SARAH TO JULIET.
Tell me, my dear, dear Juliet, what has become of you?
John says that you are really married; married to Mr.
Grenville. I cannot believe it; yet, strange as it is, my
poor heart begins to yield to the apprehension. Was it then,
your hand writing, that disturbed me so? Was it you,
Juliet, you, whom I have so loved, that told me, with a
trembling hand, to believe nothing, that I did not hear
from yourself? I have obeyed you. I am told, that you
ran away. I do not believe it. I am told, that you have
been turned out of doors. I do not believe it. I am told,
that you are married to Mr. Grenville. I never will believe
that, until I have it in “black and white, under your
own hand.”
I have nothing more to say. I have few comforts left
for me. I can ill spare the smallest of them now;—but
the bitterest, the most insupportable of bereavements to
me, Juliet, would be the loss of my love, and respect for
you.—I cannot go on—the tears gush out of my eyes,
at every throb of my heart; and wert thou near me, my
own dear, dear Juliet, I should be sobbing, like a child, in
thy bosom.
Am I unkind, Juliet?—Pity me, if I am—it is not natural
to me. There is no unkindness at my heart. I
never, never loved thee so tenderly; so, as if there were
nothing else on earth dear to me, as at this moment.
Then, why should I doubt thee? I do not,-I will not--I will
believe nothing, suspect nothing, until I hear it from
thine own sweet lips, (for writing may deceive me,) that
thou art no longer worthy of my veneration—. No,
I will be more cheerful—I will.
Is it not wonderful, dear Juliet?—yes, I will change
the theme. I will forget that I have been weeping for
thee—it is the only way—.
Is it not strange, Juliet, that I have heard nothing, of
late, from the deaf-and-dumb man?—Nay, what a ridiculous
question!—but, I am sadly anxious to write about
something, with an air of pleasantry. I often think of
him; and, in my dreariness, I have almost wished that
he might stand before me.
Laugh with me, Juliet!—Nay, laugh at me, for I really
deserve it. Do you know, that, just at that moment,
where I left off, I happened to lift my eyes—and, if ever
I was possessed, it was at that instant, I declare —I never
was so frightened in my life—I saw the very eyes of
the deaf-and-dumb man rivetted upon me!—as I thought.
A cry escaped me, I believe; but, the good creature appeared
more terrified than I; and, though I confess, that his
first attempts at conversation were laughable enough,
yet, in a few moments, he was quite intelligible. I came
to my senses, and who do you think it was?—nobody,
in the world, but my poor drawing-master.
“Pray,” said I, “Mr. Randolph,” (with some embarrassment,
I confess; for I had been inconceivably terrified,
and I was anxious to learn if he had heard me say any
thing aloud; for sometimes, you know, I have been guilty
of talking—not to myself, exactly, but loud enough for the
neighbours to hear me, when I was all alone;) “how long
have you been here?” He smiled.
“Only a moment, I assure you.”
A pause—
“I see that you are distressed. Let me re-assure you.
I knocked at the outer door; but, as it stood ajar; and nobody
came to me; and I saw you occupied, as I thought,
with your painting, I ventured to come into the room.
It was not, till I had bowed twice or thrice; and was on
the point of announcing myself with some emphasis, that
you designed to lift up your eyes. And when you did,
—what a reception! I know not whether you were
frightened or not; but I am pretty sure that I was. My
hair will never lie close again, while I live. Nay, it is
cruel in you to laugh; does'nt this chattering of my teeth
convince you, that, whatever it may have been to you, it
was no laughing matter with me.”
His countenance changed—his hand fell upon my
shoulder.—I was indignant. I had half a mind to strike
it off—but, before he had finished a sentence, I had entirely
forgotten that it was there; and, it was not till he had
left my room, that I remembered it, as a freedom that I
will never permit again. Yet, he, I am sure, was unconscious
of it. It was done with the most natural, frank,
plausible manner in the world—as if in excess of earnestness;
just as if he had forgotten himself, in his anxiety
to re-assure me.
“Miss Ramsay,” said he “I am come on a serious errand.
Yet, before I trouble you with it, allow me to
assure you, that you uttered not a loud word; that, I overheard
nothing.”
I started.—Could the creature read my thought?
or had he read my letter?.—Read my letter!—ridiculous
indeed; that part of it, was not then written. He continued.—“And
that I saw nothing, heard nothing, which you
have any reason to lament. I see, by your countenance,
that you are apprehensive of this. Believe me, I tell
you nothing but the truth; and, had I, by any misfortune,
overheard anything, or overlooked anything, that
was not meant for my ears or eyes, I should have been
as much distressed at it, as yourself.”
It was said in a manner, so convincing, that I could
not doubt it. I forgave him, therefore; and then, I—forgave
myself.
But, what think you, was his errand? Let me tell
you, in his own words.
“You have sent for me, to teach you drawing. I have
obeyed the summons. You would learn painting. I am
unable to teach you that. You appear surprised. It is
natural. I pass for a drawing-master. I have even
taken likenesses. Nay, I have taught others, who were
superior to you; yet. I cannot teach you. This would seem
to be a paradox. But, the truth is—I am an impostor.”
My blood thrilled, Juliet;—and I declare to you, that
I began to fancy that there were the same eyes—again,
that I had seen so near my face, in Boston;—when I was
taken up, as I thought, by the deaf-and-dumb man, from
under the very wheels of the carriage, and hoofs of the
horses---what a delightful adventure it would have been!
---what a novel might have been made of it! But ah---
the incorrigible reality. It would come---and dash!
away went the cup of mystery and enchantment. He
continued,—“I am an impostor. I have been teaching an
art, of which I am ignorant. But then, I am not so ignorant
as the people here. When I began, I knew nothing
of it. I never had any instruction; but I have taught
myself, by blundering, and by teaching others. My
manner has been assured, composed- and I have a consummate
impudence. The game, that I have played, has
been a fair one; but it cannot continue. I have found
one woman, whom I can respect. For that reason, I tell
you the truth. I foresee the consequence. You will dismiss
me---and my ruin will follow, for, here, I have no other
means of livelihood. Yet---I cannot consent to impose
upon you:—why, I know not, for I could do it, if I would;
and I have imposed upon wiser and more experienced
people than Miss Ramsay.”
I was amazed; and yet, the frankness of the creature
pleased me. “No, Mr. Randolph, I will retain you yet;
and do what I can, to promote your school; I know nothing
of your landscapes, or colouring, or likenesses; but I
am pleased with your drawing, and can improve by it.”
“You are mistaken,” said he: “your style is better than
mine. You smile---I am gratified that you take the disclosure
so pleasantly. Let us continue our acquaintance.
I shall be here for a few weeks longer; and will, if you
will permit me, continue to visit you, at the same hour
---as your drawing master; but, on this condition alone,
that I receive no pay. You look alarmed---I mean, no
pay in money;---but, I am willing to be paid, by your instruction
for mine. I love your colouring. It is bold
and beautiful. I have a faculty of imitation, and can
profitby it, I am sure.”
I consented. “But pray,” said I, for I could not help
laughing at the oddity of the conceit---“how have you
managed to get the reputation that you have, as a drawing
master?”
He smiled---and went to confession, forthwith; and
his frankness became so irresistibly droll and unxpected,
that, though I am not much addicted to laughing aloud,
and was never less in a laughing humour, yet it made
me laugh so often, and so loudly, that I have had a pain in
my side ever since; and he has been gone a full hour.---
and the best of it was, that the man looked all the while,
as if he had no concern at all in the matter.
“If you will have the patience to hear me for a few
minutes,” said he, “I will let you into the whole mystery.
But first, let me remark, so that you may not be
offended at my bluntness—that I treat women, no matter
who they are, just as I do men; or, with very little
more forbearance or consideration, when I respect them.
I treat them as companions, friends, people of understanding,
or fools; and contradict them, correct them, or
laugh at them, whenever they deserve it—not merely
to make them ridiculous, or to hurt their feelings;
but, wherever it may be a benefit to them. I will not
offend you, if I can help it—but I would have you prepared
for a manner that is new to you among men. Most
men treat women like spoilt children, who must not be
contradicted, or opposed, or thwarted—whose bad temper
must always be humoured—I do not. I respect women,
but it is in my own way. I would make them wiser
and better; and, therefore, I say that to them, and before
their face, which I never say, or permit another to say
behind their backs. Profligates—men that think most
irreverently of women, cannot do this---do not. So, you
see---I am no profligate. Now, to my story. When I
was a boy, I was fond of pictures. I began to imitate
them; and, as all children do, I became passionately enamoured
of vivid colouring. I had no models; or, what
was worse than none, very bad ones; but, such as I had,
I imitated, and surpassed. In that way, by stealing a
hint, here and there, from water-coloured daubing; samplers
and embroidery; fruit and birds, &c.—I soon managed
to make, what I thought, extremely pretty
roses and
rose
buds. At this time, all that I had learnt, was, to
imitate some wretched stuff, in the drawing-book of a
girl, that went to the same school with my sister. But
my
roses soon grew in repute; and I had my hands full of
solicitation from all my uncles and aunts, and cousins---
yet, devil of a rose would I part with---I beg your pardon
for swearing. One of my expedients, to give effect
to these flowers, was, to varnish them with gum-arabick,
till they would crack and peal off, like the glazing of
crockery, in cold weather; or like the Japan tinning
of bad ware, by a hot fire.”
“I had a school master, who was a prodigy of genius in our
estimation--and his own. He had painted many surprising
matters; but nothing that tickled my fancy like a young
chicken cock, upon a gray rock, in full feather,---with a
gray squirrel upon a gray tree. And one day, for some
freak of mine, he was unlucky enough to think of locking
me up, alone, in the school room.---I attacked his treasury,
directly---pillaged it; ransacked the desk; and bore
off the cock and squirrel in triumph. As soon as I had
arrived at my room, I sat down to copy it. And so surpassingly
ignorant was I then, of the manner, in which the
gray, stone colour was produced, that, instead of looking
for Indian ink, the properties of which, I knew nothing
of, I compounded a strange wash of the black and white,
which were in my sister's paint box. Yet, with these, I
persevered, until I had made so perfect a copy, that, I am
sure, my master, himself, could hardly have told which
was his own. That was the height of my ambition.”
“Some time after, I was put apprentice to a retail-shopkeeper;
but my passion, for drawing and painting, still remained;
and I grew fond of copying whatever came in
my way. The consequence was, that I learnt all the
faults of each. Yet, I learnt to draw. At length, I
undertook faces—profiles, simply, because an old man
that boarded with me, used to amuse himself, while he
was starving, in the same way. It is easy to make a
profile, an outline I mean; but the difficulty is in filling it
up—so that some one, among a multitude, may
guess at the
original. This done, for once; and people are very
quick at such discoveries, where there is'nt anything to
pay—and confoundedly backward, as I have found, to
my mortification, where there
is—the reputation of the
artist is established forever.”
“Well—it happened, in the course of time, that I learnt
to draw with some precision and vigour; but my principles
were wrong; and I was unable to fill up the outline,
from a total ignorance of light and shadow.”
“But—I happened, also, to discover that Indian ink was
not to be put upon the paper, black as ten thousand devils
---your pardon, Miss---I must break myself of this vile
habit—and then washed light. This had been my practice.
And, Columbus, when the sailor upon the top, cried
out land!—and Archimides, when he sang out Eureka!—
Eureka!—did not feel more astonishment and delight than
I, when I learnt that Indian ink was to be put upon the
paper, diluted lightly at first; and to be deepened afterward
by repetition. It was an era in my life.”
“About this time—you will not forget, that I was a
clerk to the mystery of selling tape by the yard—a man
came to my native town to teach writing, in twelve lessons.
He was a precious scoundrel—an ignorant and
presumptuous fellow, without education or principle;—
but he did write a wonderfully beautiful hand, and made
some pretensions to drawing—nay, almost overpowered
us, I remember, once, with the picture of two red cheeked
angels, in a whirlwind of fire and smoke, with blue
wings, and a great gold pen in their jaws.”
“With this man, I enlisted—to see the world; having the
most magnificent designs and adventures in view. The
first thing, that he did, was to pack me off to Brunswick
College, where I found a parcel of fools, from six years
old and upward, to pay me for teaching them to write
“in twelve lessons, of two hours each.” Perhaps you
would like to understand the mystery of that. It lay
simply here—in the course of these twelve lessons, a person
was made to write more lines and pages, than he usually
did in a whole year; and this too, under the eye of
the master, with the best of pens, the best of ink, and
his paper so ruled, that, for his life, he could not go
wrong.”
“Well, I continued my career, till I found it necessary
to claim a part of my salary; for, I had managed so as to
consume all the receipts; cheating, too, with all possible
adroitness; and economizing, till it approached to meanness.”
“My next movement was for New York. But I stopped
at Portsmouth, where the people would not bite—
though one would have thought that they might, in the
mere spirit of retaliation; they having been bitten confoundedly,
to my certain knowledge, more than once,
in one way, and another, the same generation. Well—
in Portsmouth, I, finally, had wisdom enough to abandon
the itinerant, and low life of a writing master, to become
a—shopkeeper—again. I took up with the partner
of a man, with whom I had lived, when first tempted
away from the counter. He was a petulant, haughty,
ignorant, money-making man; but, with a good head—
and a warm heart, I think at the bottom;—and, with him
I continued, until I had spoilt the hand writing of his
two daughters gratis, in teaching them my twelve-lesson
scheme—I then quarrelled with him--and parted,
with just cash enough in my pocket to carry me home,
and buy a halter.”
“What was I to do?—I had a serious aversion to hanging—a
constitutional one perhaps; partly, I dare say, in
the mere spirit of contradiction; for most of my friends
seemed to regard that, as the infallible termination of
my adventures. So, rather than hang or starve, I took
to drawing; and, finally, after offering to teach to the
people of my native place, who never would be fools
enough to pay me for it, the art of penmanship; and, deposited
some egregious specimens of my folly in the hands
of some, whose interest it was, to get me some scholars,
but whose sense of common decency, proably prevented
them from exhibiting my specimens;—I borrowed a few
dollars of a relation, and started, to seek my fortune, in
this part of the world. I determined never to return, till
I was able to buy a dose of arsenick, at least, with my own
money, honestly earned. I arrived in an open boat, at
Bath—where I dined at a tavern, and ran away, without
paying for my dinner—for old acquaintance sake—
for the landlord knew me; and, truly, he deserved nothing
better, for admitting me into his house, without
the money in advance.”
“From Bath, I went to Hallowell, and opened a writing
school. But---I thought of drawing, and added that
to it. The thing took tolerably; and I then came up the
river. But let me tell you how I have managed to get
the reputation that I have. If anybody know more of the
art than I do, I am sure to pump all his knowledge out of
him, and apply it to my own; amusing him all the
while, as jugglers do, their prey, by talking about Titian,
Reubens, Raphael, colouring, conception---Chiaro oscuro,
&c. &c. as fast as I can—and that, you know, must
be tolerably fast. This will, generally, take his breath
away; and, people are always kind enough to conclude,
that, whatever is inexplicable, in my style or language,
is something superiour to their understanding. On some
occasions, I confess, that I have been hard run; and that,
I have not always been able to keep my countenance.
You know how sore people are, when they cannot guess
for whom a picture has been taken; and how delighted
they are, when they happen to guess right. I took advantage
of this.—I always painted profiles; and, if there
were a big nose, or a wen, or a wart, or a long chin, that
was enough for me—if not, I was fain to content myself
with a cocked hat, or a pair of spectacles—the likeness
of which, I could not miss; and all the world could see, at a
glance. I contented myself then, with the outline, only;
and that, I took care, to show to somebody that knew
who had been sitting. This would always resemble the
person, if he were devilish ugly—your pardon, Miss—
and, having once got an opinion of this kind, the money
was my own. I knew that no blundering of mine, could
ever destroy a likeness, once acknowledged; and, there
fore, I went on, working as fearlessly with my indian
ink, as if I were blacking a pair of boots: and the expression
was, generally worthy of the work. Nay, I have
laughed, time and again, till the tears came into my
eyes, on looking at my own pictures, as they darkened and
darkened, like negroes, drying before a slow fire, after
the reiterated washes that I had given them.”
“And once—I must tell you this—there was a captain
of the United States' army, at Hallo well—a prodigiously
ugly man—with a nose like a coffee-pot—no, bigger
than that—like a pump-handle. I made a likeness of
that feature—for, it was impossible to miss it—and I
had half a mind, when I had finished the nose, to stop—
for I knew that all the world would acknowledge it; but,
at last, on second thought, I concluded to put a chin,
and some other things, of the same sort, to it—for he
might be unreasonable, you know—and I liked to give
every one his money's worth;—and so, I put some other
features to it, at my leisure—giving myself no trouble
about their being his—the nose was enough for me—for
I had constantly dreamt of it; nay, it had haunted me in the
day-time, from the hour that I began its likeness—like
the spectre of something that had been unfairly dealt
with. Well, I finished the likeness—and such a likeness!—by
Jupiter, there was'nt a dog in the house, that
would'nt have yelled out, at the sight of it. He came to
get it. I could hardly keep my mouth shut, though I
bit my lip, till the blood came. He grew black in the
face, while he looked at it—and the likeness grew, every
moment, more striking. Had his rage continued till
this time, the resemblance would have been perfect. He
considered—knit his brows—and, I am sure, that that balancing
in his mind, was, whether he should break my
head, or burn his own;—and that he paid me for it, lest
I should show it—which would have made him the
laughing stock of the whole town;—and, I am equally
sure, that he put it behind the back-log, while I was
putting his money into my pocket.”
“On another occasion, a beautiful woman—rather of a
doubtful character, though, I am told—came to sit to
me, in one of the coldest days of winter—the depth of
January. I kept her, with her teeth chattering, till she
was the colour of raw meat, that had been frozen and
thawed, several times--in a thin muslin dress, for a whole
day—and then packed her off, some dollars lighter, with
a pretty picture, to be sure; or, rather, with the picture
of a pretty woman, with a smutty, dismal face—but no
more like her, than it was like my own mother. But I
had seen something of women before—and I caught, instinctively,
what I have since learnt, is the perfection of
the trade. She wore a breast-pin; a collar of lace, richly
embroidered; and an open-worked muslin frock. All
these, I copied faithfully, with all their flourishes,
flings, and furbelows. The effect was surprising—every
body knew the likeness of the breast-pin and ruffle—and
every body concluded, that, although he was unable to
see the least likeness, I won't say of the woman herself,
for to that I did not even
pretend, but of humanity—yet,
that the fault was in
him, and not in
me—for had'nt I
proved, that I could paint the likeness of a breast-pin
and ruffle?—and why, then, could I not paint the likeness
of a woman?—her face?—and features?”
There, my dear Juliet, I have written you a letter;
the length of which, though it may weary you, I hope
you will receive, as an atonement for the unkindness of its
commencement. What think you of the man, Randolph?
Is there not something truly original about him? You
hear what he has said; but you ought to have seen him,
heard him, while he described the captain. You would
never have forgotten it—there was such an air of downright
pleasant seriousness, energy and simplicity that—
but no matter—farewell.
