The husband of Mrs. Munden being engaged abroad till his usual hour, she had just time to get into bed before he came home; which she was very glad of, as it prevented him from asking any question concerning her sitting up so much beyond her custom; and she was not willing to say any thing to him of her new guest, till she had talked farther with her, and also examined into the truth of the affair which brought her thither.
The more she reflected on the account that lady had given of herself, the less reason she found to give credit to some passages in it: she could not think that a prince, such as the Duke of M——, would, on a mere suggestion, cast a woman out to misery and beggary, whom he had so passionately loved; and yet less could she believe that her brother, a man not fiery by nature, could have acted in the manner she had represented, without a much greater provocation than what she pretended.
Besides, the mercer bringing home goods so late at night to a customer, and being locked up with her, seemed so inconsistent with innocence, that she could not help being of opinion, that the cause must be bad indeed which had no better plea for it's defence.
It also afforded her a good deal of matter for vexation, that by expressing, in such warm terms, the great liking she took of this lady when they accidentally met at the mercer's, she had encouraged her to make choice of her house for an asylum in her distress, and by this means rendered herself interested in the concerns of a stranger, who, at the best, it did not well become her to take part with.
But her most alarming apprehensions were in relation to her brother: she knew not but, if irritated to the high degree Mademoiselle de Roquelair had described, he might in reality have been guilty of some rash action, which might endanger his reputation, and even his life.
Her mind being thus employed, it is easy to believe sleep had little power over her eyes: late as she went to bed, she rose pretty early in the morning; and, impatient to know something farther of the transactions of the preceding night, she dispatched a servant to her brother's house under pretence of enquiring after his health, not doubting but, by the answer he would bring, she should be able to form some conjecture whether any thing of the nature Mademoiselle de Roquelair seemed to apprehend, had really happened or not.
The man returning with the intelligence that Mr. Thoughtless was very well, and not yet stirring, gave her great consolation: she then went up to the chamber of Mademoiselle; and, after giving her the usual salutation of the morning, sat down by her bedside, and began talking in this manner.
'Madam,' said she, 'I have been considering on your story; and as I sincerely pity the misfortunes to which you have reduced yourself, should be glad to know by what method you propose to extricate yourself from them, and what farther assistance you require from me, or is in my power to grant, without acting unbecoming of my character.'
'I should be utterly unworthy,' answered the other, weeping, 'of the compassion you have shewn, and even of the life you have preserved, should I entreat any thing of you that might either injure your reputation, or prejudice the good understanding between you and your brother. As to my misfortunes, they are, alas! past remedy; I neither hope, nor shall endeavour, for a reconciliation with Mr. Thoughtless; I have long since been ashamed and weary of the errors of my conduct, though I wanted strength of resolution to reform them: but be assured, Madam, I have now no other wish than to pass my future life in that only retreat for wretches like myself—a monastery.'
Her streaming eyes, her moving accent, and, above all, the seeming contrition she expressed for her faults, raised such a flow of tenderness in the soul of Mrs. Munden, that she resolved from that instant to do every thing in her power to save her.
'As the religion of your country,' said she, 'and in which you werebred, affords a great number of those safe and sure asylums for persons who have made ill use of their liberty, you cannot, indeed, do better than to fly to some one of them for refuge from temptations, which you have too much experienced the force of; and if you persevere in this good disposition, I will endeavour to procure the means of rendering you able to accomplish so laudable a desire.'
'Ah, Madam,' cried Mademoiselle de Roquelair, 'it is all I ask of Heaven, or you; the accidents of my life have convinced me there can be no real happiness without virtue, and that the most certain defence of virtue is religion: if I could now flatter myself with the means of being received within those sacred walls, from which the fatal love of Mr. Thoughtless drew me, I should think my guardian angel had not quite forsook me.'
On this, the good-natured believing Mrs. Munden said many kind things to her—made her take some refreshment as she lay in bed, in which she advised her to continue some time, and endeavour to compose herself to sleep, she seeming to stand in need of it very much. In going out of the chamber, she told her she should return in a few hours; but if she wanted any thing in the mean time, on her ringing a bell by her bedside, a maid-servant would immediately attend upon her.
She was, indeed, bent to try all possible methods for the accomplishment of what she promised. 'How guilty soever this unhappy woman is,' said she within herself, 'my brother, in common justice, ought at least to leave in her in the same condition in which he found her: she was then going to a nunnery; and it is now his duty to send her to one; for it cannot be expected her father will make a second offer of that sort.'
With these reflections, together with others on the manner in which it would be most proper to address Mr. Thoughtless on this score, was her mind taken up, till the hour she imagined he might be stirring: the disturbances which must necessarily have happened in his family the night before, made her suppose he might lie longer than usual; but she chose rather to wait a while for his rising, than hazard losing the opportunity of speaking to him by his being gone abroad.
That gentleman had, in fact, passed the most disagreeable night he had ever known: he had loved Mademoiselle de Roquelair with such an extravagance of fondness, that he had sometimes been even prompted by it to marry her; but the too great warmth of herconstitution, and the known inconstancy of her temper, as often deterred him from it, and also made him restrain her from any of those liberties he would otherwise have allowed her: he had thought himself no less secure of her person than she always pretended he was of her heart; and now to find all his tenderness for her abused, all his precautions frustrated, might well raise in him passions of the most desperate kind.
The inclinations of this woman were, in reality, too vicious to be bound by any obligations, or withheld from their gratifications, by any of the methods taken for that purpose: she loved variety—she longed for change, without consulting whether the object was suitable or not—the mercer had a person and address agreeable enough; he was of an amorous complexion, and readily improved the advances she made him: he frequently came to her under the pretence of bringing patterns of silks, or other things in his way of trade; and all this, as she imagined, without raising any suspicion in the family. No interruption happening in their repeated interviews, she sometimes kept him with her till near the hour in which Mr. Thoughtless usually came home, which was seldom till one or two o'clock.
But on this unlucky night it so fell out that a very ill run of play, and the loss of all the money he had about him, brought him home much sooner than was his custom: a servant being at the door, prevented his knocking; so that the lovers had not the least notice how near he was to them. He went directly into his dressing-room, which was backwards on the ground-floor, and sat musing for some time, casting up the sums he had lost, cursing fortune within himself, and protesting never to touch a card or throw a dice again; when, on a sudden, he was alarmed with the sound of a man's voice laughing very heartily; he stamped with his foot; and a servant immediately coming up, 'Is there any company above?' demanded he, hastily. 'None, Sir, but the mercer that comes to Madam with silks,' replied the man. 'A mercer at this time of night!' cried Mr. Thoughtless. 'How long has he been here?'—'I cannot tell exactly, Sir,' said he; 'but, I believe, three or four hours.'—'A long visit; and on business too!' resumed Mr. Thoughtless; and, after a little pause, 'Go,' continued he, 'bid Mademoiselle de Roquelair come down to me.'
If this unfaithful woman had been but mistress of artifice enough to have made any one of the family her friend, she would certainly have been told that Mr. Thoughtless was come home, and her gallant might easily have slipt out of the house without his knowledge; but,on the contrary, her imperious behaviour towards them, set them all in general against her: this fellow in particular, whom she had used worse than the rest, rejoiced that his master was likely to find out what he wished him to know, but never durst acquaint him with.
On his going up stairs, he found they were shut in the bed-chamber; and, running to his master with this account, 'Locked in the chamber!' said Mr. Thoughtless, starting up. 'Yes, Sir,' answered the servant; 'and nobody would answer, though I knocked two or three times;' which, by the way, if he did at all, it was too softly for them to hear.
'Confusion!' cried Mr. Thoughtless, now worked up to the highest pitch of jealous rage; 'I'll try if they will open to me!' With these words he drew his sword, and flew up stairs, burst open the door, and rushed into the room with all the fury of an incensed lion. The astonished guilty pair had neither thought nor means to escape; the lover, on the first burst of the door, jumped out of the window into the yard—Mademoiselle ran screaming to one corner of the room. 'Abandoned woman!' cried Thoughtless, 'your punishment shall be the second course!' then, followed by his man with lights, ran in pursuit of the person who had injured him.
This unhappy woman, not daring to stand the tempest of his rage when he should return, took the opportunity of his having quitted the chamber to make her escape; though, at the time she did so, as she had truly told Mrs. Munden, she neither knew where nor to whom she should apply for refuge.
The mercer, in the mean time, was found by Mr. Thoughtless, but in a condition more exciting pity than revenge: the poor man had broke both his legs with his fall, and was otherwise very much hurt; but on seeing by whom, and in what manner he was approached, the terror of immediate death made him exert all the strength that was left in him to cry out for pardon; which word he repeated over and over again in the most lamentable tone that could be. Mr. Thoughtless, on this, turned hastily away, bidding his servants raise and carry him into the hall, where a chair being presently brought, he was put into it, and sent home to make the best excuse he could to his wife for the mischief that had happened to him.
Every room was afterwards searched for Mademoiselle de Roquelair; but she not being found, and a maid-servant remembering that, in the midst of the confusion, the street-door had been left open, the flight of that lady was not to be doubted.
Though these disturbances had taken up the greatest part of the night, Mr. Thoughtless was able to enjoy little repose after going to bed; and rose rather sooner than usual—he was up and dressed when his sister came; but was a good deal surprized to be told of her being there, as she had never visited him before without a formal invitation.
'Good morrow, my dear sister,' said he, as soon as she was introduced; 'this is a favour quite unexpected: pray, what brings you abroad thus early?'—'You men,' answered she, 'who keep such late hours, may well think it early; but for us women, who live more regularly, it is no wonder to see us breathe the morning air: but I assure you I rose somewhat sooner than ordinary to-day on your account.'—'On mine! As how, pray?' demanded he. 'I am come,' answered she, 'to solicit in behalf of a person who has fallen under your displeasure—Mademoiselle de Roquelair.'
'Mademoiselle de Roquelair!' cried he, hastily interrupting her: 'what knowledge can you have of that infamous creature?' She then ingenuously related to him how they had met by accident at the mercer's—the offer she had then made of her friendship; and how, as she supposed, emboldened by that mistaken encouragement, she had flown to her house for shelter the preceding night: 'You see how dangerous it is,' said he, 'to make friendship at first sight; but surely the wretch cannot flatter herself with the least distant hope of a reconciliation?'
'Far be it from me, Sir,' replied Mrs. Munden very gravely, 'to become the negociator of such a treaty, or even to attempt a vindication of her behaviour: no, it is your own honour, for which alone I am concerned; and that, I think, requires you should send her to a monastery; since, as she says, you deprived her of the opportunity of entering into one.'
'All mere pretence!' cried he: ''tis true, there was some talk of such a thing; but she has inclinations of a different sort.' To which Mrs. Munden replied, that inclinations, though ever so corrupt, might be reformed by reason, adversity, and experience—that she hoped her penitence was sincere—and what before her was her aversion, was now become her choice. She then urged the request she came upon, in terms so moving and pathetick, that Mr. Thoughtless, irritated as he was, could not withstand the energy of her words: he told her he would consider on what she had said, and give his answer the next day; but, in the mean time, desired shewould advise her unworthy guest to send for her baggage immediately; saying, he would have nothing in his house that should remind him of her.
Mrs. Munden, pretty well satisfied with having obtained thus much, took her leave; and returned to Mademoiselle de Roquelair, with an account of what she had done.
Mademoiselle de Roquelair, on finding how far the good-nature of Mrs. Munden had made her interest herself in her behalf, expressed the transports of her gratitude in terms which gave some pain to the modesty of that lady to receive: 'What I have done,' said she, 'is to promote the cause of virtue; and I hope my endeavours that way will not be lost on your account.'—'You are all goodness,' replied the other; 'but I blush to think that, being already indebted for so many favours, I must still become your petitioner for more: though I have lived fifteen months in this town, I am a perfect stranger to the greatest part of it, quite unacquainted with it's customs, and know not where, and in what manner, to address myself for lodgings. In the midst of my distractions, I found shelter under your hospitable roof; may I presume to flatter myself with the continuance of that charitable protection, till I receive an answer from Mr. Thoughtless?'
Mrs. Munden paused a little at this request; but, thinking it would be cruel in this distress to have recourse to strangers, and to whom she could communicate nothing of her mind, made this reply 'Though it would be highly inconvenient, Madam,' said she, 'for you to remain in my house for any length of time; yet as, in all probability, your affairs will be determined in a few days, I would not have you think of leaving me till you are prepared to leave the kingdom. Please, therefore,' continued she, 'to make an inventory of what things you have at my brother's, and I will give orders for their being brought directly hither.'
Mademoiselle de Roquelair was beginning to give some fresh testimonies of the sense she had of this last obligation; but Mrs. Munden would not suffer her to proceed; and, pointing to a standish that stood on the table, desired her to write the memorandums she had mentioned. 'Obedience, Madam, is better than sacrifice,' said the other; and immediately did as she was directed: after which Mrs. Munden went down to give the orders she had promised.
She sent this inventory by her own man, and instructed him to procure persons for bringing thither every thing belonging to Mademoiselle de Roquelair: but as this could not be done, and that lady dressed, before the hour of dinner, which was just at hand, she judged it improper she should appear at table till she could do so with greater decency; she therefore bid one of the maids prepare something apart, and serve it up to her in her own chamber.
She then began to consider what she should say to Mr. Munden in relation to this affair: she knew not but he might already be apprized of what had passed; or if even he were not so, she thought it would be impossible to keep her in the house without his privity; so resolved to be quite open in the affair.
She was right in her conjecture: Mademoiselle de Roquelair had happened to ring the bell for something she wanted; Mr. Munden hearing it, and knowing his wife was abroad, asked who was above; and this question occasioned the man, who was then dressing him, to give an account, as far as was in his power to do, of the last night's accident.
This a little surprized him, yet not enough to keep him from the Park, where he constantly walked every day an hour or two before dinner; but on his return, he immediately interrogated his wife concerning her new guest; on which she told him, without the least reserve, every circumstance of this transaction; he listened attentively to what she said, but testified neither any dislike or approbation of her conduct in this respect: he said no more to her after she had done speaking; but behaved with the same sullen silence he had always done since her adventure with Lord ——; and as soon as dinner was over, went out to pass the remainder of the day, and best part of the night, according to custom.
Mrs. Munden's good-nature would not suffer her to go abroad the whole afternoon; she passed all the hours, till bed-time, with Mademoiselle Roquelair, and did every thing in her power both to comfort her in the affliction she was under, and to fortify her in thegood resolution she seemed to have taken: the next morning she received, as she expected, the following billet from her brother.
'To Mrs. Munden.Dear Sister,In compliance with your desires, and to be certain of getting eternally rid of the sight of a woman who has so much abused the kindness I had for her, I consent to grant her request of being enabled to go into a monastery: a friend of mine has great dealings with a merchant at Bologne; I will see him this afternoon, and pay into his hands the sum which I am told is sufficient for that purpose. If you give yourself the trouble to call on me to-morrow morning, I will give you his order for her receiving it on her arrival. I cannot think of entering your house while she is in it; but am always, dear sister, your affectionate brother,T. Thoughtless.'
'To Mrs. Munden.
Dear Sister,
In compliance with your desires, and to be certain of getting eternally rid of the sight of a woman who has so much abused the kindness I had for her, I consent to grant her request of being enabled to go into a monastery: a friend of mine has great dealings with a merchant at Bologne; I will see him this afternoon, and pay into his hands the sum which I am told is sufficient for that purpose. If you give yourself the trouble to call on me to-morrow morning, I will give you his order for her receiving it on her arrival. I cannot think of entering your house while she is in it; but am always, dear sister, your affectionate brother,
T. Thoughtless.'
Mrs. Munden having imparted the contents of this letter to Mademoiselle de Roquelair, she seemed as much contented as a person in her circumstances could be: she dined below that day; and Mr. Munden treated her with the same politeness and complaisance he always used towards persons over whom he had no power.
The next morning did not fail of carrying his fair wife to her brother's about the hour in which she imagined he would expect her; but on the moment of her entrance, she had the mortification of being accosted by him in these terms: 'My dear sister,' said he, "I was just going to send to you, to prevent your giving yourself this needless trouble. The gentleman I went to is out of town, and will not return these two days: so nothing can be done in this woman's affair till he comes back.' She told him she was extremely sorry; 'Because,' said she, 'delays are sometimes dangerous: but I hope, my dear brother, no second considerations will make you frustrate the good intentions of this unhappy penitent.'—'No, no!' cried he; 'I wish she may persevere in them as steadfastly as I shall to the promise I have made.' Satisfied with this assurance, she made her leave, little suspecting, while she was labouring with all her might in this good office, that cruel and ungenerous return which was about to be made for her compassion.
Mr. Munden had seen Mademoiselle de Roquelair no more thanonce; but that once was sufficient to make him become enamoured—her beauty fired him—the known wantonness of her inclinations encouraged him—he scarce doubted of success; but in case of a failure, and if she should even acquaint his wife with his attempt, her character furnished him with the pretence of having made it only to try how far her conversion was sincere.
He therefore hesitated not a moment if he should endeavour the accomplishment of his desires; and, for the doing so, no time was to be lost, as she was so suddenly to depart. Mrs. Munden was no sooner gone out, than he went softly up stairs to the chamber of this too lovely and less more virtuous stranger: she was sitting in a pensive posture, leaning her head upon her hand, when he came in; but rose to receive him with that respect which she thought due from her to the husband of her protectress.
After the salutations of the morning were over, 'Is it possible,' cried he, taking one of her hands, and looking earnestly on her face, 'that such youth, such beauty, charms in such profusion, should be condemned to a cloyster? No! it cannot be! All the powers of love and pleasure forbid you to make so unnatural a choice!' Transported and amazed at hearing him speak in this manner, she could not forbear telling him, with her eyes, that her thoughts corresponded with his words; but willing her tongue should preserve the decency of the character she had assumed, at least till he should make a farther declaration of his sentiments; 'If I were, indeed,' answered she, 'all that can be described of beautiful, I could not, sure, be an offering too amiable for Heaven!'
'Heaven never gave you these perfections,' resumed he, 'to be concealed in a dark lonesome cell! Those melting lips of yours were never formed to kiss the feet of a cold lifeless image, or pour forth oraisons to unhearing saints, but to make blest some warm, some happy he, who knows and has the power of returning the raptures they bestow!' These last words were attended with such vehement and repeated pressures of the lips he praised, as left her no room to doubt the aim of his desires; as did the manner of her receiving them also convince him of his success.
'But are you in earnest, resolved to be a nun?' replied he. 'Since fate will have it so,' replied she with a deep sigh, and a look so languishing and so sweet as pierced his very soul. 'Make me your fate, then,' cried he impatiently: 'be mine, and not all the saints in the kalendar shall snatch you from me.'—'You are then—you must be,my fate!' said she, returning his embrace with equal eagerness: 'you have the power of fate; and are no less resistless. Henceforth I'll seek no other heaven but your love—your breast my altar—and your arms my cell!'
It will be easily supposed that, after this, she refused no liberties he thought fit to take. Nothing but the last favour was wanting to compleat his wishes; and to that he would not venture to proceed, for fear of an interruption: but they agreed to meet at the Portuguese ambassador's chapel at six o'clock that same evening. Mutual kisses and embraces having sealed the covenant, he went down to dress, and left her to compose her countenance against Mrs. Munden's return.
This very wicked woman, who had never any real thoughts of going into a monastery, and only intended to appropriate the money she expected from Mr. Thoughtless to such uses as might induce some man of fortune to make choice of her for a mistress, now gave herself little pain whether he granted her request or not, imagining she had found in Mr. Munden all she wished for, or could hope, in a gallant.
She affected, however, to Mrs. Munden, to be under some concern for this delay of her intended journey; but said she would employ the time she staid in such acts of devotion as should best prepare her to become a member of that sacred society which she soon hoped to be among. 'I have not been,' added she, 'for a long time, at confession; but I will go this afternoon, and ease my conscience of it's load of guilt.'
Thus impiously did she profane the name of religion, by making it the veil to cover the most shameful depravities of nature. On the arrival of the appointed hour, with looks of sanctity, and a heart full of impurity, she hasted to the place of rendezvous. The punctual Mr. Munden waited for her at the chapel-door, and conducted her where they had all the freedom they could wish of indulging their vicious inclinations.
They broke off this amorous intercourse much sooner than either of them desired; Mademoiselle de Roquelair not being able to find a plausible excuse to make to Mrs. Munden for staying beyond the time which her pretended devotions might be reasonably supposed to take up: but, to atone for this misfortune, a strategem was contrived between them, not only for their meeting next day, but also for their continuing together a much longer time. It was thus.
She told Mrs. Munden that the reverend father to whom she had confessed, informed her that a young lady, of a very worthy family in England, having passed her year of probation at a monastery in Bologne, and returned hither only to take an eternal leave of her friends, and of the world, was now just ready to go back, in order to be initiated. 'To this family,' added she, 'the good father has offered to introduce me to-morrow; and if the young lady approves of my being the companion of her voyage, as he assures me she certainly will, how happy shall I think myself!'
The truth of all this not being suspected by Mrs. Munden, she congratulated her upon it. It is easy to deceive the innocent; but, it must be owned, this wicked woman had subtlety enough to have imposed on a person more skilled in the artifices of the world than was the amiable lady on whom she practised it.
But, not to detain the reader's attention on so ungrateful a subject, I shall only say, that one assignation was still productive of another; and the credulity of the injured wife served only as a matter of mirth to the transgressing husband and his guilty partner.
But now the time was come when the subterfuges must necessarily be at an end, or become too gross not to be seen through. Mr. Thoughtless had seen his friend—had paid the money into his hands, and received a bill from him on the merchant at Bologne. When he delivered it to Mrs. Munden—'Sister,' said he, 'this paper will entitle your guest to the receipt of three hundred louis-d'ors on her arrival at Bologne: but I expect you will oblige her to depart immediately; for it is neither consistent with your reputation to keep her in your house, nor with my peace of mind that she should continue in the kingdom.' To which she replied, with a smile, 'That there was nothing more certain than that his commands, in this point, would be punctually obeyed.'
This lady was rejoiced at having accomplished what she thought so good a work; but, having perceived in Mademoiselle de Roquelair some abatement of her first eagerness for a religious life, she thought proper, on giving her the bill, to repeat to her the words her brother had said on that account: to which the other coolly answered, 'Your brother, Madam, need be under no apprehensions of my offending him in this point, or of giving you any farther trouble.'
This, though no more than what the lovers expected, was yet a dreadful shock to them both: great part of the time they were together that evening was taken up in talking of it. Mademoiselle deRoquelair protested that death was less cruel than being torn from her dear Munden thus early—thus in the infancy of their happiness; and gave some hints that she wished he would hire private lodgings for her: but she knew little of the temper of the man she had to deal with. He loved her as a mistress, but hated the expence of keeping her as a mistress: he therefore evaded all discourse on that head; and told her he fancied that, by pretences such as already had been made, she might still continue in the house. 'Means, at least,' said he, 'might be found out to protract our mutual misfortune, and give us more time to consider what we have to do.'
She agreed, however, to make the experiment; and poor Mrs. Munden was imposed upon, by some new invention, from one day to another, for upwards of a week: but, at last, beginning to fear there was something more at the bottom of these delays than was pretended, and her brother having sent twice in that time to know if his desires had been complied with, she resolved at once to put a period to inconveniences which she thought she could so easily get rid of.
Mademoiselle de Roquelair having staid abroad extremely late one night, she took the opportunity of her having done so, of speaking more plainly to her than her good-nature and complaisance had hitherto permitted her to do: she went up to her chamber next morning; and, with an air which had something of severity in it, 'You keep odd hours, Madam,' said she, 'for a person who affects to be so great a penitent; but I suppose you are now prepared to ease me of all concern on your account.'—'I shall trouble you no longer,' cried the other, 'till the young lady I told you of is ready to depart.'—'You will do well,' resumed Mrs. Munden, 'to remain with her till she is so; for, Madam, I must insist on your removal hence this day.'—'You will not turn me out of doors?' cried Mademoiselle de Roquelair. 'I hope you will not oblige me to an act so contrary to my nature,' replied Mrs. Munden. 'Say, rather, contrary to your power,' returned that audacious woman; and, coming up to her with the most unparalleled assurance, 'This house, which you forbid me,' pursued she, 'I think Mr. Munden is the master of; and I shall, therefore, continue in it till my convenience calls me from it, or he shall tell me I am no longer welcome!'
Impossible is it to describe, and difficult even to conceive, Mrs. Munden's astonishment at these words; to hear a woman thus doubly loaded with guilt and obligations—a woman, who but a few days pasthad been prostrate at her feet, imploring pity and protection, now all at once ungratefully contemning the benefits she had received, and insolently defying the authority to which she had flown for shelter; all this must certainly give a shock almost beyond the strength of human reason to sustain. 'Mr. Munden!' cried the injured fair-one, with a voice hardly intelligible, 'Mr. Munden!' She could utter no more; but flew down stairs with such rapidity that her feet scarce touched the steps.
Mr. Munden was not quite ready to go out—she found him in his dressing-room; and, throwing herself into a chair, half suffocated with passion, related to him, as well as she was able, the manner in which she had been treated; to which he replied, with a good deal of peevishness, 'Pr'ythee, do not trouble me with these idle stories; Mademoiselle de Roquelair is your guest—I have no concern in your little quarrels.'—'I hope,' said she, 'you will do me that justice which every wife has a right to expect, and convince the French hypocrite that I am too much the mistress of this house for any one to remain in it without my permission.'—'So you would make me the dupe of your resentment!' replied he scornfully; 'but positively I shall not do a rude thing to oblige you or any body else.' In speaking these words, having now adjusted his dress, he flung out of the room without giving her time to add any thing farther on a subject he was wholly unprepared to answer.
What a perplexing whirl of wild imaginations must such a behaviour from a husband excite in a wife, conscious of having done nothing to provoke it! Happy was it for her that love had the least share in her resentment—all her indifference could not enable her to support, with any degree of patience, so palpable a contempt—she returned directly to her own chamber; where, shutting herself up, she gave a loose to agitations too violent for words to represent.
After this much-injured wife had vented some part of the overflowing passions of her soul in tears and exclamations, she began to consider, with more calmness, in which manner she ought to behave, in so amazing a circumstance. She had not the least propensity in her nature to jealousy; yet she could not think that any thing less than a criminal correspondence between her husband and this Frenchwoman, could induce the one, or embolden the other, to act as they had done towards her.
'Neither divine nor human laws,' said she, 'nor any of those obligations by which I have hitherto looked upon myself as bound, can now compel me any longer to endure the cold neglects, the insults, the tyranny, of this most ungrateful, most perfidious man! I have discharged the duties of my station; I have fully proved I know how to be a good wife, if he had known how to be even a tolerable husband: wherefore, then, should I hesitate to take the opportunity, which this last act of baseness gives me, of easing myself of that heavy yoke I have laboured under for so many cruel months?'
She would not, however, do anything precipitately; it was not sufficient, she thought, that she should be justified to herself, she was willing also to be justified in the opinion of her friends: her brother was the first person to be consulted; she resolved, therefore, to go immediately to him; but as it was necessary to put something in order before her departure, in case she should return no more, she called the maid, who always waited on her in her chamber, to assist her on this occasion.
She locked up her jewels, and what other trinkets she had of value, in an amber-cabinet, and made her wearing-apparel be also disposed of in proper utensils, leaving out only some linen, and other necessaries, for the present use, which she also caused to be packed up. The poor maid, who loved her mistress dearly, and easily guessed the meaning of these preparations, could not refrain weeping all the time she was thus employed. 'Ah, Madam!' cried she, 'what a sad thing it is that married gentlemen will be so foolish!—Hang all the French, I say!'—'What do'st mean, Jenny?' said Mrs. Munden. 'Ah, Madam!' replied she, 'I should have told you before, but that I was afraid of making you uneasy: but, since I find you know how things are, I shall make no secret of it. You may remember, Madam, that you gave me leave last Monday to go to see my sister—she lives in St. Martin's Lane—it would have been nearer for me, indeed, to have gone through the Mews; but, I know not how it happened, I went by Charing Cross; and, just as I was going to cross the way, who should I see pop out of a hackney-coach but my master and this Frenchwoman—they hurried together, arm in arm, into a bagnio—and you know, Madam, some of those places have but an ugly name: for my part, I was so confounded that I scarce knew whether I stood upon my head or my heels; but I did not say a word of what I had seen when I came home, till just now John came down and told us all how that wicked woman had affronted you.'
Mrs. Munden then recalled that Mr. Munden's man was in the room when she related the behaviour of Mademoiselle de Roquelair; which she now was not sorry for, nor of the fresh proof given her by this maid of the perfidy of her husband.
'Well, Jenny,' said she, 'I am not yet determined how I shall proceed; I am going to my brother's, and shall take Tom with me: if I do not come back to-night, he shall bring you instructions what things to send me; but, in the mean time, say nothing to your master of what we have been talking.'
Mrs. Munden could not forbear shedding tears, as she was going into her chair, at the thoughts of this exile, voluntary as it was, from a house she had so much right to call her own; but the poor maid roared out so loud at seeing her depart, that it brought all the servants out of the kitchen to know what was the matter; which, being told by Jenny, occasioned so general a grief among them for the loss of so good a mistress, that had Mademoiselle de Roquelair remained in the house, and the same servants also been continued, itis possible she would have had little either of respect or obedience from them.
But fortune spared this mortification, in order to inflict a much greater one on her ingratitude and treachery. Mr. Munden had not quitted the presence of his wife many minutes before he began to reflect seriously on this accident; he found it might prove a very vexatious one, if the consequences it seemed to threaten were not in time prevented: he highly blamed Mademoiselle de Roquelair for her behaviour to Mrs. Munden; not so much because it might give that lady room to suspect in what manner he had wronged her, as because it plainly shewed that the other intended to pin herself on him, and oblige him to support her—a thing which did not at all suit with his humour; he had gratified his passion almost to a surfeit—a very little longer time would have made him as heartily wish to get rid of her, as he had ever done to gain her; and although it could not be said he was as yet altogether cloyed with the pleasures she so lavishly bestowed, yet a little examination into the extent of his inclinations, convinced him that he could bear the loss of her for ever without pain.
While the blood runs high, and the fire is rampant for possession, prudence is of little force; but when the one begins to flag, the other resumes its empire over the mind, and never rests till it finds means to retrieve what it has lost: he could now consider that the money remitted to Bologne by Mr. Thoughtless could be received by nobody but Mademoiselle de Roquelair herself, and that it was probable that gentleman, if told the usage that had been given to his sister, might be provoked to recal his order, and prevent the payment of it at all. This seemed, however, a plausible pretence for persuading her to go away directly, and also for making a merit to his wife of what he did.
Having fully determined within himself how to proceed in this affair, he shortened his morning's walk, and came home some hours before the usual time: he was at first a little fretted on being told Mrs. Munden was gone to her brother's, not doubting but the errand on which she went was to complain of the treatment she had received; but Jenny carefully concealing what her mistress had said to her concerning her intentions of coming back no more, he passed it lightly over, imagining her accusations and reproaches would cease, the object of them being once removed.
He found no difficulty in prevailing on Mademoiselle de Roquelair to go to Bologne. Three hundred louis-d'ors was too tempting a sumto be forfeited merely for the want of a little jaunt, especially as she considered that she might accomplish her business there and return to London within the compass of a very few days; and he told her that he would hire lodgings for her against her coming back.
'Well, then, my angel,' said he, 'no time is to be lost: as this is not post day, if you set out immediately for Dover, you may be at Bologne, and have received the money before any letter can reach that place to prevent it; for it is very likely that the spite my wife has towards you, may work upon the resentment of her brother to attempt such a thing.' Everything being concluded upon for this expedition, he went himself to procure a post-chaise, appointing her to meet him at a place he mentioned to her in an hour at farthest.
As he had promised to send all her baggage to the lodgings which he should provide for her return, she had nothing to do but to pack up some few necessaries to take with her. This little work being soon over, a hackney-coach carried her to the house that had been agreed upon; where she saw a post-chaise already at the door, and the diligent Mr. Munden waiting for her coming: as she proposed to reach Canterbury that same night, and it was then past two o'clock, the lovers were obliged to take a very hasty leave.
This double, deceitful man, having a farther view in what he did than she had any notion of, told her, at parting, that it would be proper for her to stay at Bologne till she received a letter from him with an account in what street and part of the town the lodgings he should provide for her were situated, to the end she might come directly into them on her arrival: he spoke this with an air so full of tenderness and care for her repose, that she had not the least suspicion of his drift; and replied, that she would not fail to do as he advised, but desired he would be as speedy as possible in writing to her; 'For,' cried she, embracing him, 'I shall think every day a year till I return to the arms of my dear Munden!'
Having thus, in reality, discarded, his mistress, though without her knowing he had done so, he went home, in order to boast to his wife of the complaisance he had shewn to her in this affair; but, finding she was not yet come back, he called for her maid, and bid her tell her, the moment she should return, that he had complied with her request, and made the Frenchwoman go out of the house.
After having said this, he went out again, and came not home till late at night; when he was confounded beyond measure on finding a letter from Mrs. Munden, which had been left for him by her ownfootman in the beginning of the evening; and contained these lines.
'To Mr. Munden.Sir,As you cannot but be sensible that the mutual engagements between us have been strictly adhered to on my part, and almost in every particular falsified on yours, you ought not to be surprized that I have at last resolved to put a final end to a way of life so unpleasing in the eyes of Heaven, and so disagreeable to ourselves: it never was in my power to make you truly happy, nor in your will to make me even tolerably easy; I therefore fly for ever from your ill-usage, and once more put myself under the protection of my friends, to whom I also shall commit the care of settling with you the terms of our separation; which being once agreed upon, you will not be troubled either with the complaints, or the reproaches, of your much-injured wife,B. Munden.P.S. I have removed nothing out of your house but what was my own before marriage.'
'To Mr. Munden.
Sir,
As you cannot but be sensible that the mutual engagements between us have been strictly adhered to on my part, and almost in every particular falsified on yours, you ought not to be surprized that I have at last resolved to put a final end to a way of life so unpleasing in the eyes of Heaven, and so disagreeable to ourselves: it never was in my power to make you truly happy, nor in your will to make me even tolerably easy; I therefore fly for ever from your ill-usage, and once more put myself under the protection of my friends, to whom I also shall commit the care of settling with you the terms of our separation; which being once agreed upon, you will not be troubled either with the complaints, or the reproaches, of your much-injured wife,
B. Munden.
P.S. I have removed nothing out of your house but what was my own before marriage.'
Upon enquiring further into the matter, he was informed that Mrs. Munden had, indeed, removed a large India-chest, a bureau, cabinet dressing-table; and, in fine, every thing that belonged immediately to herself; and also that his family was now reduced to two, her own man and maid having followed her.
All this convincing him how much she was in earnest, involved him in the most perplexing cogitations; not that he regretted the parting with her through any remains of affection, or that his hardened heart was touched with a just sensibility of her merit, or with any repentance of his ill treatment of her; but that he knew such an affair must necessarily be attended with some noise and confusion, and in many respects give him a good deal of embarrassment: it was therefore these last two reasons which alone determined him to make use of all his artifice to bring about a second reconciliation.
That beautiful lady, in the mean time, had thoughts much more composed; her brother had received her in the most affectionate manner—had approved her conduct in regard to her unfaithful husband—had assured her of the continuance of his friendship and protection; and, before she could request it of him, invited her, and such of her servants as she chose should attend her, to remain in his house as long as she should think fit. He desired her to take upon herthe sole command and management of his house and family, and assigned the best apartment for her particular use: in fine, he omitted nothing that might convince her of a sincere welcome.
On discoursing together concerning her obtaining a separate maintenance, it was the opinion of both of them, that Mr. Markland the lawyer should be advised with, as he was a man who could not but be well experienced in such affairs; and accordingly a servant was dispatched to that gentleman, to desire he would come to them the next day.
But though she had reason to be highly satisfied with the reception given her by her brother, yet she could not be quite easy till she should hear what judgment her dear Lady Loveit would pass on the step she had taken. She went the next morning to pay a visit at that lady's toilette; she related to her sincerely every particular of the provocation she had received, the manner in which she had resented it, and the resolution she had taken of living in an eternal state of separation from so bad a man: to which Lady Loveit replied, that though she was extremely sorry for the occasion, yet she thought if she had acted otherwise, it would have been an injustice not only to herself, but to all wives in general, by setting them an example of submitting to things required of them neither by law nor nature.
This encouragement, from a lady of her known scrupulous disposition, made Mrs. Munden not doubt but she would be equally absolved by Lady Trusty and her brother Frank; to both whom she wrote an account of all she had done.
On her return from Lady Loveit's, she found a letter from Mr. Munden, in answer to that she had sent to him the day before: the contents whereof were as follow.
'To Mrs. Munden.Madam,The unaccountableness of your behaviour astonishes me! For heaven's sake, how can you answer to yourself the having quitted your husband's house for so trifling a pretence? It is true, I did not at first give much regard to your complaint against Mademoiselle de Roquelair; but, on considering it, I obliged her to depart immediately. I do assure you she set out yesterday for Dover, and I believe by this time is as far as Calais on her way to Bologne; so that there now remains no excuse for your absenting yourself: and if you should continue to do so, it will be a very plain proof that you are extremelywanting in that duty and affection which the laws both of God and man expect from you. But I flatter myself that is not the case; and therefore expect you will return with all possible expedition to him who will be always ready to prove himself your most affectionate husband,G. Munden.P.S. I know not what you mean by terms of separation: a wife who elopes from her husband forfeits all claim to every thing that is his, and can expect nothing from him till she returns to her obedience; but were it otherwise, and the law entirely on your side in this point, you might be certain that I look upon the happiness of possessing you in too just a light to be easily brought into any agreement that would deprive me of you.'
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
The unaccountableness of your behaviour astonishes me! For heaven's sake, how can you answer to yourself the having quitted your husband's house for so trifling a pretence? It is true, I did not at first give much regard to your complaint against Mademoiselle de Roquelair; but, on considering it, I obliged her to depart immediately. I do assure you she set out yesterday for Dover, and I believe by this time is as far as Calais on her way to Bologne; so that there now remains no excuse for your absenting yourself: and if you should continue to do so, it will be a very plain proof that you are extremelywanting in that duty and affection which the laws both of God and man expect from you. But I flatter myself that is not the case; and therefore expect you will return with all possible expedition to him who will be always ready to prove himself your most affectionate husband,
G. Munden.
P.S. I know not what you mean by terms of separation: a wife who elopes from her husband forfeits all claim to every thing that is his, and can expect nothing from him till she returns to her obedience; but were it otherwise, and the law entirely on your side in this point, you might be certain that I look upon the happiness of possessing you in too just a light to be easily brought into any agreement that would deprive me of you.'
Though Mr. Munden wanted not cunning in most things, yet in writing this epistle he seemed not to consider the spirit or the penetration of his wife, who, he might have known, had too great a share of both to be either intimidated by the majesterial air of some of the expressions, or soothed by the fawning, unsincere compliments, of the others.
This vain attempt therefore only served to remind her of the many proofs she had received both of his ill-nature and deceit towards her; and, instead of weakening the resolution she had taken of not living with him again, rather rendered it more strong and permanent.
Mr. Markland did not, like too many of his profession, ever flatter his clients with an assurance of success in any cause of which he himself was doubtful: he plainly told Mrs. Munden, that he feared not all the ill-usage she had sustained would be sufficient to compel her husband to allow her a separate maintenance. 'Honour and generosity may, indeed,' added he, 'oblige him to do that which, I am very apprehensive, the law will not enforce him to.'
'Alas!' cried Mrs. Munden, bursting into tears, 'if I can have no relief but from his honour and generosity, I must be miserable!'—'Not so, my dear sister,' said Mr. Thoughtless, 'while you have a brother who has it in his power to support you against all the injuries of fortune, and the injustice of a husband so unworthy of you.'
She thanked him in terms which so affectionate an offer demanded from her, but could not help appearing very much dejected at what Mr. Markland had said to her: on which, 'Madam,' said he, 'though the letter of the law may not be altogether so favourable for you in this point as you certainly deserve, yet, notwithstanding that, and how refractory soever Mr. Munden may be in his principles or dispositions, I hope there may be means found to bring him to do you justice. I will wait on him—will talk to him in a proper manner; and do flatter myself with being able to give you a good account of what I have done.'
It is not to be doubted but both the brother and the sister earnestly intreated he would exert all his abilities in an affair which they easily saw would be difficult enough to manage; but the answers of thishonest, good-natured gentleman, soon convinced them that there was no need of any persuasions to induce him to do every thing in his power for the service of ill-treated innocence.
Mrs. Munden having told him that about eleven o'clock was the most certain time for her husband to be spoke with, he went the next morning at that hour: on sending up his name, Mr. Munden guessed the errand on which he came; but that did not hinder him from ordering he should be introduced, nor, when he was so, from receiving him with that politeness he always used to strangers.
Mr. Markland began with telling him he was extremely sorry for the occasion on which he waited on him that morning; 'I little imagined,' said he, 'that when I drew up the articles for an union between you, Sir, and Mrs. Munden, I should ever have been employed in transacting a deed of separation: but, since it has unhappily proved so, I hope, at least, it may be done as amicably as the nature of the thing will admit.'
Mr. Munden at first affected to treat this proposal in a manner somewhat ludicrous; but perceiving it was not well taken by the other, 'You will pardon me, Sir,' cried he; 'I protest I am under the greatest consternation in the world, that my wife should have the assurance to trouble a gentleman of your character on so foolish an affair: upon my honour, Sir, there is nothing in it but mere whim—caprice!'
'If I did not think it sufficiently serious,' replied Mr. Markland, 'and were not also well convinced you will hereafter find it so, I should not have given either myself or you the trouble of this visit: but, Sir,' continued he, 'you may depend that the lady's complaints will have their weight.'
'All womanish spite, upon my soul, Sir!' resumed Mr. Munden; 'I defy her to accuse me of any one action that can justify her quitting my house, much less to prove any real injury received from me; without which, you know, Sir, there can be no pretence for separation.'
'You cannot as yet, Sir, be sensible what is in her power to prove,' said the lawyer: 'but God forbid this unhappy dissention should ever come to that! for, admitting she should be wanting in such proofs as the strictness of the law requires in these cases, the very attempt must necessarily involve you in an infinity of disquiet. Consider, Sir,' pursued he, 'when the affairs of a family are laid open, and every dispute between the husband and the wife exposed before a court of judicature, or even in a petition to a Lord Chancellor, the wholebecomes a publick talk, and furnishes a matter of ridicule for the unthinking scoffers of the age.'
'I can easily prevent all this,' cried Mr. Munden hastily, 'by procuring a warrant from the Lord Chief Justice to force her immediately home.'—'You may certainly do so,' cried Mr. Markland, with a half smile; 'but, Sir, are you sure of keeping her at home when you have got her there? Is it not in her power to leave you again the same day, nay, even the same hour, in which you compelled her to return? so that your whole time may be spent in an unavailing chase, somewhat of a piece with the fable of the Sisyphæan stone, which, as often as the driver forced to the height he aimed at, rolled back to it's beloved descent. In short, Sir, as Mrs. Munden is determined to live apart, you have no way to preserve her but by confinement; and I appeal to your own judgment how that would look in the eyes of the world, and what occasion for complaint it would afford to all her friends, who would, doubtless, have a strict watch on your behaviour.'
These words threw Mr. Munden into a deep reverie, which the other would not interrupt, being willing to see how far this last remonstrance had worked upon him; till, coming out of it, and vexed that he had shewn any discomposure; 'Well, Sir,' said he, 'if she resolves to persist in this obstinacy, let her enjoy her humour; I shall give myself no pain about it; but she must not expect I shall allow one penny towards her maintenance.'
It was on this head that Mr. Markland found he had occasion to employ all the rhetorick he was master of: he urged the unreasonableness, the injustice, the cruelty, of denying the means of subsistence to a lady whose whole fortune he enjoyed; said such a thing was altogether unprecedented among persons of condition; and, to prove what he alledged, produced many instances of wives who, on parting from their husbands, were allowed a provision proportionable to the sums they had brought in marriage.
All these arguments were enforced in terms so strong and so pathetick, that Mr. Munden could make no other answer than, that he did not desire to part—that it was her own fault—and that if she would not return to her duty, she ought to be starved into a more just sense of it—and that he was very sure the law would not compel him to do any thing for her: on which Mr. Markland again reminded him of the vexation, the fatigue, the disgrace, with which a suit commenced by either party must be attended, in whose favour soever the decision should be made.
He talked so long on the subject, that Mr. Munden, either to get rid of him, or because he was really uncertain what to do, at last told him that he would consider on what he had been saying, and let him know his resolution in a week's time. Mr. Markland then replied, that he would trouble him no farther for the present; and after having prefixed a day for waiting on him again, took his leave.
The mind of Mr. Munden was, indeed, in the utmost confusion amidst that variety of vexatious incidents which he had now to struggle with—the little probability he found there was of re-establishing himself in the favour of his patron—the loss of all his hopes that way—the sudden departure of a wife whom, though he had no affection for, he looked upon as a necessary appendix to his house—the noise her having taken such a step would make in the town—the apprehensions of being obliged to grant her a separate maintenance; all these things put together, it is certain, were sufficient to overwhelm a man of less impatient temper.
He cursed his amour with the Frenchwoman, as having been the cause of this last misfortune falling on him; and, to prevent all farther trouble on her account, ordered that the baggage she had left behind should be immediately put on board a vessel, and sent after her to Bologne: he also wrote to her at the same time, acquainting her with the disturbance which had happened; and that it was highly necessary for his future peace that he should see her no more, nor even hold any correspondence with her.
Mrs. Munden, in the mean time, was far from being perfectly easy; though Mr. Markland gave her hopes that her husband would very speedily be brought to settle things between them in a reasonable way; and her brother was every day giving her fresh assurances of his friendship and protection, whether that event proved favourable or not: yet all this was not enough to quell some scruples which now rose in her mind; the violence of that passion which had made her resolve to leave Mr. Munden being a little evaporated, the vows she had made him at the altar were continually in her thoughts; she could not quite assure herself that a breach of that solemn covenant was to be justified by any provocations; nor whether the worst usage on the part of the husband could authorize resentment in that of a wife.
She was one day disburdening her disquiets on this score to her dear Lady Loveit, in terms which made that lady see, more than ever she had done before, the height of her virtue, and the delicacy of her sentiments, when Sir Bazil came hastily into the room with a paper inhis hand; and after paying his compliments to Mrs. Munden, 'My dear,' said he to his lady, 'I have very agreeable news to tell you; I have just received a letter from my brother Trueworth, which informs me that he is upon the road, and we shall have him with us this evening.'—'I am extremely glad,' replied she; 'and, likewise, that he is so good to let us know it, that I may make some little preparations for his welcome.'
Mrs. Munden could not be told that Mr. Trueworth was so near, and might presently be in the same room with her, without the utmost confusion; which she fearing would be observed, laid hold of the pretence Lady Loveit's last words furnished her with, of taking her leave; and, rising hastily up, 'I will wait on your ladyship,' said she, 'at a more convenient time; for I perceive you are now going to be busy.'—'Not at all,' replied the other; 'three words will serve for all the instructions I have to give; therefore, pr'ythee, dear creature, sit down.' In speaking these words, she took hold of one of her hands, and Sir Bazil of the other, in order to replace her on the settee she had just quitted; but she resisting their efforts, and desiring to be excused staying any longer, 'I protest,' cried Lady Loveit, 'this sudden resolution of leaving us would make one think you did it to avoid Mr. Trueworth! and, if that be the case, I must tell you, that you are very ungrateful, as he always expresses the greatest regard for you.'—'Aye, aye!' said Sir Bazil, laughing; 'old love cannot be forgot: I have heard him utter many tender things of the charming Miss Betsy Thoughtless, even since his marriage with my sister.'
'I ought not, then,' replied she, 'to increase the number of obligations I have to him by that compassion which I know he would bestow on my present distress: but I assure you, Sir Bazil, I would not quit you and my dear Lady Loveit thus abruptly, if some letters I have to write, and other affairs which require immediate dispatch, did not oblige me to it.'
On this they would not offer to detain her; and she went home to give a loose to those agitations which the mention of Mr. Trueworth always involved her in.
Mrs. Munden was so ignorant of her own heart, in relation to what it felt on Mr. Trueworth's account, that she imagined she had only fled his presence because she could not bear a man who had courted her so long should see her thus unhappy by the choice she had made of another.
'I am well assured,' cried she, 'that he has too much generosity to triumph in my misfortune, and too much complaisance to remind me of the cause: yet would his eyes tacitly reproach my want of judgment; and mine, too, might perhaps, in spite of me, confess, as the poet says, that—