By the way, he had not the slightest intention of going farther than Paris, or to the south of France at the utmost. But, of course, when a single gentleman tells a married lady that he will go with her to the end of the world, it is absolutely impossible for her to avoid or to refuse leaving her husband, her friends, and her reputation. So felt, and so acted, the Countess of Trimmerstone; and considering the short notice which she had, it is somewhat astonishing that she was so soon ready to depart. She was gone before her husband returned from Mr. Martindale’s. Some of the servants said that she had prepared for the excursion before Mr. Tippetson proposed it.
It is a question which requires a nicer casuistry than we are master of, to decide which of these two precious ones was most to blame. When a husband neglects his wife, it is the opinion of some considerate and candid creatures, that the lady’s conduct in leaving him, if not justified, is palliated. But perhaps some husbands would not neglect their wives so much as they do, if these aforesaid wives could not find some one else to pay attention to them. The lady, however, in the present case, did not leave her husband during his neglect of her, but just at the very moment that he was beginning to be more attentive than ever, and to claim her sweet company all to himself. But then she did not like to live in the country all alone, as it were, and out of society and gaiety. Oh, no! certainly not. Therefore she thought it much more lively to go to Paris to reside with a perfumed puppy in an obscure lodging, surrounded with people of whom she knew, and could know, and wished to know nothing.
Our readers would think us very methodistical if we were to express ourself in very strong terms against the abomination of elopements; and those very same readers would think us very irreligious, should we question any of those dogmas which are supposed to form part and parcel of the religion of the state. We are not however about to do either the one or the other; but we cannot help recommending all married ladies to be very cautious how they talk to their friends concerning the cruelty of their husbands. We would also recommend married ladies, and single ones too, not to place unlimited confidence in romantic protestations; and above all, would we tell married ladies that the worst husbands are better than the best seducers.
As it is not our intention to suffer Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson to intrude again on our pages after his present disappearance, and as the Countess of Trimmerstone disappears with him, we will now so far violate chronological order as to narrate all that remains to be said concerning that hopeful couple.
Mr. Tippetson, who had desired to immortalise himself by an elopement with a lady of rank, now that the Countess of Trimmerstone was in his power, did not feel quite so proud of his conquest as he had anticipated and fancied. There is nothing in rank where there is no distance and reserve. The Countess, even before they had reached Dover, began to appear to him as a weak, silly woman. Now, if in stealing a countess, he had stolen the title of earl for himself, he might have been more proud of his exploit; but as it was, he still kept the name of Mr. Tippetson, and his poor simpleton of a companion had no name at all. Then again he could not enjoy the pleasure of hearing himself talked about in the fashionable circles. He saw very soon in the newspapers that he gained celebrity by the elopement, but he could not hear any remarks upon the subject. He very soon found that his companion was no companion; and therefore, with mighty energy and resignation, he determined to make the best of a bad bargain. It is a great pity that the Countess had not come to that resolution before she left her husband. Here again we have a lesson for married ladies; and beg most respectfully and kindly to inform them, that it is much more inconvenient to be neglected by a seducer, than to be neglected by a husband.
Mr. Tippetson was a man of the world; but he did not know much of the world, especially of the world of Paris. It is very good that English people in the one shilling gallery should believe that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen, and that they generally do believe till they try; but one simple Englishman, like Mr. Tippetson, may generally be beaten by one Frenchman at games of skill or chance in the Palais-Royal. The perfumed seducer found out this to his cost; and thereupon the Countess of Trimmerstone became more inconveniently expensive to him. There arose also another inconvenience to the young gentleman, viz. her ladyship’s prodigious vulgarity. He could never be seen with her in public. The Parisian ladies used to stare at her, though she thought herself prodigiously fine. Mr. Tippetson accommodated himself to the people among whom he dwelt. The Countess began soon to grow sulky, because she had no society. Tippetson thought his own society quite enough for her ladyship. By degrees that society was more and more curtailed: sometimes he left her for a whole day; and sometimes he was absent day and night; and sometimes he would stay from her ladyship two or three days successively. This was very sad, but she had no remedy. To utter angry reproaches she dared not; she could only plead pathetically, and call him unkind, and use the gentlest tones of expostulation. Her ladyship was far more afraid of Mr. Tippetson than ever she had been of her husband, and was much more careful of offending him by look, word, or deed. On the other hand, the gentleman was sooner weary of the Countess than he would have been of a wife; and whensoever the gentleman, in the expression of his weariness, took it into his head to use the language of reproach, her ladyship, from the peculiarity of her situation, felt unable to return or repel it.
Whether it be possible or not for a married woman who has lost the affection of her husband, ever to regain and recover that affection, we presume not to say; but notwithstanding the diffidence we feel in our own judgment, and notwithstanding our own inexperience of such matters, we will venture to give it as our firm opinion, that when the affections of a seducer are gone away from the silly one whom he has beguiled, or who has beguiled him, it is the most hopeless of all efforts to endeavour to recall them. But however hopeless the effort may be, it still must be made. So felt the unfortunate and unhappy woman, who, under the notion of liberty, had sold herself into an irretrievable slavery. If however she possessed not sufficient discernment and strength of mind to keep herself from this miserable condition, it was not very likely that she should be possessed of wit and wisdom enough to perform one of the most difficult of all difficult tasks, to recall a wandering affection. And the efforts which are used for this purpose are in their nature, or from the nature of the human mind, so exceedingly perverse, that in the same ratio as they fail of doing good, they are productive of evil.
Thus it came to pass that the affections of Mr. Tippetson for the poor witless Countess of Trimmerstone grew weaker and fainter; and in proportion to her endeavours to retain him, she found that she was nearer to losing him. Not many years passed away before he absolutely left her; and from this state of humiliation she wrote to her broken-hearted father, praying that he would not let her perish for want in a strange land. That supplication was not unheeded; she was saved from absolute want; but she lived the remainder of her days in solitude, obscurity, and self-reproach. We now return to the period from whence we have digressed.