From Miss Bingley to Lady Eliza Finlay.
'Dear Madam,
Agreeable to your desire I write you a long letter in hopes of
making you laugh (for your letter to me gave me the vapours, you
appeared so serious, so unlike yourself)--it is probable I may not
effect my intention; but it will be a proof to you of my affection.
My aunt has been even rude to Sir James Mordaunt, told him that
he need not presume on my partiality for him, that I had nothing
to say in regard to disposing of myself--that he must _treat with
her_. He answered her with some heat, that he had no idea of modern
marriages, where their lawyer is the priest that joins them; and the
banns of matrimony are the indentures, land and ring--That in short
he had no notion of treating for a wife as he would buy stock of a
broker--that if she chose to give me her fortune, it _was well_--if
not, we could live _without it_! lovers you know, my dear Lady Eliza,
are always philosophers!--Your fortune, answered my good aunt, won't
be a superfluous maintenance for a family, and you shall not have a
shilling of mine! Very true, returned Sir James; but where content
attends a competency more is _unnecessary_.
I hope, said she, you are in the court party and may get a pension?
Sir James told her he was not; but if he were it would be worse
for him, as the principles by which the court govern themselves
are literally these: The man who has trumpeted their merits for
years, cannot on any provocation assume an opposite character,
without impeaching his judgment and proving the instability of his
attachment--Our enemies it is wisdom to buy; but our friends will
either be firm in our cause from motives of interest, or silent
sufferers from motives of pride--Therefore, said he, good madam,
laughing, I mean to rise by being _in the opposition_--as most of the
great men have done before me! but, turning to me, said, I never yet
opened my mouth in that celebrated assembly, but to give utterance to
an occasional little monosyllable: But I may improve in time.
My aunt detains Mr Bennet for hours together, as Aristæus held
Proteus to deliver oracles, judging I shall be charmed with his
learning and oratory; but I should like him infinitely better if
she would imitate Dulness, who kept the Muses in the Dunciad to
silence them. But for this eternal teazer's _presence_, and your
_absence_, (which by the by increased my consequence) I should have
enjoyed the races very much. Mrs Damer, on whom nature has bestowed
an understanding greatly superior to her form, confesses you are
handsome; whilst Miss Maydew, who has no other ambition than that
of attracting applause by the charms of her person, allows you good
sense. We seldom withhold the applause which is due to virtues or
accomplishments for which we cannot value ourselves.
As to news, Mrs Trevors is parted with her husband: she put the poor
man out of all patience by her sameness of character: If he made an
observation, she assented; if he altered his mind, she gave a nod. She
was always the same tune, the same object, that is to say _the same
woman_. Perfectly agreed, no quarrels indeed subsisted between them,
but they _fell asleep_. Water freezes only in stagnation. Indifference
hung over them like a cloud, and irksome passed the hours, which might
have flown with a swift pace, perhaps, had they been passed with your
humble servant.
The world would have been already laid in ruins if the elements
that compose it did not maintain it by their discordant concord. If
water did not resist fire by its coldness and humidity it would have
reduced all into ashes, and having no further nutriment would have
consumed itself. I will not lose Sir James's heart from this cause.
Diversity of opinions shall quicken our conversation--Opposition shall
not be wanting on my part to cheer _his heart_, and make his time pass
_agreeably_. An accommodating temper is all a man ought to expect
in a wife; more than this is disgusting--I am very apt to believe
that though a man of spirit would not suffer his wife to dictate to
him, yet he would as soon talk to a parrot, or be the companion of
a monkey, as of one who is his eccho on every occasion. It is very
possible with some men to be _too good_. But there are no rules
without exceptions; for was my husband very perverse I would (follow
the late example of the _Premier_[31] with the Opposition) revenge
myself on him by agreeing in opinion with him, which would oblige him
to commence hostilities with himself if he meant to _continue the
dispute_.
Our ancient neighbour Lady Ogle married the other day a young ensign
in the guards, although you know she has more diseases than Galen
ever wrote of--at every cough resigns some of her teeth, and every
night screws off her leg--scarcely has her own nose, and by the course
of nature ought to have kneeled in marble, or lifted up her arms in
stone twenty years ago. In apology for her conduct, she says, it was
merely to procure herself _a friend_. But as experience does not
coincide with her ladyship's expectations, I should marry Mr Bennet,
to _get rid of him_, were it not for my penchant _elsewhere_. I look
upon all these romantic notions of Platonic, or spiritual love, as
highly ridiculous. Our passions were bestowed on us for wise purposes.
When precepts of virtue are strained too high, they are either
impracticable or become vicious in their consequences.
The captain, _her friend_, is contriving a _visto_ through some
_woods_ on _her estate_, to pay _his debts_; she tells every body,
however, that he is not only possessed of _all the graces_, but an
independant fortune. The next heir to the estate happens to be of a
different opinion--his picture of captain Plume is _all shade_, hers
_all light_. The former awkwardly imitates the style of Rembrandt, and
with a dark pencil loves to describe hideous wrinkles and deformed
features--but the latter artfully copies the taste of Titian, and
brightens the canvas with all the lively glow of colouring. Perhaps
if light and shade were properly blended together, we might behold
a real likeness.--I don't like him. I mistake much if he is not
conceited--you know I pretend a little to be a physiognomist as well
as a botanist. In the natural world the external form of plants afford
us a hint for a conjecture of their virtues. Almost all the plants of
the same kinds are of the same virtues. The poisonous plants, natives
of our soil, are hardly a dozen, and these are characterized even to
the eye by something singular or dismal in the aspect.
When I wrote you I was jealous of Sir James's attentions to Miss
Ords, I did not wish to be understood _au piè du lettre_--She has a
vacant countenance, her youth only renders her _passable_. Her wit
is not picquante, nor her manners alluring. She can answer _yes_ and
_no_, with tolerable success, nay sometimes hazards further: and when
she goes to a comedy does not intreat the company to instruct her
_when_ she should laugh. Her father lives _en Prince_: like Lucullus,
he _plundered all Asia_ to assist him _in house-keeping_. Sir James
was very lively in his usual way--She said she did not like puns, and
had never made one in her life--I could not help answering--It's my
opinion _you never will_.
You ask me if I have got no more lovers? To talk ingenuously with
you--no; I know not what further inconveniences such an acquisition
might put me to: and as it might probably happen (not on _my account_,
but for my _aunt's acres_) I have whispered my passion for Sir James
Mordaunt as a secret to Mrs M----; so you need not doubt but it has
spread. She is an antiquated virgin, who endeavours to make chastity
atone for the want of every other virtue. She wanted me sadly to
ask her some question; I mortified my own curiosity, to punish her
propensity to detraction.
Lady Dun is at last expired, notwithstanding the prayers of the
faithful. Had she lived any longer, her _piety_ must have ruined _her
family_ by her total want of economy, as she did the reputation of her
neighbours by scandal.
_Can so much gall in holy breasts reside?_
Boileau's Lutrin. Canto I.
I met the following story lately in an old book; the writer appears
to have been a person of great judgment, and not in _the least_
given to credulity. He relates, that a certain man who had a wife
that made this world his purgatory (though, according to the _common
acceptation_, she was _virtuous_ and prudent) happening to die some
little time after her, he went to paradise, as soon as the breath
was out of his body, as a reward for his patience in this world;
being come to the gate, he knocks, the good man St Peter opens the
door, and desires him very civilly to walk in, and take what seat in
heaven he pleased. The husband stopped a moment to recollect himself;
and then asks St Peter, Whether or not his wife was there? The good
Saint answered in the affirmative: upon which the honest man, without
staying for any thing further, takes to his heels and makes for the
road to hell; rather choosing to renounce heaven, than be in the same
place with his dear rib, whom he was well assured would, out of the
abundance of her virtue, make heaven as great a hell to him, as she
had done this earth.
I must now, my dear friend, tell you what sincerely grieves me. My
brother equals _yours_ in melancholy: before he went abroad, no man
whatever had better spirits; but now, although he does not complain of
any particular disorder, yet is he always indisposed--ever wretched,
constantly sighing and lamenting. This affects my spirits much: "_my
heart is not of that rock, nor my soul careless as that sea, which
lifts its blue waves to every blast, and rolls beneath the storm!_"
But truth obliges me to confess that I cannot go on with my admired
poet as--"_The virgins_ have not as yet _beheld me silent in the
hall_!" No, no no, it is not come to that yet! I relieve you from my
company--be sensible of the obligation--let me hear from you soon, and
believe me,
Your ladyship's
affectionate friend,
H. BINGLEY.'
From Lady Eliza Finlay to Miss Bingley.
'My dear Harriot,
Many thanks for your agreeable letter, your _gaieté de coeur_ always
pleases me, _Vive la bagatelle!_
But, my dear friend, I am uneasy at your aunt's persisting in
her persecution of you on Mr Bennet's account. He seems to me to
be a person rather created to fill up a vacuum in nature, than to
perform any active good in it. His want of sensibility is sufficient
to prepossess me against him--There are in the occurrences of a
married life so many trials of a man's humanity that he whose want
of tenderness might pass unobserved had he continued single--must
often appear a very monster considered as a husband. May you be
blessed in that state with the man of your heart! I agree with you
that opposition, carried on without violence, gives a dignity to our
condescension; but we must not carry this too far or we may counteract
our design of preserving the heart we have gained.
To manage men requires more dexterity than to win them, as the
consequence of most _love matches_ evinces.
You ask a thousand questions, having never been in London yourself,
on account of your aunt's apprehensions of a disease she had not the
resolution of giving you at an early period of life[32]. I told you
that you must not expect any characters from me, as I was always an
enemy to detraction, and few there are that merit commendation. Let
us, my dear friend, regulate our _own conduct_, rather than condemn
that _of others_: but as I cannot refuse you anything you ask (though
I may wonder at your asking) I will suppose we are chatting over a
dish of tea, and giving our opinion of a gown or a cap, and will tell
you who suits my taste, or who my reason contemns, with as little
meaning as if I talked of the gown and not the woman: and this I the
more readily do, as I know you will not betray the confidence I place
in you.
The truth is, however, I am perfectly astonished at the strange
characters this town abounds with; and stupified (_if I may_ be
allowed the expression) with what I have heard: but, as Shakespeare
allows Desdemona to speak after she was smothered, you will permit me
to write though I have lost my understanding. And as it was the choice
of certain great men to be intelligible, it is probable my present
state of mind will lead me to imitate them. But on second thoughts, my
being not _au fait_ to the subject may perhaps make me excel in it.
Men often expatiate _best_ on what they _least understand_, by the
same rule that people in general are contrary to what they would seem.
The Mantuan Swain lived constantly at court: Horace wrote in
celebration of a country life when he resided in Rome: and it is well
known travels, voyages, etc. to every part of the world have been
written in London. Why should I not then, Eliza Finlay Spinster,
attempt delineating manners, which I have really seen? My scruples
would intrude--that perhaps I am not sufficiently informed, as I have
only resided here a month; but these vanish on the recollection that
I must certainly be in the right in the above position--Otherwise,
could it be possible for Mr Blacklock[33], a poet blind from his
birth, to describe visible objects with more spirit and justness,
than others blessed with the most perfect sight? Could certain
orators, famous for their _extravagance_, harangue on _economy_--Or
the learned at Venice employ father Piaggi to copy the manuscript
found at Herculaneum (though he is unacquainted with Greek, the
language they are written in)--Or could our own countrymen, the
_learned_, _judicious_ body in Warwick-lane, refuse to admit to be
their associates in the science of _Æsculapius_, any but those who
have studied where--_medicine is not taught_? After such precedents
as these, it is clear I cannot err, in informing you of what--_I
know little about_. Besides, it is an established rule of prudence,
on the contrary, never to commit yourself by talking or writing on a
subject the world gives you the credit of understanding, as you have
_nothing_ to _gain_ but _much_ to _lose_. This consideration no doubt
induced one author[34] to omit in his tragedy _morality_, which should
be the ground-work of every fable, and deterred another[34] from
acknowledging providence, though it so eminently presided, and was so
conspicuously displayed in the miraculous escapes made in the voyages
he wrote of. This being premised, I will now begin boldly to _relate_
many things I cannot _comprehend_.
_Miss Ton_ accompanied me to the opera; I was amazed at the height
of her head, and how her chair had failed to crush the fabric of
feathers and frivolity which rose above each other! I could not think
she had flown, though she was composed of cork and feather; and
willing to be informed how she had managed it (as ignorance, you know,
is reprehensible) I ventured to ask her the question. She returned me
a look of contempt (as if to pity my ignorance) saying, she always
took care to prevent a misfortune of that kind! When I go to court,
said she, as heads are wore lower[35] there--I fit like your old woman
upon the seat of the chair, which is convenient enough on account of
one's trimmings, but when I go to the opera, where _fancy directs_ and
_fashion prevails_, I say my prayers the whole way--that is to say,
I kneel _on the bottom of the chair_. I admired her ingenuity; only
observed, I hoped it did not fatigue her knees so much as to prevent
her from going to church next day! O, not in the least, said she;
but I always go to the drawing-room of a Sunday! except when I go to
the Chapel-royal--_the closet there_, indeed, that is no bad public
place--nobody but people of fashion are admitted, and it is really
sometimes very amusing! The truth is, if one liked church very much,
there is time enough to dress afterwards; for it is not _the rage_
which a certain set to go to the drawing-room until your old-fashioned
people are coming away. Oh the dear delight of meeting these dowdies
on their _retour_ home to their spouses and family dinners at _four
o'clock_. Then we make such glorious confusion! I took the liberty of
saying that I thought the respect due to their Majesties had induced
every body to be in the drawing-room previous to their appearance!
Oh, not at all, child, said she--except your _formal ones_! But
why, said I, madam, need you go to court of a Sunday, why not of a
Thursday as well? Of a Thursday! Nobody goes of a Thursday! Pardon
me, replied I, the Duchess of W---- introduced me on that day! That
may be, replied Miss _Ton_, her Grace is very old, wrinkles make her
religious--but none but such, or courtiers, go of a Thursday! I again
took the liberty of telling her that it had also been a very full
drawing-room--Then, said she, it must have been the Thursday after
the birthday--or some particular day; for otherwise few of a certain
set, who understand _the rage_, would go. The _rage_, said I, madam!
I am again at a loss; did I hear you right? O, perfectly well, said
she; the _ton_, was formerly the word, but _the rage_, has lately
been adopted from the French! (It is to be hoped, that the Parisians
will also, from their late partiality for _English Gauzes_, _Silks_,
_Linens_, _etc._ induce us to adopt _them also_, instead of too often
procuring these articles from France.)
Forgetful of the imprudence I was going to commit--I told Miss
_Ton_ her prayers had proved ineffectual--her largest feather
was snapped in two. Is it possible! exclaimed she, and reddened
prodigiously.--Shocked at the blunder I had made, and pitying her
weakness, I gave her my bottle of Eau de Luce; and not caring to
hazard any further on so interesting a subject, lest it should hurt
her nerves, I turned the conversation to what was more indifferent--a
sister of her's, who _had died in child-bed a fortnight before_.
(This, my dear friend--to philosophise--no abstract evil exists;
for whatever calamities human life is subject to, their evil depends
merely on our own sensibility.)
Sir Timothy Clinquant rejoined us. He is handsome, has a good
opinion of himself, and is no stranger to the art of flattery. She
lamented to him the accident of her feather. From a knowledge of
human nature, that nothing pleases so much as to have a defect of any
kind turned into a beauty--he assured her the feather being broke
gave it an air of negligence so perfectly adapted to the _contour_
of her fine face, that he could not be convinced, but that she
_accidentally_ on _purpose_ afforded it _that grace_. Thus was she
restored to good-humour.--I can tell you little of what I saw; Miss
Ton's head intercepted my view of the stage: _her rage_ of going late
having prevented our getting any other but end seats, and she sat
before me. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth there was a law made to
restrict the growth of ruffs: I wish our legislators,[36] who, in this
accommodating age, do sometimes condescend to bestow their attention
on trifles, would take the size of heads into their consideration. Mr
Walpole observes, in his anecdotes of painting in England, that in the
reign of the two first Edwards, the ladies erected such pyramids on
their heads that the face became the center of the body.
An eminent physician has declared, that more deformed children have
been brought into the world this last year than for twenty years
before, on account of the ladies stooping in their carriages--One
thing I am certain of--it makes them contract a habit of frowning,
that furrows their foreheads.
A fine lady is the least part of herself, and is every morning
put together like some instrument. Dress is the subject eternally
discussed. Gulliver tells us, that the sages of Laputa, having
substituted things in place of words, carried along with them such
things as were necessary to express the particular business they
intended to discourse on.--Were this the case, it would be a great
relief; but alas! they do no more here than propose the subject. But
to return to the opera--Miss _Ton_, in telling me who the people
were, said they were _horrid creatures_, that is to say, censorious or
_awkward_, because _not of her particular set_.
But what was my surprise to perceive her familiarly afterwards
whispering to one, curtsying to another, telling a third how
unfortunate she had been in not being at home when she did her the
honor of calling on her! I could not help testifying my astonishment
at her conduct!--She laughed, and said--I am civil to those people, as
the Indians worship the devil--_for fear_. Besides, said she, the last
Lady has a rich brother lately come from India. In days of yore women
married for a title, a fine seat, etc.--A title is very agreeable,
but a _fine seat_, the very idea of it gives me the vapours! I would
rather marry a London justice than a lord lieutenant of the county. It
did very well formerly (when people were so dull as to be able to bear
their own thoughts) to live moping at an old family place; but manners
are _now_ too much improved for _that_: and a nabob's cash, without
the appendages of the seats of his ancestors, will suffice to carry
me one season to Spa, another to Tunbridge, etc. etc.--In marrying a
nabob, there is a moral security of never being buried in the country.
I am no _devot_, but I believe there is such a thing as conscience;
and, as few of these continental heroes can bear to listen to their
silent monitor--it induces them to lead _exactly the kind of life I
like_--to _exclude reflection_!
I answered, that she was too severe; I made no doubt but that a
man may get rich across the Atlantic, without wounding his honor,
and all the finer feelings of humanity by peculation and extortion,
which leaves the possessors more wretched than pale-eyed poverty with
all its whole train of meagre haunts. To change the conversation,
I said, so madam, I find you intend to marry. Yes, said she, _to
be sure_--But I hope in god I shall have no children to _spoil my
shape_. I cannot here refrain from telling you a circumstance I saw
occur myself. We dined at Lady ----'s; I observed a lady change
colour--Mrs. ---- whispered to her, that ladies in her situation (for
she appeared with child) were apt to be _indisposed_. She seemed hurt
at the supposition, and denied any thing was the matter with her!
As by the conversation it appeared she had _already had children_,
I was at a loss to account for _her conduct_. Colonel H----, her
husband, appeared very uneasy--an inquisitive look of kindness, a
tender affectionate concern, were strongly depicted on his manly
countenance--his anxiety appeared to me to proceed from that fond
attachment arising from loving another better than one's self. I
entered into his ideas, contemplated her happiness, and as he is not
a very young (though agreeable) man, the apparent attention he paid
her confirmed me in what you know was always my sentiments, that
_such_ make the _best husbands_. Desirous of relieving his anxiety by
contributing to her ease, I begged she would permit me to accompany
her to another apartment. As her uneasiness had greatly increased--she
was under a necessity of accepting my offer--and fainted as soon
as she got into Mr. ----'s library. The alarmed and fond husband
followed, who intreated a maid might be called to cut the lacing of
her stays. He was much affected, and, addressing Lady Charlotte Sombre
and me, said, There, young ladies, lies a victim of the fashion!
Before I brought her to this town--she was the delighted mother of
three fine children--but these fond sensations are now lost in the
trifling consideration of a _fine shape_; and though in the last month
of her pregnancy, she has a vanity in flattering herself she cannot be
thought in _that situation_! The lady was carried home, and we heard
next day she had been delivered of a _still-born child_.
Lord Spangle asked Miss _Ton_, how soon she got to bed the other
morning? Not, my Lord, until eight--you know we did not sit down to
dinner until twelve at night. Not until twelve at night! said I. No,
returned she; you know nobody dines till after the opera: it was
_Danzi's_ benefit; all the world were there, and there were many songs
_encored_.--Dinner was ordered by eleven; but Lady Peccedillo was not
at the opera--her monkey died, and she had not nerves for seeing Lord
---- who is always there, and who she esteems the direct image of her
dead favourite. Her hair-dresser was ordered at ten, but disappointed
her--and dinner was retarded on her account. Pray, said I, at what
time did you sup? Why, we sat down to cards at two o'clock, played
until six, then went to supper, and parted half an hour after seven! I
find, said I, that the people of the _ton_ reckon the time according
to the _Mosaic_ custom, where the evening and the morning make the
day. But pray, madam, what becomes of your servants all this time? I
hope you only appoint them to attend you home? Servants! Lord, Madam,
nobody thinks of their servants! I do not see myself what business
servants have to sleep _at all_! I can do very well with three hours
sleep, and I expect next winter to bring myself to two[37]!
You say that lady and Mrs. ---- have been lately abused, even
by their own friends, that is to say--those they associated most
with--Would you know the reason? My dear friend, they have left off
play, at which they generally lost considerably. The first of these
ladies, from unavoidable misfortunes, altered her plans in life: the
last, from a different cause--Her family remonstrated, her husband
frowned; but they remonstrated, and he frowned to _no purpose_! Her
luck turned, her passion increased for that dangerous amusement, yet
she took a resolution, and would _play no more_.--She who was before
set down as an agreeable acquaintance, was now deemed capricious, and
the eyes of her card-playing acquaintances, who were before _blind_
to her _real imperfections_, became now _scrupulously attentive_ to
her _imaginary errors_. Many various conjectures were formed for the
reasons of her conduct--many allegations made that she had formed _an
attachment_, or was deterred by _spouses's directions_! To clear her
at once from these imputations, neither of which (be they _crimes or
virtues_) she has a mind capable of--The truth is--she has beautiful
teeth--and accidentally read Mr Tolver's book, where he considers the
passions as internal causes of their diseases.
_Errors_ proceeding from the _sensations of the heart_, are not
_those_ of this age. I was told there had been a long attachment
between Lady ---- and Colonel ----. I deplored, I pitied her! He is
now abroad in a dangerous situation! What anxiety, what wretchedness
must she not suffer! How surprised I was to find--she never misses
_a public place_. The Duchess of W---- was much amused at my
simplicity--Formerly (said she) if a woman had the misfortune _to
love where_ she could not avow it--decency induced her carefully
to conceal her weakness--but now it is _quite otherwise_--The soft
sensations find no admittance into their sophisticated hearts--though
they have no objection to a man of fashion _in their train_.--And a
certain set of _the ton_, or _the rage_ go so far as even studiously
to afford an appearance _of what_ in reality never entered into _their
imaginations_!
I think I hear you say, how strange! But everything is so I think
in this place. I met Lady Bab Cork-rump the other day: My dear Lady
Eliza, said she, I love a comedy of all things; pray let us go to one
soon. I am disengaged next Thursday--That is very lucky, returned I; I
have _a box that evening: it is our favourite play_; and _Mrs Abington
acts_!--That is _delightful_, said she! And, added I, it is a charity
play for the dispensary of the infant poor--upwards of twenty-six
thousand children have been relieved by this humane institution
since its commencement nine years ago. Lady Bab heard the above
impatiently.--It is a charity play, you say, madam!--I don't know, I
believe my brother expects some friends from the country. I suppose it
will be no disappointment to your ladyship if I _don't go_?--O, not in
the least, said I--Thus the idea of _Charity_ makes a fine lady shrink
(as if it were contagious) into herself, and prevented Lady Bab from
going to a place her inclination otherwise induced her to.
Lady Bab seems to have a great partiality for Sir Hugh,
our neighbour--Since he got his fortune--his riots are
generosity--carelessness, the freedom of his soul--his prodigalities,
an easiness of mind proportioned to his estate. He quarrelled the
other day with Captain Essence on her account; and I was alarmed to
the greatest degree for the consequences! she laughed at my fears,
assuring me there was no kind of danger in what I apprehended. The
gentlemen, said she, have renounced the conduct of heroes. The custom
of wagers is the happy succedaneum, and prevents much blood-shed. Thus
matters of dispute are left in _tranquil doubt_, until the period
arrives for _its_ no less _tranquil decision_. It turned out as she
said; Captain Essence wagered with Sir Hugh, that _the new club in
Saint James's Street would be the ruin of Lord ----, before the old
one vis-à-vis had knocked up General ----_.
I have spent so much money on _bagatelles_, that I cannot help
regretting the expenditure of what if otherwise applied might have
produced such beneficial effects.--But if we commit some follies,
we are sufficiently kept in countenance by the other sex. Modern
story tells us the late King of Poland was so much captivated with
forty-eight china vases, that he purchased them of the late King of
Prussia at the price of a _whole regiment of dragoons_.
You know, my dear friend, how many elogiums have been bestowed on
Lady Darnley, on account of the aids she afforded for the disquisition
of the particular genius's which distinguished the young people, to
prevent a misapplication of the talents of the rising generation. "Is
it not by a misapplication of talents," said one, "that our present
mortifications arise? Many a man miscarrying in one profession, would
have succeeded happily in another. Hence we see so many heads applied
to what requires thinking, which might have been applied to their
country's good in the manner of the ancient use of _battering rams_,
and have been run against stone walls _without the least danger of
being hurt_.--If the mechanic should invert all the principles which
compose the knowledge of that science; if he should assign the wheels
to be the principle of motion, the spring to run round and be moved,
the weight to vibrate and regulate, and the pendulum to urge; would
not all mankind deride such a machine, because it could not perform
its office? Is not this the unhappy case of this country at present?
have not our enemies taken the advantage of it?"
But to leave politics--which I owe to the observations of an
old gentleman, who has too much reason to be chagrined with the
procrastination in the conduct of public affairs, as it has affected
the interest of his private family--I am most sincerely concerned on
account of your aunt's apparent obstinacy in favour of Mr Bennet.
Parents, imagining that years _impart wisdom_, which have only
_altered tastes_, are apt to be arbitrary in their determinations,
and dress in the furs, which become the ice of old-age, the glowing
blood of youth. But do not, my dear friend, barter your happiness for
splendour. I suppose (but do not take my supposition for an oracle)
that it is not likely I shall every marry--If I do not, my fortune
shall be yours; being ever most affectionately
Your sincere friend
ELIZA FINLAY.
From the Earl of Munster to the
Countess of Darnley.
My dear Aunt,
Since I wrote you last, I walked one day in the city. A _black man_,
_well dressed_, fell down in the street: as none was near, I run,
took him in my arms, and carried him into a house of refreshment,
where I immediately procured him assistance. Upon his recovery he
acknowledged his obligations to me, and said, that but for me he must
have died:--and at the end of the lottery of life, our last minutes,
like benefit tickets left in the wheel, rise in their valuation. I
accompanied him home, where I saw his wife; who, though as black as
the collyed night, is as ingenious, sensible, and agreeable a woman as
can be found among the daughters of England. He inquired of her for a
friend; who arriving, to my inexpressible surprise proved to be the
Marquis de Villeroy, but so emaciated that the eye of friendship could
not behold him without shedding tears--he knew me at once, and ran to
my embrace--This, said he to the black gentleman, is Lord Munster, my
friend, the companion of my youth.
After the joy we mutually testified at meeting, I could not help
testifying my surprise at the alteration in his person! My Lord,
replied he, I will acquaint you with the most extraordinary history
that ever occurred to any one. Upon the receipt of your letter, I
made no doubt, in the first impulse of passion, but you had betrayed
me; I suddenly left the army, and travelled day and night until I
took shipping for Rotterdam. On my arrival at that place, I found my
father had left it; and was also informed of the honorable part you
had acted, and that I had falsely flattered myself with the Countess's
affection. I lamented your misfortune and my impatience, as on
reflection I was sensible of the imprudence I had committed in leaving
my post--I was determined, however, not to lie under any imputation
of cowardice--I returned to--waited on the general officer--acquainted
him with the real truth, obtained forgiveness of my fault, which
was afterwards looked upon in a proper light, as I had the good
fortune to distinguish myself soon after in two engagements. Upon
our being ordered into winter-quarters, I obtained leave of absence,
and was resolved if possible to discover to what place my father had
retired; for although my love was hopeless, I flattered myself still
with having it in my power to rescue the Countess de Sons from his
_tyranny_, and restore her _to you_.
My servant one day, with a face of joy, communicated to me that he
had learned my father lived at a house near Marseilles. He heard this,
he said, from a brother, who had an intrigue with one of the Duchess's
maids.--Is the duke then married? said I.--Alas, my friend, said the
Marquis, I am sorry to inform you, the object of your affections fell
a victim to my father's designs--he compelled her to give him her
hand!--I found he had turned the Countess's fortune into cash and
jewels, on which he lived, being desirous of concealing the place of
his abode, jealous to the last degree of her being seen! With this
view all his servants _were females_.
Notwithstanding these precautions, his domestics talked of his
peculiarities; which occasioned interrogatories concerning his funds
of expense. These the inquirers soon discovered were in specie in
the house: this determined them to rob him. My servant's brother,
who was courting the Duchess's maid, informed her _of me_; next day
received a letter from my sister, who promised to admit me one night
into the house, where she directed me to come in disguise with my
servant!--Thus was I made a tool of by these ruffians: they meant
to effect the robbery by _my means_; and if detected, flattered
themselves they would be pardoned _on my account_! At the time
appointed I went; Julia let me in, leaving the door open for my
servant. She was beginning to inform me of all their distresses, when
our ears were assaulted by an alarm-bell!--in an instant the house
was filled with people; I heard my father say, Where is the rascal
who calls himself my son? My servant, upon being discovered, had
informed him, that I had hired him and his three companions (whom he
had introduced into the house) to murder and rob him, and to carry
off the ladies! It was in vain I assured him to the contrary; he would
not hearken to me; he recollected how much I had been in love with his
charming ward; he upbraided me with my wickedness, and perhaps did
believe me guilty.
This affair, I make no doubt, has been misrepresented in the
world--we have no true histories, but such as have been written by
those who were sincere enough to relate what they experienced, in what
relates to themselves.
I was seized, and carried to a dungeon until my trial; when, without
a hearing, I was condemned for life to be a galley-slave, and sent
for that purpose on board the gallies at Marseilles. The labour of a
_galley-slave_, is become a proverb; nor is it without reason that
this may be reckoned the greatest fatigue that can be inflicted on
wretchedness.
Imagine six men chained to their seats, entirely naked as when born,
sitting with one foot on a block of timber fixed to the footstool;
the other lifted up against the bench before them, holding in their
hands an oar of an enormous size. Imagine them lengthening their
bodies, their arms stretched out to push the oar over the backs of
those before them; who are also themselves in a similar attitude.
Having thus advanced their oar, they raise that end which they hold
in their hands, to plunge the opposite in the sea; which done, they
throw themselves back upon their benches below, which are somewhat
hollowed to receive them. But none but those who have seen them labour
can conceive how much they endure: none but such could be persuaded
that human strength could sustain the fatigue which they undergo for
an hour successively. But what cannot necessity and cruelty make men
do? Almost impossibilities. Certainly no galley can be navigated in
any other way, than by a crew of slaves, over whom a _comite_ may
exercise the most unbounded authority. No free man could continue at
the oar an hour unwearied: yet a slave must sometimes lengthen out
his toil for ten, twelve, nay, for twenty hours, without the smallest
intermission. On these occasions the _comites_, or some of the other
mariners, put into the mouths of those wretches a bit of bread steeped
in wine, to prevent their fainting through excess of fatigue or
hunger, while their hands are employed upon the oar. At such times
are heard nothing but horrid blasphemies, loud bursts of despair, or
ejaculations to Heaven; all the slaves streaming with blood, while
their unpitying taskmasters mix oaths and threats, and the smacking of
whips, to fill up this dreadful harmony.
At this time the captain roars to the _comite_ to redouble his
blows; and when any one drops from his oar in a swoon, (which not
unfrequently happens) he is whipped while any remains of life appear,
and then thrown into the sea, without any farther ceremony. The
_Diable Boitteux_, in order to make _Cleofas_ sensible of the happy
condition of an inquisitor, tells him, Was not I a Dæmon, I would be
an inquisitor? Were the devil to become a mortal, he would incline to
be the _comite_ to the galley-slaves at Marseilles, whose hearts are
inlapidated by cruelty.
How these slaves are fed, to enable them to support such enormous
toil, may be judged from the following account.--When it was necessary
we should take some refreshment, the captain ordered _the dogs to
their mess_. He only meant by this, that we should be served with
beans, the usual food allowed us. These are indeed most intolerable
eating, and what nothing but the most pinching hunger could dispense
with. They are ill boiled, with scarce any oil, a little salt, and
all to be eaten out of a capacious cauldron, not the cleanest in the
world, as may easily be conceived.
I was never so hungry but that I preferred eating my portion of
bread dipped in vinegar and water to this mess, which even offended
the sense of smelling. However, these, and twenty-two ounces of
biscuit, are all the food allowed for a galley-slave. Each of the crew
receives four ounces of this beverage; that is, provided none of it be
secreted before it is brought upon deck, which is not unfrequently the
case.
I once had the curiosity to count the number of beans which
a brother slave had got for all his portion, which amounted to
just thirty; and those of the little black bean, commonly called
horse-beans. We did not even commiserate one another. To pity, we
must be acquainted with the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, but
not feel them. When we know by experience what pain is, we pity those
who suffer; but when we ourselves are in pain, we then feel only what
we ourselves undergo. In every station, subject to the calamities of
life, we allow to others that share of our sensibility only which we
have no occasion for ourselves. People in ease, people in affluence,
may think otherwise, but it is not _in nature_.
Dreadful as this was, I have always thought death a punishment that
was no way adequate to the crimes of some public villains who have
been punished with it; and I am certain the most cowardly among men,
would prefer it to being a galley-slave. We are condemned to death by
nature; the sentence of the law, and the hand of the hangman, only
anticipate a few months or days; but to be daily wishing for death, as
a friend, to relieve us, and to be debarred of all means of meeting
him, is such a quintessence of wretchedness as would, I believe, make
all mankind keep a strict guard upon their actions, that they may
avoid falling into it.[38]
From this infernal state of existence I was delivered by Mr Worthy,
who is a slave-merchant--he saw, and pitied my distress--he had
accidentally saved the life of one of the ruffians who had assisted in
the attempt to rob my father. This man afterwards, upon his death-bed,
acquainted his good master of my situation, who promised to release
me. This was effected by his giving a large sum to the captain and the
_comite_. The secret was told me; it was agreed I should pretend to
faint, and appear insensible; when I should be thrown into the sea as
dead--This happily succeeded.
Nothing can be more unjust than to confine the instance of humanity
within the narrow circle of a few European nations. The noble, the
generous, the humane dispositions are diffused throughout all nature,
and exert their engaging force wherever a body of men subsists. Virtue
and vice are mingled in all societies: we have savages in Italy; and
there are worthy men amongst those we call savages. Christians do
often those things which a modest heathen would blush at, and, while
they boast of their religion, are strangers to the common laws of
humanity. It should be the boast of a wise man to despise nothing that
he is not well acquainted with, and to do justice to all mankind, of
whatever country or complexion.--Virtue, like the rays of the sun,
shines over the whole habitable globe, enlivens the moral, as that the
material world, and exerts its benign influences from the _scorching
equinox_ to the _frozen poles_. We feel its force; all communities are
bound together by its magnetic influence; and without it the nations
of Barbary would be covered with devastation, and no more inhabited
than the scorching sands of its inhospitable deserts.
Mr Worthy no sooner cast his eyes on me, and perceived my sorrow,
than pity, tenderness, and compassion glowed in his countenance; his
eyes moistened with generous sympathy, and the first word he spoke
convinced me that he already felt _all I had suffered_. But there is
no pleasure so transporting to him, as to be in any way instrumental
in making any of the human species happy.
I acquiesced in the justice of these sentiments--and could not
sufficiently admire the fortitude which had supported the Marquis
under such unheard-of trials! And as our sense of many high
enjoyments, both natural and moral, is exceedingly heightened by our
having observed or experienced many of the contrary evils; he bids
fair at least to be contented, when he looks back to the horrors he
has escaped. The poet says,
The heart can ne'er a transport know
That never felt a pain.
It may easily be conceived the Marquis is most anxious to inquire
after his family--but gratitude to Mr Worthy has made him accompany
him to England.
When I seemed to compassionate his sufferings, his gratitude assumed
a grateful humility; but the moment I appeared the least inattentive
to his misfortunes, his countenance collected such an air of dignity,
as not only reproached my seeming want of sensibility, but reminded
me also, that his sufferings were not the consequences of guilt, nor
could in the least degree lessen his greatness of mind.
I find Mr Worthy has a law-suit depending; when that is settled
he is to accompany my friend to Italy. He appears to me a very
acute, sensible man;--we were talking the other day of the
disturbances at Madras, and of the strange conduct of the people
in Leadenhall-Street--He said it put him in mind of Anacharsus's
observation to Solon, as they were returning from a public assembly,
'That he could not help being greatly astonished to find, that, in
their deliberations, it was the _wise that spoke_, and that _fools
that decided_.' I believe, in public assemblies, this will be found
generally to be the case, where party governs, and the most powerful
cabal is generally composed of the least rational.
I attend these dear friends everywhere. The Marquis is an _amateur_,
and his taste will be highly gratified, when at Munster-house, to view
the prodigies of _your creation_--he is a descendant of the Medici
family: consequently highly charmed with the character of the Countess
of Darnley. But this is a subject, I am incapable of entering upon--to
praise exquisite merit is perhaps the most difficult part of polite
writing, and which I have no talents for; but which if I possessed, I
should tire you with what few other ladies ever yet was--_their own
praises_. But I will yield to none in what I value myself upon, being
truly and affectionately.
Yours
MUNSTER
The Marquis de Villeroy became much enamoured with Lady Eliza, whose
compassion for his misfortunes had so far softened her heart in his
favor, that she listened to him first with complacency, afterwards with
tenderness, and at last with the most lively interest. Congenial souls
soon form an union. She acknowledged her partiality for him, but that no
predilection whatever could induce her to leave her country and friends.
This opinion was greatly strengthened by the idea she entertained of the
inconstancy of mankind, and the little regard they pay to women after a
few years possession.
The Marquis thought his renouncing his native country would be too
great a sacrifice to be offered at the altar of the Graces. Yet the
idea of parting with Lady Eliza was what he was unable to support.--She
told him it would be in vain to think of making her soften the rigour
of her decree; for it proceeded from a firmness, which nothing could
conquer! for, from all her observations in life, no love ever lasted
long enough to make it worth while to sacrifice every thing else to
it; the _Paradisiac_ vision of eternal constancy having long vanished
from these sublunary regions:--and that unless he would reside in
England--she never would be his!--A sigh, which stole from him, conveyed
to Lady Eliza the height of his despair--his embarrassment and dejection
increased her regard for him, while it awakened a tender commiseration
for them, believing herself entirely the cause of them. She therefore
thought it incumbent on her to endeavour to remove them by every
attention in her power.--In consequence of this consideration in his
favor, she strove to look cheerful, though she was not a little hurt at
finding it absolutely necessary to reject so amiable and deserving a
man.
The Marquis, perceiving that remonstrances would be ineffectual,
took his leave with a heart distracted by grief, perplexity, and
despair! Being naturally of a restless, gloomy disposition, and of
violent passions, in his despair he thought his adventures had been so
extraordinary that he was doomed to be wretched! and formed a resolution
of laying violent hands on himself: and the more he meditated on his
situation, the more strongly was he confirmed in his precipitate
resolution. Yet, as the instinct of self-preservation is one of the
strongest in our frame, it inspired him with a counter-idea, that of
renouncing Italy; this only acquiescence being requisite to recommend
him to Lady Eliza, without whom his life would be a burthen. He
communicated his intentions to Lord Munster, who apprised his sister of
this proof of the Marquis's attachment for her.
Flattered to the greatest degree at the strength of his affection,
she promised to give him her hand on his return from Italy--where he
must necessarily go, to prove the identity of his person, and to take
possession of his fortune.
The Marquis made immediate preparations for his journey, and soon set
out, accompanied by his friend Mr Worthy, Mrs Worthy accompanying Lady
Eliza to Munster-house--Soon after their arrival Lord and Lady Darnley
rejoined them with their little son, her ladyship being too tender a
mother to leave him behind her, or to commit him to the care of any but
herself. The tender brain of _Newton_, or _Alexander_, altered in their
infancy by a small compression, or slight commotion, might have rendered
the first stupid, and the other a wise King--Yet people in general,
though emulous of obtaining wealth for their heirs, commit them to the
care of uninterested hirelings. Sir Harry Bingley, his aunt and sister,
and most of the parties already introduced to the reader, assembled at
Munster house to spend the summer.
Mrs Lee had rejected every overture from her husband for a
reconciliation, whilst his health and fortune lasted--but to a mind
like hers, misfortunes cancelled every injury--His fortune ruined,
his health impaired, he plunged deeper and deeper into every species
of excess. This soon brought him to the greatest distress, and he was
so much reduced as to be in want of the common necessaries of life.
Mrs Lee, upon being informed of his deplorable situation, immediately
converted that villa in Wales, of which there has been a description
given[39], into money, paid her husband's debts, and accompanied him at
a wretched hovel, to which his poverty, the consequence of his crimes,
and infidelity (_to her_) had reduced him.--There she continued, shewing
him every attention until his decease; when she came with Lady Darnley
to Munster-house.
Lady Eliza soon received the following Letter from the Marquis de
Villeroy.
Madam, Venice.
On my arrival at this place, I found that, on the report of my
death, my father had consigned over his estate to a near relation
of mine--who knew me at once, though so emaciated, and has acted in
the most honorable manner to me. My father has retired to La-Trappe
in France: thither my duty must lead me, previous to the happiness I
shall receive in throwing myself at your feet.
Were I disposed to draw the most engaging _portrait_ imaginable,
I could easily find a subject; but as you may possibly wish for an
intimate acquaintance with the original, I shall omit the attempt,
since it would be difficult for you to obtain it from that principle
in human nature which makes us strangers _to ourselves_.
I shall detain your ladyship no longer, than to request you will
inform my friend, your brother, that I am mortified to be unable to
deliver his letter to Mademoiselle de Querci--no such person can be
found.
Need I paint that passion I have given you such proofs of?--No;
all descriptions would fall short of my feelings. I will ever yield
to every wish your soul can form; you are entirely absolute, unless
you should attempt impossibilities, amongst which I reckon this as
the greatest--for me to breathe a moment without being entirely and
inviolably yours.