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TORIES OF YA
EVERY STORY IN THIS SERIES IS COMPLETE.
THE SERF OF POBEREZE.
neo A STORY OF RUSSIAN POLAND,
LD WORLD.
[From the Russian : for Redpath's Weekly.]
HE small town of Pobereze stands at the foot of a stony moun-
tain, watered by numerous springs in the district of Podolia,
in Poland. It consists of a mass of miserable cabins, with a Cath-
olic chapel, and two Greek churches in the midst, the Greek churches
being distinguished by their gilded towers,’ On one side of the
“market-place stands the only inn, and on the opposite sid are several
** shops, from whose doors and windows look out several dirty-dressed
«Jews. Ata little distance, on a hill covered with -vines and fruit
trees, stands the palace, which does not exactly merit such a name,
+). "but who would dare to call otherwise the dwelling of the lord of the
the domain?
On the morning when our tale opens, there had issued from this
palace the common enough command to the superintendent of the
_ estaté, to furnish the master with a couple of strong boys, for service
in the stables, and a young girl, to be employed in the wardrobe.
Accordingly; a number of thé best looking young peasants of Olgo-
” “ ¥rod assembled in the broad avenue leading to the palace. Some
were accompanied by their sorrowful and weeping parents, in all of
whose hearts, however, rose the faintand whispered hdpe, “‘ Perhaps
it will be my child they will choose!” ~
-’ Being brought into the court-yard of the palace, the Count Roszyn-
ski, with the several members of his family, had come to pass in re-
view his growing subjects. He was a small and insignificant-looking
man, about fifty years of age, with deep-set.eyes and overhanging
brows. His wife who was nearly of the same age, was immensely
=tout, with a vulgar face and a loud disagreeable voice. She made
Prerself ridiculdus in ¢ndeavoring to imitate the manners and bearing
of the aristocracy, into whose ‘sphere she and her husband were de-
termined to’ force themselves, in spite of the humbleness of their
origin,
‘The father of the “Right Honorable” Count Roszynski was a
valet, who, having been a great favorite with his master, amassed
sufficient money to enable his son, who inherited it, to purchase the
extensive estate of Olgogrod, and with it the sole proprietorship of
1,600 human beings. Over them he had complete control; and,
when maddened by oppression, if they dared resent, woe unto
"them! “They could be thrust into a noisome dungeon, and chained
by one hand from the light of day for years, until their very existence
was forgotten by all except the jailer who brought daily their pitcher
of water and morsel of dry bread,
Some of the old peasants say that Sava, father of the young peas-
ant girl, who stands by the side of an old woman, at the head of her
companions in the courtyard, is immured in one of these subterra-
ji Sava was always about the count, who, it was said, had
brought him from some distant land, with his little motherless
child, Sava placed her under the care of an old man and woman,
who had charge of the bees ina forest near the place, whe e he
came occasionally te visit her. But once, six long months passed,
‘and he did not come! In vaine Anielka wept, in vain she cried;
“Where is my father?" No father appeared.
At last it was said that Sava had been sent to a long distance with
a large sum of money, and had been killed by robbers, In the ninth
year of one’s life the most poignaot grief is quickly effaced, and
~ ‘after six months Anielka ceased to grieve. The old people were
very kind ‘to her, and loved her as if she were their own child. That
Anielka.might be chosen to serve in the palace never entered thei,
~ head, for who would be so barbarous as to take the child away from
an ofd woman of seventy and her aged husband ? :
To-day was the first tine in her life that she had been so far from.
home. She looked curiously on all she saw, particularly on a young
. lady about her own age, beautifully dressed, and a youth of eight-
« © een, who had apparently just returned from a ride on horseback, as
he held a whip in his hand, while walking up and down and exam-
ining the boys who were placed in a row before him, He chose
two from among them, and the boys were led away to the stables.
* And I choose this young girl,” said Constantia Roszynski, indi-
cating*Anielka ; ‘she is the prettiest of them all, I do not like
ugly faces about me.” :
When Constantia returned to the drawing room she gave orders
for Anietka to be taken to her apartments and placed under the
tutelage of Mademoiselle Dufour, a French maid, recently arrived
from the first milliner’s shop in Odessa.
Poor girl! When they separated her from ber adopted mother,
and began leading her toward the palace, she rushed, with a shriek
of agony from them and grasped her old protectress tightly in her
arms.’ They were tora violently asunder, and the@Count Roszynski
quietly asked : . . .
“Js it her daughter or her granddaughter ?”
** Neither, my lord; only an adopted child.” .
‘+ But who will lead the old woman home, as she js blind ?”
“1 will, my lord,” replied one of his servants, bowing to the
ground ; “I will Jet_her watk by the side of my horse, and when she
NEW YORK—FOR THE WEEK ENDIMG AUGUST 30, 188
| WALT WHITMAN.
is in her cabin she will have her old husband; they must take care
of each other,”
So saying, he moved away with the rest of the peasants and do-
mestics. But the poor old woman had to be dragged along by two
men ; for ia the midst of her shrieks and tears she had fallen to the
ground almost without life.
And Anielka? They did not allow her to weep long. She had
now to sit all day in the corner of a room to sew. She was expected
to do everything well from the first ; and, if’ she did not, she was
kept without. food or cruelly punished, Morning and evening she
had to help Mdlle. Dufour to dress and undress her mistress, But
Constantia, although she locked with hauteur on everybody beneath
her, and expected to be slavishly obeyed, was tolerably kind to her
poor orphan, Her true torment began, when, on leaving her young
lady’s room, she had to assist Mdlle. Dufour. Notwithstanding that
she tried sincerely to do her best, she was never able to satisfy her,
or draw from her aught but harsh reproaches.
Thus two months passed.
One day Mdlle Dufour went very early to confession, and Anielka
was seized with an eager longing to gaze once more in peace and
freedom on the beautiful blue sky and green trees, as she used to do
when the first rays of the rising sun streamed in at the window of
the little forest cabin, She ran into the garden. Enchanted by the
sight of so many beautiful flowers, she went farther and farther
along the smooth and winding walks till she entered the forest.
She who had been so long away from her beloved trees, roamed
where they were thickest. Here she gazed boldly around. She sees
no one; she is alone, A little further on she meets with a rivulet
which fiows through the forest.’ Here she remembers that she has
not yet prayed. ° She kneels down, and with hands clasped and eyes
upturned she begins to sing, in a sweet voice, the Hymn to the
Virgin,
As she went on, she sang louder and with increased fervor. Her
breast heaved with emotion, her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy ;
but when the hymn was finished she lowered her head, tears began
to fall over her cheeks, until at last she sobbed aloud.’ She might
have remained long in this condition, had not some one come be-
hind her, saying :
“Do not cry, my poor girl; it is better to sing than to weep.”
The intruder raised her head, wiped-her eyes with her handker-
chief, and kissed her on the forehead.
It was the count's son, Leon.
“‘You must not cry,” he continued; ‘‘be calm, and when the
filipony (pedlars) come, buy yourself a pretty handkerchief,”
He then gave her a rouble and walked away. Anielka, after con-
cealing the coin in her corset, ran quickly back to the palace.
Fortunately, Mdile. Dufour had not yet returned, and Anielka
seated herself in her accustomed corner, She often took out the
rouble to gaze fondly upon it, and set to work to make a little purse,
which, having fastened to a ribbon, she hung round her neck. ' She
did not dream of spending it, for it would have deeply grieved her
to part with the gift of the only person in the whole house who had
looked kindly on ner.
From that time Anielka remained always in her young mistress’s
room ; she was better dreseed, and Mdile. Dufour ceased to perse-
cute het. To what did she owe this sudden change ? | Perhaps to a
‘remonstrance from Leon. Constantia ordered Anielka to sit bee
‘side her while taking her lessons from her music-masters, and on her
going to the drawing-room, she was left in her apartments alone,
Being thus more kindly treated, Anielka lost by degrees her timidity ;
and when her young mistress, whilst occupied over some embroidery
would tell her to sing, she did so boldly and with a steady voice.
greater favor awaited her. Constantia, when unoccupied, began
| [Conciuded on pagea.] | |“ .
1 Price 5 Cents. —
STORIES FROM UAE ERENGH.
THE DEVIL'S CARD.
OR, NOT SO BLACK AS PAINTED\
[Translated by J. C. Curtin for Redpath’s Weekly.]
T was midnight. Fernand de Roquefeuil was seated in a cafe ‘
on the boulevard, among six of his. intimate companions, all
young men of the world like himself. In accordance with an an-
cient Paris custom, he wishes to bring his life of single blessedness
to an end, by giving a merry entertainment to his former comrades,
He was to be married in three days al Saint-Philippe-du-Roule.
The intended bride was Madame de Lucay, a. charming young
widow, who had many ardent suitors, As the wine wert round, his
friends heartily congratulated him on his triumph ; during the re-
past his good fortune was the chief topic of conversation, until, at
desert, many already begun to envy him,
“Well, Fernand,” remarked one of his guests, ‘1 must say
when you came into the werld, you drew a lucky ticket in the lot-
tery of fortune.” '
“Yes, indeed, between ourselves I must admit I have very little
to complain of,” answered Roquefeuil.
Just as he had finished speaking, the first bottle of champagne
was opened. The foam sparkled in the crystal cups. The young
men, wholly intent upon enjoyment, scarce lent an ear to, the expir=
ing din and noise of Paris, when the great city is about to sink into
slumber, But, just at this moment, one of the waiters entered and
handed Fernand a dainty little card.
“A visit at this hour, and in a public cafe,” exclaimed the jolly
host, refusing the card with an air of lofty disdain,‘ Tell the gen-
‘leman he may present himself at my rooms, on Louis-le-Grand
street, to-morrow, If I am at home I shall be very happy to receive
him.”
“ But, sir,” one of the guests aptly remarked, ‘you have not
even taken the trouble to look at the name of the visitor who sends
in his card.” - -
‘* Why, that’s so,” replied Fernand. . ‘‘ Let us see who is this fel-
low who chooses such queer visiting hours”.
Having pompously adjusted his eyeglass, he held up the card and
tried to decipher the name. He had to give it up,
‘‘ There is some name scrawled on it,” he remarked, in a puzzled
way, ‘but, for the life of me, I can’t make it out. Perhaps some
of you may succeed in deciphering it,” he continued, handing it in
turn to each of his friends seated around the table.
The six of them struggled with it in turn, and, finally, gave it up
in despair.
This circumstance alone was enough to excite the curiosity of a
less inquiting mind than Fernand’s.- A moment ago he was about
to dismiss the strang:r unceremoniously ; now he had the most
anxious desire to see him.
‘Tell the gentleman to come in,” he said, addressing the waiter.
In a moment the seven gay youths saw approach a young man,
hatin hand, rather below medium height, who saluted all present
with a graceful bow, and in a pleasant tone of voice, He was
dressed in the most approved fashion, with white cravat and gloves,
and wore a dainty little eyeglass. His face was extremely hand-
some, a little too effeminate fur a young man, perhaps, but it bore
the expression of a quiet resolution that seemed to compensate for
the absence of beard and moustache. - .
“Sir,” said Fernand, addressing him, . “ you have been considerate
<nough to send in your card, and I should therefore know your name,
but to tell the truth I have not been able to read it—no, not even to
spell it.”
“Very well, sir, I shall have the honor of telling it to you inan
instant,” replied the stranger, with a pleasant smile.
“ But in the meantime you will please inform me in what capacity
you have come fo speak to me?”
“In that of creditor.’ Perhaps we had better retire to a private
seat for a moment.” .
“It is not necessary. A creditor! Ah! don't be at all embar-
rassed, sir; speak out without the least reserve, These six gentlemen
are very ‘ntimate friends, ‘Vhey will not be at all surprised to learn
that I have a few outstanding debts in Paris. And now may I in-
quire what it is about ?”
“ Monsieur de Rouquefeuil, some ten years ago, as you doubtless
remember, you sactificed your entire fortune to save the honor of
the Viscount de Brevannes, an old friend of your father’s boyhood,
After having paid a debt of some 300,000 francs, you found that your
excessive generosity left you entirely dependent. What could a young
man like you, brought up amid wealth and luxury, do, on finding
himself suddenly drprived of all his means? In your apartment on
Louis le Grand street, you took one day a piece of note paper, and
wrote, in large letters, the following words:
"1, the undersigned, do hereby agree to deliver up my soul to
Satan, provided he bestow on me ten pears’ riches,
“FERNAND DE ROQUEFEUIL. ”
“The window happened to be open at the moment. - There came
a sudden gust of air, The wind snapped up the sheet of paper,
-
7
Wd VIH«
~~