The Ladies": A Shining Constellation of Wit and Beauty Part 5

"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 s.l.u.ts, 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, G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 ma.n.u.script 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._

[Ill.u.s.tration: Lady Mary Wotley Montague]

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 G.o.ddess-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 pa.s.s that vice is scarce worth the pain of concealing. Yet when it becomes the general rule, sure there is nothing so stale! Its facility d.a.m.ns 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 gout_ 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 s.e.x, 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 sur, 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 G.o.ds 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 pa.s.sed 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 cla.s.s. 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-st.i.tch, 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."