ow glorious a privilege
has man above all other sublunary beings! Who, though indigent, unpitied, forsaken by the world, and
even chained in a dungeon, can, by the aid of divine contemplation, enjoy all the charms of pomp,
respect, and liberty! — transport himself in idea, to whatever place he wishes, and grasp in theory
imagined empires!
Unaccountable is it, therefore, that so many people find an irksomeness in being alone, tho’ for never so small a space of time! — Guilt, indeed, creates perturbations, which may well make retirement horrible, and drive the self tormented wretch into any company, to avoid the agonies of remorse; but I speak not of those who are afraid to reflect, but of those who seem to me not to have the power to do it.
Whatever opinion the world may have of the wit of persons of this cast, I cannot help thinking
there is a vacuum in the mind; — that they have no ideas of their own; — and only thro’ custom, and
a genteel education, are enabled to talk agreeably on those of other people. A real fine genius can
never want matter to entertain itself: and tho’ on the top of a mountain, without society, and
without books, or any exterior means of employment, will always find that within which will keep it
form being idle: — memory and recollection will bring the transactions of past times to view:
observation and discernment point out the present with their causes; — and fancy, tempered with
judgment, anticipate the future. This power of contemplation and reflection it is that chiefly
distinguishes the human from the brute creation, and proves that we have souls which are in reality
sparks of that Divine, Omniscient, Omnipresent Being, whence we all boast to be derived.
Conversation, in effect, but furnishes matter for contemplation; — it exhilarates the mind, and fits it for reflection afterwards. Every new thing we hear in company raises in us new ideas in the closet or on the pillow; and as there are few people but one may gather something form, either to divert or improve, a good understanding will, like the industrious bee, suck out the various sweets, and digest them in retirement. But those who are perpetually hurrying from one company to another, and never suffer themselves to be alone but when weary Nature summons them to repose, will be little amended, tho’ the maxims of a Seneca were to be delivered to them in all the enchanting eloquence of a Tully.
Many young persons of both sexes owe their ruin to this one unfortunate propensity of loving to
be always in company; and it is the more dangerous, as nobody takes any pains to conquer it in
themselves, but on the contrary, are apt to mistake it for a laudable inclination, and look on those
who preach up the happiness of a more retired life, as phlegmatic and vapourish.
Nor is it only where there is a difference of sex that I think youth ought to be upon its guard;
the dangers in that case are too universally allowed to stand in need of any remonstrances, and yet
perhaps are not greater than other which both may happen to falling among those of their own. Are
not almost all the extravagances, parents with so much grief behold their children guilty of, owing
to ill-chosen company? — Great is the privilege of example, and some are so weak as to think they
must do as they see others do. The fear of being laughed at has made many a young gentleman run into
vices to which his inclination was at first averse; but, alas! By habitude become more pleasing to
him, he has in his turn played the tempter’s part, and made it his glory to seduce others as himself
had been seduced. It is this love
Heaven forbid, and I am far from suggesting, that to run such lengths as these should be common to all who hate retirement and reflection: fortune is sometimes kinder than our endeavours merit, and by not throwing any temptations in our way, renders our carelessness of no worse consequence than being deprived of those solid pleasures which flow from a consciousness of having behaved according to the dictates of honour and reason.
But suppose we make some allowances to a few of the very young and gay, especially the beautiful,
But instead of living in a regular decent manner, she roams from place to place, hires lodgings at three or four different houses at the same time, lives one night at ST James’s, another at Covent-Garden, a third perhaps at Westminster, and a fourth in the city: — nor does she look on this as a sufficient variety: — she has at this moment apartments at Richmond, — Hammersmith, Kensington, and Chelsea, each of which she visits two or three times at least every month; so that her time is passed in a continual whirl from one home to another, if any can be justly called so; but it seems as is she had an aversion to the very name; for the room she pays for, she dwells in the least, seldom eats in any of them, and forces herself as it were into those of other people, where she sends in a stock of provision sufficient for the whole family, in order to purchase for herself a welcome. But as people of any figure in the world would not accept of such favours, and those of good sense not endure to be deprived of the privilege of thinking their own thoughts, and entertaining their own friends, it can be only the extremely necessitous, or those who have as little on their heads as herself, that will submit to have their lodgings and time taken up in this manner.
Poor woman! How does she lavish away a handsome income! — how forefeit all pretensions to good
understanding and good breeding, merely for the sake of being permitted to talk as much as she
pleases without contradiction, and being never alone but when asleep! — I have been told by those
who are to be depended upon, that the moment she
There are people so uncharitable, as to believe some latent crime hangs heavy on the minds of all those who take so much pains to avoid being alone; but I am far from being of that number; it is my opinion, that neither this old rattle I have mentioned, nor many others who act in the same manner, ever did a real hurt to any one. Those who are incapable of thinking, are certainly incapable of any premeditated mischief; and, as I have already said, seem to me a set of insensibles, who never act of themselves, but are acted upon others.
Before one passes so cruel a censure, one should certainly examine, I mean not the lives and characters, for they may deceive us, but at what point of time this aversion to solitude commenced: — if from childhood, and so continued even to the extremest old age, it can proceed only from a weakness in the mind, and is deserving our compassion; but it from taking that satisfaction in contemplation and retirement, which every reasonable soul finds in it, one sees a person has turned to the reverse, — start, even while in company, at the bare mention of quitting it, and flies solitude as an house on fire, one may very well suspect some secret crime has wrought so great a transition, and that any conversation, though the most insipid and worthless, seems preferable to that which the guilty breast can furnish to itself.
I am well aware, that there is another movie, besides either a want of power to think, or a
consciousness of having done what renders thought a
This I am sensible is the case of many who pass for persons of good understanding, and the excuse is allowed by the generality of the world as a reasonable one; but yet I must beg their pardon, when I say, that whatsoever share of fine sense they may shew in other things, they betray a very great deficiency yin this. The relaxation which noise and hurry may afford, is but short-lived, and are so far from removing that burden which the spirit labours under, that they afterwards make it felt with double weight.
Some are so madly stupid, as to attempt to lose the thoughts of one evil, by running into others of perhaps worse consequence. I mean that of drinking, and some other excesses, equally pernicious both to fortune and constitution; but how false a relief this gives, I need only appeal to those who have made the trial.
Would such people be prevailed upon to make a little reflection before it is too late, they would certainly have recourse to more solid consolations.
— Would not the works of some of our most celebrated poets divert a melancholy hour much more
than all the rhodomontades of a vague idle conversation! Would not the precepts of philo-
It is not that I would persuade any one to a continual poring over books; too much reading, tho’ of the best authors, is apt to dull the spirits, and destroy that attention which alone can render this employment profitable. A few good maxims, well digested by reflection, dwell upon the memory, and are not only a remedy for present ills, but also a kind of antidote against nay future ones that fate may have in store.
But it may be said, that this advice can only be complied with by persons of condition; and as for the meaner part, it cannot be imagined that they have either time or capacities to enable them to square themselves by such rules: — this indeed must be allowed, but then it must also be allowed, that they can the least afford to waste what time they have in such fruitless attempts as they generally make use of for forgetting their cares; and as to their capacities, we are to suppose that every one understands the trade or business to which he has been bred, and, in my opinion, nothing is more plain than that an industrious application to that, would be his best relief for any vexation he is involved in, as well as the surest means of avoiding falling into others.
Upon the whole, it denotes a meanness of soul, not to be forgiven even in the lowest rank of
peo-
But what can be more amazing, than that persons, who have no one thing upon earth to incommode them, should not be able to take any pleasure in contemplating on the tranquillity of their situation!
− Yet so it is: there are those in the world, and in the great world too, who being possessed of every thing they can wish, and frequently much more than either they deserve, or could ever expect, seem altogether insensible of the benefits they receive from heaven, or any obligations they may have to man. This, methinks, is an indolence of nature, which can never be too much guarded against, because whoever is guilty of it, becomes ungrateful and unjust, without knowing he is so, and incurs the censure of all who are acquainted with him, for omissions which himself is wholly ignorant of, and if he were not so, would perhaps be very far from meriting.
But after all that has, or can be said, the world is more inclinable to excuse this defect than any other I know of: — a person who loves to be always in company, and accept of any sort rather than be alone, is accounted a good-natured harmless creature; and though it is impossible they can be magnified for any extraordinary virtues or qualifications, what they lose in respect is for the most part made up with love. They have rarely any enemies; and the reason is plain, they are generally merry, never contradict whatever is said of done, nor refuse any thing that is asked of them. People of a middling understanding like their conversation; — the most weak are in no awe of them; and the wisest will sometimes suffer themselves to be diverted by them; — in fine, every body is easy with them, and how easy they are to themselves in all events, there are innumerable instances.
Some women would have been inconsolable to find themselves no sooner gained than abandoned; their pride, if not their love, would have made them regret the loss of so illustrious an admirer; but Belinda as just the same laughing, rallying, romping creature as before; she seemed no more affected by this change, than she had been at the reproofs given to her by her friends on the first rumour of her intimacy with Rinaldo; and Lavallie, a man of no less gallantry and inconstancy, succeeded to her affection, if that kind of liking, which serves only to amuse an idle hour, is worthy to be called so.
Equally gay, inconsiderate, and regardless of the censure of the world, this intrigue was managed
with so little circumspection, that it soon reached the ears of Manella, the wife of Lavallie,
Manella, finding all she could say to her husband was far from working the effect she desired, was resolved to fly to any extremities to break off the intercourse between him and this hated rival: — she knew very well that Rinaldo had once a liking to that young lady, and though he seemed at present entirely divested of his former inclinations, yet she imagined it might pique him to be told that one he had honoured with his addresses should condescend to receive those of a person so much his inferior; and therefore flattered herself that he would not fail to lay his commands on Lavallie to desist his visits to her, especially when he had so plausible a pretence for it, as the complaints of a wife.
She therefore threw herself at his feet, inform-
The noble Rinaldo easily saw into the thing, but would not seem to do so; and would fain have persuaded Manella there was no foundation for her suspicions, but she was not to be so easily put off. She renewed her intreaties; she repeated the reasons which convinced her of the injustice done her, and became so importunate, that he at last promised to speak to Lavallie to be at least more circumspect in his behaviour.
Whether this great person thought any farther on it is uncertain, but chance and the inadvertency of the parties concerned gave the jealous Manella a sufficient opportunity to vent all her enraged soul was full of, on the persons who had wronged her.
This menace only served to give fresh addition to her fury, and that increasing her strength she broke for him, and flying to the window, where she perceived he had laid his sword, instantly drew it, and made at Belinda with such precipitation, that it was as much as Lavallie could do to save his mistress from feeling a fatal effect of her desperation.
By superior force, however, he disarmed this enraged amazon, though not without cutting his own
hands in the struggle. All this time there was such a mingled found of curses, shrieks, cries,
As this millener got infinitely more by her private customers than by her public, and kept a house chiefly for the meeting of persons of condition, Rinaldo, who at that time had a new flame, and was come to gratify it with the beloved object, heard this disturbance from an adjacent chamber; and wholly unable to guess the occasion, ran with his sword in his hand to inform himself of the truth, where the noise directed.
He came into the room just as Lavallie had wrenched from his wife’s hand that weapon of
destruction, and seeing who was there, was no longer at a loss to know what had happened: his
presence, however, obliged every one to more moderation, and Belinda took this opportunity of
running away, which before she could not do, the furious Manella being between her and the door. The
millener now began to account for this accident in a more plausible manner than she had done before.
She said, that Belinda being taken with a sudden faintness, she had desired to lie down on her bed
in order to recover herself, and that she being afterwards busy with customers, had not seen
Lavallie enter, but imagined, that being but little acquainted with the house, he had gone into that
room by mistake. Lavallie took the hint she had given, and protested, that being directed up to the
lace-chamber, he had opened this door, as being the first he came to, and seeing a lady lie on the
bed, he had the curiosity to approach, in order to see if he knew her, and to rally her for trusting
herself in that posture in an unlocked chamber. “As I drew
All the time he was speaking, Manella shook her head, and bit her lips till they even bled with inward vexation, but the presence of Rinaldo forbidding her to continue her reproaches in the same manner she had done before his entrance, she only said, that Heaven, who knew how greatly she was injured, would, one time or other, revenge her cause.
The millener, who knew Rinaldo had reason to be of her side, began now in her turn to resent the aspersion Manella endeavoured to cast upon her house, and said in plain terms, that no reputation could be safe from the idle whims of a jealous wife. Lavallie affected to beg her pardon for the injustice his wife was guilty of to her, and cursed himself for the unhappy mistake which had occasioned all this confusion.
Rinaldo was highly diverted at this scene in his own mind, but would not add to Manella’s
affliction, by letting her see how little he regarded it; she had, however, too much penetration not
to perceive, that neither complaints nor resentment would be of much service to her in that place,
and being almost ready to burst with spite and rage, went out of the room, giving a look at Lavallie
and the woman of the house, which testified how ill
Her absence put an end to all the constraint they had been in; Lavallie was obliged to endure a good deal of raillery yon the occasion from Rinado, and afterwards to double the present he always made to the millener, on account of the confusion his wife had caused in her house.
Whether this adventure put an end to the amour he had with Belinda, is uncertain; but if continued, it was with so much caution, that the interviews between them were never afterwards discovered.
Manella finding she could no other way be revenged, took care to render this affair as public as possible; so that Belinda met with the most severe reproofs from all her friends for her ill conduct: yet so insensible was this unthinking lady either of shame, or the prejudice it might be to her interest, to forfeit the love and esteem of her family, that though she heard their admonitions with her sensual ears, those of her minds seemed wholly deaf; nor could all was said to her make the least alteration in her deportment, or prevail on her to give herself one moment’s reflection.
In a long course of unregarded follies might she have continued, till age and wrinkles had enforced that solitude her own prudence was too weak to make choice of, had not count Loyter professed a passion of a different nature for her than any before him had pretended.
So greatly did he seem enamoured with her, that he never was two hours absent form her; and his
quality and attachment obliged all who were looked upon as her former admirer to keep a greater
distance. Her kindred and friends were transported to her with what respect and tenderness the
addresses he made to her were accompanied; but their rejoicing was very much abated, when, on
examining her on this account, they could not find that he had ever once mentioned marriage to her;
and though eh swore ten thousand oaths that he was utterly unable to live without professing her, he
had not made one that it was his intention to possess her by those ways which alone could do honour
to her family. As there seemed some reason, however, to believe the regard he had for her was
infinitely more sincere than any who before had called themselves her lovers, they advised, nay
conjured her to omit nothing in her power for improving it, and converting the designs he had upon
her into honourable ones, if they were not so already; all this she promised them to do, but thought
no more of what they had said than the time they were speaking, and
This behaviour was an infinite trouble to all who wished to see her retrieve, by a happy marriage, the errors of her past life; but one more sanguine than the rest for her interest, resolved to do that for her which he found there was no possibility of prevailing on her to do for herself, and took an opportunity of discoursing with the count on the affair. He at first would have evaded all talk of it, and made several efforts to give a turn to the conversation, but finding himself closely pressed, he at last replied, that as Belinda and himself were the chief persons concerned, and were perfectly satisfied with each other’s intentions, he thought all interfering between them wholly unnecessary.
These words were a little resented by the friends of Belinda, and gave rise to some expressions on both sides, which if either of them demanded not that satisfaction of the other, which is usual in such cases between gentlemen, there wanted but a very little of it. From this time, however, their former intimacy was broke off: — Belinda’s kinsman reproached her for that levity which had like to have proved fatal to him; and count Loyter, to shew how little he regarded the displeasure of any of her family, prevailed on that thoughtless lady to come and live publickly at his house.
All the world now looked upon her as his mistress; and indeed how could it be otherwise! — She
had an apartment so near his own, that they could with ease pass to each other, without being known
to do so by any of the family; she went abroad with him to all publick places; — she had
After having lived together in this manner, till the talk of it (which never continues long on one subject) began to subside, the count all at once declared his intention of making her his wife. New equipages and new habits were prepared, — invitations sent to the friends on both sides, and they were really married at a time when it was least to be hoped or expected.
It must be owned that there was something spirited, and at the same time truly honourable in the behaviour of count Loyter on this occasion. He would not be compelled to give any definitive answer as to his designs on a woman of Belinda’s character; but when he found himself free from the persecutions of her friends, and that they had entirely given her over for lost, then did he shew the sincerity of his passion, and entirely wipe off all the aspersions that had been cast on her upon his account.
I should be glad there was a possibility of excusing Belinda also; but alas! She consented to live in his house without any certainty, or even a promise of ever being his wife, and was, perhaps, not the least surprised of any that heard it, that she was made so.
Her change of fortune has wrought no change in her humour and conduct; and as she would be
commended for being no way elated with the grandeur she possesses, so must she also be highly blamed
I believe it would be very difficult to prove that she has ever wronged him in fact; but it is the duty of every married woman to behave so as not even to be suspected. This Belinda has sense enough to know, but not enough to remember that she knows.
Adonius, no less amorous and inconstant than his brother Rinaldo, and much more endued with those perfections which charm womankind, has found in the now countess Loyter graces, which, till after she was another’s, had not been discovered by him. The admiration he expresses to have for her, and the pleasure his conversation affords, are of too much consequence to her happiness not to be indulged. She forgets the obligation she has to her lord, and wholly taken up with this new and illustrious lover, is scarce ever at home, but when he vouchsafes to visit there. It is certain, that in the parties of pleasure she makes with him, her husband frequently is one; yet does not his being seen with them sometimes take off the censure which their being together without him at others too justly incurs.
As yet the count is under no uneasiness on the score: — he looks on the fine things said in his
presence by Adonius to his wife, as proceeding only from an excess of complaisance; and imputes the
satisfaction she takes in hearing them merely to the little vanity of her sex; — the rambles they
take together to the levity of both their humours; and, instead of being angry, often laughs at the
recital.
Rumour will have it, that not two moons since, deaf to all considerations but those of gratifying their mutual passion, he ran the risqué of ruining himself for ever with those on whom he depends, and who had betrothed him to another; and she, of being shamefully repudiated by that authority whence there is no appeal; they both venturing every thing that might ensue, to be united to each other by a clandestine and unlicensed marriage. If so, how great a change! — the sacred ceremony has no power to bind Adonius: — he thinks himself under no obligations to continue constant to a wife so much beneath him: — and where shall she apply for justice against a husband, whom to acknowledge as such, would only incur the displeasure of those she would oblige.
What sad effects do giving way to any passion, though of the most tender kind, produce,
especially in our sex! If Amadea thinks she has satisfied her virtue, in granting nothing to her
lover till the sanction of marriage has converted inclination into duty, what will such a marriage
avail, when she durst not avow it?— When the very priest that joined their hands, shall be obliged
to disown his ever having performed that ceremony between them; and when Adonius, whose perseverance
in love, and patience in enduring all that could be inflicted on him, could alone obtain
forgiveness; and a sanction of ratifying what he had done, shall be
Already has she a taste of what she may justly apprehend will infallibly arrive in his present attachment to Belinda; already does she feel the cruel stings of jealousy and disappointment, and reflects with agonies not to be expressed, on the approaching ills, which following the dictates of a blind heedless disposition, and perhaps some mixture of ill-judged ambition, must involve her in.
It is certain, she is far from being that vain, wild, unthinking creature that Belinda is, yet
had she thought justly she never would have consented to marry a person, where the character of wife
must lay her under greater inconveniences than even that of a mistress.
As the principal design of these speculations is, therefore, to correct those errors in the mind,
which are most imperceptible, and for that reason the most dangerous, such examples are not set down
but with a view of shewing how the want of a proper way of thinking in our youth involves our whole
futures lives in misfortunes, which frequently no reflection can afterwards retrieve. The
anatomists, indeed, will tell you, that where there is a defect in the texture of the brain, this
incapacity of reflection is mechanical, and consequently irremediable, but by this way of reasoning
they may also pretend, (as it is certain many do) that all vices are constitutional, which I never
can be brought to allow, because such an opinion would be imputing an error to the Author of our
formation, wholly destroying the doctrine of free-will, and,
To know ourselves, is agreed by all to be the most useful learning; the first lessons, therefore,
given us ought to be upon that subject. The parents or governors of children can never answer to
themselves a neglect tin this point. Youth should be tried and fisted; and when the favourite
propensity is found out; according as it tends to vice or virtue.
I must confess, that where there is a kind of heavy stupidity, or what they call too much mercury
in the disposition, the one requires a great deal of art to enliven, and the other no less to six;
and, as they are direct contraries, so contrary methods should be made use of. But this is a duty
which ought not to be dispensed with on account of its difficulty, nor is perhaps so hard a matter
as it seems, if we consider, that to give spirit and vivacity to the dull, nothing but cheerful
objects
Where an excess of gaiety and the love of pleasure is predominant, the mind should be early seasoned with the knowledge of the many disappointments, disasters, and calamities, which are the portion of the greatest part of mankind. Pity for the woes of others, and the certainty that no condition or degree can assure itself with being defended from the frown of fate, will give a more serious turn to our ideas, and serve very much to abate that impetuosity which arises from a too great redundancy of fire or air in persons of that disposition.
Few are so happy as to be composed of equal elements; therefore, what is deficient in the constitution, ought to be supplied by judgment. The earthy stupid, and the watry phlegmatic, are to be raised by exercise, music, dancing, and al sprightly amusements; as the fiery choleric, and the airy giddy, are to be tempered with their contraries.
But, as I have already taken notice, this method, though it must not be omitted by the tutors, will fail of success, if not seconded by the endeavours of the pupils, when left to the management of themselves; but where there is a good foundation laid by those who have had the care of instructing us in our youth, it will be entirely our own fault, if we afterwards fall into very gross irregularities.
Reflection, therefore, and recollection, are as necessary for the mind as food is for the body: a
little examination into the affections of the heart can be of no prejudice to the most melancholy
constitution, and will be infinite service to the
I once knew a gentleman, who had a wife of whom he was infinitely fond, and whose society he
preferred to all others in the world, at those times when he was disposed for conversation; −yet, if
she offered to disturb his meditations, would grow quite peevish with her. So valuable to him was
the freedom of his thoughts, that he could not be an interruption, even tho’ he knew it to be a
proof of love from her who was by so much the dearest part of himself.
How then happens it, that such numbers deny themselves the greatest satisfaction a reasonable being can enjoy, and which is also of such high importance in every accident in life, that without it we have no power, either to attain any good, or defend ourselves from any evil!
But some people are so ignorant as to imagine, or so wicked as to insinuate, that those who think
A few examples have, alas! but too much authorized this opinion. We have seen great thinkers who have only thought to aggrandize themselves on the ruins of those they pretend to serve; — great professors, who have spared no pains to gain confidence for no other purpose than to betray; — great advocates for liberty, only to enslave; — and great preachers up of justice, only to purchase security for the worst of criminals.
So gross an abuse of the faculty of thinking is, indeed, turning the arms of heaven against itself, and forcing that sacred reason, which was given us for a guide to virtue, to accompany us in the paths of vice. To think of such purposes, I must confess, is infinitely worse than not to think at all; because the one tends to injure and oppress mankind in general, the other is for the most part hurtful only to the person themselves.
Even the very ladies take a pleasure in giving him all the mortification in their power: and as our sex has the privilege of saying whatever we have a mind to, without any danger of resentment from the men, he often meets with the severest sarcasms from those who have wit enough to make them.
All the company burst into a loud laughter at this repartee, as the character of Proteus’s wife
made it no less just than smart; and he, having nothing to return to a piece of satire which had so
much truth in it, went out of the room ready to burst between shame and unavailing spite, leaving
his fair antagonist to receive all the praises her ready wit and presence of mind deserved.
Some little time after these preposterous nuptials were consummated, the father and son were
together at an assembly;
Not even those whose interest it was to preserve the good-will of Pompilius, had guard enough
over themselves to restrain smiling at so unexpected and so severe a reply from his son before his
face; but those who regarded neither his favour nor resentment, laughed outright; and the old
bride-groom, finding what he had done thus publickly scoffed at by his own blood, was in no less
confusion and incapacity of making any return than he had once before been in, when employed to give
an account of a battle, while the dreadful roar of the cannons were still in his ears, and all the
terrors of death before his eyes; nor could now, as then, recover himself from it, till more than
half a dozen bottle of Burgundy (his usual stint) had given him fresh spirits.
In fine, when one looks into the world, and considers the present times and humours of mankind, one cannot help crying out with the poet,
Yet to what can we impute all those mistakes, miscarriages, or those cruelties, oppressions, unnatural actions, and the innumerable train of mischiefs, which we either bring upon ourselves, or inflict on others, but to the want of thought, or to thought misapplied! The latter I again allow to be of much worse consequence than the former; but as we are free-agents, and the choice is in ourselves whether we will be virtuous or vicious, it would be a poor excuse to say, “We durst not think, left we should think amiss.”
Man was created little inferior to the angels, and it is his own fault that he is not very near as happy too. This world is plentifully stored with every thing suited to the nature of his being; and borne on the wings of sacred contemplation, he may also partake of heavenly raptures: but this pint I leave to divines! For though it is a truth self-evident, yet there are people who chuse rather to be convinced by the learning of others, than by the witnesses in their own breasts.
The intermingling boughs of the trees for some little time defended him, but would not have continued to do so much longer, and he was beginning to give way to impatience; when, on a sudden, he heard a human voice call to him to turn towards the right of a little mount, about some twenty yards from him.
He has assured me, that never any music had given him half the pleasure as the sound of one of
his own species did in that unfrequented wild. He failed not to obey the summons, and presently
perceived a man habited like a hermit, stand at the entrance of a cave beneath the mount. The
tempest did not prevent him from coming forth to meet his distressed traveller. He helped him to
alight, tied his horse under one of the thickest trees, and then conducted him into his gloomy
habitation, with all the politeness of a first-rate courtier.
To which the other replied with a smile, that his curiosity should be fully satisfied; “But first (said he) you must refresh yourself with such things as this homely cell affords”.
In speaking those words, he spread a curious damask napkin on the table, and then set plates of pickles, several sorts of fresh and dried fruits, fine manchet, fromage, and a bottle of the best Burgundy. In fine, a more elegant afternoon’s collaction could not have been presented in the most opulent city, than what this cavern in the midst of an unfrequented wood afforded.
The more danger saw, the more he was surprised; which the seeming hermit perceiving, entertained him, while they were eating, with this account of himself.
He told him, that he was not a constant inhabitant of the place he found him in, but repaired
either occasionally, and when he was in the humour to indulge reflection; — that he wore that
My friend, after paying him those respects which the knowledge of this quality demanded, expressed some amazement that he should have occasion to take the pains to come so far, and subject himself to so many inconveniences, merely for the sake of a retirement, which he might, doubtless, enjoy in as full a manner at home, if he was disposed to let his inclinations for solitude be signified to his acquaintance.
To which the count replied, that he perceived he was a stranger to the humour of the French nation: — that what he mentioned was a thing wholly impracticable to a man of his quality: — that though he lived at a considerable distance from Paris, or any great city, his castle was continually crowded either with the neighbouring gentry, or persons who travelled that way; and that besides, he was married to a lady of gay and volatile a disposition, that it was impossible for him ever to be entirely alone. “To add to all this, continued he, I have several children, and a numerous retinue of servants, and though I should shut myself up in the most retired room I have, I could not still be free from interruption of one kind or other.”
The mind, said he, requires some relaxation as well as the body and when fatiqued with the hurry
of those pleasures with which it is
The count in his younger years had the misfortune to have a reencounter with a nobleman, in which he gave him some wounds which he knew not but were mortal. Besides the law, which in that country is very severe against duelling, his antagonist was a person in great favour with the king, and he had little room to hope for mercy in café the other died. To avoid the prosecution, he fled from, and not doubting but all houses where they might expect to find him would be strictly searched, he concealed himself in this wood, accompanied only by one faithful servant, who having been brought up with him, would not be prevailed upon to quit him in such an extremity.
He assured my friend, that they lived for near three weeks on such provision only as that
deso-
The fellow’s return brought him the good news that his enemy was not only recovered of the hurts he had received from him, but had also confessed that himself had been the aggressor, and laboured by all his friends to obtain the same pardon for the count as for himself: — that every body expected it would soon be signed, and that, though it was not proper he should appear in publick till it was so, yet, as all search after him was entirely over, he might quit that dreadful situation, and repair to the house of a relation, who would meet him at the entrance of the forest, and conduct him with all manner of privacy.
Every thing happened according to his intelligence; and he had not been a week before the royal
clemency exerted itself in favour of both the delinquents; who then, as great friends as before they
had been the contrary, went together to
“You see now, added he, the motives I have for retiring myself sometimes form the noise and hurry
of the world; and as this place was my asylum in distress, I cannot help having a kind of love for
it, and think I ought in gratitude to make it the scene of my more pleasing meditations; — I
therefore made this cavern be cut out of the mount; — furnished it as you see, provided two chairs
in case any distressed person should have occasion to take refugee here, as it has now happened; —
and I could wish that I had taken the same precaution as to a bed, for it now grows late, and I
foresee the storm will not abate while you can depart with any safety; but we will pass the night as
well as we can; I have a sufficient quantity of Burgundy within, and by the help of that and
conversation, we may beguile the hours till morning, when my servant will be here, and I will beg
the favour of your company to a place, where it will
My friend then told him, how having lost his company he could not do himself the honour to accept his invitation, because, he must make the best of his way to the town where they had agreed to stay for that night; and said, he did not doubt but to overtake them, provided he could but find his way out of the forest.
Count Montaubin assured him, that what he talked of was no way to be performed; that the town he mentioned lay quite on the other side of the wood, which was wholly impracticable to be passed without a guide, even though he had the day instead of the night before him, by reason of the many intricate turnings it contained; that the great road was not only the safest but the nearest; and as he had missed it by turning into the wood, he might by the assistance of his servant easily recover it: — “But, said he, as the man will be with me, as he always is, extremely early, the best way will be to send him to your friends, acquaint them where you are, and engage them either to come to you at my castle, which luckily happens to be situated very near the road, or to tarry till you can reach them.”
This expedient seemed no less reasonable and convenient to the gentleman, than it was kind an obliging in him that proposed it; and being a man perfectly free from all that troublesome formal ceremony which half-bred people are so full of, he agreed to it without any hesitation of apologies.
The night glided almost insensibly away in such agreeable conversation, and Aurora had scarce
The storm having now entirely subsided, every thing seemed more beautiful for the late ruffle it had sustained. So pleasing a wildness appeared through the whole, that my friend was perfectly charmed with it; and the count did not fail, during the time of their little journey, to set forth all the delights this rural scene afforded. “Here, said he, we see nature in its purity, just as it came from the hand of the Creator. What art, what agriculture can equal the sweet confusion with which every plant springs up spontaneous? — What a solemn reverence do these tall ancient trees excite? — How ravishing is the fragrancy of the air, that their fanning boughs wast to us, unmixed, unadulterated with any of those gross particles which the neighbourhood of cities constantly send forth? — Here we enjoy untainted aether, partake the food of angels, new-wing our souls, and almost spiritualize our dull morality: — yet, added he, how many live, and how many years did I live, without giving myself leave to know that Heaven had bestowed such blessings upon man!”
He further added, that he found an inward satisfaction such as no tongue could express, in his
meditations during the times of his thus secluding himself from society, which was ordinarily no
more than four or five days together: — that no person whatever knew the place of his retirement but
that faithful servant, who came every morning
With these kind of discourses they beguilded the time, till being come into the great road, the count dispatched his servant to the inn where my friend had informed him it was likely his companions might be found, with his compliments to them unknown, and an earnest intreaty that they would come to his castle in search of him they had lost, and for whom the were doubtless in great trouble.
These orders were no sooner given, than the man who received then clapped spurs to his horse, and was immediately out of fight; the count and his new guest rode slowly, not only that they might converse with the more ease, but also to favour the poor animal, who was very much fatigued with being exposed all night to the severity of the weather, and whom the count had it not in his power to refresh as he had done his rider.
A short time, however, brought them to a stately castle, where the count entered by a back gate,
of which he had they key, and having conducted the stranger into a magnificent anti-chamber,
intreated his pardon for leaving him a few minutes; after which he returned habited according to his
quality, and so much changed from what he had appeared in his hermit’s dress, that he was hardly to
be known: — he then introduced him to his lady, a very lovely woman, and five children, the eldest
not exceeding eleven years of age, but were all extremely beautiful and well made. My friend beheld
them with admiration, and after making his proper compliments to each, said to the count, that not
all the elegant descriptions he had given him of the charms of contemplation were half so
The countess prevented her husband from making any return to this compliment, by replying herself in so gay and gallant a manner, as shewed her a lady whose wit was not at all inferior to her personal perfections.
They all breakfasted in her apartment, after which they entered into an agreeable conversation, which was pleasingly interrupted by the arrival of the English gentlemen. The joy to see their friend safe, and in such good company, after having imagined some very ill accident had befallen him, did not hinder them from receiving the welcome given them by their illustrious hosts, with a politeness that did not shame the appearance they made, and both together concurred to convince those who saw them, that they were in reality persons of family and fortune.
The first civilities being over, the count led them into his gardens, which were laid out with
all the exactness, propriety, and good fancy imaginable. Here, parterres of flowers charmed the
senses with their fragrancy and beauty: — there, bubbling fountains, encompassed with grots,
ornamented with the richest treasure of the sea, invited to soft repose: most curious statues of
ancient heroes and philosophers, placed at the corner of each avenue, reminded the beholder of the
happiness past times enjoyed; and the spacious walks, bordered with trees, which met on the top,
forming long arbours, afforded a most delightful shade, and gave room to those who walked to
converse without the trouble of turning back to each other, as in the narrow pent-alleys of some
gardens. He then conducted them
When the time of dining arrived, the table was spread with all the delicacies of the season; — a
continued round of sprightly wit rendered the repast yet more agreeable, and for the space of ten
days, (for so long the count detained them) they were entertained in a manner, which shewed the
hospitality and politeness of the French nation.
But my friend informed me, that during the whole time they were there, scarce an hour passed
without introducing some new guest, and that every night there was either a ball or concert. In
fine, they seemed to live only for diversion: and the count, though no man appeared more gay in
company, would often in the midst of his hurry take him aside, and speak in this manner: — “You see,
sir, how impossible it is to indulge contemplation in this place, and may judge if a little recess
from such a profusion of these noisy pleasures, is not entirely necessary for a man who would not
chuse to forget himself, and the ends for which he was created.
I must confess, that when I first heard this story, the veracity of which I had no reason to call
in question, the person who related it being of undoubted integrity, I could not believe but this
count Montaubin had some defect in the composure of his brain, which rendered him at some certain
times a little delirious, and asked my friend in what altitude of the moon this nobleman was
accustomed to go into this voluntary banishment.
I was then too gay, and Heaven knows too little a lover of solitude, to be brought into his opinion, and really made a jest of it to all my acquaintance; but I have since been of another mind, and find there was much more to be admired than condemned in his thus secluding himself from the world for a time, that he might know the better how to conduct himself in it at his return.
But I still think there was a possibility for him to have enjoyed his beloved retirement in a place more commodious and less dangerous than that he made choice of. I am very well assured there are impertinents in the world, who, if they know where one is, will come with a great deal of officious love, and in a manner drag one into company, but that could not be the case of the French count, who doubtless had many little houses, to any of which he might have withdrawn, and with the same precaution been as effectually concealed as in this cavern.
I should have been glad to have had my curiosity satisfied in one point, and that was, whether
the countess his wife was let into the secret of the place of his abode, and his reasons for such
frequent absenting himself from her; but this my friend
It is certain there are very few married women, especially if they love their husbands, who would approve of such a behaviour, even though they were convinced they had no other excitements to it than the count, but would be quite outrageous to be left alone, without a perfect knowledge of every particular that occasioned it. Madam de Montaubin, therefore, could have no such thing as jealousy in her nature, or she must, without all doubt, be acquainted with the whole of the affair.
But however that was, it is nothing to my present purpose: I only wish that some of our inconsiderates would impose upon themselves the task of being sometimes alone, and am apt to believe that those, to whom reflection is now the most irksome thing imaginable, would, by frequent using themselves to it, find it at last sufficient to compensate for all they suffered at first from their reluctance.
I know nothing more difficult than for persons of too airy and volatile a disposition, to bring
themselves to that habitude I am endeavouring to recommend; nor is such a change to be expected all
at once, much less is it to be hoped for from compulsion. You may shut them all day into a room, yet
ask them on what they have been think-
Painting, especially history, landscape, and sea-pieces, is also an excellent promoter or reflection: — such prospects charm the eye, and thence gain an easy passage to the soul, exciting curiosity in the most indolent. It is impossible to behold nature thus delineated, without receiving an impression which will dwell upon the mind: — we shall think of the great transactions of past times, — the different scenes which this wide earth affords in its mountains, its vallies, its meadows, and its rivers, and all the loveliness and horrors of the surrounding deep, — the ships smooth failing with a prosperous gale, and the wrecked vessel bulged against a rock, or just sinking in those sands which lurk beneath the waves. These representations on the canvass, I say, will remain in our remembrance when the object is withdrawn, and cannot but inspire us with ideas at once delightful and instructive: — they will afford us an agreeable entertainment within ourselves, and we shall no longer be under a necessity of seeking it elsewhere.
Yet what is more truly pleasing to a thinking mind, than to see the most remarkable passages of antiquity, the various manners of far distant nations, exhibited in the touching scenes of well-wrote tragedy! Or what more conducive to reforming whatever follies we are
guilty of, than to find them artfully exposed in the ungalling satire of genteel comedy!
To reform our manners and correct our errors, — to inspire us with high ideas of honour and virtue through the canal of pleasure, as the most likely means of conveying them into the soul, was undeniably the great end proposed in the institution of the Drama; and very many of the ancient, and some modern poets have happily succeeded in it. I have heard of persons, who9 conscious of some secret crime, have been so struck with the representation of it on the stage, they t have gone come, confessed all, and passed their whole future lives in a kind of penance for their past transgressions. Herbert says,
But then to be amended either by this or any other method which can be taken for that
purpose, we must be a little attentive to the objects presented to us; which h, I am sorry to
observe, is seldom the case of the audiences that of late frequent the theatres: — they seem
disposed to regard only what makes them laugh: and even many of those, who, in complaisance to
persons of a different way of judging, affect to be most dissatisfied with the mana-
Some again will boldly argue in the defence of those dumb representations: — they will tell you, that the Italians, who are a very wise nation, vouchsafe the highest encouragement to them: — that there is a great deal of wit and ingenuity in the contrivance of them; and that it shew the sagacity and penetration of an audience to comprehend, by the motions of the performers, every design of the piece, as well as if it were delivered in speech. There is, I confess, some truth in this, where people give themselves the pains of observation; but where they are too indolent to do that, and are diverted only with the transformations of a Harlequin, without any regard to the motives he has for them, I see no benefit they can receive from such an entertainment, but what might arise from seeing a common tumbler or rope-dancer.
In fine, there is nothing but what a thinking mind may reap some advantage from; nor is there any thing, be its intrinsic merit never so great, that a person without thought can be the better for: — it is like music to the deaf, or a beautiful landscape to the blind.
There is a mode of expression in every one’s mouth, though I am afraid understood by a few, and that is, when you would give the highest compliment to any one you say he has a good taste.
This is a character which all are ambitious of acquiring, as it is looked upon to imply the
utmost perfection of elegance and propriety in any thing you undertake. To explain the difference of
the true and false taste, has employed the pens of many great authors, and yet I think none have
done it
It is therefore the business of every one, who would make a shining figure in life, avoid any
inconveniences, reap any benefits, enjoy any permanent felicity themselves, or bestow it on others,
to gain as perfect an acquaintance as in them lies, by thought and application, both with what they
are, and what they ought to attempt to be.