He resided in New York some time before he took up his abode in
Philadelphia. He had some pecuniary concerns with a merchant of that
place. He occasionally frequented his house, finding, in the society
which it afforded him, scope for amusing speculation, and opportunities
of gaining a species of knowledge of which at that time he stood in
need. There was one daughter of the family, who of course constituted a
member of the domestic circle.
Helena Cleves was endowed with every feminine and fascinating quality.
Her features were modified by the most transient sentiments, and were
the seat of a softness at all times blushful and bewitching. All those
graces of symmetry, smoothness, and lustre, which assemble in the
imagination of the painter when he calls from the bosom of her natal
deep the Paphian divinity, blended their perfections in the shape,
complexion, and hair of this lady. Her voice was naturally thrilling and
melodious, and her utterance clear and distinct. A musical education had
added to all these advantages the improvements of art, and no one could
swim in the dance with such airy and transporting elegance.
It is obvious to inquire whether her mental were, in any degree, on a
level with her exterior accomplishments. Should you listen to her talk,
you would be liable to be deceived in this respect. Her utterance was so
just, her phrases so happy, and her language so copious and correct,
that the hearer was apt to be impressed with an ardent veneration of her
abilities, but the truth is, she was calculated to excite emotions more
voluptuous than dignified. Her presence produced a trance of the senses
rather than an illumination of the soul. It was a topic of wonder how
she should have so carefully separated the husk from the kernel, and he
so absolute a mistress of the vehicle of knowledge, with so slender
means of supplying it: yet it is difficult to judge but from comparison.
To say that Helena Cleves was silly or ignorant would be hatefully
unjust. Her understanding bore no disadvantageous comparison with that
of the majority of her sex; but when placed in competition with that of
some eminent females or of Ormond, it was exposed to the risk of
contempt.
This lady and Ormond were exposed to mutual examination. The latter was
not unaffected by the radiance that environed this girl, but her true
character was easily discovered, and he was accustomed to regard her
merely as an object charming to the senses. His attention to her was
dictated by this principle. When she sung or talked, it was not
unworthy of the strongest mind to be captivated with her music and her
elocution: but these were the limits which he set to his gratifications.
That sensations of a different kind never ruffled his tranquillity must
not be supposed, but he too accurately estimated their consequences to
permit himself to indulge them.
Unhappily the lady did not exercise equal fortitude. During a certain
interval Ormond's visits were frequent, and the insensibly contracted
for him somewhat more than reverence. The tenor of his discourse was
little adapted to cherish her hopes. In the declaration of his opinions
he was never withheld by scruples of decorum, or a selfish regard to his
own interest. His matrimonial tenets were harsh and repulsive. A woman
of keener penetration would have predicted from them the disappointment
of her wishes, but Helena's mind was uninured to the discussion of
logical points and the tracing of remote consequences. His presence
inspired feelings which would not permit her to bestow an impartial
attention on his arguments. It is not enough to say that his reasonings
failed to convince her: the combined influence of passion, and an
unenlightened understanding hindered her from fully comprehending them.
All she gathered was a vague conception of something magnificent and
vast in his character.
Helena was destined to experience the vicissitudes of fortune. Her
father died suddenly and left her without provision. She was compelled
to accept the invitations of a kinswoman, and live, in some sort, a life
of dependence. She was not qualified to sustain this reverse of fortune
in a graceful manner. She could not bear the diminution of her customary
indulgences, and to these privations were added the inquietudes of a
passion which now began to look with an aspect of hopelessness.
These events happened in the absence of Ormond. On his return he made
himself acquainted with them. He saw the extent of this misfortune to a
woman of Helena's character, but knew not in what manner it might be
effectually obviated. He esteemed it incumbent on him to pay her a visit
in her new abode. This token at least of respect or remembrance his duty
appeared to prescribe.
This visit was unexpected by the lady. Surprise is the enemy of
concealment. She was oppressed with a sense of her desolate situation.
She was sitting in her own apartment in a museful posture. Her fancy was
occupied with the image of Ormond, and her tears were flowing at the
thought of their eternal separation, when he entered softly and
unperceived by her. A tap upon the shoulder was the first signal of his
presence. So critical an interview could not fail of unveiling the true
state of the lady's heart. Ormond's suspicions were excited, and these
suspicions speedily led to an explanation.
Ormond retired to ruminate on this discovery. I have already mentioned
his sentiments respecting love. His feelings relative to Helena did not
contradict his principles, yet the image which had formerly been
exquisite in loveliness had now suddenly gained unspeakable attractions.
This discovery had set the question in a new light. It was of sufficient
importance to make him deliberate. He reasoned somewhat in the following
manner:--
"Marriage is absurd. This flows from the general and incurable
imperfection of the female character. No woman can possess that worth
which would induce me to enter into this contract, and bind myself,
without power of revoking the decree, to her society. This opinion may
possibly be erroneous, but it is undoubtedly true with respect to
Helena, and the uncertainty of the position in general will increase
the necessity of caution in the present case. That woman may exist whom
I should not fear to espouse. This is not her. Some accident may cause
our meeting. Shall I then disable myself, by an irrevocable obligation,
from profiting by so auspicious an occurrence?"
This girl's society was to be enjoyed in one of two ways. Should he
consult his inclination there was little room for doubt. He had never
met with one more highly qualified for that species of intercourse which
he esteemed rational. No man more abhorred the votaries of
licentiousness. Nothing was more detectable to him than a mercenary
alliance. Personal fidelity and the existence of that passion of which
he had, in the present case, the good fortune to be the object, were
indispensable in his scheme. The union was indebted for its value on the
voluntariness with which it was formed, and the entire acquiescence of
the judgement of both parties in its rectitude. Dissimulation and
artifice were wholly foreign to the success of his project. If the lady
thought proper to assent to his proposal, it was well. She did so
because assent was more eligible than refusal.
She would, no doubt, prefer marriage. She would deem it more conducive
to happiness. This was an error. This was an opinion, his reasons for
which he was at liberty to state to her; at least it was justifiable in
refusing to subject himself to loathsome and impracticable obligations.
Certain inconveniences attended women who set aside, on these occasions,
the sanction of law; but these were imaginary. They owed their force to
the errors of the sufferer. To annihilate them, it was only necessary to
reason justly; but allowing these inconveniences their full weight and
an indestructible existence, it was but a choice of evils. Were they
worse in this lady's apprehension than an eternal and hopeless
separation? Perhaps they were. If so, she would make her election
accordingly. He did nothing but lay the conditions before her. If his
scheme should obtain the concurrence of her unbiased judgement he should
rejoice. If not, her conduct should be influenced by him. Whatever way
she should decide, he would assist her in adhering to her decision, but
would, meanwhile, furnish her with the materials of a right decision.
This determination was singular. Many will regard it as incredible. No
man it will be thought can put this deception on himself, and imagine
that there was genuine beneficence in a scheme like this. Would the lady
more consult her happiness by adopting than by rejecting it? There can
be but one answer. It cannot be supposed that Ormond, in stating this
proposal, acted with all the impartiality that he pretended; that he did
not employ fallacious exaggerations and ambiguous expedients; that he
did not seize every opportunity of triumphing over her weakness, and
building his success rather on the illusions of her heart than the
convictions of her understanding. His conclusions were specious but
delusive, and were not uninfluenced by improper biases; but of this he
himself was scarcely conscious, and it must be at least admitted that he
acted with scrupulous sincerity.
An uncommon degree of skill was required to introduce this topic so as
to avoid the imputation of an insult. This scheme was little in unison
with all her preconceived notions. No doubt the irksomeness of her
present situation, the allurements of luxury and ease which Ormond had
to bestow, and the revival of her ancient independence and security, had
some share in dictating her assent.
Her concurrence was by no means cordial and unhesitating. Remorse and
the sense of dishonour pursued her to her retreat, though chosen with a
view of shunning their intrusions; and it was only when the reasonings
and blandishments of her lover were exhibited, that she was lulled into
temporary tranquillity.
She removed to Philadelphia. Here she enjoyed all the consolations of
opulence. She was mistress of a small but elegant mansion. She possessed
all the means of solitary amusement, and frequently enjoyed the company
of Ormond. These however were insufficient to render her happy. Certain
reflections might, for a time, be repressed as divested of their sting,
but they insinuated themselves at every interval, and imparted to her
mind a hue of rejection from which she could not entirely relieve
herself.
She endeavoured to acquire a relish for the pursuits of literature, by
which her lonely hours might be cheered; but of this, even in the
blithsomeness and serenity of her former days, she was incapable;
--much more so now when she was the prey of perpetual inquietude. Ormond
perceived this change, not without uneasiness. All his efforts to
reconcile her to her present situation were fruitless. They produced a
momentary effect upon her. The softness of her temper and her attachment
to him would, at his bidding, restore her to vivacity and ease, but the
illumination seldom endured longer than his presence and the novelty of
some amusement with which he had furnished her.
At his next visit, perhaps, he would find that a new task awaited him.
She indulged herself in no recriminations or invectives. She could not
complain that her lover had deceived her. She had voluntarily and
deliberately accepted the conditions prescribed. She regarded her own
disposition to repine as a species of injustice. She laid no claim to an
increase of tenderness. She hinted not a wish for a change of situation;
yet she was unhappy. Tears stole into her eyes, and her thoughts
wandered into gloomy reverie, at moments when least aware of their
reproach, and least willing to indulge them.
Was a change to be desired? Yes; provided that change was equally
agreeable to Ormond, and should be seriously proposed by him: of this
she had no hope. As long as his accents rung in her ears, she even
doubted whether it were to be wished. At any rate, it was impossible to
gain his approbation to it. Her destiny was fixed. It was better than
the cessation of all intercourse, yet her heart was a stranger to all
permanent tranquillity.
Her manners were artless and ingenuous. In company with Ormond her heart
was perfectly unveiled. He was her divinity, to whom every sentiment was
visible, and to whom she spontaneously uttered what she thought, because
the employment was pleasing; because he listened with apparent
satisfaction; and because, in fine, it was the same thing to speak and
to think in his presence. There was no inducement to conceal from him
the most evanescent and fugitive ideas.
Ormond was not an inattentive or indifferent spectator of those
appearances. His friend was unhappy. She shrunk aghast from her own
reproaches and the censure of the world. This morbid sensibility he had
endeavoured to cure, but hitherto in vain. What was the amount of her
unhappiness? Her spirits had formerly been gay; but her gaiety was
capable of yielding place to soul-ravishing and solemn tenderness, after
sedateness was, at those times, the offspring not of reflection but of
passion. There still remained much of her former self. He was seldom
permitted to witness more than the traces of sorrow. In answer to his
inquiries, she, for the most part, described sensations that were gone,
and which she flattered herself and him would never return; but this
hope was always doomed to disappointment. Solitude infallibly conjured
up the ghost which had been laid, and it was plain that argument was no
adequate remedy for this disease.
How far would time alleviate its evils? When the novelty of her
condition should disappear, would she not regard it with other eyes? By
being familiar with contempt, it will lose its sting; but is that to be
wished? Must not the character be thoroughly depraved before the scorn
of our neighbours shall become indifferent? Indifference, flowing from a
sense of justice, and a persuasion that our treatment is unmerited, is
characteristic of the noblest minds; but indifference to obloquy,
because we are habituated to it is a token of peculiar baseness. This,
therefore, was a remedy to be ardently deprecated.
He had egregiously overrated the influence of truth and his own
influence. He had hoped that his victory was permanent. In order to the
success of truth, he was apt to imagine that nothing was needful but
opportunities for a complete exhibition of it. They that inquire and
reason with sufficient deliberateness and caution must inevitably
accomplish their end. These maxims were confuted in the present case. He
had formed no advantageous conceptions of Helena's capacity. His
aversion to matrimony arose from those conceptions; but experience had
shown him that his conclusions, unfavourable as they were, had fallen
short of the truth. Convictions, which he had conceived her mind to be
sufficiently strong to receive and retain, were proved to have made no
other than a momentary impression. Hence his objections to ally himself
to a mind inferior to his own were strengthened rather than diminished.
But he could not endure the thought of being instrumental to her
misery.
Marriage was an efficacious remedy, but he could not as yet bring
himself to regard the aptitude of this cure as a subject of doubt. The
idea of separation sometimes occurred to him. He was not unapprehensive
of the influence of time and absence in curing the most vehement
passion, but to this expedient the lady could not be reconciled. He knew
her too well to believe that she would willingly adopt it. But the only
obstacle to this scheme did not flow from the lady's opposition. He
would probably have found upon experiment as strong an aversion to adopt
it in himself as in her.
It was easy to see the motives by which he would be likely to be swayed
into a change of principles. If marriage were the only remedy, the
frequent repetition of this truth must bring him insensibly to doubt the
rectitude of his determinations against it. He deeply reflected on the
consequences which marriage involves. He scrutinised with the utmost
accuracy the character of his friend, and surveyed it in all its parts.
Inclination could not fail of having some influence on his opinions. The
charms of this favourite object tended to impair the clearness of his
view, and extenuate or conceal her defects. He entered on the
enumeration of her errors with reluctance. Her happiness, had it been
wholly disconnected with his own, might have had less weight in the
balance, but now, every time the scales were suspended, this
consideration acquired new weight.
Most men are influenced in the formation of this contract, by regards
purely physical. They are incapable of higher views. They regard with
indifference every tie that binds them to their contemporaries, or to
posterity. Mind has no part in the motives that guide them. They choose
a wife as they choose any household movable, and when the irritation of
the senses has subsided, the attachment that remains is the offspring
of habit.
Such were not Ormond's modes of thinking. His creed was of too
extraordinary a kind not to merit explication. The terms of this
contract were, in his eyes, iniquitous and absurd. He could not think
with patience of a promise which no time could annul, which pretended to
ascertain contingencies and regulate the future. To forego the liberty
of choosing his companion, and bind himself to associate with one whom
he despised; to raise to his own level whom nature had irretrievably
degraded; to avow and persist in his adherence to a falsehood, palpable
and loathsome to his understanding; to affirm that he was blind, when in
full possession of his senses; to shut his eyes and grope in the dark,
and call upon the compassion of mankind on his infirmity, when his
organs were in no degree impaired, and the scene around him was luminous
and beautiful,--was an height of infatuation that he could never
attain. And why should he be thus self-degraded? Why should he take a
laborious circuit to reach a point which, when attained, was trivial,
and to which reason had pointed out a road short and direct?
A wife is generally nothing more than a household superintendent. This
function could not be more wisely vested than it was at present. Every
thing in his domestic system was fashioned on strict and inflexible
principles. He wanted instruments and not partakers of his
authority,--one whose mind was equal and not superior to the cogent
apprehension and punctual performance of his will; one whose character
was squared with mathematical exactness, to his situation. Helena, with
all her faults, did not merit to be regarded in this light. Her
introduction would destroy the harmony of his scheme, and be, with
respect to herself, a genuine debasement. A genuine evil would thus be
substituted for one that was purely imaginary.
Helena's intellectual deficiencies could not be concealed. She was a
proficient in the elements of no science. The doctrine of lines and
surfaces was as disproportionate with her intellects as with those of
the mock-bird. She had not reasoned on the principles of human action,
nor examined the structure of society. She was ignorant of the past or
present condition of mankind. History had not informed her of the one,
nor the narratives of voyagers, nor the deductions of geography of the
other. The heights of eloquence and poetry were shut out from her view.
She could not commune in their native dialect with the sages of Rome and
Athens. To her those perennial fountains of wisdom and refinement were
sealed. The constitution of nature, the attributes of its author, the
arrangement of the parts of the external universe, and the substance,
modes of operation, and ultimate destiny of human intelligence, were
enigmas unsolved and insoluble by her.
But this was not all. The superstructure could for the present be
spared. Nay, it was desirable that the province of rearing it should be
reserved for him. All he wanted was a suitable foundation; but this
Helena did not possess. He had not hitherto been able to create in her
the inclination or the power. She had listened to his precepts with
docility. She had diligently conned the lessons which he had prescribed,
but the impressions were as fleeting as if they had been made on water.
Nature seemed to have set impassable limits to her attainments.
This indeed was an unwelcome belief. He struggled to invalidate it. He
reflected on the immaturity of her age. What but crude and hasty views
was it reasonable to expect at so early a period? If her mind had not
been awakened, it had proceeded, perhaps from the injudiciousness of
his plans, or merely from their not having been persisted in. What was
wanting but the ornaments of mind to render this being all that poets
have feigned of angelic nature? When he indulged himself in imaging the
union of capacious understanding with her personal loveliness, his
conceptions swelled to a pitch of enthusiasm, and it seemed as if no
labour was too great to be employed in the production of such a
creature. And yet, in the midst of his glowings, he would sink into
sudden dejection at the recollection of that which passion had, for a
time, excluded. To make her wise it would be requisite to change her
sex. He had forgotten that his pupil was a female, and her capacity
therefore limited by nature. This mortifying thought was outbalanced by
nature. Her attainments, indeed, were suitable to the imbecility of her
sex; but did she not surpass in those attainments, the ordinary rate of
women? They must not be condemned, because they are outshone by
qualities that are necessarily male births.
Her accomplishments formed a much more attractive theme. He overlooked
no article in the catalogue. He was confounded at one time, and
encouraged at another, on remarking the contradictions that seemed to be
included in her character. It was difficult to conceive the
impossibility of passing that barrier which yet she was able to touch.
She was no poet. She listened to the rehearsal without emotion, or was
moved, not by the substance of the passage, by the dazzling image, or
the magic sympathy, but by something adscititious; yet, usher her upon
the stage, and no poet could wish for a more powerful organ of his
conceptions. In assuming this office, she appeared to have drank in the
very soul of the dramatist. What was wanting in judgement was supplied
by memory, in the tenaciousness of which she has seldom been rivalled.
Her sentiments were trite and undigested, but were decorated with all
the fluences and melodies of elocution. Her musical instructor had been
a Sicilian, who had formed her style after the Italian model. This man
had likewise taught her his own language. He had supplied her chiefly
with Sicilian compositions, both in poetry and melody, and was content
to be unclassical, for the sake of the feminine and voluptuous graces of
his native dialect.
Ormond was an accurate judge of the proficiency of Helena, and of the
felicity with which these accomplishments were suited to her character.
When his pupil personated the victims of anger and grief, and poured
forth the fiery indignation of Calista, or the maternal despair of
Constantia, or the self-contentions of Ipsipile, he could not deny the
homage which her talents might claim.
Her Sicilian tutor had found her no less tractable as a votary of
painting. She needed only the education of Angelica to exercise as
potent and prolific a pencil. This was incompatible with her condition,
which limited her attainments to the element of this art. It was
otherwise with music. Here there was no obstacle to skill, and here the
assiduities of many years in addition to a prompt and ardent genius, set
her beyond the hopes of rivalship.
Ormond had often amused his fancy with calling up images of excellences
in this art. He saw no bounds to the influence of habit, in augmenting
the speed and multiplying the divisions of muscular motion. The fingers,
by their form and size, were qualified to outrun and elude the most
vigilant eye. The sensibility of keys and wires had limits; but these
limits depended on the structure of the instrument, and the perfection
of its structure was proportioned to the skill of the artist. On
well-constructed keys and strings, was it possible to carry diversities
of movement and pressure too far? How far they could be carried was mere
theme of conjecture, until it was his fate to listen to the magical
performances of Helena, whose volant finger seemed to be self-impelled.
Her touches were creative of a thousand forms of _piano_, and of
numberless transitions from grave to quick, perceptible only to ears
like her own.
In the selection and arrangement of notes there are no limits to
luxuriance and celerity. Helena had long relinquished the drudgery of
imitation. She never played but when there were motives to fervour, and
when she was likely to ascend without impediment, and to maintain for a
suitable period her elevation, to the element of new ideas. The lyrics
of Milton and of Metastasio she sung with accompaniments that never
tired, because they were never repeated. Her harp and clavichord
supplied her with endless combinations, and these, in the opinion of
Ormond, were not inferior to the happiest exertions of Handel and Arne.
Chess was his favourite amusement. This was the only game which he
allowed himself to play. He had studied it with so much zeal and
success, that there were few with whom he deigned to contend. He was
prone to consider it as a sort of criterion of human capacity. He who
had acquired skill in this _science_ could not be infirm in mind; and
yet he found in Helena a competitor not unworthy of all his energies.
Many hours were consumed in this employment, and here the lady was
sedate, considerate, extensive in foresight, and fertile in expedients.
Her deportment was graceful, inasmuch as it flowed from a consciousness
of her defects. She was devoid of arrogance and vanity, neither
imagining herself better than she was, and setting light by those
qualifications which she unquestionably possessed. Such was the mixed
character of this woman.
Ormond was occupied with schemes of a rugged and arduous nature. His
intimate associates and the partakers of his confidence were imbued with
the same zeal and ardent in the same pursuits. Helena could lay no claim
to be exalted to this rank. That one destitute of this claim should
enjoy the privileges of his wife was still a supposition truly
monstrous. Yet the image of Helena, fondly loving him, and a model as he
conceived of tenderness and constancy, devoured by secret remorse, and
pursued by the scorn of mankind,--a mark for slander to shoot at, and an
outcast of society,--did not visit his meditations in vain. The rigour
of his principles began now to relent.
He considered that various occupations are incident to every man. He
cannot be invariably employed in the promotion of one purpose. He must
occasionally unbend, if he desires that the springs of his mind should
retain their full vigour. Suppose his life were divided between business
and amusement. This was a necessary distribution, and sufficiently
congenial with his temper. It became him to select with skill his
sources of amusement. It is true that Helena was unable to participate
in his graver occupations: what then? In whom were blended so many
pleasurable attributes? In her were assembled an exquisite and delicious
variety. As it was, he was daily in her company. He should scarcely be
more so if marriage should take place. In that case, no change in their
mode of life would be necessary. There was no need of dwelling under the
same roof. His revenue was equal to the support of many household
establishments. His personal independence would remain equally
inviolable. No time, he thought, would diminish his influence over the
mind of Helena, and it was not to be forgotten that the transition would
to her be happy. It would reinstate her in the esteem of the world, and
dispel those phantoms of remorse and shame by which she was at present
persecuted.
These were plausible considerations. They tended at least to shake his
resolutions. Time would probably have completed the conquest of his
pride, had not a new incident set the question in a new light.