I observed, “it was not to be supposed that a man, buried in state affairs, could give a thought to the tender passion.”
“I beg your pardon,” she replied; “I have heard him talk in raptures of some women. He used to say, he considered no man ought to marry who could not give a proper share of his time to his wife; for, how would it be if he was always at the House, or in business, and she always at the opera, or whirling about in her carriage?”
“People thought Mr. Pitt did not care about women, and knew nothing about them; but they were very much mistaken. Mrs. B——s, of Devonshire, when she was Miss W——, was so pretty, that Mr. Pitt drank out of her shoe. Nobody understood shape, and beauty, and dress, better than he did; with a glance of his eye he saw it all at once. But the world was ignorant of much respecting him. Who ever thought that there was not a better judge of women in London than he? and not only of women as they present themselves to the eye, but that his knowledge was so critical that he could analyze their features and persons in a most masterly way. Not a defect, not a blemish, escaped him: he would detect a shoulder too high, a limp in the gait, where nobody else would have seen it; and his beauties were real, natural, beauties. In dress, too, his taste was equally refined. I never shall forget, when I had arranged the folds and drapery of a beautiful dress which I wore one evening, how he said to me, ‘Really, Hester, you are bent on conquest to-night: but would it be too bold in me, if I were to suggest that that particular fold’—and he pointed to a triangular fall which I had given to one part—‘were looped up so?’ and, would you believe it?—it was exactly what was wanting to complete the classical form of my dress. He was so in everything.
“Mr. Pitt used to say, when I went out in my habit and a sort of furred jacket, that women, when they rode out, generally looked such figures; but that I contrived to make a very handsome costume of it.
“He had so much urbanity, too! I recollect returning late from a ball, when he was gone to bed fatigued: there were others besides myself, and we made a good deal of noise. I said to him next morning, ‘I am afraid we disturbed you last night.’ ‘Not at all,’ he replied; ‘I was dreaming of the Mask of Comus, Hester, and, when I heard you all so gay, it seemed a pleasant reality.’
“To show you what an excellent heart Mr. Pitt had, and how full of sympathy he was for people whom others spurned, I’ll tell you what happened one day, when we were at Walmer. I said to him, ‘Who do you think is coming down to dinner to-night?’ ‘I don’t know, Hester: tell me.’ ‘Why,’ said I, ‘H**** D*****’s mistress:—oh! but I’ll pretty soon look her out of countenance.’ I was only in joke, doctor. H. D., who was by the same mother as Lord D., but born before the mother was married, had for his mistress a very excellent woman, whose meritorious conduct every body spoke of: so I thought I would have a little fun about her, and told Mr. Pitt that H. D. was going to bring her with him. ‘My dear Hester,’ cried Mr. Pitt, ‘for God’s sake, don’t distress the poor woman, if she is coming—now, pray, don’t!’ ‘Oh! yes, I will, I will,’ I replied. ‘Now, I entreat you,’ said Mr. Pitt. ‘Here she comes,’ cried I; and a post-chaise drove past us, near the drawbridge. Mr. Pitt turned his head towards me as it passed, pretending to be talking to me, ‘She is very pretty,’ said I. ‘Well,’ said Mr. Pitt, ‘I must go and give some orders about her room;’ and he was actually going to put her in the best room in the house, and to desire some other persons who were expected to be sent to the village, when I told him it was all a joke; for it was only H. D.’s post-chaise, with his man in it, come down before his master.”
Here Lady Hester Stanhope paused for a little time, as if musing; and, at length, led away by her reflections, when she resumed the conversation, she uttered certain sentiments, which, however startling in comparison with the mere conventional morality of society, I am emboldened to transcribe. “Doctor,” she said, in an impressive tone, “I saw in the newspapers an account of a poor creature found on the step of a door in some street in Westminster. She was named the Fair Ellen—a wretched outcast from society—and was in the last stage of starvation. A poor forlorn woman, like herself, found her there, took her home, sold her petticoat to relieve her, and, probably from her over-anxiety to give her something good for her weak stomach, fed her more than she was able to bear, and the Fair Ellen died. Now, doctor, let the friend of the fair Ellen come to me, and I will receive her to my bosom, and she shall be my friend; for such sentiments as hers will I honour and respect wherever I find them.” She went on: “How strange it is that immorality, in England, is met in some persons by such severity—much too great; and, in others, escapes animadversion! * * * * * The poor are spurned for errors not half so gross as what the wealthy my lords do in the open face of day, and set people at defiance to boot.”
She went on: “To get inmates for brothels, and mistresses for the rich, fancy a procuress to some great my lord, who sets off for Wales, or for some distant province of England. Down she goes, accompanied by a sort of confidential servant, whom she affects to retain from the great attachment that her poor dear husband had for him; and she places herself in handsome lodgings in a town, or in some pretty cottage in a village. There she visits the poor and the sick, or does some act of charity to make herself talked about, and, in the mean time, looks out for some handsome girl. When she has found one that she thinks will suit her purpose, she first takes her as her maid, treats her with great kindness, and, when the girl has conceived a liking for her, she all of a sudden pretends she has received news from London of the death of a brother, or the sickness of a dear friend, and says she must set off directly. The poor girl, whom she has fed with hopes of what she may become some day, by telling her that she has no relations that she cares for and perhaps may leave her something when she dies, desires to be taken with her; and the procuress, with a show of generous feeling for her, says she will not let her go, unless she can ensure her bettering herself, and begs that her parents will have a paper drawn up, that she is to remain five or seven years with her, or else she, the lady, is to give her fifty pounds. The parents, delighted with the disinterested offer of their child’s mistress, get the agreement legally drawn up, sign it, and sign their daughter’s ruin.
“As soon as they are in London, dress, pleasure, and other allurements, are offered her. She forgets her humble home, and becomes the dupe of her artful seducer. If any inquiry is made after her, perhaps the fifty pounds are paid; and the very agreement that was to secure her safety becomes the bond of her destruction.
“Lady Hamilton was brought from Wales in this manner, a fine, rosy-faced, and rather blowsy country girl. A set of virtuosoes wanted a model for a Venus, and some of them, who knew Lady H., fixed on her; but Sir W. H. took her out of their hands, and carried her to Naples. Yet how did she end?—with not money enough to bury her; and so did Mrs. Jordan.”[45]