"Well," he exclaimed, walking away, with a deep sigh, when the carriage had got out of sight—"So far, so good: Heavens! the plot thickens, and the game is bold!"
Were you, oh unhappy Lady Cecilia! in entering into this ill-omened union, to be more pitied or despised? 'T was, alas! most deliberately done; in fact, we have already had laid before us ample means of determining the question—but 't is a delicate and painful one, and had perhaps be better left alone.
They spent about a fortnight at Poppleton Hall, and then went on to Yatton; and if the reader be at all curious to know how Mr. and Lady Cecilia Titmouse commenced their matrimonial career, I am able, in some measure, to gratify him, by the sight of a letter addressed by the Lady Cecilia, some time afterwards, to one of her confidential friends. 'T is melancholy enough, with, in addition, all the feebleness and dulness which might have been expected from one of her Ladyship's temperament and capacity; yet, methinks, may it suggest topics of instructive reflection.
"Yatton, 28th April 18—.
"Dear Blanche—
... "Fate should have something pleasant in store for me, since it has made me most unhappy now, but it is some consolation that I took this step purely to please my papa, who seemed to think that it was a thing that ought to be done: You know he always fretted himself greatly about the division of the family interests, and so on; and when he proposed to me this truly unhappy alliance, I supposed it was my duty to comply, as indeed he said it was. I am sure but for this I should never have dreamed of such a thing as doing what I did, for if, by the way, fate chose us to come together, it ought surely to have fitted us to each other; but really, dear Blanche, (entre nous) you cannot think what a creature it is.
He is always smoking cigars, &c., and he by that means not only carries the nasty odor of the smoke about him everywhere, but also in spite of all I can do, when we come together in the carriage (which is not often) and at meals, he communicates the odious smell to my clothes—and Annette wastes a fortune in eau-de-cologne to scatter over my dresses and her own too, and he has very nasty habits besides, namely, picking his teeth, (often at dinner,) eating with his knife, &c. &c., and he is continually running his fingers through his horrid hair, to curl it, and carries a comb with him, and several times has combed his hair in the carriage just before we got out at the door of the place we were to dine at, and he always takes too much wine, and comes up the very last to the drawing-room, and sometimes in such a state. I am resolved I will never come home with him from dinner again, even if I ever go out together with him. I do believe the wretch has been guilty of some impudence to Annette, for the girl always colors when I mention his name, and looks confused and angry, but of course I cannot ask her. And he is such a horrid liar there is no believing a word he says, he is always saying that he might if he had chosen marry Lady This and Lady That, and says Miss Aubrey was dying to have him (I wish, dear B., she had, instead of myself, she would have been welcome for me, to return and become mistress of Yatton again)—by the way, it certainly is a truly delightful spot, quite old-fashioned and all that and delightful grounds about it, but it seems like a nunnery to me, I am so unhappy and no one seems anxious to come to see me, though there are the ——'s, and the ——'s, and ——'s within an hour or two's drive of us, but how can you wonder? for if you only saw the sort of people that come here, such horrid wretches, a Unitarian parson and his vulgar wife and daughter and a low apothecary and auctioneer and so on, which he says is necessary (forsooth) to keep up his interest in the borough. Then he goes on in such a shameful and unfeeling and disrespectful way before the vicar (Dr. Tatham, a very nice person, who I am sure, by his looks, feels for me) that Dr. T. will scarcely ever come near us under one pretence or another.
I am sorry to tell you Mr. Titmouse has no more sense of religion than a cat or a dog, and I understand he has left a great many of his election bills unpaid (so that he is very unpopular) and positively, dear Blanche! the diamond spray the creature bought me turns out to be only paste!! He never goes to church, and has got up one or two dog-fights in the village, and he is hated by the tenants, for he is always raising their rents. I forgot to mention by the way he had the monstrous assurance one morning to open my letters!—and said he had a right to do so, with his own wife, for we were one (I hate to write it) so I have had a letter-bag of my own which is always delivered into my own room. Oh Heavens! the idea of his succeeding to the barony! but to be sure you have no notion how hard he lives; (and entre nous the other day the doctor was called in to him and had to put leeches on his head, and certainly (entre nous, dearest B.,) I understand such things sometimes do often lead to very sad results, but however he certainly does seem better now.) My papa knows nothing of all this yet, but he soon must, and I am confident a separation must ensue, or I shall die, or go mad. Oh how thankful I should be!... But I could fill two or three sheets more in this way, and yet I have not told you a hundredth part of his gaucheries, but really you must be quite sick of hearing of them. If he will but leave me here when he goes up to town, you will surely pay me your promised visit—and I will tell you many more miserable things. In the mean while, oh dearest B., how I envy you being single, and wish I were so again!—Be sure you burn this when you have read it—and believe me, your unhappy,
"Cecilia.
"P. S. Of course I shall not ask him for one of his ridiculous franks, I never do; and as your brother is not with you, you must not grumble at paying the postage of this long letter.
"The Lady Blanche Lewisham."
A dull and phlegmatic disposition, like that of Lady Cecilia, must have been roused and stung indeed, before she could have attained to such bitterness of expression as is occasionally to be met with in the above communication. Though it shadows forth, with painful distinctness, several of the more disadvantageous features of Mr. Titmouse's character and conduct, there were far darker ones, with which its miserable writer had not then become acquainted. I shall but hastily glance at one of them; viz. that he was at that moment keeping a mistress in town, and commencing the seduction of a farmer's daughter in the neighborhood of Yatton! Execrable little miscreant!—why should I defile my paper by further specifying his gross misdeeds, or dwelling upon their sickening effects on the mind and feelings of the weak woman, who could suffer herself to be betrayed into such a monstrous union?—But is she the only one that has done so?
Whatever may be the accidental and ultimate advantages, in respect of fortune or social station, expected to be realized by woman in forming a union with one who would be otherwise regarded with indifference, or dislike, or disgust, she may rely upon it that she is committing an act of deliberate wickedness, which will be attended, probably, for the rest of her life, with consequences of unutterable and inevitable misery, which even the obtaining of her proposed objects will not compensate, but only enhance. It is equally a principle of our law, and of common sense, that people must be understood to have contemplated the natural and necessary consequences of their own acts, even if hastily—but by so much the more if deliberately done. When, therefore, they come to experience those consequences, let them not complain. A marriage of this description, is, so to speak, utter dislocation and destruction to the delicate and beautiful fabric of a woman's character. It perverts, it deflects the noblest tendencies of her lovely nature; it utterly degrades and corrupts her; she sinks irretrievably into an inferior being: instead of her native simplicity and purity, are to be seen thenceforth only heartlessness and hypocrisy. Her affections and passions, denied their legitimate objects and outlets, according to their original weakness or strength of development, either disappear and wither—and she is no longer WOMAN—or impel her headlong into coarse sensuality, perhaps at length open criminality; and then she is expelled indignantly and forever from the community of her sex. 'T is then, indeed, an angel turned into a FIEND!—Remember, remember, oh woman! that it is not the mere ring, and the orange blossom, which constitute the difference between VIRTUE—and VICE!——