Self-control: A Novel

by Mary Brunton

Three days, 'three wondrous days', all was sunshine and serenity. Lady Pelham was the most ingenious, the most amusing, the most fascinating of woman-kind. 'What a pity,' thought Laura, 'that my aunt's spirits are so fluctuating! How delightful she can be when she pleases!' In the midst of these brilliant hours, Lady Pelham one morning ran into the room where Laura was at work—'Here's a poor fellow,' said she, with a look and voice all compassion, 'who has sent me his account, and says he must go to jail if it is not paid instantly. But it is quite impossible for me to get the money till tomorrow.' 'To jail!' cried Laura, shocked—'What is the amount?' 'Forty pounds,' said Lady Pelham, 'and I have not above ten in the house.' 'Take mine,' cried Laura, hastening to bring it. Lady Pelham stopped her. 'No, my dear good girl,' said she, 'I wont take away your little store, perhaps you may want it yourself.' 'Oh no,' said Laura, 'I cannot want it, pray let me bring it.' 'The poor man has a large family,' said Lady Pelham, 'but indeed I am very unwilling to take—' Her Ladyship spared further regrets, for Laura was out of hearing. She returned in a moment with the whole of her wealth, out of which, Lady Pelham, after some further hesitation, was prevailed upon to take thirty pounds; a robbery to which she averred that she would never have consented, but for the wretched situation of an innocent family, and her own certainty of repaying the debt in a day or two at farthest. Several days, however, passed away, and Lady Pelham made no mention of discharging her debt. Laura wondered a little that her aunt should forget a promise so lately and so voluntarily given; but her attention was entirely diverted from the subject by the following letter from Mrs Douglas.

'You see, my dear Laura, I lose no time in answering your letter, though, for the first time, I answer you with some perplexity. The weight which you have always kindly allowed to my opinion, makes me at all times give it with timidity; but that is not the only reason of my present hesitation. I confess that in spite of the apparent frankness and perspicuity with which you have written, I am not able exactly to comprehend you. You describe a man of respectable abilities, of amiable dispositions, of sound principles, and engaging manners. You profess that such qualities, aided by intimacy, have secured your cordial friendship, while obligations beyond return have enlivened this friendship by the warmest gratitude. But, just as I am about to conclude that all this has produced its natural effect, and to prepare my congratulations for a happy occasion, you kill my expectations with a dismal sentence, expressing your regrets for having been obliged to reject the addresses of this excellent person. Now this might have been intelligible enough, supposing you were pre-occupied by a stronger attachment. But so far from this, you declare yourself absolutely incapable of any exclusive affection, or of such a regard as is necessary to any degree of happiness in the conjugal state. I know not, my dear Laura, what ideas you may entertain of the fervency suitable to wedded love; but, had you been less peremptory, I should have thought it not unlikely to spring from a young woman's "most cordial esteem" and "warmest gratitude" towards a young man with "expressive black eyes," and "the most benevolent smile in the world."

'From the tenor of your letter, as well as from some expressions you have formerly dropped, I am led to conjecture that you think an extravagant passion necessary to the happiness of married life. You will smile at the expression; but if it offends you, change it for any other descriptive of a feeling beyond tender friendship, and you will find the substitute nearly synonymous with the original. Now this idea appears to me rather erroneous; and I cannot help thinking that calm, dispassionate affection, at least on the side of the lady, promises more permanent comfort.

'All male writers on the subject of love, so far as my little knowledge extends, represent possession as the infallible cure of passion. A very unattractive picture, it must be confessed, of the love of that lordly sex! but they themselves being the painters, the deformity is a pledge of the resemblance, and I own my small experience furnishes no instance to contradict their testimony. Taking its truth then for granted, I need not inquire whether the passions of our own sex be equally fleeting. If they be, the enamoured pair soon find themselves at best in the same situation with those who marry from sober sentiments of regard; that is, obliged to seek happiness in the esteem, the confidence, the forbearance of each other. But if, in the female breast, the fervours of passion be less transient, I need not describe to you the sufferings of feminine sensibility under half-returned ardour, nor the stings of feminine pride under the unnatural and mortifying transference of the arts of courtship. I trust, my dear child, that should you even make a marriage of passion, your self-command will enable you to smother its last embers in your own bosom, while your prudence will improve the short advantage which is conferred by its empire in that of your husband, to lay the foundation of an affection more tender than friendship, more lasting than love.

'Again, it is surely of the utmost consequence to the felicity of wedded life, that a just and temperate estimate be formed of the character of him to whose temper we must accommodate ourselves; whose caprices we must endure; whose failings we must pardon, whether the discord burst upon us in thunder, or steal on amid harmonies which render it imperceptible, perhaps half-pleasing. Small chance is there that passion should view with the calm extenuating eye of reason the faults which it suddenly detects in the god of its idolatry. The once fervent votary of the idol, finding it unworthy of his worship, neglects the useful purposes to which he might apply the gold which it contains.

'I have other reasons for thinking that passion is at best unnecessary to conjugal happiness; but even if I should make you a proselyte to my opinion, the conviction would, in the present case, probably come too late. Such a man as you describe will probably be satisfied with the answer he has received. He will certainly never importune you, nor poorly attempt to extort from your pity what he could not win from your love. His attachment will soon subside into a friendly regard for you, or be diverted into another channel by virtues similar to those which first attracted him. I only wish, my dear Laura, that after this change takes place, the "circumstances" may remain in force which render you "for ever incapable of repaying him with a love like his own." If you are sure that these circumstances are decisive, I foresee no evil which can result from your cultivating a friendship so honourable and advantageous to you, as that of a man of letters and a Christian; whose conversation may improve your mind, and whose experience may supply that knowledge of the world which is rarely attainable by women in the more private walks of life.

'To him I should suppose that no danger could arise from such an intercourse. We are all apt to over-rate the strength and durability of the attachments we excite. I believe the truth is, that in a vigorous, well-governed, and actively employed mind, love rarely becomes that resistless tyrant which vanity and romances represent him. His empire is divided by the love of fame or the desire of usefulness, the eagerness of research or the triumph of discovery. But even solitude, idleness, and imagination cannot long support his dominion without the assistance of hope; and I take it for granted from your tried honour and generosity, that your answer has been too explicit to leave your lover in any doubt that your sentence is final.

'I own I could have wished, that the virtues of my ever dear Laura had found in the sacred characters of wife and mother a larger field than a state of celibacy can afford; but I have no fear that your happiness or respectability should ever depend upon outward circumstances. I have no doubt that moderate wishes and useful employments will diffuse cheerfulness in the loneliest dwelling, while piety will people it with guests from heaven.

'Thus, my beloved child, I have given my opinion with all the freedom you can desire. I have written a volume rather than a letter. The passion for giving advice long survives that which is the subject of our correspondence; but to shew you that I can lay some restraint on an old woman's rage for admonition, I will not add another line except that which assures you that I am, with all a mother's love, and all a friend's esteem,

'Your affectionate
'E. Douglas.'