I am indeed most inexcusably forgetful, I should otherwise have
described, in its proper time and place, that famous masquerade which
was given by the members of Wattier's club, to all the nobility in
England, in honour of peace between Great Britain and France, which
occurred prior to my leaving England. It was the most brilliant
assemblage I had ever witnessed. Amy, Fanny, and I were promised tickets
from the very beginning; but poor Julia was not popular. After making
vain applications to half the town, and to all the members of the club
who were stewards of the feast, she at last addressed herself to Lord
Hertford.
"I am not a member of Wattier's; therefore I cannot obtain a lady's
ticket for you," said his lordship; "but, if you like to go in boy's
clothes, I have one at your disposal; but not transferable, mind."
Julia was very shy and did not like boy's clothes; but Julia's legs
were perhaps the handsomest in Europe, and then Julia knew there was
no remedy: so, after accepting Lord Hertford's polite offer with many
thanks, I accompanied her to Mr. Stultze, the German regimental tailor
and money-lender in Clifford Street.
It was just before I left England for Paris. I cannot think why I am so
very careless as not to put more order into my _Memoirs_. However, when
a person gives a bad dinner, and apologises for not giving you a better,
the apology is always more insufferable than the dinner.
We asked Stultze's advice about a modest disguise for Julia, and he
referred us to a book full of drawings therein exhibited, the dress
of an Italian or Austrian peasant-boy and girl, I forget which; but I
remember that Julia wore black satin small-clothes, plaited very full,
round the waist, _à la Cossaque_, fastened tight at the knee, with a
smart bow, fine, black, transparent silk stockings, black satin shoes,
cut very short in the quarters, and tied with a large red rosette, a
French cambric shirt, with beautifully small plaited sleeves, a bright
blue, rich silk jacket without sleeves, trimmed, very thick, with
curiously wrought silver bell-buttons, and a plain, round black hat,
with a red silk band and bow.
I, as Julia's fair companion, was to wear a bright, red, thick silk
petticoat, with a black satin jacket, the form of which was very
peculiar and most advantageous to the shape. The sleeves were tight, and
it came rather high upon the breast. It was very full-trimmed, with a
double row of the same buttons Julia wore. My shoes were black satin,
turned over with red morocco; my stockings were of fine blue silk,
with small red clocks; my hat was small, round, and almost flat, the
crown being merely the height of a full puffing of rich pea-green satin
ribbon. The hat was covered with satin of the same colour, and placed on
one side at the back of the head. The hair was to fall over the neck and
face in a profusion of careless ringlets, and, inside my vest, an Indian
amber-coloured hankerchief.
Stultze brought home our dresses himself in his tilbury, on the
morning of the masquerade, being anxious that we should do him credit.
Everything fitted us to a hair. The crowd was expected to be immense,
and we were advised to get into our carriage at five in the afternoon,
as, by so doing, we should stand a chance of arriving between nine and
ten o'clock, at which hour the rooms were expected to be quite full.
Fanny chose the character of a country house-maid. She wore short
sleeves to show her pretty arms, an Indian, glazed, open, coloured gown,
neatly tucked up behind, a white muslin apron, coloured hankerchief,
pink glazed petticoat, and smart, little, high, muslin cap.
What character in the name of wonder did Amy choose? That of a nun,
forsooth!
We were actually on our road, seated in the carriage, from the hour
of five till nine. At last we arrived and were received at the first
entrance-room by the Dukes of Devonshire and Leinster, dressed in light
blue dominos. They were unmasked, this being the costume fixed on for
all the members of Wattier's club. No one else was to be admitted but in
character. The newspapers described this most brilliant fête in glowing
colours long ago, and much better than I can do it; I will therefore
merely state that it exceeded all my highest flights of imagination,
even when, as a child I used to picture to my fancy the luxurious
palaces of the fairies described in my story-books.
One of the immense suite of rooms formed a delicious, refreshing
contrast to the dazzling brilliancy of all the others. This room
contained, in a profusion almost incredible, every rare exotic root
and flower. It was lighted by large, ground-glass, French globe-lamps,
suspended from the ceiling at equal distances. The rich draperies
were of pale green satin and white silver muslin. The ottomans, which
were uniformly placed, were covered with satin to correspond with the
drapery, and fringed with silver. Mixing carelessly in the motley
throng, I did not discover this charming spot till I had been there some
time.
On our entrance, the Duke of Devonshire presented us with tickets for
a raffle. "These," said His Grace bowing low, without in the least
guessing who we were, "these tickets will entitle you to one chance each
in the lottery, which will commence drawing at twelve o'clock."
The two best characters in my opinion, were the Honourable Douglas
Kinnaird as a Yorkshireman in search of a place, and Colonel Armstrong
as an old, stiff, maiden-lady of high rank in the reign of Queen
Anne. He wore no mask; but his face, though curiously patched and
painted, was easily known. He sat on a bench, with his hoops and
ruffles and high powdered head, his point laced lappets, &c., fanning
himself, and talking to his young maids of honour, who sat, one on each
side of him. Everybody who passed stopped to examine him with much
doubtful curiosity, which was constantly followed by a loud laugh, and
exclamations of, "It is Colonel Armstrong!" "Ha! ha! ha!" "Capital."
Those who could command their countenances among the ambassadors, and
men who bore high characters, for that night at least, addressed him in
the most obsequious manner, with "I hope your ladyship caught no cold at
Lady Betty's last night. Immense crowd! Charming evening!"
Armstrong answered all these orations, sticking close to the character
and with the most dignified politeness, while the loud, vociferous roars
of laughter, which were bestowed on his successful efforts to make
himself so very ridiculous, never once tempted him to move a single
visible muscle of his odd countenance.
One of his lace lappets came unpinned.
"I'll trouble you for a pin, my dear," said Armstrong to one of his
attendant maidens.
"I have not got one," answered the fair virgin, in confusion.
She was, if I remember rightly, a young rake of fashion thus disguised.
"Oh fie, child! You ought always to have your pincushion about you.
Always, always, child!" fanning himself with increased rapidity.
Douglas Kinnaird was unfeelingly severe on almost everybody in their
turn. To one gay fashionable mother, whose name I have forgotten, he
said, "Why Missis, you've been hawking them girls all over the world
for these last six years, and sin they be made to hong upon hond like,
mayhap they'd go off better all of a lump, if you was to tie um up in
bunches you see, as they do cherries, look ye. I manes no offence."
Fanny, in her housemaid's dress, and with her natural, lively humour,
made an excellent companion for Kinnaird, who appeared much pleased with
her and delighted to draw her out, although he had not any idea who she
was. The fact is, we had determined not to unmask or make ourselves
known to anybody during the whole evening.
Meyler looked very interesting and handsome, in his blue domino of rich
Gros de Naples. I had given him leave to find me out if he could, and I
guessed that he was busily but vainly employed in the pursuit. I waltzed
and danced quadrilles with half the young ladies and gentlemen in the
room.
"Is that a boy, or a girl, think you?" was the question from every
mouth, as Julia and I passed them. "The leg is a boy's, the finest I
ever saw," said one; "but then that foot, where shall we find a boy with
such delicate feet and hands?" Still it remained a puzzle, and everybody
seemed undecided as to the sex of Julia.
"Who can they be?" said Mrs. Scott Waring to Berkeley Craven.
"I want to know myself," answered he; "for I am in love with the lady's
feet."
"I think they are both ladies," returned Mrs. Scott Waring.
"Pray who made that lovely shoe to fit that pretty foot so charmingly?"
Berkeley Craven asked me.
I was determined not to open my lips, lest my voice should betray me to
Berkeley Craven.
"We are admiring your feet and ankles," said Mrs. Scott Waring,
addressing herself to me; but I was still dumb, preferring the idea of
passing for a fool, to the risk of making myself known. At last, Meyler
discovered my sister Fanny by her voice.
"Pray point out Harriette to me," said Meyler, "for I am tired and worn
out with my fruitless search."
"That is Harriette," answered Fanny, directing his attention to a young
flower-girl who, with her disguised mincing voice, kept him a quarter
of an hour in suspense, before he could ascertain the joke Fanny had
practised against him; and it took him a second quarter of an hour to
find Fanny again.
"Oh you little, wicked, provoking creature!" exclaimed Meyler, at
length, catching hold of her hand. "I now vow and declare not to
relinquish this fair hand until you conduct me to your sister."
"Upon my word and honour that nun is my sister," answered Fanny, leading
him towards Amy, who was standing near her in conversation with Colonel
Armstrong.
"Thank you," said Meyler, releasing Fanny's hand in his zeal to join the
nun.
Fanny was out of sight in one instant, and, in the next, Meyler had
discovered his mistake and resumed his pursuit of her.
"Why is this unusual pressure of company?" I inquired of a gay captain
of Italian banditti with whom I had been waltzing. It was owing to the
raffle! Having been absolutely carried along by the immense concourse
of ladies, we came up close to Lord Kinnaird, who was dealing out the
blanks and prizes.
"Nay, don't push forward so, ladies," said his lordship, "now, pray,
really, I must beg. This is almost unladylike. Patience then! Ladies,
I cannot endure this pressure. Ladies, I must retire. Ladies, I am
overpowered," and he handed some one a small French prize; to Fanny a
pretty brooch; to me, a blank. "Ladies, I never knew ladies so violent
and rude before."
Poor man! He might well complain, supposing he had been the meekest of
Christians, which is not exactly the case: for never was poor knight of
the ladies so hemmed in, squeezed and teased.
Lord Kinnaird is not, I have heard say, a popular man; but as I have
always seen him pleasant and gentlemanly, except when fair ladies tried
to squeeze the breath out of his body, it gives me pleasure to assert
that I cannot help thinking favourably of him, notwithstanding he
admired my sister Amy infinitely more than me.
William Lamb, who is very handsome, wore a magnificent Italian dress,
supported no character, and looked so stupid, I could not help fancying
that Lady Caroline had insisted on his showing himself thus beautiful,
to gratify her vanity: for, to do William Lamb justice, his character is
in truth a manly one, and I will venture to say this said tawdry dress
was never one of his own choosing.
I know not how I came to lose my party, just as the grand supper-rooms
were thrown open to accommodate, as I should guess, at the least five
thousand people. I was in a great fright lest I should lose my supper.
The rooms were suddenly deserted. I found myself alone; but it was only
for an instant. A gentleman, in a rich white satin, Spanish dress, and
a very magnificent plume of white ostrich-feathers in his hat, suddenly
seized me in his arms, and forcing over my chin my mask, which was
fastened loosely to admit of air, pressed his lips with such ardour to
mine that I was almost suffocated; and all this without unmasking, but
merely by raising for an instant, the thick black crape, which fully
concealed the lower part of his face. I would have screamed, but from a
dread of what might follow.
"This is most unmanly conduct," said I, as soon as I could recover my
breath.
"My dear, dear, sweet, lovely Harriette," said the mask, "I implore your
forgiveness of a poor married wretch, who hates and abhors the wife whom
circumstances oblige him to fear. I have been mad for you these five
years. I knew you were here, and how could I fail to discover you? I
shall never on earth have such another opportunity, and I had taken an
oath to press my lips to yours as I have now done, before I died."
"I believe this to be all nonsense," answered I, "so pray tell me who
you are."
"So far from it," answered the mask, with mysterious earnestness, "that,
after what has passed, were you to discover me I would blow my brains
out."
"Not surely, if I were secret as the grave itself?"
"I would not trust you! But come, I am keeping you from your supper. I
accompanied my wife in the disguise of an Italian monk, and having only
this instant changed it for the gay one I now wear, I will venture to
hand you down to supper, and place you at the greatest distance from my
own family; but I entreat one more kiss, dear Harriette, and if ever the
fates make me free then you shall not doubt my affection. The feelings
you have inspired in me are unaccountable, even to myself. I am in love
with your character."
"Are you old?"
"Guess my age," answered the mysterious mask.
"To judge of you by the nonsense you talk, I should say twenty; but by
your voice, your hands, and your person, I should say five and thirty."
"No matter which," said the mask, sighing, or making a feint to sigh.
I do not pretend to say it was a true, genuine sigh! "No matter; for I
shall, I fear, never enjoy your society more."
I liked his voice, and there was something romantic throughout this
little adventure which pleased me. I was in high spirits, and the mask's
beautiful dress was set off by a very fine person: and so, when he again
insisted on more kisses, I candidly confess I never once dreamed of
calling out murder.
"Come," said the mask at last, dragging me hastily towards the supper
rooms, "you shall not lose your supper for such an insignificant wretch
as I am: and yet, had I known you before my marriage, my dearest and
most generous of all human beings, you should never have been exposed
to the cold-blooded, unfeeling wretches, who have always taken such an
unfair advantage of you."
"Why be a slave to any unamiable woman?" I inquired.
"Political necessity," replied the mask, in a low whisper.
"Do you think I believe all this incredible, romantic nonsense? Why you
are some strolling player perhaps!"
"No matter: for we are not likely to meet again," the mask said coldly.
"I am glad," added he, "that the little you have heard and seen of me is
disagreeable to you; for, neither wife nor children nor politics should
have kept me from Harriette Wilson, if it had been possible for her to
have loved me only half as much as she once loved----" he paused.
"Who?"
"Ponsonby."
"Do you know Lord Ponsonby?" I inquired, with surprise.
"It is of no consequence. You are losing your supper. I will conduct you
to your own party."
The mask now hurried me along so fast, that I arrived at the table
panting for breath.
"Make room for your sister," whispered the mask in Fanny's ear, as soon
as he approached her, and the next moment we were both seated.
"Is there nothing in the tone of my voice or in my manner which seems
familiar to you?" questioned the mask, in a low voice.
"Nothing, positively."
"And my kisses? Think you that you felt them to-night for the very first
time in your life?"
I started, and threw a hasty earnest glance on the person of the
stranger; for there had indeed seemed magic in his kiss; and, while his
lips were pressed to mine, I did think on Ponsonby, yet it was quite
impossible that this should have been his lordship, who was I knew on
the continent. Neither was it his voice nor his person.
"Tell me; did you several times receive money sent to you in a blank
envelope by the post?"
"And was it you who----?"
"No, not I," interrupted the mask. "A mere accident made me acquainted
with the circumstance, and yet I am always near you, I watch over you
like a poor wretch, as I am," said he, seizing my hand, and, pressing
his lips most ardently on every part of it, he arose from the supper
table and was out of sight in an instant.
Before I could recover my astonishment, a man habited as a friar came
towards me, and bending his head close to my ear said, in a tremulous
voice, affected by real agitation, or, if otherwise, it was excellent
acting, "Farewell, daughter! Every night I shall fervently pray that you
and I may love each other in a better world!" It was the stranger-mask,
who again vanished from my sight never to return.
I soon forgot this odd adventure; because I was not so radically vain
as to conceive it possible that I could have excited such deep interest
in the breast of any individual, as could thus survive hope and feed on
air! "It is a mere masquerade-trick, got up to perplex me; so I'll e'en
not puzzle about it," thought I.
"Have you everything that you require, at this end of the table?" said
Meyler, passing close to me, and bowing with distant respect; for the
table was so excessively crowded, and there were so many more housemaids
in nearly the same costume as Fanny, that he passed her without
observing his late tormentor, otherwise he might have guessed that I
could not be far off.
Douglas Kinnaird kept up his character the whole of the evening, and
contributed much to our amusement during supper. This consisted of every
rare delicacy, in and out of season. The wines were delicious, and the
members of Wattier's club were as attentive to us as though they had
all been valets, and bred up to their situations like George Brummell,
who, by the bye, was the only exception. Instead of parading behind our
chairs to inquire what we wanted, he sat teasing a lady with a wax mask,
declaring that he would not leave her till he had seen her face.
I love a masquerade; because a female can never enjoy the same liberty
anywhere else. It is delightful to me to be able to wander about in a
crowd, making my observations, and conversing with whomsoever I please
without being liable to be stared at or remarked upon, and to speak to
whom I please, and run away from them the moment I have discovered their
stupidity. Fanny was very angry with me for running away from her after
supper; but I was in my glory, and determined to enjoy myself in perfect
freedom. I chatted with everybody who addressed me, just long enough to
ascertain that they were uninteresting people.
At last I found myself in the still quiet room I have before described.
It was entirely deserted, save by one solitary individual. He was
habited in a dark brown flowing robe, which was confined round the waist
by a leathern belt, and fell in ample folds to the ground. His head was
uncovered, and presented a fine model for the painter's art. He was
unmasked, and his bright penetrating eyes seemed earnestly fixed, I
could not discover on what. "Surely he sees beyond this gay scene into
some other world, which is hidden from the rest of mankind," thought I,
being impressed, for the first time in my life with an idea that I was
in the presence of a supernatural being. His attitude was graceful in
the extreme. His whole countenance so bright, severe, and beautiful,
that I should have been afraid to have loved him.
After watching his unchanged attitude for nearly ten minutes, I
ventured to examine that side of the room towards which his fine head
was directed; but there was nothing visible at all likely to fix the
attention of any one after the first _coup d'oeil_. "Can this be a mere
masquerade-attitude for effect, practised in an empty room?" though I,
being almost convinced that I had not been observed. His age might be
eight and twenty, or less; his complexion clear olive; his forehead
high; his mouth, as I afterwards discovered, was beautifully formed,
for at this moment the brightness of the eyes and their deep expression
fixed the whole of my attention. "Surely that man's thoughts are
occupied with intense interest, on something he sees, which is beyond
our common sight or conception," said I, encouraging the mysterious
turn of ideas which had obtained the mastery over my imagination: and I
will speak to him. I approached slowly, and on the points of my feet.
The stranger seemed not to have observed me; for he did not change his
position, nor did his eyes move from their fixed and penetrating gaze
on what seemed but space and air, until I came up, close to him, and
addressed him thus:
"I entreat you to gratify my curiosity. Who and what are you, who appear
to me a being too bright and too severe to dwell among us?"
He started violently, and reddened, while he answered rather peevishly,
"You had better bestow your attention on some one more worthy of you,
fair lady. I am a very stupid masquerade-companion;" and he was going
away.
"Listen to me," said I, seizing one of his beautiful little hands, urged
on by irresistible curiosity, "whoever you are, it is clear to me, that
my intrusion bores you; but it cannot be more annoying to you than your
running away will be to me. Do not torment me, to secure to yourself a
moment's ease. I promise to leave you at liberty in one quarter of an
hour; nor will I insist on your disclosing your name, and I promise you
shall not know mine."
The stranger hesitated.
I had addressed him in French; because I wore a foreign costume, and had
promised Meyler, when he presented me with a ticket, that I would remain
the whole evening _incognita._
The stranger hesitated.
"Don't you understand French?" I inquired.
"Perfectly."
"Well then, take out your watch. In one quarter of an hour you shall be
free from all my persecution; but, give me that time, pray do!"
"Agreed," said the stranger smiling, as he gracefully offered me his arm.
"This," said I, pressing the arm I had taken, "this seems, I am sorry to
say, to be mere solid flesh and blood. I had fancied----"
"What?"
"Why," continued I, half ashamed of myself, "upon my word and honour, I
do confess I thought you something supernatural!"
The stranger's countenance brightened, and he asked me eagerly if I had
ever seen him before.
"Never, nor am I naturally superstitious or weak."
"I am not much like the world, I believe," said the stranger; "but I am
merely one of ye."
"Does not that satisfy you?" I inquired.
"No; I would be more or less: anything rather than myself; but what is
all this to you? Are you a Frenchwoman?"
"No; English."
"Nonsense!"
"Fact, upon my word."
"Well then, let me hear you speak in your own language?"
"Excuse me."
"_Allons_! I like even an Englishwoman better than a Frenchwoman.
Not, I assure you, from any national prejudice in their favour; but,
Frenchwomen are my aversion, generally speaking."
"No matter, I do not require you to like me, for you are too handsome to
love in vain."
"What! Then you really could not return my passion?"
"No, upon my word; and yet your countenance is magnificently beautiful!"
"So much the better," answered he; "for I am sick to death of woman's
love, particularly to-night."
I looked at the stranger with earnest curiosity.
"You are what most ladies would call very conceited and impertinent,
but I can forgive you; because I have not discovered any affectation in
your manner, and you appear to speak as you feel, and to feel like a
man whose natural superiority has made him despise and look down on the
common every-day blessings of life."
"Perhaps you are right, and no doubt I have been very rude: but then you
really struck me as rather a sensible girl, and, if so, you will not
like me the worse for saying whatever comes into my head, just as it may
occur. Why did you make believe to be English?"
"An Englishwoman would have had too good taste not to have fallen in
love with you, perhaps you mean; but," added I, in English, "the fact
is, I am English: nevertheless, I could not love you, though you were to
break your heart about it."
"Who can you be?" said the stranger, in evident surprise, "and why, if
you dislike me, were you so very desirous to speak to me?"
"Who on earth could dislike you? Now would I forswear love, which has
hitherto been my all, to follow you to banishment or to death, so that
I could be considered your equal, worthy to be consulted by you as a
friend; for, though I do not know you, yet I guess that you are on earth
and that there's nothing like you. I could pity you, for your fifty
thousand weaknesses and errors, adore your talents, and----"
"Here is a high flight," interrupted the stranger, "I can now guess who
you are; but dare not name the person I take you to be, lest I offend.
Yet," and he paused to examine my person and my feet, "yet, it is
impossible it can be anybody else. Why did you affect not to know me?
Was it one of my weaknesses you wanted to humour, by appearing to guess
me something out of the common way?"
"Indeed I do not know you: and it has only this instant struck me, for
the first time, that you must be Lord Byron, whom I have never seen."
"And you are Harriette Wilson."
We shook hands cordially.
"I know you hate me, Lord Byron," said I.
"On the contrary, upon my word, you inspired me with a very friendly
disposition towards you at once. I was in the humour to quarrel with
everybody, and yet I could not resist offering you my arm."
"You did not, I fear, believe in women's friendship and affection,
towards men they could not love."
"Why could not you love me? Mind, I only ask from curiosity."
"It is a foolish question."
"I agree with you. Love comes on, we know not why nor wherefore, for
certain objects, and for others never will come."
"And yet, I think, I can describe why I could never entertain anything
like passion for you. Your beauty is all intellectual. There is nothing
voluptuous in the character of it. Added to this, I know that such a man
as you are, ought not, or if he ought, he will not, make woman his first
pursuit; and, to love at all, he must feel pride in the object of his
affections. I might excite your passions; but then, such contempt as you
have lavished on poor Lady Caroline Lamb would kill me."
"Is there any sort of comparison to be made between you and that mad
woman?" Lord Byron asked.
"No matter! I would never put myself in the power of a man who could
speak thus of any lady whom he had once professed to love."
"How do you know I ever did?"
"Those letters, in her ladyship's novel, _Glenarvon,_ are much in
your own style, and rather better than she could write. Have you any
objection to tell me candidly whether they are really your originals?"
"Yes! they are. But what of that? Is it not absurd to suppose that a
woman, who was not quite a fool, could believe in such ridiculous,
heartless nonsense? Would not you have laughed at such poetical stuff?"
"Certainly. Those letters would have done more to convince me of your
perfect indifference, than even your silence and neglect. Nobody ever
did or can impose upon me by a heartless love-letter. _Quand le coeur
parle, adieu l'esprit._ It is, in fact, almost impossible to compose
anything, which has a resemblance to strong feeling, when one is
addressing a person towards whom our heart is cold."
"I am glad we agree on one point. Now, with regard to my various errors,
of which you have been pleased to make mention."
"I did not do so to wound or to vex;" interrupted I, "but you are too
touchy and susceptible. I am surprised at what, when carried to excess,
I conceive to be the defect of a little mind. However, much may be said
in extenuation of your sensitiveness; because you are in ill-health, and
may be blue-devilled, when you see things in such a sickly light, or
suspect persons of meaning to insult your feelings, when they perhaps
never once thought about you in their lives."
"You use me worse than anybody, and yet, touchy as I am, I really like
you, because I feel the conviction, that you would sacrifice your own
interest to do me good: and, suspicious as you are pleased to describe
me, I am convinced that there is nothing you could ever say or do to me,
but I should take as I know it would be meant, in good part. You have
perhaps the sort of plain understanding which would serve to make me
better; but you could not live with me or endure much of my society. I
am, in short, determined that you shall like me all my life, and I know
myself too well to believe that to be possible, were you to see me at
all times."
"As you please. Remember I am always, while I live, your faithful
friend, proud when you will employ me or invite me near you, yet
submitting to your better judgment with philosophic cheerfulness,
whenever you may desire my absence."
"I thank you very sincerely," said Lord Byron, pressing my hand with
much friendly warmth.
"You must be ill or unhappy, when you are so violent and gloomy," I
continued, "and, while your genius is delighting all the world, it is
hard, and deeply I lament, that you do not enjoy such calm tranquil
thoughts, as I shall pray may yet be yours."
"Who shall console us for acute bodily anguish?" said Lord Byron, in a
tone of wild and thrilling despondency. "But," added he hastily, "you
are a dear, good-natured creature to waste the gay fleeting pleasures of
this evening, in listening to the despair of a wretch like me."
I pressed his hand to my heart because being masked, I could not kiss it.
"I seldom have intruded my wretchedness on others," said Lord Byron.
"A thousand thanks, my dear Lord Byron. You do, I know, feel sure of my
heart. We are all more or less subject to bodily sufferings. Thank God,
they will have an end."
"And what then?" inquired his lordship.
"We will hope, at least, that bodily pain and anxiety shall cease with
our lives. This, surely, is a reasonable hope. In the meantime, yours
cannot be all made up of bitterness. You have enjoyed exquisite moments
of triumphs, and you have written the _Corsair!_"
"True! I cannot deny that my sensations are sometimes enviable. You have
already done me good, and you and I are now, I hope, sworn friends.
Something has this day ruffled me beyond my stock of patience. I must
leave you; but we shall meet again, and you will let me hear from you I
hope. Or, do you mean to forget me? I may not long continue in the same
country with you; but wherever I am, it will console me to know that I
am remembered kindly by you."
"Do you wish to leave me now, then?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Thank you for being candid, and God bless you, dear Lord Byron," said
I, this time raising up my mask, that I might press his hand to my lips.
"_Amuse toi, bien, mon enfant_," said Lord Byron, drawing away his hand
from my mouth, to give me an affectionate kiss.
I saw no more of him for that evening; but I offered up a fervent,
short, ejaculatory prayer to Heaven, for this interesting young man's
better health, and then joined the noisy merry throng in the adjoining
rooms.
A party of high-bred young ladies, with whom I had danced before supper,
came round me, and asked me if I was too tired for a quadrille. "But
do, for heaven's sake, take off your mask, child: it really is such
affectation! What are you afraid of? I am sure you cannot be so very
ugly as to be ashamed of your face, with those bright hazel eyes, and
all that fine hair!"
"Come," said another, "let me untie your ugly mask; we are all so tired
of looking at the nasty simpering expression of it."
While I was defending my mask Fanny passed me, followed by Meyler, who
was still tormenting her to tell him under what disguise he must look
for me.
"There," said Fanny, "Harriette is among those ladies. There are not
more than eight or ten of them, and I declare to you that I will not
point out Harriette from the rest, say or do what you will." Meyler,
in his anxiety to make us all speak to him, suffered Fanny to depart
in peace. He did not once address me, but stood puzzling between
a gipsy-girl and a flower-girl, till I was induced so far to take
compassion on him, as to place my hand in that of the gipsy, making
signs for her to tell my fortune, as though I had been representing a
dumb woman.
Meyler examined my hand and nails attentively, and then called me by my
name.
"I could swear to this hand anywhere; but how you have tormented me
to-night," said Meyler.
The novelty of my dress seemed to make the impression on Meyler, which
a new woman might be expected to make on a man, who, like him, was so
fond of variety. He was quite in raptures, and refused to leave my
side an instant during the remainder of the evening, lest any famous
knight-errant should carry me off in a balloon.
At eight o'clock in the morning an excellent breakfast was served. It
consisted of coffee, tea and chocolate; and, when I returned home at
half-past nine o'clock, I heartily wished that the whole _fête_ would
begin again.