The Sylph Part 2

Full of the fond ideas which seemed a part of myself, I flew down to Woodley-vale, to reap the long-expected harvest of my hopes.--Good G.o.d!

what was the fatal news I learnt on my arrival! Alas! she knew not of my love and constancy;--she had a few weeks before given her hand, and no doubt her heart, to Sir William Stanley, with whom an accident had brought her acquainted. I will not enlarge upon what were my feelings on this occasion.--Words would be too faint a vehicle to express the anguish of my soul. You, who know the tenderness of my disposition, must judge for me.

Yesterday I saw the dear angel, from the inn from whence I am writing; she and her happy husband stopped here for fresh horses. I had a full view of her beauteous face. Ah! how much has two years improved each charm in her lovely person! lovely and charming, but not for me. I kept myself concealed from her--I could hardly support the sight of her at a distance; my emotions were more violent than you can conceive. Her dress became her the best in the world; a riding habit of stone-coloured cloth, lined with rose-colour, and frogs of the same--the collar of her s.h.i.+rt was open at the neck, and discovered her lovely ivory throat. Her hair was in a little disorder, which, with her hat, served to contribute to, and heighten, the almost irresistible charms of her features. There was a pensiveness in her manner, which rendered her figure more interesting and touching than usual. I thought I discovered the traces of a tear on her cheek. She had just parted with her father and sister; and, had she shewn less concern, I should not have been so satisfied with her. I gazed till my eye-b.a.l.l.s ached; but, when the chaise drove from the door--oh! what then became of me! "She's gone! she's gone!" I exclaimed aloud, wringing my hands, "and never knew how much I loved her!" I was almost in a state of madness for some hours--at last, my storm of grief and despair a little subsided, and I, by degrees, became calm and more resigned to my ill fate. I took the resolution, which I shall put in execution as soon as possible, to leave England. I will retire to the remaining part of my Frederic's family--and, in their friends.h.i.+p, seek to forget the pangs which an habitual tenderness has brought upon me.

You, who are at ease, may have it in your power to convey some small satisfaction to my wounded breast. But why do I say _small satisfaction_? To me it will be the highest to hear that my Julia is happy. Do you then, my dear Spencer, enquire, among your acquaintance, the character of this Sir William Stanley. His figure is genteel, nay, rather handsome; yet he does not look the man I could wish for her. I did not discover that look of tenderness, that soft impa.s.sioned glance, which virtuous love excites; but you will not expect a favourable picture from a rival's pen.

I mentioned a disappointment which the sister of my Julia had sustained: it was just before I left England. While on a visit at Abergavenny, she became acquainted with a young gentleman of fortune, who, after taking some pains to render himself agreeable, had the satisfaction of gaining the affections of one of the most amiable girls in the world. She is all that a woman can be, except being my Julia. Louisa was at that time extremely attached to a lady in the same house with her, who was by no means a favourite with her lover. They used frequently to have little arguments concerning her. He would not allow her any merit. Louisa fancied she saw her own image reflected in the bosom of her friend. She is warm in her attachments. Her zeal for her friend at last awakened a curiosity in her lover, to view her with more scrutiny. He had been accustomed to pay an implicit obedience to Louisa's opinion; he fancied he was still acquiescing only in that opinion when he began to discover she was handsome, and to find some farther beauties which Louisa had not painted in so favourable a light as he now saw them. In short, what at first was only a compliment to his mistress, now seemed the due of the other. He thought Louisa had hardly done her justice; and in seeking to repair that fault, he injured the woman who doated on him. Love, which in some cases is blind, is in others extremely quick-sighted. Louisa saw a change in his behaviour--a studied civility--an apprehension of not appearing sufficiently a.s.siduous--frequent expressions of fearing to offend--and all those mean arts and subterfuges which a man uses, who wants to put in a woman's power to break with him, that he may basely shelter himself behind, what he styles, her cruelty. Wounded to the soul with the duplicity of his conduct, she, one day, insisted on knowing the motives which induced him to act in so disingenuous a manner by her. At first his answers were evasive; but she peremptorily urged an explicit satisfaction. She told him, the most unfavourable certainty would be happiness to what she now felt, and that _certainty_ she now called on him in justice to grant her. He then began by palliating the fatal inconstancy of his affections, by the encomiums which she had bestowed on her friend; that his love for her had induced him to love those dear to her; and some unhappy circ.u.mstances had arisen, which had bound him to her friend, beyond his power or inclination to break through. This disappointment, in so early a part of Louisa's life, has given a tenderness to her whole frame, which is of advantage to most women, and her in particular. She has, I question not, long since beheld this unworthy wretch in the light he truly deserved; yet, no doubt, it was not till she had suffered many pangs. The heart will not recover its usual tone in a short time, that has long been racked with the agonies of love; and even when we fancy ourselves quite recovered, there is an aching void, which still reminds us of former anguish.

I shall not be in town these ten days at least, as I find I can be serviceable to a poor man in this neighbourhood, whom I believe to be an object worthy attention. Write me, therefore, what intelligence you can obtain; and scruple not to communicate the result of your inquiry to me speedily. Her happiness is the wish next my heart. Oh! may it be as exalted and as permanent as I wish it! I will not say any thing to you; you well know how dear you are to the bosom of your

HENRY WOODLEY.

LETTER VII.

TO HENRY WOODLEY, Esq.

No, my dear Harry, I can never consent to your burying yourself abroad; but I will not say all I could on that subject till we meet. I think, I shall then be able to offer you some very powerful reasons, that you will esteem sufficient to induce you to remain in your native land.--I have a scheme in my head, but which I shall not communicate at present.

Sir William Stanley is quite a man of fas.h.i.+on.--Do you know enough of the world to understand all that t.i.tle comprehends? If you do, you will sincerely regret your Julia is married to _a man of fas.h.i.+on_. His pa.s.sions are the rule and guide of his actions. To what mischiefs is a young creature exposed in this town, circ.u.mstanced as Lady Stanley is--without a friend or relation with her to point out the artful and designing wretch, who means to make a prey of her innocence and inexperience of life!

The most unsafe and critical situation for a woman, is to be young, handsome, and married to a man of fas.h.i.+on; these are thought to be lawful prey to the specious of our s.e.x. As a man of fas.h.i.+on, Sir William Stanley would blush to be found too attentive to his wife;--he will leave her to seek what companions chance may throw in her way, while he is a.s.sociating with rakes of quality, and glorying in those scenes in which to be discovered he should really blush. I am told he is fond of deep play--attaches himself to women of bad character, and seeks to establish an opinion, that he is quite the _ton_ in every thing. I tremble for your Julia.--Her beauty, if she had no other merit, making her fas.h.i.+onable, will induce some of those wretches, who are ever upon the watch to ensnare the innocent, to practice their diabolical artifices to poison her mind. She will soon see herself neglected by her husband,--and that will be the signal for them to begin their attack.--She is totally unhackneyed in the ways of men, and consequently can form no idea of the extreme depravity of their hearts. May the innate virtue of her mind be her guide and support!--but to escape with honour and reputation will be a difficult task. I must see you, Harry. I have something in my mind. I have seen more of the world than you have.--For a whole year I was witness of the disorder of this great town, and, with blushes I write, have too frequently joined in some of its extravagances and follies; but, thank heaven! my eyes were opened before my morals became corrupt, or my fortune and const.i.tution impaired.--Your virtue and my Frederic's confirmed me in the road I was then desirous of pursuing,--and I am now convinced I shall never deviate from the path of rect.i.tude.

I expect you in town with all the impatience of a friend zealous for your happiness and advantage: but I wish not to interfere with any charitable or virtuous employment.--When you have finished your affairs, remember your faithful

J. SPENCER.

LETTER VIII.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Surrounded with mantua-makers, milliners, and hair-dressers, I blush to say I have hardly time to bestow on my dear Louisa. What a continual bustle do I live in, without having literally any thing to do! All these wonderful preparations are making for my appearance at court; and, in consequence of that, my visiting all the places of public amus.e.m.e.nt. I foresee my head will be turned with this whirl of folly, I am inclined to call it, in contradiction to the opinion of mankind.--If the people I am among are of any character at all, I may comprise it in few words: to me they seem to be running about all the morning, and throwing away time, in concerting measures to throw away more in the evening. Then, as to dress, to give an idea of that, I must reverse the line of an old song.

"What was our _shame_, is now our _pride_."

I have had a thousand patterns of silks brought me to make choice, and such colours as yet never appeared in a rainbow. A very elegant man, one of Sir William's friends I thought, was introduced to me the other morning.--I was preparing to receive him as a visitor; when taking out his pocket-book, he begged I would do him the honour to inspect some of the most fas.h.i.+onable patterns, and of the newest taste. He gave me a list of their names as he laid them on the cuff of his coat. This you perhaps will think unnecessary; and that, as colours affect the visual orb the same in different people, I might have been capable of distinguis.h.i.+ng blue from red, and so on; but the case is quite otherwise; there are no such colours now. "This your ladys.h.i.+p will find extremely becoming,--it is _la cheveaux de la Regne_;--but the _colour de puce_ is esteemed before it, and mixed with _d'Artois_, forms the most elegant a.s.semblage in the world; the _Pont sang_ is immensely rich; but to suit your ladys.h.i.+p's complexion, I would rather recommend the _feuile mort_, or _la noysette_." Fifty others, equally unintelligible, he ran off with the utmost facility. I thought, however, so important a point should be determined by wiser heads than mine;--therefore requested him to leave them with me, as I expelled some ladies on whose taste I had great reliance. As I cannot be supposed from the nature of things to judge for myself with any propriety, I shall leave the choice of my cloaths to Lady Besford and Lady Anne Parker, two ladies who have visited me, and are to be my protectors in public.

I was extremely shocked, when I sent for a mantua-maker, to find a man was to perform that office. I even refused a long time to admit him near me--and thinking myself perfectly safe that I should have him on my side, appealed to Sir William. He laughed at my ridiculous scruples, as he called them, and farther told me, "custom justified every thing; nothing was indecent or otherwise, but as it was the _ton_." I was silent, but neither satisfied or pleased,--and submitted, I believe, with but an ill grace.

Lady Besford was so extremely polite to interest herself in every thing concerning my making a fas.h.i.+onable appearance, and procured for me a French frizeur of the last importation, who dressed hair to a miracle, _au dernier gout_. I believe, Louisa, I must send you a dictionary of polite phrases, or you will be much at a loss, notwithstanding you have a pretty competent knowledge of the French tongue. I blush twenty times a day at my own stupidity,--and then Sir William tells me, "it is so immensely _bore_ to blush;" which makes me blush ten times more, because I don't understand what he means by that expression, and I am afraid to discover my ignorance; and he has not patience to explain every ambiguous word he uses, but cries, shrugging up his shoulders, _ah! quel savage_! and then composes his ruffled spirits by humming an Italian air.

Well, but I must tell you what my dress was, in which I was presented.

My gown was a silver tissue, trimmed with silver net, and tied up with roses, as large as life, I was going to say. Indeed it was very beautiful, and so it ought, for it came to a most enormous sum. My jewels are _magnifique_, and in immense quant.i.ties. Do you know, I could not find out half their purposes, or what I should do with them; for such things I never saw. What should poor Win and I have done by ourselves?--Lady Besford talked of sending her woman to a.s.sist me in dressing.--I told her I had a servant, to whom I had been accustomed for a long time.--"Ah! for heaven's sake, my dear creature!" exclaimed my husband, "don't mention the _tramontane_. She might do tolerably well for the Welsh mountains, but she will cut a most _outre_ figure in the _beau monde_. I beg you will accept of Lady Besford's polite offer, till you can provide yourself with a _fille de chambre_, that knows on which side her right hand hangs." Alas! poor Winifred Jones! Her mistress, I doubt, has but few advantages over her. Lady Besford was lavish in the encomiums of her woman, who had had the honour of being dresser to one of the actresses many years.

Yesterday morning the grand task of my decoration was to commence. Ah!

good Lord! I can hardly recollect particulars.--I am morally convinced my father would have been looking for his Julia, had he seen me;--and would have spent much time before he discovered me in the midst of feathers, flowers, and a thousand gew-gaws beside, too many to enumerate. I will, if I can, describe my head for your edification, as it appeared to me when Monsieur permitted me to view myself in the gla.s.s. I was absolutely ready to run from it with fright, like poor Acteon when he had suffered the displeasure of Diana; and, like him, was in danger of running my new-acquired ornaments against every thing in my way.

Monsieur alighted from his chariot about eleven o'clock, and was immediately announced by Griffith, who, poor soul! stared as if he thought him one of the finest men in the world. He was attended by a servant, who brought in two very large caravan boxes, and a number of other things. Monsieur then prepared to begin his operations.--Sir William was at that time in my dressing-room. He begged, for G.o.d's sake!

"that Monsieur would be so kind as to exert his abilities, as every thing depended on the just impression my figure made."--Monsieur bowed and shrugged, just like an overgrown monkey. In a moment I was overwhelmed with a cloud of powder. "What are you doing? I do not mean to be powdered," I said. "Not powdered!" repeated Sir William; "why you would not be so barbarous as to appear without--it positively is not decent."

"I thought," answered I, "you used to admire the colour of my hair--how often have you praised its glossy hue! and called me your _nut-brown maid!_"

"Pho! pho!" said he, blus.h.i.+ng, perhaps lest he should be suspected of tenderness, as that is very vulgar, "I can bear to see a woman without powder in summer; but now the case is otherwise. Monsieur knows what he is about. Don't interrupt or dictate to him. I am going to dress. Adieu, _ma charmante!_"

With a determination of being pa.s.sive, I sat down under his hands--often, I confess, wondering what kind of being I should be in my metamorphosis,--and rather impatient of the length of time, to say nothing of the pain I felt under the pulling and frizing, and rubbing in the exquisitely-scented _pomade de Venus._ At length the words, "_vous etes finis, madame, au dernier gout,"_ were p.r.o.nounced; and I rose with precaution, lest I should discompose my new-built fabrick, and to give a glance at myself in the gla.s.s;--but where, or in what language, shall I ever find words to express my astonishment at the figure which presented itself to my eyes! what with curls, flowers, ribbands, feathers, lace, jewels, fruit, and ten thousand other things, my head was at least from one side to the other full half an ell wide, and from the lowest curl that lay on my shoulder, up to the top, I am sure I am within compa.s.s, if I say three quarters of a yard high; besides six enormous large feathers, black, white, and pink, that reminded me of the plumes which nodded on the immense casque in the castle of Otranto. "Good G.o.d!" I exclaimed, "I can never bear this." The man a.s.sured me I was dressed quite in taste. "Let me be dressed as I will," I answered, "I must and will be altered. I would not thus expose myself, for the universe."

Saying which, I began pulling down some of the prodigious and monstrous fabrick.--The _dresser of the actresses_ exclaimed loudly, and the frizeur remonstrated. However, I was inflexible: but, to stop the volubility of the Frenchman's tongue, I inquired how much I was indebted to him for making me a monster. A mere trifle! Half a guinea the dressing, and for the feathers, pins, wool, false curls, _chignion, toque, pomades_, flowers, wax-fruit, ribband, _&c. &c. &c_. he believes about four guineas would be the difference. I was almost petrified with astonishment. When I recovered the power of utterance, I told him, "I thought at least he should have informed me what he was about before he ran me to so much expense; three-fourths of the things were useless, as I would not by any means appear in them." "It was the same to him," he said, "they were now my property. He had run the risk of disobliging the d.u.c.h.ess of D----, by giving me the preference of the finest bundles of radishes that had yet come over; but this it was to degrade himself by dressing commoners. Lady Besford had intreated this favour from him; but he must say, he had never been so ill-treated since his arrival in this kingdom." In short, he flew out of the room in a great rage, leaving me in the utmost disorder. I begged Mrs. Freeman (so her ladys.h.i.+p's woman is called) to a.s.sist me a little in undoing what the impertinent Frenchman had taken such immense pains to effect. I had sacrificed half a bushel of trumpery, when Lady Besford was ushered into my dressing-room. "Lord bless me! my dear Lady Stanley, what still _dishabille_? I thought you had been ready, and waiting for me." I began, by way of apology, to inform her ladys.h.i.+p of Monsieur's insolence. She looked serious, and said, "I am sorry you offended him; I fear he will represent you at her grace's _ruelle_, and you will be the jest of the whole court. Indeed, this is a sad affair. He is the first man in his walk of life." "And if he was the last," I rejoined, "it would be the better; however, I beg your ladys.h.i.+p's pardon for not being ready. I shall not detain you many minutes."

My dear Louisa, you will laugh when I tell you, that poor Winifred, who was reduced to be my gentlewoman's gentlewoman, broke two laces in endeavouring to draw my new French stays close. You know I am naturally small at bottom. But now you might literally span me. You never saw such a doll. Then, they are so intolerably wide across the breast, that my arms are absolutely sore with them; and my sides so pinched!--But it is the _ton_; and pride feels no pain. It is with these sentiments the ladies of the present age heal their wounds; to be admired, is a sufficient balsam.

Sir William had met with the affronted Frenchman, and, like Lady Besford, was full of apprehensions lest he should expose me; for my part, I was glad to be from under his hands at any rate; and feared nothing when he was gone; only still vexed at the strange figure I made.

My husband freely condemned my behaviour as extremely absurd; and, on my saying I would have something to cover, or at least shade, my neck, for that I thought it hardly decent to have that intirely bare, while one's head was loaded with superfluities; he exclaimed to Lady Besford, clapping his hands together, "Oh! G.o.d! this ridiculous girl will be an eternal disgrace to me!" I thought this speech very cutting. I could not restrain a tear from starting. "I hope not, Sir William," said I; "but, lest I should, I will stay at home till I have properly learnt to submit to insult and absurdity without emotion." My manner made him ashamed; he took my hand, and, kissing it, begged my pardon, and added, "My dear creature, I want you to be admired by the whole world; and, in compliance with the taste of the world, we must submit to some things, which, from their novelty, we may think absurd; but use will reconcile them to you." Lady Besford encouraged me; and I was prevailed on to go, though very much out of spirits. I must break off here, for the present.

This letter has been the work of some days already. Adieu!

IN CONTINUATION

My apprehensions increased each moment that brought us near St. James's: but there was nothing for it; so I endeavoured all in my power to argue myself into a serenity of mind, and succeeded beyond my hopes. The amiable condescension of their Majesties, however, contributed more than any thing to compose my spirits, or, what I believe to be nearer the true state of the case, I was absorbed in respect for them, and totally forgot myself. They were so obliging as to pay Sir William some compliments; and the King said, if all my countrywomen were like me, he should be afraid to trust his son thither. I observed Sir William with the utmost attention; I saw his eyes were on me the whole time; but, my Louisa, I cannot flatter myself so far as to say they were the looks of love; they seemed to me rather the eyes of scrutiny, which were on the watch, yet afraid they should see something unpleasing. I longed to be at home, to know from him how I had acquitted myself. To my question, he answered, by pressing me to his bosom, crying, "Like an angel, by heaven! Upon my soul, Julia, I never was so charmed with you in my life." "And upon my honour," I returned, "I could not discover the least symptom of tenderness in your regards. I dreaded all the while that you was thinking I should disgrace you."

"You was never more mistaken. I never had more reason to be proud of any part of my family. The circle rang with your praises. But you must not expect tenderness in public, my love; if you meet with it in private, you will have no cause of complaint."

This will give you but a strange idea of the world I am in, Louisa. I do not above half like it, and think a ramble, arm in arm with you upon our native mountains, worth it all. However, my lot is drawn; and, perhaps, as times and husbands go, _I have no cause of complaint_.

Your's most sincerely,

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER IX.

TO Lady STANLEY.

My Dearest Child,

The task you set your father is a heavy one; but I chearfully comply with any request of my Julia's. However, before I enter upon it, let me say a little to you: Are you happy, my child? Do you find the world such as you thought it while it was unknown to you? Do the pleasures you enjoy present you with an equivalent for your renunciation of a fond father, and tender sister? Is their affection amply repaid by the love of your husband? All these, and a thousand other equally important questions, I long to put to my beloved. I wish to know the true state of your heart. I then should be able to judge whether I ought to mourn or rejoice in this separation from you. Believe me, Julia, I am not so selfish to wish you here, merely to augment my narrow circle of felicity, if you can convince me you are happier where you are. But can all the bustle, the confusion you describe, be productive of happiness to a young girl, born and educated in the lap of peaceful retirement?

The novelty may strike your mind; and, for a while, you may think yourself happy, because you are amused, and have not time to define what your reflections are: but in the sober hour, when stillness reigns, and the soul unbends itself from the fatigues of the day; what judgment then does cool reason form? Are you satisfied? Are your slumbers peaceful and calm? Do you never sigh after the shades of Woodley, and your rural friends? Answer these questions fairly and candidly, my Julia--prove to me you are happy, and your heart as good and innocent as ever; and I shall descend to the silent tomb with peaceful smiles.

Perhaps the resolution I formed of retiring from a world in which I had met with disgust, was too hastily concluded on. Be that as it may--it was sacred, and as such I have, and will, keep it. I lost my confidence in mankind; and I could find no one whose virtues could redeem it. Many years have elapsed since; and the manners and customs change so frequently, that I should be a total stranger among the inhabitants of this present age.