FROM C. P., ESQ.
London, July 4th, 1822.
I have seen M——! Now, my dear H——, let me entreat and
adjure you to take what I have to tell you, FOR WHAT IT IS WORTH—neither
for less, nor more. In the first place, I have learned nothing decisive from
him. This, as you will at once see, is, as far as it goes, good. I am
either to hear from him, or see him again in a day or two; but I thought you
would like to know what passed inconclusive as it was—so I write without
delay, and in great haste to save a post. I found him frank, and even friendly
in his manner to me, and in his views respecting you. I think that he is
sincerely sorry for your situation; and he feels that the person who has placed
you in that situation is not much less awkwardly situated herself; and he
professes that he would willingly do what he can for the good of both. But he
sees great difficulties attending the affair—which he frankly professes
to consider as an altogether unfortunate one. With respect to the marriage, he
seems to see the most formidable objections to it, on both sides; but yet he by
no means decidedly says that it cannot, or that it ought not to take place.
These, mind you, are his own feelings on the subject: but the most important
point I learn from him is this, that he is not prepared to use his influence
either way—that the rest of the family are of the same way of feeling;
and that, in fact, the thing must and does entirely rest with herself. To learn
this was, as you see, gaining a great point.—When I then endeavoured to
ascertain whether he knew anything decisive as to what are her views on the
subject, I found that he did not. He has an opinion on the subject, and he
didn’t scruple to tell me what it was; but he has no positive knowledge. In
short, he believes, from what he learns from herself (and he had purposely seen
her on the subject, in consequence of my application to him) that she is at
present indisposed to the marriage; but he is not prepared to say positively
that she will not consent to it. Now all this, coming from him in the most
frank and unaffected manner, and without any appearance of cant, caution, or
reserve, I take to be most important as it respects your views, whatever they
may be; and certainly much more favourable to them (I confess it) than I was
prepared to expect, supposing them to remain as they were. In fact as I said
before, the affair rests entirely with herself. They are none of them disposed
either to further the marriage, or throw any insurmountable obstacles in the
way of it; and what is more important than all, they are evidently by no means
CERTAIN that SHE may not, at some future period, consent to it; or they would,
for her sake as well as their own, let you know as much flatly, and put an end
to the affair at once.
Seeing in how frank and straitforward a manner he received what I had to say to
him, and replied to it, I proceeded to ask him what were HIS views, and what
were likely to be HERS (in case she did not consent) as to whether you should
return to live in the house;—but I added, without waiting for his answer,
that if she intended to persist in treating you as she had done for some time
past, it would be worse than madness for you to think of returning. I added
that, in case you did return, all you would expect from her would be that she
would treat you with civility and kindness—that she would continue to
evince that friendly feeling towards you, that she had done for a great length
of time, &c. To this, he said, he could really give no decisive reply, but
that he should be most happy if, by any intervention of his, he could conduce
to your comfort; but he seemed to think that for you to return on any express
understanding that she should behave to you in any particular manner, would be
to place her in a most awkward situation. He went somewhat at length into this
point, and talked very reasonably about it; the result, however, was that he
would not throw any obstacles in the way of your return, or of her treating you
as a friend, &c., nor did it appear that he believed she would refuse to do
so. And, finally, we parted on the understanding that he would see them on the
subject, and ascertain what could be done for the comfort of all parties:
though he was of opinion that if you could make up your mind to break off the
acquaintance altogether, it would be the best plan of all. I am to hear from
him again in a day or two.—Well, what do you say to all this? Can you
turn it to any thing but good—comparative good? If you would know what
I say to it, it is this:—She is still to be won by wise and
prudent conduct on your part; she was always to have been won by
such;—and if she is lost, it has been not, as you sometimes suppose,
because you have not carried that unwise, may I not say UNWORTHY? conduct still
farther, but because you gave way to it at all. Of course I use the terms
“wise” and “prudent” with reference to your object. Whether the pursuit of that
object is wise, only yourself can judge. I say she has all along been to be
won, and she still is to be won; and all that stands in the way of your views
at this moment is your past conduct. They are all of them, every soul,
frightened at you; they have SEEN enough of you to make them so; and they have
doubtless heard ten times more than they have seen, or than anyone else has
seen. They are all of them including M—— (and particularly she
herself) frightened out of their wits, as to what might be your treatment of
her if she were yours; and they dare not trust you—they will not trust
you, at present. I do not say that they will trust you, or rather that SHE
will, for
it all depends on her, when you have gone through a probation, but I am sure
that she will not trust you till you have. You will, I hope, not be angry with
me when I say that she would be a fool if she did. If she were to accept you at
present, and without knowing more of you, even I should begin to suspect that
she had an unworthy motive for doing it. Let me not forget to mention what is
perhaps as important a point as any, as it regards the marriage. I of course
stated to M—— that when you are free, you are prepared to make her
a formal offer of your hand; but I begged him, if he was certain that such an
offer would be refused, to tell me so plainly at once, that I might endeavour,
in that case, to dissuade you from subjecting yourself to the pain of such a
refusal. HE WOULD NOT TELL ME THAT HE WAS CERTAIN. He said his opinion was that
she would not accept your offer, but still he seemed to think that there would
be no harm in making it!—-One word more, and a very important one. He
once, and without my referring in the slightest manner to that part of the
subject, spoke of her as a GOOD GIRL, and LIKELY TO MAKE ANY MAN AN EXCELLENT
WIFE! Do you think if she were a bad girl (and if she were, he must know her to
be so) he would have dared to do this, under these circumstances?—And
once, in speaking of HIS not being a fit person to set his face against
“marrying for love,” he added “I did so myself, and out of that house; and I
have had reason to rejoice at it ever since.” And mind (for I anticipate your
cursed suspicions) I’m certain, at least, if manner can entitle one to be
certain of any thing, that he said all this spontaneously, and without any
understood motive; and I’m certain, too, that he knows you to be a person that
it would not do to play any tricks of this kind with. I believe—(and all
this would never have entered my thoughts, but that I know it will enter yours)
I believe that even if they thought (as you have sometimes supposed they do)
that she needs whitewashing, or making an honest woman of, YOU would be the
last person they would think of using for such a purpose, for they know (as
well as I do) that you couldn’t fail to find out the trick in a month, and
would turn her into the street the next moment, though she were twenty times
your wife—and that, as to the consequences of doing so, you would laugh
at them, even if you couldn’t escape from them.—I shall lose the post if
I say more.
Believe me,
Ever truly your friend,
C. P.