Chapter 4

"So," says I, "a stroke means endearments. Otherwise 't is difficult to conclude these sentimental letters."

"Madam," she broke out, "it means more than tongue can tell. And since you still doubt, have the condescension to read this letter of my own which he returned to me in rebuke. 'Twill show you our terms."

--Cad, you are good beyond expression. I thought that last letter I writ was obscure and restrained enough. I took pains to write it after your manner. I am sorry my jealousy should hinder you from writing more love letters. Pray tell me, did you not wish to come where that road to the left would have led you? I am now as happy as I can be without seeing--Cad. I beg you will continue happiness to your own Heskinage.

I read, and was silent--reading this letter by the light of a dead sunset. I never dared so write. There was that between them that he had never shared with me, and yet all his old caution, as with me. I thought not, however, so much of his feelings as of hers, for I think his care for women is but skin-deep at-best. He was ever willing to take the tribute of their hearts--nay, of their lives; but should they incommode him, or trespass across the line he hath marked--this careless liking is changed to hatred, and he will avenge himself brutally on the weak creatures that love him.

Who should know this but I--I who have lived beside him and retained his friendship only because I have in all things submitted to his will--silent to death? Had I anything to lose to this unfortunate woman? No, I had lost all many a long year ago. She still had hopes; I, none. Why torture a wretch so miserable?

She kneeled before me, pale as a corpse. 'Twas the strangest meeting. I could scarce hear her voice.

"Madam," says she, "I have put my life in your hand; for if Mr Dean knew that I had come here--that I had dared--O Madam, he can be cruel to women!"

I strove to collect my thoughts; then heard my own voice as a stranger's:--

"Madam, to your question, the answer is No. There is no marriage between Mr Dean and me. I have no claim on him that obstructs your own."

She looked up like one in a stupor of amazement--so dazed and white that I repeated my words. Then, suddenly, she gathered herself into composure like my own, but her poor lips trembled. I saw in her my girlhood long dead.

"If I say I thank you, Madam, with all my heart and soul for thus opening your mind to a most miserable woman, I say little. What is left of my life shall be a study to deserve your compassion. What would you have me do?"

I replied: "I think you will not fail in what honour and conscience dictate. 'Tis not for me to say. 'Tis between you and Mr Dean. And now, Madam, will you give me leave to withdraw, for this hath been a painful meeting for us both."

"Not before I bless you with all my broken heart," she cried, and took my hand. "For I will now tell you that, for all these letters, I know he loves not me, nor any. I may please him better than another in moments, but there's no security. He hath a contempt for women that scorches, and to hurt them--but 'tis not this I would say. I feared to find an exulting rival when I came to you, Madam, and instead I find an angel of compassion. Sure I read it in your eyes. In this life we shall meet no more; but in my prayers you will be present, and I beseech you, as the last favour, to give me an interest in yours, that I may know myself not utterly forsook. My one sister is not long dead--I am utterly alone in the world."

She could not continue, but kissed my hand, and her tears fell on it. I told her that this meeting should remain secret, but she needed not assurance. We embraced, and so, curtseying, separated, she departing first. A good woman, if I have known one. 'Tis of good women men make their victims. The ill women cannot and do not suffer; they but repay our score. When I reached home I found her paper still in my hand.

I must now be brief. Mr Dean returned, and all was as before; but I wearied yet more of the child's play and prattle he still continued for my amusement. He was much engaged with writing. I thought him ill at ease.

I was seated by the window on a day he will recall, when he entered pale and furious.

"What hath gone amiss?" I cried, starting up.

"This," says he, in a voice I scarce knew, so awful was it; and laid before me the poor Vanessa's paper that I believed I had destroyed weeks agone. O, what had I done? 'Twas another paper I had burned, and this had lain in my pocket. 'Twas most certainly Mrs Prue--But what matter? He had what for her sake and mine I had died to hide.

"Hath that vixen dared to come anigh you?" he cried. "Hath she ventured to disquiet my friends, the wanton jade, the scheming--" and so on, pouring horrid words upon her that chilled my blood. 'T was terrible in him, that he could so swiftly change to these furies with one he had favoured, and to a rage frightful to see.

I tried to moderate him, to speak for her; but nothing availed. Finally I rose to withdraw, for he would hear nothing.

"But I'll break her spirit," he said, with clenched hands. "I'll ride to Celbridge and face her with her crime--"

I held him back. "For God's sake, no. Have patience. She hath done no harm, and no eye but mine saw the paper. I pitied her--we parted friends."

"Then you saw her? She came?"

But I can write no more. He tore his coat from me, and so down the stair like a madman; and I heard his horse clatter down the street, while I prayed for a soul in agony, and that she might not think I betrayed her.

Hours went by. He returned, still riding furiously, and told me how he had dashed the paper on the table before her, and how she had sunk down speechless when he so spoke as satisfied even his vengeance. And so continued:--

"But I am resolved. Such sluts, such tongue-snakes shall not cross my path. You have been obedient, Stella, through good and ill report, and merit reward. I will speak with the Bishop of Clogher and he shall marry us forthwith, though privately. And we will live apart, for I cannot bend my will and habits to live with any woman; but Stella shall know she is my wife, and the knowledge pierce that ----'s heart."

So, at last, the words I had once died to hear came and found me cold. Indeed, I despised them, though still I honour my friend. I mused, while he leaned against the window, breathing heavily and waiting my reply.

"It comes too late," I said. "There was a time when it had been welcome, but not now. Also, my sympathies are engaged in a quarter where I think a little mercy had become you. With your permission, Mr Dean, this is a subject that shall detain us no more."

I pickt up my knotting as Dingley entered. He stared upon me and went out, nor was it ever again mentioned.

After, she writ me a word: "Madam and my friend, I know 'twas not your doing. That needs no words. I am very ill, and were it possible we should meet, 'twould be my solace, but 'tis impossible. May the happiness the good should enjoy attend you, as do my prayers. Your grateful humble servant, E.V."

I answered thus: "Madam and my friend, God be with you in life and death. The question you put to me I shall for ever answer as then. Comfort yourself, for sure there is a world that sets this right, else were we of all men most miserable."

She was dead in three weeks, of a broken heart, For me, my own hour draws on. I have writ this paper, yet think to destroy it, and know not what is best. No happiness lies before him in old age, for 'tis a plant he pulled up by the roots for himself and others--alas! how many. Should I then cause him to suffer more? He hath had the mercy of my silence for a lifetime. 'Tis not so hard to be silent in the grave.

(_Stella died in the year 1727. The letters in this story to or from Dean Swift are authentic._)

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 1689-1762

"I thank God witches are out of fashion," observes Lady Mary, in a letter to her daughter, when spicy gossip about her doings abroad had been circulated in London, "or I should expect to have it deponed, by several credible witnesses, that I had been seen flying through the air on a broomstick."

Conspicuous always, she was nominated a "toast" in the Kit-Kat Club when she was eight, occupied herself with Latin at ten, was married when she was twenty-three, began her campaign for smallpox inoculation when she was twenty-nine, held salons in London, Constantinople, Brescia, Rome, and Venice, and died when she was seventy-three, bequeathing a fortune and twenty large manuscript volumes of prose and verse to her daughter, one guinea to her son, and two volumes of correspondence to a gentleman in Holland, with the request that the letters be published at once.

"Her family," writes Horace Walpole, "are in terror lest they should be, and have tried to get them. Though I do not doubt but they are an olio of lies and scandal, I should like to see them. She had parts, and had seen much."

Admirers and foes alike will be pleased to note that Edward Wortley Montagu, in the days of courtship, used to direct his love letters to her, simply,--

_The Lady Mary Pierrpont With Care and Speed._

III

My Lady Mary

[_Letters from my Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, celebrated for her Beauty and Talents no less than for the introduction of the Practice of Inoculation for the Smallpox into England, to her Friend the Lady D----n in Paris. These Letters will dispel the Mystery to the Publick of the Lady M.W.M.'s quitting England in the year 1739._]

_Writ in the year 1737, Their Majesties George II & Queen Caroline reigning._

I resume my pen, my dear Madam, to acquaint you with the news of the day, though 'tis what you scarce deserve from your silence, unless indeed a letter have miscarried, and 'twill not surprise me if my last hath not come to your hands, which if so, is provoking, it being writ in my best manner. I willingly would hear from you, was it but to say you still exist, for I begin to find myself in the mind of the worshipper of Minerva, who, receiving no answer to prayers and vows, discharged a pitcher of foul water in her Goddess-ship's face, declaring he would not longer be at the trouble to address a lady who would not be at the trouble to listen, and she might go to the devil for him. 'Tis not however quite come to this with me, so I continue.

The world riots on at its common pace, and is now come to the pass that vice is scarce worth the pain of concealing. Yet when it becomes the general rule, sure there is nothing so stale! Its facility damns it, and it then must simulate some of the airs of virtue to be alluring. Indeed, I conclude it not wholly imaginary that, if it was made easier to be virtuous than vicious, the whole moral balance of the universe would shift and our present monarch and Madame Walmoden be the saints of a new calendar. 'Tis here we need the clergy, and, for the life of me, I see not how else. They lend a _haut goût_ to vice by condemning it; and if they should disappear, vice must cease to interest and go with them. I gave this for my opinion to the Queen and Lady Sundon, when they were fond to discuss metaphysics, adding that the Seven Deadly Sins required the flames of the infernal regions for their heating and the Ten Commandments for their encouragement if they could be hoped to flourish in the future as at present--and they had the condescension to agree.

All this being so, it will give you neither surprise nor concern to hear my Lord H----d hath run off with his ward, Miss Nanny Graves, leaving his lady with four children. We shall have them back in a few months with reputations so little worse crackt than those of the decentest among us as will not be worth the trouble of censuring, and give neither themselves nor others the smallest uneasiness.

His Majesty is happy at present in the loss of "that old deaf woman," as he lately called my Lady Suffolk, who was once his greatest blessing. There is much I could tell you, but think best not to commit to paper, save that I hear from my Lord Hervey (who is as much as ever in the Queen's confidence) of the farewell of Lady Suffolk to Her Majesty. She lamented to the Queen that she no longer met with the same attention from His Majesty. "I told her," said the Queen, "that she and I were no longer of an age to think of these sort of things in such a romantic way, and as wishing not to encourage it, bade her take a week to consider of the business and give me her word to read no romances meanwhile, and I was sure she would think better of her present concern."

She cares little who rules the King, so she and Sir Robert Walpole rule the kingdom; and indeed does both with the skill of a juggler tossing balls at Bartholomew Fair. Suffice it to say that she is as complaisant as ever, and treats the favourites, be they who they will, with a condescending and smiling geniality that enables her to give many an unexpected stab--the dagger hid in flowers. 'Tis thus, in my opinion, every sensible woman in the like case should carry herself. 'Tis not tears and agonies that move that sex, but good humour and composure, and thus are they left to their follies while common sense pursues its own objects. Yet, will a future age credit (what my Lord Hervey tells me) that our sovereign Lord, wishing to meet the daughter of the French Regent,--a Princess whose reputation is known to all the world,--writ thus to his Queen, "C'est un plaisir que je suis sûr, ma chere Caroline, vous serez bien aise de me procurer, quand je vous dis combien je le souhaite"?

Never was woman mistress of so much tact, nor with more need of it. He struts like a little despot while the beggars sing in the street:--

You may strut, dapper George, but 't will all be in vain, We know 't is Queen Caroline, not you, that reign.

He thinks her his slave, and all his sultanas tremble at her nod! Lord, what a world do we live in! I wonder in how many private homes 'tis the same.

She is, indeed, an extraordinary woman; and for my part, despising men and women alike for their motives, I could at this instant form a ministry of women, with the Queen at their head, no more silly and impudent than they who now suppose themselves to guide the fortunes of the country. If the Gods have any relish of humour,--and 'tis to be thought they have, else had they not created such a miserable little crawling species,--they must often be witty at our expense. _Quelle vie!_

I comprehend her well. When I give my friendship and confidence and meet with a scurvy return, 'tis not anger nor aversion it produces in me, but a complete indifference. Was I to hear tomorrow that Mr Wortley had a train of charmers as long as Captain Macheath's in the "Beggars' Opera," 'twould not inflict a pang, so long as he kept within the bounds of prudence and family decency; and indeed, 'tis as my poor sister Gower said to me more than once: "'Tis you, sister, for a merciless good sense that makes you accommodate yourself without complaint to what had drove another woman distracted." We not married two years before I had to complain of his indifference and negligence (though no worse), and writ him plainly to that effect, concluding in the words that, as this was my first complaint, so it should be my last. I kept my word, and he his course, and we now correspond with good temper on family interests, and no more.

But since I have spoke of the "Beggars' Opera," know that I have myself become possessed of a Polly lovelier than any Lavinia Fenton that ever played the part. 'Tis a romance--heaven send it go no further! Here is the first chapter.

Being some weeks since at Twicknam, I did not see company awhile, owing to my cousin's death; for though, as I writ at the time of my father's, I don't know why filial piety should exceed fatherly fondness, and still less cousinly, still there is a decency to be exprest in black bombazine and retirement. Besides, a thousand nothings kept me engaged. I passed a part of the time writing satires upon the little crooked viper of Twicknam, Pope--that may appear one day with a decoration from my Lord Hervey's pen; for Pope's last lampoon on me is a disgrace to any nature above that of a baboon. So all was pastoral and tranquil.

But, as the Fates would have it, walking one day by the river and (I suppose) pulling off my glove, I lost the diamond ring that was my mother's,--the plainest thing and such as may be found anywhere,--a ring about the finger, of small brilliant sparks. 'Twas not the value, which is nothing, but I returned home in a scold with my woman Pratt, that was walking behind me and thinking of nothing but her face, which some commending have turned her head or she must have seen it fall. She is a fool, even for her nauseous class. Seeing nothing better to be done, I caused notices to be writ and stuck about the village that a Lady of Quality having dropt her ring etc., would give a reward. And having wrote of my loss to Mr Wortley, my son, and a few friends, fixed my mind with my usual good sense that I would see it no more.

For upwards of a week nothing took place. I was seated in the garden with my tent-stitch, when out comes Pratt to say a young woman requested an audience of me. I was vexed to be disturbed, having on my mind a letter that morning received to say that young rake, my son, was run off from Hinchinbrook and none knew where--but you are no stranger to his behaviour. I therefore sent word by Pratt that I could not see her, well knowing she would add any force to the information that my words lackt. But I was vexed to the blood by my young rogue, knowing not where to find him, and suspecting sonic low haunt in the Fleet.

To my astonishment returns Pratt presently, flouncing and bridling, and with her a young woman--Heavens! No, but one of the nymphs of the Thames, or rather, for they are somewhat oozy hereabouts, a dryad of the Richmond woods, indeed as beautiful a person as ever I saw in my life. There is not one of our reigning girls to be compared with her for a moment and even my Lord Hervey's Molly Lepel would vanish beside her, nor could Paris have any doubt where to bestow the apple. I am an amateur of beauty and can't forget your Ladyship's praise of my commendation of the fair Fatima, saying you never before knew one fine woman do such justice to another. So here I repeat myself.

This fair creature was drest in a plain suit of minunet that had seen better days, and a straw hat tied with ribbons over a cap of thread lace. But her eyes! large, black, and languishing, they would have recalled to me those verses addrest to the daughter of Sultan Achmet,--

Your eyes are black and lovely, But wild and disdainful as those of a stag,

but for the fall of lashes that hid their soft fire; her hair raven-black, a bloom I never saw equalled in this country, and her lips a veritable scarlet and shaped for every sweetness.

Thinks I--'t is well the Duke of Wharton and his club for gallantry can't see this paragon, else--but I leave the rest to your discretion, for your Ladyship knows "Sophia" as I call him, as well as I. However, the agreeablest girl in the world came forward and dropt a curtsey, with her eyes on the ground, and offered my ring, excusing herself on the scruple that she must needs give it into my own hand--and all this in a voice like music.

I leave you to guess if I was pleased, for the ring was on my mother's hand when she died, and 'twas so prettily tendered, too.

"Well, child, I thank you for your pains," says I "and will, of course, be answerable for the reward, but give me leave to add that, if I can serve you in any other manner, 'tis not my custom to leave service forgot; if I am not mistook, your mind is not as free from care as a well-wisher could like to see it."

Indeed, there was an air of melancholy about her which moved me prodigiously, and seeing Pratt flouncing and bustling in such a manner as denoted her curiosity and jealousy, I dismist her to the house. She can't endure a face that eclipses her own curds-and-whey skin, and lookt upon my little thread-satin beauty with a true court malice. I was, however, really desirous myself to know what had brought so much beauty to misfortune.

"Madam," says she, "my story is so common that it needs not detain your ear. My father was a rich Turkey merchant, and I wanted for nothing that money could buy. But he was bit by some scheme for making more, three years since; a scheme he compared--alas, too late!--to the South Sea Bubble itself. And in this he lost all, and I had the pious duty to support him by my needleworks. However, he sunk under his miseries into a melancholy that deprived him of life two years since. I nursed him to his last sigh and then, desiring to lead a life of virtue, I entered the family of Mrs Lamb, the Levant merchant's lady and a cousin of my father, to care her children. She carried them down here for an airing, and walking with the little misses yesterday, I found this ring and have the happiness to restore it."

She spoke with a propriety I can't describe, and curtseyed to retire. Indeed, my dear Lady D----n, you had yourself been seduced into the step I next took, though how far 'twas prudent, I leave you to judge, allowing the uneasiness beauty causes, go where it will.

"Child," says I, "I thank you, and as for the reward--"

She stopt me with a simplicity and integrity that could not but confirm my first opinion.

"'Tis not possible, Madam, I should accept it for an act of honesty common to all decent persons. Refuse me not that privilege, and permit me to retire, with thanks to your Ladyship for so encouraging a reception."

Again she curtseyed, but I detained her. 'Twas truly a pleasure to see so charming a creature.

"Child, if not possible I should serve you in one way, it may in another. If the question be not disagreeable, are you happily placed with this city lady?"

Her fine eyes moistened.

"No, Madam. Not but what Madam means well, but she possesses not an easy humour, and Miss Nanny, Susan, Betty, and the rest are hard to be controlled. I receive but my clothes and food and 'tis very true--"

She stopt what she would have said, with all the easiness of a girl of quality, but a modesty they have exchanged for the paint-pot and whitewash in which they now blaze out. What she did not say left much to be guessed. 'T is certainly these rich city folk for an illiberality of mind and petty spitefullness that inflicts countless stings on their dependants. 'Twas a weakness, I own, but it then came into my mind on a high point of generosity (with which I am sometimes took like a colic) to do what I could for the poor creature. 'Twas to be seen she was educated, and she presently confirmed my belief that she could read, write, and cast accompts to perfection, and was skilled in needleworks and household management. Her expectations of payment did not run high, and 'tis but reasonable I should consider of this. So was I tempted into what you may censure as an indiscretion, and said I was in need of one to overlook my family of servants, and be about myself and my girl, who hath picked up some little grossnesses from Pratt that I like not. Not that I would dismiss Pratt, but put this one somewhat above her as her training deserves. 'Twas charity and carefulness combined.