370 The Wife of the Polish Patriot. [APRIL, 



Russian sword had anticipated the weary work of famine which her 

 hungry lands have beheld in our miserable hosts !" 



Night fell, and the boy sunk to sleep in his father's arms ; while the 

 soldier, as he sat by the expiring embers of the fire, conversing with his 

 wife, sank his voice to a half- whisper, in order not to disturb the child- 

 ish slumbers of his little son. The under-tone in which they spoke, the 

 , quiet of the chamber, and even the partial obscurity in which it was 

 enveloped, seemed to impart repose to the spirit of the soldier, and con- 

 fidence to that of his wife. 



Suddenly, the ceiling of the apartment glowed with a momentary 

 and ruddy light. Aimee started. The light died away, and she resumed 

 her gentle-toned discourse. Again that fierce and lurid glow shone into 

 the chamber, broader and redder than before, and so as to shew in ruddy 

 and minute brightness every article of furniture in the apartment, and 

 the features of its wondering occupants. It shone on the roused and 

 determined visage of the soldier, shed a ruddy hue on the ashy counte- 

 nance of his wife, and played, like an infernal light round the cheek of 

 a cherub, on that innocent, slumbering boy. Even the lance of the Pole, 

 which stood in an angle of the apartment, glanced brightly in the sud- 

 den blaze. " Well said well said !" exclaimed Ladoinski," dauntlessly, 

 and even gaily, addressing his characteristic weapon " thou hast not 

 shone out thy appeal in vain ; thy hint is kindly given." He was speed- 

 ily armed, and preparing to sally forth,, when an order from the French 

 sovereign, commanding the troops in that direction to keep their quarters, 

 relieved the fears of Aimee. 



It is not necessary to inflict upon the reader a lengthened description 

 of a scene so well known, and so often described, as the famous confla- 

 gration of Moscow. The blazing streets and palaces of the proud Russian 

 capital are only here glanced at, as an introduction to the character of 

 the humble Aimee Ladoinski, 



With no reckless or unwondering eye, it may easily be imagined, did 

 she stand gazing (on the fearful night of the 15th) over that awful city, 

 which wildly blazed, like one unbroken sheet of fire, only varied by the 

 inequalities of the buildings which fed its flames. " Alas !" said Aimee, 

 " alas ! for the mad ambition of man, that can drag thousands of his 

 fellow-beings over weary Scythian wastes like those you have traversed 

 to behold, as their reward, the destruction of this fair city. Oh ! turn, 

 my beloved Roman turn, ere too late, from following the car of this 

 heartless victor. Sheath the sword, which may serve indeed for the 

 despot's aggrandizement, but can hardly accomplish the liberty of your 

 country." " Oh, believe me, Aimee," answered the soldier, " it is no 

 light cause that has roused your husband to arms ; no senseless admira- 

 tion of the dazzling qualities of yon brilliant man ; no boyish transport 

 at wielding a lance ; no egotistical ambition, cowering beneath the 

 cloak of patriotism. The height of my personal ambition is to behold 

 the day when I need not blush, and hang my head to call myself a Pole. 

 Scarce have I been roused by the same rapturous and chivalrous spirit 

 now abroad among my countrymen. No mine is no awakening ; I 

 have never slumbered, during my country's degradation. I have sleep- 

 lessly watched for the moment of her emancipation. And what if 

 Heaven render this western emperor this delegate of God's vengeance 

 on Europe the instrument of its accomplishment !" Roman spoke in 

 the ardent and figurative language of his country ; but Aimee's judg- 



