The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3 Read online

  THE SPECTACLES

  MANY years ago, it was the fashion to ridicule the idea of “love atfirst sight;” but those who think, not less than those who feel deeply,have always advocated its existence. Modern discoveries, indeed, in whatmay be termed ethical magnetism or magnetoesthetics, render it probablethat the most natural, and, consequently, the truest and most intenseof the human affections are those which arise in the heart as if byelectric sympathy--in a word, that the brightest and most enduringof the psychal fetters are those which are riveted by a glance. Theconfession I am about to make will add another to the already almostinnumerable instances of the truth of the position.

  My story requires that I should be somewhat minute. I am still a veryyoung man--not yet twenty-two years of age. My name, at present, is avery usual and rather plebeian one--Simpson. I say “at present;” for itis only lately that I have been so called--having legislativelyadopted this surname within the last year in order to receive a largeinheritance left me by a distant male relative, Adolphus Simpson,Esq. The bequest was conditioned upon my taking the name of thetestator,--the family, not the Christian name; my Christian name isNapoleon Bonaparte--or, more properly, these are my first and middleappellations.

  I assumed the name, Simpson, with some reluctance, as in my truepatronym, Froissart, I felt a very pardonable pride--believing thatI could trace a descent from the immortal author of the “Chronicles.” While on the subject of names, by the bye, I may mention a singularcoincidence of sound attending the names of some of my immediatepredecessors. My father was a Monsieur Froissart, of Paris. His wife--mymother, whom he married at fifteen--was a Mademoiselle Croissart, eldestdaughter of Croissart the banker, whose wife, again, being only sixteenwhen married, was the eldest daughter of one Victor Voissart. MonsieurVoissart, very singularly, had married a lady of similar name--aMademoiselle Moissart. She, too, was quite a child when married; and hermother, also, Madame Moissart, was only fourteen when led to the altar.These early marriages are usual in France. Here, however, are Moissart,Voissart, Croissart, and Froissart, all in the direct line of descent.My own name, though, as I say, became Simpson, by act of Legislature,and with so much repugnance on my part, that, at one period, I actuallyhesitated about accepting the legacy with the useless and annoyingproviso attached.

  As to personal endowments, I am by no means deficient. On the contrary,I believe that I am well made, and possess what nine tenths of the worldwould call a handsome face. In height I am five feet eleven. My hair isblack and curling. My nose is sufficiently good. My eyes are large andgray; and although, in fact they are weak a very inconvenient degree,still no defect in this regard would be suspected from their appearance.The weakness itself, however, has always much annoyed me, and I haveresorted to every remedy--short of wearing glasses. Being youthful andgood-looking, I naturally dislike these, and have resolutely refused toemploy them. I know nothing, indeed, which so disfigures the countenanceof a young person, or so impresses every feature with an air ofdemureness, if not altogether of sanctimoniousness and of age. Aneyeglass, on the other hand, has a savor of downright foppery andaffectation. I have hitherto managed as well as I could without either.But something too much of these merely personal details, which, afterall, are of little importance. I will content myself with saying,in addition, that my temperament is sanguine, rash, ardent,enthusiastic--and that all my life I have been a devoted admirer of thewomen.

  One night last winter I entered a box at the P---Theatre, in companywith a friend, Mr. Talbot. It was an opera night, and the billspresented a very rare attraction, so that the house was excessivelycrowded. We were in time, however, to obtain the front seats which hadbeen reserved for us, and into which, with some little difficulty, weelbowed our way.

  For two hours my companion, who was a musical fanatico, gave hisundivided attention to the stage; and, in the meantime, I amused myselfby observing the audience, which consisted, in chief part, of the veryelite of the city. Having satisfied myself upon this point, I was aboutturning my eyes to the prima donna, when they were arrested andriveted by a figure in one of the private boxes which had escaped myobservation.

  If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the intense emotionwith which I regarded this figure. It was that of a female, the mostexquisite I had ever beheld. The face was so far turned toward the stagethat, for some minutes, I could not obtain a view of it--but the formwas divine; no other word can sufficiently express its magnificentproportion--and even the term “divine” seems ridiculously feeble as Iwrite it.

  The magic of a lovely form in woman--the necromancy of femalegracefulness--was always a power which I had found it impossible toresist, but here was grace personified, incarnate, the beau ideal of mywildest and most enthusiastic visions. The figure, almost all of whichthe construction of the box permitted to be seen, was somewhat above themedium height, and nearly approached, without positively reaching, themajestic. Its perfect fullness and tournure were delicious. The head ofwhich only the back was visible, rivalled in outline that of the GreekPsyche, and was rather displayed than concealed by an elegant cap ofgaze aerienne, which put me in mind of the ventum textilem of Apuleius.The right arm hung over the balustrade of the box, and thrilled everynerve of my frame with its exquisite symmetry. Its upper portion wasdraperied by one of the loose open sleeves now in fashion. This extendedbut little below the elbow. Beneath it was worn an under one of somefrail material, close-fitting, and terminated by a cuff of rich lace,which fell gracefully over the top of the hand, revealing only thedelicate fingers, upon one of which sparkled a diamond ring, which Iat once saw was of extraordinary value. The admirable roundness of thewrist was well set off by a bracelet which encircled it, and which alsowas ornamented and clasped by a magnificent aigrette of jewels--telling,in words that could not be mistaken, at once of the wealth andfastidious taste of the wearer.

  I gazed at this queenly apparition for at least half an hour, as if Ihad been suddenly converted to stone; and, during this period, I feltthe full force and truth of all that has been said or sung concerning“love at first sight.” My feelings were totally different from any whichI had hitherto experienced, in the presence of even the most celebratedspecimens of female loveliness. An unaccountable, and what I amcompelled to consider a magnetic, sympathy of soul for soul, seemed torivet, not only my vision, but my whole powers of thought and feeling,upon the admirable object before me. I saw--I felt--I knew that I wasdeeply, madly, irrevocably in love--and this even before seeing the faceof the person beloved. So intense, indeed, was the passion that consumedme, that I really believe it would have received little if any abatementhad the features, yet unseen, proved of merely ordinary character, soanomalous is the nature of the only true love--of the love at firstsight--and so little really dependent is it upon the external conditionswhich only seem to create and control it.

  While I was thus wrapped in admiration of this lovely vision, a suddendisturbance among the audience caused her to turn her head partiallytoward me, so that I beheld the entire profile of the face. Its beautyeven exceeded my anticipations--and yet there was something about itwhich disappointed me without my being able to tell exactly what itwas. I said “disappointed,” but this is not altogether the word. Mysentiments were at once quieted and exalted. They partook less oftransport and more of calm enthusiasm of enthusiastic repose. This stateof feeling arose, perhaps, from the Madonna-like and matronly air ofthe face; and yet I at once understood that it could not have arisenentirely from this. There was something else--some mystery which Icould not develope--some expression about the countenance which slightlydisturbed me while it greatly heightened my interest. In fact, I wasjust in that condition of mind which prepares a young and susceptibleman for any act of extravagance. Had the lady been alone, I shouldundoubtedly have entered her box and accosted her at all hazards; but,fortunately, she was attended by two companions--a gentleman, and astrikingly beautiful woman, to all appearance a few years younger thanherself.

  I revolved in
my mind a thousand schemes by which I might obtain,hereafter, an introduction to the elder lady, or, for the present, atall events, a more distinct view of her beauty. I would have removedmy position to one nearer her own, but the crowded state of the theatrerendered this impossible; and the stern decrees of Fashion had, of late,imperatively prohibited the use of the opera-glass in a case such asthis, even had I been so fortunate as to have one with me--but I hadnot--and was thus in despair.

  At length I bethought me of applying to my companion.

  “Talbot,” I said, “you have an opera-glass. Let me have it.”

  “An opera-glass!--no!--what do you suppose I would be doing with anopera-glass?” Here he turned impatiently toward the stage.

  “But, Talbot,” I continued, pulling him by the shoulder, “listen to mewill you? Do you see the stage--box?--there!--no, the next.--did youever behold as lovely a woman?”

  “She is very beautiful, no doubt,” he said.

  “I wonder who she can be?”

  “Why, in the name of all that is angelic, don’t you know who she is?‘Not to know her argues yourself unknown.’ She is the celebrated MadameLalande--the beauty of the day par excellence, and the talk of thewhole town. Immensely wealthy too--a widow, and a great match--has justarrived from Paris.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Yes; I have the honor.”

  “Will you introduce me?”

  “Assuredly, with the greatest pleasure; when shall it be?”

  “To-morrow, at one, I will call upon you at B--’s.”

  “Very good; and now do hold your tongue, if you can.”

  In this latter respect I was forced to take Talbot’s advice; for heremained obstinately deaf to every further question or suggestion, andoccupied himself exclusively for the rest of the evening with what wastransacting upon the stage.

  In the meantime I kept my eyes riveted on Madame Lalande, and at lengthhad the good fortune to obtain a full front view of her face. It wasexquisitely lovely--this, of course, my heart had told me before,even had not Talbot fully satisfied me upon the point--but still theunintelligible something disturbed me. I finally concluded that mysenses were impressed by a certain air of gravity, sadness, or, stillmore properly, of weariness, which took something from the youthand freshness of the countenance, only to endow it with a seraphictenderness and majesty, and thus, of course, to my enthusiastic andromantic temperment, with an interest tenfold.

  While I thus feasted my eyes, I perceived, at last, to my greattrepidation, by an almost imperceptible start on the part of the lady,that she had become suddenly aware of the intensity of my gaze. Still,I was absolutely fascinated, and could not withdraw it, even for aninstant. She turned aside her face, and again I saw only the chiselledcontour of the back portion of the head. After some minutes, as if urgedby curiosity to see if I was still looking, she gradually brought herface again around and again encountered my burning gaze. Her large darkeyes fell instantly, and a deep blush mantled her cheek. But what was myastonishment at perceiving that she not only did not a second timeavert her head, but that she actually took from her girdle a doubleeyeglass--elevated it--adjusted it--and then regarded me through it,intently and deliberately, for the space of several minutes.

  Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have been morethoroughly astounded--astounded only--not offended or disgusted in theslightest degree; although an action so bold in any other woman wouldhave been likely to offend or disgust. But the whole thing was done withso much quietude--so much nonchalance--so much repose--with soevident an air of the highest breeding, in short--that nothing ofmere effrontery was perceptible, and my sole sentiments were those ofadmiration and surprise.

  I observed that, upon her first elevation of the glass, she had seemedsatisfied with a momentary inspection of my person, and was withdrawingthe instrument, when, as if struck by a second thought, she resumedit, and so continued to regard me with fixed attention for the space ofseveral minutes--for five minutes, at the very least, I am sure.

  This action, so remarkable in an American theatre, attracted verygeneral observation, and gave rise to an indefinite movement, or buzz,among the audience, which for a moment filled me with confusion, butproduced no visible effect upon the countenance of Madame Lalande.

  Having satisfied her curiosity--if such it was--she dropped the glass,and quietly gave her attention again to the stage; her profile now beingturned toward myself, as before. I continued to watch her unremittingly,although I was fully conscious of my rudeness in so doing. Presently Isaw the head slowly and slightly change its position; and soon I becameconvinced that the lady, while pretending to look at the stage was, infact, attentively regarding myself. It is needless to say what effectthis conduct, on the part of so fascinating a woman, had upon myexcitable mind.

  Having thus scrutinized me for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the fairobject of my passion addressed the gentleman who attended her, andwhile she spoke, I saw distinctly, by the glances of both, that theconversation had reference to myself.

  Upon its conclusion, Madame Lalande again turned toward the stage, and,for a few minutes, seemed absorbed in the performance. At the expirationof this period, however, I was thrown into an extremity of agitation byseeing her unfold, for the second time, the eye-glass which hung at herside, fully confront me as before, and, disregarding the renewed buzzof the audience, survey me, from head to foot, with the same miraculouscomposure which had previously so delighted and confounded my soul.

  This extraordinary behavior, by throwing me into a perfect fever ofexcitement--into an absolute delirium of love--served rather to emboldenthan to disconcert me. In the mad intensity of my devotion, I forgoteverything but the presence and the majestic loveliness of the visionwhich confronted my gaze. Watching my opportunity, when I thought theaudience were fully engaged with the opera, I at length caught the eyesof Madame Lalande, and, upon the instant, made a slight but unmistakablebow.

  She blushed very deeply--then averted her eyes--then slowly andcautiously looked around, apparently to see if my rash action had beennoticed--then leaned over toward the gentleman who sat by her side.

  I now felt a burning sense of the impropriety I had committed, andexpected nothing less than instant exposure; while a vision of pistolsupon the morrow floated rapidly and uncomfortably through my brain.I was greatly and immediately relieved, however, when I saw the ladymerely hand the gentleman a play-bill, without speaking, but the readermay form some feeble conception of my astonishment--of my profoundamazement--my delirious bewilderment of heart and soul--when, instantlyafterward, having again glanced furtively around, she allowed her brighteyes to set fully and steadily upon my own, and then, with a faintsmile, disclosing a bright line of her pearly teeth, made two distinct,pointed, and unequivocal affirmative inclinations of the head.

  It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy--upon my transport--uponmy illimitable ecstasy of heart. If ever man was mad with excess ofhappiness, it was myself at that moment. I loved. This was my firstlove--so I felt it to be. It was love supreme--indescribable. It was“love at first sight;” and at first sight, too, it had been appreciatedand returned.

  Yes, returned. How and why should I doubt it for an instant. What otherconstruction could I possibly put upon such conduct, on the part of alady so beautiful--so wealthy--evidently so accomplished--of so highbreeding--of so lofty a position in society--in every regard so entirelyrespectable as I felt assured was Madame Lalande? Yes, she loved me--shereturned the enthusiasm of my love, with an enthusiasm as blind--asuncompromising--as uncalculating--as abandoned--and as utterly unboundedas my own! These delicious fancies and reflections, however, were nowinterrupted by the falling of the drop-curtain. The audience arose; andthe usual tumult immediately supervened. Quitting Talbot abruptly, Imade every effort to force my way into closer proximity with MadameLalande. Having failed in this, on account of the crowd, I at lengthgave up the chase, and bent my steps homeward; consoling myself formy disappointmen
t in not having been able to touch even the hem of herrobe, by the reflection that I should be introduced by Talbot, in dueform, upon the morrow.

  This morrow at last came, that is to say, a day finally dawned upon along and weary night of impatience; and then the hours until “one” weresnail-paced, dreary, and innumerable. But even Stamboul, it is said,shall have an end, and there came an end to this long delay. The clockstruck. As the last echo ceased, I stepped into B--‘s and inquired forTalbot.

  “Out,” said the footman--Talbot’s own.

  “Out!” I replied, staggering back half a dozen paces--“let me tellyou, my fine fellow, that this thing is thoroughly impossible andimpracticable; Mr. Talbot is not out. What do you mean?”

  “Nothing, sir; only Mr. Talbot is not in, that’s all. He rode over toS--, immediately after breakfast, and left word that he would not be intown again for a week.”

  I stood petrified with horror and rage. I endeavored to reply, but mytongue refused its office. At length I turned on my heel, livid withwrath, and inwardly consigning the whole tribe of the Talbots to theinnermost regions of Erebus. It was evident that my considerate friend,il fanatico, had quite forgotten his appointment with myself--hadforgotten it as soon as it was made. At no time was he a very scrupulousman of his word. There was no help for it; so smothering my vexation aswell as I could, I strolled moodily up the street, propounding futileinquiries about Madame Lalande to every male acquaintance I met. Byreport she was known, I found, to all--to many by sight--but she hadbeen in town only a few weeks, and there were very few, therefore, whoclaimed her personal acquaintance. These few, being still comparativelystrangers, could not, or would not, take the liberty of introducing methrough the formality of a morning call. While I stood thus in despair,conversing with a trio of friends upon the all absorbing subject of myheart, it so happened that the subject itself passed by.

  “As I live, there she is!” cried one.

  “Surprisingly beautiful!” exclaimed a second.

  “An angel upon earth!” ejaculated a third.

  I looked; and in an open carriage which approached us, passing slowlydown the street, sat the enchanting vision of the opera, accompanied bythe younger lady who had occupied a portion of her box.

  “Her companion also wears remarkably well,” said the one of my trio whohad spoken first.

  “Astonishingly,” said the second; “still quite a brilliant air, but artwill do wonders. Upon my word, she looks better than she did atParis five years ago. A beautiful woman still;--don’t you think so,Froissart?--Simpson, I mean.”

  “Still!” said I, “and why shouldn’t she be? But compared with her friendshe is as a rush-light to the evening star--a glow-worm to Antares.

  “Ha! ha! ha!--why, Simpson, you have an astonishing tact at makingdiscoveries--original ones, I mean.” And here we separated, while oneof the trio began humming a gay vaudeville, of which I caught only thelines--

  Ninon, Ninon, Ninon a bas--

  A bas Ninon De L’Enclos!

  During this little scene, however, one thing had served greatly toconsole me, although it fed the passion by which I was consumed. As thecarriage of Madame Lalande rolled by our group, I had observed thatshe recognized me; and more than this, she had blessed me, by themost seraphic of all imaginable smiles, with no equivocal mark of therecognition.

  As for an introduction, I was obliged to abandon all hope of it untilsuch time as Talbot should think proper to return from the country. Inthe meantime I perseveringly frequented every reputable place of publicamusement; and, at length, at the theatre, where I first saw her, I hadthe supreme bliss of meeting her, and of exchanging glances with heronce again. This did not occur, however, until the lapse of a fortnight.Every day, in the interim, I had inquired for Talbot at his hotel, andevery day had been thrown into a spasm of wrath by the everlasting “Notcome home yet” of his footman.

  Upon the evening in question, therefore, I was in a condition littleshort of madness. Madame Lalande, I had been told, was a Parisian--hadlately arrived from Paris--might she not suddenly return?--return beforeTalbot came back--and might she not be thus lost to me forever? Thethought was too terrible to bear. Since my future happiness was atissue, I resolved to act with a manly decision. In a word, upon thebreaking up of the play, I traced the lady to her residence, noted theaddress, and the next morning sent her a full and elaborate letter, inwhich I poured out my whole heart.

  I spoke boldly, freely--in a word, I spoke with passion. I concealednothing--nothing even of my weakness. I alluded to the romanticcircumstances of our first meeting--even to the glances which had passedbetween us. I went so far as to say that I felt assured of her love;while I offered this assurance, and my own intensity of devotion, as twoexcuses for my otherwise unpardonable conduct. As a third, I spoke of myfear that she might quit the city before I could have the opportunity ofa formal introduction. I concluded the most wildly enthusiastic epistleever penned, with a frank declaration of my worldly circumstances--of myaffluence--and with an offer of my heart and of my hand.

  In an agony of expectation I awaited the reply. After what seemed thelapse of a century it came.

  Yes, actually came. Romantic as all this may appear, I really receiveda letter from Madame Lalande--the beautiful, the wealthy, the idolizedMadame Lalande. Her eyes--her magnificent eyes, had not belied hernoble heart. Like a true Frenchwoman as she was she had obeyed the frankdictates of her reason--the generous impulses of her nature--despisingthe conventional pruderies of the world. She had not scorned myproposals. She had not sheltered herself in silence. She had notreturned my letter unopened. She had even sent me, in reply, one pennedby her own exquisite fingers. It ran thus:

  “Monsieur Simpson vill pardonne me for not compose de butefulle tong ofhis contree so vell as might. It is only de late dat I am arrive, andnot yet ave do opportunite for to--l’etudier.

  “Vid dis apologie for the maniere, I vill now say dat, helas!--MonsieurSimpson ave guess but de too true. Need I say de more? Helas! am I notready speak de too moshe?

  “EUGENIE LALAND.”

  This noble--spirited note I kissed a million times, and committed, nodoubt, on its account, a thousand other extravagances that have nowescaped my memory. Still Talbot would not return. Alas! could he haveformed even the vaguest idea of the suffering his absence had occasionedhis friend, would not his sympathizing nature have flown immediatelyto my relief? Still, however, he came not. I wrote. He replied. He wasdetained by urgent business--but would shortly return. He begged me notto be impatient--to moderate my transports--to read soothing books--todrink nothing stronger than Hock--and to bring the consolations ofphilosophy to my aid. The fool! if he could not come himself, why, inthe name of every thing rational, could he not have enclosed me aletter of presentation? I wrote him again, entreating him to forward oneforthwith. My letter was returned by that footman, with the followingendorsement in pencil. The scoundrel had joined his master in thecountry:

  “Left S---yesterday, for parts unknown--did not say where--or when beback--so thought best to return letter, knowing your handwriting, and ashow you is always, more or less, in a hurry.

  “Yours sincerely,

  “STUBBS.”

  After this, it is needless to say, that I devoted to the infernaldeities both master and valet:--but there was little use in anger, andno consolation at all in complaint.

  But I had yet a resource left, in my constitutional audacity. Hithertoit had served me well, and I now resolved to make it avail me to theend. Besides, after the correspondence which had passed between us, whatact of mere informality could I commit, within bounds, that ought tobe regarded as indecorous by Madame Lalande? Since the affair ofthe letter, I had been in the habit of watching her house, and thusdiscovered that, about twilight, it was her custom to promenade,attended only by a negro in livery, in a public square overlooked byher windows. Here, amid the luxuriant and shadowing groves, in thegray gloom of a sweet midsummer evening, I observed my opportunity
andaccosted her.

  The better to deceive the servant in attendance, I did this with theassured air of an old and familiar acquaintance. With a presence of mindtruly Parisian, she took the cue at once, and, to greet me, held out themost bewitchingly little of hands. The valet at once fell into therear, and now, with hearts full to overflowing, we discoursed long andunreservedly of our love.

  As Madame Lalande spoke English even less fluently than she wrote it,our conversation was necessarily in French. In this sweet tongue, soadapted to passion, I gave loose to the impetuous enthusiasm of mynature, and, with all the eloquence I could command, besought her toconsent to an immediate marriage.

  At this impatience she smiled. She urged the old story of decorum--thatbug-bear which deters so many from bliss until the opportunity forbliss has forever gone by. I had most imprudently made it known among myfriends, she observed, that I desired her acquaintance--thus that I didnot possess it--thus, again, there was no possibility of concealing thedate of our first knowledge of each other. And then she adverted, with ablush, to the extreme recency of this date. To wed immediately would beimproper--would be indecorous--would be outre. All this she said with acharming air of naivete which enraptured while it grieved and convincedme. She went even so far as to accuse me, laughingly, of rashness--ofimprudence. She bade me remember that I really even knew not who shewas--what were her prospects, her connections, her standing in society.She begged me, but with a sigh, to reconsider my proposal, and termedmy love an infatuation--a will o’ the wisp--a fancy or fantasy of themoment--a baseless and unstable creation rather of the imaginationthan of the heart. These things she uttered as the shadows of the sweettwilight gathered darkly and more darkly around us--and then, with agentle pressure of her fairy-like hand, overthrew, in a single sweetinstant, all the argumentative fabric she had reared.

  I replied as best I could--as only a true lover can. I spoke at length,and perseveringly of my devotion, of my passion--of her exceedingbeauty, and of my own enthusiastic admiration. In conclusion, I dwelt,with a convincing energy, upon the perils that encompass the courseof love--that course of true love that never did run smooth--and thusdeduced the manifest danger of rendering that course unnecessarily long.

  This latter argument seemed finally to soften the rigor of herdetermination. She relented; but there was yet an obstacle, she said,which she felt assured I had not properly considered. This was adelicate point--for a woman to urge, especially so; in mentioning it,she saw that she must make a sacrifice of her feelings; still, for me,every sacrifice should be made. She alluded to the topic of age. Was Iaware--was I fully aware of the discrepancy between us? That the ageof the husband, should surpass by a few years--even by fifteen ortwenty--the age of the wife, was regarded by the world as admissible,and, indeed, as even proper, but she had always entertained the beliefthat the years of the wife should never exceed in number those of thehusband. A discrepancy of this unnatural kind gave rise, too frequently,alas! to a life of unhappiness. Now she was aware that my own age didnot exceed two and twenty; and I, on the contrary, perhaps, was notaware that the years of my Eugenie extended very considerably beyondthat sum.

  About all this there was a nobility of soul--a dignity of candor--whichdelighted--which enchanted me--which eternally riveted my chains. Icould scarcely restrain the excessive transport which possessed me.

  “My sweetest Eugenie,” I cried, “what is all this about which you arediscoursing? Your years surpass in some measure my own. But what then?The customs of the world are so many conventional follies. To those wholove as ourselves, in what respect differs a year from an hour? I amtwenty-two, you say, granted: indeed, you may as well call me, at once,twenty-three. Now you yourself, my dearest Eugenie, can havenumbered no more than--can have numbered no more than--no morethan--than--than--than--”

  Here I paused for an instant, in the expectation that Madame Lalandewould interrupt me by supplying her true age. But a Frenchwoman isseldom direct, and has always, by way of answer to an embarrassingquery, some little practical reply of her own. In the present instance,Eugenie, who for a few moments past had seemed to be searching forsomething in her bosom, at length let fall upon the grass a miniature,which I immediately picked up and presented to her.

  “Keep it!” she said, with one of her most ravishing smiles. “Keep itfor my sake--for the sake of her whom it too flatteringly represents.Besides, upon the back of the trinket you may discover, perhaps, thevery information you seem to desire. It is now, to be sure, growingrather dark--but you can examine it at your leisure in the morning. Inthe meantime, you shall be my escort home to-night. My friends areabout holding a little musical levee. I can promise you, too, some goodsinging. We French are not nearly so punctilious as you Americans, and Ishall have no difficulty in smuggling you in, in the character of an oldacquaintance.”

  With this, she took my arm, and I attended her home. The mansion wasquite a fine one, and, I believe, furnished in good taste. Of thislatter point, however, I am scarcely qualified to judge; for it was justdark as we arrived; and in American mansions of the better sort lightsseldom, during the heat of summer, make their appearance at this, themost pleasant period of the day. In about an hour after my arrival,to be sure, a single shaded solar lamp was lit in the principaldrawing-room; and this apartment, I could thus see, was arranged withunusual good taste and even splendor; but two other rooms of the suite,and in which the company chiefly assembled, remained, during the wholeevening, in a very agreeable shadow. This is a well-conceived custom,giving the party at least a choice of light or shade, and one which ourfriends over the water could not do better than immediately adopt.

  The evening thus spent was unquestionably the most delicious of my life.Madame Lalande had not overrated the musical abilities of her friends;and the singing I here heard I had never heard excelled in any privatecircle out of Vienna. The instrumental performers were many and ofsuperior talents. The vocalists were chiefly ladies, and no individualsang less than well. At length, upon a peremptory call for “MadameLalande,” she arose at once, without affectation or demur, from thechaise longue upon which she had sat by my side, and, accompanied byone or two gentlemen and her female friend of the opera, repaired to thepiano in the main drawing-room. I would have escorted her myself, butfelt that, under the circumstances of my introduction to the house, Ihad better remain unobserved where I was. I was thus deprived of thepleasure of seeing, although not of hearing, her sing.

  The impression she produced upon the company seemed electrical but theeffect upon myself was something even more. I know not how adequately todescribe it. It arose in part, no doubt, from the sentiment of lovewith which I was imbued; but chiefly from my conviction of the extremesensibility of the singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow eitherair or recitative with more impassioned expression than was hers. Herutterance of the romance in Otello--the tone with which she gave thewords “Sul mio sasso,” in the Capuletti--is ringing in my memory yet.Her lower tones were absolutely miraculous. Her voice embraced threecomplete octaves, extending from the contralto D to the D upper soprano,and, though sufficiently powerful to have filled the San Carlos,executed, with the minutest precision, every difficulty of vocalcomposition--ascending and descending scales, cadences, or fiorituri. Inthe final of the Somnambula, she brought about a most remarkable effectat the words:

  Ah! non guinge uman pensiero

  Al contento ond ‘io son piena.

  Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the original phrase ofBellini, so as to let her voice descend to the tenor G, when, by a rapidtransition, she struck the G above the treble stave, springing over aninterval of two octaves.

  Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of vocal execution, sheresumed her seat by my side; when I expressed to her, in terms of thedeepest enthusiasm, my delight at her performance. Of my surprise Isaid nothing, and yet was I most unfeignedly surprised; for a certainfeebleness, or rather a certain tremulous indecision of voice inordinary conversa
tion, had prepared me to anticipate that, in singing,she would not acquit herself with any remarkable ability.

  Our conversation was now long, earnest, uninterrupted, and totallyunreserved. She made me relate many of the earlier passages of my life,and listened with breathless attention to every word of the narrative. Iconcealed nothing--felt that I had a right to conceal nothing--from herconfiding affection. Encouraged by her candor upon the delicate point ofher age, I entered, with perfect frankness, not only into a detail ofmy many minor vices, but made full confession of those moral and evenof those physical infirmities, the disclosure of which, in demanding somuch higher a degree of courage, is so much surer an evidence of love.I touched upon my college indiscretions--upon my extravagances--upon mycarousals--upon my debts--upon my flirtations. I even went so far asto speak of a slightly hectic cough with which, at one time, I had beentroubled--of a chronic rheumatism--of a twinge of hereditary gout--and,in conclusion, of the disagreeable and inconvenient, but hithertocarefully concealed, weakness of my eyes.

  “Upon this latter point,” said Madame Lalande, laughingly, “you havebeen surely injudicious in coming to confession; for, without theconfession, I take it for granted that no one would have accused you ofthe crime. By the by,” she continued, “have you any recollection--” andhere I fancied that a blush, even through the gloom of the apartment,became distinctly visible upon her cheek--“have you any recollection,mon cher ami of this little ocular assistant, which now depends from myneck?”

  As she spoke she twirled in her fingers the identical double eye-glasswhich had so overwhelmed me with confusion at the opera.

  “Full well--alas! do I remember it,” I exclaimed, pressing passionatelythe delicate hand which offered the glasses for my inspection. Theyformed a complex and magnificent toy, richly chased and filigreed, andgleaming with jewels, which, even in the deficient light, I could nothelp perceiving were of high value.

  “Eh bien! mon ami” she resumed with a certain empressment of manner thatrather surprised me--“Eh bien! mon ami, you have earnestly besought ofme a favor which you have been pleased to denominate priceless. Youhave demanded of me my hand upon the morrow. Should I yield to yourentreaties--and, I may add, to the pleadings of my own bosom--would Inot be entitled to demand of you a very--a very little boon in return?”

  “Name it!” I exclaimed with an energy that had nearly drawn upon us theobservation of the company, and restrained by their presence alonefrom throwing myself impetuously at her feet. “Name it, my beloved, myEugenie, my own!--name it!--but, alas! it is already yielded ere named.”

  “You shall conquer, then, mon ami,” said she, “for the sake of theEugenie whom you love, this little weakness which you have at lastconfessed--this weakness more moral than physical--and which, letme assure you, is so unbecoming the nobility of your real nature--soinconsistent with the candor of your usual character--and which, ifpermitted further control, will assuredly involve you, sooner or later,in some very disagreeable scrape. You shall conquer, for my sake, thisaffectation which leads you, as you yourself acknowledge, to the tacitor implied denial of your infirmity of vision. For, this infirmityyou virtually deny, in refusing to employ the customary means for itsrelief. You will understand me to say, then, that I wish you to wearspectacles;--ah, hush!--you have already consented to wear them, for mysake. You shall accept the little toy which I now hold in my hand,and which, though admirable as an aid to vision, is really of no veryimmense value as a gem. You perceive that, by a trifling modificationthus--or thus--it can be adapted to the eyes in the form of spectacles,or worn in the waistcoat pocket as an eye-glass. It is in the formermode, however, and habitually, that you have already consented to wearit for my sake.”

  This request--must I confess it?--confused me in no little degree. Butthe condition with which it was coupled rendered hesitation, of course,a matter altogether out of the question.

  “It is done!” I cried, with all the enthusiasm that I could muster atthe moment. “It is done--it is most cheerfully agreed. I sacrificeevery feeling for your sake. To-night I wear this dear eye-glass, as aneye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the earliest dawn of that morningwhich gives me the pleasure of calling you wife, I will place itupon my--upon my nose,--and there wear it ever afterward, in the lessromantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable,form which you desire.”

  Our conversation now turned upon the details of our arrangements for themorrow. Talbot, I learned from my betrothed, had just arrived in town.I was to see him at once, and procure a carriage. The soiree wouldscarcely break up before two; and by this hour the vehicle was to beat the door, when, in the confusion occasioned by the departure of thecompany, Madame L. could easily enter it unobserved. We were then tocall at the house of a clergyman who would be in waiting; there bemarried, drop Talbot, and proceed on a short tour to the East, leavingthe fashionable world at home to make whatever comments upon the matterit thought best.

  Having planned all this, I immediately took leave, and went in search ofTalbot, but, on the way, I could not refrain from stepping into a hotel,for the purpose of inspecting the miniature; and this I did by thepowerful aid of the glasses. The countenance was a surpassinglybeautiful one! Those large luminous eyes!--that proud Greciannose!--those dark luxuriant curls!--“Ah!” said I, exultingly to myself,“this is indeed the speaking image of my beloved!” I turned the reverse,and discovered the words--“Eugenie Lalande--aged twenty-seven years andseven months.”

  I found Talbot at home, and proceeded at once to acquaint him withmy good fortune. He professed excessive astonishment, of course, butcongratulated me most cordially, and proffered every assistance in hispower. In a word, we carried out our arrangement to the letter, and, attwo in the morning, just ten minutes after the ceremony, I found myselfin a close carriage with Madame Lalande--with Mrs. Simpson, I shouldsay--and driving at a great rate out of town, in a direction Northeastby North, half-North.

  It had been determined for us by Talbot, that, as we were to be up allnight, we should make our first stop at C--, a village about twentymiles from the city, and there get an early breakfast and some repose,before proceeding upon our route. At four precisely, therefore, thecarriage drew up at the door of the principal inn. I handed my adoredwife out, and ordered breakfast forthwith. In the meantime we were showninto a small parlor, and sat down.

  It was now nearly if not altogether daylight; and, as I gazed,enraptured, at the angel by my side, the singular idea came, all atonce, into my head, that this was really the very first moment since myacquaintance with the celebrated loveliness of Madame Lalande, that Ihad enjoyed a near inspection of that loveliness by daylight at all.

  “And now, mon ami,” said she, taking my hand, and so interrupting thistrain of reflection, “and now, mon cher ami, since we are indissolublyone--since I have yielded to your passionate entreaties, and performedmy portion of our agreement--I presume you have not forgotten that youalso have a little favor to bestow--a little promise which it is yourintention to keep. Ah! let me see! Let me remember! Yes; full easily doI call to mind the precise words of the dear promise you made to Eugenielast night. Listen! You spoke thus: ‘It is done!--it is most cheerfullyagreed! I sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-night I wear thisdear eye-glass as an eye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the earliestdawn of that morning which gives me the privilege of calling you wife, Iwill place it upon my--upon my nose,--and there wear it ever afterward,in the less romantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the moreserviceable, form which you desire.’ These were the exact words, mybeloved husband, were they not?”

  “They were,” I said; “you have an excellent memory; and assuredly,my beautiful Eugenie, there is no disposition on my part to evade theperformance of the trivial promise they imply. See! Behold! they arebecoming--rather--are they not?” And here, having arranged the glassesin the ordinary form of spectacles, I applied them gingerly in theirproper position; while Madame Simpson, adjusting her cap, and foldin
gher arms, sat bolt upright in her chair, in a somewhat stiff and prim,and indeed, in a somewhat undignified position.

  “Goodness gracious me!” I exclaimed, almost at the very instant that therim of the spectacles had settled upon my nose--“My goodness graciousme!--why, what can be the matter with these glasses?” and taking themquickly off, I wiped them carefully with a silk handkerchief, andadjusted them again.

  But if, in the first instance, there had occurred something whichoccasioned me surprise, in the second, this surprise becameelevated into astonishment; and this astonishment was profound--wasextreme--indeed I may say it was horrific. What, in the name ofeverything hideous, did this mean? Could I believe my eyes?--couldI?--that was the question. Was that--was that--was that rouge? And werethose--and were those--were those wrinkles, upon the visage of EugenieLalande? And oh! Jupiter, and every one of the gods and goddesses,little and big! what--what--what--what had become of her teeth? I dashedthe spectacles violently to the ground, and, leaping to my feet, stooderect in the middle of the floor, confronting Mrs. Simpson, with my armsset a-kimbo, and grinning and foaming, but, at the same time, utterlyspeechless with terror and with rage.

  Now I have already said that Madame Eugenie Lalande--that is to say,Simpson--spoke the English language but very little better than shewrote it, and for this reason she very properly never attempted to speakit upon ordinary occasions. But rage will carry a lady to anyextreme; and in the present care it carried Mrs. Simpson to the veryextraordinary extreme of attempting to hold a conversation in a tonguethat she did not altogether understand.

  “Vell, Monsieur,” said she, after surveying me, in great apparentastonishment, for some moments--“Vell, Monsieur?--and vat den?--vat dematter now? Is it de dance of de Saint itusse dat you ave? If not likeme, vat for vy buy de pig in the poke?”

  “You wretch!” said I, catching my breath--“you--you--you villainous oldhag!”

  “Ag?--ole?--me not so ver ole, after all! Me not one single day more dande eighty-doo.”

  “Eighty-two!” I ejaculated, staggering to the wall--“eighty-two hundredthousand baboons! The miniature said twenty-seven years and sevenmonths!”

  “To be sure!--dat is so!--ver true! but den de portraite has been takefor dese fifty-five year. Ven I go marry my segonde usbande, MonsieurLalande, at dat time I had de portraite take for my daughter by my firstusbande, Monsieur Moissart!”

  “Moissart!” said I.

  “Yes, Moissart,” said she, mimicking my pronunciation, which, to speakthe truth, was none of the best,--“and vat den? Vat you know about deMoissart?”

  “Nothing, you old fright!--I know nothing about him at all; only I hadan ancestor of that name, once upon a time.”

  “Dat name! and vat you ave for say to dat name? ‘Tis ver goot name;and so is Voissart--dat is ver goot name too. My daughter, MademoiselleMoissart, she marry von Monsieur Voissart,--and de name is bot verrespectaable name.”

  “Moissart?” I exclaimed, “and Voissart! Why, what is it you mean?”

  “Vat I mean?--I mean Moissart and Voissart; and for de matter of dat, Imean Croissart and Froisart, too, if I only tink proper to mean it.My daughter’s daughter, Mademoiselle Voissart, she marry von MonsieurCroissart, and den again, my daughter’s grande daughter, MademoiselleCroissart, she marry von Monsieur Froissart; and I suppose you say datdat is not von ver respectaable name.-”

  “Froissart!” said I, beginning to faint, “why, surely you don’t sayMoissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart?”

  “Yes,” she replied, leaning fully back in her chair, and stretchingout her lower limbs at great length; “yes, Moissart, and Voissart, andCroissart, and Froissart. But Monsieur Froissart, he vas von ver big vatyou call fool--he vas von ver great big donce like yourself--for he lefla belle France for come to dis stupide Amerique--and ven he get herehe went and ave von ver stupide, von ver, ver stupide sonn, so I hear,dough I not yet av ad de plaisir to meet vid him--neither me nor mycompanion, de Madame Stephanie Lalande. He is name de NapoleonBonaparte Froissart, and I suppose you say dat dat, too, is not von verrespectable name.”

  Either the length or the nature of this speech, had the effect ofworking up Mrs. Simpson into a very extraordinary passion indeed; andas she made an end of it, with great labor, she lumped up from her chairlike somebody bewitched, dropping upon the floor an entire universeof bustle as she lumped. Once upon her feet, she gnashed her gums,brandished her arms, rolled up her sleeves, shook her fist in my face,and concluded the performance by tearing the cap from her head, and withit an immense wig of the most valuable and beautiful black hair,the whole of which she dashed upon the ground with a yell, and theretrammpled and danced a fandango upon it, in an absolute ecstasy andagony of rage.

  Meantime I sank aghast into the chair which she had vacated. “Moissartand Voissart!” I repeated, thoughtfully, as she cut one of herpigeon-wings, and “Croissart and Froissart!” as she completedanother--“Moissart and Voissart and Croissart and Napoleon BonaparteFroissart!--why, you ineffable old serpent, that’s me--that’s me--d’yehear? that’s me”--here I screamed at the top of my voice--“that’sme-e-e! I am Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart! and if I havn’t married mygreat, great, grandmother, I wish I may be everlastingly confounded!”

  Madame Eugenie Lalande, quasi Simpson--formerly Moissart--was, in soberfact, my great, great, grandmother. In her youth she had been beautiful,and even at eighty-two, retained the majestic height, the sculpturalcontour of head, the fine eyes and the Grecian nose of her girlhood. Bythe aid of these, of pearl-powder, of rouge, of false hair, false teeth,and false tournure, as well as of the most skilful modistes of Paris,she contrived to hold a respectable footing among the beauties en peupassees of the French metropolis. In this respect, indeed, she mighthave been regarded as little less than the equal of the celebrated NinonDe L’Enclos.

  She was immensely wealthy, and being left, for the second time, a widowwithout children, she bethought herself of my existence in America,and for the purpose of making me her heir, paid a visit to the UnitedStates, in company with a distant and exceedingly lovely relative of hersecond husband’s--a Madame Stephanie Lalande.

  At the opera, my great, great, grandmother’s attention was arrested bymy notice; and, upon surveying me through her eye-glass, she was struckwith a certain family resemblance to herself. Thus interested, andknowing that the heir she sought was actually in the city, she madeinquiries of her party respecting me. The gentleman who attended herknew my person, and told her who I was. The information thus obtainedinduced her to renew her scrutiny; and this scrutiny it was which soemboldened me that I behaved in the absurd manner already detailed.She returned my bow, however, under the impression that, by some oddaccident, I had discovered her identity. When, deceived by my weaknessof vision, and the arts of the toilet, in respect to the age and charmsof the strange lady, I demanded so enthusiastically of Talbot whoshe was, he concluded that I meant the younger beauty, as a matterof course, and so informed me, with perfect truth, that she was “thecelebrated widow, Madame Lalande.”

  In the street, next morning, my great, great, grandmother encounteredTalbot, an old Parisian acquaintance; and the conversation, verynaturally turned upon myself. My deficiencies of vision were thenexplained; for these were notorious, although I was entirely ignorantof their notoriety, and my good old relative discovered, much toher chagrin, that she had been deceived in supposing me aware of heridentity, and that I had been merely making a fool of myself in makingopen love, in a theatre, to an old woman unknown. By way of punishing mefor this imprudence, she concocted with Talbot a plot. He purposely keptout of my way to avoid giving me the introduction. My street inquiriesabout “the lovely widow, Madame Lalande,” were supposed to refer tothe younger lady, of course, and thus the conversation with the threegentlemen whom I encountered shortly after leaving Talbot’s hotel willbe easily explained, as also their allusion to Ninon De L’Enclos. I hadno opportunity of seeing Madame Lalande closely during daylight;
and,at her musical soiree, my silly weakness in refusing the aid of glasseseffectually prevented me from making a discovery of her age. When“Madame Lalande” was called upon to sing, the younger lady was intended;and it was she who arose to obey the call; my great, great, grandmother,to further the deception, arising at the same moment and accompanyingher to the piano in the main drawing-room. Had I decided upon escortingher thither, it had been her design to suggest the propriety of myremaining where I was; but my own prudential views rendered thisunnecessary. The songs which I so much admired, and which so confirmedmy impression of the youth of my mistress, were executed by MadameStephanie Lalande. The eyeglass was presented by way of adding a reproofto the hoax--a sting to the epigram of the deception. Its presentationafforded an opportunity for the lecture upon affectation with whichI was so especially edified. It is almost superfluous to add that theglasses of the instrument, as worn by the old lady, had been exchangedby her for a pair better adapted to my years. They suited me, in fact,to a T.

  The clergyman, who merely pretended to tie the fatal knot, was a booncompanion of Talbot’s, and no priest. He was an excellent “whip,” however; and having doffed his cassock to put on a great-coat, he drovethe hack which conveyed the “happy couple” out of town. Talbot took aseat at his side. The two scoundrels were thus “in at the death,” and through a half-open window of the back parlor of the inn, amusedthemselves in grinning at the denouement of the drama. I believe I shallbe forced to call them both out.

  Nevertheless, I am not the husband of my great, great, grandmother; andthis is a reflection which affords me infinite relief,--but I am thehusband of Madame Lalande--of Madame Stephanie Lalande--with whom mygood old relative, besides making me her sole heir when she dies--ifshe ever does--has been at the trouble of concocting me a match. Inconclusion: I am done forever with billets doux and am never to be metwithout SPECTACLES.