| | 1 | Author: | Willis
Nathaniel Parker
1806-1867 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | People I have met, or, Pictures of society and people of mark, drawn under a thin veil of fiction  | | | | 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 death of a lady, in a foreign land, leaves me at liberty to
narrate the circumstances which follow. “My dear Lord: In the belief that a frank communication
would be best under the circumstances, I wish to make an inquiry,
prefacing it with the assurance that my only hope of happiness
has been for some time staked upon the successful issue of my
suit for your daughter's hand. It is commonly understood, I
believe, that the bulk of your lordship's fortune is separate from
the entail, and may be disposed of at your pleasure. May I
inquire its amount, or rather, may I ask what fortune goes with
the hand of Lady Angelica. The Beauchief estates are unfortunately
much embarrassed, and my own debts (I may frankly
confess) are very considerable. You will at once see, my lord,
that, in justice to your daughter, as well as to myself, I could not
do otherwise than make this frank inquiry before pushing my suit
to extremity. Begging your indulgence and an immediate answer,
I remain, my dear lord, yours very faithfully, “Dear Lord Frederick: I trust you will not accuse me of
a want of candor in declining a direct answer to your question.
Though I freely own to a friendly wish for your success in your
efforts to engage the affections of Lady Angelica, with a view to
marriage, it can only be in the irrevocable process of a marriage
settlement that her situation, as to the probable disposal of my
fortune, can be disclosed. I may admit to you, however, that
upon the events of this day on which you have written, (it so
chances,) may depend the question whether I should encourage
you to pursue further your addresses to Lady Angelica. A letter from Lord Aymar to Lady Angelica will put the story
forward a little: “Dear Count: You will wonder at receiving a friendly note
from me, after my refusal, two months since, to meet you over
`pistols and coffee;' but reparation may not be too late, and this
is to say, that you have your choice between two modes of settlement,
viz:—to accept for your stable the hunter you stole from
me (vide police report) and allow me to take a glass of wine with
you at my own table and bury the hatchet, or, to shoot at me if
you like, according to your original design. Mynners and Beauchief
hope you will select the latter, as they owe you a grudge for
the possession of your incomparable bride and her fortune; but I
trust you will prefer the horse, which (if I am rightly informed)
bore you to the declaration of love at Chasteney. Reply to
Crockford's. “My dear St. Leger: Enclosed you have the only surviving
lock of my grizzled wig—sign and symbol that my disguises are
over and my object attained. The wig burns at this instant in
the grate, item my hand-ruffles, item sundry embroidered cravats
3
â la veille cour, item (this last not without some trouble at my
heart) a solitary love-token from Constantia Hervey. One faded
rose—given me at Pæstum, the day before I was driven disgraced
from her presence by the interference of this insolent fool—one
faded rose has crisped and faded into smoke with the rest. And
so fled from the world the last hope of a warm and passionate
heart, which never gave up its destiny till now—never felt that
it was made in vain, guarded, refined, cherished in vain, till that
long-loved flower lay in ashes. I am accustomed to strip emotion
of its drapery—determined to feel nothing but what is real—yet
this moment, turn it and strip it, and deny its illusions as I will,
is anguish. `Self-inflicted,' you smile and say! “I have followed up to this hour, my fair cousin, in the path
you have marked out for me. It has brought me back, in this
chamber, to the point from which I started under your guidance,
and if it had brought me back unchanged—if it restored me my
energy, my hope, and my prospect of fame, I should pray Heaven
that it would also give me back my love, and be content—
more than content, if it gave me back also my poverty. The
sight of my easel, and of the surroundings of my boyish dreams
of glory, have made my heart bitter. They have given form and
voice to a vague unhappiness, which has haunted me through all
these absent years—years of degrading pursuits and wasted
powers—and it now impels me from you, kind and lovely as you
are, with an aversion I can not control. I cannot forgive you.
You have thwarted my destiny. You have extinguished with
sordid cares a lamp within me, that might, by this time, have
shone through the world. And what am I, since your wishes are
accomplished? Euriched in pocket, and bankrupt in happiness
and self-respect. Dined with F—, the artist, at a trattoria. F— is a man of
genius, very adventurous and imaginative in his art, but never
caring to show the least touch of these qualities in his conversation.
His pictures have given him great vogue and consideration
at Rome, so that his daily experience furnishes staple enough for
his evening's chit-chat, and he seems, of course, to be always
talking of himself. He is very generally set down as an egotist.
His impulse to talk, however, springs from no wish for self-glorification,
but rather from an indolent aptness to lay hands on
the readiest and most familiar topic, and that is a kind of egotism
to which I have very little objection—particularly with the mind
fatigued, as it commonly is in Rome, by a long day's study of
works of art. “Baron: Before taking the usual notice of the occurrence of
this morning, I wish to rectify one or two points in which our
position is false. I find myself, since last night, the accepted
lover of Lady Imogen Ravelgold, and the master of estates and
title as a Count of the Russian empire. Under the etourdissement
of such sudden changes in feelings and fortune, perhaps my forgetfulness
of the lady, in whose cause you are so interested, admits
of indulgence. At any rate, I am so newly in love with
life, that I am willing to suppose, for an hour, that had you known
these circumstances, you would have taken a different view of the
offence in question. I shall remain at home till two, and it is in
your power till then to make me the reparation necessary to
my honor. Yours, etc., “Dear Sir: My wife wishes me to write to you, and inform
you of her marriage, which took place a week or two since, and of
which she presumes you are not aware. She remarked to me,
that you thought her looking unhappy last evening, when you
chanced to see her at the play. As she seemed to regret not
being able to answer your note herself, I may perhaps convey the
proper apology by taking upon myself to mention to you, that, in
consequence of eating an imprudent quantity of unripe fruit, she
felt ill before going to the theatre, and was obliged to leave early.
To day she seems seriously indisposed. I trust she will be well
enough to see you in a day or two—and remain, “My Dear Tremlet,—In the two days that I have exiled
you from my presence, I have exiled my happiness also—as you
well know without my confessing—but I needed to sleep and wake
more than once upon your welcome but unexpected avowal. I
fear, indeed, that I need much more time, and that reflection
would scarce justify what I am now about to write to you. But
my life, hitherto, has been such a succession of heart-chilled waitings
upon Reason, that, for once, while I have the power, I am
tempted to bound away with Impulse, after happiness. “I promised to return to you when I should resemble my picture.
It is possible that exile from your presence has marred
more beauty than mental culture has developed—but the soul
you drew in portrait has, at least found its way to my features—
for the world acknowledges what you alone read prophetically at
Leipsic. I have kept myself advised of your movements, with a
woman's anxiety. You are still toiling at the art which made us
acquainted, and, (thank God!) unmarried. To-night, at the
concert of the Countess Isny-Frere, I shall sing to you, for I
have taken pains to know that you will be there. Do not speak
to me till you can see me alone—but hear me in my art before
I abandon myself to the joy long deferred, of throwing myself
at your feet with the fortune and fame it is now mine to offer
you. “`Dear Miss Blidgims: Feeling quite indisposed myself, and
being firmly persuaded that we are three cases of cholera, I have
taken advantage of a return calesino to hurry on to Modena for
medical advice. The vehicle I take brought hither a sister of
charity, who assures me she will wait on you, even in the most
malignant stage of your disease. She is collecting funds for a
hospital, and will receive compensation for her services in the
form of a donation to this object. I shall send you a physician
by express from Modena, where it is still possible we may meet.
With prayers, &c. &c. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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