Chapter 13

They went hastily up stairs together, and the door of a room, thro' which they were to pass to Natura's study, being shut, he gave a push against it with his foot, and it being but slightly fastened, immediately flew open, and discovered a sight no less unexpected than shocking to both;--the wife, and own brother of Natura, on a couch, and in a posture which could leave no room to doubt of the motive which had induced them to take the opportunity of the company separating themselves, to retire, without being missed, which, but for this accident, they probably would not have been.

It is easy to conceive what a husband must feel in so alarming a circumstance, nor will any one wonder that Natura behaved in the manner he did, in the first emotions of a rage, which might very well be justified by the cause that excited it.--Not having a sword on, he flew to the chimney, on each side of which hung a pistol; he snatched one off the hook, and was going to revenge the injury he had received on one or both the guilty persons, when the minister, stepping between, beat down that arm which held the instrument of death, crying at the same time, 'What, are you a madman!--would you to punish them expose yourself!'--The passion with which Natura was overwhelmed was too mighty for his breast; it stopped the passage of his words, and all he could bring out was 'villain!'--'whore'--while those he called so, made their escape from his fury, by running out of the room. In attempting to follow them he was still with-held; and the minister having with much ado got the pistol from him, began to expostulate with him, in order to disarm his mind from pursuing any future revenge, as he had done his hand from executing the present.

'Consider,' said the statesman, 'that these are but slips of nature, that there are in this town a thousand husbands in the same situation:--indeed the affair happening with your own brother, very much enhances the crime and the provocation; but as the thing is done, and there is no remedy, it will but add to your disgrace to make it public.'

Little would it have been in the power of all the arguments in the world, if made use of by any other person, to have given a check to that just indignation Natura was inflamed with: but as patience and moderation were prescribed him by one to whom he was indebted for all the grandeur he enjoyed, and by whose favour alone he could hope for the continuance, of it, he submitted to the task, difficult as it was, and consented to make no noise of the affair. The minister assured him he would oblige his brother to exchange the commission he was at present possessed of, for one in a regiment that was going to Gibraltar, 'which,' said he, 'will be a sufficient punishment for his crime, and at the same time rid you of the sight of a person who cannot but be now detestable to you;--as to your wife, I expect you will permit her to continue in your house, in consideration of her relation to me, but shall not interfere with the manner of your living together;--that shall be at your own discretion.'

As neither of them imagined the lady, after what had happened, would have courage enough to go down to the company, it was agreed between them to make her excuse, by saying, a sudden disorder in her head had obliged her to absent herself.

Natura cleared up his brow as much as it was possible for him to do in such a circumstance, and returned with the minister to his guests, among whom, as he supposed, he found neither his wife nor brother; as for the latter, much notice was not taken of his absence, but the ladies, by this time, were full of enquiries after her; on which he immediately made the pretence above-mentioned; but unluckily, one of the company having been bred to physic, urged permission to see her, in order to prescribe some recipe for her ailment.--Natura was now extremely at a loss what to do, till the minister, who never wanted an expedient, relieved him, by telling the doctor, that his neice had been accustomed to these kind of fits from her infancy, that it was only silence and repose which recovered her, which being now gone to take, any interruption would be of more prejudice than benefit.

This passed very well, and no farther mention was made of her; but the accident occasioned the company to take leave much sooner than otherwise they would have done, very much to the ease of Natura, who had been in the most intolerable constraint, to behave so as to conceal the truth, and longed to be alone, to give a loose to the distracting passions of his soul.

The more he ruminated on the wrongs he had sustained, the more difficult he found it to preserve that moderation the minister had enjoined, and he had promised: he had long but too much reason to believe his wife was false; but the thought that she had entered into a criminal conversation with his own brother, rendered the guilt doubly odious in them both.--Had not his own eyes convinced him of the horrid truth, he could have given credit to no other testimony, that a brother, whom he had always treated with the utmost affection, and whose fortune it had been his care to promote, should have dared to harbour even the most distant wish of dishonouring his wife. He seemed, in his eyes, the most culpable of the two, and thought the banishment intended for him much too small a punishment for so atrocious a crime. It is certain that this young gentleman had not only broke through the bands of duty, honour, gratitude, and every social obligation, but had also sinned against nature itself, by adding incest to adultery.--Natura could not indeed consider him as any thing but a monster, and that as such he ought to be cut off from the face of the earth; and neither reason nor humanity, could alledge any thing against the dictates of a revenge, which by the most unconcerned and disinterested person could not be called unjust.--Strongly did its emotions work within his soul, and he was more than once on the point of going in search of him, in order to satiate its most impatient thirst, but was as often restrained, by reflecting on the consequences.--'Suppose,' said he to himself, 'I should escape that death the law inflicts for murder, in consideration of the provocation, I cannot hope to preserve my employments.--I must retire from the world, live an obscure life the whole remainder of my days, and the whole shameful adventure being divulged, will render me the common topic of table conversation, and entail dishonour and contempt upon my son.'

Thus did ambition get the better of resentment;--thus did the love of grandeur extirpate all regard of true honour, and the shame of private contempt from the world lie stifled in the pride of public homage.

The minister in the mean time kept his word; he let the offending brother know it was his pleasure he should dispose of his commission in the guards, and purchase one in a regiment he named to him, which was very speedily to embark for Gibraltar: the young gentleman obeyed the injunction, and doubtless was not sorry to quit a place, where some accident or other, in spite of all the care he had resolved to take, might possibly bring him to the sight of a brother he had so greatly injured, the thoughts of whose just reproaches were more terrible to him, than any thing else that could befal him.

The wife of Natura being also privately admonished by her uncle how to behave, kept her chamber for some days, not only to give the better colour to the pretence had been made of her indisposition, but also to avoid the presence of her husband, till the first emotions of his fury should be a little abated;--he, on the other hand, profited by this absence, to bring himself to a resolution how to behave, when the shock of seeing her should arrive:--as her crime was past recal, reproaches and remonstrances would be in vain to retrieve her honour, or his peace; and if they even should work her into penitence, what would it avail? unless to soften him into a pity, which would only serve to render him more uneasy, as there was now no possibility of living with her as a wife.--Having, therefore, well weighed and considered all these things, it seemed best to him to say nothing to her of what had happened, and indeed to avoid speaking to her at all, except in public.

What she thought of a behaviour she had so little reason to expect, and what effect it produced on her future conduct, shall hereafter be related: I shall only say at present, that Natura gave himself no pain to consider what might be her sentiments on the occasion, as long as he found her uncle was perfectly satisfied with his manner of acting in this point, which he had no reason to doubt of, not only by the assurances he gave him in words of his being so, but by a more convincing and substantial proof, which was this; an envoy extraordinary being about to be sent to a foreign court, on a very important negociation, he had the honour of being recommended, as a gentleman every way qualified for the duties of that post.--The minister's choice of him was approved by the king and council, and he set out on his embassy, with an equipage and state, which, joined to the attention he gave to what he was employed in, greatly dissipated the chagrin of his private affairs, and he seemed to have forgot, for a time, not only the injuries he had received, but also even the persons from whom he had received them.

CHAP. II.

Shews at what age men are most liable to the passion of grief: the impatience of human nature under affliction, and the necessity there is of exerting reason, to restrain the excesses it would otherwise occasion.

There are certain periods of time, in which the passions take the deepest root within us; what at one age makes but a slight impression, and is easily dissipated by different ideas, at another engrosses all the faculties, and becomes so much a part of the soul, as to require the utmost exertion of reason, and all the aids of philosophy and religion to eradicate.--Grief, for example, is one of those passions which, in extreme youth, we know little of, and even when we grow nearer to maturity, has rarely any great dominion, let the cause which excites it be never so interesting, or justifiable: it may indeed be poignant for a time, and drive us to all the excesses imputed to that passion; but then it is of short continuance, it dwells not on the mind, and the least appearance of a new object of satisfaction, banishes it entirely; we dry our tears, and remember no more what so lately we lamented, perhaps with the most noisy exclamations:--but it is not so when riper years give a solidity and firmness to the judgment;--then as we are less apt to grieve without a cause, so we are less able to refrain from grieving, when we have a real cause.--Grief may therefore be called a reasonable passion, tho' it becomes not a reasonable man to give way to it;--this, at first sight, may seem a paradox to many people, but may easily be solved, in my opinion, on a very little consideration;--as thus,--because to be sensible of our loss in the value of the thing for which we mourn, is a proof of our judgment, as to refrain that mourning for what is past retrieving, within the bounds of moderation, is the greatest proof we can give of our reason:--a dull insensibility is not a testimony, either of wisdom or virtue; we are not to bear afflictions like _statues_, but like men; that is, we are allowed to _feel_, but not to _repine_, or be _impatient_ under them:--few there are, however, who have the power of preserving this happy medium, as I before observed, tho' they are such as have the assistance both of precept and experience.

In a word, all that can be expected from the best of men, when pressed with any heavy calamity, is to struggle with all his might to bear up beneath the weight with decency and resignation; and as grief never seizes strongly on the mind, till a sufficient number of years gives reason strength to combat with it, that consideration furnishes matter for praise and adoration of the all-wise and all-beneficent Author of our being, who has bestowed on us a certain comfort for all ills, if we neglect not to make use of it; so that no man can be unhappy, unless he will be so.

Motives for grief which happen on a sudden merit excuse for the extravagancies they sometimes occasion, because they surprize us unawares, reason is off her guard, and it cannot be expected we should be armed against what we had no apprehensions of;--presence of mind is an excellent, but rare quality, and we shall see very few, even among the wisest men, who are such examples of it, as to behave in the first shock of some unforeseen misfortune, with the same moderation and calmness of temper, as they would have done, had they had previous warning of what was to befal them.

Much, however, are the effects of this, as of all other passions, owing to constitution:--the robust and sanguine nature soon kindles, and is soon extinguished; whereas the phlegmatic is slow to be moved, and when so not easily settled into a calm: and tho' the difference of age makes a wide difference in our way of thinking, yet as there are old men at twenty, and boys at three-score, that rule is not without some exceptions. But to take nature in the general, and allowing for the different habits of body and complexion, we may be truly said to be most prone to particular passions at particular ages:--as in youth, love, hope, and joy;--in maturity, ambition, pride, and its attendant ostentation;--when more advanced in years, grief, fear, and despair;--and in old age, avarice, and a kind of very churlish dislike of every thing presented to us.

But to return to Natura, from whose adventures I have digressed; but I hope forgiveness for it, as it was not only the history of the man I took upon me to relate, but also to point out, in his example, the various progress of the passions in a human mind.

He acquitted himself of the important trust had been reposed in him, with all the diligence and discretion could be expected from him; and returned honoured with many rich presents from the prince to whom he had been sent, as a testimony of the sense he had of his abilities.

But scarce had he time to receive the felicitations of his friends on this score, before an accident happened to him, which demanded a much more than equal share of condolance from them.--His son, his only son, the darling of his heart, was seized with a distemper in his head, which in a very few days baffled the art of medicine, and snatched him from the world.--What now availed his honours, his wealth, his every requisite for grandeur, or for pleasure?--He, for whose sake chiefly he had laboured to acquire them, was no more!--no second self remained to enjoy what he must one day leave behind him.--All of him was now collected in his own being, and with _that_ being must end.--Melancholly reflection!--yet not the worst that this unhappy incident inflicted:--his estate, all at least that had descended to him by inheritance, with the vast improvements he had made on it, must now devolve on a brother he had so much cause to hate, and whose very name but mentioned struck horror to his heart.

The motives for his grief were great, it must be allowed, and such as demanded the utmost fortitude to sustain;--he certainly exerted all he was master of on this occasion; but, in spite of his efforts, nature got the upper hand, and rendered him inconsolable:--he burst not into any violent exclamations, but the silent sorrow preyed on his vitals, and reduced him, in a short time, almost to the shadow of what he had been.

One of the most dangerous effects of melancholy is, the gloomy pleasure it gives to every thing that serves to indulge it:--darkness and solitude are its delight and nourishment, and the person possessed of it, naturally shuns and hates whatever might alleviate it;--the sight of his best friends now became irksome to him;--he not only loathed, but grew incapable of all business;--he shut himself in his closet, shunned conversation, was scarce prevailed on to take the necessary supports of nature, and seemed as if his soul was buried in the tomb of his son, and only a kind of vegetative life remained within him.

His sister, who loved him very affectionately, and for whom he had always preserved the tenderest amity, being informed of his disconsolate condition, came to town, flattering herself with being able to dissipate, at least some part of his chagrin. To this end she brought with her all her children, some of whom he had never seen, and had frequently expressed by letter, the desire he had of embracing them, and the regret he had that the great affairs he was always constantly engaged in, would not permit him time to take a journey into the country where she lived.

But how greatly did she deceive herself;--he was too far sunk in the lethargy of grief, to be roused out of it by all her kind endeavours;--on the contrary, the sight of those near and dear relatives she presented to him only added to his affliction, by reminding him in a more lively manner of his own loss; and the sad effect she found their presence had on him, obliged her to remove them immediately from his eyes.

She could not, however, think of quitting him in a state so truly deplorable, and so unbecoming of his circumstances and character:--she remained in his house, would pursue him wherever he retired, and as she was a woman of excellent sense, as well as good-nature, invented a thousand little stratagems to divert his thoughts from the melancholly theme which had too much engrossed them, but had not the satisfaction to perceive that any thing she could say or do, occasioned the least movement of that fixed sullenness, which, by a long habit, appeared like a second nature in him.

This poor lady found also other matters of surprize and discontent, on her staying in town, besides the sad situation of her brother's health:--as she had never been informed of the disunion between him and his wife, much less of the occasion of it, the behaviour of that lady filled her with the utmost astonishment:--to perceive she took no pains to alleviate his sorrows, never came into the room where he was, or even sent her woman with those common compliments, which he received from all who had the least acquaintance with him, would have afforded sufficient occasion for the speculation of a sister; yet was this manifest disregard, this failure in all the duties of a wife, a friend, a neighbour, little worthy of consideration, when put in comparison with her conduct in other points.

After the adventure of her detection, finding the minister was resolved to support her, and that her husband durst not come to any open breach with her, she immediately began to throw aside all regard for decorum;--she seemed utterly to despise all sense of shame, and even to glory in a life of continual dissolution;--the company she kept of both sexes, were, for the most part, persons of abandoned characters: whether she indulged herself in a plurality of amours, is uncertain, though it was said she did so; but there was one man to whom she was most particularly attached;--this was a person who had formerly enjoyed a post under the government, but was turned out on the score of misbehaviour, and had now no other support than what he received from her:--with him she frequently passed whole nights, and took so little care in concealing the place of their meeting, that the sister of Natura easily found it out.

On relating the discovery she had made to some of their relations, they advised her to tell her brother, imagining this glaring insult on his honour would effectually rouse him out of the stupidity he languished under:--she was of the same opinion, and took the first opportunity of letting Natura into the whole infamous affair, not without some apprehensions, that an excess of rage on hearing it, might hurry him into a contrary extreme; but her terrors on this head were presently dissipated, when having repeated many circumstances to corroborate the truth of what she said, there appeared not the least emotion in his countenance; and on her urging him to take some measures to do himself justice, or at least to put a stop to this licentiousness of a person whose dishonour was his own; all she could get from him was, that he had neither regard enough for her to take any pains for the reclaiming her, nor for the censure of the world on himself, and desired she would not trouble him any farther on this point.

This strange insensibility afforded cause to fear his faculties were all too deeply absorbed in melancholy, for him ever to become a man of the world again, and as she truly loved him, gave both her, and all his other friends, an infinite concern.

CHAP. III.

The struggles which different passions occasion in the human breast, are here exemplified; and that there is no one among them so strong, but may be extirpated by another, excepting _revenge_, which knows no period, but by gratification.

Though it must be acknowledged, that the passions, generally speaking, operate according to the constitution, and seem, in a manner, wholly directed by it, yet there is one, above all, which actuates alike in all, and when once entertained, is scarce ever extinguished:--it may indeed lie dormant, for a time, but then it easily revives on the least occasion, and blazes out with greater violence than ever. I believe every one will understand I mean _revenge_, since there is no other emotion of the soul, but has its antedote: _grief_ and _joy_ alternately succeed each other;--_hope_ has its period in possession;--_fear_ ceases, either by the cause being removed, or by a fatal certainty of some dreaded evil;--_ambition_ dies within us, on a just sense of the folly of pursuing it;--_hate_ is often vanquished by good offices;--even greedy _avarice_ may be glutted; and _love_ is, for the most part, fluctuating, and may be terminated by a thousand accidents.--_Revenge_ alone is implacable and eternal, not to be banished by any other passion whatsoever;--the effects of it are the same, invariable in every constitution; and whether the man be phlegmatic or sanguine, there will be no difference in his way of thinking in this point. The principles of religion and morality indeed may, and frequently do, hinder a man from putting into action what this cruel passion suggests, but neither of them can restrain him who has revenge in his heart, from wishing it were lawful for him to indulge it.

This being so fixed a passion, it hardly ever gains entrance on the mind, till a sufficient number of years have given a solidity to the thoughts, and made us know for what we wish, and why we wish.--Every one, however, does not experience its force, and happy may those be accounted who are free from it, since it is not only the most unjustifiable and dangerous, but also the most restless and self-tormenting emotion of the soul.

There are, notwithstanding, some kind of provocations, which it is scarce possible, nor indeed consistent with the justice we owe to ourselves, to bury wholly in oblivion; and likewise there are some kinds of revenge, which may deserve to be excused; of these, that which Natura put in practice, as shall presently be shewn, may be reckoned of the number.

I doubt not, but my readers, as well as all those who were acquainted with him at that time, will believe, that in the situation I have described, he was for ever lost to the sense of any other passion, than that which so powerfully engrossed him, and from which all the endeavours hitherto made use of, had been ineffectual to rouse him. But it often happens, that what we least expect, comes most suddenly upon us, and proves that all human efforts are in vain, without the interposition of some supernatural power.