GIRLHOOD (1703-1710)
Lady Mary makes the acquaintance of Edward Wortley Montagu--Montagu
attracted by her looks and her literary gifts--Assists her in her
studies--Montagu a friend of the leading men of letters of the
day--Addison, Steele, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and others--The second volume
of the _Tatler_ dedicated to him by Steele--Montagu a staunch Whig--His
paternal interest for Lady Mary does not endure--He becomes a suitor for
her hand--Lady Mary's devotion and respect for him--Her flirtations--She
and Montagu correspond through the medium of his sister, Anne--Lady
Mary's mordant humour--Her delight in retailing society scandal--The
death of Anne Wortley--Lady Mary and Montagu henceforth communicate
direct--Her first letter to him.
At the age of fourteen the precocious Lady Mary, when on a visit to
Wharncliffe Lodge, some thirty miles from Thoresby, made a conquest that
was vastly to influence her life. The conquest was no less a person than
Edward Wortley Montagu, son of Sidney Wortley Montagu, who was the
second son of Edward, first Earl of Sandwich, the famous Admiral of
Charles II. Sidney had taken the name of Wortley on his marriage to
Anne, daughter of Sir Francis Wortley. To Sidney Wortley Montagu, of
whom there is to-day little known, is an interesting reference in a
letter from the Earl of Danby to his wife, dated from Kiveton, September
6, 1684: "I have had Mr. Montague with me--my Lord Sandwich his son--who
lives at Wortley, and calls himself by that name, and is really a very
fine gentleman and told me he was sorry that any of his relations--much
more of his name--should have carried themselves so unjustly towards me,
and he hoped I would not have the worse opinion of him for their
ill-behaviour."
Edward Wortley Montagu, who was then twenty-five, was already a person
of some distinction. He was a good classical scholar, acquainted with
modern languages, and versed in what his grand-daughter, Lady Louisa
Stuart, styled "polite literature." He was interested in the pretty,
clever girl, and encouraged her to talk to him of her reading and
writing. "When I was very young," she said, as is recorded in the
_Anecdotes_ of the Rev. Joseph Spence, "I was a great admirer of Ovid's
'Metamorphosis,' and that was one of the reasons that set me upon the
thoughts of stealing the Latin language. Mr. Wortley was the only person
to whom I communicated my design, and he encouraged me in it. I used to
study five or six hours a day for two years in my father's library, and
so got that language whilst everybody else thought I was reading nothing
but novels and romances."
Montagu affected the company of men of letters. He was intimate with
Addison, a close friend of Steele, and on terms with Congreve, Vanbrugh,
and Garth, the author of _The Dispensary._ Steele, in fact, dedicated
the second volume of the _Tatler_ to him.
"SIR,
"When I send you this Volume, I am rather to make a Request than a
Dedication. I must desire, that if you think fit to throw away any
Moments on it, you would not do it after reading those excellent Pieces
with which you are usually conversant. The Images which you will meet
with here, will be very feint, after the Perusal of the _Greeks_ and
_Romans_, who are your ordinary Companions. I must confess I am obliged
to you for the Taste of many of their Excellencies, which I had not
observed till you pointed them to me. I am very proud that there are
some things in these Papers which I know you pardon, and it is no small
Pleasure to have one's Labours suffered by the Judgment of a Man who so
well understands the true Charms of Eloquence and Poesie. But I direct
this Address to you, not that I think I can entertain you with my
Writings, but to thank you for the new Delight I have from your
Conversation in those of other men.
"May you enjoy a long Continuance of the true Relish of the Happiness
Heaven hath bestowed on you. I know not how to say a more affectionate
Thing to you, than to wish you may be always what you are, and that you
may ever think, as I know you now do, that you have a much larger
Fortune than you want. I am,
"Sir,
"Your most Obedient and most Humble Servant,
"ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."
Montagu was also interested in politics. He was a staunch Whig, and in
favour with the leaders of his party. He sat in the House of Commons
from 1705 to 1713 as member for Huntingdon, where there was family
interest. It was not, however, until after the accession of George I
that he held office.
At first, it may be, Montagu took some kind of paternal interest in Lady
Mary. This attitude did not long endure. When the change in his feelings
took place there is no means of knowing. He does not seem to have been a
passionate man, nor a very ardent lover, but there is no doubt that at
this period he inspired the girl with a very real devotion and respect,
even though perhaps her heart was not deeply engaged.
Montagu would have had the girl find her pleasures exclusively in books
and in his own conversation. She, at the age of twenty, on the other
hand, was full of the joy of life and liked the various social pleasures
that came her way. Naturally, she tried the effect of her good looks and
wit on men. In fact, she was fond of flirting, and as it must probably
have been impossible to flirt with Montagu, she indulged herself in that
agreeable pastime with more than one other--to the great annoyance of
that pompous prig of an admirer of hers. The following letter, dated
September 5, 1709, written to Anne Wortley for her brother's perusal,
was clearly an endeavour to sooth away the man's jealousy.
"September 5, 1709.
"My dear Mrs. Wortley, as she has the entire power of raising, can also,
with a word, calm my passions. The kindness of your last recompenses me
for the injustice of your former letter; but you cannot sure be angry at
my little resentment. You have read that a man who, with patience, hears
himself called heretic, can never be esteemed a good Christian. To be
capable of preferring the despicable wretch you mention to Mr. Wortley,
is as ridiculous, if not as criminal, as forsaking the Deity to worship
a calf. Don't tell me any body ever had so mean an opinion of my
inclinations; 'tis among the number of those things I would forget. My
tenderness is always built upon my esteem, and when the foundation
perishes, it falls: I must own, I think it is so with every body--but
enough of this: you tell me it was meant for raillery--was not the
kindness meant so too? I fear I am too apt to think what is amusement
designed in earnest--no matter, 'tis for my repose to be deceived, and I
will believe whatever you tell me.
"I should be very glad to be informed of a right method, or whether
there is such a thing alone, but am afraid to ask the question. It may
be reasonably called presumption in a girl to have her thoughts that
way. You are the only creature that I have made my confidante in that
case: I'll assure you, I call it the greatest secret of my life. Adieu,
my dear, the post stays, my next shall be longer."
Lady Mary was probably more complaisant on paper than actually in her
conduct of life. She desired male as well as female companionship; she
liked the admiration and the flattery of men, and, no doubt, did her
best to evoke it. It is strange, however, that with her beauty--for that
she was in her early years beautiful has generally been accepted--she
was not unduly attractive to men. It may be that her good looks brought
young men to her feet, and that her tongue drove them away. In no age
has a clever woman been very popular with the other sex, and in the
early years of the eighteenth century, when girls could do little more
than read and write--and not always so much--wit such as hers and the
readiness of reply with which she was gifted must have been a deterrent.
What could the ordinary social butterfly think of a Lady Mary who had as
a friend Mary Ansell, the author of a _Serious Proposal to Ladies--_
what, though perhaps not one of them had read the book?
Still, there was enough levity in Lady Mary's behaviour in society for
her to think it desirable to make some explanation to Montagu.
"[Indorsed '9 April,' 1711.]
"I thought to return no answer to your letter, but I find I am not so
wise as I thought myself. I cannot forbear fixing my mind a little on
that expression, though perhaps the only insincere one in your whole
letter--I would die to be secure of your heart, though but for a
moment:--were this but true, what is there I would not do to secure you?
"I will state the case to you as plainly as I can; and then ask yourself
if you use me well. I have shewed, in every action of my life, an esteem
for you that at least challenges a grateful regard. I have trusted my
reputation in your hands; I have made no scruple of giving you, under my
own hand, an assurance of my friendship. After all this, I exact nothing
from you: if you find it inconvenient for your affairs to take so small
a fortune, I desire you to sacrifice nothing to me; I pretend no tie
upon your honour: but, in recompence for so clear and so disinterested a
proceeding, must I ever receive injuries and ill usage?
"I have not the usual pride of my sex; I can bear being told I am in the
wrong, but tell it me gently. Perhaps I have been indiscreet; I came
young into the hurry of the world; a great innocence and an undesigning
gaiety may possibly have been construed coquetry and a desire of being
followed, though never meant by me. I cannot answer for the [reflections]
that may be made on me: all who are malicious attack the careless and
defenceless: I own myself to be both. I not anything I can say more to
shew my perfect desire of pleasing you and making you easy, than to
proffer to be confined with you in what manner you please. Would any
woman but me renounce all the world for one? or would any man but you
be insensible of such a proof of sincerity?"
From an early age Lady Mary indulged her somewhat mordant humour, not
less in her letters than in her conversation, and as that quality must
have some subject upon which to exercise itself, she was generally on
the look-out for some tit-bit of scandal which she could relate in her
own inimitable manner.
"Next to the great ball, what makes the most noise is the marriage of an
old maid, who lives in this street, without a portion, to a man of
£7,000 _per annum_, and they say £40,000 in ready money," she wrote to
Mrs. Hewet about the beginning of 1709. "Her equipage and liveries
outshine anybody's in town. He has presented her with £3,000 in jewels;
and never was man more smitten with these charms that had lain invisible
for these forty years; but, with all his glory, never bride had fewer
enviers, the dear beast of a man is so filthy, frightful, odious, and
detestable. I would turn away such a footman, for fear of spoiling my
dinner, while he waited at table. They were married on Friday, and came
to church _en parade_ on Sunday. I happened to sit in the pew with them,
and had the honour of seeing Mrs. Bride fall fast asleep in the middle
of the sermon, and snore very comfortably; which made several women in
the church think the bridegroom not quite so ugly as they did before.
Envious people say 'twas all counterfeited to please him, but I believe
that to be scandal; for I dare swear, nothing but downright necessity
could make her miss one word of the sermon. He professes to have married
her for her devotion, patience, meekness, and other Christian virtues he
observed in her; his first wife (who has left no children) being very
handsome, and so good natured as to have ventured her own salvation to
secure his. He has married this lady to have a companion in that
paradise where his first has given him a title. I believe I have given
you too much of this couple; but they are not to be comprehended in few
words."
Here is another malicious story that appealed to Lady Mary's wayward
fancy,
"Mrs. Braithwayte, a Yorkshire beauty," she wrote to the same
correspondent in March, 1712, "who had been but two days married to a
Mr. Coleman, ran out of bed _en chemise_, and her husband followed her
in his, in which pleasant dress they ran as far as St. James's Street,
where they met with a chair, and prudently crammed themselves both into
it, observing the rule of dividing the good and bad fortune of this
life, resolved to run all hazards together, and ordered the chairmen to
carry them both away, perfectly representing, both in love and
nakedness, and want of eyes to see that they were naked, our first happy
parents. Sunday last I had the pleasure of hearing the whole history
from the lady's own mouth."
Love-affairs, other people's love-affairs anyhow, had an attraction for
Lady Mary. "You talk of the Duke of Leeds," she wrote. "I hear that he
has placed his heroic love upon the bright charms of a pewterer's wife;
and, after a long amour, and many perilous adventures, has stolen the
fair lady, which, in spite of his wrinkles and grandchild, persuade
people of his youth and gallantry." The nobleman in question, Peregrine
Osborne, second Duke of Leeds, was then fifty-six--which, after all,
regarded from the standpoint of to-day, is not such a great age as is
suggested by the story.
If Montagu objected to the indiscretions of Lady Mary, it does not
appear that he was in any hurry to get married to her. Of course, it may
be--it is only fair to him to say--that Lady Mary held him temporarily
at bay, preferring the frivolities of those of her own age to the
austere attentions of one who acted as if he might have been her father.
For some years she and Montagu were apparently content with writing long
letters to each other when they were not both in town. When the
correspondence started is uncertain. The first letter of Lady Mary that
has been preserved is dated Thoresby, May 2, 1709; but there can be no
doubt that they had been in regular communication before then.
It is specially to be noted that the earlier letters of Lady Mary were
addressed to Montagu's sister, Anne. It is evident, however, that they
were definitely written for his perusal, and it is equally clear that
Anne's replies were inspired, and sometimes, if not always, drafted by
him. This practice continued until the death of Anne Wortley in March,
1710. Yet there seems to have been no reason for this camouflage. In
1709 Lady Mary was twenty years of age, and Montagu was a very eligible
_parti_.
The respectful, highfalutin gallantry that is the key-note of the
correspondence recalls the correspondence that presently was exchanged
between Henrietta Howard, Countess of Suffolk, and the octogenarian Earl
of Peterborough.
Some typical passages from the letters to "My dear Mrs. Wortley" may be
given--it should be mentioned that it was the social custom of the day
to address as "Mrs." maiden ladies as well as married women.
"Thoresby, August 8, 1709.
"I know no pretence I have to your good opinion but my hearty desiring
it; I wish I had that imagination you talk of, to render me a fitter
correspondent for you, who can write so well on every thing. I am now so
much alone, I have leisure to pass whole days in reading, but am not at
all proper for so delicate an employment as choosing you books. Your own
fancy will better direct you. My study at present is nothing but
dictionaries and grammars. I am trying whether it be possible to learn
without a master; I am not certain (and dare hardly hope) I shall make
any great progress; but I find the study so diverting I am not only
easy, but pleased with the solitude that indulges it. I forget there is
such a place as London, and wish for no company but yours. You see, my
dear, in making my pleasures consist of these unfashionable diversions,
I am not of the number who cannot be easy out of the mode. I believe
more follies are committed out of complaisance to the world, than in
following our own inclinations--Nature is seldom in the wrong, custom
always; it is with some regret I follow it in all the impertinencies of
dress; the compliance is so trivial it comforts me; but I am amazed to
see it consulted even in the most important occasions of our lives; and
that people of good sense in other things can make their happiness
consist in the opinions of others, and sacrifice every thing in the
desire of appearing in fashion. I call all people who fall in love with
furniture, clothes, and equipage, of this number, and I look upon them
as no less in the wrong than when they were five years old, and doated
on shells, pebbles, and hobby-horses: I believe you will expect this
letter to be dated from the other world, for sure I am you never heard
an inhabitant of this talk so before. I suppose you expect, too, I
should conclude with begging pardon for this extreme tedious and very
nonsensical letter; quite contrary, I think you will be obliged to me
for it. I could not better show my great concern for your reproaching me
with neglect I knew myself innocent of, than proving myself mad in three
pages."
"August 21, 1709.
"I am infinitely obliged to you, my dear Mrs. Wortley, for the wit,
beauty, and other fine qualities, you so generously bestow upon me. Next
to receiving them from Heaven, you are the person from whom I would
chuse to receive gifts and graces: I am very well satisfied to owe them
to your own delicacy of imagination, which represents to you the idea of
a fine lady, and you have good nature enough to fancy I am she. All this
is mighty well, but you do not stop there; imagination is boundless.
After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary
passions, and you tell me I'm in love: if I am, 'tis a perfect sin of
ignorance, for I don't so much as know the man's name: I have been
studying these three hours, and cannot guess who you mean. I passed the
days of Nottingham races, [at] Thoresby, without seeing or even wishing
to see one of the sex. Now, if I am in love, I have very hard fortune to
conceal it so industriously from my own knowledge, and yet discover it
so much to other people. 'Tis against all form to have such a passion as
that, without giving one sigh for the matter. Pray tell me the name of
him I love, that I may (according to the laudable custom of lovers) sigh
to the woods and groves hereabouts, and teach it to the echo. You see,
being I am _[sic]_ in love, I am willing to be so in order and rule: I
have been turning over God knows how many books to look for precedents.
Recommend an example to me; and, above all, let me know whether 'tis
most proper to walk in the woods, encreasing the winds with my sighs, or
to sit by a purling stream, swelling the rivulet with my tears; may be,
both may do well in their turns:--but to be a minute serious, what do
you mean by this reproach of inconstancy? I confess you give me several
good qualities I have not, and I am ready to thank you for them, but
then you must not take away those few I have. No, I will never exchange
them; take back the beauty and wit you bestow upon me, leave me my own
mediocrity of agreeableness and genius, but leave me also my sincerity,
my constancy and my plain dealing; 'tis all I have to recommend me to
the esteem either of others or myself. How should I despise myself if I
could think I was capable of either inconstancy or deceit! I know not
how I may appear to other people, nor how much my face may belie my
heart, but I know that I never was or can be guilty of dissimulation or
inconstancy--you will think this vain, but 'tis all that I pique myself
upon. Tell me you believe me and repent of your harsh censure. Tell it
me in pity to my uneasiness, for you are one of those few people about
whose good opinion I am in pain. I have always took so little care to
please the generality of the world, that I am never mortified or
delighted by its reports which is a piece of stoicism born with me; but
I cannot be one minute easy while you think ill of
"Your faithful--"
"This letter is a good deal grave, and, like other grave things, dull;
but I won't ask pardon for what I can't help."
Was the sentiment expressed in the following letter, written about the
same time as that printed above, intended for Anne or her brother, or
both?
"When I said it cost nothing to write tenderly, I believe I spoke of
another sex; I am sure not of myself: 'tis not in my power (I would to
God it was!) to hide a kindness where I have one, or dissemble it where
I have none. I cannot help answering your letter this minute, and
telling you I infinitely love you, though, it may be, you'll call the
one impertinence, and the other dissimulation; but you may think what
you please of me, I must eternally think the same things of you."
Lady Mary was occasionally wearisome owing to the reiteration of the
assurance that she believed her letters to be dull, the more so as she
certainly was conscious of the skill with which she composed them. "What
do you mean by complaining I never write to you in the quiet situation
of mind I do to other people?" she asks Anne Wortley. "My dear, people
never write calmly, but when they write indifferently."
After a letter dated September 5, 1709, a passage from which has been
printed here, there is a break in the (preserved) correspondence. In the
spring of the following year Anne Wortley died, and Lady Mary, on March
28, paid tribute to her departed friend, addressing herself for the
first time direct to Montagu.
"Perhaps you'll be surprized at this letter; I have had many debates
with myself before I could resolve on it. I know it is not acting in
form, but I do not look upon you as I do upon the rest of the world, and
by what I do for _you_, you are not to judge my manner of acting with
others. You are brother to a woman I tenderly loved; my protestations of
friendship are not like other people's, I never speak but what I mean,
and when I say I love, 'tis for ever. I had that real concern for Mrs.
Wortley, I look with some regard on every one that is related to her.
This and my long acquaintance with you may in some measure excuse what I
am now doing. I am surprized at one of the 'Tatlers' you send me; is it
possible to have any sort of esteem for a person one believes capable of
having such trifling inclinations? Mr. Bickerstaff has very wrong
notions of our sex. I can say there are some of us that despise charms
of show, and all the pageantry of greatness, perhaps with more ease than
any of the philosophers. In contemning the world, they seem to take
pains to contemn it; we despise it, without taking the pains to read
lessons of morality to make us do it. At least I know I have always
looked upon it with contempt, without being at the expense of one
serious reflection to oblige me to it. I carry the matter yet farther;
was I to choose of two thousand pounds a year or twenty thousand, the
first would be my choice. There is something of an unavoidable
_embarras_ in making what is called a great figure in the world; [it]
takes off from the happiness of life; I hate the noise and hurry
inseparable from great estates and titles, and look upon both as
blessings that ought only to be given to fools, for 'tis only to them
that they are blessings. The pretty fellows you speak of, I own
entertain me sometimes; but is it impossible to be diverted with what
one despises? I can laugh at a puppet-show; at the same time I know
there is nothing in it worth my attention or regard. General notions are
generally wrong. Ignorance and folly are thought the best foundations
for virtue, as if not knowing what a good wife is was necessary to make
one so. I confess that can never be my way of reasoning; as I always
forgive an _injury_ when I think it not done out of malice, I never
think myself _obliged_ by what is done without design."
Lady Mary, who was now one-and-twenty, was no bread-and-butter miss. She
knew her mind and had the gift to express herself, and in this same
letter she very prettily rebukes her laggard lover.
"Give me leave to say it, (I know it sounds vain,) I know how to make a
man of sense happy; but then that man must resolve to contribute
something towards it himself. I have so much esteem for you, I should be
very sorry to hear you was unhappy; but for the world I would not be the
instrument of making you so; which (of the humour you are) is hardly to
be avoided if I am your wife. You distrust me--I can neither be easy,
nor loved, where I am distrusted. Nor do I believe your passion for me
is what you pretend it; at least I am sure was I in love I could not
talk as you do. Few women would have spoke so plainly as I have done;
but to dissemble is among the things I never do. I take more pains to
approve my conduct to myself than to the world; and would not have to
accuse myself of a minute's deceit. I wish I loved you enough to devote
myself to be for ever miserable, for the pleasure of a day or two's
happiness. I cannot resolve upon it. You must think otherwise of me, or
not at all."
"I don't enjoin you to burn this letter," she said in conclusion. "I
know you will. 'Tis the first I ever writ to one of your sex, and shall
be the last. You must never expect another. I resolve against all
correspondence of the kind--my resolutions are seldom made and never
broken."
Whatever happened to most of Lady Mary's resolutions, this one, at
least, was not kept. Actually, Lady Mary was not quite so emancipated at
this time of her life as she may have imagined. She never sent a letter,
except in fear and trembling. "I hazard a great deal if it falls
into other hands, and I write for all that," was her constant cry. Yet,
there was nothing in the correspondence, save the fact of it, to offend
even a most austere maiden aunt of the day.
The correspondence, of course, continued. The lovers, if so they can be
called, now indulged in a slightly acid academic discussion, or rather a
number of slightly acid academic discussions, about marriage. It is
evident that Montagu held strong views as to the duty of a wife; so
undoubtedly did Lady Mary--only, the trouble was, the views were by no
means identical. If he were determined to set himself up as the strong
loquacious man, his _fiancée_ was certainly not prepared meekly to obey
his behests in silence. They indulged in a somewhat candid examination
of each other's character--and of their own. It is really rather
amusing, this careful cold-blooded dissection of their feelings. It is a
safe guess that at this game Lady Mary scored heavily.
"I wish, with all my soul, I thought as you do," she wrote on April 25,
1710. "I endeavour to convince myself by your arguments, and am sorry my
reason is so obstinate, not to be deluded into an opinion, that 'tis
impossible a man can esteem a woman. I suppose I should then be very
easy at your thoughts of me; I should thank you for the wit and beauty
you give me, and not be angry at the follies and weaknesses; but, to my
infinite affliction, I can believe neither one nor t'other. One part of
my character is not so good, nor t'other so bad, as you fancy it. Should
we ever live together, you would be disappointed both ways; you would
find an easy equality of temper you do not expect, and a thousand faults
you do not imagine. You think, if you married me, I should be
passionately fond of you one month, and of somebody else the next:
neither would happen. I can esteem, I can be a friend, but I don't know
whether I can love. Expect all that is complaisant and easy, but never
what is fond, in me. You judge very wrong of my heart, when you suppose
me capable of views of interest, and that anything could oblige me to
flatter any body. Was I the most indigent creature in the world, I
should answer you as I do now, without adding or diminishing. I am
incapable of art, and 'tis because I will not be capable of it. Could I
deceive one minute, I should never regain my own good opinion; and who
could bear to live with one they despised? If you can resolve to live
with a companion that will have all the deference due to your
superiority of good sense, and that your proposals can be agreeable to
those on whom I depend, I have nothing to say against them."