CHAPTER VIII.
HOW KITTY HAD LETTERS AND VERSES.
Everybody knows that a watering-place in summer is a nest of singingbirds. I do not mean the birds of the air, nor the ladies who sing atthe concerts, nor the virtuosos, male and female, who gather togetherto talk of appogiatura, sonata, and--and the rest of the musicaljargon. I mean rather those epigrammatists, libellous imitators ofPasquin, and love-verse writers who abound at such places. Mostly theyare anonymous, so that one cannot thank them as one would. The verses,this year at Epsom, came down upon us in showers. They were stuck upon the pillars of the porch of the Assembly Rooms, they were laid uponthe table of the book-shop, they were handed about on the Terrace. Alsothey came to me at my lodgings, and to Nancy at hers, and very likelyto Peggy Baker at hers. Here, for instance, is one set which were shownround at the Assembly--
"Epsom could boast no reigning Toast: The Terrace wept for pity. Kind Fortune said, 'Come, lift your head; I send you stately Kitty.'
"She came, she reigned, but still disdained The crowd's applause and fancy; Quoth Fortune, 'Then, content ye, men, With pretty, witty Nancy.'"
Every morning lovers were at our feet (on paper). They wrote lettersenjoining me "by those soft killing eyes" (which rhymed with "sighs")to take pity on their misery, or to let them die. You would havethought, to read their vows, that all the men in the town were inprofound wretchedness. They could not sleep: they could no longer goabroad: they were wasting and pining away: they were the victims ofa passion which was rapidly devouring them: Death, they said, wouldbe welcomed as a Deliverer. Yet it will hardly be believed that, inspite of so dreadful an epidemic of low fever, no outward signs of itwere visible in the town at all: the gentlemen were certainly fat andin good case: their hearts seemed merry within them: they laughed,made jokes, sang, and were jolly to outward show: their appetiteswere good: they were making (apparently) no preparations for demise.Their letters and verses were, however, anonymous, so that it wasimpossible to point with accuracy to any sufferer who thus dissembled.From information conveyed to me by Cicely Crump, I believe that theverses and letters came in great measure from the apprentices andshopmen employed by the mercers, haberdashers, hosiers, and drapersof the town--young men whose employment brings them constantly intothe presence of ladies, but whose humble positions in the world forbidthem to do anything more than worship at a great distance: yet theirhearts are as inflammable as their betters, and their aspirations aresometimes above their rank, as witness the gallant elopement of JoshuaCrump, Cicely's father, with Miss Jenny Medlicott, daughter of analderman: then they find relief and assume a temporary dignity--as theyfondly think--in writing anonymous love-letters. I think the lettersmust have come from these foolish and conceited young men, because Icannot understand how a gentleman who values his self-respect could sofar humiliate himself as to write letters which he would be ashamedto sign, declaring himself the foolish victim of a foolish passion,and addressing a fellow-creature, a being like himself, with all theimperfections of humanity upon her, as an angel (which is blasphemous),and a sun of glory (which is nonsense), or a bright particular star(which is copied from the preface to the Bible). I confess that weliked the open compliments and public attentions of the gentlemen:they pleased us, and we took them in sober honesty for what they wereworth--the base coin of gallantry rings as pleasantly sometimes as theguinea gold of love--but it is one thing to be called a goddess in theaccepted language of exaggeration and mock humility commonly used inpolite assemblies, and another to be addressed in a grovelling strain,seriously and humbly, as if one were the Lama of Thibet, or the greatBashaw, or the Pope himself. It is pleasant to see a young fellowdancing along the walk with his hat under his arm, making reverence,with his eyes full of admiration, his face lit with smiles, andcompliments upon his tongue, because one knows that it is the naturalhomage paid by an honest fellow to a pretty girl, and that when yearshave robbed the beauty, the homage will be paid to some one else. Butfor these silly boys' letters----
And then we made the sad discovery, by comparing our letters, thatthey were not even original. Many of them were, word for word, thesame, showing that they had been copied from the same model. If it betrue that passion makes the most tongue-tied lover eloquent, then thisdiscovery proved that the violence of the passion was as feigned as theletters were false, unless Nancy's supposition was true.
"Fie!" cried she, "the wretch has written the same letters to both ofus. Can he be in love with two maids at the same time?"
Then she took both letters and showed them about among the company.
There was another kind of letter which I received: it was filled withslander and abuse, and was written in disguised handwriting. Several ofthem came to me, and I was foolish enough to be vexed over them, evento shed tears of vexation. My anonymous correspondent gave me, in fact,such information and advice as the following, which was not conveyed tome all at once, but in several letters.
"Your Lord Chudleigh is very well known to be a gambler who hathalready dipped more than half his estate; do you think it possible thathe should marry the daughter of that poor thing--a country parson--withno more fortune to her back than what a city madam may chance to giveher? Be not deceived. Your triumph is to walk the Terrace with himat your elbow: your disgrace will be when he leaves you to lamentalone...."
"Do not think that any other gentleman will stoop to pick up thecast-off fancy of Lord Chudleigh. When he leaves you, expect nothingbut general desertion and contempt. This advice comes from awell-wisher."
"Lord Chudleigh is, as is very well known, the falsest and the mostfickle of men. When he hath added you to the list of women whom he hathdeceived, he will go away to Bath or town, there to boast of what hehath done. He belongs to the Seven Devils' Club, whose boast it is tospare no man in play and no woman in love. Be warned in time."
"Poor Kitty Pleydell! Your reputation is now, indeed, cracked, if notbroken altogether. Better retire to the obscurity of your town lodging,where, with Mrs. Pimpernel, you may weep over the chances that youthink to have lost, but have never really possessed. Better take up,while is yet time, with Harry Temple. All the Wells is talking of yourinfatuation about Lord Chudleigh. He, for his part, is amused. With hisfriends he laughs and makes sport."
And so on, and so on: words which, like the buzzing of a fly or thesting of a gnat, annoy for a while and are then forgotten. For themoment one is angry: then one remembers things and words which showhow false are these charges: one reflects that the writer is moreto be pitied than the receiver: and one forgives. Perhaps I was thereadier to forgive because I saw a letter written by no other (from thesimilarity of the _t_'s and _k_'s) than Miss Peggy Baker, and was fullypersuaded that the writer of these unsigned letters was that angrynymph herself.
As for the verses which were left at the door, and brought by boys whodelivered them and ran away--Nancy said they had no clothes on excepta quiver and a pair of wings, and so ran away for shame lest Cicelyshould see them--they bore a marvellous resemblance to those which theingenious Mr. Stallabras was wont to manufacture; they spoke of nymphsand doves and bosky groves; of kids and swains on verdant plains; ofshepherds' reeds and flowery meads, of rustic flutes and rural fruits.
"The fashion of verses," said Mrs. Esther, "seems little changed sincewe were here in 1720. Doubtless the English language has never beenable to achieve a greater excellence than that arrived at by Dryden,Pope, Addison, and Steele."
Perhaps the language of love is always the same, and when a man feelsthat tender emotion he naturally desires to quit the garish town andthe artificial restraints of society, and with his _inamorata_ to seekthe simple delights of the meadows and the fields, there to be together:
"Come, live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove----"
So that to every lover the old language, with its musty tropesand rusty figures, is new and fresh, just as any other delight inlife when first tasted. I say nothing
for that poor weakling, thathothouse plant, the passion affected by beaux at a watering-place forfashionable beauties, which may use the strong language of real love,and yet is so fragile as to be in danger of perishing with every coldblast and frosty air.
I would not laugh at these simple poets, because I have learned sincethen that there are youths who, too bashful to speak, may yet conceivesuch a pure and noble passion for a woman--who certainly does notdeserve it--as may serve for them as a stimulus and goad to greatactions. For no creature, whether man or woman, can do fit suit andservice to another, whether in thought or action, without endeavouringto make himself fit and worthy to be her servant. And if he be but oneof a hundred following in a crowd of worshippers, it is good for himto mark and obey the laws of gallantry and knightly service, and tolay aside for a while the talk of barrack, stable, coffee-house, andgaming-room.
"Pretty moralist," said Nancy, "you would like the young fellows atyour heel, doing suit and service; and you would like to feel thattheir attendance is doing good to their innocent souls. Now, for mypart, I think only how they may be doing good to myself, and when I seethem figuring and capering, hat under arm, one foot valiantly stuckout--so--the ties of their wigs wagging behind them, and their canesbobbing at their wrists. I feel, my dear, as if I was not born in vain.All this posturing, all this capering, like a French dancing-master ora bear with a hurdy-gurdy, is meant for me--that is, except what ismeant for you, which is the larger half. It may do good to the men:I am sure I wish from my heart it does, because the poor profligateswant so much good done to them; but I rather love to think of thehonour it confers upon us women, and the envy, hatred, and malice itawakens in the breast of our sisters. My dear Peggy Baker is turningpositively green with this hateful passion of jealousy. To be a Toast,even a second Toast, like me, when your superior charms--I am not abit jealous, Kitty, my dear--have had their due acknowledgment, is avery great honour. In years to come, say about the beginning of thenineteenth century, if I live so long, I shall say to my grandchildren,who will then be about eighteen or nineteen, and as beautiful as theday, 'My dears,' I shall say, 'your grandmother, though you will findit difficult to believe, was not always toothless, nor did her handsalways shake, nor were her cheeks wrinkled, nor were her chin and noseclose together. Look in the glass, girls, and you may guess what yourpoor old grandmother once was, in the days when she was pretty NancyLevett, a Toast when the beautiful Kitty Pleydell was Queen of theWells. Kitty Pleydell, who married----,' no, my dear, I will not sayit, because it might bring you bad luck."
I told Nancy about Harry Temple's strange mistake; she grew veryserious over it, and reflected what was best to be done. I warnedher to say nothing herself, but to leave him to his own reflections.First he sulked, that is to say, he avoided me in public, and did noteven pay his respects to Mrs. Pimpernel in private; then he imploredme to give him another hearing. I gave him what he asked, I heard himtell his story over again, then I assured him once more that it wasimpossible. He behaved very strangely, refused to take my answer asfinal, and vexed us by betraying in public the discontent and angerwhich, had he possessed any real regard for me, he ought to have kepta secret in his own breast. Some of the backbiters, as Lord Chudleightold me, put it about that I had thrown over my former lover. Allusionto this calumny was made, as has already been shown, in the anonymousletters.
Lord Chudleigh paid me no compliments and wrote me no verses, nor didhe often join in our train upon the Terrace. But he distinguished usby frequently paying a visit to our lodgings in the morning, when hewould sit and read, or talk, and sometimes share our simple dinner.
"We who belong to the great City houses," said Mrs. Esther after oneof these visits, "are accustomed from infancy to familiarity withNobility. My father, when Worshipful Master of the Scourers' Company,or in his year of office as Lord Mayor, would sometimes have a peeron one side and a bishop on the other. Baronets and simple knights wehardly valued. Therefore these visits of his lordship, which are nodoubt a great distinction for both of us, seem like a return of mychildhood."
We learned from Lord Chudleigh that it was his intention (afterwardsfully carried out) to take that active part in the administration ofstate affairs to which his exalted rank naturally called him.
"I am ever of opinion," he said, "that a gentleman in this country owesit to his birth and position to do his utmost for the preservation ofour liberties and the maintenance of sound government."
And he once told us, to our astonishment, that had he lived in the daysof Charles the First, he should have joined the party of the Parliament.
It seemed to me, who watched him narrowly and with trembling, thathe was desirous, in these visits, to find out what manner of personI was, and whether I possessed any virtues, to illustrate thatexternal comeliness which had already taken his fancy. Alas! I thoughtcontinually with shame of the time when I should have to throw myselfat his feet and implore his mercy and forgiveness.
Then he encouraged me to talk about my childhood and my father, takingpleasure, I thought, in the contemplation of a life given up to heavenand learning, and smiling at the picture of Lady Levett, who ruled usall, the two boys who came home to tease the girls, and little Nancy,so fond and so pretty. I wondered then that he should care to hearabout the way I lived, the books I read, the death of my honouredfather, and the little things which make up a country maid's life,wherein the ripples and the gentle breezes are as important to her asgreat storms and gales to men and women of the world. I know, now,that when a man loves a girl there is nothing concerned with her thathe does not want to know, so that her image may be present to him fromthe beginning, and that he may feel that there has been no year of herlife, no action of hers at all, that he does not know, with what shethought, what she did, who were her friends, and what she was like.
Thus he told me about his own country house, which was a very fineplace indeed, and his gardens, stables, library, pictures, and all thesplendid things which he had inherited.
Two things we hid from each other, the one that I was the girl whom hehad married: the other, that he was already married.
"Child," said Nancy, "the young lord hath plainly bewitched thee.Remember, my dear, that a woman must not be won too easily. Can we notbreak his heart a little?"
Lady Levett took occasion to speak to me to the same effect.
"Kitty," she said, "I have eyes in my head and can see. Do notencourage the man too much. Yet it would be a grand match, and I shouldbe well content to see a coronet on that pretty head. Still, be not tooready. But he is a handsome fellow, and I believe as good as we canexpect of any man in this profligate age. Nay, child, do not changecolour: I know nothing against his character, except that he has a townhouse and that he has lived much in London. But make him feel a littlethe pangs of love. Listen, or pretend to listen, to the addresses ofanother man. When my husband came courting me, do you think I said yesall at once? Not so. There were other suitors in the field, let metell thee, Kitty, as young and as rich as Sir Robert, and of as good afamily. To be sure, there was none so good in my eyes. As for one, herode to hounds all day, and in the evening slept in his chair. He brokehis neck jumping a brook when he was but thirty. Another, he drankOctober all day long, and at night was carried to bed like a log. Whenhe was forty he was taken with a seizure, being still a bachelor, allfor love of me and his brown jug, which I think he loved still more.And a third, he was choleric, and used to beat his grooms. Now, mydear, a man who beats his grooms is just as likely to beat his wife.Wherefore, beware of strikers. And a fourth, he was a gambler, and allnight over his cards, so that I would have none of him. He lost hisestate and went into the Austrian service. There he was run through thebody and killed in a duel by a French chevalier, who had first robbedhim at faro. But do not think I let my true love know my resolution. Iplagued him first, and teased him until he was humble. Then I bade himbe happy, and the good man hath been happy ever since."
Alas! I could not tease my lord or plague him:
I could not coquet withother men, even though Peggy went about saying--
"The silly wretch is in love with him: she shows it in her eyes. Oh theimpudence!"
The Chaplain of the Fleet Page 24
