I take pleasure in sending you, by way of apologue, an anecdote, which
you may read with profit.
During my travels I met with an estimable man, a Creole of the colony of
Port Natal, by the name of Smollet.
I sometimes hunted in the neighborhood of his place, and on two
occasions demanded his hospitality. He received me in a dubious manner,
admitted me to his table, scarcely spoke to me; served me with
Constantia wine, refused to accept my proffered hand, and surrendered me
his own couch to rest my wearied limbs upon. From Port Natal I wrote
this savage two notes of thanks, commencing: _My dear friend_--in
writing, I could not confer on him a title of rank, so I gave him one of
affection: _My dear friend_. My letters were ignored--as I had asked
nothing, there was nothing to answer. One evening I met the Creole
walking up the avenue of Port Natal, and advanced towards him, and held
out my hand in a friendly way. Once more he declined to accept it. My
vexation was apparent: "Monsieur," said the savage, "you appear to be an
honest, sincere young man, very unlike a European. I must enlighten and
warn your too unsuspecting mind. You have several times called me _your
dear friend_. Doing this might prove disastrous to you, and then I would
be in despair. I am not your friend; I am the friend of no one.... Avoid
me, monsieur; shun my neighborhood, shun my house. Withdraw the
confidence, that with the carelessness of a traveller you have reposed
in me.... Adieu!" This _adieu_ was accompanied by a sinister smile and a
savage look that were anything but reassuring to me. I afterwards
discovered that the Creole Smollet was a professional bandit!!
I hope, Monsieur de Villiers, that the application of this apologue will
not escape you. At all events, I will add a few lines to enlighten your
unsophisticated mind. You have always been my friend, monsieur. You have
never disclaimed this relation; you have always pressed my hand when we
met. Your professed friendship justified my confidence, and it would
have been ungrateful in me to have esteemed you less than I did the
savage. You and Mad. de Braimes have cunningly organized against me a
plot of the basest nature. Doubtless you call it a happy combination of
forces--I call it a perfidious conspiracy. I imagine I hear you and Mad.
de Braimes at this very moment laughing at your victim as you
congratulate yourselves on the success of your machinations. It affords
me pleasure to think that one of these two friends is, perhaps, a man.
Were they both women I could not demand satisfaction. You deserve my
gratitude for your great kindness in assisting me when I most needed a
friend. When I sought Mlle, de Chateaudun with a foolish, blind anxiety,
you charitably aided me in my efforts to find her. You were my guide, my
compass, my staff; you led me over roads where Mlle, de Chateaudun never
thought of going; your guidance was so skilful that at the end of my
searches you alone found what we had both been vainly seeking. You must
have been delighted and entertained at the result, monsieur! Did Mad. de
Braimes laugh very much? Truly, monsieur, you are old beyond your years,
and your education was not confined to Greek and Latin; your talent for
acting has been cultivated by a profound study of human nature. You play
high comedy to perfection, and you should not let your extreme modesty
prevent your aspiring to a more brilliant theatre. It is a pity that
your fine acting should be wasted upon me alone. You deserve a larger
and more appreciative audience! You do not know yourself. I will hold a
mirror before your eyes; you can affect astonishment, disinterestedness,
magnanimity, and a constellation of other virtues, blooming like flowers
in the gardens of the golden age. You are a perfected comedian. If you
really possessed all the virtues you assume, you would, like Enoch,
excite the jealousy of Heaven, and be translated to your proper sphere.
A man of your transcendent virtue would be a moral scourge in our
corrupt society. He would, by contrast, humiliate his neighbors. In
these degenerate days such a combination of gifts is antagonistic to
nature.
Do relieve our anxiety by accepting the title of comedian. Acknowledge
yourself to be an actor, and our anxious fears are quieted.
I would have my mind set at rest upon one more point. Courage is another
virtue that can be assumed by a coward, and it would afford me great
pleasure to see you act the part of a _brave_ comedian.
While waiting for your answer I feel forced to insult you by thinking
that this last talent is wanting in your rich repertory. Be kind enough
to deny this imputation, and prove yourself to be a thoroughly
accomplished actor.
Your admiring audience,