_ Letter XXXI - To Henry Colden
[Editorial note: The observant reader will have noticed this is the second letter bearing the number XXXI. The original text contained two Letters XXXI, and we have chosen to let the letters retain their original numbers, rather than renumber them.]
To Henry Colden Philadelphia, November 11.
How shall I tell you the strange--_strange_ incident? Every fibre of my frame still trembles. I have endeavoured, during the last hour, to gain tranquillity enough for writing, but without success. Yet I can forbear no longer: I must begin.
I had just closed my last to you, when somebody knocked. I heard footsteps below, as the girl ushered in the visitant, which were not quite unknown to me. The girl came up:--"A gentleman is waiting."
"A gentleman!" thought I. "An odd hour this" (it was past ten) "for any man but one to visit _me_. His business must be very urgent." So, indeed, he told the girl it was, for she knew me averse to company at any time, and I had withdrawn to my chamber for the night; but he would not be eluded. He must see me, he said, this night.
A tall and noble figure, in a foreign uniform, arose from the sofa at my entrance. The half-extinct lamp on the mantel could not conceal from me--_my brother_!
My surprise almost overpowered me. I should have sunk upon the floor, had he not stepped to me and sustained me in his arms.
"I see you are surprised, Jane," said he, in a tone not without affection in it. "You did not expect, I suppose, ever to see me again. It was a mere chance brought me to America. I shall stay here a moment, and then hie me back again. I could not pass through the city without a 'How d'ye' to the little girl for whom I have still some regard."
The violence of my emotions found relief in a flood of tears. He was not unmoved, but, embracing me with tenderness, he seated me by him on the sofa.
When I had leisure to survey his features, I found that time had rather improved his looks. They were less austere, less contemptuous, than they used to be: perhaps, indeed, it was only a momentary remission of his customary feelings.
To my rapid and half-coherent questions, he replied, "I landed--you need not know where. My commission requires secrecy, and you know I have personal reasons for wishing to pass through this city without notice. My business did not bring me farther southward than New London; but I heard your mother resided in New York, and could not leave the country without seeing you. I called on her yesterday; but she looked so grave and talked so obscurely about you, that I could not do less than come hither. She told me you were here. How have been affairs since I left you?"
I answered this question vaguely.
"Pray," (with much earnestness,) "are you married yet?"
The confusion with which I returned an answer to this did not escape him.
"I asked Mrs. Fielder the same question, and she talked as if it were a doubtful point. She could not tell, she said, with a rueful physiognomy. Very probable it might be so. I could not bring her to be more explicit. As I proposed to see you, she said, you were the fittest person to explain your own situation. This made me the more anxious to see you. Pray, Jane, how do matters stand between you and Mrs. Fielder? are you not on as good terms as formerly?"
I answered, that some difference had unhappily occurred between us, that I loved and revered her as much as ever, and hoped that we should soon be mother and daughter again.
"But the cause?--the cause, Jane? Is a lover the bone of contention between you? That's the rock on which family harmony is sure to be wrecked. But tell me: what have you quarrelled about?"
How could I explain on such a subject, thus abruptly introduced to _him_? I told him it was equally painful and useless to dwell on my contentions with my mother, or on my own affairs. "Rather let me hear," said I, "how it fares with you; what fortunes you have met with in this long absence."
"Pretty well; pretty well. Many a jade's trick did Fortune play me before I left this spot, but ever since, it has been all smooth and bright with me. But this marriage--Art thou a wife or not? I heard, I think, some talk about a Talbot. What's become of him? They said you were engaged to him."
"It is long since the common destiny has ended all Talbot's engagements."
"Dead, is he? Well, a new aspirer, I suppose, has succeeded, and he is the bone of contention. Who's he?"
I could not bear that a subject of such deep concern to me should be discussed thus lightly, and therefore begged him to change the subject.
"Change the subject? With all my heart, if we can find any more important; but that's impossible. So we must even stick to this a little longer. Come; what's his parentage; fortune; age; character; profession? 'Tis not likely I shall find fault where Mrs. Fielder does. Young men and old women seldom hit upon the same choice in a husband; and, for my part, I am easily pleased."
"This is a subject, brother, on which it is impossible that we should think alike; nor is it necessary. Let us then talk of something in which we have a common concern; something that has a claim to interest you."
"What subject, girl, can have a stronger claim on my attention than the marriage of my sister? I am not so giddy and unprincipled as to be unconcerned on that head, So make no more ado, but tell your _brother_ candidly what are your prospects."
After some hesitation,--"My real brother--one who had the tenderness becoming that relation--would certainly deserve my confidence. But----"
"But what? Come; never mince the matter, I scarcely been half a brother hitherto, I grant you of an enemy, perhaps, than friend; but no reason why I should continue hostile or indifferent. So tell me who the lad is, and what are his pretensions."
I endeavoured to draw him off to some other subject, but he would not be diverted from this. By dint of interrogatories, he at last extorted from me a few hints respecting you. Finding that you were without fortune or profession, and that my regard for you had forfeited all favour with my mother, the inquiry was obvious, how we meant to live. It was impossible to answer this question in any manner satisfactory to him. He has no notion of existence unconnected with luxury and splendour.
"Have you made any acquisitions," continued he, "since I saw you? Has any good old aunt left you another legacy?"--This was said with the utmost vivacity and self-possession. A strange being is my brother. Could he have forgotten by whom I was robbed of my former legacy?
"Come, come; I know thou art a romantic being,--one accustomed to _feed on thoughts_ instead of pudding. Contentment and a cottage are roast beef and a palace to thee; but, take my word for it, this inamorata of thine will need a more substantial diet. By marrying him you will only saddle him with misery. So drop all thoughts of so silly a scheme; write him a 'good-by;' make up your little matters, and come along with me. I will take you to my country, introduce you to a new world, and bring to your feet hundreds of generous souls, the least of whom is richer, wiser, handsomer, than this tame-spirited, droning animal--what's his name? But no matter. I suppose I know nothing of him."
I was rash enough to tell him your name and abode, but I treated his proposal as a jest. I quickly found that he was serious. He soon became extremely urgent; recounted the advantages of his condition; the charming qualities of his wife; the security and splendour of his new rank. He endeavoured to seduce my vanity by the prospect of the conquest I should make in that army of colonels, philosophers, and commissioners that formed the circle of his friends. "Any man but a brother," said he, "must own that you are a charming creature. So you need only come and see, in order to conquer." His importunities increased as my reluctance became more evident. Thoughtless as I supposed him to be, he said, the wish to find me out, carry me to France, and put me in Fortune's way, was no inconsiderable inducement with him to accept the commission which brought him to America. He insinuated that brothership and eldership gave him something like a title to paternal authority, and insisted on obedience.
The contest became painful. Impatience and reproach on his side awakened the like sentiments in me, and it cost me many efforts to restrain my feelings. Alternately he commanded and persuaded; was willing to be governed by my mother's advice; would carry me forthwith to New York; would lay before her his proposal, and be governed by her decision. The public vessel that brought him lay at Newport, waiting his return. Every possible accommodation and convenience was possessed by the ship. It was nothing but a sailing palace, in which the other passengers were merely his guests, selected by himself.
I was a fool for refusing his offer. A simpleton. The child of caprice, whom no time could render steadfast except in folly; into whom no counsel or example could instil an atom of common sense. He supposed _my man_ was equally obstinate and stupid; but he would soon see of what stuff _he_ was made. He would hurry to Baltimore, and take the boy to task for his presumption and insolence in aspiring to Jane Talbot without her brother's consent.
He snatched up his hat; but this intimation alarmed me. "Pray, stay one moment, brother. Be more considerate. What right can you possibly have to interfere with Mr. Colden's concerns? Talk to me as much and in what style you please; but, I beseech you, insult not a man who never offended you."
Perceiving my uneasiness on this head, he took advantage of it to renew his solicitations for my company to France,--swore solemnly that no man should have his sister without his consent, and that he would force the boy to give me up.
This distressing altercation ended by his going away, declaring, in spite of my entreaties, that he would see you, and teach your insolence a lesson not easily forgotten.
To sleep after this interview was impossible. I could hardly still my throbbing heart sufficiently to move the pen. You cannot hear from me in time to avoid this madman, or to fortify yourself against an interview. I cannot confute the false or cunning glosses he may make upon my conduct. He may represent me to you as willing to accompany him; as detained only by my obligation to you, from which it is in your power to absolve me.
Till I hear from you I shall have no peace. Would to Heaven there was some speedier conveyance!
JANE TALBOT. _