| | 1 | Author: | Ingraham
J. H.
(Joseph Holt)
1809-1860 | Add | | | Title: | Marie, or, The fugitive  | | | | 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: | The autumnal moon had already been risen a full hour, as a horseman
drew rein upon the summit of a hill which commanded a prospect of the domes
and towers of the city towards which he was journeying. He paused a moment
as he attained the brow of the eminence over which his road wound, to survey
the scene spread out before him. I have decided on my course. Flight is my only safety.—
Farewell forever! Do not attempt to seek out my retreat! It will be in vain.
I fly to bury my woe in the grave—my infamy from the eyes of the world—to
save the honor and spare the sacrifice of a noble heart and love devoted as it is
pure! For my sake spare him and be kind, I do not ask your forgiveness for
I feel that I am the only one wronged!—wronged, alas—how deeply wronged!
Blame not her! She but did a duty sacred and imperative! Censure not—
curse not as I have heard thee curse the insensible dead! Deep is the injury
that thou hast done, irreparable and which naught but death can heal. To this
I fly, not seeking it by my own hand, oh, no! my poor breaking heart will
soon bring it me! Farewell. I address you at New York as you desired me in your
letter from Mahon. For that kind letter I send you my warmest thanks. It is
like yourself and breathes that noble affection which has made you the idol of
my heart. The days, weeks and months seem very long for I count them by
the throbbings of my heart, which is my only measure of time while you are
absent from me I think my father is now reconciled to our union, and I heard
him speak with great commendation and a sort of pride, that gratified me very
much, of your courage and noble forgetfulness of self, in saving the lives of the
three English officers and that of those of the Prince and Princess di Luzzi,
in the squall which struck their boat after it left the frigate for the shore.—
The papers are full of it, though you make no mention of it yourself. This,
too, is so like you. I cannot be too grateful to Heaven for your preservation
at such a time of imminent peril and confusion, and also for placing it in your
power to do so noble an act; for your fame and praises are mine, dear Bertrand! `Madness! This is unendurable! I have no patience to complete this letter!
I feel as if I could fly to him this moment. Poor Marie! Noble and true Marie!
If that de Rosselau does not answer for all this—but, patience. I must
read more and know all before I can stir a step! Oh, that I could embrace the
contents of the remainder of the letter at a glance of thought.' —`I did not leave my room till the next morning, nothwithstanding my
father came repeatedly at the door to summon me; but pleading illness I refused
to admit him or obey his commands. He threatened me; but I would gladly
have been locked up in the darkest and loneliest room of the villa than have
met de Rosselau. But believing in the morning that he had gone, for I had
been told so by my maid, I went out to breakfast. I found him standing with
my father in the breakfast-room. My first impulse was to fly. My next and
best was to remain and chill him by my manner. I had before found this most
successful, and I now assumed this bearing; and during breakfast I neither
saw nor heard him speak. His chair might as well have been empty, for I
took no notice that any one occupied it. My father was very angry and the
breakfast passed off gloomily; but I felt that I was the victorious one. `I beg you will not refuse to read with your beautiful
eyes (Bertrand. The devil confound him!) the few profound sentiments of
my heart, I have the honor to give expression to in consideration of the deep
passion I entertain for you. Be assured, Madamoisille, that it has never been
my felicitous fate to meet with one of your divine sex who has succeded in
imprisoning my heart so completely as you have done! Yes, admirable Marie!
(the foul fiend take him!) I have had but one thought since I beheld you, and
that is to make myself agreeable to you, that I may win that cruel heart which
already has captivated mine. I assure you I have taken no offence at your
proud and cold indifference, but on the contrary, your coldness has increased
the flame of my devotion! May I hope that my sincerity may meet at least
with some degree of grace from you, for you are too beautiful to be a tyrant!
(I'll make him eat this letter!) It is my highest ambition to make you the
Countess de Rosselau, a rank to which some of the haughtiest beauties I say
it without vanity, of dear enchanting Paris have aspired to in vain! At your
feet, where I have already laid my heart, I am desirous of laying the honors of
my name and rank. Your father's consent I have been so fortunate as to obtain,
and I only await your condescension to my suit, trusting that I shall not
have sued in vain. Your devoted and humble lover, who kisses your hand with
the profoundest adoration, `I took no notice of this note, Bertrand, and indeed should have sent it back
unopened, but I wished to know what it was he had to say, and to ascertain, if
possible, how far this persecution was to be carried; for I had made up my
mind to escape from it by flight, I knew not whither, if he should continue it. `What I am now to add, my dear Edward,' said the maiden in her letter, will
show you how fully matured was the conspiracy against my happiness and
peace, planned between my misguided father and this unfeeling Baron de Rosselau.
After he had entered my room, and locked the door as I have already
said in the beginning of my letter, he sat for a few moments in silence as if not
knowing in what way to open the subject upon his mind. At length he raised
his eyes and said, `After half an hour's weeping for you as well as for me, dear Bertrand, I
resolved I would write to you the whole that had transpired, knowing that you
were soon to be back from the Mediterranean, and hoping that my letter may
find you in New York in time for you to fly to rescue from a two fold danger
her who lives only for you. I have, therefore, been sitting up half the night
writing the foregoing, while my father believes that I sleep. Two days more
remain. Vague ideas of flight enter my mind—but I ask myself whither shall
I fly? How should I escape from my father's careful watch, or the no less
watchful scrutiny of de Rosselau' I shall soon decide upon something. I will
close my long letter now, for the morning dawns, and my father will soon be
here to unlock my door and ask me if I have changed my mind and am ready
for the sacrifice. I shall secretly despatch this letter to the office by my faithful
servant Moses. I will not seal it till I can send it away, and will add a
postscript telling you what I decide upon. `P. S.—Four o'clock, P. M. I shall make no apology for this communication. I address you
upon a subject of the deepest interest to me. I am not ignorant of your aspirations
to the hand and fortune of my daughter; nor am I ignorant that you have
been successful in inspiring in her bosom a temporary regard for you. Whatever
may have been my former forbearance in suffering this attachment to go
on unchecked, circumstances, not at all affecting your character, sir, render it
necessary that I request you to terminate all further views in relation to a union
with her. This is her desire as well as my own; and it is not therefore necessary
to inform you that all letters which you may have the imprudence to address
to her will be returned, and that my doors will be closed to any visits
that have Marie for their object. `What can this mean?' he exclaimed in astonishment. `Marie to address me
thus. This is certainly her hand-writing, and at the end of it' (and here he
rapidly ran over the pages of the letter to the close) and here is her signature
`Marie.' What can this mean? It is signed simply `Marie' without one
word of affection. Nay. It is `your unfortunate and lost, Marie.' What fearful
news have I now to hear. She can be lost to me only by being the wife of
this baron Can it——Oh, can it be possible that she has——but I
will not drive myself mad by anticipation. I will hasten to learn the worst.' | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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