What am I? how produced, and for what end?
Whence drew I being? to what period tend?
_Artbuthnot_.
My name is Lionel Granby. I was the second and youngest son of the
Honorable Edmund Granby, a gentleman distinguished for his polished
education and stately aristocracy. The earliest associations of my
eventful life, steal from memory more of joyousness than of pain; and
gathering in a gilded horizon of light around the darkness of my
destiny, they whisper a consolation which despair cannot efface, nor
misfortune obliterate.
Chalgrave, (an ominous name for a patrician family,) was the proud
mansion of my ancestors. It was a huge and gnarled pile of Dutch
brick, surrounded by a cumbrous wall of the same material. Situated on
the western side of Chesapeake Bay, it frowned with stubborn
misanthropy, on the mingled beauty which softened the silent
landscape. It stood alone in the silence of its grandeur,--cold,
fearful and noiseless. A broad and level plain swept round its base,
dotted into life with the cottages of my father's numerous slaves.
From them sprung the only voices which soothed the chilled solitude of
the scene. Here, at all times might be heard the merry laugh, the
jocund song, or the unalloyed mirth of alternate ease and idleness.
One of those noble and beautiful rivers, which dally, as if it scorned
to arise from an humble rivulet, with the bosom of the Chesapeake,
gushed up its full waters fresh as in the morning of its creation.
Much rude and incongruous taste disfigured the interior of Chalgrave.
A dark and gloomy heaviness sate on the antique wainscotting, the
massy sofas, and the blackened windows. From the dinner hall, the
portraits of my ancestors looked down, as if in contempt on the
degeneracy of modern times. Here was a cavalier, with flowing locks
and iron-bound brow, who had lost his life in the memorable field of
Naseby. Opposite to him, was the stiff and rigid portrait of a grave
and thoughtful face. He was one of those inflexible and independent
lawyers, whose moral courage had labored in the war of our revolution,
and whose inflexible spirit had inspired successful resistance.
Mothers with children in their arms; infants with toys, and belles
with flowers and books, filled the wall alike with vermillion and
smiles.
The number _seven_ was curiously interwoven, in the circumstances of
my birth. I was born on the seventh day of the seventh month, at seven
o'clock, being the seventh of May. In our old family Bible, I find the
record of my birth in my father's hand writing, followed with this
fearful sentence. "Curse him not, oh God! with the ---- of our
family." Amid the desolations of despair--the anguish of broken
hearted affliction, and the contempt of the world, I turn to the
gentle and joyous hours of my childhood, even as the "hart which
panteth after the water brooks." My memory is my heart, and my
affections hourly trace themselves on its index. My mother's dark and
deep blue eye, even now beams over her wretched child, and I live
alone in the regenerative charity of this blessed passion.
I have a faint and indistinct recollection of my father's death and
burial. The solemn ceremony of his funeral, and the dull and harsh
sound of the earth as it touched his coffin, deeply affected my
youthful spirits. I cried bitterly in the arms of my old nurse, and
wondered at my mother's chilled and tearless eye. My father was dead!
He had been stern and imperious to me; and as my gratitude was no
reasoning power, I soon laughed brightly again in the serious and
melancholy face of my mother. My old nurse Ellen, had lived in the
Granby family for three successive generations, and was addressed by
the endearing epithet of "Mammy." Her grandson, a well formed and
athletic youth, named Scipio, four years older than myself, had been
given to me by my father, and I soon learned the deep and abiding
fidelity of his affection. He was my friend, companion and slave; and
I thank God! that the pride of dominion never insulted or degraded
him. In his obedience, he was dignified; and in his devotion, ardent,
generous and sincere. He taught me to ride the unbroken colt--to steer
the frail periogue, and to fish with success for the active boneta.
According to the custom in Virginia, he did no service but wait on his
young master. Thus separated from the great mass of my father's
slaves, he grew into manhood with a gentleness of character and a
dignity of address which would have honored the proudest gentleman in
the state.
My old uncle Charles, who was one of the happiest and most dignified
specimens of the "decayed gentleman," had found a resting place for
his adversity in the Chalgrave family. He had been a Colonel in the
militia; and having on one occasion, performed with his whole regiment
before an admiring _court yard_, the difficult and vexatious manoeuvre
of "the hollow square," he instantly resigned his commission; and
under the shade of his laurels, he lamented the decay of military
spirit, and the ignorance of the officers. The "hollow square," was
the first mathematical figure I learned. Every thing in nature was
pressed by my uncle into this fortified figure (as he called it,) of
fortification. The trees, the flowers, the grass plats, backgammon
men,--and the flies trained with honey, presented the solemn outline
of my uncle's pride and learning. His peculiarities were few, and
deeply tinctured with enthusiasm. As an antiquary alone, in the cause
of Virginian history, he was bigoted, obstinate and credulous; and,
considered as the first of books, "the Metamorphoses of Ovid, done
into English by Mr. George Sandys, the company's treasurer." He
contended that Clayton, the botanist, was greater in learning, than
Linnæus; and, told with much indignation, the minutiæ of Clayton's
quarrel with Gronovius, the Amsterdam printer. My uncle was
experienced in the diseases of dogs and horses, and perfectly familiar
with the technical jargon of the racing calendar. He had travelled in
Europe, but would never mention the incidents of his tour, except to
inform his auditory that the best saddles were made in London, and the
finest pointers were bred at Padua. Yet my uncle had learning, taste
and erudition, which he guarded, from every profane eye, with a
repulsive and dogged obstinacy; and the few flashes which occasionally
broke from him, glittered like the trembling rays which play around
the edge of some sombre cloud. As an admirer of the fair, he was
courteous, dreamy and fantastic, and would ever and anon, refer, for
an evidence of his family gallantry, to the speech of one Sir Danvers
Granby, who was a commissioner under Henry VIII, for dissolving the
nunneries. When the nuns were shivering in the rude gaze of the
populace, Sir Danvers, looked at them with tears in his eyes,
exclaiming, "God bless you! I could marry you all, if I did not adore
you!" This story my uncle told with a smile and a bow.
My gallant, gifted, and noble brother Frederick! how bright was the
star which shone over thy boyhood! Alas! that its flickering light
should only beam o'er thy pallid couch!--He was several years my
senior, and had been sent to Europe for the purpose of acquiring a
military education, but had returned at the age of nineteen with a
broken and impaired constitution. He was studious, solitary and
reserved; while the hectic flush of consumption, which irradiated his
cheek, nerved alike the fortitude of his character, and awakened the
sympathy of every eye. His heart was gentle, though his studies were
severe--and he saved from the wreck which ambition ever makes of
feeling, no jewel so rich as the untainted tenderness of his
character. He had become a member of the bar; and I have often gazed
on his high and marbled brow, as a living monument, on which destiny
had inscribed its fiat of despair. Political life! that maddening
turmoil of empty nothingness! was the goal on which he had fixed his
dream of hope; and, though ill health prostrated him to the earth, his
sunny smile breathed a freshness, and a gloom, as brilliant, and as
melancholy as the tremulous twilight of an autumn sky. He cared naught
for wealth, love or pleasure. Ambition was the demon which moved
around him, in a track of its own desolation; and though beauty had
lured him almost to the confines of matrimony, he could trample down
the sympathies of his nature beneath its despotic rule.
My sister Lucy, was two years younger than myself; she was fair,
delicate, and singularly beautiful. Her raven and luxuriant hair, fell
in prodigal ringlets over a brow of Parian whiteness, giving that
struggling halo of beauty which darkness throws around the solitude of
the snow drift. She was deeply versed in the fashionable
accomplishments of female education, and had added to them the
acquirements of solid learning. The old library was the resort of her
solitary hours; and as her light and sylph-like form, would flit
through its darkened walls, fancy might easily personify her into
Fame, hovering over the tomb of Genius.
The coachman, ostler, and dining room servants, are all important
characters in the _dramatis personæ_ of a Virginian household. With
them I was a pet. The first, taught me to drive--the second, initiated
me into the mysteries of Tree Hill and Broad Rock; while the third,
corrected with severity, any breach of etiquette or violation of
morals, inconsistent with his own or the Granby's dignity.
Such was the Granby family. Where are they now? The spider has woven
her web, and the owl has built her nest in the crumbling walls of
Chalgrave. The silent grave reads but one lesson--for the breeze which
sighs over its dewy grass, tells me that _I_ alone, am the last of
that proud and gifted name.