Lady Mary Wortley Montague - Lewis Melville
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"The rest of his conversation was extremely gay. The various things he
has seen has given him a superficial universal knowledge. He really
knows most of the modern languages, and if I could believe him, can read
Arabic, and has read the Bible in Hebrew. He said it was impossible for
him to avoid going back to Paris; but he promised me to lie but one
night there, and go to a town six posts from thence on the Flanders
road, where he would wait your orders, and go by the name of Mons. du
Durand, a Dutch officer; under which name I saw him. These are the most
material passages, and my eyes are so much tired I can write no more at
this time. I gave him 240 livres for his journey."
No amount of admonition had any effect upon Edward. At the age of thirty
he was as irresponsible as he was when he was thirteen years old. He
promised his mother at Avignon most solemnly to reform, and at once got
into mischief. "I am persuaded," Lady Mary said, "whoever protects him
will be very soon convinced of the impossibility of his behaving like a
rational creature."
Avignon, November 20, 1743.
"As to my son's behaviour at Montelimart, it is nothing more than a
proof of his weakness; and how little he is to be depended on in his
most solemn professions. He told me that he had made acquaintance with a
lady on the road, who has an assembly at her house at Montelimart, and
that she had invited him thither. I asked immediately if she knew his
name. He assured me no, and that he passed for a Dutch officer by the
name of Durand. I advised him not go thither, since it would raise a
curiosity concerning him, and I was very unwilling it should be known
that I had conversed with him, on many accounts. He gave me the most
solemn assurances that no mortal should know it; and agreed with me in
the reasons I gave him for keeping it an entire secret; yet rid straight
to Montelimart, where he told at the assembly that he came into this
country purely on my orders, and that I had stayed with him two days at
Orange; talking much of my kindness to him, and insinuating that he had
another name, much more considerable than that he appeared with. I knew
nothing of this, till several months after, that a lady of that country
came hither, and meeting her in company, she asked me if I was
acquainted with Monsieur Durand. I had really forgot he had ever taken
that name, and made answer no; and that if such a person mentioned me,
it was probably some _chevalier d'industrie_ who sought to introduce
himself into company by a supposed acquaintance with me. She made
answer, the whole town believed so, by the improbable tales he told
them; and informed me what he had said; by which I knew what I have
related to you.
"I expect your orders in relation to his letters."
Edward was still anxious to join the army, and his parents were not
averse to the scheme. Lady Mary, however, thought that certain
precautions should be taken in the event of his securing a commission.
"It is my opinion," she wrote to Montagu in January, 1744, "he should
have no distinction, in equipage, from any other cornet; everything of
that sort will only serve to blow his vanity and consequently heighten
his folly. Your indulgence has always been greater to him than any other
parent's would have been in the same circumstances. I have always said
so, and thought so. If anything can alter him, it will be thinking
firmly that he has no dependence but on his own conduct for a future
maintenance."
Edward obtained a commission, and was present at Fontenoy.
On his return to England, in 1747, he was elected to Parliament for the
family borough of Huntingdon. This he held until 1754, when he was
returned for the borough of Bossiney, in Cornwall, which he represented
for the next eight years.
Of his subsequent career it is not necessary to say anything here,
except that his father left him an annuity of L1,000 a year, to be
increased to L2,000 on his mother's death. Lady Mary in her will
bequeathed him one guinea.
CHAPTER XIV
LADY MARY AS A READER
Her fondness for reading--Her difficulty to get enough books while
abroad--Lady Bute keeps her supplied--Lady Mary's catholic taste in
literature--Samuel Richardson--The vogue of _Clarissa Harlowe_--Lady
Mary tells a story of the Richardson type--Henry Fielding--_Joseph
Andrews--Tom Jones_--Her high opinion of Fielding and Steele--Tobias
Smollett--_Peregrine Pickle--_Lady Vane's _Memoirs of a Lady of
Quality_--Sarah Fielding--Minor writers--Lord Orrery's _Remarks on
Swift_--Bolingbroke's works--Addison and Pope--Dr. Johnson.
In her quiet retreat, Lady Mary found plenty of time for books. "I yet
retain and carefully cherish my taste for reading," she wrote to her
daughter in 1752. "If relays of eyes were to be hired like post-horses,
I would never admit any but select companions: they afford a constant
variety of entertainment, and is almost the only one pleasing in the
enjoyment and inoffensive in the consequence."
Her trouble was that she could not get books enough to occupy her time.
She was always asking Lady Bute to send her some, and was duly grateful
when they reached her. "I fancy you are now saying, 'tis a sad thing to
grow old; what does my poor mamma mean by troubling me with criticisms
on books that nobody but herself will ever read? You must allow
something to my solitude." And again: "I thank God my taste still
continues for the gay part of reading. Wiser people may call it
trifling, but it serves to sweeten life to me, and is worst better than
the generality of conversation."
Lady Mary's taste in books was catholic. She has seen the "Memoirs of
her old friend, the Duchess of Maryborough," but would be glad of the
_Apology for a late Resignation_ and of Colin Campbell's books on
_Architecture_. She has read Mrs. Lennox's _The Female Quixote_, and
much of Sarah Fielding; and she desires Henry Fielding's posthumous
works, with his _Memoirs of Jonathan Wild_ and _The Journey to the Next
World;_ also the _Memoirs of Verocand_, a man of pleasure, and those of
a Young Lady. "You will call all this trash, trumpery, etc.," she said
to her daughter. "I can assure you I was more entertained by G. Edwards
than H. St. John, of whom you have sent me duplicates. I see new story
books with the same pleasure your eldest daughter does a new dress, or
the youngest a new baby. I thank God, I can find playthings for my age.
I am not of Cowley's mind, that this world is
'A dull, ill-acted comedy;'
nor of Mr. Philips's, that it is
'A too well-acted tragedy.'
"I look upon it as a very pretty farce, for those that can see it in
that light. I confess a severe critic, that would examine by ancient
rules, might find many defects, but 'tis ridiculous to judge seriously
of a puppet-show. Those that can laugh, and be diverted with
absurdities, are the wisest spectators, be it of writings, actions, or
people."
Presently Lady Mary is asking for books the names of which she has seen
in the-newspapers: "_Fortunate Mistress, Accomplished Rake, Mrs.
Charke's Memoirs, Modern Lovers, History of Two Orphans, Memoirs of
David Ranger, Miss Mostyn, Dick Hazard, History of a Lady Platonist,
Sophia Shakespear, Jasper Banks, Frank Hammond, Sir Andrew Thompson, Van
a Clergyman's Son, Cheantles and Celemena_. I do not doubt at least the
greater part of these are trash, lumber, etc.; however, they will serve
to pass away the idle time, if you will be so kind as to send them to
your most affectionate mother."
Richardson Lady Mary liked in spite of herself, as so many others then
and since have done, though it is true that she spoke of the "very
extraordinary (and I think undeserved) success of Pamela, which, she
said, was all the fashion at Paris and Versailles, and is still the joy
of the chambermaids of all nations."
"I was such an old fool as to weep over _Clarissa Harlowe_, like any
milkmaid of sixteen over the ballad of the _Lady's Fall_" (she wrote to
her daughter). "To say truth, the first volume softened me by a near
resemblance of my maiden days; but on the whole 'tis most miserable
stuff. Miss How, who is called a young lady of sense and honour, is not
only extreme silly, but a more vicious character than Sally Martin,
whose crimes are owing at first to seduction, and afterwards to
necessity; while this virtuous damsel, without any reason, insults her
mother at home and ridicules her abroad; abuses the man she marries; and
is impertinent and impudent with great applause. Even that model of
affection, Clarissa, is so faulty in her behaviour as to deserve little
compassion. Any girl that runs away with a young fellow, without
intending to marry him, should be carried to Bridewell or to Bedlam the
next day. Yet the circumstances are so laid as to inspire tenderness,
notwithstanding the low style and absurd incidents; and I look upon this
and _Pamela_ to be two books that will do more general mischief than the
works of Lord Rochester. There is something humorous in _R. Random_,
that makes me believe that the author is H. Fielding. I am horribly
afraid I guess too well the writer of those abominable insipidities of
_Cornelia, Leonora_, and the _Ladies' Drawing Room_."
"This Richardson is a strange fellow," she said in another letter. "I
heartily despise him, and eagerly read him, nay, sob over his works in a
most scandalous manner."
"I have now read over Richardson--he sinks horribly in his third volume
(he does so in his story of _Clarissa_). When he talks of Italy, it is
plain he is no better acquainted with it than he is with the kingdom of
Mancomugi. He might have made his Sir Charles's amour with Clementina
begin in a convent, where the pensioners sometimes take great liberties,
but that such familiarity should be permitted in her father's house, is
as repugnant to custom, as it would be in London for a young lady of
quality to dance on the ropes at Bartholomew fair: neither does his hero
behave to her in a manner suitable to his nice notions. It was
impossible a discerning man should not see her passion early enough to
check it, if he had really designed it. His conduct puts me in mind of
some ladies I have known, who could never find out a man to be in love
with them, let him do or say what he would, till he made a direct
attempt, and then they were so surprised, I warrant you! Nor do I
approve Sir Charles's offered compromise (as he calls it). There must be
a great indifference as to religion on both sides, to make so strict a
union as marriage tolerable between people of such distinct persuasions.
He seems to think women have no souls, by agreeing so easily that his
daughters should be educated in bigotry and idolatry.--You will perhaps
think this last a hard word; yet it is not difficult to prove, that
either the papists are guilty of idolatry, or the pagans never were so.
You may see in Lucian (in his vindication of his images), that they did
not take their statues to be real gods, but only the representations of
them. The same doctrine may be found in Plutarch; and it is all the
modern priests have to say in excuse for their worshipping wood and
stone, though they cannot deny, at the same time, that the vulgar are
apt to confound that distinction."
Lady Mary frequently re-read Richardson, and not seldom referred to them
in her correspondence.
"It is certain there are as many marriages as ever. Richardson is so
eager for the multiplication of them, I suppose he is some parish
curate, whose chief profit depends on weddings and christenings. He is
not a man-midwife; for he would be better skilled in physic than to
think fits and madness any ornament to the characters of his heroines:
though his Sir Charles had no thoughts of marrying Clementina till she
had lost her wits, and the divine Clarissa never acted prudently till
she was in the same condition, and then very wisely desired to be
carried to Bedlam, which is really all that is to be done in that case.
Madness is as much corporal distemper as the gout or asthma, never
occasioned by affliction, or to be cured by the enjoyment of their
extravagant wishes. Passion may indeed bring on a fit, but the disease
is lodged in the blood, and it is not more ridiculous to attempt to
relieve the gout by an embroidered slipper, than to restore reason by
the gratification of wild desires.
"Richardson is as ignorant in morality as he is in anatomy, when he
declares abusing an obliging husband, or an indulgent parent, to be an
innocent recreation. His Anna How and Charlotte Grandison are
recommended as patterns of charming pleasantry, and applauded by his
saint-like dames, who mistake pert folly for wit and humour, and
impudence and ill nature for spirit and fire. Charlotte behaves like a
humorsome child, and should have been used like one, and*** well whipped
in the presence of her friendly confidante Harriet. Lord Halifax very
justly tells his daughter, that a husband's kindness is to be kindly
received by a wife, even when he is drunk, and though it is wrapped up
in never so much impertinence. Charlotte acts with an ingratitude that I
think too black for human nature, with such coarse jokes and low
expressions as are only to be heard among the lowest class of people.
Women of that rank often plead a right to beat their husbands, when they
don't cuckold them; and I believe this author was never admitted into
higher company, and should confine his pen to the amours of housemaids,
and the conversation at the steward's table, where I imagine he has
sometimes intruded, though oftener in the servants hall: yet, if the
title be not a puff, this work has passed three editions. I do not
forgive him his disrespect of old china, which is below nobody's taste,
since it has been the D. of Argyll's, whose understanding has never been
doubted either by his friends or enemies.
"Richardson never had probably money enough to purchase any, or even a
ticket for a masquerade, which gives him such an aversion to them;
though his intended satire against them is very absurd on the account of
his Harriet, since she might have been carried off in the same manner if
she had been going from supper with her grandmamma. Her whole behaviour,
which he designs to be exemplary, is equally blamable and ridiculous.
She follows the maxim of Clarissa, of declaring all she thinks to all
the people she sees, without reflecting that in this mortal state of
imperfection, fig-leaves are as necessary for our minds as our bodies,
and 'tis as indecent to show all we think, as all we have. He has no
idea of the manners of high life: his old Lord M. talks in the style of
a country justice, and his virtuous young ladies romp like the wenches
round a maypole. Such liberties as pass between Mr. Lovelace and his
cousins, are not to be excused by the relation. I should have been much
astonished if Lord Denbigh should have offered to kiss me; and I dare
swear Lord Trentham never attempted such an impertinence to you."
Lady Mary was in sore trouble about Richardson. She would not like him,
she was angry with him, yet could never away with him. When she heard of
an adventure at Lovere, she, who herself had a gift for novel-writing,
must needs send an account of it to Lady Bute, saying that it exactly
resembled and, she believed, was copied from _Pamela_. "I know not under
what constellation that foolish stuff was wrote, but it has been
translated into more languages than any modern performance I ever heard
of," she added. "No proof of its influence was ever stronger than this
story, which in Richardson's hands would serve very well to furnish out
seven or eight volumes: I shall make it as short as I can."
As an example of Lady Mary's skill in narrative, her account of the
Richardsonian adventure is well worth reprinting.
"Here is a gentleman's family, consisting of an old bachelor and his
sister, who have fortune enough to live with great elegance, though
without any magnificence, possessed of the esteem of all their
acquaintance, he being distinguished by his probity, and she by her
virtue. They are not only suffered but sought by all the best company,
and indeed are the most conversable, reasonable people in the place. She
is an excellent housewife, and particularly remarkable for keeping her
pretty house as neat as any in Holland. She appears no longer in public,
being past fifty, and passes her time chiefly at home with her work,
receiving few visitants. This Signora Diana, about ten years since, saw,
at a monastery, a girl about eight years old, who came thither to beg
alms for her mother. Her beauty, though covered with rags, was very
observable, and gave great compassion to the charitable lady, who
thought it meritorious to rescue such a modest sweetness as appeared in
her face from the ruin to which her wretched circumstances exposed her.
She asked her some questions, to which she answered with a natural
civility that seemed surprising; and finding the head of her family (her
brother) to be a cobbler, who could hardly live by that trade, and her
mother too old to work for her maintenance, she bid the child follow her
home; and sending for her parent, proposed to her to breed the little
Octavia for her servant. This was joyfully accepted, the old woman
dismissed with a piece of money, and the girl remained with the Signora
Diana, who bought her decent clothes, and took pleasure in teaching her
whatever she was capable of learning. She learned to read, write, and
cast accounts, with uncommon facility; and had such a genius for work,
that she excelled her mistress in embroidery, point, and every operation
of the needle. She grew perfectly skilled in confectionary, had a good
insight into cookery, and was a great proficient in distillery. To these
accomplishments she was so handy, well bred, humble and modest, that not
only her master and mistress, but everybody that frequented the house,
took notice of her. She lived thus near nine years, never going out but
to church. However, beauty is as difficult to conceal as light; hers
began to make a great noise. Signora Diana told me she observed an
unusual concourse of pedling women that came on pretext to sell
penn'orths of lace, china, etc., and several young gentlemen, very well
powdered, that were perpetually walking before her door, and looking up
at the windows. These prognostics alarmed her prudence, and she listened
very willingly to some honourable proposals that were made by many
honest, thriving tradesmen. She communicated them to Octavia, and told
her, that though she was sorry to lose so good a servant, yet she
thought it right to advise her to choose a husband. The girl answered
modestly, that it was her duty to obey all her commands, but she found
no inclination to marriage; and if she would permit her to live single,
she should think it a greater obligation than any other she could
bestow. Signora Diana was too conscientious to force her into a state
from which she could not free her, and left her to her own disposal.
However, they parted soon after; whether (as the neighbours say) Signor
Aurelio Ardinghi, her brother, looked with too much attention on the
young woman, or that she herself (as Diana says) desired to seek a place
of more profit, she removed to Bergamo, where she soon found preferment,
being strongly recommended by the Ardinghi family. She was advanced to
be first waiting-woman to an old countess, who was so well pleased with
her service, she desired, on her death bed, Count Jeronimo Sosi, her
son, to be kind to her. He found no repugnance to this act of obedience,
having distinguished the beautiful Octavia from his first sight of her;
and, during the six months that she had served in the house, had tried
every art of a fine gentleman, accustomed to victories of that sort, to
vanquish the virtue of this fair virgin. He has a handsome figure, and
has had an education uncommon in this country, having made the tour of
Europe, and brought from Paris all the improvements that are to be picked
up there, being celebrated for his grace in dancing, and skill in
fencing and riding, by which he is a favourite among the ladies, and
respected by the men. Thus qualified for conquest, you may judge of his
surprise at the firm yet modest resistance of this country girl, who was
neither to be moved by address, nor gained by liberality, nor on any
terms would be prevailed on to stay as his housekeeper, after the death
of his mother. She took that post in the house of an old judge, where
she continued to be solicited by the emissaries of the count's passion,
and found a new persecutor in her master, who, after three months'
endeavour to corrupt her, offered her marriage. She chose to return to
her former obscurity, and escaped from his pursuit, without asking any
wages, and privately returned to the Signora Diana. She threw herself at
her feet, and, kissing her hands, begged her, with tears, to conceal her
at least some time, if she would not accept of her service. She
protested she had never been happy since she left it. While she was
making these submissions, Signor Aurelio entered. She entreated his
intercession on her knees, who was easily persuaded to consent she
should stay with them, though his sister blamed her highly for her
precipitate flight, having no reason, from the age and character of her
master, to fear any violence, and wondered at her declining the honour
he offered her. Octavia confessed that perhaps she had been too rash in
her proceedings, but said, that he seemed to resent her refusal in such
a manner as frighted her; she hoped that after a few days' search he
would think no more of her; and that she scrupled entering into the holy
bands of matrimony, where her heart did not sincerely accompany all the
words of the ceremony. Signora Diana had nothing to say in contradiction
to this pious sentiment; and her brother applauded the honesty which
could not be perverted by any interest whatever. She remained concealed
in their house, where she helped in the kitchen, cleaned the rooms, and
redoubled her usual diligence and officiousness. Her old master came to
Lovere on pretence of adjusting a lawsuit, three days after, and made
private inquiry after her; but hearing from her mother and brother (who
knew nothing of her being here) that they had never heard of her, he
concluded she had taken another route, and returned to Bergamo; and she
continued in this retirement near a fortnight.
"Last Sunday, as soon as the day was closed, arrived at Signer Aurelio's
door a handsome equipage in a large bark, attended by four well-armed
servants on horseback. An old priest stepped out of it, and desiring to
speak with Signora Diana, informed her he came from the Count Jeronimo
Sosi to demand Octavia; that the count waited for her at a village four
miles from hence, where he intended to marry her; and had sent him, who
was engaged to perform the divine rite, that Signora Diana might resign
her to his care without any difficulty. The young damsel was called for,
who entreated she might be permitted the company of another priest with
whom she was acquainted: this was readily granted; and she sent for a
young man that visits me very often, being remarkable for his sobriety
and learning. Meanwhile, a valet-de-chambre presented her with a box, in
which was a complete genteel undress for a lady. Her laced linen and
fine nightgown were soon put on, and away they marched, leaving the
family in a surprise not to be described.
"Signor Aurelio came to drink coffee with me next morning: his first
words were, he had brought me the history of Pamela. I said, laughing, I
had been tired with it long since. He explained himself by relating this
story, mixed with great resentment for Octavia's conduct. Count
Jeronimo's father had been his ancient friend and patron; and this
escape from his house (he said) would lay him under a suspicion of
having abetted the young man's folly, and perhaps expose him to the
anger of all his relations, for contriving an action he would rather
have died than suffered, if he had known how to prevent it. I easily
believed him, there appearing a latent jealousy under his affliction,
that showed me he envied the bridegroom's happiness, at the same time he
condemned his extravagance.
"Yesterday noon, being Saturday, Don Joseph returned, who has got the
name of Parson Williams by this expedition: he relates, that when the
bark which carried the coach and train arrived, they found the amorous
count waiting for his bride on the bank of the lake: he would have
proceeded immediately to the church; but she utterly refused it, till
they had each of them been at confession; after which the happy knot was
tied by the parish priest. They continued their journey, and came to
their palace at Bergamo in a few hours, where everything was prepared
for their reception. They received the communion next morning, and the
count declares that the lovely Octavia has brought him an inestimable
portion, since he owes to her the salvation of his soul. He has
renounced play, at which he had lost a great deal of time and money. She
has already retrenched several superfluous servants, and put his family
into an exact method of economy, preserving all the splendour necessary
to his rank. He has sent a letter in his own hand to her mother,
inviting her to reside with them, and subscribing himself her dutiful
son: but the countess has sent another privately by Don Joseph, in which
she advises the old woman to stay at Lovere, promising to take care she
shall want nothing, accompanied with a token of twenty sequins, which is
at least nineteen more than ever she saw in her life.