CHAP. IV.
The power of fear over a mind, weak either by nature, or infirmities of body: The danger of its leading to despair, is shewn by the condition Natura was reduced to by the importunities of priests of different perswasions. This chapter also demonstrates, the little power people have of judging what is really best for them, and that what has the appearance of the severest disappointment, is frequently the greatest good.
As to lose the memory of his disgrace, or at least all those gloomy reflections it had occasioned, was the chief motive which had made Natura resolve to travel a second time, it was a matter of indifference to him which way he went. He first took care to make himself master of all that was worth observation in Holland, where he found little to admire, except the Stadthouse, and the magnificence with which king William, after his accession to the crown of these kingdoms, had ornamented his palace at Loo; but the rough, unpolite behaviour of the people, disgusted him so much, that he stayed no longer among them than was necessary to see what the place afforded, and then passed on to Brussels, Antwerp, and, in fine, left no great city, either in Dutch or French Flanders unvisited; thence went into Germany, where his first route was to Hanover, having, it seems, a curiosity of seeing a prince, whose brows were one day to be incircled with the crown of England; but this country was, at that time, in so low and wretched a condition, that whether he looked on the buildings, the lands, or the appearance of the inhabitants, all equally presented a scene of poverty to his eyes; he therefore made what haste he could out of it, having found nothing, except the Elector himself, that gave him the least satisfaction. He was also at several other petty courts, all which served to inspire in him not the most favourable idea of Germany.
At length he arrived at Vienna, a city pompous enough to those who had never seen Rome and Paris; but however it may yield to them in elegance of buildings, gardening, and other delicacies of life, it was yet more inferior in the manners of the people; — he perceived among the persons of quality, an affectation of grandeur, a state without greatness, and in the lower rank of gentry, a certain stiffness, even to the meanest, and an insufferable pride, which came pretty near ferocity: — the costly, but ill-contrived parades frequently made, discovered less their riches than their bad taste, and appeared the more ridiculous to Natura, as they were extolled for their magnificence and elegance; but, even here, as indeed all over Germany, the courts of Berlin and Dresden excepted, you see rather an aim of attracting admiration and respect, than the power of it. These, however, were the sentiments of Natura, others perhaps may judge differently.
But whatever may be the deficiencies of Germany in matters of genius, wit, judgment, and manners, there is none in good eating, and good wine; and though their fashion of cookery is not altogether so polite, nor so agreeable to the palates of others as their own, yet it must be confessed, that in their way, they are very great epicures; but though they generally eat voraciously, they drink yet more; and so nimbly do they send the glass about, that a stranger finds it no small difficulty to maintain his sobriety among them.
Natura's too great compliance with their intreaties in this point, had like to have proved fatal to him: — the strength of the wines, and drinking them in a much larger quantity than he had been accustomed to, so inflamed his blood, that he soon fell into a violent fever, which for some days gave those that attended him, little hopes of his recovery; but by the skill of his physician, joined to his youth, and the goodness of his constitution, the force of the distemper at last abated, yet could not be so intirely eradicated, as not to leave a certain pressure and debility upon the nerves, by some called a fever on the spirits, which seemed to threaten either an atrophy or consumption; his complexion grew pale and livid, and his strength and flesh visibly wasted; and what was yet worse, the vigour of his mind decayed, in proportion with that of his external frame, insomuch that, falling into a deep melancholy, he considered himself as on the brink of the grave, and expected nothing but dissolution every hour.
While he continued in this languishing condition, he was frequently visited by the priests, who in some parts of Germany, particularly at Vienna, are infinitely more inveterate against Protestantism than at Paris, or even at Rome, though the papal seat; as indeed any one may judge, who has heard of the many and cruel persecutions practised upon the poor Protestants by the emperors, in spite of the repeated obligations they have had to those powers who profess the doctrines of Calvin and Luther; but gratitude is no part of the characteristic of a German.
These venerable distracters of the human mind, were perpetually ringing hell and damnation in his ears, in case he abjured not, before his death, the errors in which he had been educated, and continued in so many years, and by acts of penance and devotion, reconcile himself to the mother church; they pleaded the antiquity of their faith, brought all the fathers they could muster up, to prove that alone was truly orthodox, and that all dissenting from it was a sin not to be forgiven.
On the other hand, the English ambassador's chaplain, who knew well enough what they were about, omitted nothing that might confirm him in the principles of the reformation, and convince him that the church of England, as by law established, had departed only from the errors which had crept into the primitive church, not from the church itself, and that all the superstitious doctrines now preached up by the Romish priests, were only so many impositions of their own, calculated to inrich themselves, and keep weak minds in awe.
Natura, who had till now contented himself with understanding moral duties, and had never examined into matters of controversy between the two religions, now found both had so much to say in defence of their different modes of worship, that he became very much divided in his sentiments; and each remonstrating to him by turns, the danger of dying in a wrong belief, wrought so far upon the present weakness of his intellects, as to bring him into a fluctation of ideas, which might, in time, either have driven him into despair, or made him question the very fundamentals of a religion, the merits of which its professors seemed to place so much in things of meer form and ceremony.
By this may be seen how greatly christianity suffers by the unhappy divisions among the professors of it: — much it is to be wished, though little to be hoped, that both sides would be prevailed upon to recede a little from their present stiffness in opinion, or be at least less virulent in maintaining it; since each, by endeavouring to expose and confute what they look upon as an absurdity in the other, join in contributing to render the truth of the whole suspected, and not only give a handle to the avowed enemies, of depreciating and ridiculing all the sacred mysteries of religion, but also stagger the faith of a great many well-meaning people, and afford but a too plausible pretence for that sceptism which goes by the name of free-thinking, and is of late so much the fashion.
In another situation, perhaps, Natura would have been little affected with any thing could have been said on this score; but health and sickness make a wide difference in our way of thinking: — when surrounded by the gay pleasures of life, and in the full vigour and capacity of enjoying them, we either do not reflect at all, or but cursorily on the evil day; but when cold imbecility steals upon us, either through age or accidents, and death and eternity stare us in the face, we have quite other sentiments, other wishes: — whoever firmly believes, that in leaving this life, we but step into another, either of happiness or misery, and that which ever it proves, will be without end, or possibility of change, and that the whole of future welfare depends on the road we take in going out of this world, will be very fearful lest he should chuse the wrong; and it is not therefore strange, that while, with equal force, the papist pulled one way, and the protestant another, the poor penitent should be involved in the most terrible uncertainty.
Happy, therefore, was it, both for the recovery of his mind and body, that his physicians finding all their recipes had little effect, advised him to seek relief from the waters of the Spa, and as it was their opinion, they would be of more efficacy, when drank upon the spot, he accordingly took his journey thither, but by reason of his weakness, was obliged to be carried the whole way in a litter.
It is very probable, that being eased of the perplexities the incessant admonitions of the priests of different opinions had given him, contributed as much as the waters to his amendment; but to which ever of these causes it may be imputed, it is certain that he every day became better, and as his strength of body returned, so did that of his mind, in proportion; with his apprehensions of death, his disquiets about matters of religion subsided also, and whenever any thing of that kind came cross his thoughts, it was but by starts, and was soon dissipated with other ideas, which many objects at this place presented him with.
But that to which he was chiefly indebted for the recovery of his former gaiety of temper, was meeting with an English family, with whom he had been extremely intimate; the lady had come thither for the same purpose he had done, her husband being very tender of her, would needs accompany her, and they brought with them their only daughter, a young lady of great beauty, and not above eighteen, in hopes, as they said, of alleviating a certain melancholly, to which she was addicted, without any cause, at least any that was visible, for it.
Natura had often seen the amiable Maria (for so she was called) but had never felt for her any of those pleasing, and equally painful, emotions, which a nearer conversation with her now inspired him with: — he had always thought her very handsome, but she now appeared perfectly adorable in his eyes: — the manner of her behaviour, that modest sweetness which appeared through her whole deportment, and seemed, as it were, a part of her soul, had for him irresistible charms; and as he very well knew the circumstances of her family, such as his friends could make no reasonable objections against, nor his own such as could be thought contemptible by those of her kindred, he attempted not to repel the satisfaction which he felt, in the hopes of being one day able to make an equal impression on her heart.
The very first use he made of his intire recovery from his late indisposition, was an endeavour to convince her how much her presence had contributed to it, and that the supremest wish his soul could form, was to enjoy it with her in the nearest, and most tender union, as long as life continued. — She received the declarations he made her of his passion with great reserve, and yet more coldness; and affected to take them only for the effects of a gallantry, which she told him was far from being agreeable to a person of her humour: but he imputing her behaviour only to an excess of that extreme modesty which accompanied all her words and actions, was so far from being rebuffed at it, that he acquainted her parents with his inclination, and, at the same time, intreated their permission for prosecuting his addresses to her.
Both of them heard his proposals with a joy which it was impossible for either, especially the mother of that lady, to conceal: — each cried out, almost at the same time, that the sentiments he expressed for their daughter, was an honour they hoped she had too much good sense not to accept with the utmost satisfaction, and added, that they would immediately lay their commands upon her, to receive him in the manner she ought to do.
As their families and fortunes were pretty equivalent, and Maria, besides her being an heiress, had beauty enough to expect to marry, even above her rank, Natura could not keep himself from being a little astonished at the extravagance of pleasure they testified at the offer he had made: parents generally take some time to consider, before they give their assent to a proposal of this sort; and as he knew they were very well acquainted with the occasion of his leaving England this second time, and were of a party the most opposite that could be to that he was suspected to have favoured, their extreme readiness to dispose of their only daughter, and with her their whole estate, to him seemed the more strange, as he had been, ever since he conceived a passion for Maria, in the most terrible apprehension of meeting with a different reception from them, meerly on the account of his supposed principles.
The transport, however, that so unexpected a condescension gave him, prevented him from examining too deeply what might be the motives that induced them to it, and he gave himself wholly up to love, gratitude, and the delightful thoughts of being in a short time possessed of all he at present wished, or imagined he ever should ask of Heaven.
But how were all these rapturous expectations dashed, when soon after going to visit Maria, he found her lovely eyes half drowned in tears, and her whole frame in the utmost disorder: — “What, madam,” cried he, with a voice which denoted both grief and surprize, “can have happened, to give you any cause of the disquiet I see in you!” — “You,” replied she, snatching away her hand, which he had taken, “you alone are the cause; — what encouragement did I ever give you,” continued she, “that should make you imagine the offers you have made my parents would be agreeable to me? — Did I ever authorize you to ask a consent from them, which I was determined never to grant myself, and which, I will suffer a thousand deaths rather than ratify.”
The confusion Natura was in at these words was so great, that it prevented him from making any answer; but he looked on her in such a manner as made her ashamed of what she had said, and perhaps too of the passion that had so far transported her; and perceiving he still continued silent, “I own myself obliged for the affection you express for me,” resumed she, with more mildness, “though it is at present the greatest misfortune could have happened to me. Could I have thought you would have declared yourself in the manner you have done to my father and mother, I would have convinced you how impossible it would be for you to reap any advantage from it, and that by so doing you would only make me the most wretched creature in the world; but all is now too late, and I foresee the cruel consequence.” — Here her tears interrupted the passage of her words, and Natura having recollected himself, began to complain of the severity of his destiny, which compelled him to love with the most violent passion a person who could only return it with an equal degree of hate. — “Love,” replied she, with a deep sigh, “is not in our power; — let me therefore conjure you, by all that which you pretend to have for me, to proceed no farther in this business, nor endeavour to prevail on my parents to force an inclination, which no obligations to them, services from you, or length of time can ever influence in your favour; for be assured, that if you do, you will only see the hand should be given you at the altar, employed in cutting my own throat, or plunging a dagger in my breast.”
With these words, and an air that had somewhat of wildness in it, she flung out of the room, leaving him in a consternation impossible to describe, almost to conceive; her mother came in immediately after, and judging by his countenance how her daughter had behaved, told him he must not regard the coyness of a young girl; that she doubted not but Maria would soon be convinced what was her true happiness; and that a little perseverance and assiduity on his side, and authority on theirs, would remove all the scruples, bashfulness alone had created in her: “No, madam,” answered he, with some impatience, “there is somewhat more than all this you have mentioned, against me; — there is a rooted detestation to me in the very soul of Maria, which as I cannot but despair of being ever able to remove, common reason bids me attempt no farther.”
The mother of Maria appeared very much perplexed, and said a great deal to perswade him that his apprehensions were without foundation; but the young lady had expressed herself in terms too strong for him not to be perfectly assured she was in earnest; and being willing to ruminate a little on the affair, he took leave, though not without the other extorting a promise from him, of coming again the next day.
Natura had not given himself much time to reflect, before he conceived great part of the truth: — he could not think either his person or qualifications so contemptible, as to inspire a heart unprepossessed by some other object, with an aversion such as Maria had expressed: he therefore concluded, she had disposed of her affections before she knew of his: it also seemed plain to him that her parents were not ignorant of her attachment, and being such as they could not approve of, it was that which had rendered them both so ready to snatch at his proposal, without any mention of those considerations they would otherwise naturally have had of jointure, settlements, and all those things, previous to marriage, between persons of condition.
He was the more confirmed in this belief, when the father came to his lodgings the next morning; and without seeming to know any thing of what had passed between him, either with his wife, or Maria, asked, in a gay manner, how the latter had received his addresses? To which Natura answered in the same manner as he had done to her mother; adding only, that he could not avoid believing her heart was already engaged to some more worthy man, and was sorry his own unhappy passion had occasioned any interruption. The father left nothing unsaid that might dissipate such a conjecture, and affected to railly him on a jealousy which, he said, was common to lovers; and then told him a long story how himself had formerly suffered much by the same vain imagination. But all this was so far from making Natura doubt the truth of his conjectures, that, seeing through the artifice, he was the more convinced they were intirely right.
He went, notwithstanding, in the afternoon, either because he had promised to do so, or because he could not all at once resolve to banish himself from a person he took so much pleasure in beholding, though now without hopes of ever being able to obtain: — being left alone with Maria, both of them remained in a kind of sullen silence for some minutes, till at last the force of his passion in spite of himself made him utter some complaints on the cruelty of fortune, and his own insensibility, which had denied him the opportunity of discovering the thousand charms he now found in her, till too late to have his adoration of them acceptable to her. “I have not less reason,” said she, “to accuse the chance which at this time brought us together, than you can possibly have; since the love you profess for me, and which I once more assure you I can never return, has laid me under the severest displeasure of my parents”; — “but I had hopes,” continued she, “after the declaration I made you yesterday, that you would have renounced all pretensions to me, and had generosity enough in your nature, not to have taken the advantage of my father and mother's power over me, to force me into a compliance, which must be fatal to one or both of us.”
“No, madam,” answered he, much surprized, “I am far from even a wish of becoming guilty of what you accuse me with; — dear as I prize your person, I would not attempt to purchase it at the expence of your peace of mind; nor could I be truly blessed in the enjoyment of the one, without the other; — it is only to Maria herself I would have been obliged, not to the authority of her parents.”
“Will you then quit me,” cried she hastily, “and let the act appear wholly your own?” — “I will,” replied he, after a pause, “difficult as it is to do so, and irresolute and inconstant as it will make me seem.” “That,” said she, “will be an action truly deserving my esteem; and in return, know I am much more your friend in refusing your addresses, than either my parents in encouraging, or your own mistaken wishes in offering them”: — “but,” pursued she, “I beg you will enquire no farther, but leave me, and break off with my parents in the best manner you can.”
Fain would he have obtained a farther explanation of words, which seemed to him to contain some mystery, as indeed they did; but she was no less inflexible to his intreaties on that score, than she had been to those of his love; and perceiving his presence gave her only pain, he went out of the house with an aking and agitated heart, but resolved to do as she desired and he had promised, whatever pangs it cost him.
He had not gone above an hundred paces on his way home, before he was accosted by a man who seemed like an upper-servant in a gentleman's family, and who, with a low bow, delivered him a letter, which, on seeing directed to himself, he hastily opened, and found contained these lines:
Sir,
“If you have any thing in you of the gallantry, generosity, or gratitude, for which your country is famed, come where the bearer will conduct you, to a woman, who has suffered much on your account, and can be extricated from an unhappy affair only by your advice.”
Natura was little in a humour to pursue an adventure of the kind this seemed to be; but curiosity got the better of his spleen, and he bad the fellow lead the way, and he would follow; which he accordingly did, till they were out of the town, and from the sight of all the houses.
Being come into a field which was a kind of an inclosure, and a theatre proper enough for the tragedy intended to be acted on it, the fellow turned back, and drew a pistol, which he instantly discharged at the head of Natura, crying at the same time, “Maria sends you this.” — Heaven so directed the bullets, that the one passed by his ear, and the other only grazed upon his shoulder, without doing any farther damage, than taking away a small piece of his sleeve. It is easy to judge of his surprize, yet was it not so great as to disable him from drawing his sword in order to revenge himself on the assassin; but the wretch, in case his fire-arms should miscarry, had provided a falchion concealed under his coat, with which, the same instant, he ran furiously on Natura, and had certainly cleft him down, tho' perhaps in doing so, he might have received his own death's wound at the same time from the sword of his antagonist; but both these events were happily prevented by the peculiar interposition of Divine Providence: some reapers, who had lain asleep under an adjacent hedge, being roused with the noise of the pistol, ran to the combatants, and with their hooks beat down both their weapons; while at the same fortunate crisis, two gentlemen attended by three servants, who happening to cross a road which had a full prospect over the field, had seen, at a distance, all that had passed, and came galloping up to the assistance of Natura, who was then beginning to interrogate the villain on the occasion of this attempt; but he refused to give any satisfactory answer to what he said, so was dragged by the countrymen, and others, who by this time were gathered together, back into the town, and carried immediately before a magistrate, who, on his obstinately refusing to make any confession, committed him to prison.
Natura, who imagined nothing more certain, than that Maria had set this fellow on to murder him, as the surest way to get rid of his addresses, went directly to the house where she lodged, full of a resentment equal to the detestable crime of which he thought her guilty; — he found her in the room with her father and mother, of whom he took little notice, but stepped forwards to the place where she was sitting; and seeing her a little surprized, which indeed was occasioned only by his sudden return, and the abrupt manner in which he entered: — “You find, madam,” said he, with a voice broke with rage, “your plot has miscarried; — Natura still lives, though it must be owned your emissary did all could be expected to obey your commands, for my destruction.”
It is hard to say, whether Maria, or her parents, were in the greatest consternation at these words; but he soon unravelled the mystery, by relating the whole story, not omitting what the assassin said in presenting the pistol, and then as a confirmation throwed the letter he had received into Maria's lap, and at the same time shewed the passage one of the bullets had made through the sleeve of his coat: — the young lady no sooner cast her eyes upon the letter, than she gave a great shriek, and crying out, “O Humphry, Humphry! every way my ruin!” immediately fell fainting on the floor; her father, without regarding the condition she was in, snatched up the paper, the hand-writing of which he presently recollected, as having, it seems, intercepted several wrote by the same person; — “Abandoned, infamous creature,” cried he; — “shame of thy sex and family,” added the mother, striking her breast in the utmost agony: — in fine, never was such a scene of distraction and despair! — Natura, injured as he had been, could not behold it without compassion; — he ran by turns to Maria, endeavouring to raise her, — then to her parents, beseeching them to moderate their passion, — then to her again: — “You are too generous,” said the father, “let her die, happy had it been if she had perished in the cradle”: — Just as he spoke these words she revived, and lifting up her eyes, “O, I am no murd'ress,” cried she, “guilty as I am, in this Heaven knows my innocence.” — “It is false, it is false,” said the father; “but were it true, canst thou deny, thou most abandoned wretch, that thou wert also ignorant that the villain who wrote this letter had followed us to Spaw, and bring a second shame upon us?” — She answered to this only with her tears, which assuring him she had no defence to make on this article, his rage grew more inflamed; he loaded her with curses, and could not keep himself from spurning her with his feet, as she still lay groveling on the ground, and might perhaps have proceeded to greater violences, had not Natura, by main force, with-held him, while her mother, tho' little less incensed against her, dragged her in a manner out of the room, more dead than alive.
The unhappy object removed from his sight, the provoked father grew somewhat more calm, and turning to Natura, “You see now, sir,” said he, “how unworthy this wretched girl is of that affection with which you once honoured her; but how shall I obtain your pardon for what the too great tenderness for an only child has made me guilty of to you; — all I can say is, that I hoped she had been reclaimed, and so far from even a wish to repeat her crimes, that she had only an utter detestation for the villain that had seduced her.”
Natura knew very well how he ought to judge of this affair; but as he had an aversion to dissimulation, and was unwilling to add any thing to the affliction he was witness to, he said little in answer to the other's apology, but that he was extremely sorry for Maria, and the misfortunes she had brought on the family; and then took his leave as soon as decency would permit; but with a firm resolution to hold no farther conversation, wherever they should hereafter happen to meet, with persons who had all of them, in their several capacities, used him so ill.
The assassin was soon after brought to a public trial, where tortures making him confess the truth, he acknowledged, that having been a servant in the family, the beauty of Maria had inspired him with desires, unbefitting the disparity between them; — that emboldened by an extraordinary goodness she shewed to him, he had declared his passion, and met with all the returns he wished; — that she became pregnant by him, and had made a vow to keep herself single, till the death of her father should leave her at liberty to marry him; but that an unlucky accident having discovered their amour, he was turned out of the house, and the grief Maria conceived at it occasioned an abortion; but that after her recovery she contrived means to meet him privately, and to support him with money, that he might not be obliged to go to service any more; that she had acquainted him with their coming to the Spa, and not only knew of his following them in disguise to that place, but contrived a rendezvous where they saw each other often, and he learned from her the addresses of Natura, and the positive commands laid on her by her parents of marrying him, in order to retrieve her honour and reputation; that as besides the extreme love he had for her, his own interest obliged him to hinder the match, if by any means he could; and finding no other than the death of his rival, he had attempted it by the way already mentioned: but cleared Maria, however, of all guilt on this score, who, he assured the court, knew nothing of his intentions of murder.
The sentence passed on him was, to be hanged in chains, which was accordingly executed in a few days; though Natura, pitying his case, in consideration of the greatness of the temptation, laboured for a mitigation of his doom. — He never saw the unfortunate Maria afterwards, but heard she was in a condition little different from madness, which making her parents think it improper she should return to England, they conveyed her to Liege, where they placed her as a pensioner in the convent of English nuns, there to remain till time and reflection should make a change in her, fit to appear again in the world; which proceeding in them shewed, that whatever aversion some people have to this, or that form of religion, they can countenance, nay, pretend to approve it, when it happens to prove for their convenience to do so.
Natura was now intirely cured of his passion, but could not avoid feeling a very tender commiseration for her, who had been the unhappy object of it; he found also, on meditating on every passage of this adventure, that she was infinitely less to blame, in regard to him, than her parents had been; and that what he had accused, as cruel in her, was much more kind than the favour they had pretended for him. — When he reflected on the gulph of misery he had so narrowly escaped, he was filled with the most grateful sentiments to that Providence which had protected him; and also made sensible, that what we often pray for, as the greatest of blessings, would, if obtained, prove the severest curse: — a reflection highly necessary for all who desire any thing with too much ardency.