Poland -- History -- Stanislaus II Augustus, 1764-1795 -- Fiction
The officers who supped with Sobieski left him at an early hour, that
he might retire to rest; but Thaddeus was neither able nor inclined
to benefit by their consideration. He lay down on his mattress, shut
his eyes, and tried to sleep; but the attempt was without success. In
vain he turned from side to side; in vain he attempted to restrict
his thoughts to one thing at once; his imagination was so roused by
anticipating the scenes in which he was to become an actor, that he
found it impossible even to lie still. His spirits being quite awake,
he determined to rise, and to walk himself drowsy.
Seeing his grandfather sound asleep, he got up and dressed himself
quietly; then stealing gently from the marquée, he gave the word in a
low whisper to the guard at the door, and proceeded down the lines.
The pitying moon seemed to stand in the heavens, watching the awaking
of those heroes who the next day might sleep to rise no more. At
another time, and in another mood, such might have been his
reflections; but now he pursued his walk with different thoughts: no
meditations but those of pleasure possessed his breast. He looked on
the moon with transport; he beheld the light of that beautiful
planet, trailing its long stream of glory across the intrenchments.
He perceived a solitary candle here and there glimmering through the
curtained entrance of the tents, and thought that their inmates were
probably longing with the same anxiety as himself for the morning's
dawn.
Thaddeus walked slowly on, sometimes pausing at the lonely footfall
of the sentinel, or answering with a start to the sudden challenge
for the parole; then lingering at the door of some of these canvas
dwellings, he offered up a prayer for the brave inhabitant who, like
himself, had quitted the endearments of home to expose his life on
this spot, a bulwark of liberty. Thaddeus knew not what it was to be
a soldier by profession; he had no idea of making war a trade, by
which a man may acquire subsistence, and perhaps wealth; he had but
one motive for appearing in the field, and one for leaving it,--to
repel invasion and to establish peace. The first energy of his mind
was a desire to maintain the rights of his country; it had been
inculcated into him when an infant; it had been the subject of his
morning thoughts and nightly dreams; it was now the passion which
beat in every artery of his heart. Yet he knew no honor in slaughter;
his glory lay in defence; and when that was accomplished, his sword
would return to its scabbard, unstained by the blood of a vanquished
or invaded people. On these principles, he was at this hour full of
enthusiasm; a glow of triumph flitted over his cheek, for he had felt
the indulgences of his mother's palace, had left her maternal arms,
to take upon him the toils of war, and risk an existence just blown
into enjoyment. A noble satisfaction rose in his mind; and with all
the animation which an inexperienced and raised fancy imparts to that
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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