Often it has blunted my vexations; hushed my stormy
passions; turned my peevishness to soothing; my fierce revenge to
heart-dissolving pity. Perhaps it will befriend me now. It may temper my impetuous wishes; lull
my intoxication; and render my happiness supportable; and, indeed, it
has produced partly this effect already. My blood, within the few
minutes thus employed, flows with less destructive rapidity. My thoughts
range themselves in less disorder. And, now that the conquest is
effected, what shall I say? I must continue at the pen, or shall
immediately relapse. What shall I say? Let me look back upon the steps that led me hither. Let me recount the preliminaries. I cannot do better. And first as to Achsa Fielding,--to describe this woman. To recount, in brief, so much of her history as has come to my knowledge
will best account for that zeal, almost to idolatry, with which she has,
ever since I thoroughly knew her, been regarded by me. Never saw I one to whom the term _lovely_ more truly belonged. And yet
in stature she is too low; in complexion dark and almost sallow; and her
eyes, though black and of piercing lustre, have a cast which I cannot
well explain. It lessens without destroying their lustre and their force
to charm; but all personal defects are outweighed by her heart and her
intellect. There is the secret of her power to entrance the soul of the
listener and beholder. It is not only when she sings that her utterance
is musical. It is not only when the occasion is urgent and the topic
momentous that her eloquence is rich and flowing. They are always so. I had vowed to love her and serve her, and been her frequent visitant,
long before I was acquainted with her past life. I had casually picked
up some intelligence, from others, or from her own remarks. I knew very
soon that she was English by birth, and had been only a year and a half
in America; that she had scarcely passed her twenty-fifth year, and was
still embellished with all the graces of youth; that she had been a
wife; but was uninformed whether the knot had been untied by death or
divorce; that she possessed considerable, and even splendid, fortune;
but the exact amount, and all besides these particulars, were unknown to
me till some time after our acquaintance was begun. One evening she had been talking very earnestly on the influence
annexed, in Great Britain, to birth, and had given me some examples of
this influence. Meanwhile my eyes were fixed steadfastly on hers. The
peculiarity in their expression never before affected me so strongly. A
vague resemblance to something seen elsewhere, on the same day,
occurred, and occasioned me to exclaim, suddenly, in a pause of her
discourse,--

"As I live, my good mamma, those eyes of yours have told me a secret. I
almost think they spoke to me; and I am not less amazed at the
strangeness than at the distinctness of their story." "And, pr'ythee, what have they said?" "Perhaps I was mistaken. I might have been deceived by a fancied voice,
or have confounded one word with another near akin to it; but let me die
if I did not think they said that you were--_a Jew_." At this sound, her features were instantly veiled with the deepest
sorrow and confusion. She put her hand to her eyes, the tears started,
and she sobbed. My surprise at this effect of my words was equal to my
contrition. I besought her to pardon me for having thus unknowingly
alarmed and grieved her. After she had regained some composure, she said, "You have not offended,
Arthur. Your surmise was just and natural, and could not always have
escaped you. Connected with that word are many sources of anguish, which
time has not, and never will, dry up; and the less I think of past
events the less will my peace be disturbed. I was desirous that you
should know nothing of me but what you see; nothing but the present and
the future, merely that no allusions might occur in our conversation
which will call up sorrows and regrets that will avail nothing. "I now perceive the folly of endeavouring to keep you in ignorance, and
shall therefore, once for all, inform you of what has befallen me, that
your inquiries and suggestions may be made and fully satisfied at once,
and your curiosity have no motive for calling back my thoughts to what I
ardently desire to bury in oblivion. "My father was indeed a _Jew_, and one of the most opulent of his nation
in London,--a Portuguese by birth, but came to London when a boy. He had
few of the moral or external qualities of Jews; for I suppose there is
some justice in the obloquy that follows them so closely. He was frugal
without meanness, and cautious in his dealings, without extortion. I
need not fear to say this, for it was the general voice. "Me, an only child, and, of course, the darling of my parents, they
trained up in the most liberal manner. My education was purely English. I learned the same things and of the same masters with my neighbours. Except frequenting their church and repeating their creed, and partaking
of the same food, I saw no difference between them and me. Hence I grew
more indifferent, perhaps, than was proper, to the distinctions of
religion. They were never enforced upon me. No pains were taken to fill
me with scruples and antipathies. They never stood, as I may say, upon
the threshold. They were often thought upon, but were vague and easily
eluded or forgotten. "Hence it was that my heart too readily admitted impressions that more
zeal and more parental caution would have saved me from. They could
scarcely be avoided, as my society was wholly English, and my youth, my
education, and my father's wealth made me an object of much attention. And the same causes that lulled to sleep my own watchfulness had the
same effect upon that of others. To regret or to praise this remissness
is now too late. Certain it is, that my destiny, and not a happy
destiny, was fixed by it. "The fruit of this remissness was a passion for one who fully returned
it. Almost as young as I, who was only sixteen; he knew as little as
myself what obstacles the difference of our births was likely to raise
between us. His father, Sir Ralph Fielding, a man nobly born, high in
office, splendidly allied, could not be expected to consent to the
marriage of his eldest son, in such green youth, to the daughter of an
alien, a Portuguese, a Jew; but these impediments were not seen by my
ignorance, and were overlooked by the youth's passion. "But, strange to tell, what common prudence would have so confidently
predicted did not happen. Sir Ralph had a numerous family, likely to be
still more so; had but slender patrimony; the income of his offices
nearly made up his all. The young man was headstrong, impetuous, and
would probably disregard the inclinations of his family. Yet the father
would not consent but on one condition,--that of my admission to the
English Church. "No very strenuous opposition to these terms could be expected from me.