Amelia – Complete

“Woman is a various and changeable animal,

“there will be no fault, I believe, unless in point of civility to the ladies.”

Mrs. Atkinson had just time to tell the doctor he was a provoking creature, before the arrival of Booth and his friend put an end to that learned discourse, in which neither of the parties had greatly recommended themselves to each other; the doctor’s opinion of the lady being not at all heightened by her progress in the classics, and she, on the other hand, having conceived a great dislike in her heart towards the doctor, which would have raged, perhaps, with no less fury from the consideration that he had been her husband.

Chapter ii. – What happened at the masquerade

From this time to the day of the masquerade nothing happened of consequence enough to have a place in this history.

On that day Colonel James came to Booth’s about nine in the evening, where he stayed for Mrs. James, who did not come till near eleven. The four masques then set out together in several chairs, and all proceeded to the Haymarket.

When they arrived at the Opera-house the colonel and Mrs. James presently left them; nor did Booth and his lady remain long together, but were soon divided from each other by different masques.

A domino soon accosted the lady, and had her away to the upper end of the farthest room on the right hand, where both the masques sat down; nor was it long before the he domino began to make very fervent love to the she. It would, perhaps, be tedious to the reader to run through the whole process, which was not indeed in the most romantick stile. The lover seemed to consider his mistress as a mere woman of this world, and seemed rather to apply to her avarice and ambition than to her softer passions.

As he was not so careful to conceal his true voice as the lady was, she soon discovered that this lover of her’s was no other than her old friend the peer, and presently a thought suggested itself to her of making an advantage of this accident. She gave him therefore an intimation that she knew him, and expressed some astonishment at his having found her out. “I suspect,” says she, “my lord, that you have a friend in the woman where I now lodge, as well as you had in Mrs. Ellison.” My lord protested the contrary. To which she answered, “Nay, my lord, do not defend her so earnestly till you are sure I should have been angry with her.”

At these words, which were accompanied with a very bewitching softness, my lord flew into raptures rather too strong for the place he was in. These the lady gently checked, and begged him to take care they were not observed; for that her husband, for aught she knew, was then in the room.

Colonel James came now up, and said, “So, madam, I have the good fortune to find you again; I have been extremely miserable since I lost you.” The lady answered in her masquerade voice that she did not know him. “I am Colonel James,” said he, in a whisper. “Indeed, sir,” answered she, “you are mistaken; I have no acquaintance with any Colonel James.” “Madam,” answered he, in a whisper likewise, “I am positive I am not mistaken, you are certainly Mrs. Booth.” “Indeed, sir,” said she, “you are very impertinent, and I beg you will leave me.” My lord then interposed, and, speaking in his own voice, assured the colonel that the lady was a woman of quality, and that they were engaged in a conversation together; upon which the colonel asked the lady’s pardon; for, as there was nothing remarkable in her dress, he really believed he had been mistaken.

He then went again a hunting through the rooms, and soon after found Booth walking without his mask between two ladies, one of whom was in a blue domino, and the other in the dress of a shepherdess. “Will,” cries the colonel, “do you know what is become of our wives; for I have seen neither of them since we have been in the room?” Booth answered, “That he supposed they were both together, and they should find them by and by.” “What!” cries the lady in the blue domino, “are you both come upon duty then with your wives? as for yours, Mr. Alderman,” said she to the colonel, “I make no question but she is got into much better company than her husband’s.” “How can you be so cruel, madam?” said the shepherdess; “you will make him beat his wife by and by, for he is a military man I assure you.” “In the trained bands, I presume,” cries the domino, “for he is plainly dated from the city.” “I own, indeed,” cries the other, “the gentleman smells strongly of Thames-street, and, if I may venture to guess, of the honourable calling of a taylor.”

“Why, what the devil hast thou picked up here?” cries James.

“Upon my soul, I don’t know,” answered Booth; “I wish you would take one of them at least.”

“What say you, madam?” cries the domino, “will you go with the colonel? I assure you, you have mistaken your man, for he is no less a person than the great Colonel James himself.”

“No wonder, then, that Mr. Booth gives him his choice of us; it is the proper office of a caterer, in which capacity Mr. Booth hath, I am told, the honour to serve the noble colonel.”

“Much good may it do you with your ladies!” said James; “I will go in pursuit of better game.” At which words he walked off.

“You are a true sportsman,” cries the shepherdess; “for your only pleasure, I believe, lies in the pursuit.”

“Do you know the gentleman, madam?” cries the domino.

“Who doth not know him?” answered the shepherdess.

“What is his character?” cries the domino; “for, though I have jested with him, I only know him by sight.”

“I know nothing very particular in his character,” cries the shepherdess. “He gets every handsome woman he can, and so they do all.”

“I suppose then he is not married?” said the domino.

“O yes! and married for love too,” answered the other; “but he hath loved away all his love for her long ago, and now, he says, she makes as fine an object of hatred. I think, if the fellow ever appears to have any wit, it is when he abuses his wife; and, luckily for him, that is his favourite topic. I don’t know the poor wretch, but, as he describes her, it is a miserable animal.”

“I know her very well,” cries the other; “and I am much mistaken if she is not even with him; but hang him! what is become of Booth?”

At this instant a great noise arose near that part where the two ladies were. This was occasioned by a large assembly of young fellows whom they call bucks, who were got together, and were enjoying, as the phrase is, a letter, which one of them had found in the room.

Curiosity hath its votaries among all ranks of people; whenever therefore an object of this appears it is as sure of attracting a croud in the assemblies of the polite as in those of their inferiors.

When this croud was gathered together, one of the bucks, at the desire of his companions, as well as of all present, performed the part of a public orator, and read out the following letter, which we shall give the reader, together with the comments of the orator himself, and of all his audience.

The orator then, being mounted on a bench, began as follows:

“Here beginneth the first chapter of – saint – Pox on’t, Jack, what is the saint’s name? I have forgot.”

“Timothy, you blockhead,” answered another; “ – Timothy.”

“Well, then,” cries the orator, “of Saint Timothy.

“‘SIR, – I am very sorry to have any occasion of writing on the following subject in a country that is honoured with the name of Christian; much more am I concerned to address myself to a man whose many advantages, derived both from nature and fortune, should demand the highest return of gratitude to the great Giver of all those good things. Is not such a man guilty of the highest ingratitude to that most beneficent Being, by a direct and avowed disobedience of his most positive laws and commands?

“‘I need not tell you that adultery is forbid in the laws of the decalogue; nor need I, I hope, mention that it is expressly forbid in the New Testament.’

“You see, therefore,” said the orator, “what the law is, and therefore none of you will be able to plead ignorance when you come to the Old Bailey in the other world. But here goes again: —

“‘If it had not been so expressly forbidden in Scripture, still the law of Nature would have yielded light enough for us to have discovered the great horror and atrociousness of this crime.

“‘And accordingly we find that nations, where the Sun of righteousness hath yet never shined, have punished the adulterer with the most exemplary pains and penalties; not only the polite heathens, but the most barbarous nations, have concurred in these; in many places the most severe and shameful corporal punishments, and in some, and those not a few, death itself hath been inflicted on this crime.

“‘And sure in a human sense there is scarce any guilt which deserves to be more severely punished. It includes in it almost every injury and every mischief which one man can do to, or can bring on, another. It is robbing him of his property – ’

“Mind that, ladies,” said the orator; “you are all the property of your husbands. – ‘And of that property which, if he is a good man, he values above all others. It is poisoning that fountain whence he hath a right to derive the sweetest and most innocent pleasure, the most cordial comfort, the most solid friendship, and most faithful assistance in all his affairs, wants, and distresses. It is the destruction of his peace of mind, and even of his reputation. The ruin of both wife and husband, and sometimes of the whole family, are the probable consequence of this fatal injury. Domestic happiness is the end of almost all our pursuits, and the common reward of all our pains. When men find themselves for ever barred from this delightful fruition, they are lost to all industry, and grow careless of all their worldly affairs. Thus they become bad subjects, bad relations, bad friends, and bad men. Hatred and revenge are the wretched passions which boil in their minds. Despair and madness very commonly ensue, and murder and suicide often close the dreadful scene.’

“Thus, gentlemen and ladies, you see the scene is closed. So here ends the first act – and thus begins the second: —

“‘I have here attempted to lay before you a picture of this vice, the horror of which no colours of mine can exaggerate. But what pencil can delineate the horrors of that punishment which the Scripture denounces against it?

“‘And for what will you subject yourself to this punishment? or for what reward will you inflict all this misery on another? I will add, on your friend? for the possession of a woman; for the pleasure of a moment? But, if neither virtue nor religion can restrain your inordinate appetites, are there not many women as handsome as your friend’s wife, whom, though not with innocence, you may possess with a much less degree of guilt? What motive then can thus hurry you on to the destruction of yourself and your friend? doth the peculiar rankness of the guilt add any zest to the sin? doth it enhance the pleasure as much as we may be assured it will the punishment?

“‘But if you can be so lost to all sense of fear, and of shame, and of goodness, as not to be debarred by the evil which you are to bring on yourself, by the extreme baseness of the action, nor by the ruin in which you are to involve others, let me still urge the difficulty, I may say, the impossibility of the success. You are attacking a fortress on a rock; a chastity so strongly defended, as well by a happy natural disposition of mind as by the strongest principles of religion and virtue, implanted by education and nourished and improved by habit, that the woman must be invincible even without that firm and constant affection of her husband which would guard a much looser and worse-disposed heart. What therefore are you attempting but to introduce distrust, and perhaps disunion, between an innocent and a happy couple, in which too you cannot succeed without bringing, I am convinced, certain destruction on your own head?

“‘Desist, therefore, let me advise you, from this enormous crime; retreat from the vain attempt of climbing a precipice which it is impossible you should ever ascend, where you must probably soon fall into utter perdition, and can have no other hope but of dragging down your best friend into perdition with you.

“‘I can think of but one argument more, and that, indeed, a very bad one; you throw away that time in an impossible attempt, which might, in other places, crown your sinful endeavours with success.’

“And so ends the dismal ditty.”

“D – n me,” cries one, “did ever mortal hear such d – ned stuff?”

“Upon my soul,” said another, “I like the last argument well enough. There is some sense in that; for d – n me if I had not rather go to D – g – ss at any time than follow a virtuous b – for a fortnight.”

“Tom,” says one of them, “let us set the ditty to music; let us subscribe to have it set by Handel; it will make an excellent oratorio.”

“D – n me, Jack,” says another, “we’ll have it set to a psalm-tune, and we’ll sing it next Sunday at St James’s church, and I’ll bear a bob, d – n me.”