MY history presents a frightful ex­ample of the instability of fortune. It is indeed very flattering, but it is also some­times very dangerous, to have an ancient title to sustain, and a large estate to pre­serve. The sole descendant of an illus­trious family, whose origin is lost in the darkness of remote ages, I have a right to aspire to, and to occupy the first em­ployments in the republic which gave me birth, and yet I behold myself con­demned to languish in a foregin coun­try, amidst an indolent and inglorious obscurity.

The name of Lovzinski is honorably mentioned in the annals of Poland, and that name is about to perish with myself? [Page 4] I know that an austere philosophy eithe [...] rejects or despises vain titles and corrupting riches; and perhaps I should consol [...] myself if I had lost only these; but, [...] weep for an adored spouse, I search after a beloved daughter, and I shal [...] never more revisit my native land. Wha [...] courage is capable of opposing griefs like mine?

My father, the Baron de Lovzinski still more distinguished by his virtue [...] than his rank, enjoyed that consideration at court, which the favour of the prince always confers, and which personal meri [...] sometimes obtains. He bestowed all the attention of a tender parent on the education of my two sisters; and in regard to mine, he occupied himself with the zea [...] of a man of family, jealous of the honour of his house, of which I was the sol [...] hope, and with the activity of a good citizen, who desires nothing so ardently a [...] to leave to the state a successor worthy o [...] him.

While I was pursuing my studies a [...] Warsaw, the young P— dist [...]nguished himself among the rest of my companion by his amiable qualities. To the charm [...] of a person at once noble and engaging▪ he joined the graces of a cultivated under­ [...]tanding. [Page 5] The uncommon address which [...]e displayed among us young warriors, that rare modesty with which he seemed desirous to conceal his own merit from himself, on purpose to exalt the abilities of his less fortunate rivals who were gener­ally vanquished by him in all our exerci­ [...]es; the urbanity of his manners, and the [...]weetness of his disposition, fixed the at­tention, commanded the esteem, and ren­dered him the darling of that illustrious [...]and of young nobility, who partook of our studies and our pleasures.

To say that it was the resemblance of our characters, and the sympathy of our dispositions, that occasioned my attach­ment to M. de P—, would be to pay myself too flattering a compliment; however that may be, we both lived to­gether in the most intimate familiarity.

How happy, but how fleeting is that time of life, when one is unacquainted with ambition, which sacrifices every thing to the desire of fortune and the glory that follows in her train, and with [...]ove, the supreme power of which absorbs and concentres all our faculties upon one sole object! that age of innocent pleas­ures, and of confident credulity, when the heart, as yet a novice, follows the [Page 6] impulse of youthful sensibility, and be­stows itself unreservedly, upon the object of disinterested affection! Then, surely, friendship is not a vain name!

The confident of all the secrets of M. de P—, I myself undertook nothing with­out first intrusting him with my designs; his counsels regulated my conduct, mine determined his resolution; our youth had no pleasures which were not shared, no misfortunes which were not solaced by our mutual attachment.

With what chagrin did I not perceive that fatal moment arrive, when my friend, obliged by the commands of a father to depart from Warsaw, prepared to take leave of me! We promised to preserve for ever that lively affection which had constituted the chief happiness of our youth, and I rashly swore that the pas­sions of a more advanced age should ne­ver alter it.

What an immense void did the absence of M. de P— leave in my heart! At firs [...] it appeared that nothing could compen­sate for his loss; the tenderness of a father▪ the caresses of my sisters, affected n [...] but feebly. I thought that no other m [...] thod remained for me to dissipate the ir [...] someness of my situation, than to occu [...] [Page 7] my leisure moments with some useful pur­suit. I therefore cultivated the French language, already esteemed throughout all Europe; I read with delight those fa­mous works, the eternal monuments of genius, which it had produced; and I wondered, that notwithstanding such an ungrateful idiom, so many celebrated po­ets, so many excellent philosophers and historians, justly immortalized, had been able to distinguish themselves by its means.

I also applied myself seriously to the study of geometry; I formed my mind in a particular manner to the pursuit of that noble profession which makes a hero at the expence of one hundred thousand unfortunates, and which men less human than valiant have called the grand art of war! Several years were employed in these pursuits, which are equally difficult and laborious; in short, they solely occupied my thoughts. M. de P—, who often wrote to me, no longer received any but short replies, and our correspondence began to languish by neglect, when at length love finished the triumph over friendship.

My father had been for a long time intimately connected with Count Pulaski. [Page 8] Celebrated for the austerity of his man­ners, famous on account of the inflexibil­ity of his virtues, which were truly repub­lican, Pulaski, at once a great captain and a brave soldier, had on more than one occasion signalized his fiery courage, and his ardent patriotism.

Instructed in ancient literature, he had been taught by history the great lessons of a noble disinterestedness, an immovea­ble constancy, an absolute devotion to glo­ry. Like those heroes to whom idola­trous but grateful Rome elevated altars, Pulaski would have sacrificed all property to the prosperity of his country; he would have spilled the last drop of his blood for its defence; he would even have immolated his only, his beloved daugh­ter, Lodoiska.

Lodoiska! how beautiful! how love­ly! her dear name is always on my lips, her adored remembrance will live for ever in my heart!

From the first moment that I saw this fair maid, I lived only for her; I aban­doned my studies; friendship was entire­ly forgotten. I consecrated all my mo­ments to Lodoiska. My father and hers could not be long ignorant of my attachment; they did not chide me for [Page 9] it; they must have approved it then? This idea appeared to me to be so well found­ed, that I delivered myself up without suspicion, to the sweet passion that enchant­ed me; and I took my measures so well, that I beheld Lodoiska almost daily, ei­ther at home, or in company with my sis­ters, who loved her tenderly:—two sweet years flew away in this manner.

At length Pulaski took me one day aside, and addressed, me thus: "Your father and myself have formed great hopes of you, which your conduct has hitherto justified; I have long beheld you employ­ing your youth in studies equally useful and honorable. To-day—(He here per­ceived that I was about to interrupt him) What would you say? Do you think to tell me any thing I am unacquainted with? Do you think that I have occasion to be hourly witness of your transports, to learn how much my Lodoiska merits to be beloved? Is it because I know as well as you the value of my daughter, that you never shall obtain but by merit­ing her? Young man, learn that it is not sufficient that your foibles should be le­gitimate, to be excusable; those of a good citizen ought to be turned entirely to the profit of his country; love, even [Page 10] love itself, like the basest of the passions, is either despicable or dangerous, if it does not offer to generous hearts an ad­ditional motive to excite them towards honor.

"Hear me: Our monarch for a long time in a sickly habit of body, seems at length to approach towards his end. His life, become every day more precarious, has awakened the ambition of our neigh­bors. They doubtless prepare to sow di­visions among us; and they think that by over-awing our suffrages, they will be en­abled to force upon us a king of their own chusing. Foreign troops have al­ready dared to appear on the frontiers of Poland; already two thousand Polish gentlemen have assembled, on purpose to punish their audacious insolence. Go and join yourself with those brave youths; go, and at the end of the campaign return covered with the blood of our enemies, and shew to Pulaski a son-in-law worthy of him!"

I did not hesitate a single moment; my father approved of my resolutions, but being unable to consent without pain to my precipitate departure, he pressed me for a long lime against his bosom, while a tender solicitude was depicted in [Page 11] all his looks; his adieus seemed to be i [...] [...]spicious; the trouble that agitated [...] [...]eart seized upon my own; our tears were mingled on his venerable cheeks. Pulaski, who was present at this moving scene, stoically reproached us for what he termed a weakness. Dry up your tears, said he to me, o [...] preserve them for Lo­doiska; it belongs only to childish lovers who separate themselves from each other for five or six months, to weep in this manner! He instructed his daughter in my presence, both of my departure, and of the motives which determined me to it. Lodoiska grew pale, sighed, looked at her father with a face suffused with blushes, and then assured me in a trem­bling voice, that her vows should be of­fered up for my safe return, and that her happiness depended on the safety of Lovzinski.

Encouraged in this manner, what dan­gers had I to fear? I departed according­ly, but in the course of that campaign, there happened nothing worthy of nar­ration; the enemy, equally careful with ourselves to avoid any action which might produce an open war between the two nations, contented themselves with fa­tiguing us by means of frequent marches: [Page 12] we, on the other hand, bounded our views to following and observing them; and they only seemed to oppose themselves to us, in those parts where the open coun­try afforded them an opportunity of ma­king good their retreat.

At the end of the campaign they pre­pared to retire on purpose to take up their winter quarters in their own coun­try; and our little army composed al­most wholly of gentlemen, separated soon after.

I returned to Warsaw full of joy and impatience; I thought that Love and Hy­men were about to bestow Lodoiska on me. Alas! I no longer had a father. I learned, on entering the capital, that Lovzinski died of an apoplexy on the night before my arrival. Thus I was deprived, of even the sad consolation of receiving the last sighs of the most tender of parents; I could only offer up my sor­rows at his tomb, which I bathed with my tears!

—"It is not," says Pulaski to me▪ who was but little moved with my pro­found sorrow—"it is not by barren tears that you can do honour to a father such as thine. Poland in him regrets a Citi­zen—a hero, who would have been of [Page 13] immense service during the critical mo­ment which now approaches. Worn out with a tedious malady, our monarch has not a fortnight to live, and on the choice of his successor depends the hap­piness or misery of our fellow-citizens.

"Of all the rights which the death of your father transmits to you, the most noble is undoubtedly that of assisting at the Diet, in which you are to represent him; it is there, where he will revive in you▪ it is there, where you ought to exhibit a courage infinitely more difficult to be sus­tained than that which consists only in braving death in the field of battle!

"The valour of a soldier is nothing more than a common virtue; but they are not ordinary men who on awful emer­gencies, preserving a tranquil courage, and displaying an active penetration, discover the projects of the powerful who cabal, disconcert the enterprises of the intrigu­ing, and confront the designs of the fac­tious; who, always firm, incorruptible, and just, give not their suffrages but to those whom they think most worthy of them; whom neither gold nor promises can seduce, whom prayers cannot bend, whom menaces cannot terrify.

"These were the virtues which distin­guished [Page 14] your father; this is the precious inheritance which you ought to be desir­ous of sustaining.—The day on which the states assemble for the election of a king, will be the epoch on which the pre­tentions of many of our fellow-citizens, more occupied with their private interests than jealous of the prosperity of their country, will be manifested, as well as the pernicious designs of the neighbouring powers, whose cruel policy it is, to destroy our strength by dividing it.

"I am deceived, my friend, if the fa­tal moment is not fast approaching, which will forever fix the destinies of our coun­try—its enemies have conspired its ruin; they have secretly prepared for a revolu­tion, but they shall not consummate their purposes while my arm can sustain a sword! May that God, who is the pro­tector of the republic, prevent all the horrors of a civil war! But that extremi­ty, however frightful it appears, may per­haps become necessary, I s [...]er myself that it will be but a short, although per­haps a violent crisis, after which the re­generated state will assume its ancient splendour.

"You shall second my efforts, Lov­zinski; the feeble interests of love ought [Page 15] to disappear before more sacred claims. I cannot present my daughter to you du­ring this awful moment of suspense, when our common country is in danger; but I promise to you, that the first days of peace shall be marked by your union with Lo­doiska.

Pulaski did not speak in vain. I felt that I had now more essential duties to fulfil than those of love; but the cares with which my mind was occupied, were hardly able to alleviate my grief. I will even avow to you, without blushing, that the sorrow of my sisters, their tender friendship, and the caresses more reserved but no less pleasing of my mistress, made a stronger impression on my heart than the patriotic counsels of Pulaski. I beheld Lodoiska tenderly affected with my irre­parable loss, and as much afflicted as my­self at the cruel events which forced us to defer our union; my chagrin, by be­ing thus divided with that lovely woman, seemed insensibly to diminish.

In the mean time the king dies, and the Diet is convoked. On the day that it was to open, at the very instant when I was about to repair to the assembly, a stranger presented himself, and desired to speak to me in private. As soon as my [Page 16] attendants were retired, he enters my apartment with precipitation, throws him­self into my arms, and tenderly embraces me. It was M. de P—! Ten years, which had elapsed since our separation, had not so much changed his features as to prevent me from recognizing him, and testifying my joy and surprise at his un­expected return.

"You will be more astonished," says he to me, "when you know the case. I have arrived this instant, and am about to repair to the meeting of the Diet; would it be presuming too much on your friendship to reckon on your vote?"

"On my vote! and for whom?"

"For myself," continues he with vi­vacity; "it is not now time to recount to you the happy revolution that has ta­ken place in my fortune, and which at present permits me to entertain such ex­alted hopes: it is sufficient to observe, that my ambition is at least justified by a majority of suffrages, and that it is in vain that two feeble rivals would attempt to dispute with me the crown which I pretend.

"Lovzinski," adds he, embracing me again, "if you were not my friend, and I esteemed you less, perhaps I should en­deavour [Page 17] to dazzle you by means of prom­ises: perhaps I should recount to you the savours which I intend to heap upon you, the honourable distinctions that are re­served for you, and the noble and glori­ous career that is about to offer itself to your ambition; but I have not any need of sedusing, and I only wish to persuade you.

"I behold it with grief, and you know it as well as myself, that for several years past our Poland, become enfeebled, owes its safety to nothing else than the distrust of the three great powers^* which sur­round it, and the desire to enrich them­selves with our spoils, may in one moment re-unite our divided enemies.

"Let us prevent, if we can, this inau­spicious triumvirate from dismembering the republic. Undoubtedly, in more fortunate times, our ancestors were able to maintain the freedom of their elec­tions; it is necessary however that we should yield to that necessity, which is become inevitable.

"Russia will necessarily protect a king, whom she herself has elevated; in receiv­ing [Page 18] the sovereign of her choice, you will defeat the views of that triple alliance which will render our perdition certain, and we shall acquire a powerful ally, who will oppose herself with success to the two enemies that remain to us.

"These are the reasons which have determined my conduct; I do not aban­don part of our rights, but to preserve the most precious of them. I wish not to ascend a fickle throne, but with the in­tention, by the means of a sage policy, to give it stability; I consent not to alter the constitution of the commonwealth, but to preserve the kingdom entire."

We repaired to the Diet together; I voted for M. de P—. He in effect obtained the majority of the suffrages; but Pulaski, Zuremba, and some others, declared themselves in favour of Prince C—. Nothing was decided amidst the tumult of this first meeting.

When the assembly broke up M. de P— invited me to accompany him to the place, which his secret emissaries had already prepared for him in the capital.^* [Page 19] We shut ourselves up together during several hours, and renewed the promises of a friendship that should endure forever. I then too informed M. de P— of my intimate connection with Pulaski, and of my love for Lodoiska. He repaid my confidence with more important commu­nications; he informed me of the events which had led to his approaching gran­deur; he explained to me his secret de­signs; and I left him, convinced that he was less occupied with a desire of his own elevation, than with that of restoring Po­land to its ancient prosperity.

Possessed with these ideas, I flew to­wards my future father-in-law, burning with the desire of adding him to the par­ty of my friend. Pulaski was walking at a great pace up and down the chamber of his daughter, who appeared equally agita­ted with himself.

"Behold," said he to Lodoiska, the moment that he saw me enter, "behold that man whom I esteem and whom you love! He has sacrificed us both to his blind friendship." I was desirous to reply but he went on—"You have been connected from your childhood with M. de P—. A powerful faction is about to place him on the throne; you know you are acquainted [Page 20] with his designs; this very morning at the Diet, you voted for him; you have deceived me:—but do you think that you shall deceive me with impunity?"

I besought him to hear me, and he constrained himself so far as to preserve a stern silence: I then informed him that M. de P—, whom I had for a long time neglected, had agreeably surprised me by his unexpected return.

Lodoiska appeared charmed to hear me commence my justification.—"You shall not deceive me in the same manner as if I were a credulous woman," says Pulaski.—"But it signifies not—pro­ceed.

I then recounted to him the particu­lars of the short conversations that I had with M. de P— before I repaired to the assembly of the states.

"And these are your projects!" ex­claims he. "M. de P— sees no other remedy for the misfortune of his fellow-citizens than their slavery! He proposes this, one of the name of Lovzinski, ap­proves of it; and they despise me so much as to tempt me to enter into this infamous plot! Shall I behold the Russians com­manding in our provinces in the name of a Pole?"

[Page 21]"The Russians, say I with fury; the Russians reign in my country!" On this Pulaski, advancing towards me with the greatest impetuosity, cries out: "Perfid­ious youth! you have deceived me, and you would betray the state! Leave my house this very moment, or know that I shall order you to be dragged out of it!"

I frankly acknowledge that an affront so cruel, and so little merited, disarmed me of my prudence: in the first transports of my fury, I placed my hand upon my sword; and quicker than lightning Pulas­ki brandished his in the air.

His daughter, his distracted daughter, rushed forward, and precipitated herself upon me, crying out: "Lovzinski, what are you about to do?" On hearing the accents of a voice so dear to me, I recal­led my wandering reason; but I percei­ved that a single instant was about fore­ver to bereave me of my Lodoiska! She had left me to throw herself into the arms of her father. He, cruel man, beheld my grief, and strove to augment it: "Go, traitor!" says he, "be gone—you be­hold Lodoiska for the last time!"

I returned home in a state of despera­tion. The odious names which Pulas­ki [Page 22] had lavished on me, returned uncea­singly to my reflection. The interests of Poland, and those of M. de P—, ap­peared to be so intimately connected to­gether, that I did not perceive in what manner I could betray my fellow-citizens by serving my friend; in the mean time I was obliged either to abandon him, or re­nounce Lodoiska forever. What was I to resolve? what part should I take? I passed the whole night in a state of the most cruel uncertainty: and when the day appeared, I went towards Pulaski's house, without yet having come to any determination.

The only domestic who remained there informed me, that his lord had de­parted at the beginning of the night, with his daughter, after having first dismissed all his people. Think of my despair on hearing this news. I asked to what part Pulaski had retired. But my question was in vain, he informed me that he was certainly ignorant of the place of his destination.

"All I can tell you," says he, "is that you had scarce gone away yesterday evening, when he heard a great noise in the apartment of his daughter. Still ter­rified at the scene which had taken place [Page 23] between you, I approached the door, and listened. Lodoiska wept: her furious father overwhelmed her with injuries, be­stowed his malediction upon her, and I myself heard him exclaim: "To love a traitor, is to be one! Ungrateful wretch! I shall conduct you to a place of safety, where you shall henceforth be at a dis­tance from seduction."

Could I any longer doubt the extent of my misery? I instantly called for Bo­leslas, one of the most faithful of my do­mestics: I ordered him to place trusty spies about the palace of Pulaski, who should bring an account of every thing that passed there; and commanded that if the count returned to the capital before me, he should follow him wherever he went. Having given these instructions, and not yet despairing of still finding the family at one of their seats in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, I myself set out in pur­suit of my mistress.

I accordingly searched through all the domains of Pulaski, and asked concern­ing Lodoiska of all the passengers whom I met, but without success. After hav­ing spent eight days in fruitless enquiry, I resolved to return to Warsaw, and I was not a little astonished, on my arrival, to [Page 24] find a Russian army encamped on the banks of the Vistula, almost under the very walls of that city.

It was night when I entered the capi­tal: the palaces of the grandees were all illuminated, an immense multitude filled the streets; I heard the songs of joy; I beheld wine flowing in rivulets in the public squares: every thing announced to me that Poland had a king.

Boleslas, who expected me with im­patience, informed me that Pulaski had returned alone on the second day after my departure; and that he had not stirred from his own palace but to repair to the Diet, where, in spite of his efforts, the as­cendancy of Russia became every day more manifest. "During the last assem­bly held this very morning," adds he, M. de P— united almost all the suf­frages in his favor, and was about to be declared king, when Pulaski pronounced the fatal Veto: at that instant twenty sa­bres were brandished in the air. The fierce palatine of —, whom the count had insulted in the former assembly, was the first to rush forwards, and gave him a ter­rible wound on the head. Zaremba, co [...] some others, drew to the defence of their friend: but all their efforts would have [Page 25] been unable to have saved him, if M. de P— had not ranged himself on their side, exclaiming at the same time, that he would sacrifice with his own hand, the first person who dared to approach him. On this the assailants retired. In the mean time Pulaski, fainting with the loss of blood, was carried off the field in a state of insensibility. Zaremba departed also, swearing to avenge his friend. Having thus become master of the deliberations, the numerous partizans of M. de P— instantly proclaimed him sovereign.

"Pulaski, who had been carried to his palace, was soon restored to life; and the surgeons who attended him, declared that his wounds, although dangerous, were not mortal. In that state, although lan­guishing under the most cruel torments, contrary to the advice of all his friends, he ordered himself to be lifted into his carriage, and before noon he left Warsaw, accompanied by Mazeppa and a few male-contents."

It was scarcely possible to have announ­ced worse news to me. My friend was upon the throne, but my reconciliation with Pulaski appeared henceforth impos­sible, and in all appearance Lodoiska was lost forever. I knew her father so well [Page 26] as to be under apprehensions lest he should proceed to extremities with his daughter. I was affrightened at the present, I durst not look forward towards the future; and my heart was so devoured with cha­grin, that I did not go out, even to felici­tate the new king.

One of my people, whom Boleslas dis­patched after Pulaski, returned at the end of the fourth day: He had followed him fifteen leagues from the capital; when a­bout that distance, Zaremba, who percei­ved a stranger at a little distance from the carriage, began to conceive suspicions. As they proceeded, four of his followers, who had concealed themselves behind the ruins of an old house, surprised my courier, and conducted him to Pulaski. He, with a pistol in his hand, forced him to acknowledge to whom he belonged. "I shall send you back to Lovzinski," said the fierce republican, "on purpose to announce from me, that he shall not es­cape my just vengeance." At these words they blindfolded my servant, who could not tell where they carried him. At the end of four-and-twenty hours they returned, and tying a handkerchief once more about his eyes they put him into a carriage, which having stopped at length, [Page 27] after a journey of several hours, he was ordered to descend. Scarce had he put his foot upon the ground but his guards departed at a full gallop: on which he removed the bandage, and found himself precisely on the same spot as that on which he had been first arrested.

This intelligence filled me with uneasi­ness; the menaces of Pulaski terrified me, much less on my own account than on Lodoiska's, who remained in his power: In the midst of his fury he might sacrifice her life! I resolved therefore to expose myself to every species of danger, on pur­pose to discover the retreat of the father, and the prison of his only child.

On the succeeding day, after informing my sisters of my design, I left the capital: Boleslas alone accompanied me, and I passed for his brother. We wandered over all Poland, and I then percieved that the fears of Pulaski were but too well justified by the event. Under pre­tence of obliging the inhabitants to take the oath of fidelity to the new king, the Russians scattered about in the pro­vinces, desolated the country, and com­mitted a multitude of exactions in the cities.

After having spent three months in [Page 28] vain enquiries, despairing of being able to find Lodoiska, touched with the most lively grief for the fate of my country, and weeping at one and the same time for her misfortunes and my own, I was about to return to Warsaw, to inform the new king of the excesses committed by those foreigners in his states, when an ad­venture that at first seemed to be very in­auspicious, forced me to a very different resolution.

The Turks having declared war against Russia, the Tartars of Budziac and the Crimea made frequent incursions into Volhynia, where I then was. Four of those robbers attacked us one afternoon, as we were leaving a wood near Ostro­pol. I had imprudently neglected to load my pistols; but I made use of my sabre with so much address and good luck, that in a short time, two of them fell cov­ered with wounds. Boleslas encountered the third: the fourth attacked me with great fury; he gave me a slight cut upon the leg, but received a terrible stroke in return, that dismounted him from his horse and felled him to the ground. Bo­leslas at the same moment perceived him­self disencumbered from his enemy, wh [...] at the noise made by his comrade's fall [Page 29] took to flight. He whom I had just van­quished, then addressed me in very bad Polish, and said, "a brave man like you ought to be generous. I beg my life of you; instead of putting me to death, suc­cour me, relieve me, bind up my wounds and assist me to arise."

He demanded quarter with an air so noble, that I did not hesitate for a mo­ment. I accordingly descended from my horse, and Boleslas and myself hav­ing helped him to arise, we dressed his wounds. "You behave well:" says the Tartar to me; "you behave well!" As he spoke we beheld a cloud of dust, and in a moment after, more than three hundred Tartars rushed upon us full speed. "Be not afraid, dread nothing," says he whom I had spared; "I am the chief of this troop." Accordingly, by means of a sign, he stops his followers, who were on the point of massacring us; and speaking to them in their own lan­guage, which I was unable to compre­hend, they instantly opened their ranks on purpose to permit us to pass.

"Brave man," exclaims their captain, addressing himself to me once more, "had I not reason to say you behaved well? You left me my life, and I now save [Page 30] yours: it is sometimes right to spare an enemy, and even a robber! Hear me, my friend: in attacking you, I followed my profession, and you did your duty in con­quering me. I pardon you, you have al­ready pardoned me; let us therefore em­brace. He then adds: "The day is wasting, and I would not advise you to travel in these cantons during the pre­sent night. My people are about to re­pair each to his respective post, and I cannot answer for their discretion. You perceive a castle on a rising ground, to­wards the right: it belongs to a certain Pole of the name of Dourlinski, for whom we have a high esteem, because he is very rich. Go demand an asylum from him; tell him that you have wound­ed Titsican, and that Titsican pursues you. He is acquainted with my name: I have already made him pass many an uneasy night. As to the rest, you may rely on it, that while you remain with him, his castle shall be s [...]cred; but be careful not to come [...] [...]unt before the end of [...] [...]t to remain there long [...]!"

It was with un [...] [...] [...]ok leave of Titsican and [...] [...]p [...]ons. The advice of the Tartar was a com­mand; [Page 31] I therefore said to Boleslas; "Let us immediately make for the castle that he has now pointed out to us; I am well acquainted with this same Dourlin­ski by name; Pulaski has sometimes spo­ken to to me concerning him: he per­haps is not ignorant of the place to which the Count has retired; and it is not im­possible but that with a little address we may be able to draw the secret from him. I shall say at all events that we are sent by Pulaski, and this recommendation will be of more service to us than that of Tit­sican; in the mean time, Boleslas, do not forget that I am your brother, and be sure not to discover me.

We soon arrived at the ditch of the castle; the servants of Dourlinski de­manded who we were; I answered that we were come from Pulaski and wished to speak to their lord, and that we had been attacked by robbers, who were still in pursuit of us. The draw-bridge was ac­cordingly l [...]t d [...] ▪ and having entered, we were in [...] that at present we could no [...] see Dourlinski, but that on the next day at ten o'clock he would give us audience. They then demanded our arms which we delivered up without any difficulty, and Boleslas soon after took an [Page 32] opportunity of looking at my wound, which was found to be but superficial.

In a short time [...] frugal repast was served up for us in the kitchen. We were afterwards conducted to a lower chamber, where two beds were prepared for us. The domestics then left us with­out any light, and immediately locked the door of the apartment.

I could not close my eyes during the whole of the night. Titsican had given me but a slight wound, but that which my heart had received was very deep▪ At day break, I became impatient in my prison, and wished to open the shutters, but they were nailed up. I attacked them however, so vigorously, that the fasten­ings gave way, and I beheld a very fine park. The window being low, I cleared it at a leap, and in a single instant found myself in the garden of the Polish chief­tain.

After having walked about for a few minutes, I sat down on a stone bench, which was placed at the foot of a tower, whose ancient architecture I had been some time considering. I remained for a few seconds enveloped in reflection, when a tile fell at my feet. I thought it had dropped from the roof of this old [Page 33] building; and to avoid the effects of a similar accident, I went and placed my­self at the other end of the seat. A few moments after, a second tile fell by my side. The circumstance appeared sur­prising: I arose with some degree of in­quietude, and attentively examined the tower. I perceived at about twenty-five or thirty feet from the ground, a narrow opening. On this I picked up the tiles which had been thrown at me, and on the first I discovered the following words, written with a bit of plaister:

"LOVZINSKI, IS IT YOU! DO YOU STILL LIVE!"

And on the second these:

"DELIVER ME! SAVE LODOISKA."

It is impossible to conceive how many different sentiments occupied my mind at one and the same time: my astonishment, my joy, my grief, my embarrassment, cannot be expressed. I examined once more the prison of Lodoiska, and plotted in my own mind how I could pro­cure her liberty. She at length threw down another tile, and I read as follows:

"At midnight, bring me paper, ink, and pens; and to-morrow an hour after sun-rise, come and receive a letter.— Begone."—

[Page 34]Having returned towards my chamber, I called to Boleslas, who assisted me in re-entering through the window. I then informed my faithful servant, of the unex­pected accident that had put an end to my wanderings and redoubled my inqui­etude.

How could I penetrate into this tow­er? How could we procure arms? By what means were we to deliver Lo­doiska from captivity? How could we carry her off under the eye of Dourlinski, in the midst of his people, from a fortifi­ed castle? and supposing that so many obstacles were not unsurmountable, could I attempt such an enterprize during the short delay prescribed by Titsican?

Did not the Tartar enjoin me to stay with Dourlinski three days, but not to remain longer than eight?

Would it not be to expose ourselves to the attacks of the enemy, to leave this castle before the third, or after the expi­ration of the eighth day? Should I re­lease my dear Lodoiska from a prison, on purpose to deliver her into the hands of robbers, to be forever separated from her either by slavery or death? This would be a horrible idea!

But wherefore was she confined in such [Page 35] a frightful prison? The letter which she had promised would doubtless instruct me: It was therefore necessary to pro­cure paper, pen and ink. I accordingly charged Boleslas with this employment, and began to prepare myself for acting the delicate part of an emissary of Pulaski in the presence of Dourlinski.

It was broad day light when they came to set us at liberty, and informed us that Dourlinski was at leisure and wished to see us. We accordingly presented our­selves before him with great confidence; and we were introduced to a man of about sixty years of age, whose reception was blunt, and whose manners were repulsive. He demanded who we were. "My bro­ther and myself," replied I, "belong to Count Pulaski. My master has entrusted me with a secret commission to you. My brother accompanies me on another ac­count. Before I explain, I must be in private, for I am charged not to speak but to you alone."

"It is very well," replies Dourlinski▪ "your brother may retire, and you also," addressing himself to his servants; "be­gone! As to him (pointing to a person who was his confident) he must remain, and you may speak any thing before him."

[Page 36]"Pulaski has sent me,"—"I see very well that he has sent you," says the Palatine, interrupting me—"to de­mand of you—" "What?"— "news of his daughter." "News of his daughter! Did Pulaski say so?"— "Yes my lord, he said that his daughter was here."—I perceived that Dour­linski instantly grew pale; he then look­ed towards his confident, and surveyed me for some time in silence.

"You astonish me," rejoins he at length, "In confiding a secret of this im­portance to you, it necessarily follows that your master must have been very imprudent."

No more than you, my lord, for have not you also a confident: Grandees would be much to be pitied if they could not rely upon any of their domestics. Pu­laski has charged me to inform you, that Lovzinski has already searched through a great part of Poland, and that he will undoubtedly visit these cantons."

"If he dares to come here," replies he with great vivacity, "I will provide a lodging for him, which he shall inhabit for some time. Do you know this Lov­zinski?"

"I have seen him at my master's house in Warsaw."

[Page 37]"They say he is handsome?"

"He is well made, and about my size."

"His person?"—"is prepossessing; it is—"

"He is a wretch," adds he, interrup­ting me in a great passion—"Oh that he were but to fall into my hands!"

"My lord, they say he is brave—".

"He! I will lay any wager, any sum of money, that he is only calculated to se­duce women! O that he would but fall into my hands!" Then assuming a less ferocious tone, he continues thus, "It is a long time since Pulaski wrote to me— where is he at present?"

"My lord I have precise orders not to answer that question: all that I dare to say, is, that he has the strongest rea­sons for neither discovering the place of his retreat, nor writing to any person, and that he will soon come and explain them to you in person."

Dourlinski appeared exceedingly as­tonished at this information; I could discover some symptoms of fear in his countenance. At length, looking at his confident, who seemed equally embarras­sed with himself, he proceeded: "You say that Pulaski will come here soon:" "Yes, my lord, in about a fortnight, or a little [Page 38] later." On this he again turned to his attendant; but in a short time affecting as much calmness as he had before dis­covered embarrassment; "Return to your master." added he; "I am sorry to have nothing but bad news to communi­cate to him—tell him that Lodoi­ska is no longer here." I myself became surprised in my turn at this information. "What! my lord, Lodoiska—"

"Is not longer here, I tell you!— To oblige Pulaski, whom I esteem, I un­dertook, although with great repugnance, the task of confining his daughter in my castle: nobody but myself and he (point­ing to his confident) knew that she was here. It is about a month since we went, as useful, to carry her provisions for the day, but there was nobody in the apart­ment. I am ignorant how it happened; but what I know well is, that she has es­caped, for I have heard nothing of her since.—She must undoubtedly have gone to join Lovzinski at Warsaw, if perchance the Tartars have not intercepted her in her journey."

My astonishment on this became ex­treme. How could I reconcile that which I had seen in the garden, with that which Dourlinski now told me? There [Page 39] was some mystery in this business, which I became exceedingly impatient to be acquainted with: I was however ex­tremely careful not to exhibit any appear­ance of doubt. "My lord, said I, "this is bad news for my master!"— "Undoubtedly, but it is not my fault."

"My lord, I have a favour to ask of you."

"Let me hear it."—"The Tar­tars are ravaging the neighbourhood of your castle—they attacked us— we escaped as it were by a miracle. Will you permit my brother and myself to re­main here only for the space of two days?"

"For two days only I give my con­sent,"

"Where do they lodge?" says he to his attendant. "in an apartment below ground," was the reply.

"Which overlooks my gardens?" re­joins Dourlinski, interrupting him with great agitation.

"The shutters are well fastened," adds the other.

"No matter— You must put them elsewhere." These words made me tremble.

"It is not impossible, but,"— continues the confident, and then whis­pered [Page 40] the rest of the sentence in his ear.

"Right," says the Baron; "and let it be done instantly." Then, addressing himself to me, know that your brother and you must depart the day after to­morrow: before you go, you shall see me again, and I will give you a letter for Pulaski."

I then went to rejoin Boleslas in the kitchen, where he was at breakfast, who soon after presented me with a little bot­tle of ink, several pens, and some sheets of paper, which he had procured without difficulty. I panted with desire to write to Lodoiska; and the only difficulty that now remained, was to find a commodi­ous place where I might not be discover­ed by the curiosity of Dourlinski's people.

They had already informed Boleslas that we could not again be admitted into the apartment where we had spent the preceding night, until the time should arrive when we were to retire to rest. I soon, however, bethought myself of a stratagem which succeeded to admira­tion.

The servants were drinking with my pretended brother, and politely invited me to help them to empty a few flasks.

I swallowed, with a good grace, sever­al [Page 41] glasses of bad wine in succession: in a few minutes my legs seemed to totter, my tongue faultered: I related a hundred pleasant and improbable tales to the joy­ous company; in a word, I acted the drunken man so well, that Boleslas him­self became a dupe to my scheme, and actually trembled lest, in a moment when I seemed disposed to communicate every thing, my secret should escape.

"Gentlemen," said he, to the astonish­ed Bacchanals, "my brother's head is not very strong to day: it is perhaps in con­sequence of his wound; let us not there­fore either speak to or drink any more with him; for I am afraid of his health, and indeed you would oblige me exceed­ingly if you would assist me to carry him to his bed,"—"To his own bed?" says one of them: "that is impossible! But I will most willingly lend him my chamber." They accordingly laid hold of me, and conveyed me into a garret, of which a bed, a table, and a chair formed the sole moveables. Having shut me up in this paltry apartment, they instantly left me. This was all I wanted, for the moment that I was alone, I immediately sat down to write a long letter to Lo­doiska.

[Page 42]I began by fully justifying myself from the crimes of which I had been accused by Pulaski: I then recounted every thing that had occurred since the first moment of our separation, until that when I had entered the castle of Dourlinski: I detail­ed the particulars of my conversation with the Baron: I concluded by assuring her of the most tender and the most res­pectful passion, and swore to her, that the moment she gave me the necessary inform­ation concerning her situation, I would expose myself to every danger, in order to finish her horrid captivity.

As soon as my letter was sealed, I de­livered myself up to a variety of reflec­tions, which threw me into a strange per­plexity. Was it actually Lodoiska who had thrown those tiles into the garden? Would Pulaski have had the injustice to punish his daughter for an attachment which he himself had approved? Would he have had the inhumanity to plunge her into a frightful prison? And even if the hatred he had sworn to me had blind­ed him so much, how was it possible that Dourlinski would thus have condescended to have become the minister of his ven­geance?

But, on the other hand, for these three [Page 43] last long months, on purpose to disguise myself, I had only worn tattered clothes: the fatigues of a tedious journey, and my chagrin, had altered me greatly; and who but a mistress could have been able to discover Lovzinski in the gardens of Dourlinski? Besides, had I not seen the name of Lodoiska traced upon the tile? Had not Dourlinski himself acknowledg­ed that Lodoiska had been a prisoner with him? It is true, he had added that she had made her escape: but was not this incredible? And wherefore that ha­tred which Dourlinski had avowed a­gainst me, without knowing my person? What occasioned that look of inquietude, when it was told him, that the emissaries of Pulaski occupied a chamber that look­ed into his garden? And why above all that look of terror, when I announced to him the arrival of my pretended master?

All these circumstances were well cal­culated to [...]ow me into the greatest agi­tation. I [...]minated over this frightful and mysterious adventure, which it was impossible for me to explain. For two hours, I un [...]asingly put new questions to myself, to which I was exceedingly embarrassed to make any reply; when at length Boleslas came to see if I had re­covered [Page 44] from my debauch. I had but little difficulty in convincing him that my inebriety was mere affectation; after which we went down together to the kitchen, where we spent the rest of the day. What a night! none in my whole life ever appeared so long, not even that which followed.

At length the attendants conducted us to our chamber, where they shut us up, as on the former occasion, without any light: it was yet two tedious hours until midnight. At the first stroke of the clock, we gently opened the shutters and the casement. I then prepared to jump into the garden; but my embarrassment was equal to my despair, when I found myself obstructed by means of iron bars. "Be­hold," said I to Boleslas, "what the cur­sed confident whispered in his ear! be­hold what his odious master approved, when he said, let it be done instantly! behold what they have been working at during the day! it was on this account that they prevented us from entering the chamber."

"My lord, they have stood on the outside," replies Boleslas: "for they have not perceived that the shutter has been forced."

"Alas! whether they have perceiv­ed [Page 45] it or not," exclaimed I with violence, "what does it signify? This fatal grating destroys all my hopes: it insures the sla­very of Lodoiska—it insures my death."

"Yes without doubt it insures thy death!" repeats a person, at the same time opening the door: and immediately after, Dourlinski, preceded by several armed men, and followed by others car­rying flambeaux, enter our prison sabre in hand. "Traitor!" exclaims he, while addressing himself to me with a look in which fury was visibly depicted, "I have heard all—I know who you are—your servant has discovered your name. Trem­ble! Of all the enemies of Lovzinski, I am the most implacable!"

"Search them continues he, turning to his attendants: they accordingly rush­ed in upon me; and as I was without arms, I made a useless resistance. They accordingly robbed me of my papers, and of the letter I had just written to Lodo­iska. Dourlinski exhibited a thousand signs of impatience while reading it, and was scarce able to contain himself.

"Lovzinski," says he to me, endeav­ouring to smother his rage, "I already deserve all your hatred; I shall soon merit it still more: in the mean time [Page 46] you must remain with your worthy con­fident in this chamber, to which you are so partial."

After uttering these words, he left me; and having double-locked the door, he placed a centinel on the outside, and another in the garden, opposite to the window.

Figure to yourself the horrible situation into which Boleslas and myself were now plunged. My misfortunes were at their height; but those of Lodoiska affected me more than my own! How great must be her uneasiness! She expects Lovzin­ski, and Lovzinski abandons her! But no—Lodoiska knows me too well; she can never suspect me of such base perfidy. Lodoiska! she will judge of her lover by herself; she will think Lovzinski par­takes her lot, since he does not succour her— Alas! the very certainty of my misfortunes will augment her own!

On the next day, they gave us provi­sions through the grating of our window; and by the quality of the viands which they furnished us with, Boleslas augured the most sinister events. Being however less unhappy than myself, he supported his fate much more courageously. He offered me my share of the mean repast [Page 47] which he was about to make; I would not eat: he pressed me; but it was in vain! for existence was become an in­supportable burden to me.

"Ah! live!" said he at length, shed­ding a torrent of tears: live! and if not for Boleslas, let it be for Lodoiska! These words made the most lively im­pression on my mind; they even reani­mated my courage: and hope having once more re-entered my heart, I embra­ced my faithful servant. "O my friend!" exclaimed I at the same time with trans­port, "my true friend! I have been the occasion of thy ruin, and yet my misfor­tunes affect thee more than thine own! Yes, Boleslas! yes! I will live for Lo­doiska; I will live for thee: if just hea­ven shall restore me to my fortune and rank, you shall see that your master is not ungrateful!" We now embraced once more.

Ah! how much do misfortunes con­nect men together! how sweet it is, when one suffers, to hear another unfortunate address a word of consolation to him!

We had groaned in this prison for no less than twelve days, when several ruf­fians came to drag me forth on purpose to conduct [...] Dourlinski. Boleslas [Page 48] wished to follow, but they repulsed him with violence: However they permitted me to speak to him for a single moment. I then drew from a private pocket a ring which I had worn for ten years, and said to Boleslas: "This ring was given to me by M. de P. when we were at col­lege together at Warsaw: take it, my friend; and preserve it for my sake. If Dourlinski this day consummates his treason by my assination, and if he should at length permit you to leave this castle, go find your king, recall to his memory our ancient attachment, recount my mis­fortunes to him: he will recompense you, and succour Lodoiska. Adieu my friend!"

After this, I was conducted to the apartment of Dourlinski. As soon as the door opened, I perceived a lady in a chair, who had just fainted away. I ap­proached her—it was Lodoiska! Hea­vens! how much did I find her altered! but she was still handsome! "Barbari­an!" exclaimed I, addressing myself to Dourlinski; and at the voice of her lover, Lodoiska recovered her senses.

"Ah, my dear Lovzinski," says she, looking wistfully at me, "do you know what this infamous wretch has proposed? [Page 49] do you know at what price he has offered me your liberty?"

"Yes," cries the furious chieftain, "yes, I am determined upon it: you see that he is in my power; and if in three days I do not obtain my wishes, he shall be no more!" I endeavored to throw myself on my knees at the feet of Lo­doiska; but my guards prevented me: "I behold you again, and all my ills are forgotten, Lodoiska—death has now no longer any thing terrifying in its aspect."

"Wretch," added I, looking sternly at Dourlinski, "know that Pulaski will avenge his daughter! know that the king will avenge his friend!"

"Let him be carried away!" was the only reply made by the ferocious Pal­atine.

"Ah!" exclaimed Lodoiska, "my love has been your ruin!" I was about to answer, but the attendants dragged me out, and re-conducted me to prison.

Boleslas received me with inexpressible transports of joy; he avowed to me that he thought me lost for ever, and I re­counted to him that my death was but de­ferred. The scene of which I had been a witness confirmed all my suspicions; it was evident that Pulaski was ignorant [Page 50] of the unworthy treatment which his daughter experienced; it was also evi­dent that Dourlinski, old, amorous and jealous, was determined, at any rate, to satisfy his passions.

In the mean time, two of the days allowed by Dourlinski for the determina­tion of Lodoiska, had already expired; we were now in the midst of the night which preceded the fatal third; I could not sleep, and I was walking hastily about my prison. All at once I heard the cry of "to arms! to arms!" The most frightful howlings prevailed on the outside, and a great commotion took place within the castle. The centinel placed at our window, left his post. Bo­leslas and I were able to distinguish the voice of Dourlinski, calling and encoura­ging his followers; and we soon distinct­ly heard the clashing of swords, the cries of the wounded, and the groans of the dying. The noise, which at first was very great, seemed at length to die away. It recommenced soon after; it redoubled; and at length we heard a shout of "Vic­tory!"

To this frightful tumult, a still more frightful silence ensues. In a short time, a low crackling sound is heard to ap­proach [Page 51] us; the air seems to hiss with violence; the night becomes less dark▪ the trees in the garden assume a red and warm tint; we fly to the window: the flames are devouring the castle of Dour­linski! they approach the chamber in which we were confined, from all sides; and, to overwhelm me with new horror, the most piercing shrieks are uttered from that tower in which I knew Lodoiska was imprisoned!

The fire becoming every moment more violent, was about to communicate to the chamber in which we were shut up, and the flames already began to curl around the base of the tower in which Lodoiska was immured!

Lodoiska uttered the most dreadful groans, to which I answered by cries of fury. Boleslas rushed from one part of the prison to another, like a madman; he sent forth the most terrible howlings; he attempted to burst open the door with his hands and feet. As for myself, I re­mained at the window, and shook, amidst my transports of fury, those massive iron bars which I was [...]nable to bend.

All of a sudden, the domestics who had lately mounted the battlements, de­scend with precipitation, and open the [Page 52] gates: we heard the voice of Dourlinski himself, begging for quarter. The vic­tors instantly precipitated themselves a­midst the flames; and being at length attracted by our cries, they force open the door of our prison with their hatchets.

By their dress and their arms, I know them to be Tartars: their chief arrives —it is Titsican!

"Ah! ah!" exclaims he; "it is my brave friend!"

I instantly throw myself on his neck: —"Titsican!—Lodoiska!—a lady!—the fairest of women!— in that tower!—about to be burnt alive!"

These were the incoherent expressions by which I made my feelings known.

The Tartar instantly gives the word of command to his soldiers—they fly to the tower—I fly along with them—Bo­leslas follows us. They burst open the the doors; and near to an old pillar we discover a narrow winding stair-case, fil­led with smoke.

The Tartars, affrighted at the danger, start back: I prepare to ascend.

"Alas! what are you about?" ex­claims Boleslas.

"To live or die with Lodoiska!"

[Page 53]"And I will either live or die with my master!" was the reply of my gener­ous servant.

I rush on—he follows me! At the risk of suffocation, we ascend about forty steps; by the light of the flames we discover Lo­doiska in a corner of her prison; who feebly utters: "Who is it that approach­es me?"

"It is Lovzinski! it is your lover!"

Joy insta [...]tly lends her new strength; she rises and flies into my arms: we car­ry her away; we descend a few steps; but volumes of smoke now fill all the stair­case, and we are forced to re-ascend with precipitation. At that very instant, too, a part of the tower gives way!— Boleslas utters a dreadful shriek, and Lo­doiska falls into a swoon.

That which was on the point of de­stroying, saved us! The flames, formerly smothered, began to extend with greater rapidity; but the smoke was dissipated. Laden with our precious burden, Boles­las and I descend in haste—I do not ex­aggerate; every stop trembled under our feet! the walls were all on fire! At length we arrived at the gate of the tow­er; Titsican, trembling for our safety, was expecting us there; "Brave men!" [Page 54] exclaimed he, on seeing us appear again. —I placed Lodoiska at his feet, and fell down lifeless by her side!

I remained nearly an hour in this situ­ation. They tremble for my life; and Boleslas weeps aloud. I again recover my senses, on hearing the voice of Lodo­iska, who returning to herself, calls me her deliverer. The appearance of every thing was altered; the tower was entire­ly in ruins. The Tartars, however, had stopped the progress of the flames; they had destroyed one part of the castle, on purpose to save the remainder; in fine, we had been carried into a large saloon, where we were surrounded by Titsican and some of his soldiers. Others of them were occupied in pillaging and in bring­ing away the gold, silver, jewels, plate, and all the precious effects which the flames had spared.

Near to [...] Dourlinski, loaded with fetters, and [...]ng repeated groans, be­held this [...]ches, of which, he was about to be d [...]p [...]ed. Rage, terror, des­pair, all the passions which can tear the heart of a villain suffering under punish­ment, were visibly depicted in his wild and wandering looks: He struck the earth with fury, dashed his clenched [Page 55] hands against his forehead, and, uttering the most horrible blasphemies, he re­proached heaven for its just vengeance.

In the mean time, my lovely mistress holds my hand clasped in hers. "Alas," says she at length, with tears in her eyes, "alas! you have saved my life, and your own is still in danger! Nay, even if we escape death, slavery awaits us!"

"No, no, Lodoiska, be comforted, Titsican is not my enemy; Titsican will put a period to our misfortunes—"

"Undoubtedly, if I am able," ex­claims the Tartar, interrupting me: "you are in the right, brave man! (adds he) I see that you are not dead, and I am happy: you always say, and do good things; and you have there (turning to Boleslas) you have there a friend who seconds you admirably."

On this I embrace Boleslas:—"yes, Titsican, yes, I have a friend, who shall always be dear to me!—"

The Tartar again interrupts me:— "What! were not you both confined in an apartment below ground, and was not this lady in a tower? What was the rea­son of that? I will lay any wager con­tinues he with a smile, that you have ta­ken this female from that old wretch, [Page 56] (pointing to Dourlinski) and you are in the right; for he is a dotard, and she is beautiful! Come—inform me of every thing."

I now discover my own name to Tit­sican, that of Lodoiska's father, and ev­ery particular that had occurred to me until that moment. It belongs to Lodo­iska, I observe in conclusion, to make us acquainted with what she has been obli­ged to suffer from the infamous Dourlin­ski, ever since she has been in his castle!

"You know," replies Lodoiska, "that my father obliged me to leave Warsaw, on the day that the Diet was opened. He first conducted me to the territories of the Palatine of—, at only twen­ty leagues distance from the capital, to which he returned, on purpose to assist at the meeting of the states.

"On that very day when M. de P.— was proclaimed king, Pulaski took me from the castle of the Palatine, and con­ducted me here, thinking that I should be better concealed. He charged Dour­linski to guard me with, extraordinary strictness; and, above all things, to take especial care to prevent Lovzinski from discovering the place of my retreat. He then left me, as he informed me, on pur­pose [Page 57] to assemble and encourage the good citizens to defend his country, and to punish traitors. Alas! these important avocations have made him forget his daughter, for I have never seen him since.

"A few days after his departure, I began to perceive that the visits of Dour­linski had become more frequent than usual; in a short time, he hardly ever quitted the apartment assigned me for a prison. He deprived me, under some trifling pretext, of the only female attend­ant whom my father had left me; and to prevent any person (as he said) from knowing that I was in his castle, he him­self brought me the food necessary for my subsistence, and passed whole days along with me. You cannot conceive, my dear Lovzinski, how much I suffered from the continual presence of a man, who was odious to me, and whose infa­mous designs I was suspicious of: he even dared to explain himself to me one day: but I assured him that my hate should al­ways be the price of his tenderness, and that his unworthy conduct had drawn up­on him my sovereign contempt.

"He answered me coldly, that in time I should accustom myself to see him, and [Page 58] to suffer his assiduities; nay, he did not in the least alter his usual conduct, for he entered my chamber in the morning, and never retired until night. Separated from all I loved, I had not even the feeble consolation of being able to enjoy the sweet recollection of past happiness. A witness to my misfortunes, Dourlinski took pleasure in augmenting them.

"'Pulaski,' says he to me, 'com­mands a body of Polish troops; Lovzin­ski betraying his country, which he does not love, and a woman concerning whom he is indifferent, serves in the Russian ar­my, where he will be cut off during some bloody engagement: besides, if he sur­vives, it is evident that nothing can ever reconcile your father to him.'

"A few days after, he came on pur­pose to announce to me, that Pulaski, during the night, had attacked the Rus­sians in their camp; and that, amidst the confusion that ensued, my lover had fallen by the hand of my father. The cruel Palatine even made me read a nar­rative of this event, drawn up with every appearance of the truth, in a kind of pub­lic gazette, which doubtless he had pro­cured to be printed expressly for the pur­pose: besides, on perceiving the barba­rous [Page 59] joy which he affected on this occa­sion, I thought the news but too true.

"Pitiless tyrant! cried I, you enjoy my tears and my despair; but cease to persecute me, or you will soon see that the daughter of Pulaski is herself able to avenge her own injuries!

"One evening that he had left me sooner than usual, after I had retired to bed, I heard my door open very softly. By the light of a lamp, which I kept al­ways burning, I beheld my tyrant advan­cing towards my bed. As there was no crime of which I did not believe him to be capable, I had foreseen this event; and I had even taken measures to render it unsuccessful. I accordingly armed myself with a long sharp knife, which I had the precaution to conceal beneath my pillow; I overwhelmed the wretch with the reproaches which he so justly merited; and I vowed, if he dared to advance, that I would poignard him with my own hand.

"He retired, with surprise and affright visibly delineated on his countenance: 'I am tired,' said he as he went out, 'with experiencing nothing but scorn; and if I were not afraid of being over­heard, you should soon perceive what a [Page 60] woman's arm could effect against mine! But I know a way of vanquishing your pride! By and by you will think your­self but too happy in being able to pur­chase your pardon, by the most humilia­ting submissions.'

"He now withdrew. A few mo­ments after, his confident entered with a pistol in his hand. I must however do him the justice to say, that he wept while he announced to me the orders of his lord.

"'Dress yourself, madam; you must instantly follow me!'—This was all he was able to say to me.

"He then conducted me to that very tower, where, without you, I should this morning have perished: he shut me up in that horrible prison; it was there that I had l [...]nguished for more than a month, without fire, without the light of heaven, and almost without clothes; with bread and water for my food; for my bed a few trusses of straw: this was the de­plorable state to which the only daughter of a grandee of Poland was reduced!

"You shudder, brave stranger, and yet believe me, when I assure you, that I do not recount to you any more than a small part of my sufferings. One thing [Page 61] however, rendered my misery less insup­portable: I no longer beheld my tyrant. While he expected with tranquility that I should solicit my pardon, I passed whole days and nights in calling on the name of my father, and in bewailing my lover! * * * * * * * * * * * * * O Lovzinski! with what aston­ishment was I seized; with what joy was my soul penetrated, on that day when I once more beheld you in the gardens of Dourlinski! * * * * * * * * * *

Titsican was listening to the story of our misfortunes, with which he appeared to be deeply affected, when one of his centinels approached, and sounded an alarm. He immediately left us in great haste, on purpose to run to the draw­bridge. We heard a great tumult, and began to presage some inauspicious event.

While we remained plunged in con­sternation,—"Lovzinski, Lodoiska, cowardly and perfidious pair!" exclaim­ed Dourlinski, unable to contain his joy, —"you have hoped to be able to elude my vengeance, and escape my chastise­ment. Tremble! you are once more about to fall into my hands. At the [Page 62] the noise of my captivity and misfortunes, the neighbouring nobility are undoubted­ly assembled, and have now come to suc­cour me."

"—They can only revenge you, vil­lain!" cries Boleslas, interrupting him in the midst of his threats, and seizing at the same time an iron bar, with which he pre­pared to knock him down; I, however, instantly interposed and prevented him from executing this act of justice.

Titsican returned in a few minutes: "It is only a false alarm," said he to us; "it is nothing more than a small detach­ment which I dispatched yesterday, on purpose to scour the country—they had orders to rejoin me here; and they have brought me some prisoners: every thing is quiet, and the neighbourhood does not appear to be in the least commotion."

While Titsican yet spoke to me, a number of unfortunates, whose luckless fate had delivered them into the hands of the enemy, were dragged before him. We first beheld five, who b [...]ing [...] bound, walked by the side of their conquerors, with a downcast and melancholy [...]. The Tartars told us, that one of their companions had been overcome with [Page 63] great difficulty, and that was the reason why he was bound hand and foot!

The sixth now appeared: "O Hea­vens! it is my father!" exclaims Lodo­iska, running at the same time towards him—I, too, threw myself at the feet of Pulaski. "Are you Pulaski?" says the Tartar chieftain, "'tis well; the event is lucky! Believe me, my friend, it is no more than an hour since I first heard of you. I know however, that you are proud and hot-headed, but no matter! I esteem you; you possess both courage and abilities; your daughter is beautiful, and does not want for understanding; Lovzinski is brave—b [...]aver than myself, as I have already experienced. Attend to what I am about to say—"

Pul [...]ski motionless with astonishment, scarcely heard the sound of the Tartar's voice; and struck, at the same time, with the strange spectacle that offered it­self to his view, he began to conceive the most horrible susp [...].

He repu [...]ed [...] with the most significa [...]t d [...]sgui [...] "Wretch!" exclaims he at l [...]ngth, " [...] have be [...]rayed your co [...]try, a woman who loved you, [...] man who prided himself in calling you [...]is son-in-law; it was only wanting to [...]ill up [Page 64] the measure of your crimes, that you should league with robbers!"

"With robbers!" cries Titsican— "with robbers indeed, if it so please you to call us: but you yourself must ac­knowledge that description of people to be good for something; for without me, per­haps, your daughter, by to-morrow's sun, would no longer have been a maiden! Be not alarmed," said he, addressing him­self to me: "but I know that he is proud, and I therefore am not angry."

We had by this time placed Pulaski in a chair; his daughter and myself bath­ed his manacles with our tears; but he still continued to frown at and to over­whelm me with reproaches.

"What can you wish for?" cries the Tartar, once more addressing his captive: "I tell you that Lovzinski is a brave man, whom I intend to see married; and as for your Dourlinski, he is a rogue, whom I am about to order to be hanged.

"I repeat to you once more, that you a­lone are more hot-headed than us three put together. But hear me, and let us finish thi [...] business, for it is necessary that I should depart. You belong to me by the most incontestible [...]ght, that of the sword. But if you promise me, upon your hon­our, [Page 65] that you will be sincerely reconciled to Lovzinski, and give your daughter to him for a wife, I will restore you to your liberty."

"He who can brave death," replies the haughty Pulaski, "can support slavery. My daughter shall never be the wife of a traitor."

"Do you love better that she should be a Tartar's mistress?—If you do not promise to give her, within the space of eight days, to this brave man, I myself shall espouse her this very night! When I am weary of you and of her, I will sell you to the Turks. Your daughter is handsome enough to find admittance into the haram of a bashaw: and you yourself may perhaps superintend the kitchen of some janissary."

"My life is in your hands; do with it whatsoever you please. If Pulaski falls beneath the sword of a Tartar, he will be lamented, and even his enemies will agree that he merits a more glorious destiny: but if he were to consent: No! no! I rather chose—I prefer death!"

"I do not desire your death! I wish only that Lovzinski should espouse Lo­doiska.—What!—Shall my prisoner [Page 66] give the law to me? By my sabre!—this dog of a Christian—but I am in the wrong he is furious, and is assuredly deprived of his reason."

I now beheld the Tartar's eyes sparkle with fury, and therefore recalled to his memory the promise he had made me, that he would not give way to his pas­sion.

"Undoubtedly! but this man wea­ries out the patience of a favourite of our prophet! I am but a robber!—Yet Pu­laski, I repeat it to you again, that it is my command that Lovzinski espouse your daughter. By my sabre, he has fairly gained her; but for him she had been burnt last night."

"But for him?"

"Yes! Behold those ruins; there stood a tower in that place; it was on fire, and no person dared to ascend it: he, however, mounted the stair-case, at­tended by Boleslas—and they saved your daughter."

"Was my daughter in that tower?"

"Yes! that hoary villian had confin­ed her there; that hoary villian, who attempted to violate her?—Some of you must relate the whole to him; but make haste, as it is necessary he should decide [Page 67] instantly; I have business elsewhere, for I do not intend that your militia^* shall surprise me here: it is otherwise in the plains; there I should laugh at them."

While Titsican ordered the rich booty which he had taken, to be stowed in little covered waggons, Lodoiska informed her father of the crimes of Dourlinski, and mingled the recital of our affection so artfully with the history of her misfor­tunes, that nature and gratitude at one and the same time began to besiege the heart of Pulaski.

Affected in the most lively manner with the misfortunes of his daughter, and sensible of the important services which I had rendered her, he embraces Lodoiska, and at length beholding me without re­sentment, he seemed to wait impatiently for an opportunity to be reconciled to me.

"O Pulaski!" I exclaim, "you whom Heaven hath left me, on purpose to con­sole me for the loss of the best of fathers; [Page 68] you for whom I have an equal friendship and veneration; why hast thou condem­ned thy children unheared? Why hast thou supposed a man who adores thy daughter, guilty of the most horrible treason?

"When my vows were offered up in favour of that prince who now fills the throne, I swear to you Pulaski, by her whom I love so tenderly, that I looked upon his elevation to be an event highly auspicious to the happiness, the safety, and the prosperity of my country.

"The misfortunes which my youth did not foresee, thy experience had anticipa­ted: but because I have been wanting in prudence, ought you to accuse me of per­fidy? Ought you to have reproached me for loving my friend? Can you now look upon it as a crime, that I still give him my esteem? For the three last months, I have beheld the misfortunes of my country in the same point of view as your­self: like you, I have mourned over them; but I am sure that the king is still igno­rant of their extent, and I shall go to Warsaw on purpose to inform him of all that I have seen."

Pulaski here interrupts me:— "It is not there that you ought to repair: you [Page 69] tell me that M. de P*** is not informed of the wrong done to his native country, and I believe you: but whether he is ac­quainted with, or whether he is entirely ignorant of them is now but of little con­sequence. Insolent foreigners, cantoned throughout our provinces, strive to main­tain themselves in the republic, even a­gainst the king, whom they have caused to be elected. It is no longer in the power of an impotent or a mal-content king, to chase the Russians from my coun­try!

"Let us trust only to ourselves, Lovzin­ski; and let us either avenge our country, or die in her defence. I have assembled 4000 noble Poles in the palatine of Lublin, who wait for the return of their general, to march against the Russians: fol­low me to my camp—on this condition I am your friend and my daughter shall be your wife!"

Pulaski, I am ready to obey you: I swear to follow your fortunes, and to participate in your dangers. And think not that it is Lodoiska alone, who has exacted from me this oath; I swear by her, and before you, that the enemies of the republic have always been, and shall never cease to be mine; I swear that I [Page 70] will spill the very last drop of my blood, to chase those foreigners out of Poland, who reign there in the name of its king!"

"Embrace me Lovzinski! I now re­cognise you; I adopt you for my son-in-law—My children, all our misfortunes are at an end!"

Polaski desired me to unite my hand to Lodoiska's, in token of our union; and we were embracing the brave palantine at the very moment that Titsican re-en­tered.

"Good! good!" exclaims the chief­tain: this is what I wished; I am fond of marriages, Father, I shall instantly or­der you to be unbound.

"By my sabre!" adds the Tartar, while his followers were cutting the cords with which the hands and feet of Pulaski were tied; "by my sabre! I shall do a noble action, but it will cost me a world of wealth! Two grandees of Poland! a beautiful maiden! They would have produced me a ransom!"

"Titsican, such a thought is not wor­thy of you!" says Pulaski, interrupting him.

"No! no!" rejoins the Tartar, "it is a mere reflection only—it is one of those ideas which a robber cannot pre­vent. [Page 71] My brave and unfortunate friends, I demand nothing from you—nay, more, you shall not retire on foot; I have some charming horses, with which I intend to present you.—And, for this lady, if you please, I will give you a litter, on which I myself have been carried for these last ten or twelve days. This young man here had given me such a wound, that I could no longer sit on horseback.—The litter is indeed a bad one, clumsily con­structed, by means of branches of trees; but I have nothing except that or a little covered waggon, to offer you: choose which ever of them you please."

In the mean time, Dourlinski, who had not as yet uttered a single word, re­mained with his eyes fixed on the ground, while an air of consternation was spread ever his countenance.

"Unworthy friend!" says Pulaski to him, "how could you so cruelly abuse the confidence I reposed in you? Were you not afraid to expose yourself to my resentment? What demon blinded you!"

"Love!" replies Dourlinski, "an out­rageous love! You, perhaps, do not com­prehend to what excess the passions may hurry on a man, violent and jealous by nature. This frightful example, howe­ver, [Page 72] ought to teach you, that a daughter so charming as yours is a treasure which one ought not to entrust to any person.

"Pulaski, I have indeed, merited your hatred: but I am still worthy of your pity. I have rendered myself ex­ceedingly culpable; but you behold me cruelly punished. I lose, in one single day, my rank, my riches, my honor, my liberty! more than all this, I lose thy daughter!

"O, Lodoiska! lovely maiden, whom I have so much outraged, will you deign to forget my persecutions, your danger, and your grief? Will you deign to grant me a generous pardon?

"Ah! if there are no crimes which a sincere repentance cannot expiate, Lo­doiska, I am no longer criminal. I would I were able at the price of all my blood, to redeem those tears which I have occasioned you to shed. Amidst the horrible state to which Dourlinski is about to be reduced, shall he not be per­mitted to carry with him the consoling recollection of having heard you tell him that he is no longer odious to you?

"Too amiable, and until this present moment, too unfortunate maiden! how­ever great my wrongs may have been in re­gard [Page 37] to you, I have it in my power to repair them all by means of a single word —advance—approach me—I have a se­cret which can only be entrusted to your private ear: it is exceedingly important that it should be revealed to you!"

Lodoiska, without the least distrust, now leaves my side, and advances towards him without suspicion.

At that very moment I beheld a po­niard glittering in the hand of Dourlinski!

I precipitate myself upon him.—It was too late; for I could only parry the second thr [...]st; and the lovely Lodoiska, wound [...]d immediately above the left breast, had already fallen senseless at the feet of Titsican!

Pulaski, furious at the horrid treason, drew his sabre quick as lightning, on pur­pose to avenge his daughter's fate.

"No! no!" exclaims the Tartar, at the same time withholding his arm, "you are about to make this wretch suffer too gentle a death!"

"It is well, "says the infamous assas­sin, addressing himself to me, and at the same time contemplating his victim with a cruel joy. "Lovzinski you appeared but now eager to be united with Lodo­iska; why do you not follow her? Go, [Page 74] my too happy rival, go and accompany your mistress to the tomb! Let them pre­pare my punishment; it will appear plea­sant to me; I leave you to torments no less cruel, and infinitely longer than mine."

Dourlinski was not allowed to utter another sentence, for the Tartars rushed in upon him and threw him into the midst of the burning ruins. * * * * * * * *

What a night! how many different cares, how many opposite sentiments, agi­tated my unhappy mind during its conti­nuance! How many times did I experi­ence the successive emotions of fear, hope, grief and joy! After so many dangers and inquietudes, Lodoiska was at length presented to me by her father, and I was intoxicated with the dear hope of posses­sing her: a barbarian had but now assassinated her in my presence.

This was the most cruel and unfor­tunate moment of any during the whole course of my life!—But my happiness, eclipsed, as it were, in a single instant, was not long in shining forth with all its former splendor.

Amidst the Tartars belonging to Titsi­can, was one somewhat conversant in sur­gery. [Page 75] We sent for him; on his arrival he examines the wound, and assures us that it is but a slight one. The [...]famous Dourlinski, constrained by his chains, and blinded by his despair, had happily been prevented from giving any other than an ill directed blow.

As soon as Titsican was informed that the life of Lodoiska was not in any danger, he prepared to take leave of us.

"I leave you," said he, "the five do­mestics who accompanied Pulaski; pro­visions for several days, arms, six excel­lent horses, two covered waggons, and the people belonging to Dourlinski in chains. Their base lord is no more: Adieu! the day is about to appear; do not leave this place until to-morrow; I shall then visit the other cantons. Adieu, brave Poles, tell to your countrymen that Titsican is not so bad as he has been re­presented to them, and that he sometimes restores with one hand what he takes with another. Adieu!"

At these words he lifts his hand to his head, and having saluted us graceful­ly after the manner of his country, he gives the signal to depart: the Tartars mount their fleet coursers in an instant, [Page 76] pass along the draw-bridge, and make for the neighbouring plain at a full gallop.

They had been gone scarcely two hours, when several of the neighbouring nobility, supported by a detachment of militia, came on purpose to invest the castle of Dourlinski.

Pulaski himself went out to receive them: he related the particulars of all that had occurred; and some, gained over by his eloquence, promised to follow us to the palatinate of Lublin.

They asked for only two days to pre­pare every thing necessary for the expe­dition, and actually came and rejoined us at the appointed time, to the number of sixty.

Lodoiska having assured us that she was now able to undergo the fatigues of a journey, we placed her in a commodi­ous carriage, which we had luckily been able to procure for this purpose.

After having restored Dourlinski's people to liberty, we abandon the two co­vered waggons to them, in which Titsi­can, acting with his usual generosity, had left part of his immense booty: this we divided among them in equal proportions.

We arrived, without meeting with any accident, at Polowisk, in the Palatinate [Page 77] of Lublin, this being the place which Pu­laski had appointed for the general ren­dezvous. The news of his return hav­ing gone abroad, a croud of mal-contents in the space of less than a month, flocked to, and increased our little army to such a degree, that we soon found it to a­mount to no less than 10,000 men.

Lodoiska entirely cured of her wound, and perfectly recovered from her fatigues, had regained her usual spirits, and appear­ed in possession of all her former beauty. Pulaski one day called me into his tent, and spoke as follows. "Three thousand Russians have appeared, as you well know, upon the heights above, and at no greater distance than half a league from us: take, in the course of the ensuing night, three thousand chosen men, and go and chase the enemy from the advan­tageous posts which they now occupy. Recollect that on the success of a first at­tempt depends almost always that of the campaign; recollect that you are about to avenge your country's wrongs; recol­lect too, my friend, that to-morrow I shall learn thy victory, and that to-mor­row also thou shalt espouse Lodoiska!"

I began my march about ten o'clock. At midnight we surprised our enemies in [Page 78] their camp. Never was a defeat more complete: we killed seven hundred men; we took nine hundred prisoners; we sei­zed all their cannon, the military chest, and the ammunition.

At break of day Pulaski marched out to join me with the remainder of the troops: he brought Lodoiska along with him: we were married in Pulaski's tent. All the camp resounded with songs of gladness: valour and beauty were cele­brated in joyous epithalamiums: it seem­ed to be the festival of Venus and Mars; and it might be truly said, that every sol­dier appeared to be impressed with the same sentiments as myself, and that they all partook of my happiness.

After I had given up the first days of so dear an union entirely to love, I began to think of recompensing the heroic fidel­ity of Boleslas. My father-in-law pre­sented him with one of his castles, situ­ated at some leagues from the capital; and Lodoiska and myself added to this princely donation, a considerable sum of ready money, on purpose to enable him to lead an independent and tranquil life.

He first refused to leave us; but we commanded him to go and take posses­sion of his castle, and live peaceably in [Page 79] that honourable retreat which his services had so amply merited. On the day of his departure I took him aside: "You must go in my name," said I, "and wait up­on our monarch at Warsaw: inform him that I am united in the bonds of Hymen to the daughter of Pulaski: state to him that I am armed on purpose to chase out of his kingdom those foreigners who are ravaging it; and tell him, in particular, that Lovzinski, a foe to the Russians, is not the enemy of his king."

The recital of our operations during eight succeeding years of bloody war would be uninteresting. Sometimes van­quished; much oftener victorious; equal­ly great in the midst of a defeat, as formi­dable after a victory, and always superior to events, Pulaski attracted and fixed the attention of all Europe, whom he astonish­ed by his long and vigorous resistance. Obliged to abandon one province, he made incursions into, and performed new prodigies of valour in another: and it was thus, that, in marching successively thro'­out all the palatinates, he signalized in each of them, by some glorious exploit, that eternal hatred which he had sworn against the enemies of Poland.

Wife of a warrior, daughter of a hero, [Page 80] accustomed to the tumult of a camp, Lo­doiska accompanied us every where. Of five children which she had borne me, an only daughter remained to us, about eighteen months old. One day, after a most obstinate engagement, the victorious Russians precipitated themselves towards my tent, on purpose to plunder it. Pu­laski and myself, followed by some no­bles, flew to the defence of Lodoiska, whom we saved with difficulty; my daughter, however, had been carried off.

This lovely child, by a sage precaution which her mother had wisely made use of in those times of intestine commotion, had the arms of our family impressed, by means of a chemical preparation, under her left breast: but my search after my daughter has hitherto been ineffectual.— Alas! Dorliska, my dear Dorliska, either exists in slavery, or exists no more!

This loss affected me with the most lively sorrow. Pulaski, however, appear­ed almost insensible to my misfortunes; either because his mind was occupied at this moment with the great project which he soon after communicated to me, or because the miseries of his country alone could affect his stoic heart. He, as usual, re-assembles the remains of his army, [Page 81] takes possession of an advantageous post, employs several days in fortifying, and maintains himself in it for three whole months, against all the efforts of the Russians.

It, however became at length necessary that he should abandon this situation, as provisions were beginning to be scarce. Pulaski, on this occasion, came to my tent; and having ordered every one to retire, when he alone remained, he ad­dressed me as follows:

"Lovzinski, I have just reason for complaining of your conduct. Formerly you supported, along with me, the bur­den of command, and I was enabled to divide with my son-in-law a part of my laborious avocations▪ but, for these two last months, you do nothing but weep; you sigh like a woman! You hate aban­doned me in a critical moment, when your assistance was become the most ne­cessary! You see how I am attacked on all sides; I fear not for myself; I am not unhappy for my own life: but if we perish, the state has no longer any de­fenders.

"Awake, Lovzinski! how nobly you once participated in my cares! Do not now remain the useless witness of them. [Page 82] We are indeed bathed in Russian blood: our fellow citizens are avenged; but they are not saved: nay, even in a short time we may be able no longer to defend them."

"You astonish me, Pulaski! Whence these sinister auguries?"

"I am not alarmed without reason. Consider our present position: I am forc­ed to awaken in every heart the love of its country; I have found no where but degenerate men born for slavery, or weak ones, who, although penetrated with a sense of their misfortunes, have bounded all their views to barren complaints.

"Some true citizens are indeed, ran­ged under my standards; but eight long and bloody campaigns have lessened their number, and almost extinguished them. I become enfeebled by my very victories; our enemies appear more numerous after their defeats."

"I repeat to you, Pulaski, once more, that you astonish me! In circumstances no less disastrous, no less unhappy, than the present, I have beheld you sustain yourself by your courage. * * *

"Do you think that it now abandons me? True valour does not consist in be­ing blind to danger, but in brav [...]ng it after it has been foreseen. Our enemies pre­pare [Page 83] for my defeat; however if you choose, Lovzinski, the very day which they point out for their triumph shall per­haps be destined to record their ruin, and achieve the safety of our fellow-citizens!"

"If I choose! Can you doubt my sen­timents? Speak! what would you have done?"

"To strike the boldest stroke that I ever meditated! Forty chosen men are assembled at Czenstachow along with Kaluvski, whose bravery is well known; they want a chief, able, firm, intrepid— It is you whom I have chosen."

"Pulaski, I am ready."

"I will not dissemble to you the dan­ger of the enterprize; the event is doubt­ful, and if you do not succeed, your ruin is inevitable."

"I tell you that I am ready, therefore explain yourself."

"You are not ignorant, that scarce four thousand men now fight under my command: with these undoubtedly I have still an opportunity of tormenting our enemies; but with such feeble means I dare not hope to be ever able to force them to leave our provinces. All the nobility would flock beneath our banners, if the king were in my camp."

[Page 84]"What do you say? Can you hope that the king would ever consent to re­pair hither?"

"No: but he must be forced to do so."

"Forced!"

"Yes! I know that an ancient friend­ship connects you with M. de P—: but since you have supported, along with Pulaski, the cause of liberty, you know also that you ought to sacrifice every thing to the good of your country; that an interest so sacred—"

"I know my duty, and I am ready to fulfil it; but what is it that you now propose to me? The king never leaves Warsaw."

"True; and it is, therefore, at War­saw that you must go and find him: it is from the heart of the capital that he must be forced."

"What preparations have you made for so great an enterprize?"

"You behold you Russian army, three times as strong as mine, and which has been encamped three months in sight of us: its General, tranquil at present with­in his entrenchments, impatiently waits until, forced by famine, I shall surrender myself at discretion.

[Page 85]"Behind my camp are marshes which he thinks impracticable▪ the moment it is night, we shall traverse them. I have disposed of every thing in such a manner that the enemy will be deceived, and not perceive my retreat until it is too late. I hope therefore to be able to steal more than an hour's march upon them, and if fortune seconds me, perhaps a whole day. I shall advance straight forward to War­saw by the great road that leads to the capital, notwithstanding the efforts of the little Russian bands who hover continu­ally in its neighbourhood. I shall either encounter and conquer these separately, or, if they form a junction on purpose to stop my progress, I shall at least be able to occupy their attention in such a man­ner that they will not be able to impede your operations.

"In the mean time, Lovzinski, you will have preceded me. Your forty fol­lowers disguised, and armed only with sabres, poniards and pistols concealed un­der their clothes, shall have arrived at Warsaw by different roads. You must wait there until the king has left his pal­ace; you are then to carry him off, and to bring him to my camp. The enter­prize is bold—rash if, you please so to [Page 86] term it: the march to Warsaw is diffi­cult; the stay in it dangerous; the re­turn from it extremely perilous. If you are vanquished, if you are taken prisoner, you will perish, Lovzinski, but you will perish a martyr to liberty! and Pulaski, jealous of so glorious an end, sighing at being obliged to survive you, shall send Russians, thousands of Russians to accom­pany you to the tomb!

"But on the contrary, if an all-pow­erful Deity; if a God, the protector of Poland, has inspired me with this hardy project to terminate her evils; if thy good fortune shall procure a success equal to thy courage, what a glorious prosperi­ty will be achieved by means of this no­ble daring!

"M. de P— will not see in my camp, other than citizen-soldiers, the foes of foreigners, but still faithful to their king: under my patriotic tents, he will [...]spire the air of liberty, and the love of his country: the enemies of the state shall become his; our brave nobility, ashamed of their indolence, will readily combat under the royal banners, for the common cause; the Russians shall either be cut in pieces, or be obliged to pass the frontiers—my friend, in thee thy coun­try [Page 87] shall behold her saviour!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Pulaski kept his word. That very night he accomplished his retreat, with equal skill and success, by traversing the marshes in profound silence.—"My friend," said my father-in-law to me, as soon as we were out of the reach of the enemy, "it is now time that you should leave us. I know well that my daugh­ter has more courage than another wo­man; but she is a tender wife, and an unfortunate mother. Her tears will af­fect you, and you will lose in her em­braces that strength of mind, that dignity of soul, which now becomes more neces­sary to you than ever: I advise you, therefore, to be gone, without bidding her farewel."

Pulaski pressed me, but in vain, for I was unable to consent. As soon as Lo­doiska knew that I should depart alone, and perceived that we were resolved not to inform her whither, she shed torrents of tears, and strove to detain me. I be­gan to hesitate.

Lovzinski, cries my father-in-law at this critical moment, Lovzinski, depart▪ Wife, children, relations, all ought to be [Page 88] sacrificed, when it is necessary for the salvation of your country.

I instantly mount my horse, and make such haste, that I arrive by the middle of next day at Czenstachow. I here found forty brave men waiting for me, and de­termined for the most hazardous enter­prize.

"Gentlemen," said I to them, "we are now met on purpose to carry a king out of the midst of his own capital.— Those capable of attempting such an en­terprize, are alone capable of effecting it: either success or death awaits on us!"

After this short harrangue we prepare to depart. Kaluvski, forewarned of our design, had already procured twelve wag­gons, loaded with hay and straw, each of which was drawn by four good horses.

We instantly disguise ourselves as pea­sants; we hide our clothes, our sabres, out pistols, and the saddles of our horses, in the hay with which our waggons were partly filled; we agree upon certain signs, and I give them a watch-word, to be used according to circumstances. Twelve of the conspirators, commanded by Ka­luvski, enter into Warsaw, accompanied by as many waggons, which they them­selves conduct. I divide the rest of my [Page 89] little troop into several brigades, on pur­pose to avoid suspicion: each is ordered to march at some distance from the other, and to gain the capital by different gates.

We depart, and on Saturday the 2d of November, 1771, arrive at Warsaw, and lodge together at a convent belonging to the Dominicans.

On the next day, which was Sunday, and which will for ever form a memora­ble epoch in the annals of Poland, one of my people of the name of Stravinski, being covered with rags, places himself near the collegiate church, and soon after proceeds demanding charity even at tho gates of the royal palace, where he ob­serves every thing that passed. Several of the conspirators walked up and down the fix narrow streets, in the neighbour­hood of the great square, where Kaluvski and myself were posted. We remain in ambuscade during the whole day, and part of the afternoon.

At six o'clock at night the king leaves the palace; he is followed, and is seen to enter the hotel of his uncle, the grand chancellor of Lithunia.

All our followers receive notice of this event, and assemble instantly: they throw off their miserable cloaths, saddle [Page 90] their horses, and prepare their arms, in the large square belonging to the convent, where their movements are entirely con­cealed. They then sally forth, one after the other, under favour of the night. Too well known in Warsaw to hazard appearing there, without disguising my­self, I still wear my peasant's dress, and I mount an excellent horse, caparisoned, however, after the common manner.

I then point out my followers the dif­ferent posts in the suburbs, which I had assigned them before our departure from the convent, and they were dispersed in such a manner, that all the avenues to the palace of the grand chancellor were carefully and strictly guarded.

Between nine and ten o'clock at night, the king comes forth on purpose to re­turn home; and we remark, with joy, that his attendants were far from being numerous.

The carriage was preceded by two men, who carried flambeaux, some offi­cers of his suit, two gentlemen and an esquire followed. I know not what was the name of the grandee in the coach along with the king. There were two pages, one to each door, two hay dukes running by the side of the equipage, and [Page 91] three footmen, in the royal livery be­hind.

The king proceeds slowly: part of my people assemble at some distance; twelve of the most determined spring forward: I put myself at their head, and we advance at a good pace.

As there was a Russian garrison at that very moment in Warsaw, we effect to speak the language of those foreign­ers, so that our petty troop might be mis­taken for one of their patroles.

We overtake the carriage at about a hundred and fifty paces from the grand chancellor's palace, and exactly between those of the bishop of Cracow and of the late grand general of Poland.

All of a sudden we pass the heads of the foremost horses, so that those who preceded, found themselves separated from those who surrounded the royal equipage.

I instantly give the signal agreed upon. Kaluvski gallops up, with the remainder of the conspirators: I present a pistol to the postilion, who instantly stops; the coachmen is fired upon, and preci [...]itated beneath the wheels. Of the two hay-dukes who endeavoured to defend their prince, one drops, pierced with two [Page 92] balls; the other is overturned by means of a backhanded stroke from a sabre, which he receives on the head; the steed belonging to the esquire falls down cov­ered with wounds; one of the pages is dismounted, and his horse taken; pistol-balls fly about in all directions—in short, the attack was so hot, and the fire so violent▪ that I trembled for the king's life.

He himself, however, preserving the utmost coolness in the midst of the dan­ger, had now descended from his car­riage, and was striving to regain his un­cle's palace on foot. Kaluvski arrests and seizes him by the hair; seven or eight of the conspirators surround, dis­arm, overpower him, and, pressing him between their horses, make off at a full gallop towards the end of the street.

During this moment, I confess that I thought Pulaski had basely deceived me; that the death of the monarch was resol­ved upon, and that a plot had been formed to assassinate him.

All of a sudden I form my resolves; I clap spurs to my horse, overtake the little band, cry out to them to stop, and threat­en to kill the first person who should dare to disobey me.

[Page 93]That God who is the protector of good kings, watched over the safety of M. de P—! Kaluvski and his followers stop at the sound of my well known voice. We mount the king on horseback, make off at full speed, and regain the ditch that surrounded the city, which the mon­arch is constrained to leap, in company with us.

At that moment a panic terror takes possession of my troop; at fifty paces dis­tant from the ramparts, there were no more than seven who surrounded the per­son of the king.

The night was dark and rainy, and it was necessary to dismount every instant, on purpose to sound the morass with which we were surrounded.

The horse on which the monarch rode fell twice, and broke his leg at the second fall; during these violent move­ment, his majesty lost his pelisse, and the shoe belonging to his left foot.

"If you wish that I should follow you, (says he to us) you must furnish me with another horse and a pair of boots."

We remount him once more, and, on purpose to gain the road by which Pulas­ki had promised me to advance, we re­solve to pass through a village called [Page 94] Burakow; but the king exclaims, "Do not go that way; there are Russians there!"

I immediately change our route; but in proportion as we advance through the wood of Beliany, our number continues to diminish. In a short time, I perceive nobody around me but Kaluvski and Stravinski: a few minutes after, we are challenged by a Russian centinel on horsehack, at whose voice we instantly stop, greatly alarmed for our safety.

"Let us kill him!" cries the ferocious Kaluvski, pointing to the [...]n [...]. I in­stantly avow to him, without disguise, the horror which such a proposition in­spired me with. "Very well, you may then take upon you the task of conducting him," adds this cruel hearted man who immediately after precipitates himself in­to the woods. Stravinski follows him, and I alone remain with the king.

"Lovzinsk [...]," says he, addressing him­self to me, as soon as they were out of sight; "it is you, I can no longer doubt it; it is you, for I well remember your voice!" I utter not a single word in re­ply. He then mildly adds, "It is cer­tainly you Lovzinski! Who would have thought this ten years ago?"

[Page 95]We find ourselves at that moment near to the convent of Beliany, distant no more than a single league from War­saw.

"Lovzinski," continues the king, "per­mit me to enter this convent, and save yourself."

"You must follow me," was my only answer.

"It is in vain," rejoins the monarch, "that you are disguised; it is in vain that you endeavour to assume a feigned voice: I know you well, I am fully assured that you are Lovzinski: ah, who would have said so ten years since? You would then have lost your life, on condition of preserving that of your friend."

His majesty now ceases to speak; we advance some time, in profound silence, which he again breaking, exclaims. "I am overcome with fatigue—if you wish to carry me alive, permit me to repose myself for a single moment."

I assist him to descend from his horse; he sits down upon the grass, and making me sit down by his side, he takes one of my hands and presses it between his own:

"Lovzinski, you whom I have so [Page 96] much loved, you who know better than any one the purity of my intentions, how comes it obout that you have taken up arms against me? Ungrateful Lovzinski! shall I never find you but amongst my most bitter enemies? Do you return but on purpose to sacrifice me?"

He then, in the most affecting lan­guage, recapitulates the pleasure, of our early youth; our more intimate connec­tion at an age approaching to manhood, the tender friendship which we had sworn to each other, and the regard which he had ever treated me with since that pe­riod. He spoke to me of the honours with which he would have loaded me du­ring his reign, if I had been ambitious to merit them: he reproached me more particularly respecting the unworthy en­terprise of which I appeared to be the leader, but of which, he said, he was well assured that I was no more than the instru­ment.

He threw all the horror of the plot upon Pulaski, representing to me, at the same time, that the author of such an at­tempt was not the sole culpable person; that I could not charge myself with its execution without committing a crime; and that this odious complaisance, so [Page 97] highly treasonable in a subject, was infi­nitely more in a friend. He concluded by pressing me to restore him to his liber­ty: "Fly," said he to me; and be as­sured, if I encounter any of the Russian patroles, I shall tell them that you have pursued an opposite road from that which you have taken."

The king continued to press me with the most earnest entreaties: his natural eloquence, augmented by the danger of his situation, carried persuasion to my heart, and awakened the most tender sen­timents there.

I confess that I staggered; I balan­ced the circumstance for some time in my own mind, but Pulaski at length tri­umphed.

I thought that I still heard the fierce republican reproaching me with my pusil­lanimity. The love of one's country has perhaps its fanaticism and its supersti­tions: but if I was then culpable, I am still so; I am more than ever persuaded that in obliging the king to remount his horse again, I performed an action that reflected honour on my patriotism.

"Is it thus," says he to me, in a me­lancholy accent, "that you reject the prayer addressed to you by a friend? [Page 98] that you refuse the pardon offered to you by your king? Well then, let us be gone. I deliver myself up to my unhappy fate, or rather I abandon you to yours."

We now re-commence our journey once more; but the entreaties of the monarch, his arguments, his reproaches, his very menaces, the struggles which I felt within myself, effected me in such a manner, that I no longer could discern my way. Wandering up and down the country, I kept no one certain road: after half an hour's fatigue we found our­selves at Marimont, and I was greatly alarmed at seeing us thus return towards Warsaw, instead of leaving it at a distance.

At about a quarter of league beyond this, we unfortunately fell in with a party of Russians. The king immediately dis­covers himself to the commanding offi­cer, and then instantly adds. "In the course of the preceding afternoon, I hap­pened to bewilder myself during the chace; this good peasant, whom you see here, insisted on my partaking a frugal repast in his cottage; but as I thought that I perceived some of the soldiers of Pulaski roaming in the neighbourhood, I was desirous of returning to Warsaw immediately, and you will oblige me [Page 99] much by instantly accompanying me thither.

"As to you, my friend," continues he, turning at the same time towards me, "I am not at all sorry that you have given yourself this useless trouble, for I am as much pleased at returning to my capital attended by these gentlemen (pointing at the same time to the escort) as in accompanying you any farther.— However, it would be improper that I should leave you without any recompence; what are you desirous of? Speak—I will grant you any favour which you may de­mand of me!"

It will be easy to conceive how much I was alarmed, for I was still doubtful of the king's intentions. I endeavoured to discover the true meaning of his equivo­cal discourse, which must be either full of a bitter irony, or magnanimous address. M. de P— left me for some time in this cruel uncertainty: "I behold you great­ly embarrassed," continues he at length, with a gracious air; "you know not what to choose! Come then, my friend, embrace me: there is indeed more hon­or than profit in embracing a king (adds he with a smile;) however, it must be al­lowed, that in my place, many monarchs [Page 100] would not be at this moment so generous as myself!" On uttering these words, he instantly departs, leaving me penetrated with gratitude, and confounded with so much true greatness.

However, the danger which the king had so generously relieved me from, it be­gan every moment to assail me again. It was more than probable a great number of couriers expedited from Warsaw, had spread about on all sides the astonishing news of the king's having been carried off. Already, without doubt, the ravish­ers were warmly pursued. My remark­able dress might betray me in my flight, and if I once more fell into the hands of any of the Russians, better informed of the circumstance, all the efforts of the king would not be able to save me. Sup­posing Pulaski had obtained all the success which he expected, he must still be at a great distance: a journey of ten more leagues at least remained for me to per­form, and my horse was entirely spent with fatigue: I endeavoured however to spur him on, but he had not got five hun­dred paces before he fell under me.

A cavalier, well mounted, happened to pass along the road by the side of me, at this very moment; he perceiving the [Page 101] poor animal tumble down, and thinking to amuse himself at the expence of an un­fortunate peasant, he began to banter me about my situation. Piqued at his buf­foonery, I resolved to punish him for his raillery, and secure my own flight at one and the same time: I, therefore, instant­ly present one of my pistols to his breast, and oblige him to surrender his own horse to me: nay, I acknowledge to you, that forced by the peculiarity of my situation, I despoiled him even of his cloak, which being very large, hid all my rags beneath it, which otherwise might have discover­ed me. I then cast my purse full of gold at the feet of the astonished traveller, and sprang forward as fast as my new horse would carry me.

Luckily for me, he was fresh and vig­orous. I dart forward twelve leagues, with all the swiftness of an arrow: at length I think I hear the firing of can­non, and I instantly conjecture that my father-in-law was at hand, and was em­ployed in fighting the Russians.

I was not deceived—I arrive on the field of battle at the very moment when one of our regiments had given way. I instantly discover myself to the fugitives, and having rallied them beneath a neigh­bou [...]ing [Page 102] hill, I attack the enemies in flank, while Pulaski charged them in front with the remainder of his troops. Our manoeuvres were so well concerted, and so admirably executed, that the Russians were entirely routed, after experiencing a terrible carnage.

Pulaski deigned to attribute to me the honour of their defeat: "Ah!" cries he, embracing me, after hearing the par­ticulars of my expedition—"ah! if your forty followers had but equalled you in courage, the king would have been at this very moment in my camp! But the Dei­ty does not will it. I am grateful, how­ever, that you have been preserved to us; and I return you thanks for the important service which you have rendered me: but for you, Kaluvski would have assinated the monarch, and my name would have been covered with an eternal oppro­brium!

"I might have been able," added he, "to have advanced two miles farther: but I rather chose to take possession of this respectable post, on account of the security of my camp. Yesterday, in the course of my march, I surprised and cut to pieces a party of Russians; this morn­ing I beat two more of their detachments [Page 103] —but another considerable corps having collected the remainder of the vanquish­ed, took advantage of the night, on pur­pose to attack me. My soldiers, fatigued with the toil of a long march, and three succeeding engagements, began to fly; but victory returned to my camp at your approach. Let us entrench ourselves here; we will wait for the Russian army, and fight while we yet have a drop of blood remaining!"

In the mean time, the camp resounded with the cries of gladness, and our victo­rious soldiers mingled my praises with those of Pulaski. At the noise of my name, repeated by a thousand tongues, Lodoiska ran to her father's tent. She convinced me of the excess of her tender­ness, by the excess of her joy at our meet­ing; and I was obliged once more to commence the recital of the dangers from which I had escaped. She could not hear of the singular generosity of the mo­narch, when I was in the power of the Russians, without shedding tears: "How magnanimous he is!" exclaims she, amidst a transport of joy: "how worthy of being a king, he who so generously pardoned you! How many sighs has he spared a wife whom you forsake! how many tears [Page 104] the loving wife whom you are not afraid of sacrificing! Cruel Lovzinski, are not the dangers to which you daily expose yourself sufficient—"

Pulaski here interrupts his daughter with a certain degree of harshness: "In­discreet and weak woman!" exclaims he, "is it before me that you dare hold such a discourse as this?"

"Alas!" replies she in a mild accent; "alas! must I forever tremble for the life of a father and a husband?" Lodoiska also made the most affecting complaints to me, and sighed after a more happy fu­turity, while fortune was preparing for us the most cruel reverse.

Our Cossacks, placed at the out-posts, now came in from all parts, and inform­ed us that the Russian army was ap­proaching. Pulaski reckoned on being attacked at the break of day: but he was not: however, about the middle of the following night I was informed that the enemy were preparing to force our en­trenchments.

Pulaski always ready, always active, was actually defending them: during the course of this fatal night, he achieved ev­ery thing that might have been expected from his valour and experience.

[Page 105]We repel the assailants no less than five different times, but they return un­ceasingly to the charge, pour in fresh troops at every new attack, and, during the last one, penetrate into the very heart of our camp by three different avenues, at one and the same time.

Zaremba was killed by my side; a croud of nobles fell in this bloody action; the enemy refused to give any quarter.— Furious at seeing all my friends perish be­fore my eyes, I resolved to precipitate myself into the midst of the Russian bat­talions.

"Heedless man!" exclaims Pulaski, "what blind fury urges you towards your destruction! My army is completely rout­ed—destroyed—but my courage still re­mains! Why should we perish uselessly here? Let us be gone! I will conduct you into climes where we may raise up new enemies against the Russian name. Let us live, since we can still serve our country! Let us save ourselves, let us save Lodoiska."

"Lodoiska! am I capable of abandon­ing her?"

We instantly run to her tent—we are scarce in time: we carry her off, precipi­tate ourselves into the neighbouring [Page 106] woods, and on the next morning we ven­ture to sally forth, and present ourselves before the gate of a castle that was not al­together unknown to us.

It indeed belonged to a noble Pole, who had served during some time in our army. Micislas instantly comes forth, and offers an asylum, which he advises us, however, to make use of for a few hours only. He informs us, that a very astonishing piece of news had spread a­broad on the former evening, and began to be confirmed, according to which the king himself had been carried away out of Warsaw, that the Russians had pursued the conspirators, and brought back the monarch to his capital; and that, in fine, it was talked of putting a price upon the head of Pulaski, who was suspected of be­ing the author of this treason.

"Believe me," says he, "when I as­sure you, whether you have been engaged or not in this bold plot, that you ought to fly; leave your uniforms here, which will assuredly betray you: I will instant­ly supply you with clothes which are less remarkable: and as to Lodoiska, I my­self will conduct her to the place which you have chosen or your retreat."

Lodoiska now interrupts Micislas:— [Page 107] "The place of my retreat shall be that of their flight, for I will accompany them every where."

Pulaski represents to his daughter, that she is not able to sustain the fatigue inci­dent to such a long journey, and besides we should be liable to continual dangers.

"The greater the peril is," replies she, "the more I ought to partake it with you. You have repeated to me a hundred times, that the daughter of Pulaski ought not to be an ordinary woman. For the last eight years I have constantly lived in the midst of alarms; I have seen nothing but scenes of carnage and horror. Death has environed me on all sides, and me­naced me at every moment: will you not permit me to brave it now by your side? Is not the life of Lodoiska connected with that of her father? Lovzinski, will not the stroke that fells you to the ground send you wife to the grave: and am I no longer worthy —"

I now interrupt Lodoiska, and join with her father, in stating reasons which determined us to leave her in Poland. She hears me with impatience: "Un­grateful man," exclaims she at length, "will you fly without me?" "You shall [Page 108] remain," replies Pulaski, with Lovzin­ski's sisters, and I prohibit you —"

His daughter, now frantic with grief, would not permit him to finish the sen­tence.

"I know your rights, my father! I respect them; they shall always appear sacred to me: but you do not possess that of separating a wife from her hus­band.

"Ah, pardon me! I see that I offend you—my reason no longer maintains its empire—

"But pity my grief—

"Excuse my despair—

"My father! Lovzinski! hear me, both of you; I am determined to accom­pany you every where!

"Yes, I will follow you every where, cruel men! I will follow you in spite of yourselves!

Lovzinski, if your wife has lost all the rights she had over your heart, recollect at least her who was once mistress of your affections.

"Recal to your remembrance that frightful night, when I was about to per­ish in the flames; that terrible moment when you ascended the burning tower, crying out, let me live or die with Lodo­iska!

[Page 109]"That which you felt at that terrible moment, I now experience! I know no greater evil that of being separated from you; and I now exclaim in my turn, let me either live or die with my father and my husband!

"Unfortunate wretch! what will be­come of me, if you should forsake me. Reduced to the cruel situation of bewail­ing you both, where shall I find a solace for my miseries? Will my children con­sole me? Alas! in two years death hath snatched four away from me; and the Russians, equally pitiless as death itself, have bereaved me of the last! I have on­ly you remaining in the world, and even you wish to abandon me! my father! my husband! Will such dear connections as these be insensible to my sufferings! Have compassion, take pity on your own Lodoiska."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Her tears now intercepted her speech. Micislas wept; my heart was torn with anguish. "You are resolved to accompa­ny us, my daughter—be it so; I con­sent," says Pulaski, "but I wish that heaven may not punish me for my com­plaisance!"

[Page 110]Lodoiska now embraces us both with as much joy as if all our ills had been at an end. I leave two letters with Micis­las, which he undertook to transmit ac­cording to the direction: the one was addressed to my sisters, and the other to Boleslas. I bade them adieu, and I re­commended to them, to neglect no means to endeavour to recover my dear Dorliska!

It was necessary that I should disguise my wife—she assumes a masculine dress; we change our own, and we employ all the means in our power to disfigure our­selves in such a manner as to elude re­search, and prevent discovery.

Thus altered in our appearance, arm­ed with our sabres and our pistols, pro­vided with a considerable sum in gold, with some trinkets, and all the jewels of Lodoiska, we take leave of Micislas, and make haste to regain the woods.

Pulaski now communicates to us the design which he had formed of taking refuge in Turkey. He hoped to be employed in a situation equal to his rank and his abilities, in the armies of the grand signior, who had for the two last years with some difficulty sustained a disastrous war against the Russians.

[Page 111]Lodoiska did not appear in the least affrighted at the long journey which we had to make; and as she could neither be known nor sought after, she insisted upon going out to reconnoitre the adjacent country, and at the same time charged herself with the fatiguing but important task of bringing us the provisions which we stood in need of.

As soon as the day appeared, we re­tired into the wood: hid either in the trunks of trees, or in thick groves of pines, we waited impatiently for the re­turn of night, on purpose to continue our march. It was thus that, during sever­al weeks, we were enabled to escape from the search of a multitude of different bo­dies of Russian troops, who were sent out on purpose to discover us, and who pursued us like so many blood hounds, animated with the passions of hatred and revenge.

One day as Lodoiska, still disguised as a peasant, returned from a neighbouring hamlet, where she had gone on purpose to purchase the provisions which she was now conveying to us, two Russian ma­rauders attacked her at the entry of the forest in which we were concealed.

After having robbed, they prepared to [Page 112] strip her. At the shrieks which she ut­tered we hasten from our retreat, and the two ruffians immediately betake themselves to flight upon our appearance —but we were greatly alarmed lest they should recount this adventure to their companions, whose suspicions aroused by this singular rencounter, might induce them to come and drag us from our asy­lum.

After a most fatiguing journey, we en­ter Polesia.^* Pulaski wept at leaving his native country.

"At least," exclaims he with a mourn­ful accent—"at least I have faithfully served you, and I now only go into exile that I may be enabled to serve you again."

So many fatigues had exhausted the strength of Lodoiska. Arrived at No­vogorod,^† we resolve to stop there on purpose to give her time to recover her [Page 113] strength. It was our design to remain some days, but some of the country peo­ple whom we questioned, frankly inform­ed us, that a number of troops were in motion in that neighbourhood, on pur­pose to arrest a certain person of the name of Pulaski, who had occasioned the king of Poland to be taken prisoner, and car­ried off from the midst of his own capital.

Justly alarmed at this intelligence, we remain but a few hours in this town, where we, however found means to pur­chase some horses without being discov­ered.

We then pass the Desna above Czer­nicove;^* and following the banks of the Sula, we cross that river at Perevoloczna, where we learn that Pulaski, who had been traced to Novogorod, had escaped as it were by miracle, and that the Russian soldiers, indefatigable in their pursuit, were still searching after him, and were in hopes of making him prisoner.

It was now again become necessary to [Page 114] fly once more, and once more to change our route; we therefore instantly made for the immense forests which cover the face of the country between the Sula and the Zem, in the dark retreats of which we hoped to find shelter from our foes.

We at length discover a cavern, in which we were reduced to the necessity of taking up our abode. A she-bear dis­putes with us the entrance into this asy­lum equally solitary and frightful; we assail, we kill her, and devour her young.

Pulaski was wounded in this encoun­ter: Lodoiska, worn out with fatigue and distress, was scarcely able to support her existence: the winter was approach­ing, and the cold was already excessive.

Pursued by the Russians in the inhabit­ed parts; menaced by wild and ferocious animals in this vast desart; destitute of any arms but our swords; reduced in a short time to eat our very horses; what was to become of us?

The danger of the situation to which my father-in-law and my wife were re­duced, had become so pressing, that no other fear any longer alarmed me. My personal safety, hitherto so dear to me, did not now suggest itself once to my mind: I felt only for theirs. I resolved, [Page 115] therefore, to procure to them at any rate those succours which their situation re­quired, which was still more deplorable than my own; and leaving them both with the promise of rejoining them in a short time, I take a few of the diamonds belonging to Lodoiska, and follow the stream of the Warsklo.

It is well known that a traveller, be­wildered amidst those vast countries, and reduced to the necessity of wandering a­bout without a compass, and without a guide, is obliged to follow the course of a river, because it is upon its banks that the habitations of mankind are most com­monly to be met with.

It was necessary that I should gain, as soon as possible, some considerable town in which a few merchants resided: I therefore journeyed along the bank, of the Warsklo, and travelling day and night, found myself at Pultava^† at the [Page 116] end of four days. During my residence in this place, I pass for a trader belonging to Bielgorod. I there learn that the Russian troops were still roaming about in pursuit of Pulaski, and that the em­press had sent and exact discription of his person every where, with orders to seize him either dead or alive, wherever he might be found.

I make haste to sell my diamonds, to purchase powder, arms, and provisions of all kinds, different utensils, and some coarse and necessary furniture; every thing, in fine, which I judged most pro­per to relieve our misery, and soften our misfortunes.—With these I load a wag­gon, drawn by four good horses, of which I was the only conductor.

My return was equally tedious and dif­ficult; no less than eight whole days ex­pired before I arrived at the entrance of the forest.

It was there that, terminating my disa­greeable and dangerous journey, I was about to succour my father-in-law and my wife; that I was about to revisit all that was most dear to me in the world; and yet I felt none of those transports of joy which such an event seemed likely to inspire.

[Page 117]Philosophers have no belief in forbode­ings.

Certain it is, however, that I experi­enced an involuntary uneasiness: my mind became dispirited, dismayed, and something, I know not what, seemed to whisper to me, that the most unhappy moment of my whole life was fast ap­proaching.

On my departure, I had placed several flintstones at certain distances, on purpose to enable me to retrace my road; but I could not now discover them. I had al­so cut off with my sabre large pieces of the bark of several trees, which I could not now perceive. I enter the forest, however: I hollow with all my strength: I discharge my gun from time to time, but nobody answers me. I dared not trust myself among the trees and shrubs for fear of losing my way back again; neither could I wander too far from my waggon, which was stored with provisions so necessary to Pulaski, his daughter, and myself.

The night, which now approached, obliged me to give over my search, and I pass it in the same manner as the former. Rolled up in my cloak, I lay down be­neath my waggon, which I had carefully [Page 118] surrounded with my larger moveables, and which thus served me as a rampart against the wild beasts.

I could not sleep; the cold was ex­tremely intense; the snow fell in great abundance; at break of day I looked a­round, and found all the ground covered with it. From that moment I formed the most horrible and the most sinister presages: the stones which might have pointed out the path I was to have ta­ken, were all buried, and it appeared im­possible I should ever be able to discover my father-in-law and my wife.

Had the horse, which I had left with them at my departure, afforded them suf­ficient sustenance ever since? Had not hunger, cruel hunger, obliged them to fly from their retreat? Were they still con­cealed in those frightful deserts? If they were not there, where should I be able to find them? Where, without them, should I drag out my miserable exist­ence?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But could I believe that Pulaski had abandoned his son-in-law? that Lodoiska had consented to separate herself from [Page 119] her husband? No—undoubtedly not.— They were still confined within the circle of this frightful solitude; and if I aban­doned them, they must die with famine and cold! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

These desperate reflections at length determined my conduct, and I no longer examined whether or not, in removing at a distance from my waggon, I was in danger of never finding it again. To car­ry some provisions to my father-in-law and wife, to succour Pulaski and Lodo­iska—these were now the only sentiments that occupied my mind.

I accordingly seize my fowling piece, take some powder and shot, and load one of my horses with necessaries: I pierce into the woods much farther than during the former evening; I again hollow with all my strength; I again make frequent discharges with my gun. The most me­lancholy silence reigned around me.

I now find myself in a part of the fo­rest where the trees were so extremely thick, that there was no longer any pas­sage for my horse: I, therefore, tie him to a tree, and my despair getting the bet­ter of every other consideration, I still [Page 120] continue to advance with my gun, and part of my provisions. I had now wan­dered about for two hours more, my in­quietude forcing me every moment to re­double my pace, when at length I per­ceive human footsteps imprinted on the snow.

Hope gives me new strength, and I therefore instantly follow the traces which are still fresh. Soon after I discover Pu­laski almost naked, emaciated with hun­ger, and so changed as scarce to be known even by me!

He makes all the efforts in his power to drag his limbs towards me, and to re­ply to my enquiries. The moment that I had rejoined him, he seizes, with avidi­ty, on the victuals that I present to him, and devours them in an instant. I then demand of him where Lodoiska is.

"Alas!" says he, "you will see her there!" The tone of voice in which he pronounced these words made me trem­ble. I run to, I arrive at the cavern, but too well prepared for the melancholy spectacle that awaited me. Lodoiska, wrapped up in her own cloaths, and cov­ered with those of her father, was exten­ded upon a bed of half rotten leaves!

She raises with some difficulty, her [Page 121] weary head, and refusin [...] [...]e aliments which I now offer her, [...]esses me as follows:— "I am not hungry! The death of my children; the loss of Dor­liska; our journeys, so long, so labori­ous, so difficult; your dangers, which seemed to increase daily—these have killed me! I was unable to resist fatigue and sorrow. My friend, I am dying—I heard thy voice, and my soul was stopped in its flight—We shall meet again! Lo­doiska ought to die in the arms of a hus­band whom she adores!—Assist my fa­ther! May he live? Live both of you —console yourselves, and forget me! * * * * * —Search every where for my dear * * * * * *

"She was unable to pronounce the name of her daughter, and instantly ex­pired! * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Her father digs a grave for her at a little distance from the cavern; and I be­held the earth enclose all that I loved in this world!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What a trying moment! Pulaski alone [Page 122] prevented me from becoming the victim of despair: he forces me to survive Lo­doiska!

* * * * * * * * *

Pulaski, whose courage never abandon­ed him, and whose strength w [...]s by this time restored, obliges me to occupy my­self jointly with him, in the business of procuring our subsistence.

By following along the snow, the prints of my footsteps we arrive at length at the place where I had left my waggon, which we immediately unload, and burn soon after, on purpose to withheld from our enemies the most distant suspicion of the place of our retreat.

By the aid of our horses, for which we procure a passage, by making a cir­cuitous journey, instead of attempting to bring them strait to the place of our re­treat, we were at length able to transport those provisions and moveables to our cavern, which it was so necessary for us to procure, and to husband, if we resol­ved to remain much longer in this sol­itude. We soon after killed our horses, which we were unable to supply with food. We lived upon their flesh, which the rigour of the season preserved for a [Page 123] considerable time; it corrupted, howe­ver, at length; and our fire-arms being unable to procure us any other than a scanty supply of game, we were obliged to have recourse to our provisions; which at the end of three months, were entirely consumed.

Some gold, and the greater part of Lo­doiska's diamonds still remained. Should I make a second voyage to Pultava? Or should we both run the hazard of such an undertaking and quit our retreat in company? We had already suffered so much and so cruelly in this forest that we resolved to embrace the latter resolu­tion.

We accordingly sally forth; we pass the Sem near Rylks; we purchase a boat there, and disguising ourselves in the dress of fishermen, we descend that river, and enter the Desna.

Our boat was visited at Czernicove, but misery had so disfigured Pulaski, that it was impossible any longer to recognize him. We then enter the Dnieper; we cross from Kiof^* to Krylow. There [Page 124] we were obliged to receive into our boat, and carry to the other side, several Rus­sian soldiers who were on their march to join a small army employed against Pug­atchew.

At Zaporiskaia we heard of the cap­ture of Bender and Oczakow, the con­quest of the Crimed, and the defeat and subsequent death of the Vizir Oglou.

Pulaski, reduced to a state of despera­tion, was anxious to traverse the vast des­erts that separated him from Pugatchew, on purpose to join himself to that enemy of the Russians; but the excess of our fatigues obliged us to remain at Zapori­skaia.

The peace, which was soon after con­cluded between Russia and the Porte, at length afforded us the means of entering Turkey.

On foot, and still disguised, we cros­sed the Boudziac, part of Moldavia and Wallachia, and after a thousand unfore­seen and unexpected difficulties and fa­tigues, we at length arrive at Adrianople.

Having remained for some time at this place, on purpose to repair our exhausted [Page 125] forces, we prepare to depart: but we are arrested, and, being carried before the Cadi, are accused of having sold several diamonds in the course of our journey, which we had apparently stolen. The miserable clothes with which we were covered, had given rise to this suspicion.

Pulaski discovers himself to the mus­sulman judge, and he sends us immedi­ately to Constantinople.

We are admitted shortly after to an audience of the grand signior. He or­ders apartments to be prepared for us, and assigns us a liberal pension upon his treasury.

I then write to my sisters, and to Bo­ [...]eslas we learn, by their answers, that all the property of Pulaski had been confiscated, that he was degraded from his rank, and condemned to lose his head.

My father-in-law is in the utmost con­sternatian on receiving this intelligence: he is filled with indignation at being ac­cused as a regicide: he writes home in his own justification.

Constantly animated, and devoured as it were with the love of his country, con­tinually influenced by the mortal hatred which he had sworn against its enemies, [Page 126] he never ceased, during the whole four years that we remained in Turkey, to endeavour by his intrigues, to oblige the Porte to declare war against Russia.

In 1774, amidst a transport of rage, he receives intelligence of the triple inva­sion,^* which bereaved the republic of one third of its possessions.

It was in the spring of 1776, that the patriots of America, fearful of the tyran­ny of an island which once boasted of its own liberties, resolved to redeem their vi­olated rights by force of arms. My country hath lost her freedom, says Pulas­ki to me one day: but, ah, let us still fight for that of a new people!

We pass into Spain, we embark on board a vessel bound for the Havanna, from whence we r [...]pair to Philadelphia. The congress instantly presents us with commissions, and employs us in the army of General Washington.

[Page 127]Pulaski, consumed with a black melan­choly, exposes his life like a man to whom life had become insupportable, is always to be found at the most dangerous posts, and towards the end of the fourth cam­paign, is mortally wounded by my side. Being carried to his tent, I instantly re­pair thither to console him.

"I find my end approaches," says he, addressing himself to me. "Ah! it is but too true, that I shall never see my na­tive country again!

"Cruel, fantastical destiny! Pulaski falls a martyr to American liberty, and the Poles still continue slaves!

* * * * * * * *

My friend, my death would be indeed horrible, if a ray of hope did not remain to cheer me! Ah! I hope I do not de­ceive myself—No, I am not mista­ken," adds he in a firmer accent.

"A consoling Deity discloses in my last thoughts a futurity, a happier futuri­ty which approaches!

"I beheld one of the first nations in the world awakening from a long and deep slumber, and re-demanding of its proud oppressors its violated honours, and its ancient rights; its sacred, im­prescriptible [Page 128] rights, the rights of hu­manity.

"I behold in an immense capitol, long dishonoured by every species of servility, a crowd of soldiers discovering themselves to be citizens, and millions of citizens becoming soldiers.

"Beneath their redoubled blows, the Bastile shall be overturned; the signal is already given from one extremity of the empire to another;—the reign of tyrants is no more!

"A neighbouring people, sometimes an enemy, but always generous, always worthy of deciding upon great actions, shall applaud those unexpected efforts, crowned with such a speedy success!

"Ah, may a reciprocal esteem com­mence and strengthen between these two nations an unalterable friendship! May that horrible science of trick, imposture, and treason, which courts denominate politics, hold out no obstacle to prevent this fraternal re-union!

"Noble rivals in talents and philoso­phy, Frenchmen! Englishmen! suspend at length, and suspend for ever, those bloody discords, the fury of which has but too often extended over the two hem­ispheres;—no longer decide between you [Page 129] the empire of the universe, but by the force of your example, and the ascenden­cy of your genius. Instead of the cruel advantage of affrighting and subduing the nations around you, dispute between yourselves the more solid glory of enlight­ening their ignorance, and breaking their chains.

"Approach," adds Pulaski, "behold at a little distance from, and in the midst of the carnage that surrounds us, among such a crowd of famous warriors, a warrior celebrated even in the midst of them, by his masculine courage, his early talents, and his virtues truly republican. He is the heir of a name long illustrious; but he had no occasion for the glory of his ancestors, to render himself celebra­ted.

"It is young FAYETTE, already an hon­our to France, and a scourge to tyrants: but he has scarce begun his mortal la­bours!

"Envy his fate, Lovzinski; endeavour to imitate his virtues, and follow as near as possible the steps of so great a man. He, the worthy pupil of a Washington, shall soon be the Washington of his own country. It is almost at the same time, my friend, it is at that memorable epoch [Page 130] of the regeneration of nations, that the e­ternal justice shall also present to our fel­low-citizens, the days of vengeance and of liberty.

"Then Lovzinski, in whatever place thou mayest be, let thy hate re-kindle! Again combat gloriously on the side of Poland.

"Let the remembrance of your in­juries, and of our successes, call forth thy courage! May thy sword, so many times empurpled with the blood of our enemies, be still turned against those oppressors. May they tremble while thinking on thy exploits! May they tremble in recalling the name of Pulaski!

"They have ravished from us our pro­perty; they have assassinated thy wife; they have robbed thee of thy daughter; they have dishonoured my memory!

"The barbarians! They have dis­membered our provinces! Lovzinski, these are injuries which you ought never to forget.

"When our persecutors are those also of our country, vengeance becomes at once sacred and indispensible.

"You owe to the Russians an eternal hatred! You owe to Poland the last drop of your blood!"

[Page 131]Saying this he expires.^†

Death, in snatching him from me, be­reaved me of my last consolation.

I fought for the United States of A­merica, until the happy peace which en­sured their independence. M. de C—, who had served along with me, and who was attached to the corps commanded by the Marquis de la Fayette. M. de C—, gave me letters of recommendation, to his friends in Paris, and this capital I have chosen for my retreat in the meridian of life, from the bustle of politics, and the clangor of arms.

Having informed my sisters of the place of my residence, they collected the small remains of my fortune, formerly immense, and hastened to solace me after the distressing scenes I had unfortunately witnessed.

† † † † †

The affecting history of the Baron de Lovzinski, which he relates to a friend, breaks off, without giving any account of Dorliska, his darling daughter, whom the Russians carried off, in one of their en­gagements with Pulaski. It appears from [Page 132] more recent accounts, given by an ac­quaintance of the Baron's, that she fell into the hands of Count Gorlitz, a Ger­man nobleman, who placed her in a suit­able seminary, and was by accident re­stored to her father, and united to a branch of a very distinguished family.

ATHENS, long after the decline of the Roman empire, still con­tinued the seat of learning, politeness, and wisdom. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth▪ repaired the schools which barbarity was suffering to fall into decay, and contin­ued those pensions to men of learning, which avaricious governors had monop­olized.

In this city, and about this period, Al­cander and Septimius were fellow stu­dents together; the one, the most subtle reasoner of all the Lyceum; the other the most eloquent speaker in the academ­ic grove. Mutual admiration soon beg [...]t friendship. Their fortunes were nearly [Page 134] equal, and they were natives of the two most celebrated cities in the world; for Alcander was of Athens, Septimius came from Rome.

In this state of harmony they lived for some time together, when Alcander, af­ter passing the first part of his youth in the indolence of philosophy, thought at length of entering into the busy world; and, as a step previous to this, placed his affections on Hypatia, a lady of exqui­site beauty. The day of their intended nuptials was fixed; the previous ceremo­nies were performed; and nothing now remained but her being conducted in tri­umph to the apartment of the intended bridegroom.

Alcander's exultation in his own hap­piness, or being unable to enjoy any satis­faction without making his friend Septi­mius a partner, prevailed upon him to in­troduce Hypatia to his fellow-student; which he did with all the gaiety of a man who found himself equally happy in friendship and love. But this was an in­terview fatal to the future peace of both; for Septimius no sooner saw her, but he was smitten with an involuntary passion; and though he used every effort to sup­press desires at once so imprudent and [Page 135] unjust, the emotions of his mind in a short time became so strong, that they brought on a fever, which the physicians judged incurable.

During this illness, Alcander watched him with all the anxiety of fondness, and brought his mistress to join in those am­iable offices of friendship. The sagacity of the physicians, by these means, soon discovered that the cause of their patient's disorder was love; and Alcander being apprised of their discovery, at length ex­torted a confession from the reluctant dy­ing lover.

It would but delay the narrative to de­scribe the conflict between love and friendship in the breast of Alcander on this occasion; it is enough to say, that the Athenians were at this time arrived at such refinement in morals, that every virtue was carried to excess. In short, forgetful of his own felicity, he gave up his intended bride, in all her charms, to the young Roman. They were married privately by his connivance, and this un­looked for change of fortune wrought as unexpected a change in the constitution of the now happy Septimius. In a few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out with his fair partner for Rome. Here, [Page 136] by an exertion of those talents which he was so eminently possessed of, Septimius, in a few years, arrived at the highest dig­nities of the state, and was constituted the city judge or praetor.

In the mean time, Alcander not only felt the pain of being separated from his friend and his mistress, but a prosecution was also commenced against him, by the relations of Hypatia, for having basely given up his bride, as was suggested, for money. His innocence of the crime laid to his charge, and even his eloquence in his own defence, were not able to withstand the influence of a powerful party. He was cast and condemned to pay an enormous fine. However, being unable to raise so large a sum at the time appointed, his possessions were confisca­ted, he himself was stripped of the habit of freedom, exposed as a slave in the market-place, and sold to the highest bidder.

A merchant of Thrace becoming his purchaser, Alcander, with some other companions of distress, was carried into that region of desolation and sterility.— His stated employment was to follow the herds of an imperious master, and his suc­cess in hunting was all that was allowed [Page 137] him to supply his precarious subsistence. Every morning waked him to a renewal of famine or toil, and every change of season served but to aggravate his unshel­tered distress. After some years of bon­dage, however, an opportunity of escap­ing offered; he embraced it with ardour; so that, travelling by night, and lodging in caverns by day, to shorten a long sto­ry, he at last arrived in Rome. The same day on which Alcander arrived, Septimius sat administering justice in the forum, whither our wanderer came, ex­pecting to be instantly known, and public­ly acknowledged, by his former friend. Here he stood the whole day amongst the crowd, watching the eyes of the judge, and expecting to be taken notice of; but he was so much altered by a long succession of hardships, that he con­tinued unnoticed among the rest; and, in the evening, when he was going up to the praetors chair, he was brutally repulsed by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is generally driven from one ungrateful object to another: for night coming on, he now found himself under the necessity of seeking a place to lie in and yet knew not where to apply. All emaciated and in rags, as he was, n [...] [Page 138] of the citizens would harbour so much wretchedness; and sleeping in the streets might be attended with interruption or danger: in short, he was obliged to take up his lodging in one of the tombs with­out the city, the usual retreat of guilt, poverty, and despair. In this mansion of horror, laying his head upon an in­verted urn, he forgot his miseries for a while in sleep; and found, on his flinty couch, more ease than beds of down can supply to the guilty.

As he continued here, about midnight, two robbers came to make this their re­treat; but, happening to disagree about the division of their plunder, one of them stabbed the other to the heart, and left him weltering in blood at the entrance. In these circumstances he was found next morning, dead, at the mouth of the vault. This naturally inducing a further enqui­ry, an alarm was spread; the cave was examined, and Alcander being found, was immediately apprehended, and accu­sed of robbery and murder. The cir­cumstances against him were strong, and the wretchedness of his appearance con­firmed suspicion. Misfortune and he were now so long acquainted, that he at last became regardless of life. He detest­ed [Page 139] a world where he had found only ingratitude, falsehood, and cruelty; he was determined to make no defence; and thus, lowering with resolution, he was dragged, bound with cords, before the tribunal of Septimius. As the proofs were positive against him, and he offered nothing in his own vindication, the judge was proceeding to doom him to a most cruel and ignominious death, when the attention of the multitude was soon divi­ded by another object. The robber, who had been really guilty, was apprehend­ed selling his plunder, and, struck with a panic, had confessed his crime. He was bro't bound to the same tribunal, and ac­quitted every other person of any partner­ship in his guilt. Alcander's innocence therefore appeared, but the sullen rashness of his conduct remained a wonder to the surrounding multitude; but their aston­ishment was still further increased, when they saw their judge start from his tribu­nal to embrace the supposed criminal. Septimius recollected his friend and for­mer benefactor, and hung upon his neck with tears of pity and of joy. Need the sequel be related? Alcander was acquit­ted; shared the friendship and honours of the principal citizens of Rome; lived [Page 140] afterwards in happiness and ease; and left it to be engraved on his tomb, That no circumstances are so desperate, which Providence may not relieve.

WE frequently find that when the mind has been long em­ployed on one object, a slight derange­ment of the reasoning faculty is the con­sequence, which is often better remedied by gentle soothing treatment, than by more violent methods.

Lucy Belgrove was the daughter of a gentleman of considerable property, in the west of England. She was a young lady of a tender and delicate frame of body, and a lively and susceptible imagi­nation. The perusal of romances, and especially those of a pastoral kind, was her principal amusement, which at length had so powerful an effect on her fancy, that she sighed for nothing so much as [...] pleasure of lo [...]ding the life of an Ar­cadian [Page 141] nymph, and attending her inno­cent sheep to the grass-clad hill, or the murmuring rivulet. She would wander from morning to night about the fields, furnished by fancy with [...]ewes and lambs, with a crook in her hand, and all the ap­purtenances of the pastoral life, supreme­ly happy in her visionary occupation.

As, notwithstanding this innocent phrenzy, she was of a truly beautiful per­son, a delicate and amiable disposition, and heiress to a large fortune, she had nu­merous admirers and suitors; but none of these were so much as permitted to tell their tender tales of love; the heart and the imagination of the lady were entirely engrossed by another object: she turned a deaf ear to all their amorous complaints, and sought the woods and shady groves.

At length, a young gentleman in the neighbourhood, who had long admired her beauty and amiable qualities, while he pitied the peculiar derangement of her mind, determined to try the effect of hu­mouring her in her pastoral phrenzy. He assumed the habit of an Arcadian swain, followed her into the fields with his crook and his pipe, and playing on the latter, soothed her with pastoral airs. Approaching her with modest diffidence [Page 142] he wooed her as a shepherd enamoured of a shepherdess. In this character she listened to him. Day after day they wan­dered together over the plains and thro' the woods; till at length love entering her heart, by degrees banished the vision­ary ideas that had hitherto occupied her mind. Her swain gradually drew her attention from the romantic scenes she had been so fondly addicted to; she no longer sought the woods and groves, but preferred the company of her lover to attending her imaginary flocks. They were soon after married, and live in that happiness which real love can alone be­stow.