The next morning my servant informed me that a lady desired to speak a
word to me. Her name was Porter.
"You are come to scold me for sending my old nurse to console the
general?" said I, when I entered the room where she was waiting.
"Not at all, my dear, wild young lady," answered Mrs. Porter; "but I am
now come to inform you that you have made the conquest of a very fine,
noble, unexceptionable man."
"Delightful," said I. "Who is he?"
"I dare not tell you his name," interrupted Mrs. Porter, "but you may
rest assured that he is a man of fashion and rank."
"It will not do!" reiterated I, striking my head. "Tell your friend that
I have no money, that I do not know how to take care of myself, and
Argyle takes no care of me. Tell him that nobody wants a real steady
friend more than I do; but I cannot meet a stranger as a lover. Tell
him all this, if he is really handsome that is to say (for the stranger
I had twice met riding down Sloane Street, accompanied by his large
dog, had lately run often in my head), and let me know what he says
to-morrow."
Mrs. Porter acquiesced, and hearing a loud rap at my door, she hastily
took her leave.
This was Fanny. At his own earnest request, she had brought me the son
of the rich Freeling, secretary to the General Post Office; saying, "Mr.
Freeling will allow me no rest, till I have made him known to you."
The young man was civil and humble, and kept a proper distance; and was
rather a bore. In point of fact, at least in my humble opinion, there
is no endurable medium between men of the very highest fashion and
honest tradesmen, to those who have once acquired a taste and habit of
living with any high-bred people. Young Freeling was a gentleman, as
far as grammar and eating with his fork went; and Fanny proposed our
going to Covent Garden together that evening. She wanted to show little
Fanny, for by that appellation we distinguished her eldest daughter, the
Harlequin farce, before she returned to school.
"What is the play?" said I.
"_Julius Cæsar_," answered Freeling.
I was pleased beyond measure at the idea of seeing this play.
I had been at but three plays in my life, all comedies. I shall never
forget the delight I experienced in witnessing that fine scene between
Brutus and Cassius where they quarrel, performed by John Kemble and
Charles Young! Were I to live to the age of a hundred I should not
forget John Kemble's energetic delivery of those beautiful lines, so
finely expressive of virtuous indignation, so rich in eloquence, in
force and in nerve. In short I, like Mark Antony, being no scholar, can
only speak right on, and know not how to praise the poet as he merits.
Yet few perhaps among the most learned have, in their hearts, done more
honour to some of the natural beauties of Shakespeare than I have. I
just now alluded to this passage,
What, shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world
But for supporting robbers; shall we now,
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes?
And sell the mighty share of our large honours,
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?
Neither was Young's excellent performance of Cassius lost upon me. The
feeling manner in which he expressed these lines brought more tears into
my eyes than any love scene, however pathetic, could have done:
I that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.
I am not sitting down here to write a book of quotations; but I could
not help offering my mite of praise to the memory of that great actor
whose likeness I shall never behold again on earth: and such was the
impression Kemble made on me, that methinks I hear his accent in my ear,
and the very tone of that voice, which made my heart thrill so long ago,
while he was thus taking leave of Cassius:
And whether we shall meet again I know not;
Therefore our everlasting farewell take.
For ever, and for ever, farewell Cassius!
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.
I begged to be excused remaining to see the Harlequin farce, as it would
have been impossible for me to have witnessed such an exhibition after
_Julius Cæsar_, and I was allowed to drive home alone, for I insisted on
not robbing Fanny of the protection of our worthy general postman.
The next morning I received another visit from Mrs. Porter, who informed
me that she had just had an interview with my new lover and had reported
to him all I had desired her to say.
"Since you object to meet a stranger," continued Mrs. Porter, "his grace
desires me to say, he hopes you can keep a secret, and to inform you,
that it is the Duke of Wellington who so anxiously desires to make your
acquaintance."
"I have heard of his grace often," said I, in a tone of deep
disappointment: for I had been indulging a kind of hope about the
stranger with the great Newfoundland dog, with whose appearance I had
been so unusually struck as to have sought for him every day, and I
thought of him every hour.
"His grace," Mrs. Porter proceeded, "only entreats to be allowed to make
your acquaintance. His situation, you know, prevents the possibility of
his getting regularly introduced to you."
"It will never do," said I, shaking my head.
"Be assured," said Mrs. Porter, "he is a remarkably fine-looking man,
and, if you are afraid of my house, promise to receive him in your own,
at any hour when he may be certain to find you alone."
"Well," thought I, with a sigh; "I suppose he must come. I do not
understand economy, and am frightened to death at debts. Argyle is going
to Scotland; and I shall want a steady sort of friend of some kind, in
case a bailiff should get hold of me."
"What shall I say to his grace?" Mrs. Porter inquired, growing impatient.
"Well, then," said I, "since it must be so, tell his grace that I will
receive him to-morrow at three; but mind, only as a common acquaintance!"
Away winged Wellington's Mercury, as an old woman wings it at sixty,
and most punctual to my appointment, at three on the following day,
Wellington made his appearance. He bowed first, then said:
"How do you do?" Then thanked me for having given him permission to call
on me; and then wanted to take hold of my hand.
"Really," said I, withdrawing my hand, "for such a renowned hero, you
have very little to say for yourself."
"Beautiful creature!" uttered Wellington, "where is Lorne?"
"Good gracious!" said I, out of all patience at his stupidity; "what
come you here for, duke?"
"Beautiful eye, yours!" explained Wellington.
"Aye man! they are greater conquerors than ever Wellington shall be;
but, to be serious, I understood you came here to try to make yourself
agreeable?"
"What child! do you think that I have nothing better to do than to make
speeches to please ladies?" said Wellington.
"_Après avoir dépeuplé la terre vous devez faire tout pour la
repeupler_," I replied.
"You should see me where I shine," Wellington observed, laughing.
"Where's that, in Gods name?"
"In a field of battle," answered the hero.
"_Battez vous, donc, et qu'un autre me fasse la cour!_" said I.
But love scenes, or even love quarrels, seldom tend to amuse the reader,
so, to be brief, what was a mere man, even though it were the handsome
Duke of Argyle, to a Wellington!
Argyle grew jealous of Wellington's frequent visits, and hiding himself
in his native woods wrote me the following very pathetic letter.
"I am not quite sure whether I do, or do not love you--I
am afraid I did too much;--but, as long as you find pleasure in
the society of another, and a hero too, I am well contented to
be a mere common mortal, a monkey, or what you will. I too have
my heroines waiting for me in all the woods about here. Here are
the wood-cutter's daughter and the gardener's maid always waiting
for my gracious presence, and to which of them I shall throw the
handkerchief I know not. How then can I remain constant to your
inconstant charms? I could have been a little romantic about you it
is true; but I always take people as I find them, _et j'ai ici beau
jeu_. Adieu.
"I am very fond of you still, for all this.
"ARGYLE."
This was my answer:
"Indeed as you are as yet the only man who has ever had the
least influence over me, therefore I entreat you do not forget
me! I wish I were the woodcutter's daughter awaiting your gracious
presence, in the woods for days! weeks! months! so that at last you
would reward me with the benevolent smile of peace and forgiveness,
or that illumined, beautiful expression of more ardent feeling
such as I have often inspired and shall remember for ever, come
what may; and whether your fancy changes or mine. You say you take
people as you find them; therefore you must and you shall love me
still, with all my imperfections on my foolish head, and that,
dearly.
"HARRIETTE."
[Illustration: George, 6th Duke of Argyll.]
Wellington was now my constant visitor--a most unentertaining one,
Heaven knows! and, in the evenings, when he wore his broad red ribbon,
he looked very like a rat-catcher.
"Do you know," said I to him one day, "do you know the world talk about
hanging you?"
"Eh?" said Wellington.
"They say you will be hanged, in spite of all your brother Wellesley can
say in your defence."
"Ha!" said Wellington, very seriously, "what paper do you read?"
"It is the common talk of the day," I replied.
"They must not work me in such another campaign," Wellington said,
smiling, "or my weight will never hang me."
"Why you look a little like the apothecary in Romeo already," I said.
In my walks Brummell often joined me, and I now walked oftener than
usual: indeed whenever I could make anybody walk with me; because I
wanted to meet the man with his Newfoundland dog, who was not the sort
of man either that generally strikes the fancy of a very young female;
for he was neither young nor at all gaily drest. No doubt he was very
handsome; but it was that pale expressive beauty, which oftener steals
upon us by degrees, after having become acquainted, than strikes us at
first sight.
I had of late frequently met him, and he always turned his head back
after he had passed me; but whether he admired, or had indeed observed
me, or whether he only looked back after his large dog, was what puzzled
and tormented me. "Better to have been merely observed by that fine
noble-looking being, than adored by all the men on earth besides,"
thought I, being now at the very tip-top of my heroics.
Dean Swift mentions having seen, in the grand academy of Lagado, an
ingenious architect, who had contrived a new method of building houses,
by beginning at the roof and working downwards to the foundation; and
which he justified by the like practice of those two prudent insects the
bee and the spider. The operation of my love then was after the model of
this architect. The airy foundation on which I built my castles caused
them ever to descend. Once in my life, when I raised my air-built fabric
unusually high, it fell with such a dead weight on my heart, that the
very vital spark of existence was nearly destroyed. I have never enjoyed
one hour's health since. Now, however, I look on all my past bitter
suffering, caused by this same love, which many treat as a plaything
and a child, and which I believe to be one of the most arbitrary,
ungovernable passions in nature, as a wild dream, remembered by me
merely as I recollect three days of delirium, by which I was afflicted
after the scarlet fever, with the idea of rats and mice running over my
head, and which thus kept me in a frenzy, from the mere working of a
disordered brain.
Characters and feelings, unnaturally stretched on the sentimental bed of
torture, must return with violence to their natural tone and dimensions,
says a celebrated French writer. The idol of romantic passion, in some
unlucky moment of common sense or common life, is discovered to be
the last thing their worshippers would wish the idol to be found--a
mere human being! with passions, and infirmities, and wants, utterly
unprovided for by the statutes of romance. Soon, we find too, a certain
falling off in our own powers of human life, a subjection to common
accidents, to ill health, and to indigence, which sicklies o'er the rich
colouring of passion with the pale cast of humanity.
But to proceed--if, in my frequent walks about Sloane Street and Hyde
Park, I failed to meet the stranger, whose whole appearance had so
affected my imagination, I was sure to see George Brummell, whose
foolish professions of love I could not repeat, for I scarcely heard
them. One day, just as I was going to sit down to dinner with Fanny and
Amy, who was passing the evening with her, I felt a kind of presentiment
come over me, that, if I went into Hyde Park at that moment, I should
meet this stranger. It was past six o'clock. I had never seen him but at
that hour. They both declared that I was mad, and Lord Alvanly calling
on Fanny at that moment, they retailed my folly to his lordship.
"I dare say he is some dog-fancier, or whipper-in, or something of the
sort," said Alvanly. "God bless my soul! I thought you had more sense.
What does Argyle say to all this?"
Lord Lowther now entered the room.
"How very rude you all are," said Fanny. "I have told you frequently
that this is my dinner-hour, and you never attend to it!"
"It is those d-mn grocers, the Mitchels," said Alvanly, "who have taught
you to dine at these hours! Who the d---l dines at six? why I am only
just out of bed!"
Lord Lowther made many civil apologies. He wanted to have the pleasure
of engaging us three to dine with him on the following day, to meet the
Marquis of Hertford, then Lord Yarmouth; a Mr. Graham, the son of Sir
James Graham, Bart.; Street, the editor of the _Courier_ newspaper; and
J.W. Croker, M.P. of the Admiralty.
We accepted the invitation, and Lord Lowther, after begging us not to be
later than half-past seven, took his leave.
Alvanly accompanied me as far as Hyde Park, laughing at me and my man
and his dog all the way. The park was now entirely empty--nothing like a
hero, nor even a dog to be seen.
"I must now wish you good morning," said Alvanly. "I am not going to be
groom," he added in my ear.
I shook hands with him, without at all understanding what he meant, and
walked down towards that side of the river where I had once or twice
seen the stranger coaxing his dog to swim by throwing stones into the
water.
If I could but once see him walking with any man I had ever met before,
then at least I should have a chance of learning his name. I continued
to wander up and down the river for nearly an hour. As I was returning
home disappointed as usual, I met an elderly gentleman, whose name I
forget, though we had often seen each other in society. He stopped to
converse with me on common subjects for a few minutes and, just as he
had taken his leave, and was slowly walking his horse away, a very
clean, aged woman came up to me and begged assistance. Her manners were
unlike these of a common beggar. She smiled on me, and looked as if she
would have been nearly as much pleased by a few kind words as with money.
I always liked very old people when they were clean and appeared
respectable, and I was unusually interested by this woman's demeanour. I
eagerly searched my reticule. Alas! it was empty. I turned a wistful eye
towards the old gentleman who had left me. His prim seat on horseback
struck me altogether as too formidable. "If I knew him a little better,"
thought I, hesitating, as I saw him stop to speak to his groom. He
turned his harsh-looking countenance at that moment towards me. "It will
never do," thought I, and then I expressed my sincere regret to the poor
old woman that I had nothing to give her.
"Never mind," replied the good old creature, smiling very kindly on me,
"never mind, my dear young lady. Many, I bless God, are more in want
than I am."
"Wait here a minute," said I.
My desire to assist her now overcoming my repugnance, I ran as fast as I
possibly could after the old gentleman, who was disappearing, and quite
out of breath, and in the deepest confusion told him I had forgotten my
purse, and had occasion for half a crown, which I hoped he would lend me.
"Certainly, with pleasure," said the old gentleman, drawing out his
purse and presenting me with what I had asked for.
I made him many confused apologies; and turning hastily towards some
trees, which led by rather a shorter road to where I had left the
old woman, I came immediately in close contact with the stranger,
whose person had been concealed by two large elms and who might have
been observing me for some time. I scarcely dared encourage the
flattering idea. It made me wild; and yet, why should such a noble,
fashionable-looking man have pulled up his horse, between two trees,
where there was nothing else to be seen?
After all, I was only encouraging the most absurd vanity, contrary to
common sense. Might he not be watching his dog? Did he ever look at
me? I know not! After passing days and days in looking for him, his
sudden appearance caused such a tremulousness to come over me that I
wanted courage, once, to raise my eyes to his face; so that I rather
felt than knew I was near him, whom now I passed as quickly as my
extreme agitation would permit, and soon came up with the old woman, and
presenting the half-crown and my card desired her to call and see me.
The poor old nervous creature shed tears of gratitude, called me a
dear, sweet young lady, assured me that she had kept a respectable inn
for thirty years at Glasgow, which from her language I was inclined to
believe, and then took her leave.
I now ventured to turn my head back, believing myself at a safe distance
from the stranger. He had quitted his hiding-place, and was slowly
walking his very fine horse towards me. "There he is," thought I. "No
one is near us, and yet, in another minute or two he will have passed
me, and be perhaps lost to me for ever." I began to muster all the
energies of my character, generally fertile in resources, to consider of
a remedy for this coming evil. "If any man could be bribed to follow him
slyly!" thought I, hastily looking about me. The stranger drew nearer.
Alas! he will have passed me for ever perhaps in another instant. Surely
I might have said, with King Richard,
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
since, without one, who could follow the stranger? I heard the sound of
his horse's feet close behind me. "I will fix my eyes upon his face this
time, to ascertain if he looks at me," said I to myself with a sudden
effort of desperate resolution; which I put in practice the next moment.
I thought our eyes met, and that the stranger blushed; but his were so
immediately withdrawn from my face, that I went home, still in doubt
whether he had or had not taken sufficient notice of me even to know me
again by sight.
I related this adventure to Fanny on my return. She gave me some dinner,
and advised me, with friendly seriousness, not to make such a fool of
myself about a man I had never spoken to, and who after all might turn
out to be vulgar, or ill-mannered, or of bad character.
"True," answered I, "and I shall be glad to learn that this man is
either of those, for vulgarity will make me heart-whole again in an
instant. In short, at any rate, I look for my cure in a future knowledge
of this man's character. Nothing is perfect under the sun; and rank,
talents, wit, beauty, character, manners, all must combine in that human
being who shall ever make me die of a broken heart. Therefore I am safe."
"I had not an idea that you were such a simpleton, or half so
sentimental," retorted Fanny. "I wonder if I should admire the man!"
"We will try and meet him together," I replied; "but enough of a subject
which begins to make me melancholy--as though he were my fate! How many
fine, elegant-looking young men have I not met about the streets and at
the opera, without their making the slightest impression on me. And what
do I know of this man beyond mere beauty of countenance! yet I think, if
I could but touch with my hand the horse he rode, or the dog he seems so
fond of, I should be half wild with joy."
"What incredible nonsense, my dear Harriette," said Fanny.
"But true, upon my word," I replied, "and I cannot help myself."
Fanny shook her head at me, and I left her, to dream of the stranger.