Had she remained comparatively portionless, rich only in her beauty and the graces of a manner that was fascination itself, she might now have been the happy wife of some worthy Englishman--one whose station is a trust held on the tenure of his rect.i.tude and honour; for such is public feeling in our country, and such is it never elsewhere.
She was then about eighteen or nineteen, and the very ideal of what an English girl at that age should be. On a mind highly stored and amply cultivated, no unworthy or depreciating influence had yet descended; freedom of thought, freshness almost childish, had given her an animation and buoyancy only subdued by the chastening modesty of coming womanhood. Enthusiastic in all her pursuits, for they were graceful and elevating, her mind had all the simplicity of the child with the refinement of the highest culture; and, like those who are brought up in narrow circles, her affections for a few spread themselves out in the varied forms that are often scattered and diffused over the wider surface of the world. Thus her brother was not merely the great object of her affection and pride, but he was the companion of her rides and walks, the confidant of all her secret feelings, the store in which she laid up her newly acquired knowledge, or drew, at will, for more. With him she read and studied; delighted by the same pursuits, their natures blended into one harmonious _corde_, which no variance or dissonance ever troubled.
His death, although long and gradually antic.i.p.ated, nearly brought her to the grave. The terrible nature of the malady, so often inherent in the same family, gave cause for the most anxious fears on her account, and her mother, herself almost brokenhearted, took her abroad, hoping by the mildness of a southern climate and change of scene to arrest the progress of the fell disease.
In this she was successful; bodily health was indeed secured. But might it not have been better that she had wasted slowly away, to sleep at last beneath the yews of her own ancient churchyard, than live and become what she has done?
Some years after this event I was, although at the time only an _attache_ of the mission, acting as _Charge d"affaires_ at Naples, during the absence of the minister and the secretary. I was sitting one morning reading in my garden, when my servant announced the visit of an Italian gentleman, il Signor Salvatori. The name was familiar to me, as belonging to a man who had long been employed as a Spy of the Austrian government, and, indeed, was formerly entrusted in a secret capacity by Lord W. Bentinck in Sicily--a clever, designing, daring rascal, who obtained his information no one knew how; and although we had always our suspicions that he might be "selling" us, as well as the French, we never actually traced any distinct act of treachery to his door. He possessed a considerable skill in languages, was very highly informed on many popular topics, and, I have been told, was a musician of no mean powers of performance. These and similar social qualities were, however, never displayed by him in any part of his intercourse with us, although we had often heard of their existence.
As I never felt any peculiar pleasure in the relations which office compels with men of his stamp, I received him somewhat coldly, and asked, without much circ.u.mlocution, the reason of his visit.
He replied, with his habitual smile of self-possession, that his present duty at "the Mission" was not a business-call, but concerned a matter purely personal;--in fact, "with his Excellency"s permission, he desired to get married."
Not stopping him on the score of his investing me with a t.i.tle to which, no one knew better than himself, I had no pretensions, I quietly a.s.sured him that his relation with "the Mission" did not, in any way, necessitate his asking for such a permission--that, however secret and mysterious the nature of his communications, they were still beyond the pale of affairs personally private.
He suffered me to continue my explanation, somewhat scornful as it was, to the end, and then calmly said,--
"Your Excellency will pardon my intrusion, when I inform you that the marriage should take place here, at "the Mission," as the lady is an English woman."
Whether it was the fact itself, or his manner of delivering it, that outraged me, I cannot now remember; but I do recollect giving expression to a sentiment of surprise and anger not exactly suitable.
He merely smiled, and said nothing.
"Very well, M. Salvatori," said I, corrected by the quietude of his manner; "what is your day?"
"Wednesday, if your Excellency pleases."
"Wednesday be it, and at eight o"clock."
"As your Excellency desires," said he, bowing and retiring.
It had never occurred to me to ask for any information about the happy fair one; indeed, if I had given a thought at all to the matter, it would have been that she was of the rank of a _femme-de-chambre_, or, at least, some unhappy children"s governess, glad to exchange one mode of tyranny for another. As he was leaving the room, however, some sense of remorse, perhaps, at the _brusquerie_ I had shewn towards him, suggested the question, "Who might the lady be?"
"Mademoiselle Graham."
"Ah! a very good name, indeed," said I; and so, with a word or two of common-place, I bade him good-by.
The Wednesday morning arrived, and two carriages drove into the court of "the Mission:" out of one sprung Signor Salvatori and a very bearded gentleman, who accompanied him as his friend; from the other alighted, first, an elderly lady, whose dress was a mixture of wedding finery and widow"s mourning; then came a very elegant-looking girl, veiled from head to foot, followed by her maid; and, lastly, the chaplain to "the Mission."
They were some minutes too early, and I equally behind my time; but I dressed hastily, and descended to the salon, where M. Salvatori received me with a very gracious expression of his self-satisfaction. Pa.s.sing him by, I advanced to address a few words to the old lady, who had risen from her seat; when, stepping back, I exclaimed,
"Mrs. Graham--my old friend, Mrs. Graham! Is this possible?"
"Oh, Caroline, it is Mr. Templeton!" said she; while her daughter, drawing her veil still closer over her face, trembled dreadfully.
Meanwhile Mrs. Graham had seized my hand with cordial warmth, and pressed it in all the earnestness of friendship. Her joy--and it was very evident it was such--was little partic.i.p.ated in by her son-in-law elect, who stood, pale and conscience-stricken, in a distant part of the room.
"I must entreat these gentlemen"s permission to speak a few words here alone, as these ladies are very old friends I have not seen for some years."
"I would humbly suggest to your Excellency that, as the ceremony still waits----"
"I wish it, Marquis," said Mrs. Graham, in a tone half-command, half-entreaty; and, with a deep bow of submission, Salvatori and his friend withdrew, accompanied by the chaplain.
"The t.i.tle by which you have just addressed that person, Mrs. Graham,"
said I, in a voice trembling from agitation, "shews me how you have been duped and deceived by him, and in what total ignorance you are as to his real character."
"Oh, Mr. Templeton!" broke in her daughter, now speaking for the first time, and in accents I shall never forget, such was their heart-thrilling earnestness,--"Oh, sir, this does indeed exceed the license of even old friendship! We are well aware how the Marquis of Salvatori has suffered from persecution; but we little expected to have found _you_ among the number of his enemies."
"You do me great wrong, Miss Graham," said I, eagerly; "in nothing greater than supposing me capable of being the enemy of such a man as this. Unworthy as the sentiment is, it at least implies a sense of equality. Now, are you certain of what this person is? are you aware in what capacity he has been employed by our government, and by that of other countries?"
"We know that the Marquis has been engaged in secret missions," said Miss Graham, proudly.
"Your reply, brief as it is, conveys two errors, Miss Graham. He is not a Marquis; little as the t.i.tle often implies in Italy, he has no right to it. He asked Lord William Bentinck to let him call himself Marquis, and so to address him, as a means of frequenting circles where important information was accessible. Lord William said, "Call yourself what you please--Grand Duke, if you like it--I am no dispenser of such designations." The gentleman was modest;--he stopped at Marquis. As to his diplomatic functions, we have a short and expressive word for them;--he was and is, a Spy!"
Not heeding the scornful reception of the daughter, I turned towards Mrs. Graham, and, with all the power I possessed, urged her, at least, to defer this fatal step;--that she was about to bestow her child upon a man of notoriously degraded character, and one whose a.s.sumption of rank and position was disregarded and despised in the very humblest circles.
The mother wept bitterly; at one moment, turning to dissuade her daughter from her rashness, at the next, appealing to me against what she called my unjust prejudices against the Marquis. Miss Graham scornfully refused to vouchsafe me even a word.
I confess more than once my temper prompted me to abandon the enterprise, and suffer wilfulness to reap its own bitter harvest; but then, my better feelings prevailed, and old memories of my poor friend Graham again enlisted me in defence of his sister.
Of no avail was it that I followed these worthier promptings. It seemed as if the man had thrown a spell over these two unhappy women, one, being perfectly enthralled, the other, nearly so, by the artful fascinations of his manner; and yet he was neither young, handsome, rich, nor of high lineage. On the contrary, the man was at least fifty-three or four, a perfect monster of ugliness, with an ex-pression of sardonic sycophancy actually demoniac.
If I were not relating "a fact"--one of which I can answer, that many now living can entirely corroborate--I would hesitate about dwelling on a case where improbabilities are so strong, and where I have nothing to offer like an explanation of them. Wilkes has long since convinced the world how little good looks are concerned in winning a woman"s heart, and how, indeed, a very considerable share of ugliness can be counterbalanced by captivations of manner and personal agreeability.
But, judging from the portraits--even Hogarth"s fearful sketch--Wilkes was handsome compared to Salvatori; and in point of reputation, low as it was, the Libeller and the Satirist was still better than the Spy.
To go back again: I argued, I entreated, begged, threatened, and denounced. I went further;--I actually transgressed the limits of official authority, and refused to sanction the ceremony--a threat which, I soon remembered, I dare not sustain. But, do what, say what, I would, they were equally resolute and determined; and nothing was left for me but to recall M. Salvatori and his friend, and suffer the affair to proceed.
I do not remember, among the varied incidents of my life, one whose effect weighed more heavily upon me. Although acquitted by my conscience, I felt at moments horror-struck at even my share in this infamy, and would have given any thing that it had never occurred. It may be believed I was happy to hear that they all left Naples the same day.
Years rolled over, and I never even heard of them, till one morning, when waiting along with a diplomatic friend for an interview with the French Minister for Foreign Affairs, a person hastily pa.s.sed through the room, saluting us as he went.
"I have seen that face before," said I to my friend; "do you know him?"
"To be sure!" said he, smiling; "one must be young in diplomacy not to know the Mephistophiles of the craft; and I guess why he is here, too: that fellow is in the pay of the Prince de Capua, but has sold him to Louis Philippe. The reconciliation with Naples would have been long since effected but for the King of the French."
"And his name--this man"s name--what is it?"
"Salvatori."
"What! the same who married an English girl at Naples?"
"And sold her to the Marquis Brandini for ten thousand sequini. The very man. But here comes the messenger to say his Excellency will receive us."
My friend quitted Paris the moment his interview ended, and I heard no more.
Last night I saw her in the Cursaal--beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than ever! At least there was a lofty elegance and a splendour about her that I never remember in her girlish days; nor was it till she smiled that I could now believe that the queen-like beauty before me was the timid, delicate girl I first saw tripping along the narrow path of a Welsh mountain.
Even from the gossip of Baden I could learn no more about her than that she was a Sicilian Countess of great wealth, and a widow; that she was intimately received into the very highest circles--even of royalty--and constantly was seen driving in the carriage of the Archd.u.c.h.ess. It was, then, possible that I might be mistaken, after all! Great people are not accessible so easily.
I tried in various quarters to get presented to her--for she shewed not the slightest sign of having ever met me--but failed every where: they who knew her did not do so intimately enough to introduce me.