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The Spectacles.
================ By Edgar Allan Poe ——————————  Some persons ridicule the idea
of "love at
first sight"; but those who think clearly, not less than those who feel
deeply,
have always advocated its existence. Modern discoveries, indeed, in
what
may be termed ethical magnetism, or magnetæsthetics, render it
probable
that the most natural, and, consequently, the most real and the most
intense
of
the human affections, are those which arise in the heart as if by
electric
sympathy — in a word, that the brightest and most enduring of the
psychal
fetters are those which are riveted at a glance. The confession I am
about
to make, will add another to the already numerous instances
of
the truth of this position. It is necessary that I be somewhat minute.
I am
still a
young man — not yet twenty-two. My name, at present, is a
very usual and rather plebeian one — Simpson. I say "at present"; for
it is only lately that I have been so called — having legislatively
adopted
this surname, within the last year, in order to receive an
inheritance
left me by a distant male relative — Adolphus Simpson, Esquire. The
bequest
was conditioned upon my taking the name of the testator; — the family,
not the Christian name. My Christian or baptismal names are Napoleon
Buonaparte. I am now Napoleon Buonaparte Simpson. I assumed [page
2:] the
"Simpson" with much reluctance; for in
my true
patronym,
Froissart, I felt a very pardonable pride; believing
that I could
trace
a descent from the immortal author of the "Chronicles." While on the
subject
of names, by the bye, I may as well mention a singular coincidence of
sound,
attending
the names of some of my immediate predecessors. My father was a
Monsieur
George Froissart, of Paris. His wife, my mother, whom he
married at fifteen,
was a Mademoiselle Croissart, eldest daughter of Croissart, the
banker. His wife, again, only sixteen when married, was the
eldest
daughter
of one Monsieur Voissart; and this gentleman, very singularly,
had wedded
a lady of similar name — a Mademoiselle Moissart. She, too, was
quite
a child when married; and her mother, also, Madame Moissart, was only
fourteen
when led to the altar. These early marriages are usual in France. But
what I speak of now is the coincidence. Observe! Here 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 the Pennsylvania Legislature; but with so much repugnance on my
part, that, at one
period,
I actually hesitated about accepting the legacy with the annoying and
useless proviso attached. As to personal endowments, I am so, so. I believe that I am
well made, and that I possess what nine tenths of the
world
would call a handsome face. I am five feet eleven. My hair is [page
3:] black and curling. My nose is sufficiently
good. My eyes are large and
grey; and although, in fact, they are weak to 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 have
resorted
to every remedy — short of wearing spectacles. Being youthful
and
good-looking,
I naturally dislike these, and have resolutely refused to employ them.
I know nothing, indeed, which so disfigures the countenance of a young
person, or which so impresses every feature with an air of demureness,
if not
exactly of sanctimoniousness. An eye-glass, on the other
hand,
has a savor of downright foppery and affectation. I have hitherto
managed,
as well as I could, without either. But something too much of these
merely
personal details, which, after all, 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 devout
admirer
of the gentle sex.One night, last winter, I entered a box at the ——
theatre, in
company
with a friend, Mr Talbot. It was an opera night; the bills
presented
a very rare attraction; and thus the house was excessively crowded. We
were
in time, however, to obtain the front seats which had been preserved
for
us, and into which, with some little difficulty, we elbowed our way. For two hours my companion, who was a [page 4:]
musical fanatico,
gave his
undivided
attention to the stage; and, in the meantime, I amused myself by
observing
the audience, which consisted, in chief part, of the very élite
of the
city. Having satisfied myself upon this point, I was about turning my
eyes
to the prima donna, when they were arrested and riveted by a
figure in
one of the private boxes which had escaped my observation. If I live a thousand years I can never forget the
intense emotion
with
which I gazed at this figure. It was that of a female, the most
exquisite
imaginable. The face was so far turned towards the stage that
for
some minutes I could not obtain a view of it — but the form was divine
— no other word can sufficiently express its magnificent proportion;
and
even the term "divine" seems ridiculously feeble as I write it. The magic of a lovely form in woman — the necromancy
of
female
gracefulness — was always a power which I had found it impossible to
resist; but
here
was Grace personified — incarnate — the beau idéal of my
wildest and most
enthusiastic visions. The construction of the box permitted nearly all
of the person to be seen. It was somewhat above the medium height,
and nearly approached, without positively reaching, the majestic. Its
perfect
fulness and tournure were delicious. The head, of which only
the back
was
visible, rivalled, in outline, that of the Greek Psyche, and was rather
displayed
than concealed [page 5:] by an elegant cap of gaze
äerienne, which
put me in mind
of the ventum textilem of Apuleius. The right arm hung over the
balustrade
of the box, and thrilled every nerve of my frame with its delicious
symmetry.
Its upper portion was draperied by one of the loose open sleeves now in
fashion. This extended but little below the elbow. Beneath it was worn
an under one, of some gossamer material, close-fitting, and terminated
by a
cuff of rich lace, which fell gracefully over the top of the hand,
revealing
only the delicate fingers, upon one of which
sparkled a diamond ring,
which,
I at once saw, was of extraordinary value. The admirable roundness of
the
wrist was well set off by a bracelet which encircled it, and which,
also,
was ornamented and clasped by a magnificent aigrette of
jewels — telling,
in words that not to be misunderstood, at once of the wealth and
of the fastidious
taste of the wearer. I gazed at this queenly apparition for at least half
an
hour, as if
I had been suddenly converted to stone; and, during this period, I felt
the full force of all that has been said or sung about
"love
at first sight". My feelings were totally different from any which I
had
hitherto experienced, in the presence of even the most celebrated
specimens
of female loveliness. An unaccountable, and what I am compelled to
consider
a magnetic sympathy of soul for soul, seemed to rivet, not only
my
vision,
but my whole powers of thought and feeling, upon the admirable object
before
me. I saw [page 6:] — I felt — I knew that I was deeply, madly,
irrecoverably in
love — and this even before seeing the face of the one beloved. So
intense, indeed, was the passion that consumed me, that I really
believe
it would have received little if any abatement, had the features yet
unseen
proved of merely ordinary character. So anomalous is the nature of the
only true love — of the love at first sight — and so little really
dependent
is it upon the external conditions which only seem to create
and
control
it. While I was wrapped in admiration of this enchanting
vision, a
sudden
disturbance among the audience caused her to turn her head partially
towards
me, so that I beheld the entire profile of the face. Its beauty even
exceeded
my anticipations — and yet there was something about it which
disappointed,
me without my being able to tell exactly what it was.I said
"disappointed" —
but this is not altogether the word. My sentiments were at once exalted
and subdued. They partook less of transport, and more of a calm
enthusiasm
—
of an enthusiastic repose. This state of feeling arose, perhaps, from
the
Madonna-like — from the matronly air of the face; and yet I at once
understood
that it could not have arisen entirely from this. There was
something
behind —
some mystery I could not develope — some expression about the
countenance
which slightly disturbed me, while it heightened my interest. In
fact, I was just in that condition of mind which prepares a young and
susceptible
man for any act of extravagance. Had the lady been alone, I should
undoubtedly
have entered her box [page 7:] and accosted her at all hazards;
but, fortunately,
she was attended by two companions — a gentleman, and a strikingly
beautiful
woman, to all appearance a few years younger than herself. I revolved in [[my]] mind a thousand schemes by which I
might obtain,
hereafter,
an introduction to the elder lady, or, for the present at all events,
a more distinct view of her beauty. I would have removed my position to
one nearer my [[her]] own, but the crowded state of the theatre
rendered this
impossible, and the stern decrees of Fashion had, of late, imperatively
prohibited the use of the opera-glass, in a case such as this. But even
if this had not been so, I had no glass with me, and was
thus in despair. At length I bethought me of applying to my
companion, whose very existence I had for some time forgotten. "Talbot," I said, "you have a lorgnette —
let me have
it." "A lorgnette! — no! — what do you suppose I
would be doing
with
a lorgnette?" Here he turned impatiently towards the stage. "But, Talbot," I resumed, pulling him by the
shoulder —
"listen to
me, will you? Do you see the stage-box? — there! — no, the next —
did you ever behold so lovely a woman?" "No doubt she is very beautiful," 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
Madame
Lalande — the beauty of the day par excellence, and the talk of
the
whole
town. Immensely wealthy, too, — a widow, and a [page 8:] great
match. Has just
arrived
from Paris." "Do you know her?" "I have the honor." "Will you present me?" "Assuredly. When shall
it
be?" "To-morrow — at one — I will call upon you at B—'s.""Very good! — and now oblige me by just holding your tongue
— if
you
can." In this latter respect I was forced to put Talbot under the
obligation desired; for he
remained obstinately deaf to every further question or suggestion, and
occupied himself exclusively, for the rest of the evening, with what
was
transacting upon the stage. In the meantime I kept my eyes riveted upon Madame
Lalande, and, at
length,
had the good fortune to obtain a full front view of her face. It was
supremely
lovely — this, of course, my heart had told me before, even had not
Talbot
fully satisfied me upon the point — but still the unintelligible
something
which disturbed me. I finally concluded that my imagination was
impressed by a
certain
air of gravity, of sadness, or, still more properly, of weariness,
which
took
something from the youth and freshness of the countenance, only to
endow
it with a seraphic tenderness and majesty — and thus, to my
enthusiastic
and romantic temperament, with an interest ten-fold. While I thus feasted my eyes, I perceived, at last,
to
my great
trepidation,
by an almost imperceptible start on the part of the lady, that she had
become aware of the intensity of my gaze. Nevertheless, I was
absolutely
fascinated, and could not withdraw it, even for an instant. She averted
her face; and, again, I saw [page 9:] only the chiselled
contour of the back
portion of the head. After some minutes, as if urged by curiosity to
see
if I was still looking, she gradually brought her face again around,
and
again encountered my burning gaze. Her large dark eyes fell instantly,
and a deep blush mantled her cheek. But what was my astonishment at
perceiving
that she not only did not a second time turn aside her head, but that
she
actually
took from her girdle a double eye-glass, elevated it, and 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 more
thoroughly
astounded — astounded only — not offended or disgusted in the
slightest
degree; although an action so bold, in any other woman, would have been
sure
to offend or to disgust. But the whole thing was done with so much
quietude — so much nonchalance — so much repose — in short,
with so
evident an
air of the
highest breeding — that nothing of mere effrontery was
perceptible,
and my sole sentiments were those of admiration and surprise. I observed that, upon her first elevation of the
glass,
she had
seemed
satisfied with a momentary inspection of my person, and was withdrawing
the instrument, when, as if struck by a second thought, she resumed it,
and so continued to regard me, with fixed attention, for
several
minutes — for five minutes at the very least, I am sure. The action, so remarkable in an American theatre,
attracted universal
observation, and gave rise [page 10:] to an indefinite
movement, or buzz,
among
the
audience, which, for a moment, filled me with confusion, but produced
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
being now turned towards myself, as before. I continued to watch her
unremittingly,
although I was fully conscious of my rudeness in so doing. Presently I
saw the head slowly and slightly change its position; and soon I became
convinced that the lady, while pretending to look at the stage, was, in
fact, attentively regarding myself. It is needless to say what effect
this
conduct, on the part of so fascinating a woman, had upon my excitable
mind. She scrutinized me thus for, perhaps, a quarter of
an
hour, and then suddenly addressed the gentleman who attended her. While
she spoke, I saw distinctly, by the glances of both, that the
conversation
had reference to myself. Upon its conclusion, she again turned
towards
the stage,
and,
for a few minutes, seemed absorbed in the performances. At the
expiration
of this period, however, I was thrown into an extremity of agitation,
by
seeing her unfold, for the second time, the eye-glass which hung at her
side — fully confront me, as before, — and, disregarding the renewed
buzz
of
the audience, survey me, from head to foot, with the same miraculous
composure
which had previously so delighted and confounded my soul. [page 11:]This extraordinary behaviour, by throwing me into a
perfect fever of
excitement — into an absolute delirium of love — served rather to
embolden
than to disconcert me. In the mad intensity of my devotion, I forgot
everything
but the presence and the majestic loveliness of the vision which
confronted
my gaze. Watching my opportunity, when I thought the audience were
fully
engaged with the opera, I at length caught the eyes of Madame Lalande,
and, upon the instant, made a slight but unmistakable bow. She blushed very deeply — then averted her eyes —
then
slowly and
cautiously looked around, apparently to see if my rash action had been
noticed — then leaned over to the gentleman who sat by her side. I now felt a burning sense of the impropriety I had
committed, and
expected
nothing less than instant exposure; while a vision of pistols upon the
morrow, flitted rapidly and uncomfortably through my brain. I was
immediately relieved, however, when I saw the lady merely hand the
gentleman a play-bill, without speaking, — but the reader may form some
feeble
conception of my astonishment — of my profound amazement — of my
delirious
bewilderment of heart and soul — when, instantly afterwards, having
again
glanced furtively around, she allowed her bright eyes to set fully and
steadily upon my own, and then, with a faint smile, disclosing a bright
line of her pearly teeth, made two distinct, pointed, and unequivocal nods.It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy —
upon
my transport —
upon my illimitable ecstasy. If ever man was mad with excess
of
happiness, it was myself [page 12:] at that moment.I loved.
This was my first
love — so I felt it to be. It was love supreme — indescribable. It was
"love
at first sight". At first sight, too, it had been appreciated, and
was returned. Yes; — returned. How, and why should I doubt it for an
instant? What
other
construction could I possibly put upon such conduct, on the part of a
lady
so beautiful — so wealthy — evidently so accomplished — of so high
breeding — so refined — of so lofty a position in society — in every
regard so
entirely
respectable
as I felt assured was Madame Lalande? Yes! — she loved me — she
returned
the enthusiasm of my love, with an enthusiasm as blind, as
uncalculating, as uncompromising, as abandoned, and as utterly
unbounded as my
own!These delicious fancies and reflections, however, were now
interrupted
by the falling of the drop curtain. The audience arose; and the usual
tumult
supervened. Quitting Talbot abruptly, I made every
endeavour
to
force my way into proximity with Madame Lalande. Having failed
in
this attempt, on account of the crowd, I at length gave up the chase,
and bent
my steps homewards; consoling myself for not
having
been able to touch even the hem of her robe, with the reflection that I
should
be introduced by Talbot, in due form, upon the morrow. This morrow at last came; — that is to say, a day
finally
dawned upon
a long and weary night of impatience; and then the hours until "one"
were
dreary, snail-paced, and innumerable. But "even Stamboul," it is said,
"shall
have an end," and there [page 13:] came an end to this long
delay. The clock
struck.
As its last echo ceased, I stepped into B—'s and inquired for Talbot. "Out"; said a footman — Talbot's own. "Out!" I replied, staggering back half a dozen paces, "out!
— let me tell
you, my fine fellow, that this thing is thoroughly impossible and
impracticable;
Mr Talbot is not out. What do you mean?" "Nothing, Sir; only Mr Talbot is not in — that's
all. He
rode over
to
S—, immediately after breakfast, and left word that he should not be
in
town again for a week." I stood petrified with horror and rage. I endeavoured
to
say something, but
my
tongue refused its office. At length I turned on my heel, livid with
wrath,
and inwardly consigning the whole tribe of the Talbots to the innermost
regions of Erebus. It was evident that my considerate friend, il
fanatico,
had quite forgotten his appointment with myself; perhaps, indeed, he
had forgotten it as
soon as it was made. At no time had he been a very scrupulous man of
his
word.
There was no help for it; so smothering my vexation as well as I could,
I strolled moodily up the street, propounding futile inquiries about
Madame
Lalande to every acquaintance I met. By report I found, she was known
to all — by sight to many — but she had been in town only a few days,
and thus there were not more than one or two who professed a personal
knowledge.
These, being still comparatively strangers, could not, or would
not
take the liberty of introducing me with the formality of a morning
call.
While I stood, however, in despair, [page 14:] conversing with
a
trio of friends upon
the
all-absorbing subject of my heart, it so happened that the subject
itself
passed by. "As I live, there she is!" cried one."How surpassingly beautiful!" exclaimed the second."An angel upon earth!" ejaculated the third. I looked; and, in an open carriage, which approached
us
as it passed
slowly
down the street, sate the enchanting vision of the opera, accompanied
by
the younger lady who had occupied a portion of her box. "Her companion, also, wears remarkably well," said the
one
of my trio
who had spoken first. "Astonishingly," said the second; "has still quite a
brilliant air; but
art will do wonders. Upon my word, she looks better than she did at
Paris
five years ago. A lovely woman still; — do n't [[don't]] you think so,
Froissart? — Simpson, I mean." "Still!" said I, "and why not?
But, compared
with her
friend,
she is a rush-light to the Evening Star — a glow-worm to
Antares.Here the whole trio laughted."Ha! ha! ha" said the third, "why, Simpson, you have an
astonishing
tact at making
discoveries — original ones, I mean;" and here, as we separated, he
commenced humming a gay vaude ville, of which I caught
only the
lines:
During this little scene, however, one thing had
served
greatly to
console
me, although it fed [page 15:] the passion by which I was
consumed. As the
carriage
of Madame Lalande rolled by our group, I had observed that she
recognized
me; and, more than this, she had blessed me, by the most seraphic of
smiles, with no equivocal mark of the recognition. As for an introduction, I was forced to abandon all
hope of it
until
such time as Talbot should think proper to return from the country. In
the meantime, I perseveringly frequented every reputable place of
public
amusement, and, at length, at the theatre where I first saw her, I had
the supreme bliss of meeting her, and of exchanging glances with her,
once
again.This did not occur, however, until after the lapse of a
fortnight.
Every
day in the interim, I had inquired for Talbot at his Hotel;
and every
day had been thrown into a spasm of wrath, by the everlasting "Not come
home yet" of his footman. Upon the evening in question, therefore, I was in a
condition little
short of madness. Madame Lalande, I had been told, was a Parisian —
had
lately arrived from Paris — might she not suddenly return? — return
before
Talbot came back — and might she not thus be lost to me forever? The
thought
was too terrible to bear. Since my future happiness was at issue, I
resolved
to act with a manly decision. In a word, upon the breaking up of the
play,
I traced the lady to her residence, noted her address, and, next
morning,
sent her a full and elaborate letter, in which I poured out my whole
heart. I spoke boldly — freely — in a word, I spoke [page 16:]
with
passion. I
concealed
nothing — nothing even of my folly. I alluded to the romantic
circumstances
of our first meeting — even to the glances which had passed between
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 two excuses for my
otherwise unpardonable conduct. As a third, I spoke of my fear that she
might leave the city before I could have the opportunity of a formal
presentation.
I concluded the most wildly enthusiastic epistle ever penned, with a
frank
declaration of my worldly circumstances — of my affluence — and with
an offer of my hand, as of my heart. In an agony of expectation I awaited the reply.
After
what seemed
the
lapse of a century, it came. Yes; — came. Romantic as all this may
appear, I
really
received
a letter from Madame Lalande — from the beautiful, the wealthy, the
idolized
Madame Lalande. Her eyes — her magnificent eyes — had not belied her
heart. Like a true Frenchwoman, as she was, she had obeyed the frank
dictates
of her reason — the generous impulses of her nature — despising the
conventional
pruderies of the world. She had not scorned my proposal. She
had not
sheltered
herself in silence. She had not returned my letter unopened.
She had
even
sent me, in reply, one penned by her own exquisite fingers. It ran
thus: "Monsieur
Simpson vill pardonne me
for not compose de
butefulle tong
of his contrée so vell as might. It is only of de late dat I am
arrive, [page 17:]
and
not yet ave de opportunité for to learn."Vid dis apologie for de maniére of dis leettle
note, I vill now
say
dat,
hélas! Monsieur
Simpson ave guess but de too true. Vat is need I say de more?
Hélas! am
I not
ready speake de too moshe? Eugénie Lalande."
=========== This noble-spirited letter I kissed a
million times,
and committed,
no doubt, on its account, a thousand other extravagances which have now
escaped my memory. And still Talbot would not return. Alas! could
he have
formed
even the vaguest idea of the suffering his absence had occasioned his
friend,
would not his sympathising nature have flown instantly to my relief?
Still, however, he came not. I wrote. He replied. He was
detained by
urgent
business, but would now shortly return. He begged me not to be
impatient —
to moderate my transports — to read soothing books — to drink
nothing
stronger than Hock — and to bring the consolations of philosophy to my
aid. The fool! I had acquainted him with the exigencies of the case,
and, if he could not come himself, why, in the name of
everything rational, could he not enclose me an introduction?
I wrote again, entreating him to forward one forthwith. My letter
was
returned by that footman, with the following endorsement in
pencil:"Mr Talbot left S—
yesterday for parts
unknown. Did n't [[Didn't]] say
where, or
when be back — so thought best to return letter, knowing your
hand-writing,
and as [page 18:] how you is always more or less in a hurry. Yours sincerely,
Stubbs."
===== After this, it is needless to say that I devoted to
the
Infernal
Deities
both master and valet; but there was little use in anger, and no
consolation
at all in complaint. I had yet a resource left me, however, in my
constitutional
audacity.
Hitherto
it had served me well, and I resolved to make it avail me to the
end.
Besides, after the correspondence which had passed between us, what act
of mere informality could I commit, within bounds, that ought
to be
regarded
as indecorous by Madame Lalande? Since the affair of the letter, I had
been in the custom of watching her house, and thus discovered that,
about
twilight every fine evening, it was her practice to promenade, attended
only by a negro in
livery,
in a certain one of public squares overlooked by the windows of her
residence. Here, amid the luxuriant
and overshadowing grove, in the grey uncertainty of a Midsum-
[[Midsummer]] gloaming — here, at length, watching my opportunity, I
accosted her. The better to deceive the servant in attendance, I
did
this with the
assured air of an old and familiar acquaintance. With a presence of
mind
truly Parisian, she took the cue at once, and, to welcome me, held out
the
most bewitchingly diminutive of hands. The valet at once fell into the
rear; —
and now, with hearts full to overflowing, we discoursed [page 19:]
long and
unreservedly
of our love. As Madame Lalande spoke English even much less fluently
than
she wrote
it,
our conversation was necessarily in French. In this sweet tongue, so
adapted
to passion, I gave loose to all the impetuous enthusiasm of my nature,
and,
with all the eloquence I could command, besought her to consent to an
immediate
union. At this impatience she smiled. She urged the old
story
of decorum —
that
bug-bear which deters so many from bliss, until the opportunity for
bliss
has forever departed. What would the world say? I had most imprudently
made it known among my
friends,
she observed, that I desired her acquaintance — thus, of course, that I
did not
possess
it: — thus, again, there was no possibility of concealing the date
of
our
first knowledge of each other. And then she adverted, with a blush, to
the extreme recency of this date. To wed immediately, would be improper
— would be indecorous — would be outré. All this she
said with an
air of näiveté which enraptured, while it grieved
and convinced me. She
went even so far as to accuse me, laughingly, of rashness — of
imprudence.
She bade me remember that I really even knew not who she was — what
were
her prospects — her connexions — her standing in society. She begged me
—
but with a sigh — to reconsider my proposal, and termed my love an
infatuation — a Will o' the Wisp — a phantasy of the moment — a
baseless
and unstable creation, rather of the imagination than of the heart.
These
things she uttered as the shadows of the sweet twilight gathered darkly
and more darkly around us — and then, with a gentle pressure of her
fairy-like
hand, overthrew, in a single sweet instant, all the fabric of [page
20:] argumentation she had reared. I replied as I best could — as only a true lover
can. I
spoke at
length,
and perseveringly, of my passion — of my devotion — of her exceeding
beauty
and of my own enthusiastic adoration. In conclusion, I dwelt, with a
convincing
energy, upon the perils that encompass the course of true love — that
course
of true love that "never did run smooth," and thus deduced the
danger of rendering that course unnecessarily long. This latter argument seemed, finally, to soften the
rigor
of her resistance.
She relented; — but there was yet an obstacle, she said, which she felt
assured
I had not sufficiently considered. This was a delicate point — for a
woman
to urge, especially delicate. In touching upon it, she saw that she
must make a
sacrifice of her feelings — of the finest sensibilities of her nature;
— still, for me, every sacrifice
should and would be willingly
made.
She alluded to the topic of age. Was I aware — was I fully
aware of
the
discrepancy between us? That the age of the husband should surpass, by
a few years — even by fifteen or twenty — the age of the wife, was
regarded
by the world as admissible, and indeed as very proper; but she had
always
entertained the belief that the years of the wife should, under no
circumstances,
exceed
in
number those of the husband. A discrepancy of this unnatural kind, gave
rise, too frequently, alas! to a life of unhappiness. Now, she was
aware
that my own age did not exceed two-and-twenty; and I, on the contrary,
perhaps, was not aware that the years of my Eugénie
extended
very
considerably [page 21:]
beyond that sum. About all this there was a nobility of soul — a
dignity
of candor —
which delighted — which enchanted me — which eternally riveted my
chains.
I could scarcely restrain the excessive transport which possessed me. "Dearest," I cried, "what is all
this
about
which you
are
discoursing? Your age surpasses, in some measure, my own. What then?
The customs of the world — what are they, after all, but so many
conventional impertinences? To those who
love as we do, in what respect differs a year from an hour? I am
twenty-two,
you say; granted: — indeed you may as well call me, at once,
twenty-three.
Now you yourself, my sweetest Eugénie, can have numbered no more
than —
can have numbered no more than — no more than — than —
than" —Here I paused for an instant, in the expectation
that
Madame Lalande
would interrupt me by supplying her true age. But a Frenchwoman is
seldom
direct, and has always, by way of answer to an embarrassing question,
some
little practical reply of her own. In the present instance
Eugénie,
who,
for a few moments past, had seemed to be searching for something in her
bosom, at length let fall upon the grass a miniature, which I
immediately
picked up and presented. "Keep it", she said, with one of her most ravishing
smiles; — "keep it
for my sake — for the sake of her whom it too flatteringly represents.
Besides — upon the back of the trinket you may discover, perhaps, the
information you seem just now to desire. It is growing rather dark to
be sure, — but you can examine it, at your leisure, in the morning. In
the
meantime,
you [page 22:] shall be my escort home, to-night. My
friends
here are about holding a
little
musical levée. I can promise you some good
singing. We French are
not nearly so punctilious as you Americans, and I shall have no
difficulty
in smuggling you in, in the character of an old acquaintance." With this, she took my arm, and I attended her home.
The
mansion, which belonged to one of her relatives, was
quite a fine one, and, I believe, furnished in good taste. Of this
latter
point, however, I am scarcely qualified to judge; for it was just dark
as we arrived; and, in American mansions of the better sort, lights
seldom,
during the heat of summer, make their appearance at this the most
pleasant
period of the twenty-four hours. Not long after my arrival, to be sure,
a
single
shaded solar lamp was lit in the principal drawing-room; and this
apartment,
I could thus see, was arranged with unusual good taste, and even
splendor;
but two other rooms of the suite, and in which the company
chiefly
assembled,
remained, during the whole evening, in a very agreeable shadow. This is
a well-conceived custom, giving the individual members of a party at
least a choice of
light or
shade — a custom which our friends 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 private
circle out of Vienna. The instrumental [page 23:] performers
were many and of
superior
talents. The vocalists were chiefly ladies, and no individual sang less
than well. At length, upon a peremptory call for Madame Lalande, she
arose at once, without affectation of demur, from the chaise longue
upon
which she had been sitting by my side, and, accompanied by one or two
gentlemen
and her female companion at the opera, repaired to the piano in the
main
drawing-room.
I would have escorted her thither myself, but felt that, under the
peculiar
circumstances
of my introduction to the house, it might be more agreeable to Madame
Lalande that I should remain unobserved where I
was. I was thus deprived of the pleasure of seeing, although not of
hearing
her, sing.The impression she produced upon the company was
electrical — but
the
effect upon myself was even more. I know not how adequately
to
describe it. It arose in part, no doubt, from the sentiment of love
with
which I was imbued; but chiefly from my conviction of the extreme
sensibility
of the singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow either air or
recitative
with more impassioned expression than was hers. Her utterance
of the
romance
in "Otello" — the tone with which she gave the words "Sul mio sasso"
in
the "Capuletti" — are ringing in my memory yet. Her lower tones were
absolutely
miraculous. Her voice embraced three complete octaves, extending from
the
contralto D to the D upper soprano; and, though sufficiently powerful
to
have filled the San Carlos, it executed, with the minutest precision,
every
difficulty of vocal composition — ascending and descending scales,
cadences,
or fiorituri [[fioriture]]. In the finale of the
"Somnambula" she wrought
a most
remarkable effect at the words,
Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the
original phrase of
Bellini, so as to let her voice descend to the tenor G, when by a
rapid
transition, she struck the G above the treble stave, springing over an
interval of two octaves. Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of
vocal
execution,
she resumed her seat by my side — when I expressed to her, in terms of
the
deepest enthusiasm, my delight at her performance. Of my surprise I
said
nothing — and yet was I most unfeignedly surprised; for a certain
feebleness,
or rather, a certain tremulous indecision of voice, in ordinary
conversation,
had prepared me to imagine that, in singing, she would not acquit
herself
with any remarkable ability. Our conversation was now long, earnest,
uninterrupted,
and totally
unreserved.
She made me relate many of the earlier passages of my life, while she
listened,
with breathless attention, to every word of the narrative. I concealed
nothing — I felt that I had a right to conceal nothing from her
confiding
affection.
Encouraged by her candor upon the delicate point of her age, I entered,
with perfect frankness, not only into a detail of
my many minor vices,
but made full confession of those moral, and even of those physical
infirmities,
the disclosure of which, in demanding so much higher a degree of
courage,
is so much more acceptable an evidence of love.I touched upon my college
indiscretions — upon my extravagances — upon my carousals — upon my
flirtations — even upon my personal defects. I went so far as to speak
of a slightly hectic cough
with which at one time I had been troubled; of a chronic rheumatism [page
25:]
— of a twinge of hereditary gout — and, in conclusion, of the
disagreeable
and inconvenient, but hitherto carefully concealed weakness of my
eyes. "Upon this latter point," said Madame Lalande,
laughingly, "you have surely been injudicious in coming to confession;
for I take it for granted that, without the
confession,
you would never have been suspected of the crime.
By the bye," she continued, "have you any remembrance" — and here 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 — of this little aid to vision, which now
depends from my neck?" As she spoke, she twirled in her fingers the
identical
double
eye-glass
which had so overwhelmed me with confusion at the opera, while she had
employed it with so magnificent a nonchalance. "Full well — alas! too well do I remember it", I exclaimed,
pressing
passionately
the delicate hand which offered the glass, or rather glasses, for my
inspection. They
formed
a gorgeous and complex toy, richly chased and fillagreed, and
gleaming
with jewels, which, even in the deficient light, I could not help
perceiving
were of high value. "Eh bien, mon ami", she resumed, with a certain empressment
of manner
that somewhat surprised me, — "Eh bien, mon ami, you have
earnestly
besought
of me a favor which you have been pleased to denominate priceless. You
have demanded of me my hand upon the morrow. Should I yield to your
entreaties — and, I may add, to the pleadings of my own bosom — would I
not be
entitled
to demand of [page 26:] you a little — a very little
boon in return?" "Name it!" I exclaimed, with an energy that had
nearly
drawn upon us
the observation of the company, and restrained by their presence alone
from throwing myself impetuously at her feet — "Name it, my beloved, my
Eugénie, my own! — name it! — but, alas! it is already yielded
ere
named.""You shall conquer, then,"
she said, "for the
sake of the Eugénie
whom you love, this little weakness which you have at last confessed —
this weakness rather moral than physical — and this weakness so
unbecoming the nobility of your real nature — so inconsistent
with
the candor of your usual character — and which, if permitted farther
control,
will assuredly involve you, sooner or later, in some very disagreeable
scrape. You shall conquer, for my sake, this paltry affectation, which
leads
you,
as you yourself acknowledge, to the tacit or implied denial of your
infirmity
of vision; — for, this infirmity you virtually deny, in refusing to
employ
the customary means for its relief. You will understand me to say,
then,
that I wish you to wear spectacles: — ah, hush! — you have
already
consented
to wear them for my sake. You shall accept the little toy
which I now
hold in my hand, and which, although admirable as an aid to vision, is
really
of no very great value intrinsically. You perceive that by a trifling
modification —
thus — the jewels with which is it set, disappear, and it assumes the
form of
ordinary spectacles;
by sliding it thus, again, it re-appears in the more gaudy [page
27:] dress, and more tonnish shape, of an eye-glass. It is
in the former
arrangement,
however, and habitually, that you have consented to wear it, for
my sake." This request — must I confess it? — confused and annoyed me
in
no
small degree; but the 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
I
could muster
at
the moment. "It is done — it is most cheerfully agreed. I sacrifice
every
feeling for your sake. To-night, I wear this dear eye-glass, as
an
eye-glass, in my waistcoat-pocket,
and upon my heart; but, with the earliest dawn of that morning which
gives
me the privilege of calling you 'wife,' I will place it upon my — upon
my
nose — and there wear it, ever afterwards, in the less romantic and
less
fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable form, which you
desire." The conversation now turned upon the details of our
arrangement for
the morrow. Talbot, I learned from my betrothed, had just arrived in
town.
I was to see him at once, and procure a carriage. The soirée
would
scarcely
break up before two; and by this hour the vehicle was to be at the
door —
when, in the confusion occasioned by the departure of the company,
Madame
L. could easily enter it unobserved. We were then to call at the house
of a clergyman who would be in waiting; there be married, drop Talbot,
and proceed on a short tour to the East — leaving the fashionable world
at home [page 28:] to make whatever comments upon the matter
it thought best. Having planned all this, I immediately took leave
and
went in
search
of Talbot; but, on the way, I could not refrain from stepping into an
Hotel,
for the purpose of inspecting the miniature; and this I did by the
powerful
aid of the glasses.The countenance was a surpassingly beautiful one.
Those
large luminous eyes! — those resplendent teeth! — that proud Grecian
nose! — 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 —
"Eugénie Lalande — aged twenty-seven years and seven months."
I found Talbot at home, and proceeded at once to
acquaint him with
my
good fortune. He professed excessive astonishment, of course, but
congratulated
me most cordially, and proffered every assistance in his power. In a
word,
we carried out our arrangements to the letter; and, at two in the
morning,
just ten minutes after the ceremony, I found myself in a close carriage
with Madame Lalande — with Mrs Simpson, I should say — and driving
at
a great rate out of town, in a direction North East and by North
half North. It had been determined for us by Talbot that, as we
were to be up
all
night, we should make our first stop at C—, a village about twenty
miles
from the city, there to get an early breakfast, and some repose, before
proceeding upon our route. At four precisely, [page 29:]
therefore, the carriage
drew
up at the door of the principal inn. I handed my adored wife out, and
ordered
breakfast forthwith. In the meantime we were shown into a small
parlor,
and sate 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 at once, into my
head,
that this was really the very first moment, since my acquaintance with
the
celebrated loveliness of Madame Lalande, that I had enjoyed a near
inspection
of that loveliness by daylight. "And now, mon ami," said she, taking my
hand, and thus
interrupting my reflections, "and now, mon cher ami, since we
are,
at length,
indissolubly
one — since I have yielded to your passionate entreaties — since I have
performed
my portion of our agreement — I presume you have not forgotten that you,
also, have a little favor to bestow — a little promise which it is your
intention to keep. Ah! — let me see! — let me remember! Yes; full
easily
do
I call to mind the precise words of the dear promise you made to
Eugénie
last night. Listen! You spoke thus: " 'It is done', you said, — 'it is most
cheerfully
agreed! I sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-night, I wear this
dear
eye-glass in my waistcoat-pocket, and upon my heart; but, with the
earliest
dawn
of that morning which gives me the privilege of calling you 'wife,' I
will
place it upon my — upon my nose — and there wear it, ever afterwards,
in the less [page 30:] romantic and less fashionable, but
certainly in the more
serviceable
form, which you desire.' — These were the exact words, my beloved
husband;
were they not?" "They were", I replied — "by the bye, you have a capital
memory —
and
assuredly,
my
beautiful Eugénie, there is no disposition on my part to evade
the
performance
of the trivial promise these words imply. See! Behold! They are
becoming — rather — are they not?"Here, taking the glasses from my waistcoat-pocket, and
arranging them
in the
ordinary
form of spectacles, I applied them, gingerly, in their proper position;
while
Mrs Simpson, adjusting her cap, and folding her arms, sat bolt
upright
in her chair, in a somewhat stiff and prim, and indeed, I am sorry to
say, in a rather
undignified
posture. "Goodness gracious me!" I exclaimed, almost at the
very
instant that
the rim of the spectacles settled upon my nose — "My!
goodness
gracious
me! — why, what can be the matter with these glasses?" — and,
taking them
hurriedly off, I wiped them carefully with a silk handkerchief, and
adjusted
them again. While I was doing all this, Mrs Simpson said not a word,
and moved not a muscle, but looked very serious and very solemn, and
continued to sit bolt upright, as before.Well, I adjusted the glasses and put them on again; but if,
in the first instance, there had occurred something which
occasioned
me surprise, in the second, this surprise became elevated into
astonishment — and this astonishment was immense — was
profound — was extreme — indeed I may say, at once, it [page
31:]
was horrific! What, in the name of everything hideous, did this
mean?
Could
I believe my eyes? — could I? that was the question. Was that
—
was
that — was that rouge? And were those — were those — were
those wrinkles
upon the visage of Eugénie Lalande? And oh, Jupiter! and
every one of
the
Gods and Goddesses, little and big! — what, what, what — what
had
become
of her teeth? I dashed the spectacles to the ground, and,
leaping
to my feet, stood erect in the middle of the floor, confronting Mrs
Simpson, and grinning and foaming, but at the same
time
utterly speechless and helpless, with terror and with rage. Now I have already said that Madame Eugénie
Lalande
—
that is to
say,
Simpson — spoke the English language but very little better, if not a
great deal worse, than she
wrote
it; and, for this reason, very properly, she never attempted to speak
it
upon
ordinary occasions. But rage will carry a lady to any extreme; and, in
the
present case, it carried Mrs Simpson to the very extraordinary extreme
of attempting to hold a conversation in a tongue she knew nothing
about. "Vell, Monsieur," said she, after surveying me, with great
disdain,
for some moments — "Vell, Monsieur, and vat den? — vat de matter
now? —
Is it de dance of de Saint Vitusse dat you ave? — If not like me, vat
for
vy buy de pig in de poke?" "You wretch!" said I, catching my breath, — "you —
you — you
villanous [[villainous]]
old hag!" "Ag! — ole! — me not so ver ole, after all —
me [page 32:] not
von day
more dan de eighty-doo!" "Eighty-two!" I ejaculated, staggering to the wall —
"eighty-two
hundred
thousand of she baboons! — the miniature said twenty-seven years and
seven
months.""To be sure! — dat is so! — ver true! — but den de
portraite has
been
take for dis fifty-five year. Ven I go marry my segonde usbande,
Monsieur
Lalande, at dat time I had de portraite take for my daughter by my
first
usbande, Monsieur Moissart." "Moissart!" said I. "Yes, Moissart, Moissart," said she, mimicking my
pronunciation,
which, to
speak
the truth, was none of the best — "and vat den? — vat you know
bout de
Moissart?" "Nothing, you old fright, — I know nothing about him
at
all — only I
had an 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,
Ma'mselle
Moissart, she marry von Monsieur Voissart — and de name is bote ver
respectaable
name." "Moissart!" I exclaimed, "and Voissart! — why, what is
it
you mean?" "Vat I mean?" said she, putting her arms akimbo — "vy, I
mean Moissart, and Voissart; and, for
de
matter of
dat,
I mean Croissart and Froisart, too, if I only tink proper for to mean
it.
My
daughter's daughter, Ma'mselle Voissart, she marry von Monsieur
Croissart;
and, den agin, my daughter's grande-daughter, [page 33:]
Ma'mselle Croissart,
she
marry von Monsieur Froissart — and I suppose you say dat dat is
not von ver respectaable name!" "Froissart!" said I, beginning to faint, "why
surely
you do n't [[don't]] say
Moissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart!" "Yes," she replied, shaking her head up and down, as some
people do when very much in a passion, — "Yes! Yes! — Moissart, and
Voissart, and
Croissart, and Froissart! But Monsieur Froissart, who married my
grande-daughter, he was von ver
big
vat
you call de fool — he vas von ver great big donce like youself
— for he
lef la belle France, for come to dis stoopide Amerique
—
and, ven he get
here,
he vent and ave von ver stoopide — von ver ver
stoopide sonn — so I hear —
for I not yet ad de plaisir to meet vid him — neider me nor my
companion,
de Madame Stéphanie Lalande. He is name, dough, de Napoleon
Buonaparte
Froissart —
and I sooppose you say dat dat, too, is not de von ver
respectaable name." Either the length or the nature of this speech, had
the
effect of
working
up Mrs Simpson into a very stupendous excitement, indeed; and as, with
great labor, she made an end of it, she jumped up from her chair like
somebody
bewitched; dropping upon the floor an entire universe of bustle as she
jumped. Once upon her feet, she gnashed her gums, brandished her arms,
rolled up her sleeves, shook her fist in my face, and [page 34:]
concluded the
performance
by tearing the cap from her head, and, with it, an immense wig of
valuable black hair, the whole of which she dashed upon
the
floor with a yell — there trampling and dancing a fandango upon it,
in an absolute ecstasy and agony of rage. Meantime, I sank aghast into the chair which she
had vacated."Moissart
and Voissart!" I repeated, musingly, as she cut one of her
pigeon-wings,
and "Croissart and Froissart!" as she completed another — "Moissart.
and
Voissart, and Croissart, and Napoleon Buonaparte Froissart! — why, you
ineffable
old wretch, that's me. D'ye hear? — that's me
— that's mee" [Here I shouted at the top of my voice] — "that's
me-e-e-e! I am
Napoleon
Buonaparte
Froissart, and if I hav n't married my great-great-grandmother, I wish
I may be everlastingly confounded!!" ————————————————
Madame Eugénie Lalande, quasi Simpson,
formerly
Moissart, was,
in
sober fact, my great, great, grandmother [[great-great-grandmother]].
In her youth she had been
beautiful,
and, even at eighty-two, retained the majestic height, the sculptural
contour
of head, the fine eyes and the Grecian nose of her girlhood. By the aid
of these — of rouge, of pearl-powder, of false hair, false teeth, and
false tournure, as well as of the most skilful modistes
of
Paris, she
easily contrived
to hold a respectable footing among the beauties un peu
passées of the [page 35:]
French metropolis. In this respect, indeed, she might have been
regarded
as little less than the equal of the celebrated Ninon de L'Enclos. She was immensely wealthy; and, being left for the
second time a
widow, with no surviving children, she bethought herself of my
existence in America,
and resolved, in a freak of fancy, to make me her heir. For this
purpose she paid a visit to the United
States,
in company with a very lovely and accomplished friend — a distant
relative of her second
husband — a Madame Stéphanie Lalande. At the opera, my great-great-grandmother's
attention
was arrested
by my notice; and, upon surveying me through her eye-glass, she was
struck
with a certain family resemblance to herself. Thus interested, and
knowing
that the heir she sought was actually in the city, she made inquiries
of
her party respecting me. The gentleman who attended her knew my person,
and told her who I was. The information thus obtained, induced her to
renew
her scrutiny; and it was this scrutiny which emboldened me to
behave
in the absurd manner already detailed. She returned my bow, however,
under
the impression that, by some odd accident, I had discovered her
identity.
When, deceived by my weakness of vision and the arts of the toilet, in
respect to the age and charms of the strange lady, I demanded so
enthusiastically
of [page 36:] Talbot who she was, he concluded, as a matter of
course, that it was the younger beauty whom I meant. He therefore told
me, with perfect sincerity, that she
was
"the celebrated widow, Madame Lalande." In the street, next morning, my great-great-grandmother
encountered
Talbot, an old Parisian acquaintance; when the conversation, very
naturally,
turned upon myself. My deficiencies of vision were then explained — for
these were notorious, although I was entirely ignorant of their
notoriety. My good old relative thus discovered, much to her chagrin,
that she had
been deceived in supposing me aware of her identity, and that I had
been
merely making a fool of myself, in making open love, in a theatre, to
an
old woman unknown.By way of punishing me for this imprudence, she
concocted,
with Talbot, a plot. To avoid giving
me
an introduction, he purposely kept out of my way. My street inquiries,
about "the lovely widow, Madame
Lalande,"
were supposed to refer to the younger lady, of course; and thus will be
understood my
conversation
with the three gentlemen whom I encountered upon leaving
Talbot's
Hotel. Thus, also, is explained the allusion of one of them to Ninon de
L'Enclos.I had no opportunity of seeing Madame Lalande closely
during daylight;
and, at the musical soirée, my silly weakness, in
refusing the aid of
glasses,
effectually prevented me from making a discovery [page 37:] of
her age. When
"Madame
Lalande" was called upon to sing, Madame Stéphanie
Lalande 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 accompanying her to the
piano
in the main drawing-room. Had I decided upon escorting her thither, it
had been her design to suggest the propriety of my remaining where I
was; my own prudential views, however, rendered this unnecessary. The
songs which
I so much admired, and which so confirmed my impressions of the youth
of
my mistress, were executed, of course, by Madame Stéphanie
Lalande.The eye-glass
was
presented by way of adding a reproof to the hoax — a sting to the
epigram
of the deception. Its presentation afforded an opportunity for the
lecture
upon affectation with which I was so especially edified. It is almost
superfluous
to add that the glasses of the instrument, as worn by the old
lady, had
been exchanged by 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
boon
companion of Talbot's, and no priest. He was an excellent "whip,"
however;
and, having donned his cassock to put on a great coat, he drove the
hack
which conveyed the "happy couple" out of town. Talbot took a seat 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, amused themselves [page 38:]
in grinning at
the dénouement of the drama. I believe I shall have
to call them
both
out. Nevertheless — I am not the husband of my
great-great-grandmother;
and this is a reflection which affords me infinite relief; — but I am
the husband of Madame Lalande — of Madame Stéphanie
Lalande —
with
whom
my good old relative (besides making me her sole heir when she dies —
if she ever does) has been at the trouble of concocting me a match.In
conclusion, I am done with billets-doux, and am never
to
be seen
without SPECTACLES. |
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