Martynne, while ho expressed his confidence that the experiment would
only confirm his triumph, readily assented to the proposal, and the
interview above described took place, accordingly, the next morning. Had
he not been taken by surprise, it is likely the address of a man who
possessed no contemptible powers would have extricated him from some of
his embarrassment.
That my portrait should be in the possession of one whom I had never
before seen, and whose character and manners entitled him to no respect,
was a source of some surprise. This mode of multiplying faces is
extremely prevalent in this age, and was eminently characteristic of
those with whom I had associated in different parts of Europe. The
nature of my thoughts had modified my features into an expression which
my friends were pleased to consider as a model for those who desired to
personify the genius of suffering and resignation.
Hence, among those whose religion permitted their devotion to a picture
of a female, the symbols of their chosen deity were added to features
and shape that resembled mine. My own caprice, as well as that of
others, always dictated a symbolical, and, in every new instance, a
different accompaniment of this kind. Hence was offered the means of
tracing the history of that picture which Martynne possessed.
It had been accurately examined by Miss Ridgeley, and her description of
the frame in which it was placed instantly informed me that it was the
same which, at our parting, I left in the possession of Constantia. My
friend and myself were desirous of employing the skill of a Saxon
painter, by name Eckstein. Each of us were drawn by him, she with the
cincture of Venus, and I with the crescent of Dian. This symbol was
still conspicuous on the brow of that image which Miss Ridgeley had
examined, and served to identify the original proprietor.
This circumstance tended to confirm my fears that Constantia was dead,
since that she would part with this picture during her life was not to
be believed. It was of little moment to discover how it came into the
hands of the present possessor. Those who carried her remains to the
grave had probably torn it from her neck and afterwards disposed of it
for money.
By whatever means, honest or illicit, it had been acquired by Martynne,
it was proper that it should be restored to me. It was valuable to me,
because it had been the property of one whom I loved, and it might prove
highly injurious to my fame and my happiness, as the tool of this man's
vanity and the attestor of his falsehood. I therefore wrote him a
letter, acquainting him with my reasons for desiring the repossession of
this picture, and offering a price for it at least double its value as a
mere article of traffic. Martynne accepted the terms. He transmitted the
picture, and with it a note, apologizing for the artifice of which he
had been guilty, and mentioning, in order to justify his acceptance of
the price which I had offered, that he had lately purchased it for an
equal sum, of a goldsmith in Philadelphia.
This information suggested a new reflection. Constantia had engaged to
preserve, for the use of her friend, copious and accurate memorials of
her life. Copies of these were, on suitable occasions, to be transmitted
to me during my residence abroad. These I had never received, but it was
highly probable that her punctuality, in the performance of the first
part of her engagement, had been equal to my own.
What, I asked, had become of these precious memorials? In the wreck of
her property were these irretrievably engulfed? It was not probable that
they had been wantonly destroyed. They had fallen, perhaps, into hands
careless or unconscious of their value, or still lay, unknown and
neglected, at the bottom of some closet or chest. Their recovery might
be effected by vehement exertions, or by some miraculous accident.
Suitable inquiries, carried on among those who were active in those
scenes of calamity, might afford some clue by which the fate of the
Dudleys, and the disposition of their property, might come into fuller
light. These inquiries could be made only in Philadelphia, and thither,
for that purpose, I now resolved to repair. There was still an interval
of some weeks before the departure of the packet in which I proposed to
embark.
Having returned to the capital, I devoted all my zeal to my darling
project. My efforts, however, were without success. Those who
administered charity and succour during that memorable season, and who
survived, could remove none of my doubts, nor answer any of my
inquiries. Innumerable tales, equally disastrous with those which Miss
Ridgeley had heard, were related; but, for a considerable period, none
of their circumstances were sufficiently accordant with the history of
the Dudleys.
It is worthy of remark, in how many ways, and by what complexity of
motives, human curiosity is awakened and knowledge obtained. By its
connection with my darling purpose, every event in the history of this
memorable pest was earnestly sought and deeply pondered. The powerful
considerations which governed me made me slight those punctilious
impediments which, in other circumstances, would have debarred me from
intercourse with the immediate actors and observers. I found none who
were unwilling to expatiate on this topic, or to communicate the
knowledge they possessed. Their details were copious in particulars and
vivid in minuteness. They exhibited the state of manners, the
diversified effects of evil or heroic passions, and the endless forms
which sickness and poverty assume in the obscure recesses of a
commercial and populous city.
Some of these details are too precious to be lost. It is above all
things necessary that we should be thoroughly acquainted with the
condition of our fellow-beings. Justice and compassion are the fruit of
knowledge. The misery that overspreads so large a part of mankind exists
chiefly because those who are able to relieve it do not know that it
exists. Forcibly to paint the evil, seldom fails to excite the virtue of
the spectator and seduce him into wishes, at least, if not into
exertions, of beneficence.
The circumstances in which I was placed were, perhaps, wholly singular.
Hence, the knowledge I obtained was more comprehensive and authentic
than was possessed by any one, even of the immediate actors or
sufferers. This knowledge will not be useless to myself or to the world.
The motives which dictated the present narrative will hinder me from
relinquishing the pen till my fund of observation and experience be
exhausted. Meanwhile, let me resume the thread of my tale.
The period allowed me before my departure was nearly expired, and my
purpose seemed to be as far from its accomplishment as ever. One evening
I visited a lady who was the widow of a physician whose disinterested
exertions had cost him his life. She dwelt with pathetic earnestness on
the particulars of her own distress, and listened with deep attention to
the inquiries and doubts which I had laid before her.
After a pause of consideration, she said that an incident like that
related by me she had previously heard from one of her friends, whose
name she mentioned. This person was one of those whose office consisted
in searching out the sufferers, and affording them unsought and
unsolicited relief. She was offering to introduce me to this person,
when he entered the apartment.
After the usual compliments, my friend led the conversation as I wished.
Between Mr. Thompson's tale and that related to Miss Ridgeley there was
an obvious resemblance. The sufferers resided in an obscure alley. They
had shut themselves up from all intercourse with their neighbours, and
had died, neglected and unknown. Mr. Thompson was vested with the
superintendence of this district, and had passed the house frequently
without suspicion of its being tenanted.
He was at length informed, by one of those who conducted a hearse, that
he had seen the window in the upper story of this house lifted and a
female show herself. It was night, and the hearseman chanced to be
passing the door. He immediately supposed that the person stood in need
of his services, and stopped.
This procedure was comprehended by the person at the window, who,
leaning out, addressed him in a broken and feeble voice. She asked him
why he had not taken a different route, and upbraided him for inhumanity
in leading his noisy vehicle past her door. She wanted repose, but the
ceaseless rumbling of his wheels would not allow her the sweet respite
of a moment.
This invective was singular, and uttered in a voice which united the
utmost degree of earnestness with a feebleness that rendered it almost
inarticulate. The man was at a loss for a suitable answer. His pause
only increased the impatience of the person at the window, who called
upon him, in a still more anxious tone, to proceed, and entreated him to
avoid this alley for the future.
He answered that he must come whenever the occasion called him; that
three persons now lay dead in this alley, and that he must be
expeditious in their removal; but that he would return as seldom and
make as little noise as possible.
He was interrupted by new exclamations and upbraidings. These terminated
in a burst of tears, and assertions that God and man were her
enemies,--that they were determined to destroy her; but she trusted that
the time would come when their own experience would avenge her wrongs,
and teach them some compassion for the misery of others. Saying this,
she shut the window with violence, and retired from it, sobbing with a
vehemence that could be distinctly overheard by him in the street.
He paused for some time, listening when this passion should cease. The
habitation was slight, and he imagined that he heard her traversing the
floor. While he stayed, she continued to vent her anguish in
exclamations and sighs and passionate weeping. It did not appear that
any other person was within.
Mr. Thompson, being next day informed of these incidents, endeavoured to
enter the house; but his signals, though loud and frequently repeated,
being unnoticed, he was obliged to gain admission by violence. An old
man, and a female lovely in the midst of emaciation and decay, were
discovered without signs of life. The death of the latter appeared to
have been very recent.
In examining the house, no traces of other inhabitants were to be found.
Nothing serviceable as food was discovered, but the remnants of mouldy
bread scattered on a table. No information could be gathered from
neighbours respecting the condition and name of these unfortunate
people. They had taken possession of this house during the rage of this
malady, and refrained from all communication with their neighbours.
There was too much resemblance between this and the story formerly
heard, not to produce the belief that they related to the same persons.
All that remained was to obtain directions to the proprietor of this
dwelling, and exact from him all that he knew respecting his tenants.
I found in him a man of worth and affability. He readily related, that a
man applied to him for the use of this house, and that the application
was received. At the beginning of the pestilence, a numerous family
inhabited this tenement, but had died in rapid succession. This new
applicant was the first to apprize him of this circumstance, and
appeared extremely anxious to enter on immediate possession.
It was intimated to him that danger would arise from the pestilential
condition of the house. Unless cleansed and purified, disease would be
unavoidably contracted. The inconvenience and hazard this applicant was
willing to encounter, and, at length, hinted that no alternative was
allowed him by his present landlord but to lie in the street or to
procure some other abode.
"What was the external appearance of this person?"
"He was infirm, past the middle age, of melancholy aspect and indigent
garb. A year had since elapsed, and more characteristic particulars had
not been remarked, or were forgotten. The name had been mentioned, but,
in the midst of more recent and momentous transactions, had vanished
from remembrance. Dudley, or Dolby, or Hadley, seemed to approach more
nearly than any other sounds."
Permission to inspect the house was readily granted. It had remained,
since that period, unoccupied. The furniture and goods were scanty and
wretched, and he did not care to endanger his safety by meddling with
them. He believed that they had not been removed or touched.
I was insensible of any hazard which attended my visit, and, with the
guidance of a servant, who felt as little apprehension as myself,
hastened to the spot. I found nothing but tables and chairs. Clothing
was nowhere to be seen. An earthen pot, without handle, and broken,
stood upon the kitchen-hearth. No other implement or vessel for the
preparation of food appeared.
These forlorn appearances were accounted for by the servant, by
supposing the house to have been long since rifled of every thing worth
the trouble of removal, by the villains who occupied the neighbouring
houses,--this alley, it seems, being noted for the profligacy of its
inhabitants.
When I reflected that a wretched hovel like this had been, probably, the
last retreat of the Dudleys, when I painted their sufferings, of which
the numberless tales of distress of which I had lately been an auditor
enabled me to form an adequate conception, I felt as if to lie down and
expire on the very spot where Constantia had fallen was the only
sacrifice to friendship which time had left to me.
From this house I wandered to the field where the dead had been,
promiscuously and by hundreds, interred. I counted the long series of
graves, which were closely ranged, and, being recently levelled,
exhibited the appearance of a harrowed field. Methought I could have
given thousands to know in what spot the body of my friend lay, that I
might moisten the sacred earth with my tears. Boards hastily nailed
together formed the best receptacle which the exigencies of the time
could grant to the dead. Many corpses were thrown into a single
excavation, and all distinctions founded on merit and rank were
obliterated. The father and child had been placed in the same cart and
thrown into the same hole.
Despairing, by any longer stay in the city, to effect my purpose, and
the period of my embarkation being near, I prepared to resume my
journey. I should have set out the next day, but, a family with whom I
had made acquaintance expecting to proceed to New York within a week, I
consented to be their companion, and, for that end, to delay my
departure.
Meanwhile, I shut myself up in my apartment, and pursued avocations that
were adapted to the melancholy tenor of my thoughts. The day preceding
that appointed for my journey arrived. It was necessary to complete my
arrangements with the family with whom I was to travel, and to settle
with the lady whose apartments I occupied.
On how slender threads does our destiny hang! Had not a momentary
impulse tempted me to sing my favourite ditty to the harpsichord, to
beguile the short interval during which my hostess was conversing with
her visitor in the next apartment, I should have speeded to New York,
have embarked for Europe, and been eternally severed from my friend,
whom I believed to have died in frenzy and beggary, but who was alive
and affluent, and who sought me with a diligence scarcely inferior to my
own. We imagined ourselves severed from each other by death or by
impassable seas; but, at the moment when our hopes had sunk to the
lowest ebb, a mysterious destiny conducted our footsteps to the same
spot.
I heard a murmuring exclamation; I heard my hostess call, in a voice of
terror, for help; I rushed into the room; I saw one stretched on the
floor, in the attitude of death; I sprung forward and fixed my eyes upon
her countenance; I clasped my hands and articulated, "Constantia!"
She speedily recovered from her swoon. Her eyes opened; she moved, she
spoke. Still methought it was an illusion of the senses that created the
phantom. I could not bear to withdraw my eyes from her countenance. If
they wandered for a moment, I fell into doubt and perplexity, and again
fixed them upon her, to assure myself of her existence.
The succeeding three days were spent in a state of dizziness and
intoxication. The ordinary functions of nature were disturbed. The
appetite for sleep and for food were confounded and lost amidst the
impetuosities of a master-passion. To look and to talk to each other
afforded enchanting occupation for every moment. I would not part from
her side, but eat and slept, walked and mused and read, with my arm
locked in hers, and with her breath fanning my cheek.
I have indeed much to learn. Sophia Courtland has never been wise. Her
affections disdain the cold dictates of discretion, and spurn at every
limit that contending duties and mixed obligations prescribe.
And yet, O precious inebriation of the heart! O pre-eminent love! what
pleasure of reason or of sense can stand in competition with those
attendant upon thee? Whether thou hiest to the fanes of a benevolent
deity, or layest all thy homage at the feet of one who most visibly
resembles the perfections of our Maker, surely thy sanction is divine,
thy boon is happiness!