LADY G----, TO MISS BYRON
THURSDAY, APRIL 27.
Every one of the Dunstable party say, that you are a grateful and good
girl. Beauchamp can talk of nobody else of our sex: I believe in my
conscience he is in love with you. I think all the unprovided-for young
women, wherever you come, must hate you. Was you never by surprise
carried into the chamber of a friend labouring with the smallpox, in the
infectious stage of it?--O, but I think you once said you had had that
distemper. But your mind, Harriet, were your face to be ruined, would
make you admirers. The fellows who could think of preferring even such a
face to such a heart, may be turned over to the class of insignificants.
Is not your aunt Selby, you ask, an excellent woman?--She is. I admire
her. But I am very angry with you for deferring to another time,
acquainting me with what she said of me. When we are taken with any
body, we love they should be taken with us. Teasing Harriet! You know
what an immoderate quantity of curiosity I have. Never serve me so
again!
I am in love with your cousin Lucy. Were either Fenwick or Greville good
enough--But they are not. I think she shall have Mr. Orme. Nancy, you
say, is such another good girl. I don't doubt it. Is she not your
cousin, and Lucy's sister? But I cannot undertake for every good girl
who wants a husband. I wish I had seen Lucy a fortnight ago: then Nancy
might have had Mr. Orme, and Lucy should have had Lord G----. He admires
her greatly. And do you think that a man who at that time professed for
me so much love and service, and all that, would have scrupled to oblige
me, had I (as I easily should) proved to him, that he would have been a
much happier man than he could hope to be with somebody else?
Your uncle is a pleasant man: but tell him I say, that the man would be
out of his wits, that did not make the preference he does in favour of
his dame Selby, as he calls her. Tell him also, if you please, in return
for his plain dealing, that I say, he studies too much for his
pleasantries: he is continually hunting for occasions to be smart. I
have heard my father say, that this was the fault of some wits of his
acquaintance, whom he ranked among the witlings for it. If you think it
will mortify him more, you may tell him, (for I am very revengeful when I
think myself affronted,) that were I at liberty, which, God help me, I am
not! I would sooner choose for a husband the man I have, (poor soul, as I
now and then think him,) than such a teasing creature as himself, were
both in my power, and both of an age. And I should have this good reason
for my preference: your uncle and I should have been too much alike, and
so been jealous of each other's wit; whereas I can make my honest Lord
G---- look about him, and admire me strangely, whenever I please.
But I am, it seems, a person of a particular character. Every one, you
say, loves me, yet blames me. Odd characters, my dear, are needful to
make even characters shine. You good girls would not be valued as you
are, if there were not bad ones. Have you not heard it said, that all
human excellence is but comparative? Pray allow of the contrast. You, I
am sure, ought. You are an ungrateful creature, if, whenever you think
of my over-livelinesses, as you call 'em, you don't drop a courtesy, and
say, you are obliged to me.
But still the attack made upon you in your dressing-room at Colnebrook,
by my sister and me, sticks in your stomach--And why so? We were willing
to shew you, that we were not the silly people you must have thought us,
had we not been able to distinguish light from darkness. You, who ever
were, I believe, one of the frankest-hearted girls in Britain, and
admired for the ease and dignity given you by that frankness, were
growing awkward, nay dishonest. Your gratitude! your gratitude! was the
dust you wanted to throw into our eyes, that we might not see that you
were governed by a stronger motive. You called us your friends, your
sisters, but treated us not as either; and this man, and that, and
t'other, you could refuse; and why? No reason given for it; and we were
to be popt off with your gratitude, truly!--We were to believe just what
you said, and no more; nay, not so much as you said. But we were not so
implicit. Nor would you, in our case, have been so.
But 'you, perhaps, would not have violently broken in upon a poor thing,
who thought we were blind, because she was not willing we should see.'--
May be not: but then, in that case, we were honester than you would have
been; that's all. Here, said I, Lady L----, is this poor girl awkwardly
struggling to conceal what every body sees; and, seeing, applauds her
for, the man considered: [Yes, Harriet, the man considered; be pleased to
take that in:] let us, in pity, relieve her. She is thought to be frank,
open-hearted, communicative; nay, she passes herself upon us in those
characters: she sees we keep nothing from her. She has been acquainted
with your love before wedlock; with my folly, in relation to Anderson:
she has carried her head above a score or two of men not contemptible.
She sits enthroned among us, while we make but common figures at her
footstool: she calls us sisters, friends, and twenty pretty names. Let
us acquaint her, that we see into her heart; and why Lord D---- and
others are so indifferent with her. If she is ingenuous, let us spare
her; if not, leave me to punish her--Yet we will keep up her punctilio as
to our brother; we will leave him to make his own discoveries. She may
confide in his politeness; and the result will be happier for her;
because she will then be under no restraint to us, and her native freedom
of heart may again take its course.
Agreed, agreed, said Lady L----. And arm-in-arm, we entered your
dressing-room, dismissed the maid, and began the attack--And, O Harriet!
how you hesitated, paraded, fooled on with us, before you came to
confession! Indeed you deserved not the mercy we shewed you--So, child,
you had better to have let this part of your story sleep in peace.
You bid me not tell Emily, that your cousin is in love with her: but I
think I will. Girls begin very early to look out for admirers. It is
better, in order to stay her stomach, to find out one for her, than that
she should find out one for herself; especially when the man is among
ourselves, as I may say, and both are in our own management, and at
distance from each other. Emily is a good girl; but she has
susceptibilities already: and though I would not encourage her, as yet,
to look out of herself for happiness; yet I would give her consequence
with herself, and at the same time let her see, that there could be no
mention made of any thing that related to her, but what she should be
acquainted with. Dear girl! I love her as well as you; and I pity her
too: for she, as well as somebody else, will have difficulties to contend
with, which she will not know easily how to get over; though she can, in
a flame so young, generously prefer the interest of a more excellent
woman to her own.--There, Harriet, is a grave paragraph: you'll like me
for it.
You are a very reflecting girl, in mentioning to me, so particularly,
your behaviour to your Grevilles, Fenwicks, and Ormes. What is that but
saying, See, Charlotte! I am a much more complacent creature to the
men, no one of which I intend to have, than you are to your husband!
What a pious woman, indeed, must be your grandmamma, that she could
suspend her joy, her long-absent darling at her feet, till she had first
thanked God for restoring her to her arms! But, in this instance, we see
the force of habitual piety. Though not so good as I should be myself, I
revere those who are so; and that I hope you will own is no bad sign.
Well, but now for ourselves, and those about us.
Lady Olivia has written a letter from Windsor to Lady L----. It is in
French; extremely polite. She promises to write to me from Oxford.
Lady Anne S---- made me a visit this morning. She was more concerned
than I wished to see her, on my confirming the report she had heard of my
brother's being gone abroad. I rallied her a little too freely, as it
was before Lord G---- and Lord L----. I never was better rebuked than by
her; for she took out her pencil, and on the cover of a letter wrote
these lines from Shakespeare, and slid them into my hand:
"And will you rend our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly; 'tis not maidenly:
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury."
I never, my dear, told you how freely this lady and I had talked of love:
but, freely as we had talked, I was not aware that the matter lay so deep
in her heart. I knew not how to tell her that my brother had said, it
could not be. I could have wept over her when I read this paper; and I
owned myself by a whisper justly rebuked. She charged me not to let any
man see this; particularly not either of those present: and do you,
Harriet, keep what I have written of Lady Anne to yourself.
My aunt Eleanor has written a congratulatory letter to me from York. Sir
Charles, it seems, had acquainted her with Lord G----'s day, [Not my day,
Harriet! that is not the phrase, I hope!] as soon as he knew it himself;
and she writes, supposing that I was actually offered on it. Women are
victims on these occasions: I hope you'll allow me that. My brother has
made it a point of duty to acquaint his father's sister with every matter
of consequence to the family; and now, she says, that both her nieces are
so well disposed of, she will come to town very quickly to see her new
relations and us; and desires we will make room for her. And yet she
owns, that my brother has informed her of his being obliged to go abroad;
and she supposes him gone. As he is the beloved of her heart, I wonder
she thinks of making this visit now he is absent: but we shall all be
glad to see my aunt Nell. She is a good creature, though an old maid. I
hope the old lady has not utterly lost either her invention, or memory;
and then, between both, I shall be entertained with a great number of
love-stories of the last age; and perhaps of some dangers and escapes;
which may serve for warnings for Emily. Alas! alas! they will come too
late for your Charlotte!
I have written already the longest letter that I ever wrote in my life:
yet it is prating; and to you, to whom I love to prate. I have not near
done.
You bid me be good; and you threaten me, if I am not, with the ill
opinion of all your friends: but I have such an unaccountable bias for
roguery, or what shall I call it? that I believe it is impossible for me
to take your advice. I have been examining myself. What a deuse is the
matter with me, that I cannot see my honest man in the same advantageous
light in which he appears to everybody else? Yet I do not, in my heart,
dislike him. On the contrary, I know not, were I to look about me, far
and wide, the man I would have wished to have called mine, rather than
him. But he is so important about trifles; so nimble, yet so slow: he is
so sensible of his own intention to please, and has so many antic motions
in his obligingness; that I cannot forbear laughing at the very time that
I ought perhaps to reward him with a gracious approbation.
I must fool on a little while longer, I believe: permit me, Harriet, so
to do, as occasions arise.
***
An instance, an instance in point, Harriet. Let me laugh as I write. I
did at the time.--What do you laugh at, Charlotte?--Why this poor man,
or, as I should rather say, this lord and master of mine, has just left
me. He has been making me both a compliment, and a present. And what do
you think the compliment is? Why, if I please, he will give away to a
virtuoso friend, his collection of moths and butterflies: I once, he
remembered, rallied him upon them. And by what study, thought I, wilt
thou, honest man, supply their place? If thou hast a talent this way,
pursue it; since perhaps thou wilt not shine in any other. And the best
any thing, you know, Harriet, carries with it the appearance of
excellence. Nay, he would also part with his collection of shells, if I
had no objection.
To whom, my lord?--He had not resolved.--Why then, only as Emily is too
little of a child, or you might give them to her. 'Too little of a
child, madam!' and a great deal of bustle and importance took possession
of his features--Let me tell you, madam--I won't let you, my lord; and I
laughed.
Well, madam, I hope here is something coming up that you will not disdain
to accept of yourself.
Up came groaning under the weight, or rather under the care, two servants
with baskets: a fine set of old Japan china with brown edges, believe me.
They sat down their baskets, and withdrew.
Would you not have been delighted, Harriet, to see my lord busying
himself with taking out, and putting in the windows, one at a time, the
cups, plates, jars, and saucers, rejoicing and parading over them, and
shewing his connoisseurship to his motionless admiring wife, in
commending this and the other piece as a beauty? And, when he had done,
taking the liberty, as he phrased it, half fearful, half resolute, to
salute his bride for his reward; and then pacing backwards several steps,
with such a strut and a crow--I see him yet!--Indulge me, Harriet!--I
burst into a hearty laugh; I could not help it: and he, reddening, looked
round himself, and round himself, to see if anything was amiss in his
garb. The man, the man! honest friend, I could have said, (but had too
much reverence for my husband,) is the oddity! Nothing amiss in the
garb. I quickly recollected myself, however, and put him in a good
humour, by proper marks of my gracious acceptance. On reflection, I
could not bear myself for vexing the honest man when he had meant to
oblige me.
How soon I may relapse again, I know not.--O Harriet! Why did you
beseech me to be good? I think in my heart I have the stronger
inclination to be bad for it! You call me perverse: if you think me so,
bid me be saucy, bid me be bad; and I may then, like other good wives,
take the contrary course for the sake of dear contradiction.
Shew not, however, (I in turn beseech you) to your grandmamma and aunt,
such parts of this letter as would make them despise me. You say, you
stand up for me; I have need of your advocateship: never let me want it.
And do I not, after all, do a greater credit to my good man, when I can
so heartily laugh in the wedded state, than if I were to sit down with my
finger in my eye?
I have taken your advice, and presented my sister with my half of the
jewels. I desired her to accept them, as they were my mother's, and for
her sake. This gave them a value with her, more than equal with their
worth: but Lord L---- is uneasy, and declares he will not suffer Lady
L---- long to lie under the obligation. Were every one of family in
South Britain and North Britain to be as generous and disinterested as
Lord L---- and our family, the union of the two parts of the island would
be complete.
***
Lord help this poor obliging man! I wish I don't love him, at last. He
has taken my hint, and has presented his collection of shells (a very
fine one, he says, it is) to Emily; and they two are actually busied (and
will be for an hour or two, I doubt not) in admiring them; the one
strutting over the beauties, in order to enhance the value of the
present; the other courtesying ten times in a minute, to shew her
gratitude. Poor man! When his virtuoso friend has got his butterflies
and moths, I am afraid he must set up a turner's shop, for employment.
If he loved reading, I could, when our visiting hurries are over, set him
to read to me the new things that come out, while I knot or work; and, if
he loved writing, to copy the letters which pass between you and me, and
those for you which I expect with so much impatience from my brother by
means of Dr. Bartlett. I think he spells pretty well, for a lord.
I have no more to say, at present, but compliments, without number or
measure, to all you so deservedly love and honour; as well those I have
not seen, as those I have.
Only one thing: Reveal to me all the secrets of your heart, and how that
heart is from time to time affected; that I may know whether you are
capable of that greatness of mind in a love-case, that you shew in all
others. We will all allow you to love Sir Charles Grandison. Those who
do, give honour to themselves, if their eyes stop not at person, his
having so many advantages. For the same reason, I make no apologies, and
never did, for praising my brother, as any other lover of him might do.
Let me know every thing how and about your fellows, too. Ah! Harriet,
you make not the use of power that I would have done in your situation.
I was half-sorry when my hurrying brother made me dismiss Sir Walter; and
yet, to have but two danglers after one, are poor doings for a fine lady.
Poorer still, to have but one!
Here's a letter as long as my arm. Adieu. I was loath to come to the
name: but defer it ever so long, I must subscribe, at last,