When the party broke up, D’Alonville proposed to Ellesmere to go with him to his lodgings; where, when they arrived, he related to his English friend the purport of some dispatches which the gentlemen he had just left, had received from France; they were extremely unfavorable to their hopes, ad D’Alonville sighed as he concluded the detail. “These accounts,” said Ellesmere, “are indeed discouraging, yet with how much philosophy or resignation do your friends whom we have been with endure this accumulation of evil tidings — I mean the Abbe and the two oldest gentlemen — the younger does not, I think, seem to have learned so well the difficult art of appearing cheerful when anguish is corroding the soul — If I were to indulge myself in remarks on national character, I should say, that he is affected more life an Englishman than a Frenchman.”
“If you knew what he suffers as an individual,” said D’Alonville, “the want of fortitude, which you justly remark, would appear more excusable, yet perhaps the Marquis de Touranges has more than his share of pride, allied to the first houses in France, and boasting of blood, second only to that of royalty, it is more difficult for him than for most others (and we have none of us found it very easy), to submit to the innovations that the revolution has made. At its commencement de Touranges was among those who resisted, with the most resolution, the concessions demanded of the nobility; when they became inevitable, he still remained near the king, to whom he was personally attached; but as he could neither approve of the continual diminution of power which he had been taught to consider as sacred, nor conceal his detestation of the democratic faction that was making such rapid strides towards the total destruction of monarchy, he soon became so obnoxious to these men that his stay was injurious to his master, and dangerous to himself; and after the 20th of June this was so evident, that he was at length prevailed upon to retire. All this is but the same destiny we have almost all of us experienced, varied only by local or domestic events; and in these respects de Touranges has particularly suffered.”
D’Alonville then went on to relate what had befallen Madame de Touranges, the mother of the Marquis, and the distressing circumstance of his being unable to learn what was become of her, or of his wife and her infant. The sensible heart of Ellesmere was touched by this narrative; he not only blamed himself for having so hastily conceived some dislike to the Marques, on account of what he mistook for the reserve of haughty superiority, but felt a most earnest, though ineffectual wish to soothe the suffering of these unhappy strangers. The idea he had at first conceived of de Touranges, had deterred him from proposing to join their party; but as the cause of his apparent reserve was now explained, his inclination to do so was renewed, and he mentioned it to D’Alonville, who expressed the utmost satisfaction in the prospect of having the advantage of his company. He hastened immediately to settle their journey with two friends. The Abbé was pleased with the acquisition thus made of another travelling companion: de Touranges neither approved or opposed it; D’Alonville therefore, to whom it was left to arrange their conveyance, settled it, by hiring a sort of coach that held four persons, with conveniences without for their servants and baggage; and in this they set out on their way to Berlin, somewhat less than an hundred miles from Dresden.
Nothing worth noticing occurring on their first day’s journey — Ellesmere became continually more prejudiced in favor of his young friend; and for the Abbé de St. Remi, he learned to feel veneration and esteem, without, however, being influenced by the conversation of either, or by the pity he felt for their ruined fortunes, to alter his original opinions, as to the errors of the former government of their country, or the propriety of those reforms, which, had they been carried on by reason and justice, would have rendered France, under a limited monarchy, the most flourishing and happy nation of Europe. His thorough conviction of what it might have been, only encreased the concern and disgust he felt in reflecting on what it was; but if ever any conversation on this subject arose, he concealed the former of these sentiments form his unhappy friends when they were altogether, and particularly from de Touranges, who, on their first day’s journey he had observed to be so much irritated and inflamed by discourse of such a tendency held at a table d’hote, by a German who dined in their company, that a quarrel of the most alarming nature would have ensued, but for the interposition of the Abbe de St. Remi and an old Prussian officer — Ellesmere fancied that de Touranges looked upon him as a man who from the government under which he had been brought up, could not but be favorably disposed towards democracy; and he felt too much concern for the sad reverse of fortune under which De Touranges was suffering, not to make every possible allowance for him, and forbore to press any argument that might render more irritable a wounded mind.
On the second day the weather was so unfavorable that their progress was slow; and towards evening a storm of wind, with snow and rain, made it so disagreeable, and indeed dangerous (for it was quite dark before they were within three leagues of the post-house where they proposed stopping,) that they consented rather to remain at a little alehouse where they had taken shelter, than expose themselves to the danger of being overturned, in the obscurity of such a night, in a wild and mountainous country. There were in this place no beds for them; but the Abbe remarked with a smile that it was part of the vow he had taken to sleep on boards — de Touranges cared not where he laid his head, and D’Aonville D’Alonville had not been of late too much used to hard fare of every kind, not to be indifferent about a transient inconvenience. Ellesmere very justly concluded that he should not be more incommoded than his friends; and they retired in their clothes to some bundles of straw which their servants had carried up into a place which might rather be called a granary than a room; it just afforded, however, a shelter from the wind and water, and the travellers preferred it to the only room below where they could have stayed, because that room was crowded with people, among whom were some strange figures, whose occupation seemed at least equivocal; and agree in nothing but in smoaking, that room was on many accounts less eligible than the loft they had chosen.
Towards morning D’Alonville, who was impatient to get forward on his journey — arose from his straw, and found his way down a kind of ladder. He went out, and, though it was a dark and dismal morning, he roused the men who slept in the stable, entreating them to get ready as soon as they could, for he apprehended a fall of snow from the change of the wind, and was afraid that the longer they staid the more difficult they might find it to depart. Having given these orders, he returned with a design to hasten his friends; but as the ladder-like stairs, that led to the place where he left them, received very little light, and towards the top branched off in two directions, he hesitated a moment to recollect which he ought to take — then imagining he had guessed right, he proceeded to mount four or five steep steps, and opening a door, or rather a few old planks nailed together to supply the want of one, he was struck by the sight of a woman kneeling by the side of a wretched bed, where lay a human figure, on which her eyes were fixed with a look of hopeless despair. Through the disorder of a white wrapping dress, and her hair that hung loosely over her face and shoulders, D’Alonville distinguished that she was very young and not of the common rank — almost without reflection he stepped towards her; she turned towards him a countenance pale and emaciated, but still lovely, and looking surprised to behold a stranger, spoke to him in a very soft and affecting voice, but in a language of which he did not understand a syllable. The expressive tones of distress, however, needed not words to make vibrate an heart which, like D’Alonville’s, had been accustomed to suffer. He hastily approached the bed, and distinguished the person who lay on it to be a man between fifty and sixty, who appeared to be extremely ill. He addressed to the young woman an enquiry in French, whether he could be of any use, or in what he could serve her. She seems to understand that he wished to assist and relieve her, and burst into tears.
The sick man, whose half closed eyes had been fixed on her face, was roused by this expression of so
rrow; she spoke to him in her own language, and he turned his faint looks towards D’Alonville, who, now seeing that he noticed him, and answered in the same language, imperfectly indeed, yet so as to be comprehended, that he was a native of Poland — that having taken an active part in the late attempt of that country to regain its freedom, he had been marked for the vengeance of the powers who had now the ascendancy; and would have been imprisoned for life, if he had not, with his daughter made a precipitate escape with what little property they could save, of the greater part of which he had been robbed by a servant; and that they were now travelling towards Vienna, where they had relations; but that fatigue and anxiety having thrown him into a fever, he had lain above three weeks in this miserable house. His fever, he said, was gone, but he had lost, through weakness, the use of his limbs, and feared he should never be able to quit that place which, for himself he should not lament; but that his daughter’s desolate condition —
He could not go on, but D’Alonville perfectly understood what he would say. — Here then was a being more miserable than even his friends and himself — an exile too like them — the victim of a contention, like that which desolated their country; but who had taken a different art in it. He was not less an object of compassion to the generous mind of D’Alonville; who feeling the same sentiment that actuated the gallant Sidney, as he gazed on the unhappy object before him, would have said,”Thy necessity is greater than mine.”
He immediately began to assure the Polish gentleman, that whatever he could do to amend his situation should instantly be done. The voice of pity, so soothing to the sick heart, seemed to have an almost immediate effect on the unfortunate Polonese. He tried however in vain to express his gratitude, and his daughter could only weep — D’Alonville was afraid of abruptly offering money; nor did ne indeed well know in what way to administer the assistance these two unfortunate wanderers seemed so greatly in need of; but telling them he would wait upon them again in a few moments, he went to find his friend Ellesmere, whom he met upon the stairs somewhat disquieted at his absence, having been for some time vainly in search of him.
When they descended the ladder, which was not a very convenient place for such a conference, D’Alonville related in a few words the extraordinary adventure he had met with. — A lovely girl weeping over her expiring parent, in a miserable German cabaret; that parent the victim of his principles! — It was a story exactly calculated to acquire a sudden interest over the romantic mind of Ellesmere, on whom beauty in distress had always a most powerful effect; and who, though he detested the present Anarchists of France, and was impatient to draw his sword against them, had an heart attached to the true English principles, an heart detesting tyranny and injustice under whatever semblance they appeared, and ready to side with every man who dared honestly resist them. He took fire at the sketch D’Alonville gave of the melancholy scene he had been witness to; and taking it for granted the people of the house had been cruel to their unhappy guests as soon as their money had failed, he went back into the kitchen to enquire about them.
The woman of the house answered him coolly enough that the man and the girl, as she called them, had had what they wanted; but for her part she had a large family of her own to look after. They were taxed high, and were devoured by soldiers; and she could not be burthened with strangers. She was sorry for the gentleman, if he was a gentleman; but she though folks who had no money, or but little, should stay at home in their own country, and not run about to be burthensome to other people.”
D’Alonville did not understand this harangue, which was delivered in German, so well as Ellesmere, who was more master of that language. He did not, however, warm as he was in his zeal for the suffering party, exclaim against the inhumanity
of his German hostess, and conclude that therefore all German hostesses were inhuman; but he reflected on a much more evident truth — how nearly the people of all countries are alike. Such he knew would probably have been the language of an alewife between London and Harwich, and of la Cabaratiere, at any little auberge between Calais and Paris. His solicitude however for the Polonese gentleman was encreased, and he entreated D’Alonville to introduce him when he returned to his chamber, that they might together discover what could be done for him. Time pressed — for the Marquis de Touranges and the Abbe were by this time earnest to depart. The former heard the story with so little sensibility that Ellesmere could only apologize for him, by supposing true what has often been asserted, that uninterrupted prosperity and great insensible to the distresses of others. Had he known more of De Touranges, he would have discovered that he was not naturally unfeeling, but that the word liberty, a word to which he imputed all the evils under which his country groaned, had a power over him like that of the fabled shield of Minerva, and turned his heart to stone. The Abbe de St. Remi had more Christian charity; he offered not only to lend the the sick man any spiritual advice which might console him, but to contribute what little was in his power to his personal necessities; and to exert the skill he had acquired in medicine towards his recovery. Ellesmere heretically thought these two last-mentioned offers the most to the purpose; but he agreed with D’Alonville that they would accept only the last; and in this no time was to be lost. D’Alonville therefore immediately returned, and proposed to the Polonese, a visit from the Abbe. — It was gratefully accepted; and though it lasted but a few moments, was highly satisfactory; for the Abbe, on his return to the two young men, assured them, that the danger in which he believed his patient to have been, was over; and that though he was still extremely weak, his recovery was retarded, by what had occasioned his illness — mental anguish; and by that hopeless lassitude which a long course of suffering occasions, even to the firmest mind. — The dread of leaving his daughter desolate and unprotected in a strange country, had been so great, that he denied himself even the few comforts he could have obtained, because he desired to reserve the little money he had left to send her back to Warsaw, where he hoped the relations of her mother would receive her, when he himself, whose politics had estranged them from him, could offend them no more. But she had positively refused to leave him and the contention between his anxiety for her, and her tenderness for him, had affected him so much, just at the moment when accident introduced D’Alonville into the room, that it gave him the appearance of being even in a more languid state than he really was.
This account redoubled the solicitude of the two young men, who now became extremely impatient to set at ease the anxious heart of a father for a daughter so deserving, by enabling him to secure her return to Warsaw. This however would probably require more time than De Touranges would be willing to spare; and when they recollected that at Berlin he had hopes of gaining some intelligence of his wife, his child, and his mother, they forgave impatience, which in any other case would have indicated want of humanity.
After a short consultation between Ellesmere, D’Alonville, and the Abbe, they agreed that the latter should go on with De Touranges to the next post town, about nine miles distant, whither they would follow in two or three hours; and that if in that time they did not come up with their friends, the Abbe and De Touranges might still proceed. D’Alonville and Ellesmere had no doubt of overtaking the carriage, by the superior speed of post-horses, on the following day; or at least before it reached Berlin.
CHAPTER XIII.
Non tamen irritunt
Quodenque rentro est effiet; neque
Dissinget, infectumque reddet
Quod sugiens semel hora vexit.
HOR.
THE friendly interest which men of another country, and of other principles, took in his fate, and in that of his daughter, had almost an instantaneous effect on the depressed spirits of Carlowitz. When Ellesmere was by his friend D’Alonville introduced, they found him risen from his miserable couch, and sitting on his side, but too weak to support himself; he leaned against his daughter, who hung over him with the tenderest solicitude. While D’Alonville endeavoured to put an end t
o the attempts he made to express his gratitude, Ellesmere approached, and would have spoken to his daughter; but he was so struck by her figure, and by the expression of her countenance, that he could only murmur out a broken sentence, which he forgot she could not understand. Her father spoke to her in the Polish language; and though Ellesmere knew not what he said, he imagined he bade her attempt to speak French. Her faded cheek was for a moment tinted with a faint blush; and turning towards D’Alonville, she made an unsuccessful effort to express herself; but Ellesmere was tempted to envy him, what seemed almost a preference, and would have been himself the person in whose favor the attempt was made.
“Alexina,” said her father, addressing himself to them both, “Alexina is a very young scholar in your language, gentlemen, (for he did not distinguish Ellesmere’s country;) but though she is unable to say how much she is obliged to you, believe me she is sincerely sensible of you kindness.— “He then again spoke to her; and quitting him, she took up a cloak with a large hood which lay in a chair, and wrapping herself in it, so as to conceal her face as much as possible, she left the room.
Ellesmere followed her with his eyes and knew not how to help offering to assist her down the stairs or rather ladder — but fearful of offending, he continued to gaze at the door through which he had passed; and it was the repetition of her name only, that drew him from his admiration of her form, to attend to her interest, which D’Alonville already began to discuss with her father.
“Yes,” said Carlowitz, “it is only on account of Alexina that my heart has failed me; for myself, I fear not death. I have affronted it in the most hideous forms; but my Alexina! — I wished to place her in the projection of the only relation I have at Vienna — and then if I live, do not imagine that I mean to pass the rest of my life in inactivity. While I have any remains of strength I must use it, though my country exists no longer.”
Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works Page 170
