It appeared that he had made himself useful to a neighbouring
_seigneur_, in whose _château_ he had long lived on the footing of a
brother. France he had resolved to make his future country, and, among
other changes for that end, he had laid aside his English name, and
taken that of his patron, which was _Perrin_. He had endeavoured to
compensate himself for all other privations, by devoting himself to
rural amusements and to study. "He carefully shunned all inquiries respecting me; but, when my name was
mentioned by his friend, who knew well all that had happened, and my
general welfare, together with that of his son, asserted, he showed deep
sensibility, and even consented that I should be made acquainted with
his situation. "I cannot describe the effect of this intelligence on me. My hopes of
bringing him back to me were suddenly revived. I wrote him a letter, in
which I poured forth my whole heart; but his answer contained avowals of
all his former resolutions, to which time had only made his adherence
more easy. A second and third letter were written, and an offer made to
follow him to his retreat and share his exile; but all my efforts
availed nothing. He solemnly and repeatedly renounced all the claims of
a husband over me, and absolved me from every obligation as a wife. "His part in this correspondence was performed without harshness or
contempt. A strange mixture there was of pathos and indifference; of
tenderness and resolution. Hence I continually derived hope, which time,
however, brought no nearer to certainty. "At the opening of the Revolution, the name of Perrin appeared among the
deputies to the constituent assembly for the district in which he
resided. He had thus succeeded in gaining all the rights of a French
citizen; and the hopes of his return became almost extinct; but that,
and every other hope respecting him, has since been totally extinguished
by his marriage with Marguerite d'Almont, a young lady of great merit
and fortune, and a native of Avignon. "A long period of suspense was now at an end, and left me in a state
almost as full of anguish as that which our first separation produced. My sorrows were increased by my mother's death, and, this incident
freeing me from those restraints upon my motions which before existed, I
determined to come to America. "My son was now eight years old, and, his grandfather claiming the
province of his instruction, I was persuaded to part with him, that he
might be sent to a distant school. Thus was another tie removed, and, in
spite of the well-meant importunities of my friends, I persisted in my
scheme of crossing the ocean." I could not help, at this part of her narration, expressing my surprise
that any motives were strong enough to recommend this scheme. "It was certainly a freak of despair. A few months would, perhaps, have
allayed the fresh grief, and reconciled me to my situation; but I would
not pause or deliberate. My scheme was opposed by my friends with great
earnestness. During my voyage, affrighted by the dangers which
surrounded me, and to which I was wholly unused, I heartily repented of
my resolution; but now, methinks, I have reason to rejoice at my
perseverance. I have come into a scene and society so new, I have had so
many claims made upon my ingenuity and fortitude, that my mind has been
diverted in some degree from former sorrows. There are even times when I
wholly forget them, and catch myself indulging in cheerful reveries. "I have often reflected with surprise on the nature of my own mind. It
is eight years since my father's violent death. How few of my hours
since that period have been blessed with serenity! How many nights and
days, in hateful and lingering succession, have been bathed in tears and
tormented with regrets! That I am still alive, with so many causes of
death, and with such a slow-consuming malady, is surely to be wondered
at. "I believe the worst foes of man, at least of men in grief, are solitude
and idleness. The same eternally-occurring round of objects feeds his
disease, and the effects of mere vacancy and uniformity are sometimes
mistaken for those of grief. Yes, I am glad I came to America. My
relations are importunate for my return, and till lately I had some
thoughts of it; but I think now I shall stay where I am for the rest of
my days. "Since I arrived, I am become more of a student than I used to be. I
always loved literature, but never, till of late, had I a mind enough at
ease to read with advantage. I now find pleasure in the occupation which
I never expected to find. "You see in what manner I live. The letters which I brought secured me a
flattering reception from the best people in your country; but scenes of
gay resort had nothing to attract me, and I quickly withdrew to that
seclusion in which you now find me. Here, always at leisure, and
mistress of every laudable means of gratification, I am not without the
belief of serene days yet to come." I now ventured to inquire what were her latest tidings of her husband. "At the opening of the Revolution, I told you, he became a champion of
the people. By his zeal and his efforts he acquired such importance as
to be deputed to the National Assembly. In this post he was the adherent
of violent measures, till the subversion of monarchy; and then, when too
late for his safety, he checked his career." "And what has since become of him?" She sighed deeply. "You were yesterday reading a list of the proscribed
under Robespierre. I checked you. I had good reason. But this subject
grows too painful; let us change it." Some time after, I ventured to renew this topic; and discovered that
Fielding, under his new name of Perrin d'Almont, was among the outlawed
deputies of last year,[1] and had been slain in resisting the officers
sent to arrest him. My friend had been informed that his _wife_,
Marguerite d'Almont, whom she had reason to believe a woman of great
merit, had eluded persecution, and taken refuge in some part of America. She had made various attempts, but in vain, to find out her retreat. "Ah!" said I, "you must commission me to find her. I will hunt her
through the continent from Penobscot to Savannah. I will not leave a
nook unsearched." [Footnote 1: 1793.] CHAPTER XLVII. None will be surprised that, to a woman thus unfortunate and thus
deserving, my heart willingly rendered up all its sympathies; that, as I
partook of all her grief, I hailed, with equal delight, those omens of
felicity which now, at length, seemed to play in her fancy. I saw her often,--as often as my engagements would permit, and oftener
than I allowed myself to visit any other. In this I was partly selfish. So much entertainment, so much of the best instruction, did her
conversation afford me, that I never had enough of it.