LETTER IV. MRS. TALBOT to LUCETTA ASKHAM.
Woodbine Cot, May 5th, 1775.
I found my&longs;elf at the conclu&longs;ion of my
la&longs;t letter, my dear &longs;i&longs;ter, totally unable
to continue the &longs;ubject, which I ju&longs;t hinted
to you. I wi&longs;hed you to conceive the whole
without de&longs;cending to particulars, yet how is
that po&longs;&longs;ible. At this moment you think me a
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virtuous, but unfortunate woman; you al&longs;o
think Mr. Howard the mo&longs;t benevolent,
mo&longs;t di&longs;inter&longs;ted of men: ah! my dear sister,
how have you been deceived. But to
make you under&longs;tand more perfectly, I
mu&longs;t go back to the time when I lo&longs;t Mr.
Talbot.
A &longs;tranger in London, alone unconnected
with the world, deprived of the means of
&longs;upport by my hu&longs;band's death. I was revolving
in my mind what plan to pur&longs;ue in
future; when chance introduced me to Mr.
Howard. My dre&longs;s declared me a widow.
He paid me innumerable little attentions,
whenever we met at the hou&longs;e of an attorney,
with who&longs;e lady I was intimate, and at length
from having frequently called with my
friend, who was employed to &longs;ettle my late
hu&longs;band's affairs, he a&longs;&longs;umed the privilege
of vi&longs;iting by him&longs;elf. To you, who know
him &longs;o well, I need not de&longs;cribe either the
graces of his per&longs;on, or his in&longs;inuating address.
Perfect ma&longs;ter of the art of deception;
he conceals under the ma&longs;k of integrity and
honour every vice which can di&longs;grace human
nature: with that ver&longs;atality of temper which
makes him appear every thing to every body;
with the religious he is grave and solemn;
with the gay cheerful and affable,
with the &longs;plenetic he can rail at the vices and
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follies of mankind, and with the libertine
practice tho&longs;e vices him&longs;elf: tho' where it is
his intere&longs;t he can appear devout, yet no man
ever concieved a more contemptuous opinion
of religion, or &longs;trove with more diabolical
earne&longs;tne&longs;s to corrupt the young and inexperienced
heart. When fir&longs;t I was introduced
to him, I was told he was a married man.
What was my wonder, then, when after a
few vi&longs;its he profe&longs;&longs;ed a pa&longs;&longs;ion for me. I
combated his &longs;ophi&longs;tical arguments as well as
my weak rea&longs;oning would permit; but alas!
I lo&longs;t ground in every argument. At length
he told me as a &longs;ecret, which nothing but the
mo&longs;t violent pa&longs;&longs;ion could have extorted
from him, that he never did, nor ever could
love his wife; that he had married her &longs;olely
to oblige his father, who was &longs;ince dead, and
that &longs;he was a cold, inanimate woman, fit only
for the frigid rules, and &longs;olemn rites of a
convent. Then with the mo&longs;t &longs;olemn affeverations,
he called heaven to witne&longs;s that I
was the only woman he ever loved; and
called down the mo&longs;t heavy maledictions on
his head, if he &longs;hould ever for&longs;ake me.
Lucetta, I was infatuated; I thought him
the tendere&longs;t, be&longs;t of men, and mourn'd a
fate which had united him to a woman he
could not love. Poverty and di&longs;tre&longs;s surrounded
me. Mr. Howard offered a
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settlement of fifty pounds a year and to take me
into his family, as a relation of his own. My
&longs;i&longs;ter, do you now concieve the depth of my
&longs;hame. I accepted his offer, and a letter
was di&longs;patched, to let Mrs. Howard know,
he had met with a relation, who&longs;e circumstances
were rather embarra&longs;&longs;ed and whom
he had invited home, as he thought &longs;he
would prove an agreeable addition to their family.
The return of po&longs;t brought &longs;uch an
an&longs;wer as might be expected from a woman,
who&longs;e chief &longs;tudy was to plea&longs;e and render
her hu&longs;band happy. When I arrived at
Woodbine Cot, Mrs. Howard recieved me
with a mixture of politene&longs;s and affection.
Never &longs;hall I forget the &longs;en&longs;ations, which
pervaded my bo&longs;om, when entering a neat
parlour &longs;he ro&longs;e to welcome me. Astonishment
riveted me to the &longs;pot; unable to &longs;peak
or move, I &longs;unk into the neare&longs;t chair, and
had nearly fainted. Figure to your&longs;elf, my
&longs;i&longs;ter, a woman, &longs;carcely thirty years old, elegantly
formed, with a countenance animated
and prepo&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ing; her fine blue eyes beaming
tenderne&longs;s on the cruel betrayer of her
peace. Think you hear her in accents &longs;oft
as the mu&longs;ic of the &longs;pheres, by turns cheering
and comforting the very woman who
had robbed her of her hu&longs;band's affections.
And &longs;urely then, you will not wonder, if unable
to &longs;tifle my emotions, I gave way to a
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flood of tears. “You are too much affected,
my dear madam,” &longs;aid Mrs. Howard,
taking my hand. “Do not I be&longs;eech you
give way to immoderate grief: when misfortunes
are irremidiable it is our duty to
&longs;ubmit without repining: but I flatter myself,
the united attentions of my dear Mr.
Howard, and my&longs;elf, will by degrees re&longs;tore
your tranquility. In the mean time, I hope
you will con&longs;ider your&longs;elf at home, and be
a&longs;&longs;ured, we &longs;hall think our&longs;elves happy in
being able in the lea&longs;t to contribute to your
ea&longs;e or felicity.” She then led me to an appartment,
which had been prepared for me,
and left me, to that repo&longs;e which con&longs;cious
guilt rendered me incapable of enjoying.
The more I knew of this amiable woman,
the greater cau&longs;e I found for admiration and
re&longs;pect. She being naturally of an open
di&longs;po&longs;ition, I was in the cour&longs;e of our intimacy,
made acquainted with the mo&longs;t material
circum&longs;tances of her life: and from her
I learnt that &longs;he had brought a very handsome
fortune to Mr. Howard; and that they
had married contrary to the advice of their
friends on both &longs;ides, as they had formed
different views for them: but, &longs;aid &longs;he, with
a &longs;igh, “We thought love for each other
would compen&longs;ate for the privation of the
&longs;ociety of our other friends.”
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I had not been long in this family, before
I di&longs;covered, that I was not the only woman,
who &longs;hared Mr. Howard's attention. He was
neither careful to avoid &longs;u&longs;picion, nor delicate
in the choice of his companions, as almost
every female &longs;ervant in the family, who
was not proof again&longs;t flattering vows and
pre&longs;ents of finery, had at &longs;ome time or other
attracted her ma&longs;ter's notice. The amiable
&longs;uffering wife bore all with angelic patience,
nor ever once breathed a murmur. I had
the &longs;atisfaction to find that my remonstrances
had &longs;ome effect, and he became
more circum&longs;pect in his behaviour. I could
al&longs;o at any time re&longs;train him from the pursuit
of any new amour by threatning to leave
him, and I flattered my&longs;elf, that this in &longs;ome
mea&longs;ure attoned to Mrs. Howard for the injuries
I did her. In this manner I continued
in the family near three years, when I found
an evident alteration in the conduct of my
ho&longs;te&longs;s. Her manner was cold and di&longs;tant;
&longs;he often avoided my &longs;ociety and retired to
her apartment, where I have &longs;urprized her
weeping. Con&longs;cious guilt would not permit
me to enquire the cau&longs;e of her uneasiness,
as I naturally imagined &longs;he had discovered
my improper intimacy with her husband:
but one day while we were at Bri&longs;tol,
I overheard a conver&longs;ation between them
which determined me to quit a life, at once
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&longs;o repugnant to honour, humanity and religion.
It was one morning, as I was preparing
to enter the breakfa&longs;t room, the door
of which was not quite &longs;hut, when I heard
Mr. Howard in a high key reproaching his
wife for not behaving &longs;o kindly as formerly
to me. I wi&longs;hed to know in what manner
Mrs. Howard &longs;poke of me, and therefore descended
to the meanne&longs;s of li&longs;tening. “My
dear, Mr. Howard,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “how is it possible
for me to behave with cordiality to a woman
who I am well convinced has u&longs;urped my
place in your affections; and tho' I am willing
acknowledge the many amiable traits in
her character, I cannot be blind to that one
error, which embitters every hour of my
life; nor am I mi&longs;tre&longs;s of &longs;ufficient dissimulation,
to wear the face of friend&longs;hip where
my heart feels only di&longs;like, nay almo&longs;t disgust.
I will not &longs;cruple to confe&longs;s, I once
did e&longs;teem her: but pardon the expre&longs;&longs;ion,
if I &longs;ay, the heart that loves virtue for its own
&longs;ake, can never form acquaintance with vice.
We may pity, but we mu&longs;t de&longs;pi&longs;e.”
“Hold madam,” &longs;aid he, “or I &longs;hall be
led to &longs;uppo&longs;e you de&longs;pi&longs;e me.”
“No, Mr. Howard,” &longs;aid &longs;he, with a
firm animated voice, “you are the cho&longs;en
friend of my heart, the father of my
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children, the hu&longs;band of my affections, I have
promi&longs;ed to love, to honour, and obey you,
and heaven is my witne&longs;s, I never have failed
in one of tho&longs;e points: to cea&longs;e to love you
is impo&longs;&longs;ible; to obey you is the plea&longs;ure of
my life: but, pardon me, if your own conduct
has forced me unwillingly to own, I
can no longer honour you; my peace has
been broken by your ill humour, my fortune
di&longs;&longs;ipated by your extravagance, nay lavi&longs;hed
on the mo&longs;t di&longs;olute of my &longs;ex, until your
family is reduced to the mo&longs;t mortifying circumstances:
my child, my beloved Meriel
obliged to be educated far from me; becau&longs;e
her father's morals were too vitiated to be a
proper object for the contemplation of a
young and innocent mind.”
Here &longs;he wept, and Mr. Howard not being
able to make a ju&longs;t defence, flew into a violent
pa&longs;&longs;ion, as was his u&longs;ual cu&longs;tom, &longs;wore
&longs;he was a mo&longs;t unacountabIe woman, and
wondered at his own patience in bearing
with her &longs;o long. This unde&longs;erved reproach
awakened her &longs;tifled pa&longs;&longs;ion, and &longs;he an&longs;wered
with intrepidity.
“No, &longs;ir, it is my patience is to be wondered
at, but do not irritate me, beyond the possibility
of &longs;ubmitting any longer, I fear I have
been wrong in &longs;o long bearing my injuries in
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&longs;ilence; perhaps, you think, becau&longs;e I appeared
blind to your immoral conduct, I
countenanced it. Let me undeceive you.
Mrs. Talbot &longs;hould not &longs;o long have remained
under the &longs;ame roof with me, had I not
feared, that by depriving her of an a&longs;ylum,
I &longs;hould injure her reputation and drive her
into an inhuman world, where one fal&longs;e &longs;tep
is never forgiven, and &longs;he might have &longs;unk
into the lowe&longs;t aby&longs;s of vice and infamy. I
flattered my&longs;elf my gentlene&longs;s might have
reclaimed her. I knew, alas! too well, the
incon&longs;tancy of your nature, and had determined
that when for&longs;aken by you, &longs;he &longs;hould
not want a friend to &longs;natch her from everlasting
ruin.”
I was &longs;o overcome by this generous declaration,
that I was forced to catch hold of
the ballu&longs;trade of the &longs;tairs, to prevent falling.
A &longs;udden &longs;ickne&longs;s came over me, and
I could not di&longs;tinctly hear the remainder of
their conver&longs;ation; but, thank heaven, I
profited &longs;o much from what I had heard, that
I re&longs;olved no longer, by my pre&longs;ence, to
wound a heart &longs;o replete with benevolence
toward me. I did not enter the parlour;
but returned to my own apartment; and,
&longs;ending an apology for not appearing at
breakfa&longs;t, revolved in my own mind a variety
of &longs;chemes, for my future &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tence; but
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could think on nothing that appeared in the
lea&longs;t probable of &longs;ucce&longs;s. That afternoon
Mi&longs;s Howard arrived from France. Had my
mind been ever &longs;o depraved it mu&longs;t have
returned to virtue after an acquaintance with
this dear girl; I therefore became more
firm in my re&longs;olves; and having formed an
acquaintance with an elderly lady, of who&longs;e
&longs;en&longs;e and goodne&longs;s of heart I had a very
high opinion; I determined to di&longs;clo&longs;e every
particular of my &longs;ituation to her, and a&longs;k
her advice in what manner I &longs;hould proceed.
She heard me with attention, and was friendly
enough not to attempt to paliate my errors.
She placed my conduct in a proper
light and encouraged the remor&longs;e which was
already awakened in my bo&longs;om. She then
opened a &longs;cene of comfort to my di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed
imagination, and having advi&longs;ed me to return
with the family to Woodbine Cot, to
prevent any ill natured remarks among our
acquaintance, and afterwards to pur&longs;ue the
plan which &longs;he had laid down. Yet, will
you believe it, when I returned to this place
I felt my re&longs;olution &longs;lacken, and found I was
relap&longs;ing into my former errors; but this
morning the dear amiable Meriel has awakened
my &longs;leeping con&longs;cience, and I am determined
to leave the family immediately.
I went into the garden after breakfa&longs;t and
found her weeping in a little arbour. “In
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tears, my dear little girl,” &longs;aid I. “Have
I not cau&longs;e for tears,” &longs;he replied, “is not
my beloved mother unhappy?”
“Unhappy!” &longs;aid I, with an accent of
&longs;urpri&longs;e, willing to try if &longs;he was acquainted
with the cau&longs;e.
She fixed her expre&longs;&longs;ive eyes on my face,
and replied emphatically; “&longs;urely I need
not tell you, Mrs. Talbot, that &longs;he is very
unhappy; for you profe&longs;s your&longs;elf her friend,
and friend&longs;hip is quick &longs;ighted in di&longs;cerning
the &longs;orrows of the per&longs;on e&longs;teemed: true
friend&longs;hip is al&longs;o eagerly anxious to remove
the cau&longs;e of grief from the bo&longs;om of tho&longs;e
they love, though by &longs;o doing, they plant a
thorn in their own.”
I could not an&longs;wer her; I did not even
attempt it; but pre&longs;&longs;ing her hand in &longs;ilence
retired to another part of the garden.
On Tue&longs;day morning, at four o'clock, I
&longs;hall expect you will &longs;end a man and hor&longs;e
for me. I &longs;hall come but poorly provided
with ca&longs;h, as I am re&longs;olved to leave my settlement
behind me, as likewi&longs;e every pre&longs;ent
of value, which I have received. I will not
impoveri&longs;h the family which I have already
irreparably injured. But do not think I &longs;hall
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come to throw my&longs;elf on you for &longs;upport.
No, my &longs;i&longs;ter, I have the abilities nece&longs;&longs;ary to
earn my &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tence, and they &longs;hall be exerted.
I &longs;hall &longs;tay only one night with you, and
then proceed to my kind friend at Bri&longs;tol.
As to the remainder of my plan, if I &longs;ucceed
to my wi&longs;h, you &longs;hall again hear from me;
if not, I &longs;hall &longs;ink at once into total oblivion.
Farewell, my &longs;i&longs;ter, forget my errors; remember
only my penitence, and let me &longs;hare
your prayers, that it may be &longs;incere and
la&longs;ting.
C. TALBOT.
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Rowson, Mrs., 1762-1824 [1795], Trials of the human heart, volume 1 ('printed for the author, by Wrigley & Berriman', Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf328v1].
