Literary Cadet, And Saturday Evening Bulletin

MISCELLANY.
LOVE
AND
INGRATITUDE.

We trust that the length of the following well
told tale, (which unhappily is a tale of truth and
not of fiction) will not deter our readers from pe-
rusing it. It pourtrays, with great correctness, the
unalterable nature of "woman's love," and shows
how dangerous and how pregnant with afflictions
and distresses, are departures from virtue and mo-
rality. Man, the lord of creation, may wander
from the paths of duty, and yet sustain his place in
society, but woman, if she step aside—is lost for-
ever,

"And one false step forever damns her fame."

The fate of the unhappy heroine, Mademoiselle
GELLIMERT, cannot fail to excite the sympathy
and commiseration of the reader, whilst the cold
blooded villainy of MORANBERT, will call forth
the execrations of the feeling heart. The untime-
ly end of the misguided and heart broken girl, proves
that women sometimes "love not wisely, but too
well," and that connexions not sanctioned by so-
ciety and religion, are ever productive of shame
and misery:

The President of Louis XVIII's council, the
Duke de Richelieu, being a man of slender abi-
lities, got about him some men of tried talent, such
as M. MEUNIERE, who had been Secretary to NA-
POLEON. But amongst these, the person whom I
shall call M. MORANBERT, was not the least
remarkable. Between this gentleman and myself
a considerable degree of intimacy, from a similarity
of pursuits and frequent opportunities of meeting
existed. He lived in the Rue du Bac, close to the
Minister's hotel; my abode was in the Rue du
Varennes; and his mistress, Mademoiselle GELLIMERT, lodged in the Place du Corps Legis-
latif. I have no hesitation in naming her by her
right name; first, because she is no more, and next,
because many traits in her character cannot but se-
cure to her memory the admiration and regret of
every generous and feeling mind.

"But your voice falters, as if you were going to
weep?" said the philosopher, VONNER, to whom I
was telling this anecdote.—"True. I think I yet
see those large, black and languishing eyes, and
hear that touching voice resounding in my ear and
troubling my heart. Charming, and unique crea-
ture! you are no more! Years have passed since
the grave has hid you from my sight, and yet the
recollection of you still stirs my inmost soul."—"You
loved her then!"—"No—Oh! GELLIMERT—Oh!
MORANBERT! you were both prodigies—one of
woman's tenderness—the other of man's ingrati-
tude. Mademoiselle GELLIMERT belonged to a
respectable family, which she quitted to throw
herself into the arms of MORANBERT.

He had
nothing, and the little property she was entitled to
was sacrificed to supply the necessities and even
fantasies of MORANBERT. She regretted neither
her dissipated fortune nor her ruined reputation—
her lover was all the world to her."—This Mor-
ANBERT must have been a most seductive, irresist-
ible sort of person?"—"On the contrary, he was a
little, morose, taciturn, and sarcastic minded man,
with a shrivelled countenance, a dark sallow com-
plexion, and a poor meagre figure; in a word, down-
right ugly, if a man can be called so, the expression
on whose countenance announced intellect and sa-
gacity. Such a being turned the head of this
charming girl.

The Duke de Richelieu having on his hands
the affairs of all Europe, which at that time were
treated of in Paris, and being unable to do any
thing himself but play with his huge monkey, threw
the whole weight of business upon the confidential
persons in his office. The health of M. MORAN-
BERT soon felt the effects of this incessant applica-
tion. To render his task less laborious, Made-
moiselle GELLIMERT learned two foreign lan-
guages, and whilst her lover reposed, she sat up the
greater part of the night, making extracts from the
reports of French agents and spies at St. Peters-
burgh and several of the German courts. But a
still more painful labour was that of decyphering
the voluminous despatches in cypher addressed to
the Duke de Richelieu by the weak headed per-
sonages whom he had sent to all the capitals of
Europe, with the title of Ambassador or Minister
Plenipotentiary of the King of France. These gen-
tlemen, few of whom were capable of writing
a sensible letter on their own private affairs, knew
not how to make a selection of what was impor-
tant, from what they heard themselves or were in-
formed of by their agents at the Courts where
they resided. They therefore wrote down every
thing no matter how trivial or indifferent, which
came to their knowledge; and as they attached a
wonderful importance to their communications,
they wrote them in the most secret cypher, which
was supposed to be known to the Ambassador and
the Minister. The cypher, which was a chef-d
'oeuvre of mathematical calculation, and was the in-
vention of one of the pupils of the celebrated La
Place, was changed from time to time. When poor
Mademoiselle GELLIMERT had passed a whole night
in transcribing in French thirty or forty pages, she
had then to make an abstract of the contents in two
or three. This was by no means an easy task, as it
was indispensably necessary to preserve the utmost
respect towards the noble friend of the Minister
who wrote to him from St. Petersburgh or Vienna.
She was therefore obliged to give an air of impor-
tance to what in itself had neither weight nor value.
for she dared not state simply that such or such a
despatch contained only idle reports, or useless in-
telligence. Mademoiselle GELLIMERT, to keep
ennui from taking possession of her lover, learned
music, and took lessons in singing from one of the
first Italian singing masters. In a short time she
was enabled to repeat all the favorite airs of the
Opera Buffa, of which Moranbert was a passion-
ate admirer. And often has it happened that after
employing the whole night in translating Russian
and German letters, and transcribing cyphered des-
patches, she passed the greater part of the next day
in an effort to beguile the sombre humor of Mon-
ANBERT, by singing Italian airs to him till her
voice failed her, and acute pains in the chest warn-
ed her of the injury she was doing herself. In this
statement there is nothing exaggerated: Dr. C. L.
who attended her in sickness, and succored her
when in distress, is still alive to attest its truth.—
But I had almost forgotten to mention one of her
first misfortunes—the persecution which she had to
suffer from her family, who were indignant at the
publicity of her attachment to MORANBERT. Her
relations, aided by the priests, pursued her from
one quarter of Paris to the other, from house to
house, so that for a considerable time, she was
forced, in order to escape their fury, to live at a
distance from MORANBERT, and to confine herself
entirely to the house. During this time she passed
all her days in translating or copying for her lover;
and at night, when he went to see her, the instant
she beheld him, all her sorrows, her fatigue and
her inquietude vanished. MORANBERT became
ungrateful.—"But it is impossible that ingratitude
should have been the recompense of so many rare
qualities, so many proofs of devoted tenderness, so
many and great sacrifices."—Ah! you deceive your-
self, MORANBERT was ungrateful. A day came
when Mademoiselle GELLIMERT found herself a
lone in the world, bereft of honor, of fortune, and
of friends. On the morning of that day of agony
and despair, she came to my lodgings. She was
pale as death; and though it was but the night
before that the cruel blow was struck, she had al-
the appearance of one who had suffered long and
grievously. Her eyes were dry, but it was evi-
dently from abundant weeping. She threw her-
self into an arm chair. She tried, but in vain, to
speak; and stretching out her arms towards me, she
uttered a cry of anguish. "What is the matter?"
said I; "is he dead?" "Ah! worse than that, he loves
me no longer, he abandons me." "He loves you
no longer:"—"No."—"He abandons you?"—"Alas,
yes! after all that I have done and suffered! Ah
sir, my brain is troubled; have pity on me; do not
quit me; above all, do not leave me to myself."—
On pronouncing these words, she seized my arm
with a strong convulsive grasp, as if some one was
approaching to tear her away. "You have no-
thing to fear, Mademoiselle. What is it that I can
do for you?"—"First save me from myself. He
loves me no longer; my presence annoys him: he
hates me; he abandons me! he leaves me! he leaves
me!" To the repetition of these last words, suc-
ceeeded a profound silence, which was followed by
a burst of convulsive laughter, a thousand times
more harrowing than the accents of despair, or the
screams of agony. After this came tears, sobs, and
quivering lips, endeavoring, but in vain, to give ar-
ticulate expression to the "o'erfraught soul." This
torrent of grief I was careful not to check, nor did
I address myself to her reason, until I saw that her
heart was exhausted and rendered torpid by the
violence of her agitation. I then said to her, "and
who has told you that he hates and abandons you?"
"He, himself." "Come, Mademoiselle, you must
have more courage. He cannot be such a mon-
ster."… "You do not know him, but you will know
him."—"I cannot believe it."—"You will see.'—
"Does he love any one else?" "No."—"Have you
have given him any cause of jealousy or discontent?"—
"None whatever."—"What, then can be the cause?"
—"My inutility. I have no longer any property:
I am of no use to him. He thinks of nothing now
but his ambition. You know he was always am-
bitious. The loss of my health, of my charms—
have suffered and fatigued myself so much—ennui
disgust"—"But, in ceasing to be lovers you may
remain friends."—"Impossible. I am become an
insupportable object to him; my presence he looks
upon as a misfortune. If you knew what he said
to me Sir!—he told me that if he were condemned
to pass twenty-four hours in the same room with
me, he would throw himself out of the window."
"But this aversion cannot be the work of a mo-
ment"—"How should I know? He is naturally so
disdainful, so indifferent, so cold-hearted. It is so
difficult to see the bottom of such minds: and then
one is so unwilling to read one's own death war-
rant there. Of this, however, he informed me, and
in the harshest terms!"—"This I cannot by any
means understand."—"I have come here to ask a fa-
vor of you; will you grant it me?"—"Certainly, what-
ever it may be."— "As he respects you, and as you
know all he owes to me, he will probably be
ashamed to show himself before you as he really
is."—"Yes. I do not think that he will have the
effrontery or the power to do so."—"I am but a
weak woman, and he disregards me; but you, as a
generous, just and honorable man, will have some
influence over him. Give me your arm, and do
not refuse to accompany me. I wish to speak to
him before you. Who knows what effect my grief
and your presence may have upon him?" I imme-
diately consented, and sent for a coach, for Made-
moiselle GELLIMERT was too weak to go on foot.
On reaching MORANBERT's house, the coachman
opened the door of the coach, but Mademoiselle
GELLIMERT was unable to come out. She was
seized with a violent fit of trembling, her teeth
knocking together, and her knees quivered as if
under the influence of a sudden access of fever.—
"Pardon me, sir, a moment; I cannot. What have
I to do here? I have taken you from your business
for no purpose. I am sorry for it; pardon me."
I offered her my arm. She attempted to rise, but
could not. At length recovering herself a little,
she rose and came forth, saying in a low voice, "I
must go in, I must see him. Who knows what
may happen? I may probably die at his feet." Not
without considerable difficulty she crossed the court
yard, and ascended the stair-case to MORANBERT's
apartment. We found him seated at his desk, in a
morning gown and night cap. He saluted me with
a motion of his hand, and continued to write. In a
few moments he rose and came towards me, say-
ing, "You must confess, Sir, that these women are
a troublesome sort of persons. I have to make a
thousand apologies to you for the extravagant
conduct of this lady." Then turning to the poor
creature, who was more dead than alive, he said
to her, "Mademoiselle, what is it you want of me:
It appears to me that after the clear and positive
manner in which I explained myself, every thing
should be at an end between you and me. I have
told you that I love you no longer. This I told
you in private, but it seems to be your wish that I
should repeat it before this gentleman: so be it:
Mademoiselle I love you no more. I can no longer
find in my heart a trace of the passion I had for
you, and I will add, if that can in any way console
you, that I feel a like indifference towards all other
women."—"But tell me why you do not love me."
"I am ignorant of the cause myself; all that I can
say is that I began loving you without knowing
why, and I now cease to love you with as little rea-
son, and I feel that it is impossible my passion
should ever revive. It is a malady I have got rid
of, and I felicitate myself on being perfectly cured."
—"What faults have I committed?"—"None."—
"Have you any secret cause of objection to my con-
duct?" "Not the slightest. You have been as con-
stant, devoted, and affectionate a woman as a man
could desire to possess."—"Did I ever omit doing
that which was in my power to do for you?" "Nev-
er." "Have I not sacrificed for you my family and
friends?"—"Tis true."—"My fortune?"—"Certainly,
and I deeply regret it."—"My health?"—"It may
be so."—"My honor, my reputation, and my re-
pose?"—"All that you wish to say."—"And yet I am
odious in your sight?"—"That is a harsh thing to
say, and a harsher still to hear said; but since such
is the fact, I must avow it." "Odious to him: Oh,
God!" At these words, a deadly paleness spread
itself over her face; her lips became of an ashy hue,
large drops of perspiration rolled down her cheeks
and mingled with her tears; her eyes closed, and
her head dropped helplessly on the back of the
chair; her teeth became firmly fixed together,
and a convulsive shuddering ran through her whole
frame, till exhausted nature sought refuge in a
fainting fit, which appeared to me to be the accom-
plishment of the hope she had expressed at the gate
of the house—that she should die at his feet. She
continued in this state so long that I became se-
riously alarmed. I took off her cloak, undid her
robe, loosened the laces of her corset, and sprinkled
some drops of cold water on her face. After some
time she half opened her eyes, and endeavored to
murmur "I am odious!" but could only articulate
the last syllable of the fatal word; and sending forth
a shrill but feeble scream, again relapsed into in-
sensibility.

During this agonising struggle, MORANBERT
remained calmly seated in his arm chair; his el-
bow resting upon the table and supporting his
head. He looked on without the least emotion,
and left me the care of recovering her. I said to
him repeatedly, "but sir, she is dying. You should
call for assistance." To which he replied, smiling
and shrugging his shoulders, "women have a faster
hold of life than you think. They do not die for
such trifles. It is nothing. It will soon be over.
You do not know them; they can do with their
bodies whatever they wish." "But I tell you she is
dying." And in fact she appeared deprived of all
animation, and would have slipped off the chair
upon the floor had I not supported her. Moran-
BERT now started up, and paced about the apart-
ment muttering to himself in an impatient and ill.
humored tone, "I should willingly have been ex-
cused this scene, but I trust it will be the last.—
What the devil does this creature want? I did
love her, 'tis true, but I love her no longer. This
she knows at present, or she never will know it.—
Every thing that can be said on the subject is
now said."—"No sir, every thing is not said. Do
you suppose it to be the part of an honest man to
waste a woman's property and then abandon her?"
—"And what can I do? I am as destitute as her-
self." "You should at least share in the misery to
which you have reduced her."—"That is an easy
thing to say, but she would not be the better for it.
and I should be much the worse." "Would you
have acted in this manner towards a friend who
had sacrificed every thing for you?"—"A friend! a
friend! I have no great faith in friendship; and af-
ter this experience of passion and sentiment I shall
henceforth have little to do with them."—"I am
sorry not to have known this sooner; but is it just
that this unfortunate woman should fall a victim to
the error of your heart?"—"And how do you know
that a month, nay a day later, I should have be-
come a victim to the error of her heart?—"Why,
all that she has done for you, and the state I now
see her in, assures me it never could have been so.'
Oh, as to what she has done for me, I take it to
be fully balanced by the loss of my time."—Oh, M.
MORANBERT, how can you for a moment put in
comparison your time with all that this woman has
sacrificed to you?"—"I have as yet done nothing,
have yet no hold upon the world, I am now thirty
years of age, and it is time for me to look to my-
self and appreciate at their just value all these
fooleries. I am only a clerk, and may be turned
adrift to-morrow should a change in the ministry
take place. The very confidence with which the
Duke de Richelieu honors me, would be a rea-
son for his successor's dismissing me. And you
must know, sir, that notwithstanding this hand-
some apartment, and the fine horses you see me
ride, I have not at this moment a hundred louis in
the world." "Impossible," I exclaimed; "I know
that some time back you were in possession of for-
ty thousand francs."—"True enough: but thinking
that from my knowledge of the minister's secrets I
might speculate safely at the bourse, I ventured the
whole and lost it. I must, before six months, be-
come master of requests, and to accomplish that, it
is necessary to forswear women, their fainting fits.
and all such like absurdities, about which I have
already lost too much time." During this conver-
sation, poor Mademoiselle GELLIMERT had a lit-
tle recovered herself, and on hearing the last words
she exclaimed with great vivacity, "What does he
say of the loss of his time? Did not I learn two
languages for the purpose of lightening his labor:
have I not read hundreds of despatches, and de-
cyphered for a long period, upwards of three hundred
pages a month? have I not written, translated, and
copied day and night for him? have I not exhausted
my strength, ruined my eyes, and dried up my
blood with constant labor and application, and con-
tracted a disease which will probably never leave
me? That is the cause of his disgust, though he
will not avow it; but you shall see it." As she
said this, she bared her shoulder, and showed an
eruption bearing all the marks of confirmed erysi-
pelas. "There is the cause of his desertion," said
she; "there is the effect of the numberless nights
employed in writing for him." At this moment we
heard the noise of approaching footsteps, and a ser-
vant entered to say the Duke de Richelieu was
coming up stairs. MORANBERT turned pale. I
entreated Mademoiselle GELLIMERT to leave the
room. "No," said she, "I shall remain and speak
to the Duke de Richelieu; I shall unmask before
him this worthless being." "And of what use
will that be?" "Of none," replied she—"You are
perfectly right, and you yourself would be the first
to regret having done so. Let us leave him to his
ingratitude; that is the only vengeance worthy of
you." "But not the only one he deserves." she
exclaimed, and then added, "but let us go instantly.
for I cannot answer for myself what I may say or
do." Mademoiselle GELLIMERT then quickly
rushed out of the room. I followed her, and heard
the door clapped violently after us. I have since
learned that strict orders had been given to the por-
ter not to permit her to enter the house. I return-
ed with her to her lodgings, where we found Dr. C.
L. waiting to see her. The passion which he en-
tertained for Mademoiselle GELLIMERT was al-
most as intense as that which she felt for MORAN-
BERT. I related to him what had taken place at
the house of the latter; and amongst the signs of
anger, grief, and indignation which escaped him; it
was not difficult to discover something like satis-
faction at no reconciliation having taken place.—
Such is mankind, even the best of the species. In
consequence of the scene here described, Made-
moiselle GELLIMERT was affected with a long and
dangerous malady, during which the generous and
devoted Doctor watched over her more assiduously
than he would have watched over the first woman
in France. While the danger was imminent, he
slept in her chamber upon a mattress. During her
convalescence we formed plans for the employ-
ment of her time. As she understood English, and
wrote her own language with great purity and
grace, I made an arrangement for her with a book-
seller for some translations from English poetry,
which were executed in such a manner as left me
little to correct. I showed her a little opera which
I had written some years before. She remodelled
it, particularly the denouement, and added a female
character full of piquant originality. It was put
into the hands of a composer, who unfortunately
turned out to have no genius, but a world of sci-
ence, and a tolerable stock of hatred for Rossini.—
After a long course of inevitable intriguing, ma-
noeuvring, &c. the piece was brought out at the
Opera Comique. The plot and dialogue were gen-
erally admired and praised: but thanks to the sci-
entific and stupid music, our little opera had but
twelve representations. Mademoiselle GELLIMERT
had for her share of the profits a thousand
francs. The excitation of this for her novel situ-
ation, restored somewhat of her former gaiety.—
Since the desertion of MORANBERT, the passion of
Dr. C. L. for Mademoiselle GELLIMERT had made
wonderful progress. One day, after dinner, as he
was expressing the sentiments he felt towards her
with the purity, tenderness and naivete of a child.
and yet the finesse of a man of talent, she inter-
rupted him, and said with a frankness that did her
infinite honor, "Doctor, it is impossible that the es-
teem I have for you can admit of any increase. I
am indebted to you for a thousand good offices, nay
for my life; and I should be as great a monster as
he whom I shall not name, if I did not feel towards
you the deepest gratitude. I entertain not only
respect but admiration for your mind and talents.
You speak to me of your love with so much grace
and delicacy, that I should, I believe, regret your
ceasing to speak on that subject. The idea alone
of being deprived of your society, or losing your
friendship, would render me miserable. You are a
man of unalloyed worth, if any such there be; and
I do not think that the heart of a woman could fall
into better hands. I preach to mine from morning
to night in your favor, but preaching is thrown a-
way where there is not a true vocation. I am a-
ware of your sufferings, and it pains me deeply that
I cannot put an end to them. Ah! yet there is no-
thing that I would not risk to render you happy—
every thing that it is possible for me to do, withou
exception. Nay Doctor, if you will marry me
you have but to say so. This is doing all I can do:
but you wish to be beloved—and that I cannot
promise."

The Doctor, who listened to her
with his soul in his eyes, made no answer.
but seizing her hand, kissed it and covered it
with his tears. As for me, I knew not whether to
laugh or weep. Mademoiselle knew the Doctor
well; for the next morning, when I said to her, "but
Mademoiselle, if the Doctor had taken you at your
word?" She replied, "I should have done as
said; but that could not have happened, for my of-
fer was of a nature not to be accepted by a man of
the Doctor's character." "Why not? If I had been
in the place of the Doctor I should have married
you, and trusted to time for the rest." "Yes," she
replied, "but had you been in the place of the Dr.
Mademoiselle GELLIMERT would not have made
you the same proposition."

About this time, Mademoiselle GELLIMERT
seemed to have attained a state of apparent resig-
nation, which led us to hope that before long, she
would recover altogether her health and spirits.
Through the interest of Dr. C. L. she obtained
situation in a great cotton manufactory. The pro-
prietor, a wealthy man, and fond of his leisure, find-
ing that the zeal and assiduity of Mademoiselle
GELLIMERT rendered his presence less constantly
necessary, confided the management of the concern.
in a great measure to her care, and allowed her
such a salary as would with her frugal habits, have
enabled her to lay up a handsome provision for her
future years. About this time, the Duke de Ri-
CHELIEU went out of office; and MORANBERT, as
he had surmised, lost his situation. In the con-
sations we had upon this event, Mademoiselle
GELLIMERT spoke with respect of his talents, but
with contempt of his selfishness. This was a far-
ther reason for our believing that she was thorough-
ly cured of her passion.

MORANBERT, on being
dismissed, returned to his native province, where
there are several extensive iron works. The pro-
prietor of one of the principal establishments of this
kind, who was a distant relation of MORANBERT,
took him into his employment, and in a short time,
from his activity, business-like habits, and useful
knowledge (for he was a good chemist) he secured
his entire confidence and good will, and was sent
over to England to inspect the iron works in that
country, with a view to the adoption of any im-
provements they might suggest to him. On pass-
ing through Paris on his way to Calais, he made
not the slightest inquiry relative to Mademoiselle
GELLIMERT, though he met both the Doctor and
me more than once. This circumstance seemed
deeply to affect this unfortunate girl; for it appears
that notwithstanding her apparent indifference and
expressed contempt for his character, she had al-
ways looked forward with anxiety to the fall of
Duke de Richelieu's ministry—hoping that, on
the check being put to the ambitious projects of
MORANBERT, his heart might have reverted to her
and brought him a penitent to her feet. But when
she learned that he was actively employed in his
native province, and that his ambition, though it
had changed its object, did not the less absorb all
his thoughts, she appeared completely heart-
struck, and sunk into a state of melancholy stupor
that lasted several days. From this state, how-
ever, she aroused herself, but evidently by a great
effort, and gradually assumed, at least, outwardly,
a philosophic resignation, which in an ordinary
character, might have passed for good humor. The
last time I saw her was at her lodgings in the Rue
Montblanc, on a fourth story, which she made use
of on her occasional visits to Paris. Dr. C. L. and
two other friends were with her. She was speak-
ing of her present fate and past happiness with ap-
parent gaiety, when all of a sudden she exclaimed
as if speaking to herself, "This has lasted too long:"
and before we could be aware of her intention, she
sprang to a window at the other extremity of the
room, got on the balustrade, pronounced the words
"Adieu docteur!" and precipitated herself upon the
pavement. Wild with horror we rushed down
stairs, but on reaching the street found her lifeless.
A crowd surrounded her body, from more than one
of whom were heard the expressions, "Mon Dieu.
Qu'elle est belle! C'est un desespoir d'amour."
In a will which was found in her desk, she left
her furniture, books, and a few thousand francs, the
all she possessed, to M. MORANBERT, director of the
iron works at —. I have heard, but I hope for
the honor of manhood, that it is not true, that M.
MORANBERT showed not the slightest sign of emo-
tion on hearing the death of this devoted and inter-
esting girl, "who loved not wisely, but too well."