No, really, madam, answered Mr. Tinsel, surprised at the great simplicity of Arabella, for so he understood it: the lady, I believe, is not so communicative: and to say the truth, I should not choose to hear her adventures from herself, since she certainly would suppress the most material circumstances.
In a word, said he, lowering his voice, that lady was for many years the mistress of a young military nobleman, whom she was so complaisant to follow in all his campaigns, marches, sieges, and every inconveniency of war. He married her in Gibraltar, from whence he is lately arrived, and introduced his new lady to his noble brother, by whom she was not unfavourably received. It is worth remarking, that this same haughty peer thought fit to resent with implacable obstinacy the marriage of another of his brothers, with the widow of a brave officer, of considerable rank in the army. It is true, she was several years older than the young lord, and had no fortune; but the duke assigned other reasons for his displeasure: he complained loudly, that his brother had dishonoured the nobility of his birth by this alliance, and continued his resentment till the death of the young hero, who gave many remarkable proofs of his courage and fortitude upon several occasions, and died gloriously before the walls of Carthagena; leaving his disconsolate lady a widow a second time, with the acquisition of a title indeed, but a very small addition to her fortune.
Observe that gay, splendid lady, I beseech you, madam, pursued he, turning to Arabella. How affectedly she looks and talks, and throws her eyes around the room, with a haughty self-sufficiency in her aspect, and insolent contempt for every thing but herself! Her habit, her speech, her motions, are all French; nothing in England is able to please her; the people so dull, so awkwardly polite; the manners so gross; no delicacy, no elegance, no magnificence in their persons, houses, or diversions; every thing is so distasteful, there is no living in such a place. One may crawl about, indeed, she says, and make a shift to breathe in the odious country, but one cannot be said to live; and with all the requisites to render life delightful, here, one can only suffer, not enjoy it.
Would one not imagine, pursued he, this fine lady was a person of very exalted rank, who has the sanction of birth, riches, and grandeur for her extraordinary pride? And yet she is no other than the daughter of an inn-keeper at Spa, and had the exalted post assigned her of attending new lodgers to their apartments, acquainting them with all the conveniences of the place, answering an humble question or two concerning what company was in the town, what scandal was stirring, and the like.
One of our great sea commanders going thither for his health, happened to lodge at this inn; and was so struck with her charms that he married her in a few weeks, and soon after brought her to England.
Such was the origin of this fantastic lady, whose insupportable pride and ridiculous affectation draws contempt and aversion wherever she appears.
Did I not tell you, madam, interrupted Mr. Glanville, that the amusement you had chosen was not so innocent as dancing? What a deal of scandal has Mr. Tinsel uttered in the compass of a few minutes?
I assure you, replied Arabella, I know not what to make of the histories he has been relating. I think they do not deserve that name, and are rather detached pieces of satire on particular persons, than a serious relation of facts. I confess my expectations from this gentleman have not been answered.
I think, however, madam, said Mr. Glanville, we may allow that there is a negative merit in the relations Mr. Tinsel has made; for, if he has not shown us any thing to approve, he has at least shown us what to condemn.
The ugliness of vice, replied Arabella, ought only to be represented to the vicious; to whom satire, like a magnifying glass, may aggravate every defect, in order to make its deformity appear more hideous; but since its end is only to reprove and amend, it should never be addressed to any but those who come within its correction, and may be the better for it: a virtuous mind need not be shown the deformity of vice, to make it be hated and avoided; the more pure and uncorrupted our ideas are, the less shall we be influenced by example. A natural propensity to virtue or vice often determines the choice: it is sufficient therefore to show a good mind what it ought to pursue, though a bad one must be told what to avoid. In a word, one ought to be always incited, the other always restrained.