+CORRESPONDENCE+
TWO days and the promised letter arrived, the very superscription and
seal proclaiming it the production of no ordinary writer. Opening the
missive you at once remark the clear, decided, manly characters. No
dashes, (impotent attempts of weakness to convey the idea of force),
deface the spotless page; the style terse, and at the same time elegant,
reveals the scholar and the gentleman. The signature, at once bold and
distinct, has the characteristic finish, rather than flourish, which at
once individualizes the writer. Truly there is more in an autograph than
meets the eye of the casual observer. Give me a letter and I will
undertake to designate the salient points in the character and
disposition of its author. The epistle in question was addressed to
Evelyn, and simply stated that public affairs having assumed a very
serious aspect, he (D’Arcy), had received a mandate from an official
personage, requesting his immediate presence at Washington, and offering
him a responsible post under government. That in view of the present sad
political difficulties which threatened his beloved country, he thought
it his duty to tender his poor services to the nation. Though his
affections, he added, were dear—most dear to him—still he felt that
honor and duty must take precedence even of love. In conclusion he
expressed the hope of a speedy return to Europe, but added that as his
sweet Ella’s extreme youth rendered an immediate marriage unadvisable,
he would wait with patience, convinced that every additional moment
passed with her dear and valued mother, would be fraught with
inestimable advantage to his young bride. Leaving her, therefore, to
Evelyn, as a sacred charge, he invoked on the beloved heads of both a
farewell blessing.
Such was D’Arcy’s first letter. Single hearted, true and noble, he
framed no polite excuses for apparent neglect in not having called to
bid them a personal adieu. He knew they would understand him, and he was
right. It now appeared to me that there was a marked change in Evelyn.
All her passionate love for D’Arcy seemed to have merged into a fond
desire to educate Ella for him. She accepted the holy task he had
confided to her, and made a firm resolve to devote her faculties wholly
to the furtherance of his wishes. Thus, no longer living as before
utterly in the self-hood, but rather seeking the good of others, she
could not fail to bring a blessing on herself.
We passed the remainder of the summer at Passy, near Paris, where
Rossini has a beautiful villa, and where, others of our friends were
also residing. Expecting shortly the arrival of Balzano, we had thought
it inexpedient to journey further. But weeks were added to days, and
months to weeks, and yet no letter came. “He will doubtless come without
writing,” we said, and so saying, daily looked we for his advent. Our
frequent talk now was of beloved Italy, and of the happy days we had
passed beneath the placid azure of its heavens.
“Ah! me,” sighed my friend, “how rarely do we value the present till it
has faded into the past! We spend our lives in wild hopes of the
future—in sad regrets for by-gone days. Folly—to the present with its
pleasures and pains may we alone lay claim as our own. Do you remember,
Mary, the fairy-like _fête_ given by the Conte de Syracuse, in that
exquisitely lovely mountain glade at Castellamare, so shadowy with
graceful trees, through whose branches here and there, a bright glint of
sunshine gilded the rocks, dancing over the feathery fern, and causing
the rivulet to sparkle with a clearer crystal? how sapphire blue lay the
Mediterranean, viewed through the interstices of the varied foliage. It
was truly a scene of enchantment, and reminded me of those days
chronicled by Boccaccio when six gallant cavaliers with their noble
dames retired together to the fair gardens of _Sans Souci_ that they
might avoid the infection of the pestilence then desolating the doomed
city of Florence.”
“Yes,” said I, “and how picturesque the table prepared as it were, by
the genii of the forest; how brilliant the dresses of the ladies, and
though last, not least, how cool and refreshing the well iced champagne!
And, after the collation, how charmingly wild our dance on the
greensward to the stirring music of the invisible orchestra deeply
hidden in the woods.”
“And the Prince, too, how wickedly and maliciously he insisted on the
stout old Baroness de R—— being his partner in the polka, till she
looked actually purple, so that we feared every minute her desire to
oblige H. R. H. would cause her to faint with fatigue. Oh! Mary, those
were merry days! The silver moon arose to look upon our sport, and the
fire-flies came and danced with us.”
“And you remember the pretty compliment the Prince paid you, Evelyn,
about the pearls? You had your hair braided, and bonnet trimmed with
these ornaments—bracelets and necklace to match. His Royal Highness said
‘Pearls in the hair, on the neck, and the rounded white arms, but the
finest pearls of all are within the rosy lips.’”
“Ah! Mary, remind me not of my days of vanity and folly. Have I not
sufficiently suffered for my poor triumphs? Had I been less handsome I
might have been a better and a happier woman.”
“You may yet be both, dearest, it is not too late.”
Thus time passed, and we returned to Paris, no reply having as yet
arrived from Naples, so we began to think that, (as is frequently the
case there), Evelyn’s letter might have miscarried. She was just
preparing to write again, when one morning Ella entered, frantic with
delight.
“A letter! a letter!” she exclaimed, “from dear Italy. What will mama
give for it? a kiss—no, two, at least three—there,” and Evelyn took it,
and broke the seal. It was in di Balzano’s fine Italian hand, and as
follows:
Naples, Nov. —, 18—.
MY DEAR MRS. TRAVERS: I feel much distressed and mortified in
that I fear you must have considered me ungrateful, and wanting
in politeness; but you will, I trust, now pardon the silence I
have been compelled to observe towards you. It is time I should
inform you that I am already married. Such, however, being the
case, remember it is yourself who have constrained me to this
step, by your indecision. But we will no longer speak of the
past. May I hope that being made aware of my marriage will not
prevent your still preserving for me that same friendship you
have ever accorded to one who will never cease most deeply to
appreciate it. For my part, I should be truly delighted once
more to meet you, because I still feel for you a profound
affection; having once loved you intensely and passionately. I
am thankful that your health is re-established. Saluting you a
thousand times, I am as ever your true friend,
GIOVANNI, DUCA DI BALZANO.
“See, Mary,” said poor Evelyn, handing me the letter with a melancholy
smile, “it is my sad doom to lose all I love, all that have loved me!”
We heard later that Balzano’s marriage had originated first, as is the
custom in Italy, in the wishes of the respective families of the young
people, the duke being averse to the connexion. Balzano was thus
necessarily much thrown into the society of the young lady, who became
deeply attached to him—so much so, that perceiving his indifference she
took it so seriously to heart that consumption threatened. Balzano, ever
compassionate and unselfish, pitied the girl, and not having for months
had any tidings of his former betrothed, consented at last to the wishes
of his friends, backed by the advice of the priests. A marriage was
arranged; singularly enough, it was not till his return from church, on
the morning of the wedding, that Evelyn’s letter of acceptance was
placed in his hands—thus may the three months’ silence, on his part, he
accounted for.
Meanwhile, D’Arcy’s letters came almost every mail; they were partly to
Evelyn, partly to Ella; and were answered conjointly by both. Ella would
have deferred the marriage indefinitely, in consequence of the bad news
from Naples; but her mother would not suffer the subject even to be
alluded to: “My child,” she said, “let us leave the future to
Providence, patiently awaiting the accomplishment of our destiny.”
[Illustration]
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