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TUBE Film ®F THE EAMiL t
VOLUME 11.
Idcrtcfo
—
The Orphans’ Voyage Home.
The men could hardly keep the deck,
50 bitter was the night;
Keen north-east winds sang thro’ the shrouds,
The deck was frosty white ;
While overhead the glistening stars
Put forth their points of light.
* On deck, behind a hale of goods,
Two orphans crouch and, to sleep.
Cut ’twas so cold the youngest boy
In vain tried not to weep :
Thry were so poor they had no right
.Near cubin doors to creep.
The cider round the younger wrapt
Ilis little ragged cloak,
To shield him from the freezing sleet,
And surf that o’er them broke ;
Then drew him closer to his side,
And softly to him spoke:
The night will not be long”—he said,
*• And if the col 1 winds blow,
We shall the sooner reach our home,
And see the p**at-fire glow ;
Cut now the stars are beau tiful—
Ob,do not tremble so!
Come oh'ser !—sleep—forget the frost —
Think of the morning red —
Our father and our mother soon
Will take us to their bed ;
And in their warm arms we shall sleep.”
He knew not they were dead.
For them no father to the ship
51 tall with the morning c< me;
For them no mother’s loving arms
Are spread to take them home:
Meanwhile the cabin passengers
In dreams ol pleasure roam.
At length the orphans sank to sleep
Alton the freezing deck ;
Close hmidled side to side—each arm
Clasp’d round the other’s neck.
With heads bent down, they diearn'd the earth
Was fading to a speck.
The steerage passengers have all
Been taken down below,
And round the stove they warm their limbs
Into a drowsy glow;
And soon within their berths forget
The icy wind and snow.
Now morning dawns: the land in sight,
Smiles beam on every fajc !
The pale arid qualmy passengers
Begin the deck to pace,
Seeking along the sun-lit cliff*
Some well-known spot to trace.
Only the orphans do not stir,
Os all this bustling train:
They reach’d their home this starry night!
They will not stir again !
The winter’s breath proved kind to them,
And ended all their pain.
But in their deep and freezing sleep
Clasp’d rigid to each oilier.
In dreams they cried, “ The bright morn breaks,
H ime ! home ! is here, my brother !
The Angel Death has been our friend—
We come ! de tr Father! Mother !'*
jMrrtcii Cnlt.
THE SERF OF FOBEREZE.
The materials for the following
tale were furnished to the writer
while travelling last year near the
spot on which the events it narrates
took place. Jt is intended to con
vey a notion of some of the phases
of Polish, or rather Russian serfdom
(tor, as truly explained by one ot
the characters in a succeeding page,
it is Uussian,) and ot the catastro
phes it has occasioned, not only in
Catherine's time, but occasionally
at the present. The Polish nobles
—themselves in slavery —earnestly
desire the emancipation ot their
serfs, which Russian domination for
bids.
The small town of Pobereze
stands at ihe toot of a stony moun
tain, watered by numerous springs
in the district of Podolia, in Poland.
It consists of a mass ot miserable
cabins, with a Catholic chapel and
two Greek churches in the midst,
the latter distinguished by their gild
ed. towers. On one side ot the
Market-place stands the only inn,
and on the opposite side are several
shops, from whose doors and win
dows look out several dirtily dressed
Jews. At a little distance, on a hill
covered with vines ant] fruit-trees,
stands the Palace, which docs not,
perhaps, exactly merit such an ap
pellation, but who would dare to
call otherwise the dwelling of the
lord of the domain ?
On the morning when our tale
opens, there had issued from this
palace the common enough com
mand to the superintendent of the
estate, to furnish the roaster with a
couple of strong boys, tor service in
the stables, and a young girl, to be
employed in the wardrobe. Ac
Stontfit tii iCittrfltnr?, J?rinirt cnii SW, tjjt |?fltis nf Cftnjitrinirf, jPtllnnisljiji, jOtinsßnnj mill d^tnfrul
cordingly, a number of the best
looking \ T oung peasants of Olgogrod
assembled in the broad avenue lead
ing to the palace. Some were ac
companied by iheir sorrowful and
weeping parents, in all of whose
hearts, however, rose the faint and
whispered hope, ‘Perhaps it will
not he my child they will choose!’
Being brought into the courtyard
of the palace, the Count Rosynski,
with the several members of his
family, had come out to pass in re
view his growing subjects. He was
a small and insignificant-looking
man, about fifty years of age, with
deep-set eyes and over-hanging
brows. His wife, who was m arly
of the same age, was immensely
stout, with a vulgar face and a loud
disagreeable voice. She made
herself ridiculous in endeavouring
to imitate the manners and bearing
of the aristocracy, into whose sphere
she and her husband were deter
mined to force themselves in spite
of the humbleness of their origin.
The fatherof the ‘Right Honourable’
Count Roszynski was a valet, who,
having been a great favourite with
his master, amassed sufficient mo
ney to enable his son, who inherited
it, to purchase the extensive estate
of Olgogrod, and with it the sole
proprietorship of IGOO human be
ings. Over them he had complete
c ontrol; and, when maddened by
oppression, if they dared resent,
woe unto them ! They could be
thrust into a noisome dungeon, and
chained by one hand from the light
of day for years, until their very ex
istence was forgotten by all except
the jailor who brought daily their
pitcher of water and morsel of dry
bread.
Some of the old peasants say that
Sava, father of the young peasant
girl, who stands by the side of an
old woman, at the head of her com
panions in the court-yard, is immur
ed in one of these subterranean jails.
Sava was always about the Count,
who, it was said, had brought him
from some distant land, with his lit
tle motherless child. Sava placed
her under the care of an old man
and woman, who had the charge of
the bees in a forest near the palace,
where became occasionally to visit
her. But once, six long months
passed, and he did not come ! In
vain Anielkawept, in vain she cried,
‘Where is my father?’ No father
appeared. At last it was said that
Sava had been sent to a long dis
tance with a large sum of money,
and had been killed by robbers. In
the ninth year of one’s life the most
poignant grief is quickly effaced,
and after six months Anielka ceas
ed to grieve. The old people were
verv kind to her, and loved her as
if she were their own child. That
Anielka might be chosen to serve
in the palace never entered their
head, for who would be so barba
rous as to take the child away from
an old woman of seventy and her
aged husband ?
To-day was the first time :n her
life that she had been so far from
home. She looked curiously on all
she saw’, —particularly on a young
lady about her own age, beautifully
dressed, and a youth of eighteen,
who had apparently just returned
from a ride on horseback, as he held
a whip in his hand, whilst walking
up and down examining the boys
who were placed in a row before
him. He chose two amongst them,
and the boys were led away to the
stables.
‘And I choose this young girl,’
said Constantia Roszvnski, indica
ting Anielka ; ‘she is the prettiest of
them all. Ido not like ugly faces
about me.’
When Constantia returned to the
drawing-room, she gave orders fur
Anielka to be taken to her apart
ments, and placed under the tute
lage of Mademoiselle Dufour, a
French maid, recently arrived from
the first milliner’s shop in Odessa.
Poor girl! when they separated her
from her adopted mother, and began
leading her towards the palace, she
rushed with a shriek of agon v from
them, and grasped her old protec
tress tightly in her arms! They were
torn violently assunder, and the
Count Roszvnski quietly asked, “ Is
it her daughter, or grand-daughter.”
“ Neither, my lord, —only an
adopted child.”
4 * But who will lead the old wo
man home, as she is blind ?”
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1850.
“ 1 will, my lord,” replied one of
his servants, bowing to the ground :
“ I will let her walk bv the side of
my horse, arid when she is in her
cabin, she will have her old hus
band, they must take care of each
other.”
So saying, he moved a wav with
the rest of the peasants and domes
tics. But the poor old woman had
to be dragged along by two men;
for in the midst of her shrieks and
tears she had fallen to the ground,
almost without life.
And Anielka? They did not al
low her to weep long. She had
now to sit all day in the corner of a
room to sew. She was expected to
do every thing well from the first;
and if she did not, she was kept
without food or cruelly punished.
Morning and evening she had to
help Aid lie. Dufour to dress and un
dress her mistress. But Conslan
tia, although she looked with hau
teur on every body beneath her,
and expected to be slavishly obeyed
was tolerably kind to the poor or
phan. Her true torment began,
when, on leaving her young lady’s
room, she had to assist Mdlle. Du
four. Notwithstanding that she
tried sincerely to do her best, she
was never able to satisfy her, or to
draw irom her aught but harsh re
proaches.
Thus two months passed.
One day Mdlle. Dufour went very
early toeonfession, and Anielka was
seized with an eager longing to gaze
once more in pence and freedom on
the beautiful blue sky and green
trees, as she used to do when the
first ravs of the rising sun streamed
in at the window of the little forest
cabin. She ran into the garden.—
Enchanted by the sight of so many
beautiful flowers, she went farther
and farther along the smooth and
winding walks, till she entered the
forest. She who had been so long
away from her beloved trees,roamed
where they were thickest. Here
she gazed boldly around. She
sees no one ! She is alone ! A lit
tle farther on she meets with a rivu
let which flows through the forest.
He re she remembers that she has
not yet prayed. She kneels down,
and with hands clasped and eyes up
turned she begins to sing in a sweet
voice the Hymn to the Virgin.
As she went on she sang louder
and with increased fervour. Her
breast heaved with emotion, her
eyes shone with unusual brilliancy ;
but when the hymn was finished,
she lowered her head, tears began
to fall over her cheeks, until at last
she sobbed aloud. She might have
remained long in this condition had
not someone come behind her say
ing, “Do not cry my poor girl; it is
better to sing than to weep.” The
intruder raised her head, wiped her
eyes with his handkerchief, and
kissed her on the forehead.
It was the Count’s son Leon !
“ You must not cry, ” he contin
ued be calm, and when the fili
pony (pedlars) come, buy yourself
a pretty handkerchief.” He then
gave her a rouble and walked away.
Anielka, after concealing the coin in
her corset, ran quickly back to the
palace.
Mdlle. Dufour had
not yet returned, and Anielka seated
herself in her accustomed corner.
She often took out the rouble to
gaze fondly upon it. and set to work
to make a fi;tie purse, which, having
fastened to a ribbon, she hung round
her neck. She did not dream of
spending it, for it would have deeply
grieved her to part with the gilt ot
the only person in the whole house
who had looked kindly on her.
From this time Anielka remained
always in her young mistress’s room;
she was better dressed, and Mdlle.
Dufour ceased to persecute her. To
what did sheowe thissudden change?
Perhaps to a remonstrance lrom
Leon. Constantia ordered Anielka
to sit beside her whilst taking her
lessons from her music-masters, and
on her going to the drawing-room,
she was left m her apartments alone.
Being thus more kindly treated,
Anielka lost by degrees her timidity;
and when her young mistress, whilst
occupied over some embroidery,
would tell her to sing, she did so
boldly and with a steady voice. A
greater favour awaited her. Con
stat] ti a, when unoccupied, began
teaching Anielka to read in Polish;
and Mdlle. Dufour thought it politic
to follow the example of her mistress
and began to teach her French.
Meanwhile, anew kind of torment
commenced. Having easily learnt
the two languages, Anielka acquir
ed an irresistible passion for reading.
Books had for her the charm of the
forbidden fruit, for site could only
read by stealth at night, or when her
mistress went visiting in the neigh
bourhood. The kindness hitherto
shown her, fora time, began to re
lax. Leon had set off on a tour,
accompanied by his old tutor, and a
bosom friend as young, as gay, and
as thoughtless as himself.
So passed the two years of Leon’s
absence. When he returned Aniel
ka was seventeen, and had become
tail and handsome. No one who
had not seen her during this time,
would have recognised her. Os this
number was Leon. In the midst of
perpetual and change, it was
not possible he could have remem
bered a poor peasant girl; but in
Anielka’s memory he had remained
as a superior being, as her benefac
tor, as the only one who had spoken
kindly to her, when poor, neglected,
forlorn ! When in some French ro
mance she met with a young man of
twenty, of a noble character and
handsome appearance,she bestowed
on hi in the name of Leon. The
recolloction of the kiss he had given
her ever brought a burning blush to
her cheek, and made her sigh
deeply.
One day Leon came to his sister’s
room. Anielka was there, seated in
a corner at work. Leon himself had
considerably changed ; from a boy
he had grown into a man. “I sup
pose Constantin,” he said, “you
have been told what a good boy 1
am, and with what docility I shall
submit myself to the matrimonial
yoke, which the Count and Coun
tess have provided for me?” and he
began whistling and danced some
o o
steps of the Mazurka.
“ Perhaps you will be refused, ”
said Constantin coldly.
“Refused! Oh, no. The old
Princebas already given his consent,
and as for his daughter, she is des
perately in love with me. Look at
these moustachios, could anything be
more irresistible ?” and be glanced
in the glass and twirled them round
his fingers; then continuing in a
graver tone, he said, “To tell the
sober truth, 1 cannot say that I re
ciprocate. My intended is not at
all to triy taste. She is nearly thirty,
and so thin tlTat whenever 1 look at
her, 1 am reminded of mv old tutor’s
anatomical sketches. But, thanks
to her Parisian dress-maker, she
makes up a tolerably good figure,
and looks well in a Cachemere. Os
all things, you know, I wished for
a wife with an imposing appear
ance, and I don’t care about love.
I find it’s not fashionable, and only
exists in the exalted imagination of
poets.”
“Surely people are in love with
one another sometimes,” said the
sister.
“Sometimes,” repeated Anielka,
inaudibly. The dialogue had pain
fullv affected her, and she knew not
why. Her heart beat quickly, and
her face was flushed, and made her
look more lovely than ever.
“Perhaps. Os course we pro
fess to adore every pretty woman,”
Leon added abruptly. “ But my
dear sister, what a charming ladies’
maid you have !” He approached
the corner where Anielka sat, and
bent on her a coarse familiar smile.
Anielka, allhough a serf was dis
pleased,and returned it with aglance
full of dignity. But when her eyes
rested on the youth’s handsome face
a feeling, which had been gradually
and silently growing in her young
and inexperienced heart, predomi
nated over her pride and displea
sure. She wished ardently to re
call herself to Leon’s memory, and
half unconsciously raised her hand
to the little purse which ahvays
hung round her neck. She took from
it the rouble lie had given her.
“See!” shouted Leon, “what a
droll girl; how proud she is of her
riches! Why, girl, you are a wo
man of fortune, mistress of a whole
rouble!”
‘ I hope she came by it honestly,’
said the old Countess, who at this
moment entered.
At this insinuation, shame and in
dignation kept Anielka., for a time,
silent. She replaced the money
quickly in its purse, with the bitter
thought that the few happy mo
ments which had been so iodelliblv
stamped upon her memory, had
been utterly forgot ton by Leon. —
To clear herself she at “last stam
mered out, seeing they all looked at
her inquiringly, ‘Do you not re
member, M. Leon, that } T ou gave
me this coin two years ago in the
garden V
‘How odd!’ exclaimed Leon,
laughing, ‘do you expect me to re
member all the pretty girls to whom
l have given money if But 1 sup
pose you are right, or you would
not have treasured up this unfortu
nate rouble as if it were a holy relic.
You should not be a miser, child;
money is made to be spent.’
‘ Pray, put an end to these jokes,’
said Constantia impatiently ; ‘1 like
this girl, and 1 will not have her
teased. She understands mv ways
better than any one, and often puts
me in good humour with her beau
tiful voice.’
‘Sing something forme, pretty
damsel,’ said Leon, 4 and I will give
you another rouble, anew and shi
ning one.’
, Sing instantly,’ said Constantia
imperiously.
At this command Anielka could
no longer stifle her grief; she cov
ered her face with her hand and
wept violently.
‘Why do you cry?’ asked her
mistress impatiently; ‘I cannot
bear it; I desire you to do as you
are bid.’
It might have been from the con
stant habit of slavish obedience, or
a strong feeling of pride, but Aniel
ka instantly ceased weeping. There
was a moment’s pause, during
which the old Countess went grum
bling out of the room. Anielka
chose the Hymn to the Virgin she
had warbled in the garden, and as
she sung she prayeddervently ; she
prayed for peace, for deliverance
from the acute emotions which had
been aroused within her. Her ear
nestness gave an intensity of ex
pression to the melody, which affec
ted her listeners. They were silent l
for some moments after its conclu
sion. Leon walked up and down
with his arms folded on his breast.
Was it agitated with pity for the ac
complished young slave ? or by any
other tender emotion ? What fol
lowed will show.
‘My and ear Constantia.* he said
suddenly stoppin * before his sister
and kissing her hand, ‘ will you do
me a favor?’
Constantia looked enquiring in
her brother’s face without speaking.
* Give me this girl V
1 Impossible!’
‘I am quite in earnest,’ continued
Leon, ‘ l wish to offer her to my
future wife. In the Prince her fath
er’s private chapel they are much
in want of a solo soprano.’
*1 shall not give her to you,* said
Constantia.
‘Not as a free gift, but in exchange.
I will give you instead, a charming
young negro —so black. The wo
men in St Petersburg and in Paris,
raved about him, but I was inexo
rable; I half refused him to my
princess.’
‘No, no,’ replied Constantia ; ‘I
shall be lonely without this girl 1
am so used to her.’
‘Nonsense ! you can get peasant
girls by the dozen ; but a black page,
with teeth whiter than ivory, and
purer than pearls ; a perfect origi
nal in his wav ; you surely cannot
withstand. You will kill half the
province with envy. A negro ser
vant is the most fashionable thing
going, and yours will be the first
imported into the province.’
This argument was irresistible.
‘Well,’ replied Constantia, ‘when do
you think of taking her?*
“Immediately; to-day at five
o’clock,’ said Leon ; and he went
merrily out of the room. This then
was the result of his cogitation —of
Anielka’s Hymn to the Virgin.
Constantia ordered Anielka to pre
pare herself for the journey, with as
little emotion as it she had ex
changed away a lap-dog, or parted
w ith a parrot.
She obeyed in silence. Her heart
was full. ‘She went into the gard
en that she might relieve herself by
weeping unseen. With one hand
supporting her burning bead, and
the other pressed tightly against her
heart, V> stifle her sobs, she wander-
ed on mechanically till she found
herself by the side of the river. She
felt quickly for her purse, intending
to throw the rouble into the water,
but as quickly thrust it back again
for she could not bear to part with
the treasure. She felt us if without
it she would be still more an orphan.
Weeping bi.lerly, she leaned against
the tree which had once before wit
nessed her tears.
By degrees the stormy passion
within her gave place to calm re
flection. This day she was to go
awav; she was to dwell beneath
another roof, to serve another mis
tress. Humiliation ! ulwayshnmilia
tion! But at least it would bo
some change in her life. As she
thought of this, she returned hastily
to the palace that she might not, on
the last day of her servitude, incur
the anger of her young mistress.
Scarcely was Anielka attired in
her prettiest dress, when Constantia
came to her with a little box, from
which she took several gay-coloured
ribbons, and decked her in them
herself, that the serf might do her
credit in ihe new family. And
when Anielka, bending down to
her feet, thanked her, Constantia,
with marvellous condescension,
kissed her on her forehead. Even
Leon cast an admiring glance upon
her. His servant soon after came to
conduct her to the carriage, and
showing her where to seat herself,
they rolled oft’quickly towards Ra
da pol.
For the first time in her life Ani
elka rode in a carriage. Her head
turned quite giddy, she could not
look at the trees and fields as they
flew past her; but by degrees she
became more accustomed to it, and
the fresh air enlivening her spirits,
she performed the rest of the jour
ney in a tolerably happy state of
mind. At last they arrived in ihe
spacious court-yard before the Pal
ace of Radapol, the dwelling one of
a rich and powerful Polish family,
now partly in ruin. It was evident
even to Anielka, that the marriage
was one for money on the one side,
and for rank on other.
Among other renovations at the
castle, occasioned by the approach
ing marriage, t he owner of it, Prince
Pelazia, had obtained singers for the
chapel, and had engaged Signor
Justiniani, an Italian, as chapel
master. Immediately on Leon’s
arrival, Anielka was presented to
him. lie made her sing a scale,
and pronounced her voice to be ex
cellent.
Anielka found that, in Radapol,
she was treated with a little more
consideration than at Olgogrod, al
though she had often to submit to
the caprices of her new mistress,
and she found less time to read.
But to console herself, she gave all
her attention to singing, which she
practised several hours a day. Her
naturally great capacity, under the
guidance of the Italian, began to
develope itself steadily. Besides
sacred, he taught her operatic mu
sic. On one occasion Anielka sung
an aria in so impassioned and mast
erly a style, that the enraptured
Justiniani chipped his hands lot joy,
skipped about the room, and not
finding words enough to praise her,
exclaimed several times, ‘P/ima
Donna ! Prima Donna!’
But the lessons were interrupted.
The Princess’s wedding-day was
fixed upon, after which event she
and I.eon were to go to Florence,
and Anielka was to accompany
them. Alas ! feelings which gave
her poignant misery still clung to
her. She despised herself for her
weakness; hut she loved Leon. The
sentiment was too deeply implant
ed in her bosom to be eradicated ;
too strong to be resisted. It was
the first love of a young and guile
less heart, and had grown in silence
anddespair.
Anielka was most anxious lo
know something of her adopted pa
rents. Once, after the old prince
had heard her singing, he asked her
with great kindness about her home.
She replied, that she was an
and had been taken by force from
those who had so kindly supplied
the place of parents. Her apparent
attachment to the old bee-keeper
and his wife so pleased the prince,
that he said, ‘You are a good child,
Anielka, and to-morrow I will send
you to visit them. You shaJLI taks
them some presents.’
NUMBER 26.