Speculations of the author on free-agency and predestination—A novel
theory—The matrimonial ladder—Advice to young lovers—A ball in
Dublin—Unexpected arrival of Lord G— —His doom expressed—Marries the
author’s niece—Remarks on his lordship’s character.
In a previous part of this volume, I promised my fair readers that I
would endeavour to select some little anecdotes of tender interest, more
particularly calculated for their perusal; and I now proceed to redeem
that promise, so far as I can.
_Fatality_ in _marriages_ has been ever a favourite theme with young
ladies who have promptly determined to resign their liberty to a
stranger, rather than preserve it with a parent. I am myself no
unqualified fatalist; but have struck out a notion of my own on that
subject, which is, I believe, different from all others;—and when I
venture to broach it in conversation, I am generally assured by the most
didactic of the company, that (so far as it is comprehensible) it
excludes both sense and morality. Nevertheless it is, like my faith in
supernaturals, a grounded and honest opinion: and in all matters
connected with such shadowy things as spirits, fates, chances, &c. a man
is surely warranted in forming his own theories—a species of
construction, at any rate, equally harmless and rational with that
castle-building in the air so prevalent among his wiser acquaintances.
It is not my intention here to plunge deep into my tenets. I only mean
indeed to touch on them so far as they bear upon matrimony: and may the
glance induce fair damsels, when first nourishing a tender passion, to
consider in time what may be _fated_ as the consequences of their
_free-agency_!
The matrimonial _ladder_ (if I may be allowed such a simile) has
generally eight steps: viz. 1. Attentions; 2. Flirtation; 3. Courtship;
4. Breaking the ice; 5. Popping the question; 6. The negotiation; 7. The
ceremony; 8. The _repentance_.
The grand basis of my doctrine is, that free-agency and predestination
are neither (as commonly held) inconsistent nor incompatible; but, on
the contrary, intimately connected, and generally copartners in
producing human events. Every important occurrence in the life of man or
woman (and matrimony is no _bagatelle_) partakes of the nature of both.
Great events may ever be traced to trivial causes, or to voluntary
actions; and that which is _voluntary_ cannot, it should seem, be
_predestined_: but when these acts of free-will are once performed, they
lead irresistibly to ulterior things. Our free-agency then becomes
expended; our spontaneous actions cannot be retraced; and then, and not
before, the march of _fate_ commences.
The medical doctrine of remote and proximate causes of disease in the
human body is not altogether inappropriate to my dogma—since disorders
which are _predestined_ to send ladies and gentlemen on their travels to
the other world, entirely _against_ their inclinations, may frequently
be traced to acts which were as entirely within their own option.
I have already professed my intention of going but superficially into
this subject just now; and though I could find it in my heart
considerably to prolong the inquiry, I will only give one or two marked
illustrations of my doctrine, merely to set casuists conjecturing. There
are comparatively few important acts of a person’s life which may not be
avoided. For example:—if any man chooses voluntarily to take a voyage to
Nova Scotia, he gives _predestination_ a fair opportunity of drowning
him at sea, if it think proper; but if he determines never to go into a
ship, he may be perfectly certain of his safety in _that_ way. Again:—if
a general chooses to go into a battle, it is his free-agency which
enables predestination to despatch him there; but if, on the other hand,
he keeps clear out of it (as some generals do), he may set fatality at
defiance on that point, and perhaps return with as much glory as many of
his comrades had acquired by leaving their brains upon the field.
Cromwell told his soldiers the night before the battle of Worcester, (to
encourage them,) that, “Every _bullet_ carried its own _billet_.”—“Why
then, by my sowl,” said an Irish recruit, “that’s the very rason I’ll
_desert_ before morning!” Marriage, likewise, is an act of free-agency;
but, as I said before, being once contracted, predestination comes into
play, often despatching one or other of the parties, either by grief,
murder, or suicide, who might have been safe and sound from all those
_fatalities_, had he or she never _voluntarily_ purchased or worn a
plain gold ring.
Of the eight steps attached to the ladder of matrimony already
specified, _seven_ (all lovers will be pleased to remark) imply
“free-agency;” but the latter of these being mounted, progress to the
eighth is too frequently _inevitable_. I therefore recommend to all
candidates for the ascent, thorough deliberation, and a brief pause at
each successive step:—for, according to my way of thinking, the knot
tied at the seventh interval should be considered, in every respect,
perfectly indissoluble.
The principle of these few examples might extend to most of the events
that chequer our passage through life; and a little unprejudiced
reflection seems alone requisite to demonstrate that “free-agency” may
readily keep fate under her thumb on most important occasions.
I cannot avoid particularising, as to matrimony, an incident that came
within my knowledge, and related to individuals of rank who are still
living. The facts are well remembered, though they occurred nearly
twenty years ago. Exclusive of the intrinsic interest of the
transaction, it may have some weight with my fair readers.
About the year 1809, a ball, on an extensive scale, was given by Lady
Barrington in Dublin. Almost every person of _ton_ did her the honour of
participating in the festivity, and I think the Duke of Wellington was
present.
In the evening, I received a note from Sir Charles Ormsby, mentioning
that Lord G——, son of my old friend the Earl of L——, had just arrived.
He was represented as a fine young man; and it was added that (though
quite tired) he might be prevailed on to attend Lady Barrington’s ball,
were I to write him a note of invitation. Of course I did so with the
greatest pleasure. The Earl of L—— and I had been many years intimate:
the late Right Honourable Isaac Corry was his close friend; and before
his lordship grew _too rich_, he was my next door neighbour in Harcourt
Street. We were, indeed, all three, boon companions.
Lord G—— arrived at the ball, and a very good-looking fellow he
certainly was—of about nineteen; his address corresponded with his mien,
and I was quite taken with him, independently of his being my friend’s
son. Two very young relatives of mine—one my niece, Arabella E——, the
other my daughter (now the Viscomtesse de F——,) did the juvenile honours
of the party.
Sir Charles Ormsby, (who might have been termed a sort of _half-mounted_
wit,) said to me, rather late, “Did you ever know such a foolish boy as
G——? Before he had been half an hour in the room, he protested that ere
three months were over, either one or other of your girls would be Lady
G——; that it was a _doomed_ thing;—though he could not exactly say
_which_ would be the bride—as he had not seen either from the time they
were all children together.”
The ball ended about day-break, and I was obliged immediately to set off
for circuit. I had been engaged as counsel on the trial of Mr. Alcock
for the murder of Mr. John Colclough (as mentioned Volume i.).
I finished my month’s circuit at Wexford, where to my surprise I found
Lord G——. I asked him his business there. He said he had been summoned
as a witness on the above-mentioned trial, which I thought a very
strange circumstance, as he could have known nothing whatsoever of the
transaction. However, we travelled together to Dublin in my carriage;
and on the way he spoke much of _destiny_, and of a cottage in County
Wicklow, with every thing “rural.” I did not then comprehend the young
man’s drift; but on my return, I found that his _free-agency_ had been
put in practice; and, in fact, very shortly after, Lord G—— was my
nephew. _Fatality_ now commenced her dominion; and a most charming gift
from fatality had the young nobleman received in a partner juvenile,
like himself, his equal in birth, and possessed of every accomplishment.
I had not at first been made acquainted with the cause of Lord G——’s
visit to Ireland; but at length understood, with some surprise, that the
Earl of L—— had placed his eldest son as an ensign in a marching
regiment ordered to the continent. Thus, at the age of nineteen, he
found himself in a situation unfavourable, as I think, to the fair and
proper development of his mind and talents—uncongenial with the
befitting pursuits for a nobleman’s heir—and still less adapted to
gratify the cravings of an ardent intelligent spirit, whose very
enthusiasm was calculated, under such circumstances, to produce
recklessness and evil.
The residue of this _novel_ (for such, in all its details, it may fairly
be denominated—and one of a most interesting and affecting cast) would
afford ample material for observation: but it is too long, too grave,
and perhaps too delicate, for investigation here.—Suffice it to add,
that I saw Lord and Lady G——, with their numerous and lovely family,
last summer on the continent—altered less than I should have imagined,
from the interval that had elapsed. In speaking of his lordship, I am
reminded of the motto, “Every one has his fault:”—but he has likewise
great merits, and talent which would have been higher had his education
been more judicious. My friendship for him has been strong and
invariable; and I think that fate has not yet closed the book on his
future renown and advancement.