"Well, I dare say it is; but somewhat vulgar though. I should be disposed to say, now, that the man who wrote that must have been a mower himself originally."
Lucy made no reply to this sapient observation. His lordship, however, who seemed to feel that he had started upon a wrong principle, if not a disagreeable one, went on:
"It is not, however, to talk of death, Miss Gourlay, that we have met, but of a very different and much more agreeable subject--marriage."
"To me, my lord," she replied, "death is the more agreeable of the two."
"I am sorry to hear that, Miss Gourlay; but I think you are in low spirits, and that accounts for it. Your father tells me, however, that I have your permission to urge my humble claims. He says you have kindly and generously consented to look upon me, all unworthy as I feel I am, as your future husband."
"It is true, my lord, I have consented to this projected union; but I feel that it is due to your lordship to state that I have done so under very painful and most distressing circ.u.mstances. It is better I should speak now, my lord, than at a future day. My father"s mind has been seized by an unaccountable ambition to see me your wife. This preyed upon him so severely that he became dangerously ill." Here, however, from delicacy to the baronet, she checked herself, but added, "Yes, my lord, I have consented; but, understand me--you have not my affections."
"Why, as to that, Miss Gourlay, I have myself peculiar opinions; and I am glad that they avail me here. You will think it odd, now, that I had made my mind up never to marry a woman who loved me. This is really fortunate."
"I don"t understand you, my lord."
"Well, I suppose you don"t; but I shall make myself intelligible as well as I can. Love before marriage, in my opinion, is exceedingly dangerous to future happiness; and I will tell you why I think so. In the first place, a great deal of that fuel which feeds the post-matrimonial flame is burned away and wasted unnecessarily; the imagination, too, is raised to a ridiculous and most enthusiastic expectation of perpetual bliss and ecstasy; then comes disappointment, coolness, indifference, and the lights go out for want of the fuel I mentioned; and altogether the domestic life becomes rather a dull and tedious affair. The wife wonders that the husband is no longer a, lover; and the husband cannot for the soul of him see all the--the--the--ahem!--I scarcely know what to call them--that enchanted him before marriage. Then, you perceive, that when love is necessary, the fact comes out that it was most injudiciously expended before the day of necessity. Both parties feel, in fact, that the property has been prematurely squandered--like many another property--and when it is wanted, there is nothing to fall back upon.
I wish to G.o.d affection could be funded, so that when a married couple found themselves low in pocket in that commodity they could draw the interest or sell out at once."
"And what can you expect, my lord, from those who marry without affection?" asked Lucy.
"Ten chances for happiness," replied his lordship, "for one that results from love. When such persons meet, mark you, Miss Gourlay, they are not enveloped in an artificial veil of splendor, which the cares of life, and occasionally a better knowledge of each other, cause to dissolve from about them, leaving them stripped of those imaginary qualities of mind and person which never had any existence at all, except in their hypochondriac brains, when love-stricken; whereas, your honest, matter-of-fact people come together--first with indifference, and, as there is nothing angelic to be expected on either side, there is consequently no disappointment. There has, in fact, been no sentimental fraud committed--no swindle of the heart--for love, too, like its relation, knavery, has its black-legs, and very frequently raises credit upon false pretences; the consequence is, that plain honesty begins to produce its natural effects."
"Can this man," thought Lucy, "have been taking lessons from papa? And pray, my lord," she proceeded, "what are those effects which marriage without love--produces?"
"Why, a good honest indifference, in the first place, which keeps the heart easy and somewhat indolent withal. There is none of that sharp jealousy which is perpetually on the spy for offence. None of that pulling and pouting--falling out and falling in--which are ever the accessories of love. On the contrary, honest indifference minds the family--honest indifference, mark, buys the beef and mutton, reckons the household linen--eschews parties and all places of fashionable resort, attends to the children--sees them educated, bled, blistered, et cetera, when necessary; and, what is still better, looks to their religion, hears them their catechism, brings them, in their clean bibs and tuckers, to church, and rewards that one who carries home most of the sermon with a large lump of sugar-candy."
"These are very original views of marriage, my lord."
"Aha!" thought his lordship, "I knew the originality would catch her."
"Why, the fact is, Miss Gourlay, that I believe--at least I think I may say--that originality is my forte. I have a horror against everything common."
"I thought so, my lord," replied Lucy; "your sense, for instance, is anything but common sense."
"You are pleased to flatter me, Miss Gourlay, but you speak very truly; and that is because I always think for myself--I do not wish to be measured by a common standard."
"You are very right; my lord; it would be difficult, I fear, to find a common standard to measure you by. One would imagine, for instance, that you have been on this principle absolutely studying the subject of matrimony. At least, you are the first person I have ever met who has succeeded in completely stripping it of common sense, and there I must admit your originality."
"Gad!" thought his lordship, "I have her with me--I am getting on famously."
"They would imagine right, Miss Gourlay; these principles are the result of a deep and laborious investigation into that mysterious and awful topic. Honest indifference has no intrigues, no elopements, no disgraceful trials for criminal conversation, no divorces. No; your lovers in the yoke of matrimony, when they tilt with each other, do it sharply, with naked weapons; whereas, the worthy indifferents, in the same circ.u.mstances, have a wholesome regard for each other, and rattle away only with the scabbards. Upon my honor, Miss Gourlay, I am quite delighted to hear that you are not attached to me. I can now marry upon my own principles. It is not my intention to coax, and fondle, and tease you after marriage; not at all. I shall interfere as little as possible with your habits, and you, I trust, as little with mine. We shall see each other only occasionally, say at church, for instance, for I hope you will have no objection to accompany me there. Neither man nor woman knows what is due to society if they pa.s.s through the world without the comforts of religion. All flesh--ahem!--no--sufficient unto the day--as Scripture says."
"My lord, I think marriage a solemn subject, and--"
"Most people find it so, Miss Gourlay."
--"And on that account that it ought to be exempted from ridicule."
"I perfectly agree with you, Miss Gourlay: it is indeed a serious subject, and ought not to be sported with or treated lightly."
"My lord," said Lucy, "I must crave your attention for a few moments. I believe the object of this interview is to satisfy you that I have given the consent which my father required and entreated of me. But, my lord, you are mistaken. Our union cannot take place upon your principles, and for this reason, there is no indifference in the case, so far, at least, as I am concerned. It would not become me to express here, under my father"s roof, the sentiments which I feel. Your own past life, my lord--your habits, your a.s.sociates, may enable you to understand them.
It is enough to say, that in wedding you I wed misery, wretchedness, despair; so that, in my case, at least, there is no "sentimental fraud"
committed."
"Not a bit of it, Miss Gourlay; your conduct, I say, is candid and honorable; and I am quite satisfied that the woman who has strength of mind and love of truth to practice this candor before marriage, gives the best security for fidelity and all the other long list of matrimonial virtues afterwards. I am perfectly charmed with your sentiments. Indeed I was scarcely prepared for this. Our position will be delightful. The only thing I have any apprehension of is, lest this wholesome aversion might gradually soften into fondness, which, you know, would be rather unpleasant to us both."
"My lord," replied Lucy, rising up with disdain and indignation glowing in her face, "there is one sentiment due to every woman whose conduct is well regulated and virtuous--that sentiment is, respect. From you on this occasion, at least, and on this subject especially, I had thought myself ent.i.tled to it. I find I have been mistaken, however. Such a sentiment is utterly incompatible with the heartless tirade of buffoonery in which you have indulged. This dialogue is very painful, my lord. I have already intimated to you that I am prepared to fulfil the engagement into which my father has entered with you. I know--I feel what the result will be--you are to consider me your victim, my lord, as well as your wife."
"Excuse me, Miss Gourlay, I was utterly unconscious of any buffoonery.
Upon my honor, I expressed on the subject of matrimony no principles that I do not feel; but as to your charge of disrespect, I solemnly a.s.sure you there is not an individual of your s.e.x in existence whom I respect more highly; nor do I believe there is a lady living more signally ent.i.tled to it from all who have the honor to know her."
"Then, if you be serious, my lord, it betrays a painful equality between your understanding and your heart. No man with such a heart should enter into the state of matrimony at all; and no man with an understanding level to such principles is capable either of communicating or receiving happiness."
"Well, then, suppose I say that I shall submit myself in everything to your wishes?"
"Then I should reply, that the husband capable of doing so would experience from me a sentiment little short of contempt. What, my lord!
so soon to abandon your favorite principles! That is a proof, I fear, that, after all, you place but little value on them."
"Well, but I know I have not been so good a boy as I ought to have been; I have been naughty now and then; and as I intend to reform, I shall make you my guide and adviser. I a.s.sure you, I am perfectly serious in the reformation. It shall be on quite an original scale. I intend to repent, Miss Gourlay; but, then, my repentance won"t be commonplace repentance. I shall do the thing with an aristocratic feeling--or, in other words, I shall repent like a man of honor and a gentleman."
"Like anything but a Christian, my I presume."
"Just so; I must be original or die. I will give up everything; for, after all. Miss Gourlay, what is there more melancholy than the vanity of life--unless, indeed, it be the beauty of holiness--ahem! All flesh--no--I repeated that sweet text before. He that marrieth doth well; but he that marrieth not doth better. Sufficient unto the day--No, hang it, I think I misquoted it. I believe it runs correctly--He that giveth "way, does well; but he that giveth not way, does better: then, I believe, comes in, Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. What beautiful and appropriate texts are to be found in Scripture, Miss Gourlay! By the way, the man that wrote it was a shrewd fellow and a profound thinker. The only pity is, that the work"s anonymous."
Lucy rose, absolutely sickened, and said, "My lord, excuse me. The object of our interview has been accomplished, and as I am far from well, you will permit me to withdraw. In the meantime, pray make whatever arrangements and hold, whatever interviews may be necessary in this miserable and wretched business; but henceforth they must be with my father."
"You are surely not going, Miss Gourlay?"
She replied not, but turning round, seemed to reflect for a moment, after which she spoke as follows:
"I cannot bring myself to think, my lord, after the unusual opinions you have expressed, that you have been for one moment serious in the conversation which has taken place between us. Their strangeness and eccentricity forbid me to suppose this; and if I did not think that it is so, and that, perhaps, you are making an experiment upon my temper and judgment, for some purpose at present inconceivable; and if I did not think, besides, notwithstanding these opinions, that you may possess sufficient sense and feeling to perceive the truth and object of what I am about to say, I would not remain one moment longer in your society.
I request, therefore, that you will be serious for a little, and hear me with attention, and, what is more, if you can, with sympathy. My lord, the highest instance of a great and n.o.ble mind is to perform a generous act; and when you hear from my own lips the circ.u.mstances which I am about to state, I would hope to find you capable of such an act. I am now appealing to your generosity--your disinterestedness--your magnanimity (and you ought to be proud to possess these virtues)--to all those principles that honor and dignify our nature, and render man a great example to his kind. My lord, I am very unhappy--I am miserable--I am wretched; so completely borne down by suffering that life is only a burden, which I will not be able long to bear; and you, my lord, are the cause of all this anguish and agony."
"Upon my honor, Miss Gourlay, I am very much concerned to hear it. I would rather the case were otherwise, I a.s.sure you. Anything that I can do, I needn"t say, I shall be most happy to do; but proceed, pray."
"My lord, I throw myself upon your generosity; do you possess it? Upon your feeling as a man, upon your honor as a gentleman. I implore, I entreat you, not to press this unhappy engagement. I implore you for my sake, for the sake of humanity, for the sake of G.o.d; and if that will not weigh with you, then I ask it for the sake of your own honor, which will be tarnished by pressing it on. I have already said that you possess not my affections, and that to a man of honor and spirit ought to be sufficient; but I will go farther, and say, that if there be one man living against a union with whom I entertain a stronger and more unconquerable aversion than another, you are that man."
"But you know, Miss Gourlay, if I may interrupt you for a moment, that that fact completely falls into my principles. There is only one other circ.u.mstance wanting to make the thing complete; but perhaps you will come to it; at least I hope so. Pray, proceed, madam; I am all attention."
"Yes," she replied, "I shall proceed; because I would not that my conscience should hereafter reproach me for having left anything undone to escape this misery. My lord, I implore you to spare me; force me not over the brow of this dreadful precipice; have compa.s.sion on me--have generosity--act with honor."
"I would crown you with honor, if I could, Miss Gourlay."
"You are about to crown me with fire, my lord; to wring my spirit with torture; to drive me into distraction--despair--madness. But you will not do so. You know that I cannot love you. I am not to blame for this; our affections are not always under our own control. Have pity on me, then, Lord Dunroe. Go to my father, and tell him that you will not be a consenting party to my misery--and accessory to my death. Say what is true; that as I neither do nor can love you, the honor of a gentleman, and the spirit of a man, equally forbid you to act ungenerously to me and dishonorably to yourself. What man, not base and mean, and sunk farther down in degradation of spirit than contempt could reach him, would for a moment think of marrying a woman who, like me, can neither love nor honor him? Go, my lord; see my father; tell him you are a man--an Irish gentleman--"
"Pardon me, Miss Gourlay, I do not wish to be considered such."
--"That justice, humanity, self-respect, and a regard for the good opinion of the world, all combine to make you release me from this engagement."