_Presents the reader, among many other particulars, with a full, though
as concise an account as can be given, of the real quality and condition
of the lady that Mrs. Munden had seen, and been so much charmed with, at
the mercer's_
Mrs. Munden carried enough home with her from Lady Loveit's to employ
her mind, for that whole night at least. What she had been told in
relation to the death of Mrs. Trueworth, raised a strange contrariety of
ideas in her, which it was impossible for her either to reconcile, or
oblige either the one or the other totally to subside.
She thought it great pity that so virtuous, so beautiful, and so
accomplished, a young lady, as she had been told Mrs. Trueworth was,
should thus early be snatched away from all the joys of love and life;
but could not lament so melancholy an accident in a manner she was
sensible it deserved: envy had ever been a stranger to her breast; yet,
since her own marriage, and that of Mr. Trueworth with his lady, she had
sometimes been tempted to accuse Heaven of partiality, in making so wide
a difference in their fate; and, though the blame of her misfortunes lay
wholly on herself, had been apt to imagine that she had only been
impelled, by an unavoidable impulse, to act as she had done, and was
fated, by an invincible necessity, to be the enemy of her own happiness.
Thus did this fair predestinarian reason within herself whenever the
ill-usage of Mr. Munden made her reflect on the generosity of Mr.
Trueworth. She repined not at the felicities she supposed were enjoyed
by Mrs. Trueworth, but regretted that her own lot had been cast so
vastly different.
But though all these little heart-burnings now ceased by the death of
that so late happy lady, and even common humanity demanded the tribute
of compassion for her destiny, of which none had a greater share, on
other occasions, than Mrs. Munden, yet could she not on this pay it
without some interruptions from a contrary emotion: in these moments, if
it may be said she grieved at all, it was more because she knew that Mr.
Trueworth was grieved, than for the cause that made him so.
Her good-sense, her justice, and her good-nature, however, gave an
immediate check to such sentiments whenever she found them rising in
her; but her utmost efforts could not wholly subdue them: there was a
secret something in her heart which she would never allow herself to
think she was possessed of, that, in spite of all she could do, diffused
an involuntary satisfaction at the knowledge that Mr. Trueworth was a
widower.
If Lady Loveit could have foreseen the commotions her discourse raised
in the breast of her fair friend, she would certainly never have
entertained her with it; but she so little expected her having any
tenderness for Mr. Trueworth, that she observed not the changes in her
countenance when she mentioned that gentleman, as she afterwards
frequently did, on many occasions, in the course of the visits to each
other: nor could Mrs. Munden, being ignorant herself of the real cause
of the agitation she was in, make her ladyship a confidante in this, as
she did in all her other affairs, the little happiness she enjoyed in
marriage not excepted.
Lady Loveit had, indeed, a pretty right idea of her misfortune in this
point, before she heard it from herself: Sir Bazil, though not at all
conversant with Mr. Munden, was well acquainted with his character and
manner of behaviour; and the account he gave of both to her on being
told to whom he was married, left her no room to doubt how disagreeable
a situation the wife of such a husband must be in. She heartily
commiserated her hard fate; yet, as Lady Trusty had done, said every
thing to persuade her to bear it with a becoming patience.
Perceiving she had lost some part of her vivacity, and would frequently
fall into very melancholy musings, Sir Bazil himself, now fully
convinced of her merit and good qualities, added his endeavours to those
of his amiable consort, for the exhilarating her spirits: they would
needs have her make one in every party of pleasure, either formed by
themselves, or wherein they had a share; and obliged her to come as
often to their house as she could do without giving offence to her
domestick tyrant.
An excess of gaiety, when curbed, is apt to degenerate into its contrary
extreme: it must, therefore, be confessed, that few things could have
been more lucky for Mrs. Munden than this event; she had lost all relish
for the conversation of the Miss Airishes, and those other giddy
creatures which had composed the greatest part of her acquaintance; and
too much solitude might have brought on a gloominess of temper equally
uneasy to herself and to those about her; but the society of these
worthy friends, the diversions they prepared for her, and the company to
which they introduced her, kept up her native liveliness of mind, and at
the same time convinced her that pleasure was no enemy to virtue or to
reputation, when partook with persons of honour and discretion.
She had been with them one evening, when the satisfaction she took in
their conversation, the pressures they made to detain her, joined to the
knowledge that there was no danger of Mr. Munden's being uneasy at her
absence, (he seldom coming home till towards daybreak) engaged her to
stay till the night was pretty far advanced; yet, late as it was, she
was presented with an adventure of as odd a kind as ever she had been
surprized with.
She was undressing, in order to go to bed, when she heard a very loud
knocking at the street-door; after which her footman came up, and told
her that a woman was below, who said she must speak with her
immediately. 'I shall speak to nobody at this time of the night,' said
Mrs. Munden; 'therefore go down and tell her so.' The fellow went; but
returned in a moment or two, and told her that the person would take no
denial, nor would go out of the house without seeing her. 'Some very
impudent creature, sure!' said Mrs. Munden--'but do you go,' added she
in the same breath, to the maid that waited on her, 'and ask her name
and business: if she will tell neither, let her be turned out of the
house.'
She was in a good deal of perplexity to think who should enquire for her
at that late hour; when the servant she had sent to examine into the
matter, came back, and, before she had well entered the chamber, cried
out, 'Lord, Madam! I never was so astonished in my life! I wonder Tom
could speak in such a rude manner; the woman, as he called her, is a
very fine lady, I am sure, though she has no hoop nor stays on--nothing
but a fine rich brocade wrapping-gown upon her: she looks as if she was
just going to bed, or rather coming out of bed, for her head-cloaths are
in great disorder, and her hair all about her ears.'
'Well, but her name and business,' demanded Mrs. Munden hastily. 'Nay,
Madam,' replied the maid, 'she will tell neither but to yourself; so,
pray, dear Madam, either come down stairs, or let her be brought up: I
am sure she does not look as if she would do you any hurt.'
Mrs. Munden paused a little on what she had heard; and believing there
must be something very extraordinary indeed, both in the person and the
visit, resolved to be convinced of the truth; therefore, having given a
strict charge that both the footmen should be ready at her call in case
there should be any occasion for them, went into the dining-room, and
ordered that the person who enquired for her should be introduced.
Her whole appearance answered exactly to the description that had been
given of her by the maid; but it was her face which most alarmed Mrs.
Munden, as being positive she had seen it before, though when or where
she could not at that instant recollect.
But the stranger soon eased her of the suspense she was in; when,
throwing herself at her feet, and bursting into a flood of tears, 'You
once offered me your friendship, Madam,' said she: 'a consciousness of
my own unworthiness made me refuse that honour; but I now come to
implore your compassion and charitable protection. I have no hope of
safety, or of shelter, but in your goodness and generosity.'
The accents of her voice now discovered her to be no other than the lady
Mrs. Munden had seen at the mercer's: she was strangely confounded, but
not so much as to hinder her from raising the distressed fair-one with
the greatest civility, and seating her in a chair, 'Though I cannot
comprehend, Madam,' answered she, 'by what accident you are reduced to
address me in these terms, yet you may rely upon my readiness to assist
the unfortunate, especially a person, whom I cannot but look upon as far
from deserving to be so.'
'Oh! would to God,' cried the other, very emphatically, 'that my history
could preserve that kind opinion in you! but, alas! though I find myself
obliged to relate it to you, in order to obtain the protection I
intreat, I tremble lest, by doing so, I should forfeit those pretensions
to your mercy, which otherwise my sex, and my distress, might justly
claim.'
These words were sufficient to have aroused the curiosity of a woman who
had less of that propensity in her nature than Mrs. Munden; she told her
that, by being made the confidante of her affairs, she should think
herself obliged to excuse whatever she found not worthy of her
approbation.
'Prepare yourself, then, Madam,' said her still weeping guest; 'summon
all your goodness to forgive the frailties of youth and inadvertency,
and to pity the sad consequences which sometimes attend the pride of
flattered beauty and vain desire of ambition.'
This expression sunk more deeply in the mind of Mrs. Munden than the
person who uttered it imagined: she made no reply, however; and the
other began the narrative she had promised in these or the like terms.
The history of Mademoiselle de Roquelair.
'I need not tell you, Madam,' said she, 'that I am not a native of this
kingdom; my bad pronunciation of the language speaks it for me: I am,
indeed, by birth a Parisian, and daughter of the Sieur de Roquelair, a
man of some estimation in the world.
'The great hopes conceived of me in my infancy, encouraged him to be
almost profuse in the expences of my education; no accomplishment
befitting of my sex and rank was denied me: in fine, it was easy to see
he had an affection for me above all his other children; and that the
partial opinion he had of my person and understanding, made him build
the highest expectations on my future fortune.
'But, alas! what he intended for my happiness proved my undoing; I had
but just attained my fifteenth year of age, when the little beauty I was
mistress of was taken notice of by the Duke de M----, as I was walking
one evening in the Thuilleries, with a young companion of my own sex: he
passed us twice without speaking, but at the third turn accosted us with
a gallantry natural to persons of his high rank; the praises he bestowed
on me were such as might excuse some vanity in a heart so young and
inexperienced as mine then was.
'On our leaving the walks, a gentleman of his retinue followed; and, as
I afterwards was informed, enquired who I was, and many other
particulars concerning me: the next morning, being at mass in the church
of St. Sulpice, I saw the duke again; and, on my coming out, had a
letter put into my hands, which, as soon as I got to a convenient place,
I opened, and found it, as I before imagined, from the duke.
'After magnifying the power of my wit, my beauty, my fine shape, and a
thousand charms with which his amorous fancy painted me, and
protesting, with the most solemn imprecations words could form, his
everlasting adoration of me, he intreated I would meet him at the same
place where he had first seen me, and appointed an hour in which he knew
least company would be there.
'I was imprudent enough to comply with this request: my illustrious
lover was there before me--he saluted me with the utmost transport in
his voice and eyes--led me to a retired part of the walk--made me the
most splendid offers--and endeavoured to persuade me, that being his
mistress was a station more respectable than being the wife of a private
gentleman, or even of a little marquis.
I was unprepared to confute the arguments he urged; and, to confess the
truth, felt but too much satisfaction in hearing him speak: my tongue
obeyed the dictates of my heart, and told him that I would be his,
though I cannot say that I was tempted by any extraordinary liking of
his person, but merely by my ambition of pleasing a prince of the
blood-royal.
'It was agreed between us, that a proper place should be provided for my
reception, and I should quit my father's house entirely; and this was to
be accomplished at the end of three days: but, before the expiration of
that time, a person who had seen me in the Thuilleries carried home
intelligence with what company I had been, and my father, who preferred
virtue above grandeur, took all imaginable precautions to prevent my
continuing so dangerous an intercourse.
But what cannot the power of gold effect? Though I was locked up in my
chamber, no letters or messages permitted to be delivered to me, an
agent of the duke's, by a large bribe, corrupted one of the servants, by
whose assistance I got out of the house when all the rest of the family
were asleep; and a chariot, waiting for me at the end of the street,
carried me to a magnificent hotel; where I found my noble lover, and
every thing I could wish, ready to receive me.
'Here I lived, for near two whole years, in a pomp which excited the
envy, and set me above the scandal, of the censorious: but, at length,
malice overtook me; the baseness of those about me accused me to my
prince of having wronged his bed; he too easily gave credit to their
aspersions; and not only withdrew his affection and his favours from me,
but cruelly discarded me without the least provision for my future
support.
'My father, who would never see me in my exalted state, equally shunned
me in my fallen one; but, at last, through the intercession of some
friends, he was prevailed upon to forgive what was past, provided I
would leave Paris for ever, and spend the remainder of my days in a
monastery: to this, in the distracted condition I then was, I yielded;
and a convent at Roan was made choice of for my retreat; the abbess was
wrote to concerning me; and every thing was prepared for my departure;
when chance brought me acquainted with Mr. Thoughtless.
'You start, Madam,' continued she, perceiving Mrs. Munden looked very
much confused; 'but know, at once, that I am that very unfortunate woman
your brother brought with him from Paris, who has ever since lived with
him, and whom you must have heard of.'
The amazement Mrs. Munden was in, on finding her the mistress of her
brothers, was such as would not permit her to make any other reply than
to desire she would go on with what she had farther to relate: on which
Mademoiselle de Roquelair resumed her discourse in this manner.
'This gentleman,' said she, 'was very well acquainted with my story; but
it did not hinder him from entertaining a passion for me--he declared it
to me; the aversion I had to a recluse life, the allurements of the
world, and his more persuasive rhetorick, soon won me to yield to his
desires; I made a second elopement--we embarked together, and came to
England; where I have had the command of his family, and lived with him
in all things like a wife, except the name. But fortune, always my
enemy, conjured up a spirit of jealousy in him, for my torment at first,
and, at last, for my utter ruin. His fears of losing me, as he
pretended, secluded me from all society; denied me all the publick
diversions of the town; and though I lived amidst the very seat of
pleasures, kept me as much a stranger to them as if I had been a
thousand leagues removed: but, oh! this night, this night, Madam, has
compleated all his too suspicious temper long since threatened! The poor
mercer, at whose house you saw me, came this night to bring a piece of
silk I had bespoke of him: Mr. Thoughtless came home immediately after;
and being told who was above with me, flew up stairs, burst open the
door, which by some accident was locked, rushed in with his drawn sword,
swearing he would sacrifice us both: the man, to avoid his fury, jumped
out of the window into the yard; Mr. Thoughtless ran down the back
stairs, in order, I suppose, to make him in that place the victim of his
rage: whether he has effected it, I know not; for, trembling at my own
danger, I took that opportunity of running directly out of the house;
though where to go I knew not--I had no friend--no acquaintance to whom
I could apply; I found myself all alone in the street, and exposed to
insults, even worse than those from which I fled. My good genius, (for
so I hope it was) in that dreadful instant, reminded me of you; I had
heard a high character of your goodness; and was assured of it, even by
the little I had seen of you, when you were pleased to think me worthy
of your notice.
'This, Madam,' added she, 'has brought me to you; and I once more
beseech shelter and protection under your roof for this night at least,
till I can recollect in what manner I can dispose of my wretched self.'
Though Mrs. Munden was apprehensive this lady had favoured herself too
much in the recital she had made, yet she could not think of refusing
what she asked: she ordered a bed to be instantly prepared for her; and
having conducted her to the chamber where she was to lie, told her she
would defer, till the next morning, any farther discourse on the subject
they had been talking of, as it was very late, and she expected Mr.
Munden home; so wishing her a good repose, returned to her own
apartment, to reflect at more leisure on this strange adventure.