"Look lower yet."
I did so, and the words 'Julia Pendarves;' with the sad _et cetera_, met
my view, and seemed to restore my shattered comprehension.
In a moment the whole agonizing truth rushed upon my mind; and throwing
myself on the cold stone, I called upon my departed parent, and wept
till I was deluged in tears, and had sobbed myself into the stillness of
exhaustion.
"Thank God! thou art restored, my beloved, and all will yet, I trust, be
well," said my husband as he bore me away.
From that time my memory returned, and with it so acute a feeling of
what I had lost, that I fear I was ungrateful enough to regret my
imbecility.
I now insisted on hearing details of all that had occurred since my
illness; and I found that my uncle and aunt had come down to attend the
funeral of my mother, and that Lord Charles had attended uninvited to
pay her that tribute of respect, nor had he returned to London till my
life was declared out of danger. How deeply I felt this attention! I
also heard that the ladies at the Lodge pestered my husband with letters,
to prevail on him to spare his sensibility the pain of following my lost
parent to the grave: but that, however he shrunk from the task, he had
treated their request with the utmost disregard, saying, that if he had
no other motive, the certainty that he was doing what _I_ should have
wished, was sufficient.
When I was quite restored to strength, both of mind and body, Pendarves
gave me the key of my mother's papers, which he had carefully sealed up.
My mother left no will, as she wished me to inherit every thing; but in
a little paper directed to Pendarves she desired that an income might
be settled on Juan and Alice, which would make them comfortable and
independent for life; that her friends the De Waldens might have some
memorial of her given to them; and that Lord Charles might have her
travelling writing-desk.
Oh! what overwhelming feelings I endured while looking over her papers,
containing a sketch of her life, her reflections and prayers when I
married Pendarves, a character of Lady Helen, of her husband and of my
father, and many fragments, all indicative of a mother's love and a
mother's anxiety! But tender sorrow was suspended by curiosity, when I
found one letter from Ferdinand de Walden! It was evidently written in
answer to one from her, in which she had described me as suffering
deeply, but, on principle, trying to appear cheerful, and for her sake
dutifully trying to conceal from her the agony of my heart. What else
she had said, was very evident from the part of the letter which I
transcribe, translating it from the French.
"Yes! you only, I believe, do me justice. I should have been a
more devoted husband than Pendarves; having my affections built, I
trust, on a firmer foundation than his, viz. a purifying faith,
and its result, pure habits. Still, I know not how to excuse his
conduct towards such an angel! for oh! that faded cheek, and that
shrunk form, that dejection of spirits from a mother's sorrows
which seem to have alienated him, would have endeared her to me
still more fondly--"
I had resolution enough, my dear friend, to pause here, and read no
more: nay, distrusting my own strength, I had the courage to commit the
dangerous letter to the flames, and that was indeed an exertion of duty.
I shall pass lightly and rapidly over the next few months.--My husband
gradually resumed his intercourse at the Lodge; while I, to conceal as
much as possible his neglect, paid and received visits; and Mrs. Ridley
and my aunt were by turns my guests, for I had now lost my dread of the
latter. She had nothing to tell but what I knew already, except that she
believed my husband more criminal than I did or could think him, and
that I positively forbade her ever to name him to me again. I also
visited you, and did all I could to fly from that feeling of conscious
desolation which was ever present to me since I lost my mother. In all
other afflictions I had her to rely upon; I had her to sooth and to
comfort me: but who had I to console me for the loss of her? on whose
never-to-be-abated tenderness could I rely? Other ties, if destroyed,
may be formed again; but we can have parents only once; and I had lost
my mother, my sole surviving parent, at a moment when I wanted her most.
Still, I roused myself from my lethargy of grief, and 'sorrowed' not
like 'one without hope.' But the misery of disappointed and wounded
affections preyed on me while tenderer woes slumbered, and my health
continued to fade, my youth to decay.
My kind aunt and Mrs. Ridley were both just come on a visit to me, when
Pendarves signified his intention of accompanying his friends on a tour
to the Lakes. He said his health had suffered much from his anxiety
during my illness, and he thought the journey would do him good.
"Then take your wife a journey," cried my aunt bluntly: "she wants it
more than you do."
"She will not accompany my friends," replied he; "and my word is pledged
to go with them."
"Is a pledge given to friends more sacred than duty to a wife, Mr.
Seymour Pendarves?"
"Is it a husband's duty never to stir without his wife, madam?"
"My dear aunt, you forget," said I, "how unfit I am to travel: quiet and
home suit me best."
"It is well they do," said my aunt; and Seymour left the room.
I will pass over the time that intervened before Seymour's departure:
suffice that I tried to attribute his still frequent absences from home
to his dislike of his aunt's society; and in the meanwhile I masked an
aching heart in smiles, that no one might have the authority of my
dejected spirits to found an accusation of my husband upon.
At length the day of Seymour's departure arrived, and we had an
affectionate and on my side a tearful parting: but I recovered myself
soon; and though I deeply felt the unkindness of his leaving me after
my recent affliction, I declared it the wisest thing he could do, and
that I hoped he would find me fat and cheerful at his return. But I saw
I did not convert my auditors; and that Lord Charles Belmour, who called
to inquire after my health, absolutely started when he found that
Seymour was gone away on a journey. I could not bear this, but left the
room; for I could not, would not, either by word or look, blame my
husband; and I could not bear to observe that he was blamed by others.
At the end of three weeks my uncle came down to fetch his wife; and I
heard, with a satisfaction which I could not conceal, that my uncle
hoped he should be able to prove that Lady Martindale, as she was
called, was a spy of the Convention, and that he could get her sent
out of the country on the Alien Bill; for that she was undoubtedly the
mistress, not the wife, of Lord Martindale. I also learnt that Lord
Charles had been indefatigable in using his exertions and his interest
to effect this purpose, in hopes, as my aunt said, of opening my
husband's eyes; and she thought, when he saw that his uncle and his
friend were thus active and watchful to save him from perdition, that he
could not refuse to be convinced and saved.
Alas! we none of us as yet knew Pendarves. We did not know that
in proportion to conscious strength of mind is the capacity of
conviction--and that no one is so jealous of interference, and so averse
to being proved in the wrong, as those who are most prone to err and
most conscious of weakness. My uncle and aunt went away in high spirits
at the idea of the good which was going to accrue to me from their
exertions, and left me much cheered in my prospects, little thinking of
the blow which these exertions were ensuring to me.
My husband wrote to me on his journey about twice a week; but as he
rarely did so till the post was just going out, or the horses were
waiting, I was convinced, either that he had lost all remains of
tenderness for me, or that, conscious of acting ill, he could not
bear to write.
When he had been gone two months, I was expecting his arrival in London
every day, and with no small anxiety; for my uncle had written me word,
that as soon as Annette Beauvais (for that _was_ her real name) arrived
in town, she would be seized by the officers employed by Government, and
be shipped off directly for Altona--whither Lord Martindale, who was
reckoned a dangerous disloyal subject, would be advised to accompany
her.
But while I was pleasing myself with the idea that Pendarves, when
convinced of the real character of those with whom he associated so
intimately, would return to me thankful for the discovery, and that
in the detected courtesan and spy he would forget the fascinating
companion, a very different end was preparing for the well-intentioned
plans of our friend and relation.
Pendarves, not choosing to fail in respect to his uncle, and resolved
to consider himself as on good terms with him, called at his house
in Stratford Place; but unfortunately found only Mrs. Pendarves. The
consequence you may easily foresee. She reproached him with his cruel
neglect of his wife, and then triumphed in the approaching discomfiture
of that wicked woman who had lured him from her; informing him with
great exultation, that his uncle had procured her arrestation; that she
would be taken up directly, and sent abroad; and that his angel-wife was
expecting his return to her with eager and affectionate love.
"And was my wife privy to this injustice and this outrage?" asked
Pendarves, with a faltering voice and a flashing eye.
"To be sure she was."
"Then she may expect me, madam, but I will never return!" Having said
this, he rushed from the house, and hurried back to the lodgings. He
found Lady Martindale, as she still persisted in calling herself, in
fits, and Lord Martindale threatening, but in vain. The warrant was
executed, and the lady forced to set off, her lord having a hint given
him, which made his retreat advisable also.
"You shall not go _alone_, my friends," said Pendarves, as soon as he
saw that their banishment was certain; "and as my family have presumed
to procure your exile, they shall find that they have exiled me too."
So saying, he left the house, gained a passport as an American, which
you know he was, as well as myself, by birth, and soon overtaking them,
he travelled with them, and embarked with them for Altona.
He wrote to me from the port whence they embarked, and such a letter! I
thought I should never have held up my head after it. He reproached me
for joining the mean cabal against an injured and innocent woman, and
declared that as I and his uncle had caused her exile, he felt it his
duty to sooth and to share it.
In a postscript he told me he had drawn for all the money that was in
his banker's hands, before he set out on his journey: that he wished me
to let our house, and remove into my mother's, which was still empty;
that he trusted I would not let him want in a foreign land; for in some
respects he knew I could be generous; but that he feared the income of
his fortune must be appropriated to the payment of his debts, which were
so many, he feared he could not return, even if he wished it, except at
the danger of losing his personal liberty. He trusted therefore that I
would join my uncle in settling his affairs; and if he wanted money to
support him, he knew I would spare him some out of the fortune which
came to me on the death of my mother, the income of which I, and I
alone, could receive.
In the midst of the wretchedness inflicted by this letter--for it was
my nature to cling to hope, I eagerly caught at the high idea of my
conjugal virtues which this cruel letter implied; and I trusted that,
when intimate association had completely unmasked this Syren and her
paramour, he would prize me the more from contrast, and hasten home to
receive my eagerly-bestowed forgiveness. But the order to let the house
was so indicative of a separation meant to be long, if not eternal, that
again and again I went from hope to despair. But there was one sorrow
converted into rejoicing. Till now I had grieved that my mother was
no more: but now I rejoiced to think that this last terrible blow was
spared her; that she did not live to witness the grief of her worse than
widowed daughter, nor to see the degradation of the beloved son of her
idolized Lady Helen. Degradation did I say? Yes: but I still persisted
to excuse my husband, and would not own even to myself that he was
without excuse for his conduct. I thought it was generous in him not to
forsake his friends in their distress, nor would I allow any one to hint
at the probability that his female companion was his mistress.
I also resolved to justify his reliance on my exertions and my
generosity. I wrote to my uncle, I made myself acquainted with all his
embarrassments, I dismissed every servant but Alice and Juan, and I set
apart two-thirds of my income also for payment of the debts.
My uncle would fain have interfered, and advanced me the money; but I
had a pride in making sacrifices for my husband's sake, and I wished Mr.
Pendarves to leave him money in his will, as a resource for him when he
should return to England, and I should be no more; for I fancied that I
was far gone in a rapid decline. But I mistook nervous symptoms, the
result of a distressed mind, for consumptive ones; and to my great
surprise, when I had arranged my husband's affairs, and had, while so
employed, been forced to visit London once or twice, and associate with
the friends who loved and honoured me, my pain of the side decreased,
my pulse became slower, my appetite returned, and I recovered something
of my former appearance. But it was now the end of the winter of 1793,
and the reign of terror had long been begun in France, while we heard
from every quarter that the English there were in the utmost danger, on
account of the unpopularity of the English Government; that all were
leaving France who could get away; and Pendarves was gone to Paris! But
then he was an American. Still, I could not divest myself of fears for
his life; and the horrible idea of his pining in a foreign land, in a
prison and in poverty, (for, though he had written to say he was arrived
in Paris, he had not drawn for money, nor given his address,) haunted me
continually. To be brief: you know how the idea of my husband's danger
took entire possession of my imagination, till I conceived it to be my
duty to set off for Paris.
You remember, that you and your husband both dissuaded me from the rash
and hazardous undertaking; and that I replied, "I have now but one
object of interest in the world, the husband of my love! True, a
romantic generosity, and what he calls just resentment, have led him
for the present to forsake his country and me; but that is no reason
why I should forsake him; and who knows but that the result of my
self-devotion may restore him to me more attached than ever?" You know
that you listened, admired, and almost encouraged me; and that you have
always considered this determination, as the crown of my conjugal glory,
and held it up as a bright example of a wife's duty. But, my dear friend,
my own sobered judgement and the lessons of experience, together with
reproof from lips that never can deceive, and a judgement that can
rarely err, have convinced me that I rather violated than performed a
wife's duty when I set off on this romantic expedition to France.
No: if ever I deserved the character of a good wife, it was from the
passive fortitude and the patient spirit with which I bore up against
neglect, wounded affections, and slighted tenderness. It was the sense
of duty which led me to throw a veil over my husband's faults, which
held him up when his own errors had cast him down, and which led me
still, in strict compliance with my marriage vows, to obey and honour
him by all a wife's attentions, even when I feared that he deserved not
my esteem.
But to go on with my narrative. My uncle and aunt came down to reason me
out of my folly, as they called it; and my uncle thought he held a very
persuasive argument, for he told me he felt it indelicate for me to
intrude myself and my fondness on a husband who had showed he did not
value it, and had chosen to escape from me.
"But I do not _mean_ to intrude upon him," I replied; "I mean to be
concealed in Paris, and with Alice and Juan to attend me; I fear nothing
for myself, nor need you fear for me."
"What!" cried my aunt, "be in Paris, and not let the vile man know you
are there? _I_ should discover myself, if it were only for the sake of
reproaching him; for I should treat him very differently, I assure you.
_I_ should show him
'Earth has a rage with love to hatred turned,
And love has fury by a woman spurned.'"
"But you are not Helen, my dear," said my uncle, meekly sighing as he
always did over her misquotations; and still he argued, and I resisted,
when I obtained an unexpected assistant in our kind physician.
"My dear sir," said he, "if your niece remains here in compliance with
your wishes, I well know that her mind and her feelings will prey upon
her life, and ultimately destroy it, if they do not unsettle her reason.
But if she is allowed to be active and to indulge at whatever risk her
devoted affection to her husband, depend on it she will be well and
comparatively happy: nor do I see that she runs any great risk. She is
an American; her two servants are the same, and are most devotedly
attached to her: and I give my opinion, both as a physician and a
friend, that she had better go."
Oh, how I loved the good old man for what he said! and my uncle and aunt
were now contented to yield the point; but my uncle insisted on
defraying all my expenses.
"They will be trifling," said I; "for I shall not choose to travel as a
lady, but to dress as plainly, travel as cheaply, and attract as little
attention as I can."
This he approved; but, in case I should want money to purchase services
either for myself or my husband, he insisted on my sewing into my stays
ten bank notes of a hundred pounds each, and I accepted them in case of
emergencies, as I thought I had no right to refuse what might be of
service to my husband.
"Would I were not an old man!" said my uncle; "then you should not go
alone, Helen." But I convinced him that any English friend would only be
a detriment to me.
Lord Charles Belmour, on hearing of my design, left London, and the
career of dissipation in which he was ever engaged, to argue with me,
to expostulate with me, to entreat that I would not go, and risk my
precious life, which no man living was worthy to have sacrificed for
him, and then burst into tears of genuine feeling when he bade me adieu,
wishing that "Heaven had made him such a woman;" and, while envying the
husband of a virtuous wife, went back to a new mistress, and renewed his
course of error.
At length the day of my departure arrived; and plainly attired, I set
off for the port of Great Yarmouth, attended by my two faithful
servants.
Juan and Alice were both slaves on part of our American property; but
they were born on the estate of a French proprietor, therefore French
was their native tongue, which was a fortunate circumstance. As soon as
my father was their master he made them free, and they became man and
wife. They had lived with my mother ever since. She, as I before said,
had desired they should be made independent for life. It is no wonder,
therefore, the faithful creatures were devoted to the daughter of their
benefactress, and I had the most cheering confidence in the tried
sagacity as well as integrity of both. Their colour, you know, was what
is called mulatto, and their appearance was less distinguished by
ugliness than is usually the case with such persons.
I thought it necessary to give this little history of two beings whom I
learnt to love even in childhood, and who in the season of my affliction
added to that love the feeling of interminable gratitude.
Well, behold us landed at Altona, and designated in our passports as
Mrs. Helen Pendarves, and Juan and Alice Duval, Americans. After a
tedious journey in the carts of the country, and sometimes in its
horrible waggons, behold me also arrived in the metropolis of blood,
passports examined and approved, and all my greatest difficulties at an
end. So relieved was my mind, when every thing was arranged and I had
hitherto gotten on so well, that my affectionate companions observed
with delighted wonder, that my cheek glowed and my eyes sparkled once
more: but cautious Juan advised me to hide my face as much as possible,
for there were no such faces in Paris, he believed.
When however I found myself in Paris, when I knew that the being I
loved best was there, and yet I dared not seek him, sorrow destroyed my
recovered bloom again, and tears dimmed my eyes. Yet still I felt a
strange overpowering satisfaction in knowing that I was near him; and
when we had found out his abode, I thought that I could perhaps contrive
to see him, myself unseen. But I found a letter addressed to me _poste
restante_, which not only dimmed the brightness of my prospects, but
damped much of my enthusiastic ardour in the task which I had
undertaken, and even abated some of my tenderness for Pendarves: for I
could no longer shut my eyes to the nature of his attachment to Annette
Beauvais.
My uncle told me in his letter that Lord Martindale was returned to
London, but could not stay there, and was on his way to America; that he
had met him in a shop, that on hearing his name, Lord Martindale had the
effrontery to introduce himself and thanked him for having enabled him
so easily to get rid of a mistress of whom he was tired.
"Indeed," said he, "I am much obliged to the family of Pendarves; for
the uncle forces my mistress to go back to her native place, and the
nephew takes her off my hands, and under his own protection.
"And I have the honour to assure you, sir," said he, "that if you visit
Paris, and the Rue Rivoli, _numero_ 22, you will there find your nephew
romantically happy with a most fascinating _chere amie_ who had once the
honour of bearing my name."
"I turned from him," adds my uncle, "with disgust, as you, I hope, will
turn from your unworthy husband, and come back, my dearest niece, to
your affectionate and anxious uncle."
For one moment I felt inclined to obey his wishes--my husband really
living with an abandoned woman, as her avowed protector! wife, country,
reputation, sacrificed for her sake!
Horrible and disgusting it was indeed! but I soon recollected, that if
it was really a duty in me to come to Paris for his sake at all, it was
equally a duty now, for his criminality could not destroy his claims on
my duty; nor could his breach of duty excuse the neglect of mine. In
short, whether love or conscience influenced me, I know not, but I
resolved to stay where I was. And so he was in the Rue Rivoli! I was
glad to know where he was, but I did not as before wish to see him, and
even to gaze on him unseen. No: I felt him degraded, and I thought that
I should now turn away if I met him.
We took a pleasant and retired lodging on the Italian Boulevards; but
I soon found that in this situation we were not likely to learn any
tidings of Pendarves; and by the time we had been ten days at Paris,
Juan and I resolved, having first felt our way, to put a plan which we
had formed into execution.
It was absolutely necessary that we should have opportunities of knowing
what was going forward in public affairs, in order to learn the degree
of safety or of danger in which Pendarves was; and if Madame Beauvais
had really been a spy in London for the Convention, she must be
connected with the governing persons in Paris.
Accordingly, we hired a small house which had stood empty some time in a
street through which most of the members of the National Convention were
likely to pass in their way to and fro. The street door opened into a
front parlour, and that into a second parlour: of this with a kitchen
and two chambers consisted the whole of the house. Humble as it was, I
assure you it was on the plan of one which Robespierre occupied in the
zenith of his power.
The windows of the front parlour Juan converted into a sort of shop
window; and as he and his wife were both good bakers, they filled it
with a variety of cakes, which they called _gateaux republicains_; and
it was not long before, to our great joy, they obtained an excellent
sale for their commodity. This emboldened us to launch out still more;
and in hopes that our shop might become a sort of resting and lounging
place to the men in power as they passed, Juan put a coat of paint on
the outside of the house, converted the parlour into a complete shop,
and at length put a notice over the door in large tricolour letters,
importing that at such hours every day plum and plain pudding _a
l'Americaine_ was to be had _hot_, as well as _gateaux republicains_.
If this _affiche_ succeeded, there was a chance of Juan's hearing
something relative to the objects of our anxiety from the members of the
Convention, while I myself, hidden behind the glass door of the back
parlour, might also overhear some to me important conversation. At any
rate, it was worth the trial; and experience proved that the scheme was
not as visionary as it at first appeared.
It was not without considerable emotion that I saw our shop opened,
and business prospering. Never, surely, was there a more curious and
singular situation than mine. Think of me, the daughter of an American
Loyalist, living an unprotected woman in the metropolis of republican
France, and helping to make puddings and cakes for the members of the
National Convention!
Though I have never paused in my narrative to mention politics, still
you cannot suppose that I was ignorant of what was passing on the great
theatre of the Continent, nor that the names of the chief actors in it
were unknown to me. On the contrary, I often beguiled my lonely hours
with reading the accounts of the proceedings at Paris; had mourned not
only over the fate of the royal family, but had deplored the death of
those highly gifted men, and that great though mistaken woman (Madame
Roland) in whom I fancied that I perceived some of the republican virtue
to which others only pretended; and though far from being a Republican
myself, I could not but respect those who, having adopted a principle
however erroneous, acted upon it consistently. But with Brissot and his
party ended all my interest in the public men of France, though their
names were familiar to me, and aversion and dread were the only feelings
which they excited.
Therefore, when on the 1st of February, 1794, we opened a shop for
puddings and cakes, and I through the curtain of a glass-door saw it
thronged with customers, some of whom I concluded were regicides and
murderers, my heart died within me. I felt as if I stood in the den of
wild beasts, and I wished myself again in safe and happy England.
Juan was frequently asked a number of questions by his customers; such
as who he was, and whence he came, and how long he had been there; and
his answer was, that he was born in America, and born a slave, and so
was his little wife, but a good master made him free.
"Bravo! and _Vive la liberte!_ and you are like us; we were slaves, now
we are free," always shouted the deluded people to whom he thus talked.
Juan used to go on to say that he had heard his master was in France,
and poor, and so they left America and came to work for him (applauses
again); but that he found he was dead. "And so," said he, "as I liked
Paris, we resolved to stay here, and make nice things for the
republicans in Europe."
This tale had its effect; Juan was hailed as _bon citoyen_ Duval, and
promised custom and protection.
"Oh! dear Miss Helen," cried Juan, (as he usually called me) "what
bloody dogs some of them look! No doubt some of them were members of
parliament. _They_ govern a nation indeed, who were such fools as to be
so easily taken in by my story! Psha! I should make a better parliament
man myself."
At length, we saw some of the distinguished men.
Juan heard one of the party call two of the others Hebert and Danton;
and he made an excuse to come in and tell me which was which. I looked
at them, and was mortified to find that Danton was so pleasant-looking.
When they went away, which they did not do till they had eaten largely,
and commended what they ate, a wild, singularly-looking man entered the
shop, in all the dirty and negligent attire of a _sans culotte_, and
desired a plum pudding _a l'Americaine_ to be set before him; declaring
that had it been _a l'Anglaise_ he could not have eaten it, as it would
have tasted of the slavery of that wretched grovelling country England.
When the pudding was served, he talked more than he ate, and made minute
inquiries into the history of Alice and Juan; but when he heard who and
what they were, he ran to them, and insisted on giving each the
fraternal embrace--"for I," said he, "am Anacharsis Cloots! the orator
of the human race; and dear to my heart is the injured being who was
born in servitude. Blessed be the memory of the master who broke your
chains!"
He then resumed his questions, and, to my great alarm, desired to know
if they lived alone in the house. Juan, off his guard, replied,
"No; we have a lodger."
"Indeed! let me see him."
"Him! 'tis a woman."
"Better and better still! Let me see her then. Is she young and
handsome?"
"Helas! la pauvre femme! elle ne voit personne, elle est malade a la
mort."[7]
"Eh bien, que je la voye! Je la guerirai moi."[8]
"Tu! citoyen? Oh non! elle ne se guerira jamais."[9]
"Mais oui, te dis-je. Ou est-elle? Je veux absolument faire sa
connaissance."[10]
"C'est impossible. Elle est au lit."[11]
"Quest-ce que cela fait?"[12]
"Comment, les femmes chez nous ne recoivent jamais les visites quand
elles sont au lit."[13]
"Mais, quelle betise! au moins dis moi son nom, qui elle est, et tout
cela."[14]
[Footnote 7: Alas! poor woman! she is sick to death.]
[Footnote 8: Well, let me see her: I will cure her.]
[Footnote 9: You! citizen? Oh no! she will never be cured.]
[Footnote 10: Yes, I tell you. Where is she? I will absolutely make her
acquaintance.]
[Footnote 11: Impossible. She is in bed.]
[Footnote 12: What does that signify?]
[Footnote 13: Our ladies never receive visits in bed.]
[Footnote 14: What nonsense! But tell me her name and all that.]
And Juan told him that I was the relation of his benefactor; that I was
in reduced circumstances, having had a bad husband; and that he and his
wife had taken me to live with them, and never would desert me.
"_O les braves gens!_" exclaimed he.--But what an agony I endured all
this time! Afraid that this mad-headed enthusiast would really insist on
paying me a visit, I ran up stairs, put on my green spectacles which Juan
insisted on my buying (for he really thought me a perfect beauty, and
that all who looked must love); then tied up my face in a handkerchief,
pulled over it a slouch cap, and lay down on the bed, drawing the
curtains round. But Alice came up to tell me the strange man was gone.
He declared, however, that the next time he came he would see _la pauvre
malade_.
But fortunately we never saw him again, except when he stopped in
company with others, and was too much taken up in laying down the law
for the benefit of the human race, to remember an individual.
You will not be surprised when I tell you, that slight as was my
knowledge of the persons of Hebert and Anacharsis Cloots, and little as
I had heard of their voices, still the circumstance of having seen their
faces and heard them speak made all the difference between rejoicing at
their deserved fate and regretting it. They were guillotined during the
course of the next month; and I shuddered when I heard they were no
more, catching myself saying, "Poor men!" very frequently during the
rest of the day.
I could give you some interesting details of many events that now
happened in affecting succession; but they have been painted by abler
hands than mine: I shall only say further concerning our shop-visitors,
that more than once the great Dictator himself took shelter there from a
shower of rain, and ate a _gateau republicain_. When he first came,
Juan, who had seen him often before, sent Alice to tell me who he was;
and I cannot describe the sensation of horror with which he inspired me;
for nature there had made the outside equally ugly with the inside. He
asked many questions of Juan relative to who he was, and whence and why
he came; and I saw his quick and restless eye looking suspiciously
round, as if he feared an unseen dagger on every side: and so watchful
and observant was his glance, that I retreated from the curtain lest he
should see me. I was also terrified to perceive that my poor Juan was
not so much at his ease with _him_, and did not tell his story with so
steady a voice as usual. But perhaps like Louis the XIVth, Robespierre
was flattered with the consciousness of inspiring awe. Juan was,
however, a little relieved by the entrance of Danton, who spoke to him
as an old acquaintance; on which Robespierre turned to Danton and said,
"Then _you know_ these people?"
"Yes; and their puddings too. Do I not, citizen?" he good naturedly
replied; and soon after, Robespierre and he departed together.
Certain it is that I breathed more freely after they were gone.
Not long after this, Danton and Camille des Moulins came together; and
though they spoke very low, Juan heard them talk of _la Citoyenne
Beauvais_, and then they talked of _son bel Americain Anglois_,[15] (so
it was clear they knew who my husband really was,) and they whispered
and laughed. We then heard the name of Colonel Newton, an Englishman by
birth, who had served in foreign armies all his life, and had the
melancholy distinction of being the only British subject who was put to
death by the guillotine. But Juan heard him mentioned by these men, and
soon after we knew he was arrested; for Juan was in the habit of
frequenting the Palais Royal and its gardens in the evening, and other
places of public resort, and there he was sure to hear the news of the
day. At first, he only heard that an Englishman was arrested; and his
emotion was such, that if any one had looked at him it must have been
perceived; but no one noticed him, and presently some one named Colonel
Newton as the conspirator who had been denounced and imprisoned.
[Footnote 15: Her handsome American Englishman.]
Was Pendarves acquainted with this unfortunate man? We could not tell;
but certain it was, that the awful lips which mentioned the one had
named the other.
In another month Danton and Camille des Moulins were no more! and fell
with many others who were obnoxious to the tyrant; and again I wished
that I had not seen or heard them.
As I never went out till it was quite dark, the great seclusion in which
I lived injured my health. Since the death of Hebert, indeed, I was not
so cautious, as I could wear a hat; but while he lived, he had decreed
that every head-dress was _aristocrat_, except the peasants' cap.
Juan went therefore to find a lodging for me for a week or two near or
in the Champs Elysees, and in so retired a spot, that with my green
spectacles, and otherwise a little disguised, my guardian declared he
allowed me to walk even in a morning.
Alice accompanied me, and Juan promised to come and tell us every
evening what was going forward. During my abode in this pretty place
Juan arrived one evening a good deal agitated, and I found that he had
seen Pendarves.
"Did he see you?"
"Oh! no: he saw no one but--"
"His companion, I suppose?--Was Madame Beauvais with him?"
"She was, and her little dog; and the beast would not come at her call;
and then she was uneasy, and so he took up the nasty animal and carried
it in his arm. I could have wrung its neck."
"It is a nice clean animal," replied I, trying to speak cheerfully. "But
how did he look, Juan?"
"Well, madam--_too_ well!" said the faithful creature, turning away in
agony to think he could look well under his circumstances.
"You see he is not yet arrested," said I; "and for that I am thankful."
One night, the night before we were to return to our house, Juan
disappointed us and did not come at all. You, who have always lived in
dear and quiet Britain, cannot form to yourself an idea of the agitation
into which this little circumstance threw us. We could not fancy he was
ill: that was too common-place and too natural a circumstance to occur
to the heated imaginations of women accustomed as we were to tales
of terror and blood; and we thought no less than that he had been
suspected, denounced, arrested, and would be _juge a mort_. What a night
of misery was ours! Early in the morning, however, Alice set off for
Paris, conjuring me on her knees not to come with her, as Juan thought
it unsafe for me to walk in the street unprotected; and promising to
come back directly if any thing alarming had happened. I therefore
allowed her to depart without me; but though her not returning was
a proof that all was right, according to our agreement, I was half
distracted when hour succeeded to hour and she did not return; till, at
last, unable to bear my suspense any longer, I set off for Paris, and
reached the Place de la Revolution (as it was then called) just as an
immense crowd was thronging from all parts and around me, to a spot
already filled with an incalculable number of persons. In one instant I
recollected that what I beheld in the midst must be the guillotine, and
I tried to turn back, but it was impossible. I was hurried forward with
the exulting multitude; and just as the horrible snap of the murderous
engine met my now tingling ears, I heard from the shouts of the mob,
that the victim was the Princess Elizabeth!!!--Self-preservation
instinctively prompted me to catch hold of the person next me to save
myself from falling, which would have been instant death; and the aid I
sought was yielded to me: and while a noise of thunder was in my ears,
and my eyes were utterly blinded with horror and agonizing emotion, a
kind but unknown voice said in French, "Poor child! I see you are indeed
a stranger here. We natives are used to these sights now;" and he
sighed, as if use had not however entirely blunted his feelings.
"But why did you come to see such a sight?"
"Oh! I knew nothing of it, and was going home."
"Poor thing! Well; but shall I see you home--if you can walk?"
I now looked up, and saw that my kind friend was only a lowly citizen,
and wore a Jacobin cap; and I was still shrinking from allowing of his
further attendance, though I trembled in every limb, and felt sick
unto death: when, as the crowd dispersed, I saw Juan and Alice coming
towards me; in another moment I was in her arms, where I nearly fainted
away.
"This is unfortunate," said the _citoyen_; "her illness may be observed
upon, as it was a Bourbon who died, and she may be fancied no friend to
the republic. What is best to be done?"
While he said this I recovered, and begged to go home directly; but I
could not walk without the aid of my Jacobin friend; who insisted on
seeing me safe home, and we thought it the best way to consent.
On our way, the _citoyen_ exclaimed, "_O mon Dieu! le voila
lui-meme!_"[16] and we saw the dreaded Robespierre hastily approaching
us. He desired to know what was the matter with that woman; and neither
Juan nor Alice had recollection enough to reply; but our friend did
instantly, taking off his cap as he spoke: "The poor woman, _citoyen_,
was nearly crushed in the crowd, and but for me would have been trodden
to death. Only see how she trembles still! She has not been able to
speak a word yet."
[Footnote 16: Oh! there he is himself.]
"Oh! that is the case, is it?" said he, surveying me with a most
scrutinizing glance. "It is well for her I find her in such good
company, Benoit."
He then departed, and we recovered our recollection.
He was no sooner gone, than, to my great surprise, I saw Juan seize our
companion's hand, while he exclaimed, "You! are you Benoit?"
"To be sure; what then?"
"Why then, you God for ever bless that's all! For many poor wretch
bless you; and now, but for you, what might have become of her?"
"How!" cried Alice; "is this the kind jailor of Luxembourg? Oh dear! how
glad I am to see you?"
It was indeed Benoit; who, at a period when to be cruel seemed the only
means to be safe, lightened the fetters which he could not remove, and
soothed to the best of his power the horrors of a prison and of death.
A feeling which he could not help, but certainly not one of joyful
anticipation, led him to witness the death of the royal victim; and my
evident horror instantly interested and attached him to my side. This
good man attended us home, and we had great pleasure in setting before
him our little stores: but he could not eat then, he said; and as he
spoke, he sighed deeply. However, he assured us he would come and eat
with us some other day: then desiring us to take heed and not go to see
sights again, he ran off, saying he had been absent too long.
What a mercy it was that Benoit was with us when we met the tyrant! We
also rejoiced that he did not see or did not recognise Juan and Alice:
but after this unfortunate rencontre we did not feel ourselves as safe
as we did before, and dreaded every day to see him enter the shop.
I now desired to know the reason of Juan's not coming to us, and I found
that his too great care had exposed me to even a far worse agony than
that from which he wished to preserve me. The truth was, he heard that
poor Madame Elizabeth was to be executed the next day: fearing,
therefore, that he should be betrayed into saying so, and wishing me
not to know of it till all was over, as he knew how interested I was in
her fate, he resolved to stay away, not supposing we should be alarmed;
and he and Alice could not return to me sooner, as the way led over the
very spot which they wished to avoid. Besides, Alice had told me her not
returning was a good sign. Well! this agony was past; but I had seen and
met the suspicious eye of the tyrant, and it haunted me wherever I went.
For my own life, indeed, I had no fear; and imprisonment, I thought, was
all I had to dread, though poor Juan insisted on it that the wretch
saw, spite of my dowdy appearance, that I was a handsome woman; and
he thanked Heaven at the close of every day, that no Robespierre had
visited us. Another evening Juan returned in much agitation from
his walk, but I saw it was of an opposite nature to that which he
experienced at sight of Pendarves; and on inquiry I found that he had,
as he said, met that good young man, Count De Walden.
"Indeed!" exclaimed I; "and did he see you? and does he know I am in
Paris?"
"No, he did not see me; and without your leave, I dared not tell you
were here: so I thought it best not to speak to him."
I felt excessively disappointed; but after some moments of reflection I
recollected that it would be cruel and selfish to force myself, in a
situation so interesting and so anxious, on one who on principle had so
recently left the place in which I was; and I told Juan he had done
quite right.
"However," said I, "it is a comfort to me to know that I have a
protector near."
"Aye; but not for long!"
"No! But what could bring a man like him to this den of wickedness and
horrors? Some good purpose no doubt."
"I suspect so; for I saw him in close conversation with Barrere and
others, and I overheard him say, 'But can you give me no hope? I want
excessively to return home: still, while there is a chance of Colonel
Newton's being saved, I will stay.' Barrere, I believe, said all hope
was over; for the Count cast up his eyes mournfully to heaven, and
retired."
Till I heard this, I was inclined to suspect that my uncle had written
to say I was here, and that he came on my account.
I shall now relate the motive of his journey: the object of it was
connected with the fate of my husband.
A man of the name of Beauvais was executed with Danton and other
supposed conspirators in the preceding April. This man was the father of
Annette Beauvais; and she would have been denounced and executed with
her father, had not one of Robespierre's tools become exceedingly
enamoured of her, and for his sake she was spared. But Colonel Newton
having been known to be rather intimate with Beauvais, and having also
dared, like a free-born Englishman and a man of independent feelings, to
reproach the tyrant with his cruelty, he was accused, imprisoned, and
condemned to death. It was on his account that De Walden came to Paris.
By some means or other Newton informed him of his situation; and as he
had known him in Switzerland, and greatly esteemed him, he hastened to
try whether by solicitation, interest, or money, he could procure his
acquittal or escape: but he tried in vain. As vain also were the efforts
made,--to do her justice,--by Madame Beauvais herself. The wretch to
whom she applied was made jealous of Newton by her earnest entreaties
for his life; and his doom was consequently rendered only more certain.
He also tauntingly bade her take care of her own life and that of her
American Englishman, assuring her she would not find it an easy matter
to do that long. Nor did he threaten in vain; for, though she admitted
his addresses and received his splendid presents, she still persisted in
living with the infatuated Pendarves, who believed her constancy equal
to her pretended love. The consequence was, that an accusation was
brought against my husband for getting to Paris on false pretences, and
as being a dangerous person: for, though he was born in America, his
father was a loyalist, not a republican, and had fought, they found,
against the republican arms; and his mother was that offensive thing a
woman of quality and a nobleman's daughter. There were other charges
equally strong; and even in the presence of his vile companion,
Pendarves was arrested, and condemned for the present to be confined
_au secret_ in the Luxembourg.
He bore his fate with calmness; for he expected that she who had caused
his imprisonment would be eager to share and to enliven it: but that
was beyond the heroism of a mistress. She was not willing to prefer to
fine apartments and liberty, love and a prison with him; but while he,
agonized at her desertion,--for she bade him a cold and final
farewell,--was borne away into confinement, she was led away smiling and
in triumph by her now avowed protector.
All these circumstances I did not know at first--I only knew the result;
which was imparted to me by the trembling Juan, who had seen Pendarves
led away, had seen her farewell, and had vainly tried to make himself
observed by him, that he might know he had a friend at hand.
"A friend!" cried I with a flushed cheek, but with a trembling frame:
"he shall know that he has the best of friends, a wife, near him!" and
instantly, taking no precaution to conceal my person in any way, for I
thought not of myself, I hastened rapidly along, Juan with difficulty
keeping pace with me, till I reached the Luxembourg.
"Whom do you want?" said a churlish man on duty.
"Seymour Pendarves."
"You can't see him: he is _au secret_."
"Oh! but I must! Do let me speak to the _Citoyen_ Benoit, and ask him to
let me enter."
"You are very earnest; and perhaps he will let you.
"Who shall I say wants to be admitted to this Pendarves?"
"His wife."
"His wife! Well," added he respectfully, "wives should not be kept from
their husbands when they seek them in their distress."
He then went in search of Benoit, who appeared with his keys of office.
"_Citoyen_," said he, "here is a wife wants to see her husband."
"I fear she is an aristocrat, then," replied Benoit, smiling and
approaching us.
"Ha!" cried he, "is it you? What is become of your spectacles? And do
you want to see your husband, poor thing? Who is he?"
I told him. He shook his head, saying to himself--"Who could have
supposed he had a wife, and such a one too!"
"_Citoyenne_," said he, "you cannot see your husband to-night, nor shall
he know you are here; but to-morrow, at nine in the morning, I will
admit you. Yes, and for your sake I will show him all the indulgence I
can. So it was for this, was it, you came to Paris? I thought there was
a mystery. Good girl! good girl!"
So saying, he walked hastily away, and we returned to our home, at once
disappointed and cheered.
Oh! how I longed for the light of morning! Oh! how I longed to exhibit
the superiority of the wife over the mistress! With what pleasure I
anticipated the joy, mixed with shame and sorrow, no doubt, but still
triumphant over every other feeling with which Pendarves would behold
and receive me! How he would value this proof of tenderness and duty!
while I should fondly assure him that all was forgotten and all
forgiven!--So did I paint the scene to which I was hastening. Such
were the hopes which flushed my cheek and irradiated my countenance.
At length the appointed hour drew near; and I had just reached the gates
of the Luxembourg, had just desired to be shown to Benoit, when I looked
up and beheld De Walden!
"You here!" cried he, turning pale as death. "O Helen! dear rash friend!
why are you in Paris? Speak."
Here he paused, trembling with emotion. I was little less affected; but,
making a great effort, I faltered out, "My husband is prisoner here, and
I am going to him."
De Walden clasped his hands together and was silent; but his look
declared the agony of his mind.
Benoit now came to conduct me in; and De Walden, taking Juan's arm, led
him apart.
"Have you told him I am here?" said I, turning very faint, alarmed now
the moment was come which I had so delightedly anticipated.
"No: I have told him nothing."
He now put the key into a door at the bottom of a long, narrow, dark
passage, and it turned on its heavy and grating hinges.
"Some one desires to see you," said Benoit gruffly, to hide his kind
emotion; and I stood before my long estranged husband. But where was the
look of gladness? where the tone of welcome, though it might be mingled
with that of less pleasant sensations? He started, turned pale, pressed
forward to meet me; but then exclaiming in a faltering voice, "Is it
you, Helen? Rash girl! why do I see you here?" he sunk upon his
miserable bed, and hid his face from me. I stood, pale, motionless, and
silent as a statue. Was this the scene which I had painted to myself?
True, I should have been shocked, if he had approached me with extended
arms, and as if he felt that I had nothing to forget: yet I did expect
that his eye would lighten up with joyful surprise, and his quivering
lip betray the tenderness which he would but dared not express. However,
for the first time in my life, indignation and a sense of injury were
stronger than my fond woman's feeling; and I seated myself in silence on
the only chair in the room, with my proud heart swelling as if it would
burst its bounds and give me ease for ever.
"Helen!" said he at length in a subdued and dejected tone, "your
presence here distracts me. This scene, this city, are no places for
you; and oh! how unworthy am I of this exertion of love! What! must a
wretch like me expose to danger such an exalted creature as this is?"
These flattering words, though uttered from the head more than from the
heart, were a sort of balm to my wounded feelings; but I coldly replied,
"That in coming to Paris, in order to be on the spot if any danger
happened to him, I had only done what I considered as the duty of a
wife; and that now my earnest wish was to be allowed to spend part,
if not the whole of every day with him in prison, as his friend and
soother."
"Impossible! impossible!" he exclaimed, becoming much agitated.
"Why so? Benoit is disposed to be my friend."
"No matter; but tell me who is with you in this nest of villains?"
I told him, and he thanked God audibly. I then entreated to know
something concerning his arrest, its cause, and what the consequences
were likely to be.
"Spare me!" cried he, "spare me! It is most painful to a man to blush
with shame in the presence of his wife. Helen! kind, good Helen! I know
you meant to sooth and serve me; but you have humbled me to the dust,
and my spirit sinks before you! Go and leave me to perish. In my very
best days I was wholly unworthy of you; but now--"
He was right; and my parading kindness, my intruding virtue were
offensive. I had humbled him: I had obliged him too much: I had towered
over him in the superiority of my character; and instead of attaching, I
had alienated him. This was human nature--I saw it, I owned it now, but
I was not prepared for it, and it overwhelmed me with despair. Still, it
softened my heart in his favour; for, if I had to forgive his errors, he
had to forgive my officious exhibition of romantic duty. I now at his
request told him all my plans, and every thing that had passed since I
came, not omitting to tell him that I had seen De Walden. Nor was I
sorry to remark, that at his name he started and changed colour.
"He here! Then you are sure of a protector," said he, "and I feel
easier. But, Helen! you are too young, too lovely to expose yourself to
the gaze of the men in power. I protest that you are at this moment as
beautiful as ever, Helen!"
"It is from the temporary embellishment of strong emotion only," replied
I, pleased by this compliment from him. I then turned the discourse to
the opportunity our shop gave us of hearing conversations; and I also
promised to bring him some of our commodities. He tried to smile, but
could not, and I saw that my presence evidently distressed instead
of soothing him. Benoit now came to say I must stay no longer, and
disappeared again; while, a prey to most miserable feelings, I rose to
depart.
"I shall come again to-morrow," said I; "shall I not?"
"If you insist upon it, you shall; but, you had better leave me, Helen,
to perish, and forget me!"
"Forget you! Cruel Seymour!" cried I, bursting into an agony of tears.
He now approached me, and, sinking on one knee, took my hand and kissed
it: then held it to his heart. A number of feelings now contended in my
bosom, but affection was predominant; and as he knelt before me I threw
my arms round his neck, mingling my tears with his, "_Mais vite donc,
citoyenne--depeches tu!_"[17] said Benoit, just unclosing the door, and
speaking outside it. Pendarves rose, and led me to him; and scarcely
knowing whether pain or satisfaction predominated, I reached the gate,
Benoit kindly assuring me I might command his services to the utmost.
[Footnote 17: Quick, make haste, female citizen!]
I found De Walden still talking with Juan. They both seemed to regard
me with very scrutinizing as well as sympathizing looks; and I still
trembled so much that I was glad to accept the support of De Walden's
arm. He attended me home; but we neither of us spoke during the walk.
When I reached the door, I said, "Come to me to breakfast to-morrow;
for to-day I am wholly unfitted for company." He sighed, bowed, and
departed; but not without assuring me that he would enquire concerning
the causes of my husband's arrest, and try to get him set at liberty.
"Well," cried Juan, "I have one comfort more than I had; Count De Walden
has declared that while you remain in Paris he will." And I also felt
comforted by this assurance.
I now retired to my own room, and, throwing myself on the bed, entered
upon that severe task self-examination; and I learnt to doubt whether
my expedition to France were as truly and singly the result of pure
and genuine tenderness, and a sense of duty, as I had supposed it was.
For what had I done? I had certainly shone in the eyes of many at the
expense of my husband. I had, as he said, "humbled him in his own eyes,"
and I had chosen to run risks for his sake, which he could not approve,
and after all might not be the better for. In such reflections as these
I passed that long and miserable day; aye, and in some worse still;
for I felt that Pendarves no longer loved me--that he esteemed, he
respected, he admired me; but that his tenderness was gone, and gone
too, probably, for ever!
I had however one pleasant idea to dwell upon. Deputies, if not an
ambassador, were now expected from America, and De Walden had told Juan
he should claim their protection for us.
The next morning De Walden came; but his brow was clouded, his manner
embarrassed, and the tone of his voice mournful.
"Have you made the inquiries which you promised?"
"I have; and they have not been answered satisfactorily. My dear friend,
there are subjects which nothing but the emergencies of the case could
justify me to discuss with you. Will you therefore pardon me if I say--"
"Say any thing: at a moment like this it is my duty not to shrink from
the truth. I guess what you mean."
He then told me the cause of my husband's arrest, which I have already
mentioned; adding that the ostensible causes were so trifling, that they
could probably be easily gotten over; but that the true cause, jealousy,
was, he feared, not likely to be removed.
"But she left him," cried I, "left him as if for ever, and accompanied
her new lover in triumph!"
"Yes: but I fear that he will not get quit of her so soon."
My only answer to this unwelcome truth was a deep sigh; and for some
minutes I was unable to speak, while De Walden anxiously walked up and
down the room.
"Perhaps you would go and see Pendarves?"
"No: excuse me: an interview between me and him must be painful, and
could not be beneficial. The letter I had from him to inform me of a
certain mournful event was cold; and though I answered it kindly,--for I
thought of you when I wrote,--I was convinced that the less we met again
the better."
"Then what can you do?"
"I know not--I could not save my friend, you know."
"If money can do it, I possess the means."
"And so do I; but Robespierre is inaccessible to bribes, and so I have
found his creatures. I fear that I must seek Madame Beauvais herself."
"But she probably hates you?"
"True: but she does not hate Pendarves; and if I convince her that her
only chance of liberating him is by seeming to have ceased to love him,
the business may be done."
"And must he owe his liberty, and perhaps his life, to her? But be it
so, if he can be preserved no other way--in that case I would even be a
suitor to her myself."
"That I could not bear. But oh! dear inconsiderate friend, why did you
come hither?"
"Because I thought it my duty."
"And do you still think so?"