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THE TlllTir IBffHKf
VOLUME 11.
Irkrtrii ‘piirtrij.. •
THE SON OF SORROW.
A FABLE FROM THE SWEDISH.
AJI lonclv, excluded from llca\en,
Sit Sorrow ono day <>n the strand ;
j^ n d ( mournfully hurried in thought,
Formed a figure of cl iy with her hand.
JoVK appeared.’ 44 What isthi*?” he demands;
She replied. “’Tis a figure of clay.
Show thy pow’r on the work of my hand ;
Give it life, mighty Father, I pray!”
” Let him live !’ 4 said the God. 4 ‘ Cut. observe,
A I Uni him, he mine must remain.”
“.Not*o. M Sorrow said , an 1 implor’d,
“Oh ! let me my offspring retain !
“’Tis to me his creation he owes.”
“Yes,” said Jove,“but ’twas I pave him breath.”
A* he spoke, Earth appears on the scene,
And observing the image thus saith:
•‘From me—from my bosom lie's torn,
I demand, then, what’s taken from me.”
“This strife shall he settled,” said Jove ;
“ Let Saturn decide ’tween the three.”
Tins sentence the Judge gave. •’ To all
He belongs, so let no one complain ;
Th' 1 life, Jove, Thou gav'st him shall Thou
Wnh his soul, when he dies, take again.
“Thou, Earth, shalt receive hack his frame.
At pence in thy lap he’ll recline:
Cut during his whole troubled lift*,
lie shall surely, O Sorrow’ Le thine !
“His features thy look shall reflect;
Thy sigh shall he mixed with his breath ;
And he ne’r shall be parted from thee
Until he reposes in death 1”
MORAL
The sentence of Heaven, then is this:
And hence Man lies under the sod ;
Though Sorrow possesses him. living,
He returns both to Earth and to God.
THE SUMMER SABBATH.
The woods my Church, to-day—my preacher
bough*,*
Whispering liij.h homilies through leafy lips;
And wlusppcrer*, in every bee that sips
Bw®rt cordial from the tiniest flower tint grows
’Mi l the young grass, and, in each bird, that dips
Light pinions in the sunshine as it throws
(told showers u(>on green trees. Ail ttiings around
Are full of prayer! Ttie very blush which tips
Yon laowy cloud, is bright with adoration !
The grass breathes incense forth, and all the
ground
ha wid--! alter; while the stillest sound
It vibrating with praise. No profanation
Eetcb-s tlu thoughts, whilst thus to ears and eyes
Nature her music and her prayer supplies !
Iclrrtch (T'nlc.
THE SERF OF POBEREZE.
CONCLUDED.
Anielka. wascnrried almost sense
less back to the carriage, which
quickly returned with her to the
castle. There she revived a little;
bat the recollection that she was
now quite alone in the world, almost
drove her to despair.
Her master's wedding and the
journey to Florence were a dream
to her. Though the strange sights
ofa strange city slowly restored her
perceptions, they did not her cheer
fulness. She felt as if she could
no longer endure the misery of her
M*; she prayed to die.
‘Why are you so unhappy ?’ said
Count Leon kindly to her, one
(lav.
so have explained the cause of
her wretchedness would have been
death indeed.
*1 Hm going to give you a treat,’
continued Leon. ‘A celebrated
is to appear to night in the
d'eatre. 1 will send you to hear
I,er * and afterwards you shall sing
10 me what you remember of her
performances*/
L Anielka went. Tt was anew era
her existence. Herself, by tliis
hme, an artist, she could forget her
? r iefs, enter with her whole
into the beauties of the art she
heard practised in perfection
° r the first time. To music a chord
f es ponded in her breast which vi
v,ated powerfully. During the per
formances she was at one moment
Me and trembling, tears rushing
into her eyes ; at another, she was
re adv to throw herself at the feet of
fte cantatrice, in an ecstacy of ad
miration. ‘Prima donna,’ —by that
lame the public called on her to re
vive their applause, and it was the
*me, thought Anielka, that Justini,
bestowed upon her. Could
*l*o be a prima donna ? What
1 glorious destiny ? To be able to
o, nniunieate one’s own emotions
0 Masses of entranced Tisteners ;to
in them, by the power of
voice, grief, love, terror.
Druntrh to literature, Science nnii M, tjje sqhs nf Cenijitranrf, (Dili fdlnmsjjiji, ftlnuonnj null imral 3ntelligrnre.
Strange thoughts con tinned to
haunt her on return home. She
was unable to sleep. She formed
desperate plans. At last she re
solved to throw off the yoke of ser
vitude, ad ihe still more painful
slavery of feelings which her pride
disdained. Having learnt the ad
dress ofthe prima donna, she went
early one morning to her house.
On entering she said, in French,
almost incoherently, so “rent was
her agitation—‘Madam, I am a poor
serf belonging to a Polish family
whe have lately arrived in Florence.
1 have escaped from them ; protect,
shelter me. They say I can sing.’
The Signora Teresinn, a warm
hearted passionate Italian, was in
terested by her ariless earnestness.
She said, ‘Poor child ! you must
have suflered much/—she look Ani
elka’s hand in hers. ‘You say you
can sing; let me hear you.’ Ani
elka seated herself on an ottoman.
She clasped her hands over her
knees, and tears fell into her lap.
With plaintive paihos, and perfect
truth of intonation, she prayed in
song. The Hymn to the Virgin
seemed to Teresina to be offered up
by inspiration.
The Signora was astonished.
‘Where,* she asked, in wonder,
‘were you taught V
Anielka narrated her history, and
when she had finished, the prima
donna spoke so kindly to her that
she fedt as if she had known her lor
years. Anielka was Tere si tin’s
guest that day and the next. Afier
the Opera, on the third day, lhe
prima donna made her sit beside
her, and said :
‘1 think you are a very good girl,
and you shall stay with me always.’
The girl was almost beside her
self withjov.
‘We will never port. Do you
consent, Anielka?*
‘Do not call me Anielka. Give
me instead some Italian name.’
‘Well, then, be Glovanna. The
dearest friend I ever bad —but
whom 1 have lost—was named Gio
vatina,* said the prima donna.
‘Then, l will be another Giovan
na to you.’
Teresina then said, M hesitated to
receive you at first, for your sake as
well as mine ; but vou are safe now.
I learn that your master and mis
tress, after searching vainly for you,
have returned to Poland.’
From this time Anielka commenc
ed an entirely new life. Site took
lessons in singing every day from
the Signor, and got an engagement
to appear in inferior characters at
the theatre. She had now her o\\ n
income, and her own servant —she,
who had till then been obliged to
serve herself. She acquired the
Italian language rapidly, and soon
passed for a native of the country.
So passed three years. New and
varied impressions failed, however,
to blot out the old ones. Anielka
arrived at great perfection in her
singing,.and even began to surpass
the prima donna, who was losing
her voice from weakness of the chest.
This sad discovery changed the
cheerful temper of Teresina. She
ceased to sing in public; for she
could not endure to excite pity,
where she had formerly commanded
admiration.
bhe determined to retire. * You,’
she said to Anielka, ‘ shall now as
sert your claim to the first rank in
the vocal art. You will maintain it.
You surpass me. Often, on hearing
you sititr, I have scarcely been abie
to stifle a feeling of jealousy.’
Anielka placed her hand on Te
resina’s shoulder, and kissed her.
* Ves,* continued Teresina, re
gardless of everything but the bright
future she was shaping for her friend.
4 We will go to Vienna—there you
will he understood and appreciated.
You shall sing at the Italian Opera,
and l will he by your side—unknown,
no longer sought, worshipped—hut
will clory in your triumphs. They
will be a"repetition of my own ; for
have l not taught you? Will they
not be the result of my work ? ’
Though Anielka’s ambition was
fired, her heart was softened, and
she wept violently.
Five months had scarcely elapsed
when a furore was created in Vien
na by the first appearance, at the
Italian Opera, of the Signora Gio
vanna. Her enormous salary at
once afforded her the means of
even extravagant expenditure. Her
SAVANNAH, GA„ SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER $ 1850.
hau *hty treatment of male admirers
only attracted new ones ; but in the
midst of her triumphs she thought
ofien of ihe time when the poor or
phan of Pobereze was cared for by
nobody. This remembrance made
her receive the flatteries of the crowd
with an ironical smile; their fine
speeches fell coldly on her ear, their
eloquent looks made no impression
on her heart ; that, no change could
alter, no temptation win.
In the flood of unexpected success
anew misfortune overwhelmed her.
Since their arrival at ViennafTere
sina’s health rapidly declined, and
in the sixth month of Anielka’s ope
ratic reign she expired, leaving .all
her wealth, which was considerable,
lo her friend.
Once more Anielka was alone in
the world. Despite all the honors
and blandishments of her position,
the old feeling of desolateness came
upon her. The new shock destroyed
her health. She was unable to ap
pear on the stage. To sing was a
painful effort; she grew indifferent
to what passed around her. Her
greatest consolation was in succour
ing the poor and friendless, and her
generosity was most conspicuous to
all young orphan girls without for
tune. She had never ceased lo love
her native land, and seldom ap
peared in society, unless it was to
meet her countrymen. If ever she
sang, it was in polish.
A year had elapsed since thedeath
of the Signora Teresina when the
Count Selka, a rich noble of Volk v
nia, at that lime in Vienna, solicited
fier presence at a party. It was
impossible to refuse the Count and
his lady, from whom she had re
ceived great kindness. She went.
When in their saloons, filled with
all the fashion and aristocracy in
Vienna, the name of Giovanna was
announced, a general murmur was
heard. She entered, pale and lan
guid, and proceeded between the
two rows made for her by the ad
miring assembly, to the seatofhonor
beside the mistress of the house.
Shortly after, the Count Selka led
her to the piano. She sat down be
fore it, and thinking what she should
sing, glanced round upon the as
sembly. Site could not help feeling
that the admiration which beamed
from the faces around her was the
work of her own merit, for had she
neglected the great gift of nature —
her voice, she could not have ex
cited it. With a blushing cheek,
and eves sparkling with honest
pride, she struck the piano with a
firm hand, and from her seemingly
weak and delicate chest poured
forth a touching I*ollßll melody, with
a voice pure, sonorous, and plain
live. Tears were in many eyes,
and the heating of every heart was
quickened.
The song was finished, but the
wondering silence was unbroken.
Giovanna leaned exhausted on the
arm of the chair and cast down her
eyes. On again raising them, she
perceived a gentleman who gazed
fixedly at her, as if he still listened
to echoes which had not yet died
within him. The master of the
house, to dissipate his thoughtful
ness, led him towards Giovanna.
4 Let me present to you, Signora,’
he said, 4 a countryman, the Count
Leon Iloszynski.’
The lady trembled ; she silently
bowed, fixed her eyes on the ground
and dared not ra’sethem. Pleading
indisjKOsiiion which was fully justi
fied by her palid features, she soon
after withdrew.
When on the following day Gio
vanna’s servant announced the
Count Selka and Iloszynski, a pe
culiar smile played on her lips ; and
when they entered, she received the
!alter with the cold and formal po
liteness of a stranger. Controlling
ihe feelings of her heart, she
schooled her features to an expres
sion of in(lifferen.ee. it was mani
fest from Leon’s manner, that with
out the remotest recognition, an in
definable presentiment regarding
her possessed him. The Counts
had called to know if Giovanna had
recovered from her indisposition.—
Leon begged to be permitted to call
again.
Where was his wife? why did
he never mention her ? Giovanna
coptinually asked herselfthese ques
tions when they had departed.
A few nights after, the Count
Leon arrived sad and thoughtful,
He prevailed on Giovanna to sing
one of her Polish songs ; which she
told him had been taught, when a
child, by her muse. Roszynski un
able to restrain the expression of on
intense admiration he had long felt
Irantically seized her hand ex
claimed, ‘ I love vou !’
She withdrew it from his grasp,
remained silent for a few minutes,
and then said slowly, distinctly and
ironically, * But I do not love you
Count Roszynski.’
Leon rose from his seat. He
pressed his hands to his brow and
was silent. Giovanna remained
calm and tranquil. ‘ltis a penaltv
from Heaven,’ continued Leon, as if
speaking to himself, ‘ for not having
fulfilled my duty as a husband to
wards one whom I chose voluntari
ly, but without reflection, I wronged
her, and am punished.’
Giovanna turned her eyes upon
him. Leon continued, ‘Young,
and with a heart untouched, I mar
ried a princess about ten years older
than myself, of eccentric habits and
bad temper. She treated me as an
inferior. She dissipated the fortune
hoarded up with so much care by
my parents, and yet was ashamed
on account of my origin to be called
by my name. Happily for me, she
was fond of visiting and amuse
ments. Otherwise, to escape from
her, I might have become a gambler
or worse ; but to avoid meeting
her, I remained at home—for there
she seldom was. At first from en
nui, but afterwards from real de
light in ihe occupation, I gave my
self up to study. Reading formed
my mind and heart. I became a
changed being. Some months ago
my father died, my sister went to
Lithuania, whilst my mother, in her
old age, and with her ideas, was
quite incapable of understanding
my sorrow. So when my wife
went !o the baths for the benefit of
her ruined healih, 1 came here in
the hope of meeting with some of
my former friends—l saw you —’
Giovanna blushed like one detec
ted ; hut speedily recovering herself
asked with calm pleasantry, ‘Surely
you do not number me among your
former friends?*
‘ I know not. I have been be
wildered. It is strange; but from
the moment I saw you at Count
Seiko’s, a powerful instinct of love
overcame me ; not anew feeling;
but as if some latent, long-hid, unde
veloped sentiment had burst forth
into an uncontrollable passion. J
love, 1 adore you. I ’
The Prima Donna interrupted
him—not with speech, but with a
look which awed, which chilled him.
Pride, scorn, irony satin her smile.
Satire darted from her eyes. After
a pause, she repeated slowly and
pointedly, ‘Love me Count Roszyn
ski?’
4 Such is my destiny,’ he replied.
4 Nor despite }*our scorn would I
struggle against it. I feel it is my
fate ever to love you ; I fear it is my
fate never to be loved by you. It is
dreadful.’
Giovanna witnessed the Count’s
emotion with sadness. 4 To have,’
he said mournfully, 4 one’s first
pure, ardent, passionate affection
unrequited, scorned, made a jestof,
is indeed a bitterness almost equal
to death.*
She made a strong effort to con
trol her emotion. Indeed she con
trolled ii so well as to speak the rest
with a sort of gaiety.
4 You have at least been candid,
Count Itoszynski; I will imitate you
by telling a little history that oc
curred in your country. There
was a poor girl born and bred a serf
to her wealthy lord and master. —
When scarcely fifteen years old she
was torn from a state of happy rus
tic freedom—the freedom of humili
ty and content —to be one of the
courtly slaves of the Palace. Those
who did not laugh at her scolded her.
One kind word was vouchsafed to
her, and that came from the Lord’s
son. She nursed it and treasured
it; till from long Concealing and
restraining her feelings, she at last
found that gratitude had changed
into a sincere affection. But what
does the man of the woYld care for
tfie love of a serf? It does not even
flatter his vanity. The young no
bleman did not understand the
source of her tears and her grief,
and he made a present of her as he
wou Id have done of some animal to
his betrothed.’
Leon agitated and somewhat en
lightened, would have interrupted
her; hut Giovanna said, ‘Allow me
to finish my tale. Providence did
not abandon this poor orphan, but
permitted her to rise to distinction
by the talent with which she was
endowed by nature. The wretched
serf of Pobereze became a celebra
ted Italian Cantatrice. Then * her
former lord meeting her in society,
and seeing her admired and cour
ted by all the world, without know
ing Who she really was, was afflicted
as it by the dictates of Heaven,
with a love for this same girl,—with
a guilty love’—
And Giovanna rose as she said
this, to remove herself further from
her admirer.
‘No, no!’ he replied earnestly;
‘ with a pure and holy passion.*
‘ Impossible!’ returned Giovanna.
‘ Are you not married ?’
Roszynski vehemently lore a let
ter from his vest, and handed it to
Giovanna. It was sealed with black
for it announced the death of his
wife at the baths. It had only ar
rived that morning.
‘ You have lost no time/ said the
cantatrice, endeavoring to conceal
her feelings under an iron mask of
reproach.
There was a pause. Each dared
not speak. The Count knew—hut
without actually and practically be
lieving what seemed incredible—
That Anielka and Giovanna were
the same -person— his slave. That
terrible relationship checked him.
Anielka, too, had played her part
to the end of endurance. The Jong
cherished tenderness—the faithful
love of her life could no longer be
wholly mastered. Hitherto they
had spoken in Italian. She now
said in Polish :
‘You have a right, my Lord Ro
szvnski, to that poor Anielka who
escaped from the service of your
wife in Florence; you can force her
back to your palace, lo its meanest
work ; but’—
‘Have mercy on me!’ continued
Leon.
‘ But/continued the Self of Po
bereze, firmly,‘you cannot force
me to love you.’
•/
*Do not mock—do not torture
me more; you are sufficiently re
venged. I will not offend you by
importunity. You must indeed
hate me ! But remember that we
Poles wished to give freedom loour
serfs; and for that very reason out*
country was invaded and dismem
bered by despotic powers. We
must therefore Continue to suffer sla
very as it exists in Russia; but.
soul and body, we are averse to it t
and when our country once more
becomes free, be assured no shadow
of slavery will remain in the land.
Curse then our enemies, and pity
us that we stand in such a desperate
position between Russian bayonets
and Siberia, and the hatred of our
C J
serfs.
So saying, and without waiting
for a reply Leon rushed from the
room. The door was closed. Gio
vanna listened to the sound of his
rapid footsteps till they died in the
street. She would have followed,
but dared not. Shi ran to the win
dow. Uoszvnski’s carriage was
rolling rapidly away, and she ex
claimed vainly, 4 1 love you Leon ; I
loved you always!’
Her tortures were unendurable.
To relieve them she hastened to her
desk, and wrote these words:—
* Dearest Leon forgive me ; let
the past be forever forgotton. Re*
turn to your Anielka. She always
has been, ever will be yours!’
She dispatched the missive.—
Was it too late ? or would it bring
him back? In the latter hope she
retires to her chamber to execute a
little project.
Leon was in despair. He saw
he had been too premature in so
soon declaring his passion after the
news of his wife's death, and vowed
he would not see Anielka again for
several months. To calm his agi
tation, he had ridden some miles into
the country. When he returned to
his hotel ho found her note. With
the wild delight it had darted into
his soul, he flew back to her.
On regaining her saloon anew
and terrible vicissitude seemed to
sport with his passion : she was no
where to be seen. Had the Italian
cantatriee fled ? Again he was in
despair ; siupified with disappoint
ment. As lie stood uncertain how
to act in the midst of the floor, he
heard as from a distance, an Avr
Maria poured forth in tones he half
recognized. The sounds brought
back to him a host of recollections ;
a weeping serf, the garden of his
own palace. In a state of new rap
ture he followed the voice. He
traced it to an inner chamber, and
he there beheld the lovelv singer
kneeling, in ilie costume of a Polish
serf. She rose, greeted Leo it with
a touching smite, and stepped for
ward with serious bashfulness.*—
Leou extended his arms ; she sank
into them ; and in that fond embrace
all past wrongs and sorrows were
forgotten ! Anielka drew from her
bosom a little Purse and took from
it a piece of silver. It was tin* rou
ble. AW, Leon did not sm le at it.
He comprehended the sneredness of
this little gift; and some tears of re
pentance fell upon Anielka’s band.
A few months after, Leon wrote
to the steward of Olgogrod to pre
pare everything splendidly for the
reception of Ins second wife. Hq
concluded his letter with tlieso
words: ‘l understand that in the
dungeon beneath my palace there
are some unfortunate men, who
were imprisoned during my father's
life time. Let them be instSlidy lib
erated. This is mv first act of grati
tude to God, who lias so infinitely
blessed me !’
Anielka longed ardently to behold
her native land. They left Vienna
immediately after the wedding, al
though it was in the middle of Janu
ary.
it was already quite dark when
the carriage, with its four horses,
stopped in front of the portico of die
Palace of Olgogrod. Whilst tho
footman wns opening the door on
one side, a beggar soliciting almsap
peared at the other where Anielka
was seated. Happy to perform a
good action, as she crossed tho
threshold of her new home, she gave
him some money; but the man, in
stead of thanking her, returned her
bounty with a savage laugh, at the
same time scowling at her in the
fiercest manner from beneath hi*
thick and shaggy brows. Tho
strangeness of this circumstance
sensibly affected Anielka,and cloud
ed her happiness. Leon soothed
and re-assnred Iter. In the arms of
her beloved husband, she forgot all
but the happiness of being the idol
of his affections.
Fatigue and excitement made the
night most welcome. All was dark
and silent around the palace, and
some hours of the night had passed,
when suddenly flames burst forth
from several parts of the building at
once. The palace was enveloped
in fire \ it furiously. Tho
flames mounted higher and higher |
the windows cracked with a fearful
sound, aticl the smoke penetrated
into the most remote apartments.
A single figure of a man was seen
stealing over the snow, which lay
like a winding sheet on the solitary
waste ; his cautious steps W ere heard
on the frozen snow as it Crisped be
neath his tread. It was the beggar
who had accosted Anielka. On a
rising ground* he turned to gaze on
the terrible scene. ‘No more unfor
tunate wretches will now be doomed
to pass their lives in your and ungeons,*
he exclaimed. ‘ What was wn/crime?
Reminding my master of the low
ness of his birfh. For this they tore
me from my child—my darling little
Anielka; they had no pity even for
her orphan state; let them perish,
ail! *
Suddenly a young and beautiful
creature rushes wildly to one of the
principal windows! she makes a.
violent effort to escape. F<>r a mo
ment her lovely form, clothed in
white,shines in terrible reliefagainst
the background of blazing curtains
and walls of fire* and as instantly
sinks back into the blazing element.
Behind her is another figure, vainly
endeavoring to aid her, —be perishes
also ; neither are ever seen again f
This appalling tragedy horrified
even the perpetrator of the crime.
He rushed from the place; and as
he heard the cra-h of the fulling*
walls, he closed his ears with his
hands, and darted on faster and
faster*
The next dav some peasants dis
covered the body of a roan froaeti
NUMBER 27.