FATALITIES OF MARRIAGE.
Speculations of the author on free-agency and predestination—A novel theory—The matrimonial ladder—Advice to young lovers—A ball in Dublin—Unexpected arrival of Lord G— —His doom expressed—Marries the author’s niece—Remarks on his lordship’s character.
In a previous part of this volume, I promised my fair readers that I would endeavour to select some little anecdotes of tender interest, more particularly calculated for their perusal; and I now proceed to redeem that promise, so far as I can.
Fatalityinmarriageshas been ever a favourite theme with young ladies who have promptly determined to resign their liberty to a stranger, rather than preserve it with a parent. I am myself no unqualified fatalist; but have struck out a notion of my own on that subject, which is, I believe, different from all others;—and when I venture to broach it in conversation, I am generally assured by the most didactic of the company, that (so far as it is comprehensible) it excludesboth sense and morality. Nevertheless it is, like my faith in supernaturals, a grounded and honest opinion: and in all matters connected with such shadowy things as spirits, fates, chances, &c. a man is surely warranted in forming his own theories—a species of construction, at any rate, equally harmless and rational with that castle-building in the air so prevalent among his wiser acquaintances.
It is not my intention here to plunge deep into my tenets. I only mean indeed to touch on them so far as they bear upon matrimony: and may the glance induce fair damsels, when first nourishing a tender passion, to consider in time what may befatedas the consequences of theirfree-agency!
The matrimonialladder(if I may be allowed such a simile) has generally eight steps: viz. 1. Attentions; 2. Flirtation; 3. Courtship; 4. Breaking the ice; 5. Popping the question; 6. The negotiation; 7. The ceremony; 8. Therepentance.
The grand basis of my doctrine is, that free-agency and predestination are neither (as commonly held) inconsistent nor incompatible; but, on the contrary, intimately connected, and generally copartners in producing human events. Every important occurrence in the life of man or woman (and matrimony is nobagatelle) partakes of the nature of both. Great events may ever be traced to trivial causes, or to voluntary actions;and that which isvoluntarycannot, it should seem, bepredestined: but when these acts of free-will are once performed, they lead irresistibly to ulterior things. Our free-agency then becomes expended; our spontaneous actions cannot be retraced; and then, and not before, the march offatecommences.
The medical doctrine of remote and proximate causes of disease in the human body is not altogether inappropriate to my dogma—since disorders which arepredestinedto send ladies and gentlemen on their travels to the other world, entirelyagainsttheir inclinations, may frequently be traced to acts which were as entirely within their own option.
I have already professed my intention of going but superficially into this subject just now; and though I could find it in my heart considerably to prolong the inquiry, I will only give one or two marked illustrations of my doctrine, merely to set casuists conjecturing. There are comparatively few important acts of a person’s life which may not be avoided. For example:—if any man chooses voluntarily to take a voyage to Nova Scotia, he givespredestinationa fair opportunity of drowning him at sea, if it think proper; but if he determines never to go into a ship, he may be perfectly certain of his safety inthatway. Again:—if a general chooses to go into a battle, it is his free-agency which enables predestination to despatch himthere; but if, on the other hand, he keeps clear out of it (as some generals do), he may set fatality at defiance on that point, and perhaps return with as much glory as many of his comrades had acquired by leaving their brains upon the field. Cromwell told his soldiers the night before the battle of Worcester, (to encourage them,) that, “Everybulletcarried its ownbillet.”—“Why then, by my sowl,” said an Irish recruit, “that’s the very rason I’lldesertbefore morning!” Marriage, likewise, is an act of free-agency; but, as I said before, being once contracted, predestination comes into play, often despatching one or other of the parties, either by grief, murder, or suicide, who might have been safe and sound from all thosefatalities, had he or she nevervoluntarilypurchased or worn a plain gold ring.
Of the eight steps attached to the ladder of matrimony already specified,seven(all lovers will be pleased to remark) imply “free-agency;” but the latter of these being mounted, progress to the eighth is too frequentlyinevitable. I therefore recommend to all candidates for the ascent, thorough deliberation, and a brief pause at each successive step:—for, according to my way of thinking, the knot tied at the seventh interval should be considered, in every respect, perfectly indissoluble.
The principle of these few examples might extend to most of the events that chequer our passagethrough life; and a little unprejudiced reflection seems alone requisite to demonstrate that “free-agency” may readily keep fate under her thumb on most important occasions.
I cannot avoid particularising, as to matrimony, an incident that came within my knowledge, and related to individuals of rank who are still living. The facts are well remembered, though they occurred nearly twenty years ago. Exclusive of the intrinsic interest of the transaction, it may have some weight with my fair readers.
About the year 1809, a ball, on an extensive scale, was given by Lady Barrington in Dublin. Almost every person oftondid her the honour of participating in the festivity, and I think the Duke of Wellington was present.
In the evening, I received a note from Sir Charles Ormsby, mentioning that Lord G——, son of my old friend the Earl of L——, had just arrived. He was represented as a fine young man; and it was added that (though quite tired) he might be prevailed on to attend Lady Barrington’s ball, were I to write him a note of invitation. Of course I did so with the greatest pleasure. The Earl of L—— and I had been many years intimate: the late Right Honourable Isaac Corry was his close friend; and before his lordship grewtoo rich, he was my next door neighbour in Harcourt Street. We were, indeed, all three, boon companions.
Lord G—— arrived at the ball, and a very good-looking fellow he certainly was—of about nineteen; his address corresponded with his mien, and I was quite taken with him, independently of his being my friend’s son. Two very young relatives of mine—one my niece, Arabella E——, the other my daughter (now the Viscomtesse de F——,) did the juvenile honours of the party.
Sir Charles Ormsby, (who might have been termed a sort ofhalf-mountedwit,) said to me, rather late, “Did you ever know such a foolish boy as G——? Before he had been half an hour in the room, he protested that ere three months were over, either one or other of your girls would be Lady G——; that it was adoomedthing;—though he could not exactly saywhichwould be the bride—as he had not seen either from the time they were all children together.”
The ball ended about day-break, and I was obliged immediately to set off for circuit. I had been engaged as counsel on the trial of Mr. Alcock for the murder of Mr. John Colclough (as mentioned Volume i.).
I finished my month’s circuit at Wexford, where to my surprise I found Lord G——. I asked him his business there. He said he had been summoned as a witness on the above-mentioned trial, which I thought a very strange circumstance, as he could have known nothing whatsoever of thetransaction. However, we travelled together to Dublin in my carriage; and on the way he spoke much ofdestiny, and of a cottage in County Wicklow, with every thing “rural.” I did not then comprehend the young man’s drift; but on my return, I found that hisfree-agencyhad been put in practice; and, in fact, very shortly after, Lord G—— was my nephew.Fatalitynow commenced her dominion; and a most charming gift from fatality had the young nobleman received in a partner juvenile, like himself, his equal in birth, and possessed of every accomplishment.
I had not at first been made acquainted with the cause of Lord G——’s visit to Ireland; but at length understood, with some surprise, that the Earl of L—— had placed his eldest son as an ensign in a marching regiment ordered to the continent. Thus, at the age of nineteen, he found himself in a situation unfavourable, as I think, to the fair and proper development of his mind and talents—uncongenial with the befitting pursuits for a nobleman’s heir—and still less adapted to gratify the cravings of an ardent intelligent spirit, whose very enthusiasm was calculated, under such circumstances, to produce recklessness and evil.
The residue of thisnovel(for such, in all its details, it may fairly be denominated—and one of a most interesting and affecting cast) would afford ample material for observation: but it is too long, too grave, and perhaps too delicate, for investigationhere.—Suffice it to add, that I saw Lord and Lady G——, with their numerous and lovely family, last summer on the continent—altered less than I should have imagined, from the interval that had elapsed. In speaking of his lordship, I am reminded of the motto, “Every one has his fault:”—but he has likewise great merits, and talent which would have been higher had his education been more judicious. My friendship for him has been strong and invariable; and I think that fate has not yet closed the book on his future renown and advancement.