You are fond (said my aunt) of sketches of the society which has passed
away. I wish I could describe to you Sir Philip Forester, the
"chartered libertine" of Scottish good company, about the end of the
last century. I never saw him indeed; but my mother's traditions were
full of his wit, gallantry and dissipation. This gay knight flourished
about the end of the 17th and beginning of the 18th century. He was the
Sir Charles Easy and the Lovelace of his day and country; renowned for
the number of duels he had fought, and the successful intrigues which
he had carried on. The supremacy which he had attained in the
fashionable world was absolute; and when we combine with it one or two
anecdotes, for which, "if laws were made for every degree," he ought
certainly to have been hanged, the popularity of such a person really
serves to show, either that the present times are much more decent, if
not more virtuous, than they formerly were; or, that high breeding then
was of more difficult attainment than that which is now so called; and,
consequently, entitled the successful professor to a proportionable
degree of plenary indulgences and privileges. No beau of this day could
have borne out so ugly a story as that of Pretty Peggy Grindstone, the
miller's daughter at Sillermills--it had well-nigh made work for the
Lord Advocate. But it hurt Sir Philip Forester no more than the hail
hurts the hearth-stone. He was as well received in society as ever, and
dined with the Duke of A---- the day the poor girl was buried. She died
of heart-break. But that has nothing to do with my story.
Now, you must listen to a single word upon kith, kin, and ally; I
promise you I will not be prolix. But it is necessary to the
authenticity of my legend, that you should know that Sir Philip
Forester, with his handsome person, elegant accomplishments, and
fashionable manners, married the younger Miss Falconer of King's
Copland. The elder sister of this lady had previously become the wife
of my grandfather, Sir Geoffrey Bothwell, and brought into our family a
good fortune. Miss Jemima, or Miss Jemmie Falconer, as she was usually
called, had also about ten thousand pounds sterling--then thought a
very handsome portion indeed.
The two sisters were extremely different, though each had their
admirers while they remained single. Lady Bothwell had some touch of
the old King's Copland blood about her. She was bold, though not to the
degree of audacity; ambitious, and desirous to raise her house and
family; and was, as has been said, a considerable spur to my
grandfather, who was otherwise an indolent man; but whom, unless he has
been slandered, his lady's influence involved in some political matters
which had been more wisely let alone. She was a woman of high
principle, however, and masculine good sense, as some of her letters
testify, which are still in my wainscot cabinet.
Jemmie Falconer was the reverse of her sister in every respect. Her
understanding did not reach above the ordinary pitch, if, indeed, she
could be said to have attained it. Her beauty, while it lasted,
consisted, in a great measure, of delicacy of complexion and regularity
of features, without any peculiar force of expression. Even these
charms faded under the sufferings attendant on an ill-sorted match. She
was passionately attached to her husband, by whom she was treated with
a callous, yet polite indifference, which, to one whose heart was as
tender as her judgment was weak, was more painful perhaps than absolute
ill-usage. Sir Philip was a voluptuary, that is, a completely selfish
egotist, whose disposition and character resembled the rapier he wore,
polished, keen, and brilliant, but inflexible and unpitying. As he
observed carefully all the usual forms towards his lady, he had the art
to deprive her even of the compassion of the world; and useless and
unavailing as that may be while actually possessed by the sufferer, it
is, to a mind like Lady Forester's, most painful to know she has it not.
The tattle of society did its best to place the peccant husband above
the suffering wife. Some called her a poor spiritless thing, and
declared, that, with a little of her sister's spirit, she might have
brought to reason any Sir Philip whatsoever, were it the termagant
Falconbridge himself. But the greater part of their acquaintance
affected candour, and saw faults on both sides; though, in fact, there
only existed the oppressor and the oppressed. The tone of such critics
was--"To be sure, no one will justify Sir Philip Forester, but then we
all know Sir Philip, and Jemmie Falconer might have known what she had
to expect from the beginning.--What made her set her cap at Sir
Philip?--He would never have looked at her if she had not thrown
herself at his head, with her poor ten thousand pounds. I am sure, if
it is money he wanted, she spoiled his market. I know where Sir Philip
could have done much better.--And then, if she _would_ have the man,
could not she try to make him more comfortable at home, and have his
friends oftener, and not plague him with the squalling children, and
take care all was handsome and in good style about the house? I declare
I think Sir Philip would have made a very domestic man, with a woman
who knew how to manage him."
Now these fair critics, in raising their profound edifice of domestic
felicity, did not recollect that the corner-stone was wanting; and that
to receive good company with good cheer, the means of the banquet ought
to have been furnished by Sir Philip; whose income (dilapidated as it
was) was not equal to the display of hospitality required, and, at the
same time, to the supply of the good knight's _menus plaisirs_. So, in
spite of all that was so sagely suggested by female friends, Sir Philip
carried his good-humour every where abroad, and left at home a solitary
mansion and a pining spouse.
At length, inconvenienced in his money affairs, and tired even of the
short time which he spent in his own dull house, Sir Philip Forester
determined to take a trip to the Continent, in the capacity of a
volunteer. It was then common for men of fashion to do so; and our
knight perhaps was of opinion that a touch of the military character,
just enough to exalt, but not render pedantic, his qualities as a _beau
garcon_, was necessary to maintain possession of the elevated situation
which he held in the ranks of fashion.
Sir Philip's resolution threw his wife into agonies of terror, by which
the worthy baronet was so much annoyed, that, contrary to his wont, he
took some trouble to soothe her apprehensions; and once more brought
her to shed tears, in which sorrow was not altogether unmingled with
pleasure. Lady Bothwell asked, as a favour, Sir Philip's permission to
receive her sister and her family into her own house during his absence
on the Continent. Sir Philip readily assented to a proposition which
saved expense, silenced the foolish people who might have talked of a
deserted wife and family, and gratified Lady Bothwell, for whom he felt
some respect, as for one who often spoke to him, always with freedom,
and sometimes with severity, without being deterred either by his
raillery, or the _prestige_ of his reputation.
A day or two before Sir Philip's departure, Lady Bothwell took the
liberty of asking him, in her sister's presence, the direct question,
which his timid wife had often desired, but never ventured, to put to
him.
"Pray, Sir Philip, what route do you take when you reach the Continent?"
"I go from Leith to Helvoet by a packet with advices."
"That I comprehend perfectly," said Lady Bothwell dryly; "but you do
not mean to remain long at Helvoet, I presume, and I should like to
know what is your next object?"
"You ask me, my dear lady," answered Sir Philip, "a question which I
have not dared to ask myself. The answer depends on the fate of war. I
shall, of course, go to headquarters, wherever they may happen to be
for the time; deliver my letters of introduction; learn as much of the
noble art of war as may suffice a poor interloping amateur; and then
take a glance at the sort of thing of which we read so much in the
Gazette."
"And I trust, Sir Philip," said Lady Bothwell, "that you will remember
that you are a husband and a father; and that though you think fit to
indulge this military fancy, you will not let it hurry you into dangers
which it is certainly unnecessary for any save professional persons to
encounter?"
"Lady Bothwell does me too much honour," replied the adventurous
knight, "in regarding such a circumstance with the slightest interest.
But to soothe your flattering anxiety, I trust your ladyship will
recollect, that I cannot expose to hazard the venerable and paternal
character which you so obligingly recommend to my protection, without
putting in some peril an honest fellow, called Philip Forester, with
whom I have kept company for thirty years, and with whom, though some
folk consider him a coxcomb, I have not the least desire to part."
"Well, Sir Philip, you are the best judge of your own affairs; I have
little right to interfere--you are not my husband."
"God forbid!"--said Sir Philip hastily; instantly adding, however, "God
forbid that I should deprive my friend Sir Geoffrey of so inestimable a
treasure."
"But you are my sister's husband," replied the lady; "and I suppose you
are aware of her present distress of mind--"
"If hearing of nothing else from morning to night can make me aware of
it," said Sir Philip, "I should know something of the matter."
"I do not pretend to reply to your wit, Sir Philip," answered Lady
Bothwell, "but you must be sensible that all this distress is on
account of apprehensions for your personal safety."
"In that case, I am surprised that Lady Bothwell, at least, should give
herself so much trouble upon so insignificant a subject."
"My sister's interest may account for my being anxious to learn
something of Sir Philip Forester's motions; about which otherwise, I
know, he would not wish me to concern myself. I have a brother's
safety, too, to be anxious for."
"You mean Major Falconer, your brother by the mother's side:--What can
he possibly have to do with our present agreeable conversation?"
"You have had words together, Sir Philip," said Lady Bothwell.
"Naturally; we are connections," replied Sir Philip, "and as such have
always had the usual intercourse."
"That is an evasion of the subject," answered the lady. "By words, I
mean angry words, on the subject of your usage of your wife."
"If," replied Sir Philip Forester, "you suppose Major Falconer simple
enough to intrude his advice upon me, Lady Bothwell, in my domestic
matters, you are indeed warranted in believing that I might possibly be
so far displeased with the interference, as to request him to reserve
his advice till it was asked."
"And, being on these terms, you are going to join the very army in
which my brother Falconer is now serving?"
"No man knows the path of honour better than Major Falconer," said Sir
Philip. "An aspirant after fame, like me, cannot choose a better guide
than his footsteps."
Lady Bothwell rose and went to the window, the tears gushing from her
eyes.
"And this heartless raillery," she said, "is all the consideration that
is to be given to our apprehensions of a quarrel which may bring on the
most terrible consequences? Good God! of what can men's hearts be made,
who can thus dally with the agony of others?"
Sir Philip Forester was moved; he laid aside the mocking tone in which
he had hitherto spoken.
"Dear Lady Bothwell," he said, taking her reluctant hand, "we are both
wrong:--you are too deeply serious; I, perhaps, too little. The dispute
I had with Major Falconer was of no earthly consequence. Had any thing
occurred betwixt us that ought to have been settled _par voie du fait_,
as we say in France, neither of us are persons that are likely to
postpone such a meeting. Permit me to say, that were it generally known
that you or my Lady Forester are apprehensive of such a catastrophe, it
might be the very means of bringing about what would not otherwise be
likely to happen. I know your good sense, Lady Bothwell, and that you
will understand me when I say, that really my affairs require my
absence for some months;--this Jemima cannot understand; it is a
perpetual recurrence of questions, why can you not do this, or that, or
the third thing; and, when you have proved to her that her expedients
are totally ineffectual, you have just to begin the whole round again.
Now, do you tell her, dear Lady Bothwell, that _you_ are satisfied. She
is, you must confess, one of those persons with whom authority goes
farther than reasoning. Do but repose a little confidence in me, and
you shall see how amply I will repay it."
Lady Bothwell shook her head, as one but half satisfied. "How difficult
it is to extend confidence, when the basis on which it ought to rest
has been so much shaken! But I will do my best to make Jemima easy; and
farther, I can only say, that for keeping your present purpose, I hold
you responsible both to God and man."
"Do not fear that I will deceive you," said Sir Philip; "the safest
conveyance to me will be through the general post-office, Helvoetsluys,
where I will take care to leave orders for forwarding my letters. As
for Falconer, our only encounter will be over a bottle of Burgundy! so
make yourself perfectly easy on his score."
Lady Bothwell could not make herself easy; yet she was sensible that
her sister hurt her own cause by _taking on_, as the maid-servants call
it, too vehemently; and by showing before every stranger, by manner,
and sometimes by words also, a dissatisfaction with her husband's
journey, that was sure to come to his ears, and equally certain to
displease him. But there was no help for this domestic dissension,
which ended only with the day of separation.
I am sorry I cannot tell, with precision, the year in which Sir Philip
Forester went over to Flanders; but it was one of those in which the
campaign opened with extraordinary fury; and many bloody, though
indecisive, skirmishes were fought between the French on the one side,
and the Allies on the other. In all our modern improvements, there are
none, perhaps, greater than in the accuracy and speed with which
intelligence is transmitted from any scene of action to those in this
country whom it may concern. During Marlborough's campaigns, the
sufferings of the many who had relations in, or along with, the army,
were greatly augmented by the suspense in which they were detained for
weeks, after they had heard of bloody battles in which, in all
probability, those for whom their bosoms throbbed with anxiety had been
personally engaged. Amongst those who were most agonized by this state
of uncertainty, was the--I had almost said deserted---wife of the gay
Sir Philip Forester. A single letter had informed her of his arrival on
the Continent--no others were received. One notice occurred in the
newspapers, in which Volunteer Sir Philip Forester was mentioned as
having been entrusted with a dangerous reconnoissance, which he had
executed with the greatest courage, dexterity, and intelligence, and
received the thanks of the commanding officer. The sense of his having
acquired distinction brought a momentary glow into the lady's pale
cheek; but it--was instantly lost in ashen whiteness at the
recollection of his danger. After this, they had no news whatever,
neither from Sir Philip, nor even from their brother Falconer. The case
of Lady Forester was not indeed different from that of hundreds in the
same situation; but a feeble mind is necessarily an irritable one, and
the suspense which some bear with constitutional indifference or
philosophical resignation, and some with a disposition to believe and
hope the best, was intolerable to Lady Forester, at once solitary and
sensitive, low-spirited, and devoid of strength of mind, whether
natural or acquired.