University of Virginia Library

HELEN TO JULIET. ENCLOSED.

No. II.

Your husband is dead, madam—torn to pieces, by wild
beasts. I am glad of it. He deserved it. I could tell
you a tale of him, that would make you hate his memory,
like death; plausible as he was—kind as he was; but I have
not the proof within my reach—and, though I know that
the conspiracy existed, yet I have not the heart, utterly
to destroy a woman, whose lord hath played so falsely

with her. All that I would do, is this—arouse her to a
sense of her own excellence. What!—a creature that
Edward Molton hath loved, to idolatry,—hath loved,
night and day; dreamed of, even in my arms—O, it was
hard to bear, Juliet—another would have wept and cursed
thee—but I—I could not—there was something consecrate
about thee;—and when, in his troubled, cold sleep
—he would murmur thy name; call me Juliet, while his
lips grew to mine—O, there was that horrible pleasure,
and delirium in it, that I could not wake him.—did not,
till one night—in a trance,—No, no—wait awhile. I
must tell thee that story more regularly; or, it may be,
that it will not be believed.

Before you have finished this letter, I shall be dead.
Remember that. And when you find it true, believe me:
—not till then, I do not ask it till then. This hand, Juliet—O,
how I should have loved thee, woman, wast
thou my sister; yea, anybody, anybody of all this earth,
except the first love of Edward—that I cannot forgive—
will not—and yet, I cannot hate thee—for, I have wronged
thee. Who married thee?—who drove thee with a
thong of serpents into the toil?—was it Jane?—ay.
But who spirited Jane up to the work?—who furnished
her with facts that maddened thee;--facts, that Molton had
told me in his sleep. It was I!—I, alone! But for that,
thy indignation at his baseness and treachery—it was
that which drove thee into Grenville's arms. I knew
it. I knew then. The artifices of Jane were paltry.—
She was an ordinary woman. They would have failed,
but for me—even they—and thou hadst never been the
husband of Grenville. But she was rewarded. The
fool—and that other woman of darkness, that Matilda
—the Lord, God Omnipotent, hath been upon them both.
The one is mad—and the other destroyed herself. How?
—let her be careful, if she come to life again, how she
send her letters of guilt unsealed. She was a murderess.
I knew it. I kept the secret, like a charged thunderbolt,
to launch at her brain, whenever I was weary
of her. The hand of him, that she loved, sent it.—It
went. She became, on the spot, a heap of blood and ashes.

And Grenville too, I could have slain him—he was in

my power; but I forbore, lest the mighty reward of all
my labour; thy separation, for ever and ever, from Edward,
should be nought. Yet—he was weak—and he
had rifled,—visited—that were enough to deserve his
fate—a heart, where the image of Molton was concealed.
The pirates were upon him;—and his bones were
splintered; and his flesh hacked, till—even I wept
to hear of it.

Then came the thought of retribution. I knelt down.
I prayed not to be mad, for a little while. I owed some
terrible atonement, for all that I had made him suffer—
Molton, I mean—ah!—if I do not hurry, I shall never
live to finish the tale. I owed him some reward for
his love and constancy. Your husband was out of the
way.—Let his wife follow, and he would be rewarded, I
thought. Should I let out my heart's blood at his feet?
—No!—for though I was determined to die;—and let
them that would, roll my corpse away, from the road to
thy bed, Juliet—yet, it was unsightly to die in blood;
and Jane too,--she was an ordinary woman---she died so.
True, it was a fit of passion in her—but I scorn that—
what I have done, evil or good, has been deliberately
done. I wanted to talk with Molton too, after I should feel
my heart on fire; when it was too late for the aid of
man to help me.—I could not do this, if I slew myself,
as she did;—and then he might suspect my purpose, if
I reasoned of it; and withhold me. Should it be poison?—My
hand was somewhat familiar with that. I
had given it to him once. So---I took poison. It is at
work now---I feel it---here, here!---the tissue tightens
about my heart; and my breathing, scorches my own lips.
But let me tell thee, how that was It was in her arms--
our cheeks touched, and thrilled---I was sleeping upon
his shoulder; and, as I loved to sleep, even in that haunted
room---with my eyes just open---and a voluptuous,
rich drowsiness, all about me. He whispered; and put
his hand upon my forehead.---I turned, trembling, toward
him, and our arms were interlaced,---just then---
aye, just then--hell and furies!--he whispered thy name--
it was not Helen, that he uttered---no, no!---it was Juliet.
The curtain shivered, and swam before my
eyes---I dashed away his hands---and I knew not

what followed---but I had a dream---and when I
awoke, he was there, standing over me.---It was broad
day light---I looked at my hands, expecting to find thy
blood, or his, upon them---for such was my dream.---I
thought that I had left my bed, and entered thine; and
left thee, with the blood gushing out of thy side—nay,
Juliet---hast thou forgotten the alarm, when somebody
came to thy window at night. That was I!---Two
miles had I wandered, with the instinct of a blood hound
to his prey---but I was baffled. How, I know not---I
heard voices---and a shot was fired. All this past
through my mind; but my hands were clean---no blood
upon them. I looked at them. I felt strangely bewildered;
and yet---there was a burning distinctness in
one apparition, that I had seen. It stood upon the blue
water---and its eyes were like the stars in winter, all
the brighter for their coldness---I approached---meaning
to strangle it---but the water shivered, and broke, and
sparkled, like glass in the star light, wherever I set my
foot.---It was thee!---I was awake now,---I remembered
a goblet.---I turned to where I had seen it in my
delirium. There it was---there---with the blood-red
sediment at the bottom, yet---the infernal drug. I
was broad awake, in an instant---I caught Edward's
hand---I wrung it---O, my God!---my God! it would
not vanish.---I caught at it, I dashed into dust. He
was terrified---and I---I dared not ask him, what he knew
of the goblet. A whole hour passed; and then, I sat
me down calmly; took his two hands into mine, and
asked him, steadily, what had been in it.

“I know not, love,” said he. “It is the cup that thy hand
offered me this morning, as I awoke early, and found
thee, thy hair wet and dripping---and thy limbs all
trembling, “Did you,—did you swallow it?” said I,
gasping for breath. “I did?”---was the reply—and he
put his lips upon my eye lids.

“It was death, Edward,” said I.

He did not appear to heed me.---But I proceeded---I
told him all---where the poison had been hid; why I had
prepared it---and that there was no hope for him.

He took my hand---his countenance darkened; and,
for a moment, he looked as he were about to crush me

under his feet---the next, it was a terrible struggle,—he
fell upon my bosom,—“Mistaken woman,” he cried,
“what could possess thee! Thou hast drugged with
death, the truest heart—that—”

O, I know not what prevented me, from dashing my
brains out, upon the spot. To be so met; so rewarded; for
a deed like mine, when I had only prepared myself to
be scattered by a whirlwind---for I knew him---and I
knew that nothing mortal could withstand him, in his
wrath---when I expected him to tear off the poisoned
reptile that enfolded him, and tread it to death;-- O,
God,---to be caressed, more warmly, more tenderly,
than ever!

I fell at his feet---but just then, a thought---O, it was
devilish---shot over my brain. “By what name,” said I,
“did I adjure thee to drink it?”---I began to have a faint,
yet burning recollection of the whole.

He looked me steadily in the face.---“By a name,
proud woman---that, mad as thou act, (O, Juliet; he
knew not how true were his words, at that moment!---
I was mad;---I had been---) by a name,” said he, “at the
sound of which, even in my grave, I would arise, and exhaust;
drain, to the very dregs---the chalice of hell, itself.
By the name of Juliet.”

I started at the sound—the blood frothed in my arteries.---I
burst from his arms---my heart felt suddenly
distended, as if a torrent had discharged itself, all at
once, into it.

It was many days, before I recovered. But Edward
was alive---and only alive. The operation of the poison,
was slow, but never the less fatal. It hath burnt within
him, from that hour to this---and will, to his dying
day.

It was the knowledge of this, that withheld him from
thee, Juliet. He loved thee, to death and distraction.
He never loved me, never!---It was pity only, and compassion,
that led him, in a moment, of romantick delirium,
to marry me. Bid him tell thee, the tale. From
that hour, he never knew one of tranquillity. He wept
of thee---talked of thee, continually; of thy innocence
and helplessness;---but never, when awake;---and never

had I permitted him to know that I was informed of it.
He was silent on the subject; and so was I; he, from
tenderness; and I, from wounded pride. What could he
do? He could have set himself free, at any hour he pleased,
from me; for our marriage was illegal:---but he
would not, for he knew that my life was bound up in his
love. The temptation was terrible. He had only to
speak the word---a single word; and my husband,---my
first husband, stood ready to take me to his bosom; nay,
a single word would have sent me, back, alone, over the
wide Atlantick. He loved thee, yet,—might not that
love tempt him to wander?---Could it be expected, that
he would always remain so devoted to me, while he so
loved another,—merely, because it was my happiness;
my only happiness, in a land of strangers. But the poison
wrought. Then was it, then! for the first time, that I
felt sure of him! I knew his nature too well;---I knew
that, were I dead at his feet, he would never marry thee;
never tell his love,---while that death was eating into
his vitals. I was right. He avoided thee. He told
thee of his marriage. It was false. We were married,
it is true---but illegally. I was the wife of another
man, at the same moment; and a lunatick!---He could
have separated me, from him, for ever, at a word.

Do you shudder? It is true, so help me, God! I did
not know it, myself. It was long, and long after, that
I learnt it; and then, I dared not tell the truth. He had
married me, because he saw my flesh lacerated, my lips
torn, and my wrists stained with the iron that bound
me. I knew not the reason; and I told the tale as it appeared
to me. Gracious heaven! will it be believed, that
my father had concealed the tremendous disorder from
my first husband; and that I, a lunatick, was married,
in the holy church, to a man that loved me!---O, I cannot
tell thee, how fervently. It was our hereditary disorder;
but my father was ambitious.

I had discovered this---might not Molton? And, if he
did, would he not avail himself of it, to part with me,
forever—and fly to thee? The thought haunted me,
night and day, before the poison had been given. At
last, a plot was matured. Jane and Matilda, and I, prepared

the infernal ingredients—and thy husband stood
by, holding thy hand over them—while a priest muttered
his incantation. Juliet, there were faces, other than of this
earth, seen in the smoke of the church, that morning!—
And there were living creatures near thee, as the benediction
was pronounced; and when that faint sickness of
the heart, came over thee. I was there—even I. Then,
I was secure. But where, when can the guilty say this.
Cold sweats were upon me, night and day. Edward
waxed thinner and thinner, every hour; and, every hour,
I felt as if my heart had been thrown into a coil of tangled
serpents—hungry—and I could fancy that the blood
dripped from their jaws, continually, like fire, upon the
wound.

Many times, I was ready to throw myself at the feet
of Edward; and confess the whole. O, I knew not that
he was already master of it; and that he forgave me---the
cruellest thing of all!—only from discovering, by an interview
with Mr. Grenville, that, weak as he had been
in this affair; nay, wicked as he had been, he was naturally
a good man, and well fitted to make thee happy.—
I know that he meditated terrible things—I know it; for
he sat up all one night; and his face was tremendously
stern and pale. That was the crisis. He forgave me—
it was after he had seen your husband.

But your husband died. I am revengeful, but I am
generous. My mother was a Spanish woman. I inherited
her hot blood. But my father was an Englishman,
an honour to his country. I inherited his lordly nature.
It was time for me, now, to do my part. I thought of it,
long and long, before the news of your husband's death,
came to me. But that determined me—that!---I took the
remainder of that very poison, which I had given to Edward,
three years before. That done, I sent for him, and
told him all. He was frightfully agitated, at first; but,
in a little while—accursed thought—it appeared to me,
that he was thinking, already, of his reward. I could
read Juliet, in his very eyes. But, witnesses were near;
and I told him, in vengeance, as much as in honesty, that
he had been the husband of a mad woman. He affected not
to believe me. But, the blow went home---home! I felt

his heart stagger—and heard the blood rush out of it, as
I whispered the truth in his ear. Pity me, Juliet; pity
me. I was born for something better than I am. Pity
me!

But I had written this—all but the few last lines.---
Them, I have now added, while he and your cousin, are
now whispering in the next room; and my girl is at the
door. All is now over—they are returning—one moment,
Juliet! I could have loved thee, dear; nay, I do
love thee, even at this moment. Farewell!—farewell!—
Remember, that my guilt is one of madness, and of love.
Canst thou understand it? Thou canst! O, how he
used to talk of thee in his sleep—it was hard to bear,
Juliet—but—but—I forgive thee—and bless thee!