University of Virginia Library

ILDEFONSE;
THE NOBLE POLISH MAIDEN.
A TALE OF WARSAW.

It was a soft balmy night of June. The
moonlight converted the broad flowing Vistula
into a moving mirror, lighting up many
a snow-white sail, and sparkling from many
a flashing oar. Warsaw lay beneath its
beams like a silver city in the green embrace
of gardens and groves! Ever and
anon, music rose from the water, and the
sound of a sentinel's cry swelled along the
battlements. It was midnight, and the
whole scene was peaceful as it was beautiful;
but not so the hour and the time. Amid all
this repose, throbbed a thousand anxious
hearts; for war wasted the borders of Poland,
and the tread of the Russian barbarian
almost shook the capital he menaced.
An hour before, an express had entered
Warsaw, with the startling intelligence that
the Gothic invader, with a conquering force,
thirsting for slaughter and conquest, was
within thirty leagues from this place.

At this time, the situation of Poland was
most critical. In 1795, it will be remembered
that the political existence of Poland
ceased, and that it was subsequently divided
between Prussia, Austria and Russia. Under
Napoleon, a joint part of Poland was
constituted the Dutchy of Warsaw, including
within its limits the city of Warsaw.
This portion, after Napoleon's fall, was
erected by the Russian Emperor into a
kingdom, governed by a king, senate and
diet; but the king was the Emperor's brother,
the Archduke Constantine, and his rank
was only that of Emperor's viceroy, the
royal dignity being really vested in the Emperor
Nicholas, who assumes, as one of his
titles, that of King of Poland. The tyrannical

conduct of the Archduke who represented
the Emperor's person on the throne
of Poland, and the unsubdued desires of the
Poles for freedom, finally caused an insurrection
of the people, which commenced at
Warsaw, on the 29th of November, 1830.
Thirty thousand citizens armed themselves,
drove the Russian troops stationed there with
the Archduke's guard out of the city, and
compelled Constantine himself to flee thirty
leagues beyond the suburbs, for safety. No
sooner had these daring patriots driven out
their masters, than they assembled in the
Hall of State, and formed an administrative
council, to preside over the destinies of the
liberated country; and this council soon
after declared the throne vacant and Poland
independent. All eyes were directed towards
Poland. The great heart of the United
States throbbed in sympathy with her new
life. But gigantic Russia was active, powerful,
irresistible. She assembled a force of
160,000 men, and entered Poland under
Diebitsch. It was on the evening of our
story, that an express spread the intelligence
of his approach, which, however, had been
anticipated. Instantly the council assembled,
and after a hurried, but calm discussion
of their situation, the patriot Prince
Czartowitz was chosen President of Poland;
and General Skryznecki appointed commander
of the army. The council then broke up
and separated, to put Warsaw into a state
to meet the overwhelming power of Russia.
Never was a country placed in a more interesting
position in the eyes of civilized nations.
All Europe looked on to behold the
issue. But no arm was lifted; no sword
drawn to aid poor Poland at this crisis of her
fate. It was a great political game of chess
in which the kings of Europe were only
deeply interested spectators. Even our sympathy
was exhausted in newspaper paragraphs,
and Poland was left to defend, alone
and single handed, the glorious liberties she
had recovered, with her best blood spilled,
like water, in the streets of her capital.

It was a calm, bright, serene moonlight,
when the council broke up, each member of
it to go to his post. At the same time, the
tocsin of war rung from the cathedral towers,
and the cry of `to arms!—to arms!' resounded
through the streets. This fearful
cry, besides the thousand sleepers it aroused
from their deep repose, reached the ears of
a maiden, who slept in a noble chamber, in
the wing of one of the most magnificent palaces
of Warsaw. She flew to the terrace
on the tesselated pavement of which, the
moonlight streamed between the columns,
creating almost the brilliancy of day. She
cast her eyes over the gardens and roofs,
and listened for a moment in silent awe, as
the booming tones of the tocsin of alarm fell
upon her heart, and the shrieking shout `to
arms!—to arms!' pierced her ear.

She was very beautiful. The moon shone
upon her snowy night-robe, till it looked like
a robe of light enfolding her. Her form was
slender and graceful as a bending flower;
her hair had escaped its confinement and
covered her ivory shoulders in a dark glossy
cloud, rich and softly waving in the cool
wind that lifted it. Her brow was black and
arched; her eyes very large and deep, and
dark as midnight, shaded by the largest
lashes ever fringed a woman's eyelid. The
expression now to her beautiful face was
that of fear and solicitude. She held up by
one hand the folds of her robe, together
across her young bosom, and with the other
half raised, stood like a statue, in the attitude
of liberty.

`Hark; it is the Russian comes; they
cry—Cartowitz, dear Cartowitz!' she articulated
in a tone so soft and musical, touched
as it was with tender solicitude that never
name of love was sweeter spoken than the
harsh sounding one she uttered.

`Alas, dearest, Carl, now must I steel my
heart to hope, to trust, and perhaps to despair.'

`Who speaks of despair?' said at this instant
a tall, handsome youth, richly dressed
in the uniform of a Polish officer of high
rank, `who speaks of despair, that is so
loved by me, when I am near her;' and the
young soldier clasped her, unresisting and

uttering a low exclamation of surprise, and
joy, to his mailed breast.'

`Carl, dear—this fearful cry that appals
the ear and withers the soul. Oh, what
means it! Danger to thee I know and feel!'
and she clasped his hand between her's and
leaned her cheek upon it, while her bosom
heaved and tears fell, glistening in the
moonlight, to the marble floor of the terrace.

`Nay—give not away to grief, dearest
Ildefonse,' he said, tenderly embracing her,
and smiling proudly upon her, as he felt
how much he was beloved by the lovely girl
reposing tearful upon his arm. `'Tis too
true that the hour is near we have long
looked for when we must withstand the
power of Russia. An express arrived an
hour since to the council, bringing intelligence
that the fiend Diebitsch is on the frontier,
and menaces Warsaw. I was present
at the council that assembled to deliberate
upon the course to pursue. It is decided
that we defend Warsaw, while a true breast
stands to make a bulwark between her and
her foes. My uncle, the noble Prince Czartowitz,
is chosen President for this crisis,
and I am appointed a colonel, and aid de
camp to Skrzynecki. We have forty thousand
brave men, and our defences are good.
But if the Russian will have Warsaw, he
shall find neither a live Pole nor a standing
roof. We will imitate his Moscow, and
give our city to heaven in flame!'

`How fearful,' answered Ildefonse, clasping
her hands together with anguish. `Oh,
Carl, dearest Carl, I fear—I tremble for
you, in these terrific scenes to come. Let
us fly together.'

`Fly; Ildefonse, what mean you?' he inquired
almost sternly, and holding her back
from him at arm's length.

`O, forgive me, Carl; but I cannot live
in the midst of all the conflict of which poor
Warsaw will soon be the scene, knowing
your heart is exposed to every ball that flies.
You will be slain. Then, oh, then, what
will become of me, unless I can die with you?'

`I will remove you, dear Ildefonse, to a
place of safety. It is for that I am now here.
Warsaw will be no place for you.'

`No, no—never will I go away from Warsaw
while it holds you, dear Cartowitz,' she
said, decidedly; `I will remain—you may be
wounded and need my care. I will not go
from you. But, oh, that you would think of
our betrothed love—think of me, dear Cartowitz,
and fly with me, to some place where
we may live and love.'

`Nay, this from thee, dear Ildefonse, from
thee, the grand niece of Kosciusko,' he said
with grief and reproof in his expressive face.
`If one, the most trusty and veracious in all
Poland had told me you had said `flee,' when
Warsaw was in peril, I would have told
him he lied; for that a daughter of a Polish
soldier could never utter such a craven
word; Ildefonse!' he mournfully repeated,
and his head dropped upon his breast.

`Forgive, forgive, dearest Cartowitz!'
cried the maiden, throwing herself upon his
shoulder. `I know not what I say. My
love for thee makes me a traitress to Poland!
But, oh, God, I cannot exist here, amid the
roar of cannon, the clash of arms, and the
shouts and groans of combatants. I would
fly; but not to save myself from such scenes,
for I have nerve to bear them. I would
stay, and hourly offer prayer for my bleeding
country, and this would help me to endure
such scenes. But when I felt that my heart's
love, the idol of my bosom, thee, dear Carl,
wert risking thy precious life in every struggle
beneath or within the walls, my heart
would sink within me. I could not stay in
Warsaw. Fly, oh, fly to a place of safety,
till this storm be overpast.

`You grieve me, Ildefonse,' he said, tenderly;
`I pity and feel for you; but, dearest,
bride of my soul, honor is dearer to me than
my life, and even thine own. Much as I
love thee, closely as the strings of my heart
are entwined in thine, I would rather see
thee lying here at my feet, and the still
moon shining on thy pale white corpse, than
that love for thee should make me prove a
traitor to Poland in her hour of greatest
need! Tempt me not, Ildefonse! If you

love me, you will love my honor, for that is
part and parcel of my nature, you will love
Poland, for her interests are identified with
the closest and nearest feelings I possess;
you would—'

`Nay—I will speak no more of it; but,
oh, if dear Carl, thou canst not appreciate the
depth and power of woman's love, thou
wouldst pity and forgive. I am a daughter
of illustrious men, and the blood of Poland's
best patriots shall never be tarnished in my
veins. My heart and not my head, Carl,
has made me traitress to her in my thoughts.
I will remain in Warsaw, and live or die
with thee and Poland!' She had elevated
her person while she spoke, and the young
soldier was struck with the calm energy and
dignified firmness with which she uttered
these words. His heart bled for her. He
felt she was sacrificing herself to her love
for him. He gazed upon her animated but fixedly
pale features, and taking her cold hand in
his, knelt at her feet and pressed it to his lips.

`Dearest Ildefonse, pardon me for speaking
harshly to you. I did not believe you
loved Poland less but me more. I know you
could not be false to her being so true to
me. Thou didst speak from thy deep love
and from thy better judgment. 'Tis true
the times that come are evil, and teem with
fearful events. The issue of our struggle is
known only to God, to whom we leave it, doing
our duty as men. You say you will not
leave me in Warsaw. Your love has led you
to resolve to sacrifice yourself; be it so then,'
he added with melancholy animation; `better
to die, true to our country, than live false to
her. God rules all events. Neither you nor I
will be injured without his permission. We
are under his protection, as well here, amid
the roar of battle and siege, as in the farthest
vale of free America where the lightning
or fell disease might deprive us of that life and
that love we would shamefully flee to preserve.
We are here and every where under the government
of God. Let this reflection dearest
Ildefonse, sustain our courage, strengthen our
hearts, and render us calm and unmoved in
the hour and moment of greatest trial.'

`Your words, dear Carl, have made me
firm;' said the maiden, smiling upon him, and
looking serene and happy; `we will remain
in Warsaw. Go where duty calls you, to
the battlements or the field! I will go where
mine calls me, to the altar and to prayer.
My prayer shall be a shield to thee in fight;
my faith shall at length return thee in safety
to my arms!'

`Sweet love, thou art now worthy to be
the bride of a Polish soldier,' he said, embracing
her. `Now, farewell till morning,
and return to thy couch. The enemy is yet
distant two days' march. I must go to my
post of duty. Good night, sweet betrothed!
I will see you in the morning. Seek sleep,
for thou wilt need all nature bestows, to enable
thee to bear all thou hast so nobly
resolved to meet and endure!'

Thus speaking, the noble Cartowitz hastened
from the terrace, and soon afterwards
his form was lost to her lingering gaze amid
the shadowed avenues of the palace of Poniatowski,
that led in the direction of the castle.
The unhappy Ildefonse still suffered
her eyes long to rest upon the spot where
his form had disappeared, and then sighing
as if her heart would break with the deep
emotion that surcharged it, she entered her
chamber—glad to find some refuge from the
tolling bells and the cries of alarm that
filled the city. She did not sleep, however.
Her mind was too agitated, and she strung
her harp to soothe her spirits with music.
And this she sang, now in a plaintive strain,
now in a lofty style, now with tender and
touching pathos, as she changed the subject
of her impassioned improvisatore:

The succeeding day and night were passed
by the citizens of Warsaw in preparations,
anxiety and expectation of the coming
foe. Couriers were constantly arriving and
reporting the fearful progress of the invaders,
whose march was preceded by slaughter
and flight, and followed by conflagration, and
woe, and devastation. The last intelligence
represented them within four leagues of the
capital, and told the Poles that now was the
time for action. The unanimous decision of
the rulers of the council and of the army was,
to march out and meet them, and offer them
battle; for they wished to remove as far from
their own firesides as possible the scene of
contest. Cartowitz hastened to Ildefonse,
to bid her a brief adieu. It was just at sun-rise,
and he found her waiting for him on the
terrace, which commanded the approach to
the palace.

`The hour has at length come, then, dear
Cartowitz, that we must part,' she said, advancing
calmly to meet him. Her manner
was quiet, and her whole bearing exceedingly
proper for the occasion. He gazed on
her pale but resigned face, with a look of
gratitude to heaven. He had anticipated a
sad last interview. He took her hand and respectfully
pressed it to his lips. The time was
none for light gallantry; both were serious,
both dignified and as become the moment.

`Ildefonse,' he said in a low tone, `I have
indeed come to bid you farewell. The Russian
is at hand. Behold, from this very spot
where we stand, we see his floating banners
and steely sea of arms flashing and glancing
in the sun. In three hours, he will be at the
gates of Warsaw. Dear to us are our homes,
our temples, and our pleasant gardens that
surround our capital. We would not make
them the scenes of war. General Skrzynecki
is already in the saddle, our little army
are filing out of the city to offer Diebitsch
battle. My own horse neighs impetuously
at the portal. I must fly to the defence of
Poland. Farewell, and heaven protect you,
my beloved Ildefonse.'

He hurriedly pressed her to his heart, and
ere she could recover from the deep grief
that sunk into her soul, she heard the thunder
of his horse's hoofs along the outside of
the garden wall.

`He is gone. Oh, God of battles, protect
our country; and shield, oh, shield him in
the wild warfare that soon will rage over the
green fields that now glow in the golden light
of thy sun. Save, oh, God; save my country.
But thy will be done,'

And she bowed her head with humble resignation,
and sought her chamber to pray,
with no eye upon her but Heaven's, for her
lover and her country.

Night spread her sable mantle over Warsaw,
which, three hours before had poured
across her bridges her thousands of brave
defenders, to encounter the Russians in the
open country. Every roof, tower and spire,
was thronged with mothers, wives and maidens,
the aged and the invalid, and all eyes
were fixed in one direction—that in which
their army had marched. Every one was
listening to catch the most distant sound that
should indicate their progress! Ildefonse
had been kneeling three hours before her altar
in speechless prayer for Cartowitz—for
Poland! At length, her mother, came and
conducted her to the highest balcony of the
palace. She passively followed her. The
night was beautiful! The late moon was
just rising over a distant forest, and silvering
with its radiance a bank of white clouds
which hung suspended in her path. The
large stars and planets, which her light could
not dim, shone with clear and sparkling brilliance;
and all nature reposed beneath the
deeper repose of heaven. Ildefonse strained
her eyes towards the east, and listened, while
she ceased the beating of her heart, lest its
faint dull throb might prevent her hearing
what she fain would not have heard. At
length a faint flash lights up the distant horizon,
and ten thousand eyes see it, and ten
thousand hearts stand still as Ildefonse's, to

hear the dreaded sound. Hark! A moment
of dread silence over the living masses,
and the deep boom of a cannon is borne
heavily on the night air to their ears. It is
answered by a groan from every bosom—a
moaning groan so deep, that the city seemed
moved by the first throes of an earthquake.
Oh, God! What a moment was this to all
on Warsaw's crowded walls! Hark! another
deep note of cannon strikes the ear;
another follows it, another and another in
rapid succession! The horizon on the northeast
is lighted up with a broad fitful glare
like lightning playing from a summer cloud,
while the deep continuous roar of artillery
reverberates like thunder along the air!
There was then but one mouth in Warsaw,
but one posture!

`Oh, God, remember Poland!' rose from
every lip, as the multitude bent the knee to
Heaven.

Ildefonse sank on her knees beside her
mother, and buried her face in her hands!
Every report made her shrink as if the iron
death that accompanied it, menaced her own
life! The roar of artillery grew louder and
fiercer, and was now mingled with the sharper
rattle of musketry, with a sound as if a
hurricane were sweeping down a forest—
One hour elapsed, and the cannonade grew
sensibly louder and ncarer!

`They fly, they fly before the Russians,
my mother!' she cried, with the energy of
despair! `Oh, Poland! Cartowitz, art thou
safe amid yonder terrific scenes? Would I
were by thy side, I would then share with
thee thy death! Hark! I hear a distant bugle
winding not a league distant! List! that
firing is closer! Hear, how terrible! See
the long lines of flame that seem to belt the
earth! What human life can there escape
death? Cartowitz, dear Cartowitz! God
protect thee! I have prayed for thee 'till the
fountains of my heart have dried up, and I
have no more utterance! Mother, oh, mother!
That terrific roar of battle! Would
to God it were morning! I would seek Cartowitz,
and die by his side! Hear! hear!
the very earth shakes with the tramp of con
tending armies, and Warsaw's very walls
vibrate with the shock of the near artillery!'
And thus giving way to her fears for her
lover, Ildefonse fell upon her mother's bosom,
and seemed ready to die.

`Hark, my daughter!' hear that shout
from the roofs and towers towards the gate
of the bridge! List, I hear the clatter of
horsemen's feet galloping down the street!
Look up! news, news from the field, Ildefonse!
The maiden raised her head, and
followed the eye of her mother in the direction
of the north gate, where she heard the
approach of a small squadron of horse. As
they came nearer, she saw they were lancers,
and belonging to the regiment Cartowitz
commanded. Uttering a cry of mingled
hope and dread, she flew to the outer gate,
and wildly waved to the leader her snowy
arm as they were thundering past.

`Ho, lancers, ho, noble Tochman, stay!'
she shrieked to the leader whom she recognized;
`what news for poor Poland?' for true
to her country, the fair Polish girl first asked
after its fate, before her lover's, though
her heart was bleeding to ask.

`Ah, Lady Ildefonse,' answered the noble
Pole, `I was now hastening to you with a
message, having just delivered one from our
general to the President. Poland is hard
beset, lady. The Russians have pressed us
back a league; but we have taken a position
on the heights by the village, and I think
we shall be able to maintain it, at least 'till
day. We trust in Heaven and our righteous
cause for victory.'

`Amen,' devoutly replied the maiden.
`Major Tochman, you had a message from
—' she was about to say, Cartowitz, but
checked herself as if she felt it to be unworthy
of her to think of her lover in her
country's great peril.

`From Colonel Cartowitz, Lady Ildefonse,'
answered the officer, courteously, not
forgetting amid the hurry of war the graceful
suavity of social life; `he bade me call
past as I returned to the field, and say that
he was well, and that he had every thing to
hope for ultimate success of the Polish arms.'

`Heaven preserve his life and thine, brave
Tochman; for thou hast a sister and a mother.
Alas, how many bosoms will be pierced
this night! Has Cartowitz been exposed,
sir?' she asked with anxious solicitude.

`Nay, Lady Ildefonse, I should be doing
him injustice to say no; on the contrary, he
has been where duty called; and that was
ever, it seemed to me, in the thickest of the
battle. But fear not, lady, God protects the
brave. Farewell. I must return and give
my poor aid to him.'

`Have you been near him, much, sir?'
she asked, detaining him with a gesture of
her arm.

`Close by his side 'till General Skrzynecki
despatched me hither with a message to
Prince Czartoriski.'

`I do envy thee, brave Tochman! would
I were in thy saddle.'

`Nay, Lady Ildefonse, thou wouldst not
maintain it long in younder fierce field, I fear.
Fare thee well—I must ride,' and he spurred
on at the head of his body guard of lancers.

`Not maintain it?' said she; `so I were
nigh Cartowitz, I care not what danger
threatens. He mingles in the thickest of
the fight, did Major Tochman say? He will
surely be slain. Oh, that I were by his side!
I cannot endure this fearful suspense. That
terrific incessant roar of cannon. It will
drive me frantic. I can endure this suspense
no longer. Cartowitz, my beloved Cartowitz
in danger, and I in safety? No, it shall
not be thus. I will to the field, and share
his fate whatever it be.'

`Nay, my dear Ildefonse,' cried her mother,
seizing her arm as she would have rushed
away; `come in to thy chamber and try
and sleep till morning.'

`Sleep, sleep, my mother! when Cartowitz
may be lying wounded on the cold ground,
or the pale light of the moon resting ghastly
upon his corpse. Let me go. I would involve
my fate in his. Release me, mother,'
and the impassioned maiden freed herself from
her mother's grasp, and fled into the palace.
In a moment she had traversed a long corri
dor, and reached a narrow flight of steps that
descended to a postern on the street. This
she opened, and fled along the street with a
light step, and a look not of insanity, but of
settled and firm purpose. She took her way,
unpursued, for, save her mother, in that hour
of horror and suspense, there were none to
pursue—along the street, 'till she came to the
entrance of a court leading to the palace of
the Prince Czartoriski. The lower corridor
and halls she found deserted, for the household
were all on the battlements, gazing on
the struggle which was to make their country
free, or a province of Russia. On reaching
the front, she lightly ascended the palace
steps, and took her way, without meeting any
one, to a wing in which was a chamber well
known to her, hung with soldier's apparel and
arms. She soon singled out a suit of uniform
that had belonged to Cartowitz when eighteen
years old he was a cadet of lancers. She
retired to an ante-room, and soon re-appeared
transformed into a soldier. All these movements
were performed rapidly but coolly.
The suit fitted her well. Her tread was firm,
her eye resolute, her bearing and look
prompt and decisive. She was the young
cadet to the life. Girding a sword to her side,
and placing pistols in her belt, which the
times had taught soldier's daughters like her
the use of, she left the armory without seeing
a servant or a human being. The city was
all a desert below its roofs and towers. She
took her way to the stables, and finding there
a horse she had often rode, with Curtowitz
prancing at her side, she saddled, bridled,
and mounted him, and spurred, unopposed,
out of the gate, and took the direction out of
the city that would lead her to the field where
the roar of battle still rolled fearfully towards
the trembling capital.

The Polish army, not one fifth of the number
of the Russian forces, had, as morning
approached, succeeded in entrenching itself
upon a low swell of ground overlooking the
Vistula. Here they fought with a courage
and daring seldom paralleled in battle. The
Russians planted their artillery against their
position, charged with their cavalry, and assaulted

with their infantry. Still the Poles,
who had retreated to this point over a league
of hard fought ground, maintained their post,
and checked the further advance of the Russians
upon their devoted capital.

It was just at dawn when Cartowitz, at the
head of his regiment of lancers, decided on
making a charge upon a post of artillery that
greatly annoyed the right wing, sending into
its ranks, at each discharge, a shower of
deadly iron, that slew hundreds of his countrymen,
while they had not cannon to return
the fire. The charge was gallantly made;
the flanking artillery was carried with great
loss on both sides, and turned upon the Russians.
This fine exploit produced a temporary
advantage in favor of the hardly beset
Poles; but Diebitsch determined to restore
the fortune of the hour to his side again,
despatched two battalions of Cossacks to
recover the cannon. Cartowitz had already
been reinforced by three thousand infantry,
and he resolved to defend the artillery, as on
its possession he felt the fate of the battle
would turn. The Cossacks came thundering
down upon them like a tornado! the earth
shook with their terrible advance. Cartowitz
rode every where among his soldiers; encouraged
them to defend their post to the
last; pointed to the spires and towers of
Warsaw, visible in the grey dawn of morning,
and reminded them of the thousands dear to
them there that looked to them for protection!

On rolled the tide of Cossacks like a resistless
wave of the enraged sea; they break
like a surge upon the firm lancers, who stand
like rocks to meet the shock. Rank mingles
with rank; Cossack combats with Pole, and
a wild, fearful, and most deadly carnage now
takes place. One moment the Russians are
victors; the next, the Poles! Thrice the
lancers, with Cartowitz at their head, recovered
the captured cannon, and a fourth time
the Russians, by superior force, compelled
them to retire. At length Diebitsch, seeing
the importance of re-possessing the cannon,
of which there were thirty-six pieces, made
his appearance on the scene at the head of
his best troops. The Polish general, who had
been defending the high road to Warsaw,
with twenty thousand of his army, now seeing
that this point was becoming of such importance,
led six regiments of cavalry in
person to the assistance of Cartowitz. The
place around the artillery now became the
centre of the battle field! and both sides
seemed disposed to decide the fate of Warsaw
and of Poland on this spot! But one hundred
and sixty thousand Russians were opposed
by but forty thousand Poles! Numbers promised
to gain the victory over valor and right.
The Poles at length were driven on every
side, pitifully falling like grass before the
scythe of the mower. They retreated to their
height from which they were forced, and from
thence they retreated slowly, fighting every
inch of the way, upon Warsaw.

In a defile, the lancers commanded by Cartowitz,
took a position to defend it until the
infantry and artillery should pass and man
the defences of the city. Cartowitz had lost
half his regiment, and had received five
wounds! He was anxious to stop the Russians,
and his orders from his general were
to do it at all sacrifice. He well obeyed his
orders. With a few pieces of artillery and
his horse, he withstood for half an hour. At
length, he was opposing the Russian advanced
phalanx alone. There were but thirty
of his lancers left, and not two artillery men,
The cannon were silenced, and Cartowitz with
his brave friend, Major Tochman, by his
side, and the thirty lancers for many minutes
defended the important pass, and stopped
there the whole Russian army.

`We must die here, dear Tochman,' said
Cartowitz, as they fought hand to hand with
the Russian officers of the highest rank, who
had sought in person to engage in this contest
of personal bravery. `Poor Ildefonse!'

`Let us be proud of he privilege, dear
Cartowitz, to place our bodies barriers between
the Russians and our homes.

They had little space for exchanging words;
the Russians bore upon them fiercely, and
with loud revengeful shouts. Tochman soon
fell. Cartowitz was born to the ground, and
the gory sword of a Cossack chief was at his

breast, He breathed the name of Ildefonse,
and committed his soul to God! But the
sword did not enter his bosom. It was suddenly
struck up, and the Cossack fell dead
with a stroke from an intervening sword, and
Ildefonse cast herself upon his breast.

`Cartowitz, dear Cartowitz, I have found
thee to die with thee;' and she clasped his
bleeding head to her heart, and kissed his
pale forehead. He recognized her, smiled
upon her, and died.

She gazed upon him an instant with a look
of holy and elevated affection, and then
starting to her feet, threw open her bosom to
a Russian officer who had stood still, half
suspending his sword, wondering at what
he beheld, though ignorant of the cadet's
sex. On seeing her suddenly rise to her
feet, he meditated an attack, and levelled
his sword at her breast just as she had exposed
it to its point. He saw that she was
a female, and half checked the fatal thrust;
but it was too late to turn it aside—the
steel entered her snowy bosom, and she
fell upon the body of her lover which she
retained consciousness enough to fold in her
embrace—and so she died, even as she
wished, by the side of her beloved Cartowitz.

Thus sadly ended this little romance of the
Polish struggle for liberty. It is but one
painful incident of a thousand that occurred
during that lofty struggle for independence,
which, Heaven, for some mysterious end did
not smile upon, as it did upon our efforts to
shake off the yoke of Great Britain. Poor
Poland; thou hast the sympathy of America.
Thy children shall find home in the
bosom of our own happy land. Our hands
grasp yours as we would those of our kindred.
Our tongues welcome you as brothers.

The result of the advance of the Russians
upon Warsaw is familiar, or ought to be,
to every American reader. Numerous battles
were fought between the two armies
before Warsaw fell, and prodigies of valor
unequalled in any country, were performed
by the noble Poles; but at last they were
compelled to submit to Russia, about the
close of the year eighteen hundred and
thirty one. The Emperor sent thousands
to Siberia, executed many of the leading
men, and altogether in his disposition of the
conquered country, evinced a tyrannical
and blood-thirsty spirit of cruelty that entitles
him to the universal execration of
mankind.