Poland -- History -- Stanislaus II Augustus, 1764-1795 -- Fiction
The man having withdrawn, Thaddeus told Mrs. Robson, he should next
defray the smallest part of the vast debt he must ever owe to her
parental care.
"Oh, bless your honor, it goes to my heart to take a farthing of you!
but these poor children," cried she, laying a hand on each, and her
eyes glistening, "they look up to me as their all here; and my
quarter-day was yesterday, else, dear sir, I should scorn to be like
Doctor Vincent, and take your money the moment you offer it."
"My good madam," returned Sobieski, giving her a chair, "I am
sensible of your kindness: but it is your just due; and the payment
of it can never lessen your claim on my gratitude for the maternal
care with which you have attended me, a total stranger."
"Then, there, sir," said she, looking almost as ashamed as if she
were robbing him, when she laid it on the table; "there is my bill. I
have regularly set down everything. Nanny will bring it to me." And
quite disconcerted, the good woman hurried out of the room.
Thaddeus looked after her with reverence.
"There goes," thought he, "in that lowly and feeble frame, as
generous and noble a spirit: as ever animated the breast of a
princess! Here, Nanny," said he, glancing his eye over the paper,
"there is the gold, with my thanks; and tell your grandmother I am
astonished at her economy."
This affair over, the count was relieved of a grievous load; and
turning the remaining money in his hand, how he might replenish the
little stock before it were expended next occupied his attention.
Notwithstanding the pawnbroker's civil treatment, he recoiled at
again presenting himself at his shop. Besides, should he dispose of
all that he possessed, it might not be of sufficient value here to
subsist him a month. He must think of some source within himself that
was not likely to be so soon exhausted. To be reduced a second time
to the misery which he had endured yesterday from suspense and
wretchedness, appeared too dreadful to be hazarded, and he ran over
in his memory the different merits of his several accomplishments.
He could not make any use of his musical talents; for at public
exhibitions of himself his soul revolted; and as to his literary
acquirements, his youth, and being a foreigner, precluded all hopes
on that head. At length he found that his sole dependence must rest
on his talents for painting. Of this art he had always been
remarkably fond; and his taste easily perceived that there were many
drawings exhibited for sale much inferior to those which he had
executed for mere amusement.
He decided at once; and purchasing, by the means of Nanny, pencils
and Indian ink, he set to work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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