So
far from being brought down to the station I occupy by some grievous
catastrophe or romantic combination of adverse circumstances, I was born
to the profession of an actress--the chariot of Thespis was, so to say,
my birthplace. My mother, who was a very beautiful woman and finished
actress, played the part of tragic princess. She did not confine her
role to the theatre, but exacted as much deference and respect from
those around her when off the stage, as she received upon it, until she
came to consider herself a veritable princess. She had all the majesty
and grace of one, and was greatly admired and courted, but never would
suffer any of the gallants, who flutter about pretty actresses like
moths around a candle, to approach her--holding herself entirely above
them, and keeping her good name unsullied through everything. An account
of this unusual conduct on the part of a beautiful young actress chanced
to reach the ears of a certain rich and powerful prince, who was very
much struck and interested by it, and immediately sought an introduction
to my mother. As his actual rank and position equalled hers of imaginary
princess, she received his attentions with evident pleasure. He was
young, handsome, eloquent, and very much in love with her--what wonder
then that she yielded at last to his impassioned entreaties, and gave
herself to him, though, because of his high station, he could not do as
his heart dictated, and make her his wife.
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