It may here be, perhaps, proper to inform the reader of what perhaps his
own sagacity may have made him anticipate--The Duke de Salis had neither
been able, by intreaties or threats, to compel the Countess de Sons to
marry him, though he had given out that she had; this induced him to
keep both her and his daughter closely confined. It has been already
related, how he had consigned over his son as a house-breaker;--when
he found him condemned to the gallies--like the cruel inconsistency
of an _Admiral's[40] judges_--he laid himself under the necessity of
declaiming the equity of his own sentence--and when he found the decree
against his son was inevitable--unable to bear the reproaches of his
inward monitor, and listening to the whispers of a gloomy disposition,
he became almost frantic--In this situation of mind, torn with the
agonies of grief, he became more careless of his ward--and the Countess
and Julia escaped from him--After his conduct to his son--they trembled
lest in some act of despair he should on some future occasion equal the
past scene, which _chilled them with horror_--The Countess was seized
with the small-pox, which altered her features considerably, without
impairing her beauty; this circumstance facilitated their eluding all
search after them from the Duke, as Julia wore men's clothes; and they
supported themselves by the sale of jewels.
The intelligent reader now perceives, that Mademoiselle Querci and her
brother, were no other than the Countess de Sons and Julia, whom Lord
Munster had met at Venice.
When the Duke de Salis retired to La-Trappe, the Countess de Sons
appeared, and took possession of her fortune. She had remained
constantly and sincerely attached to Lord Munster was flattered by his
attentions at Venice, and found her esteem increased by the regard
he paid to his pre engagements; but would not at that time discover
herself, fearing that she only flattered herself that he saw her
with the eyes of affection, and lest the small-pox had made _such_
an alteration, as might change his sentiments. Upon the Marquis de
Villeroy's arrival in Italy, she was highly charmed to receive a letter
from Lord Munster addressed to Mademoiselle de Querci, and determined to
accompany him and Julia to England; but this was carefully concealed, to
render the discovery more pleasing.
In the mean time, the family at Munster-house passed their time most
agreeably, though Lord Munster, Sir Harry Bingley, and Mrs Lee, (who
knew nothing of Mr Villars) often were melancholy and _distrait_.
Lord Munster made great preparations to celebrate the anniversary of
Lady Darnley's wedding-day: on which occasion a number of buildings
were added to those already mentioned on the pleasure-grounds--As all
the best artificers were on the spot, these were executed in the ablest
manner. One temple he finished without the inspection of any one.
On the morning of the masquerade, walking out with Sir Harry Bingley,
he told him he should be glad to have his opinion of it. In this temple
was painted the _cataract_ of the river Dahl, which he had drawn on
the spot[41]--the cottage where Miss Harris resided--and herself at
work, in the same way in which he saw her, with her lovely boy playing
beside her (Miss Harris had permitted Lord Munster to draw her picture,
and he had fortunately taken an exact likeness)--Sir Harry Bingley
started at beholding it, and exclaimed, 'It is her, it is, by Heaven,
it is her! What artist drew the picture? it is, it is herself!'--he
then sunk almost motionless in a chair!--Lord Munster carelessly
answered--'Bingley, are you mad? That picture _cannot_ concern you; I
painted it from life! Where did you see her? Answer but that question,
and I am gone, gone that instant; the world should not detain me!' 'It
is, it is, my Lord, the lovely woman I told you of. But her graces
were yet more charming still than her beauty! an external glare of
beauty may _captivate the eye, and ravish the sight_; but it is the
graces that win the heart, that powerfully attract every faculty of a
kindred mind!--I loved her, and was beloved! She loved my person, not
my fortune. Her tenderness, her affection were my only joy!' 'Why then,
replied Lord Munster, did you leave her? but make yourself easy on her
account; she can be nothing to you; I expect her soon in England.'--'In
England!'--'Yes, Sir, in England, I fancy by this time she is married
to my friend Ogilby.' 'Lord Ogilby!' 'Yes; he was passionately in
love with her: she absolutely refused him; but it is not likely,
possessing such beauty, such perfections--slighted by the author of her
exclusion from every dear and valuable claim in society, relations,
friends, reputation, and protection--that she should continue deaf to
the earnest solicitations of _another_, who can restore her to these
advantages--such a man as Ogilby, a tender lover, who would sacrifice
his time and fortune to her, and who promised he would be _a father to
her boy_.'
Sir Henry's senses appeared suspended.--He at last repeated,
'Distraction, madness, fury! But, by the great God of Heaven--he shall
not be a _father to my boy_!' The agitation of his spirits rendered
him almost unintelligible: Lord Munster could only understand that
he intended to set out directly--he therefore dissuaded him from
it--telling him, that if he refused staying that day (on which he
meant to mark his respect to Lady Darnley) that he must renounce his
friendship for ever! 'My Lord, returned he, I honor, I love you; your
virtues demand the first, your amiable engaging qualities the last;
but were you God instead of man you should not detain me!--A few hours
may render her the wife of the happy Ogilby! There is damnation in
that thought!'--As Lord Munster had contrived an agreeable surprise
to Sir Henry--and Miss Harris and her child were actually arrived,
and concealed at Mr Burt's, who had taken a separate house, for
retirement,--it was necessary he should detain him; and as he had forgot
to ask where there scene represented _was_, he availed himself of that
circumstance, saying, 'Since, Sir, I cannot command your _complaisance_,
I may at least enforce your _obedience_, for you know not _where_ to go,
without I tell you--and my lips shall be sealed up _for ever_, unless
you pass this night here--If in the morning you choose to set off, I
will instruct you in every particular.' In the time Lord Munster was
enjoying Sir Harry's happiness--some of his friends were equally engaged
for him. The Countess de Sons and Julia, the Marquis de Villeroy, Mr
Villars, and Mr Worthy, came to London before the masquerade--Mr Villars
wrote to Lord Darnley, acquainting him privately with their arrival, and
it was agreed in return they should all make their appearance on that
occasion.
This entertainment was executed equal to the munificence and taste of
Lord Munster--and as it was given entirely in honor of Lady Darnley,
the principal objects in his arrangements had a reference to her. Never
was parental affection more fondly evinced, never was filial gratitude
more entire.--It has been already observed, that nothing was ever more
elegantly planned than Munster Village, the farm adjoining, and the
pleasure-grounds which lead to the house: in the farm you wandered from
variety to variety; buildings of great utility and much fancy, groves
inspiring different sensations, from the lucid summits that wake the
mind to gaiety, to the dark brown or _clair obscure_ of trees crowding
their branches together in the vale, which possess the soul with
home-felt contemplation.
Above three hundred of the nobility and people of fashion in the
neighbourhood were invited. Lord and Lady Darnley, Lord Munster, Lady
Eliza, and Mr Worthy, were the only people unmarked. They received the
company in the temple of Minerva, which faced a fine piece of water,
on which there is an island. The river represented the Styx[42], the
island Elysium, and Charon ferried over passengers. His boat landing,
the names of Demosthenes, Aristotle, Pindar, Plato, Apelles, Phidias,
and Praxiteles, were announced to Lady Darnley--They were all dressed
in Grecian habits. Demosthenes, in an elegant harangue, acquainted her,
that the wise Minos had indulged them in their request, of taking that
opportunity of doing homage to her superlative merit, and to return her
thanks for reviving their memories in the encouragement she gave to the
arts and sciences, as under her patronage the Muses had made Munster
Village their capital seat. He then expatiated on the advantages she
had procured to society--the influence of the philosophic spirit in
humanizing the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and
delicate pleasures--in exploring, by the help of geometry, the system of
the universe--in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral
and political science. Lady Darnley (though totally unprepared, being
ignorant of her nephew's plans) made a very ready and polite answer,
returning them thanks for the honor they did her, which (she said) as it
could afford them no other _pleasure_, than that of _obliging_, rendered
the obligation greater. Demosthenes replied, that great geniuses are
always superior to their own abilities.
Some time after Charon was observed to land some passengers in Roman
habits; they proved to be Cicero, Lucretius, Livy, Virgil, Horace, Ovid,
Varro, Tibullus, and Vitruvius. Cicero advancing, made Lady Darnley a
speech similar to that of Demosthenes--as like thoughts will be ever
born of the like subjects, by people who live in corresponding periods
of the _progression of manners_. In such cases some considerable
_similarity_ of expression may be occasioned by the agency of _general
principles_. Lady Darnley made a gracious reply, intimating her small
merit, and the apprehensions she felt that physical causes might impede
her good intentions; that her powers had been limited; but that she was
far from thinking with Boileau, that wherever there is a Mæccenas, a
Virgil or an Horace will arise, (curtsying to these gentlemen.) Cicero
observed to her the happiness she enjoyed in living at a _period_
distinguished by men of such shining abilities in every department!
Lady Darnley answered, that he honored her countrymen very much: that
she acknowledged we have at present very able men in every department;
but that in morality she was afraid we have refined more upon the
_vices_ of the ancients than _their virtues_, and she could not help
questioning whether there was any minister, magistrate, or lawyer, now
in Europe, who could explain the discoveries of Newton, or the ideas
of Leibnitz, in the same manner as the principles of Zeno, Plato, and
Epicurus, had been illustrated at Rome[43].
He thanked her for her polite compliment, and retired with his
companions.
They were succeeded by Italians, who were announced Lawrence de Medicis,
Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, Ariosto, and Tasso. Lawrence de
Medicis expressed his happiness from having been permitted the honor
of paying his respects to her, and admiring the works of her creation,
and complimented her in the name of his friends for the encouragement
she had afforded the arts.--She said, the applause of the worthy is too
valuable to be received with indifference; but still modestly declined
the praises bestowed on her, saying, she had endeavoured to follow
_his_ example, although the imitation was _a faint one_; and that the
only commendation she aspired to was from _the attempt_. That without
her assistance, she made no doubt, if physical causes did not prevent
it[44], that the society for the encouragement of arts, manufactures,
and commerce in London, is well calculated to diffuse a spirit of taste
in this nation--a society, which, without neglecting what tends more
immediately to the improvement of agriculture, and the necessary arts
of life, gives the most honorable encouragement to those which are
elegant and ornamental. Had such a society been instituted fifty years
ago, London, perhaps by this time, would have been the grand seat of the
arts, as it is the envied seat of freedom.
Michael Angelo, that celebrated restorer of the arts of painting,
sculpture, and architecture, expressed how infinitely he was charmed
with Munster Village[45].--'What is really beautiful, said he, does
not depend either upon fashion, or times; there may be _different
ways_ of expressing things in different ages; but there can only
_be one_ of conceiving them properly.' The temple, in which they
were, was adorned with the paintings of Raphael[46], copied by an
able artist. Lady Darnley, pointing to these, (and addressing him)
said 'There is proof how much we fall short, how faintly we copy
originals!'--Raphael replied, that her ladyship did him much honor;
the pieces she had selected, had met with the suffrage of the public;
but that, in his own acceptation, _the cartoons_ were the best of his
performances--which he apprehended a juster prevailing taste at present
condemned: Otherwise the father of his people, approved of by Minos--so
good so indulgent a prince to his subjects--would not lock them up
from public observations.--Lady Darnley was here quite at a loss; she
blushed, hesitated, unwilling either to refuse her sovereign _taste_ or
_philanthropy_!
Lawrence de Medicis perceiving her situation, in pity of her confusion,
retired with his company.
Charon again landed a groupe of figures; their dress declared them
English, of the reign of King Charles II--They proved to be the Duke
of Buckingham[47], Sir William Petty, Mr Dryden, Mr Locke, Mr Waller,
etc. The Duke addressed Lady Darnley with that polite address peculiar
to himself in his age, and which has since been sedulously studied, to
the prevention of qualities which it should only be the harbinger of--he
expatiated on her merit; that she had obliged the whole nation, as every
one individual might receive improvement or pleasure by her means.--Lady
Darnley returned him a most gracious answer, still intimating her
apprehensions, that the arts perhaps were not likely to thrive in this
soil, where our pursuits, opinions, and inclinations, vary with the
weather--that the declension of letters after the reign of Charles
II. but too fully justified her opinion.--The Duke answered her, that
indeed that was the common and received opinion, and that the reign she
mentioned was the Augustan age in England; but that he had the honor to
assure her, that a just taste was by no means then formed.--The progress
of philological learning, and the _Belles Lettres_ was obstructed by
the institution of the Royal Society, which turned the thoughts of men
of genius to physical inquiries.--To that body we were indebted for the
discoveries relating to light, the principle of gravitation, the motion
of the fixed stars, the geometry of transcidental qualities; but that
it was left to her ladyship to revive the agreeable arts, for which her
name must be handed down to posterity with honor.
The following dialogue ensued between Charon and a Beau.
Beau.--I have seen all parts of the world, and should like to take
a view of Elysium, being rather tired of this side of the Styx.
[48] Mercury to Charon.--He is too frivolous an animal to present to
the wife Minos!
Charon.--Minos, Sir, knows nothing of _the graces_--but if you
please I will row you to the infernal regions.
Beau.--With all my heart, I believe I shall meet more people of
fashion there[49]; but, good master Charon, in what way shall I pass
my time?
Charon.--If you are fond of doing nothing (a favourite passion with
many fine gentlemen) Theseus will readily resign his seat to you: or
if it is your genius, like many others, to choose to be,
'_Though without business, yet in full employ,_'
you may join Sisyphus, or accompany the Danaides.
Beau.--Neither of these will suit me; _idleness_ is _insipid_, and I
_detest business_! But are there no public places?
Charon.--O! yes; great variety: each person in that place pursues
those inclinations, whereby he had been swayed, or had rendered
himself remarkable here on earth.
Beau.--There are fine women then, of course?
Charon.--As to women, no seraglio in the world comes up to it; as a
part of whatever the world, since its creation, has ever yet produced,
of lovely and enchanting amongst women are there assembled.--There
you may view and gaze, with admiration, upon Helen, whose bewitching
charms were so destructive to the family, the city, and the empire
of King Priam.--On each side of her are Galatea, and Bressis, Lais,
Phryne, and thousands more--There also you may behold in all their
charms, in the full lustre of attraction, and decked in every grace,
some of those happy fair-ones, whom the greatest poets, so lavish in
their praise, have in their lays immortalised; such, amongst many
others, are the Corinna of Ovid, the Lydia of Horace, the Lesbia
of Catullus, the Delia of Tibullus, the Licoris of Gallus, and the
Cynthia of Propertius.
Beau.--I will go; I am enchanted with the idea of seeing these _dear
creatures_.--But I will shiver the wheel and distaff of the Destinies
against the wall, and spoil their housewifery--I'll take their
spindle, where hang the threads of human life like beams driven from
the sun, and mix them all together, kings and beggars! But hark'ee,
master Charon, is there good music? I cannot do well without music!
Charon.--There are all kinds of concerto's and opera's, both vocal
and instrumental, executed by the very _best_ of the Italians, and
the most celebrated voices from every part of the world. There are
various pieces performed in all languages, and in all kinds of taste,
for the universal satisfaction of the audience. Those who have a
taste for ancient music, will be more gratified than they can be in
Tottenham-street[50]. They will hear with admiration the gentle flute
of Marsius, be ravished with the thorough-bass of Stentor, and expire
with delight at the thrilling note of Misurus's trumpet.
Beau.--All this is charming; but what sort of a table is kept?
One cannot altogether live on _love_ and _music_, though one must
_languish_ and _expire_ without them, as well _as with them_!
Charon.--If you are fond of good cheer, you have nothing to do but
to pay a visit to Tantalus. Are you thirsty? The Styx, the Cocytus,
and the Phlegethon present their waves to your acceptance.
Beau.--I should indeed rather prefer the nectar of the Gods--but as
I shall not stay long (for I make it a rule never to stay long in a
place) water may suffice!
Charon.--It would have been as easy to have escaped from the
Labyrinth of Dædalus, as the infernal regions!
Beau.--I have always (though as wild as March, and inconstant as
April) been a favourite with the fair! Ariadne procured for her
Theseus a means of escape.
Charon.--I make no doubt, from your conversation, that you are not
only the favourite, but the blessed Adonis of all the women: but
_that_ will avail you nothing. Lucifer, the unpitying Lucifer, though
you should promise to offer him every day three hundred bulls in
sacrifice[51], would not lend you even one of the smallest of his imps
to help you to get out.
Beau.--Did not Hercules escape from it, and carry Cerberus along
with him? Did not Æneas (with the assistance of the golden bough, and
led by the Cumæan Sybil) take the same journey to pay a visit to his
father? Why may not I, like Orpheus, go to visit it while living?
Charon.--Orpheus was particularly indulged, and Eurydice restored to
him on account of his charming voice, and the delightful music of his
lyre! You have no such pretensions. But Alecto, Megara, and Tysiphone,
will receive you graciously and open the gates of _Tartarus_ to you.
The least of your exploits will entitle you to their attentions:--they
are too good, too reasonable, too indulgent to require from you the
very great pains you have taken, through the whole course of your
life, to recommend yourself to them.
Beau.--Let us go then, old boy! I will try what a little flattery
will do with them! I can _say with Cæsar_, I wonder what fear
is!--(Aside) But my heart plaguily misgives me for _all that_! but in
my circumstances I must change for the better; my money is gone; and
as I never gamed, I cannot expect the _club_, _or the waiters at the
club_, to make _a subscription for me_!
Two peers and a baronet applied to Charon, to ferry them over to
Munster-house: but Mercury again interfered, telling Lord C----d that
although he had been thought in the world not to have been _sans quelque
goût_ in the _belle maniere_, and had been an encourager of the _Belles
Lettres_, yet as Minos only permitted them to come back to the world (in
the present case) to do honor to superlative feminine merit, none but
such who had paid a proper respect to the sex in their life-time could
be indulged in that pleasure. But if he would burn his book (wherein he
depreciates women, and considers them only as the toys of dalliance)
in _the fiery billows of Phlegethon_, he would intercede for him with
Minos. This the peer rejecting, his brother the baronet intreated to
be permitted to go in his stead; but Mercury reminded him, he had
pulled down a house built by Inigo Jones, and therefore could have no
pretensions to taste!
Lord L----n was ferried over by himself; and after paying his
compliments to Lady Darnley, returned; when the following dialogue
took place in Elysium between his lordship, and the other peer above
mentioned.
Lord C----d.---- Your lordship may believe that I could have no great
pleasure in seeing a woman's follies: I was only desirous of inquiring
what they are doing at home, or in America? Did I desire to punish an
enemy in the severest manner, I would inflict nothing worse upon him
than to oblige him to listen to all the follies in which he has no
share, and to be witness to gaieties in which he cannot partake. My
heart was never dilated by the amplitude of generous principles; nothing
was ever interesting to me, but in proportion as it contributed to my
_own_ particular _gratifications_. Curiosity now however prevailed with
me to attempt going to discover in what way they are going on, being
apprehensive of the consequences of the measures formerly adopted.
Whoever would deprive men of their natural rights, is an enemy to
the race of men; and he that thinks it can be effectuated without
universal mischief, is a stranger to the ways of Providence; the
most invariable rule of which is, That nothing contradictory to its
original laws shall ever be accomplished, either of a physical or moral
nature, without bringing ruin on that people which has instituted it.
How few are capable of distinguishing the good and pernicious effects
which will follow the instituting a new law, before it is enacted! To
remedy present evils, they make a law which brings greater mischiefs
along with it, though imperceptible to their shallow capacities. No
two understandings on earth are more different than a judicial and
legislative; many men enjoy the first, who have not the least emanation
of the second. When a law is to be founded, which depends on the first
principles in human nature, there genius only can effectuate any
discovery of truth; the mind must dart forward into futurity, from
the principles which it knows in human nature: a genius of quite a
different kind from that of distinguishing between right and wrong in
any particular case. The first only can form the legislator, and plan
laws of utility and public good, the latter decide of the consequences
of them when they are made. The one capacity is the most rare, most
excellent and beneficial blessing bestowed on man; the other to be found
in almost all mankind, or attainable by habit, yet useful when confined
to its proper sphere of action, and not permitted to rove, with the
imagination of the superior _few_, amongst the regions of exalted
genius.
Lord L----n.---- It is not enough, my Lord, that the English are a
_miserable_, they render themselves a _ridiculous_ people: And, after
all the noise the brawlers make in the lower house, they only fight the
battles, aid the wishes of the Americans, and exalt the triumph of the
French! In private life it is reckoned a good expedient, for the sake
of an easy, quiet life, to be patient and submissive under what are
supposed _necessary evils_: but I differ so much from this maxim, that
I am convinced those will ever be _trod upon_ who _creep_; and that
certain submissions derogatory to a sense of honor in an individual or
the nation, never _prevent the blow_, though it may be _protracted_ for
a reason, in order to lay it on with a redoubled force at a time our
strength is weakened, and that we are debilitated by our mortifications
and a sense of the submissions we have made injurious to the honor of
an individual or the pride of the nation. It is a mortifying area, but
must have its place in the annals of this disgraced kingdom, whilst
extravagance and every species of gaieties daily increase.
I am sorry to acquaint your Lordship, that the publication of your
book has given in England the same wound to morality and business
as the publication of _the spirit of laws_ has given in France to
the monarchical constitution. The English study nothing now but the
_Graces_. Procrastination is the _ton_, because any thing _abrupt
is ungraceful_. The increase of manners has always been thought as
imperceptible as the hand of a clock, which though in constant motion
cannot be distinguished in _that motion_. But your book has occasioned a
more rapid change: your countrymen having exchanged the _armour of Mars_
for the _amours of Venus_, their _greatness of mind_ and _magnanimity_
for _trifling pursuits_; and, instead of speaking forcibly in the
senate, they whine a tale of love in the ear of their mistresses: having
descended suddenly, like skilful musicians, from the _forte_ and the
_pomposo_ to the _pia_ and the _pianissimo_. Refinement will bring us
back to barbarity--far be it from me to suppose such an event can happen
suddenly; but in the course of a few years, I make no doubt, as a man in
days of yore that could read _had the benefit of clergy_, so will a man
be esteemed an able minister, or an expert negotiator of business, if he
can write a pretty sonnet--or dance a good minuet.
Lord C----d.---- The graces, my lord, I still say, the graces for
ever--and as to dancing, can there be any science more useful for a
minister to learn--to figure _out_ with a good grace, never to _lose
time_, and not even to nod, instead of _sleeping a century_?[52]
Two other passengers applied to Charon to ferry them over the Styx,
Homer and Ossian.
Mercury told Charon that he might carry Homer to Olympus, and place him
with the Demigods; but he could not be permitted to go to Munster-house,
for the same reason Lord C----d had been rejected: But Ossian had a just
claim to that indulgence.
The Chief of other years being landed, addressed Lady Darnley as
follows:
Ossian.----I have escaped from _the narrow-house_[53]! I have
crossed _Col-amon_[54], O daughter of Munster, to behold thy glory.
My joy returns as when I first beheld the maid, the white-bosomed
daughter of strangers, _Moina_[55] with the dark blue eyes: But
_Crimiona_[56] should be thy name, for thou art the guiding star of
the women of Albion, who mark no years with their deeds! Time rolls
on, seasons return, but they are still unknown. Vanity is their
recompence; and when their years shall have an end, no grey stone
shall rise to their renown! But the departure of thy soul shall be a
stream of light! A thousand bards shall sing of thy praise; and the
maids of harmony, with their trembling harps, shall relate thy mighty
deeds!
Thy son, when the years of his youth shall arise, will raise the
mould about thy stone, and bid it speak to other years! The joy of his
grief will be great! Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant
and mournful to the soul. He will say, 'she will not come forth in her
beauty, will move no more in the steps of her loveliness: but she will
be like the rainbow on streams, or the gilding of sun-beams on the
hills! She has not fallen unknown! Her fame surrounded her like light;
her rays, like those of the sun, cherished all on whom they fell. Her
wealth was the support of the needy; the weak rested secure in her
halls! She softened at the sight of the sad; her blue eyes rolled in
tears for the afflicted; her breast of snow heaved for the oppressed;
and the moving of her lips assuaged their grief!--O sons of Albion,
may you behold her son, like the _halo_ of the _rainbow_, exhibit _the
same_ though _fainter colours_!'
Lady Darnley.--Father of heroes, dweller of eddying winds, thy
praise gladdens my heart! My soul is exalted, my fame secured, by the
voice of Conna[57]! Thou hast been a beam of light to latter times, as
thy mighty deeds have been remembered, though thou hast long been a
blast!
Thy renown grew only on the fall of the haughty; thy foes were the
sons of the guilty; but thine arms rescued the feeble!
Thou wentest forth in echoing steel, and conquered the king of many
isles: He brought thee his daughter Oina-moral, as an offering of
peace. She was gentle as the evening breeze; her hair was of a raven
black, and her bosom vied in whiteness with the _Canna_[58] on the
Fuar-Bhean[59].--And though thy locks were young, yielded her to the
hero she loved[60]! But like unto Cathmor[61] of old, I perceive the
sound of thy praises is displeasing to thine ear!
Ossian.--Just praise, like the water of a _clear fountain_, was ever
pleasant to my taste; but I never rejoiced in unmerited applause,
resigning that _muddy joy_ to the sons of later days!
It is true, O daughter of Albion, that, surrounded by the valiant in
arms, I conquered the king of many isles--that he presented the maid
to me in her loveliness as an offering of peace! She purpled the morn
with blushes as she approached, and scattered such bright rays, as the
sun might have dressed his beams with for that day's glory! But she
had given her heart to another, and met my eyes of love with sorrow!
In thrilling notes vibrating from her inmost soul, she conveyed to me
the pangs of her heart! 'Breaker of the shield (said she) give ear
unto the voice of mourning, attend to my tale, of woe--a tale, which
though thy eyes of steel are used more to strike fire than shed a
tear, must have that power to move thee.'
My parents had seen many returning seasons with their springs,
but no offspring of theirs arose. My mother lamented a disgrace,
scarce known amongst the daughters of Caledonia. She consulted the
cunning-man of the rock: He said, 'Daughter, be of good cheer; take
the son of thine adversary that is low, rear him; thy piety will be
rewarded; thou shalt have a daughter whom thou _must give him to
wife_!' When she declared this unto my father (as she was stricken in
years) there immediately ran a smile over his face, like the little
ruffling of water when a gentle breeze breathes upon the surface of a
lake; but he adopted Tonthormid, and some moons after I came forth as
a flower; but as the bud, hit with an envious worm ere he can spread
his sweet leaves to the air, or dedicate his beauty to the sun, dies,
so shall I soon fly away as a shadow. Not the white down that decks
the silver swan is more unlike the sooty raven's back, than my lover
from the rest of his sex. Bred up with him, my first accents were
attuned to love; he took delight in my infantine caresses. Time ran
on with its years--My father corrected my tenderness; and I became
sensible of my error as soon as I was conscious of my feelings.
Tonthormid also, from our inequality of fortune, tried to suppress his
passion, judging what was then a lambent fire, would soon blaze into a
flame! True love, like the lily of the vale, is fond of concealment;
but, as the fragrancy of the one occasions its discovery, so does the
concealment of the other prove its reality! I loved and was beloved;
my father saw, and approved our passion. A succession of moons had not
frozen the genial current of his soul, nor repeated shocks blunted all
its tenderest sensations--But we were ignorant of his intentions. When
he appointed us to meet him at his cave of contemplation, the heart of
Tonthormid palpitated with fear, mine with hope--we had a considerable
way to go, but _remained silent_!--we walked through a pleasant grassy
walk, shaded with rows of lime-trees, at the side of which ran along,
in plaintive murmurs, a crystal brook, on the side of whose mazy and
translucent stream were planted bushes of various kinds, with birds in
high harmony on the sprays.
Arrived at the cave, my father announced to my lover that he must
prepare to accompany him to battle! Aghast he stood, silent as the
midnight hour, unmoved as the statue of despair! The venerable Chief
reproached him for his coldness.
'Alas! said he, the din of arms is no more offensive to my ear than
the murmuring of falling waters, the vernal breeze sighing through the
leaves, or the melodious song of the evening nightingale; but if we
should fall in battle, what will become of this lovely maid?'
My father, swearing by the great Loda, promised I should be his--if
we conquered--but reminded him, that
'Love should be the zephyr, not the whirlwind of the soul!'
Tonthormid was all rapture, while every line in my countenance,
witnessed my satisfaction. We were restored to that unexpected
tranquility of spirits, which naturally follows a great dejection in
most minds, when the first pangs are somewhat abated--not unlike that
stillness in the sky which is sometimes observed when two opposite
and gentle winds have just overcome one another's motion--or like the
tide at the moment of high water, before it has received the contrary
direction.
They set out, receiving my caresses, intermixed with smiles and
tears, like an April sun shining through transient showers. They met
the foe, _conquered_, and _returned_.
The feast of shells was prepared, the maids of mirth attended with
their harps, and the rising sun would have beheld me Tonthormid's! The
virgins envied me in the hall, my steps were strewed with flowers, and
I was happiest, where a thousand are happy. The subtile air was calm
from mists, and water with her curled waves swept the bounded channels
of the deep; the nightingales were heard in the grove, and soothed
my soul with tender tales of love; not a breeze breathed through the
trees; all nature was still, as if it paid homage to our passion. But
oh! my summer's day was soon turned into winter's night! Ah, soul
ambition! which like water-floods, not channel bound, dost neighbours
overrun!--fell violence leaped forth like thunder wrapped in a ball of
fire! Thou camest with thy men of steel; I beheld thee from the clefts
of the rock; terrors turned upon me, like an earthquake they shook
my trembling heart! they still pursue my soul as the wind. My joy is
withered; my welfare has passed away like a cloud; my comforts have
been like winter suns, that rise late and set betimes, set with thick
clouds, that hide their light at noon!'
Thus sang the maid in her grief, like the _Lus-cromicina_, bending
in pensive silence, a beautiful flower drooping in the shade, wanting
the beams of the sun to revive it. She soon perceived my heart was
not made of brass, or carved from the stony rock. Hope animated her
weakened spirits, whilst the dignity of her soul irradiated every
feature; the blush of modesty stole over the cheek, and the graces
dwelt on her coral lips. Sweet as the dew from heaven her lovely
accents fell, and moved me. She proceeded, 'I see my tears have
mollified thy heart! If fame tells true, never over the fallen did
thine eyes rejoice, and thou knowest the herbs on the hill![62]
Restore me then to the hero that is low; my tears will refresh him,
as the dew of the morning doth the green herbage!--He mocked at fear;
never retired from the foe, or was ever vanquished, but by the son of
Fingal! Glorious is it to thee, O hero! great will be thy renown; thou
hast subdued the first of men!
Were the earth his bed, a rock his pillow, his curtain heaven,
with him alone could I be blessed! From a rock that weeps a running
crystal, I will fill his shell cup. I'll gently raise his weakened
body[63], and the murmur of this water, instead of music, shall charm
him into sleep; and whilst he sleeps my cares shall watch to preserve
him from the beast of prey! The fern on the heath, if cut a thousand
times, represents the same figure--so is the image of my love engraved
on the inmost core of my heart! I hold the _thread_ of his peace: can
I forget its delicate texture, or that it is warped with _those_ of
his heart? I could grow to my hero like ivy; but like the aspenleaf
I tremble, like the sensitive plant I shrink back at thy approach!
Thou mayest swim against the stream with a crab, feed against the wind
with the deer, but thou canst never possess my heart! Love for him, or
grief, are the only passions that can fill the heart of Oinamoral! But
thou mayest go forth in echoing steel and increase thy glory--or the
hearts of a thousand other virgins, will beat an unison to thy sighs,
and return thy passion!'
Thus sung the daughter of many isles; her trembling harp was turned
to mourning, and her lute into the voice of them that weep. My heart
was never wrought of steel, nor hewn out of the rugged pebble; but
she would have extracted honey out of the rock, and oil out of the
flinty rock! My heart was _tender_, though my _arm was strong_! I
resigned her to the man of her soul! But I had the supreme delight of
exhaling the falling tear from the cheek of beauty, as when the pearly
dew on the surface of the narcissus, and the snow-drop evaporates at
the kindly instance of the solar ray. Had I been deaf to her tale of
woe, I should have merited a cold chill to extinguish my flame, as
if a _thousand winters_ contracted _into one_, scattered their snow
and froze the very centre! No praises can be due for refraining from
barbarity, unknown till the sons of refinement came into the world!
Lady Darnley.--A great mind is ever tenacious of even the shadow of
a favor received, but loses the idea of a benefit conferred--In what
way, O first of men! shall I welcome thy approach? Wilt thou partake
of the feast of shells, or be honored with the dangers of the chase?
Ossian.--Chase was never to me such sport as the battle of the
shields! But this is a tale of the times of old, the deeds of the days
of other years; manners alter with times, as the earth by the seasons.
Let the sons of Albion listen to the voice of Conna, 'Never search for
battle, nor fear it when it comes.'
Ossian retired, and a hangman from the assizes told Lady Darnley,
that she had ruined his trade; for, all the poor of the country-side
being employed in manufactures, etc. they had no inducement to steal,
theft being the necessary consequence of idleness[64].
The hangman retired; and Lady Darnley was addressed by a few women
in tattered robes. Making an apology for their dress, they said, it
was her ladyship who had condemned them to those unseemly garbs. She
inquired, In what way she was culpable to them? They answered, By
not only promoting industry, which was highly detrimental to their
interests, but also procuring by her munificence theatrical and other
entertainments for mankind, which completed their misfortunes, as
it rendered ineffectual their allurements:--that they might formerly
(out of the profits of their industry) have purchased annuities,
like other eminent personages in the age, and _lived comfortably_
on the _distresses of others_; but that they had always too much
conscience, and too great and generous souls for that:--that they
were now reduced to the alternative of removing from that part of the
country, or starving where they were; and, preferring the first to
the last, they had determined to go to Birmingham, where, under the
auspices of the magistrates[65] of that place, they would have a good
chance of succeeding in their profession; as it had always been found
that recreations of some kind are necessary, and that if innocent
amusements were denied, mankind would have recourse to the other.
The Goddess of Folly, with her cap and bells, approached Lady Darnley;
who, smiling, asked her what had procured her the honor of her company?
She answered, That being excluded at all other times from these regions,
it induced her to come then, where she flattered herself, for one night
in her life, not to be ridiculed; as it is only Absurdity that laughs at
Folly. Her ladyship replied, That none indeed were entitled to smile at
another's weakness, who are conscious of their own.
Miss Bingley, by her aunt's request, was in the character of a pastoral
shepherdess, and affected to by vastly coy, and a great huntress. She
said she wielded the crook and the javelin with equal dexterity; and
that though she was terrified at the voice or appearance of a lover, yet
she made nothing of lopping off the head of a wild boar, or of thrusting
a spear into the jaws of a lion. She was pursued by (James Mordaunt as)
a pastoral lover. Lady Darnley told her that such swains are mighty
good-natured, and never do any mischief to any _but themselves_; a leap
from a rock, or a plunge into a river, being their usual catastrophe.
Lord Munster walked away with Sir Harry Bingley, and shewed him, on one
of the back grounds a cottage similar to that represented in the temple
above-mentioned. They advanced, and saw Miss Harris, and her lovely
boy playing at her feet. Sir Harry fixed his eyes, and with a peculiar
wildness exclaimed, Sport not, my friend, with my sorrows!--Lord
Munster assured him of the reality; but he almost swooned away at
the discovery, and was perfectly enchanted with his lovely boy. Every
explanation taking place to their mutual satisfaction, Mr Burt being
in the secret, and some more friends, the ceremony was immediately
performed, and Miss Harris was introduced that very evening, as Lady
Bingley, to the family at Munster-house.
Lord Munster, leaving this happy pair, joined Lord Sombre; two ladies
passed by them, one in a habit similar to that Mademoiselle de Querci
had wore at the masquerade at Venice: the other had assumed the figure
of Diana. Struck with their majestic appearance, they followed them. The
mask of the latter dropped, as if ashamed to conceal so much beauty.
Lord Sombre stooping, instantly restored to her the _unfaithful_
guardian of her charms. The lady, covered with that agreeable confusion
inherent to the sex, apologized for the trouble she had given him! He
replied, he could not but acknowledge that it was a trouble to him to be
the instrument of depriving the company of the sight of so much beauty.
That, Sir, replied she, may be your opinion; but my intention is to see,
and _not be seen_. But a lady, replied his lordship, who represents
Diana, would appear more in character if she could consent not _to be
concealed_, nor to hide those beams of brightness which were designed
to be the light of the world. Sir, said she, if I must support my
character, it is not at all the less in my power because my mask is on,
being still the moon though in eclipse--but my intention of appearing in
the character of Diana, was to keep Actæon at a distance.
In the mean time Lord Munster had neither seen or heard the above
conversation, the whole powers of his soul being absorbed in attention
to the lady first mentioned. But what were his emotions, when he knew
the well known voice of Mademoiselle de Querci! She told him, that she
believed he was the gentleman who was still denominated at Venice _Il
Febo del Inghilterra_! He told her, it was impossible he could have
any pretensions to so flattering a distinction; but intreated to know
whether he could believe that he had the happiness of addressing the
woman he adored, whom from motives of honor he had been induced to
suppress his passion for, but which scruples on his part he had been
relieved from since that period? Mademoiselle de Querci (for it was she
herself) answered, that every apology he could make for his infidelity
to the Countess de Sons, would only lessen him in her esteem, as, to
her certain knowledge, she was still single, and fondly attached to
him. Had it been otherwise (said she) my Lord, I should have cheerfully
_consented_ to what I must now refuse, as I never will act in opposition
to the interest of the Countess. Lord Munster, flattered at her coming
to Munster-house, asked if she was perfectly sincere in the favourable
hint she had given him--that nothing but his pre-engagement would have
prevented her from according herself to his wishes? She answered, I
desire, my Lord, you'll not judge me by your country-women; for, from
what I have heard of their characters, there is no well-bred woman who
ever makes any pretensions to _sincerity_. Does not every body say what
they do not mean, and promise what they never intend to perform? and yet
all of them, to a single woman, will compliment the justness of your
remarks.--In Italy we are more sincere; and I now have the honor to
assure you, that nothing at present occupies my thoughts, or interests
me equal to your fulfilling of your engagements with the Countess de
Sons, whose constancy for you demands on your part every return. In
saying this, a sigh escaped Mademoiselle de Querci, which took refuge in
Lord Munster's bosom--while her blushes raised hopes which her tongue
denied confirming! Her lover felt a severe struggle between love and
honor.--The most severe misfortune to a virtuous man is to be in such a
state that he can hardly so act as to approve his own conduct. But his
distraction was increased, in finding Mademoiselle de Querci had taken
advantage of his _reverie_ to retire, with a composure that deceived his
vigilance, and an address which prevented his distrust.--He went every
where in pursuit of her, but she eluded his search.
A magician with two enchanted knights addressed Lady Eliza, who (I
have already observed) was dressed as a slave attending Mrs Worthy. He
told her he would unfold her future fate, and, if she would retire to
a place of privacy, he would convince her, and the queen she attended,
that he was very well skilled in the science of astrology. Lord and
Lady Darnley; Lord Sombre, Lord Munster, and Mrs Lee begged leave to
accompany them. The two knights accompanied the magician, who he said
must remain enchanted until they were released by the hands of their
fair mistresses. After several magical incantations, he told Lady Eliza
many things concerning the Marquis de Villeroi, and Mrs Lee of Mr
Villars. But he astonished Lord Munster more particularly in telling
him he was a _perplexed lover_--but assured him that he would be soon
relieved from his anxiety; and that perhaps that very evening would
terminate his adventures, and render all the present company joyful!
Could you do this, replied Lord Munster, I would swear you had more wit
than Mercury, or his son Autolycus, who was able to change black into
white!
In the mean time two ladies appeared: They were majestic in their
persons, and very magnificent in their apparel. The magician, addressing
himself to the company, said, if it was agreeable, he would give
them ocular proofs of his art. They answered, By all means! He then
presented one of the enchanted knights to Lady Eliza, the other to
Mrs Lee, and Lord Munster to one of the ladies who had just appeared
(in the mean time Lord Darnley had prevented the admission of other
company.)--He then desired them all to unmask. The agreeable discovery
this produced is not easy to give an adequate idea of; as the magician
was no other than Mr Worthy; the enchanted knights, the Marquis de
Villeroi, and Mr Villars; and the Lady Mademoiselle de Querci.--Mr
Worthy then, addressing Lord Munster, said, Your perplexity, my Lord,
now ceases:--This Lady is the Countess de Sons (whose smiles confirmed
her previous conversation with him that evening.) He made his suitable
acknowledgments: whilst Lord Sombre was enchanted to discover, in the
Countess's companion, his lovely Diana, who had changed her dress,
and proved to be Julia, sister to the Marquis de Villeroi, and justly
admired by all who saw her: Her shape was as fine as the statue of the
Medician Venus, of as fine a complexion as the Leda of Corregio, with a
sweetness of expression that would have made Guido paint no other face,
if he had been alive.
The masquerade finished, which had afforded so much amusement, and
conferred so much happiness on the parties. Lady Bingley was received
by Lady Darnley with the utmost complacency. It is the imperfection
of _human_ goodness to make its conscious worth an argument of want
of mercy to those that are deficient: but Lady Darnley had thoroughly
studied the most useful of all sciences, human nature, and was ever
ready to make allowances for its defects. She was the more attentive
to Lady Bingley, on account of her peculiar situation; while in the
effusions of her gratitude there was a dignity that commanded as
much respect as if she had been conferring a favor beyond that she
acknowledged. Her relations, who abandoned her in her adversity--when
alone true friendship can prove its superiority over its shadow,
_worldly civility_--were now eager to pay their compliments to her.
Mr Villars was the only person who appeared unhappy at this time. Mrs
Lee had been hurt at never hearing from him since her husband's death,
and was confirmed that his present appearance was occasioned more from
a concurrence of circumstances than from his own particular desire or
inclination.--It was in vain he urged, that his having absented himself
from England was occasioned by her refusing to see him previous to her
husband's death; which circumstance he had been unapprised of, previous
to his meeting the Marquis de Villeroi at Paris.--She answered, That he
had neither been a lover that had the tenderness, nor a friend that had
the generosity to interest himself for her; though he must have been
sensible of her partiality, from the pains she took to avoid him:--that,
concerning the strange event that had occurred relative to her husband
and him, she had never taken any pains to justify herself; and she
thought people in general were to blame that did so; for satire is
generally levelled against persons, not vices, as there are few who wish
to punish what does not put them out of humour, and they make a personal
affront the pretended defender of virtue. If a woman, therefore, would
_preserve her character_, this is the effectual way _of losing it_,
and if she has _none to preserve_ she need not tell _all the world_
so.--'But (said she) as I must now decline your proffered hand, the
offer of which does more honor to your generosity than the acceptance
would to my prudence, I shall now disclose my sentiments to you without
any disguise:--I was married to a man, whom I could not look up to with
a consciousness of his superior understanding or worth; his treatment
of me was injurious; my feelings I with difficulty suppressed: my quick
apprehension of injury, and my partiality for you, made me indulge an
inclination that aggravated to me the horrors of my situation.--I loved,
and was utterly incapable of divesting myself of a passion, which,
although often dangerous, is always delightful.--I was punished for my
temerity; the calumny I met with, I justly incurred, from the appearance
I had subjected myself to. When I parted from my husband, I would on no
account see you--you went abroad; your caprice now brings you back; you
judge it equitable, perhaps, to restore me to that world I relinquished
on your account--but time has conquered my partiality, and, after my
former experience in that state, I cannot help shuddering at a contract
which nothing can dissolve but death. To me it is terrible to reflect,
that it is a strangely unequal conflict, in which the man only ventures
the loss of a few temporary pleasures, the woman the loss of liberty,
and almost the privilege of opinion.--From the moment she's married she
becomes the subject of an arbitrary lord; even her children, the mutual
pledges of their affection, are absolutely in his power, and the law
countenances him in the use of it--and a woman finds no redress for
the indelicate abuses of an uncivil, a passionate, and avaricious, an
inconstant, or even a drunken husband--from matrimonial decisions there
is no appeal.'--Mr Villars said every thing to justify himself, adding,
that the most candid mind will sometimes, under certain circumstances,
deviate from itself; but it is the property _only_ of narrow minds to
persist in prejudice against conviction.--As the quarrels between lovers
are the renewal of love--these differences were soon settled, agreeable
to their mutual wishes.
Mr Burt testified great joy at the celebration of the nuptials of his
grandson--That good man died the next day, without any complaint, with
a smile of complacency on his venerable face. In an age where men
of letters seem so regardless of morals--in an age where they have
endeavoured to persuade mankind, with but too much success, that the
virtues of the mind and of the heart are incompatible--let them cast
their eyes on the character of Mr Burt--When they find so many virtues
united in a man, whose understanding was both sublime and just--when
they find a man of his penetration to have been a strictly moral
man--they will then, perhaps, be convinced that vice is the natural
effect of an imperfect understanding.