CHAPTER XIV.
AT the period of which we are speaking, no name in the new republic wasassociated with ideas of more brilliant promise, or invested with agreater prestige of popularity and success, than that of Colonel AaronBurr.
Sprung of a line distinguished for intellectual ability, the grandsonof a man whose genius has swayed New England from that day to this—theson of parents eminent in their day for influential and popular talent,he united in himself the quickest perceptions and keenest delicacy offibre with the most diamond hardness and unflinching steadiness ofpurpose. Apt, subtle, dazzling, adroit, no man in his time ever beganlife with fairer chances for success and fame. His name, as it fell onthe ear of our heroine, carried with it the suggestion of all this; andwhen, with his peculiarly engaging smile, he offered his arm, she felta little of the flutter natural to a modest young person unexpectedlyhonoured with the notice of the distinguished of the earth, whom it isseldom the lot of humble individuals to know except by distant report.
But although Mary was a blushing and sensitive person, she was not whatis commonly called a diffident girl: her nerves had that steady poisewhich gave her presence of mind in the most unwonted circumstances.
The first few sentences addressed to her by her new companion were in atone and style altogether different from any in which she had ever beenapproached—different from the dashing frankness of her sailor lover,and from the rustic gallantry of her other admirers. That indescribablemixture of ease and deference, guided by a fine tact, which showsthe practised, high-bred man of the world, made its impression on herimmediately, as the breeze on the chords of a wind harp. She feltherself pleasantly swayed and breathed upon: it was as if an atmospherewere around her in which she felt a perfect ease and freedom—anassurance that her lightest word might launch forth safely, as a tinyboat on the smooth glassy mirror of her listener’s pleased attention.
‘I came to Newport only on a visit of business,’ he said, after a fewmoments of introductory conversation; ‘I was not prepared for its manyattractions.’
‘Newport has a great deal of beautiful scenery,’ said Mary.
‘I have heard that it was celebrated for the beauty of its scenery andof its ladies,’ he answered; ‘but,’ he added, with a quick flash of hisdark eye, ‘I never realised the fact before.’
The glance of the eye pointed and limited the compliment; at the sametime there was a wary shrewdness in it: he was measuring how deeplyhis shaft had sunk, as he always instinctively measured the person hetalked with.
Mary had been told of her beauty since her childhood, notwithstandingher mother had assayed all that transparent, respectable hoaxing bywhich discreet mothers endeavour to blind their daughters to thereal facts in such cases; but in her own calm, balanced mind she hadaccepted what she was so often told as a quiet verity, and thereforeshe neither fluttered nor blushed on this occasion; but regarded herauditor with a pleased attention, as one who was saying obliging things.
‘Cool,’ he thought to himself. ‘Hum—a little rustic belle, I suppose,well aware of her own value; rather piquante, upon my word.’
‘Shall we walk in the garden?’ he said; ‘the evening is so beautiful.’
They passed out the door, and began promenading the long walk. At thebottom of the alley he stopped, and, turning, looked up the vista ofbox, ending in the brilliantly-lighted rooms, where gentlemen withpowdered heads, lace ruffles, and glittering knee-buckles were handingladies in stiff brocades, whose towering heads were shaded by ostrichfeathers and sparkling with gems.
‘Quite court-like, on my word,’ he said: ‘tell me, do you often havesuch brilliant entertainments as these?’
‘I suppose they do,’ said Mary; ‘I never was at one before, but Isometimes hear of them.’
‘And _you_ do not attend?’ said the gentleman, with an accent whichmade the inquiry a marked compliment.
‘No, I do not,’ said Mary; ‘these people generally do not visit us.’
‘What a pity,’ he said, ‘that their parties should want such anornament! but,’ he added, ‘this night must make them aware of theiroversight: if you are not always in society after this, it will surelynot be from want of solicitation.’
‘You are very kind to think so,’ replied Mary; ‘but even if it wereto be so, I should not see my way clear to be often in such scenes asthis.’
Her companion looked at her with a glance a little doubtful and amused,and said—
‘And pray, why not, if the inquiry be not presumptuous?’
‘Because,’ said Mary, ‘I should be afraid they would take too much timeand thought, and lead me to forget the great object of life.’
The simple gravity with which this was said, as if quite assured of thesympathy of her auditor, appeared to give him a secret amusement. Hisbright dark eyes danced as if he suppressed some quick repartee; but,drooping his long lashes deferentially, he said, in gentle tones—
‘I should like to know what so beautiful a young lady considers thegreat object of life?’
Mary answered reverentially, in those words familiar from infancy toevery Puritan child, ‘To glorify God, and enjoy Him for ever.’
‘_Really?_’ he said, looking straight into her eyes with thatpenetrating glance with which he was accustomed to take the gauge ofevery one with whom he conversed.
‘Is it not?’ said Mary, looking back, calm and firm, into thesparkling, restless depths of his eye.
In that moment, two souls, going with the whole force of their being intwo opposite directions, looked out of their windows at each other witha fixed and earnest recognition.
Burr was practised in every act of gallantry; he had made womankinda study: he never saw a beautiful face and form without a sort ofrestless desire to experiment upon it, and try his power over theinterior inhabitant. But just at this moment something streamed intohis soul from those blue, earnest eyes, which brought back to his mindwhat pious people had so often told him of his mother—the beautiful andearly-sainted Esther Burr.
He was one of those persons who systematically managed and played uponhimself and others, as a skilful musician on an instrument. Yet onesecret of his fascination was the naïveté with which at some momentshe would abandon himself to some little impulse of a nature originallysensitive and tender. Had the strain of feeling which now awoke inhim come over him elsewhere, he would have shut down some spring inhis mind, and excluded it in a moment; but talking with a beautifulcreature whom he wished to please, he gave way at once to the emotion:real tears stood in his fine eyes; he raised Mary’s hand to his lipsand kissed it, saying—
‘Thank you, my beautiful child, for so good a thought! it is truly anoble sentiment, though practicable only to those gifted with angelicnatures.’
‘Oh, I trust not!’ said Mary, earnestly, touched and wrought upon morethan she herself knew by the beautiful eyes, the modulated voice, thecharm of manner, which seemed to enfold her like an Italian summer.
Burr sighed—a real sigh of his better nature, but passed out with allthe more freedom that he felt it would interest his fair companion,who, for the time being, was the one woman in the world to him.
‘Pure, artless souls like yours,’ he said, ‘cannot measure thetemptations of those who are called to the real battle of life. Ina world like this, how many nobler aspirations fall withered in thefierce heat and struggle of the conflict!’
He was saying then what he really felt—often bitterly felt; but usingthis real feeling advisedly, and with skilful tact, for the purpose ofthe hour.
What was this purpose? to win the regard, the esteem, the tendernessof a religious exalted nature, shrined in a beautiful form—to gainand hold ascendency: it was a life-long habit; one of those forms ofrefined self-indulgence which he pursued, reckless of consequences.He had found now the key-note of the character: it was a beautifulinstrument, and he was well-pleased to play on it.
‘I think, sir,’ said Mary, modestly, ‘that you forget the greatprovision made for o
ur weakness.’
‘How?’ said he.
‘They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength,’ she replied,gently.
He looked at her as she spoke these words with a pleased, artisticperception of the contrast between her worldly attire and the simplereligious earnestness of her words.
‘She is entrancing,’ he thought to himself; ‘so altogether fresh andnaïve.’
‘My sweet saint,’ he said, ‘such as you are the appointed guardians ofus coarser beings: the prayers of a soul given up to worldliness andambition effect little; you must intercede for us. I am very orthodox,you see,’ he added, with that subtle smile which sometimes irradiatedhis features. ‘I am fully aware of all that your reverend Doctor tellsyou of the worthlessness of unregenerate doings; and so, when I seeangels walking below, I try to secure a “friend at court.”’
He saw that Mary looked embarrassed and pained at this banter, andtherefore added, with a delicate shading of earnestness—
‘In truth, my fair young friend, I hope you will sometimes pray forme. I am sure if I have any chance of good, it must come to me in suchways.’
‘Indeed I will,’ said Mary, fervently, her little heart full, tearsin her eyes, her breath coming quick; and she added, with a deepeningcolour, ‘I am sure, Mr. Burr, there should be a covenant blessing foryou, if for any one, for you are the son of a holy ancestry.’
‘Eh bien, mon ami, qu’est-ce que tu fais ici?’ said a gay voice behinda clump of box, and immediately there started out, like a Frenchpicture from its frame, a dark-eyed figure, dressed like a marquise ofLouis Fourteenth’s time, with powdered hair, sparkling with diamonds.
‘Rien que m’amuser,’ he replied, with ready presence of mind, in thesame tone, and then added—
‘Permit me, madame, to present to you a charming specimen of ourgenuine New England flowers. Miss Scudder, I have the honour to presentyou to the acquaintance of Madame de Frontignac.’
‘I am very happy,’ said the lady, with a sweet lisping accentuation ofEnglish, which well became her lovely mouth. ‘Miss Scudder, I hope, isvery well?’
Mary replied affirmatively, her eyes resting the while, with pleasedadmiration, on the brilliant speaking face and diamond-bright eyeswhich seemed looking her through.
‘Monsieur la trouve bien séduisante apparemment,’ said the strangerin a low, rapid voice to the gentleman, in a manner which showed amingling of pique and admiration.
‘Petite jalouse, t’assure toi,’ he replied, with a look and mannerinto which, with that mobile force which was peculiar to himself, hethrew the most tender and passionate devotion. ‘Ne suis-je pas à toitout-à-fait?’ and as he spoke he offered her his other arm.
‘Allow me to be an unworthy link between the beauty of France andAmerica.’
The lady swept a proud curtsy backward, bridled her beautiful neck, andsigned for them to pass.
‘I am waiting here for a friend,’ she said.
‘Your will is always mine,’ replied Burr, bowing with proud humility,and passing on with Mary to the supper-room.
Here the company were fast assembling in that high tide of good-humourwhich generally sets in at this crisis of the evening. The scene, intruth, was a specimen of a range of society which in those times couldhave been assembled nowhere else but in Newport. There stood Dr.H., in the tranquil majesty of his lordly form, and by his side thealert, compact figure of his cotemporary and theological opponent, Dr.Styles, who, animated by the social spirit of the hour, was dispensingcourtesies to the right and left with the debonair grace of the trainedgentleman of the old school. Near by, and engaging from time to timein conversation with them, stood a Jewish Rabbi with one or twowealthy bankers of the same race, whose olive complexion, keen eyes,and aquiline profile spoke their descent, and gave a picturesque andforeign grace to the scene.
Colonel Burr, one of the most brilliant and distinguished of therising men of the new republic, and Colonel de Frontignac, who hadwon for himself laurels in the corps of Lafayette during the recentrevolutionary struggle, with his brilliant and accomplished wife, wereall unexpected and distinguished additions to the circle.
Burr gently cleared the way for his fair companion, and purposelyplacing her where the full light of the wax chandeliers set offher beauty to the best advantage, devoted himself to her with asubserviency as deferential as if she had been a goddess.
For all that, he was not unobservant when, a few moments after, Madamede Frontignac was led in on the arm of a distinguished senator, withwhom she was presently in full flirtation.
He observed, with a quiet, furtive smile, that, while she rattled andfanned herself, and listened with apparent attention to the flatteriesaddressed to her, she darted every now and then a glance keen as asteel blade towards him and his companion. He was perfectly adroitin playing off one woman against another, and it struck him with apleasant sense of oddity, how perfectly unconscious his sweet andsaintly neighbour was of the position in which she was supposed tostand by her rival.
_Col. Burr amuses himself._
_Page 136._
Sampson Low, Son & Co. June, 25th, 1859.]
And poor Mary all this while, in her simplicity, really thought she hadseen traces of what she would have called ‘the strivings of the Spiritin his soul.’
Alas! that a phrase weighed down with such a mysterious truth andmeaning should ever come to fall on the ear as mere empty cant: withMary it was a living form, as were all her words, for in nothing wasthe Puritan education more marked than in the earnest reality andtruthfulness which it gave to language. And even now, as she stands byhis side, her large blue eye is occasionally fixed in dreamy reverie,as she thinks what a triumph of divine grace it would be if theseinward movings of her companion’s mind should lead him, as all thepious of New England hoped, to follow in the footsteps of PresidentEdwards.
She wishes that she could some time see him alone, where she could talkwith him undisturbed. She was too humble, too modest, fully to acceptthe delicious flattery which he had breathed, in implying that her handhad power to unseal the fountains of good in his soul; but still itthrilled through all the sensitive strings of her nature, a tremulousflutter of suggestion.
She had read instances of striking and wonderful conversions from wordsdropped by children and women; and suppose some such thing shouldhappen to her, that this so charming, distinguished, and powerful beingshould be called into the fold of Christ’s church by her means! No, itwas too much to be hoped; but the very possibility was thrilling.
When, after supper, Mrs. Scudder and the Doctor made their adieus,Burr’s devotion was still unabated: with an enchanting mixture ofreverence and fatherly protection, he waited on her to the last,shawled her with delicate care, and handed her into the small one-horsewaggon as if it had been the coach of a duchess.
‘I have pleasant recollections connected with this kind of anestablishment,’ he said, as, after looking carefully at the harness,he passed the reins into Mrs. Scudder’s hands; ‘it reminds me ofschool-days and old times. I hope your horse is quite safe, madam?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs. Scudder; ‘I perfectly understand him.’
‘Pardon the suggestion,’ he replied, ‘what is there that a New Englandmatron does not understand? Doctor, I must call by-and-by and havea little talk with you; my theologies, you know, need a littlestraightening.’
‘We should all be happy to see you, Colonel Burr,’ said Mrs. Scudder;‘we live in a very plain way it is true.’
‘But can always find a place for a friend; that, I trust, is what youmeant to say,’ he replied, bowing with his own peculiar grace as thecarriage drove off.
‘Really, a most charming person is this Colonel Burr,’ said Mrs.Scudder.
‘He seems a very frank, ingenuous young person,’ said the Doctor; ‘onecannot but mourn that the son of such gracious parents should be leftto wander into infidelity.’
‘Oh, he is not an infidel,’ said Mary: ‘he is far from it; though
Ithink that his mind is a little darkened on some points.’
‘Ah!’ said the Doctor, ‘have you had any special religious conversationwith him?’
‘A little,’ said Mary; ‘and it seems to me, that his mind is perplexedsomewhat in regard to the doings of the unregenerate. I fear that ithas rather proved a stumbling-block in his way; but he showed so muchfeeling! I could really see the tears in his eyes.’
‘His mother was a most godly woman, Mary,’ said the Doctor; ‘she wascalled from her youth, and her beautiful person became a temple for theindwelling of the Holy Spirit. Aaron Burr is a child of many prayers,and therefore there is hope that he may yet be effectually called. Hestudied awhile with Bellamy,’ he added, musingly; ‘I have often doubtedwhether Bellamy took just the right course with him.’
‘I hope he will call and talk with you,’ said Mary, earnestly. ‘Whata blessing to the world if such talents as his could become whollyconsecrated!’
‘Not many rich, not many mighty, not many noble are called,’ said theDoctor. ‘Yet, if it would please the Lord to employ my instrumentalityand prayers, how much should I rejoice! I was struck,’ he added,‘to-night, when I saw those Jews present, with the thought that it was,as it were, a type of that last ingathering, when both Jew and Gentileshould sit down lovingly together at the gospel feast. It is onlyby passing over and forgetting these present years, when so few arecalled, and the gospel makes such slow progress, and looking forwardto that glorious time that I find comfort. If the Lord but use me as adumb stepping-stone to that heavenly Jerusalem, I shall be content.’
Thus they talked while the waggon jogged slowly homeward, while thefrogs and turtles and the distant ripple of the sea made a drowsymingling concert in the summer-evening air.
Meanwhile Colonel Burr had returned to the lighted rooms; and it wasnot long before his quick eye sought out Madame de Frontignac, standingpensively in a window-recess, half hid by the curtain. He stole upsoftly behind her, and whispered something in her ear.
In a moment she turned on him a face glowing with anger, and drew backhaughtily; but Burr remarked the glitter of tears, not quite dried evenby the angry flash of her eyes.
‘In what have I had the misfortune to offend?’ he said, crossing hisarms upon his breast. ‘I stand at the bar and plead not guilty.’
He spoke in French, and she replied in the same smooth accents—
‘It was not for her to dispute monsieur’s right to amuse himself.’
Burr drew nearer, and spoke in those persuasive, pleading tones whichhe had ever at command, and in that language whose very structure, inits delicate tu toi, gives such opportunity for gliding on throughshade after shade of intimacy and tenderness, till gradually thehaughty fire of the eyes was quenched in tears; and in the suddenrevulsion of a strong impulsive nature, she poured out to him what shecalled words of friendship, but which carried with them all the warmthof that sacred fire which is given to woman to light and warm thetemple of home, and which sears and scars when kindled for any othershrine; and yet this woman was the wife of his friend and associate.
Monsieur de Frontignac was a grave and dignified man of forty-five.Virginie de Frontignac had been given him to wife when but eighteen; abeautiful, generous, impulsive, wilful girl.
She had accepted him gladly for very substantial reasons. First, thatshe might come out of the convent where she was kept for the verypurpose of educating her in ignorance of the world she was to live in.Second, that she might wear velvet, lace, cashmere, and jewels. Third,that she might be a madame, free to go and come, ride, walk, and talk,without surveillance. Fourth, and consequent upon this, that she mightgo into company, and have admirers and adorers.
She supposed, of course, she loved her husband—whom else should shelove? he was the only man except her father and brothers that she hadever seen; and in the fortnight that preceded their marriage, did henot send her the most splendid bons-bons every day, with bouquets ofevery pattern that ever taxed the brain of a Parisian artiste? Was notthe corbeille de mariage a wonder and an envy to all her acquaintance?and after marriage had she not found him always a steady, indulgentfriend, easy to be coaxed as any grave papa?
On his part, Monsieur de Frontignac cherished his young wife as abeautiful, though somewhat absurd little pet; and amused himself withher frolics and gambols, as the gravest person often will with those ofa kitten.
It was not until she knew Aaron Burr that poor Virginie de Frontignaccame to that great awakening of her being which teaches woman whatshe is, and transforms her from a careless child to a deep-hearted,thinking, suffering, human being.
For the first time, in his society, she became aware of the charm ofa polished and cultivated mind; able, with exquisite tact, to adaptitself to hers; to draw forth her inquiries; to excite her tastes; tostimulate her observation. A new world awoke around her—the world ofliterature, of taste, of art, of sentiment. She felt somehow as ifshe had gained the growth of years in a few months. She felt withinherself the stirring of dim aspiration—the uprising of a new power ofself-devotion and self sacrifice; a trance of hero worship; a cloud ofhigh ideal images; the lighting up, in short, of all that God has laidready to be enkindled in woman’s nature when the time comes to sanctifyher as the pure priestess of a domestic temple.
But, alas! it was kindled by one who did it only for an experiment;because he felt an artistic pleasure in the beautiful light and heatwhich had burned a soul away.
Burr was one of those men, willing to play with any charming woman thegame of those navigators who give to simple natives glass beads andfeathers in return for gold and diamonds; to accept from a woman herheart’s blood in return for such odds, ends, and clippings as he couldafford her from the serious ambitions of life.
Look in with us one moment, now that the party is over, and the busyhum of voices and blaze of lights have died down to midnight silenceand darkness. We make you clairvoyant; and you may look through thewalls of this stately old mansion, still known as that where Rochambeauheld his headquarters, into this room, where two wax candles areburning on a toilette-table before an old-fashioned mirror.
The slumbrous folds of the curtains are drawn with stately gloom arounda high bed, where Colonel de Frontignac has been for many hours quietlyasleep. But opposite, resting with one elbow on the toilette-table,her long black hair hanging down over her night-dress, and the brushhanging listlessly in her hand, sits Virginie, looking fixedly into thedreamy depths of the mirror.
Scarcely twenty yet; all unwarned of the world of power and passionthat lay slumbering in her girl’s heart; led, in the meshes of customand society, to utter vows and take responsibilities of whose natureshe was no more apprised than is a slumbering babe, and now at lastfully awake, feeling the whole power of that mysterious and awful forcewhich we call love, yet shuddering to call it by its name; yet by itslight beginning to understand all she is capable of, and all thatmarriage should have been to her!
She struggles feebly and confusedly with her fate, still clinging tothe name of duty, and baptizing as friendship the strange new feelingwhich makes her tremble through all her being. How can she dream ofdanger in such a feeling, when it seems to her the awakening of allthat is highest and noblest within her? She remembers when she thoughtof nothing beyond an opera ticket or a new dress; and now she feelsthat there might be to her a friend for whose sake she would try to benoble and great and good; for whom all self-denial, all high endeavour,all difficult virtue, would become possible; who would be to her life,inspiration, order, beauty.
She sees him, as woman always sees the one she loves—noble, great,and good; for when did a loving woman ever believe a man otherwise?too noble, too great, too high, too good, she thinks for her, poor,trivial, ignorant coquette—poor, trifling, childish Virginie! Has henot commanded armies? she thinks; is he not eloquent in the senate?and yet, what interest he has taken in her, a poor, unformed, ignorantcreature! She never tried to improve herself till since she knew him:and he is so cons
iderate too; so respectful; so thoughtful and kind;so manly and honourable; and has such a tender friendship for her;such a brotherly, fatherly solicitude. And yet, if she is haughty, orimperious, or severe, how humbled and grieved he looks! How strangethat she could have power over such a man!
It is one of the saddest truths of this sad mystery of life, that womanis often never so much an angel as just the moment before she fallsinto the bottomless depths of perdition; and what shall we say of theman who leads her up to this spot as an experiment? who amuses himselfwith taking woman after woman up these dazzling, delusive heights,knowing, as he certainly must, where they lead?
We have been told, in extenuation of the course of Aaron Burr, that hewas not a man of gross passions or of coarse indulgence, but in themost consummate and refined sense a man of gallantry: this, then, isthe descriptive name which polite society has invented for the man whodoes this thing.
Of old it was thought that one who administered poison in thesacramental bread and wine had touched the very height of impioussacrilege; but this crime is white by the side of his who poisonsGod’s eternal sacrament of _love_, and destroys woman’s soul throughher noblest and purest affections.
We have given you the after view of most of the actors of our littlescene to-night, and therefore it is but fair that you should have apeep over the Colonel’s shoulder as he sums up the evening in a letterto a friend.
‘MY DEAR ——,
‘As to the business, it gets on rather slowly: L—— and T—— are away, and the coalition cannot be formed without them; they set out a week ago from Philadelphia, and are yet on the road.
‘Meanwhile, we have some providential alleviations; as, for example, a wedding-party to-night at the Wilcox’s, which was really quite an affair. I saw the prettiest little Puritan there that I have set eyes on for many a day. I really couldn’t help getting up a flirtation with her, though it was much like flirting with a small copy of the Assembly’s catechism, of which I had enough years ago, heaven knows. But really, such a naïve, earnest little saint, who has such a real, deadly belief, and opens such blue pitying eyes on one, is quite a stimulating novelty. I got myself well scolded by the fair madame (as angels scold), and had to plead like a lawyer to make my peace.
‘After all, _that_ woman really enchains me. Don’t shake your head wisely. “What is going to be the end of it?” I am sure I don’t know; we’ll see when the time comes.
‘Meanwhile, push the business ahead with all your might. I shall not be idle.
‘D—— must canvass the Senate thoroughly. I wish I could be in two places at once, and I would do it myself. Au revoir.
‘Ever yours, ‘BURR.’