CHAP. IV.
Contains a further definition of revenge, its force, effects, and the chasm it leaves on the mind when once it ceases. The tranquility of being entirely devoid of all passions; and the impossibility for the soul to remain in that state of inactivity is also shewn; with some remarks on human nature in general, when left to itself.
I have already shewn, in the example of Natura, how not only resentment for injuries, but even the extremest and most justifiable rage, may be subjected to ambition, and afterwards how that ambition may be quelled and totally extinguished by grief; and also that grief itself, how violent soever it appears, may subside at the emotions of revenge. — This last and worst passion alone finds nothing capable of overcoming it, while the object remains in being. It is true, that we frequently in the hurry of resentment, threaten, and sometimes act every thing in our power, against the person who has offended us, yet on his submission and appearing sorry for what he has done, we not only forgive, but also forget all has past, and no longer bear him the least ill will; but then, this passion, by which we have been actuated, is not properly revenge, but anger, of which I have already sufficiently spoke, and, I flatter myself, proved how wide the difference is between these two emotions.
Natura had no sooner taken it into his head to revenge himself in the manner above related, on his transgressing brother, than he resumed great part of his former chearfulness, conversed again in the world as he had been accustomed; nor, though he perceived his interest with the minister fall off ever since he had been divorced from his neice, and easily foresaw, that he would, from his friend, become in time his greatest enemy, yet it gave him little or no concern, so wholly were his thoughts and desires taken up with accomplishing what he had resolved.
He was, however, for some time deliberating within himself to whom he should direct his addresses on this score; the general acquaintance he had in the world, brought many ladies into his mind, who seemed suitable matches for him; but then, as they were of equal birth and fortunes with himself, he reflected, that a long formal courtship would be expected, and he was now grown too indolent to take that trouble, as he was not excited by inclination to any of them, and had determined to enter a third time into the bonds of matrimony, meerly through the hope of depriving his brother of the estate.
Besides, the accidents which had lately happened to him, had very much altered his way of thinking, and though he had shaken off great part of the chagrin they had occasioned, yet there still remained a certain languor and inactivity of mind, which destroyed all the relish he formerly had of the noisy pleasures of life: — he began now to despise that farce of grandeur he once testified so high a value for, and to look on things as they really deserved; — he found his interest with those at the helm of public affairs, was very much sunk, and he was so far from taking any steps to retrieve it, that he seldom went even to pay that court to them, which his station demanded from him; — he grew so weary of the post which he had, with the utmost eagerness, sought after, and thought himself happy in enjoying, that he never rested till he had disposed of it, which he did for a much less consideration than it was really worth, meerly because he would be in a state of perfect independency, and at full liberty to speak and act, according to the dictates of his conscience, or his inclination.
He was no sooner eased of his attendance at court by this means, than he retired to his country seat, in which he now thought he found more satisfaction, than the town, with all its hurrying pleasures could afford; there he intended to pass the greatest part of the remainder of his days, with some woman of prudence and good nature, which were the two chief requisites he now wished to find in a wife. — There were several well-jointured widows in the county where he resided, and also young ladies of family and fortune, but he never made the least overtures to any of them, and behaved with that indifference to the sex, that it was the opinion of all who conversed with him, that he never designed to marry again, when at the same time, he thought of nothing more than to find a partner in that state, such as promised to prove what he desired.
To this end he watched attentively the behaviour of all those he came in company with, and as he was master of a good deal of penetration, and also no small experience in the sex, and besides was not suspected to have any views that way, it is certain he had a good chance not to be deceived.
It was not among the fine ladies, the celebrated beauties, nor the great fortunes, he sought himself a wife; but among those of a middling rank; he only wished to have one who might bring him children, and be addicted to no vice, or caprice, that should either scandalize him abroad, or render him uneasy at home, and in all his inspection, he found none who seemed so likely to answer his desires in every respect as a young maid called Lætitia; she was the daughter of a neighbouring yeoman, not disagreeable in her person, or behaviour, yet possessed of no accomplishments, but those which nature had bestowed: her father was an honest plain man, he had four sons and two daughters, who had been married some time, and had several children; Lætitia was his youngest, and promised to be no less fruitful than her sisters; and this last was the chief inducement which made Natura fix his choice upon her.
Having resolved to seek no farther, he frequently went to the old man's house, pretending he took delight in country affairs, would walk with him about his grounds, and into his barns, and see the men who were at work in them. One day he took an opportunity of going when he knew he was abroad, designing to break his mind to the young Lætitia, who, being her father's housekeeper, he did not doubt finding at home: accordingly she was so; and, after some previous discourse, a little boy of one of her sisters, being playing about the room, “This it a fine child,” said he; “when do you design to marry, pretty Mrs. Lætitia?” — “Should you not like to be a mother of such diverting little pratlers?” — “It is time enough, sir,” replied she modestly, “for me to think of any such thing.” — “If you get a good husband,” resumed he, “it cannot be too soon”: — “Nor, if a bad one, too late,” cried she, “as there are great odds on that side.” — “That is true,” said he, “but I believe there are many ill husbands, who owe their being such, to the ill conduct of their wives”: — “now I fancy,” continued he, “whoever is so happy as to have you, will have no such excuse; for I firmly believe you have in you all the requisites to make the marriage state agreeable.” To this she only made a curtesy, and thanked him for his good opinion: “I do assure you,” resumed he, “it is so sincere, that I should be glad to prove it, by making you my wife. What say you,” pursued he, “could you be willing to accept of my addresses on that score?” With these words he took hold of her hand, and pressing it with a great deal of warmth, occasioned her to blush excessively. — The inability she was in of speaking, through the shame this question had excited in her, gave him an opportunity of prosecuting what he had begun, and saying many tender things, to convince her he was in earnest; but when at last she gave him an answer, it was only such as made him see she gave little credit to his professions. — Some people coming in on business to her father, and saying they would wait till he came home, obliged Natura to take his leave for that time, well satisfied in his mind, that he had declared himself, and not much doubting, but that in spite of this first shyness, she would easily be prevailed upon to correspond with his desires, when his perseverance in them, should have assured her of their sincerity.
He was, notwithstanding, a good deal surprized, when, going several times after to the house, he could scarce see her, and never be able to exchange a word with her in private, so industriously did she avoid coming into his presence. — Such a behaviour, he thought, could proceed only from one of these two motives, either thro' an extraordinary dislike to his person, or through the fears of giving any indulgence to an inclination, which the disparity between them might make her mistake for a dishonourable one. Sometimes he was tempted to think the one, sometimes the other; but not being of a humour to endure suspense, he resolved to take effectual measures for coming at the certainty.
He went one day about noon, and told the yeoman he was come to take a dinner with him, on which the other replied, that he did him a great deal of honour; but should have been glad to have been previously acquainted with it, in order to have been prepared to receive a gentleman of his condition. — “No,” said Natura, “I chose to come upon you unawares, not only to prevent you from giving yourself any superfluous trouble on my account, but also because I would use a freedom, which should authorize you to treat me with the same; — we are neighbours,” continued he, “and neighbours should be friends, and love one another.”
Some other little chat on trivial affairs passed away the short time between the coming of Natura, and dinner being brought in; on which, the yeoman intreated him to sit down, and partake of such homely food as he found there. — “That I shall gladly do,” answered Natura, “but I waited for your fair daughter; I hope we shall have her company. I do not know,” said the yeoman, “I think they told me she was not very well, had got the head-ach, or some such ailment; — go, however,” pursued he, to a servant, “and see if Lætitia can come down.” — “But, sir,” cried he, perceiving his guest discovered no inclination to place himself at the table, “do not let us wait for her.”
Natura on this sat down, and they both began to eat, when the person who had been sent to call Lætitia returned, and said, she begged to be excused, being very much indisposed, and unfit to be seen. — The old man seemed to take no notice, but pressed Natura to eat, and somewhat embarrassed him with the many apologies he made for the coarseness of his entertainment; to all which he gave but short answers, till the cloth was taken away, and they were alone. — Then, “I could not wish to dine more to my satisfaction,” said he, “if the sweetness of your meat had not been imbittered by your daughter's absence”; — “to be plain,” continued he, “I fear I am the disease which occasions her retirement.” — “You, sir!” cried the father, affecting a surprize, which he was not so well skilled in the art of dissimulation, to make appear so natural, but that Natura easily saw into the feint, and told him with a smile, that he found the country had its arts as well as the court: — “but let us deal sincerely with each other,” pursued he, “I am very certain, it is from no other motive, than my being here, that your daughter refused to come to table; and I also faithfully believe you are no stranger to that motive: — be therefore free with me; and to encourage you to be so, I shall acquaint you, that I have made some overtures to Mrs. Lætitia, — that I like her, and that my frequent visits to you have been entirely on her account: — now, be as sincere with me, and let me know, whether the offers I made her will be approved.”
The yeoman was a little dashed on Natura's speaking in this manner, and was some moments before he could recollect himself sufficiently to make any reply; and, when at last he had, all he could bring out was, “Sir, my girl is honest, and I hope will always continue so.”
“I am far from doubting her virtue in the least,” answered Natura hastily, “but I think I cannot give a greater testimony of the good opinion I have of her, than by offering to make her my wife.” — “Ah, sir,” cried the yeoman, interrupting him, “you must excuse me, if I cannot flatter myself you have any thoughts of doing us that honour. — I am a mean man, of no parentage, and it is well known have brought up a large family by the sweat of my brow.” — “Lætitia is a poor country maid; — it is true, the girl is well enough, but has nothing, — nothing at all, alas! in her to balance for that vast disparity of birth and fortune between you.”
“Talk no more of that,” said Natura, taking him by the hand, “such as she is, I like her; and I once more assure you, that I never had any dishonourable intentions on her, but am ready to prove the contrary, by marrying her, as soon as she approves of me, and you agree to it.”
The old man looked very earnestly on him all the while he was speaking, and knew not well whether he ought to give credit to what he said, or not, — Natura, perceiving his diffidence, continued, by sparing neither arguments, nor the most solemn imprecations, to remove it, till he was at last assured of a good fortune, which, as he said, he had thought too extraordinary to happen in his family. He then told Natura he would acquaint his daughter with the happiness he intended for her, and dispose her to receive it with that respect and gratitude that became her. On which Natura took his leave till the next day, when he found Lætitia did not make any excuse to avoid his presence, as she had lately done. — He addressed himself to her not in the same manner he would have done to a woman of condition, but yet in very tender and affectionate terms: — her behaviour to him was humble, modest, and obliging; and though she was not mistress of the politest expressions, yet what she said discovered she wanted not a fund of good sense and understanding, which, if cultivated by education, would have appeared very bright. He easily perceived, she took a great deal of pains to disguise the joy she conceived at this prospect of raising her fortune, but was too little accustomed to dissimulation, to do it effectually, and both the one and the other gave him much satisfaction.
Circumstances being in the manner I related, it is not natural to suppose any long sollicitation was required. — Lætitia affected not an indifference she was free from, and Natura pressing for the speedy consummation of his wishes, a day was appointed for the celebration of the nuptials, and both the intended bride and bridegroom set themselves about making the necessary preparations usual in such cases.
But see, how capable are our finest resolutions of being shaken by accidents! — the most assured of men may be compared to the leaf of a tree, which veers with every blast of wind, and is never long in one position. — Had any one told Natura he had taken all this pains for nothing, and that he would be more anxious to get off his promise of marrying Lætitia, than ever he had been to engage one from her for that purpose; he would have thought himself highly injured, and that the person who said this of him was utterly a stranger to his sentiments or character; yet so it happened, and the poor Letitia found all her hopes of grandeur vanish into air, when they seemed just on the point of being accomplished. — The occasion of this strange and sudden transition was as follows:
Two days before that prefixed for his marriage, Natura received a packet from Gibralter, which brought him an account of the death of his brother. — That unfortunate young gentleman, being convinced by his sufferings, and perhaps too by his own remorse, and stings of conscience of the foulness of the crime he had been guilty of, fell into a languishing disorder, soon after his arrival in that country, which left those about him no expectations of his ever getting the better of. — Finding his dissolution near, he wrote a letter to Natura, full of contrition, and intreaties for forgiveness. This epistle accompanied that which related his death, and both together plunged Natura into very melancholly thoughts. — The offence his brother had been guilty of, was indeed great; but, when he remembered that he had repented, and was now no more, all resentment, all revenge, against him ceased with his existence, and a tender pity supplied their place: — what, while living, he never would have forgave, when dead lost great part of its atrocity, and he bewailed the fate of the transgressor, with unfeigned tears and lamentations.
This event putting an end to the motive which had induced Natura to think of marriage, put an end also to his desires that way; — he was sorry he had gone so far with Lætitia, was loth to appear a deceiver in her eyes, or in those of her father; but thought it would be the extremest madness in him to prosecute his intent, as his beloved sister had a son, who would now be his heir, and only had desired to be the father of one himself to hinder him from being so, whose crimes had rendered him unworthy of it.
The emotions of this revenge having entirely subsided, he now had leisure to consider how oddly the world would think and talk of him, if he perpetrated a marriage with a girl such as Lætitia; — he almost wondered at himself, that the just displeasure he had conceived against his brother, should have transported him so far as to make him forgetful of what was owing to his own character; and when he reflected on the miseries, vexations, and infamy, his last marriage had involved him in, he trembled to think how near he had been to entering into a state, which tho' he had a very good opinion of Lætitia's virtue, might yet possibly, some way or other, have given him many uneasinesses.
He was, however, very much embarrassed how to break with her handsomely; and it must be confessed, that after what had passed, this was no very easy matter to accomplish. — Make what pretence he would, he could not expect to escape the censure of an unstable fluctuating man. — This is indeed a character, which all men are willing, nay industrious, to avoid, yet what there are few men, but some time or other in their lives, give just reason to incur. — Natura very well knew, that to court a woman for marriage, and afterwards break his engagements with her, was a thing pretty common in the world; but then, it was thing he had always condemned in his own mind, and looked upon as most ungenerous and base: — besides, though he had made his addresses to Lætitia, meerly because he imagined she would prove a virtuous, obedient, and fruitful wife, and was not inflamed with any of those sentiments for her which are called love; yet, designing to marry her, he had set himself as much as possible to love her, and had really excited in his heart a kind of a tenderness, which made him unable to resolve on giving her the mortification of being forsaken, without feeling great part of the pain he was about to inflict on her.
All he now wished was, that she might be possessed of as little warmth of inclination for him as he had known for her, and that the disparity of years between them, might have made her consent to the proposed marriage, intirely on the motive of interest, without any mixture of love, in order that the disappointment she was going to receive, might seem the less severe: as the regard he had for her made him earnestly wish this might be the case, he carefully recollected all the passages of her behaviour, her looks, her words, nay, the very accents of her voice, were re-examined, in hope to find some tokens of that happy indifference, which alone could make him easy in this affair; but all this retrospect afforded him no more than uncertain conjectures, and imaginations which frequently contradicted each other, and indeed served only to increase his doubts, and add to his disquiets.
The mourning for his brother was, however, a very plausible pretence for delaying the marriage; and as he was willing the disappointment should come on by degrees, thinking by that means to soften the asperity of it, he contrived to let both father and daughter have room to guess the event before hand. — He seldom went to their house, and when he did, made very short visits, talked as if the necessity of his affairs would oblige him to leave the country, and settle again entirely in town: — rather avoided, than sought any opportunity of speaking to Lætitia in private, and in all his words and actions, discovered a coldness which could not but be very surprizing to them both, though they took not the least notice that they were so before him, but behaved towards him in the same manner, as when he appeared the most full of affection.
This was a piece of prudence Natura had not expected from persons of their low education and way of life: — he had imagined, that either the one or the other of them would have upbraided this change in him, and by avowing a suspicion, that he had repented him of his promises, given him an opportunity either of seeming to resent it, or by some other method, of breaking off: but this way of proceeding frustrated his measures in that point, and he found himself under a necessity of speaking first, on a subject no less disagreeable to himself, than he knew it would be to those to whom his discourse should be directed.
However, as there was no remedy, and he considered, that the longer to keep them in suspense, would only be adding to the cruelty of the disappointment; he sent one morning for the yeoman to come to his house, and after ushering in what he was about to say, with some reflections on the instability of human affairs, told him that some accidents had happened, which rendered it highly inconvenient for him to think of marrying; — that he had the utmost respect and good will for Lætitia, and that if there were not indissoluble impediments to hinder him from taking a wife, she should be still his choice, above any woman he knew in the world; — that he wished her happy with any other man, and to contribute to making her so, as also by way of atonement for his enforced leaving her, he would give her five hundred pounds, as an addition to her fortune.
This was the substance of what he said; but though he delivered it in the softest terms he could possibly make use of, he could find it was not well received by the old man; his countenance, however, a little cleared up at the closure of it: — the five hundred pounds was somewhat of a sweetener to the bitter pill; and after expatiating, according to his way, on the ungenerosity of engaging a young maid's affection, and afterwards forsaking her, he threw in some shrewd hints, that as accidents had happened to change his mind as to marriage, others might also happen, which would have the same effect, in relation to the present he now seemed to intend for her.
“To prevent that,” cried Natura hastily, “you shall take it home with you”; and with these words turned to a cabinet, and took out the sum he had mentioned; after counting it over, he put it into a bag, and delivered it to the yeoman, saying at the same time, that though it might not be so proper to come to his house, yet if he would send to him in any exigence, he should find him ready to assist him; “for you may depend,” added he, “that though I cannot be your son, I shall always be your friend.”
These words, and the money together, rendered the yeoman more content than Natura had expected he would be; and by that he hoped he knew his daughter had not imbibed any passion for him, which she would find much difficulty in getting rid of, and that this augmentation to her portion, would very well compensate for the loss of a husband, of more than twice her years.
A small time evinced, that Natura had not been altogether mistaken in his conjectures. — Lætitia became the bride of a young wealthy grazier in a neighbouring town, with whom she removed soon after her marriage; and this event, so much desired by Natura, destroyed all the remains of disquiet, his nicety of honour, and love of justice, had occasioned in him.
Being now wholly extricated from an adventure, which had given him much pain, and no less free from the emotions of any turbulent passion, he passed his days and nights in a most perfect and undisturbed tranquility; a situation of mind to which, for a long series of years, he had been an utter stranger.
To desire, or pursue any thing with too much eagerness, is undoubtedly the greatest cruelty we can practise on ourselves; yet how impossible is it to avoid doing so, while the passions have any kind of dominion over us: — to acquire, and to preserve, make the sole business of our lives, and leave no leisure to enjoy the goods of fortune: — still tost on the billows of passion, hurried from care to care the whole time of our existence here, is one continued scene of restlessness and variated disquiet. — Strange propensity in man! — even nature in us seems contradictory to herself! — we wish long life, yet shorten it by our own anxieties; — nothing is so dreadful as death, yet we hasten his approach by our intemperance and irregularity, and, what is more, we know all this, yet still run on in the same heady course.
Natura had now, however, an interval, a happy chasm, between the extremes of pleasure and of pain; — contented with his lot, and neither aiming at more than he possessed, nor fearful of being deprived of what he had. He, for a time, seemed in a condition such as all wise men would wish to attain, tho' so few take proper methods for that purpose, that those who we see in it, may be said to owe their felicity rather to chance, than to any right endeavours of their own.