Volume I Part 10 (2/2)
”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 friends.h.i.+p! 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.
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