by Desmond Dilg
Confined to my own apartments, I was forbid his presence, unless prepared to receive the husband he had provided for me. Wretched in mind, smarting under the sad reverse, I who had only known the heart cheering smiles of parental fondness, to become the object of parental anger, the idea overcame me, and, besieged . . . . I . . . . unhappily yielded, and here fate dashed me on a rock which has destroyed my peace of mind in this world, and may, perhaps, have paved my way to eternal torments in another.
Unable as I have said to . . . . withstand, etc.—I took to my bed a viper who has stung me even unto death, who has hurled me from the rank to which I was born, and forever banished me from all the amiable enjoyments of society, without which life is a vacuum not to be endured. . . . .
. . . . My union with Mr. Coglan I never considered in any other light, than an honorable prostitution, as I really hated the man whom they had compelled me to marry.
When Dr. Auchtmuchty joined our hands (I cannot say our hearts) he wedded me. . . . to a series of wretchedness from which heaven alone holds forth a prospect of relief.
Educated in the school of virtue, and, I trust naturally averse to those scenes of vice in which my unhappy stars have since involved me: let my example serve as a salutary caution to other parents—how they attempt to influence the choice, or to force the inclinations of inexperienced female youth, on a point where everything sacred is concerned.
Let the compulsion practiced on me apologize with the liberal mind for the transgressions of youth doomed to the chains of a detested marriage.
Had it been my lot to have been united in wedlock with the man of my affections, my soul and body might have been now all purity, and the world not then have lost a being naturally social, generous, and humane.
Tears arose in his eyes as he put down the volume. The cold calculating man of the world—the hard lawyer—the iron-willed Revolutionary Colonel actually wept.
Memories of Margaret in her youthful charm, maiden beauty and innocence arose before his mental eye.
“One thing, however,” thought he, “I did all in my power to marry her. Nature intended that we should wed but destiny has fought against us. Why is this?” Then other thoughts arose and poured through his brain, his strifes, hopes, loves, successes, ambitions.
Next day Burr walked over to his bankers (Angerstein & Co.) where he arranged for a draft to their London office for $1,000 which he straightway mailed to Margaret without intimating from whom it came.
As he dropped the registered package into the post office he murmured to himself again and again—(this was in 1793).
“Ah, if Margaret had been my wife I would ere this have been a general—perhaps a president.”
“Beloved among women was my dead wife—my kind, my faithful—my darling Theodosia,—but thrice beloved art thou, O Margaret Moncrieffe. Margaret, Margaret, my heart has ever been thine. Over the gray waters I waft thee my prayer. Ah, would that my life could be lived anew, and that thou wert a maid once more. But it was not to be.”
XII
Widow Provost Proposes
She with decorum all things carried
Frowned—blushed—wept, and then was married.
And the days and the years rolled on.
Now Alexander Hamilton, though frantically in love with the dashing young widow Provost, had avowed himself a suitor for the hand and heart of the much richer, and much more beautiful, and much younger Betsy Schuyler.
He had all along been first favorite with her father though Betsy held coquetishly aloof and refused to accept him straightway. But she did not reject him. She was diplomatic. She liked him very much and considered him a possible life-partner (in certain eventualities) but her soul was centered on Burr. She secretly hoped to gain Burr, and in order to do so dallied with his friend Hamilton. Her idea was to make Burr jealous and therefore more eager. She thought, “if Col. Burr likes me he will show jealousy and then I will know how to regard Col. Hamilton.”
But Burr proved indifferent to her wiles though he liked her and also saw her stratagem. He thought to himself: “If it had not been for Margaret I might have taken more interest in Betsy. As it is I clearly do not love her. Therefore, I will stand aside and give Hamilton a chance. It will be a good match for him (and gain him promotion) to marry a general’s daughter, and then he is my friend. I am bound to do all I can to promote his interests.”
Helen Livingston was also a-dreaming of the famous young Colonel, about whose exploits everyone was talking. Wherever he went, in Albany or elsewhere, she was bound to be there. Indeed she was as deeply in love with him as was her rival Betsy. Needless to say there was no love lost between Betsy and Helen although they met with great apparent cordiality, from time to time, and even kissed each other's cheeks with ardour and soft purring words of feminine conventional delight.
* * * * *
Now upon the scene comes the Widow Provost still further to complicate matters, for she also loved Burr and had determined to marry him. Her knowledge of the ways of men gave her a certain advantage in the contest over the younger women.
Burr delighted in the company of the more mature widow for she studied his ways and tried to flatter and please him.
Mrs. Provost was of Swiss descent. She could speak several languages and talk entertainingly on the very things that interested him. Nevertheless his heart remained untouched while his judgment was charmed.
However, he finally came to the conclusion to marry someone. I must have a wife, he said, and it might as well be the interesting and accomplished widow as any one else.
From the practical point of view, both Betsy and Helen would have made a better match, for both were very beautiful and wealthy and young; and both would have been glad to say “YES” to the handsome Colonel.
Mrs. Provost on the other hand was neither very rich nor very beautiful.
She, however, made up for her other deficiencies in being extremely fascinating and lady-like; and a natural air of graceful poise made her very attractive, especially to such a man as Burr, who had at all times a somewhat unusual admiration for the outer graces of style and manner.
Mrs. Provost was physically a fully developed woman of the vivacious brunette type, with large lustrous eyes, coal-black hair, a glorious complexion, about five feet five inches tall.
Though not more than 30 years of age she was still playful and romantic; and unlike the average woman of the period was a great reader and somewhat intellectual.
It was her very evident mental ability that first impressed Burr with the idea of marrying her.
“The very woman I want,” he thought. “My career must be a public one and a woman such as this, brainy as well as graceful, will be of great strength to me. As the mistress of a public man’s household she will be unsurpassable.”
Now by the time he was 25, Aaron Burr had become somewhat tired of feminine admiration. As already pointed out nearly all the women whom he met were eager for his attentions. The gleam of Colonel Burr's eye struck women into trouble as the gleam of his sword struck men to death.
Now “the Widow Provost” was, to all men who approached her, exactly what Burr was to most women, that is to say, a sort of human magnet. Men worshiped at her shrine in dozens, and numberless romantic tales are still handed down at Paramus relating to jealousies and intrigues originating in love for this delightful and fascinating widow.
When, therefore, two such remarkable male and female personalities met (after the burning of the farm, as previously related), it is not to be wondered that they soon began to regard each other with mutual favor. She became enamored of him long before his wound had healed; and he, even while still unable to walk looked at her often in an inquiring way as perhaps a possible substitute for Margaret Moncrieffe.
She is now introduced to the reader as an honored guest at General Schuyler's old Dutch mansion in Albany. On the anniversary of the battle of Bunker Hill a grand ball was being held there, at which nearly all the celebrities of th
e time were present in full force.
The old rambling house was lit up from basement to roof. In every window a light shone. Lanterns hung in the shrubberies and bowers of the trim and formal old-time garden, and all was gay and bright and happy. Eyes looked into eyes and the “old story” (the story that is never old) was told again and again—with the usual consequences.
Ye olde time chariots of the best Colonial families stood around the gateways or upon the broad winding avenue that led up to the entrance of the great hallway and over-hanging portico.
In a sheltered half-hidden nook, upon a rustic bench, facing the house, sat two old friends, Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton. They had been conversing earnestly for some time upon the course of the war and the rival merits of Gates and Washington.
They were upon the point of parting when Hamilton said:
“I hear you are engaged to Mrs. Provost. Is it true?”
“It is not true, Hamilton. Why do you ask?”
“Because she is the only woman I have ever strongly loved, as I told you before; and if you win her from me it will be an unfriendly act,” said Hamilton significantly yet in a half jocular way.
“I admire her very much,” replied Burr in his most confidential tones, “but recently only have I considered the possibility of marrying her. If she prefers you, however, I will not stand in your way. You are welcome to her, Hamilton. She is not the woman I love. That I do assure you on my troth.”
“I love her passionately,” answered Hamilton, “and believe I could have had her long ere this if you had not came between us. Of course I do not in any way blame you. I merely state the fact as it appears to me.”
“What about Betsy Schuyler?” suggested Burr, smiling blandly at his old friend. “I have always thought you were moving in that direction. Once you told me (if my memory serves me correct), that you intended to marry the superb Miss Betsy. You cannot surely want both. But, proceed, win them both if you can. I won’t consciously balk you. Perhaps you want to start a harem and go into the King Solomon business.”
Thereupon Burr broke into a fit of amused laughter in which Hamilton also somewhat ruefully joined. Just then they were interrupted. A messenger came to call Hamilton upon official business connected with his position as Chief Secretary to the Commander in Chief.
Upon another seat, within sight of the two friends, but unseen by them, sat Mrs. Provost. She was thinking of Burr and thus thought she:
“I have done him no harm and though I love him well and even take pains to let him see it, yet somehow of late he avoids me. I am sure he does. If he hates me, O, I shall die of grief. Until I have speech with him I am in unrest. Oh, that I could read his heart and know if he really loves me or not. I cannot sit at ease or do anything because of him. Love for him constraineth me, overmasters me. I felt great love for my first husband but for this man I feel a love thrice as passionate. It crowds my soul: it renders me useless for anything but thoughts of him. I must talk with him. I must unburden myself. He is going away to the wars again tonight. He might get killed. Who knows how long it shall be before we meet again? Perhaps never.”
Then she arose and walked over to where Burr sat musing and seated herself coquetishly without ceremony by his side. Then he said unto her:
“I hope you are enjoying yourself, Mrs. Provost. You danced most divinely with the French Admiral.”
“I never enjoy myself so well as when I am talking to you,” she replied with an appealing look that meant volumes. “All the other men seem so stiff and formal, or over complimentary, or insipid. I like men to be natural and straightforward and speak to me as a reasonable being, like you do. Because of the stiffness and formalism I don’t enjoy these grand functions any more. They seem so like play-acting to me now, so hollow, false, pretentious and insincere. I like the small home assemblies where everybody knows one another and where one feels he or she is not playing a part. But why have you avoided me so much of late? I have scarcely seen you.”
“I have not avoided you, Mrs. Provost,” he answered, “but some important dispatches from the front kept Colonel Hamilton and myself busily engaged for upwards of two hours. Indeed, he has only just now gone inside, to confer with General Greene regarding the news from Savannah.”
“I don’t like your friend Colonel Hamilton,” she said with decision.
“Why?” answered Burr much interested. “He likes you. I am sure he does.”
“He has twice attempted to propose marriage to me but each time I have laughed him off or evaded the subject. How can you and he be friends? He is so unlike you in his ways and I believe he really hates you.” Thus said the widow in very suggestive tones.
“Hamilton has always been my friend. We hunt together as it were. But why would you reject him? He is a fine fellow at bottom and sure to rise in the world.” Thus said Burr diplomatically in order to draw her out, as he thought. Meanwhile she had resolved to carry out her own plan of campaign and bring Burr to the point.
She therefore arose from the rustic bench under the laurels as if to look around for intruders, and sitting down again she took care to seat herself closer to Colonel Burr, saying in her most seductive tones:
“My heart has been stolen by another man, Colonel Burr, and therefore I don’t like Colonel Hamilton.”
“If you loved him would you marry him, Mrs. Provost?” he asked.
“Indeed I would,” she answered. “I would marry the man I loved no matter what happened.” And she looked at Burr in a way that no mortal of flesh and blood could fail to understand.
“If I, for instance, dared to love you Madame, what would you say?” Then he leaned towards her and took her unresisting hand in his own.
Woman-like she made no direct reply to this question but did not withdraw her hand. He felt it tremble in his own. A strange elemental feeling came over him and he drew still nearer to her and she to him. The force that rules the Universe was attracting the one to the other with an impulse irresistible and uncontrollable. Then her fingers closed impulsively around his and she looked up into his eyes saying:
“O, Aaron, dear Aaron, it would fill my heart with delight.”
“Do you love me?” he said to her in that strong manly vibrant voice—the voice that had so charmed the soul of Margaret Moncrieffe, Helen Livingston, the lovely Miss Betsy and scores of other famous belles of “ye goode olde time.”
“I do,” she replied as tears of joy and triumph welled up in her eyes and she rested her head upon his shoulder.
Burr was now in quite a dilemma. The widow had completely out-generaled him bringing on the crisis before he was prepared. By no means was he fiercely in love with her, though under certain circumstances, he saw no objections to making her his wife. He also kept thinking of Hamilton and said unto himself thus: “I must do the right thing here. Hamilton and I are Brethren of the Blood. I cannot interfere with his suit.”
But Mrs. Provost had also to be reckoned with. She had seen her opportunity and did not intend to let it slip past. She was a widow and knew men. She also knew women and made up her mind to triumph over the two great beauties and heiresses, viz., Miss Helen and Miss Betsy. She was perfectly well aware that both of them were dying for a proposal from the famous young Colonel. So, encouraged by Burr's attentions, she unhesitatingly replied:
“My heart is yours, Aaron, for ever and ever. So truly do I love you that I would lay down my life for you, aye, even though we were never wed. O, Aaron, Aaron, how I love you. When I first saw you stretched out wounded at the burning farm I loved you. I have loved you ever since. You are my knight, my beloved, my peerless one.”
Burr was now in a most desperate predicament. “What shall I do and say,” he thought. The cold sweat stood on his brow, but in his veins a tumultuous passion burned (as would be natural enough in any man under such circumstances.) Then unable any longer to stand the strain he gave way and slipping his arm unresistingly around her soft, splendid pulsating form, said:
“Madam, I am overjoyed that you should think so highly of me, a rebel against your king. You have paid to me the highest compliment that woman can pay to man. I would be less than a man not to reciprocate.”
“You being a rebel is nothing to me,” she replied. “My love for you oversteps all things. And it is noble sometimes to be a bold young lion of revolt. I would give up all the kings and queens of heaven or earth to go with the man I loved. I would,” she replied excitedly. “I would, I would.” And she nestled still closer.
“But I have no private fortune,” said Burr, “and cannot wed until I have at least made one, or become a general, or till the end of the war.”
“O,” she answered, and her breast rose and fell most tantalizingly, “you can have my fortune. It is not much, but it will keep us both as long as I live. It is an annuity. O, Aaron, the end of the war may be afar off and you may be killed therein. Then I should die, my heart would break longing for him who could never return. Let us live and love while we may, Aaron. Tomorrow may be dark and cold and stormy. When the shadows fall upon our powers, then where are we? Let us enjoy life while we are in possession of it.”
Now Aaron Burr did not wish to marry just then, so he said to her deprecatingly:
“Nevertheless, I am a soldier and as long as my country requires me I must fight her battles. I have resolved to win both wealth and position before I wed. I love you dearly, Theodosia (this was not untrue), but I must return to my command, for some great move is in preparation. I will come back however and marry you. Will you wait for me awhile? I truly love you, Theodosia and will wed you. I pledge you my word as a soldier and a gentleman.”