to do me some ill offices; but which I did not resent, as I purposed
quitting the army at the end of the campaign. By her desire, I took no
notice of his perfidy, only by avoiding every opportunity of being in
his company.
One day, about a fortnight after Maria came of age, I was looking over
some English news-papers, which a brother officer had lent me to read,
in which I saw this extraordinary paragraph:
"_Last week was interred the body of Miss Maria Maynard, daughter of
James Maynard, Esq; of L. in Bedfordshire, aged twenty years, ten
months, and a fortnight. Had she lived till she attained the full age of
twenty-one, she would have been possessed of an estate worth upwards
of forty thousand pounds, which now comes to her father, the
above-mentioned James Maynard, Esq._
_By a whimsical and remarkable desire of the deceased, a large quantity
of quick-lime was put into the coffin._"
This piece of intelligence filled us with astonishment, as we could not
conceive what end it was likely to answer: but, on my looking up to
Maria, by way of gathering some light from her opinion, and seeing not
only the whole form of her face, but the intire cast of her countenance
changed; it immediately struck into my mind, that it would be a
difficult matter to prove her identity--especially as by the death of
Hannah we had lost our only witness. This may appear a very trivial
circumstance to most people; but, when we consider what kind of man we
had to deal with, it will wear a more serious aspect. It was plain he
would go very great lengths to secure the estate, since he had taken
such extraordinary measures to obtain it: he had likewise another
motive; for by this second marriage he had a son. It is well known that
the property of quick-lime, is to destroy the features in a very short
space; by which means, should we insist on the body's being taken up, no
doubt he had used the precaution of getting a supposititious one; and,
in all probability, the corrosive quality of the lime would have left it
very difficult to ascertain the likeness after such methods being used
to destroy it. We had certainly some reason for our apprehensions that
the father would disown his child, when it was so much his interest to
support his own assertion of her death, and when he had gone so far as
actually to make a sham-funeral; and, above all, when no one who had
been formerly acquainted with could possibly know her again, so totally
was she altered both in voice and features. However, the only step we
could take, was to set off for England with all expedition--which
accordingly we did.
I wrote Mr. Maynard a letter, in which I inclosed one from his daughter.
He did not deign to return any answer. I then consulted some able
lawyers; they made not the least doubt of my recovering my wife's
fortune as soon as I proved her identity. That I could have told them;
but the difficulty arose how I should do it. None of the officers were
in England, who had seen her both before and after the small-pox, and
whose evidence might have been useful.
Talking over the affair to an old gentleman, who had been acquainted
with my first wife's father--and who likewise knew Maria: "I have not a
doubt," said he, "but this lady is the daughter of old Maynard, because
you both tell me so--otherwise I could never have believed it. But I do
not well know what all this dispute is about: I always understood you
was to inherit your estate from your first wife. She lived till she came
of age; did she not?"
"According to law," said I, "she certainly did; she died that very day;
but she could not make a will."
"I am strangely misinformed," replied he, "if you had not a right to it
from that moment.--But what say the writings?"
"Those I never saw," returned I. "As I married without the consent of my
wife's relations, I had no claim to demand the sight of them; and, as
she died before she could call them her's, I had no opportunity."
"Then you have been wronged, take my word for it. I assert, that her
fortune was her's on the day of marriage, unconditionally. I advise you
to go to law with the old rogue (I beg your pardon, Madam, for calling
your father so); go to law with him for the recovery of your first
wife's estate; and let him thank heaven his daughter is so well provided
for."
This was happy news for us. I changed my plan, and brought an action
against him for detaining my property. In short, after many hearings and
appeals, I had the satisfaction of casting him. But I became father to
your sister and yourself before the cause was determined. We were driven
to the utmost straits while it was in agitation. At last, however, right
prevailed; and I was put in possession of an estate I had unjustly been
kept out of many years.
Now I thought myself perfectly happy. "Fortune," said I, "is at length
tired of persecuting me; and I have before me the most felicitous
prospect." Alas! how short-sighted is man! In the midst of my promised
scene of permanent delight, the most dreadful of misfortunes overtook
me. My loved Maria fell into the most violent disorder, after having
been delivered of a dead child.--Good God! what was my situation, to be
reduced to pray for the death of her who made up my whole scheme of
happiness! "Dear, dear Maria! thy image still lives in my remembrance;
_that_,
--Seeks thee still in many a former scene;
Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes,
Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense
Inspir'd: whose moral wisdom mildly shone,
Without the toil of art; and virtue glow'd
In all her smiles, without forbidding pride."
Oh! my Julia, such was thy mother! my heart has never tasted happiness
since her lamented death. Yet I cease not to thank heaven for the
blessings it has given me in thee and my Louisa. May I see you both
happy in a world that to me has lost its charms!
The death of my Maria seemed to detach me from all society. I had met
with too many bad people in it to have any regard for it; and now the
only chain that held me was broken. I retired hither and, in my first
paroxysms of grief, vowed never to quit this recluse spot; where, for
the first years of your infancy, I brooded my misfortunes, till I became
habituated and enured to melancholy. I was always happy when either you
or your sister had an opportunity of seeing a little of the world.
Perhaps my vow was a rash one, but it is sacred.
As your inclination was not of a retired turn, I consented to a
marriage, which, I hope, will be conducive to your felicity. Heaven
grant it may! Oh! most gracious Providence, let me not be so curst as
to see my children unhappy! I feel I could not support such an
afflicting stroke. But I will not anticipate an evil I continually pray
to heaven to avert.
Adieu, my child! May you meet with no accident or misfortune to make you
out of love with the world!
Thy tender and affectionate father,
E. GRENVILLE.
LETTER X.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
I have just perused my father's long packet: I shall not however comment
upon it, till I have opened my whole mind to you in a more particular
manner than I yet have done.
The first part of my father's letter has given me much concern, by
awakening some doubts, which I knew not subsisted in my bosom. He asks
such questions relative to my real state of happiness, as distress me to
answer. I have examined my most inward thoughts. Shall I tell you, my
Louisa, the examination does not satisfy me? I believe in this life, and
particularly in this town, we must not search too deeply--to be happy,
we must take both persons and things as we in general find them, without
scrutinizing too closely. The researches are not attended with that
pleasure we would wish to find.
The mind may be amused, or, more properly speaking, employed, so as not
to give it leisure to think; and, I fancy, the people in this part of
the world esteem reflection an evil, and therefore keep continually
hurrying from place to place, to leave no room or time for it. For my
own part, I sometimes feel some little compunction of mind from the
dissipated life I lead; and wish I had been cast in a less tumultuous
scene. I even sometimes venture to propose to Sir William a scheme of
spending a little more time at home--telling him, it will be more for
our advantage with respect to our health, as the repeated hurries in
which we are engaged must, in future, be hurtful to us. He laughs at my
sober plan. "Nothing," he says, "is so serviceable to the body, as
unbending the mind--as to the rest, my notions are owing to the
prejudices of education; but that in time he hopes my rusticity will
yield to the _ton_. For God's sake," he continues, "make yourself
ready--you know you are to be at the opera--" or somewhere or other. So
away goes reflection; and we are whirled away in the stream of
dissipation, with the rest of the world. This seems a very sufficient
reason for every thing we do, _The rest of the world does so_: that's
quite enough.
But does it convey to the heart that inward secret pleasure which
increases on reflection? Too sure it does not. However, it has been my
invariable plan, from which I have not nor do intend to recede, to be
governed in these matters by the will of my husband: he is some years
older than me, and has had great experience in life. It shall be my care
to preserve my health and morals;--in the rest, _he_ must be my guide.
My mind is not at the same time quite at ease. I foresee I shall have
some things to communicate to you which I shall be unwilling should meet
my father's eye. Perhaps the world is altered since he resided in it;
and from the novelty to him, the present modes may not meet his
approbation. I would wish carefully to conceal every thing from him
which might give him pain, and which it is not in his power to remedy.
To you, my Louisa, I shall ever use the most unbounded confidence. I may
sometimes tell you I am dissatisfied; but when I do so, it will not be
so much out of a desire of complaint, as to induce you to give me your
advice. Ah! you would be ten times fitter to live in the world than I.
Your solidity and excellent judgment would point out the proper path,
and how far you might stray in it unhurt; while my vivacity impels me to
follow the gay multitude; and when I look back, I am astonished to
behold the progress I have made. But I will accustom myself to relate
every circumstance to you: though they may in themselves be trivial,
yet I know your affection to me will find them interesting. Your good
sense will point out to you what part of our correspondence will be fit
for my father's ear.
I mentioned to you two ladies, to whose protection and countenance I had
been introduced by Sir William. I do not like either of them, and wish
it had suited him to have procured me intimates more adapted to my
sentiments. And now we are upon this subject, I must say, I should have
been better pleased with my husband, if he had proposed your coming to
town with me. He may have a high opinion of my integrity and discretion;
but he ought in my mind to have reflected how very young I was; and, he
scruples not frequently to say, how totally unlearned in polite
life.--Should I not then have had a real protector and friend? I do not
mention my early years by way of begging an excuse for any impropriety
of conduct; far from it: there is no age in which we do not know right
from wrong; nor is extreme youth an extenuation of guilt: but there is a
time of life which wants attention, and should not be left too much to
its own guidance.
With the best propensities in the world, we may be led, either by the
force of example, or real want of judgment, too far in the flowery path
of pleasure. Every scene I engage in has the charm of novelty to
recommend it. I see all to whom I am introduced do the same; besides, I
am following the taste of Sir William; but I am (if I may be allowed to
say so) too artless. Perhaps what I think is his inclination, may be
only to make trial of my natural disposition. Though he may choose to
live in the highest _ton_, he may secretly wish his wife a more retired
turn. How then shall I act? I do every thing with a chearful
countenance; but that proceeds from my desire of pleasing him. I
accommodate myself to what I think his taste; but, owing to my ignorance
of mankind, I may be defeating my own purpose. I once slightly hinted as
much to Lady Besford. She burst out into a fit of laughter at my duteous
principles. I supposed I was wrong, by exciting her mirth: this is not
the method of reforming me from my errors; but thus I am in general
treated. It reminds me of a character in the Spectator, who, being very
beautiful, was kept in perfect ignorance of every thing, and who, when
she made any enquiry in order to gain knowledge, was always put by,
with, "You are too handsome to trouble yourself about such things."
This, according to the present fashion, may be polite; but I am sure it
is neither friendly nor satisfactory.
Her ladyship, the other day, shewed me a very beautiful young woman,
Lady T. "She is going to be separated from her husband," said she. On my
expressing my surprize,--"Pshaw! there is nothing surprizing in those
things," she added: "it is customary in this world to break through
stone-walls to get together this year; and break a commandment the next
to get asunder. But with regard to her ladyship, I do not know that she
has been imprudent; the cause of their disagreement proceeds from a
propensity she has for gaming; and my lord is resolved not to be any
longer answerable for her debts, having more of that sort on his own
hands than he can well discharge." Thus she favours me with sketches of
the people of fashion. Alas! Louisa, are these people to make companions
of?--They may, for want of better, be acquaintance, but never can be
friends.
By her account, there is not a happy couple that frequents St.
James's.--Happiness in her estimate is not an article in the married
state. "Are you not happy?" I asked one day. "Happy! why yes, probably
I am; but you do not suppose my happiness proceeds from my being
married, any further than that state allowing greater latitude and
freedom than the single. I enjoy title, rank, and liberty, by bearing
Lord Besford's name. We do not disagree, because we very seldom meet. He
pursues his pleasures one way, I seek mine another; and our dispositions
being very opposite, they are sure never to interfere with each other. I
am, I give you my word, a very unexceptionable wife, and can say, what
few women of quality would be able to do that spoke truth, that I never
indulged myself in the least liberty with other men, till I had secured
my lord a lawful heir." I felt all horror and astonishment.--She saw the
emotion she excited. "Come, don't be prudish," said she: "my conduct in
the eye of the world is irreproachable. My lord kept a mistress from the
first moment of his marriage. What law allows those privileges to a man,
and excludes a woman from enjoying the same? Marriage now is a necessary
kind of barter, and an alliance of families;--the heart is not
consulted;--or, if that should sometimes bring a pair
together,--judgment being left far behind, love seldom lasts long. In
former times, a poor foolish woman might languish out her life in sighs
and tears, for the infidelity of her husband. Thank heaven! they are now
wiser; but then they should be prudent. I extremely condemn those, who
are enslaved by their passions, and bring a public disgrace on their
families by suffering themselves to be detected; such are justly our
scorn and ridicule; and you may observe they are not taken notice of by
any body. There is a decency to be observed in our amours; and I shall
be very ready to offer you my advice, as you are young and
inexperienced. One thing let me tell you; never admit your _Cicisbeo_ to
an unlimited familiarity; they are first suspected. Never take notice
of your favourite before other people; there are a thousand ways to make
yourself amends in secret for that little, but necessary, sacrifice in
public."
"Nothing," said I, "but the conviction that you are only bantering me,
should have induced me to listen to you so long; but be assured, madam,
such discourses are extremely disagreeable to me."
"You are a child," said she, "in these matters; I am not therefore angry
or surprized; but, when you find all the world like myself, you will
cease your astonishment."
"Would to heaven," cried I, "I had never come into such a depraved
world! How much better had it been to have continued in ignorance and
innocence in the peaceful retirement in which I was bred! However, I
hope, with the seeds of virtue which I imbibed in my infancy, I shall be
able to go through life with honour to my family, and integrity to
myself. I mean never to engage in any kind of amour, so shall never
stand in need of your ladyship's advice, which, I must say, I cannot
think Sir William would thank you for, or can have the least idea you
would offer."
"She assured me, Sir William knew too much of the world to expect, or
even wish, his wife to be different from most women who composed it; but
that she had nothing further to say.--I might some time hence want a
_confidante_, and I should not be unfortunate if I met with no worse
than her, who had ever conducted herself with prudence and discretion."
I then said, "I had married Sir William because I preferred him,--and
that my sentiments would not alter."
"If you can answer for your future sentiments," replied Lady Besford,
"you have a greater knowledge, or at least a greater confidence, in
yourself than most people have.--As to your preference of Sir William,
I own I am inclined to laugh at your so prettily deceiving
yourself.--Pray how many men had you seen, and been addressed by, before
your acquaintance with Sir William? Very few, I fancy, that were likely
to make an impression on your heart, or that could be put into a
competition with him, without an affront from the comparison. So,
because you thought Sir William Stanley a handsome man, and genteeler in
his dress than the boors you had been accustomed to see--add to which
his being passionately enamoured of you--you directly conclude, you have
given him the preference to all other men, and that your heart is
devoted to him alone: you may think so; nay, I dare say, you do think
so; but, believe me, a time may come when you will think otherwise. You
may possibly likewise imagine, as Sir William was so much in love, that
you will be for ever possessed of his heart:--it is almost a pity to
overturn so pretty a system; but, take my word for it, Lady Stanley, Sir
William will soon teach you another lesson; he will soon convince you,
the matrimonial shackles are not binding enough to abridge him of the
fashionable enjoyments of life; and that, when he married, he did not
mean to seclude himself from those pleasures, which, as a man of the
world, he is intitled to partake of, because love was the principal
ingredient and main spring of your engagement. That love may not last
for ever. He is of a gay disposition, and his taste must be fed with
variety."
"I cannot imagine," I rejoined, interrupting her ladyship, "I cannot
imagine what end it is to answer, that you seem desirous of planting
discord between my husband and me.--I do not suppose you have any views
on him; as, according to your principles, his being married would be no
obstacle to that view.--Whatever may be the failings of Sir William, as
his wife, it is my duty not to resent them, and my interest not to see
them. I shall not thank your ladyship for opening my eyes, or seeking to
develope my sentiments respecting the preference I have shewed him; any
more than he is obliged to you, for seeking to corrupt the morals of a
woman whom he has made the guardian of his honour. I hope to preserve
that and my own untainted, even in this nursery of vice and folly. I
fancy Sir William little thought what instructions you would give, when
he begged your protection. I am, however, indebted to you for putting me
on my guard; and, be assured, I shall be careful to act with all the
discretion and prudence you yourself would wish me." Some company coming
in, put an end to our conversation. I need not tell you, I shall be very
shy of her ladyship in future. Good God! are all the world, as she calls
the circle of her acquaintance, like herself? If so, how dreadful to be
cast in such a lot! But I will still hope, detraction is among the
catalogue of her failings, and that she views the world with jaundiced
eyes.
As to the male acquaintance of Sir William, I cannot say they are higher
in my estimation than the other sex. Is it because I am young and
ignorant, that they, one and all, take the liberty of almost making love
to me? Lord Biddulph, in particular, I dislike; and yet he is Sir
William's most approved friend. Colonel Montague is another who is
eternally here. The only unexceptionable one is a foreign gentleman,
Baron Ton-hausen. There is a modest diffidence in his address, which
interests one much in his favour. I declare, the only blush I have seen
since I left Wales was on his cheek when he was introduced. I fancy he
is as little acquainted with the vicious manners of the court as myself,
as he seemed under some confusion on his first conversation. He is but
newly known to Sir William; but, being a man of rank, and politely
received in the _beau monde_, he is a welcome visitor at our house. But
though he comes often, he is not obtrusive like the rest. They will
never let me be at quiet--for ever proposing this or the other
scheme--which, as I observed before, I comply with, more out of
conformity to the will of Sir William, than to my own taste. Not that I
would have you suppose I do not like any of the public places I
frequent. I am charmed at the opera; and receive a very high, and, I
think, rational, delight at a good play. I am far from being an enemy to
pleasure--but then I would wish to have it under some degree, of
subordination; let it be the amusement, not the business of life.
Lord Biddulph is what Lady Besford stiles, my _Cicisbeo_--that is, he
takes upon him the task of attending me to public places, calling my
chair--handing me refreshments, and such-like; but I assure you, I do
not approve of him in the least: and Lady Besford may be assured, I
shall, at least, follow her kind advice in this particular, not to admit
him to familiarities; though his Lordship seems ready enough to avail
himself of all opportunities of being infinitely more assiduous than I
wish him.
Was this letter to meet the eye of my father, I doubt he would repent
his ready acquiescence to my marriage. He would not think the scenes, in
which I am involved, an equivalent for the calm joys I left in the
mountains. And was he to know that Sir William and I have not met these
three days but at meals, and then surrounded with company; he would not
think the tenderness of an husband a recompence for the loss of a
father's and sister's affection. I do not, however, do well to complain.
I have no just reasons, and it is a weakness to be uneasy without a
cause. Adieu then, my Louisa; be assured, my heart shall never know a
change, either in its virtuous principles, or in its tender love to
you. I might have been happy, superlatively so, with Sir William in a
desert; but, in this vale of vice, it is impossible, unless one can
adapt one's sentiments to the style of those one is among. I will be
every thing I can, without forgetting to be what I ought, in order to
merit the affection you have ever shewed to your faithful
JULIA STANLEY.
LETTER XI.
TO Lady STANLEY.