I do not know how Griffith manages; I should be concerned that he should be ill-used by the rest of the servants; his dialect, and to them singular manners, may excite their boisterous mirth; and I know, though he is a worthy creature, yet he has all the irascibility of his countrymen; and therefore they may take a pleasure in thwarting and teasing the poor Cambro-Briton; but of this I am not likely to be informed, as being so wholly out of my sphere.
I could hardly help smiling at that part of your letter, wherein you say, you think the husband the proper person to attend his wife to public places. How different are your ideas from those of the people of this town, or at least to their practice!--A woman, who would not blush at being convicted in a little affair of gallantry, would be ready to sink with confusion, should she receive these _tendres_ from an husband in public, which when offered by any other man is accepted with pleasure and complacency. Sir William never goes with me to any of these fashionable movements. It is true, we often meet, but very seldom join, as we are in general in separate parties. _Whom G.o.d hath joined, let no man put asunder_, is a part of the ceremony; but here it is the business of every one to endeavour to put a man and wife asunder;--fashion not making it decent to appear together.
These _etiquettes_, though so absolutely necessary in polite life, are by no means reconcilable to reason, or to my wishes. But my voice would be too weak to be heard against the general cry; or, being heard, I should be thought too insignificant to be attended to.
"Conscience makes cowards of us all," some poet says; and your Julia says, fashion makes fools of us all; but she only whispers this to the dear bosom of her friend. Oh! my Louisa, that you were with me!--It is with this wish I end all my letters; mentally so, if I do not openly thus express myself.--Absence seems to increase my affection.--One reason is, because I cannot find any one to supply me the loss I sustain in you; out of the hundreds I visit, not one with whom I can form a friendly attachment. My attachment to Sir William, which was strong enough to tear me from your arms, is not sufficient to suppress the gushing tear, or hush the rising sigh, when I sit and reflect on what I once possessed, and what I so much want at this moment. Adieu, my dear Louisa! continue your tender attention to the best of fathers, and love me always.
JULIA STANLEY.
LETTER XIII.
TO THE SAME.
I spent a whole morning with Lady Melford, more to my satisfaction than any one I have pa.s.sed since I left you. But this treat cannot be repeated; her ladyship leaves town this day. She was so good as to say, she was sorry her stay was so short, and wished to have had more time with me. I can truly join with her. Her conversation was friendly and parental. She cautioned me against falling into the levities of the s.e.x--which unhappily, she observed, were now become so prevalent; and further told me, how cautious I ought to be of my female acquaintance, since the reputation of a young woman rises and falls in proportion to the merit of her a.s.sociates. I judged she had Lady Besford in her mind.
I answered, I thought myself unhappy in not having you with me, and likewise possessing so little penetration, that I could not discover who were, or who were not, proper companions; that, relying on the experience of Sir William, I had left the choice of them to him, trusting he would not introduce those whose characters and morals were reprehensible; but whether it proceeded from my ignorance, or from the mode of the times, I could not admire the sentiments of either of the ladies with whom I was more intimately connected, but wished to have the opinion of one whose judgment was more matured than mine.
Lady Melford replied, the circle of her acquaintance was rather confined;--and that her short residences at a time in town left her an incompetent judge: "but, my dear," she added, "the virtuous principles instilled into you by your excellent father, joined to the innate goodness of your heart, must guide you through the warfare of life.
Never for one moment listen to the seductive voice of folly, whether its advocate be man or woman.--If a man is profuse in flattery, believe him an insidious betrayer, who only watches a favourable moment to ruin your peace of mind for ever. Suffer no one to lessen your husband in your esteem: no one will attempt it, but from sinister views; disappoint all such, either by grave remonstrances or lively sallies. Perhaps some will officiously bring you informations of the supposed infidelity of your husband, in hopes they may induce you to take a fashionable revenge.--Labour to convince such, how you detest all informers; speak of your confidence in him,--and that nothing shall persuade you but that he acts as he ought. But, since the heart of man naturally loves variety, and, from the depravity of the age, indulgences, which I call criminal, are allowed to them, Sir William may not pay that strict obedience to his part of the marriage contract as he ought; remember, my dear, his conduct can never exculpate any breach in your"s. Gentleness and complacency on your part are the only weapons you should prove to any little irregularity on his. By such behaviour, I doubt not, you will be happy, as you will deserve to be so."
Ah! my dear Louisa, what a loss shall I have in this venerable monitress! I will treasure up her excellent advice, and hope to reap the benefit of it.
If I dislike Lady Besford, I think I have more reason to be displeased with Lady Anne Parker.--She has more artifice, and is consequently a more dangerous companion. She has more than once given hints of the freedoms which Sir William allows in himself.--The other night at the opera she pointed out one of the dancers, and a.s.sured me, "Sir William was much envied for having subdued the virtue of that girl. That,"
continued she, "was her _vis a vis_ that you admired this morning; she lives in great taste; I suppose her allowance is superb." It is quite the _ton_ to keep opera-girls, though, perhaps, the men who support them never pay them a visit.--I therefore concluded this affair was one of that sort. Such creatures can never deprive me of my husband"s heart, and I should be very weak to be uneasy about such connexions.
Last night, however, a circ.u.mstance happened, which, I own, touched my heart more sensibly. Lady Anne insisted on my accompanying her to the opera. Sir William dined out; and, as our party was sudden, knew not of my intention of being there. Towards the end of the opera, I observed my husband in one of the upper-boxes, with a very elegant-looking woman, dressed in the genteelest taste, to whom he appeared very a.s.siduous.--"There is Sir William," said I.--"Yes," said Lady Anne, "but I dare say, he did not expect to see you here."
"Possibly not," I answered. A little female curiosity urged me to ask, if she knew who that lady was? She smiled, and answered, "she believed she did." A very favourite air being then singing, I dropped the conversation, though I could not help now and then stealing a look at my husband. I was convinced he must see and know me, as my situation in the house was very conspicuous; but I thought he seemed industriously to avoid meeting my eyes.--The opera being ended, we adjourned to the coffee-room; and, having missed Sir William a little time before, naturally expected to see him there; as it is customary for all the company to a.s.semble there previous to their going to their carriages.
A great number of people soon joined us. Baron Ton-hausen had just handed me a gla.s.s of orgeat; and was chatting in an agreeable manner, when Lord Biddulph came up. "Lady Stanley," said he, with an air of surprize, "I thought I saw you this moment in Sir William"s chariot. I little expected the happiness of meeting you here."
"You saw Sir William, my Lord, I believe," said Lady Anne; "but as to the Lady, you are mistaken--though I should have supposed you might have recognized your old friend Lucy Gardiner; they were together in one of the boxes.--Sly wretch! he thought we did not see him."
"Oh! you ladies have such penetrating eyes," replied his Lordship, "that we poor men--and especially the married ones, ought to be careful how we conduct ourselves. But, my dear Lady Stanley, how have you been entertained? Was not Rauzzini exquisite?"
"Can you ask how her Ladyship has been amused, when you have just informed her, her _Caro Sposo_ was seen with a favourite Sultana?"
"Pshaw!" said his Lordship, "there is nothing in that--_tout la mode de Francois_. The conduct of an husband can not discompose a Lady of sense.
What says the lovely Lady Stanley?"
"I answer," I replied very seriously, "Sir William has an undoubted right to act as he pleases. I never have or ever intend to prescribe rules to him; sufficient, I think, to conduct self."
"Bravo!" cried Lord Biddulph, "spoke like a heroine: and I hope my dear Lady Stanley will act as she pleases too."
"I do when I can," I answered.--Then, turning to Lady Anne, "Not to break in on your amus.e.m.e.nt," I continued, "will you give me leave to wait on you to Brook-street? you know you have promised to sup with me."
"Most chearfully," said she;--"but will you not ask the beaux to attend us?"
Lord Biddulph said, he was most unfortunately engaged to Lady D--"s route. The Baron refused, as if he wished to be intreated. Lady Anne would take no denial; and, when I a.s.sured him his company would give me pleasure, he consented.
I was handed to the coach by his Lordship, who took that opportunity of condemning Sir William"s want of taste; and lavishing the utmost encomiums on your Julia--with whom they pa.s.sed as nothing. If Sir William is unfaithful, Lord Biddulph is not the man to reconcile me to the s.e.x. I feel his motives in too glaring colours. No, the soft timidity of Ton-hausen, which, while it indicates the profoundest respect, still betrays the utmost tenderness--he it is alone who could restore the character of mankind, and raise it again in my estimation.
But what have I said? Dear Louisa, I blush at having discovered to you, that I am, past all doubt, the object of the Baron"s tender sentiments.
Ah! can I mistake those glances, which modest reserve and deference urge him to correct? Yet fear me not. I am married. My vows are registered in the book of heaven; and as, by their irreversible decree, I am bound to _honour_ and _obey_ my husband, so will I strive to _love_ him, and him alone; though I have long since ceased to be the object of his? Of what consequence, however, is that? I am indissolubly united to him; he was the man of my choice--to say he was the first man I almost ever saw--and to plead my youth and inexperience--oh! what does that avail? Nor does his neglect justify the least on my part.
"For man the lawless libertine may rove."
But this is a strange digression. The Baron accompanied us to supper.
During our repast, Lady Anne made a thousand sallies to divert us. My mind, however, seemed that night infected by the demon of despair. I could not be chearful--and yet, I am sure, I was not jealous of this Lucy Gardiner. Melancholy was contagious: Ton-hausen caught it--I observed him sometimes heave a suppressed sigh. Lady Anne was determined to dissipate the gloom which inveloped us, and began drawing, with her satirical pen, the characters of her acquaintance.
"Baron," said she, "did you not observe Lord P--, with his round unthinking face--how a.s.siduous he was to Miss W----, complimenting her on the brilliancy of her complexion, though he knows she wore more _rouge_ than almost any woman of quality--extolling her _forest of hair_, when most likely he saw it this morning brought in a band-box--and celebrating the pearly whiteness of her teeth, when he was present at their transplanting? But he is not a slave to propriety, or even common sense. No, dear creature, he has a soul above it. But did you not take notice of Lady L----, how she ogled Capt. F. when her b.o.o.by Lord turned his head aside? What a ridiculous fop is that! The most glaring proofs will not convince him of his wife"s infidelity. "Captain F." said he to me yesterday at court; "Captain F. I a.s.sure you, Lady Anne, is a great favourite with me." "It is a family partiality," said I; "Lady L. seems to have no aversion to him." "Ah, there you mistake, fair Lady. I want my Lady to have the same affection for him I have. He has done all he can to please her, and yet she does not seem satisfied with him." "Unconscionable!" cried I, "why then she is never to be satisfied." "Why so I say; but it proceeds from the violence of her attachment to me. Oh! Lady Anne, she is the most virtuous and discreetest Lady. I should be the happiest man in the world, if she would but shew a little more consideration to my friend." I think it a pity he does not know his happiness, as I have not the least doubt of F.
and her Ladyship having a pretty good understanding together." Thus was the thoughtless creature running on unheeded by either of us, when her harangue was interrupted by an alarming accident happening to me. I had sat some time, leaning my head on my hand; though, G.o.d knows! paying very little attention to Lady Anne"s sketches, when some of the superfluous ornaments of my head-dress, coming rather too near the candle, caught fire, and the whole farrago of ribbands, lace, and gew-gaws, were instantly in flames. I shrieked out in the utmost terror, and should have been a very great sufferer--perhaps been burnt to death--had not the Baron had the presence of mind to roll my head, flames and all, up in my shawl, which fortunately hung on the back of my chair; and, by such precaution, preserved the _capitol_. How ridiculous are the fashions, which render us liable to such accidents! My fright, however, proved more than the damage sustained. When the flames were extinguished, I thought Lady Anne would have expired with mirth; owing to the disastrous figure I made with my singed feathers, &c. The whimsical distress of the heroine of the Election Ball presented itself to her imagination; and the pale face of the affrighted Baron, during the conflagration, heightened the picture. "Even such a man," she cried, "so dead in look, so woe-be-gone! Excuse me, dear Ton-hausen--The danger is over now. I must indulge my risible faculties."
"I will most readily join with your Ladyship," answered the Baron, "as my joy is in proportion to what were my apprehensions. But I must condemn a fashion which is so injurious to the safety of the ladies."
The accident, however, disconcerted me not a little, and made me quite unfit for company. They saw the chagrin painted on my features, and soon took leave of me.
I retired to my dressing-room, and sent for Win, to inspect the almost ruinated fabrick; but such is the construction now-a-days, that a head might burn for an hour without damaging the genuine part of it. A lucky circ.u.mstance! I sustained but little damage--in short, nothing which Monsieur _Corross_ could not remedy in a few hours.
My company staying late, and this event besides, r.e.t.a.r.ded my retiring to rest till near three in the morning. I had not left my dressing-room when Sir William entered.
"Good G.o.d! not gone to bed yet, Julia? I hope you did not sit up for me.
You know that is a piece of ceremony I would chuse to dispense with; as it always carries a tacit reproach under an appearance of tender solicitude." I fancied I saw in his countenance a consciousness that he deserved reproach, and a determination to begin first to find fault. I was vexed, and answered, "You might have waited for the reproach at least, before you pre-judged my conduct. Nor can you have any apprehensions that I should make such, having never taken that liberty.
Neither do you do me justice in supposing me capable of the meanness you insinuate, on finding me up at this late hour. That circ.u.mstance is owing to an accident, by which I might have been a great sufferer; and which, though you so unkindly accuse me of being improperly prying and curious, I will, if you permit me, relate to you, in order to justify myself." He certainly expected I should ask some questions which would be disagreeable to him; and therefore, finding me totally silent on that head, his features became more relaxed; he enquired, with some tenderness, what alarming accident I hinted at. I informed him of every circ.u.mstance.--My account put him into good humour; and we laughed over the droll scene very heartily. Observing, however, I was quite _en dishabille_, "My dear girl," cried he, throwing his arm round me, "I doubt you will catch cold, notwithstanding you so lately represented a burning-mountain. Come," continued he, "will you go to bed?" While he spoke, he pressed me to his bosom; and expressed in his voice and manner more warmth of affection than he had discovered since I forsook the mountains. He kissed me several times with rapture; and his eyes dwelt on me with an ardor I have long been unused to behold. The adventure at the opera returned to my imagination. These caresses, thought I, have been bestowed on one, whose prost.i.tuted charms are more admired than mine. I sighed--"Why do you sigh, Julia?" asked my husband. "I know not," I answered. "I ought not to sigh in the very moment I am receiving proofs of your affection. But I have not lately received such proofs, and therefore perhaps I sighed."
"You are a foolish girl, Julia, yet a good one too"--cried he, kissing me again: "Foolish, to fancy I do not love you; and a good girl, not to ask impertinent questions. That is, your tongue is silent, but you have wicked eyes, Julia, that seek to look into my inmost thoughts."--"Then I will shut them," said I, affecting to laugh--but added, in a more serious tone--"I will see no further than you would wish me; to please you, I will _be blind, insensible and blind_."
"But, as you are not deaf, I will tell you what you well know--that I was at the opera--and with a lady too.--Do not, however, be jealous, my dear: the woman I was with was perfectly indifferent to me. I met her by accident--but I had a mind to see what effect such a piece of flirtation would have on you. I am not displeased with your behaviour; nor would I have you so with mine."
"I will in all my best obey you," said I.--"Then go to bed," said he--"_To bed, my love, and I will follow thee_."
You will not scruple to p.r.o.nounce this a reasonable long letter, my dear Louisa, for a modern fine lady.--Ah! shield me from that character!
Would to heaven Sir William was no more of the modern fine gentleman in his heart! I could be happy with him.--Yes, Louisa--was I indeed the object of his affections, not merely so of his pa.s.sions, which, I fear, I am, I could indeed be happy with him. My person still invites his caresses--but for the softer sentiments of the soul--that ineffable tenderness which depends not on the tincture of the skin--of that, alas!
he has no idea. A voluptuary in love, he professes not that delicacy which refines all its joys. His is all pa.s.sion; sentiment is left out of the catalogue. Adieu!
JULIA STANLEY.
LETTER XIV.
TO THE SAME.
I hope, my dearest Louisa will not be too much alarmed at a whole fortnight"s silence. Ah! Louisa, the event which occasioned it may be productive of very fatal consequences to me--yet I will not despair. No, I will trust in a good G.o.d, and the virtuous education I have had. They will arm me to subdue inclinations, irreversible fate has rendered improper. But to the point.