The manner in which she pronounced this, said so positively I do not
love you, that I was transported beyond all bounds of patience; I became
furious, yet the next instant, imagining I saw terror in the eyes of
Julia, I fell at her feet. A tear, a sigh at that moment, had changed my
future fate, but she still preserved her cold tranquility. I hastily got
up, went to the door, and stopped. Farewell for ever! said I, half
suffocated with passion. Julia turned pale, and rose as if to come to
me; I advanced towards her, and she fell back into her chair, ready
almost to faint. I interpreted this violent agitation, into terror.
What, am I become a subject of horror! cried I; well, I will deliver you
from this odious object. So saying, I darted from the chamber in an
agony of despair.
My uncle was absent, I no longer had a friend, no one to advise or
counteract the rashness of the moment. Distracted, totally beside
myself, I ran to the parents of Julia, declared my intention, added,
Julia herself was desirous of a separation, and that I would give back
all her fortune.
They endeavoured to reason with me, but in vain; I informed them I
should go directly into the country, where I should stay three days, and
when I came back I expected to find myself alone in my own house. I next
wrote to Julia to inform her of my proceedings, and departed, as I had
said I would, the same evening for the country.
My passions were too much agitated to let me perceive the extent of
misery to which I condemned myself; and what seems now inconceivable
was, that though I loved my wife dearer than ever, and was inwardly
persuaded I might yet regain her affections, I found a kind of
satisfaction in making our rupture thus ridiculously public. I never
could have determined on a separation from Julia with that coolness and
propriety which such things, when absolutely necessary, demand. I wanted
to astonish, to agitate, to rouze her from her state of indifference,
which, to me, was more dreadful even than her hatred. I flattered myself
that, hearing me, she had doubted my sincerity, and supposed me
incapable of finally parting from her.
I likewise imagined that event would rekindle in her heart all her
former affection; and this hope alone was enough to confirm me in the
execution of my project. I took pleasure in supposing her incertitude,
astonishment, and distress; my fancy represented her when reading my
letter; beheld her, conducted by her relations, pale and trembling,
descend the stairs; saw her stop and sigh as she passed the door of my
apartment, and weep as she stepped into the carriage.
I had left a trusty person at Paris, with orders to observe her as
carefully as possible; to watch her, follow her, question her women, and
inform me of all she said or did at this critical moment; but the
relation was not long. Julia continued secluded in her chamber, received
her friends without a witness, and departed by a private stair-case
unseen of any one.
The same afternoon that she left my house she wrote me a note, which
contained nearly these words.
“I have followed your orders, and departed from a place whither I shall
always be ready to return, whenever your heart shall recall me. As to
your proposal of giving back a fortune too considerable for my present
situation, I dare expect as a proof of your esteem, it will not be
insisted upon: so to do is now the only remaining thing that can add to
my uneasiness. Condescend therefore, to accept the half of an income,
which can give me no pleasure if you do not partake it with me.”
This billet, which I washed with my tears, gave birth to a crowd of
reflections. The contrast of behaviour between me and Julia forcibly
struck me, and I saw by the effects how much affection, founded upon
duty, is preferable to passion. I adore Julia, said I, and yet am become
her tormentor; have determined to proceed even to a separation; she
loved me without passion, and was constantly endeavouring to make me
happy; ever ready to sacrifice her opinions, wishes and will and
continually pardoning real offences, while I have been imputing to her
imaginary ones; and, at last, when my excessive folly and injustice have
lost her heart, her forgiveness and generosity have yet survived her
tenderness, and she thinks and acts the most noble and affecting duties
towards an object she once loved. Oh yes! I now perceive true affection
to be that which reason approves, and virtue strengthens.
Overwhelmed by such reflections, the most bitter repentance widened
every wound of my bleeding heart. I shuddered when I remembered the
public manner in which I had put away my wife; and in this fearful state
of mind, I had doubtless gone and cast myself at Julia’s feet,
acknowledged all my wrongs, and declared I could not live without her,
had I not been prevented by scruples, which for once were but too well
founded.
I had been a Prodigal and a Gamester and, what was still worse, had a
steward, who possessed in a superior degree the art of confusing his
accounts, which indubitably proves such a person to want either honesty
or capacity. Instead of at first discharging him, I only begged he would
not trouble me with his bills and papers; which order with him needed no
repetition, for it was not unintentionally he had been so obscure and
diffuse.
About six months, however, before the period I at present speak of, he
had several times demanded an audience, to shew me the declining state
of my affairs. At the moment, this made little impression upon me; but
after reading Julia’s note it came into my mind, and before I could
think of obtaining my pardon, I resolved to learn my real situation.
Unhappily for me, my conduct had been such that I had no right to depend
on my wife’s esteem; and, if ruined, how could I ask her to return and
forget what was passed? Would not she ascribe that to interest, which
love alone had inspired? The idea was insupportable, and I would rather
even never behold Julia more, than be liable to be so suspected.
With such fears I returned hastily to Paris. But what were my sensations
at entering a house which Julia no longer inhabited, and whence I myself
had had the madness and folly to banish her! Attacked by a thousand
afflicting thoughts, overwhelmed with grief and regret, I had one only
hope, which was, that by œconomy and care I might again re-establish my
affairs, and afterwards obtain forgiveness, and be reconciled to Julia.
I sent for my steward, and began by declaring, the first step I should
take would be to return my wife’s fortune. He seemed astonished at this,
and wanted to dissuade me, by saying he did not think it possible I
could make this restitution without absolute ruin being the consequence.
I saw by this my affairs were even much worse than I had imagined.
The discovery threw me into the most dreadful despair; for to lose my
fortune was, according to my principles, to lose Julia eternally.
Before I searched my situation to the bottom, I restored Julia’s whole
portion; I then paid my debts; and these affairs finished, I found
myself so completely ruined, that, in order to live, I was obliged to
purchase a trifling life-annuity, with what remained of a large fortune.
My estates, horses, houses, all were sold, and I hired a small apartment
near the Luxembourg, about three months after my separation from my
wife. My Uncle was not rich; he had little to live on except a pension
from the government, though he offered me assistance, which I refused.
Julia, in the mean time, had retired to a convent. On the very day I had
quitted my house, I received a letter from her in the following terms:
“Since you have forced me to receive what you call mine, since you treat
me like a stranger, I think myself justified in doing the same. When I
left your house, the fear of offending you, in appearing to despise your
gifts, occasioned me to take with me the diamonds and jewels which you
had presented to me: it was your request, your command that I should do
so, and I held obedience my duty. But since you shew me you will not act
with the same delicacy, I have determined to part with these useless
ornaments, which never were valuable but as coming from you. I found a
favourable opportunity of selling them advantageously for twenty-four
thousand livres (a thousand pounds sterling), which I have sent to your
Attorney, as a sum I was indebted to you, and which you cannot oblige me
to take back, since it is not mine.
“I have been in the convent of * * * for these two months past, where I
intend to remain for some weeks at least, unless you take me
hence.----_We_ have a fine estate in Flanders; they say it is a charming
country. Speak but a word, and I am ready to go with you, to live with
you, to die with you.”
(_To be continued._)
* * * * *
+For the New-York Weekly Magazine.+
+THE DEAD INFANT; or, the AGONIZING MOTHER.+
“She snatch’d the hope of youth, the pride of age
From the dark cerements of the shrouding sheet!”
----“Speak, Menander, let thy mother once more hear the Voice that was
her last comfort--” She begged in vain, for Menander had closed his eyes
in death, and with him had fled the only happiness that his widowed
mother possessed. She had but a little while since bade farewell to
another child, who had gone to that bourne from whence there is no
return. And now must she lose the other--the thought was too much.--No
one should part her from him.--“I will still keep him,” said she, in the
height of maniac rage, “if he will not speak to me I shall still behold
him--I will still have my child.”
A friend who willingly would have been the means of allaying her extreme
sorrow, had taken the liberty, while the mother slept, of arraying the
corpse in the dress suitable for interment, and removed it to the
appointed place. The mother awoke--missed her child, and hastened to the
church-yard.--It was not yet deposited in the earth.--In agony she tore
the lid from the coffin--pressed him to her heart, and returned
home.--She kissed him---kept him continually encircled in her arms---nor
would she again be parted from him.
She offered part of the necessaries that were set before her to the
insensate clay, nor did she eat because her son could not.---But nature
could not long bear up against this torrent of grief.---She once more
pressed him with redoubled force to her breast, again kissed his putrid
cheek--and slept her final sleep.