Litchfield Enquirer

THE NAMELESS MAN.
Lovely evening twilight lay upon the mountains of Catskill—the laborer had ceased from his toil—
"the beast and bird.
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests
Were slunk"
and all nature was in that state of repose so peculiarly calculated to allay man's rougher passions, and promote the overflowings of his gentler ones, when James Purdon and Helen Helmotte took their last walk ere his departure for England. Sad were their spirits, and still more dark that sadness grew, as the shades thickened around them. They were in the "halcyon days" of life—they were kindred spirits— and both, as their situation indicated, had drank the "sweet draughts of love"—then wherefore were they sad?
Helen was the only daughter of a real aristocrat, who said, and his word was sure, Helen should never marry a nameless man. James was the sixth son of a family so numerous, that for even the mother to distinguish them, it was almost necessary to have their names inscribed on their frontlets. By dint of industry and perseverance, he had graduated at college with the first honors, but this in the eyes of Judge Helmotte was a slight thing, as he had his profession yet to acquire, and a name to win.
Sadly, and silently, those lovers pressed their footsteps towards that place which oft had witnessed their sweet though stolen interviews, and heard their plighted vows. Helen's heart was naturally so light, and buoyant, it seemed that nought could depress it, and now it was the first to see a bright side
"Thanks to your good uncle," she exclaimed, "for having taken a liking to you—and now—we will cheer up and hope that in four years you will graduate at Edinburg University a distinguished M.D. and then"—
"And then, indeed," interrupted James. "if I knew I should find you as I leave you, I might brush away some of these dark clouds that hover o'er me."
"James, have I ever deceived you," she falteringly asked, "that you distrust me?"
"Helen, you know your father's unalterable determination to marry you to a man with a name; you know he spurns me from him, and this heart of mine testifies, that such a prize will not long remain unsought for, and by those who, in your father's eyes, will have just pretensions to it."
"But here," replied Helen, "my heart is pledged, and do you need a stronger bail?"
"I doubt not your faith," said James, "but higher powers I fear. If your father wished to marry you, would he heed your engagements?"
"But I am not wholly destitute of my father's spirit," replied H., "and a stiffer neck than Margueritte's of France will be bent when I assent to marry one I choose not."
"There are bonds," remarked James, "man cannot burst asunder, and why may we not privately bind ourselves with these?"
Helen demurred from this, but just then her cousin George, accompanied with one of Hymen's priests approached, and united with James in assuring her this was the wisest thing that could be done; so she consented, and they were duly married and the certificates given. After having made arrangements for a clandestine correspondence, determined if possible never to reveal the secret, until James could obtain her father's consent, and renewed their promises of faithfulness, James committed her to the care of her cousin George, and that evening left Catskill for New York, to embark the next day for Europe.
The next morning Helen appeared at breakfast bright and smiling as if nought had occurred, and when her father in his sarcastic manner mentioned the departure of that "ragamuffin" of hers, she mildly (not with her usual spirit,) replied, now where he was, little mattered with her, begged her father never again to mention his name, but give her a little peace of her life. Her father was surprised, and after this often rallied her to discover what her feelings were, but she was too wary, and even his scrutinizing eye could detect no vestiges of the little blind god. He closely watched the mails, and after having satisfied himself that they had no intercourse, congratulated himself that Helen was the very best girl in the world, just spirit enough for a woman, would resist his wishes for the sake of an argument, but finally yield, concluded she was well worthy of a man with, and more than ever determined she should never marry a man without a name.
Helen was at this time seventeen; and although she had not beauty enough to be called often beautiful, she was ever called an elegant and splendid girl. Her personal attractions, together with her rank and wealth, brought her a train of admirers as long as Penelope's, but with tact like hers she eluded them all. The nameless she most regarded, and when a certain exquisite from the city, who had heard of her golden charms condescended to go up and be introduced, she was almost enraptured with him. Justly she estimated his condescension, and decked her face with its sweetest smiles. She now concurred with her father that "James would never be any thing;" and was glad he was away, and when her father raved, declared there was nobody like her city beau.— Her father's obstinate aversion to this species of perfume, drove her to extremes, and she had nearly concerted an elopement, when her inadvertently alluding to her threatened disinheritance, and the certainty of it, reminded her lover that he must take the evening boat for the city, as the next day he had an indispensable engagement there. So he was off, leaving her, she said, "quite broken-hearted."
There was B—, a lawyer of eminence from Virginia, and—withal a member of Congress, who having seen her at the springs, thought such a young splendid wife would indeed be a "crown," and "nothing doubting," had come to take her to Washington with him, to spend the winter. Judge H. received him with his most approving smiles, and ere Helen made her appearance, actually teased her out of a promise that she would do her best. After having witnessed her graceful entree and address, he concluded she would, and left her, to make the arrangements for the event forthcoming. Helen indeed did her best. She sang her sweetest songs, concurred in all he said, listened to his set speeches with becoming admiration, and when he mentioned the quit-claim deed of her Judge H. had agreed to give him, and asked her when she would acknowledge it, she replied, "if her father wished it she would with pleasure immediately after the sitting of the legislature."
"Sitting of the legislature!" interrupted he, "why wait for that?"
"Why," she gaily replied, "if indeed I am to be your daughter for life, I shall choose your name, and this will require its sanction."
Such a mistake, even in joke, was to a bachelor who called himself only forty, an effectual damper, and notwithstanding Helen was so sorry, begged his pardon and made a thousand apologies, he was not to be appeased, but ordered his horses and departed, without leave of, or explanation to Judge H. The Judge was astonished, but as Helen could not or would not explain, he never got any clue to the affair, but when she laughed about her Solon beau, he shook his head at her suspiciously.
The Catskill's annual flux of visitors failed not to bring this 'mountain nymph,' as her Parnassian lovers termed her, her full share of wooers, and many a heart left C. feeling those sublime and lofty mountains were not nature's most beautiful and splendid works. Her mother died when she was young, and she was the store-house of her father's affections. He had no son to bear his name, and determined she should never lose it for one less noble. Various were her father's attempts to have her marry some one he could greet as a son, but wilily she foiled them all, without disclosing the true reason to but one poor soul. This was Kathune, a lawyer of some distinction from Albany, and son of one of Judge H.'s friends. Helen thought him, next to James, the finest fellow she had ever seen. He was one of the "noblest works of God," a man with a soul, and Helen saw he sought her, not for "filthy lucre's sake," but for what he thought she was of herself, and such an one she would not trifle with.— Ere his heart was wholly hers, she bade him beware, threw herself on his generosity, and disclosed the long cherished secret of her heart.
Four years, long as they may seem to the lover and school-boy, will soon pass away; and Helen's heart began to flutter whenever she descried a boat coming up the river, and every day her hair was parted, and dress arranged with more than its wonted precision, as she said, and her father feared for the sake of a certain young merchant, who frequently passed there, just then a particular object of her favor, and of her father's aversion. Three weeks had elapsed since she had heard a word from her cousin George in New York, and she found herself quite nervous. The ringing of the bell would throw her into a fit of trembling, and with difficulty she could appear with her accustomed composure and gaiety. At length one day, precisely at 12 o'clock, the bell announced company, and the servant brought her a card with the curious name B. Cool, inscribed on it, in a well known hand writing. As the servant immediately withdrew, we do not know how she acted before she left her chamber, but when she entered the parlor, it was evident she had taken the advice on the card, as she was perfectly cool and self-composed—and James P—, and Helen H— met as common-place acquaintance.—
Judge H., who entered the room just before Helen, marked them both, and was more than ever convinced what she said was true, that their love accounts were all adjusted and settled forever. Whether, as he surveyed his fine and manly form, watched his almost speaking countenance, and listened to his conversation, which unaffectedly disclosed a deep and well-stored mind, and promised future greatness, he repented he had so strenuously forbidden Helen having any intercourse with him, we do not know, but we do know, as he was about to leave he condescended to ask him to call whenever he visited Catskill.— James assured him he would, but it was not probable he should have that pleasure again very soon—then he was on a visit to his childhood's home—that he was calling on all his old friends—and, on the score of former acquaintance, he had taken the liberty to call on Miss Helmotte. He farther stated that his uncle had rented him an office in New-York, engaged to introduce him into society, and bestow on him $1000 per year for three years, while he tried his fortune, and excepting this he was entirely dependant on his own exertions for his weal through the world. As soon as he was fairly out of the door, Helen exclaimed: "What a pedantic biped James is! I must confess old folks can see farther than young ones,'" and without waiting her father's reply, she ran to her chamber to catch a last glimpse of him she so hated.
After this, time seemed to "fly on leaden wings;" and though many a smiling, happy girl almost envied her her lot, she thought she had had more than her share of thorns and briers. Tedious grew the mask she wore, and though she often, through her cousin George, heard of the success of all she wished for, yet longer seemed each passing week than months preceding. She was now entering her twenty-third year, had acquired the name of a coquette, and her father was beginning to think, with all her perfections, she was most too obstinate, and he should never marry her to suit him. It was about this time (Dec. 1st, 1835) that he received a letter from his brother, requiring his immediate presence in the city on business, with the following postscript:—
"P. S. The girls say, tell Uncle to bring cousin Helen down to spend the holidays, as there is a certain young doctor here, whose heart half the girls in the city have laid siege to unsuccessfully, and they long to know whether it is perfectly invincible, and will resist what mortal man's never yet hath done. By the way, brother, if you still stick to your favorite hobby, here is as fine a fellow as you could wish for.
Yours, &c."
Although there was but one doctor in the world Helen cared a fig for, she was rejoiced to go to New York to spend a few weeks, and with more than her usual activity she made herself ready. The next evening found her in the city, receiving the welcome of her cousin's congratulations on her blooming looks, and predictions of success in conquering the hitherto unconquerable.
"Uncle," said Jane, "if we had the beautifying influence of your mountain breezes, we would not have sent for Helen just now, indeed we would not have let her come; but as it is, we will wish her good luck."
"Yes, coz," exclaimed Lucinda, taking a glass of water the servant just then brought her, "here's success to you in giving this doctor, so distinguished in the healing art, an incurable heart-wound."
"But girls," said Judge H—, after seeing these choice white lilies, "do you imagine a simple mountain wild flower will charm him?"
"We'll see," said Jane, "I like wild flowers the best."
"But Helen is so obstinate she'll not like him if anybody else does," replied he.
"I am not sure of that," said George, in such a peculiar manner that Helen for the first time heeded the conversation, and emphatically replied "that master minds like hers and her father's, were not guided in their likes and dislikes by the opinion of others."
The next morning Helen was up betimes, and into the library, where her cousin George spent an hour before breakfast, to learn who this wonderful doctor was, and why he had requested the girls not to tell her. George told her "they did not know she had ever seen him, and he feared a surprise might make her betray herself."
"I have had many," replied H—, "within the last five years, and have not yet betrayed myself."
"Surely woman is not varium et mutabile," said G—, "and you will redeem the whole sex from the charge."
"Well. Helen," said her uncle, at the dinner table, "have you seen this AEsculapius—the pride of our city—yet?"
"Yes, pa," replied Jane, "and instead of one of his short formal visits this morning, he favored us with more than an hour of his company, and played the agreeable to perfection."
"That seems to speak, Helen," said her uncle.
"But how did you like him?"
"Physicians, like their drugs, to me are rather nauseating," replied H—
"For shame!" said Jane, "for shame! you ought to be driven from the city—"
"How blest we are, brother," interrupted her father, "in having here no favored nobility! In this Republic, merit makes the different grades of society— and low birth smothers not the genius. The road to honor and distinction is open to all. This doctor the girls have been talking so much about, procured his education by teaching school, and with a little assistance from his uncle in establishing himself, he has now a large run of business, and bids fair to be the first in his profession. He has introduced himself into our first circles, and takes as high a stand as birth or riches could have conferred on him."
Judge H— made no reply to this, but merely inquired "who this nonpareil was," when George turned the conversation by asking his uncle "how he liked the Astor House?"
"George, do you know Dr. Purdon?" asked Judge Helmotte one day as they were walking down Broadway, about a week after this.
"Why yes!" replied George, "you recollect I was in C.—the summer those love-passages occurred between him and Helen, and you forbade him the house."
"But since then," said Judge H. "he has been to Europe, indeed studied his profession at the Edinburg University, has come back much improved, located himself in this city, and this morning I heard my old friends, Drs. M. and S. speaking of a medicinal treatise he had been writing, which was quite an original, and an admirable thing, and which could not fail to distinguish him."
"That is but just out," replied George, "but he is really a brilliant fellow, and is now in the favor of a rich old uncle, who, although he says "James must shift for himself," after three years, will probably make him his heir."
"Do you ever see him?" asked Judge H.
"Why yes! uncle; he is that Bolus, as Helen calls him, the girls jest so much about," replied George.
"But how did she get over that love adventure?"
"Well enough, well enough," hastily replied Judge H. "but sometimes, I've been almost sorry I opposed her so, as ever since she has been sure to like everybody I dislike, and vice versa.'"
"We young folks," said George, "hate to have our love-affairs meddled with—but I wish cousin and Purdon would now fancy each other, as there is such similarity in their minds and dispositions, I never see them without thinking how admirably they would link together."
Pensingly Judge H. returned home, and was about to enter the parlor, when he heard Purdon exclaim,
"I cannot deny even in jest, Miss Lucinda, that my heart fully appreciates her charms, and if time is the test of love, I might say more—but your uncle despises the nameless"—and withdrew to his chamber, where he found Helen. After pacing the room a few minutes as if "in contemplation deep," he abruptly asked her "how she liked Purdon?"
"You know how I once liked him, and "hearts that love well, love long—they love but once," she replied, and left the room.
Judge Helmotte's favorite project had been to marry Helen, his only daughter, to a man of noble rank. But Cupid, and wise fathers, see not alike; and ere her school days were past, her heart was in the keeping of just such an one as he disapproved of. By love's faith, she saw she had done a wise thing, and foretold she should never disappoint her father's hopes. But what trust could he put in love's visions? He too with prophetic eye had looked into the vista of future years, and predicted the contrary, and determined the alliance should never be. Now he saw his predictions had failed, and he must, secretly at least, acknowledge James was all he had wished Helen's husband to be. He saw that he still loved Helen, and she him, and whatever shame and humiliation it cost him, he nobly determined to confess his error, and make immediate reparation for it. His favorite George was sent for.— After communicating his plans, and engaging him to help make the arrangement, he penned the following note to Dr. Purdon, and the next morning left the city:
Sir—I was wrong—I have done you wrong, and Helen wrong; and my only plea is, a father's well wishes for a loved, and only daughter. By accident this evening I overheard you acknowledge you still loved her; and she says,
"Hearts that love well, love long; they love but once."
As the only reparation I can make for the injury I have done you both, I now consent to and urge your immediate union. To-morrow morning I shall leave the city for my home, and there, if it meets your wishes, New Year's day I will publicly give you my daughter. You and Helen will make such arrangements as you please, and see to inviting our city friends. My best wishes attend you.
I am now in truth, Sir.
Your affectionate friend,
"G. HELMOTTE."
What James' and Helen's feelings were when next they met, we will not attempt to tell: but merely mention, that certain shopping excursions, and white ribboned notes, seemed to indicate their acquiescence in the will of Judge H. and that happy New Year's day found them, with many more, at his mansion in C.
Hushed was each whisper, and half-suppressed each smile, awaiting that word which would pronounce two, one, when, instead of the usual form, the minister produced a paper legally signed, and read,
"This certifies that James Purdon and Helen Helmotte were by me, this day, lawfully united in the holy bonds of matrimony. What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.
Catskill, Sept. 20, 1830."
The surprise of the party, the cousin's exclamations of, "why Helen!" George's enjoyment of the scene, Judge H.'s astonishment and acknowledgments of having been outwitted, and finally the performance of the ceremony, that he might with his own hands give away his only daughter, all may imagine for themselves.