| | 1 | Author: | Rowson
Mrs.
1762-1824 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Reuben and Rachel  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It was about the middle of the fifteenth century
that the lovely and amiable Isabelle found herself a
widow, reduced from ease and affluence to a very confined
income. Though her circumstances were altered;
her mind elevated, her spirit noble and independent,
was still the same. Isabelle was a native of Spain, of
noble parentage, expanded heart, superior sense, and
highly finished education. The beauty and elegance
of her person, though striking, were but secondary objects
of the esteem and admiration she was sure to excite
wherever she was seen or known. I AM parted from you, my adored Beatina; but
painful as the parting is, I feel it is for our suture advantage.
I am convinced, my beloved wife, that there are
worlds beyond the narrow bounds which our natural
philosophers at present prescribe. I have studied much,
my lovely friend, and am almost certain, that were I
supplied with vessels, men, provisions, and every thing
necessary, I should make discoveries that would occasion
my name to be revered in after ages; and those
who blamed my lovely Beatina for giving herself to her
Columbus, shall say, “You did right, Beatina; Columbus
has an enterprising spirit that will carve out a
fortune, even from a barren waste. For is not the
ocean a barren waste? and yet even from that do I
mean to carve out for my soul's idol an empire, where
she shall reign queen over all, as she does over my
heart. I HAVE been disappointed, my sweet friend, but
be not you disheartened. Thanks be to Heaven, I left
you and my darling boy in a safe retreat, where,
though not enjoying all the advantages your rank in
life might demand, you have at least all the comforts
necessary to the real pleasures of life. CONGRATULATE me, my lovely friend; I am
at length successful! How have I counted the tedious
months that kept me from my soul's idol; and how
often have I feared that my perseverance would be of
no avail, and that I had sacrificed ages of real happiness
(for hours are ages to the heart that loves as mine
does) to the visionary hopes of future greatness. But
I am successful. I shall explore those distant seas, with
which my studies have so well acquainted me, and in
some unknown world seek out a kingdom of which my
Beatina shall be queen. Yes, you shall be queen; for
whatsoever world I find, be it the fairest, greatest, or the
best the sun ever shone on, no man should ever claim a
right to govern it. For it is to a woman I owe the
means of making the great attempt. I am so overjoyed
I cannot proceed methodically; yet I know you
languish to learn every particular that concerns your
Columbus. THOU besom friend of the bravest man that ever
lived, thy queen now claims thee as her friend and sister.
Isabelle is in affliction, and calls on Beatina to
comfort her. Yet how can I ask comfort from you,
when I have none to offer in return? I cannot see
you, lest you curse the hand that supplied the means
for this ill-starred voyage. Our Columbus, the man
whose name shall be revered while time endures, is no
more! He sleeps in the vast ocean; but his memory
shall live forever. THE most humble and grateful of your fervants
addresses you at a moment, when he much fears he
shall never again behold you. I am, with my little
convoy, in a boisterous and almost unknown sea, at a
season of the year when storms prevail, and the inclemency
of the weather renders our safety extremely
precarious. The clouds hang low; the atmosphere is
thick; the hollow murmuring sea, and bleak wind
that whistles through the rigging, portends an approaching
storm. THY father is returned, my dear son, returned to his
native land. But how? Not as an enterprising spirit
whose plans had proved successful, should return;
but as a traitor to his king, loaded with ignominious
chains. Oh! my brave boy, I see thy noble
spirit fire at the intelligence. But beware; conceal
the workings of thy honest soul. To prosper in this
ungrateful world, you must wear the mask of hypocrisy;
wear the semblance of humility, honesty,
patriotism, till you have obtained some favourite point,
then throw them aside as useless, and glory in the success
of your stratagems. HAD I a conveyance, swift as my own impatience,
to forward to my revered mother the joyful tidings of
my father's triumph over his enemies, the wings of
the wind would be too tardy to bear this to your hands.
Yes, my dear mother, Columbus, the great, the enterprizing
Columbus, is restored to all his former dignity,
and even fresh honours are heaped upon him. But I
know you wish me to be particular; and how can I
be more pleasingly employed than in recounting the
noble conduct of a father, and obeying the commands
of the best of mothers? AS the perusal of the inclosed letters and papers
will no doubt awaken in the bosom of my dear Isabelle,
a curiosity to learn the events that followed this triumph
of Columbus over his enemies; and as I think
it necessary to inform her, not only of her descent from
the native kings of Peru, but also of the sate of her
parents, who now, alas! are no more, I have taken
up my pen to trace every circumstance that may tend
to prove your right to the sovereignty of Quito, and
the surrounding territories, if hereafter you should think
it worth contending for. But as I leave you, my dear
child, in the protection of my own family; and am fully
sensible that my nephew, the marquis Guidova, will
take such care of your fortune, (now ample) that by
the time you are of age to peruse these papers, you
will be one of the richest heiresses in Spain; I fondly
hope you will not suffer the vain ambition of bearing
the empty title of queen to influence your conduct, or
tempt you to throw away the real blessings of life in
pursuit of shadows and toys. a “IT is with satisfaction of the purest kind, that I
take up my pen to inform my dear aunt Rachel and my
beloved children, that the business which brought me to
this place is at length finished, and the completion of
it is equal to my most sanguine expectations. WHEN the altar is decorated, the priests at hand,
and the knife is raised, that will terminate existence,
who can blame the poor victim devoted to sacrifice, if
it break the chain by which it is held, asserts the privilege
of nature, and, bounding over the plain, secures
at once both life and liberty? Brother, beloved brother,
they have prepared the altar, but the destined victim
will escape their snares. WILL my dear friend pardon me that I intrude
myself upon her, and by explaining my sorrows, make
her a party in my concerns? I have suffered much
persecution, dear Rachel, since we parted; and to
avoid rushing at once into guilt and misery, I have
taken a step for which the world will censure me. But
what is the world to me? Had I voluntarily assumed
the splendid shackles prepared for me, had I become a
titled wretch, and promised faith and truth to one
man, whilst every wish, every tender thought of my
heart was devoted to another, would the approving
smiles of that misjudging world, the adulation it is ever
ready to pay to splendor and nobility, have compensated
for the sacrifice I should have made of internal
peace, of conscious integrity? No.—Admired, courted,
envied, I should still have been miserable. The
baseness of my conduct would be my daily reproach;
I should have sought to banish reflection by dissipation,
and who can tell where the career of guilt and folly
might have stopped? THERE is such an appearance of candour and
sincerity throughout your whole letter, that I cannot
but believe you innocent; prove yourself so, and on
the receipt of this come immediately to London, and
prepare to follow my fortunes to foreign climes. Our
marriage is no longer a secret; my aunt has discarded
me. I have sold my commission, and in the despair
I felt at your perfidy, have taken passage on board
a vessel bound for Philadelphia. If you love me as
you say, and as I would fain think you do, you will
not hesitate to leave England forever, since it is for
my peace of mind that I should do so. I cannot submit
to live in it below the rank I have been accustomed
to fill. If your affection leads you to be the companion
of my voyage, the sharer and soother of all my
cares, I shall regret neither fortune nor country. If
not, if some stronger attachment binds you to this spot,
Oh Rachel! I cannot bear the thought; but should
it be so, why the farther we are divided the better. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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