Lady Barbarity: A Romance

DEPLORES THE SCARCITY OF MEN.

TO deny that I am an absurdly handsome being would be an affectation. Besides, if I did deny it, my face and shape are always present to reprove me. Some women I know--we call each other friends--who happen to possess an eyebrow, an elbow, an impertinence, a simper, or any other thing that is observable, I have seen to cast their eyes down at the compliment, and try to look so modest too, that one could tell quite easily that this missish diffidence was a piece of art since it sat so consciously upon ’em, it could not possibly be nature. But furnished as I am with a whole artillery of charms, sure they need no adventitious blushes for their advertisement; indeed, they are so greatly and variously sung that it is quite a common thing for the poets to make an ode or sonnet of ’em every night, and a ballad every morning. The late poor little Mr. Pope was so occupied at times in comparing my eyes to Jupiter, or the evening star that I was fain to correct him for ’t, on the pretext that the heavenly bodies might not like it, they being such exalted things, whilst my Lady Barbarity was but a humble creature in a petticoat. Therefore if you would know the graces of my person I must refer you to the poets of the age; but if you would seek the graces of my mind, in this book you shall discover them, for I could not make it wittier if I tried. I have heard the young beaux speak of certain women of their acquaintancy as being as justly celebrated for their wit as for their beauty, but have yet to hear the old ones say this, since they know that wit and beauty is as rare a combination as is loveliness and modesty. This book will tell you, then, that my wit is in proportion to my modesty.

I returned from town with a hundred triumphs, but my heart intact. The whirl of fashion had palled upon me for a season. I was weary of the fume I had created in St. James’s and the Mall, and I retired to my northern home in the late January of ’46. Sweet High Cleeby, cradle of my joyous girlhood, home of romance and these strange events I now relate, let me mention you with reverence and love. Yet our ancestral seat is a cold and sombre place enough, wrapped in ivy and gray ghostliness. The manor is folded in on every side by a shivering gloom of woods, and in winter you can hear them cry in company with those uneasy souls that make our casements rattle. ’Tis dreary as November with its weed-grown moat; its cawing rooks; its quaint gables of Elizabeth; and its sixteenth-century countenance, crumbling and grim. Besides, it occupies a most solitary spot on the bare bosom of the moors, many a mile from human habitation, a forsaken house indeed where in the winter time rude blasts and the wind-beaten birds are its customary visitors. But the brisk north gales that fling the leaves about it, and scream among the chimneys late at night, had no sooner whipped my cheeks than my blood suddenly woke up and I began to rejoice in my return. The morning after my arrival, when I carried crumbs to the lawn in the hope of an early robin, a frost-breath stung my lips, and at the first bite of it, sure methinks I am tasting life at last. Ten months had I been regaled in town with the cream of everything that is; but it seemed that I must resort to my dear despised old Cleeby for those keen airs that keep the pulses vigorous. London is fine comedy, but in ten months the incomparable Mr. Congreve loses his savour, even for a sinner. Ombre was indeed a lively game; the play adorable; Vauxhall entertaining; wholesale conquest most appetising to feed one’s vanity upon, while to be the toast of the year was what not even the psalm-book of my dearest Prue would venture to disdain. To be courted, flattered, and applauded by every waistcoat west of Temple Bar, beginning with the K----g’s, was to become a mark for envy, and yet to stand superior to it in oneself. But now I was tiring of playing “Lady Barbarity” to coats and wigs, and silver-buckled shoes. This is the name the beaux had dubbed me, “Because” said they, “you are so cruel.”

It is true that I wore a claw. And if I occasionally used it, well, my endurance was abominably tried, and I will confess that mine is not the most patient temper in the world. The truth is that I was very bitter, having sought ten months in London for a Man, when the pink of England was assembled there, and had had to come away without having found so rare a creature. I had encountered princes, but the powder in their wigs, and buckles of their shoes were the most imposing parts of their individuality. I had looked on lesser gentlemen, but the correct manner in which they made a leg was the only test you might put upon their characters. I congratulate myself, however, that I made some little havoc with these suits of clothes. Therefore, Barbara became Barbarity, and I sustained this parody as fully as I could. They said I was born without a heart. Having gaily tried to prove to them how sound this theory was, I purchased the choicest string of pearls and the most delicate box of bonbons money could obtain, and returned to dear High Cleeby, January 22d, 1746, with my aunt, the dowager, in a yellow-coloured chaise.

The following morning I went to pay my devoir to my lord, who took his chocolate at eleven o’clock in his private chamber. Now I have always said that the Earl, my papa, was the very pattern of his age. He was polished to that degree that he seemed a mirror to reflect the graces of his person and his mind. Lord knows! in all his life ’twas little enough he said, and perhaps still less he did. There is not a deed of his that is important; nor hath he left a solitary phrase or sentiment in which his memory may be embalmed. ’Twas ill-bred, he used to say, for a man to endeavour to outshine his fellows, and to step out of the throng that is his equal in manners and in birth. And indeed he did not try; but, in spite of that, I am sure he was one of the most considerable persons of his time by virtue of the very things he did not do, and the speeches that he did not utter. It was his privilege, or his art perhaps, to win the reputation of a high intelligence, not because he had one, but because it was a point with him to keenly appreciate its exercise in those who were so liberally furnished. I found him this morning seated at the fire, sipping his chocolate from a low table at his side, and one foot was tucked up on a stool and bandaged for the gout as usual. On my entrance, though, and despite his complicated posture, he rose at once, and bowing as deeply as though I were the Queen, implored me to confer the honour of my person on his chair, and limped across the rug to procure another for himself. When we were seated and the Earl fixed his glasses on, for he was very near-sighted at this time, he quizzed me for at least a quarter of a minute, ere he said:

“Why, Bab, I think you are getting very handsome.”

I admitted that I was.

“And do you know that I have heard such a tale of you from town, my pretty lady? You have turned the heads of all the men, I understand.”

“Men!” said I, “suits of clothes, papa, and periwigs!”

“Well, well,” says he, in his tender tone, and bowing, “let us deal gently with their lapses. ’Tis a sufficient punishment for any man, I’m sure, to be stricken with your poor opinion. But listen, child, for I have something serious to say.”

Listen I did, you can be certain, for though I had known my papa, the Earl, for a considerable time, ’twas the first occasion that I had heard him mention serious matters. And as I pondered on the nature of the surprise he had in store, my eyes fell upon an open book, beside his tray of chocolate. It was a Bible. This caused me to look the more keenly at the Earl, and I saw that in ten months ten years had been laid upon his countenance. Even his powder could not hide its seams and wrinkles now. Crow’s feet had gathered underneath his eyes, and his padded shoulders were taken with a droop that left his stately coat in creases.

“If I exercise great care,” says he, with a bland deliberation, “old Paradise assures me that I yet have time to set my temporal affairs in order. And you, my dearest Bab, being chief part of ’em, I thought it well to mention this immediately to you. As for my spiritual affairs, old Paradise is positive that my soul is of so peculiar a colour that he recommends it to be scrubbed without delay. Thus I am taking the proper steps, you see.”

He laid his hand upon the Bible.

“’Tis no secret, my dearest Bab,” he said, “that Robert John, fifth Earl, your papa, never was an anchorite. He hath ta’en his fill of pleasure. He hath played his hazard, and with a zest both late and early; but now the candles sink, you see, and I believe they’ve called the carriage.” Again he laid his hand upon the Bible.

’Twas a very solemn moment, and his lordship’s words had plunged me in the deepest grief, but when he laid his hand upon that Testament a second time, it was as much as I could do to wear a decent gravity. For he was a very old barbarian.

“You see, child,” he continued, “that many years ago I took a professional opinion on this point. The Reverend Joseph Tooley, chaplain to the late lord, your grandpapa (I never felt the need for one myself), was always confident that there was hope for a sinner who repented. He used to say that he considered this saving clause a very capital idea on the part of the Almighty, as it permitted a certain degree of license in our generous youth. In fact, I can safely say that in my case it has been a decided boon, for my blood appears to be of a quality that will not cool as readily as another’s; indeed, it hath retained its youthful ardours to quite a middle age. Highly inconvenient for Robert John, fifth Earl, I can assure you, child, but for this most admirable foresight on the part of heaven.” The faint smile that went curling round the condemned man’s mouth was delicious to perceive. “For my idea has ever been to run my course and then repent. Well, I have now run my course, therefore let us see about repentance. I am about to moderate my port, and resign the pleasures of the table. My best stories I shall refrain from telling, and confine myself to those that would regale a bishop’s lady. But I want you, my charming Bab, to be very affectionate and kind towards your poor old papa; be filial, my love--extremely filial, for I will dispense--I’ve sworn to do it--with the lavish favours your angelic sex have always been so eager to bestow upon me. Yes, for my soul’s sake I must forbid ’em. But lord, what a fortitude I shall require!” This ancient heathen lifted up his eyes and sighed most killingly. “I am reading two chapters of the Bible daily, and I have also engaged a private chaplain, who starts his duties here on Monday week. But I think I’d better tell your ladyship”--with a wicked twinkle--“that he is fifty if he’s a day, and with no personal graces to recommend him. I was very careful on those points. For a young and comely parson where there’s daughters means invariably mésalliance, and I prefer to risk a permanent derangement in my soul than a mésalliance in my family.”