IN WHICH A KNOT IS TIED.
_From Colvin Fraser, Esq., to Mrs Hurstwood._
Muxidavad, _June ye_ 8_th, Evening._
My pen, madam, ought by rights to be dipped in joy, since it has the
charming task of announcing to the most faithful of friends that the
dear sufferer, in whose fate she and I have experienced a joint
concern, is now safely restored to the society of her countrymen, and
that no long time will, I trust, elapse, before she hastens to
Calcutta to embrace her Mrs Hurstwood. This agreeable news, you’ll
say, should stimulate me to impart it in fitting terms, but to tell
you the truth, madam, I have begun this letter already three times
over, for I can’t satisfy myself in communicating the rest of my
intelligence. ’Tis not only that I lack the fitting words for so
tremendous an announcement, my heart fails me in imagining Mrs
Hurstwood’s scorn and resentment on hearing of my presumption; yet I
would cheerfully brave even these did my mind supply me with terms
appropriate to my situation, but rather than degrade the occasion by
my poverty of speech, I’ll leave my news untold. In short, madam, I
can’t write; my heart is too full. My revered and obliging friend Dr
Dacre will take up the task I have abandoned, and permit me to
subscribe myself, Mrs Hurstwood’s most obedient, humble servant,
C. Fraser.
_From the Rev. Dr Dacre to Mrs Hurstwood._
Mucksadabad, _June ye_ 8_th, Midnight._
In obedience, madam, to the urgent entreaty of my young friend
Lieutenant Fraser, I venture to intrude myself upon the notice of Mrs
Hurstwood, confiding in that sprightly and indulgent temper of which
none can be ignorant that have been in company with the gentlemen whom
she honours with her acquaintance--a favoured band in which it is my
earnest desire to be numbered at the earliest possible period. In the
joyful confusion of mind which is the natural accompaniment of Mr
Fraser’s present situation, he has been unable to direct me in any way
in the task I have undertaken, and I purpose, therefore, to follow the
extremely just precedent which I understand him to have established in
his former epistles to Mrs Hurstwood, and relate the events of this
evening in their proper historic order. If, in so doing, I should lay
myself open to that reproach which has been recorded against old men
by my honoured friend Mr Samuel Johnson, that they too often grow
narrative in their age, and weary where they hope to please, let my
fair correspondent be so gracious as to ascribe the fault to the
respectful awe in which I stand of her, and not either to my subject
or my ill-will.
Seated this evening, madam, upon the varendar here with my obliging
host, Mr Watts, I took occasion to remark upon the absence of the two
young gentlemen, Mr Fraser and Mr Ranger, neither of whom I had seen
since early morning.
“Mr Ranger I sent to Maudipore on an errand as soon as it was cool,”
replied Mr Watts, “and I heard him come in a while ago. As for the
Lieutenant, he’s engaged on his own business, but what that is I don’t
know, nor do I ask it.”
“What’s this noise of shouting and singing that I hear approaching?” I
asked him. “Sure there’s no idol-pagoda so close as that?”
“No, ’tis but the pagans holding one of their _tamashes_, or as like
as not the Nabob is taking an evening walk with his intimates. One of
my correspondents in the Durbar brought me word to-day that Meer
Sinzaun’s influence with his master is on the wane, and that he was
endeavouring to re-establish it by presenting him with some very
choice entertainment this evening at a house he has on the skirts of
the town. Questionless the Prince and his favourites are now on their
way thither. If there was the faintest touch of spirit in Meer
Jaffier, he would sally out and capture Surajah Dowlah when he’s
passing through the streets with all this riot and noise, but the
fellow has no more enterprise than any _bawboo_. However, provided the
Nabob don’t pay me a visit, there’s nothing to trouble us in his
nightly perambulation.”
“Am I mistaken, or is the noise stopping before the gate?” said I.
Mr Watts raised himself on his elbow to listen, just as Mr Ensign
Ranger approached us from the direction of the gate, having the
liveliest contempt imaginable depicted upon his visage.
“Sir,” says he to Mr Watts, “there’s Rajah Moneloll[19.01] at the
gate, with a whole rabble of _louchees_ at his heels. They say there’s
a slave-girl--a country-born wench--missing from the seraglio, and
demand to know whether she has took refuge here. I have assured ’em of
the contrary, but they require to see you.”
“See me they may, but they won’t find the door opened to ’em,” said Mr
Watts, turning towards the gate, whither we were accompanied by Mr
Fraser and the servant Mirza Shah, who had just joined with us. We
found Moneloll very particular in his enquiries, though he offered no
reason why the wench should seek refuge with us.
“I have told you that she en’t here,” says Mr Watts at last. “The only
woman in the place is the _chokeydar’s_ grandmother, and she’s near a
hundred years old, but if you’re desirous to see the old lady, I’ll
have her step this way.”
This handsome offer raised a laugh, but the favourite represented that
the Nabob would be better satisfied if his men were permitted to
search the house in order to assure themselves of our innocence.
“Then I fear his Highness won’t be satisfied,” said Mr Watts, “for no
one enters this house to search it but over the bodies of these
gentlemen and myself, and for that you’ll have to answer to Saubut
Jung Behader.”[19.02]
“Why do you feign to take my jest for earnest, Watch Siab?” says
Moneloll, with an air of reproach, and withdrew with his followers.
“Because it would have turned to deadly earnest when once these
fellows had laid hands on the treasonable papers I have in the house,”
said Mr Watts to me in a low voice.
“They’re setting guards to watch the house, sir,” says Mr Ranger, “so
as to allow no one to enter unperceived.”
“This might have been serious a week ago,” said Mr Watts, “but
now----”
“Sir,” said Mr Fraser on a sudden, “I must ask your pardon for
correcting what you said a moment back, but the lady that Moneloll
seeks is in the house.”
“In the house, sir? Where?”
“In the godown at the back of the courtyard, close to the small door,
sir.”
“And you choose this moment, sir, when all our lives hang upon a
thread, and spies among our servants are watching not only our
motions, but our looks and words, to embroil me with the Nabob for the
sake of a half-_cast_ wench?”
“Sir! the lady is she of whom I told you, who survived the fall of
Calcutta.”
“Pray, Mr Fraser, remember I warned you that I could not listen to any
account of your aspirations in coming here. Still, you have set the
affair in a better light, and kept me from handing the woman back at
once to the Nabob, as I was about to do. But if I may presume to ask
it, what’s your object in bringing her here?”
“To procure for her your protection, sir, and the means of rejoining
her friends.”
“And this when every foot of the way to Calcutta swarms with enemies!
Perhaps you en’t aware, sir, that to-morrow you’re to repair to
Maudipore with Dr Dacre and Mr Ranger, in order to be ready should I
be compelled to quit Mucksadabad suddenly. Pray, is the lady to go
with you or remain here with me? How, pray, do you hope to convey her
to Calcutta? Sure you had better have left her where she was.”
“Had I done so, sir, I would be the most calculating coward that ever
breathed.”
“Say you so, indeed? Come, sir, what’s your relation to the lady?”
“I honour and esteem her infinitely, sir.”
“Pray, are you her humble servant?”
“That’s the position to which I aspire, sir.”
“Well, will you marry her to-night?”
“To-night, sir? But I han’t asked her.”
“That’s an omission can quickly be repaired. Will you do it?”
“But, sir, such haste--indecent haste--her friendless situation--she
would feel her delicacy outraged by the mere suggestion----”
“Oh, we won’t press you, sir. Mr Ranger, you’re acquainted with the
lady. Will you assume the office of protecting her?”
“With all my heart, sir, this very moment.”
“Sir!” cried Mr Fraser to Mr Watts. “Jem!” to Mr Ranger.
“Why, what a selfish cur art thou, Colvin!” cried the young gentleman.
“A true dog in the manger, and sullen at that. Because the poor girl
don’t find favour with thee, would’st have her lose all chance of a
kind spouse?”
“Put up your sword, sir,” cried Mr Watts angrily to Mr Fraser. “How
will you quarrel with Mr Ranger for obliging me where you refuse? Have
you anything to say against him?”
“This, sir,” said Mr Fraser, standing and confronting Mr Watts very
stiffly. “Shortly before the fall of Calcutta I received a letter from
my cousin Colquhoun, with whom you was acquainted, saying that in
response to my urgent desire expressed to him, he was setting on foot
a treaty of marriage between Miss Freyne and myself, but beyond adding
that she had offered no opposition to the match, he told me nothing of
her temper towards me. The troubles that followed brought the
negotiation to an abrupt conclusion, so you’ll perceive I can’t tell
how I stand with regard to the lady.”
“I’ll promise you this, at least,” says Mr Ranger; “I won’t run off
with your mistress before your eyes, Colvin.”
“Pray, sir, be silent,” says Mr Watts. “Am I to understand that you’re
willing for the completion of the treaty, Mr Fraser, if the lady be
the same?”
“Why, yes, sir, with all my heart. But how approach the subject
without seeming to the lady to presume upon such slight service as I
have been able to render her? She is the very soul of delicacy, and to
be lowered in her eyes would be intolerable to me.”
“Give me your hand, Mr Fraser!” says Mr Watts, warmly. “You’re a youth
of spirit, and I honour your scruples. You shan’t have this odious
task forced upon you. I will myself approach the lady on your behalf,
and take her mind in the matter.”
I have never, madam, seen a young gentleman with so astonished an air
as Mr Fraser. “But, sir,” he stammered, “the haste will be the same.”
“My good sir,” says Mr Watts, “I’ll assure you the lady shall be told
that you’re about to be forced to the altar at the sword’s point. I’ll
swear to her that you’d wish to delay the ceremony for ten years if it
could be compassed. In fact, to satisfy you I’ll intimate to her that
you marry her but to oblige me. What, en’t this enough?”
“Sir, sir!” cried the unfortunate young man, and stopped, unable to
say more.
“Come, sir,” said Mr Watts, “trust me to guard both the lady’s
punctilio and your own. Her father was one of my most intimate
friends, and I desire nothing but good to his daughter. If she’s
reluctant to have you, I’ll say no more, but if you’re both willing,
why delay? Come, doctor, you shall add your persuasions to mine.”
Taking the lantern which the Tartar brought him, Mr Watts led the way
to the godown, leaving Mr Fraser a lively image of despair, and his
friend plying him with mocking consolations. Mr Watts unlocking the
door, we passed into the warehouse, and discovered a female form
seated on one of the bales. To you, madam, who enjoyed for so long the
felicity of being continually in company with Miss Freyne, I need not
express the sensations with which my friend and myself beheld the
extraordinary loveliness of this young creature, more especially when
we remembered the affecting situation in which she was placed, as she
rose and saluted us with an air of modest dignity that added, if that
were possible, another to the many graces of her aspect.
“Your servant, gentlemen,” said she.
“Madam,” says Mr Watts, “your most humble servant. My old comrade Hal
Freyne’s daughter don’t, I hope, hear for the first time the name of
William Watts? This here is my friend Dr Dacre, a learned divine and
most ingenious author.”
Miss Freyne curtseyed again, in acknowledgment of my host’s too
partial mention of myself, but methought her eyes rested with a more
assured confidence on Mr Watts, who (worthy man!) experienced, as I
thought, some embarrassment in fulfilling the task he had chosen, but
in this I was to find myself mistaken.
“Doctor,” he said, turning to me, “you was right and I wrong.”
“Indeed, sir, this handsome acknowledgment----” said I, altogether
ignorant of his meaning.
“Yes, indeed. I thought the young gentleman’s fears uncalled-for, but
now I’m inclined to believe him rather presumptuous than modest.”
I began to understand. “He seemed to me to carry himself very
properly, sir.”
“But in face of so much beauty, sir! Why, Prince George himself would
have good cause to tremble in the presence of such a lady. The
assurance of these young fellows is prodigious! I’m unwilling to
prejudice the foolish youth in the eyes of a person he reveres so
highly, but I must confess I should be glad to see his arrogant
pretensions suitably rebuked.”
“Sure, sir, you’re too hard,” I said, while Miss Freyne turned her
eyes in bewilderment from one of us to the other. “The young gentleman
displayed a very proper sense of his own unworthiness as compared with
the lady, and after all, he has done his best to serve her.”
“A plague on his services, sir!” cried Mr Watts. “Is it to be endured
that the mere risque of finding himself dismissed the navy, together
with a paltry five months’ residing and working here for Miss Freyne’s
release, should inspire the coxcomb with the notion of possessing a
claim on the lady’s gratitude?”
Here Miss Freyne interrupted us. “Sir,” she said, with the most
charming blush imaginable, “I can’t help guessing that you speak of Mr
Fraser. I trust I han’t been so unfortunate as in any way to injure
his prospects in life through the generous ardour that impelled him to
attempt my release?”
“Why, madam,” says Mr Watts, pushing his wig on one side, as one
greatly perplexed, “this is the fact of the matter--though indeed, if
I didn’t know that Miss Freyne’s wit and discretion are reported to
exceed, if possible, her beauty, I should not venture to lay it before
her. I can’t deny but Mr Fraser is in bad odour with his superiors,
and runs some risque of being put on his trial for desertion, owing to
his exceeding the time allowed him here by the Admiral; but as I said
just now, any man should count himself honoured in being permitted to
run some risque for Miss Freyne’s sake.”
But here I thought that Mr Watts was gone too far, for the unfortunate
lady fell back against the goods behind her, as pale as death. “Alas!”
she murmured, “must I involve yet another in the miseries I bring on
all concerned with me--and this one my brave deliverer?”
“Nay, madam,” cried Mr Watts, “the young gentleman is of opinion that
you may compensate him if you will for any risques to which he may
have been exposed. But, as I was saying, who could expect Miss Freyne
to sacrifice herself for such an insignificant person?”
The lady’s face was whiter than before. “Sacrifice myself? I offered
that very thing, but he refused,” she breathed, so low that we could
scarce hear her, “and now he sends to ask it of me! No, sir,” she
cried out suddenly, “’tis unpossible. You must have mistook him. He
could not be so base.”
“Why, madam,” said Mr Watts, in extreme surprise, “I have said that I
think the young gentleman presumptuous, but I can’t see that there’s
any baseness in asking you to be his.”
“What! is that all?” she cried, and immediately fell to laughing and
weeping in a style that I found vastly alarming. “I thought you was
telling me that he desired I should give myself up again to Meer
Sinzaun, sir.”
“Oh, madam,” said I, “indeed you wrong the young gentleman.”
“I know I do, and I’m an ungrateful wretch!” she cried, still sobbing.
“Well, madam, ’tis in your power to make him full amends,” said Mr
Watts. “May I inform him that you have no objection to marry him
to-night?”
“Sir!” cried Miss Freyne, drawing herself up with all the dignity in
the world.
“Why, madam, here are you in extreme need of a protector, and out
yonder is Mr Fraser, languishing under the conviction that he’s
offended you beyond pardon in hinting at his desires by my lips. Here
also is Dr Dacre at your service. If this be the right moment for
exhibiting severe justice towards the man that loves her, I’m
convinced Miss Freyne will show it; but if it’s possible for mercy to
override punctilio, then I believe she has sufficient greatness of
mind to lay aside the privilege of her sex, and make Mr Fraser happy
without tormenting him further--unless,” added Mr Watts with great
anxiety, “you have already, madam, entered into any engagement of
marriage that would forbid this?”
“No, sir, I am happily free. Refusing Meer Sinzaun’s addresses, he
desired to revenge himself by resigning me to the Nabob; but from this
frightful slavery I was rescued--by Mr Fraser. I hope, sir, you don’t
expect me to agree with you in the remarks you was pleased to pass on
the gentleman just now? I have such a confidence in him, and I am so
deeply indebted to his kindness, that I could not hesitate a moment in
making him happy, as you are obliging enough to call it, if I could
believe it really for his advantage. But this extraordinary haste--my
desolate situation--the want of the merest necessaries of life--” the
lady looked at her gown, and blushed again; “and also---- But pray,
sir, if Mr Fraser’s feelings are so deeply engaged, why don’t he
approach me himself on the matter? Sure you’ll agree that he owes me
the compliment of declaring his own wishes and enquiring mine?”
“Why, madam, the poor young gentleman is in so sad a state, from
apprehension of his own unworthiness and your deserved severity, that
I refused to allow him to plead his own cause, lest he should do
himself less than justice. And that reminds me, we are prolonging his
agony with the most exquisite cruelty. Madam, you’ll consent?”
“Oh, sir--oh, Dr Dacre, you are a clergyman--advise me. I don’t desire
to be unkind, but----”
“Why, madam, I can but advise you to follow your own heart.”
“And that,” says Mr Watts, “Miss has been good enough to show us
already. Come, doctor, let us inform Mr Fraser of his good fortune.
Madam, I’ll attend you again in a few minutes.”
“Sir--Mr Watts!” I heard Miss Freyne cry, but my host shut the door
behind him.
“I think you’ll say I know how to humour the ladies as well as the
Indians, doctor?” he said to me, very complacently, as we came to the
house. “Come, Mr Fraser, your mistress consents to make you happy. Go
and get ready, sir.”
“But, pray tell me, sir--she en’t offended?”
“Be thankful for what you’ve got, sir, and ask no questions.”
“Don’t be too curious in your enquiries, Colvin,” says Mr Ranger.
“Come at once and get rid of that undress of yours. I must have you
wear your uniform to be married in.”
“Stop, Mr Ranger!” cried Mr Watts. “Have you forgot that we must keep
this wedding a secret from the servants? What will Mr Fraser’s boy say
to see him in full dress?”
“I vow, sir, I had quite forgot it; though, indeed, most of the
servants are gone to their houses for the night. But sure, sir, you
won’t forbid me to oblige our friend with the loan of a ruffled shirt,
and the merest sprinkling of powder? Why, the lady might cry off from
her bargain if she discovered the true colour of his hair!”
This having the desired effect in inducing a smile on Mr Fraser’s
serious countenance, Mr Ranger led away his friend in triumph, while
Mr Watts and I disposed the room as orderly as we might for the
marriage. Presently the two young gentlemen rejoined us, demanding
earnestly what was to be done for a ring? Incredible though it may
appear, not one of us was provided with this essential feature of the
ceremony.
“Has no one so much as a signet-ring?” cried Mr Watts. “Come, Mr
Fraser, sure you possess one with a coat-of-arms on it, to show the
noble house from which you’re sprung? I never knew a Scotchman yet
that did not carry with him so convenient a testimony to his
ancestry.”
“Any small article of the required shape will serve,” said I,
observing that Mr Fraser appeared to regard this jest as a reflection
cast upon his nation. “I have known the handle of the church-key
masquerade as a ring.”
“Why, then, we need make no further trouble,” said Mr Watts, taking a
seal from his watch chain, and unfastening the ring that held it.
“This will about fit your lady’s finger, Mr Fraser, and she’ll be able
to say that she was married with the seal of the Cossimbuzar factory.
I’ll have some goldsmith make me another.”
“Sure, gentlemen, we are keeping the bride waiting,” says Mr Ranger.
“Pray, Dr Dacre, lend me a prayer-book, and let me be clerk. As the
lady has no bridemaid, Mr Fraser won’t need a brideman, but some one
must deliver the responses.”
Having a second prayer-book with me, I was able to oblige Mr Ranger,
and Mr Watts departed to fetch the bride. I had observed that Mr
Fraser was wearing an extraordinary resolved air, and as soon as the
lady appeared he stepped forward to meet her, saying very earnestly as
he took her hand--
“Madam, the happiness you offer me is so extravagantly great that I
scarce dare accept it, for I can hardly believe that you would
condescend to bestow it of your own accord. Pray, madam, don’t think I
desire to press you unduly. If you have any doubt of my sentiments
towards you, or hesitate to honour me by confiding yourself wholly to
my affection, say so, and I will hint no more of marriage, but swear
to convey you safe to Calcutta and restore you to your friends, if it
cost me my life.”
“Will you assure me on your honour, sir, that you desire this
marriage?” The lady raised her eyes, and regarded him earnestly.
“Why, madam, ’twould make me the happiest man on earth,” he stammered,
meeting her glance with a sort of modest resolution which I thought
one of the prettiest things I had ever seen.
“I thank you, sir. I have had my answer, and there’s yours,” and she
placed her other hand in his, an action that transfigured Mr Fraser’s
face with delight. But Mr Watts, declaring that the lady was
anticipating the service, and seeking to supersede him in his duty of
giving her away by doing it for herself, took her hand again to
conduct her where I stood, and I proceeded with the office in a low
but distinct voice, the Venetian blinds being drawn to prevent any of
the servants catching sight of what was going on, and the Tartar
keeping guard in the varendar, armed with a sword and buckler. I
observed that Mr Fraser made the prescribed answers in a clear tone,
instead of merely bowing, a careless custom of this _æra_ that has
nothing to excuse it, and the lady also could be heard without much
effort.
“Come, sir, salute your lady,” said Mr Watts, when the service was
over, compassionating the bashfulness of the married pair so far as to
refrain from commencing the usual indecorous struggle (which a politer
age will sure abandon) for the first kiss from the bride. “What, will
you put a public affront upon Mrs Fraser?” for the bridegroom offered
only to salute the lady’s hand. “Well, sir, fools make fortunes, and
wise men spend ’em,” and Mr Watts saluted her cheek very gallantly. I
won’t deny that I put in my claim for the parson’s fee, or that Mr
Ranger exceeded his duty as clerk by demanding one also, but ’twas Mr
Fraser observed that his bride was trembling, and hard put to it to
restrain her tears. With a delicacy that I had scarce expected in him,
he led her to a seat and begged her to compose herself, while Mr
Watts, bustling about with a great air of mystery, brought out a
bottle of champaign.
“Here,” he said, “this is my last bottle. I was reserving it against
the day Colonel Clive enters Mucksadabad, but now we’ll drink Mrs
Fraser’s health in it. At least the liquor won’t be wasted if our
schemes miscarry. Put on a brighter countenance, doctor, or I shall
congratulate myself in having foiled you in a design to run off with
the lady yourself. I don’t wonder you have a shame-faced air.”
“Why, indeed, sir,” said I, following with his humour in the hope of
bringing a smile to Mrs Fraser’s face, “I should have been sore
tempted but for the remembrance of a remark of my friend Mr Samuel
Johnson. Asked whether he regarded it as expedient that a young divine
should make a runaway match with the object of his affections, ‘Why
no, sir,’ he cried, ‘for who should then perform the ceremony?’ Sure
that would have been my case also.”
Perceiving my design, as I can’t help believing, the lady smiled
slightly, but Mr Watts took advantage of her cheerfulness to dash her
spirits afresh. “Our next business, Mr Fraser,” he said, “will be to
devise some plan for getting your lady safely out of the city.”
“Sure, sir,” said I, “the Moors would not venture to lay hands on the
wife of a British officer?”
“I would not recommend Mrs Fraser to ride out openly and put the
matter to the test,” says Mr Watts, “since even if they were disposed
to respect a British officer’s wife, what could be easier than to make
her his widow?”
“Oh, sir!” cried Mrs Fraser, starting up from her seat.
“I don’t purpose to assist ’em to do it, madam. I should fancy ’twould
be quite possible to smuggle you out dressed as a boy.”
The lady blushed deeply, and was silent, but her spouse interposed--
“Pray, sir, oblige us with some other expedient if you can. That you
name is excessively repugnant to Mrs Fraser’s feelings.”
“I’ll take Beeby Fraser in a palanqueen openly through the city and
out at the gate,” put in the Tartar, “if she’ll wear a _notch_-girl’s
dress.”
“Who asked you to speak, Mirza Shah?” cried Mr Watts angrily, while a
deeper crimson spread itself over the poor lady’s face.
“Sir,” she said to her husband, “I’ll submit even to this frightful
degradation, if it be necessary for your safety and that of these
gentlemen, but I know you’ll spare it me if you can.”
“I’ll ride out with you openly, madam,” he answered, “before you shall
be forced to it.”
“It appears to me,” said I, “though I speak with some diffidence, that
we might hope to put in practice successfully a device mentioned by
several ingenious authors. Cleopatra, on being denied Cæsar’s
presence, caused herself, we are told, to be conveyed into his
apartments concealed in a bale of carpets. Without for a moment
resembling Mrs Fraser to the too-notorious queen, I think it might be
possible to conceal her, when we quit the city to-morrow, among those
wadded quilts we use for mattresses.”
“Now, doctor, you talk like a man of sense!” cried Mr Watts. “Your
device spares the lady’s punctilio, and avoids endangering her spouse.
Are you prepared, madam, to submit to a certain measure of
inconvenience for the sake of freedom?”
“Indeed, sir, I am,” she replied.
“Why then, Mr Fraser and Mirza Shah shall carry out the affair. But
remember, sir, your lady is Mirza Shah’s care on the journey, and not
yours. If you was perpetually hovering about the baggage, the simplest
Syke could not fail to discover your secret. Doctor, we owe you many
thanks.”
Pray, madam, don’t take it ill in me thus to conclude my epistle with
my own praises. Mrs Hurstwood won’t misunderstand me, I’m convinced.
The having served her friend, however slightly, will commend to her
kindness her most obedient, humble servant,
Jno. Dacre.
(_The preceding letter, as well as those written by Mr Fraser, was
transcribed, as is afterwards explained, by Mrs Fraser, and sent with
her own to her friend Miss Turnor, by whom they were preserved. The
curious fragment which follows may be found in No._ 17 _of the thirty
large MS. volumes containing Dr Dacre’s miscellaneous remains. As no
transcript of it has been discovered among the Johnson papers, it is
probable that the letter was never sent._)
_From the Rev. Dr Dacre to Saml. Johnson, Esq., M.A._
Maudipore, _June ye_ 13_th_, 1757.
My dear Sir,--You will questionless experience some surprise to
receive a communication from me out of my usual order, and dealing
with none of those important matters to the elucidation of which my
present journey is directed, and the surprise will be increased when
you are good enough to examine the enclosed Pastoral Piece, belonging
to a species of composition never yet attempted by me. It has so
chanced, however, that the necessity of inditing to an elegant and
virtuous lady an epistle in a somewhat more lively style than
ordinary, has inflamed me with the desire of turning to the
improvement of others the history of two young persons in whom I have
conceived a paternal concern. Remembering my honoured friend’s design
of composing at some future period a second series of papers similar
in their treatment to his immortal ‘Rambler,’ I have ventured to
compile this little anecdote for his acceptance, disguising slightly
the names of the persons affected, and adhering with the utmost
strictness to the just rules he has propounded for the writing of
Pastoral. I had, I’ll own, some notion of following the precedent set
by the erudite Sannazarius, and presenting my personages as fishers
instead of shepherds (and this in relation more especially to the
gentleman, who pursues the maritime calling); but the recollection of
the arguments which you, my good sir, have directed against this
innovation, quickly dissuaded me, for how should one whose chief
passport to favour, even in these distant regions, is the fact that he
is the friend of Samuel Johnson, oppose himself to the erudition of
his preceptor? In one point, sir, I’ll confess you will discover me to
have forsook your example, and this is with respect to the
introduction of the scenery and products of the East. The bird of
Paradise, I am informed, is not a native of Indostan, nor does it
utter any song worth mentioning, while the oak and the primrose are
not to be discovered among the spice-groves of these
countries.[19.03] To enter into a discussion of the subject would be
impertinent in a work of the imagination, and I have therefore
contented myself with citing such natural objects as I required,
without describing them. Any criticisms that my honoured friend may be
so kind as to offer will be welcomed by his most obliged, obedient
servant,
Jno. Dacre.
_The Exacting Lovers. A Pastoral._
Colin and Silvia were two young persons who appeared to all their
acquaintance to be formed for each other. His mind was something of a
gloomy cast, while she was possessed of a sprightly turn of humour; he
was apt to be overbearing in his air, and she was endowed with that
easy softness which is the most admirable characteristic of her sex;
his disposition was of the sort that is on the watch for slights, hers
inclined her to believe anything of her friends rather than that they
were intentionally unkind. The chain that bound their lives in one was
forged out of a long series of affecting incidents, which it is not
convenient to include in the present tale. It will suffice to say,
that Sinzonius, the tyrant of a town adjacent to the pastoral region
in which Colin and Silvia fed their flocks, captivated by the beauty
of the lovely maid, carried her away to his stronghold, proposing to
himself to keep her immured until she consented to his desires. This
execrable project was foiled by the resolution of Colin, who,
assembling hastily his brother-shepherds, took advantage of the
tyrant’s absence to release the imprisoned fair. Such a service, in
the estimation of all around, entitled the rescuer to the highest
recompense that Silvia could bestow, and attended with a numerous
throng of swains and nymphs, the youthful pair betook themselves to
the temple of Venus, where they plighted their eternal vows amid the
acclamations of all present. There being among the ministers of the
temple, however, a spy in the pay of Sinzonius, this fellow hastened
to inform his patron of what he had witnessed, whereupon the haughty
prince vowed to be avenged upon those who had so successfully defied
him, although he did not venture to attack them openly.
In a commodious cave that extended into the mountains overhanging the
vale in which Colin and Silvia had fixed their modest abode, resided a
venerable and pious hermit named Damœtas, who had beheld with a
paternal satisfaction the establishment of their humble household.
Living remote from the converse of men, he had not become sensible of
the alarming menaces of Sinzonius when, quitting his rugged solitudes,
he repaired one morning to the smiling plains beneath for the purpose
of enquiring into the welfare of his youthful friends. His progress
was frequently interrupted by the respectful greetings of the
shepherds he passed, who, leaving their pastoral avocations, hastened
to implore his benediction; but arriving at length in the vicinity of
Colin’s hut, what was his astonishment to discover in the youth, who
lay stretched on the turf in an agreeable glade, a prey to the
liveliest manifestations of grief. The garlands were fallen unheeded
from his locks, and his sheep wandered at will, unrestrained by his
idle crook. Profoundly affected by the sight of such extreme
melancholy, Damœtas made haste to ask him how he did, and whether all
was well with the amiable Silvia.
“Alas, Damœtas!” sighed the unfortunate Colin, “my imagined felicity
is no more. I find myself shipwrecked when I fancied I was arrived in
port.”
“Unhappy youth, unfold your sorrows to me,” said the sympathising
hermit. “Have wild beasts attacked your flock, or is the herbage
parched with drought?”
“Such misfortunes as these,” replied Colin, “would be trivial to that
which is befallen me. My adored Silvia repents already of her
condescension.”
“Is it possible?” cried the hermit; “she repents that she plighted her
vows to you?”
“That, my kind patron, is Colin’s unhappy case. You will bear me
witness that I felt my happiness too extreme to continue, and it is
already eclipsed. I have become sensible that ’twas not, as I dared to
hope, the return of my own affection, but that obliging softness of
temper which distinguishes my charmer, that induced her to be mine. A
mere rude shepherd, I felt myself infinitely unworthy of so much
beauty and virtue, but I fancied that the continual society of my
beloved girl might in time elevate me nearer to her. But when I find
her regarding me with apprehension, if not with aversion, what hope
can I cherish?”
“Pray, good youth, inform me what has led you to this mournful
conclusion.”
“Indeed, Damœtas, I discover in my Silvia such a fixed melancholy as
affects me inexpressibly. She beholds me depart in the morning with
tears, and welcomes me with tears when I return at night, while coming
upon her suddenly I have several times found her weeping. Add to this
that she avoids my caresses, and won’t permit me to enjoy her company
in peace even at our frugal meals, but is for ever rising to peer
round the corner of our hut, or among the trees, as though she
anticipated the approach of some enemy, although I have assured her
repeatedly that there’s none in the vicinity. Whence can this
uneasiness proceed but from aversion for her Colin? But even worse
than this is the passion she displays for serving me and anticipating
my desires (in all but the matter I have most at heart), such as the
merest slave might exhibit. This morning only I bade her be seated,
and told her with some sharpness that ’twas for me to serve her, when
she cried out with tears that this was the sole recompense she could
make me for the horrid injury she had done me.”
“And this injury--what do you understand it to be, Colin?”
“Oh, sir, what can it be but the permitting herself to listen to my
addresses, merely in order to oblige her friends? I don’t deny but she
hoped to oblige me as well, her grateful spirit estimating far too
high the slight service I had rendered her, and indeed, my sentiments
towards the dear creature are such that I could be content with being
allowed to serve her, in the hope of bringing her in time to regard me
with affection, but for the thought of the wrong I am inflicting on
her in keeping her bound to a spouse she abhors.”
“But you have made no attempt to enquire of your Silvia whether you
have judged her aright?”
“Oh no, sir; how would it profit me to hear the dreadful truth
confirmed by the lips of the woman I adore? No, I won’t pain her by
exhibiting what she has made me suffer. I may serve her better than
that.”
The good hermit folded his hands upon his staff, and looked fixedly at
Colin. “Rash youth,” he said, “what are these wild dreams in your
mind?”
“There are none, Damœtas, but if in the strife with Sinzonius’ forces
an arrow should penetrate to this sad heart, my charmer would once
more be free.”
“I don’t, I won’t believe,” said the hermit, “that she desires her
liberty. Accept my counsel, Colin. Meet your Silvia always with a
smiling and affable countenance, consult her wishes, and disregard her
melancholy, which may be dissipated when once her spirits are
recovered from her imprisonment. If you don’t succeed in banishing it,
at least you won’t have added to it.”
“Alas, Damœtas, this is mournful counsel for a man not three days
married!” sighed the unhappy shepherd, and resumed his melancholy
musings, to which the hermit sorrowfully left him. Continuing his
journey, Damœtas arrived presently in view of Colin’s rustic cot,
which was seated on a gentle eminence, commanding a charmingly
diversified prospect. Here he discovered the beauteous Silvia, who had
thrown herself weeping on the ground in the delicious shades of the
grove, paying no heed to the whispers of the balmy gale, nor to the
music of the rill that murmured beside her. Hearing the approaching
footstep, however, she sprang up from her lowly couch.
“Oh, sir, what of Colin?” cried the lovely nymph. “Is he safe?”
“I left him but now in perfect safety,” replied the good Damœtas.
“But what ails the fair Silvia, and why is she concerned for her
Colin’s safety?”
“Oh, sir,” she replied with tears, “I think I have not enjoyed one
easy moment since hearing of the menaces uttered by Sinzonius. I can’t
endure that Colin should be out of my sight, and yet when he is with
me I am tormented with apprehensions of beholding him murdered before
my eyes, and it is I have brought this danger upon him. Thoughtless
and wicked damsel that I was, I consented to unite my own evil fate
with his, forgetting the misfortunes that are come upon all connected
with me.”
“But sure Silvia was acquainted with this when she consented to oblige
Colin?”
“Alas, sir! I forgot it, as I have said, for the moment, transported
as I was with joy to think that I might hope to render him happy. But
’twas a deceitful hope. Colin has already learned his mistake.”
“Has he discovered that his Silvia can’t make him happy?”
“Alas, sir, yes! I have observed his uneasiness grow continually these
two days. He has questionless determined that his poor Silvia en’t
worth the perils that the possessing her involves. My tears distress
him, and I seek to hide them, but my apprehensions I can’t conceal,
and they tease him excessively. If I had but the assurance of his
affection I could be happier, but the cup of my misery is filled by
the thought that he was persuaded by his friends to take pity on me
owing to my desolate situation. This very day I sought to express to
him something of the distress I experience for the wrong I have done
him, when he answered me very shortly that we had both made a mistake,
but that ’twould do no good to weep over it.”
The hermit, now become fully sensible of what the tragedians call the
irony of the situation, was at some loss how to proceed, but said at
length--
“In that remark, as I can’t deny, Silvia’s spouse was justified. I
would have her dry her tears and meet Colin with a cheerful
countenance. Let her dress herself in her best----”
“Ah, sir, I have but this one gown,” said the lovely girl. How will
this pastoral simplicity be despised by the ladies who read these
pages!
“True,” said the frugal Damœtas, “and ’tis a credit to Silvia that
she can say so. But at least she may welcome her spouse in a cheerful
style, and abstain from vexing him further with her tears. Did she
entreat of him any explication of his unkind remark? It may be she
misunderstood his words.”
“Alas, sir, how could they be mistaken? Their meaning was too plain.”
Finding himself again at a loss, Damœtas remained for some moments
plunged in thought, until the notes of a melancholy strain discoursed
on a shepherd’s pipe heralded the return of Colin, which Silvia,
absorbed in the violence of her grief, had not observed. Rubbing his
hands merrily, the venerable hermit went forth to meet the mournful
youth, and leading him into the cot, presented him to Silvia.
“In the glade,” he said, “I met with a shepherd who was inconsolable
because the nymph he worshipped did not return his affection, and in
this hut I find a young woman refusing to be comforted because her
adored spouse don’t love her. Perhaps they may console one another.”
“Is’t possible?” cried one. “’Twas all my fault!” cried t’other, and
they embraced with all imaginable tenderness, while the good Damœtas
went on to say--
“Indeed, I can’t but declare you both in the wrong. You, Colin, erred
in permitting your gloomy constitution to persuade you of your wife’s
aversion for you, and in neglecting to enquire particularly into the
truth; and you, Silvia, because you suffered your apprehensions to
blind you to the care of that Providence which has so often assisted
you in the past, and to go far to alienate the affection of your
spouse. Learn then, both of you, to be wiser in the future.”
In this strain Damœtas continued for some time to improve the
occasion, until, perceiving with regret that his auditors were so
profoundly engrossed in each other as to be altogether unconscious of
his exhortations, he withdrew, and left them alone.