Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith

by Charlotte Smith

  Such as thon art, my faithful Lyre,

  For all the great and wise admire,

  Believe me, I would not exchange thee,

  Since e’en adversity could never

  Thee from my anguish’d bosom sever,

  Or time or sorrow e’er estrange thee.

  Far from my native fields removed,

  From all I valued, all I loved;

  By early sorrows soon beset,

  Annoy’d and wearied past endurance,

  With drawbacks, bottomry, insurance,

  With samples drawn, and tear and tret;

  With Scrip, and Omnium, and Consols,

  With City Feasts and Lord Mayors’ Balls,

  Scenes that to me no joy afforded;

  For all the anxious Sons of Care,

  From Bishop8gate to Temple Bar,

  To my young eyes seem’d gross and sordid.

  Proud city dames, with loud shrill clacks,

  (“The wealth of nations on their backs,”)

  Their clumsy daughters and their nieces,

  Good sort of people! and well meaners,

  But they could not be my congeners,

  For I was of a different species.

  Long were thy gentle accents drown’d,

  Till from Bow-bells detested sound

  I bore thee far, my darling treasure;

  And unrepining left for thee

  Both Calepash and Callipee,

  And sought green fields, pure air, and leisure.

  Who that has heard thy silver tones —

  Who that the Muse’s influence owns,

  Can at my fond attachment wonder,

  That still my heart should own thy pow’r?

  Thou! who hast soothed each adverse hour,

  So thou and I will never sunder.

  In cheerless solitude, bereft

  Of youth and health, thou still art left,

  When hope and fortune have deceived me;

  Thou, far unlike the summer friend,

  Didst still my falt’ring steps attend,

  And with thy plaintive voice relieved me.

  And as the time ere long must come

  When I lie silent in the tomb,

  Thou wilt preserve these mournful pages;

  For gentle minds will love my verse,

  And Pity shall my strains rehearse,

  And tell my name to distant ages.

  The death of her first child, which took place when she was confined with her second, had nearly proved fatal to her, from the excess of her affliction. Change of air and scene were recommended, and a small house in the pleasant village of Southgate was engaged for her, and in a few months she regained her health. Hither she retired as much as was in her power, and here she enjoyed more liberty and tranquillity than had hitherto fallen to her lot. Her aunt had for some time ceased to reside with her, and was afterwards induced to become the wife of the elder Mr Smith, which, of course, rendered her personal attendance on him unnecessary; and as her husband usually went to London every day, she became mistress of her own time, and was enabled to employ it in the cultivation of her mind. She possessed a considerable collection of books, and read indiscriminately, without having any friend to direct her studies or form her judgment.

  The result of her mental improvement was not favourable to her happiness. She began to trace that indefinable restlessness and impatience, of which she had long been conscious without comprehending, to its source, to discriminate characters, to detect ignorance, to compare her own mind with those of the persons by whom she was surrounded.

  The consciousness of her own superiority, the mortifying conviction that she was subjected to one so infinitely her inferior, presented itself every day more forcibly to her mind, and she justly considered herself “as a pearl that had been basely thrown away.”

  “No disadvantage,” she observes in one of her letters, “could equal those I sustained; the more my mind expanded, the more I became sensible of personal slavery; the more I improved and cultivated my understanding, the farther I was removed from those with whom I was condemned to pass my life; and the more clearly I saw by these newly-acquired lights the horror of the abyss into which I had unconsciously plunged.”

  Impressed with this fatal truth, nothing could be more meritorious than the line of conduct she pursued. Whatever were her opinions or her feelings, she. confined them to her own bosom, and never to her most confidential friends suffered a complaint or a severe remark to escape her lips.

  During her residence at Southgate, her family had been considerably increased, and a larger house was become necessary; and it was hoped that by removing nearer to London, Mr Smith would be induced to pay a stricter attendance on his business than he had hitherto done; and with this view his father purchased for him a handsome residence at Tottenham, where it was hoped he would retrieve his lost time. But his habits were fixed, he had no turn for business, and never could be prevailed on to bestow more than a small portion of that time on it, which nevertheless hung so heavy on his bands, that he was obliged to have recourse to a variety of expedients to get rid of it. Hence fancies became occupations, and were followed up with boundless expense, till they were relinquished for some newer fancy equally frivolous and equally costly.

  Mrs Smith unfortunately disliked her situation at Tottenham, and the more so, from its having failed in the object proposed. She had little or no society, and her mind languished for want of congenial conversation, and her natural vivacity seemed extinguished by the monotony of her life.

  Her father-in-law was in the habit of confiding to her all his anxieties, and frequently employed her pen in matters of business. On one occasion, she was called on to vindicate his character from some illiberal attack, and she acquitted herself of the task in a very able manner. This little tract was published, but not being of any general interest, has not been preserved. The elder Mr Smith has frequently declared, that such was the readiness of her pen, that she could expedite more business in an hour from his dictation, than any one of his clerks could perform in a day; and he even offered her a considerable annual allowance, if she would reside in London and assist him in his business, which he foresaw would be lost to his family after his death. Obvious reasons prevented her acceptance of this proposal, which, singular as it was, affords a strong instance of the compass of her mind, which could adapt itself with equal facility to the charms of literature, and the dry details of commerce.

  Mrs Smith had been long endeavouring to obtain her father-in-law’s consent to the removal of her family entirely into the country; and such was her influence over him, that she prevailed, in opposition to his better judgment, and in 1774 an estate in Hants, called Lys Farm, was purchased, and in a new and untried situation, she fondly imagined she should escape from existing evils; but she was soon awakened from her dream of happiness.

  In removing her husband from his father’s eye, she had taken off the only check which could restrain his conduct, and accordingly he plunged into expenses much more serious than any be had hitherto ventured upon. In other respects her situation was improved; and if she had not more actual happiness, she had occasional enjoyment; she had better and more frequent society; she was better appreciated, both on account of her talents and her personal attractions. Though she was at that time the mother of seven children, and had lost much of the lightness of her figure, she was in the meridian of her beauty —

  “In the sober charms and dignity

  Of womanhood, mature, not verging yet

  Upon decay, in gesture like a queen:

  Such inborn and habitual majesty

  Ennobled all her steps.”

  It was natural that she should take pleasure in society, where she was sure to be well received, and that she should seek, in such dissipation as the neighbourhood afforded, a temporary relief from the unremitting vexations which embittered her domestic hours. In 1776 she lost her best friend in her husband’s father, who, if not an agreeable person to liv
e with, had many estimable qualities, and had the discernment to appreciate hers. From his death may be dated the long course of calamities which marked her subsequent life. Mr Smith, whether from a conceit of his own knowledge of law, or from the mistaken economy of a narrow mind, that would risk thousands to save a few pounds, thought proper to make his own will. A most voluminous document! which, from its utter want of perspicuity, from its numerous incomprehensible and contradictory clauses, no two lawyers ever understood in the same sense. It was a tangled skein, which neither patience nor skill could unravel He had appointed his widow, his son, and his son’s wife, joint executors, intending to restrain his son’s power, without excluding him; but the measure defeated itself. The widow, weak and infirm, was easily overruled by cajolery, or less gentle means; and the appointment of the wife was (as to immediate power) completely nugatory; so that the entire power over the property fell into the hands least fit to be intrusted with it. Endless disputes arose among the parties interested, or rather their agents, for many of Mr Smith’s grandchildren were orphans and minors; and I believe, though Mrs C. Smith considered herself and her children as the victims of these unhappy dissensions, the other branches of the family were more or less sufferers. Besides what was expended in law, and what was wasted by improvidence, the sum of L.20,000 was lost to the family, by the old gentleman having suffered himself, with all his caution, to be overreached by his solicitor, who persuaded him to lend that sum to a distressed baronet on mortgage. But the security was bad; and I believe the family never received any compensation. Mrs Smith had long foreseen the storm that was gathering round her, but had no power to avert it. A lucrative contract, which the interest of Mr Robinson (then Secretary to the Treasury, and who had married a sister of Mr B. Smith’s) procured for him, warded off the blow for a time, and he went on with his accustomed thoughtlessness. About this time he took an active part in a contested election for the county of Southampton, between Sir Richard Worsley and — . (Name not recollected.)

  As the brother-in-law of Mr Robinson, his exertions were, of course, in favour of the Ministerial candidate. Mrs Smith had not at that time caught the contagion which spread so widely a few years afterwards, and very willingly lent her pen in support of the cause; and among the many efforts which were made on both sides to unite wit with politics, hers were reckoned the most successful; but as she was not known to have been the author of them, her vanity could not have been much gratified.

  In the spring of 1777 she lost her eldest son in his eleventh year. His delicate health from his birth had particularly endeared him to his mother, and she felt this affliction in proportion to her extreme affection for him. She had looked to him as a future friend and companion, and it was observed by some of her intimates, that a visible change in her character took place after this event. To divert her mind from this irremediable calamity, and from the contemplation of the many anxieties which oppressed her, she amused herself by composing her first Sonnets, which were never intended for publication. I believe it was the late Bryan Edwards, Esq author of the History of the West Indies, and some Poems of great elegance, who, by his warm and gratifying praises, first gave her an opinion of their merit, to which she had not before considered them entitled, and she was encouraged to add to her little collection.

  The peace of 1782 deprived Mr Smith of his contract. The legatees became importunate for the settlement of their respective claims, and, wearied by incessant delay, at length took those strong measures which are detailed in the third volume of Public Characters. The estate in Hampshire was sold. Mrs Smith never deserted her husband for a moment during the melancholy period of his misfortunes, and perhaps her conduct never was so deserving of admiration as at this time. When suffering from the calamities he had brought on himself, and in which he had inextricably involved her and her children, she exerted herself with as much zeal and energy as if his conduct had been unexceptionable — made herself mistress of his affairs — submitted to many humiliating applications, and encountered the most unfeeling repulses. Perhaps the severest of her tasks, as well as the most difficult, was that of employing her superior abilities in defending a conduct she could not have approved. To a mind so ingenuous as hers, there could not have been a more painful sacrifice of talents at the shrine of duty. The estates were at length placed in the hands of trustees, and Mr and Mrs Smith were at liberty to return to their house in Sussex, which they had taken when Lys Farm was sold.

  The first edition of the Sonnets was published this year; the circumstances relating to them have already been amply detailed in the volume of the Public Characters already referred to: they were dedicated to Mr Hayley, but I believe her personal introduction to him did not take place till some, time afterwards. Mr Smith found it expedient to retire to the Continent, and, as he was entirely ignorant of the French language, his wife accompanied him to Dieppe, and having made such arrangements for his comfort as the time admitted of, she returned in the same packet which had taken her over, with the hope of surmounting the fresh difficulties that had arisen; but this not being practicable, she soon rejoined him with all her family. Mr Smith in the meantime had been induced, with his usual indiscretion, to engage a large chateau twelve Norman miles from Dieppe. The inconvenience of the situation, so far from a market — the dreariness of the house, extremely out of repair — the excessive scarcity of fuel, and the almost brutal manners of the peasantry in that insulated part of the country, rendered her situation most melancholy. Yet here she was condemned to pass the peculiarly severe winter of 1783; and here, without proper assistance or accommodation, she was confined with her youngest son; and, in spite of her forebodings that she should not survive the birth of her child, she recovered her health more speedily than on former occasions, when surrounded with every sort of indulgence and comfort. (See Public Characters.)

  A few days afterwards, she was astonished by the entrance of a procession of priests into her bedroom, who, in defiance of her entreaties and tears, forcibly carried off the infant to be baptized in the parish church, though the snow was deep on the ground and the cold intense. As not one of her children had ever been exposed to the external air at so early a period of their existence, she concluded her boy could never survive this cruel act of the authority of the Church: he was, however, soon restored to her, without having sustained the slightest ill consequence. It was during her seclusion in this forlorn residence, and when she had no power of selection, that, for the amusement of herself and some English friends, (exiles like herself,) she translated the novel called Manon L’Escaut, written about fifty years before by the Abbé Prévost; and soon after her return to England, which took place in the summer of 1785, (for she had been convinced of the fallacy of her plan of living cheaply in France,) this translation was published, and she was severely censured for her choice as immoral; but I believe it was the want of the power of selection which induced her to employ a mind qualified for worthier purposes on such a work. The author himself considers his work as strictly moral, and tells us in his preface, that “Les personnes de bon sens ne regarderont pas un ouvrage de cette nature comme un travail inutile. Outre le plaisir d’une lecture agréable on y trouvera peu d’evènemens qui ne puissent servir à l’instruction des mœurs; et c’est rendre, à mon avis, un service considerable au public que de l’instruire en l’amusant.” The good Abbé, after much more in the same style, concludes his preface by assuring his readers, “Que l’ouvrage entier est un traité de morale réduit agréablement en exercice.”

  I have quoted thus far, in order to contrast the French with the English moralist, a friend having permitted me to avail myself of the following letter from the late celebrated Mr Steevens, to whom Mrs Smith had ordered a copy to be presented.

  TO MISS —— .

  “DEAR MADAM,

  “I had purchased Manon L’Escaut several days before Mrs Smith’s obliging present arrived; I have therefore returned it to Cadell, and beg you will inform your friend of this circumstanc
e, lest the book should be charged to her account. I am equally obliged by her intention, though the negligence of her bookseller has defeated it. Manon seems to be very ably translated; but of this I can be no adequate judge, having never seen the French original.

  “When Mrs Smith can be prevailed on to employ her admirable talents on subjects more worthy of them than Werters and Manons, I will always be happy to do everything in my power to promote the success of her pen; but I tell you fairly, that such heroes and such heroines shall never obtain the smallest recommendation from me.

  The wise and good I pity in misfortune:

  But when ingratitude and folly suffers,

  ’Tis weakness to be touch’d.

  “Pray where lies the moral of pointing out, that the most exalted sentiments will not secure us from being guilty of the most profligate actions? Love is the only ingredient which keeps the character of the Chevalier sweet. He is a seducer, a hypocrite, an undutiful son, an ungrateful friend, a cheat, a gambler, a murderer, &c. &c.; and must all this be forgiven, because the source of it is a violent attachment to a beautiful wanton? She, too, only interests us, because at bottom she is supposed to have some real love for her paramour, though a casual indigence, a temporary deprivation of dissipation, seldom fails to cure her of too much amorous weakness for her pretended favourite.

  “I am beyond measure provoked at books, which philtre the passions of young people till they admit the weakest apologies for licentiousness; and this story is so managed, that one cannot occasionally withhold one’s pity from two characters, which, on serious reflection, ought every way to be condemned. But I would ask, How are the hero and heroine punished? She dies, not in consequence of her vices, but drops by a natural though sudden attack of illness, and at the age of twenty-two he is liberated from a female, from whom he has received as much delight as sorrow; and we are left to suppose his father’s death, which his misconduct had hastened, has been the instrument of restoring him to affluence and happiness. He has been, in short, too much a dupe to preserve one’s respect, and too much a profligate to claim one’s pity; yet I must confess we are cheated now and then of the latter by partial situations, and yet the fraud is successful only for an instant. The tablet of Nature may exhibit such contradictory beings as our Chevalier, who admires the necessity of laws divine and human, and violates them all. Yet these are not the characters on which a conscientious moralist would expend his decorations. The shield may be lifted in defence of virtue, but this defensive armour, with such meretricious imagery, cannot fail to defeat every moral purpose.