COURTSHIP, ELOPEMENT, AND MARRIAGE (1710-1712)
A lengthy courtship--Montagu a laggard lover--Lady Mary and Montagu
exchange views on married life--Montagu proposes for her to Lord
Dorchester--Dorchester refuses, since Montagu will not make
settlements--Montagu's views on settlements expressed (by Steele) in the
_Tatler_--Although not engaged, the young people continue to
correspond--Lord Dorchester produces another suitor for his
daughter--She consents to an engagement--The preparations for the
wedding--She confides the whole story to Montagu--She breaks off the
engagement--She and Montagu decide to elope--She runs up to
London--Marriage--Lady Mary's diary destroyed by her sister, Lady
Frances Pierrepont.
After seven years or so of acquaintance, matters at last looked like
coming to a head. It would appear that Montagu, tentatively at least,
had put the question, because Lady Mary gives her views as to the life
they should lead after marriage. She is not averse from travelling; she
has no objection to leaving London; in fact, she would be willing to
spend a few months in the country, if it so pleased him. It is all so
extraordinarily unloverlike. There is too much philosophy about it. Love
does not see so clearly.
"Where people are tied for life, 'tis their mutual interest not to grow
weary of one another," she wrote on April 25, 1710. "If I had all the
personal charms that I want, a face is too slight a foundation for
happiness. You would be soon tired with seeing every day the same thing.
Where you saw nothing else, you would have leisure to remark all the
defects; which would increase in proportion as the novelty lessened,
which is always a great charm. I should have the displeasure of seeing a
coldness, which, though I could not reasonably blame you for, being
involuntary, yet it would render me uneasy; and the more, because I know
a love may be revived which absence, inconstancy, or even infidelity,
has extinguished; but there is no returning from a _dégout_ given by
satiety."
Perhaps Lady Mary believed that, while it is well to hope for the best,
it is sound policy to prepare for the worst.
Montagu may have found some comfort in the lady's assurance that if she
had a choice between two thousand a year or twenty thousand a year she
would choose the smaller income.
An apartment in London would satisfy Lady Mary. She would not choose to
live in a crowd, but would like to have a small circle of agreeable
people--she was very precise as to her desires: actually she wants to
see eight or nine pleasant folk. She does not believe that she can find
entire happiness in solitude, not even (or perhaps especially not) in a
solitude of two; and she is at least as sure that he would not either.
Anyhow she has not the slightest intention of taking the chance.
It becomes increasingly clear that she had had about enough of this
epistolary philandering, and she indicated this in no uncertain manner.
"I will never think of anything without the consent of my family," she
wrote. "Make no answer to this, if you can like me on my own terms. 'Tis
not to me you must make the proposals; if not, to what purpose is our
correspondence?"
And now comes a touch of the spur: "However, preserve me your
friendship, which I think of with a great deal of pleasure. If ever you
see me married, I flatter myself you'll see a conduct you would not be
sorry your wife should imitate."
Even this did not bring Montagu to the point of asking Lord Dorchester
for the hand of his daughter. The correspondence, however, still
continued, and soon they were hard at it again.
"Kindness, you say, would be your destruction," she wrote in August,
1710. "In my opinion, this is something contradictory to some other
expressions. People talk of being in love just as widows do of
affliction. Mr. Steele has observed, in one of his plays, the most
passionate among them have always calmness enough to drive a hard
bargain with the upholders. I never knew a lover that would not
willingly secure his interest as well as his mistress; or, if one must
be abandoned, had not the prudence (among all his distractions) to
consider, a woman was but a woman, and money was a thing of more real
merit than the whole sex put together. Your letter is to tell me, you
should think yourself undone if you married me; but if I would be so
tender as to confess I should break my heart if you did not, then you'd
consider whether you would or no; but yet you hoped you should not. I
take this to be the right interpretation of--even your kindness can't
destroy me of a sudden--I hope I am not in your power--I would give a
good deal to be satisfied, &c.
"As to writing--that any woman would do that thought she writ well. Now
I say, no woman of common sense would. At best, 'tis but doing a silly
thing well, and I think it is much better not to do a silly thing at
all. You compare it to dressing. Suppose the comparison just: perhaps
the Spanish dress would become my face very well; yet the whole town
would condemn me for the highest extravagance if I went to court in it,
though it improved me to a miracle. There are a thousand things, not ill
in themselves, which custom makes unfit to be done. This is to convince
you I am so far from applauding my own conduct, my conscience flies in
my face every time I think on't. The generality of the world have a
great indulgence to their own follies: without being a jot wiser than my
neighbours, I have the peculiar misfortune to know and condemn all the
wrong things I do.
"You beg to know whether I would not be out of humour. The expression is
modest enough; but that is not what you mean. In saying I could be easy,
I have already said I should not be out of humour: but you would have me
say I am violently in love; that is, finding you think better of me than
you desire, you would have me give you a just cause to contemn me. I
doubt much whether there is a creature in the world humble enough to do
that. I should not think you more unreasonable if you was in love with
my face, and asked me to disfigure it to make you easy. I have heard of
some nuns that made use of that expedient to secure their own happiness;
but, amongst all the popish saints and martyrs, I never read of one
whose charity was sublime enough to make themselves deformed, or
ridiculous, to restore their lovers to peace and quietness. In short, if
nothing can content you but despising me heartily, I am afraid I shall
be always so barbarous to wish you may esteem me as long as you live."
At last Montagu formally approached Lord Dorchester, who had no
objection whatever to him as a suitor for the hand of Lady Mary. They
could not come to terms in the matter of settlements. Dorchester
demanded that the estates should be put into entail. Also he desired
that his future son-in-law should provide a town residence for Lady
Mary. This did not seem unreasonable, but Montagu did not see his way to
agree to them. He was willing enough to make all proper provision for
his wife, but he declined absolutely to settle his landed property upon
a son who, as he put it, for aught he knew, might prove unworthy to
inherit it, who might be a spendthrift, an idiot, or a villain--as a
matter of fact, the only son of the marriage turned out most things he
should not. Anyhow, Montagu held strong views on the subject, and these
he expounded to Richard Steele, who presented them in No. 223 of the
_Tatler_ (September 12, 1710).
"That this method of making settlements was first invented by a griping
lawyer, who made use of the covetous tempers of the parents of each
side, to force two young people into these vile measures of diffidence
for no other end, but to increase the skins of parchment, by which they
were put into each other's possession out of each other's power. The law
of our country has given an ample and generous provision for the wife,
even the third of her husband's estate, and left to her good-humour and
his gratitude the expectation of farther provision, but the fantastical
method of going farther, with relation to the heirs, has a foundation in
nothing but pride, and folly: for as all men with their children as like
themselves, and as much better as they can possibly, it seems monstrous
that we should give out of ourselves the opportunities of rewarding and
discouraging them according to their defects. The wife institution has
no more sense in it, than if a man should begin a deed with 'Whereas no
man living knows how long he shall continue to be a reasonable creature,
or an honest man, and whereas I.B. am going to enter into the state of
matrimony with Mrs. D., therefore I shall from henceforth make it
indifferent to me whether from this time forward I shall be a fool or
knave. And therefore, in full and perfect health of body, and a sound
mind, not knowing which of my children will prove better or worse, I
give to my first-born, be he perverse, ungrateful, impious, or cruel,
the lump and bulk of my estate, and leave one year's purchase only to
each of my younger children, whether they shall be brave or beautiful,
modest or honourable, from the time of the date hereof, wherein I resign
my senses, and hereby promise to employ my judgment no farther in the
distribution of my worldly goods from the date hereof, hereby farther
confessing and covenanting, that I am henceforth married, and dead in
law....'
"How strangely men are sometimes partial to themselves, appears by the
rapine of him, that has a daughter's beauty under his direction. He will
make no scruple of using it to force from her lover as much of his
estate, as is worth ten thousand pounds, and at the same time, as a
justice on the bench, will spare no pains to get a man hanged that has
taken but a horse from him.
"It is to be hoped that the legislature will in due time take this kind
of robbery into consideration, and not suffer men to prey upon each
other when they are about making the most solemn league, and entering
into the strictest bonds. The only sure remedy is to fix a certain rate
on every woman's fortune, one price for that of a maid, and another for
that of a widow: for it is of infinite advantage, that there should be
no frauds or uncertainties in the sale of our women."
Unless Montagu were tactless beyond the general, the position as regards
himself and Lord Dorchester must indeed have been hopeless before he
inspired the paper in the _Tatler_ on settlements. Anyhow, Montagu, who
was used to having his way, and was probably very cross at being
thwarted on this occasion, would not yield a step; and Lord Dorchester
maintained his attitude that philosophic theories were all very well in
their way, but he would not sanction a marriage that involved the risk
of his grandchildren being left beggars.
Lady Mary was powerless in the matter, but, although her father said
there was no engagement between her and Montagu, the young people
continued their correspondence with unabated vigour.
"I am going to comply with your request, and write with all the
plainness I am capable of," she replied in November, 1710, to one of
Montagu's effusions. "I know what may be said upon such a proceeding,
but am sure you will not say it. Why should you always put the worst
construction upon my words? Believe me what you will, but do not believe
I can be ungenerous or ungrateful. I wish I could tell you what answer
you will receive from some people, or upon what terms. If my opinion
could sway, nothing should displease you. Nobody ever was so
disinterested as I am. I would not have to reproach myself (I don't
suppose you would) that I had any way made you uneasy in your
circumstances. Let me beg you (which I do with the utmost sincerity)
only to consider yourself in this affair; and, since I am so unfortunate
to have nothing in my own disposal, do not think I have any hand in
making settlements. People in my way are sold like slaves; and I cannot
tell what price my master will put on me. If you do agree, I shall
endeavour to contribute, as much as lies in my power, to your happiness.
I so heartily despise a great figure, I have no notion of spending money
so foolishly; though one had a great deal to throw away. If this breaks
off, I shall not complain of you: and as, whatever happens, I shall
still preserve the opinion you have behaved yourself well. Let me
entreat you, if I have committed any follies, to forgive them; and be so
just to think I would not do an ill thing."
Shortly afterwards, Lady Mary wrote again to Montagu. "I have tried to
write plainly," she said; and she did not have to reproach herself with
failure. It had now come to a struggle for mastery, and she would not
yield a foot of her ground.
"Indeed I do not at all wonder that absence, and variety of new faces,
should make you forget me; but I am a little surprised at your curiosity
to know what passes in my heart (a thing wholly insignificant to you),
except you propose to yourself a piece of ill-natured satisfaction, in
finding me very much disquieted. Pray which way would you see into my
heart? You can frame no guesses about it from either my speaking or
writing; and, supposing I should attempt to show it you, I know no other
way.
"I begin to be tired of my humility: I have carried my complaisances to
you farther than I ought. You make new scruples; you have a great deal
of fancy; and your distrusts being all of your own making, are more
immovable than if there was some real ground for them. Our aunts and
grandmothers always tell us that men are a sort of animals, that, if
they are constant, 'tis only where they are ill used. 'Twas a kind of
paradox I could never believe: experience has taught me the truth of it.
You are the first I ever had a correspondence with, and I thank God I
have done with it for all my life. You needed not to have told me you
are not what you have been: one must be stupid not to find a difference
in your letters. You seem, in one part of your last, to excuse yourself
from having done me any injury in point of fortune. Do I accuse you of
any?
"I have not spirits to dispute any longer with you. You say you are not
yet determined: let me determine for you, and save you the trouble of
writing again. Adieu for ever! make no answer. I wish, among the variety
of acquaintance, you may find some one to please you; and can't help the
vanity of thinking, should you try them all, you won't find one that
will be so sincere in their treatment, though a thousand more deserving,
and every one happier. 'Tis a piece of vanity and injustice I never
forgive in a woman, to delight to give pain; what must I think of a man
that takes pleasure in making me uneasy? After the folly of letting you
know it is in your power, I ought in prudence to let this go no farther,
except I thought you had good nature enough never to make use of that
power. I have no reason to think so: however, I am willing, you see, to
do you the highest obligation 'tis possible for me to do; that is, to
give you a fair occasion of being rid of me."
There is now another break in the (preserved) correspondence until the
end of February, 1711, and then Lady Mary, writing with more than a
tinge of bitterness, broke off all relations with him--or, at least,
affected to do so.
"I intended to make no answer to your letter; it was something very
ungrateful, and I resolved to give over all thoughts of you. I could
easily have performed that resolve some time ago, but then you took
pains to please me; now you have brought me to esteem you, you make use
of that esteem to give me uneasiness; and I have the displeasure of
seeing I esteem a man that dislikes me. Farewell then: since you will
have it so, I renounce all the ideas I have so long flattered myself
with, and will entertain my fancy no longer with the imaginary pleasure
of pleasing you. How much wiser are all those women I have despised than
myself! In placing their happiness in trifles, they have placed it in
what is attainable. I fondly thought fine clothes and gilt coaches,
balls, operas, and public adoration, rather the fatigues of life; and
that true happiness was justly defined by Mr. Dryden (pardon the romantic
air of repeating verses), when he says,
'Whom Heav'n would bless it does from pomps remove
And makes their wealth in privacy and love.'
These notions had corrupted my judgment as much as Mrs. Biddy Tipkin's.
According to this scheme, I proposed to pass my life with you. I yet do
you the justice to believe, if any man could have been contented with
this manner of living, it would have been you. Your indifference to me
does not hinder me from thinking you capable of tenderness, and the
happiness of friendship; but I find it is not to me you'll ever have
them; you think me all that is detestable; you accuse me of want of
sincerity and generosity. To convince you of your mistake, I'll show you
the last extremes of both.
"While I foolishly fancied you loved me, (which I confess I had never
any great reason for, more than that I wished it,) there is no condition
of life I could not have been happy in with you, so very much I liked
you--I may say loved, since it is the last thing I'll ever say to you.
This is telling you sincerely my greatest weakness; and now I will
oblige you with a new proof of generosity--I'll never see you more. I
shall avoid all public places; and this is the last letter I shall send.
If you write, be not displeased if I send it back unopened. I force my
inclinations to oblige yours; and remember that you have told me I could
not oblige you more than by refusing you. Had I intended ever to see you
again, I durst not have sent this letter. Adieu."
The above letter was evidently sent in a fit of pique. Certainly the
position must have been almost unbearable to a young woman of spirit.
Here was Lady Mary, in her twenty-second or twenty-third year, for all
practical purposes betrothed, and her father and her lover quarrelling
over settlements. Her friends were all getting married and having
establishments of their own, and she more or less in disgrace, living at
one or other of her father's houses.
Nothing came of her announcement that she desired no further relation
with Montagu. She could not bring herself definitely to break with
Montagu, and he would neither wed her nor give her up. The
correspondence continued with unabated vigour.
"I am in pain about the letter I sent you this morning," she wrote in
March, 1911. "I fear you should think, after what I have said, you
cannot, in point of honour, break off with me. Be not scrupulous on that
article, nor affect to make me break first, to excuse your doing it; I
would owe nothing but to inclination: if you do not love me, I may have
the less esteem of myself, but not of you: I am not of the number of
those women that have the opinion of their persons Mr. Bayes had of his
play, that 'tis the touchstone of sense, and they are to frame their
judgment of people's understanding according to what they think of them.
"You may have wit, good humour, and good nature, and not like me. I
allow a great deal for the inconstancy of mankind in general, and my own
want of merit in particular. But 'tis a breach, at least, of the two
last, to deceive me. I am sincere: I shall be sorry if I am not now what
pleases; but if I (as I could with joy) abandon all things to the care
of pleasing you, I am then undone if I do not succeed.--Be generous."
It was about this time that she confided her troubles to Mrs. Hewet.
"At present, my domestic affairs go on so ill, I want spirits to look
round," she wrote. "I have got a cold that disables my eyes and
disorders me every other way. Mr. Mason has ordered me blooding, to
which I have submitted, after long contestation. You see how stupid I
am; I entertain you with discourses of physic, but I have the oddest
jumble of disagreeable things in my head that ever plagued poor mortals;
a great cold, a bad peace, people I love in disgrace, sore eyes, the
horrid prospect of a civil war, and the thought of a filthy potion to
take. I believe nobody ever had such a _mélange_ before."
The unsatisfactory situation, apparently, might have continued
indefinitely, for, even if Montagu had been more pressing, Lady Mary, in
spite of her independent attitude, was most reluctant, indeed, almost
determined, not to marry without her father's consent.
In the early summer of 1712, however, Lord Dorchester created a crisis.
Thinking, perhaps, that his daughter might one day get out of hand and,
in despair, defy him, he decided to find her a husband other than
Montagu. At first, from a sense of weariness and from filial duty, Lady
Mary inclined to obey the parental injunction--to her father's great
delight. All the preparations for the wedding were put in train--then,
ultimately, Lady Mary declared that she could not and would not go
through with it on any terms. Who the bridegroom was she does not
mention, but, in a manner somewhat involved, she in a letter in July,
1912, confided the whole story to Montagu.
"I am going to write you a plain long letter. What I have already told
you is nothing but the truth. I have no reason to believe I am going to
be otherwise confined than by my duty; but I, that know my own mind,
know that is enough to make me miserable. I see all the misfortune of
marrying where it is impossible to love; I am going to confess a
weakness may perhaps add to your contempt of me. I wanted courage to
resist at first the will of my relations; but, as every day added to my
fears, those, at last, grew strong enough to make me venture the
disobliging them. A harsh word damps my spirits to a degree of silencing
all I have to say. I knew the folly of my own temper, and took the
method of writing to the disposer of me. I said everything in this
letter I thought proper to move him, and proffered, in atonement for not
marrying whom he would, never to marry at all. He did not think fit to
answer this letter, but sent for me to him. He told me he was very much
surprized that I did not depend on his judgment for my future happiness;
that he knew nothing I had to complain of, &c.; that he did not doubt I
had some other fancy in my head, which encouraged me to this
disobedience; but he assured me, if I refused a settlement he had
provided for me, he gave me his word, whatever proposals were made him,
he would never so much as enter into a treaty with any other; that, if I
founded any hopes upon his death, I should find myself mistaken, he
never intended to leave me anything but an annuity of £400 per annum;
that, though another would proceed in this manner after I had given so
just a pretence for it, yet he had [the] goodness to leave my destiny
yet in my own choice, and at the same time commanded me to communicate
my design to my relations, and ask their advice. As hard as this may
sound, it did not shock my resolution; I was pleased to think, at any
price, I had it in my power to be free from a man I hated. I told my
intention to all my nearest relations. I was surprised at their blaming
it, to the greatest degree. I was told, they were sorry I would ruin
myself; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could not blame my F.
[father] whatever he inflicted on me. I objected I did not love him.
They made answer, they found no necessity of loving; if I lived well
with him, that was all was required of me; and that if I considered this
town, I should find very few women in love with their husbands, and yet
a many happy. It was in vain to dispute with such prudent people; they
looked upon me as a little romantic, and I found it impossible to
persuade them that living in London at liberty was not the height of
happiness. However, they could not change my thoughts, though I found I
was to expect no protection from them. When I was to give my final
answer to----, I told him that I preferred a single life to any other;
and, if he pleased to permit me, I would take that resolution. He
replied, he could not hinder my resolutions, but I should not pretend
after that to please him; since pleasing him was only to be done by
obedience; that if I would disobey, I knew the consequences; he would
not fail to confine me, where I might repent at leisure; that he had
also consulted my relations, and found them all agreeing in his
sentiments. He spoke this in a manner hindered my answering. I retired
to my chamber, where I writ a letter to let him know my aversion to the
man proposed was too great to be overcome, that I should be miserable
beyond all things could be imagined, but I was in his hands, and he
might dispose of me as he thought fit. He was perfectly satisfied with
this answer, and proceeded as if I had given a willing consent.--I
forgot to tell you, he named you, and said, if I thought that way, I was
very much mistaken; that if he had no other engagements, yet he would
never have agreed to your proposals, having no inclination to see his
grandchildren beggars.
"I do not speak this to endeavour to alter your opinion, but to shew the
improbability of his agreeing to it. I confess I am entirely of your
mind. I reckon it among the absurdities of custom that a man must be
obliged to settle his whole estate on an eldest son, beyond his power to
recall, whatever he proves to be, and make himself unable to make happy
a younger child that may deserve to be so. If I had an estate myself, I
should not make such ridiculous settlements, and I cannot blame you for
being in the right.
"I have told you all my affairs with a plain sincerity. I have avoided
to move your compassion, and I have said nothing of what I suffer; and I
have not persuaded you to a _treaty_, which I am sure my family will
never agree to. I can have no fortune without an entire obedience.
"Whatever your business is, may it end to your satisfaction. I think of
the public as you do. As little as _that_ is a woman's care, it may be
permitted into the number of a woman's fears. But, wretched as I am, I
have no more to fear for myself. I have still a concern for my friends,
and I am in pain for your danger. I am far from taking ill what you say,
I never valued myself as the daughter of----, and ever despised those
that esteemed me on that account. With pleasure I could barter all that,
and change to be any country gentleman's daughter that would have reason
enough to make happiness in privacy. My letter is too long. I beg your
pardon. You may see by the situation of my affairs 'tis without design."
The marriage with the gentleman unknown was thus called off--to the very
considerable anger of Lord Dorchester. Lord Pierrepont wrote offering to
come to her aid, by representing to her father the hardship he was
inflicting by endeavouring to force her inclination. He went so far as
to say that he would assist her to marry a man of moderate means, if
there were such an one in her heart. She was little used to sympathy,
and the proposal affected her deeply. "The generosity and goodness of
this letter wholly determines my softest inclinations on your side," she
wrote with unusual gentleness to Montagu on a Thursday night in August.
"You are in the wrong to suspect me of artifice; plainly showing me the
kindness of your heart (if you have any there for me) is the surest way
to touch mine, and I am at this minute more inclined to speak tenderly
to you than ever I was in my life--so much inclined I will say nothing.
I could wish you would leave England, but I know not how to object to
anything that pleases you. In this minute I have no will that does not
agree with yours."
There is a reference in the letter just printed to a meeting of Lady
Anne and Montagu, but how often they saw each other at this time there
is no knowing.
However, it must have been in August that, failing the consent of Lord
Dorchester to their marriage, they made up their minds to elope. From
whom the suggestion first came, who can say? Let it be hoped for the
sake of maiden modesty it came from Montagu. What drove them to this
step may well have been the fear that Lord Dorchester might, to all
intents and purposes, imprison his daughter on one of his estates. Even
at the eleventh hour, Lady Mary was determined that there should be no
misunderstanding between her and her _fiancé_. She wrote to him saying
that if she came to him in this way, she would come to him without a
portion. To this part of her letter he vouchsafed no reply, so she again
touched upon the matter.
"You made no reply to one part of my letter concerning my fortune. I am
afraid you flatter yourself that my F. [father] may be at length
reconciled and brought to reasonable terms. I am convinced, by what I
have often heard him say, speaking of other cases like this, he never
will. The fortune he has engaged to give with me, was settled on my B.
[brother]'s marriage, on my sister and on myself; but in such a manner,
that it was left in his power to give it all to either of us, or divide
as he thought fit. He has given it all to me. Nothing remains for my
sister, but the free bounty of my F. [father] from what he can save;
which, notwithstanding the greatness of his estate, may be very little.
Possibly, after I have disobliged him so much, he may be glad to have
her so easily provided for, with money already raised; especially if he
has a design to marry himself, as I hear. I do not speak this that you
should not endeavour to come to terms with him, if you please; but I am
fully persuaded it will be to no purpose."
Lady Mary assured Montagu that Lord Dorchester's attitude was this: She
had consented to an engagement with another man, that she had let him
incur an expenditure of some four hundred pounds for a trousseau, and
that, by breaking it off, had made him look foolish. In fact, her
father, she added, had given her clearly to understand that he would
entertain no dealings whatsoever with any suitor other than the one of
his choice, that he would send her to his estate in the north of
England, and that it was his intention to leave her, on his death, only
an annuity of four hundred pounds.
As a good sportsman she at the last moment gave Montagu a chance to
retreat.
"He [my father] will have a thousand plausible reasons for being
irreconcileable, and 'tis very probable the world will be of his side.
Reflect now for the last time in what manner you must take me. I shall
come to you with only a night-gown and petticoat, and that is all you
will get with me. I told a lady of my friends what I intended to do. You
will think her a very good friend when I tell you she has proffered to
lend us her house if we would come there the first night. I did not
accept of this till I had let you know it. If you think it more
convenient to carry me to your lodgings, make no scruple of it. Let it
be where it will: if I am your wife I shall think no place unfit for me
where you are. I beg we may leave London next morning, wherever you
intend to go. I should wish to go out of England if it suits with your
affairs. You are the best judge of your father's temper. If you think it
would be obliging to him, or necessary for you, I will go with you
immediately to ask his pardon and his blessing. If that is not proper at
first, I think the best scheme is going to the Spa. When you come back,
you may endeavour to make your father admit of seeing me, and treat with
mine (thought I persist in thinking it will be to no purpose). But I
cannot think of living in the midst of my relations and acquaintance
after so unjustifiable a step:--unjustifiable to the world,--but I think
I can justify myself to myself. I again beg you to hire a coach to be at
the door early Monday morning, to carry us some part of our way,
wherever you resolve our journey shall be. If you determine to go to
that lady's house, you had better come with a coach and six at seven
o'clock to-morrow. She and I will be in the balcony that looks on the
road: you have nothing to do but to stop under it, and we will come down
to you. Do in this what you like best. After all, think very seriously.
Your letter, which will be waited for, is to determine everything. I
forgive you a coarse expression in your last, which, however, I wish had
not been there. You might have said something like it without expressing
it in that manner; but there was so much complaisance in the rest of it
I ought to be satisfied. You can shew me no goodness I shall not be
sensible of. However, think again, and resolve never to think of me if
you have the least doubt, or that it is likely to make you uneasy in
your fortune. I believe to travel is the most likely way to make a
solitude agreeable, and not tiresome: remember you have promised it."
Even in this hour of excitement Lady Mary did not lose her head, and she
asked for a settlement that would make her easy in her mind.
"Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to expect anything;
but after the way of my education, I dare not pretend to live but in
some degree suitable to it. I had rather die than return to a dependancy
upon relations I have disobliged. Save me from that fear if you love me.
If you cannot, or think I ought not to expect it, be sincere and tell me
so. 'Tis better I should not be yours at all, than, for a short
happiness, involve myself in ages of misery. I hope there will never be
occasion for this precaution; but, however, 'tis necessary to make it. I
depend entirely on your honour, and I cannot suspect you of any way
doing wrong. Do not imagine I shall be angry at anything you can tell
me. Let it be sincere; do not impose on a woman that leaves all things
for you."
No woman could be more sensible than was Lady Mary at this time, and
she gave expression to the most exemplary sentiments.
"A woman that adds nothing to a man's fortune ought not to take from his
happiness. If possible I would add to it; but I will not take from you
any satisfaction you could enjoy without me."
"If we marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another: 'tis
principally my concern to think of the most probable method of making
the love eternal."
"There is one article absolutely necessary--to be ever beloved, one must
be ever agreeable."
"Very few people that have settled entirely in the country but have
grown at length weary of one another. The lady's conversation generally
falls into a thousand impertinent effects of idleness, and the gentleman
falls _in_ love with his dogs and horses and _out_ of love with
everything else."
And so on.
Possibly if Lady Mary had had less brains and more passion, if she had
not so calmly worked out the permutations and combinations of married
life, the alliance might have been more successful. She, with all her
intelligence, did not seem to realise that matrimony is not an affair of
rules and regulations, of aphorisms and epigrams, nor that the lines on
which husband and wife shall conduct themselves to a happy ending can be
settled by a study of vulgar fractions.
Anyhow, the plunge was at last taken--with some not unnatural
trepidation on the part of the twenty-three-year-old bride. On Friday
night, August 15, 1712, she wrote to Montagu:
"I tremble for what we are doing.--Are you sure you will love me for
ever? Shall we never repent? I fear and I hope. I forsee all that will
happen on this occasion. I shall incense my family in the highest
degree. The generality of the world will blame my conduct, and the
relations and friends of ---- will invent a thousand stories of me; yet,
'tis possible, you may recompense everything to me. In this letter,
which I am fond of, you promise me all that I wish. Since I writ so far,
I received your Friday letter. I will be only yours, and I will do what
you please.
"You shall hear from me again to-morrow, not to contradict, but to give
some directions. My resolution is taken. Love me and use me well."
The wedding licence is dated August 16, and the marriage took place in a
day or two.
The bride had the active assistance of her uncle, William Feilding, who
may have been present at the ceremony; and the full sympathy of her
brother, Lord Kingston, who, however, did not accompany her, perhaps
deeming it impolitic to quarrel with his father.
The family must have thought that Lord Dorchester would examine Lady
Mary's papers, for her sister, Lady Frances destroyed all she could
find, including, unfortunately, a diary that Lady Mary had kept for
several years.