‘No farther seek his errors to disclose,Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.’
‘No farther seek his errors to disclose,Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.’
‘No farther seek his errors to disclose,Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.’
‘No farther seek his errors to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.’
Shortly after Mary’s marriage Madame de Frontignac sailed with her husband to France, where they lived in a very retired way on a large estate in the south of France. A close correspondence was kept up between her and Mary for many years, from which we shall give our readers a few extracts. The first is dated shortly after their return to France.
‘At last, my sweet Marie, you behold us in peace after our wanderings. I wish you could see our lovely nest in the hills, which overlooks the Mediterranean, whose blue waters remind me of Newport harbour and our old days there. Ah, my sweet saint, blessed was the day I first learned to know you! for it was you more than anything else that kept me back from sin and misery. I call you my Sibyl, dearest, because the Sibyl was a prophetess of divine things out of the church; and so are you. The Abbé says that all true, devout persons in all persuasions belong to the true Catholic Apostolic Church, and will in the end be enlightened to know it; what do you think of that,ma belle?I fancy I see you look at me with your grave, innocent eyes, just as you used to; but you say nothing.
‘I am far happier,maMarie, than I ever thought I could be. I took your advice, and told my husband all I had felt and suffered. It was a very hard thing to do; but I felt how true itwas, as you said, there could be no real friendship without perfect truth at bottom; so I told him all, and he was very good, and noble, and helpful to me; and since then he has been so gentle, and patient, and thoughtful, that no mother could be kinder, and I should be a very bad woman if I did not love him truly and dearly—I do.
‘I must confess that there is still a weak, bleeding place in my heart that aches yet, but I try to bear it bravely; and when I am tempted to think myself very miserable, I remember how patiently you used to go about your housework and spinning in those sad days when you thought your heart was drowned in the sea; and I try to do like you. I have many duties to my servants and tenants, and mean to be a good châtelaine; and I find when I nurse the sick and comfort the poor that my sorrows seem lighter. For after all, Mary, I have lost nothing that ever was mine—only my foolish heart has grown to something that it should not, and bleeds at being torn away. Nobody but Christ and His dear mother can tell what this sorrow is; but they know, and that is enough.’
The next letter is dated some three years after.
‘You see me now, my Marie, a proud and happy woman. I was truly envious when you wrote me of the birth of your little son; but now the dear good God has sent a sweet little angel to me, to comfort my sorrows and lie close to my heart; and since he came all pain is gone. Ah, if you could see him! he has black eyes and lashes like silk, and such little hands!—even his finger-nails are all perfect, like little gems; and when he puts his little hand on my bosom I tremble with joy. Since he came I pray always, and the good God seems very near to me. Now I realize as I never did before the sublime thought that God revealed himself in the infant Jesus; and I bow before the manger of Bethlehem where the Holy Babe was laid. What comfort, what adorable condescension for us mothers in that scene! My husband is so moved he can scarce stay an hour from the cradle! He seems to look at me with a sort of awe, because I know how to care for this precious treasure that he adores without daring to touch. We are going to call him Henri, which is my husband’s name and that of his ancestors for many generations back. I vow forhim an eternal friendship with the son of my little Marie; and I shall try and train him up to be a brave man and a true Christian. Ah, Marie, this gives me something to live for. My heart is full—a whole new life opens before me!’
Somewhat later, another letter announces the birth of a daughter, and later still, that of another son; but we shall only add one more, written some years after, on hearing of the great reverse of popular feeling towards Burr, subsequently to his duel with the ill-fated Hamilton.
‘Ma chère Marie—Your letter has filled me with grief. My noble Henri, who already begins to talk of himself as my protector (these boys feel their manhood so soon,ma Marie), saw by my face when I read your letter that something pained me, and he would not rest till I told him something about it. Ah, Marie, how thankful I then felt that I had nothing to blush for before my son! how thankful for those dear children whose little hands had healed all the morbid places of my heart, so that I could think of all the past without a pang! I told Henri that the letter brought bad news of an old friend, but that it pained me to speak of it; and you would have thought by the grave and tender way he talked to his mamma that the boy was an experienced man of forty, to say the least.
‘But Marie, how unjust is the world; how unjust both in praise and blame! Poor Burr was the petted child of society: yesterday she doted on him, flattered him, smiled on his faults, and let him do what he would without reproof; to-day she flouts, and scorns, and scoffs him, and refuses to see the least good in him. I know that man, Mary, and I know that sinful as he may be before Infinite Purity, he is not so much worse than all the other men of his time. Have I not been in America? I know Jefferson; I knew poor Hamilton—peace be with the dead! Neither of them had lives that could bear the sort of trial to which Burr’s is subjected. When every secret fault, failing, and sin is dragged out and held up without mercy, what man can stand?
‘But I know what irritates the world is that proud, disdainful calm which will neither give sigh nor tear. It was not that he killed poor Hamilton, but that he never seemed tocare! Ah, there is that evil demon of his life!—that cold, stoical pride, which haunts him like a fate. But I know hedoesfeel; I know he isnotas hard at heart as he tries to be; I have seen too many real acts of pity to the unfortunate, of tenderness to the weak, of real love to his friends to believe that. Great have been his sins against our sex, and God forbid that the mother of children should speak lightly of them; but is not so susceptible a temperament, and so singular a power to charm as he possessed, to be taken into account in estimating his temptations? Because he is a sinning man, it does not follow that he is a demon. If any should have cause to think bitterly of him, I should. He trifled inexcusably with my deepest feelings; he caused me years of conflict and anguish, such as he little knows. I was almost shipwrecked; yet I will still say to the last that what I loved in him was a better self—something really noble and good, however concealed and perverted by pride, ambition, and self-will. Though all the world reject him, I still have faith in this better nature, and prayers that he may be led right at last. There is at least one heart that will always intercede with God for him.’
It is well known that for many years after Burr’s death the odium that covered his name was so great that no monument was erected, lest it should become a mark for popular violence. Subsequently, however, in a mysterious manner a plain granite slab marked his grave; by whom erected has been never known. It was placed in the night by some friendly, unknown hand. A labourer in the vicinity, who first discovered it, found lying near the spot a small porte-monnaie, which had perhaps been used in paying for the workmanship. It contained no papers that could throw any light on the subject, except the fragment of the address of a letter, on which was written ‘Henri de Frontignac.’
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.
Transcriber’s Notes:Obvious punctuation errors repaired. “Ain’t” is printed both with and without the apostrophe. It’s also at times printed as “a’n’t”. This was retained.Text uses both Olladine and Ollodine for the spelling of Ms. Hocum’s first name.Page 52, “bacherlorhood” changed to “bachelorhood” (a late bachelorhood)Page 109, the hyphen after “whole” was retained in “A whole-woman’s-rights’ convention” as it was confirmed to be printed that way in other editions of the same text.Page 266, illustration “Eugenie” should be “Virginie”Page 320, “rock” changed to “Rock” (just at Savin Rock)Page 339, actual reference for “They looked unto Him, and were likened” is “They looked unto Him, and were lightened” from Psalm 34:5.Page 340, “mullens” changed to “mulleins” (clump of yellow mulleins)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired. “Ain’t” is printed both with and without the apostrophe. It’s also at times printed as “a’n’t”. This was retained.
Text uses both Olladine and Ollodine for the spelling of Ms. Hocum’s first name.
Page 52, “bacherlorhood” changed to “bachelorhood” (a late bachelorhood)
Page 109, the hyphen after “whole” was retained in “A whole-woman’s-rights’ convention” as it was confirmed to be printed that way in other editions of the same text.
Page 266, illustration “Eugenie” should be “Virginie”
Page 320, “rock” changed to “Rock” (just at Savin Rock)
Page 339, actual reference for “They looked unto Him, and were likened” is “They looked unto Him, and were lightened” from Psalm 34:5.
Page 340, “mullens” changed to “mulleins” (clump of yellow mulleins)