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 | II. Dashes at life with a free pencil |  |
2. II.
[Excuse me, dear reader, while with two epistles I
build a bridge over which you can cross a chasm of a
month in my story.]
“Sir: I am intrusted with a delicate commission,
which I know not how to broach to you, except by
simple proposal. Will you forgive my abrupt brevity,
if I inform you, without further preface, that the
Countess Nyschriem, a Polish lady of high birth and
ample fortune, does you the honor to propose for your
hand. If you are disengaged, and your affections are
not irrevocably given to another, I can conceive no
sufficient obstacle to your acceptance of this brilliant
connexion. The countess is twenty-two, and not
beautiful, it must in fairness be said; but she has
high qualities of head and heart, and is worthy of any
man's respect and affection. She has seen you, of
course, and conceived a passion for you, of which this
is the result. I am directed to add, that should you
consent, the following conditions are imposed—that
you marry her within four days, making no inquiry
except as to her age, rank, and property, and that,
without previous interview, she come veiled to the
altar.
“An answer is requested in the course of to-morrow,
addressed to `The Count Hanswald, minister of his
majesty the king of Prussia.'
“I have the honor, &c., &c.
McDonald's answer was as follows:—
“You will pardon me that I have taken two days to
consider the extraordinary proposition made me in
your letter. The subject, since it is to be entertained
a moment, requires, perhaps, still further reflection—
but my reply shall be definite, and as prompt as I can
bring myself to be, in a matter so important.
“My first impulse was to return your letter, declining
the honor you would do me, and thanking the lady
for the compliment of her choice. My first reflection
was the relief and happiness which an independence
would bring to a mother and two sisters dependant,
now, on the precarious profits of my pencil. And I
first consented to ponder the matter with this view,
and I now consent to marry (frankly) for this advantage.
But still I have a condition to propose.
“In the studies I have had the opportunity to make
of the happiness of imaginative men in matrimony, I
have observed that their two worlds of fact and fancy
were seldom under the control of one mistress. It
must be a very extraordinary woman of course, who,
with the sweet domestic qualities needful for common
life, possesses at the same time the elevation and
spirituality requisite for the ideal of the poet and
painter. And I am not certain, in any case, whether
the romance of some secret passion, fed and pursued
in the imagination only, be not the inseparable necessity
of a poetical nature. For the imagination is incapable
of being chained, and it is at once disenchanted
and set roaming by the very possession and certainty,
which are the charms of matrimony. Whether
exclusive devotion of all the faculties of mind and body
be the fidelity exacted in marriage, is a question every
woman should consider before making a husband of
an imaginative man. As I have not seen the countess,
I can generalize on the subject without offence, and
she is the best judge whether she can chain my fancy
as well as my affections, or yield to an imaginative
mistress the devotion of so predominant a quality of
my nature. I can only promise her the constancy of
a husband.
“Still—if this were taken for only vague speculation—she
might be deceived. I must declare, frankly,
that I am, at present, completely possessed with an
imaginative passion. The object of it is probably as
poor as I, and I could never marry her were I to continue
free. Probably, too, the high-born countess
would be but little jealous of her rival, for she has no
pretensions to beauty, and is an humble artist. But,
in painting this lady's portrait—(a chance experiment,
to try whether so plain a face could be made lovely)
—I have penetrated to so beautiful an inner countenance
(so to speak)—I have found charms of impression
so subtly masked to the common eye—I have
traced such exquisite lineament of soul and feeling,
visible, for the present, I believe, to my eye only—
that, while I live. I shall do irresistible homage to her
as the embodiment of my fancy's want, the very spirit
and essence suitable to rule over my unseen world of
imagination. Marry whom I will, and be true to her
as I shall, this lady will (perhaps unknown to herself)
be my mistress in dream-land and revery.
“This inevitable license allowed—my ideal world
and its devotions, that is to say, left entirely to myself
—I am ready to accept the honor of the countess's
hand. If, at the altar, she should hear me murmur
another name with her own—(for the bride of my fancy
must be present when I wed, and I shall link the vows
to both in one ceremony)—let her not fear for my
constancy to herself, but let her remember that it is
not to offend her hereafter, if the name of the other
come to my lip in dreams.
“Your excellency may command my time and
presence. With high consideration, &c.
Rather agitated than surprised seemed Mademoiselle
Folie, when, the next day, as she arranged her brushes
upon the shelf of her easel, her handsome neighbor
commenced, in the most fluent Italian he could command,
to invite her to his wedding. Very much
surprised was McDonald when she interrupted him
in English, and begged him to use his native tongue,
as madame, her attendant, would not then understand
him. He went on delightedly in his own honest
language, and explained to her his imaginative admiration,
though he felt compunctious, somewhat,
that so unreal a sentiment should bring the blood into
her cheek. She thanked him—drew the cloth from
the upper part of her own picture, and showed him an
admirable portrait of his handsome features, substituted
for the masculine head of Judith in the original from
which she copied—and promised to be at his wedding,
vow at the altar. He chanced to wear at the moment
a ring of red cornelian, and he agreed with her that
she should stand where he could see her, and, at the
moment of his putting the marriage ring upon the
bride's fingers, that she should put on this, and for
ever after wear it, as a token of having received his
spiritual vows of devotion.
The day came, and the splendid equipage of the
countess dashed into the square of Santa Maria, with
a veiled bride and a cold bridegroom, and deposited
them at the steps of the church. And they were followed
by other coroneted equipages, and gayly dressed
from each—the mother and sisters of the bridegroom
gayly dressed, among them, but looking pale
with incertitude and dread.
The veiled bride was small, but she moved gracefully
up the aisle, and met her future husband at the
altar with a low courtesy, and made a sign to the priest
to proceed with the ceremony. McDonald was color
less, but firm, and indeed showed little interest, except
by an anxious look now and then among the crowd of
spectators at the sides of the altar. He pronounced
with a steady voice, but when the ring was to be put
on, he looked around for an instant, and then suddenly,
and to the great scandal of the church, clasped his
bride with a passionate ejaculation to his bosom.
The cornelian ring was on her finger—and the Countess
Nyschriem and Mademoiselle Folie—his bride and
his fancy queen—were one.
This curious event happened in Florence some
eight years since—as all people then there will remember—and
it was prophesied of the countess that
she would have but a short lease of her handsome and
gay husband. But time does not say so. A more
constant husband than McDonald to his plain and
titled wife, and one more continuously in love, does
not travel and buy pictures, and patronize artists—
though few except yourself and I, dear reader, know
the philosophy of it!
| II. Dashes at life with a free pencil | |