoined Rasinski ; " fur there 
 lie their dead. But where may their living 
 be now ?" 
 
 He uttered these last words in a subdued 
 tone, as he did not wish too far to betray his 
 forebodings. By a glance directed to Reg- 
 nard, he plainly intimated what he thought. 
 
 " Hem !" said the latter, " they have at 
 least reached Krasnoi ; but what may have 
 taken place between sunrise of yesterday and 
 the present time, I can conjecture as little as 
 I can where we ourselves shall be this tune 
 tivmorrow. But, look here, I beg of you ! — 
 bere to the left !" 
 
 It appeared that they bad now come to that 
 
 part of the battle-field where the enemy's tr* 
 tillery had made the greatest havoc. ' Long 
 lines of dead bodies lay stretched on the snow, 
 which for a great distance, was red fnim 
 blood, now turned into solid ice. Never did 
 a battle-ground present a more dismal i>cene ; 
 for the dead remained in the same position 
 they assumed when the breath left their 
 bodies, frozen rigid as marble. Their fea- 
 tures were, for the most pait, so uneluinged, 
 that those acquainted with them would easily 
 have recognised their friends and relatives. 
 Still, the distorting impress of the death- 
 agony rested on almost every face ; — the 
 icy breath of winter had forbidden the fea> 
 tures to mould themselves into that quiet, 
 friendly smile which lingers on the counte- 
 nance as the last trace of the released spirit, 
 when its final struggle is over. This was 
 not the case here, it looked as if the grim 
 touch of winter had stifTened the animated 
 form, and stamped its hard, ruthless seal up- 
 on it earlier than death had impressed iiis. 
 There was therefore to be seen no calm brow, 
 no gently-smiling lips, which might testify of 
 a happy deliverance from the miseries of 
 earth ; the faces of all were fixed and rigid in 
 deeply-chiselled folds and creases, produced 
 by anguish, despair, wrath, and pain— as if 
 the billows of the ocean had, on a sudden, 
 become congealed and transformed into stone. 
 Ney, with all his great self-command, could 
 not but feel in his own breast, that this 
 mute wandering through the dreary domains 
 of death was anything but calculated to en- 
 kindle fresh courage ; for, in the unceremtw 
 nious dormitory of the departed every one be- 
 held, as it were, in a prophetic mirror, his own 
 coming fate. These warriors, covered with 
 the cicatrices of a hundred wounds, had seen 
 death in many appalling forms, and did not 
 greet him like novices. But the fallen ones 
 had hitherto reposed on the field of victory — 
 ihe laurel had entwined their brow — to lull 
 was to triumph ! But here — what destiny 
 were the survivors to achieve but renewed 
 sufierings and conflicts ? And what was the 
 lot of the dead left behind on the hostile 
 soil — whom no friendly hand would provide 
 with burial— whose graves no monument 
 would adorn — whose bodies were the des- 
 tined prey of the unclean birds of this dreary 
 clime, and the hungry wolves of these awful 
 deserts ! 
 
 The army, marching rapidly onward, now 
 reached a deep gully, into w hich the road 
 descends, afterwards to rise equally abrupt 
 into the broad table-lands of Katowa. 
 
 " Dost thou recofjnise the country about 
 bere ?" inquired Ratinski, turning to Jaromir. 
 
 The latter looked attentively a&)ut him,uud 
 then answered : 
 
 " Unless I am deceived by the snow, I 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 365 
 
 think this is the place where, three months 
 ago, we beat Newerowskov, and t ben, with the 
 captured (;uns, fired a salute in lienor of the 
 Emperor's birth-day." 
 
 " You are right," said Regnard. " You 
 have a good military eve, my young friend. 
 What do you think, shall we lire a salute for 
 a victory to-day also ?" 
 
 Jaroinir was on the point of answering, 
 when the report of a dull, but not distant fieid- 
 
 ?iece broke the profound stillness around, 
 'his signal of the enemy's proximity sped 
 through every heart like an electric shock. 
 The practised ears of the soldiers enabled 
 them at once to estimate the distance from 
 which the gun was fired, and their eyes were 
 turned in the direction from whence it Wfts 
 heard. The keenest anxiety was legible in 
 every countenance, to learn whether the shot 
 would be repeated — whether it was the com- 
 mencement of an engagement, or merely 
 meant for a signal, or peradventure, acciden- 
 tal. The Marshal ordered a halt. He hesi- 
 tated to lead his people, just at this moment, 
 down into the hollow, as it required the great- 
 est effort of the exhausted powers of both 
 men and horses to climb the ice-covereu 
 height on the other side. Rasinski was or- 
 dered to advance with his feeble troop, and 
 to reconnoitre en the heights of Katowa 
 whether the enemy were in the vicinity : the 
 rest of the army in the meantime went into 
 camp, in order to gather strength to raeet any 
 emergency. 
 
 Racinski soon reached the level heights of 
 Katowa, but in vain his eye sought for the 
 enemy. He could discover nothing- but the 
 monotonous and extended lines of the d«rk 
 forests of firs, which stretched along the ho- 
 rizon in interminable distance. A dreary 
 silence reigne'd every where. For half an 
 hour he cautiously rode along the great road, 
 divided his men, and ordered Jaromir, with 
 the one-half, to reconnoitre to the right to the 
 distance of a cannon-shot, whilst he would 
 examine the left himself. In his ride he 
 came nearer to the verge of the forest. There 
 he saw tracks of hoofs in the snow, which 
 became more numerous as he advanced. 
 This convinced him that the enemy must be 
 in the vicinity, for some of the tracks were 
 quite fresh. He fixed his searching glance 
 on the skirts of the forest which seemed to 
 hide the real danger. Frequently he com- 
 manded a halt, so as to be able to listen ; but 
 everything was silent and still. Siiddenly 
 a flock of crows appeared over the woods 
 and flew, hoarsely cawing, across the road. 
 
 " These birds have been scared away/' 
 said Rasinski to his men ; " there are people 
 in tho-se woods." 
 
 " A fact, Colonel !" hastily cried the smart 
 Bliski, stooping down, and trying to pene- 
 
 trate with his eyes between the trunks of the 
 tiees ; " indeed, there are men marching." 
 
 They were just then at a point which 
 admiited a view into the interior of the forest ; 
 atid, as Rasinski stooped to the saddle-bow, 
 he saw a black column defiling acro^^s the 
 opening in the woods, as if inarching on a 
 wide road through the heart of the forest. 
 He quickly dismounted, and sufl!*ering his 
 companions to ride on, that they might not be 
 seen through the aperture in the forest, he 
 threw hitnself on the snow, to observe the 
 movempnls of the enemy. It took the co- 
 lumn, which was infantry, some time to march 
 by ; but, as he could not overlook the hollow, 
 it was impossible to estimate their numbers. 
 Now, however^ followed artillery, and Rasin- 
 ski could distinctly count the guns. Having 
 counted up to thirty, he was satisfied that 
 these troops in strength by far overmatched 
 those under the French Marshal's command. 
 He sprang again to his saddle, and made all 
 speed to report what he had seen. 
 
 Jarohoir had already rejoined the corps, 
 without having discovered trace of the enemy. 
 The men had, in the meantime, as some low 
 firs were close by, cut ihem down and kindled 
 a fire, and the marshal ordered them to warm 
 and refresh themselves as much as possible 
 for the moment, that they might be in condi- 
 tion successfully to repel an attack. 
 
 Rasinski's report at once showed the des- 
 perate situation in which the troops were 
 now placed. 
 
 "The Russians undoubtedly occupy the 
 woods on the heights of Katowa," said the 
 marshal, " and only wait for our appearance, 
 to attack us from every quarter, and then cut 
 off our retreat, by fortifying the ravine be- 
 fore IIS. We must open a path for ourselves 
 right through the mid^t of them ; but we 
 mu^t delay the encounter a few hours longer, 
 so as to have the night in our favor. What 
 o'ch»ck is it ?" 
 
 " H«ilf-past one," answered Rasinski. 
 
 " Very well ; at four o'clock it will be per- 
 fectly dnrk. We will break up at that hour. 
 Until then, we can rest and collect our 
 strength." 
 
 Radnski rode back to his men. Jaromir 
 caused the horses to be fed. as, fortunately, 
 they had still a small quantity of oais and 
 hay ; and the men were soon busied in pre- 
 paring their spare meal. Thus an hourpasscd 
 away in tumultuous anxiety. 
 
S)6G> 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. , 
 
 "Rasinski !" suddenly exclaimed Jaromir, 
 •* do Jou see yonder on ihe rising ground ?" 
 ■ "Cossacks! — and 1 wager my head they 
 are not ulonb !" replied Rasineki. 
 
 U|X)n the heights appeared tiiree hor.-'e- 
 inen, seeniingly thrown lorward to recon- 
 noitre. They were soon remarked by all ; 
 and then occurred in the French ranks that 
 restless stir and low murmur, betokening the 
 expectation of an important event. 
 
 " Jump on your horse, Jaromir," said Ra- 
 sinski, " and ride to the corner of the forest; 
 thence you will see far over the country." 
 
 Jaromir, now the best mounted in the re- 
 giment, sped swiftly across the snow, in obe- 
 dience to the order. But he returned even 
 more rapidly, to announce that the \entire 
 heights were covered with Cossacks, and 
 that infantry columns were debouching from 
 the depths of the forest. 
 
 Just then, (Colonel Regnard, who, by the 
 marshal's order had also been out to%econ- 
 noitre, rode by. 
 
 " This looks like work, Rasinski !" he cried, 
 in passing ; " the ball opens just like the day 
 before yesterday. The wood is as full of 
 Russians as an ant-hill of ants." 
 
 The drums beat. The troops stood to their 
 arms. The disordered groups of weaponless 
 stragglers and invalids formed themselves 
 into a dense mass. 
 
 " For us the fight is a pleasure," exclaimed 
 Rasinski ; " but it is hard upon Boleslaas and 
 tlie othi^r wounded. We must do our best to 
 shield I hem from liarm. But who comes here?" 
 A Russian officer was seen descending the 
 hill, waving a white handkerchief. 
 
 " Useless trouble, sir," said Rasinski, 
 proudly to himself, as he distinguished the 
 Russian's object. '* We sliall not treat for 
 peace so long as we can handle our arms." 
 
 The marshal was busy placing and order- 
 ing his troops. He galloped through the 
 ranks, showing himself everywhere, direct- 
 ing and encouraging all. Rasinski sent an 
 orderly to report to him the approach of a 
 flag of truce ; but before the message reached 
 bim, the Russian officer reached the outposts, 
 and, on distinguitihing the Polish uniform, 
 fiuroinoned them in their own language to 
 surrender to overpowering forres. Rasinski 
 sprang forward like an incensed lion. 
 
 " What !" he shouted, " you would seduce 
 our men — incite them to desert ! That is 
 not the duty of a flag of truce. You are my 
 prisoner!" 
 
 The alarmed officer would have turned his 
 horse, but Rasinski already held the bridle, 
 and his soldiers surrounded the Russian so 
 quickly that resistance and flight were alike 
 impossible. 
 
 "^ You will surely respect the sacred rights, 
 of a flag of truce !" cried the Russian. 
 
 " You should have waited at proper dig- 
 tance, till you knew if it pleased us to receive 
 you," replied Rasinski. '' It is vgiiinst all 
 uttages of war to approach an enemy's army 
 as you have done." 
 
 " Take me" to your commander," said the 
 officer ; " he will listen to my well-intended 
 ofiers. The brave-'^t must yield io neces- 
 sity. You have no alternative but capitu- 
 lation." 
 
 " We shall see that," answered Rasinski* 
 well assured beforehand of the marshal's de- 
 cision. " Here comes our commander. Mar- 
 shal Ney. That name may suflice to con- 
 vince you that you will waste your words." 
 
 The marshal came. Rasinski rode to meek 
 him, and reported what hud passed. 
 
 " You have done your duty as an nfficez 
 and man of honor," replied Ney ; " I should 
 take shame to myself did I hesitate to confirm 
 your words." And he rode forward and in- 
 quired the Russian's pleasure. 
 
 " Marshal Kutusow sends me," began the 
 officer. " He would not ofl^nd so renowned 
 a warrior and genrral by asking him to Uy 
 down his arms if any alternative remained 
 open. Upon the surrounding heiohts stand 
 eighty thousand men, and one hundred pieces 
 of cannon. If you doubt my woids, ynu are 
 at liberty to send an officer, whom I will con- 
 duct throofih our ranks, that he may count 
 our strength." 
 
 " I hope to get near enough to your army 
 to count them myself," replied the marshal, 
 with flashing eye. "Tell Prince Kutusow 
 thiu Marshal Ney has never yet surrendered* 
 and that the world's history shall never re- 
 cord his having done so. Yonder is the goal 
 which duty and honor assign me; I will 
 break a road through your ranks, though 
 your forests became armies." 
 
 '* They will do so," replied the Russian. 
 The words had scarce left his lips, when the 
 thunder of artillerv echoed from the heights 
 in front and on the left flank, and an iron 
 bail crashed and rattled upon the icy sorfaco 
 of the plain. 
 
 « This is treachery !" cried the marshal, 
 sternly, as be looked up and beheld the hills 
 crowned on all sides with levelled guns and 
 dark masses of troops. " There is no parley- 
 ing under fire ! You are my prisitner !" 
 
 The officer, confounded at being thus 
 sacrificed by the imprudence or recklessness 
 of his friends, gave up his sword. 
 
 " Take him to the rear !" commanded the 
 marshal. " General Ricard, forward ! At- 
 tack the enemy with the bayonet. Yoa shall 
 have the honor of opening the road !" 
 
 The general, at the head of fifteen hundred 
 1 moo, pressed resolutely forward. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 m 
 
 This little band was almost lost to sight 
 on the immense ppace that lay before them ; 
 H seemed nothing short of madness to un- 
 dertake to advance against the compact 
 masses of the enemy, wiiich, like threatening 
 thunder-clouds, came rollmg up blacker and 
 denser over the hills. But the marshal h:id 
 ordered it, and the soldiers placed in him un- 
 limited confidence. They rushed, therefore, 
 unhesitatiiigly down the steep declivity into 
 the ravine — thence to storm the opposite 
 hei(ihts. 
 
 The marshal, in the mean time, flies through 
 the ranks, arranging them for the conflict. 
 Regnard galloped up to Kasin8ki,and brought 
 hiai the order to cover wiih his regiment, now 
 reduced to sixty combatants, the left wing 
 from the attack of the Cossacks. The ar- 
 tillery showed front against the enemy, and 
 with its six small pieces undertook to defend 
 itself against the overwhelming batteries of 
 the Kussians. 
 
 The enemy's first volley was followed by 
 a silence like that preceding an outburst of 
 thunder. Soon on the snow-covered plain 
 crowds of men and horses sprang up far and 
 wide, as though, like the soldiers of Cadmus, 
 they started out of the ground. 
 
 Rasinski took up his position a few hun- 
 dred steps to the left of the road, by a snow- 
 covered hill, which half-sheltered him from 
 the fire of the enemy's artillery, but from 
 whence he still had a view over the whole 
 battle-ground. Uis deportment was grave, 
 as it always was in battle, but, collected and 
 full of confidence, as when, three months 
 earlier, at the head of his regiment, he broke 
 in upon the hostile ranks. Putting himself at 
 the head of his men, General Ricard forced 
 his way through the ravine, and proceeded at 
 quick liiiie, and with charged bayonets, to 
 Btor;n the Russian batteries on the heights of 
 Kaiowa. A stream of fire encircled the hori- 
 zon ; far as the eye could reach, columns of 
 smoke curled up from the hills, as if the earth 
 had burst into a hundred volcanos. .A deafen- 
 ing cra^h rent the atmosphere — solid ground 
 bhtiok visibly, and a shower of cannon-balls 
 and round shot came whizzing through the air 
 like a storm of gigantic hail. They rattled and 
 tore among the ice-cakes and snow which 
 covered the field, making them whirl and scat- 
 ter in a thousand flittering fragments. One 
 glance at Ricard's brave fellows was enough to 
 break the heart, for in that single moment one 
 half of them were dashed to the ground. The 
 Blill closed ranks were thinned out in such a 
 manner that the survivors stoodjike the trees 
 of a well-felled forest. Their leader, how- 
 ever, had not fallen ; his voice called together 
 those that were spared, a;nd again they rushed 
 tip the heights vomiting forth fire and death. 
 A secood discharge from the batteries, like a 
 
 raging surge of the sea, again swept throngh 
 their ranks. Only a few are left standing; 
 and that few, finding it im(>o8sible to conquef, 
 rush back for safety to the ranks of theii* 
 comrades. 
 
 But Marshal Ney, at the head of the main 
 body, is already in full march on the enemy. 
 In a compact phalanx, tike a waving wall, 
 this cloud of heroes — the " bravest of the 
 brave" at their head, filled with sorrow for the 
 destruction of their brothers, and resolved to 
 sacrifice the last drop of their hearts-blood 
 for revenge — advance upcm the murderous 
 batteries. The enemy also catches the spirit 
 of this formidable attack. Their front line, at 
 least three times superior in numbers — in ex- 
 cellent condition, and composed of strong, 
 able-bodied men, not at all exhausted by hard- 
 ship — march against the venturous assailants, 
 in proud anticipation of outflanking and de- 
 stroying them all. 
 
 The nioment has arrived for Rasinski to 
 act. With his small troop he rashes through 
 the hollow, up the hill to the left, and throws 
 himself on the enemy's right flank. A sim- 
 ultaneous movement is made against the 
 left, by a few hundred Illyrian li<rht-horse — 
 consternation seizes the enemy at seeing this. 
 Perceiving that his antagonist considers vic- 
 tory as sure, he begins himself to consider it 
 possible. The daring confidence of the as- 
 sailants weakens his reliance on himself; he 
 haltSf he waivers. Then Ney dasht-s upon 
 the oscillating lines with his exasperated sol- 
 diers, throws them into disorder, breaks them, 
 and chases them before him as a mountain 
 torrent overflowing its banks. Triumphantly 
 he rushes forward on the accnstomed patli of 
 victory. But, alas ! here the treacherous 
 goddess abandons him ! For already a sec- 
 ond host, like the many-headed hydra, springs 
 up as if out of the ground, and out of a 
 thousand murderous tubes darts its flaming 
 tongues of fire against him. The groatid 
 seems to open — the firmament to be torn into 
 shreds with the concus-sion. All stagger 
 but Ney, who stands firm in the midst of the 
 hurricane. His generals lie wounded and 
 prostrate around liim the snow crimsoned 
 with their blood ; his troops are terribly thin- 
 ned — the ground h black with the fallen. 
 Once more he cries : " Forward !" endeavor- 
 ing to collect the fragments of his force; A 
 further discharge scatters yet more destruc- 
 tion among the broken ranks. Now the in- 
 visible spirit of a panic terror seizes upon thd 
 remainder — they disperse and fly on every 
 side. Rabinski's brave men are (he last that 
 take to flight ; he conducts the retreat himself, ' 
 for with him rest the sole means of preserva- 
 tion. 
 
 Kutii?ow, however, did not by pursuit ren- 
 ture to further molest these warriors. lie pre- 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ferred senaing destraction among them from 
 a distance, while his men gather together and 
 are again formed in some order. Tne marshal 
 examines the battle-ground; his countenance 
 . is stern, the brow strongly knit, but still bold 
 and determined. The eyes of his men are 
 riveted on his features, for from them alone 
 they will adopt the conviction, that all hojse of 
 deliverance is at an end. As long as his lips 
 do nut announce the fact, they look forward 
 to a happy issue. They perceive from his 
 deep thoughtful ness that he is meditating 
 some feint. With a vigilant eye he observes 
 the enemy and his movements ; now and then 
 only be casts a mournful look to the spot where, 
 for a few minutes, he bad purchased a tran> 
 fiient success at the sacrifice of the lives of so 
 many soldiers. The murderous firing still 
 continues, and the space occupied by the 
 little army is so confined that the enemy's 
 balls cross it everywhere. The very same 
 shots which penetrate the ranks burst into 
 the wagons drawn up in a body behind, con- 
 taining the wounded, the sick, the women 
 and children, which, in helpless weakness, are 
 thus given up a prev to destraction. What 
 arm now to save ? Night throws her veil at 
 length over them, and shrouds the distressed 
 within her shadowy canopy. The marshal 
 really seems to have found a door of egress 
 from this circle of death. He measures with 
 his eye the distance and position of the ene- 
 my; he directs his looks to either side — be- 
 hind, and at all points ; it is evident that he 
 regards the localities among which he is 
 placed for some new purpose, and forms plans 
 by which to draw from them new advantages. 
 His conceptions are matured ; he has called 
 no council of war; he has conferre«i with no 
 one, but follows the dictates of his own intre- 
 pidity and knowledge. He beckons to Reg- 
 nard, Rasinski, and the other officers, and to 
 each he imparts his orders. They hasten to 
 their respective troops. " Fall in ! fall in !" is 
 heard everywhere, and the artillery bef^ins to 
 move at every point. But whereunto ? — to- 
 wards the enemy ? No ! they turn their faces 
 again to the snow-wastes of Russia ! The 
 enemy, from his elevation, looks with amaze- 
 ment upon this demonstration; he appears to 
 surmise some such stratagem as that which 
 two days before had been played by the 
 Viceroy of Italy. Kutusow, consequently, 
 extends his flanks, and thus prolongs the net 
 in which he hopes to ensnare the lion. He 
 has the ptjwer to annihilate him, for with one 
 charge he might utterly overwhelm this small 
 band. But it seems that the cool-headed old 
 man put a far higher value upon the exploit 
 of bringing them prisoners into Russia, than 
 sweeping them out of existence. That there 
 existed the least possible chance of their es- 
 caping this captivity, seemed to the old Rus- 
 
 sian to belong to the province of dmuria and 
 miracles. He now possessed the power to 
 destroy the most redoubtable soldier of France; 
 but that was not sufficient for his ambition. 
 He wished to humble him by presenting, not 
 his head, but his sword, to the Emperor Alex- 
 ander. 
 
 The French soldiers received the com- 
 jTtand of their chief with shuddering surprise. 
 " How !" they asked each other," march back 
 into the horrid land out of which we have 
 but just escaped! — turn our back on our 
 homes !" Every retrograde step was taken 
 with a secret dread ; but still they obeyed, 
 for their commander bad ordered it, and their 
 only confidence was in him. 
 
 The night seemed to quicken the motion 
 of her darkening wings, and sunk deeper and 
 denser upon the cold expanse of snow. The 
 heights which were alive with enemies, were 
 already lost in the indistinctness of twilight, 
 and only singly and far between came the 
 ponderous balls in their retreating rear. 
 
 In profound silence, with weary feet, and 
 with corroding Korrow at heart, the soldiers 
 waded on through the deep, loose snuw, 
 since the marshal diverged to the right from 
 the main road, towards the woods. But the 
 measure of their calamities was not yet fill- 
 ed ; for by degrees, beginning with a hollow 
 murmur, the storm-spirit began to let himself 
 be heard, rushing closer and closer upon 
 them ; but at this time it was not the freez- 
 ing breath of Boreas, but a humid south- 
 wester, driving clouds of si^ow before it on 
 the highway of heaven, and lifting entire 
 drifts from the ground in bewildering com- 
 motion. This furious whirlwind enveloped 
 the unfortunate wayfarers, depriving them 
 of respiration. Horse and rider gasped for 
 breath ; their last remaining strength threat- 
 ened to give way. The storm careered with 
 shrill bowlings over the plains; now it be- 
 came entangled in the cavities and hollows ; 
 now it broke itself against the sturdy forests, 
 rebounding in intersecting evolutions, so that 
 turn which way they would it drove its bitter 
 blast right into the faces of the exhausted 
 men and animals. The line of march be- 
 came uncertain and wavering ; it swayed 
 now to the right, now to the left, ^fow 
 some deep hollow filled with drifed snow 
 blocked up the way, and il|became necessary 
 to retrace their weary steps considerable dis- 
 tances, not knowing whether they wert» go- 
 ing from the enemy or ri^ht upon him. Then 
 again, sudden and abrupt declivities, plazed 
 with ice, compelled them to .seek a different 
 direction. The night became very dark ; a 
 black, heavy canopy of cloud, out of which 
 the snow came pouring down, had entirely 
 covered the sky. Nothing remained dis- 
 cernible to the eye, but the sheen of tho 
 
NAl»OLEOirS INVASION OF RUSSIA. > 
 
 369 
 
 white, spectral pall in which this earth had 
 decked itself. At last the physical powers, 
 tpo sRvereiy taxed, became paralyzed; the 
 etiff and benumbed foot refused to move; the 
 weapon dropped from the hand. The mar- 
 
 thal even seemed to have lost hope, and to 
 e ready to bow his head before the all-sub- 
 duing scourge. A halt was finally ordered 
 in the midst of the ice and snow, to allow, if 
 possible, the exhausted energies to recruit 
 for renewed exertions. The marshal rode 
 at the bead of the column in the midst of 
 Rasinski's men — Regnard by his side. 
 
 '* Do you still know north from south, Ra- 
 sinski ?" he asked, quite low — " whether the 
 enemy is in front or in rear ? whether we 
 are on the right or left side of the road ? A 
 compass would be worth a province now." 
 
 ** Perhaps some stars may be seen, when 
 this drifting ceases," answered Rasinski ; " it 
 has now lasted three hours, and must come 
 to a pause some time." 
 
 " 1 have no longer any faith in the stars," 
 replied Regnard, with a shake of the bead, 
 looking gloomily before him. 
 
 Rasinski tortured his brain to hit upon 
 some means to direct their march with cer- 
 tainty. He had just caught a happy idea, 
 when the marshal suddenly accosted him 
 with the question : " Have your men and 
 horses any strength left them ? — if so, follow 
 me. I believe that I have hit upon a 
 method to find the way to the Dnieper, even 
 through this chaos of snow." 
 
 " 1 have done the same !" exclaimed Ra- 
 sinski eagerly, wishing at least to secure his 
 share of the honor of falling upon a similar 
 discovery. " If we could only ascertain the 
 course of the brook, which must run through 
 the hollow where we were obliged to turn 
 back half-an-hour ago ?" 
 
 " We understand each other," answered 
 the marshal, with joy ; " that is exactly my 
 thought. We will try to find that spot once 
 more ; you shall accompany me with your 
 men and some sappers." 
 
 They mounted instantly. The tracks left 
 by the field-pieces, which had not yet had 
 time to be snowed over or blown away, 
 afforded indications of the way which the 
 army bad come. Rasinski's keen sense of 
 observation, from which nothing escaped ap- 
 pertaining to localities or topography, and 
 who possessed the most minute peculiari- 
 ties within a powerful memory, helped 
 them to decide at several doubtful place^i. 
 In half-an- hour's time they reached the hol- 
 low. The wind had there piled up the snow 
 to more than a man's heignt. The sappers, 
 however, with gigantic efforts, succeeded in 
 dislodging the snow, and they soon penetra- 
 ted to a solid mirror of ice. 
 
 " I hope the frost has not congealed the 
 
 low water-courses clear to the bottom," said 
 the marshal, with much concern, while the 
 sappers were laboring to cut through the ice. 
 
 " I do not fear anything of that kind," re- 
 plied Rasinski ; " fur all these little stream- 
 lets run through a warm, loamy soil ; con- 
 sequently ihey freeze up entirely only in the 
 severest weather. There is no doubt but 
 .we will yet find water, and the more so, as 
 it bflgan to thaw yesterday." 
 
 He had judged correctly ; for just then 
 the axe penetrated the ice, and water bub- 
 bled up in the aperture. A few more strokes, 
 and the opening was widened, so that the 
 course of the brook could be ascertained. 
 
 In great joy the marshal exclaimed : " Then 
 I hope we are safe. This brook must be 
 our guide to the Dneiper, which cannot be 
 very far off. Once over that stream, I think 
 ffe shall have surmounted the worst, and 
 soon be able to rejoin our comrades in 
 front." 
 
 The marshal immediately sent orders to 
 march — the troops having by this time bad an 
 opportunity in some measure to rest from 
 their fatigue. In an hour, steadily following 
 the course of the brook, they reached a 
 dense forest. Here they were sheltered from 
 the piercing wind, and the drifting sleet and 
 •-now had also ceased. The leaet indication 
 of a favorable turn of fortune in such cir- 
 cumstances wonderfully contributes to re- 
 vive the flagging spirits. 
 
 The march, therefore, proceeded with 
 vigor. Confidence was also much strength- 
 ened from the circumstance that Rasinski, 
 in a half-demolished hut of a miserable ham- 
 let, found a peasant, old and lame, but ac- 
 quainted with the neighboring localities. 
 This old man declared that the 'river was 
 quite near, but would hardly be passable, as 
 the ice was not yet strong enough to resist 
 wind and thaw. If a passage were at all pos- 
 sible, it would be at a single point, where 
 the floating ice would crowd together from 
 being stopped by a bold turn in the river, and 
 at times formed a bridge tolerably firm and 
 durable, even when utterly impassable higher 
 up. 
 
 Rasinski promised the old man a rich re- 
 ward if he would conduct him to this place ; 
 at the same time threatening him should be 
 prove treacherous. 
 
 The old peasant replied : " Never fear me ; 
 I am not from Old Russia, but belong farther 
 up there, where the people are not so much 
 against «ou as hereabouts. If you can only 
 cross the river, you will find shelter and kinder 
 inhabitants on the other side ; while on this 
 side everything is pillaged and destroyed. 
 Follow me, and be of good cheer ; you will 
 soon find that I am in the right." 
 
 He thus became the guide of the whole 
 
S1V 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 corps, and before an hour had passed, brought 
 them safely to the bank of a river which was 
 destined to become either tiie salvation or 
 destruction of this devoted band of brave 
 
 men. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXI. 
 
 The moon arose behind dark, heavy clouds, 
 shedding her pale lustre over the landscape, 
 when Kdsinski, at whose side the guide 
 walked, emerged from the woods on the top 
 of a hill, from which they had a free and 
 uninterrupted view of surrounding objects. 
 Nothing, however, was to be seen but the 
 Dnieper, embedded between its low but steep 
 shores, looking like sunie monstrous blacN- 
 snake in tortuous windings crawling over 
 the white snow-plains ; for alas ! there was 
 yet no solid pavement of ice stretching 
 across it— only deta(;hed clumps and cakes 
 were drifting on its ruffled surface between 
 the banks. Ra^^inski's keen eyes scannei! 
 the place all around, where nothing was 
 heard but the crashing and thumping of the 
 masses of ice. 
 
 " There," said the Mugic, pointing with 
 his finger to a place where the river seemed 
 to vanish out of sight — its course being hid- 
 den by the hills," there the ice clogs in the 
 shallow bend of the stream, and there alone 
 can you cross." 
 
 Rasinski urged on his horse towards the 
 place pointed out. While riding along the 
 edge of the wood, he suddenly heard a rust- 
 ling among the trees, and at the same time 
 the crack uf a whip, and the violent snorting 
 and blowing of hard-pulling horses. He 
 stopped to listen, for none of their wagons 
 could possibly have reached this point. 
 
 " Is there a road through the woods here ?" 
 he asked the Russian. 
 
 " Yes, sir," the guide answered, "the road 
 from Syrokorenje tuGosinoe. It is, perhap.*, 
 some peasants driving throggh the woods ; 
 but there can be no danger, lor it seems to be 
 only a sled." 
 
 Rasinski determined, however, to recon- 
 noitre, and if necessary to stop the travellers. 
 As soon, therefore, as they came in sight, he 
 drew a pistol from his belt, galloped into 
 the middle of the road, and called out loudly 
 in Russian : 
 
 " Halt ! or I fire !" 
 
 The driver of the sled, ck)sely wrapped in 
 thick furs, stopped his horses and answered 
 also in Russian : 
 
 " What do you want ? — We are good Rus- 
 sians. — Why do you stop us ?" 
 
 Rasinski rode nearer, still with his cock(Ki 
 pistol in his hand. 
 
 " Where do you come from ? — who ars 
 you ? — and -where are you going ?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 The driver, instead of answering, tume(^ 
 round to those sitting in the sled, and whis- 
 pered in German : 
 
 " There are only two ; shall I answer with 
 the pistol, or drive on ?" 
 
 Rasinski in the meantime had more closely 
 examined the occupants of the sled; there 
 were two men and two women, to judge from 
 their apparel. Observing from the speech of 
 the driver, which he had half-overheard, that 
 they were not Russians, he supposed that 
 they might be fugitive officers from the army. 
 He therefore pushed his horse close up to 
 the sled, held his pistol to the head of one 
 of the men, and called out in German : 
 
 " We too are not what we appear ; are 
 we enemies or friends ? Speak, or——" 
 
 A loud exilamation of joy interrupted the 
 conclusion of Rasinski's address. 
 
 " Rasinski ! Rasinski !" burst from the lips 
 of those spoken to, and Louis threw himself 
 on his neck. At the same moment, Bernard 
 sprang hastily from the sled, and pressed up 
 to him on the other side. Rasinski dis- 
 mounted, and clasped his friends to his heart. 
 Tears coursed down his manly cheeks. What 
 questions and explanations tiow followed 
 each other! "Is Jaromir living? where is 
 Boleslaus ?" enquired Bernard and Louis with 
 one breath. This reminded Rasinski that an 
 army was following his steps ; he turned 
 around, pointed back to the woods, and said: 
 " They are there with the rest." 
 
 They now saw the advance-guard issuing 
 from the woods. Rasinski again mounted 
 his horse, and hastened to acquaint the mar- 
 shal with the statement given by the guide. 
 He then sought Jaromir, whom he found with 
 Boleslaus, halting by the wagons, so that he 
 was able to impart the joyful news to both 
 at once. The young men, following the di- 
 rection given them by Rasinski, hurried for- 
 ward to welcome their friends. 
 
 The young men now first learned the for- 
 tunes which had befallen their companions, 
 and were permitted to greet the betrothed and 
 sister. Even Bianca was happy, in partaking 
 the good spirits of those who were to her 
 the dearest objects on earth, and she drew 
 her breath with more freedom, now that she 
 beg.an too look upon their safety as almost 
 attained ; for sifter leaving the hunting-castle, 
 the fugitives had undergone many hardships. 
 Bernard's wound still kept him in such a 
 state of debility that it was impracticable for 
 him to pursue the journey immediately. In 
 the hospitable house of old Gregorius, they 
 had found a shelter, though an msecure one, 
 
lKAPQI450IfS INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 «4 
 
 as on the second day, they learned that Dol- 
 gorow had obtained his liberty. They were 
 therefore in constant fear of his vengeince, 
 and kept themselves concealed during the 
 day in one of the sepulchral vaults of the 
 cburoh, until Gregorius brought them under 
 tlie protection of darkness to one of his cleri- 
 cal brethren, who, for five days, hid them in 
 his house. From this house they set out on 
 tlieir flight, as Bernard was then sufficiently 
 improved, and the Russian army approaching 
 on every side ; they effected their escape se- 
 cretly and by night, so that their protector 
 might not for their sakes become exposed to 
 the consequences of his perilous agency. 
 They had passed the preceding night in the 
 woods ; to-night they had hoped to complete 
 their deliverance by reaching the French army. 
 Willhofen, who was best acquainted with the 
 country, drove the sled ; Jeannette still re- 
 muned the faithful companion of Bianca. 
 The fate of all seemed now about to be de- 
 cided—their haven lay on the opposite shore. 
 But whit inexpressible horror was com- 
 pressed within thiit barrier which lay between 
 them and safety I 
 
 The black train of the army had already 
 spread itself over the snow-field shelving 
 down towards the stream ; but the travellers 
 observed with as^^onishraent that the throng 
 on the bank this side continually incresvsed, 
 while no one was to be seen on the other. 
 Willhofen drove towards the point where the 
 passage was to be effected; but the crowd 
 was already so dense that he could not get 
 to the water. Rasinski sought out his friends 
 among the confused mass, and with a sor- 
 rowing mien informed them, that no wagon, 
 not even a horse, could cross the river, the 
 ice being too thin to bear any such burthen. 
 Tlie congealed thoroughfare consisted only 
 of floating pieces of ice massed together, and 
 cemented by their own ponderosity. Only 
 single parsons had as yet ventured to cross ; 
 but even of these many had perished, by 
 slipping down between the fissures. 
 
 At midnight the marshal gave orders to 
 commence the passage. With heroic equa- 
 nimity Ije had improved the three hours of 
 delay by strengthening the bridge with all 
 the means in his power. Silent, grave and 
 ste .dfu>^tly, keeping their ranks, a regiment of 
 light inf. intry made the first essay. But hardly 
 h:id the foremost platoon taken a few steps, 
 when a dull crash (founded under their feet 
 and the ice began to. yield. Thinking to 
 save themselves by rapidly passing over, th«y 
 redouble their speed; but as other troops 
 press on behind, the pressure on the icy .sur- 
 face is proportionally increased ; they sink, 
 with the clumps which support them, to their 
 knees in the water; their feet become un- 
 steady, slip, the black abyss opens — and the 
 
 wretches who have trusted themselves on the 
 treacherous flakes disappear ! Cries of ter- 
 ror rend the air ; full of jilarm, those next be- 
 hind turn b.ick and cast themselves with im- 
 petuous violence on the ranks of their com- 
 rades, already on their way to the bank. 
 
 Ney, as usual, was present at all points. 
 He saw his braves sink beneath the merciless 
 waters. Here and there a head was seen 
 above the surface, or an arm thrust upwards, 
 while a pitiful cry for help cut the listener 
 to the hciirt. In a few seconds all had van- 
 ished — a hideous stillness reigned over the 
 flood. 
 
 "In this way it is impossible," said the 
 marshal ; " we must try it singly." 
 
 The soldiers are now sent by groups of 
 twenty only, instructed to make the attempt 
 by jumping from one cake of ice to the 
 other. This succeeds. New hope springs 
 up in every breast. Just then tiie distant 
 booming of cannon is heiird. This unwel- 
 come sound calls to mind the overwhelming 
 superiority of tii6 enemy, who may at any 
 moment find the tracks and push afier them. 
 Tills swells the instinct of self-preservation 
 powerfully in every brciist. If the enemy 
 did appear, those who gained the opposite 
 side would be safe ; but all who tarried on 
 this side were irretrievably lost. The mass. 
 e» therefore press on, and a fearful strug- 
 gle arises who shall be the first to tread 
 the perilous path. Remonstrances and com- 
 mands are in vain. Tlie marshal himself 
 tries to enforce his authority, but this also 
 is set at nought. Dreading to be near him, 
 the wretched creatures hjisfen eagerly to 
 other points on the bank, where the dark- 
 ness hides them from his glance. What 
 should have been for their welfare thus 
 becomes their destruction; their impetuous 
 haste, their blind fury and imprudence, 
 cause tiiem to perish. They spread them- 
 selves over the ice, which does not bear 
 up under the masses, but yields, and then 
 parts asunder. The pressing crowd de- 
 prives each individual of the use of his 
 strength and power of locomotion. The 
 comrade pushes the comrade, the friend his 
 friend, the soldier his officer, down into the 
 turbulent current. The enrire disrail ex- 
 panse of ice resounds with a bellowing and 
 crashing dreadful to listen to. Prayers, 
 curses, and piteous cries, commingle in hor- 
 rible concert. The opposite shore, to those 
 who are able to reach it, presents a rough, 
 steep ascent, completely cased in ice. Through 
 terror and exhaustion they are unable to clam- 
 ber up. They tumble and roll back into the 
 river, breaking the ice into still smaller frag- 
 ments, or else their own half-frozen limbs. 
 They lie bleeding and crippled on the jagged 
 flakes, crying in vain for help. The ear°of 
 
9td 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 compassion is deaf — ^humanity is extinct in 
 every breast. Those next behind press on, 
 and without compunction or hesitancy step 
 on the quivering and yet breathing bodies of 
 their comrades, and the heel of the yet un- 
 scathed, wickedly crushes the face of the ex- 
 hausted fallen. 
 
 Tiie wounded, the women and children on 
 the shore — hear the cries of distress through 
 the ciilenl night; its black veil thrown around 
 the scene, enhances the horror. The mad- 
 ness of despair seizes uptm the wretched 
 beings; they run up and down the bank, 
 wringiug their hands. Some of them, think- 
 ing this torture more intolerable than death 
 itself, throw themselves in blind delirium into 
 the gaping stream ; others again, despairing 
 of everything, and most of ail, of their own 
 strength, cast themselves howling on the 
 hard frozen ground, cursing their-existence, 
 and the day of their birth. 
 
 Bianca saw these images of despair and 
 horror around her. Fcv* a considerable 
 time she had boroe the sight with mute res- 
 ignation. But at last it became overpower- 
 ing; she burst into tears and sank on her 
 brother's breast, who ineffectually called all 
 bis manly composure to his assistance in or- 
 der to appear undismayed. 
 
 R-a:<iuski, who, being on horseback, and 
 elevated above the rest, regulated everything 
 that remained subject to regulation, came up 
 at this juncture, and addressing his friends, 
 said : 
 
 " He calm, and do nothing rashly, for here 
 I apprehend no danger. It is the panic alone 
 which hds seized the soldiers, and is the cause 
 of their destruction. I will remain with my 
 men to the last ; do not make any attempt to 
 cross over until I call upon you. Perhaps it 
 may be possible even to convey across the 
 sleds and wagons." 
 
 The serenity and collectednesa of mind 
 which Rasinski knew how to maintain in the 
 confusion of the most unheard-of exigencies, 
 was a bower-anchor of hope to all. Though 
 he had again disappeared, in order to afford 
 some help to a detachment of grenadiers who 
 had fallen in close by the shore, yet his mo- 
 mentary presence was sufficient to awaken 
 fresh hope and courage. 
 
 The disorderly crowds by degrees became 
 disentangled. The troops had at length nearly 
 all crossed ; the wagons and artillery alone 
 had not been able to pass. Rasinski's men 
 were the only ones that remained, as escort 
 to a wagon-train filled with the severely 
 wounded. The marshal walked on foot up 
 and down on the bank, still giving his orders. 
 Like the captain of a stranded vessel, he 
 would not leave the wreck as long as a frag- 
 ment remained. 
 
 As a preparatory step, the open places in 
 
 the ice were immediately again closed up by 
 other pieces. By dear-bought experience the 
 safest places had gradually become better 
 known. Across those places it was now at- 
 tempted to pass. With great caution the 
 wavonsare brought along. Proceeding some 
 thirty paces, the ice breaks. Then arise ago- 
 nised cries ; the hapless wounded sink, and 
 combat against the current ; they fight with 
 each other for the last gasp of their wretched 
 lives. In vain do they call God and men to 
 their rescue! A few moments suffice to 
 plunge them all into eternity ! 
 
 Ney, deeply affected, walked up and down 
 the inhospitable bank. 
 
 " It is impossible for the wagons to cross," 
 he cried, assuming once more the tone of a 
 general. " Spike the guns ! All that can- 
 not be carried by hand, leave for the use of 
 those left behind." 
 
 This order is no less than a sentence of 
 death to all who cannot trust to their indi- 
 vidual strength. Tfie wail of the wounded 
 and helpless ascends uptu the sky. All able 
 to stir hand or foot, crawl down towards the 
 horrible passage. The rest in wild phrensy 
 plunder the baggage, because it contains the 
 only preservative against the intense cold — 
 some small stores of viands and stimulants. 
 They carry off the least trifling article, and 
 yet have nothing to spare. They seize an 
 article, throw it away, seize it again, and 
 fling it back after all. Like some frantic 
 people whose property is burning, they run in 
 each other's way, and finish by preserving that 
 wh:ch turns out to be valueless. Then they 
 hear the drum from the other shore beating 
 the rappel to march ; the dread of being left 
 behind again seizes them, and in wild dismay 
 they again rush towards the river. 
 
 Rasinski began now to think of himself 
 aAd his friends. With sorrow in his looks 
 and voice, he repaired to the sledge on which 
 sat Bianca with Jeannette, closely wrapped 
 up, to avoid witnessing the picture around 
 them. 
 
 " Princess," said Rasinski, accosting her, 
 " the stern alternative subjects you to a very 
 severe trial ; sledges and wagons c9.nnot be 
 conveyed across tne river ; but I hope that 
 horses may yet pass. Take all with you that 
 is indispensably necessary. There is no 
 doubt but that we shall soon reach some habi- 
 tation, where at least, accommodation may be 
 found for ladies." 
 
 Bianca rose, threw back her veil, and an- 
 swered with much emotion : 
 
 " You are so good — but I do not fear trials. 
 I feel that I possess courage and strength to 
 endure them. It is only the suffering of these 
 poor helpless creatures that affects me so 
 painfully." 
 
 The horses are taken oat, and some light 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RIjSSIA. 
 
 273 
 
 articles thrown over their backs. Willhofen 
 leads one — a Polish soldier, the other. Ra- 
 sinski goes before them himself ; he is best 
 acquainted with the path they ought to fol- 
 low. Louis and Bernard conduct Bia.nca 
 between them, while Jeannette is led by Ja- 
 romir and Boleslaus ; the crossing is effected 
 safely by going three and three ; their weight 
 is not ponderous and they can mutually assist 
 each other. 
 
 But, as the way down to the river is filled 
 with wagons, and strewed with remnants of 
 baggage and hundreds of unfortunate beings, 
 Rasinski leads his convoy by a somewhat 
 circuitous route. Suddenly Bianca's atten- 
 tive ear is struck by the cries of a child. 
 . " Heavens !" she exclaimed, " there is a 
 child left helpless behind ! If we cannot 
 B.ave others, we must not leave this innocent 
 to perish !" 
 
 Her eye is guided by the ear — she listens 
 again, and has finally correctly traced the 
 direction from which the cry proceeds. The 
 poor little creature must be in the midst of 
 the wagons. She hurries to the spot, and 
 does indeed find a child lying wrapped up in 
 straw and abandoned ; she takes it up ten- 
 derly. 
 
 "Poor little creature," she says, in gentle 
 accents, " could thy mother have forgotten 
 thee ? I will be thy mother until she returns !" 
 
 She takes it into her arms ; she will not 
 allow Louis or Bernard to rid her of the sweet 
 burden. She quiets the crying child wiih 
 her caresses, and soon it rests contented in 
 her bosom. 
 
 Boleslaus recognises it; it is Alisette's 
 little daughter. 
 
 Once safe over the stream, the friends em- 
 braced each other ; and then all turned to 
 Rasinski, for they felt that he was their pre- 
 server, and pressed around him with feelings 
 of gratitude. 
 
 " Look to your Preserver above," he said, 
 lifting his hands towards heaven ; " direct 
 your eyes and your hearts to Him who dwells 
 above the stars, and whose eye penetrates the 
 thick darkness and the clouds ! Give Him 
 your thanks !" 
 
 Sudd^ly a man came pushing through the 
 crowd near the spot where Rasinski stood. 
 The latter saw that it was Regnard. 
 
 " Where bound ?" he cried, stopping him. 
 
 " Don't detain me !" was his answer, en- 
 deavoring to tear himself away. " The poor 
 woman in whose care I left my child was so 
 bewildered by fright, that she entirely forgot 
 it. That child I must save !" 
 
 " It is safe already !" cried Rasinski, with 
 gladness. 
 
 " How ? — where ?" Regnard stammered, 
 looking around. 
 
 Rasinski in a few words related the inci- 
 18 
 
 dent, and directed the father to Bianca. She 
 had overheard what had passed, and came to 
 meet him. 
 
 Regnard's joy was so excessive upon see- 
 ing his child, that he nearly forgot to offer his 
 thanks. The stern iron-strung warrior, the 
 deep and rigid furrows of whose forehead and 
 cheeks were scarcely ever smoothed by a 
 pleasant smile, now stood with a countenance 
 exp'-essive of the deepest solicitude ; tears 
 glistened in his eyes. 
 
 The troops, meanwhile, had been formed 
 and began to move. Willhofen led up the 
 two horses for Bianca and Jeannette, with 
 blankets for saddles. The women were 
 lifted up and seated upon them. Bianca 
 kept the child before her, and the old servant 
 hitched the bridle-rein over his arm to lead 
 the horses. Bernard and Louis walked along- 
 side on fo9t, but still kept as near as possible 
 to Rasinski's troop, the greater number of 
 whom, having lost their horses, pursued their 
 way on foot. The march led through a thick 
 forest, in the shelter of whose obscurity the 
 most impending dangers seemed to have been 
 at the last effort, surmounted. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 Meanwhile, the acutest sorrow prevailed 
 throughout the Grand Army. No hope was 
 entertained that the heroic and devoted Ney 
 would be able to find a way of escape out of 
 the snow-deserts of Old Russia. When the 
 Emperor's guards, led on by himself, as he 
 turned back to save Eugene and Davoust, 
 were obliged to sustain so many terrible con- 
 flicts, and when the army of Italy was saved 
 only as it were by a miracle — what hope 
 could there be for those yet two days in the 
 rear with the enemy at their heels, in their 
 front and on both flanks ! Gloom and sadness 
 filled every breast. No one seemed even to be 
 grateful for his own preservation, so long as 
 the lion-hearted Ney — certainly the only one 
 adequate to such a command — struggled in 
 the toils of beleaguering enemies. And let us 
 pause here a moment to pay a tribute to the 
 hero of this heroic campaign. We do not envy 
 the feelings of those, be they Russians, or of 
 what country they may, who can read, without 
 profound emotion and admiration, the history 
 of Marshal Ney during the Russian cam- 
 paign, and especially during its latter and 
 most disastrous portion. When those who 
 previously ranked as the bravest gave in— 
 when pride for thirst and glory were oblitera- 
 ted by extremity of suffering, and by the in- 
 stinct of self-preservation — when the soldier's 
 
974 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 most powerful incentives, discipline, honor, 
 and gain, were forgotten and lost sight of, and 
 even the iron veterans of the Old Guard, no 
 longer sustained by their Emperor's presence, 
 renounced the contest and lay down to die — 
 when his fellow-marshals, with rare excep- 
 tions, showed weariness and discouragement, 
 and even the steru Davoust complained that 
 the limits of human suflFering were exceeded 
 — where was Ney, what was his aspect, what 
 his words and actions ? In rear of the army, 
 a musket in his hand, a smile of confidence 
 on his lips, the fire of his great soul and of his 
 own glory flashing from his eyes, he exposed 
 his life each minute in the day, as freely as 
 ever he had done when he had but life to lose, 
 befpre his valor had given him riches and 
 rank, family and fame. Surely, so long as 
 valor is appreciated, the name of Ney will be 
 borne in glorious remembrance, ^nd surely 
 those men who subsequently pronounced his 
 sentence of death, must since have sometimes 
 felt remorse at their share in the untimely 
 fate of so great a warrior. " I have saved 
 my eagles!" joyously exclaimed Napoleon, 
 when he learned, at two leagues from Orcha, 
 that Ney was safe, although he brought with 
 him but the ghost of his fine division : " I 
 would have given three hundred millions to 
 avoid the loss of such a man." What would 
 the Emperor have said, had he then been told 
 that three years later, on the 7th December, 
 1815, the anniversary of one of those days 
 when Ney so bravely breasted the Muscovite 
 torrent, an execution would take place in an 
 alley of the Luxemburj; gardens, and that 
 there, by sentence of a French chamber, and 
 the bullets of French soldiers — a premature 
 end would be put to the glorious career of 
 hiiu he had surnamed " The Bravest of the 
 i3rave !" 
 
 It was night. The Viceroy, still wakeful 
 from protracted cares for the comfort of his 
 men, suddenly hears the clattering of horses in 
 the silent street of the little town. He leans 
 out of the window and listens. Seeing several 
 horsemen apfJroaching, he challenges them 
 by calling : 
 
 " Who goes there ?" 
 
 " Polish cavalry." 
 
 "From wiience ?" 
 
 " From the corps of Marshal Ney." 
 
 The response strikes like a bright flash 
 through the Prince's heart. 
 
 " Where's Ney ? — Is he safe V he asked 
 quickly, almost beside himself. 
 
 " He is inarching here down the right 
 bank of tiie Dnieper," answered Rasinski, 
 who had been dispatched in advance by the 
 marshal; " but the Russians are close upon 
 him ; he wants assistance." 
 
 " He shall have it !" cries the Prince, joy- 
 fully, and in a few minutes more he appears 
 
 in the street, surrounded by hia oflScers. The 
 call is trumpeted forth, but in what way is it 
 answered ? Hardly have the soldiers reached 
 their first place of rest, than they are roused 
 to traverse the wilderness out of which they 
 have but just fought their way ! They are 
 deaf to the rattling of the drums. With 
 great ditficulty they are roused and pulled 
 out by main strength ; they tumble out and 
 tumble back in their warm beds, in a state ol 
 half-consciousness. The enemy is perhaps 
 again upon them ; let him murder them in 
 their sleep, for resistance or defence they 
 offer no longer. 
 
 But there is yet one way left — 
 
 "You must go to save JVIarshal Ney," is 
 shouted in the ears of the sleepers. 
 
 That name is a talisman ; the mention of 
 him for whom they had grieved as one de- 
 parted, awakens feelings of exultation in 
 every brave heart ; to abandon such a com- 
 mander were worse than treason. Ney is 
 the champion that dares everything ; he is 
 the preserver, when no other human arm 
 can save ; he safe, nothing more is to be 
 feared. 
 
 The glad news spread from house to house ; 
 the soldiers flock together in crowds ; every 
 one wants to be the first to succor the hero. 
 Even the generals are emulous of the honor ; 
 nothing but his exalted rank enables the 
 Viceroy to establish his claim to priority. 
 
 In profound darkness they set out, Rasin- 
 ski, with his men, riding in the van. But 
 the hostile elements do not even now cease 
 troubling ; the wind rises, drives snow in 
 clouds, covering and hiding every path. 
 How are they to preserve the proper direc- 
 tion ? — how descry the lost ones in this in- 
 explorable wilderness ? For two hours tliey 
 penetrate deeper and deeper, trusting to 
 chance. They fear even that, by a stroke of 
 ill-luck, they may be running right into the 
 net spread for them by the enemy. 
 
 " We are on the ocean here, though its 
 waves are frozen," said the Viceroy ; " wo 
 must employ the means used by mariners in 
 distress — signal guns." 
 
 Three guns are fired at equal intervals, 
 re-echoing their hollow thunder through the 
 qight. Now every one listens with eajrer 
 attention. 
 
 For some time all is silent. The hope 
 of the signal being heard dies away. At 
 length distant musket-shots are heard. 
 
 " What can that mean ?" asked the Vice- 
 roy, thrown into fresh perplexity. 
 
 " A favorable sign," answered Rasinski ; 
 " the third division has no longer any guns ; 
 they cannot answer in any other way." 
 
 " Noble fellows !" cried Eugene ; " they 
 have then understood us. How beautifully 
 caution and intrepidity are blended in Ney ! 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 S7S 
 
 He waited to see whether the three guns 
 would be the only ones fired, and thus he 
 arrived at the only possiUe solution they 
 were naeant to convey." 
 
 " In the circu instances in which the mar- 
 shal is placed, there was indeed a great risk 
 incurred by answering the signal," re;plied Ra- 
 sinski ; " the means betrays himself equally 
 to tlie enemy. But his eagle glaace pene- 
 trates the true state of things with consum- . 
 mate skill ; he understands how, with a firm 
 hand, to grasp the means of conquest or eva- 
 sion." 
 
 " And tlus time he wUI not have been mis- 
 taken," prouiUy exclaimed the Vicwoy, as, 
 he turned to give his treops the new direction. 
 
 The succoring soldiers press on. The 
 clouds disperse ; the moon, so frequently a 
 ■dangerous foe, becomes, on this occawon, the 
 friend of the distressed. She throws her 
 ,pale light over the snew-hills, and disclosed 
 io view a moving black line bending along 
 the edge of the v/oods. 
 
 " There they are I" cried Rasinski. and the 
 troops hasten their mai<ch. Soon they mu- 
 tually recognise each other; signs erf joy are 
 repeated ; they eagerly increase their speed ;; 
 the noble-hearted generals cannot await the 
 moment of meeting ; they spur on in advance 
 ■of their men, and fuHy recognising each 
 other, leap from their horses and embrace. 
 
 The whole army is carried away by this 
 inspiring example. As if each one had the 
 happiness of rescuing a brother, a son, or a 
 father, officers and soldiers rush forward and 
 fold one another in their arms. Dangers, 
 sufferings, sacrifices, are forgotten. A bright 
 star beams at last on the desolate sea of ad- 
 versity ; Russia''s frozen steppes aad ice-clad 
 plains for once behold a scene from the 
 softened portioa of the drama of life. 
 
 The hero, who had so successfully, and 
 with a lien's boldness, wrestled with foes and . 
 perils on every hand, was surrounded by the 
 soldiers in afiTectionate and admiring wonder. 
 All willingly lay the meed of praise at his 
 feet; but he to whom duty, honor, and 
 fame have assumed a second nature^ seems 
 hardly to know that he deserves it. 
 
 He is carried in triumph into Orcha. On 
 the way, the soldiers of the Viceroy share 
 with their nev/ comrades the provisions 'and 
 liquors they had with them. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIIL 
 
 Through the active care of Rasinski, his 
 restored friends were once more in possession 
 of a wagon, on which Bianca, Jeannette, and 
 
 the child might pursue liheir wearisome jour^ 
 ney. In order to make themselves as useful 
 as possiUe in the midst of the common cala- 
 mity, they took three of the wounded officers 
 also with them on the wagon, oae of whom 
 always took his tarn in driving the horses. 
 Louis and Bernard walked on foot, as tho 
 latter^s wound, thanks to his youth and sound 
 constitution, and the superior dressing and 
 nursiag which he had eBJo3^d for the last 
 few days, was now fully healed. 
 
 Some days passed with the usual fatigue* 
 on the road. The hope that AEnsk could 
 now not be very distant, upheld the strength 
 of the army, for there^ were to a certainty, 
 stores awaiting diem in abundance, good 
 quaiTters, besides reinforcements of fresh and 
 well-disciplined troops. Thus the fragments 
 of the grand army reached Teloczin. From 
 this place they had but just resumed their 
 march on the following morning, when they 
 were met by au officer bearing dispatches 
 from the Emperor. They contained the ap- 
 palling intelligence that Minsk was in pos- 
 session of the enemy. 
 
 When Rasinski, in Ins bivouac, learned th« 
 news from the lips of Regnard, even he 
 turned pale, and covered his face with his 
 hands, as if to shut out this disaster from his 
 memory. He then uttered these words : 
 
 " The Emperor is a prisoner of state." 
 
 A gloomy silence reigned throughout the 
 circle. 
 
 " That, too, dfca has fallen upon us," he 
 isesumed, at tl>e end erf a long silence. " The 
 loss o£ Minsk, however fearful, might yet be 
 borne, did not the Berezina, with its bottom- 
 less marshes, hold us prisoners. A Russian 
 army on the oihfv side, is an iron bolt which 
 liermetic«lly closes the door out oi this Tar- 
 tarus against as." 
 
 " There is no hope left," rejoined Regnard, 
 " but that the enemy before us may yet be 
 ignorant cf our real situation." 
 
 Rasinski incredulously shook his head. 
 
 " Do you suppo:>e that Kutusow has not 
 found a messenger to send iatelltgence to 
 Tschitschagoff, Wittgenstein, and tiie other 
 generals who command the masses in our 
 rear ? They must be blind «• mad, if they 
 do nc* now throw the net over their prey ! 
 But one alternative remains to us — a glorious 
 conflict and death. Fortune cannot force us 
 into the path of dishonor ; we must dispense 
 with her favors." 
 
 The army, after several most fatiguing 
 marches, arrived at Niaraanitza. On this 
 dreadful road thousands fell amidst the ordi- 
 nary suffering and exhaustion, while the in- 
 telligence of Minsk being in the hands of 
 the Russians, was, alas ! more strongly con- 
 firmed. The road led almost uninterruptedly 
 I through pine-forests, now and then inter- 
 
' 
 
 976 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED^ AND TWELVE,- OR; 
 
 ftpersed* with only a few wretched huts. The 
 lead-eolored sky seemed- frownmgly to drop 
 down to the very groundj a» if enshmuding-the 
 
 eartbin its veil of drizzly mist*. It was- not troops at a giv^n point without being per- 
 
 answered Regnard ; " every measure to tfia^ 
 effect has already been taken. The main< 
 difficirlty is, however^ to concentrate the 
 
 very cold, neither did it thaw ; but a chill and 
 searching^ wind kept steadily Mowing, pene» 
 trati»g t-he scanty rags- of the men-, and 
 8low^y congealing their Kmbs. The ground 
 was oased in a^ bright, mirror-like crest of 
 ice; every step- nequired str separate effort^ 
 and a mis-step«r atiuBblewas oftei> foHewed 
 by tbe necessity of » farewell t» earth,, for 
 the poor wretoh'tieverrose moroi 
 
 ki> the profound obscurity, Rasifiski had, 
 wi^' his-men, peached an-empty house, which 
 one of them accidenta-Hy discovered a little 
 asidefrora the road. A night pass^ in this 
 n»prow, but' intact asyUim, would have been 
 tolerable, bad not the most aiarratog reports 
 spread aboul; Regnard^ whose iron, unyieid^ 
 iik^ frame i^ fatigue could shalte, and who 
 wa» indefatigable in- coHecting all sorts of 
 news, entered late-at night to put Rasinsbi-iin 
 pessessioH of- bis budget, but more particu- 
 la»Ly for the purpose of onoe more seeing hia 
 litftle- daughter, who* still reeeived Bianca's 
 care;. 
 
 " Well, Regnard, what news-?'* asked Rtt- 
 siseki, who^ wrapped up in his eloaU, had 
 already laid down to sleep. 
 
 " We are-ftiirly trapped," began- Bfegnard. 
 " The bridge at Borisoff- is burnt, and the 
 river is so wide, that to recojpstruct it oannet 
 be thought of: The opposite -shore is covered 
 with enemies 7 the army of Tschitsobagoff 
 is estended to evety pOint where a passage 
 over the Berezma might- be effected ; in short, 
 to cross- that river is impossible."^ 
 
 " Otie single night of^ hard frost," cried 
 Ras-inski^ "-und-nothing would be more easy." 
 
 " &it I have gpod news too,"^ continued 
 Regnardi " Marshal' Vrotop ie approaching 
 with twAenly thousand fresb troops,, which 
 must ioin us early in the morningj The 
 light eavalryof his vanguard has iustcome 
 in." 
 
 " Only so many more victims !" returned 
 Rasinski^ sadly. "True, if- it were practica- 
 ble to cfosfr the river— if the waves of the 
 Berezina were suddenly bound up in ioe — in 
 such a case, fresh forces might bring deliver- 
 ance. And' there is still a chance,? be- con- 
 tinued eagerly, as if a happy tlioaght- hadi 
 occurred to- him, "if Tschitschagofft couW 
 only be blinded as to the true point ! Spurious 
 despatches m»Kt be sent out-— demonstrations - 
 must be made fertiier down the stream, soine- 
 where about Ukokdo-and Berezina, and then- 
 the passage be suddenly effected elsewhere.. 
 Now this may be p»actic»ble, as the accession, 
 of fresh droops i»ay give us the benefit of a 
 few days' delay. 
 
 " Something of that kind is on the tapi*f 
 
 cerved. Blit it is late j good night You 
 need repose, and so do I;, tomorrow, if only 
 once m«e, ¥ hope we shall meet again." 
 
 With these words he was about leaving: 
 
 the hut',' but he stopped and cast a>n affec^ 
 
 tionate fook on his child, which lay fast asleep 
 
 ,in Bianea^ arms, 'm a reraote parr of the 
 
 . room. Hfe 9te]»ped neap, bvt very cautiously;. 
 
 'so as not to wake the sleepers : " May 
 
 heaven protect thee f^ he said softly ,* " for 
 
 ourselves, we must not complairr;" Saying 
 
 this, he abraptly left the house. Rasinskf 
 
 land the others again threw themselves on- 
 
 their couehi where ttrey were soo»- locked in- 
 
 sleep. 
 
 Tire army, on the evening of the fbllowing 
 d&y, reached Borisoff, situated near the bank*- 
 of the Berezina, which here expands into a 
 wide, swampy lake. The substantial bridge- 
 across was entirely dfestroyed; as the town» 
 buta few days previOtts>y, had, by mafn force, 
 ;been torn from tire enemy's graspn BorisofF' 
 'was BOW garrisoned by Marshal Oudinot. 
 Rasinski obtainedlntelligeBce tliat every thing- 
 had been done to further the scheme which- 
 ,he would himseWi have advised.. GeneraF 
 Laurence, whoj as chief of the general' stafiT. 
 'was charged with- the restoration of the 
 bridges, had'sent for several Jfew.s,.who acted* 
 as spie», to interrogata them respecting the 
 fords. He knew but too well that these 
 worshippers of Mkflamon would; as soon as 
 they were paid off, betray the whole matter 
 to the enemy, for a' simikir consideration. 
 Every question and commission entrusted to- 
 them was, therefore, wordfed in suob a man- 
 ner, thaf they could form no other idea but 
 that the army would, on a sodden, turn south- 
 wardly, and down the stream, so as- to elude 
 their porsuersv-fkU in-Tschitscbagoff^s rear;, 
 and surprising the enemy, retake the all-im- 
 •portant position of Minsk by storm. While- 
 these preparations were going on, tJie corps- 
 of Ma*shal G'tidinot-set.out in^ the profound- 
 est silence towards Studianba, .where the pas- 
 sage wa« m reality to be made. Rjisinski, 
 too, when the men bad rested a few hours, 
 received -orders to proceed to that place. The^ 
 strietest orders wore given to- a\x)id' making: 
 the slightest-noise during the march;, stilt 
 less VWL8 any fire to be kindled, or anything 
 to be attempted by which tirey might be 
 noticed fromthe op^site shore ; for a chain 
 of Russian videttes was posted alb along 
 that shore, whose single watciJ-6re& wore 
 seen glimmering on tho wooded heigbta like 
 so many litrid stars. 
 
 Rasinski endeavored to persuade liouis- 
 and' BeraaxA' to separate' tbemaelve»» with 
 
Tf AT01.E0WS INVASIOTJ OF RUSSIA. 
 
 ftn 
 
 Bianca, trom the troops, and to push their 
 way, as far as practicable, down th« river, 
 (oeiieving that they woald'find no great diffi- 
 culty while onder the protection of Bianca — 
 who, anywhere, ceold appear as a native of 
 the country, to obtain a place of refuge — 
 and, finally, the open road to Warsaw. But 
 the two friends, and more than they, £ia«Bca 
 herself, firmly declared that they, on no ac- 
 count, would separate 4;heir fate from that of 
 Hasiiiski and his men. Willhofen fted Jean- 
 «iette likewise, with the same touching fidelity, 
 strenuously resisted the entreafies of Bianca, 
 urging upcMi them to adopt these means of 
 safety. 
 
 Bernard and Louis proceeded on foot be- 
 side the wagon on which Bianca was seated. 
 3t aiforded them mutual satisfaction t« know 
 that they were so near together, and to re- 
 cognise the faint outlines of each other's pw- 
 €ons, though ititerdicted from speech. 
 
 As they <lrew nea-rer to Studianka, the 
 watch-fires on the heights became distinct 
 £nd numerous. This Rasinski observed 
 with regret — as it led to the natural conclu- 
 sion Chat a formidable force was stationed on 
 the opposite shore, and that everything was 
 lost, unless they succeeded in deceiving the 
 enemy. 
 
 Rasinski reached the reudezvoHS at Stu- 
 dianka at four o'clock in the morning. Since 
 the preceding night the engine^s had been 
 busied in throwing two -bridges across the 
 river, which, it was hoped, would be comple- 
 ted before daybreak ■; so that at least a suffi- 
 cient number of troops might pass to break 
 a way through the enemy. But this hope 
 was most cruelly w-recked. The river, swol- 
 len l^ the thaw of previous days, had i-isen 
 several feet, so that the ford by which, on an 
 emergency, the infantry might have pursued 
 their wa.y, had now become too deep even for 
 cavalry. The frost, which had again set in, 
 was sufficiently severe k> form cakt^ of 
 ice, which, drifting with the current, carried 
 everything before them, but did not tarry to 
 unite. The utmost efforts of human ingen- 
 uity and toil were therefore frustrated by the 
 rude hostility of the elements. 
 
 The pontoniers had thus labored fruitlessly 
 through the whole night, often immersed up 
 to their middles in water. In vain had they 
 combatted against the cold, the trenchant ice, 
 and the impetuosity of the current. Morning 
 was at hand, and yet there was not a single 
 pile standing ; for twice had everything been 
 borne down, after bein^ constructed with the 
 most incredible perseverance and care. 
 
 As night wore away, and the bridge mot 
 completed, nothing was to be expected but 
 that the sweeping fire from the opposite 
 heights would destroy all their slender struc- 
 tures; in which case all hopes must vanish. 
 
 Rasinski's troop was encamped on an emi- 
 nence, close by Studianka. He proceeded 
 in convpany with Hegnard to the water's 
 edge, where the generals were engaged in a 
 fruitless -consultation, trying to elinrinatc 
 some nesBs of escspe. 
 
 There were standing ia a group, Mortier, 
 Davoust, Ney, and Eugene, fixing their trou- 
 bled 'looks on the-epposite bank, from whence 
 shone the Russian camp-fires, like so many 
 flaring meteors of vengeajnce. Even the 
 intrepid Ney, in heavy displeasure at the 
 fickleness of fortune, threw out this re- 
 mark: 
 
 •*' If a remedy be found in this case, the 
 Emperor must indeed ha-ve fortune chained 
 to Ws car." 
 
 On a sudden, the personage alluded to ap- 
 peared in the midst cff his mar^ais. He had 
 Come with his guards from Borisoff, and when 
 half-way had quietly encamped. Here intel- 
 ligence was brought to him repeatedly of 
 the unavailing efforts made to complete a 
 bridge. He appeared, therefore, to examine 
 for himself, and at least valiantly wrestle with 
 the evil. 
 
 He gave his Keutenants a sTiort, hitt 
 friendly salatation ; then, in his usual pre- 
 cise manner, inquired into every circumstance 
 connected with the object in view. 
 
 Rasinski kept his eyes fixed en the ear- 
 nest but rigid oountenanoe of this wonderful 
 man, who as yet had not yielded to destiny, 
 but only studied new expedtentsto avoid that 
 extremity. Silence prevailed around them. 
 A sadden thought flashed like lightning upon 
 the .mind of Rasinski. If he only were 
 saved, nothing more would be lost than a 
 great army ; all France — yea, half Enrope — 
 would arm for him ! These multitudes are 
 dead, crumble into dust, if not bound together 
 by his iron energy ; they are invincible if 
 inspired by his genius. Hundreds of thou- 
 sands lie already stiff in these sepulchres of 
 snow ; what does it matter about a few more 
 or less ? He must be saved, and with him 
 all may be restored ! 
 
 Inflamed by these sentiments, he flies to 
 Marshal Ney, draws him aside, and reveals 
 to him his inmost feeMngs. The undaunted 
 warrior seizes upon the idea ^vith glowing 
 interest. In his own behalf he would prob- 
 ably never have listened to such a proposi- 
 tion from bis inferiors, but he feels kow sim- 
 ply as a soldier, and not as a general. " If 
 his safety is attainable," he exclaims, *'it 
 must be achieved !" 
 
 " I will stake my head on its success !" 
 cried Rasinski, with noble enthusiasm. "I 
 know every winding and turn from this 
 point, and so do my Poles. Every one of 
 them would sacrifice his life ten times over 
 for the Emperor. Farther up by Wenselowa 
 
978 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 the river is narrow. We swim across on 
 our horses, and before break of day we can 
 be over. In live days t bring the Empersr to 
 Wihia ; there Europe lies open before him, 
 and he can be in Paris befoje a bieath about 
 our destruction can have passed beyond the 
 barriers of Russia. Marshal, entreat the 
 Emperor ! His safety is also our own \ when 
 Russia learns that he is sending forth fresh 
 armies out of France, we shall et the most 
 be 'prisoners of war ; but, should the Emperor 
 share our lot, we shall be prisoners of state with 
 him ; and you- know what a boundless dun- 
 geon Russia possesses for such unfortunates." 
 
 Ilasinski's fiery zeal completely won over 
 the marslial. "-He must be willing/' he 
 cried, eagerly, "and not a moment must be 
 lost !" 
 
 The Emperor had just entered a cabin that 
 stood on the bank. Neyruns after him,^and 
 there he finds the King of Naples and the 
 Viceroy of Italy. To these he communi- 
 cates Rasin ski's plan. They both receive it 
 joyfully, and resolving jointly to disclose it 
 immediately to the Emperor,. follow him into 
 the cabin. 
 
 In' racking anxiety Rasinski wait* ioi the 
 result. A quarter of an hour passes by. 
 Nobody is to be seen. Already it is begin- 
 ning to be too late. Already Rasinski is on 
 the point of going in to the Emperor hjmself, 
 when Ney comes out, walks slowly up to 
 him, and says : 
 
 " Count Rasinski, the Emperor cannot be 
 moved to abandon his^rmy. W&will tarry 
 here together to await the day, the enemy, 
 and our destruction !" 
 
 The abrupt manner in which the marshal 
 spoke proclaimed his deep emotion and the 
 restraint he put upon himself not to betray 
 it. Rasinski stood rooted to the ground. 
 An unspeakable pain shot through his breast, 
 but it was not a warm and softening, but a cold 
 and shuddering feeling. "^Did you tell the 
 Emperor — " he began, but was instantly in- 
 terrupted by the marshal : 
 
 " Everything ! Everything that reason 
 and affection could suggest } the King of Na- 
 ples, the Viceroy of Italy, Davoust, Mor- 
 tier, Rapp, Count Daru^even Berthier — there 
 was nothing left undone short of throwing 
 ourselves at his feet. But there he stood 
 like a rock." 'The soldier has placed con- 
 fidence in me, and I will not betray ity' was 
 hiis only answer." 
 
 " And Paris, France, Europe — were these 
 of no weight in the scale ?" 
 
 " ' The most pressing danger is here,' " he 
 said, sharply ; " ' hence I do not stir until 
 that danger is over.' " 
 
 '' Then it is too late !" cried Rasinski, 
 nearly beside himself; "permit me once 
 more " 
 
 "No, Count,." answered the marshal; 
 " the Emperor does n»t allow himself to be 
 swayed by entreaties." 
 
 Of his great chief's danget Rasinski said 
 no more. However deeply the thought 
 lacerated his bosom, he was equally pene- 
 trated by a feelmg of lofty admiratioa for his. 
 firmoess. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV. 
 
 Thk day began to dawn. Through the- 
 retreating shadows of n%ht, every eye was 
 endeavoring to count the nwnber of enemies 
 who coftfponted them. Rasinski and Bo- 
 leslausv through cover of the undeiwood,. 
 reached a small elevation from whence they 
 could overlook the river and the winding* 
 of its shores. The glow of the Russian 
 watch-fires could be still seen through the 
 moming-mist. All was yet stfll on the- 
 snow-covered heights. 
 
 "it seems to me," observed Rasinski, 
 "those fellows should be stirring by this 
 time; or have they withdrawn behind the- 
 brow of the hills V^ 
 
 " As well as I can judge,^ the watch-fires 
 are abandoned," answered Boleslaus; "at 
 least those nearest to us. Those along the 
 edge of the wood may be patronised." 
 
 " Probably they dw not -choose to be ex- 
 posed to our artillery," answered Rasinski ; 
 " but I do not see their cannon." 
 
 They rode a few htmdred paces feirther or» 
 to the summit of a hill nearer the river. 
 The wind had in the mean time scattered the 
 fog, and the air become clear. 
 
 " By the great God above !" exclaimed Ra- 
 sinski, staring around in astonishment, " the 
 position is abandoned !" 
 
 "I see some horsemen on the hill there to 
 the right," observed Boleslaus ; " they seem 
 also to be reconnoitring. I,etus join them." 
 
 They repaired thither, and found Ney, 
 RegiKtrd, and some othier o^ers. They 
 shared Rasinski's surprise at finding the op- 
 posite shore quite clear of troops. Suddenly 
 Regnard cried out : " I see troops marching^ 
 over there, towards Borisoff ; it is a strong- 
 column. Rasinski, you have the eye of a 
 fialcon ; what do you say ; is mrt that Rus- 
 sian cavalry T' 
 
 Rasin^i put his hands before his eyes to 
 screen them from the sun just then rising, 
 looked keenly ahead, and exclaimed : " It is 
 artillery and infantry ; I see two columns ; 
 they are marching towards BorfeoflT" 
 
 " Can it be that our enemy is retiring V* 
 cried Ney, in a tone of incredulity. " ft is 
 inexplicable." 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 279 
 
 "It can no longer be doubted," said Rasinski. 
 
 " Then the Emperor's star is yet in the as- 
 cendant !" cried the marshal, his eyes radiant 
 with joy; "this must be reported imme- 
 diately." 
 
 They all galloped towards the bridge, 
 where the Emperor was standing," urging and 
 encouraging the workmen. 
 
 Officers who had been sent out to recon- 
 noitre now came in from every side. No one 
 had discovered the enemy. 
 
 "It seems, then, we have succeeded in 
 deceiving Tsckitschagoff," the Empieror re- 
 marked. " We must try tp catch a prisoner 
 who can give us certain information." , 
 
 Rasinski offered himself to procure one. 
 He immediately spurred up the stream, ac- 
 companied by Boleslaus; took with him a 
 few chasseurs, and swam with them across 
 the river. On reaching the opposite heights, 
 they found allthe signs indicating that a 
 considerable force had encamped there over 
 night. Most of the fires were still burning. 
 It v/as seen that they had been left carefully 
 fed, so that their blaze might deceive 
 the French. The tracks left by the troops 
 were easily discerned, and led in a southerly 
 direction. Rasinski followed the track, rap- 
 idly, but with caution ; as he emerged from a 
 small patch of woodland, he perceived a few 
 scattered Cossacks on the other side. He at- 
 tacked them, whereupon they fled ; but one of 
 them fell with his horse on the slippery ice, 
 and was seized by Rasinski, who instantly 
 returned with his prize. 
 
 On the way, he que-stioned his prisoner 
 very closely, and learned that, during the 
 night. General Tschaplitz, with ten thousand 
 men and thirty cannon, had occupied the 
 heights opposite Studianka, but towards 
 morning he had, by command of Tschitscha- 
 goff, broken up and proceeded over Borisoff, 
 towards Berezino. This confirmation of his 
 conjecture rejoiced his heart, as safety was 
 now within reach, provided the passage 
 could be effected iii the course of the 
 day. " Cheer up, Boleslaus !" he exclaimed, 
 " our sun still shines. Fortune has this day 
 shown that she forsakes not the Emperor !" 
 
 Rasinski, impatient to impart his informa- 
 tion to the Emperor, spurred on his horse, 
 re-crossed the stream, and related what he 
 had seen and acquired. 
 
 The Emperor received the intelligence 
 with gratified looks, but with the same com- 
 posure with which yesterday he listened to 
 the recital of the most untoward mishaps. — 
 He instantly gave orders to push the com- 
 pletion of the bridge to the utmost. The 
 structure was so far advanced that two piers 
 were erected and united by cross-beams; 
 the work must advance rapidly, and General 
 Eble promised to have it completed by noon. 
 
 Troops were meanwhile pouring in from 
 all quarters. The town of Studianka itself 
 was crowded with cannon, ammunition- 
 carts, baggage-wagons, and the effects of 
 the Emperor, the marshals, and the other 
 officers ; so were also the roads leading to 
 the little place, and the surrounding heights. 
 Rasinski beheld with much concern this 
 disorderly accumulation, which could be 
 accounted for only by the breach of all re- 
 gulation. To effect anything like order and 
 organization at this moment, seemed an im- 
 possibility. The released horses were seen 
 dropping down on the snow, perfectly ex- 
 hausted, and ravenously devouring chopped 
 half-rotten straw, or whatever else bore the 
 semblance of feed. The drivers had taken 
 refuge in the huts around, or by the fires 
 wherever they could find room. When now 
 this complicated and confused hive should 
 begin to move — when wagons were breaking 
 down, horses falling, the narrow roads 
 blocked up — when haste and eagerness to 
 escape would deprive the people of all sense 
 and reflection — and when, as so often had 
 happened during this disastrous retreat, 
 every person sacrificed the well-being of the 
 whole for personal interest — then it was to 
 be feared, that, however favorable an as- 
 pect things had assumed, mischief and ter- 
 ror would reach their acme, and leave an 
 awful monument on the banks of this river. 
 Such were the apprehensions of Rasinski — 
 to be too terribly verified in the event. 
 
 Just as he was riding up the hill on which 
 his men were encamped, he heard the dull, 
 sepulchral report of a field-piece in the di- 
 rection of Borisoff. It was in a few mo- 
 ments followed by the opening of a regular 
 cannonade. 
 
 " Dost thou hear, Boleslaus 1" he said, 
 " they are fighting yonder. It is to be hoped 
 that the storm will not burst upon us 
 to-day." 
 
 Boleslaus listened attentively, and then 
 said : " I do not know whether I am deceiv- 
 ed by the wind, but I think I hear artillery 
 firing in the other direction also. There, 
 again ! There towards Niamanitza !" 
 
 A heavy cloud crossed Rasinski's brow. 
 " It is, then, determined !" he gasped. — 
 " Three Russian armies are on the point of 
 uniting. We have only two days' reprieve !" 
 
 The firing became more animated. A 
 serious engagement must have begun. If 
 the Russians should succeed in overthrow- 
 ing Victor's division, the enemy would press 
 furiously on the rear, and thfc remnants oi 
 the Grand Armie would be destroyed. — 
 Rasinski saw that this was inevitable, and 
 full of troubled thoughts he returned to his 
 own troop. 
 
 A general rejoicing prevailed here, on ac- 
 
280 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 count of the enemy having left the opposite 
 bank. They haJ heard the distant firing of 
 cannon, but did not think the danger was 
 near. 
 
 The firing did indeed cease ; and towards 
 noon all was again still. At one o'clock 
 intelligence was brought that the bridge in- 
 tended for the infantry was finished, and 
 that the Brigade of Legrand, with their artil- 
 lery, were passing under the eye of the Em- 
 peror himself. The other bridge was also 
 nearly completed. 
 
 Already there commenced a convulsive 
 stir and pressure among the crowds, as every 
 one wished to be the first irt attaining the 
 opposite shore. But the Emperor was still 
 in Studianka ; there were too many regular 
 troops on the ground ; and the heaps of poor 
 disarmed wandering stragglers were not yet 
 so increased that they could carry all before 
 them in the rush for deliverance. Towards 
 three o'clock, the cannonading was again 
 heard, but nearer and sharper than in the 
 morning. The fight evidently was ap- 
 proaching ; it seemed probable that with the 
 setting in of night the columns would be 
 driven back on Studianka. In the mean- 
 time the artillery, with their ammunition- 
 wagons, and some detachments of infantry, 
 were seen in two black files crossing the 
 Berezina. Everything appeared to proceed 
 in such order, that hopes were entertained 
 that the greater part of the baggage and the 
 wounded on the wagons, for which one of 
 the bridges was particularly intended, would 
 be landed on the other side before midnight. 
 
 Rasinslci now counselled Bernard to keep 
 close to Bianca's wagon in the train of 
 mardi, so as to escape being drawn into the 
 vortex of confusion, when the arrival of the 
 approaching columns, or perhaps of the ene- 
 my, would inevitably create redoubled con- 
 fusion. Louis and Bernard parted from Ra- 
 sinski with feelings of anxiety and regret ; 
 but they had to consider that he most likely 
 would be among the very last to pass over. 
 Full of dismal forebodings, they bade each 
 other a sorrowful farewell, and accompanied 
 the wagon which was driven by Willhofen 
 down towards the bridge. Twilight came. 
 The file of wagons advanced but slowly ; 
 near the river there was an immense crowd 
 of vehicles, among which it was already 
 useless to think of maintaining a line ; but 
 each one, as he was able to extricate himself 
 from the mass and to gain the bridge, passed 
 over. 
 
 Bianca threw her anxious looks over this 
 tumultuous assemblage of men, horses, wag- 
 ons and sleds; growling, calling and screech- 
 ing, increased every minute as night advanc- 
 ed — heightening the agonizing impression 
 made by this indescribable spectacle. I 
 
 *' Oh, my friends," said Bianca to Bernard 
 
 and Louis, in a gentle tone, " unless you 
 were near me, how soon I would be lost in 
 this dreadful commotion !" 
 
 A knot of soldiers now pointed towards 
 the snow-covered hills alongside the river — 
 while the eager talking that prevailed indi- 
 cated that something important engaged their 
 attention. 
 
 The friends could not at first imagine 
 what it might be, but all at once Bernard 
 noticed a reddish glare spreading over the 
 snow, which seemed to enlarge and become 
 brighter every moment. 
 
 " Borisofi is in fiames !" cried Willhofen. 
 
 " Dost thou think so ?" said Bernard. 
 
 " It can be no other place ; it lies right 
 over there, I know !" 
 
 The flames shot up higher, and gradually 
 jbecame observable to all who were assem- 
 bled on the bank, and while the general atten- 
 tion was directed toward this new sight, the 
 din of voices ceased for a few minutes. In 
 this interval the loud pealing of cannon was 
 heard from the same quarter. The contest 
 going on was evidently for the possession 
 of Borisoff — less than two hours' march dis- 
 tant. 
 
 The thought that the enemy would come 
 upon them that very night, now made con- 
 fusion worse confounded. This reflection 
 seemed to spring up simultaneously in every 
 mind. The wagons drove furiously from 
 three different points to the contracted avenue 
 leading to the bridge ; they rushed against 
 each other, breaking wheels and axles, 
 turned over, and thus obstructed the road. — ■ 
 Those behind threw themselves in a rage 
 upon those before who were so unfortunate 
 as to break down and block up the way.— 
 Those sitting on the wagons were flung out 
 on the snow without mercy, and the wagons 
 themselves dashed into pieces, to open the 
 path. Horses and men were thrown in 
 heaps on the top of each other, in promiscu- 
 ous confusion. Howling and raving rent 
 the air. The cavalry came dashing into the 
 midst, trying to restore some order, dealing 
 out heavy blows of the sabre upon those 
 who tried to break in upon the line from 
 without ; but hardly were they driven back 
 at one point before three-fold mischief broke 
 in at another. The wounded were thrown 
 under the wheels, uttering piercing cries for 
 help, which were drowned in the savage 
 yells with which those urged on their teams 
 who were near the object of their solicitude, 
 and where one last effort would enable them 
 to attain it. 
 
 " Holy father, how is this to end !" ex- 
 claimed Bianca, turning pale, and almost 
 unconsciously hugging the crying child, 
 firmer to her bosom. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 281 
 
 " Be calm, dearest !" said Louis kindly, 
 "this is only a first ebullition of terror; 
 every one must be aware that in this man- 
 ner they only hasten their ruin." 
 
 " Oh, let us rather go back again to Ra- 
 sinski," she mildly entreated ; " I renounce 
 this horrid way of escape over the mangled 
 bosoms of^ helpless sick and wounded. I 
 had rather meet death from the enemy's can- 
 non than to proceed on this pathway of 
 gore !" 
 
 "To return is impossible, Bianca,'- replied 
 Louis, turning his eyes around. '' Look, 
 and thou wilt see how these heights and 
 every path of egress are covered with vehi- 
 cles and human beings ; it were easier to dig 
 a way thorough the sqlid rock, than to force 
 one's way through this dreadful labyrinth !" 
 
 Bianca sat motionless in mute suffering, 
 keeping her eyes fixed on the child in her 
 ||pip, which had become quite restless. She 
 caressed the child to keep it quiet. Jean- 
 nette sat beside her, more like a corpse than 
 a breathing creature, not venturing to utter 
 a word. Opposite to the women sat two 
 officers, insensible to the horrors that 
 reigned around, by reason of a raging fever, 
 superinduced by some deep wounds in 
 the head. Amid such anguish of fears 
 and troubles, the minutes sped tardily 
 along. t 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 
 Suddenly a terrible crash was heard, and 
 directly after a loud scream of terror rent the 
 air. Every eye was instantly turned to the 
 place whence the piercing cry came, aind 
 every tongue became mute when it was ob- 
 served that the bridge had broken down 
 under its accumulated burden, tearing away 
 several arches by the concussion. This 
 could be seen only from the higher points 
 nearest the shore ; while by far the greater 
 number of those already on the bridge 
 and on the depressed shore, suspecting 
 nothing of the misfortune, pressed on 
 with furious infatuation, pushing those 
 who stood on the brink of the precipice 
 madly into the stream. The unfortunates 
 clung in vain to the fragments of the bridge ; 
 in vain they besought pity, vdth heart-rend- 
 ing cries — there remained no longer a choice; 
 those compassionately inclined were piished 
 forward, and thus became accessory to the 
 destruction of their comrades, and the next 
 moment were themselves hurled in the same 
 manner into the inexorable element. Fear 
 generated i.-^ge and phrensy. Those who 
 
 considered themselves lost were turned into 
 sanguinary tigers, drew their swords, and 
 rushed back into the dense mass of their 
 countrymen, to open for themselves a way 
 to the shore. Thus a revolting contest arose, 
 a mad and indiscriminate butchering among 
 friends and countrymen; the retrograding 
 stream of the crowd fought with those press- 
 ing forward, through which means a fright- 
 ful intermingling stagnated on the centre of 
 the bridge. The frightened horses reared or 
 sought for an escape sideways, and thus 
 plunged with the wagons over the broken 
 railing into the stream. Nothing was au- 
 dible but cries of distress, agony and rage. 
 
 The true state of things became, of course, 
 finally known. A deep and anxious silence 
 prevailed while the bridge was being repair- 
 ed. It would seem that the disaster just 
 witnessed ought to serve as an impressive 
 lesson to the surviving : every thing possible 
 was done to enforce more regular order. But 
 now the obscurity of the night increased the 
 difficulty of piloting the interminable crowds, 
 the smallest portion of whom alone could 
 know what had taken place. Every one 
 was led to his fate as it were blind-folded, 
 and the bandage was not torn from his eyes 
 until he found himself struggling in the tur- 
 bulent waters. 
 
 Suddenly the distressing noise and tumult 
 which ascended from the bank of the stream, 
 was interrupted by a loud firing of cannon. 
 The flames of burning Borisoff rose higher 
 in forked tongues ; the glowing lava of the 
 battle seemed to come slowly rolling on from 
 that quarter. While they were listening to 
 the thunder of this hurricane, another vol- 
 cano commenced belching forth flames and 
 death from another side. 
 
 This second engagement had undoubtedly 
 commenced just before the gates of Studian- 
 ka, or perhaps on the heights where Rasin- 
 ski was stationed, as the clangor of the con- 
 flict was heard close at hand . This supposi- 
 tion was strengthened by the appearance of 
 aids galloping to the Emperor, who still tar- 
 ried with composure on the shore. Other mes- 
 sengers were sent back in haste — everything 
 demonstrated that important events were 
 transpiring. 
 
 The utmost efforts were used to repair the 
 bridge, hut still the Emperor dispatched offi- 
 cers, one after another, to hasten on the work. 
 The cannonading continued in the meantime 
 with short intervals, but did not come nearer. 
 
 It was past midnight. The unfortunate 
 creatures on the shore had mostly sunk into 
 slumber, from the over-taxed exertion of 
 their physical powers ; but cold and hunger, 
 and above all, a cutting north-easter, which 
 became more and more violent, freezing 
 i everything it touched, soon impelled them to 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 seek for other shelter. They hid themselves 
 under the wagons, crept in between the 
 horses, to thaw their frozen limbs by the 
 animal heat, and piled themselves in heaps 
 one upon another. On a sudden a red glare 
 illumined this sad night-piece, casting a 
 blood-tinged reflection over the snowy hills. 
 On looking around, the village of Studianka 
 was seen in a blaze. Those unfortunates 
 from the heights by the river, who had been 
 able to crawl back thus far, had sought 
 shelter in the village ; but the huts were 
 crowded to overflowing, and the bitterness 
 of the cold night augmented with the wind. 
 There was no wood near to be found, and 
 consequently, driven to desperation, they tore 
 down the miserajble houses over the heads 
 of those who had taken refuge within them, 
 and made fires from the roofs, planks and 
 boards, to warm themselves by. 
 
 The Emperor was highly incensed at this 
 conduct, which tended to betray to the enemy 
 the place where the passage over the river 
 was constructing, and thus bring about the 
 destruction of the whole. But the deed was 
 done. 
 
 The regular troops defiled the whole night 
 over the uninjured bridge ; and it was now 
 used for the transportation of artillery also, 
 while the other was closed and under repair. 
 It was hoped that when these repairs were 
 completed, the passage would be effected 
 with more order, both because the crowd on 
 the bank had somewhat diminished, and also 
 because recent sad experience would serve 
 as a lesson for the future. But then a fresh- 
 cause of mischief showed itself; a long file 
 of wagons, laden with soldiers grievously 
 wounded, followed by women and others 
 less severely injured, on foot, arrived un- 
 expectedly at the rendezvous. They were 
 all the very images of wretchedness, tor- 
 mented by cold, hunger and disease, and ex- 
 cruciating bodily pains. All were astonish- 
 ed, and ask whence they came ? From 
 Borisoff", where in the night the greater por- 
 tion of General Parthouneau's brigade had 
 been made prisoners by the enemy. The 
 rest had succeeded in effecting their escape ; 
 they retreated before the pursuing Russians, 
 preceded by these wounded creatures, and 
 an infinite multitude of disarmed, half-starved 
 stragglers, all coming to seek safety here. — 
 Scarcely were these explanations elicited, 
 when dense black columns were seen cover- 
 ing the heights and th'e bank of the river. 
 
 It is observed by the faint light from the 
 burning huts of Studianka, and by the glim- 
 mer of the snow and the stars, that there are 
 many thousands drawing near in irregular 
 bands. No sooner do these behold armed 
 fellow-soldiers before them, from whom they 
 hope to receive shelter and protection, than 
 
 they rush in their midst in wild commotion 
 and haste, as if the enemy were already at 
 their heels. With uplifted hands, and sunken 
 cheeks, pale, reeling from cold, terror and 
 exhaustion, the savage glare of ravenous 
 pinching hunger in their looks, these un- 
 happy creatures, in hoarse, moaning accents, 
 beg for food and a shelter. Touched with 
 commisseration, no one at first is willing to 
 repulse them ; but they press in ever-increas- 
 ing numbers so violently onward as to break 
 the orderly ranks of the soldiers, and carry 
 confusion before them among the troops; 
 and when finally they get a view of the 
 bridge before them, they rush in delirious 
 haste to this plank of safety, and thus 
 threaten a repetition of yesterday's tragedy. 
 At this moment, fresh intelligence of the ap- 
 proach of the Russians comes in, and as it is 
 also reported that the wagon-bridge is again 
 in serviceable order, the Emperor orders the** 
 Guards to pass over on both bridges. He 
 mounts his horse, and places himself at their " 
 head, in order to gain the opposite shore, 
 and march to Brilowa — for even there, alas ! 
 the enemy's presence is ex'pected. This 
 order to march sets every thing in motion. 
 Every one things that the propitious mo- 
 ment for securing his own safety has iir- 
 rived, and consequently they push and 
 worry, including the late comers, half-insane 
 from fear, to gain access into the narrow 
 avenues leading to the bridges. No argu- 
 ments or opposition can stop them ; the well- 
 knit ranks of the Old Guard are broken 
 asunder; strange wagons crowd in among 
 their train of artillery ; all order again dis- 
 appears — and the most inextricable confusion 
 threatens the destruction of all. The Em- 
 peror's authority even fails to open him a 
 passage. The approach to the first bridge 
 is encumbered and choked up by stragglers 
 and wounded, baggage-wagons, women and 
 children — and the living surge press on so 
 furiously and perseveringly, that no passage 
 can be effected without resorting to violence. 
 Stem necessity gives birth to the most ter- 
 rible resolves. Troops of cavalry must 
 charge upon the mad, unhappy multitude, 
 and repel them with the edge of the sword . 
 With shuddering reluctance they execute the 
 order which compels them to shed the blood 
 of helpless comrades, and to mangle their 
 falling bodies with the horses' hoofs. Pierc- 
 ing cries of anguish, which drown even the 
 shrieking northerly blast, rend the welkin, 
 and as if to push horror to extremity, the 
 thunder of the enemy's guns is heard once 
 more. The path is now open. A detach- 
 ment of cavalry rides forward ; then follows 
 the Emperor, surrounded by his officers, 
 the guards closing up behind ; but the 
 nearer and louder the hostile cannon on the 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 heights roar, the more vehemently crowds 
 of fugitives press upon the troops. Nothing 
 but their compact and well-directed front of 
 resistance can keep them at bay — and hun- 
 dreds are destined to fall in the sickening 
 and unnatural contest. 
 
 With first dawn of morn the last columns 
 reach the bridge, and the sable curtain of 
 night is gradually withdrawn from the pic- 
 ture, revealing to the eyes of day the secrets 
 it has helped to conceal. Mangled and 
 mutilated bodies, broken pieces of gun-car- 
 riages and wagons, dead horses, who in their 
 last agony had rolled over still bleeding 
 human remains, were strewed everywhere, 
 covering the deep declivities which descend 
 to the stream in the vicinity of the bridge. 
 Half-immersed wretches are seen jammed in 
 between the pieces of ice drifted and sta- 
 tionary along the rocky shore. When the 
 sickened eye turned away from these objects 
 of horror, it recoiled yet more appalled from 
 beholding the living covering the shore ; for 
 it could discover nothing but an immense 
 congregation of spectres, from whose sunken 
 and half-extinguished eyes gleamed the 
 phrensy of despair; running against each 
 other, weeping, and vomiting forth howls 
 and curses — writhing under their own suffer- 
 ings, but impregnable to those of their bro- 
 thers. Every step and movement among 
 them is dictated solely by an unbridled ani- 
 mal instinct of self-preservation. Many are, 
 however, among them who can no longer 
 summon up strength of body or will to at- 
 tempt this, but sit like corpses motionless on 
 the ice-bound earth, staring fixedly before 
 them on the spot which is so soon to be 
 their grave. The outcries of woe and pain 
 proceeding from crushed and dismembered 
 wretches, or from those who had been 
 plunged into the river and carried away by 
 its crashing icebergs, the blasphemies and 
 yells of the most hardened, who, scrambling 
 over the remains of their fallen brethren, 
 cleared an outlet for themselves, were the 
 only sounds to be heard in this great slaugh- 
 ter-house, and the only attendants on the 
 last wild and agonizing throes of vitality. — 
 But the scene was to assume a yet more 
 terrific character. All of a sudden, peals of 
 thunder, like those of the Last Judgment, 
 burst over the devoted heads of these vic- 
 tims. Those even who had sunk into the 
 very depth of hopelessness, were started out 
 of their apathy. They saw the hills around 
 them reeking with black columns of smoke ; 
 the battle raged over their heads. As if a 
 demon of blindness and panic terror had 
 burst in upon them, and chased them into 
 indiscriminate flight, they now rolled in 
 dense masses towards the river and the 
 bridges, void of all forethought or calculation 
 
 about the possibility or likelihood of escape. 
 And as if the caverns of the earth had opened, 
 the advancing torrent was multiplied by 
 floods of fugitives, who, worsted by the mur- 
 derous conflict, came pouring down from the 
 heights around Studianka and Borisoff. 
 
 Bianca, almost fainting from terror and 
 pain, slowly turned her head toward the 
 sulphurous heights. 
 
 " Dost thou think, my brother, " she asked 
 Bernard in a low tone, as if fearful of hear- 
 ing the answer, "dost think that the noble 
 REisinski is present in this engagement 1" 
 
 " It cannot be otherwise, sister," answer- 
 ed Bernard. 
 
 " Then my heart bids him its last adieu!" 
 she said in a tone of gentle firmness. 
 
 " Why so T" demanded Louis. 
 
 " Oh, my dearest friend !" answered Bian- 
 ca, " I do certainly devoutly put my trust in 
 God ; but it seems like presumption, in my 
 view, to hope for our own rescue out of this 
 all-consuming vwtex, and equally so that 
 he should escape out of the raging contest." 
 
 His sister's rising sorrow and despondency 
 stimulated the fortitude in Bernard's bosom. 
 " Be of good courage !" he replied ; " thou 
 hast hitherto never played a game where 
 the stakes are one against one. I have just 
 as much hope of winning as of losing. And 
 our game stands prosperously, for we have 
 at least cast our anchor here in the snow, 
 and our moorings will prove staunch against 
 those mountain torrents that come rushing 
 down. They must exhaust themselves some 
 time or other, and then we will have elbow- 
 room enough." 
 
 " It looks like it with a vengeance !" ven- 
 tured Willhofen, as he pointed to a hill 
 which commanded the valley, and on which 
 a battery of flying artillery just then drew 
 up. 
 
 "Can those be Russians 1" asked Bernard, 
 the words faltering on his lips. 
 
 He had barely uttered these words when a 
 flash was seen from the first gun, and in five 
 seconds the dull sound of the report rever- 
 berated among the snowy hills all around. — 
 Immediately the ball struck with destructive 
 fury right among the thickest part of the 
 crowd before the bridge — when they scatter- 
 ed, terrified, on every side. They had no time 
 left them to collect their senses and form an 
 estimate of their new terror, for a second 
 shot followed directly, and then a whole 
 salvo, which tore open the most frightful 
 gaps. 
 
 Bianca held both hands before her face and 
 breathed convulsively. Louis and Bernard 
 went up to her, endeavoring to quiet her by 
 gentle persuasives and consolation. Jean- 
 nette sat pale and trembling ; she could not 
 speak, though her lips quivered, as if she 
 
S84 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OH, 
 
 wished to do so. The child nestled itself, 
 frightened, in Bianca's bosom. 
 
 All at once, occurred a crashing and peal- 
 ing like the shock of an earthquake. A 
 round shot had struck the fore part of 
 the wagon, torn it in pieces, and thrown 
 the two officers, dreadfully mangled, to the 
 ground. 
 
 The frightened horses reared furiously, 
 and would have upset the carriage had not 
 the pole and fore-axle been in splinters. 
 Willhofen sprang forward to hold them ; 
 Louis and Bernard hurried to his assistance. 
 With streaming hair, Jeannette had already 
 leaped from the cart, and Bianca, uncon- 
 scious of what she did, followed her ex- 
 ample, still closely clasping the infant. 
 
 " Is it alive T" cried a voice, and at the 
 name moment she felt herself seized from 
 behind. She turned, and Regnard stood be- 
 fore her, his right arm in a sling : he had just 
 made his way through the crowd of carts. 
 
 " Oh ! I have you then at last," he 
 tenderly exclaimed, kissing and caressing his 
 child as she lay in the arms of Bianca — who, 
 stunned with terror and the recent shock, 
 scarce thought of wondering at his unexpect- 
 ed appearance. 
 
 "You here, colonel!' cried Bernard. 
 " How and whence came you ?" 
 
 " From the fight up yonder," replied Reg- 
 nard. " 'Tis awful work ; our fellows stand 
 like the walls of Troy ; but all must soon be 
 overthrown, for the Russians bury us under 
 • their bullets." 
 
 " Did you see Rasinski ? — Is he alive ? 
 — And Boleslaus and Jaromir 1" 
 
 " They fight like lions, like devils, those 
 Poles ; but it's all in vain, we cannot hold out 
 another hour. And this defile over the 
 bridge looks about as tempting as the jaws 
 of hell!" 
 
 " You are wounded, colonel T" 
 
 " My right arm shattered. My horse was 
 knocked over by a shell ; I dragged myself 
 as far as Studianka to seek a doctor, and 
 found ashes and corpses, no longer of use in 
 the fight. I thought I would have a trial to 
 cross the bridge. I saw these carriages from 
 above : I knew you had driven up here yes- 
 terday. If I could only find you, I thought, 
 and get a last look at my little daughter ! 
 Laugh at me, if you like — but the thought 
 came like a whisper from heaven. ' Perhaps 
 it is the last wish you will see fulfilled,' said 
 I to myself. And as if some invisible guide 
 had led me, I made my way to your very 
 carriage, just as the twelve-pounder played 
 you the trick. Only see now how hearty the 
 child is ! it grows like its mother ! Ah ! if 
 I only had something for you, poor darling ! 
 Were we but in Paris, that I might give you 
 a pocketful of bonbons !" * I 
 
 And in fondling and chattering with the 
 infant, he forgot Doth his crushed arm and 
 the destruction that raged so actively around. 
 The storm of shot had no terrors for him ; 
 twenty battles had accustomed him to it. 
 But the sweet emotions of paternal love were 
 new to him, and a secret voice seemed to 
 warn him that he would not long enjoy them. 
 
 Louis now came up and greeted the 
 colonel. Bianca gave the child to Jeannette, 
 for Regnard, with only one arm, could not 
 hold it, and she felt that her strength was 
 giving way amidst this complication of hor- 
 rors. She leaned against the wheel of the 
 carriage. Bernard observed her faltering, 
 and encircling her tenderly with his arm, he 
 kissed her pale cheek. 
 
 " See yonder woman," he said ; " take 
 pattern by her ! See, dearest sister! how calm 
 she is amidst the ravages of death !" 
 
 About twenty paces off, a tall female figure 
 sat upon a horse, a child of three years old 
 in her arms, and gazed steadily at the tumult. 
 A black veil was twined round her head, but 
 left her noble and striking countenance ex- 
 posed. She could but just have arrived, 
 otherwise her appearance was too remarka- 
 ble not to have attracted attention, even in 
 that hour of confusion when few thought of 
 anything but their danger. 
 
 " Calm ?" said Bianca, after a long look. 
 " calm, say you ? Petrified, you should say. 
 See you not the tears that roll over her rigid 
 countenance, and the despairing gaze she di- 
 rects to heaven ? Alas ! poor woman !" 
 
 " She is the widow of Colonel Lavagnac," 
 said Regnard ; her husband fell three weeks 
 ago at Viazma ; the child in her lap is her 
 daughter." 
 
 All eyes were fixed in pity on the 
 mourning figure, when a cannon-ball boomed 
 through the air, and struck her and her 
 horse to the ground. A cry of horror es- 
 caped the bystanders. The unhappy wo- 
 man had disappeared. One could not see 
 her for the throng. Bernard, Louis, and 
 Regnard forced a passage through the mob 
 of men and horses, but with all their efforts, 
 their progress was slow. Bianca followed 
 them, led partly by pity and partly by fear 
 of separation from her protectors. 
 
 Silent and uncomplaining, the kdy sat upon 
 the ensanguined snow — her tall, dignified 
 form supported against an overturned cart, 
 her child clasped in her arms. The shot 
 had shattered both her feet, but her infant 
 appeared unhurt, and anxiously clasped its 
 mother's neck with its little hands. None 
 thought of succoring the poor creatures ; 
 all were too engrossed with their own selfish 
 misery — and few vouchsafed her more than a 
 passing glance as they struggled onwards. 
 She would hardly have escaped being 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 385 
 
 trshnpled under foot, had not her wounded 
 horse, lashing out convulsively in the ago- 
 nies of death, cleared a space around her. 
 Whilst Bernard supported his trembling sis- 
 ter, Louis and Regnard attempted to climb 
 over the cart w^hix^h intervened between 
 them and the wounded lady. But at that 
 moment the noble sufferer took a strong hair- 
 chain from her neck, twisted it, before any 
 could stay her hand, around her infant-s 
 throat, and with a sudden exertion of strength 
 drew it tight. The little creature drooped 
 its head and fell strangled on its mother's 
 knees. In a last frantic convulsion, the un- 
 happy parent clasped her child to her bosom, 
 gave an agonised sigh, a glance to heaven, 
 and fell back, dead ! At that moment, Louis 
 and Regnard reached her, but it was too late. 
 Bianca bid her face in her brother's bosom. 
 
 Meanwhile, the fire from the Russian bat- 
 tery was incessant ; balls and shells crashed 
 against the bridge, and into the midst of the 
 multitude. The fighting in the rear, also, 
 from the side of Studianka, drew nearer and 
 nearer, and it was to be feared that the im- 
 placable enemy would soon be upon them 
 from that quarter too. Thus commingled — 
 the thunder of cannon, the cries of the 
 wounded and half-shattered victims, — the 
 screams of those perishing in the river, and 
 the roar and yells of those, who, in despera- 
 tion, sought by violence to break open a way 
 of escape. 
 
 The balls struck again close io the spot 
 where Bianca was with her friends, so that 
 Willhofen had much ado to keep the horses 
 from running away. Regnard caressed his 
 child at intervals, and then calmly watched 
 the progress of the battle. Not a moan or a 
 word was heard from him on account of his 
 crushed arm, 
 
 A shell struck right in the circle of the 
 friends, scattering the ice and all around it, 
 and finally burying itself in the ground. 
 
 " Down, down, all of you !" shouted Reg- 
 nard, but the monster exploded instantly, 
 amidst a cloud of flame and smoke, project- 
 ing the pieces violently on all sides. Cries 
 of terror resounded every where j the atmos- 
 phere itself seemed to hiss and bellow. 
 Bernard felt that he was unhurt, his sister, 
 whom he held in his arms, the same ; but a 
 thick volume of smoke environed bis head, 
 so that he could not perceive any of his 
 friends. 
 
 •'Louis," he called; "Louis, art thou alive?" 
 
 " Thou livest !" was heard in the voice of 
 Louis, and in an instant he was at Bianca's 
 feet. But suddenly he tore himself away, 
 and sprang up, exclaiming — " Holy Father, 
 that too ?" His eye fell upon Willhofen, 
 who was lying dreadfully mangled between 
 ihe horses. The face only was injured : his 
 
 bursting eye sought anxiously for some 
 friendly hand to close it. Louis ran to hiih, 
 and raised his head. Bernard seized his 
 right hand, kneeling before him. " Art thou 
 yet alive ? Canst thou yet bid us a fare- 
 well !" cried Louis, in a voice choked with 
 grief. But the dying man only moved his 
 lips faintly, and tried to give a pressure of 
 the hand in token of gratitude. A painful 
 smile flitted over his face, his head sank 
 back, and he expired. 
 
 They tried to raise the body, but another 
 discharge from the Russian batteries scat- 
 tered a host of balls and shells among the 
 crowd close by them. Another howl of 
 terror arose ; every thing huddled together, 
 one on top of another, and the billows of 
 flying masses came now rolling this way. 
 
 " Let us keep together !" cried Regnard — 
 "once separated we shall never meet again !" 
 And he stretched out his hand to grasp that 
 of Louis, when a ball passed between them, 
 overthrowing the colonel. 
 
 " Regnard !" cried Louis, springing to his 
 assistance, " are you badly hit 1" 
 
 Bernard raised the wounded roan by the 
 shoulders, and bent over him. 
 
 " I have got my allowance," said'Regnard, 
 faintly. " Where is my little daughter V 
 
 Shuddering, but with resolute step, Bianca 
 came forward, the child in her arms. She 
 kneeled beside the dying soldier, and held it 
 out to him. Regnard looked mournfully at 
 the little creature, so soon to be an orphan. 
 
 " Farewell !" he said, kissing it for the last 
 time. " You have no longer a father — but a 
 mother — has she not 1" added he, imploring- 
 ly, to Bianca. " Greetings to Rasinski, if 
 he shall live to receive them. Long live the 
 Emperor !" 
 
 Upon this last exclamation, uttered in a 
 hoarse, soldier-like tone, the final breath of 
 the dying man was expended. The next in- 
 stant his soul had fled I 
 
 But there was no time granted to indulge 
 in grief — for a terrible roar and rattle in their 
 neighborhood, mixed up with howls and 
 screams, and a crowd and pushing of fugi- 
 tives carrying every thing before them, drove 
 them from the ground. 
 
 " Gfet out of the way of this avalanche ! — 
 it will swallow us up !" cried Bernard. " Let 
 us fly to the heights, where we can breathe !" 
 
 Louis took hold of Bianca ; Bernard tore 
 the bewildered Jeannette away with him. 
 Leaving every thing behind, they only 
 sought to escape from the danger of the mo- 
 ment. They succeeded, fortunately, in gain- 
 ing a more open spot on one side, to which the 
 crowd did not rush, as the bridge could not 
 any longer be reached from thence, and no 
 one thought of seeking safety but by this 
 means. 
 
S86 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 " Here we have air !" cried Bernard, as, 
 breathless, he reached the place; "the stream 
 of people rolls that way. " Here nothing 
 worse can reach us than the shots from the 
 enemy, or be made prisoners of war. He 
 cannot well be more merciless than that 
 tiger-like fury which rages there below!" 
 
 The most trying moments had now come, 
 for flying portions of the army rushed down 
 from the heights of Studianka. The artil- 
 lery at a full trot rattled down the icy decliv- 
 ities — the horses being unable to hold back 
 the guns. There being no alternative, they 
 drove right in among the unfortunate crowd. 
 The wheels of the heavy gun-carriages 
 dashed over a pavement of dead bodies, and 
 the fractured limbs and bones of thousands 
 yet living. Cries of murder and distress 
 seemed to issue from the very bowels of the 
 earth. Horses, guns, tumbrils, and human 
 beings rolled in inextricable confusion down 
 the steep declivities towards the river. 
 
 Prayers and curses, lamentations, and rav- 
 ings of wrath and madness, intermingled in 
 a loud, uproarious noise, hardly overmatched 
 by the thunder of the artillery and the crash- 
 ing of the shot. The wind howled furious- 
 ly, throwing up the snowin whirling clouds, 
 and driving before it the foaming billows of 
 the black stream. The powers of the ele- 
 ments seemed to struggle with the energies 
 of man with a fearful tenacity. 
 
 On the bridge itself the spirit of terror and 
 insubordination ruled triumphant. Safety 
 and destruction were here running parallel 
 on the narrowest ledge of the precipice. The 
 foot did not tread upon corpses, but on living 
 creatures, who, half-crushed, writhed in wild- 
 est contortions. The flood eagerly opened 
 its ravenous jaws, devouring thousands of 
 victims, thrust without pity into the treach- 
 erous element. An inhuman contest arose 
 at this point. Brothers forced their way 
 over the bodies of brothers, trampling their 
 faces under their feet. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVI. 
 
 The hindmost of the troops, who had 
 fought the recent battle^ were pouring down 
 the heights in thick columns. On seeing 
 the bridge and the adjacent banks so over- 
 crowded with fugitives that it was utterly 
 impossible to break themselves a path in that 
 direction, they turned upwards against the 
 stream, to reach the opposite shore, either by 
 swimming or wading over. This stream 
 of mortals also threatened to overwhelm 
 the spot pitched upon by Bernard. Louis 
 
 was the first to observe this, and urged th« 
 others before him to seek refuge higher up 
 towards the source of the river. This was 
 done in tumultuous haste, as fast as the, 
 through fright and anxiety, overstrained 
 powers of the women permitted. But even 
 here nature was adverse to them, for the 
 wind beat right into their faces, and blinded 
 them with the driving snow. Many, de- 
 spairing of escape by means of the bridges, 
 followed after them, and thus a crowd flowed 
 in on that point also. From the heights 
 came pouring down cavalry, foot-soldiers, 
 wagons and field-pieces, pell-mell. These 
 two torrents soon merged into one, and now 
 the wild destructive pressure commenced 
 afresh. Bernard called out to Louis: "Fol- 
 low me ; let us push further up towards the 
 hills ; where no one seeks safety, is the 
 place for us to find it !" 
 
 To do this it was necessary to permeate 
 the rushing torrent of fugitives, which sub- 
 jected them to the encounter of a sharp con- 
 flict ; panting and breathless, almost bereft 
 of their last ebbing strength, they finally 
 gained the limits of the crowd. They pro- 
 ceeded rapidly across a slippery descent; 
 here again a hostile fate lurked in their 
 path. Two field-pieces came down the hill 
 on the same icy descent; the horses slipped 
 their foothold, and were about falling. 
 Nothing can save them but making them 
 rush blindly on. Impelled by furious lash- 
 ings of the whip, and urgent shouts, the 
 horses dashed away at full gallop directly 
 tow^ards the spot where Bernard stood. He 
 endeavored to spring on one side, and, at the 
 same time, to pull Jeannette along with him ; 
 but, alas! it was too late. The leaders 
 came in contact with him, and hurled him, 
 together with the girl, to the ground. 
 
 Uttering a piercing shriek, Bianca swooned 
 and fell. 
 
 A gentle voice reached her ear, uttering, 
 " Sister, oh, my sister !" It is the voice of 
 Bernard. She opens her eyes. Bernard is 
 unhurt, kneeling at her side. 
 
 Love, grief, and alarm, all find vent in 
 a flood of beneficent tears ; forgotten is every 
 grief — forgotten the evils yet in store. 
 
 "Then no new victim has been sacri- 
 ficed ?" she ejaculates, trying with kisses 
 of joy to seal Bernard's lips. But he keeps 
 her off with a serious mien, saying : 
 
 " Yes, one has bled, though from me a gra- 
 cious Providence diverted the destruction. 
 Jeannette has found her death ; her devoted- 
 ijess, like that of our Willhofen, will find its 
 reward only on the other side of the grave !" 
 
 " Jeannette killed !" cried Bianca, shudder- 
 ing. " Where, where is she '?" 
 
 " Oh, do not ask to see her," Bernard en- 
 treated, while he tried to prevent her from 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 287 
 
 turning around, for the body lay behind her ; 
 " she died too shockingly !" 
 
 But it was already done. Following with 
 her eye the tracks of blood visible on the 
 snow, Bianca discovered the inanimate re- 
 mains; she recoiled shuddering at the dis- 
 tressing sight. The wheel had passed over 
 the girl's head and breast, frightfully tear- 
 ing and disfiguring the youthful, blooming 
 countenance. The blood still oozed and 
 trickled from the wounds, mingling with her 
 light brown tresses, which lay dishevelled 
 and loose on the snow. 
 
 With hurried steps they now continued 
 their flight up the stream. A sweeping 
 curve in its course threw the bridge and the 
 crowds out of sight, and they now heard only 
 the dull reports of the enemy's guns. Their 
 path led them through a wintry solitude. To 
 the left was the Berezina, full of its floating 
 masses of ice ; on the right were the heights 
 from which the piercing blast chapped their 
 hands, and drove the snow in their faces. 
 But still this rough, inhospitable reception 
 was friendly, compared with the scenes out 
 of which they had escaped. 
 
 But soon they must find some shelter, 
 or their strength would entirely forsake 
 them, for Bianca was altogether faint and 
 exhausted. Bernard inspired fresh hopes 
 by remarking that they could now not be far 
 from Weselowa. Even should they find 
 none but Russians there, their safety would 
 be ensured — -as Bianca, by Bernard's advice, 
 was to announce herself to them as a Rus- 
 eian lady, on her flight from the French, 
 and Louis and himself as foreign retainers 
 of her household. Should they fall in with 
 French troops, it devolved on the men to ob- 
 tain help and protection. 
 
 They had continued their wearisome pro- 
 gress for more than an hour, and still the 
 much longed-for Weselowa was not in sight. 
 Louis then directed Bernard's attention to 
 some straggling horsemen who made their 
 appearance on the heights. Bernard's keen 
 eye saw directly who they were, and he ex- 
 claimed : " Those are Cossacks ; I know them 
 by their lances ; if these rapacious villains 
 should fall upon us, nothing could prevent our 
 being stripped of everything. It is a matter 
 of indifference to the marauder, whether he 
 plunders friend or foe, as long as he can do 
 it with impunity. Let us creep as near the 
 shore here below as possible." 
 
 This was done with the utmost haste, but 
 still it was without avail, for the Cossacks 
 had already espied them, and galloped after 
 them, in pursuit, as it seemed. But fortun- 
 ately there was another bend in the river, 
 which carried them out of sight from their 
 pursuers ; at the same time they beheld in the 
 distance the snow-covered roofs of Weselowa. 
 
 But the last hurried effort had completely 
 exhausted the little remaining strength that 
 Bianqa could muster ; she sank on her knees, 
 exclaiming : " I can no more ! oh, do you flee, 
 and save yourselves, and leave the child with 
 me; I shall find compassion among these 
 wild hordes !" 
 
 " We will carry thee !" cried Bernard ; 
 " our strength will enable us to reach yonder 
 huts." And instantly Louis, with himself, 
 had her lifted up, attempting a thing impos- 
 sible. After taking a few steps they had to 
 relinquish the task, as they sank into the 
 deep untrodden snow. 
 
 " Flee, I beseech you, brother ! — and thou, 
 my beloved, flee ! It is the only means of se- 
 curing your safety and mine ; stay here, and 
 we all perish together!" 
 
 At this moment the sound of horses' feet 
 was heard. One minute more, and their fate 
 would be determined. They did not look up, 
 but held each other in a close embrace. 
 
 The riders came galloping towards them : 
 when quite near they halted, and a voice 
 called out in Russian : " Hallo ! is that 
 Weselowa yonder V Bianca started joyful- 
 ly as she heard these words ; with a pene- 
 trating cry, she exclaimed, " Great God ! Ra- 
 sinski !" 
 
 With boisterous rapture, Louis and Ber- 
 nard sprang up, and instantly Rasinski was 
 off* his horse and in their arms. Boleslaus 
 and Jaromit also hastened to embrace their 
 friends. •' You live ! you live ! and here 
 we find you !" was heard from every mouth, 
 while the heart could scarcely contain itself 
 for the unspeakable happiness it felt. 
 
 The momentary ferment was over, and to 
 this succeeded a quiet hilarity, much like a 
 river vvhich, after plunging down in a thun- 
 dering cataract, glides along with placid flow, 
 reflecting the fleecy clouds in its mirror-like 
 face. 
 
 There was no lack of sad and painful re- 
 trospects. The untoward fates of Willhofen, 
 Regnard, and Jeannette were ftcounted. Ra- 
 sinski listened with heartfelt attention. He 
 then turned around, pointed to his handful 
 of followers, and said, in deeply-moved ac- 
 cents : " These are all I bring out of that mur- 
 derous conflict ! We cut our way through, 
 and came hither in flight ! To save us from 
 losing any more friends, let us go on ; there 
 lies Weselowa. I trust we shall be able to 
 cross the river; once on the other side, I 
 think we are safe !" 
 
 He lifted the exhausted Bianca and the 
 child on his own horse, leading it by the 
 bridle. Boleslaus and Jaromir offered theirs, 
 also, to Louis and Bernard, which they de- 
 clined, for they felt themselves yet strong 
 enough to pursue their way on foot. 
 
 In an hour more they reached the hamlet. 
 
388 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 A Lithuanian peasant guided them to a ford 
 where the river was not quite the depth of a 
 man. Notwithstanding that the ice was 
 drifting in large masses, they courageously 
 ventured into tne current. Rasinski sat be- 
 hind one of his men ; Bernard and Louis did 
 the same behind Jaromir and Boleslaus. 
 They reached the opposite shore in safety, 
 and thus finally rescued, they lifted their 
 hearts and eyes in profound gratitude to 
 heaven. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIL 
 
 Rasinski and his friends pursued their way 
 to Zembin. Here he found Marshal Ney, on 
 whom still devolved the most difficult task — 
 that of covering the retreat. The worst of 
 the fatigue and suffering seemed, however, to 
 have passed — for they now found themselves 
 in a region that was not utterly laid waste, in 
 which the inhabitants were more favorably 
 disposed. A high-wrought desire for deliver- 
 ance caused the smallest glimpses of hope to 
 be looked upon as the consummation of all 
 their desires ; but the implacable animosity 
 of fortune was not yet appeased. It slum- 
 bered only in order to regain strength. 
 
 Louis succeeded while at Zemhin in obtain- 
 ing a small sled, affisrding room for two per- 
 sons, which was consigned to Bianca. Ra- 
 sinski had a horse harnessed to it, transfer- 
 ring the rider to the office of driver. Ber- 
 nard and Louis tried in vain to persuade Bi- 
 anca, now that it was practicable, to gain a 
 stage in advance, so as to reach Wilna, the 
 longed-for haven of safety. She was not to 
 be moved from her purpose, never for a mo- 
 ment to leave her brother or lover. 
 
 Anything like organization in the army 
 was no longer to be thought of. Every one 
 joined that division or detachment in which 
 he expected to find most security, or which 
 he fell in with accidentally. Rasinski again 
 attached himself to Ney — partly from pre- 
 ference towards the marshal personally, part- 
 ly because his military ambition prompted 
 him always to seek the perils of battle, as 
 being more meritorious. 
 
 During the progress of the first few days, 
 the enemy pressed, but not very eagerly ; 
 swarms of Cossacks, which were dispersed 
 by a single cannon-shot, were the only ones 
 finally that molested the retreat. 
 
 But the day arrived for which that most 
 inveterate enemy of the army^the Russian 
 winter — seemed to have treasured up all his 
 wrath. On the night of the 3rd of De- 
 cember, the wind suddenly veered rounid 
 from a south-westerly to a cutting north-eas- 
 
 terly bearing. On its wings were borne the 
 terrors of the North Pole — to the destruction 
 of these last fragments of a once proud and 
 gigantic host. Winter, lurking spitefully, 
 had half-concealed itself behind a veil of 
 comparative mildness. Now he had stolen 
 upon them under cover of a dark night, and 
 fallen upon the defenceless victims in their 
 sleep. Pinched with acute pain from his 
 freezing touch, they opened their eyes, and 
 the pitiless monster stood before them in all 
 his dread-inspiring deformity. 
 
 Rasinski, with his men, and some others, 
 had taken up his quarters in a large barn, 
 where they warmed each other by lying close 
 together — for the space did not admit the 
 making a fire. Towards morning, he woke 
 up from a pricking pain in his hands and 
 feet ; he tried to rise, but found himself as 
 lame as a paralytic. He succeeded with 
 great difficulty in bending the stiffened sin- 
 ews, and sat upright. One single inspiration 
 of air convinced him that the real Muscovite 
 winter was at the door, exhaling its petrify- 
 ing breath over every living thing. 
 
 " Halloo !" he roared out instantly, shak- 
 ing Jaromir, who lay next to him. " Halloo ! 
 Get up ! Boleslaus, Jaromir, Bernard !" 
 
 All awoke at the summons, but were for 
 some time unable to move. 
 
 " You must rouse yourselves," cried Ra- 
 sinski, "else you are gone ! To-day rises 
 the sun of a real winter's morning. He has 
 only played wolf with us until now !" 
 
 " The devil ! — what weather !" growled 
 Bernard, wrapping himself closer in his fur 
 cloak ; " it lays hold of a fellow like the 
 paws of a grizly bear ! Bianca, my dear, how 
 art thou 1" 
 
 The resolute woman suppressed her pain 
 and troubles. " I am very well, brother," 
 she answered ; " I am more used to this cli- 
 mate than thou . And we are besides so well 
 provided with clothing." 
 
 " Keep close together, friends !" Rasinski 
 exhorted them : " in this hive one may be 
 easily separated." 
 
 Bernard and Louis supported Bianca, who 
 carried Alisette's child, closely enveloped in 
 furs, between them. Rasinski, with Boles- 
 laus and Jaromir, went before. The remai ning 
 soldiers of the regiment followed on behind. 
 Thus, after stumbling-over many that were 
 lying on the ground and groaning piteousiv, 
 they reach lid the open air. The snov 
 creaked crisp under their feet ; the air seemf. J 
 to be impregnated with needles, which, in 
 breathing, struck painfully on the lungs. 
 Eyes, lips and cheeks began to tingle and 
 smart the moment they came in contact with 
 the wind. 
 
 Drums were beating with hollow sound, 
 summoning the troops for the march. 
 
V-*'-fi 
 
 (^; NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 ^ 
 
 989 
 
 ' AlMajestic figure stood upon an eminence, 
 covered with a fur cloak, yet' beating his 
 arms to keep himself warm. ' It was •Mar- 
 shal Davoust. In a loud voice, he cried, 
 " This way — first division — this way !" 
 
 A small number dilatorily assembled around 
 him — the residue of his entire corps, having 
 been lost in dangers innumerable by this 
 hardened and persevering soldier, whom' no 
 BuflFering or peril could force to relinq^jish 
 hope, so long as it depended on the laws of 
 discipline or order. At the head of his men 
 he proceeded on foot, sharing every fatigue 
 with the soldier and every comfort with the 
 officers, to which his rank entitled him, even 
 in these levelling times. 
 
 Rasinski had fortunately found shelter for" 
 his horses, but two of them had died from the 
 cold. They mounted. Bianca stepped into 
 her little sled, while Louis and Bernard 
 walked as near to her as practicable, and 
 were joined by the two now dismounted 
 troopers of Rasinski's regiment. 
 
 Thus the fugitives were once more on their 
 way ; they heard nothing but the shar^ 
 crisping of the snow, the dull rumbling of 
 the artillery, and the hollow groans of those 
 who, with death coursing in their congealed 
 veins, fell to rise no more. , 
 
 These unfortunates were seen tottering and 
 staggering about like drunken men : then 
 sinking down on their knees, the paralyzed 
 tendons of which refused any longer to sustain 
 them. 
 
 Others laughed like maniacs at the sight 
 of misery around themf and shouted a mock- 
 jngv demoniac farewell to those who fell. It 
 was only nobler and more courageous na- 
 tures that preserved a manly composuVe. 
 Rasinski maintained his equanimity. His 
 horse, which he had been leading by the bri- 
 dle, sunk from cold and exhaustion. He 
 took the pistols out of the holsters, and con- 
 tinued his way aa if nothing had happened. 
 Jaromir and Boleslaus, who also were on 
 foot, leading their horses, in vain urged him 
 to make use of one. He refused. 
 
 Boleslaus, ho\*ever, unslung the valise, 
 which Rasinski was going to leave with the 
 saddle, and buckled it fast to his own. A 
 starving multitude threw themselves upon 
 the carcass of the horse, and tore it in a 
 thousand pieces. Rasinski went gloomily on, 
 so as to avoid seeing the tragic end of his 
 faithful beast. Before another half-hour had 
 passed, Boleslaus' horse fell, and directly af- 
 ter, Jarormir's. Notwithstanding the sun was 
 near the meridian, the cold steadily increased,, 
 pouring its deadly breath upon men and ani- 
 mals. The road led over a gently rising 
 ground — but it was sheeted with ice, like a 
 mirror. As Bianca's sled approached, the 
 horses were unable to draw it. She imme- 
 
 ■ .-•XTfii/ 
 
 19 
 
 diately got out, but it availed nothing. Twice 
 the animal tried its best; Louis, Bernard, 
 Jaromir, Boleslaus and Rasinski assisting. 
 But it was fruitless labor ; the poor beast 
 was no longer able to drag itself along ; it 
 fell to the ground, an(J in a few minutes was 
 rigid. Undisma5'^ed, Bianca said to her 
 friends who stood around her : " Now I can 
 share in your hardships, and it will not come 
 hard to me. In this severe cold it is better 
 to walk:" ,i. 
 
 Bernard answered nothing. Silently he 
 took the child from her arms and carried it. 
 Louis supported his betrothed, and they wan- 
 dered silent and sorrowful together. 
 
 They took a path running parallel with 
 the road, as it seemed more easy to travel, 
 and where they were not so much crowded ; 
 it had been trodden by only a few individu- 
 als. Bianca and Louis went before. Ber- 
 nard followed at some distance with the child, 
 whose unconscious glee and prattle — Bianca 
 having carefully protected it against the 
 cold — afforded a strange and affecting offset 
 to the surrounding horrors. " Thou art a 
 butterfly that plays and flutters within the 
 open jaws of a shark," said Bernard to him- 
 self; " but I had' just as lief see thee here, 
 as to see thee stroking the spotted skin of a 
 sleeping tiger. Dost laugh, thou little 
 rogue ?" 
 
 At this moment a hoarse, firm voice was 
 heard in rear of Bernard. 
 
 " Stop, dog !" it reclaimed. " Your cloak, 
 or I shoot you dead*' 
 
 Bernard stopped and looked round. A 
 soldier, scantily attired in wretched rags, his 
 features distorted, his beard long and tan- 
 gled, hig face black with earth and smoke, his 
 eyes, fiightfully inflamed, rolling wildly in 
 their orbits, stood before him, and covered 
 him with his musket. 
 
 " What would you, wretched man 1" cried 
 Bernard, horror-struck, and stepping back- 
 wards. The child screamed with terror, 
 clasped its arms around him, and hid its little 
 head inTiis breasT. 
 
 " Your warm cloak, or I shoot you down !" 
 shouted the frantic soldier. "No more 
 comrades here ! I've as .good a right to save 
 myself as you !" 
 
 Bernard saw himself almost alone with 
 the assassin ; although thousands were with- 
 in hail, the bullet would be quicker than 
 thei^. aid, supposing even that one amongst 
 them had sufficient pity for another's peril, 
 to turn aside for a moment, and thus lengthen 
 his journey and sufferings by a few painful 
 paces. There was nothing for it but to yield 
 to the menace and give up his warm wrap- 
 per, although he well knew that with it he 
 gave up his life. 
 
 " You would murder a comrade to prolong 
 
 ^v%.- 
 
288 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 A Lithuanian peasant guided them to a ford 
 where the river was not quite the depth of a 
 man. Notwithstanding that the ice was 
 drifting in large masses, they courageously 
 ventured into the current. Rasinski sat be- 
 hind one of his men ; Bernard and Louis did 
 the same behind Jaromir and Boleslaus. 
 They reached the opposite shore in safety, 
 and thus finally rescued, they lifted their 
 hearts and eyes in profound gratitude to 
 heaven. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIL 
 
 Rasinski and his friends pursued their way 
 to Zembin. Here he found Marshal Ney, on 
 whom still devolved the most difhcult task — 
 that of covering the retreat. The worst of 
 the fatigue and suffering seemed, however, to 
 have passed — for they now found themselves 
 in a region that was not utterly laid waste, in 
 which the inhabitants were more favorably 
 disposed . A high-wrought desire for deliver- 
 ance caused the smallest glimpses of hope to 
 be looked upon as the consummation of all 
 their desires ; but the implacable animosity 
 of fortune was not yet appeased. It slum- 
 bered only in order to regain strength. 
 
 Louis succeeded while at Zemhin in obtain- 
 ing a small sled, affording room for two per- 
 sons, which was consigned to Bianca. Ra- 
 sinski had a horse harnessed to it, transfer- 
 ring the rider to the office of driver. Ber- 
 nard and Louis tried in vain to persuade Bi- 
 anca, now that it was practicable, to gain a 
 stage in advance, so as to reach Wilna, the 
 longed-for haven of safety. She was not to 
 be moved from her purpose, never for a mo- 
 ment to leave her brother or lover. 
 
 Anything like organization in the army 
 was no longer to be thought of. Every one 
 joined that division or detachment in which 
 he expected to find most security, or which 
 he fell in with accidentally. Rasinski again 
 attached himself to Ney — partly from pre- 
 ference towards the marshal personally, part- 
 ly because his military ambition prompted 
 him always to seek the perils of battle, as 
 being more meritorious. 
 
 During the progress of the first few days, 
 the enemy pressed, but not very eagerly ; 
 swarms of Cossacks, which were dispersed 
 by a single cannon-shot, were the only ones 
 finally that molested the retreat. 
 
 But the day arrived for which that most 
 inveterate enemy of the army — the Russian 
 winter — seemed to have treasured up all his 
 wrath. On the night of the 3rd of De- 
 cember, the wind suddenly veered round 
 from a south-westerly to a cutting north-eas- 
 
 terly bearing. On its wings were borne the 
 terrors of the North Pole — to the destruction 
 of these last fragments of a once proud and 
 gigantic host. Winter, lurking spitefully, 
 had half-concealed itself behind a veil of 
 comparative mildness. Now he had stolen 
 upon them under cover of a dark night, and 
 fallen upon the defenceless victims in their 
 sleep. Pinched with acute pain from his 
 freezing touch, they opened their eyes, and 
 the pitiless monster stood before them in all 
 his dread-inspiring deformity. 
 
 Rasinski, with his men, and some others, 
 had taken up his quarters in a large barn, 
 where they warmed each other by lying close 
 together — for the space did not admit the 
 making a fire. Towards morning, he woke 
 up from a pricking pain in his hands and 
 feet ; he tried to rise, but found himself as 
 lame as a paralytic. He succeeded with 
 great difficulty in bending the stiffened sin- 
 ews, and sat upright. One single inspiration 
 of air convinced him that the real Muscovite 
 winter was at the door, exhaling its petrify- 
 ing breath over every living thing. 
 
 " Halloo !" he roared out instantly, shak- 
 ing Jaromir, who lay next to him. "Halloo! 
 Get up ! Boleslaus, Jaromir, Bernard !" 
 
 All awoke at the summons, but were for 
 some time unable to move. 
 
 " You must rouse yourselves," cried Ra- 
 sinski, "else you are gone ! To-day rises 
 the sun of a real winter's morning. He has 
 only played wolf with us until now !" 
 
 " The devil ! — what weather !" growled 
 Bernard, wrapping himself closer in his fur 
 cloak ; " it lays hold of a fellow like the 
 paws of a grizly bear ! Bianca, my dear, how 
 art thou V 
 
 The resolute woman suppressed her pain 
 and troubles. " I am very well, brother," 
 she answered ; " I am more used to this cli- 
 mate than thou. And we are besides so well 
 provided with clothing." 
 
 " Keep close together, friends !" Rasinski 
 exhorted them : " in this hive one may be 
 easily separated." 
 
 Bernard and Louis supported Bianca, who 
 carried Alisette's child, closely enveloped in 
 furs, between them. Rasinski, with Boles- 
 laus and Jaromir, went before. The rema» ning 
 soldiers of the regiment followed on behind. 
 Thus, after stumbling -over many that were 
 lying on the ground and groaning piteousiy, 
 they reached the open air. The snov 
 creaked crisp under their feet ; the air seemci 
 to be impregnated with needles, which, in 
 breathing, struck painfully on the lungs. 
 Eyes, lips and cheeks began to tingle and 
 smart the moment they came in contact with 
 the wind. 
 
 Drums were beating with hollow sound, 
 summoning the troops for the march. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 9B9 
 
 A majestic figure stood upon an eminence, 
 covered with a fur cloak, yet beating his 
 arms to keep himself warm. ' It was "Mar- 
 shal Davoust. In a loud voice, he cried, 
 " This way — first division — this way !" 
 
 A small number dilatorily assembled around 
 him — the residue of his entire corps, having 
 been lost in dangers innumerable by this 
 hardened and persevering soldier, whom no 
 sufiering or peril could force to relinq^fish 
 hope, so long as it depended on the laws of 
 discipline or order. At the head of his men 
 he proceeded on foot, sharing every fatigue 
 with the soldier and every comfort with the 
 officers, to which his rank entitled him, even 
 in these levelling times. 
 
 Rasinski had fortunately found shelter for 
 his horses, but two of them had died from the 
 cold. They mounted. Bianca stepped into 
 her little sleJ, while Louis and Bernard 
 walked as near to her as practicable, and 
 were joined by the two now dismounted 
 troopers of Rasinski's regiment. 
 
 Thus the fugitives were once more on their 
 way; they heard nothing but the sharp 
 crisping of the snow, the dull rumbling of 
 the artillery, and the hollow groans of those 
 who, with death coursing in their congealed 
 veins, fell to rise no more. 
 
 These unfortunates were seen tottering and 
 staggering about like drunken men ;. then 
 sinking down on their knees, the paralyzed 
 tendons of which refused any longer to sustain 
 them. 
 
 Others laughed like maniacs at the sight 
 of misery around themf and shouted a mock- 
 ing, demoniac farewell to those who fell. It 
 was only nobler and more courageous na- 
 tures that preserved a manly composure. 
 Rasinski maintained his equanimity. His 
 horse, which he had been leadingby the bri- 
 dle, sunk from cold and exhaustion. He 
 took the pistols out of the holsters, and con- 
 tinued his way aa if nothing had happened. 
 Jaromir and Boleslaus, who also were on 
 foot, leading their horses, in vain urged Jiim 
 to make use of one. He refused. 
 
 Boleslaus, ho\^ever, un.slung the valise, 
 which Riisinski was going to leave with the 
 saddle, and buckled it fast to his own. A 
 starving multitude threw themselves upon 
 the carcass of the horse, and tore it in a 
 thousand pieces. Rasinski went gloomily on, 
 so as to avoid seeing the tragic end of his 
 faithful beast. Before another half-hour had 
 passed, Boleslaus' horse fell, and directly af- 
 ter, Jarormir's. Notwithstanding the sun was 
 near the meridian, the cold steadily increased,, 
 pouring its deadly breath upon men and ani- 
 mals. The road led over a gently rising 
 ground — but it was sheeted with ice, like a 
 mirror. As Bianca's sled approached, the 
 horses were unable to draw it. She imrae- 
 19 
 
 diately got out, but it availed nothing. Twice 
 the animal tried its best ; Louis, Bernard, 
 Jaromir, Boleslaus and Rasinski assisting. 
 But it was fruitless labor ; the poor beast 
 was no longer able to drag itself along ; it 
 fell to the ground, an(J in a few minutes was 
 rigid. Undismayed, Bianca said to her 
 friends who stood around her : " Now I can 
 share in your hardships, and it will not come 
 hard to me. In this severe cold it is better 
 to vyalk." 
 
 Bernard answered nothing. Silently he 
 took the child from her arms and carried it. 
 Louis supported his betrothed, and they wan- 
 dered silent and sorrowful together. 
 
 They took a path running parallel with 
 the road, as it seemed more easy to travel, 
 and where they were not so much crowded ; 
 it had been trodden by only a few individu- 
 als. Bianca and Louis went before. Ber- 
 nard followed at some distance with the child, 
 whose unconscious glee and prattle — Bianca 
 having carefully protected it against the 
 cold — afforded a strange and affecting offset 
 to the surrounding horrors. " Thou art a 
 butterfly that plays and flutters within the 
 open jaws of a shark," said Bernard to him- 
 self; " but I had' just as lief see thee here, 
 as to see thee stroking the spotted skin of a 
 sleeping tiger. Dost laugh, thou little 
 rogue ?" 
 
 At this mcMnent a hoarse, firm voice was 
 heard in rear of Bernard. 
 
 " Stop, dog!" it exclaimed. " Your cloak, 
 or I shoot you dead !" 
 
 Bernard stopped and looked round. A 
 soldier, scantily attired in wretched rags, his 
 features distorted, his beard long and tan- 
 gled, hig face black with earth and smoke, his 
 eyes, frightfully inflamed, rolling wildly in 
 their orbits, stood before him, and covered 
 him with his musket. 
 
 " What would you, wretched man V cried 
 Bernard, horror-struck, and stepping back- 
 wards. The child screamed with terror, 
 clasped its arms around him, and hid its little 
 head in his breasT. 
 
 " Your warm cloak, or I shoot you down !" 
 shouted the frantic soldier. " No more 
 comrades here ! I've as good a right to save 
 myself as you !" 
 
 Bernard saw himself almost alone with 
 the assassin ; although thousands were with- 
 in hail, the bullet would be quicker than 
 theii; aid, supposing even that one amongst 
 them had sulBcient pity for another's peril, 
 to turn aside for a moment, and thus lengthen 
 his journey and sufferings by a few painful 
 paces. There was nothing for it but to yield 
 to the menace and give up his warm wrap- 
 per, although he well knew that with it he 
 gave up his life. 
 
 " You would murder a comrade to prolong 
 
990 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 your own life ?" said Bernard, in a tone of 
 dignified determination ; " be it so. But you 
 will profit little by the deed. Your hour 
 will overtake you the sooner !" 
 
 " Quick ! death gripes me already !" cried 
 the madman, his musket still levelled, and 
 his bloodshot eyes wildly rolling. 
 
 Bernard stooped to put down the child, 
 - which impeded him in pulling off his coat ; 
 as he did so, he heard a loud cry, and turn- 
 ing, he beheld Bianca, who thevv herself 
 weeping at the feet of the furious soldier. 
 ' " Take this gold, these jewels !" she ex- 
 claimed ; " this warm cloak is yours, but let 
 my brother live !" And, with the quickness 
 oi thought, she tore the rich chain from her 
 neck and the furs from her shoulders, leav- 
 ing her arms and delicate frame exposed 
 with slight covering to the rigor of that 
 horrible climate. The soldier gazed at her 
 for a moment with fixed and straining eyes, 
 then his arms slowly sank ; letting the mus- 
 ket fall to the ground, he pressed both hands 
 to his face, and broke out in loud weeping 
 and whimpering. By this time Louis 
 came up, and he and Bernard lifted up Bian- 
 ra, who was still kneeling on the frozen 
 ground, and extending her arms with the 
 proffered gifts. 
 
 " Wild beast that I am !" suddenly ex- 
 claimed the stranger ; " no, I cannot survive 
 this shame. Forgive me ; you knew me 
 once a better man, before suffering drove me 
 mad ! But no matter ; I know my duty !" 
 
 He stooped to pick up his musket. Ber- 
 nard kept his eyes fixed upon him, and rack- 
 ed his memory for the features, which, wild 
 and distorted though they now were, still 
 seemed familiar to him. 
 
 " Where have I known you "?" he asked, 
 as the man resumed his erect position. 
 
 " I don't wonder you've forgotten me," was 
 the gloomy reply ; " I have forgotten my- 
 self. Alive, I am no longer worthy of the 
 Order !" cried he wildly, tearing from his 
 rags the ribbon of the Legion of Honor and 
 throwing it upon the snow. "I will try to 
 earn it again, that you may lay it upon my 
 body. I am my own judge, and I show no 
 favor !" 
 
 " Setting the butt of his musket firmly on 
 the earth, he pressed his breast against the 
 muzzle and touched the trigger with his 
 foot. The piece went off, and its unfortu- 
 nate owner fell heavily to the ground. • 
 
 " Gracious God !" exclaimed Bianca, sink- 
 ing senseless into Louis' arms. 
 
 Bernard was at the side of the fallen man, 
 supporting his head. A last spark of life 
 still remained. "If you get to France," 
 gasped the suicide, "a word to my wife and 
 children — Sergeant Ferrand — of Laon" — and 
 the spirit departed. 
 
 As he closed bis eyes, Bernard remembered 
 •him. It was the same Sergeant Ferrand 
 whose humanity saved him and Louis from 
 perishing during their imprisoment at Smo- 
 lensko. Military honor was the condition 
 of the veteran's existence ; he thought him- 
 self degraded beyond redemption by the 
 murderous aggression to which misery, pain, 
 and despair nad driven him : a woman had 
 sufpassed him in courage, and that was 
 more than he could bear. A rigorous judge, 
 he had proftounced his own doom, and ex- 
 ecuted it with his own hand ! 
 
 Deeply moved, Bernard knelt beside the 
 body ; he gathered up the scrap of tarnished 
 ribbon which the departed soldier had prized 
 above all earthly goods, and laid it upon the 
 breast of the corpse. 
 
 " Who shall deprive you of it ?" he said. 
 " May it adorn you beyond the grave, amidst 
 the throng of the valiant who have preceded 
 
 I>5 
 
 you 
 
 And they continued their journey, for the 
 times admitted not of delay. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 
 
 The sun's cold disk began to redden, and 
 sink towards its snowy bed, when our fu- 
 gitives perceived Malodeczno, about an 
 hour's march before them. The hope of 
 reaching a shelter re-invigorated the ebbing 
 powers of body and mind. But as if fate 
 were tantalizing them with some faint 
 glimpse of hope only for the purpose of 
 bracing them against new and more formida- 
 ble evils, suddenly the heights appeared 
 covered with dark masses — the enemy having 
 pushed- on by other roads, presented himself 
 to dispute the possession of the anticipated 
 refuge. At first sight of the black columns 
 lining the heights, the unarmed multitude 
 crowded together like a flock of sheep, when 
 the wolf breaks in upon ihem. Ney called 
 loudly on those who bore arms to rally 
 around him. A few remnants yet existed 
 of a once well-trained army who had not 
 yet lost sight of their honor. The ranks 
 were formed ; the few cavalry yet serviceable 
 closed in, mixed up from every regiment; 
 the artillery — as much of it as had been 
 dragged along — took its position. 
 
 " Soldiers !" cried the marshal, " to-day 
 we must fight for a shelter to cover our 
 heads ! — for the wintry night is more murder- 
 ous than the weapons of the enemy. Ne- 
 cessity drives him also ; if you stand bravely, 
 you will destroy him. Think of your own 
 preservation, the glory of France, and your 
 Emperor !" , ., ; . 
 
NAPOLEON'S INTASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 ""Long Eve the Emperor !" was the cry 
 which resounded. ^ 
 
 " We have no horself ' cried Rasinski, to 
 his handful of followers ; " let us serve at 
 the guns, <for mfen are wanted there." 
 
 A hollow reverberation boomed from the 
 iheights^ the first balls were sent on their 
 deadly errand^ they struck the hard frozen 
 •ground, ricochetted, and in w41d and whizz- 
 ing parabolas flew over* the heads of^the 
 soldiers drawn up *for battle. 
 
 " You fire too high ; we. will make a bet- 
 ter shot," said Rasinski, stooping down on 
 the piece to' take aim. " Now, iire !" . 
 
 Jaromir -fired off the gun. 
 
 " Do you see what a hole that ball makes V'' 
 .Rasinski es: claimed, aa the black line on the 
 hill was broken, and the blue sky seen be- 
 yond. Had they only stood as many deep 
 as they are in line, this shot would have 
 cost them thirty heads. at kast!" 
 
 The battle now began. The enemy's ar- 
 tillery poured forth its thunders from three 
 sides at once, and the balls struck among 
 the crowds of harmless, unarmed fugitives, 
 who in blind haste were rushing on towards 
 
 the regular ranks of the brave fellows who 
 v?'ere risking thdr lives for the safety of 
 ■all. 
 
 " We must retreat slowly," said the mar- 
 ishal, " so that they cannot cut'us off from 
 the village." 
 
 The artillery gave one more salvo, by way 
 of a farewell response, and then took up 
 their position a few hundred paces farther 
 hack. The troops followed in close file. — 
 Thus, without fighting of much consequence, 
 they by degrees gained a position near the 
 •entrance to Malodeczno; But this short 
 manoeuvre had so severely taxed the 
 strength of the artillery-horses, that every 
 moment they were falling down over one 
 another, and at last could not be made to 
 rise. All hands were put to, so as to bring 
 the field-pieces up on the rising ground, from 
 which, the access to the village could be 
 defended. 
 
 " We can no longer save oar gnns, com- 
 rades!" cried the marshal, as "he galloped 
 along the line, ^' so we will at least sell them 
 (ieai'ly !" 
 
 The Rusaans had slowly followed, keep- 
 ing up their firing all the way ; they now 
 seemed to ooncenlaate their strength, pre- 
 paratory to making a general onset. But 
 as soon as they showed theihselves in full 
 column, the French artillery saluted them 
 with a discharge which scattered death 
 among them by hundFeds, The ground 
 shook, the air cracked and seemed on fire ; 
 smoke and darkness drew an impenetrable 
 veil over the troops. The enemy speedily 
 
 filled up the gaps made in his lines, and 
 pressed resolutely onward, sustaining the 
 attack by his artillery. A second discharge 
 again checked his force ; but still new masses 
 were coming up behind ; he had substitutes 
 for his dead and fallen, for he fought with 
 thousands against hundreds, and seemed de- 
 termined to obtain possession of the village, 
 cost what it would. 
 
 Rasinski, Boleslaus, Jaromit, Bernard and 
 Louis served a gun together. 
 
 They had procured a place of safety for 
 Bianca, where she could remain in their 
 proximity, as well secured as circumstances 
 permitted. Directly behind the spot on 
 which the artilleiy had taken up their 
 portion, and in front of Malodeczno, the 
 hill descended about a man's height almost 
 perpendicularly, thus forming a natural 
 breast- work. Here Bianca tarried with the 
 child, while the battle was raging above. 
 The ammunition-wagons were also drawn 
 up in this place, from which the batteries of 
 the hill were supplied with the implements 
 trf death. 
 
 Though Bianca had nothing to fear on her 
 
 the village of Malodeczno — as well as into ,own account, yet her heart beat in anxious 
 
 tumult, from knov/ing that but a few steps 
 from her those she loved best on earth were 
 exposed to all the horrors ti£ death. How- 
 ever solemnly she had promised Bernard 
 not to leave her safe retreat, she was un- 
 able to restrain her anxiety, as the thunder 
 of the cannon increased to a hurricane. She 
 must creep up the hill, to ascertain that her 
 friends were yet spared from the cruel fate 
 which rolled its iron stream of death over 
 the fields in roaring billows. But her ut- 
 most scrutiny was fruitless, for the smoke 
 lay in thick cloads over the batteries, and 
 nothing could be distinguished, but black, 
 unrecognisable figures moving about like 
 sha<lows. 
 
 The noise of the conflict at length some- 
 what lessened, and suddenly it ceased al- 
 together, Bianca rose eagerly : she must 
 now try to join her friends. It was by this 
 time decided whether a fatal blow had over- 
 taken them or not. Quickly, with the child 
 in her arms, she climbed up the acclivity. 
 Out from the smoke and obscurity, a voice 
 A^-as then heard : "Sister! where art thou ■?" 
 It was Bernard. Elated with joy, she ex- 
 claimed : '• Hete ! here ! You are alive, 
 bo'th, all !" and hastened towards her brother, 
 who ran down to meet her. He flew to- 
 wards her ; she sank^n his bosom ; her joy 
 was immeasurable. But he gently disen- 
 gaged himself from her embrace. 
 
 " Do not rejoice too soon," he said with 
 pain — " one more sacrifice ! Boleslaus " 
 
 "God 
 shrieked, 
 
 of mercy and 
 turning pale, " is He gone 
 
 grace 
 1 he 
 
 !" Bianca 
 
293 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE"; OR 
 
 " We fear so ; our friends are bringing 
 him hither," answered her brother, pointing 
 to some men slowly approaching. 
 
 AVith faltering steps he with his- sister 
 went ta meet the comers, who carried the 
 pale youth in their arm«. A cannon-ball 
 had shattered his thigh. 
 
 " Lay me- down, I beg of youf" he said 
 faintly. 
 
 "Do as he wishes," Rasinski said m a 
 low voice, shaking his- head,, as if to- inti- 
 mate that no care could save him. 
 
 They laid the woundeii man carefully on 
 the ground. Rasinski kneeled down by his 
 head, and tcxDk him half-sitting gently into 
 his arms. Jaromir seized the right hand of 
 his expiring friend. Louis, too powerfully 
 allectftd,. turned away. 
 
 "You are all near me," the dying Pole 
 said,, with a friendly smile on hi« lips. " I 
 die gloriously," he continued in a few nx)- 
 ments, forcing himself more erect ; " you 
 must not grieve for me. tdie au honorable 
 death, in, the ai-ms of- my friends !" Anoble 
 pride suffused his pallid cheeks w^ith a» 
 tiiig8,-and his courageous spirit shone forth 
 once more from his eyes. " I die contented, 
 he added more plaintively. "Jaromir,. my 
 friend,, my brother !" 
 
 Saying thifs, he pressed the hand of his 
 kneeling comrade with fervor, for his thoughts 
 reverted, to the imagp of the loved object far 
 away, wJiich silently, he had carried about with 
 him in his heart. He thea leaned his head 
 HpoH Rasinski's fatherly breast, and expired. 
 "^The Lord receive his soul ll^ Rasinski ut- 
 tered; with grave composure, laying- his hands 
 as if in benediction on the head of the de- 
 ceased. He then turned to the friends and 
 said : " We are happy iiv not being, obliged 
 to leave these remains in the wilderness. 
 Night is coming, on. We must ead6avor to 
 reach the shelter which has been so dearly 
 purchased ;. and there he shall be buried !" 
 
 He pointed with his finger towards Malo- 
 deczno, on which the troops were now falling 
 back, since the enemy, foiled by their indomi- 
 table courage, had finally relinquished- their 
 undertaking. 
 
 The cold increased more and more' as the 
 sun went down. The arms of the bearers, 
 with their sad burthen, stiffened even in pass- 
 ing this short distance. Nt)thing ehort of 
 the most hallowed and devoted friendship 
 could have imposed upon tiiem this last tri- 
 bute of aflfection ; had it been for any one 
 else, it wowld have remained unperformed. 
 But these faithful fnends eHcited fresh 
 strength from their affection for the dead. 
 
 With much effort they reached a small 
 house, which stood aside from the main road, 
 along which the masses, in tumultuous 
 crowds, were pouring^ into the village. They 
 
 unexpectedly fbund here an inhabited dwelT- 
 ing. An old man opened the door for the- 
 strangers, and apprJTched'them with suppli- 
 cating gestures. Rasinski called out to him : 
 ." Is there room in thy cottage ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainlys" the old man replied, re- 
 joiced to•hea^hi8 own language spoken ; "I 
 shall be glad tO' ta>ke yeu into my hovse. All 
 I beg of' you is not to drive me out oi it 
 myself on this- brfter winter's night. Grant 
 me a place wheteouito lay my grey head !" 
 
 " Dost- tboO'thinh that we are monsters ?"" 
 said Rasinslii. " Thou hast nothing' to fear." 
 
 " Then the Lord reward yos^" eried the- 
 old man : " but yesterday they drove out my 
 son and m^y little grand-children,, who perish- 
 ed before my dosed door ! Alas t I have' 
 their dead bodies- in my cottage !" 
 
 " Great God !" cried BLanoa, seized with »< 
 thrill of terror, " is it possible !" 
 
 " We also bring tlieq a dead body,*' said Ra- 
 sinski ; " his sacred remains are as dear to us- 
 as our ov\Ti lives. Wilt thou. swear t© us by 
 our Holy Mother Mary, to-give "him a Chris- 
 tian and decent burial J I promise to protect 
 thee and tliine house as long as we >sliall 
 abide with, thee." 
 
 " I swear it hy tlie ever blessed Mother of 
 God, that he- shall rest by the side of ray own. 
 children!" said the old man, at the same time 
 lifting up his hands towards, heaven to wit- 
 ness his oath. 
 
 They then entered the cottago. . ' 
 
 " Bring your dead in here, gentlemen," said: 
 the old man, going before them with a light,, 
 and opening, a side-door, which gave admit- 
 tance to a small room. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" Bianca exclaimed, as she- 
 cast a look into the room. Oh a pallet of 
 straw, covered with a white sheet, lay a dead, 
 man enveloped in a shroud; he was in the 
 prime of life, hut looked to have heennsickly.. 
 Beside him lay two little girls, at the most 
 seven or eight years of age. 
 
 Louis and Rasinski carried in the corpse 
 of Boleslaus, and laid it dovi'n reverently by 
 the side of the sleeping little ones. 
 
 " Dd you see, dear sirs," said the old man, 
 " yesterday, no longer than 3 csterday, the 
 children were as fresh na tv.'o rosebuds — the- 
 iiither had' bc.ni ailing ever Mncc lh,st spring — 
 when his wife — no, pard6rt me for not speak- 
 ing about that ! — no, not tliat ! Yesterday 
 siTch a number of soldiers crowded in and 
 took posbe.=?sion of my house, that they had 
 no ro9m^ — tliey drove us outside. It is true- 
 they were in a bad |jlight enough, but still 
 they might have allowed ua seme nook to- 
 crouch in; We passed the night under the 
 hare heavens ; my son, alifeady weakened by 
 disease, could not endure the hitter cold ; I. 
 could not keep the little ones from falling- - 
 asleep*— they expired in my arms. I alone 
 
 W 
 
TTAPOLEON'S TtiVASiaS OF RUSSIA. 
 
 293 
 
 remunecl alive. 1 would gladly have laid 
 ^ovra and died too— but I have yet another 
 daughter — it is for her sake that I still live. 
 But she is at present in Wilna." 
 
 While the old man was pouring forth the 
 sorrows of Jiis heart, the men had adjusted 
 Boleslaus' garments and hair, and covered 
 his remains with a large cloak, so as to 
 keep the shattered limbs and clotted blood 
 •out of sight. When this had been done, he 
 looked like a „person slumbering — so calm^ 
 .-earnest, and noble were his features, 
 
 " Let him rest here," said Raslnski, sorrow- 
 fully; "his image is treasured Within our 
 Viearts in lively, dignified, and cheerful char- 
 4icters. Let us preser\'e it so-; it is not best 
 -to tarry too long." 
 
 Pursuant to this wish, all stepped back 
 into the other apartment, where they were 
 welcomed by a warm, life-restoring atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, and 
 -diifused warmth though all the imaer space. 
 The mariner who, after bufieting the storms 
 •of the vasty deep, enters the secure haven, is 
 not so deeply penetrated with feelings Of 
 safety and of thankfulness as were these 
 wayfarers, when this prospect of hospitality 
 and repose sent a glow of fresh life through 
 their veins. 
 
 A sudden knocking was heard at the door. 
 
 " Let' me open the door," said Rasiiiski ; 
 •" as long as there is room, we caruiot be so 
 inhuman as to leav^e our con^^ades a prey to 
 this night 1" 
 
 He went to the door, which was eecurely 
 feirricaded, and askeJ in French : 
 
 " Who is thei;fi without? — What do jou 
 want ?" 
 
 Bernard et the same time came hastily out 
 and said : 
 
 " They are some of our own men — -l have 
 lecogniaed them." 
 
 Quickly the door wJis opened. Pive half- 
 frozen soldiers of B,asinski's regiment lay 
 around it. In the confusion of the en- 
 gagement they had lost their leader, and were 
 now seeking for a shelter in the village. But 
 every house was filled to overflowing. The 
 place, in fact, had already been taken in pos- 
 session by Victor's division, which on ano- 
 ther account may be called a fortunate cir- 
 cumstance — as his troops had repulsed the 
 Russians, who were pressing on-from a west- 
 erly direction. Going from house to house, 
 and every where <lenied admittance, the poor 
 fellows, almost perishing froga the cold, 
 finally found an officer who gave them some 
 <5lue where to find Rasinski, whom he had 
 seen crossing the field with Jaromir and the. 
 rest, as they carried the body of Boleslaus. 
 PoUowing this direction, t'h^y had succeeded 
 in finding the hut, which, as it oflea happens, 
 
 when everybody follows the Stream, Tiafl re- 
 mained entirely unnoticed. 
 
 Joy beamed from the eyes of the distressed 
 men as they entered the warm room, and still 
 more on seeing their commander and officers. 
 The latter were equally happy to greet some 
 of those whom they had believed I«st. 
 
 A substafltial repast soon refreshed the 
 weary wanderers. The extreme tension of 
 the physical pow^ers now preponderated over 
 even the deepest mental agony. Soon one 
 and all laid themsiSlves down, xaA were sunk 
 in the profoundest elumber. 
 
 An outrageous rattling at the door, accom- 
 panied by savage yells, started Rasinski out 
 of his -sleep. He sprang quickly from his 
 , couch, and listened sharply, before answering 
 the calls, in order to ascertain whetlier they 
 were friends or foes. He soon found that 
 they were itussians. He looked hastily at 
 his watch ; it was past six o'clock. It must, 
 then, yet be quite dark out of doors. His 
 companions slept soundly all around; the 
 old man alone began to wake up, and de- 
 manded: 
 • "Who's there T; 
 
 "Rasinski sprang to his side, shook him un- 
 til he was fully aroused, and whispered to 
 him:: 
 
 " Thou art a lost man, if thou betrayest us 
 by a; single word ; let me manage the busi- 
 ness !" 
 
 The frightened old man signified by ges- 
 tures that he would obey. 
 
 Rasinski then left the room, stepped to the 
 outer door, and called, in the Russian lan- 
 guage : 
 
 " Who's there ?" 
 
 " Russians, Friend !" was the answer. " We 
 are perishing. We have been marching all 
 night. Open the door, quick ; there are only 
 a few of us." 
 
 " It is God's truth, gsntleracn," answered 
 Rasinski, " if I open to you, you are inevita- 
 bly lost ; the house is packed full of French- 
 men." 
 
 " The devil it is!" some one exclaimed 
 outside. " How many are there of them T 
 '•Over fifty, sir, and anumber of officers !" 
 " Then hold tby tongue, on thy life ! In 
 half-an-hour ray men must fee htre. I will 
 liasten to meet "them. Every man wlnchTthis 
 house contains must fall into our hands. In 
 half-an-hour we shall be back. Detain your 
 guests at least that time !" 
 
 WitK these words the horsemen departed. 
 Rasinski listened carefully, until the sound 
 of the hoofs was lost in the distance. He 
 then shook his companions, and roused them 
 out of their sleep. 
 
 "What is the matter!" shouted Bernard, 
 starting up. 
 "The enemy is at our heels!" answered 
 
394 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 Rasinski. "We must away instantly into 
 the village, and wake every one not already 
 stirring. In half-an-hour the Cossacks will 
 be upon us !" 
 
 These words operated like magic upon the 
 drowsy group. Before tluree minutes had 
 elapsed, all were ready to resume their wan- 
 derings. The landlord was obliged to pro- 
 duce all that he had of victuals and spirits, 
 which was distributed and taken along. 
 
 On arriving at the first cottages of the vil- 
 lage, they found the doors o^ifen, and the 
 houses empty. The troops had already de- 
 camped. 
 
 " It seems we are the only ones that have 
 staid behind, and the enemy is close upon our 
 heels," said Rasinski to Bernard. " We must 
 quicken our steps, so as to reach the woods 
 yonder; there we will find sufficient shelter, 
 even when day breaks." 
 
 The previous night's quiet rest had so in- 
 vigorated the strength of the wcanderers that 
 they found themselves adequate to undergo 
 fresh fatigues. Tiie insufi'e ruble cold, how- 
 ever, seized upon those whose garments were 
 not sufficiently thick with an unremitting 
 power, especially when on the other side af 
 the village they ascended an acclivity in the 
 open field. They soon came upon the track 
 of the army ; for the foot often struck against 
 dead bodies, which, frozen into stone, lay in 
 tlie middle of the rwid. 
 
 Rasinski, who was well acquainted with 
 tlie surrounding country, diverged from the 
 main road, so as to reacli Smorgoni by a 
 nearer and safer piith. At the same time, 
 the forest screened tliem from the sight of 
 tlie punsning enemy. The cold urged them 
 to tlie utmost speed, so tlrnt when the dark- 
 red disc of the sun rose above the horizon, 
 darting its earliest beams through the green 
 firs, they liad left the night's resting-place a 
 eonsiderable distance beliind them. 
 
 Bianea endured the toil and hardship with 
 heroic fortitude; not a sound of complaint, 
 not a sigh escaped her, thougli her delicate 
 frame, it v/ould seem, must succumb. Even 
 her looks did not betray anxiety or pain, and 
 being constrained to refrain from speaking, 
 she often turned her friendly glances on Ber- 
 nard and Louis, as if she would, say : " Never 
 mind me ; all will yet be well !" 
 
 Late at night tlie wanderers anived in 
 Smorgoni. The town was full of soldiers, 
 but by a happy coincidence Rasinski found 
 Marshal Ney, who procured a shelter for 
 him and his followers, and immiidiately after 
 sent for him personally. 
 
 In the space of an hour he returned. 
 
 Without uttering a word, he sat down, 
 and leaned his head in his hand. Every one 
 was silent ; no one ventured to ask him the 
 eause^ 
 
 Thus passed another night, until the dawn 
 awakened them to new dangers and troubles. 
 When they were ready to depart, Rasinski 
 stepped in among bis friends, and said : 
 
 " Now I can tell you what it was that al- 
 most crushed me to the earth yesterday. 
 The Emperor has abandoned ihe army .'" 
 
 All looked, upon him, petrified with as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " And he is in the right," continued Rasin- 
 ski. " Yesterday I was as much shocked as- 
 you^are now, because I know that nothing but 
 an unshaken confidence in his mighty genius 
 kept body and soul together in the existing 
 fragments of the army. But it must needs 
 be. We can save nothing but our own lives. 
 The Emperor has greater problems to solve. 
 Paris is now the stage of action for him. 
 Here everything is lost ; he was compelled to» 
 make haste, hi order to save all there. We 
 are left to shift, for ourselves, and will be- 
 competent to do so." 
 
 They left their quarters, and resumed their 
 march. The same tediousness, the same 
 scenes and struggles were repeated as yes- 
 terday. The sun went down behind grey 
 and heavy clouds ; singly, slowly, and feebly 
 a host of pale, shadwWy figures, plodded* 
 through the snow. They seemed to be the 
 inhabitants of another world, which the friend- 
 ly smile of that luminary never greeted. 
 Misery dwelt in their sunken and bloodshot 
 eyes; the griping-nionster, hunger, grinned 
 from their hollow cheeks and distorted lips ; 
 their teeth shook and chattered from the pierc- 
 ing cold, and their vague and wandering look 
 betrayed the hoiTors of incipient insanity. 
 In this plight these frightful objects fell be- 
 numbed and unconscious one over the other, 
 and where a rational being was yet found, 
 among them, he speedily supped full of hor- 
 rors,, until they blunted every nerve of his 
 system. 
 
 Bianea had drawn her veil, and thus shut 
 out the heart-rending picture from her sight. 
 Bernard and Louis proceeded by her side,, 
 carrying the child by turns on their backs, 
 wrapped up in a large comforter — for they 
 were unable longer to support it in their 
 stiffened arms. The little innocent creature 
 alone smiled amidst these scenes of desola- 
 tion. The cold rendered it so drowsy and 
 feeble, that it mostly slept all the way, but 
 without danger of freezing, as Bianea — with 
 motherly case, enveloped it with tiiick, warm 
 coverings. 
 
 So long as the daylight attended them 
 their hopes were kept buoyant. But as soon 
 as night spread its pall over the frozen earth, 
 the last flickering spark of courage fled from 
 the breagt, and even the stoutest among them 
 was bowed dow^i by despondency. 
 
 The sun had disappeared, and the twilight 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 Bet in ; the road descended into the unex- 
 plored dells and hollows of a dense and 
 gloomy forest ; no hope existed of finding a 
 sheltering roof. The huge fir-trees rose like 
 grim giants along the path, overspanning it 
 wit|^ their long, hlackened arms. ' 
 
 Large bodies of men came to a halt, and 
 by order of their commanders set about 
 estabhshing themselves in bivouac. 
 
 Bernard gave utterance to a similar wish ; 
 but Rasinski urged his friends lo hold on 
 their way a while longer. Accustomed to 
 confide in their leader, all followed his ad- 
 vice. Suddenly Rasinski stopped. 
 
 " Now, my friends," he said, '.' hare let 
 us try to build a fire, and let us see if we 
 cannot weather out this terrible night." 
 
 He ordered the people quickly to take pos- 
 session of this spot, and was the first one to 
 put hand to the work. 
 
 Bernard, who had gone armed ever since 
 the attack made upon him by Sergeant Fer- 
 rand, drew his sword, and hastened to help 
 felling some brush. Louis busied himself 
 in removing the snow, so as to obtain a free 
 space on which to encamp. Rasinski, as- 
 sisted by Jaromir, who did everything unso- 
 licited and in silence, tore the twigs and 
 branches from the trees. The united efforts 
 of these active hands in a few minutes ac- 
 complished the'r 'object. A bright flame 
 shot up ; the ground was strewed with fresh 
 pine branches to form a couch, which was 
 arranged close under a bank of earth, so as 
 to shield them from the wind ; they now 
 turned their attention to prepare their care- 
 fully-hoarded provisions for a meal. 
 
 The blazing fire soon attracted straggling 
 soldiers of different regiments ; they all laid 
 down in a compact half-circle, as near the 
 fire as the heat permitted. It appeared as if 
 they could never have enough of this life- 
 inspiring warmth of which they had so long 
 been deprived. But the accession became 
 continually greater. Room was already 
 wanting, and finally, if another companion 
 was to be received, it had to be effected by 
 some one already established exchanging 
 his place for a less eligible one. But this 
 was not the time or the place, when any one 
 felt disposed with ready sympathy lo sacri- 
 fice a part of his own ease and comfort. Ne- 
 cessity had become too imperious ; the line 
 between life and death was too imminent. 
 
 Rasinski watched th* first hour, while his 
 friends slept. Jaromir's turn came next. 
 The young man arose, seized a long stick of 
 fir and stirred the fire. Everything around 
 was as still as the grave, not a foot stirred, 
 not a sound was heard. Even Rasinski 
 slept the moment he laid down. 
 
 Suddenly a loud laugh burst upon his ear, 
 
 quite near. He cowered down on hearing 
 this unusual sound. From out of the sur- 
 rounding darkness a grim figure stalked 
 into the circle of fire-light. It was a gigan- 
 tic cuirassier, wrapped in a tattered cloak, a 
 bloody cloth bound round his head beneath 
 his helmet. In his hand he carried a young 
 fir-tree, as a staff to support his steps. 
 
 " Good evening," he said, in a hollow 
 voice to Jaromir. " Good evening, co;nrade. 
 You seem merry here !" 
 
 " What seek you ?" demanded Jaromir, 
 amazed at this hideous apparition. " There 
 is no place for you here. Begone !" 
 
 The cuirassier stared at him with his hol- 
 low eyes, twisted his mouth into a frightful 
 grin, and gnashed his teeth like some infu- 
 riated beast. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha !" he laughed, or rather yelled ; . 
 " Sleep you then so sound, ye idlers !" And 
 as he spoke he stamped his foot on a frozen 
 corpse upon which he stood. "Awake, 
 awake !" he cried, " and come with me !" 
 
 For a moment he stood as if listening to 
 some distant sound, then tottered painfully » 
 forward to the fire. 
 
 " Back !" cried Jaromir, " Back, or I 
 shoot you on the spot !" And he drew a 
 pistol ; but his hand, trembling with fever, 
 had not strength to level it. 
 
 The lunatic stared at him with stupid in- 
 difference — his sunken features varying in 
 their expression from a ghastly smile to the 
 deepest misery. Jaromir gazed at him in 
 silent horror. The huge figure stretched its 
 lean arms out from under the cloak, and 
 made strange. and unintelligible gestures. 
 
 " Ho! I am frozen!" howled the human 
 spectre at last, and shook himself. Then he 
 clutched at the flames with his fingers, like 
 an infant, and staggered nearer and nearer 
 till he stood close to the circle of sleepers, 
 far within which he extended his arms. For 
 the first time he now seemed to feel the 
 warmth of the fire. A low, whining noise 
 escaped him ; then he suddenly exclaimed, in 
 tones between laughing and crying, " To 
 bed ! to my warm bed !" tos^d his fir-tree 
 staff far from him, stumbled forwards over 
 the sleeping soldiers, and threw himself, in 
 his raging madness, into the midst of the 
 glowing pile. 
 
 "Help! help!" cried Jaromir — his hair 
 erect with horror, and seizing Rasinski, he 
 shook him with all his remaining strength. 
 
 " What is it ?" cried Rasinski, raising 
 himself 
 
 " There, tliere !" stammered his friend, 
 pointing to the flames, in which the unhappy 
 cuirassier lay writhing and bellowing with 
 agony. Rather conjecturing than compre- 
 hending what had occurred, Rasinski started 
 
 ^* 
 
S96 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 up to rescue the sufferer. But it was too 
 late. The heat had already stifled him ; he 
 lay motionless, the flame licking greedily 
 round his limbs, and a thick nauseous smoke 
 ascending in clouds from his funeral fagots. 
 Rasinski stepped shudderingly backward, 
 and turned away his face to conceal his 
 emotion ; then he observed that all around 
 liim lay buried in a deathlike sleep. Not 
 one had been aroused by the terrible catas- 
 trophe that had occurred in the midst of so 
 many living men. 
 
 There was one stirring, however ; it was 
 Bianca. In her sleep the piercing outcries 
 of tlie consuming wretch had reached ber 
 ear. Apprehending sometliing fearful, she 
 made an effort to free herself from the heavy 
 •fetters of sleep, and raised herself in a sit- 
 *ting posture, looking anxiously around. Her 
 eye fell upon Jaromir, who stood pale, trem- 
 bling and bewildered, looking into the fire. 
 Her sympathising heart yearned in pity to- 
 wards the unhappy youth, for she believed 
 that alienation of mind, with the symptoms 
 of which he had the last few days been visit- 
 ed, had now obtained full sway ovdr him. 
 
 " Dear Jaromir !" she said, addressing him 
 in accents of solicitude. 
 
 He looked about him with a strange ex- 
 pression, and appeared as if awakening from 
 a dream. " Ah !" he sighed, while a singu- 
 lar melancholy played on his lips. 
 
 " It is nothing ! Bianca," said Rasinski, 
 hastily ; for he wished to prevent her know- 
 ing anything of what had occurred. " Only 
 lie down and go to sleep ; we will take good 
 care to watch over thee !" * 
 
 " Ah, Lodoiska !" hast thou at last for- 
 given me !" suddenly murmured Jaromir, 
 his voice changing into a violent fit of weep- 
 ing, pressing his head on Bianca's hand, 
 and deluging it with a flood of tears. 
 
 " Holy Father, what is that !" she ex- 
 claimed, trembling, but not daring to with- 
 draw her hand. 
 
 " Recollect thyself, Jaromir!" said Rasin- 
 ski seriously, trying to raise him up. " Re- 
 member where thou art !" 
 
 "Ah, Rasinski, she forgives me!" cried 
 the young man, and sank on the breast of 
 his friend ; " she is a saint, she is angry no 
 longer ! She has forgiven me, for the sake 
 of the dying Boleslaus ! Is it not so ? Oh, 
 do not revoke it ! Come once more to my 
 bosom !" 
 
 He folded his hands, looking at Bianca 
 beseechingly ; a large tear rolled down his 
 pale cheek, but still a faint, rosy tinge, over- 
 spread his countenance. 
 
 " I am not Lodoiska," answered Bianca, 
 vainly endeavoring to disengage her hand. 
 
 " Thou art not !" he ejaculated, with a 
 bewildered look. " Thou wilt not be — thou 
 
 hatest me — thou despisest mc ! Alas, now 
 everything is lost !" 
 
 In despair he threw himself again on Ra- 
 sinski's breast, and attempted to twine his 
 arms around his neck, but his strength fail- 
 ed him, and he fell back insertsible. 
 
 " This, too, must be endured !" murmured 
 Rasinski, stooping over the pale and pros- 
 trate man. 
 
 Bianca, in her excitement, wanted to call 
 Bernard and Louis, but Rasinski prevented 
 her, saying : 
 
 " What help can they offer ?— Why should 
 we lay this burden upon others unneces- 
 sarily ?-^It will perhaps soon be over!" 
 - Rasinski rubbed the youth's temples with 
 snow, who at last opened his eyes, and 
 looked vaguely and bewildered around. 
 
 " Why do you take me out of the grave ?" 
 he asked in a hollow voice ; " it was so quiet 
 and cool there below ! Ah ! I see, the sun 
 rises gloriously, and shines into the tomb ! 
 How beautiful she is !" 
 
 He gazed fixedly into the fire. All at 
 once he tore himself with resistless strength 
 from Rasinski's arms, sprang up, and cried : 
 
 " That is the burning pit of hell !— the black 
 spirits push me on ! — quick !— quick !" — and 
 with a frightful effort he tried to spring for- 
 ward into the flames. Rasinski grasped 
 him, and held him with the energy of despair 
 — Bianca threw herself at his feet and clung 
 to his knees. 
 
 " Help !— help ! Brother, Louis !" she 
 cried. 
 
 Waked out of his sound sleep by this loud 
 cry, Louis sprang up. 
 
 "What has happened?" he cried, as he 
 saw Jaromir struggling in the hands of Ra- 
 sinski and Bianca. Bernard also jumped up. 
 It was indeed high time, for Rasinski, with 
 all his strength, was unable any longer to 
 restrain the hapless man from rushing into 
 the flames. 
 
 " Help, friends !" he cried, « help me to 
 overcome him, or he perishes !" 
 
 Bernard and Louis hastened to Rasinski's 
 assistance. On seeing the distorted features 
 of Jaromir, they suspected what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 '• Oh ! I have long feared it would come to 
 this !" sighed Bernard from the bottom of his 
 soul ; " he had too much pressing on his mind ; 
 he could not sustain it." 
 
 To this unnatural taxing of the faculties, 
 succeeded rapid reaction. The arms sank 
 powerless— the knees gave way under the 
 unhappy man. He burst into a flood of heart- 
 rending lamentations. These sounds finally 
 waked up the sleepers. They sat up, looked 
 first astonished, and then displeased at the 
 uproar ; an angry murmur arose, which in- 
 creased every minute. They began to point 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 297 
 
 at the unfortunate youth, and some vague ap- 
 prehension that he would bring misfortune 
 upon them took possession of their minds. 
 
 " Who is the madman, and what ails him ?" 
 savagely exchiimed a bearded grenadier. 
 " He robs us of our precious sleep ! Thrust 
 him from the fire — let him freeze if he can- 
 not be still !" 
 
 " Aye, thrust him out !" was the universal 
 cry; and several sprang to accomplish the bar- 
 barous deed. Bianca uttered a cry of terror ; 
 Louis caught her in his right arm, and with 
 the left kept off the assailants. Rasinski, who 
 at once saw the greatness of the peril, left 
 Jaromir in Bernard's care, and lea'ped with 
 flashing eyes into the midst of the circle. 
 Ever prompt and decided, he snatched a half- 
 consumed branch fromtlje fire, waved it above 
 his head, and shouted with that lion's voice 
 60 often heard above the thunder of the battle : 
 
 " Back, knaves ! The first step forward 
 costs one of you his hfe !" 
 
 The angry soldiers hesitated and hung 
 back, yielding to Rasinski's Tnoral ascen- 
 dancy as much as to his threat of punishment. 
 But then the grenadier drew his sabre, and 
 furiously exclaimed : — 
 
 " What, tlastards ! are ye all afraid of one 
 man 1 Forward ! Down wTith the Polish 
 dogs 1" 
 
 " Down thyself, inhuman ruffian !" thun- 
 dered Rasinski, and sprang to meet his foe. 
 Adroitly seizing the soldier by the wrist of 
 his uplifted arm, so that he could not use his 
 weapon, he struck him over the head with 
 the burning branch so violently, that the 
 charred wood shivered, and a cloud of sparks 
 flew out. But the blow, heavy as it was, 
 was deadened by the thick bearskin cap, and 
 served only to convert the angry determina- 
 tion of the grenadier into foaming fury. Of 
 herculean build, and at least half the head 
 taller than-his opponent, he let his sabre fall, 
 and grappled Rasinski, with the intention of 
 throwing him into the flames. The struggle 
 lasted but for a moment, before Rasinski tot- 
 tered and fell upon his knees. To all aj>- 
 pearance his doom was sealed ; the hero suc- 
 cumbed before the overpowering strength 3f 
 the brute, when Louis flew to his assistance, 
 dragged the soldier backwards, and fell with 
 him to the ground. Rasinski picked up the 
 sabre, with his left hand dashed the bearskin 
 from the head of the fallen grenadier, and 
 with the light dealt him a blow that clove his 
 skull in twain. Then, erecting his princely 
 form, he advanced, with the calm dignity that 
 characterised him, into the midst of the as- 
 tounding bystanders. 
 
 " Throw the corpse into the snow !" com- 
 manded he : " lie down again and sleep. It 
 matters no more than if I knocked a wolf 
 upon the head !" 
 
 As if he had no longer occasion for it, he 
 threw the sabre contemptuously from him. 
 None dared to murmur, but two soldiers 
 obediently raised the bloody corpse of the 
 fallen man, carried it a few paces, and threw 
 it upon the snow-covered ground. 
 
 Rasinski, still chafing and vexed like the 
 ocean after a tempest, walked back and forth 
 a few minutes without noticing even his 
 friends. He then suddenly became mild, and 
 said, turning his gaze on the delirious Jaromir: 
 
 " Let us take him between us, Bernard. 
 What can be done in this case, but to com- 
 mend him to the mercy of Heaven ? Sleep 
 may perhaps regulate his disordered brain." 
 
 He laid down a second time, took Jaromir 
 kindly into his arms, and pressed him close tn 
 his breast. , 
 
 Bernard and Louis kept watch together, 
 and divided between them the tending of the 
 fire. The night-wind rose sharp and piercing ; 
 it rulfled their cheeks with its icy touch, and 
 shook the towering fires, dislodging the snow 
 that weighed down the branches. 
 
 As they sat silently side by side, a low 
 voice near them was heard, as if singing. It 
 proceeded from Jaromir, who lay awake, his 
 eyes wide open, smiling strangely, and sing- 
 ing to himself half-aloud. 
 
 " He is dreaming of her!" said Louis ; " that 
 is the melody of the song which Lodoiska 
 sang for us that evening in Warsaw. I have 
 often heard him humming the same tune. 
 His soul is then far away I" 
 
 The two friends gazed upon the poor fel- 
 low with troubled looks. The deranged 
 youth kept singing low to himself, at the 
 same time looking up in indecriba ble an- 
 guish. In a few minutes the melody died 
 away on his lips, and he relapsed into his for- 
 mer state of insensibility. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIX. 
 
 Rasinski roused every one to prepare for 
 marching ; the thick mist of morning had 
 settled down and shrouded the forest in its 
 grey mantle. But it was not a humid floating 
 mist which stole its way among the bushes 
 and underwood, but a driving, sleety ice-dust, 
 which darkened the atmosphere. On inhal- 
 ing it into the lungs it struck like a pungent 
 poison. . 
 
 •' Get up, get up, sleepers !" cried Rasin- 
 ski ; " to-day you may reach the end of all 
 your hardships and toil !" 
 
 But only the smallest number heeded his 
 call. A few stirred — sat up and groaned — 
 and then tumbled back to breathe out the last 
 
.r' 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 vestige of life ; the greater part already lay 
 locked in the rigid embrace of death ; a par- 
 terre of dead bodies surrounded the expiring 
 fire. Jaromir sat upright. He looked like a 
 ghost, but he was yet living. Louis and 
 Bernard were aware that this day they were 
 to put forth their last energies. Bianca, 
 strangely enough, seemed to be the least af- 
 fecte'd by exhaustion ; as though the weaker 
 frame assimilated itself to the feminine spirit, 
 and in harmony with the latter, evinced more 
 fortitude under suffering than that of the 
 sterner sex. 
 
 With feelings lacerated by horror, they 
 were obliged to pick their way over the bodies 
 of the frozen ; the ground far and wide was 
 strewed with these objects. Jaromir seemed 
 insensible to everything ; he walked by the 
 side of /lasinski, and followed his every ges- 
 ture with mechanical obedience. 
 
 The dark and wide woods lay hushed in 
 silence ; for those who were encamped around 
 the waning watch-fires were either still fast 
 asleep, or already beyond its necessity. Th'ey 
 I passed by enormous fir-trees, from which de- 
 pended dark and ponderous branches. Here 
 were seen frozen figures in every species of 
 attitude, as if death had on a sudden arrested 
 the current of life, and transformed thera into 
 images of stone. Some still held in their 
 convulsive grasp the hatchet, with which 
 they had made fruitless attempts to fell the 
 gigantic timber. Others, equally unavailably, 
 had laid fire around their trunks, trying to 
 ignite them ; fhey were observed kneeling 
 down, the face projecting close to the gnarled 
 and knotted roots, and the yet half-kindled 
 pitch-pine in the hand. Arrayed in the wind- 
 ing-sheet of the icy mist surrounding thera, 
 these objects resembled the figures of a 
 camera optica seen through a magnifying 
 glass, uncouth, and lodging like huge petri- 
 fied spectres in the sepulchral stillness of 
 nature's death-chamber. 
 
 Rasinski accelerated his steps to escape 
 from the sickening sight. But the road in 
 its entire length was replete with these ob- 
 jects of horror, and the foot at every step 
 came in contact with some terrifying obstruc- 
 tion. At last, after an hour's march, the 
 forest was passed, and as the mist settled 
 down to the surface, a bouse was seen which, 
 perhaps, would offer them shelter and warmth. 
 With redoubled speed the wanderers hastened 
 towards it. But as they drew near and saw 
 the gaping windows despoiled of their frames, 
 and the traces of fire on the ground, they 
 were soon convinced it was no longer an 
 abiding-place for human beings. However, 
 Rasinski stepped up and opened the door of 
 the building, which looked like a barn or 
 stable. He started back with a shudder, for 
 he saw nothing within but dead bodies — a 
 
 ghastly throng, with the eyes staring opeq. 
 " Is there one human creature alive nere ?' 
 he called in a loud voice. Everything re- 
 mained silent ; the sound of his voice only 
 resounding hoarsely throughout. " Does any 
 one still live ?" he repeated more loudly, for 
 his heart resisted the dreadful idea that 
 through all this promiscuous throng there 
 should not survive one glimmering spark. 
 But so it was'; for when he drew his pistol and 
 fired over the heads of the prostrate sleepers, 
 nothing stirred, all remained still as the grave. 
 
 The road became more and more thronged 
 by stragglers flocking from the adjoining 
 woods, or the deserted villages in the vicinity. 
 Our friends soon found themselves again in 
 the midst of a dense crowd of those ghost- 
 like, and hollow-eyed wretches, who, urged 
 by the severity of the weather, had put on 
 everything as a covering they fell in with. 
 But amid all this accumulation of misery 
 nothing inflicted acuter pain on these hearts 
 so closely knit together by ties of blood and 
 fnendship, than the deplorable condition of 
 Jaromir, who, in complete alienation of mind, 
 walked on insensible to the privations which 
 all shared alike, but incessantly broke out in 
 paroxysms, now of the deepest sorrow, burst- 
 ing into loud weeping, now into maudlin 
 laugh and merriment, and then again into 
 ungovernable rage and desperation. In these 
 last he knew no one, and pushed Rasinski 
 away from him in blind fury ; the friends 
 were obliged to gather around him and keep 
 him by main strength from laying violent 
 hands on himself This they did repeatedly, 
 but even their united strength was not suffi- 
 cient to restrain him, and they looked with 
 horror for the moment, when a dread catas- 
 trophe would happen. 
 
 This was their last trial of the kind ! The 
 hour of deliverance had struck at last. A 
 cry of joyful surprise suddenly broke from the 
 foremost files of the troops, which momentarily 
 rose louder and louder. Everybody asked and 
 questioned about the cause, and the masses 
 hasfened forward with increasing eagerness. 
 Rasinski and his friends also reached the 
 angle of the road from whence the cry had first 
 been heard ; and there lay before them Wilna, 
 the long-wished for haven of rest — the first 
 inhabited town in their route. The friends 
 embraced each other — burning tears 'flowed 
 from their eyes, for the sanctuary was at 
 last before them, after so many sufferings and 
 sacrifices. 
 
 Jaromir gaaed with indifference on the 
 tears of thankfulness so cc^iously shed by 
 his friends. Only for a moment did a faint 
 dawning of reason arise. With a sigh he 
 let his head relapse into its oblique position ; 
 and his kindling eye was again fixed^ in the 
 wild stare of idiotcy. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 S9» 
 
 " Lead me on farther, Lodoiska," he said, 
 beseechingly, to Bianca. 
 
 The latter offered her arm, and they 
 walked on. ^ 
 
 But the goal, though so near, was yet dif- 
 ficult to attain. The road was already 
 crowded far and wide with a mob of unhappy 
 fugitives, roused from their stolid apathy by 
 the sight of the longed-for asylum. In blind 
 precipitation — the curse attendant on this re- 
 treat throughout — they rushed on towards the 
 town. Already a heaping and crowding be- 
 came observaWe, notwithstanding that the 
 open fields affi)rded room in plenty for dis- 
 seminating the masses. What would be pre- 
 sented, then, when the stream would become 
 obstructed, by reason of narrow streets and 
 avenues 2 Rasinski contemplated the result 
 with deepest anxiety. He apprehended a re- 
 petition of the horrors of the Berezina — hor- 
 rors enhanced by the mad infatuation trf his 
 own comrades. Now, as then, the entire 
 crowd pressed on in one and the same direc- 
 tion. Driven by a senseless animal instinct, 
 each followed his ju-edecessor without judg- 
 ment or reflection. 
 
 Rasinski looked around to discover some 
 by-path which they might turn aside into un- 
 perceived ; for he feared to draw too large a 
 number after him, if, with his littlfe party he 
 was suddenly to strike off into the fields. 
 They had already come up to a few houses 
 that lay scattered outside the town, and were 
 close by the suburbs. Here his plan might 
 be carried into execution. 
 
 " Keep yourselves close, my friends,'' he 
 said, " and follow me quickly when I turn 
 out of the road. Behind that fence we shall 
 be able to reach Another of the town gates, 
 where the crowd will not be so pressing." 
 
 Jaroqair, now calm, he took by the arm, 
 and let Bianca walk between Bernard and 
 Louis. The living stream began already to 
 stagnate, and they were pushed forward with 
 rude violence, rather than of their own ac- 
 cord. It was high time to adopt the proposed 
 plan. 
 
 " Now 1" cried Rasinski, turning to one 
 side from the road. Bernard and Louis, with 
 Bianca, followed. 
 
 M9ved by some dim conjiecture, numbers 
 pressed after. The deviating path passed 
 across a steep and slippery slope. Rasinski 
 shot across safely to the hollow beyond, but 
 Bianca slipped. Bernard and Louis both 
 supported her, but they were also too weak 
 and unsteady to keep firmly on their feet, es- 
 pecially as Bernard had the child in his arms ; 
 so they all fell down together. The crowd 
 passed by them on each side. It did not 
 trample them down, but it cut them off from 
 their guide. With difficulty they succeeded 
 in gathering themselves up. Bianca was 
 
 found to have spH^ined her foot. Bernard 
 looked about for Rasinski. He had disap- 
 peared, while a huge mob already covered 
 the field. 
 
 To contend against this current was out 
 of the question ; — to escape from it by ad- 
 vancing more rapidly seemed equally hope- 
 less. There remained, therefore, nothing for 
 the friends to do but suffer themselves to be 
 swept along by the turbulent billows. The 
 path turned and meandered around the angu- 
 lar zig-zag enclosures of several detached 
 farms. Suddenly it branched off in a variety 
 of directions, every lane being already 
 crowded with people. Which one had Rasin- 
 ski followed ? It was beyond conjecture to 
 know ; and even had it been possible to as- 
 certain, it would have availed nothing : for 
 neither was it here left optional which path 
 to take, but ^very one was obliged to go in 
 the direction in which the ever-increasing 
 throng bore him on. Bernard, acting upon 
 the same principle which stood him in such 
 good stead at the Berezina, made it his chief 
 object to elbow Us way out of the crowd, so 
 as to recover the chance of choosing his own 
 way. In this he succeeded before coming to 
 the first houses in the suburb, where the mul- 
 titude crowded into the narrow streets like 
 a flock of sheep pursued by the wolf. 
 
 Breathless and exhausted, they finally 
 gained the open field. The cold, which had 
 so long and ruthlessly persecuted them, now 
 became their friend and ally ; for the ditches, 
 water-courses, and swampy places, which 
 they otherwise could not have crossed in their 
 way to the town, were all converted into solid 
 ice. Their circuitous course prolonged the 
 distance by a good half-hour's walk — a se- 
 vere ordeal in their teeble condition ; but, fi- 
 nally, they came to the opposite suburb, 
 where they found themselves alone, as though 
 no army lay in the vicinity. The few mise- 
 rable dwellings, however, afforded them no 
 relief, for they had all been abandoned by the 
 inmates. But the open town-gate was only 
 a few hundred steps before them, and with 
 unspeakable joy they descried some welt- 
 dressed persons in the street. Trembling 
 with excitement, they entered the gate. Even 
 their great anxiety about Rasinski subsided 
 considerably as, in viewing the inhabited 
 houses, the people busily engaged in their va- 
 rious pursuits, they naturally concluded that 
 he also had found a comfortaWe shelter. Af- 
 ter a few hours' repose in a warm room, 
 they would, no doubt, soon be enabled to find 
 out their friend, and then their meeting would 
 be doubly a happy one. 
 
 The nearest roof was to them the one most 
 welcome. Pressing need exalted every hui 
 into a palace ; they therefore hastened with 
 faltering steps towards a small but friendly 
 
 *''---^-^'^» •• >.'. 
 
300 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 looking dwelKng, where they saw a young 
 woman standing at the door, staring like 
 others at the strange appearance of the three 
 pilgrims. 
 
 Bianca being the only one of the party 
 who spoke the language of the country, called 
 out to this girl in Russian : 
 
 " Can you let us have lodgings, my good 
 young woman ? We will reward you liber- 
 ally." • 
 
 The young woman suddenly stood as if 
 transfixed. She then exclaimed : 
 
 " In the name of all the saints, Countess 
 Feodorowna, what brings you here ?" — rushed 
 towards her, seized her haAds, and covered 
 them with kisses. " What under heaven 
 brings ji^u hither, and in this plight ? Most 
 merciful God ! do you know me no longer ?" 
 
 " Axinia, is it thee V cried Feodorowna, in 
 a faltering voice. " Axinia, thou art our 
 preserver I" 
 
 At this moment her strength and her 
 senses forsook her at once. She became giddy 
 and staggered, but Louis and Bernard re- 
 ceived her in their arms. Axinia seized the 
 child and hastened before them, crying out ; 
 
 " Follow me I — Come in, come in 
 
 I" 
 
 't ^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XC. 
 
 AxmiA assisted her beloved mistress to 
 bed without delay. She brought whatever 
 her little house affoWed to minister to her 
 wants. In a few minutes Bianca recovered, ^flfectionate 
 opened her eyes, and with perfect self-pos- 1 
 session looked around her. 
 
 Axinia entered and approached, with an 
 expression of the greatest happiness in her 
 features. Bianca now made inquiries touch- 
 ing her own fortunes, and what had kept her 
 still on the Russian soil, which she had been 
 determined to quit forever. With a slight 
 blush the young wife related that a prema- 
 ture confinement had overtaken her, and laid 
 her on a long and tedious bed of sickness. 
 This nearly consumed their little store of 
 tratelling-money ; and as, in the meantime, a 
 situation was offered to Paul, as superinten- 
 dent of an hospital, he accepted it so much 
 the more readily, as while the war continued 
 his prospects of earning his bread in Ger- 
 many were very doubtful. Such was their 
 position at the present time. 
 
 While the; friendly hostess was recounting 
 her little history, a strange noise and uproar 
 arose in the street. People flocked in clus- 
 ters ; others ran in hot haste up the streets to- 
 wards the centre of the town ; the windows 
 were thrown open in every house, the peo- 
 
 ple looking out fall of cariosity. Axinia did 
 the same. 
 
 " Holy Mother of God ! what can be the 
 matter ?" she cried out in great fright. " Ah 1 
 there comes Paul ; he will tell us what it is !" 
 
 She hastened out to meet her husband, 
 who, being informed by her what had taken 
 place in his domicile, entered the room bound- 
 ing with joy, 
 
 " Most gracious Countess ]" he exclaimed, 
 " shall I dare to believe my eyes ? And you 
 have come with that niultitade of unhappy 
 wretches, who, wild and howling, block up 
 the streets ?" 
 
 " We have come with the army," answered 
 Bianca ; " it is but too true !" 
 
 " With the army !" reiterated Paul in as- 
 tonishment. " This — the army ? Never — it 
 cannot be !" 
 
 It was now first discovered that the inha- 
 bitants of Wilna had as yet not had the least 
 intimation of the dreadful disasters through 
 which the power of the Conqueror had been 
 shattered, so concealed had the Emperor con- 
 trived to keep his misfortunes. Axinia and 
 her husband with terror and amazement now 
 for the first time received the intelligence, 
 and listened to the portrayal of the most in- 
 conceivable misery that ever visited the heads 
 of a doometi host. 
 
 Axinia turned pale and trembled when she 
 learned that her mistress had shared in all 
 these sufferings and privations. She threw 
 herself on her trembling knees before a small 
 Madonna, and, amid streaming tears, offered 
 up her thanks to the hallowed image for the 
 preservation of Feodorowna, Her care and 
 ~ assiduities were redoubled to- 
 
 wards her and her yet unknown comptinions. 
 Her grateful heart found such light in that 
 she was at least able to manifest ; how 
 gladly she cancelled the sacred obligations 
 which Bianca 's noble generosity had imposed 
 upon her. 
 
 The tumult in the streets waxed greater. ' 
 Single individuals of the unfortunate fugi- 
 tives were seen trying to find shelter and food 
 even in these distant back-streets.. The first 
 comers were received ; but when more ar- 
 rived, even whole squads, the inhabitants 
 closed their doors in alarm. 
 
 The repulsed ones, left to perish in theVery 
 face of relief, raised a terrible cry of despair 
 and rage. They shook the doors with all 
 their strength, and threatened to set fire to 
 the houses. 
 
 Paul was irresolute what was best to be 
 done. His humane disposition prompted him 
 to take the unhappy creatures into his house, 
 while prudence dictated a contrary step. 
 Bianca spoke with determination. 
 
 " Receive all," she said, " that your house 
 can hold. We have shared their wretched- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 901 
 
 oess^ and know that compassion is not to be 
 withheld." 
 
 Paul was about to go down, but it was no 
 longer necessary. Only a small number had 
 strayed as far as to this corner of the town ; 
 the rest were already on their way back, to 
 try their fortunes in the town itself. He 
 hastened back to his guests and imparted the 
 news. : 
 
 Bernard inquired : 
 
 " But, boW is it possible that now these 
 men come pouring into the town, that no 
 one takes care of them — no preparation is 
 made to receive them ? We should have 
 ' been here half-an-hour sooner, had we not 
 come a round-about way to this gate, in order 
 to get out of the crowd," 
 
 " That is the true cause of the mischief," 
 answered Paul. " The mob is so jammed in 
 the narrow suburb, that no one can move 
 backward or forward. The gate is blocked 
 up with wagons, horses, and men. Only here 
 and there is one able to force his way 
 through. But who could have supposed this 
 the army ? We thought they were a host of 
 marauders, who, in a retreat, always flock be- 
 fore the regular troops. Orders were conse- 
 quently sent to the n>a"gazine3 not to make 
 any distribution ; and we dare not take them 
 into any of the hospitals." 
 
 " Merciful God !" Louis exclaimed, " then 
 these poor outcasts will perish through the 
 blind and selfish scruples of their own 
 friends 1 Run, run, my brave friend^ back 
 into the town ; — tell them that it is the whole 
 army which comes to them in this pitiable 
 condition ; — urge upon them that one hour's 
 delay must cost thousands their lives !" 
 
 Paul hastened away. 
 
 The three friends, having themselves found 
 relief, now began to feel great anxiety about 
 Rasinski and Jaromir. They believed until 
 now that tliemselves were among the last 
 who had found a shelter ; but it now appeared 
 that they were indeed among the most fa- 
 vored. Bianca gave utterance to her fears, 
 but she moderated her expressions, fearing 
 that Louis and Bernard, impelled by their ge- 
 nerous sympathies, would, notwithstanding 
 iheir own exhaustion, renounce the nursing 
 care they so much needed, and sally forth in 
 attempting to find Rasinski. She was right 
 in her conjectures; for, as if pre-concerted 
 between them, both suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 " We must go seek him T" 
 
 They departed, promising to return in an 
 liour. 
 
 The great square presented a distressing 
 ypectacle. The hapless fugitives were gath- 
 ered around the magazines and the hospitals, 
 crowding the doors, which by strict orders 
 were kopt closed against them. Howling, 
 cursing, and beseeching were heard fearfully 
 
 mingling. The inhabitants hid theraselvea 
 in their houses, and bolted their doors. Fm", 
 truly, the strangers who had come among 
 them, blackened by smoke and mud, with the 
 hollow, agonised looks of hunger and terror, 
 resembled a host of frightful harpies, that 
 threatened to fall upon everything in the like-, 
 ness of food or drink, or betrayed any affinity 
 to an easy and comfortable state. Where- 
 ever a door opened to any of them, there was 
 speedily found reason to repent of it ; for there 
 was no withstanding others who poured in, 
 and, goaded by hunger, cared nothing for gra- 
 titude or forbearance. The blighting curse 
 which followed this army wheiever it trod 
 the earth, held its sway even here. Safety 
 was at hand, the terminus of misery was 
 reached — but fate, with relentless mockery, 
 lurked in this very spot with treacherous 
 malice. It dashed the cup of relief from the 
 wretched victim's quivering lip when on the 
 point of quaffing the restoring cordial, and left 
 him to languish and expire. 
 
 Louis and Bernard ramWed in vain throngh 
 this Bedlam, where no one cared a straw for 
 his neighbor, but each one for himself sought 
 in blind desperation to extort relief. 
 
 It was in vain that they shouted the names 
 of Jaromir and Rasiriski through the streets 
 — not a trace of them could they discover. 
 
 Thus were they to become the target of 
 Fortune's most venomous arrows, in losing 
 their noblest friend, who had been their shield 
 and preserver in a thousand dangers. At 
 last, giving up all hope, they turned 'their 
 steps back to their dwelling — their own 
 strength beginning to fail them. They had 
 to ''pick their way Uirough long lanes of 
 stiflfened corpses, lying before the houses, at 
 the doors of which they had fruitlessly 
 knocked. The severity of the weather was 
 still on the increase. 
 
 The friends drew near to Axinia'a hou^. 
 with hearts oppressed with grief and regi5. 
 Neither of them spoke ; neither imparted his 
 fears to the other, nor did either dare to ask 
 the other any question. They were already 
 quite near the hospitable threshoW, when 
 they observed a covered travelling sleigh 
 with post-horses, coming in at the town- 
 gate. Much surprised at a sight which had 
 not met their eyes for months, they looked at 
 it with fixed attention. 
 
 All on a sudden Bernard cried : 
 
 " ft is Mary !" 
 
 He seized Louis rudely by the arm, and 
 leaning forward, trembling with excitement, 
 pointed across to a female figure, who, with 
 veil thrown aside, looked out of the open 
 carriage- window. Louis had scarcely fixed 
 his eyes upon her before he recognised the 
 well-beloved lineaments, and with a cry of: 
 " Sister ! sister !" endeavored, with faltering 
 
 •"*■ t 
 
 :j:. 
 
309 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 steps, to hasten to her side. It was impossi- 
 ble — his strength deserted him. Bernard, 
 too, stood as if entranced, his arms thrown 
 around his friend, hardly knowing whether 
 he supported him or himaelf. 
 
 "Sister I — Mary!" they cried again, and 
 now first she heard them. She gave a loud 
 scream ; the carriage-door flew open ; and 
 before the horses could be stopped, she sprang 
 out, fell down on her knees, again rose to 
 her feet, and, breathless and bewiWered, threw 
 herself into the arms of her brother. 
 
 Speechless, the two held each other firmly 
 embraced, neither of them able to compre- 
 hend their true state, A mist gathered be- 
 fore Bernard's eyes — tears obscured his vis- 
 ion ; he turned and wept, agitated by the 
 , most poignant feelings. 
 
 Mary suddenly stepped before him. He 
 looked up ; glad tears filled her eyes ; her 
 countenance was radiant witli a purified sor- 
 row ; th-e lips whispered almost inaudibly, 
 while the agitation of her bosom nearly 
 choked her voice : 
 
 " Bernard, my dear friend !" she faltered. 
 
 He seized her profFored hand; — the mo- 
 ment was overpowering. 
 
 The countess, on Mary's leaving her so 
 suddenly, called for the carriage to stop, and, 
 with L<iidoiska, followed after her. 
 
 " Oh, ray friends !" said the countess, giv- 
 ing a hand to eiich in saluting tbera. " Tell 
 me quickly," she continued, " what do you 
 know about my brother — about Jaromir?" 
 
 " They entered the town with us," quickly 
 rejoined Bernard. " We unfortunately be- 
 came separated in the crowd. But come 
 with us, ladies ; we have found lodgings, and 
 there is room even for you. The town is 
 inundated with soldiers. You would find it 
 a difficult matter to obtain accommodation."" 
 ^ The countess freely assented to Bernard's 
 ^oposal ; yet she threw an anxious look on 
 the young men, whoso countenances bore no 
 expression of joy. The eyes of Lodoiska 
 dwelt with painful suspense ojn Bernard 
 while he spoke. A surmise of the truth 
 seemed to agitate her frame; for, on hearing 
 the name of Jaromir mentioned, she turned 
 as pale as tiie snow under her feet. 
 
 Bernard led the way towards the house.; 
 As they arrived, Axinia looked astonished, 
 and cast a glance at Bernard, as much as to 
 say — Where do these come from ? — where 
 shall 1 find room ? 
 
 " Is the Princess asleep V asked Bernard. 
 
 " She is so exh.austed that slie lies as if in 
 a trance," answered Axinia. " I cannot call 
 it sleep ; she constantlv starts, and calls out, 
 'Jaromir!' ' Rasinski !'"" 
 
 Bernard's lips quivered upon hearing a re- 
 ply that betrayed almost everything. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" cried the countess. 
 
 " I adjure you, do not conceal from me the 
 trath respecting my brother and Jaromir. 
 Our hearts have been long prepared for the 
 intelligence of their death — we shall knowhow 
 to bear what is inevitable! This suspense 
 of torturing apprehension lacerates my bosom. 
 How then can Lodoiska endure it ?" 
 
 It was fortunate that the latter was not 
 near enough to catch these few words. 
 
 Bernard answerbd in a whisper: "I can- 
 iK)t relieve you of this anxiety ; but still my 
 hopes preponderate over my fears." 
 
 Axinia ushered the new comers into a 
 chamber separate from that in which Bianca 
 reposed. 
 
 With what blended feelings of joy, of hap- 
 piness, and of terror and wonderment, did 
 these ladies now listen to a rapid sketdi of 
 the trials and dangers which the men had 
 gone through in this terrible campaign ! Both 
 hesitated to speak of Boleslaus ; but finally 
 Louis took upon himself to say ; 
 
 " One of our dearest friends has been torn 
 from our arms ! Boleslaus is no more ! He 
 died the death of a hero ! — ^ho closed his life 
 defending his flag !" ^ 
 
 Mary wept gently in the arms of her bro- 
 ther, hiding her sweet fiice in his bosom. Ber- 
 nard • sat dejected, his head leaning on his 
 hand, looking fixedly on the ground. Lodo- 
 iska heard the intelligence with a lieaving 
 bosom and blanched lips ; tears rolled down 
 her cheeks. Was it some dim foreboding 
 which occupied her mind, or was it grief for 
 the noble youth who had loved her secretly, 
 but so faitlifully — and on whom slie had be- 
 stowed, at least, friendly wishes for his wel- 
 fare ? The countess rose, and walked back 
 and forth in the apartment, as was her wont 
 under excitement. 
 
 " Have you told me all concerning Rasin- 
 ski and Jaromir ?" she demanded with earn- 
 estness. 
 
 Louis paused in giving an answer, for they 
 had yet said nothing of Jaromir's being de- 
 ranged ; but Bernard was more resolute. 
 
 " Everything," he said quickly, " whicli can 
 be comprised in the few touches by which 
 we have endeavored to represent a picture of 
 so melancholy a scene." 
 
 The countess stood like tlie statue of 
 Minerva, majestically efect. Her dark eye 
 seemed to pierce the hopeless future ; exalt- 
 ed sorrow dwelt upon her lips — a sublime 
 severity on her brow; long she stood. silent 
 and motionless. Then a gentle smile lit up 
 her noble countenance, like a beam from the 
 sun which flits across the autumnal landscape. 
 
 " I have yet a daughter !" she exclaimed, 
 opening her arms to the pale and trembling 
 Lodoiska, who, sinking, threw herself on her 
 bosom. 
 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 303 
 
 CHAPTER XCI. 
 
 Paul had now returned home. His ac- 
 count of the state of affairs in the town 
 afforded but little satisfaction to the friends. 
 Night moreover was setting in; they were 
 therefore constrained to await the rising of 
 another sun. 
 
 The ladies stayed with Bianca in her cham- 
 ber, into which Louis had ushered them. 
 What happy momenta, sweetened by love, 
 friendship, and the sacred throbbings of gra- 
 titude, might they not all have enjoyed, had 
 not missing friends still left a void in all 
 hearts ! 
 
 With a view to extend at least some alle- 
 viation to the uneasy women, so that they 
 might pass the night under less anxious ap- 
 prehensions, Bernard persuaded the kind and 
 obliging Paul to represent the state of things 
 in the town in the most favorable light, and 
 to this end conducted him into Bianca's 
 room. Paul then informed the countess 
 that it was only in the first confusion and 
 alarm that the worst symptoms had appeared, 
 but that now everything began to assume 
 the appearance of order and quiet ; that the 
 soldiers were received into the houses of the 
 citizens, where they were now enjoying re- 
 pose; and that to-morrow morning they 
 would awake" greatly strengthened and re- 
 freshed. To-day it would be impossible to 
 find out any person who might be searched 
 for, because every one who obtained a shel- 
 ter immediately sought rest. The countess 
 listened to this communication in silence ; 
 she resigned herself, but no cheering ray of 
 hope visited her breast 
 
 The demands of physical nature now be- 
 came presshig upon the weary wayfarers 
 Bernard, Louis, and Bianca shortly lav in 
 profound sleep ; but the countess and Lodo- 
 iska were yet wakeful with aftxious thoughts. 
 Mary participated in their sorrows — ^not mere- 
 ly from the liveliest sympathy of friendship, 
 but also because her heart, however strenu- 
 ously she had wrestled to control and sub- 
 due it, still beat for Rasinski with a silent, 
 deep and liallowed affection. 
 
 Paul and Axinia remained on the watch, 
 from the sincere interest which they cherished 
 for their guests, though they had modestly 
 retired, and left them to themselves. 
 
 " Hark ! Axinia," Paul said, suddenly to her, 
 starting to his feet, " was not that a noise of 
 some one groaning ? There, again !" 
 
 He opened the window, and leaned out to 
 listen. 
 
 " The noise comes from that narrow street 
 across the way, where the Jews live ! I 
 think, too, that I hear their grating voices." 
 
 They both listened with anxious attention. 
 In a few minutes they heard a dull sound, as 
 
 of some heavy body falling, and at the same 
 time a loud scream of distress. 
 
 "What .is that?" cried Paul; "what can 
 be going on there ? Should the sanguinary 
 villains have -" 
 
 A man called out for help, groaning pite- 
 ously, Axinia began wringing her hands in 
 affright. Suddenly the door was thrown 
 op^n, and the countess entered, carrying a 
 light in her hand. 
 
 " What is the meaning of that dreadful 
 noise V she demanded, apprehensively. " It 
 sounds hideously, and resembles the calls of 
 distress. Go, my friend, and see what it is I " 
 
 Paul threw his fur cloak around him, and 
 seized a lantefn. But Axinia held him back 
 in a^irm. 
 
 " Who knows," she uttered, " what shock- 
 ing deed has been committed 1 — and whether* 
 the monster would hesitate to murder you 
 too ! Do not go alone, Paul !" 
 
 " I must !" cried Paul ; " humanity demands 
 it !" 
 
 " Let me at least call'the gentlemen." 
 
 " No ; let them have their sleep — they are • 
 tired; and perhaps we might get there too 
 late !" 
 
 "No! no! they are already dressed, and 
 are lying down in their cloaks," Axinia re- 
 plied again, quickly, hastening into the next 
 room, where Bernard and Louis lay fast 
 asleep on a truss of straw— the house beiuT 
 short of beds. Their military habits beinw 
 yet in full force with them, they sprang up at 
 J the very first summons. 
 
 " We will go with you !" cried Bernard, 
 upon hearing the first dozen words. Louis 
 seized the pistols, and buckled on his sabre. 
 
 Paul, bearing a lantern, preceded them to 
 the spot wfcence the piteous sounds proceed- 
 ed. It was a narrow lane, running parallel 
 to the city wall, and inhabited entirely by 
 Jews, Just as they turned into it thev were 
 challenged by a- manly and well-known voice 
 in the rear; "Who goes there? — Wliat is 
 this disturbance ?" 
 
 " Rasinski !"' exclaimed Louis. Paul turn- 
 ed, and, as the light fell upon the face of 
 the new comer, the features of the noble 
 Pole were revealed to his friends. • 
 
 " Rasinski ! you here ! — and alive I" cried 
 Louis, throwing himself into the count's 
 arms." 
 
 In the tumult of their feelings, they would 
 have mutually imparted their adventures since 
 their separation, had not the doleful cries 
 been again heard, Rasinski disengaged him- 
 self from Bernard's arms. " These cries," 
 he said, " have aroused me out of my sleep. 
 Let us fii-st attend to those in distress." 
 
 Paul again walked before with the lantern." 
 The lane was narrow and crooked, so that 
 they could not see far before them. On pass- 
 
 mtiL, 
 
 I'^nfj- 1 'I i >'..' 
 
304 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 ing an abrupt bend, they distinguished seve- 
 ral figures, which fled noiselessly before them, 
 like night-birds frightened by the sudden liglit, 
 keeping close in the shadow of the wall. 
 
 " Who goes there ?" cried Rasinski, in Rus- 
 sian. " Stand, or I fire ! " 
 
 But tlie shadows flew onwards, grazing 
 the wall, and gliding uver the snow. Rasin- 
 ski rushed after them,, stumbled over an ob- 
 ject in his path, fell, and, in his fall, his pistol 
 went off". Louis and Bernard, close at his 
 heels, would have stopped to help him up — 
 
 "Forward, forward !" he cried ; " follow and 
 catch them !" 
 
 They hurried on, but only one figure was 
 now visible. They called to him to stop ; he 
 heeded them not. A shot fired by Bernard 
 missed its mark — ^but the whistle of the bul- 
 let discomposed the fugitive, who, in stoop- 
 ing his head, slipped and fell. Louis was 
 upon him in an instant, inquiring who hg 
 was, and why he fled. The stranger, wh6 
 wore a sort of long black caftan, replied in 
 piteous and terrified tones : 
 
 'i' God of my fathers !" he cried : " have com- 
 passion, gracious sir! Why persecute the 
 poor Jew, who does harm to no one ?" 
 
 " Paul, a light I" cried Bernard, who just 
 then came up. " Let us see who it is that is 
 in such haste to crave mercy. His conscience 
 seems none of the best !" 
 
 Paul lifted the lantern, casting the light 
 full on the Jew's visage. 
 
 "The devil!" cried Bernard. I should 
 know that face ! Where have I seen the ac- 
 cursed mask? To be sure, those red-bearded 
 Lithuanians are all as like each other as bullets. 
 But I greatly err, Jew, or you are the spy 
 Avith whom we have an account to settle, 
 that has stood over for the last five months !" 
 A shout from Rasinski interrupted the 
 speaker. 
 
 "Hither, friends r' he cried; "your help 
 here P* The three liastily obeyed the sum- 
 mons, dragging the Jew with them in spite of 
 liis struiTijles and cries. 
 
 DO 
 
 " Here has been the most villanous crime 
 the world ever witnessed !" exclaimed Rasin- 
 ski, pale with horror and indignation, as his 
 friends joined him. " Behold our comrades, 
 driven out nuked in this deadly cold, plunder- 
 ed, strangled, hurled from the windows ! In- 
 human monster !" lie cried in a terrible voice 
 to the trembling Jew, "if you have shared in 
 this work, I will liave you torn by dogs. 
 See! here they lie. Horrible, horrible !" 
 
 In a nook formed by the recession of a 
 house from the line of street, lay eight hu- 
 man bodies, lialf-naked, some Avith only a 
 shirt or a few miserable rags to cover them. 
 Over one of these unfortunates, who was 
 still alive, Rasinski had throAvn his furred 
 cloak, to protect him from the piercing cold. 
 
 Louis and Bernard shuddered at this la- 
 mentable spectacle. 
 
 " God of Abraham !"• cried the Jew, " to 
 thee I lift up my right hand, and swear that 
 I am innocent of this deed ! M:iy I be ac- 
 cursed with my children and my grandchild- 
 ren if I know aught of it ! May the ravens 
 pick out my eyes, and the flesh of my hand 
 wither, if I speak not the truth !" 
 
 "He was amongst the murderers," the 
 wounded man faintly gasped out ; "he was 
 about to cut my throat, when the fall from 
 the window did not kill me, " and because I 
 called for help. Only your arrival saved me !" 
 '• Fiend, inhurrtan fiend ! the unspeakable 
 misery that might draw tears from a demon 
 could not touch you !" Thus spoke Rasin- 
 ski between his set teeth, and raised his sabre 
 to split the skull of the Jew. . In convulsions 
 of terror the miserable wretch embraced his 
 knees, and prayed for pity. 
 
 " God — Jehovah — mercy, noble Count, 
 mercy !" 
 
 Louis held back Rasinski's arm. "Sully 
 not your good blade with the monster's blood,' 
 he said, earnestly' and solemnly. " Leave 
 him to the justice of an Omnipotent Avenger !" 
 " You are right," replied Rasinski, quickly 
 resuming his iiabitual composure. " Think 
 you I have forgotten ?" said he, with an ex- 
 pression of the deepest loathing, to the Jew, 
 who still clasped his feet in agony of fekr." I 
 know you well for the base and double trai- 
 tor who once already escaped well-merited 
 death. Nothing could save you now, were it 
 not that even a villain like yourself may be 
 made useful. Begone ! — and warn your fellow 
 assassins, that if to-morrow I find a single 
 dead body, a single mark of violence, in one 
 of their houses, I lay the whole quarter in 
 ashes, — men, women, and habitations ; and I 
 myself will be the first to hurl the sucking- 
 babe into the devouring flames ! Away, dog ! 
 Yet will I mark thee, that thon mayest not 
 escape !" 
 
 And raising his foot, he stamped thrice 
 upon the face of the prostrate Jew, who bel- 
 lowed like a wild beast, whilst his blood red- 
 dened the snow. Nevertheless, the murderer 
 managed to scramble to his feet, and reach 
 an adjacent house-door, where he stood knock- 
 ing and calling npon his fellow Israelites for 
 help and compassion. 
 
 " Assist me to carry ofi^ this much injured 
 and abused man," Rasinski begged of the 
 others, turning to the hapless sufferer, who 
 with stiffened limbs was still lying on the 
 snow. 
 
 They lifted him up. His distressing groans 
 
 filled the air ; but before they had reached 
 
 the larger street, the sounds died away, for 
 
 the powers of life were wasted. 
 
 " Thank you, comrades — ^it was too late! " 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA 
 
 305 
 
 These were the last words his lips uttered. 
 
 " I cannot eveu give thee a grave !" said Ra- 
 sinski mournfully, as they laid the body on 
 the ground; "take thy rest here with the 
 many thousands, which the implacable rigor 
 of this soil refuses even to grant a spot to 
 be buried in. Is it not enough that nature 
 hunts us down with relentless fury, but man 
 also must be transformed into a hyena, and 
 break in upon us in the very sanctuary of our 
 defenceless slumbers !" 
 
 Louis approached him with much sympa- 
 thy. " There is a balm ready for you to ap- 
 ply to these wounds," he said ; " we have joy- 
 ful news, sir !" 
 
 " You ? joyful news ?" Rasinski rejoined, 
 in a tone of bitterness. 
 
 " Your sister and Lodoiska are near — they 
 are here, — ^you may embrace them in a very 
 few minutes !" 
 
 "My sister here?" he exclaimed, more in 
 dread than in joy, looking at Louis in amaze- 
 ment. "Oh, Johanna, what a sight awaits 
 thee here ! Our misfortunes were known in 
 Warsaw then, it seems. Ah, Louis, Louis, 
 your intelligence is as bitter as it is sweet T 
 I was not prepared to meet her now ! — and 
 yet," he added, much moved — "what unspeak- 
 able happiness it will be to me to see her 
 once more!" 
 
 The friends conducted him to Paul's house. 
 Before entering, Rasinski stopped. 
 
 " And Lodoiska is with her ? what shall we 
 tell the poor girl ? Jaromir is lost — a senseless, 
 raving madman, — if he be not already re- 
 leased from his sufferings !" 
 
 " And if she has come in time only to re- 
 ceive his last sigh," Louis said with strong in- 
 ward conviction, " still all the treasures, of 
 earth would not counterbalance this happiness 
 to her even in the deepest sorrow. But how 
 do you know, sir, but her appearance might' 
 have a magical influence on the unfortunate 
 youth?" 
 
 " So, or otherwise, it must be endured ; 
 let us put on a manly resolution." So say- 
 ing, Rasinski ascended the steps, exalted 
 courage, and manly resolution, again en- 
 throned on his noble brow. When about to 
 open the door, he once more paused, and said 
 to Louis : "Is thy sister here also ?" 
 
 " She is," answered Louis. 
 
 The twitchings of his countenance were 
 only hidden by the obscurity ; and the tran- 
 sient blush which the proximity of this gentle 
 being called up to his pale and care-worn 
 cheek was seen by no one. 
 
 " Let me enter first," said Bernard ; the 
 ladies might be too powerfully struck by your 
 udden appearance." 
 
 " Not my sister, at least," answered Rasin 
 ski ; " it may be so with the younger girls. Go, 
 then, and tell them that you havefound me." 
 20 
 
 Bernard ushered himself into the presence 
 of the countess. A few minutes afterwards 
 he opened the door for Rasinski. Lodoiska 
 flew with a loud cry towards him ; he clasped 
 her closely to his heart with his right arm. 
 His sister approached him tremblingly, and 
 leaned on his shoulder ; encircled by his left 
 arm, she breathed out her feelings in a tear- 
 less kiss. Mary stood back, silently weeping. 
 " Sister," said Rasinski, after a silence, 
 and disengaging himself from her embrace. 
 
 " And is it thus we must meet ?" she cried 
 in a penetrating tone. 
 
 " Take courage, thou noble heart ! on the 
 other side the grave there is no pain or sor- 
 row !" Rasinski said, with that fortitude which 
 can renounce even hope. " Till then, we 
 shall know how to bear up under it. Bat 
 thou, poor child," he said, turning compas- 
 sionately to the pale and trembling Lodo- 
 iska, who still clung to his arm, " what com- 
 fort shall I offer to thee f Thou art yet so 
 young, and hast so long a pilgrimage yet be- 
 fore thee!" 
 
 Lodoiska's inquiring eyes were rivetted on 
 his face, but she could not summon strength 
 to ask a question concerning Jaromir. 
 
 •" I understand thee, sweet chil^ !" he said. 
 " Thou wouldst know about Jarpmir ? Lo- 
 doiska, thou art a daughter of Poland. For- 
 titude in adversity is one of thy duties ; for 
 we are nursed iry grief and fed in sorrow. 
 Thou shalt hear the truth. Thy friend is liv- 
 ing, but he is sick — grievously sick — dismal, 
 feverish dreams trouble his soul. Prepare 
 thyself for his loss !" 
 
 The maiden's bosom labored in convulsive 
 throbs. At last she uttered : 
 " Where is he ? — Let me fly to him !" 
 " To-morrow, dear soul !" said Rasinski, 
 soothingly ; " it is impossible now in the dead 
 of night. He is in the hospital." 
 
 Mary now also advanced timidly, and said 
 to Rasinski : 
 
 " We have not yet exchanged greetings. 
 Let my first words be in support of her prayer. 
 She loves — and a loving heart must break 
 under such torture." 
 
 " In which hospital is the sick person of 
 whom you speak. Count ?" Paul asked. 
 
 *' Close by the gate here, in the large build- 
 ing to the left." 
 
 "I have a key," rejoined Paul; "I will 
 conduct the young lady there myself." 
 
 " Praised be God !" cried Lodoiska, with 
 fervor. " Thanks — many thanks ! Then I 
 shall see him once more !" 
 
 " I v.'ill go with thee," said Rasinski re- 
 solutely. 
 " And I too," added the countess, 
 " All of us !" said Mary, in sisterly svro- 
 pathy. 
 " No, Mary," answered Rasinski. " The 
 
306 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OH, 
 
 walk is not easily performed, and will not be 
 a pleasant one. We must undertake it alone 
 —I insist upon it !" 
 
 In a few minutes the countess and Lodo- 
 iska were ready. Rasinski requested Louis 
 and Bernard to remain ; while these, on the 
 other hand, urged him to allow himself some 
 necessary repose. 
 
 " Follow my orders, for the last time," he 
 said. " Stay to protect the house. I must 
 perform the office of guide ; for no one knows 
 where he lies but myself." 
 
 CHAPTER XCIL 
 
 The antiquated and dilapidated building in 
 which the sick aitd wounded were packed 
 had been a convent. Its sombre, shadowy out- 
 lines stood gloomily prominent to the visit- 
 ors. 
 
 " I open this house with reluctance," said 
 Paul, " for it does not look . much like an 
 I abode of care and compassion for the sufFer- 
 \ ing. It is destitute of everything — even ne- 
 ', cessary food — and straw for bedding is want- 
 ing ! The physicians are too often changed, 
 and the few young practitioners they send us 
 hardly show themselves. They shun the 
 horrid sight. The old, decayed vaults cannot 
 even be made sufficiently warm ; so that, in 
 this severe cold moat of the wounds become 
 immediately gangrened, and the unfortunate 
 wretches are carried off by scores. The whole 
 house is nothing but a huge coffin, where the 
 living are packed with the deafl !" 
 
 While delivering himself of this remark, 
 he opened the door with a ponderous key. 
 
 " Are there no attendants here during the 
 night ?" inquired the countess, shuddering. 
 
 " Not one," answered Paul ; " there is not 
 room. Here the dead must all the time give 
 up their places to the living. Before the bed 
 on which one dies has had time to cool, it re- 
 ceives another tenant!" 
 
 Lodoiska kept silence. She did not even 
 weep. The flush of fever alone swept over 
 her face. 
 
 They ascended the half-demolished stone 
 steps, and then passed along a dark and long 
 corridor. 
 
 " Here, in the last recess to the right, I 
 found a place for him," said Rasinski : " con- 
 duct us thither, my friend." 
 
 " Does he lie there ?" asked Paul, in signi- 
 ficant alarm. 
 
 " Why does that surprise you ?" 
 
 " Hem !— that is a chill and dismal place. 
 It lies directly to the north." 
 
 " There was no other to be found ; and the 
 doctor whom I saw there promised to have 
 good attendance given to t^ie sick man." 
 
 " It may be all right," answered Paul, but 
 in a tone as if he thought otherwise. 
 
 Their steps produced a hollow sound in the 
 lonely gallery. Nothing was to be heard save 
 groans and meanings on either side ; the 
 more dismal as they seemed to issue from 
 the walls themselves. 
 
 " Here it is," said Paul, opening the door. 
 
 Even Rasinski shuddered as he stepped 
 into this room, which he had been obligea to 
 choose in the daytime, glad to obtain any 
 shelter for Jaromir. A single flickering lamp 
 filled the place with a half-glimmer. Wretches 
 scarcely half-covered lay^all around on scanty 
 straw-pallets ; some with deep and frightful 
 wounds, others dreadfully dismembered, and 
 so disfigured by wretchedness and filth that 
 they were hardly recognisable. Their heavy 
 breathings and hollow groans were the only 
 sounds one could hear. An icy chill pre- 
 vailed through the vault, for the windows 
 were partly broken and gone; so that the 
 snow drifted in, and. the ice, like ever-in- 
 creasing glaciers, protruded through the 
 empty window-frames, and almost touched 
 the wretched inmates. 
 
 " Here, then .'" said Lodoiska, in a trem- 
 bling voice, as she entered, and the cold chill 
 struck to her heart. 
 
 Paul held the lantern to the faces of some 
 of the Bick. They stared at him with eyes 
 wide open and ghastly, without moving a 
 muscle. 
 
 " These are gone, friend !" said Rasinski, 
 shuddering ; " they are frozen to death !" 
 
 Lodoiska clung reeling with terror to the 
 countess for support. 
 
 They were obliged to proceed between the 
 rows of recumbent beings — this dread con- 
 junction of the dead and dying — their feet 
 often coming in contact with their bodies. 
 The noble figure of Lodoiska hanging trem- 
 blingly on Rasinski's arm, floated like an 
 angel of bright promise through these pur- 
 lieus of corruption. 
 
 " It was well that we came with thee, 
 child," said the countess, herself standing in 
 need of all her inherent fortitude. 
 
 Paul now held up the lantern towards a 
 dark corner, not yet reached by a single ray 
 of light, from a large pillar throwing its sha- 
 dow in that direction. 
 
 " There, lies yet one of the sick !" he said, 
 pointing to the spot with his finger. 
 
 " Mother of God ! that is he !"' cried Lodo- 
 iska, terrified and shrinking back. 
 
 The dismal solitude itself seemed to start 
 up in afiright at this sudden cry of distress. 
 Rasinski supported the sinking girl in bis 
 anna. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 307 
 
 " Yea, it is he !" he replied. " He suffers 
 - i» 
 
 " Oh, let me go near him ! — let me kneel 
 by his side !" she entreated, in faltering ac- 
 cents. 
 
 Rasinski supported her tottering steps, but 
 Paul had to remove some dead bodies before 
 they could reach the straw heap on which 
 Jaromir was lying. 
 
 He lay closely wrapped up in a cloak ; 
 as the light fell upon his eyes, he raised him-' 
 self upright. With a vacant, insane stare 
 he fixed hi& gaze upon it ; a feverish glow 
 spread over his emaciated features, and he 
 tried to dlutch the flame with his hand. 
 
 The Countess, resolute as she was, stepped 
 shuddering back. 
 
 " Is that the youth ?" she ejaculated, •* who 
 a few months ago, was as fresh and jocund as 
 the morning ? — this pale and shrivelled spec- 
 tre!" 
 
 " V/hat do you want ?" said Jaromir, slowly, 
 and in a hollow tone. " Why do you come 
 down here into my tomb ? — ^Away with the 
 torch J" 
 
 Lodoiska's intense suffering was firmly 
 suppressed within her lips ; love itself was 
 struck powerless by this unprecedented trial. 
 
 " Jaromir ! collect thyself, and be a man. 
 Look at us, and know who are with thee !" 
 said Rasinski, Ijiying his warm hand on the 
 unfortunate young man's brow. 
 
 It was apparent to all how his wandering 
 mind struggled with the dimly arising con- 
 sciousness called forth by the %ppearance of 
 Rasinski. 
 
 At last Lodoiska's conflict with herself was 
 at an end. She kneeled down by her be- 
 trothed, took hold of his hand, looked into his 
 face, and uttered in broken accents': 
 
 " Jaromir, dost thou not know me more ? 
 Ob ! only give me some token that thou stiil 
 lovest me !" 
 
 Twice the maniac passed his hand across 
 his forehead, as if he wished to remove 
 thence some pain or oppression ; a sudden 
 and evanescent ray then shot from his dull 
 eye. 
 
 " Lodoiska !" he cried, and tried to raise 
 his arms ; but it was in vain ; he drew a 
 deep breath from his innermost heart, then 
 his frame collapsed, the eyes, closed, and he 
 sank motionless back on the straw. 
 
 " Blessed saints and angels, help him ! — he 
 is dying!" cried Lodoiska, wringing her 
 hands. 
 
 " No, no ! he is only overpowered !" said 
 Rasinski. " Let us take advantage of this 
 swoon, to remove him from this horrible 
 place. " 
 
 " My friend, the period of reward will ar- 
 rive," she said, turning to Paul. " But now 
 yon must lend me your assistance ; help me 
 
 to carry this unfortunate yoath to your house. 
 Here he must becomb death's prey !" 
 
 Honest Paul was ready to help. 
 
 " Willingly, willmgly," he cried, " and it 
 can easily be done. There are litters out' in 
 the passage, and there is room for one more 
 in my house, I dare say." 
 
 They immediately put hand to the work, 
 and carried out the lunatic. Lodoiska hang- 
 ing on the arm of the Countess, staggered 
 after them. Paul and Rasinski himself vig- 
 orously lifted the litter. 
 
 They soon reached Paul's house ; the 
 faithful companions received their unBappy 
 friend. Mary and Lodoiska seated themselves 
 by the litter, to attend him during the night. 
 
 He lay in a perturbed half-slumber, talk- 
 ing frequently in his feverish 'delirium. The 
 names of Lodoiska and Bianca were fre- 
 quently on his lips. Only once he cried out : 
 
 " Alisette, Alisetle,thouJbeautiful serpent !'* 
 
 It may be imagined with what feelings 
 Lodoiska heard him utter this name ! She 
 had forgiven him so fully, so magnanimously, 
 and his temptress and i)eguiler also ! Oh, 
 that she had been able to pour this balm of 
 consolation into his lacerated' breast 
 
 Mary, overcome with weariness, had fallen 
 asleep in an arm-chair. Lodoiska found 
 hope and relief only in the ardent and pious 
 prayers which she offered to heaven. She 
 knelt down ; raising her face and her heart 
 upwards she besought the Almighty from a 
 full and believing faith. ^ 
 
 The tedious night at last gradually gave 
 place to the grey dawn of approaching day. 
 Lodoiska went to the window. The sky was 
 clear ; the twinkling light of the fading stars 
 were yet seen. A purple tint glimmered on 
 the eastern horizon, giving a roseate hue to 
 the fleecy clouds. L(xloiska stood lost in pro- 
 found thought ; tears dimmed her eyes ; 
 but they were tears mild and beneficent, be- 
 cause they flowed from a fountain of holy 
 trust and reliance, which after these past in- 
 flictions sprang up in her breast. She turned 
 her head to the couch on which lay her lover. 
 He slept calmly, and breathed quietly ; a 
 smile even hovered on his lips, and the first 
 ray of morning fell gently upon his pale 
 cheek. 
 
 It was no longer the stupefaction of in- 
 sanity in which he lay fettered, but a refresh- 
 ing sleep, which had followed upon his ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 " Holy Mother of Grod, surround him with 
 thy blessed presence!" cried Lodoiska, while 
 she approached tremblingly. ■ An oppressive 
 sensation rushed to her heart ; the hope arose 
 within her, that on awakening he would know 
 his friends. Stooping over him with sup- 
 pressed breath, she listened to his respiration 
 and the beating of hia heart 
 
 ,.'A.' .Ml JlI^*.;.. 
 
 ".ti- 
 
9# 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 The approach of morning dispelled much 
 of the room's mournful aspect. The face of 
 the sleeper partook of its change. Suddenly 
 he opened his eyes and said, faintly : 
 
 ♦' It is over now !" 
 
 His look was no longer wild and wander- 
 ing ; an inexpressible beaming was impressed 
 on his features. Heaven seemed to descend 
 with its raptures into Lodoiska's breast ; but 
 she checked herself, fearing by giving way 
 too rudely, to snap the the fragile, new-recov- 
 ered thread of reason and consciousness. 
 She a^ed only in a soft whisper : 
 
 " Art thou better, my friend ?" 
 
 He folded his hands on his breast, raised 
 his bead a little, and in a tone of trembling 
 adoration uttered : 
 
 " Oh, I know thee, thou holy one, sur- 
 rounded as thou art by the golden glory of 
 heaven ! Thou art now a blessed spirit, and 
 the gates of Peace unfold themselves to me 
 also ! Oh, reach me thy hand, in token of 
 reconciliation !" 
 
 The sufferer, it was plain, still dwelt in 
 the region of visions : — when she now, sur- 
 rounded as with a halo from the bright re- 
 flection of the coming king of day, was kneel- 
 ing.before him with ner flowing locks rolling 
 over her shoulders, the faint and evanescent 
 images of dreaming were imperceptibly trans- 
 formed into reality to him. 
 
 Lodoiska extended her hand gently to him, 
 and whispered in a sweet, trembling tone : 
 
 " Dost thou at last know me again 7 Oh, 
 thoa hast had a long dream f It is I myself, 
 Jaromir, living and real f" 
 
 " Holy Father .'" he stammered, " where 
 am 1 then ? — where was I ? — No, no, ye fear- 
 ful spectres of the night ! do not come back 
 out of that horrid dartaiess !" 
 
 He made a repelling motion of the hand, 
 shrinking to one side. Lodoiska, as if to hide 
 him from these terrifying visions, wound her 
 arms tremblingly around his neck, and gently 
 kissing him, drew him towards her. 
 
 " No, no, my love," she faltered, " fear 
 nothing ; thou shalt breathe and rest here ; no 
 frightful dream shall torment thee more !" 
 
 The maniac pressed his fuce to the bosom 
 of the maiden. As his cheek rested on her 
 breast, his ear detected the heart's pulsation. 
 He awoke at once to a sense of truth and 
 reality ; the veil which had shrouded his 
 soul in darkness was rent — but the last link 
 of life was severed by the effort. He fell 
 back, with a long drawn sigh, and expired ! 
 
 CHAPTER XCIII. 
 
 ■»./,'/" 
 
 The grey stillness of morning was now 
 made to resound with the hollow crashing 
 thunder of cannon-shots, which. caused the 
 windows of the house to rattle. 
 
 " What is that ?" cried Rasinski, springing^ 
 up ready for battle. 
 
 But before the words had passed his lips, 
 the whole tier of a heavy battery was heard, 
 shaking the> earth under their feet. 
 
 " Holy Father !" exclaimed the Countess, 
 " are we so near the conflict 7" 
 
 Mary stood pale and trembling, being alto- 
 gether unaccustomed to this sort of music. 
 
 "I must go," said Rasinski, resolutely, 
 " we are attacked, it seems !" 
 
 " We will go with you T' cried Louis, 
 equally prompt ; and Bernard sprang to seize 
 his arms. 
 
 " No, not by any means !" said Rasinski, 
 authoritatively. " You have nothing more 
 to fight for in this contest. Stay and protect 
 those who iare dearest to you and me." 
 
 " We will not suffer you to go alone into 
 the battle," cried Louis vehemently, endea- 
 voring to detain him. 
 
 " I ou shall — you must ! Duty calls me ; 
 you she binds to this spot," Rasinski an- 
 swered firmly, pushing Louis back from him. 
 
 "No — you cannot take from us the privi- 
 lege to stand by your side in battle !" said 
 Bernard ; " you can never absolve our souls, 
 in case you fall where the assistance of a 
 friend would fiavc saved you !" 
 
 The drums rattled with deafening noise in 
 the narrow streets. Wild outcries, the firing 
 of cannon, and the clangor of trumpets 
 mingling together, created a terrible din, 
 while soldiers and people clustered together. 
 
 " If ye ever have respected my will," cried 
 Rasinski, summoning all his natural dignity, 
 " stay where ye are ! At this moment, yield 
 obedience to my wish for the last time. I 
 command you to remain I"" 
 
 The ladies were too excited by terror and 
 grief, to feel in its full force the interest 
 which this magnanimous contest would other- 
 wise have excited. They experienced, though 
 unconsciously to themselves, the beneficial 
 effect of severe dispensations, which, when 
 falling in repeated strokes from various quar- 
 ters, simultaneously seem to neutralise one 
 another, because the hunvan breast, like a 
 vessef, is capable of receiving only hs mea- 
 sure. 
 
 Mary alone, whom the death of Jaromir 
 naturally affected only, secondarily, was fully 
 alive to the issue of this noble contest between 
 the devoted friends. While beholding how 
 readily the brave man — the man who once 
 offered her his heart, and in so doing had 
 won her own, now again threw himselr into 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 the midst of danger — devoted himself anew 
 to glory and his country — the smothered 
 flame arose in all its strength, and caused 
 her to tremble for his life and safety. 
 
 Urged by these feelings, she stepped in 
 between the men. 
 
 " Does duty yet claim your sharing in the 
 battle ?" she asked Rasinski ; *' is it still your 
 duty to offer yourself as Death's victim, 
 when nothing more is to be saved from this 
 total shipwreck ? Oh, remain with us also, 
 lest the hour of meeting be not changed into 
 one of inexpressible anguish, if " 
 
 Here she paused ; she had lost courage to 
 say all that she thought and feared. 
 
 " Mary I" replied Rasinski, in a tone 
 fraught with the vyhole ardor of his soul, 
 «Mary!" 
 
 There he stood in intense struggle with 
 himself, looking at her mournfully. In that 
 moment he felt as if the iron barrier which 
 interposed between them had been demol- 
 ished. But the illusion prevailed but for a 
 second. No sooner was the momentary mist 
 of the golden dream, with its drapery of 
 couleur de rose withdrawn, than the inflexible 
 again stood before him more commanding 
 and colossal than ever. He bowed to its be- 
 hest, and said flrmly, yet with aflability : 
 
 " No, even this prayer from you, must not 
 deter me! Farewell I" 
 
 He tore himself suddenly away, and has- 
 tened into the street. 
 
 Mary tottered like one stunned by a blow, 
 and sank fainting into the arms of her brother. 
 The keen-sighted Bernard deciphered her in- 
 most heart. Rasinski had by one single 
 word betrayed the secret of his breast. 
 
 The Countess appeared, having just left 
 the chamber of death. Her step was slow 
 and feeble. It was evident that it was with 
 difficulty she maintained herself erect. 
 
 " My brother is gone !" she commenced, 
 less in the way of a question, than an in- 
 ferred self-reply ; " he should at least have 
 taken time to say adieu. Who can tell 
 whether we shall meet again ; for I am los- 
 ing the power of harboring hope !" 
 
 She stood pale, but, majestically erect, as 
 if refusing proudly to bow hier neck igno- 
 ffliniously to the heavy strokes of fate ; a tear, 
 however, trembled in her eye. Mary and 
 Bianca approached her with much sympathy ; 
 she stretched out both hands to them, and 
 drew them gently near her : 
 
 " Oh, my daughters ! You are young ; life 
 has early laid a rude hand upon you — but it 
 never assailed you so fearfully as it has this 
 poor girl, Lodoiska ! What a fate is ours ! 
 Here, within, a deadly grief, which no sooth- 
 ing tear alleviates ; all around, desolation, 
 death, horror, and dismay ! Do you bear those 
 
 murderous cannon? Perhaps fro|n these 
 windows we may witness a dreadful catas- 
 trophe 1" 
 
 " Oh, never ! never !" Mary interrupted her. 
 
 "Thou tremblest, poor child! Tbinkest 
 thou thus to propitiate inexorable destiny ?— 
 or that we have reached the bottom of this 
 gulf? We may sink yet immeasurably 
 deeper ! Disgrace will now be added to sad- 
 ness ! — soon the enemy will triumph ! Per- 
 haps I may behold my brother in fetters, and 
 bleeding, dragged past this house ; it may be 
 the fate of these young men, and ourselves 
 also; for I am of Poland, and unquenchable ha- 
 tred — an indelible branding — has be«n sworn 
 against everything from thence. But, sooner 
 than I will see those tender hands" — pointing 
 to Lodoiska, "torn by cruel cords — sooner 
 than I will see her chaste body surrendered 
 a prey to the tiger-fury — and brutal lust of 
 barbarian blood-hounds, shall my own hand 
 stab her to the heart ! A Polish mother is 
 not weaker than a Roman father and she 
 will not tremble at the prospect of death !" 
 
 She finished speaking under great excite- 
 ment ; breathing laboriously, she dropped ex- . 
 hausted into a seat 
 
 Meanwhile, the din of battle drew nearer. 
 Paul had hurried away to ascertain from 
 which quarter the attack was made. He now 
 returned breathless, and said: 
 
 A sanguinary fight is going on before the 
 gates. I saw the count with Marshal Ney, 
 snatching the muskets from the flying soldiers 
 and hastening towards the ramparts, to dis 
 pute the entrance hand to hand. Inspirited by 
 this heroic example, the troops again collected 
 and fought, while the rest were marching off 
 through the other gates. The road towards 
 Memel is already crowded. A few hours 
 more, and the enemy must be masters of the 
 town 1" 
 
 Scarcely had he ceased speaking, when the 
 door was violently pushed open, and Rasin- 
 ski rushed in. 
 
 " Almighty God *. — my brother I" cried the 
 countess, springing towards him. 
 
 His forehead was bleeding ; his face was 
 blackened by smoke and powder, but his eye 
 flashed as the lion's when about to dart on 
 his prey, 
 
 " The most pressing danger is over," he 
 said ; " I snatched a moment to bid you all 
 farewell. The marshal expects my return in 
 a few minutes. The Russians will soon gain 
 possession of the town. There is no longer 
 time to escape by flight. Keep yourselves 
 concealed therefore, until the first tumult has 
 passed. Then you had better proceed to 
 Warsaw, sister ; there you will again hear 
 from me. And you, my friends !" he said, 
 turning to Bernard and Louis, " I advise you 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TVf ELVE j OR, 
 
 to make*your way into Prussiat It is to you 
 the nearest safe resting-place. Our roads 
 now take different directions. We have 
 faithfully endured much t{^ther — now fare- 
 well|" 
 
 They all hung' in Rasinski's embrace ; he 
 was not ashamed of the tears which watered 
 his manly face — but he remained composed, 
 for such was his will. 
 
 " This must come to an end," he said, after 
 a solemn pause ; " I have no more time to be- 
 stow on all those dear to me. To you, also, 
 I say farewell ! — Bianca — ^Mary !" 
 
 Bianca, who loved him as she would a fa- 
 ther, leafied weeping on his breast ; he kissed 
 her on the forehead, and laid his hand on her 
 head while Wessing her. 
 
 Mary timidly stood at a distance. Rasin- 
 ski approached her one stepi "Mary," he 
 said to her, " we see each other foe the last 
 time !" 
 
 Love and sorrow now assumed their so- 
 vereignty, and enforced obedience to their 
 own impulses. In triumphant manifestation 
 of their sacred rights, Mary, carried away by 
 an extatic emotion, sunk on the breast of the 
 noble waiTior, and her maiden lips pressed 
 his. 
 
 " Thou wast mine for one blissful moment, 
 Mary I" he said, disengaging liimself ; •' now, 
 be again altogetber thyself! Thou wert in 
 the right, thou noble, generous soul ! a deep 
 river divides us, over which there is no bridge 
 to pass, but one of guilt Happy are we, 
 that may not cross it I" 
 
 He then deposited the poor girl, dissolved 
 in tears, in the arms of her brother. The 
 next moment he was gone. 
 
 Mary hastened to the window, in order to 
 send yet one l^ok after him. In the streets 
 thronged soldiers and citizens mixed in wild 
 commotion. Rasinski stepped into the midst 
 of them, and by his commanding spirit and 
 appearance, immediately constituted himself 
 their leader. Unsheathing his sword, he 
 marched at their head into the heart of the 
 town. In vain dfd Mary watch to see him 
 once turn his face back to the house. 
 
 The raging tide of battle bore Rasinski 
 quickly away, while its impetuous billows 
 cooled his agitated breast. The enemy pressed 
 onward, assaultingthe town at all points. The 
 -houses shook with the thunder of cannon ; 
 trumpets flung tlteir shrill notes to the air in 
 every street ; the distressing cries of women, 
 the groans of the wounded, were heard every 
 where. 
 
 The unutterable woe which filled the hearts 
 of the ladies, left no room for solicitude and 
 anxiety. Lodoiska scarcely heard the tumult 
 in the streets. The countess was prepared 
 for every evciit ; she neither hoped nor fear- 
 ed an}'thing. Bianca and Mary clung to their 
 
 brothers ; and these were absorbed in the 
 fight. 
 
 Suddenly musket shots were heard close 
 in front of the house, and there arose a wild 
 medley of cries. Bernard sprang to the 
 window. 
 
 " The town must be surrounded f he cried, 
 " these are Cossacks, pouring in !" 
 
 A cohort of these locusts did actually en- 
 ter by the gate, and fell upon a small num- 
 ber of the French, who were just about seek- 
 ing an egress. But, the latter, though scat- 
 tered, offered a determined resistance, and 
 the space immediately before the house thus 
 became an arena of battle. 
 
 " You had better retire into the back rooms 
 towards the yard," said Louis to tlie ladies ; 
 " the balls might easily And their way here !" 
 
 " Then neither must thou tarry here," an- 
 swered Bianca, " we will stay where thou art" 
 
 " Holy Father ! I see Rasinski !" cried Ber- 
 nard, Thenextinstantawhole volley of mus- 
 ketry was heard. 
 
 Every one, even Lodoiska, hastened to the 
 window. " Where ?" asked the coimtess, 
 5^ where is my brother ?" 
 
 " There, where the infantry is coming on 
 in close file. I saw him there just now, in 
 the midst of the smoke, on horseback j but 
 now he is hidden again in the cloud !" 
 
 " There he is ! there he is I — now he dashes 
 forward I" cried Louis. 
 
 " But how comes he to be on horseback ?" 
 asked tlie countess, in astonishment. 
 
 " Booty, booty ! — it is a Cossack's horse !" 
 said Bernard ; " Marshal Ney is behind him ! 
 Do you see, there I They are about cutting 
 their way through to us !" 
 
 The ladies trembled from fright. The 
 battle raged fearfully. The grim monster 
 swayed his deadly scythe over the heads of 
 the combatants; the thunder-cloud of de- 
 struction rolled close above most precious 
 lives. They wished to turn away jfrom Ihe 
 harrowing sight, but were not able; the eye, 
 as if fascinated, hung on the scene. 
 
 Rasinski dc^hed right into the canopy of 
 smoke, flouishing his sword over his head. 
 
 " Forward ! brave comrades, we mi>st cut 
 out a path for ourselves T resounded his 
 powerful voice, sending a thrill of enthusias- 
 tic courage even through the hearts of the 
 women. 
 
 The troops advanced resolutely, Rasinski 
 at their head. The Cossacks were borne 
 down, and dispersed in confusion. They 
 would speedily have turned to fliglit, had not 
 the gate been blocked up by the cavalry 
 which entered after them. Marshal Ney was 
 stationed farther back in the street, arranging 
 the troops rapidly coming up from be- 
 hind. Rasinski looked sharply around after 
 him. The maxahal now raised liis hat, aaiJt 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 311 
 
 swang it with its waving plumes high over 
 his head. This appeared to be the precon- 
 certed signal. 
 
 Surrounded by the foremost files, Rasin- 
 ski rode forward ; the troopers closed up be- 
 hind. " Fire !" was his I'oud word of com- 
 mand, and the discharge followed. The win- 
 dows clattered ; the women uttered piercing 
 cries ; the street was thickly veiled in a cloud, 
 while the wild outcries of the soldiery arose 
 out of the black and sulhpurous canopy. 
 
 A gust of wind dispersed the smoke. Ra- 
 siiiski immediately rushed through the clear- 
 ed space. His nervous hand dealt a blow 
 which prostrated a Cossack from his horse ; 
 another he laid low by the discharge of his 
 pistol. His proud steed galloped away over 
 their bodies, in venturous leaps. " Forward ! 
 comrades!" he cried, turning himself . half 
 round ; " the wav is clear ! they fly ! Victory ! 
 Victory !" 
 
 He threw one glance at the friends, and the 
 trembling women, and with flashing eye, 
 waved a farewell salute towards the window. 
 Then dashing once more among the thickest 
 of the flying enemy, his men following him 
 with shouts, he vanished amidst tlie deafen- 
 ing uproar. 
 
 CHAPTER XCrV. 
 
 Since the events just related, two months 
 had now speeded their flight. The hurricane 
 which had shaken to the centre the founda- 
 tions of society, was shorn of its strength! 
 The black and heavy clouds withdrew — the 
 heavens again smiled more mildly — the heart 
 w^s enabled once more to put faith in a mer- 
 ciful and beneficent Providence ! 
 
 Louis and Bernard, with Bianca and Mary, 
 had reached Konigsberg, and had at last 
 found in that city a secure retreat, undis- 
 turbed by the terrors of war. 
 
 During this time, their health and physical 
 powers, so severely taxed, had become re- 
 cruited — spirit and body both felt the change. 
 
 The countess, through the mediation of 
 Biariba, had obtiiined a passport, and with 
 Lodoiska gone back to Warsaw. 
 
 The only sorrow which yet rested upon 
 the two brothers and sisters was that suffer- 
 ed on account of Lodoiska, and the interest 
 and anxiety they felt for Rasinski, who un- 
 weariedly suffered himself to be borne away, 
 further and farther, on the billows of a san- 
 guinary war. 
 
 What a happy season did Louis and Mary 
 now pass together, beatified by the sweetest 
 sympathies, although interspersed at times 
 
 with the saddest recollections ! In the first 
 hours of their meeting they were so occu- 
 pied and surrounded by stormy events, that 
 the heart found no leisure to devote to the 
 quiet enjoyment of contemplation. But now, 
 in the long wnter evenings, when these four 
 true and noble hearts assembled together in a 
 comfortal)le apaitment, all their sorrows and 
 hardships were richly compensated. They 
 conversed cheerfully about the past, for the 
 rising sun of the future already threw its ro- 
 seate hue on those departed days. Yes, the 
 tJiouirhts of the brother and sister dwelt 
 with composure and resignation on the tomb 
 of their mother, though a hallowed grief 
 would penetrate their souls, when calling to 
 mind that loving heart and gentle hand which 
 had so faithfully guided them through the 
 slippery paths of tlieir earlier days. 
 
 It was with pleasure that Louis observed 
 the friendship which had sprung up between 
 Bianca and Mary steadily expanding and 
 flourishing ; and with still deeper interest he 
 notkjed also, that Mary's sisterly affection for 
 Bernard became every day the more warm, 
 as his free and noble heart opened more 
 fully to her inspection. A grave change had 
 taken place in Bernard himself. His whole 
 character became gradually more sedate and 
 circumspect. Much as in the case of old 
 wine, the former effei-vescerice of his nature 
 settled down to a clear and enduring pla>. 
 cidity. The stirring conflicts in which he had 
 participated, had already served to moderate 
 tlie exuberance of his unschooled energies, 
 and instilled sober and condensed reflection 
 into his mind But deeper than all did now 
 the pure breath of love penetrate his restless 
 and impetuous breast; the swelling flood 
 of his fiery imagination was calmed down 
 into placid serenity, as if fearful of grieving 
 or scaring away so sacred an image. That 
 gently restraining power which Bianca's so- 
 ciety had formerly exercised over him, Mary 
 possessed in a yet higher degree. He con- 
 quered himself manfully, apparently with the 
 iiope to deserve Mary's affection by his con- 
 trol and denial of self He had read the 
 most sacred page of her inmost heart, and as 
 exalted spirits easily interpret and underifiand 
 each other, he could with fjvcility appreciate 
 the conflicts which she had endured, and 
 comprehend also why she had courted tliem. 
 He knew her strong feelings of patriotism, 
 which now revived with fresh hopes, and he 
 knew what sacrifices she was capable of 
 making on the altar of her country's free- 
 dom. He dared, however, to entertain but 
 distant hopes for his passion; but still he 
 possessed the certainty of her warmest friend- 
 ship, and would therefore, for the present, 
 not sue her for anything more. For this 
 generous forbearance she was profoundly 
 
31S 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE; OR, 
 
 grateful to him, for she did not undervalue 
 Uie effort it cost him to achieve it. 
 
 The more conspicuous the deference, 
 therefore, with which Bernard stood aloof, 
 the more strongly Mary must feel herself at- 
 tracted towards him — the more imposing her 
 sense of obligation. Probably she could not 
 have prevailed upon herself to concede to 
 him her heart's affections ; but when he si- 
 lently and rigidly renounced himself, they 
 imperceptibly turned more decidedly and cor- 
 dially towards him, and she every moment 
 felt the duty more binding upon herself, l^y 
 yielding to secure the happiness of one who 
 was prepared so nobly and uncomplainingly 
 to resign it. The more love became her 
 duty, the more duty was changed into love ; 
 and thus the immaculate and most beautiful 
 flower of a virtuous attachment unfolded it- 
 self in the mild beams of gratitude and unal- 
 loyed esteem. There was nothing but the 
 light and delicate veil of maidenly reserve on 
 her part, and deferential awe on his, which 
 kept the sweet secret undiscovered by these 
 two loving hearts. He wanted courage to 
 touch the blossom which timidly inclined its 
 fragrant chalice towards him. Thus their 
 hearts beat together, but in a suspense of 
 torembling happiness ; the precious fruit ripens 
 early and unnoticed, and when arrived at 
 Ctaturity, the gentlest zephyr of a favoring 
 gale causes it to fall into the lap. 
 
 Every German heart was already stirred 
 
 Eowerfully. The iron yoke which so long 
 ad galled their necks was relaxed for a mo- 
 ment ; and free and full of hope every bosom 
 proudly inhaled the sweet air of liberty. 
 
 One evening, as the little household were 
 sitting together in quiel sociality, there was 
 a knocking at the door. On Louis' calling 
 to the visitor to come in, Arnheim entered. 
 Mary blushed and turned pale successively 
 at his appearance. She at that instant first 
 became sensible of the real state of her heart, 
 by noticing the disparity of her feelings to- 
 wards him and towards Bernard. The new- 
 comer, being a stranger to all in the company 
 but herself, saluted her, and approaching 
 nearer said : 
 
 " I could hardly believe my eyes when I 
 saw you this afternoon, about dusk, at the 
 window of this house ; but I soon learned 
 that I was not mistaken. Permit me to apo- 
 logise for my intrusion by communicating 
 some agreeable news, which I felt in duty 
 bound to impart to you as soon as possible." 
 
 " You are welcome in any event," an- 
 swered Mary ; " and doubly so if you are the 
 bearer of good news for our country." 
 
 She then introduced him formally to her 
 brother, to Bianca, and to Bernard. 
 
 •' You will remember, that already in War- 
 saw, I told you something of a secret patri- 
 
 otic society," Arnheim began ; " it is now 
 time to speak more fully upon the subject ; for 
 the hour has come when it is to bring forth 
 fruit. Germany is about to rise in her might 
 — the whole nation is about to be called to 
 arms. Prussia inarches valiantly at the 
 head. My own country is still fettered by 
 many cunningly-contrived political^ ties ; but 
 still there is hope that Austria also will for- 
 cibly burst them asunder. She now contents 
 herself by fanning the sacred flame in all 
 breasts, and strengthening all resolutions, un- 
 til the time arrives when she can step forward 
 unshackled and powerful. I have conse- 
 quently for some weeks been estranged from 
 the service of the Emperor. I have entered 
 that of the King of Prussia. The leaders of 
 our confederacy were, sometime since, notified 
 to hold themselves prepared for some decided 
 demonstration on the King's part. To-day — 
 only an hour ago- jie anxiously looked-for 
 intelligence arrivea that it had been done. 
 The King of Prussia speaks strongly to his 
 subjects ; he Calls upon them to fight for their 
 firesides and their liberties. A holy war is 
 kindling, in which the nations will re-pur- 
 chase their dearest rights, so long abused, 
 with their own blood — a war which holds 
 out to those who fall the palm of the mirtyr,. 
 and to the victor the garland of undying fame ! 
 Thus our country shall finally be emancipa- 
 ted from the chains of ignominy and suffer- 
 ing. This causes my bosom to sv«ell with 
 proud satisfaction, and makes me forgetful of 
 the present, in the happy anticipation of the 
 future." 
 
 In uttering the last sentence, He threw a 
 significant glance at Mary, who well under- 
 stood its meaning. 
 
 " You," he continued, turning to her, " I 
 know to be so true a daughter of our country 
 that, though you may smile at the conceit, I 
 interpret it as a propitious sign from heaven 
 to find you again, at a moment when in my 
 power to bear so cheering a message." 
 
 "Please to accept my warmest thanks," 
 said Mary, deeply affected — a beam of glad- 
 ness lighting up her countenance. " What 
 a glorious arch do your words spread over 
 the bleak and leaden horizon of our unhappy 
 country !" 
 
 " And a magnificent sun will arise in splen- 
 dor," cried Louis, inspired. " Now — now first 
 the days are coming when I can breathe happy 
 and free ! My heart's affection even blooms 
 full and fragrant only in this new light ! Oh, 
 Bianca ! hitherto thou hast been a flower, 
 whose sweet odors carried a cheering pre- 
 sage of vernal charms into the dark prison- 
 house ! — Now, the first trembling ray of 
 morning reaches us ! It falls upon my heart 
 as upon the pillar of Memnon, making it vo- 
 cal with melody! Refreshing breezes play 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 around breast and temples ! — the heavy cnr- 
 tain of dark and portentous clouds is riven in 
 twain, and the whole rich, vernal landscape 
 lies before us, in the glorious dawn of*Liber- 
 ty's day ! Oh, Bianca ! — what days are yet 
 in store for us !" 
 
 Bernard had drunk in Arnheim's communi- 
 cation in a serious, but deeply wrought mood. 
 " I go to join the ranks of the brave pa- 
 triots I" he exclaimed, in a tone of unalter- 
 able determination, giving Arnheim his "hand. 
 " And I will fight side by side with thee !" 
 cried Louis, enthusiastically. " We shall 
 now first learn by experience with what feel- 
 ings a man hears the thunder of battle rolling 
 a^und him. Oh, I now bless that year of en- 
 durance which we have passed through ; for it 
 has been to us a severe but instructive school. 
 I can now offer my country double satisfac- 
 tion for the wrong which, against my will, I 
 have committed against her. Hardened and 
 inured by the horrid conflicts which are past, 
 we can throw our influence with double ef- 
 fect into the scale of those contests which the 
 future is preparing for us. Not being any 
 longer tyros but tried men — steeled to dan- 
 gers and hardships, we now know bow to 
 wield our swords. Oh, indeed, sister, thou 
 sayest truly that a glorious radiance sheds its 
 light on the bleak and dark night of our 
 country !" 
 
 While Louis thus delivered himself of his 
 enthusiastic ardor, Bernard walked up and 
 down, immersed in troubled thoughts. 
 
 " I perceive what must be done," he finally 
 began, " and my bosom also dilates with noble 
 and patriotic feelings ! But I cannot call it joy. 
 If we have transgressed by taking part in this 
 year's campaign, and had it been a holier duty 
 to lay otir heads on the block, and fall as de- 
 fenceless victims to perady and craft — then a 
 retributive Nemesis has now overtaken us ; 
 and she bears heavily upon us !" 
 
 Mary conjectured what passed within Ber- 
 nard's breast. But Louis .answered : 
 
 " I do not understand thee, Bernard. What 
 kind of a Nemesis dost thou perceive in allot- 
 ments, which I look upon as the most gra- 
 cious dispensations of heaven ?" 
 
 " I look upon them in the same light ; but, 
 does not a heavy penalty attach to us 1 Thy 
 lofty enthusiasm has carried thee entirely 
 away. Must /, then, tell thee what otherwise 
 I would have heard from ihee, who was ever 
 my Mentor in virtue — so full of the noblest 
 sentiment ?" 
 
 " No more !" Louis interrupted him quick- 
 ly. " I know what thou wouldst say. The 
 sacrifice is bitter and difficult — it is the ring 
 of Polycrates which we must throw into the 
 
 Eca: 
 
 " I understand you both," said Mary, great- 
 ly moved ; " but it must be ! — it must, how- 
 
 ever bitter; and Rasinski will be the first to 
 sanction your resolution. Of a noble and ex- 
 alted spirit himself, his sympathies are enlist- 
 ed for everything that is great, true, or honor- 
 able ; but you must confront him frankly and 
 openly. Let him learn it from no one but 
 yourselves, that the day may come when you 
 meet each other in hostile array." 
 
 " Thus let it be," Bernard replied hastily ; 
 " we will write to Rasinski as soon as we 
 have determined what to do." 
 
 " Yes ; determined on a matter which may 
 be dontf very speedily," remarked Arnheim ; 
 " the step which would introduce you to 
 the ranks of the defenders of the liberties of 
 Germany, may be made this very moment." 
 Let us go, then !" said Bernard, resolutely, 
 " for there is no reason why we should delay." 
 They departed together. 
 The public papers of the next morning 
 contained the call of the King addressed to 
 his people — the proclamation of the third of 
 February, eighteen hundred and thirteen. A 
 glow of enthusiasm pervaded every heart. 
 The Teutonic patriots rushed with loud cries 
 to the waving banner of reviving liberty. 
 Tears of gladness glistened in the eyes of the 
 German maidens; their bosoms heaved ex- 
 ultingly in proud conscious patriotism. The 
 mother gladly saw her son — the sister her 
 brother — the affianced maiden her lover, mak- 
 ing ready to march. Every tear of anxious 
 misgiving was merged in the majestically 
 swelling tide of excited hopes. Oh, happy 
 time ! — Oh, thou sun of liberty ! with thy gol- 
 den beams, which then so fairly promised to 
 spread an ever smiling sky of spring and 
 beauty over the broad plains of Germany ! 
 Bernard and Louis enrolled themselves in 
 the army. The very next mommg saw them 
 again in arms. Still an oppressive feeling 
 burdened their breasts; too keen was the 
 shaft felt which forced them into the position 
 of enemies towards their most dear and wor- 
 thy friend, the preserver and protector of their 
 lives — to aim their weapons at his honorable 
 person ! Nothing would serve to abate this 
 distressing feeling, until they had made a 
 clean breast of it to their former brother in 
 arms. Consequently, they embraced the first 
 moments of leisure they could find as soon 
 as they had taken the decisive step, in order 
 to inform him of it themselves. Louis thus 
 addressed him : 
 
 " My Deaeest Friend : — I address these 
 words to your great and noble heart. The 
 current of events which brought me across 
 your path, and deposited the security of my 
 existence under your guardianship, has now 
 'again driven us asunder. But it not only 
 separates us ; it even bears me on against 
 you in the guise of an enemy. I know that 
 
au 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 yoa understand me, even without offering an 
 explanation. The nations of Europe, are 
 about entering upon a fearful contest ; the in- 
 dividual cannot be absolved from defending 
 the sacred interests of his country ; yet his 
 heart may bleed under the cruel necessity 
 which duty imposes. You received on board 
 the shipwrecked mariner, when helplessly 
 tossed on the billow — saved him, and set him 
 securely on bis native shore. And shall he 
 now, in following the proudly-sproad canvass 
 of his country's fleet, hurl destruction where 
 he once found safety 1 My friend, you who 
 know my heart, who have a thousand proofs 
 of my respect, ask yourself the question, 
 whether I can be ungrateful ? I know, and I 
 rely with a hallowed and unshaken faith upon 
 the conviction, that you will forgive me, that 
 even this eruption of an untowvd fate will 
 not destroy our friendship. We may ad- 
 vance in arms against each other, but among 
 the entire multitude of my fellow-soldiers, 
 my heart will tremble for the safety of no 
 one's life more than that of him whom 
 
 Jaramount obligations compels me to oppose. 
 lay the prayers of our mutual friends be our 
 shield and safeguard ; when the thunder of 
 battle roars, Bianca and Mary will raise their 
 hands to heaven in fervent supplication that we 
 may be spared the extreme of calamities. A 
 mild and brilliant star is visible to me through 
 the dark cloud of the reeking battle-field — the 
 star of Peace. These storms also will pass 
 by. The roaring volcano which agitates the 
 European continent to its very foundations, 
 must at last exhaust itself, and the blood- 
 stained torrents must be stayed — ^the rushing 
 waters which now rage in deadly fury against 
 each other, must turn back to their old quiet 
 channels. Then, sir, when the flowery banks 
 of our earth shall again be reflected in the 
 mirror of quiet waters — when the fresh and 
 purified sky shall again smile down upon us 
 — when the God of war, weary and surfeited 
 with slaughter, shall seek the most distant 
 and sequestered caverns to find repose — when 
 Themis shall sheathe her sword, and with an 
 equal hand measure out the boundariee of 
 the nations — then, Rasinski, the day will 
 have arrived which shall award us a recom- 
 pense for the most self-denying sacrifices ! 
 We shall again embrace with our former 
 love and fidelity on the charred ruins of the 
 battle-ground ; and the surrounding destruc- 
 tion shall no longer aflright us ; for the new 
 tendrils of spring are already shooting forth, 
 appearing in magnified beauty where the 
 volcano has showered down its most bhghting 
 Bcoriee. Let our gaze be directed toward 
 this distant goal. — Distant ! What do I say ? 
 He who by his creative fiat in an instant 
 called forth the heavens — luminaries out of 
 chaotic darkness — before whom a thousand 
 
 years are one day«— and who seeth the end 
 from the beginning-r-He, by His Omnipotent 
 arm, can knit us in the twinkling of an eye. 
 Let us then put our trust in Him, for His mer- 
 cy is infinitely great as His power ! 
 
 " Lotns Ro«EK." j 
 
 Bernard wrote as follows : 
 
 " Rasinski : — Could I sec you, eye to eye, 
 and speak face to face, kind looks and lan- 
 guage would disarm my present words of 
 their poison. But we are both doomed to taste 
 it, however much ^t may tear our vitals. On 
 me it is that Fate is pouring out its vengeance. 
 You know, sir, that for my friend's sake, 
 I resigned my country — drew the sword, and 
 inflicted wounds on the bosom which had 
 nurtured me ! Now the ball rolls backward; 
 a malicious Nemesis arms mc against the 
 friend, and I am transformed into his enemy ! 
 What boots it that my silly heart rebels against 
 it, and is ready to break — rises in savage op- 
 
 Etsition, and threatens to leap out of my body ? 
 own, unruly member, down ! I have been, 
 and am now, in the right. Unabashed, will I 
 brave it out, and like a Spartan smile even on 
 the rack on which fate thinks to wring from 
 me a cowardly confession ! With thee, Ra- 
 sinski, I will deal truly and above board. It 
 is my sacred , duty to press in upon thee — 
 sword in hand, and to pierce the bosom 
 which has so faithfully protected me, and 
 with which my own heart has so often beat 
 in , consonance ! Do thou to me likewise ! 
 Oh, Rasinski! that wilK be a delightful 
 day, when we shall find each other as by 
 the Mojaisk, amidst tempests and thunder- 
 clouds, and like the two brothers before the 
 walls of Thebes ! — rush on, so tha% pierced 
 to the heart, we sink down to the ground 
 together ! I now swear to thee, that I will 
 not spare thee ; for I do not know-that I could 
 commit a blacker treason against mv coun- 
 try ! Do thou to me the same ! But when we 
 both lie prostrate, side by side, with my dying 
 breath I will call: 'Rasinski!' and thou 
 wilt say: 'Bernard!' The national hatred 
 will ebb away with our heart's-blood ; and 
 the colder our bosoms become, the more in- 
 tense will be their glow of undying affection ! 
 Our lacerated hearts will cease to beat in our 
 embrace ! Oh, it will be a pattern of a death, 
 and they will mourn our loss — Bianca! — 
 
 Mary ! The cry is " forward !" All the 
 
 rivers, however wild their course, must 
 finally reach the sea ; they are then at rest ; 
 their billows are no longer urged impetuously 
 
 onward. Till then, fare thee well ! ^ 
 
 " Beemard." 
 
 Mary and Bianca requested to see the 
 letters. 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA. 
 
 SIS 
 
 " As yoa please, my dear friends !" Loots 
 " replied ; but still, I think it will be better 
 that you do not." 
 
 " No !" cried Bernard, " it is better for you 
 to read them. You know what is going on, 
 why should you not then also know how 1" 
 
 Saying this, he handed them the papers, 
 and they read them together, silently, but 
 amidst a profusion of tears. Bernard, in great 
 commotion, kept walking up and down io the 
 meantime. Finally, h6 stopped, fronting Louis, 
 and said : . 
 
 " Oh, it goes through my very soul !" — And 
 the two friends sank on each other's .breasts. 
 , Mary and Bianca each wrote a cordial and 
 loving greeting under the lines of their 
 brothers ; and then the letters were des- 
 patched by the post. 
 
 Over a week elapsed before an answer 
 arrived. This interval was, however, busily 
 and restlessly employed iii making prepara- 
 tions for the opening campaign. Rasinski's 
 answer came at last. It was received by 
 Bernard. He did not open it, but laid it 
 aside until Louis came home. 
 
 When they were all together, he handed 
 the missive to Louis, saying : 
 
 " Read it to us !" 
 
 Louis took the letter — broke the seal — 
 threw a hasty glance over it, and then with a 
 sad and trennilous voice, proceeded to read as 
 follows : 
 
 " Mt Friends — I have received your let- 
 ters — I expected them. The course you have 
 taken is nothing but what an indispensable 
 duty demands. If my friendship could be in- 
 creased, this step of yours would effect it. 
 The altar of a man's country is the most sa- 
 •cred to which he can bring his offering. The 
 moment he is bom he takes a mute but in- 
 violable oath of fidelity to her. Keep that 
 oath ;— I also will keep mine ; for I have so- 
 lemnly sworn it, even when a boy, like Han- 
 nibal, tl»ugh there was no Hamilcar to 
 lead me to the sacrificial stone. I always 
 entertained a deep veneration for the charac- 
 ter of Brutus, who pronounced sentence of 
 death upon his own sons ; because they 
 betrayed their fatherland. I should feel 
 bound to award the same judgment upon you, 
 if you committed the crime of which the sons 
 of Brutus were guilty. No new sorrow can 
 now affect my soul. I am accustomed to see 
 the plants which my heart desired to rear and 
 nurture troddewdown by the iron heel of fate. 
 I have made a sacrifice of all the light-hearted 
 happiness of youth, and of the blessings of 
 love, to the stem god of battles ; and even the 
 ties of friendship he now endeavors to dis- 
 sever, but that he cannot accomplish. Yes, 
 my friends, I have become hardened in sor- 
 
 row's severest school, and am invulnerable to 
 her arrows. An impervious coat of mail en- 
 closes my breast. The heaviest blows of fate 
 make no other impression than moving it with 
 slight agitation. We must fight against each 
 other — but still we may continue to esteem. 
 The blood-stained sword of battle even can- 
 not sunder the silken cords which unite our 
 hearts. If we are not permitted, like the he- 
 roes of Homer, to yield respect to the hal- 
 lowed rights of hospitality even iu open en- 
 counter, we may, in a nobler spirit, lovingly 
 press the hand by which we fall, to our hearts. 
 But our God of mercy, into whose hands we 
 confide our lives, will avert from us this ex- 
 treme of misfortune. Friends, brothers !< — a 
 wise and merciful Being has tied a bandage 
 over the eyes of man, that he should not see 
 the future ; it often is well for him also, that 
 the present is shrouded in mysteiy. Let us 
 ask for this blessing as a boon, and not cast 
 it presumptuously from us. While the con- 
 test shall last which brings us in hostile ar- 
 ray against^ one another, let us guard our 
 friendship within our silent bosoms. We 
 must not make inquiries about one another, 
 or know each other's actions or circum- 
 stances. For man must not vauntingly rely 
 upon his own strength. If I should possess 
 the knowledge where you stood arrayed 
 against me as antagonists, the sword might* 
 perhaps, fall from my grasp, and 1 should be 
 rendered incapable of redeeming my sacred 
 oath. Let, then, this controversy of the nations, 
 which rises as an iron wall between them, 
 dissolve all those bonds of affection and kindly 
 sympathies which formerly have been en- 
 twined between ourselves and ours. Perhaps 
 the day of peace for which thou hopest, Louis, 
 will dawn upon us, and then we will find each 
 other again. Should fate order it otherwise, 
 so let it be. Soon enough we shall know it. 
 Farewell, then, my friends ! — and you, beau- 
 tiful images, to whom my soul looks back 
 with sweet regret — Bianca, Mary ! Fare- 
 well, Mary ! — may'st thou be happy ! Thoo 
 canst ; for youth still blooms upon thy cheek : 
 and spring, which pushes the newly-scattered 
 seed into a ripening harvest, is still present 
 with thee. Be happy, and make others happy ! 
 It is enough. We part, perhaps, for a long 
 
 time but my hand is trying to touch the 
 
 curtain which conceals the sacred features 
 of futurity. Time alone can raise it. Fare- 
 well, even unto death ! " Rasinski." 
 
 The last bitter conflict of the heart was 
 thus over. Now remained the more palpable 
 one — that of the sword. 
 
 The^ bells gave out their solemn peals on 
 the following morning from the towers and 
 steeples of the city. The varied troops of 
 
316 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDREP ANP TWELVE ; OR, 
 
 warriors assembled in the market-place; — | 
 thoasands of citizens flocked thither also, 
 once more to bid adieu to their departing de- 
 fenders. / 
 
 Bernard and Louis were accoutred and 
 armed; their steeds were at the door, impa- 
 tiently pawing the ground. Bianca and Mary 
 were clinging to their brothers, bathed in 
 anxious tears, but yet raised above themselves 
 by the solemnity of the moment. 
 
 "Farewell, sister!" Bernard at last said, 
 breaking the sad silence. " Farewell ! — and 
 thou Mary ! — and thou !" 
 
 She wished to reach him her hand, but he 
 drew her nearer to him, and she sank weeping 
 on his breast, overcome by his noble affection. 
 Bernard imprinted a gentle kiss upon her 
 brow, and then said with firmness : 
 
 " No, thou sweet one ! — I do not demand 
 the decisive word from thee now — that word 
 at which the blossoms of the happiness of 
 my existence must either open with delightful 
 fragrance, or else wither and droop. These 
 stormy feelings of the moment must not ex- 
 tort it from thee 1 Thou must first be fully 
 convinced whether thy deep wounds can heal. 
 But the day of return will come apace ; — this 
 brilliant sun, which illumines the cupola yon- 
 der, promises it Then will I come to thee, 
 Mary, and will ask of thee : ' Will thy noble 
 heart devote itself to one who is faitliful ?' — 
 but not now !" 
 
 With these words he tore himself away, 
 and with Louis hastened out of the house. 
 Mary fell on Bianca's bosom, faint and weep- 
 ing. 
 
 They now heard the sound of the horses' 
 hoofs galloping off. The troops were put in 
 motion. Louis, Bernard, and Amheim were 
 among the foremost. They were followed by 
 loud ringing of bells, waving of handkerchiefs, 
 and vociferous shouts of encouragement. 
 The swelling tide of joy and enthusiasm rose 
 to its highest pitch, and on its waves carried 
 the heart proudly away over the deepest 
 forebodings of grief and danger. For the time 
 was accomplished, the harvest was ripe, and 
 the reapers went forth with bright sickles 
 to the field ! 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The promise was victory — and victory was 
 the fulfilment ! The thunders of the last on- 
 set for Liberty on the borders of France had 
 rolled away ; the sacred banners waved the 
 second time from the towers and battlements 
 of Paris ! 
 
 The tree of Germany's freedom had struck 
 its roots deep in the midst of Russia's snowy 
 deserts, and under the leaden sky of her 
 rough winter's nights, proudly it grew up in 
 the storm of those heroic days. Now, the 
 vivifying sun of peace was to unfold its budss 
 and blossoms, and develop its gladsome efful- 
 gence ! Hearts still vibrated in anxious re- 
 collection of the yet sullen echoes and rever- 
 berations of the distant departing thunder; 
 but the vault of heaven cleared up, and every 
 heart drew down sweet, promising hopes ! 
 
 The very grief for the many thousands 
 who had fallen sacrifices in the purchase of 
 this grand jubilee was changed into a sweet 
 though sad source of happiness; for no 
 blood but that of redemption had flowed ! 
 ****** 
 
 In pursuance of Louis' expressed wish, 
 Mary and Bianca had sought a quiet retreat 
 on the peaceful farm neaj Dresden, where 
 lived his maternal aunt — and where they^were 
 surrounded with the affectionate and loving 
 playmates and companions of their youth. 
 Here Bernard arid Louis rejoined them ; and 
 here they consummated their happiness by 
 entering into mutual and indissoluble bonds. 
 Bernard's noble constancy and faithfulness 
 had made Mary's heart all his own ; the 
 flower of her affection, which had so long 
 been dimmed by sorrowing tears, here un- 
 folded its chalice in freshness and bloom. 
 
 One cloud of trouble yet hung upon the 
 brow of the happy ones dwelling here to- 
 gether. Peace had come; but as yet they 
 had learned nothing touching that noble- 
 minded friend, who, true td his purnose, had 
 renounced them. A letter which Louis some 
 weeks previously had dispatched to the count- 
 ess at Warsaw remained unanswered. Were 
 they to mourn that excellent man as among 
 the dead ? Had he, like the honest Amheim, 
 the poetical youth Bemo, fallen among the 
 victims which this sanguinary warfare exact- 
 ed? These new subjects of grievous con- 
 jecture occupied these otherwise so happy 
 hearts. 
 
 One evening, late in Aug^ist, as the twi- 
 light had already begun to throw its ob- 
 scuring veil over the horizon of the setting 
 sun, Bernard, Louis, Bianca and Mary were 
 sitting together before the pavilion m the 
 garden. From the shrubbery on the hill 
 where they sat, they observed a travelling- 
 
NAPOLEON'S INVASION OF RUSSIA- 
 
 317 
 
 carriage coming towards the house on the 
 road running close by the garden-wall. The 
 carriage stopped at the garden-gate ; it open- 
 ed, and a tall, majestic female figure, dressed 
 in mourning, entered, and came toward them. 
 
 " I should know this Juno !" said Bernard. 
 
 " It is the countess !" exclaimed Mary, who 
 had known her the longest and most inti- 
 mately, running to meet her in apprehensive 
 surprise. 
 
 " It is, indeed !" said the new-comer, stop- 
 puig and throwing back her veil. 
 
 She then opened her arms to receive Mary, 
 whom she pressed passionately to her heart, 
 and imprinted glowing kisses on her lips. 
 Louis, Bernard and Bianca also drew near ; 
 all received a silent, sorrowful, but affection- 
 ate salute from the lady. 
 
 She looked very pale. Grief had deeply 
 furrowed her cheeks. She shed no tears; 
 but the fire of her eye seemed to be dim- 
 med. 
 
 " I had a desire to see you once more," she 
 said, after a long and painful struggle — giving 
 a hand each to Bernard and Louis. 
 
 An enquiry after Rasinski lingered on 
 every tongue, yet no one dared to give it ut- 
 terance. 
 
 "And you come alone, entirely alone?" 
 Bianca at last began, in a tremulous voice. 
 " Oh, leave us no longer in such torturing 
 uncertiiinty about the fate of persons so dear 
 to us !" 
 
 The countess drew a profound sigh, and 
 looked up to heaven. 
 
 " I come alone ! — entirely alone ! let that be 
 my answer !" she replied, shrinking back. 
 
 " And Lodoiska ?" Mary asked, with quiv- 
 ering lips. 
 
 " Dost thou think that she could survive 
 her affliction ?" Her lacerated heart rests in 
 peace, now a year. She is happy f 
 
 *' And Rasinski !" cried Bernard, no longer 
 able to contain himself. 
 
 A severe struggle was seen in the count- 
 ess' features. • 
 
 " He also is at rest !" she at length said, in 
 measured accents. "He was last seen at 
 Leipsic by the side of Prince Poniatowski. 
 Farther than i\yis, I know nothing concerning 
 hun." 
 
 A presentiment of something like this had 
 long occupied their hearts ; but the confirma- 
 tion of the reality pierced them with agony. 
 Mary sank shuddering on Bernard's bosom ; 
 hp "lasped her firmly, his head inclined upon 
 hers, and his tears besprinkled her brow. 
 Louis stood transfixed by the keenest emo- 
 tions — ^his tear-dimmed eyes fixed on the 
 grpund. Bianca covered her weeping coun- 
 tenance, and reclined her cheek, faint and 
 sick, on the ahouider of her husband. 
 
 " I weep no longer for him," said the 
 countess, her voice trembling, however, as if 
 greatly moved : " nor have I wept much. 
 Happy is he that his eyes do not behold this 
 day ! His noble heart could not endure our 
 degradation !. Surely he is far better off!" 
 
 Mary stepped trembling up to her, and fell 
 weeping on her neck. 
 
 " Oh, my protectress 1" she sobbed, almost 
 smothered by her tears. 
 
 " Daughter ! — my daughter !" cried the 
 countess, a torrent of scalding tears breaking 
 forth. " A daughter at my bosom ! Oh ! 
 now I can weep again !" 
 
 Bianca also approached, and placed her 
 arm around the neck of the majestic woman. 
 " Take your rest here among us," she en- 
 treated .soothingly ; " we will be your daugh- 
 ters !" 
 
 The countess regarded her for a moment 
 with an enquiring look ; a violent struggle 
 agitated her bosom ; the proposal seemed to 
 draw her with a gentle force back into life, 
 once more within the circle of home. But 
 suddenly she rose, proud and erect, withdrew 
 from the embrace of the weeping women, 
 shook her head, and said, " No, no, it cannot 
 be !" 
 
 Her irrevocable purpose was so distinctly 
 expressed in voice and attitude, that no one 
 ventured to repeat the request. During this 
 episode, Nadine, the fair-haired daughter of 
 Alisette, had come skipping out from among 
 the bushes, and stood lost in astonishment 
 before the stranger, looking upon her with 
 her full, sparkling eyes. 
 
 TJie countess was strangely moved at the 
 sight of the child, for she recognised her im- 
 mediately. " Dost thou know me yet, Na- 
 dine ?" she asked, in a voice scarcely audi- 
 ble. 
 
 " Instead of answering, the little girl still 
 kept looking at her, and then confidingly hid 
 her curly head in her lap. 
 
 The countess pushed her gently away, and 
 turned round to go. 
 
 " Stay with us, beautiful lady !" Nadine 
 cried affectionately after i)er, as she proceed- 
 ed towards the garden-gate. She turned 
 quickly round, lifted up the child in her 
 arms, kissed it, pressed it to her heart, and 
 asked with much feeling: " Wilt thou go 
 with me ? The child would be a sweet comfort 
 in my secluded solitude," she said, turning to 
 Bianca, and looking at her inquiringly. 
 
 " I can refuse you nothing — nothing that 
 you may ask," replied Bianca, however deep- 
 ly a separation from the endearing little 
 creature pained her own heart. 
 
 " No, not that even," said the countess, 
 mildly, after a few moments' inward conflict, 
 setting down the child again on the green 
 
m 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVP 
 
 sward. " Why shonid I throw the black pall 
 of grief over her joyous youth ? Why should 
 she walk only beneath weeping willows, in- 
 terspersed with mourning urns and death's 
 heads 7 No, I will not burden the days that 
 I may yet have to live — and I trust to the Al- 
 mighty that they will be but very few. I will 
 not aggravate them with such a reproach on 
 my soul. Remain thou among the happy, 
 sweet creature !" 
 
 She again kissed the child, and released 
 it from her embrace. 
 
 " I came only for the purpose of bidding 
 you farewell," the countess finally resumed. 
 "I trembled in view of this hour, but it 
 would have been wrong to have avoided it. I 
 am going to America ! It may become a 
 
 new father-land to me, for it is the only conn- 
 try on the face of the earth wherb a free 
 heart may draw Freedom's breath. My home, 
 my native soil,, is a cemetery, a prison-house, 
 a proscribed place of executions. Let the 
 wide ocean roll between us ! But we will 
 not enhance the pain of leave-taking ; boldly, 
 resolutely, let us sunder the last tie which re- 
 tains me' Farewell, dearest friends — follow 
 me nol ! Only after I am dead shall yon 
 hear of me once more l" 
 
 She let fall her veil, and departed with a 
 proud and rapid step, waving her hand that 
 no one should accompany her. But the tear- 
 dimmed eyes of those who were left standing 
 on that hill followed the lofty figure until it 
 became lost in the shadows of night. 
 
 TRK EllD. 
 
 I 
 
 
NEW SEA TALE BY COOPER. 
 
 THE CRATER; 
 
 A TALE OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 
 
 BYJ. FENNIMORECOOPER. 
 
 AITTHOR OF THK " DEEESLATER," "LAST OF THE MOHICANS,'' " PILOT " " WING 
 
 AND WING,". ETC., ETC. 
 
 Two Tolumes— Price, SO Cents. 
 
 From the political complexion of Mr. Cooper's more recent- novels, they have been shyly 
 dealt with of late, and the " Crater" has been subjected to a very rigid examination by the 
 Critics. The verdict of the American Press, we are happy as Publishers to say, rank» this 
 production as altogether free from disquisitional matter, and among the happiest the author of 
 the " Leather-Stocking Tales" ever penned. Free from his few characteristic faults, the book 
 is replete with his characteristic beauties ; a more fascinating narrative has not been written 
 since the times of Defoe. 
 
 The tale is simple. Two seamen alone surviving from the crew of a vessel, wh ioh gets 
 land-locked and cast away among an intricate group of volcanic isles in the Pacific, escape to 
 a desert reef of lava to which is an extinct eraser — ^treeftss, herbless, utterly barren. 
 
 On this, the ship being almost miraculously saved with all her cargo, by unwearied ener- 
 gy, the two Crusoes manufacture a soil of sea-weed, guano and the like ; raise vegetables, trees, 
 and grass, and with the stock saved from the ship prosper incredibly. 
 
 At length they build a pinnace, which is swept oflf the stocks w^ith one, the inferior man, on 
 board, by a deluge and tornado, and the hero is left alone. During his solitude a terrible vol- 
 canic eruption occurs. The reef and crater are upheaved high above the ocean, new islzinds 
 appeared, and one huge active volcano. • 
 
 Having constructed another boat, our hero next proceeds to cruise about his isle, and disco- 
 vers a volcanic peak of more ancient origin, covered with groves, abounding in tropical firuits, 
 and full of birds of exquisite plumage. 
 
 Ere long a vessel heaves in sight, which proves to be the missing man, returning from Ame- 
 rica, whither he succeeded in arriving after his perilous launch, bringing with him his own 
 wife and his friend's wife, other friends, stock, cattle, and all thifigs necessary for a new colony. 
 
 Henceforth all works on prosperously ; the colony is increased by subsequent arrivih, till it 
 becomes large, rich, and enterp jing — its advancement only arrested by an occasional visit 
 from savages, and one attack fro :n pirates, all of whom are successfully repulsed by the origi- 
 nal discoverer, now governor of the group. 
 
 So long as there is but one clergyman and no lawyers or editors on the island, all goes on 
 well, and Vulcan's Peak is a perfect paradise. But these pests of society creep in like 
 Satan into Eden — society is overturned— the governor deposed — and a rank scene of anarchy 
 ensues. 
 
 In disgust, the governor and his family return to the United States; but sailing back shortly 
 afterward to visit the colony, they find that a fresh convulsion of nature has swallowed up 
 what was upheaved by a similar convulsion, and that of the whole group but a single rock 
 remains, the monument of the submerged colony. 
 
 Such is the framework of a production which shows there is still '• fire in the flint" — thai a 
 stock of excellence equal to the pristine ability still remains locked up in the veteran writer's 
 brain. 
 
 ^' .-. STRINGER & CO., Publishers, 
 
 222 Broadway, New- York. 
 
GEORGE: 
 
 THE 
 
 PMNTM 01^ TIB lO OF FRINCB. 
 
 AUTHOR OF « THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO," "GENEVIEVE," Etc., Etc. 
 
 Price, SO Cents. | 
 
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 Price, 50 €ciit§. 
 
 Since the time of Scott, the department of historical novel writing has 
 been an important part of the literature of the world. All that the gene- 
 rality of the world know about certain characters, who have played an im- 
 portant part in its history, is derived from them. They give us our ideas 
 about the habits of the people and the events of the times. The James I. 
 and Louis IX., whom we know are the James and Louis 'of Scott. They 
 supply the place of History and Biography. When well written, they are 
 an eminent aid to the scholar. They fling the romance of individual life j 
 around the details of the historian, and impress upon the mind particulars 
 otherwise forgotten. 
 
 At the head of this class of writers stands at the present time Alexandre 
 Dumas, who in the dramatic« energy of his works rivals Sir Walter, and in 
 fertility of incident is equalled only by Smollet. Did he possess the inimi- 
 table descriptive powers of Scott, he might safely challenge all rivalry, and 
 distance all competitors in his own peculiar line. As an historical novelist, 
 h.is excellence consists in his admirable adaptation of event, charqifter, and, 
 language to the time of which he writes. His Richelieu is the Richelieu of 
 history, relentless, inscrutable, omniscient, using friends and enemies alike 
 for his own ends, compressing opposition and conspiracy itself, to the ad- 
 vancement of his ]ilans. His other characters are such as the time would 
 l)riiig forth. In all his other novels he adheres to historic truth in the same 
 de;.;ree. lie elucidates history. As a novelist, he has two prime qualities : 
 i!ie hurrying rapidity of hia incidents, and the dramatic fidelity of his cha- 
 V. raeters. Ho has no plot that wearies us to unravel its intricacies. His 
 h clmraoti.rs show for themselves, by their language, what they are. He never 
 1 1 ilelineatos. He never moral iz^cs. He does not tell us sui;h an one hates, 
 loves, i.s grieved — wo see it and feel it ourselves. His cliaracters need but 
 to speak to bo recognized. 
 
 In the novel before us we detect nearly all these great characteristics. 
 " George the Planter" is a tale of the sunny, luxuiious Isle of France, in tlie 
 Indian Ocean. We 'lave read "Indiana," in which the rich and most sur- 
 passing beauty of that lovely country is described. Dumas has finished 
 tiie Picture, by giving its. history in a dramatic fiction well worthy a niche 
 beside the magnificent story termed the " Count of Monto-Cristo." 
 
 iK<MM 
 
 
By the AntJior of ''Heetor O'Halloran.' 
 
 >■ " Tv:, 
 
 BRIAN O'llNJ; 
 
 s i. ;: ■ • '^ ^IQ OR, ':, C*^ 
 
 ■v>V 
 
 LUCK IS EVERYTHING. 
 
 BY W.H. MAXWELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "HECTOR O'HALLORAN," "STORIES OF WATERLOO," 
 " WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST," " TORRES VE DRAS," ETC. 
 
 WITH 
 
 Twelve Humorous lUastrative Engravings, done by Orr, from 
 
 Gruikshanks' designs. 
 
 PRICE FIFTY CENTS. > 
 
 This book possesses such et current of point and vivacity, and is so capitally 
 written, that we urge both Lever and Lover to look to their laurels. — London 
 Examiner. . . ,/ . ■ _. ■ y - 
 
 Maxwell handles his battle scenes magnificently ; and who so fit, for, a sol- 
 dier himself, he has " done the state some service." We have read Brian 
 O'Linn, and really don't kno^v; which most to admire — his fine graphic pen- 
 cillings, or his facetious narration. — London Times. 
 
 Gruikshanks' magical crayon has done exceeding justice to a most excellent 
 Story. — Athenaum. 
 
 This book will render any man proof against ennui, who chances to procure 
 it. — Literary Chronicle. 
 
 " Luck is everything," said we, after perusing this book. Maxwell must 
 have been in the. happiest vein ; for " Brian O'Linn " is a piirfect type of the 
 school that has won its way so deservedly into the public esteem. — Spectator. 
 
 He who reads this production, will not do it with a dry eye : tears, albeit, 
 not drawn from scenes pathetic, or doleful, but from the most comical pic- 
 tures of life that e'er shook the fat sides of a turtle-fed alderman- — Bell's 
 Weekly Messenger. 
 
 STRINGER & TO WNSEND, 
 
 222, Broadway, New York. 
 
 ■-Ar—'-Vii-e-.- »^- i*-*e»S^p.^ 
 
 :«t^|Hf^^^ ^a- r ^i j "* ■ 
 
PRIDE— COMPLETE. 
 
 PRICE FIFTY CENTS. 
 
 f- 
 
 THE 
 
 .J 
 
 \m 
 
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 STranalatc^ from tijc Jrcnci) b^ IHre. (ffmil^ 0oren. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
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 ^ So. 222 BROADWAY , 
 
 1848. 
 
BMiV l-^eCff^LETK. 
 
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 NE W- YORK: • 
 
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 18 4a 
 
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99! 
 
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 MARTIN THE nmmMi 
 
 ''• •■' C-; ■ ,:J^ JV-'l -K, . OR, THE ' -^t^!! • ^^i^^ f' - 
 
 MBMOffi§ Of i f l£if-DB-CliMBHB. 
 
 * T .< 
 
 BY EUGENE SUE, 
 
 PRICE 75 CENTS. 
 
 I --I ; 
 
 / t 
 
 Tlie above work may be truly pronounced the masterpiece of its gifted and excellent au- 
 thor, for it is the enibodimeutof all his thoughts, rctiections and labors upon the great subject 
 whicli lies next liis heart — that of the melioration of the social conditipn of the poorei 
 classes of Prance. From the social structure of the United States no analagous picture 
 can bo drawn of the squalid jiovcrty, hopeless moral dogiadatioii, and hardened crime, 
 that, like llio Ujjas, permeaie with their poisonous breath the masses of the densely popu- 
 lated cities of Europe. M. Sue's aim and etimts are of the noblest and most humanising 
 character. He seeks, by the cniploy»icnt of his acknowledged powerfid abilities, to rousti 
 the legislhtion as well as the philanthropic and- charitable classes of h-is country t»piit forth 
 an arm in jnomotion and support of a better order of thing?, fl is through his Martin 
 THE FauNDi.rNC he shows how this isto^Je done. Whether he accomplish his ei>d, oi 
 not, the civic wreath is his dxw ; for as the machine now works in the European cai>ituls, 
 j)olhUioii and crime, disease and destitution, must, to tlte disgrace of civilization, remain 
 the festering j>lagiie-spots they are, upon the lair frame-work of human society. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRIi^SS. 
 
 • * * — let me endeavor to do some sort of justice to tliis noblest production ol- a gene- 
 rous and ardent soul. Until tlirce days since^I had not looked into this work, having 
 heard that there was something in tl«e early numbers that shocked the moral sensibilitie;? 
 of its first publishers. I jumped at tlie conclusion that a book they had discarded on mo- 
 ral grounds must be profligate indeed In this I did gross wrong to tlie author, as those 
 generally da who judge without reading. If ever a bock was m the highest sense moral, 
 then is Martin dbserving' of that distinction. True, it has scenes and narrations of revolt- 
 ing depravity — and there are two or three which, not being absohitely essential to the en- 
 Ibrcement of tte great lessons of Duty and Philantliropy, which ' Hartin' was intended to 
 inculcate, I heartify wish had been omitted. Yet even in this view flie book is not so ob- 
 jectionable as those productions of Le Sage,^ Smollett, Fielding, Sterne, etc. (to say nothing 
 of Bulwer,) which the wise world has long regarded with scarcely qualified admiration, 
 and which find a place without rebuke in nearly all considerable libraries. Without sutfer- 
 infjthe interest of the* narrative to flag, the author has enriched his pages with frequent 
 and va!ual||p Mints for improvement in Rural Agriculture, Domestic Economy, Popnlai 
 Education, the Prevention of Crime, &c., &c., making this m fact the noblest work ol 
 imagination in wliich the Spirit of the Age has yet embodied itself. I have alreauy said 
 that faults are evident throughout the work — faults of education, of taste, and of lax mo- 
 rality — yet so completely are they overbalanced by its lofty and practi^cal excellencies, thai 
 I do not believe a single reader will be injured, while thousands must be enlightened, im- 
 proved, moi ally tilevated by its thonghtfnl perusal. — Horace Greeleyfa Letter to the Tri- 
 bune. 
 
 Perhaps no work has yet been writren, of what are ealled novels, which mcwre fully ex- 
 hibits the potency of the rornariccr, to do good, in a certain way than this ! It cuts into 
 the very heart — t)ie sore, gangrened', suffering, guihy heart — of that immense social evil 
 which has accunudated for long and artificial ages over the states of Europe ; exposes tho 
 monstrous cllect of the undue distribution of wealth, by unnatural means, which provnils 
 in the ironarchies there— and with the most daring boldness portrays facts, which, with 
 all their repnlsivent??s to the delicate sense, and while the over-prudish may frown, are 
 facts; and, being so, are as necessary to be exposed to strong light, as the putrifyinj 
 flesh on which tlie surgeon is to perform a life-saving operation! We like this booX 
 well, aiid hope it will be read yvidicXy.— Brooklyn Star. 
 
 BURGESS, STRINGER & CO., Publishers, 
 • 222 Broadway, corner Ann street, New York. 
 
 ^.uy^^t*' 
 
 • -.«t«.»M;>/--W?*(MlfiM(«W».«rf ■**»'».'-'M<»>v»- ■ 
 
ADVMITOHH MEDMl STUDMT. 
 
 i fieiitg StorieB in iHij Hit. 
 
 1 BY ROBERT DOUGLAS, SURGEON, R. N, 
 
 ■ JN TWO VOLS. -PRICE FIFTY CENTS. 
 
 ., ./ * 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM MANY NOTICES OF THIS WORK. 
 
 " Wo welcome a great addition just made to our travelled literature. Our records of travels, 
 and of historical and biographical events, give the first place to our narrators. Mr. Douglas has 
 placed himself in the front rank of this class of writers." — Examiner. 
 
 " The most extraordinary production that has issued from the prew for years." — Weekly Chron. 
 
 " Original, vigorous, edifying, and absorbingly interesting." — Jen-old's Newspaper. 
 
 " Here is a book whose very title is attractive ; but not half so much so as the run of the con- 
 tents. The author deserves the thanks of every reader for the production ef so vigorous and fas- 
 cinating a work." — Frazer's Magazine. 
 
 "Abounding with incident and tho closest observation of character and ©vents." — N. Y. Com- 
 tnercml Advertiser. n^-^r.-siK -^'^■' > -i^-' ' "'V 
 
 " His life brought, to a sudden and premature close, young Douglas, in his' writings, evinced an 
 originality of conception, a treadth of observation, and a progressive improvement, which gave the 
 most encouraging promise of future greatness." — Tribune. 
 
 COOPER^IS BEE-HlJi¥TER. 
 
 ^ At very considerable cost we have secured this story of Western Life, just completed by the 
 author of " The Leatherstocking Tales," with any one of which it will vie in the charms which 
 have rendered this series ^f our national literature so popular. It is called 
 
 THE OAK OPENINGS: 
 
 ' "■'■''^''''^^^"^^ OR, THE BEE-HUNTER. j^- - 
 
 e Y J. F E N I M O R E COOPER. /- 
 
 V V ■ ■. ': / PRICE FIFTY CENTS. ilnv^T 
 
 ^••! >-s.-..'jr;.;> ■■ 
 
 The foUoioing Notices have already iip2>eared. ,'-*'■:' ;'^ —•- 
 "It is one of those life-picturing books which can scarcely fail to please every reader. — 
 Western character, often created bj circumstances, or if not created, shaped thereby, assumes a 
 variety of feature, the contemplation of which neirer fails to afford rich amusement. Cooper has, 
 in this novel, drawn some of the happiest scenes that even hisJiigli descriptive powers have ever 
 produced." — Troy Whig. 
 
 " Western character, shaped and coBtroIled as rt is by the force of circumstances, is rarely 
 
 portrayed, and there is a happy vein of hunior pervading' the work, that will «ecnre for it a large 
 
 circle of readers. The title is purely tlie language of the Far West, where formerly the pursuit of 
 
 the wild bee, and the appropriation of its stored-up sweets, formed a peculiar and lucrative em- 
 
 I ployment to quite a number of the hardy pioneer settlers." — Tribune. 
 
 I " Belongs to the eariy <;la8s of tales by the author ; and, in our opinion, eqtial t« the very best 
 I of that series." — Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 " The scenes are laid at liome. The book is, we are happy to say, in the author's old style ; 
 and to say this is to establish its merit."— Bosfoa Atlas. 
 
 STR.INGER iz, TOWNSEND, 
 The Great PuUishing Depot, 222 Broadway, N. Y. 
 

 THE 
 
 COUNT OF MONTE-CHEISTO. 
 
 BY ALEXANDER DUMAS. 
 
 ->u 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE THREE GUARDSMEN," "TWENTY YEARS AFTER,' 
 
 ETC.. ETC. 
 
 PRICE ONE DOLLAR. 
 
 STRINGER AND CO 
 
 > v.ji-'i- 
 
 Have ju.-Jt isaued a perfect and faithful translatiwi of this powerful and magRifieeBt 
 Romance — a work which the Paris Reviewers assert to have thrown Hugo, Baizac, 
 and Sue, in the shade, and which has already taken the reading community here by 
 surprise. 
 
 The conception of the plot is both striking and original. A man, young, gener- 
 ous, tender and resohite is through the malice and injustice of others conwmned to 
 waste bis life in a prison. He has the good fortune to come oat with his powers 
 unbroken. The company of one of those persons, so far beyond their age in intel< 
 lect that it deems them mad, has educated him. Destiny makes Ihia mastter of an 
 immense fortune. The dreadful loss in the years of life, the robbery of its bloom 
 might have been conipensated by improvement in the fruit, had he, on leaving his 
 dungeon, found his anections safe from the havoc of the stomi. But lus fatlier is 
 dead of starvation, the woman whom^e hve6, and frcHH whom he had been torn on 
 the eve of marriage, has forgotten him and given herself to his rival. His heart 
 becomes rigid and lost to all loving trust in the Power who bad permitted auch ap- 
 palling blights to fall on him and on his fellow-men. 
 
 Life needing an object, be constitutes himself an avmging demon to punish those 
 who have wrought this Ul. For years he is dedicated to tms wwk, and the plan, 
 by which he at last draws all his prey into the net, is magnificently wrought and 
 gives a strong continuous interest to the narrative. But the pait that is original is 
 the ingenuity with which his intellect and bis wealth are brought to bear on the 
 springs of society to so great an extent. There is a good deal also characteristic 
 of the poet, and which, in times when civic life shall ^come still more luxurious 
 and rapid, will be looked back to with interest, as a sketch of the early stages of 
 that era. 
 
 The book is full of brilliant scenes ; the rough sketches of character and place 
 are always good. There are many passages showing knowledge of the passions 
 and tliat fermentation in the dregs of life commonly called the world, which no other 
 man could write. Monte-Christo, abstinent in the midst of pleasures, feeding si- 
 lently on his own heart, lets all the personages play out their natural parts, only 
 furnishing the occasions and means for them to use or misuse, according to their 
 tendencies. Dumas is of a liberal and sumptuous nature ; his African blood is warm, 
 and in his pages we accordingly discover the glowingsof a heart gushing with feel- 
 ing, as well as a hand nerved to pen the effusions of an intellect, strong and vigo- 
 rous from his innate genius and study. 
 
 The work is published in cue large Volume, likewise in two Volumes : — in either 
 form it is sold at One Dollar, accompanied by Twelve solerdid Engravings. 
 
VOLUME L 
 
 COMPLETE EDITION. PRICE 50 CTS. 
 
 ! 
 
 THE 
 
 COUIT OF ilOITG-CRISTO.I 
 
 BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
 • 
 
 BASTES PERUSINO THE ADBE's WORK. 
 
 V> NE W.YORK: 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 
 
 (lAte Burgess, Stringer & Co > 
 
 •322 BKOADWAT. 
 
 1849. 
 
Hinii 
 
 BY G. W. M. REYNOLDS, 
 
 AUTHOR OP **LIFE IN LONDON," "ESTHER DE MEDINA," THE REFORMED HKJHWAt' 
 MAN," "WALLACE,. THE HERO OF SCOTLAND," ETC., ETC. 
 
 In Two Vols.— Price, One Dollar, 
 
 f. 
 
 b 
 
 
 Bv a brilliant episode, the scene of which is laid in Italy, the oppresaon of Austria over that 
 
 fertile and ill-fated region is truthfully and fearlessly narrated, and is deeply exciting. Nor has 
 
 the Author confined himself lo the influenno of foreign tyranny. The immense power wielded by 
 
 ihe oligarchy of England, to the oppression of their ow» countrymen and the aggression of the 
 
 world — ^itsorigin and probable duration — are dwelt upon with the feelings of a patriot and a philo- 
 
 soplieF. There islio situation of life but what may here find a parallel. The gilded contanjina- 
 
 tions of a court, the boudoir of the fair, the exhibitions of the legislature, and the law — wielding 
 
 llieiT powers Rke an exasperated and bruta^onqueror — the jail, the hulks, and the gallows, and all 
 
 the esnsequences of Crime, «;ill b« found iu these volumes. Of the Author it may bo said, as 
 
 Johhsoa of Sh;Jispeare, , H " ' ■ i*'-,..,' ^ ; '"^ -Wl^i;. * i'ij''^; \ ' ■ ;. 
 
 • /• \ ■ -. . '•'•■ ' «-.'■• 
 
 ".' ~ "Eaeh change of many-coloredlife he drew." 
 
 Nor is it alone the more abhorrent vices that are displayed. The virtues are not neglccte<^ 
 Scenes of filial piety and refined Iotc give a charm to the work, and throw their benign 
 influence like a halo round the narrative, and make it as interesting to the fair and beautiful as in- 
 structive to the man of the wprld, and to inexperience and happy ignorance. To the inhabitant of j 
 the Western World, and those who are m>t in populous cities pent, EitEN MoA'roe will bo peculiarly | 
 interesting. They can peruse without participhting, and enjoy without the danger of contamina- j 
 tion. This immunity from the eor.tngien of a highly civilized life, they owe to the bravery and , 
 energy of their forefathers ; but they will nftt know, until they have iJerused this work, what i 
 temptations assail virtud^ nor what rewards encourage viee. 
 
 Ellen MuiIroe is published in two volumes, printed miiformly with Life in L©ndon, of which 
 it is a sequtl ] the price is the same. Fifty Cevts per Volume. The f llustrations are by the same 
 artist, and it is neatly priiUcd, with good reading type, on good paper, and sewed in an elegant 
 paper cover. . / '-.,[; ' 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, ] 
 
 222 Broadway, New York. 
 
 .♦ -^ 
 
 '--.■..|-v.. ;„#, 
 
 >fi'» MKwrjiWii. 
 
 l;.^(^.Z 
 
i" 
 
 THE 
 
 FIRST FALSE STEP; 
 
 €R, THE PATS OF CEIME. 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
 And finds too late that men l>etray ; 
 
 What charm can sooth her melancholy— 
 What art can wash her guilt away ! 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 BURGESS, STRINGER &. CO., 222 BROADWAY. 
 
 1848. 
 
f.' 
 
 r. 
 
 i 
 
 f 
 
 'a 
 
 
 A WORK OF THRILLING INTEREST, FOUNDED UPON THE SCENES OF 
 HAPPINESS AND MISERY, VIRTUE AND VICE» WHICH CONSTITUTE 
 
 Hifr in t)ir Mvitinft smttv^^x^li^. 
 
 AUTHOR OF **ELLKN MONROE," "ESTHER UB MEDINA," " XUE REKORMJEU" HIOHWAY- 
 
 MAN," "■WALLACE," ETC., ETC., ETC. ' 
 
 In Two Large Volumes. — Price, Qae-. IDoHa?. 
 
 V ■ — ° — :.-m] 
 
 It may safely be atMertod, tk»| no pnUieatioi) c^f the present day ha» pToduced so gre!>t a sen- 
 satiott ill the British Mctr<^oli9> (t» tha>t c-auned by tho uppearance of the afe>ve work. Not even 
 t^e eelebrated Mysteries of Paris, by Eitg6>iM Sue, was received with greater app49Baer er met 
 with more deserved sueceas. It i» oitly iu tlie cities of tke CHd World tiiat such scenes are eii- 
 ac1ed> which, wheu fuithfuHy and vividly depicted, eause us t* (ladder ait their straiige and Ivide- 
 ouv esotrasts — the eTtremes of WeaUh and Want — of Pride and iWerty— of Luxury aud Licen- 
 tiouKiess. Those whoYiave vxrer witBOssed them would BOt ima^a« their eaiartenee ;^ but the pe- 
 rusal of ** Life in Lor^n" wi9 csaTiiiee all thai they are uot the (^fcpring alone of fertile fancy, 
 but that all the main incideuta must have had their foundatioas m fax^t. The Author has, i» this 
 histsry, laid bare the recesses of high life — ^he has exposed its nioustrous afrogaoce — its ilt-fou«d- 
 ed pretensions, and its exorbitant tyranny. He has proved its utter hollowBess, its conceited 
 shaHowness, and its ig^norant iilotalry. From this point he Iras gradually expasded, u»ti} all 
 classes come in review before him — oatjl we arrive at the last and die lowest^ — those whoj cast iutO' 
 the thick and deep shade of soetety, live obseurrfy and unknowUr tiH, arousad from their lethargy 
 by the pressing pangs of hunger ami dcstitirtiou, tliey issoe forth from theii dens, like wild beasts 
 of tlie forest, leaving no track beliind them, save that of rapine — b» mark, save thai of bfood. Cun- 
 ning arrayed against power — power Rriiied and united against cmiaing — tbe success of either over 
 its opponent being bu4 small. This book, therefore, isa picture of the preseat dcty— of London' as it 
 now is — a picture of the civilixatioti of England, with all its foal aitdstartiiag contrasts ; and by the 
 perusallof this work, we may aceount for that imme/ise military force which is irow nccesearj- to 
 .protect Britain from those internal distarbers' whom want has reduced to despair, aud despair 
 driven to desperation. Lffz in Loni>o« is of unfadiwg interest. It will always be perased witli- 
 delight, and future generatioBs will regard it as one of the most CHrioiw rseords of the past. 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 
 
 222 Broadway^JLew York. 
 
 r 
 
 '1 
 
 
 -«j*V»,»«it«V.i"Ti*» i»»i|l«P » i|i j ' 
 
 iW/tMnnMiianaflClilriSCB 
 
1^ A STORY OF THRILLING INTEREST, 
 
 FOUNDED UPON THE SCENES OP 
 
 HAPPINESS AND MISERY, 
 
 VIRTUE AND HCE. 
 
 WHICH CONSTITUTE "LIFE" IN THE BRITISH METROPOLIS. 
 
 (KUgantls 3[[nstvatz\f. 
 
 N E W- Y O R K: ^ 
 
 BURGESS, STRINGER & CO., 
 
 2 22 BROAD WAY. ^-., 
 
 . . 1848. 
 
 - V.»«-,.s«j. -,i ^^ ' ^ . 
 
 In Two Volumes. 
 
ESTHER DE MEDINA 
 
 :•,.'.. OR , , \ >• i i i ■ \ ^ , 
 
 THE CRIMES OF LONDON. 
 
 s 
 
 t: 
 
 i' 
 
 THE REFORMED HIGHWAYMAN 
 
 A SEQUEL TO ESTHER DE MEDINA. 
 
 BY G. W. M. REYNOLDS. 
 
 "■f- r^j* 
 
 Compiled froin Facts g^athered by the Author. 
 
 Kn Eim ^^alumes— Price, (JDne IBoUsr. r 
 
 This book exhibits a strange drama of the phases of life. There are those 
 ho insist that to expose vice is to allure mankind to its embrace. With the 
 h\ more sensible, however,- we are of opinion that well directed admonition, and 
 
 il . . . . . ■ 
 
 1 1 the exhibition of the turpitude of crime, are effectual to the restraining and 
 Reforming of our frail erring nature. " Esther de Medina" is a fearful picture 
 j in some of its lights, but a sofl radiance shines through, here and there, which 
 ! gives relief and tells us that all God's creatures are not abandoned and lost — 
 
 
 f\ that bright spirits yet hover aiound to intercede for a woiid overflowing with 
 
 I 
 
 pride and deceit. 
 
 The well-earned fame of the author precludes all notice touching the merit 
 of these books. Reynolds is neither more nor less than the Dumas of 
 England. 
 
 L^ 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 
 
 222 Broadway, New York. 
 
 m 
 
 -4,.,^, ,s:;^.frc..>; 
 
PART I. 
 
 PRICE 50 ct8. 
 
 THE 
 
 REFORMED RIKRWAYMAi. 
 
 ASEQUELTO . 
 
 ESTPR DE MEDIM, OR THE CRIMES OF mm. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LIFE IN LONDON," « ELLEN MUNROE," ETC., ETC, 
 
 N,EW.yORK: 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND. 
 
 (Late BuTgess, Stringer jcCa) 
 
 S3S BB.OADWAT. 
 
 1849. 
 
 I 
 
 { ! 
 
 I 
 
BOOKS LAST WRITTEN B7 DUMAS. 
 
 €' L [^ \- ,4 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PNYSICIAN 
 
 OK 
 
 BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED. * 
 
 s 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. PRICE ONE DOLLAR. '• 
 
 II. 
 
 THE TWO DIANAS 
 
 OR THE 
 
 SON OF A COUNT AND THE DAUBHTER OF A KING 
 
 . SEVENTY-FIVB CENT 8. 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^l^^^^^^l^>^^S^^^^^*>^^^^Ni^^^^\^^^»%^^>^^^^^^^>^^^^^^^^^^^^»^^>W^^W^^^^»^ 
 
 Dumas, nameroas as are his productions, can lay claim to no better books than the 
 above. It is seldom that praise so universal is awarded to a writer, as this man has con- 
 trived to gather. The " Memoirs" is a wonderful book. How the author obtained pos- 
 sesion of the key which unlocks the Pandora's box of crime, lust, villany, and intrigue 
 which flourished during the reign of the harlot king, passes our knowledge to conceive. 
 By the potency of a Joseph Balsamo he, with trenchant strokes, lays bare the corruption and 
 profligacy of a court which, rioting in luxury and voluptuousness while the people starved 
 by thousands and millions, entailed on their own children the dreadful retribution meted 
 in return during the French Revolution. Every reader will agree with us that it is one 
 of the cleverest, most exciting and instructive pieces of literary net-work ever put together 
 by the talent of mind. 
 
 " The Two Dianas" though' preceding the " Memoirs" in point of liistorical data is of an 
 equally glowing and chivalric character. Dumas revels among the stirring incidents of a 
 period wherein a Montmorency, a Coligny, a Guise, and a Catherine de Medicis flourished. 
 The history of these times is a history of blood — a succession of plots and counterplotsCthe 
 like to which the world never saw. The author marvellously blends the details of these 
 occurrences with the softer but not less passionate scenes that arise from the influence of 
 ihe gentler sex. From deeds of arms he passes to love — from ambition to soft dalliance — 
 with an inspiration and grace that show his warm blood circulating with a magical 
 power. One knows not which most to admire in Dumas — the exquisite touch of his imagi- 
 native pictures, the brilliance of his style and description, or the pure sentiment and reflec- 
 tion which pervade his well-balanced dialogue. < _ , 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, Publishers, 
 
 * ■■ ' 222 Broadway, Ne9 York, 
 
 i 
 i 
 
 
THE PtBEAT 
 
 ilUl 
 
 [CAST SP0RTIN6 BOOK! 
 
 FEAM ItlRESTElPS FIELD SP9ETS 
 
 OF 
 
 Unittb 0tatc0 anb Britisl) JJwxJxnas of 55'ortl) !3lmcrica, 
 WITH ENGRAVINGS OF EVERY SPECIES OF GAME, 
 
 ),>''^'"'-M 
 
 DRAWH FROM NATURE, BY THE AUTHOR. ■ ';.j 
 
 B T ■■'■ ■■■ f * '-iti 
 
 HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, Esq., 
 
 AOTHOK OP "MT SUOOTinO BOx" — "THE DEERlTALKERl" — " CROMWEI-L'' — "THE ROMAN TRAITOR" — &.C, SlC. 
 
 2 VOLS. 8to. price $4. 
 
 >,■ 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " Frank Forester's Field Sports" is a book which we venture to predict the sportsman will hereafter 
 swear by. Frank Forester, bred up to all the niceties, of English shooting, is not only a scholarly natu- 
 ralist, but a practical American woodsman. His book will give them some ideas in England, such as they 
 never had before, save theoretically, of the manifold and varied qualities required by am American prac- 
 titioner of the gentle art of following dog and gun.— C. J''. Herman in Literary World. 
 
 Our readers are not to be told of the accomplishments of Mr. Herbert as a scholar and an author of 
 versatile powers with an extraordinary command of the English language. It is rare that the elegance 
 and force of thorough mental culture are bestowed upon sports, but whenever such is the case, the result 
 is charming to every man of taste, whether a practical sportsman or not. The readers of the "Spirit" know 
 him well— in the science of woodcraft, he is there. — Wm. T. Porter tn Spirit of the Times. 
 
 Mr. Herbert is an enthusiast in the manly pastime on which he has written. He takes hold of the sub- 
 ject, not merely as one intimately acquainted with his theme, but like a man whose heart is in his work. 
 Every man who either has or intends to shoulder a fowling-piece or rifle, should at once get hold of this 
 instructor, that he may know how, where, and when to bag his game. — Albany Evening Jourmtt. 
 
 Since the days of Old Walton, or even Joanna Berner's book upon the " Mysteries of Fishing with an 
 Angle," no more delightful book has appeared than " Frank Forester's Field Sports." Mr. Herbert has 
 brought to the matter an erudition and passionate love of his subject almost unknown in the country. The 
 book is a poem with more real love of the beautiful than half of the metrical compositions of the day 
 evince. — Phil. Daily News. 
 
 The work embodies the natural history of the principal game-birds and animals of this region, with 
 accounts of the season, manner and places of taking each respectively. Prairie-hunting, Forest-hunting, 
 Upland, Bay and Lowland Shooting are fully described, as well as the treatment of Dogs in sickness and 
 health, their trainimg, uses, fcc. To those following the exercise, we deem this book indispensable. — If. Y. 
 Tribune. 
 
 Here we have all the learning touching the game of the country happily compressed, with the fmits of 
 the observation of an enthusiastic sportsman. The author is as much at home in the matter of greasing 
 boots, as in Greek hexameters. He will commend himself to all who use the gun as a sensible, practical 
 man, with as much poetry in him as is requisite for the enjoyment of field sports in their highest capabili- 
 ties ibr pleasure. — N. O. Picayune. 
 
 In material and execution the work is truly admirable. To the sportsman it is, of course, of peculiar 
 value, but not to him alone : — to the naturalist and general reader it is full of interest, aflbrding accurate 
 information concerning the habits^^the Elk, Moose, Bison, Deer, and all the game-birds of the North 
 American continent — Southern Lii^mry Gazette. 
 
 Mr. Herbert is a terse, sharp writer, goes right to the point, tells plain things in a plain way, and yet 
 glows with all the feeliugs of a true sportsman in his recital of the pleasures of shooting. — St. Louis 
 Reveille. 
 
 He goes through the whole catalogue of gam^, describes the character, haunt* and peculiarities of each ; 
 assumes the tone of a companion and instructor, and in a hundred ways keeps the reader upon the scent 
 as keenly as the best trained setter. — N. Y. Courier. 
 
 The aullior's remarks upon the facility of preserving game, even in a thickly-p copied country, and the 
 baseness of slaughtering birds in the breeding season, &c., render the work one of interest to all who 
 cherish feelings of kindly interest in the animal creation- — Washington Intelligencer. 
 
 The two volumes are capitally printed and got up, contain a dozen full-sized wood-cuts, to say nothing 
 of scores of embellished letters at the heads of the chapters, all from the pencil of the author. ' We are 
 not only sure that Mr. Herbert has carefully copied his game as a good naturalist and skilful sketcher > 
 would do, but we recognise the thorough artist in his accessories, small and unimportant as they are. Any 
 tolerable copyist will give you the outline and the plumage correctly ; but the sedges, the twigs, the, 
 tufts of grass, and, above all, the bird's attitude, expression, and position amongst them — these tr^- the 
 artist's skilL Mr. Herbert may have drawn from stufi'ed specimens, but he has given us living copies. — 
 N. Y. Albion. • 
 
 Him, whether gun in hand, he lead us through the brake or half-frozen morass — or pensive in his study, 
 he aspireito rival Buffon or Cuvier — or in a sportive mood he indulge lively communion with a friendly 
 Spirit — him, whether Frank Forester he call himself, or by any other now de plume, elect to be designa- 
 ted—Am, no man for a moment can mistake, who has an ear for musical turn of phrase and originality of 
 style. 
 
 ' Much credit is due to the enterprising publishers for introducing a work of this importance in so su|>erb 
 a dress. lUs as worthy by its binding, typography, and illustrations, *^o occupy a jjlace on a lady's centre 
 table, as by its intrinsic worth it deserves a nook on the student's shell. --Democratic Review. 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 
 
 PUBLISHERS, 222 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
 ti-'^i-r '«*■■ .•»»-Tar«^V>'*'" M^'-r:'-, . 
 
 - • , '^vm/ ^ ^jtk #!««%,-«■ 
 
■■'*?* 
 
 PRICE FIFTY CENTS. 
 
 .<4V t ■'. »> 
 
 1^ 
 
 ■QflHi 
 
 T 
 
 :^-Cl. S 
 
 f . ,P 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE 
 
 ^^M'- 
 
 BY G. W. REYNOLDS, 
 
 AUTHOR OP " ELLEN MUNROE, " LIFE IN LONDON, " THE REFORMED 
 
 HIGHWAYMAN," ETC., ETC. 
 
 wwm snxf MM SOTISM miLMTOMn^MS. 
 
 STRINGER AND TOWNSEND, 
 
 322 BROADWAY. 
 
 1849. ' 
 
CATALOGUE OF BOOKS. 
 
 MODERN WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 JlLfloat and Ashore. By Cooper. 4 vols, 
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 Amy Herbert. By a Lady 
 
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 Amaury. Dumas 
 
 Ascanio. " 
 
 Alamance; or, the Great and Final 
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 Author's Daughter. Mary Howitt 
 
 Ancient Regime. James 
 
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 Abbess. Mrs. TroUope 
 
 Adventures of a Younger Son. "Tre- 
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 Allen Frescott. Sedgwick 
 
 Amelia. Fielding. Cuts by Cruik- 
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 Atlantic Club Book. Paulding and others 
 
 Adventures of the Chevalier Faublas 
 
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 Adventures of Joseph Andrews. Field- 
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 •Alice Copley. Mrs. Stephens t^ 
 
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 Bravo. Cooper. 2 vols., each , 
 
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 Ben Brace. Chamier 
 
 Blackbeard; a page from the Colo- 
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 Black Prophet Carleton 
 
 Beautiful French Girl ; or, the Daugh- 
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 Beauty of "Woman. Dr. A. Walker. 
 With plates 
 
 Buckskin ; a Tale of the Revolution 
 
 Bachelor's Own Book. Cruikshank. 
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 B«me'» Travels in Cabool 
 
 25 
 
 <( 
 
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 6 
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 1 00 
 25 
 38 
 25 
 38 
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 90 
 
 85 
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 70 
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 25 
 12 
 
 25 
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 25 
 
 25 
 25 
 62 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 50 
 25 
 
 Big Bear of Arkansas. With 10 illus- 
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 Bowl of Punch. With 70 plates 
 Brougham's Lives of Voltaire, E.ous- 
 
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 Banker's Wife. Mi-s. Gore 
 Birthright " 
 
 Breach of Promise. By the author of 
 
 " The Jill" 
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 Beauchamp. James 
 Bush Ranger of Van Dieman's Land. 
 
 C. Rowcroft 
 Burton : or, the Sieges. J. H. Ingraham 
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 Brewer King. D'Arlincourt 
 Brother's Temptation. Arthur 
 Bandits of the Osage 
 Blanche of Brandy wine 
 Book of Beauty. Walker 
 Barney O'Rierdan. Lever 
 Captain O'Sullivan. Maxwell ' 
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 Calderon the Courtier. Bulwer .- 
 Caleb Williams. Godwin 
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 Chevaliers of Virginia. Carruthers 1 
 Charles Vincent Willis 1 
 
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 Club Book. James and others 
 Contarini Fleming. D'Israeli 
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 Cousin Hinton. Miss Pickering 
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 II. Mrs. Gore 
 Cricket on the Hearth. Dickens •- ' ' ■ 
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 Cyril Thornton. Hamilton • 
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 Captain Paul. Dumas 
 Charles Tyrrel. James . . 
 
 Cow Skinner \ : \ i|fc . .ii. : 
 
 Colonel Jack. De Foe -.-^r^'v 
 Count Julian. Simms ''~ . 
 Corse d^Leon James ' ' . 
 Crescent and the Cross. 2 vols. 1 
 
 Czarina. Mrs. Hofland 
 Charles O'Malley. Lever 
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 Crimes of the Borgias. Dumas 
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 Clockmaker. Sam Slick. 2 parts, eacb 
 Colonel de Surville. Eugene Sue 
 Comic Nursery Tales. Numerous plates, 
 
 bound 
 Cruiser of the Mist 
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 Vagabond » 
 
 Chronicles of the Bastile , 
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 Countess of Rudolstadt; continuation 
 
 of " Consuelo." 2 vols., each 
 Crusaders. Dumas 
 
 00 
 
 12 
 
 (( 
 
 25 
 
 t( 
 
 75 
 50 
 19 
 
 80 
 
 75 
 25 
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 70 
 
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 80 
 
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 37 
 
 87 
 
 B 
 
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 00 
 25 
 
 w 
 
 so 
 
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 25 
 12 
 
 25 
 
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 12 
 
 75 
 
 25 
 50 
 
 50 
 
10 
 
 fiTRIN6£R & Co.'s 
 
 Champions of Freedom. Aldworth 
 
 Chronicles of the Fleet 
 
 Chronicles of Pineville. 12 plates 
 
 Coningsby, a Novel. D'Israeli 
 
 Charcoal Sketches. 4 plates, 9th editi<m 
 
 Charcoal Sketches. Second Series, 10 
 plates I 
 
 Chatsworth. "Ward 
 
 Chance Medley of Light Matter. Grat- 
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 Citizen of Prague. Mary Howitt 
 
 Chevalier d'Harmental. Dumas 
 
 Chronicles of Clovernook. Jerrold 
 
 Cinq Mars. De Vigny 
 
 Castle of EhrensteiiL James 
 
 Convict. Jameii 
 
 Confessions of a Pretty Woman. Miss 
 Pardoe 
 
 Cock and Anchor ; a Tale of Old Dub- 
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 Crater (the) ; or Vulcan's Peak. Cooper. 
 2 vols., each 
 
 Cooper. 2 vols., each 
 the Contest 
 History and Philo- 
 
 25 
 12 
 50 
 25 
 
 25 
 
 12 
 25 
 
 Chainbearer. 
 Cleveland ; or, 
 Courtesanism, 
 
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 Deerslayer. Cooper. 2 vols., each 
 Diana of Meridor; or, the Lady of 
 
 Monsoreau 
 Divorced (the) ; founded on facts in real 
 
 life. By Lady C. Bury 
 Devil's Pool. By Gteorge Saind 
 Desperadoes of the South-west. Som- 
 
 merfield 
 Duke of Burgundy. By Dumas 
 Disgrace to the Family. W. B. Jerrold 
 Deer-Stalking. Frank Forrester, author 
 
 of " Mv Shooting Box." Engravings 
 D'Israeli's Novels. 2 vols. 
 Disowned. Bulwer 
 Devereux. " 
 
 Daniel Dennison. Mrs. Hofland 
 De Rohan. Eugene Sue 
 Darnley. James 
 Deerbrook. Miss Martineau 
 De I'Orme. James 
 Desultory Man. " 
 De Vere ; or, the Man of Independenoe. 
 
 Ward 
 Diary of « Desennuyfie 
 Diary of a Physician. Warren 
 Dreams and Reveries of a Quiet Man. 
 
 Theodore S. Fay 
 Devil's Wedding Ring. Dumas 
 Dombey & Son. Dickens. 4 vols. 
 Dutchman's Fireside. Paulding 
 Dowerless. Mad. Raybold 
 Dombey & Daughter 
 Dancmg Feather. Ingraham 
 Decision. Mrs. Hofland 
 EUinor Wyllis. Cooper. 2 vols., each 
 Eveline Neville. Lady of the South 
 Evelina. Mrs. Mowatt. 2 vol&, each 
 Eagene Aram. Bulwer 
 Ernest Maltravers. " 
 Elves (the); translated from the Ger- 
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 12 
 25 
 
 1 00 
 
 25 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 00 
 25 
 
 25 
 
 90 
 
 it 
 
 70 
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 90 
 45 
 35 
 
 12 
 
 25 
 00 
 
 25 
 
 i( 
 
 13 
 
 25 
 
 Emilia Wyndham. By the author of 
 
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 Elkswatawa, the Prophet of the West. 
 
 French 1 
 
 Exile of Erin ; or, the Bashful Irishman 
 Evelina, Miss Bumey 
 Ethel Churchill. Miss Landon -' ■ 
 
 Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Austin 
 Edward Manning. Ingraham ^ 
 Etiquette of Courtship and Marriage 
 Eastern Belle. Harry Hazel 
 Fortune Hunter. Mrs. Mowatt 
 Forecastle Yarns. (Ben Brace 
 Fleetwood. Godwin 
 Female Blue Beard. Sue 
 Francesco Carrara. Miss Landon 
 Fleetwood ; or, the Stain of Birth ' 
 Forest Days. James 
 Flirtation : a Story of the Heart, Lady 
 
 C. Bury 
 Foster Brothers, EmilieCarlen 
 Foster Brother. James 
 False Heir. " 
 
 Father Darcv. Mrs. Marsh 
 Fortescue.^ J. S. Knowles. 2 parts, each, 
 Flirtations^ in America; or. High Life 
 
 in New York and Saratoga. By the' 
 
 author of" Life in the New World," &c- 
 Falkner. Mrs. Shelley 
 Foscarini ; or, the Physician of "Venice 
 Frank Orby. By one of the Eleven 
 Frolics of Puck 
 
 Gilbert Gumey. With illustrations 
 George St. George Julian. 10 plates, 
 
 4 parts, each 
 Ghost Stories. 10 humorous engravings 
 
 by Darley 
 Grumbler. Miss Pickering 
 Grandfather. " 
 Gambler's Wife. Mrl. Grey 
 Gentleman of the Old School. James 
 George Balcombe. Tucker. 1 
 
 Gil Bias. Le Sage. Translated by 
 
 gmollett 1 
 
 Gipsy. G. R. P. James 
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 Guy Rivers. Simms 
 Greatest Plague of Life - 
 
 George Barnwell, Surr 
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 Ghost Seer 
 
 From the French 
 
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 From the French of 
 
 Grisettes of Paris, 
 Georgette, a 
 Homeward BoiA 
 Home as Found, 
 Heidenmaur. 
 Headsman. 
 Haunte.1 Marsh. 
 
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 Henrietta Temple ' 
 Harry Lorrequer 
 H-;-. Family. Miss Bremer 
 Home. « 
 
 Heretic. From the Russian 
 Helen Halsy, Simms 
 Hunchback of Notre Dame. 
 
 Hugo 
 
 2 vols., each 
 
 Victor 
 
 2S 
 
 25 
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 86 
 
 u 
 
 19 
 
 ti 
 
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 26 
 
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 « 
 « 
 
 w 
 
 (4 
 
 70 
 80 
 90 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 50 
 18 
 12 
 25 
 90 
 25 
 
 75 
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 90 
 25 
 38 
 25 
 
 iC 
 iC 
 
 13 
 
 12 
 
 25 
 
 II 
 
 « 
 
 4 
 
 85 
 
CATALOGUE OF BOOKS. 
 
 Handy Andy. Lover ^ '' '. •' • 5ft 
 
 Hector O'Halloran ;,. . , . : " 
 
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 Humphry Clinker. Smolfett 25 
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 Slick " 
 
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 Hoboken ;. a Romance of New York. 
 
 Theodore S. Fay 50 
 
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 Handley Cross Hounds. Jorrocks 25 
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 Insnaredj a Tale of "Woman's Heart. 
 
 Lady Charlotte Bury ** 
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 France for the reign of Charles the 
 
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 Maturin " 
 
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 Victor Hugo " 
 
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 Improvisatore, Anderson 12 
 
 Inheritance. Miss Fierrier 50 
 Jessie's Flirtations. By the anthw erf 
 
 " Kate in Search of a Husband" 25 
 
 Integrity. Mrs. Hofland •• 
 
 Idle Hour Book « 
 
 Indian in Ms Wigwam. Schooicraft 50 
 
 Jack Mak»lm's Log 25 
 
 Journeyman Joiner. Greorge Sand id 
 
 Jacob Faithful. Marryat 95 
 
 Joseph Rushbrook " " 
 
 Joseph Hare, Life of " 
 
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 Jack Sheppard. Ainsworth " 
 Jack Ariel j or. Life on Bbiutl an East 
 
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 Jack the GHant Killer. 9» plates ' 12 
 
 Kate in Search of a Husband 95 
 Knight of Gwynn. Lever. WilbiHus- 
 
 tration by Phiz 50 
 
 Knights of the Seal. Duganne 38 
 
 King's Own. Manyatt 25 
 
 Kenilworth. Sir W. Scott 37 
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 each 25 
 
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 Leonora L3mmore. , Miss Leslie 
 
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 Lucretia Maria Davidson. Sedgwick 
 
 Love Match. Cockton 
 
 Lafitte, the Pirate of the Gulf 
 
 Loiterings of Arthur O'Leary. Harry 
 Lorreqoer 
 
 Legends and Stories of IrehtBd. Lover 
 
 Life of Brummel 
 
 Last of the Barons. Bulwer 
 
 Lost Ship. Neale 
 
 Look to the End. Mrs. Ellis 
 
 Love and Mesmerism. H. Smith 
 
 Lady of Milan. Editetl by Mrs. Thinn- 
 son 
 
 LivcHiian Tales. By the author of Let- 
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 Leontine. Mrs, Mabecley 
 
 Lucretia. Bulwer 
 
 Leiki " 
 
 Last of the Fairies, James 
 
 Last Days of Pompeii. Bulwer 
 
 Linwoods (the). Miss C. M. Sedgwick 
 
 Lord Roldaa, Cunningham 
 
 Louisa MUdmay 
 
 Lovers- and Hasl)and». Arthur 
 
 Last of the Saxons; a Tale 
 
 Mercedes of Castile. Cooper. 2 vols., 
 each 
 
 Monikins. Cooper. 2 vols., each 
 
 Mysteries of Paris. Sue 
 
 Merchant's Ekiughter. Miss Pickering 
 
 Marmaduke Wyvil. Herbert 
 
 Matilda ; or, Memoirs of a Toung Wo- 
 man. Eugene Sue 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit. Diekeas 
 
 Monk. Lewis 
 
 Mince Pie for the Millicm 
 
 Mysteries of the Heath. F. Soulie 
 
 Mary Stuart, Clueen of Scots: Dunoas 
 
 Monk's Revenge j or, the Secret Enemy. 
 Spring 
 
 Mysteries of Old Londc«. Re)molds. 
 With Engravings from Hogarth. In 
 parts, each 
 
 Mysteries of Berliow 19 steel plates 
 
 Montezuma, or, the Last of ue Aztecs. 
 Maturin 
 
 Midshipman Easy 4 
 
 Major Jones's Courtship. With 13 en- 
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 Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures 
 
 Mrs. Peck's Pudding, and other Tales 
 
 Marryat's Novels. In numbers, each 
 
 Marryatt's Log of a Privateer's Man 
 
 Merton, a Novel. Theodore Hook 
 
 Mansfield Park. Miss Austen 
 
 My Shooting Box, Frank Forrester 
 
 Mysteries of the Back-woods. By the 
 author of " Tom Owen, the Bee Hunt- 
 er.'^ Illustrations By Darley 
 
 Mary de Clifford ; a Novel 
 
 Maid of Honor ; or, the Massacre ot St. 
 Bartlxdomew 
 
 Marriage. MissFerrier 
 
 Margaret Graliam. James 
 
 Mount Sorel ; or, the Heiress of the De 
 Veres 
 
 2S 
 
 50 
 25 
 50 
 
 31 
 50 
 31 
 
 19 
 25 
 
 ft 
 
 13 
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 75 
 
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 >> 
 25 
 
 <c 
 u 
 
 50 
 
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 25 
 
 13 
 13 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i : 
 
12 
 
 STRINGER & Co.'s 
 
 % 
 
 Midnight Belt 
 
 Mysteries and Miseries of New Yorlj. 
 Ned Buntline. Parts I. and IL, each 
 Matilda. Eugene Sue 
 Monk's Revenge. Spring. 
 Master Timothy's Book Case 
 
 Manoeuvring Mother 
 
 Mabel the Actress 
 
 Margaret Percival 
 
 Marsion ' • 
 
 Monsieur Antoine. Dumas 
 
 Margaret Catchpole 
 
 Mosaic Workers. George Sand 
 
 Man-al-Arms. James 
 
 Mary Morland. Barker 
 
 Morning Watches. Miss Bremer 
 
 Marquis de Letoriere. Sue 
 
 Moustache. From the French 
 
 Monsieur Violet, Marryatt 
 
 Midshipman Easy. " 
 
 Mat Kavanagh. Carleton 
 
 Manhood. Deslandes 
 
 Married and Single. Arthur 
 
 Ned Myers. Cooper. 2 vols., each 
 
 Nick Bigelow the Counterfeiter, and 
 other Tales; cuts 
 
 Naval Officer. Marryat 
 
 Nell Gwynn, a Novel. Ainsworth. 
 
 Newton Forster. Marryatt 
 
 Nabob at Home 
 
 Neighbors. Miss Bremer 
 
 Nina. " 
 
 New Sketches of Every-day Life ; with 
 Strife and Peace 
 
 Nevilles of Garretstown. Lever 
 
 Next of Kin. Mrs. Gore 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby. Dickens 
 
 Nowlands, The 
 
 Norman's Bridge. Mrs. Marsh 
 
 Night and Morning. • Bulwer 
 
 Now and Then. Warren 
 
 Nazarenes; or, the Last of the Washing- 
 tons. A Revelation of Philadelphia, 
 New York, and Washington, in the 
 year 1844. George Lippard, author 
 of the " auaker City," &c. 
 
 Nelly Brown and the Stuflent 
 
 Nan Darrell. Miss Piclffiring 
 
 Naval Officer ♦ 
 
 Orphans of Unswalden 
 
 Oliver Twist. Dickens 4 
 
 Old Commodore. Howard 
 
 Onslow, a Tale of the South 
 
 Oak Openings; or, the Bee Hunter. 
 Cooper. 2 voJs., each 
 
 O'Doncjghue. Lever 
 
 Only Daughter ; a Novel 
 
 Old Judge ; (x, Life in a Colony, Sam 
 Slick. In press. 
 
 Only a Fiddler and 6. T. Anderson 
 
 Ottawah, the last Chief 
 
 Old St. Paul's. Ainsworth 
 
 Pilot. Cooper. 2 vols., each 
 
 Path Finder " " 
 
 Precaution " **: . ; 
 
 Pioneers " " " 
 
 Prairie " « " 
 
 Philosophy of Marriage. Dr, Ryan ■• • 50 
 
 25 
 
 25 
 
 50 
 
 - i( 
 
 25 
 
 II 
 
 K 
 
 ^0 
 
 (i 
 (I 
 
 as 
 
 25 
 25 
 12 
 
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 (I 
 
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 38 
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 it 
 
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 12 
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 50 
 
 12 
 
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 11 
 
 (I 
 
 60 
 25 
 
 25 
 <i 
 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 41 
 
 II 
 II 
 
 Pencillings by the Way. N. P. Willis. 
 Written during some years of travel 
 abroad * . ] 
 
 Paul Jones, Life and Adventures of 
 Peter Simple 
 Punch's Comic Blackstone 
 
 " Medical Student. 2 parts 
 " Letter Writer 1 , ■, , ■ ,.j 
 
 " Courtship '■'' ;:\,l 
 
 Dossay Portraits , , .,/,'^ 
 
 Labors of Hercules 
 " Mytholc^ ■ " 
 
 " Peep into London Society " 
 
 Peter Ploddy and other Oddities. J. C. 
 Neale. Or second series of " Charcoal 
 Sketches," with illustrations by Dariey, 
 «duced to ' 50 
 
 Pride and Prejudice, a Novel. Miss 
 
 Austen 25 
 
 Pickings from the Portfolio of the Re- 
 
 Sorter of the New Orleans Picayune, 
 plates j ., 
 
 Pelham. Bulwer 
 
 Paul Clifford " ' . 
 
 Pilgrims of the Rhine. Bulwer 
 President's Daughter. Miss Bremer 
 Prairie Bird. Murray ;}• i 
 
 Peers and Parvenus. Mrs. Gore 
 Parsonage of Mora. Miss Bremer 
 Partisan, The. Simms 
 Paul Ulrick. Mattison 
 Pelayo ; a Story of the G<lh. Simms 
 Philip Augustus. James 
 Preferment ; or. My Uncle the Earl. 
 
 Mrs. Gore 
 Prince and the Pedlar. Miss E. Picker- 
 ing 
 Percival Keene, Marryatt . , 
 
 Peter Bunce. Hook , 
 
 Peregrine Pickle. Smollet , .;- 
 
 Piquilla Alliaga. Scribe , -■ ". 
 
 Patrol of the Mountains , j,- 
 
 Poor Jack, Marryatt ; ., 
 
 Pickwick Papers. Dickens j 
 
 Philosopher's Stone. De Balzac 
 Pirate's Own Book 
 Phantom Ship, Marryatt 
 Pirate and the Three Cutters. Marryatt " 
 Ctuadroone ; or, St. Michael's Day 50 
 
 tluarter Race in Kentucky, and other 
 Tales. By the Editor of the "Big 
 Bear of Arkansas" , " 
 
 Clueen of Denmark. Mrs. Gore 25 
 
 Cluaker City of the Monks of Monk 
 
 Hall 1 00 
 
 Cluiet Husband, a Novel, Miss Pick- 
 ering 
 Cluentin Durward. Sir W. Scott 
 Red Rover. Cooper. 2 vols,, each " 
 
 Red Skins. "- " v « 
 
 Rattlin the Reefer, Howard '' 
 
 Rody the Rover; or, the Ribbon Man. 
 
 Carleton . , ,..^ 
 
 Regent's Daughter. Dumas ..<,-•■■:• 
 Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes. Bul- 
 wer .'*. 
 Rose d'Albret. James rir,r-JBi 
 Random Shots. L, F, Tasistro .] /--.Jl 
 
 99 
 
 , (( 
 
 It 
 12 
 
 .13 
 125 
 
 8i 
 
 90 
 
 i< 
 25 
 
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 ..." 
 
 100 
 
 25 
 
 25 
 II 
 
CATALOGUE OF BOOKS. 
 
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 Simon Suggs, another Alabama Sket- 
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 Tales of a Grandfather. Scott. Four 
 
 series, each 37 
 
 Tom Cringle's Log 50 
 
 Unloved One. Mrs. Hofland 12 
 
 Undine and Sintram. 50 
 
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 Victim of Intrigue " 
 
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 Young Duke. D'lsraeli 25 
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 $00 
 
 Amber WitcK Prom the German 38 
 
 Addison's Complete Works. 3 vols. -3 50 
 American Biography. Sparks. Por 
 
 traits, &c. 10 vols. 
 Angler's Almanack for 1848 
 Abercrombie's Intellectual Power 
 Agricultural Chemistry. Chaptal 
 American Shepherd 
 Arnold's Miscellaneous Works 
 Arts and Miseries of Gambling 
 Art of Letter Writing 
 Bubbles from the Br unnens of Nassau 
 British Essayists. 8 vols. 
 Boy's Treasury of Sports. 400 engs. 
 Beckford's Italy, Spain, and Portugal 
 Boswell's Life of Johnstm 
 Burke's Complete Works. 3 vols. ' 
 Browne's Press of America 
 Brande's Encyclopedia of Art, Science, 
 
 Literature, &c. 4 06 
 
 Bacon's, Lord, Works. 3 vols. 7 SO 
 
 Bolingbroke's, Lord, Works. 4 vols. 6 00 
 Burns ; His Genias and Character, 
 
 P. Wilson, 
 ■Children's Years, Mary Howitt 
 "Crock of Gold. Tupper 
 "Charles Lamb's Essays of Elia 
 " Dramatic Poets 
 
 Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship 
 " Sartor Resartus 
 " Past and Present 
 " History of the French Revolu- 
 tion 67 
 " Cromwell's Letters and Speeches SO 
 Coleridge's Biographia Literaiia I 50 
 •Cards of Destiny 
 
 Cockney in America 25 
 
 Comic Nursery Tales. Plates 75 
 
 Cook's Oracle. Kitchener 1 00 
 
 Celestial Scenery. Dick . 50 
 
 Chesterfield's Complete Works 175 
 
 Charles Lamb's Works. 2 vols. 2 00 
 
 Connexion of the Physical Sciences 50 
 
 Complete Florist 25 
 
 Complete Cook. 700 Receipts " 
 
 Complete Confectioner, &c. 25 
 
 Catlin's North American Indians. 2 vols. 6 50 
 Coleridge's Miscellany. Professor Reed 
 
 M 
 
 25 
 
 38 
 (( 
 
 M 
 
 i( 
 
 II 
 75 
 
 2 26 
 2 00 
 25 
 
 25 
 
 (I 
 
 38 
 50 
 38 
 
 Cooley's Book of Useful Knowledge 
 
 " The American in Egypt 
 Diary of Lady Willoughby 
 Dickens's Battle of Life 
 
 " Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 •* ' Chinaes and Carols 
 
 " Dombey & Son 
 
 *• Pictures from Italy 
 Dictionary of the English Language. 
 
 Richardson. 2 vols. 12 
 
 Disgrace of the Family "25 
 
 Domestic Economy. Miss Beecker 75 
 
 Dryden's Works. 2 vols. 3 75 
 
 Endless Amusements 75 , 
 
 Edgeworth's Complete Works. 10 vols. 
 
 each 75 
 
 Engineer's and Mechanic's Pocket Book 1 25 
 
 3 59 
 
 5 50 
 
 3 50 
 
 50 
 « 
 
 38 
 
 25 
 100 
 150 
 50 
 75 
 1 00 
 150 
 . 75 
 
 50 
 
 .25 
 
 50' 
 
 2S 
 38 
 
 Encyclopedia of Domestic Economy 
 
 " "Chemistry 
 
 Ewbank's Hydraulics and Mechanics 
 Ellis's, Mrs., Women of England 
 " Mothers «f England 
 
 French in Algiers 
 French Gentleman, Adventures oC Plates 37 
 Fremont's Ejqploring Expedition to Ore- 
 gon and California 
 Farmer's Companion and Instructor 
 Farmer's Dictionary 
 
 *' Manual. FaUsner . . 
 " Treasure 
 " Handbook. MarshaH 
 Fox's Book of Martyrs • 
 
 Gdeig'« History of the BUde 
 Gammer Gurtoa's Story Bo<3^ H vols. 
 
 each 
 Great Metropolis, New York Araiual. 
 
 Map 
 Gambling Unmasked. J, H. Green. 
 
 Plates 
 Heads and Tales of Travels and Travel- 
 ling. E. L. Blanchard 
 Hazlitt's Table Talk 
 
 " " Second Series <« 
 
 ** Literature of Clueen Elizabeth 50 
 •* Life of Napoleon. 3 vols. 3 00 
 ■** CharacterofShakspeare's Plays 56 
 " Comic Writers of England " 
 
 '• English Poets *' 
 
 " Spirits of the Age 
 Headlong Hall and Nightmare Abbey 
 Hochelaga; or, England in the New 
 
 World 
 Half Hours with the Be^ Authors. C. 
 
 Knight 1 25 
 
 Hood's Prose and Verse 38 
 
 Homes and Haunts ef the British Poels. 
 
 W. Howitt. 2 vols. 3 00 
 
 Howitt^ History of Priestcraft 62 
 
 Hannah More's Works. 2 vols. 2 50 
 
 Hoyle's Games > . ..41 
 
 Heads of the People. 6 Plates (K^ 
 
 High Life in New York. Jonathan Slick 25 
 Indians of North America. Plates 100 
 
 Johnsotfs Complete Works 2 00 
 
 Inaaginary Conversations and other 
 Writings. Waiter Savage Landor 1 
 Journey from Cwnhill to Cairo 
 Jamieson's, Mrs,, Memoirs and Essays 
 Illustrative of Art, Literature, and So- 
 cial MOTals » 
 Journals of Major Samuel Shaw, Ame- 
 rican Consul at Canton 2 50 
 Jamaica, Past and Present 
 Kaowlson's Complete Horse Farrier 
 " " Cattle Doctor 
 Kingslake's Eodien 5 or, Traces of 
 
 Travels 
 Kitchen and Fruit Garden 
 Knickerbocker Sk«^tch Book 
 Leigh Hunt's Imagination and Fancy 
 " Indicator 
 
 ** Italian Poets 
 
 38 
 38 
 
 50 
 38 
 
 38 
 
 50 
 25 
 
 «0 
 
 m 
 
 50 
 
 38 
 
CATAIXKJUE OF BOOKS. 
 
 19 
 
 •M 
 
 Leigh Hunt's Wit and Humor 
 Xaman Blauchard's Sketches 
 Local Loiterings 
 Lover's Irish Stories 
 
 « Songs and Ballads 
 Liebig's Familiar Letters on Chemistry 
 Letters from Italy. Headley 
 Letter Writing Simplified 
 Lardner's Lectures. Numbers, each 
 Memoirs of Father Ripa 
 Mary Howitt's Ballads 
 Mysteries of the Three Cities 
 Miller's Boys' Own Books, Plates. < 
 
 vols., each 
 Masterman Ready ; or, the Wreck 
 
 the Pacific. Cfapt. Marryat, 3 vols. 
 
 in one 
 Middle Kingdom ; or, China Illustrated. 
 
 With map 
 Midsummer Eve : a Fairy Tale of Love. 
 
 Mrs. Hall 
 Matteuci's Lectures on the Physical For- 
 mation of Living Beings 
 MaccuUoch's Commercial Dictionary. 
 
 2 vols. 
 Modern B ritish Essayists. Comprising, 
 
 1 Writings of Macauley 
 
 of 
 
 50 
 38 
 37 
 
 00 
 50 
 12 
 25 
 38 
 50 
 25 
 
 37 
 
 75 
 
 25 
 
 7 50 
 
 2 " Alison 
 
 3 " Sydney Smith 
 
 4 " Piof. Wilson . 1 
 
 5 " Jefireys 1 
 
 6 " Carlvle 
 
 7 " Talfourd and Stephens 1 
 Marston ; or, Memoirs of a Statesman 
 Morse's Geography 
 
 Man of Feeling, and other Works. Mac- 
 kenzie 1 
 Murray's Encyclopedia of Greography. 
 
 3 vols., 1900 pages 
 Mrs. Perkins's Ball. Thackeray 
 Men, Women, and Books. Leigh Hunt 
 Noctes Ambrosianae. 4 vols. 4 
 
 Ollendorff's New Grerman Grammar 1 
 Old Continental. Paulding. 2 vols. 
 Philosophy in Sport made Science in 
 Earnest. lOO engravings 1 
 
 Peru, Travels in ; 1838-42. VonSchudi 
 Prose Writers of America. R. W. Gris- 
 wold 4 
 
 Past, Present, and Future. H. Carey 1 
 Progress of America; a Pocket Com- 
 panion for Politicians and Travellers 
 Proverbial Philosophy. Tupper 
 Pictorial Bible, Harpers'. In various 
 
 bindings 
 Paley's Theology 
 
 " Evidences of Christianity 
 Plutarch's Lives 1 
 
 00 
 
 25 
 
 (( 
 
 00 
 75 
 
 K 
 
 00 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 75 
 
 50 
 38 
 
 00 
 50 
 
 25 
 50 
 
 87 
 37 
 50 
 
 Rhine. Victor Hugo 
 Robinson Crusoe. Illustrated. 50 en- 
 gravings, by Adams 
 Robert Hall's, Rev., Complete Works. 
 
 4 vols. 
 
 Recreations of Christopher North 
 
 Rural Life in Germany. Howitt 
 
 Rocky Mountains. Irving 
 
 Rhyming Dictionary. Walker 
 
 Reformers before the Reformation 
 
 Roman Traitor, a True Tale of the Re- 
 public. Herbert 2 vols. 
 
 Spaniards and their Country. . R. Ford 
 
 Sacred Mountains. Headley. Engrav- 
 ings 
 
 Snow Storm. Mrs. Gore ] 
 
 Sidereal Heavens. Dick 
 
 Sears's Wonders of the World 
 " Pictorial Bible 
 
 Tristram Shandy. New edition, with 
 illustrations 
 
 Typee ; or, a Residence in the Marque- 
 sas. Melville. 2 parts 
 
 Thousand Lines. Tupper 
 
 Texas Rangers' Scoutmg Expedition. 
 S. C. Reed 
 
 Traditions and Fairy Legends of Ireland. 
 Crofton Croker 
 
 Tales and Sketches of the United States 
 Army •• 
 
 Vanity Fair. Thackeray 
 
 Vestiges of the Natural History of Cre- 
 ation 
 
 " Sequel to 
 
 Vicar of Wakefield, Pictorial 
 
 Views and Reviews of American History 
 and Literature. G. Simms 
 
 Webster's Encyclopedia of Domestic 
 Economy 
 
 Worcester's Universal and Critical Die 
 tionary of the English Language 
 
 Webster's Dictionary, unabridged, in 1 
 vol., 4to. New edition 
 
 Wilderness and War Path 
 
 Wieland ; or, the Transformation 
 
 Wild Sports of Europe. Col. Napier 
 
 Western Clearings. Mrs. Kirkland 
 
 Whimsicalities. Hood 
 
 Whims and Oddities. Hood 
 
 Ure's Dictionary of Arts. One thick vol. 
 " Supplement to 
 
 Universal Gazetteer. McCuUoch 
 
 Yankee Stories. Haliburton 
 
 Youatt on the Horse 
 « The Pig 
 The Dog 
 
 38 
 
 87 
 
 6 00 
 00 
 50 
 00 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 38 
 
 100 
 
 50 
 
 2 50 
 
 2 00 
 
 50 
 
 75 
 55 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 36 
 50 
 
 75 
 50 
 72 
 
 37 
 
 3 50 
 
 6 00 
 50 
 25 
 50 
 
 5 00 
 150 
 
 6 50 
 50 
 
 50 
 50 
 
 Zincali; or, Gipsies of Spain. Burrows 1 25 
 
 »^«4« 
 
 NOVELS OP J. FENNIMORE COOPER. 
 
 Miles Wallingford 
 Satanstoe 
 The Spy 
 The Pilot 
 
 60 
 50 
 
 The Water-Wit^ 
 The Red Rover 
 Wing-and-Wing 
 Lionel Lincoln 
 
 SO 
 
w^ 
 
 
 u 
 
 l^jQil STRINGER. &Co.'s 
 
 Heidenmauer 
 The Pathfinder 
 Precaution 
 
 Wept of the Wish-ton-Wish 
 Homeward Bound 
 Home as Found 
 Mercedes of Castile 
 The Pioneers 
 The Prairie 
 -The Two Admirals 
 The Headsman 
 
 M •'{ I *<*i 3 V-" 
 
 }--(;:■ 
 
 I . 
 
 50 
 
 M 
 
 (( 
 II 
 IC 
 (( 
 II 
 11 
 II 
 . II 
 II 
 
 ' '■-•'^'fe^■fi-^.1•? f 
 
 The Deerslayer 
 
 The Bravo 
 
 The Last of the Mohicans 
 
 The Monikins 
 
 The Travelling Bachelor 
 
 Wyandotte 
 
 Ned Myers . 
 
 The Chainbearer I • - • ' 
 
 Cratur 
 
 Jack Tier ; or, the Florida Reef 
 
 Oak Openings ; or, the Bee Hunter 
 
 A- -I 
 
 ■ktJ^^ 
 
 i,- 
 
 , <t! 
 
 
 50 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 fi 
 II 
 II 
 
 JVOVEL.S OF SIR E. L.. BUJLWER. 
 
 Alice ; or, the Mysteries 
 
 Devereux 
 
 The Disowned 
 
 Ernest Maltravers 
 
 Eugene Aram 
 
 The Last Days of Pompeii 
 
 Rienzi 
 
 Zanoni 
 
 50 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 
 The Last of the Barons 
 
 Leila; or, the, Siege of Grenada 
 
 Night and Morning 
 
 PaulCliflford 
 
 Pelham '•'•' 
 
 Pilgrims of the Rhine ;' 
 
 Lucretia 
 
 t-.- . 
 
 NOVELS OF G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 Richelieu 
 
 Mary of Burgundy j 
 
 Philip Augustus 
 
 Charles Tyrrell 
 
 Agincourt 
 
 The Man-at-Arms 
 
 Corse de Leon, the Brigand 
 
 The Step-Mother 
 
 Heidelberg 
 
 Beauchamp 
 
 Castle of Ehrenstein 
 
 King's Highway 
 
 Huguenot 
 
 25 
 
 K 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 Attila I 
 
 String of Pearls 
 The Robber 
 The Ancient Regime 
 The Smuggler 
 Rose d'Albret 
 Arrah Neil 
 Arabella Stuart 
 The False Heir 
 Forest Days 
 Russell 
 
 Margaret Graham 
 The Convict i 
 
 T*75 
 " 50 
 
 . 50 
 
 ^- « 
 , I 11 
 
 K 
 
 . 12 
 
 I 25 
 
 25 
 ti 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 13 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 
 06 
 25 
 
 
 NOVELS OF BENJAMIN ©'ISRAELI. 
 
 Coningsby ; or, the New Generation 
 
 Contarina Fleming 
 
 Henrietta Temple 
 
 Venetia 
 
 Vivian Grey 
 
 Wondrous Tale of Alroy 
 
 25 
 
 (I 
 
 II 
 
 25 
 
 11 
 
 (I 
 
 Young Duke , ! 
 
 Rise of Iskander , 
 
 Five Nights of St. Albans 
 Sybil ; or 'the Two Nations 
 Tancred 
 
 WORKS OF EUGENE SUE. 
 
 Matilda 
 
 Mysteries of Pans 
 Temptation 
 
 De Rohan ; or, Latreaumont 
 The Female Blue Beard 
 Salamander 
 Widow's Walk 
 ohn Cavalier 
 
 1 00 Therese Dunoyer 
 
 50 Arthur 
 
 25 Colonel de Surville 
 Hercules Hardy 
 Wandering Jew 
 Commander of Malta 
 Martin the Foundling 
 Seven Capital Sins. Plates 
 
 WORKS OF DUMAS. 
 
 25 
 
 i< 
 
 II 
 II 
 II 
 
 25 
 
 II 
 
 13 
 
 Count of Monte Christo 
 
 The Three Guardsmen 
 
 Twenty Years After 
 
 Ten Years After ; Sequel to ditto 
 
 Amaury 
 
 Capt. Paul. 
 
 Chevalier D^Harmental ^ 
 
 Devil's Wedding Ring 
 
 Duke of Burgundy 
 
 Genevieve 
 
 00 
 50 
 75 
 60 
 25 
 
 50 
 
 Crimes of the Borgias 
 Diana of Meridor 
 George the Planter 
 Isabel of Bavaria 
 Lucretia Borgia 
 Monsieur Antoine 
 Memoirs of a Physician 
 Regent's Daughter 
 Secret Tribunal 
 Sylvandre 
 
 100 
 
 25 
 
 ^ 100 
 
 100 
 
 50 
 
 II 
 
 25 
 
 50 
 
 100 
 
 25 
 
:>4 
 
 . V r:«»-,?**»lr'>*«ww:<»r-- <^]^' *;' 
 
 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS. 
 
 fl 
 
 tejj 
 
 NOVELS OF CAPT. MARRY AT. 
 
 ■*■ 
 
 Masterman Ready '. 75 1 
 
 The SettleiB in Canada 38 1 
 
 Fiank Mild may ; or, the Naval Officer 
 
 J^b Faithful 
 
 Japbet in Search of a Father 
 
 Tne King's Own 
 
 >Bdshipman Easy #» ,-, -\ ■ 
 
 Nfwton Forster 
 
 T|e Pacha oi Many Tales 
 
 WORKS OF CHARLES DrCKENS (BOZ.) 
 
 Peter Simple ^. . 
 
 The Phantom Ship "*" 
 
 25 1 Poor Jack 
 
 Snarley Yow, the Dog Fiend 
 Monsieur Violet , , 
 
 Joseph Rushbrook 
 The Pirate and Three Cutters 
 
 i9V 
 
 Ardent Troughton 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby 
 The Old Curiosity Shop 
 Pickwick Papers 
 Barnaby Rudge 
 Martin Chuzzlewit 
 Sketches of Every Day Life 
 
 ^^ * WORKS OF MISS PICKERING. 
 
 50 
 
 ii 
 
 (I 
 (( 
 (i 
 
 38 
 
 Christmas Carol 
 The Chimes 
 Oliver Twist 
 America^ Notes 
 Dombey & Son 
 
 Agnes Serle 
 
 Cousin Hinton 
 
 The Merchant's Daughter 
 
 The Squire 
 
 The Heiress 
 
 The Cluiet Husband 
 
 The Grumbler 
 
 25 
 
 IC 
 
 (I 
 <l 
 (( 
 (I 
 
 13 
 
 The Secret Foe 
 
 The Fright 
 
 The Expectant 
 
 The Prince and Pedler 
 
 Nan Darrell 
 
 Who Shall be Heir 
 
 Grandfather 
 
 2S 
 
 i( 
 
 <c 
 (( 
 (( 
 M 
 « 
 « 
 
 6 and 50 
 
 6 and 50 
 
 25 
 
 13 
 
 50 
 
 25 
 
 « 
 
 i< 
 
 M 
 M 
 
 « 
 
 Via. S> 
 
 
 4 
 
 MEDICINE, PHYSIOLOGY, 8oc. 
 
 38 
 
 Advice to Mothers 
 " Wiv€s 
 
 Abemethy's Family Physician 
 
 Arnott's Physics ; or, Natural Philosophy 
 
 Babilard's Physiology .^. 1 
 
 Broussais' Self Preservation 
 
 Bostwick's Nature and Treatment of 
 Seminal Diseases, Impotency, and 
 kindred Affections 1 
 
 Bayle's Elementary Treatise on Anatomy 87 
 
 Brigham on Mental Excitement 
 
 Bartlett's Philosophy of Medicine 
 
 Brewster's Treatise on Optics 
 
 Babbage's Fragments 
 
 Buckland's Geology, 2 vols. 
 
 50 
 
 00 
 
 50 
 
 00 
 
 Bridgewater Treatises. 7 vols.. 
 
 3287 
 
 pag^ 
 
 Combe's Phrenology. 100 plates 150 
 
 " Constitution of Man 50 
 
 " Moral Philosophy " 
 
 " Elements of Phrenology " 
 
 " Physiology of Digestion " 
 
 Consumption Curable 25 
 
 Childbirth Without Pain 50 
 
 Challey's Midwifery 2 0% 
 
 Cooper's Dictionary of Practical Surgery 3 87 
 Copland's Dictionary of Practical Medi- 
 cine. 3 vols, each 5 00 
 Cruveilhier'^ Anatomy of the Human 
 
 Body 3 00 
 
 Cyclopedia of Practical Medicine 
 
 Carpenter's Principles of Human Physi- 
 ' ology 
 
 " Elements: or, Manual of 
 Physiology 
 Connexion Between Physiology and In- - 
 
 tellectual Science 
 Carpenter's Popular Vegetable Physio- 
 logy 
 Cyclopedia of Anatomy and Physiology 
 Coates' Popular Medicine 
 Churchill on the Diseases of Females 
 Cooper on Dislocations and Fractures 
 " On Hernia 
 
 " On the Testis and Thymus Gland 
 Dixon's, Dr., Diseases of the Sexual Or- 
 gans 
 Doane's Surgery Tlustrated. 25 plates 4 00 
 Dunglison's Medical Dictionary 
 '• Human Physiologry 
 
 " Practices of Medicine 
 
 " Humkn Health 
 " Medical Student 
 Dewees on Females -v v 
 
 " Children . ; 
 
 Druit's Principles and Practices of Mo- 
 dem Surgery 
 Ellis's Medical Formulary ^ 
 
 Ferguson's Practical Sui^ery * 
 
 Gait's Treatment of Insanity \. 2 00 
 
 I Good's Study of Medicine • 5 00 
 
 ' Graham's Elements of Chemistry 
 
Stxinger & Townsend's Advertiser.— March, 1849. 
 
 Mttif antr Bntttt&iint^ Wsitk» 
 
 IN COURSE OF PUBLICATION \ 
 
 BY STRINGER & TOWNSEND 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 
 
 ? 
 
 I. 
 OKKAT HISTORICAL ROMANCK. 
 
 1812 ; or Napoleon's Invasion of 
 
 Russia. From the German of Rell- 
 STAB. ^ 
 
 One of the most powerful historical romances 
 ever issued from the press. The book is full of 
 brilliant scenes, depicting, with a truthfulness 
 unsurpassed, the terrible sufferings of Napoleon's 
 army, in their retreat from the unfortunate inva- 
 sion of Russia. The author's treatment of the 
 subject is as masterly as his conception of it is 
 bold and original. 
 
 II. 
 
 Femande; or The Fallen Angel. 
 
 Translated from the Frenclief Dumas. 
 
 A tale of much amusement and interest. We 
 heartily commend it to our readers as a very 
 pleasant and a very clever work. The story 
 exhibits the brilliance and dramatic effect for 
 which Dumas is so celebrated; 
 
 III. 
 
 Dermot O'Brien; or the staking op 
 
 Tredagh. An historical tale of the times 
 of. Cromwell. With illustrations by the 
 Author, H. W. Herbert, Esq., author 
 o? "The Field Sports," "The Roman 
 Traitor," &c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Jeremiah Saddlebag's Adventures 
 in the G-old Diggins. A series of 
 Comic Illustrations, by Read, of over 
 
 100 Engra^gs. 
 
 To all who love real humor and harmless fun, 
 this book will be an indescribable treat: its 
 good points will be acknowledged by all. 
 
 ::.><■ 
 
 V. 
 
 
 A NEW NOVEL BT COOPER. 
 
 The Sea Lions ; or The Lost Seal- 
 ers. A Tale of the Pacific Ocean. 
 The, reputation of J. Fenimore Cooper is so 
 celebrated, especially in his sea stories, that we 
 take pleasure in announcing to his many and 
 numerous admirers this new production from his 
 pen. In interest it is equal to " The Water 
 Witch," " The PUot," " The Two Admirals," 
 and others of his most popular sea stories. Will 
 be ready early in April. . ^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 Clement Lorimer; or The Book 
 
 WITH THE Iron Clasps. Illustrated by 
 George Cruikshank. 
 
 f- VH. I • • '•■ ■• 
 
 The King's Musketeer. An Histori. 
 
 cal Romance of the Huguenots, and the 
 Times of the Bartholomew Massacre. 
 
 vrii. .1 »o 
 
 lAiranda. A Tale of the French Revolu- 
 tion. By Perot B. St. John, Autho"^ 
 of » The Trapper's Bride," " The En" 
 chanted Rock," &c. m 
 
 'f- ; ■ 
 
 Jane Shore; or The Goldsmith's 
 Wife. An Historical Tale. By the Au- 
 thor of " The Jew's Daughter," dec. 
 
 Frank Farleigh; or Scenes from 
 the Life of a Private PupiIi. With 
 Designs by Cruikshank. ■ " ' 
 
 4/ ■ m 
 
^:^■¥■ 
 
 
 
 ». 
 
 ' ' ' 
 
 
 
 «l. . 
 
 
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 •? 
 
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