_Spitalfields, 1680_.
A generous Mind finds even its just Resentments languish and die away
when their Object becomes the unresisting prey of Death. Such is my
Experience with regard to _Betty Fisher_, whose ill Life hath now
terminated, and from whom, confronted at the Bar of their great Judge,
Father will, one Day, hear the Truth. As to my Stepmother, Time and
Distance have had their soothing Effect on me even regarding her. She
is down in _Cheshire_, among her own People; is a hale, hearty Woman
yet, and will very likely outlive me. If she looked in on me this
Moment, and saw me in this homely but decent Suit, sitting by my clear
Coal-fire, in this little oak-panelled Room, with a clean, though
coarse Cloth neatly laid on the Supper Table, with Covers for two,
could she sneer at the Spouse of the _Spitalfields_ Weaver? Belike she
might, for Spight never wanted Food; but I would have her into the
Nursery, shew her the two sleeping Faces, and ask her. Did I need her
Pity then?
_Betty's_ Death, calling up Memories of old Times, hath made me
somewhat cynical, I think. I cannot but call to Mind her many ill
Turns. 'Twas shortly after the Rupture of _Anne's_ Match with _John
Herring_. Poor _Nan_ had over-reckoned on her own Strength of Mind,
when she promised Father to speak of him no more; and, after the first
Fervour of Self-denial, became so captious, that Father said he heard
_John Herring_ in every Tone. This set them at Variance, to commence
with; and then, _Mary_ detecting _Betty_ in certain Malpractices,
Mother could no longer keep her, for Decency's Sake; and _Betty_, in
revenge, came up to Father before she left, and told him a tissue of
Lies concerning us,--how that _Mary_ had wished him dead, and I had
made away with his Books and Kitchen-stuff. I, being at _Hackney_ at
the Time, on a Visitt to _Rosamond Woodcock_, was not by to refute the
infamous Charge, which had Time to rankle in Father's Mind before I
returned; and _Mary_ having lost his Opinion by previous Squabbles with
Mother and the Maids, I came back only to find the House turned upside
down. 'Twas under these misfortunate Circumstances that poor Father
commenced his_ Sampson Agonistes_; and, though his Object was,
primarily, to divert his Mind, it too often ran upon Things around him,
and made his Poem the Shadow and Mirrour of himself. When he got to
_Dalilah_, I could not forbear saying, "How hard you are upon Women,
Father!"
"Hard?" repeated he; "I think I am anything but that. Do you call me
hard on _Eve_, and the Lady in _Comus_?"
"No, indeed," I returned. "The Lady, like _Una_, makes Sunshine in a
shady Place; and, in fact, how should it be otherwise? For Truth and
Purity, like Diamonds, shine in the Dark."
He smiled, and, passing his Hand across his Brow to re-collect himself,
went on in a freer, less biting Spirit, to the Encounter with _Harapha_
of _Gath_, in which he evidently revelled, even to making me laugh,
when the big, cowardly Giant excused himself from coming within the
blind Man's Reach, by saying of him, that he had need of much washing
to be willingly touched. He went on flowingly to
"But take good Heed my Hand survey not thee;
My Heels are fetter'd, but my Fist is free,"
and then broke into a merry Laugh himself; adding, a Line or two after,
"His Giantship is gone, somewhat crest-fallen;
". . . there, Girl, that will do for To-day."
Meantime, his greater Poem had come out, for which he had got an
immediate Payment of five Pounds, with a conditional Expectance of
fifteen Pounds more on the three following Editions, should the Public
ever call for 'em. And truly, when one considers how much Meat and
Drink One may buy for Twenty Pounds, and how capricious is the Taste of
the critikal World, 'tis no mean Venture of a Bookseller on a
Manuscript of which he knows the actual value as little as a Salvage of
the Gold-dust he parts with for a Handful of old Nails. At all events,
the Sale of the Work gave Father no Reason to suppose he had made an
ill Bargain; but, indeed, he gave himself very little Concern about it;
and was quite satisfied when, now and then, Mr. _Marvell_ and Mr.
_Skinner_, or some other old Crony, having waded through it, looked in
on him to talk it over. Money, indeed, a little more of it, would have
been often acceptable. Mother now began to pinch us pretty short, and
lament the unsaleable Quality of Father's Productions; also to call us
a Set of lazy Drones, and wonder what would come of us some future Day;
insomuch that Father, turning the Matter sedately in his Mind, did
seriously conclude 'twould be well for us to go forth for a While, to
learn some Method of Self-support. And this was accelerated by an
unhappy Collision 'twixt my Mother and me, which, in a hasty Moment,
sent me, with swelling Heart, to take Counsel of Mrs. _Lefroy_, my
sometime Playfellow _Rosamond Woodcock_, then on the Point of embarking
for _Ireland_; who volunteered to take me with her, and be at my
Charges; so I took leave of Father with a bursting Heart, not troubling
him with an Inkling of my Ill-usage, which has been a Comfort to me
ever since, though he went to the Grave believing I had only sought my
own Well-doing.
We never met again. Had I foreseen it, I could not have left him. The
next Stroke was to get away _Mary_ and _Anne_, and take back _Betty
Fisher_. Then the nuncupative Will was hatched up; for I never will
believe it authentick--no, never; and Sir _Leoline Jenkins_, that
upright and able Judge, set it aside, albeit _Betty Fisher_ would swear
through thick and thin.
Sure, Things must have come to a pretty Pass, when Father was brought
to take his Meals in the Kitchen! a Thing he had never been accustomed
to in his Life, save at _Chalfont_, by Reason of the Parlour being so
small. And the Words, both as to Sense and Choice, which _Betty_ put
into his Mouth, betrayed the Counterfeit, by favouring over-much of the
Scullion. "God have Mercy, _Betty_! I see thou wilt perform according
to thy Promise, in providing me such Dishes as I think fit whilst I
live; and when I die, thou knowest I have left thee all!" Phansy
Father talking like that! Were I not so provoked, I could laugh. And
he to sell his Children's Birthright for a Mess of Pottage, who,
instead of loving savoury Meat, like blind _Isaac_, was, in fact, the
most temperate of Men! who cared not what he ate, so 'twas sweet and
clean; who might have said with godly Mr. _Ball_ of _Whitmore_, that he
had two Dishes of Meat to his Sabbath-dinner,--a Dish of hot Milk, and
a Dish of cold Milk; and that was enough and enough. Whose Drink was
from the Well;--often have I drawn it for him at _Chalfont!--_and who
called Bread-and-butter a lordly Dish;--often have I cut him thick
Slices, and brought him Cresses from the Spring! Well placed he his
own Principle and Practice in the Chorus's Mouth, where they say,
"Oh, Madness! to think Use of strongest Wines
And strongest Drinks our chief Support of Health!"
So that Story carries its Confutation with it: _Ned Phillips_ says so,
too. As to what passed, that _July_ Forenoon, between him and Uncle
_Kit_, before the latter left Town in the _Ipswich_ Coach, and with
_Betty Fisher_ fidgetting in and out of the Chamber all the Time . . .
he may, or may not have called us his unkind Children; for we can never
tell what Reasons had been given him to make him think us so. That
must stand over. How many human Misapprehensions must do the same!
Enough that one Eye sees all, that one Spirit knows all . . . even all
our Misdoings; or else, how could we bear to tell Him even the least of
them? But it requires great Faith in the greatly wronged, to obtain
that Calm of Mind, all Passion spent, which some have arrived at. When
we can stand firm on that Pinnacle, _Satan_ falls prone. He sets us on
that dizzy Height, as he did our Master; saying, in his taunting
Fashion,--
"There stand, if thou canst stand; to stand upright
Will ask thee Skill;"
but the Moment he sees we can, down he goes himself!--falls whence he
stood to see his Victor fall! This is what Man has done, and Man may
do,--and Woman too; the Strength, for asking, being promised and given.