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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
3
THE
ATLANTIC MONTHLY:
A MACAZINE OE LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART,
AND POLITICS.
Vol. XXXIV.—SEPTEMBER, 1874.—No. CCIII.
WHO WAS SHE?
Come, now, there may as well be an
end of this!, Every time I meet your
eyes squarely, I detect the question just
■slipping out of them. If you had spoken
it, or even boldly looked it; if you had
shown in your motions the least sign of
a fussy or fidgety concern on my ac
count; if this were not the evening of
my birthday, and you the only friend
who remembered it; if confession were
not good for the soul, though harder
than sin to some people, of whom I am
one, — well, if all reasons were not at
this instant converged into a focus,
and burning me rather violently, in that
region where the seat of emotion is sup
posed to lie, I should keep my trouble
to myself.
Yes, I have fifty times had it on my
mind to tell you the whole story. But
who can be certain that his best friend
will not smile — or, what is worse,
cherish a kind of charitable pity ever
afterwards — when the external forms
of a very serious kind of passion seem
trivial, fantastic, foolish?
And the
worst of all is that the heroic part which
I imagined I was playing proves to have
been almost the reverse. The only
comfort which I can find in my humili
ation is that I am capable of feeling it.
There is n’t a bit of a paradox in this,
as you will see; but I only mention
it, now, to prepare you for, maybe, a
little morbid sensitiveness of my moral
nerves.
The documents are all in this port
folio, under my elbow. I had just read
them again completely through, when
you were announced. You may ex
amine them as you like, afterwards:
for the present, fill your glass, take
another Cabana, and keep silent until
my ‘ ‘ ghastly tale ’ ’ has reached its
most lamentable conclusion.
The beginning of it was at Wampsocket Springs, three years ago. last
summer. I suppose most unmarried
men who have reached, or passed, the
age of thirty — and I was then thirtythree— experience a milder return of
their adolescent warmth, a kind of
fainter second spring, since the first has
not fulfilled its promise. Of course, I
was n’t clearly conscious of this at the
time: who is? But I had had my
youthful passion and my tragic dis
appointment, as you know: I had
looked far enough into what Thackeray
used to call the cryptic mysteries, to
save me from the Scylla of dissipation,
and yet preserved enough of natural
nature to keep me out of the Pharisaic
Charybdis. My devotion to my legal
studies had already brought me a mild
distinction; the paternal legacy wds a
good nest-egg for the incubation of
wealth,—in short, I was a fair, re
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by H. 0. Houghton & Co., in the Office of the
Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
�258
Who was She ?
spectable ‘1 party, ’ ’ desirable to the
humbler mammas, and not to be de
spised by the haughty exclusives.
The fashionable hotel at the Springs
holds three hundred, and it was packed.
I had meant to lounge there for a fort
night and then finish my holidays at
Long Branch; but eighty, at least, out
of the three hundred, were young and
moved lightly in muslin. With my
years and experience I felt so safe, that
to walk, talk, or dance with them be
came simply a luxury, such as I had
never—at least so freely — possessed
before. My name and standing, known
to some families, were agreeably exag
gerated to the others, and I enjoyed
that supreme satisfaction which a man
always feels when he discovers, or
imagines, that he is popular in society.
There is a kind of premonitory apology
implied in my saying this, I am aware.
You must remember that I am culprit,
and culprit’s counsel, at the same time.
You have never been at Wampsocket? Well, the hills sweep around
in a crescent, on the northern side, and
four or five radiating glens, descending
from them, unite just above the village.
The central one, leading to a water-fall
(called ‘ ‘ Minne-hehe ’ ’ by the irrever
ent young people, because there is so
little of it), is the fashionable drive and
promenade; but the second ravine on
the left, steep, crooked, and cumbered
with bowlders which have tumbled from
somewhere and lodged in the most ex
traordinary groupings, became my fa
vorite walk of a morning. There was
a footpath in it, well-trodden at first,
but gradually fading out as it became
more like a ladder than a path, and I
soon discovered that no other city feet
than mine were likely to scale a certain
rough slope which seemed the end of
the ravine. With the aid of the tough
laurel-stems I climbed to the top, passed
through a cleft as narrow as a door
way, and presently found myself in a
little upper dell, as wild and sweet and
strange as one of the pictures that
haunt us on the brink of sleep.
There was a pond — no, rather a
bowl — of water in the centre; hardly
[September,
twenty yards across, yet the sky in it
was so pure and far down that the
circle of rocks and summer foliage in
closing it seemed like a little planetary
ring, floating off alone through space.
I can’t explain the charm of the spot,
nor the selfishness which instantly sug
gested that I should keep the discovery
to myself. Ten years earlier, I should
have looked around for some fair spirit
to be my “ minister,” i>ut now —
One forenoon — I think it was the
third or fourth time I had visited the
place — I was startled to find the dint
of a heel in the earth, half-way up the
slope. There had been rain during the
night and the earth was still moist and
soft. It was the mark of a woman’s
boot, only to be distinguished from that
of a walking-stick by its semicircular
form. A little higher, I found the out
line of a foot, not so small as to awake
an ecstasy, but with a suggestion of
lightness, elasticity, and grace. If
hands were thrust through holes in a
board-fence, and nothing of the attached
bodies seen, I can easily imagine that
some would attract and others repel us:
with footprints the impression is weaker,
of course, but we cannot escape it. I
am not sure whether I wanted to find
the unknown wearer of the boot within
my precious personal solitude: I was
afraid I should see her, while passing
through the rocky crevice, and yet was
disappointed when I found no one.
But on the flat, warm rock overhang
ing the tarn — my special throne — lay
some withering wild-flowers, and a
book! I looked up and down, right and
left: there was not the slightest sign of
another human life than mine. Then
I lay down for a quarter of an hour,
and listened: there were only the noises
of bird and squirrel, as before. At
last, I took up the book, the flat breadth
of which suggested only sketches.
There were, indeed, some tolerable
studies of rocks and trees on the first
pages; a few not very striking carica
tures, which seemed to have been com
menced as portraits, but recalled no
faces I knew; then a number of frag
mentary notes, written in pencil. - I
�1874.]
Who was She ?
found no name, from first to last; only,
under the sketches, a monogram so
complicated and laborious that the ini
tials could hardly be discovered unless
one already knew them.
The writing was a woman’s, but it
had surely taken its character from cer
tain features of her own: it was clear,
firm, individual. It had nothing of that
air of general debility which usually
marks the manuscript of young ladies,
yet its firmness was far removed from
the stiff, conventional slope which all
Englishwomen seem to acquire in youth
and retain through life. I don’t see
how any man in my situation could
have helped reading a few lines — if
only for the sake of restoring lost prop
erty. But I was drawn on, and on, and
finished by reading all: thence, since
no further harm could be done, I re
read, pondering over certain passages
until they stayed with me. Here they
are, as I set them down, that evening,
on the back of a legal blank.
‘ ‘ It makes a great deal of difference
whether we wear social forms as brace
lets or handcuffs.”
“ Can we not still be wholly our in
dependent selves, even while doing, in
the main, as others do? I know two
who are so; but they are married.”
“The men who admire these bold,
dashing young girls treat them like
weaker copies of themselves. And yet
they boast of what they call ‘ expe
rience! ’ ”
‘ ‘ I wonder if any one felt the ex
quisite beauty of the noon as I did, to
day? A faint appreciation of sunsets
and storms is taught us in youth, and
kept alive by novels and flirtations; but
the broad, imperial splendor of this
summer noon! — and myself standing
alone in it, — yes, utterly alone! ”
“ The men I seek must exist: where
are they ? How make an acquaintance,
when one obsequiously bows himself
away, as I advance? The fault is
surely not all on my side.”
There was much more, intimate
enough to inspire me with a keen in
terest in the writer, yet not sufficiently
so to make my perusal a painful indis
259
cretion. I yielded to the impulse of the
moment, took out my pencil, and wrote
a dozen lines on one of the blank pages.
They ran something in this wise: —
“ Ignotus IgnotuE ! — You have be
stowed without intending it, and I have
taken without your knowledge. Do not
regret the accident which has enriched
another. This concealed idyl of the
hills was mine, as I supposed, but I
acknowledge your equal right to it.
Shall we share the possession, or will
you banish me ? ’ ’
There was a frank advance, tempered
by a proper caution, I fancied, in the
words I wrote. It was evident that she
was unmarried, but outside of that cer
tainty there lay a vast range of possi
bilities, some of them alarming enough.
However, if any nearer acquaintance
should arise out of the incident, the
next step must be taken by her. Was
I one of the men she sought ? I almost
imagined so — certainly hoped so.
I laid the book on the rock, as I had
found it, bestowed another keen scru
tiny on the lonely landscape, and then
descended the ravine. That evening,
I went early to the ladies’ parlor, chat
ted more than usual with the various
damsels whom I knew, and watched
with a new interest those whom I knew
not.
My mind, involuntarily, had
already created a picture of the un
known. She might be twenty-five, I
thought: a reflective habit of mind
would hardly be developed before that
age. Tall and stately, of course; dis
tinctly proud in her bearing, and some
what reserved in her manners. Why
she should have large dark eyes, with
long dark lashes, I could not tell; but
so I seemed to see her. Quite forget
ting that I was (or had meant to be)
Ignotus, I found myself staring rather
significantly at one or the other of the
young ladies, in whom I discovered
some slight general resemblance to the
imaginary character. My fancies, I
must confess, played strange pranks
with me. They had been kept in a
coop so many years, that now. when I
�260
Who was She?
suddenly turned them loose, their rick
ety attempts at flight quite bewildered
me.
No! there was no use in expecting a
sudden discovery. I went to the glen
betimes, next morning: the book was
gone, and so were the faded flowers,
but some of the latter were scattered
over the top of another rock, a few
yards from mine. Ha! this means that
I am not to withdraw, I said to myself:
she makes room for me! But how to
surprise her? — for by this time I was
fully resolved to make her acquaintance,
even though she might turn out to be
forty, scraggy and sandy-haired.
I knew no other way so likely as that
of visiting the glen at all times of the
day. I even went so far as to write a
line of greeting, with a regret that our
visits had not yet coincided, and laid it
under a stone on the top of her rock.
The note disappeared, but there was no
answer in its place. Then I suddenly
remembered her fondness for the noon
hours, at which time she was “utterly
alone.” The hotel table d’hote was
at one o’clock: her family, doubtless,
dined later, in their own rooms. Why,
this gave me, at least, her place in
society! The question of age, to be
sure, remained unsettled; but all else
was safe.
The next day I took a late and large
breakfast, and sacrificed my dinner.
Before noon the guests had all straggled
back to the hotel from glen and grove
and lane, so bright and hot was the
sunshine. Indeed, I could hardly have
supported the reverberation of heat
from the sides of the ravine, but for a
fixed belief that I should be successful.
While crossing the narrow meadow upon
which it opened, I caught a glimpse of
something white among the thickets
higher’ up. A moment later, it had
vanished, and I quickened my pace,
feeling the beginning of an absurd
nervous excitement in my limbs. At
the next turn, there it was again! but
only for another moment. I paused,
exulting, and wiped my drenched fore
head. “She cannot escape me!” I
murmured between the deep draughts
[September,
of cooler air I inhaled in the shadow of
a rock.
A few hundred steps more brought
me to the foot of the steep ascent,
where I had counted on overtaking her.
I was too late for that, but the dry,
baked soil had surely been crumbled
and dislodged, here and there, by a
rapid foot. I followed, in reckless
haste, snatching at the laurel-branches
right and left, and paying little heed to
my footing. About one third of the
way up I slipped, fell, caught a bush
which snapped at the root, slid, whirled
over, and before I fairly knew what had
happened, I was lying doubled up at
the bottom of the slope.
I rose, made two steps forward, and
then sat down with a groan of pain; my
left ankle was badly sprained, in addi
tion to various minor scratches and
bruises. There was a revulsion of feel
ing, of course, — instant, complete, and
hideous. I fairly hated the Unknown.
“ Fool that I was! ” I exclaimed, in the
theatrical manner, dashing the palm of
my hand softly against my brow: 1 ‘ lured
to this by the fair traitress! But, no! —
not fair: she shows the artfulness of
faded, desperate spinsterhood; she is all
compact of enamel, ‘ liquid bloom of
youth ’ and hair-dye! ”
There was a fierce comfort in this
thought, but it could n’t help me out of
the scrape. I dared not sit still, lest a
sun-stroke should be added, and there
was no resource but to hop or crawl
down the rugged path, in the hope of
finding a forked sapling from which I
could extemporize a crutch. With
endless pain and trouble I reached a
thicket, and was feebly working on a
branch with my pen-knife, when the
sound of a heavy footstep surprised me.
A brown harvest-hand, in straw hat
and shirt-sleeves, presently appeared.
He grinned when he saw me, and the
thick snub of his nose would have
seemed like a sneer at any other time.
“ Are you the gentleman that got
hurt? ” he asked. “ Is it pretty toler
able bad? ”
“ Who said I was hurt? ” I cried, in
astonishment.
�1874.]
Who was She?
“ One of your town-women from the
hotel—I reckon she was. I was bind
ing oats, in the field over the ridge; but
I have n’t lost no time in cornin’ here.”
While I was stupidly staring at this
announcement, he whipped out a big
clasp knife, and in a few minutes fash-,
ioned me a practicable crutch. Then,
taking me by the other arm, he set me
in motion towards the village.
Grateful as I was for the man’s help,
he aggravated me by his ignorance.
When I asked if he knew the lady, he
answered: “It’s more’n likely you
know her better.” But where did she
come from? Down from the hill, he
guessed, but it might ha’ been up the
road. How did she look? was she
old or young ? what was the coloi’ of
her eyes? of her hair? There, now, I
was too much for him. When a woman
kept one o’ them speckled veils over
her face, turned her head away, and
held her parasol between, how were you
to know her from Adam? I declare to
you, I couldn’t arrive at one positive
particular. Even when he affirmed that
she was tall, he added, the next instant:
“ Now I come to think on it, she stepped
mighty quick; so I guess she must ha’
been short. ’ ’
By the time we reached the hotel, I
was in a state of fever; opiates and lo
tions had their will of me for the rest of
the day. I was glad to escape the worry
of questions, and the conventional sym
pathy expressed in inflections of the
voice which are meant to soothe, and
only exasperate. The next morning, as
I lay upon my sofa, restful, patient, and
properly cheerful, the waiter entered
with a bouquet of wild flowers.
‘ ‘ Who sent them ? ” I asked.
‘ ‘ 1 found them outside your door, sir.
Maybe there ’s a card; yes, here ’s a
bit o’ paper.”
I opened the twisted slip he handed
me, and read: “From your dell — and
mine.” I took the flowers; among
them were two or three rare and beauti
ful varieties, which I had only found in
that one spot. Fool, again! I noise
lessly kissed, while pretending to smell
them, had them placed on a stand with
261
in reach, and fell into a state of quiet
and-agreeable contemplation.
Tell me, yourself, whether any male
human being is ever too old for senti
ment, provided that it strikes him at the
right time and in the right way! What
did that bunch of wild flowers betoken ?
Knowledge, first; then, sympathy; and
finally, encouragement, at least. Of
course she had seen my accident, from
above; of course she had sent the har
vest laborer to aid me home. It was
quite natural she should imagine some
special, romantic interest in the lonely
dell, on my part, and the gift took ad
ditional value from her conjecture.
Four days afterwards, there was a hop
in the large dining-room of the hotel.
Early in the morning, a fresh bouquet
had been left at my door. I was tired
of my enforced idleness, eager to dis?
cover the fair unknown, (she was again
fair, to my fancy!) and I determined to
go down, believing that a cane and a
crimson velvet slipper on the left foot
would provoke a glance of sympathy
from certain eyes, and thus enable me
to detect them.
The fact was, the sympathy was much
too general and effusive. Everybody,
it seemed, came to me with kindly greet
ings; seats were vacated at my approach,
even fat Mrs. Huxter insisting on my
taking her warm place, at the head of
the room. But Bob Leroy, — you know
him, — as gallant a gentleman as ever
lived, put me down at the right point,
and kept me there. He only meant to
divert me, yet gave me the only place
where I could quietly inspect all the
younger ladies, as dance or supper
brought them near.
One of the dances was an old-fash
ioned cotillon, and one of the figures,
the “ coquette,” brought every one, in
turn, before me. I received a pleasant
word or two from those whom I knew,
and a long, kind, silent glance from Miss
May Danvers. Where had been my
eyes? She was tall, stately, twentyfive, had large dark eyes, and long dark
lashes! Again the changes of the dance
brought her near me; I threw (or strove
to throw) unutterable meanings into my
�262
Who was She?
[September,
eyes, and cast them upon hers. She minutes before he came to me, alone,
seemed startled, looked suddenly away, with a very stern face, bent down, and
looked back to me, and —blushed. I said : —
knew her for what is called “ a nice
“ If you have discovered our secret,
girl ” — that is, tolerably frank, gently you will keep silent. You are certainly
feminine, and not dangerously intelli a gentleman.”
gent. Was it possible that I had over
I bowed, coldly and savagely. There
looked so much character and intellect? was a draft from the open window; my
As the cotillon closed, she was again ankle became suddenly weary and pain
in my neighborhood, and her partner ful, and I went to bed. Can you be
led her in my direction. I was rising lieve that I did n’t guess, immediately,
painfully from my chair, when Bob Le what it all meant ? In a vague wav, I
roy pushed me down again, whisked fancied that I had been premature in my
another seat from somewhere, planted attempt to drop our mutual incognito,
it at my side, and there she was!
and that Fisher, a rival lover, was jeal
She knew who was her neighbor, I ous of me. This was rather flattering
plainly saw; but instead of turning to than otherwise; but when I limped
wards me, she began to fan herself in a down to the ladies’ parlor, the next
nervous way and to fidget with the but day, no Miss Danvers was to be seen.
tons of her gloves. I grew impatient.
I did not venture to ask for her; it might
■ “ Miss Danvers! ” I said, at last.
seem importunate, and a woman of so
“ Oh!” was all her answer, as she much hidden capacity was evidently not
looked at me for a moment.
to be wooed in the ordinary way.
“ Where are your thoughts? ” I
So another night passed by; and then,
asked.
with the morning, came a letter which
Then she turned, with wide, as made me feel, at the same instant, like
tonished eyes, coloring softly up to the a fool and a hero. It had been dropped
roots of her hair. My heart gave a in the Wampsocket post-office, was legi
sudden leap.
bly addressed to me and delivered with
“ How can you tell, if I cannot? ” some other letters which had arrived by
she asked.
the night mail. Here it is; listen!
‘ ‘ May I guess ? ’ ’
She made a slight inclination of the
“Noto Ignota!—Haste is not a
head, saying nothing. I was then quite gift of the gods, and you have been im
sure.
patient, with the usual result. I was
“ The second ravine, to the left of the almost prepared for this, and thus am
main drive?”
not wholly disappointed. In a day or
This time she actually started; her two more you will discover your mis
color became deeper, and a leaf of the take, which, so far as I can learn, has
ivory fan snapped between her fingers.
done no particular harm. If you wish
“ Let there be no more a secret! ” I to find me, there is only one way to seek
exclaimed. ‘ ‘ Your flowers have brought me; should I tell you what it is, I should
me your messages; I knew I should find run the risk of losing you, — that is, I
you ’ ’ —
should preclude the manifestation of a
Full of certainty, I was speaking in a certain quality which I hope to find in
low, impassioned voice. She cut me the man who may — or, rather, must —
short by rising from her seat; I felt that be my friend. This sounds enigmatical,
she was both angry and alarmed. Fisher, yet you have read enough of my nature,
of Philadelphia, jostling right and left as written in those random notes in my
in his haste, made his way towards her. sketch-book, to guess, at least, how
She fairly snatched his arm, clung to it much I require. Only this let me add:
with a warmth I had never seen ex mere guessing is useless.
pressed in a ball-room, and began to
“ Being unknown, I can write freely.
whisper in his ear. It was not five If you find me, I shall be justified; if
�1874.]
Who was She ?
not, I shall hardly need to blush, even
to myself, over a futile experiment.
“ It is possible for me to learn enough
of your life, henceforth, to direct my re
lation towards you. This may be the
end; if so, I shall know it soon. I shall
also know whether you continue to seek
me. Trusting in your honor as a man,
I must ask you to trust in mine, as a
woman.”
I did discover my mistake, as the Un
known promised. There had been a
secret betrothal between Fisher and
Miss Danvers; and singularly enough,
the momentous question and answer had
been given in the very ravine leading to
my upper dell! The two meant to keep
the matter to themselves, but therein, it
seems, I thwarted them; there was a
little opposition on the part of their re
spective families, but all was amicably
settled before I left Wampsocket.
The letter made a very deep impres
sion upon me. What was the one way
to find her ? What could it be but the
triumph that follows ambitious toil, —
the manifestation of all my best quali
ties, as a man ? Be she old or young,
plain or beautiful, I reflected, hers is
surely a nature worth knowing, and its
candid intelligence conceals no hazards
for me. I have sought her rashly, blun
dered, betrayed that I set her lower, in
my thoughts, than her actual self: let
me now adopt the opposite course, seek
her openly no longer, go back to my
tasks, and, following my own aims vig
orously and cheerfully, restore that re-;
spect which she seemed to be on the
point of losing. For, consciously or
not, she had communicated to me a
doubt, implied in the very expression
of her own strength and pride. She
had meant to address me as an equal,
yet, despite herself, took a stand a little
above that which she accorded to me.
I came back to New York earlier
than usual, worked steadily at my pro
fession and with increasing success, and
began to accept opportunities (which I
had previously declined) of making my
self personally known to the great, im
pressible, fickle, tyrannical public. One
263
or two of my speeches in the hall of the
Cooper Institute, on various occasions —
as you may perhaps remember — gave
me a good headway with the party, and
were the chief cause of my nomination
for the State office which I still hold.
(There, on the table, lies a resignation,
written to-day, but not yet signed.
We ’ll talk of it, afterwards.) Several
months passed by, and no further letter
reached me. I gave up much of my
time to society, moved familiarly in
more than one province of the kingdom
here, and vastly extended my acquaint
ance, especially among the women; but
not one of them betrayed the mysterious
something or other — really I can’t ex
plain precisely what it was! — which I
was looking for. In fact, the more I
endeavored quietly to study the sex,
the more confused I became.
At last, I was subjected to the us
ual onslaught from the strong-minded.
A small but formidable committee en
tered my office one morning and de
manded a categorical declaration of my
principles. What my views- on the sub
ject were, I knew very well; they were
clear and decided; and yet, I hesitated
to declare them! It was n’t a tempta
tion of Saint Anthony — that is, turned
the other way — and the belligerent at
titude of the dames did not alarm me in
the least; but she I What was her posi
tion? How could I best please her?
It flashed upon my mind, while Mrs.
------ was making her formal speech,
that I had taken no step for months
without a vague, secret reference to her.
So, I strove to be courteous, friendly,
and agreeably non-committal; begged
for further documents, and promised
to reply by letter, in a few days.
I was hardly surprised to find the
well-known hand on the envelope of a
letter, shortly afterwards. I held it for
a minute in my palm, with an absurd
hope that I might sympathetically feel
its character, before breaking the seal.
Then I read it with a great sense of re
lief.
‘ ‘ I have never assumed to guide a
man, except towards the full exercise
of his powers. It is not opinion in ac
�264
~Who was She?
tion, but opinion in a state of idleness
or indifference, which repels me. I am
deeply glad that you have gained so
much since you left the country. If, in
shaping your course, you have thought
of me, I will frankly say that, to that
extent, you have drawn nearer. Am I
mistaken in conjecturing that you wish
to know my relation to the movement
concerning which you were recently in
terrogated ? In this, as in other in
stances which may come, I must beg
you to consider me only as a spectator.
The more my own views may seem like
ly to sway your action, the less I shall
be inclined to declare them. If you
find this cold or unwomanly, remember
that it is not easy! ’ ’
Yes! I felt that I had certainly drawn
much nearer to her. And from this
time on, her imaginary face and form
became other than they were. She was
twenty-eight — three years older; a very
little above the middle height, but not
tall; serene, rather than stately, in her
movements; with a calm, almost grave
face, relieved by the sweetness of the
full, firm lips; and finally eyes of pure,
limpid gray, such as we fancy belonged
to the Venus of Milo. I found her,
thus, much more attractive than with
the dark eyes and lashes, —but she did
not make her appearance in the circles
which I frequented.
Another year slipped away. As an
official personage, my importance in
creased, but I was careful not to ex
aggerate it to myself. Many have won
dered (perhaps you among the rest) at
my success, seeing that I possess no
remarkable abilities. If I have any
secret, it is simply this — doing faith
fully, with all my might, whatever I
undertake. Nine tenths of our politi
cians become inflated and careless, after
the first few years, and are easily for
gotten when they once lose place. I am
a little surprised, now, that I had so
much patience with the Unknown. I
was too important, at least, to be played
with; too mature to be subjected to a
longer test; too earnest, as I had proved,
to be doubted, or thrown aside without
a further explanation.
[September,
Growing tired, at last, of silent wait
ing, I bethought me of advertising. A
carefully-written “Personal,” in which
Ignotus informed Ignota of the necessity
of his communicating with her, appeared
simultaneously in the Tribune, Herald,
World, and Times. I renewed the ad
vertisement as the time expired without
an answer, and I think it was about the
end of the third week before one came,
through the post, as before.
Ah, yes! I had forgotten. See! my
advertisement is pasted on the note, as
a heading or motto for the manuscript
lines. I don’t know why the printed
slip should give me a particular feeling
of humiliation as I look at it, but such
is the fact. What she wrote is all I
need read to you: —
“ I could not, at first, be certain that
this was meant for me. If I were to
explain to you why I have not written
for so long a time, I might give you one
of the few clews which I insist on keep
ing in my own hands. In your public
capacity, you have been (so far as a
woman may judge) upright, independ
ent, wholly manly: in your relations
with other men I learn nothing of you
that is not honorable: towards women
you are kind, chivalrous, no doubt, over
flowing with the usual social refinements,
but— Here, again, I run hard upon
the absolute necessity of silence. The
way to me, if you care to traverse it, is
so simple, so very simple! Yet, after
what I have written, I cannot even wave
my hand in the direction of it, without
certain self-contempt. When I feel free
to tell you, we shall draw apart and re
main unknown forever.
“ You desire to write? I do not pro
hibit it. I have heretofore made no
arrangement for hearing from you, in
turn, because I could not discover that
any advantage would accrue from it.
But it seems only fair, I confess, and
you dare not think me capricious. So,
three days hence, at six o’clock in the
evening, a trusty messenger of mine will
call at your door. If you have anything
to give her for me, the act of giving it
must be the sign of a compact on your
part, that you will allow her to leave
�1874.]
~Who was She?
immediately, unquestioned and unfol
lowed.”
You look puzzled, I see: you don’t
catch the real drift of her words? Well,
— that’s a melancholy encouragement.
Neither did I, at the time: it was plain
that I had disappointed her in some
way, and my intercourse with, or man
ner towards, women, had something to
do with it. In vain I ran over as much
of my later social life as I could recall.
There had been no special attention,
nothing to mislead a susceptible heart;
on the other side, certainly no rudeness,
no want of ‘ ‘ chivalrous ’ ’ (she used the
word!) respect and attention. What,
in the name of all the gods, was the
matter ?
*
In spite of all my efforts to grow
clearer, I was obliged to write my letter
in a rather muddled state of mind. I
had so much to say! sixteen folio pages,
I was sure, would only suffice for an in
troduction to the case; yet, when the
creamy vellum lay before me and the
moist pen drew my fingers towards it, I
sat stock dumb for half an hour. I
wrote, finally, in a half-desperate mood,
without regard to coherency or logic.
Here ’s a rough draft of a part of the
letter, and a single passage from it will
be enough: —
‘ ‘ I can conceive of no simpler way to
you than the knowledge of your name
and address. I have drawn airy images
of you, but they do not become incar
nate, and I am not sure that I should
recognize you in the brief moment of
passing. Your nature is not of those
which are instantly legible. As an ab
stract power, it has wrought in my life
and it continually moves my heart with
desires which are unsatisfactory because
so vague and ignorant. Let me offer
you, personally, my gratitude, my ear
nest friendship: you would laugh if I
were now to offer more.”
Stay! here is another fragment, more
reckless in tone: —
“ I want to find the woman whom I
can love — who can love me. But this
is a masquerade where the features are
hidden, the voice disguised, even the
hands grotesquely gloved. Come! I
265
will venture more than I ever thought
was possible to me. You shall know
my deepest nature as I myself seem to
know it. Then, give me the commonest
chance of learning yours, through an
intercourse which shall leave both free,
should we not feel the closing of the
inevitable bond! ’ ’
After I had written that, the pages
filled rapidly. When the appointed
hour arrived, a bulky epistle, in a strong
linen envelope, sealed with five wax
seals, was waiting on my table. Pre
cisely at six there was an announcement:
the door opened, and a little outside,
in the shadow, I saw an old woman, in
a.threadbare dress of rusty black.
“ Come in! ” I said.
‘ ‘ The letter ! ’ ’ answered a husky
voice. She stretched out a bony hand,
without moving a step.
“It is for a lady — very important
business,” said I, taking up the letter;
“ are you sure that there is no mis
take ? ’ ’
She drew her hand under the shawl,
turned without a word, and moved to
wards the hall door.
‘ ‘ Stop! ” I cried: “ I beg a thousand
pardons! Take it — take it! You are
the right messenger! ’ ’
She clutched it, and was instantly
gone.
Several days passed, and I gradually
became so nervous and uneasy that I
was on the point of inserting another
“Personal” in the daily papers, when
the answer arrived. It was brief and
mysterious; you shall hear the whole
of it.
“I thank you. Your letter is a sa
cred confidence which I pray you never
to regret. Your nature is sound and
good. You ask no more than is reason
able, and I have no real right to refuse.
In the one respect which I have hinted,
I may have been unskillful or too nar
rowly cautious: I must have the cer
tainty of this. Therefore, as a gener
ous favor, give me six months more! At
the end of that time I will write to you
again. Have patience with these brief
lines: another word might be a w.ord
too much. ’ ’
�266
Who was She?
[September,
You notice the change in her tone? source of my disappointment, of — yes,
The letter gave me the strongest im- — of my sorrow!
pression of a new, warm, almost anxious
“ You appreciate, I cannot doubt, the
interest on her part. My fancies, as qualities in woman which men value in
first at Wampsocket, began to play all one another, — culture, independence
sorts of singular pranks: sometimes she of thought, a high and earnest appre
was rich and of an old family, some hension of life; but you know not how
times moderately poor and obscure, but to seek them. It is not true that a ma
always the same calm, reposeful face ture and unperverted woman is flattered
and clear gray eyes. I ceased looking by receiving only the general obsequi
for her in society, quite sure that I ousness which most men give to the
should not find her, and nursed a wild ex whole sex. In the man who contradicts
pectation of suddenly meeting her, face and strives with her, she discovers a
to face, in the most unlikely places and truer interest, a nobler respect. The
under startling circumstances. How empty-headed, spindle-shanked youths
ever, the end of it all was patience, — who dance admirably, understand some
patience for six months.
thing of billiards, much less of horses,
There ’s not much more to tell; but and still less of navigation, soon grow
this last letter is hard for me to read. inexpressibly wearisome to us; but the
It came punctually, to a day. I knew men who adopt their social courtesy,
it would, and at the last I began to never seeking to arouse, uplift, instruct
dread the time, as if a heavy note were us, are a bitter disappointment.
falling due, and I had no funds to meet
“ What would have been the end,
it. My head was in a whirl when I had you really found me? Certainly a
broke the seal. The fact in it stared at sincere, satisfying friendship. No mys
me blankly, at once, but it was a long terious magnetic force has drawn you
time before the words and sentences be to me or held you near me, nor has my
came intelligible.
experiment inspired me with an interest
“The stipulated time has come, and which cannot be given up without a
our hidden romance is at an end. Had personal pang. I am grieved, for the
I taken this resolution a year ago, it sake of all men and all women. Yet,
would have saved me many vain hopes, understand me! I mean no slightest
and you, perhaps, a little uncertainty. reproach. I esteem and honor you for
Forgive me, first, if you can, and then what you are. Farewell! ”
hear the explanation!
There! Nothing could be kinder in
“ You wished for a personal inter tone, nothing more humiliating in sub
view: you have had, not one, but many. stance. I was sore and offended for a
We have met, in society, talked face to few days; but I soon began to see, and
face, discussed the weather, the opera, ever more and more clearly, that she
toilettes, Queechy, Aurora Floyd, Long was wholly right. I was sure, also,
Branch and Newport, and exchanged that any further attempt to correspond
a weary amount of fashionable gossip; with her would be vain. It all comes
and you never guessed that I was gov of taking society just as we find it, and
erned by any deepei’ interest! I have supposing that conventional courtesy is
purposely uttered ridiculous platitudes, the only safe ground on which men and
and you were as smilingly courteous as women can meet.
if you enjoyed them: I have let fall re
The fact is — there ’s no use in hid
marks whose hollowness and selfishness ing it from myself (and I see, by your
could not have escaped you, and have face, that the letter cuts into your
waited in vain for a word of sharp, own conscience) — she is a free, cour
honest, manly reproof. Your manner ageous, independent character, and —
to me was unexceptionable, as it was I am not.
to all othei’ women: but there lies the
But who was she?
Bayard Taylor.
�
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Title
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Who was she?
Creator
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Taylor, Bayard
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [Boston, Mass.]
Collation: [257]-266 p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: From Atlantic Monthly: a magazine of Literature, Science, Art and Politics, vol. XXXIV, September,1874, no. 203. Printed in double columns. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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[Ticknor and Fields]
Date
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1874
Identifier
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N634
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Periodicals
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Who was she?), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
NSS