Читать книгу The Letters of the Duke of Wellington to Miss J., 1834-1851 - Arthur Wellesley Wellington - Страница 4

The Duke was again summoned out of town before he had the opportunity to repeat his call. He promised, however, to attend Miss J. upon his return at the end of a week. He was detained longer than he had anticipated, and meanwhile reflection appears to have made Miss J. doubt the propriety of her meeting him again. She writes an account of her meditations upon this subject in her Diary, and follows it with a copy of the letter she wrote to the Duke:—

"It is now this day a fortnight since the Duke paid me the visit attended by the circumstances described, which not only occasioned suffering immediately after his departure of no common nature, but daily brought with it an increasing unwillingness to submit to another interview. As this at length approached I was led to dread it and consequently to meditate on what The Will of the Lord might be. Whilst thus employed and looking up for help and guidance, these blessed promises came, 'In Me is the Help.' 'I will uphold thee,' after which I slept in peace. The following morning, (yesterday) I rose, much strengthened in spirit and prayed that I might be given grace to fulfil all the good pleasure of God with regard to one inexpressibly dear to my soul.

"I then rose from my knees, dressed me, and without the slightest idea what I was about to do descended into the parlor, which I had no sooner entered than a powerful feeling possessed me to write to the Duke, and entreat he would desist visiting me, which accordingly I was compelled to do. In order to know whether he was in town, I sent for a Newspaper, thereby learning that he arrived the day before, consequently that in two hours I could prevent a visit. As the time he mentioned as that of his stay from Town had doubly elapsed I concluded he would in all probability call that day and thus subject me to another trying visit, if immediate measures were not taken to prevent it. Therefore, I wrote on the letter 'Put in before 4 o'clock,' in which case it is to be hoped he would receive it at 6,—or at the furthest 8 o'clock, and I thus feel myself delivered from the anticipation of a visit which under present circumstances could only have been productive of a repetition of feelings I am most anxious to avoid."

Saturday, Jan. 10, 1835.

My Lord Duke,—Finding my peace, that perfect peace which for so many years I have almost uninterruptedly enjoyed interfered with by your visits,—visits which under present circumstances I cannot feel justified in receiving, as they are of so different a nature from those I anticipated when I gave you permission to call upon me,—I think it my duty to entreat they should cease.

My agitation on Sunday week during and after your departure called forth reflections which actuate my present conduct. I do not consider it right personally to place myself so fully and confidentially in the power of one, who, however honorable and noble, occasionally seems to forget he is confided in by a Being who feels herself entitled even in the sight of God, not only to the appellation of virtuous, in the strictest acceptation of the word,—but righteous. This appellation as far exceeds the former in value as the heavens do the earth, as the one is to be found, I trust, frequently in the unregenerate, whilst the latter springs solely from above.

Pray do not imagine by the step now taken that I am incapable of duly appreciating your valued affection!—for I hesitate not to declare there breathes not the Being so dear to me as yourself. Yet, whilst I make this declaration and consequently admit that all the world are as nothing in comparison with you,—I consider it equally my duty to add that however dear God may have made you to me—(and I feel it is His Work, Why or Wherefore time must explain) you are as nothing in comparison with CHRIST, Whose honor I consider concerned, being, I glory to say His openly acknowledged, however unworthy, servant, And for Whose sake consequently I have come to the determination of exercising the self denial herein required.

That you could ever think of Me, notwithstanding your occasional forgetfulness,—with any other than the most honorable of feelings, would of course be as impossible as to imagine you could at pleasure bring the heavens down under your feet or turn the Sun out of his course, since both would be more likely than that I could even for a single moment forget the high end for which I was created, namely, to glorify His Holy Name Who has redeemed me with His precious Blood, and rather than dishonor it I should prefer the sufferings of Eternal torments!

Trusting that the step thus taken may be received by Your Grace in the light duty both to God and myself demand, I will not intrude upon your time further than to assure you that should any spiritual advice from me be considered needful either in sickness or health, it will always be at your service.

With an assurance of remembering you from time to time when I approach His Throne (Who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity) and Who looketh into the deepest recesses of the human heart, I beg to subscribe myself that which in reality I trust you believe I am, namely,

Your Grace's Most faithful friend

In The Lord.

A. J.

The Duke's answer was a strong contrast to this effusion.

London, Jan. 10, 1835.

My dear Miss J.,—I have received your letter and enclosures. I beg to remind you of what I said to you the second day that I saw you; and if you recollect it you will not be surprised at my telling you that I entirely concur in the intention which you have communicated to me.

I am obliged to you for what you have sent me; and I am

Ever Yours Most Sincerely,

Wellington.

This note, although courteous in form and substance, brought forth from Miss J. a reply that, beginning mildly, ended in scathing terms.

Monday, Jan. 12, 1835.

My Lord Duke,—I have endeavored in vain to recollect what you allude to as having said on the second visit paid me, remembering nothing but what appeared honorable. I supposed it impossible that there breathed a being who could dare presume to make any profession of affection for me under opposite circumstances, feeling as I do, that I should confer as high an honor on a Prince in bestowing my hand on him as he could on me in receiving it—but if it be really possible that I have mistaken Your Grace's feelings I should only degrade my own by adding more than that I deliver you into His Hands that "judgeth righteously" who declares to His children the following words—"Ye are the temples of the Holy Ghost," to which is immediately added "Whosoever therefore defileth the Temple of God, him will I destroy" again,—"Take heed that ye offend not one of these little ones," "Whoso shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea."

Trusting that the Lord will bestow upon you that repentance which is not to be repented of I submit the foregoing scriptures to your prayerful consideration and subscribe myself that which it is the highest honor to be considered, however unworthy of the same I may be and am,

A Servant of Christ,

A. J.

Having on further consideration, I fear found out that to which you have alluded with such cool, insulting, presuming deliberation in your note, as being uttered during your second visit, I have at its remembrance risen in the night with all those indignant feelings insult demands, to assure you that had I understood the motives which actuated you to make such an abhorrent, disgraceful enquiry, one I could not degrade my pen or self by giving place on paper, however Your Grace may and have degraded yourself by utterance of the same, I should at the moment such escaped your lips have spurned you from me as a serpent whose sting was capable of producing not only instantaneous but Eternal death! Such a horror should I have had of one who until now has possessed a share of my affection even surprising to myself—an affection as pure and sincere as it was disinterested, but Alas! under present circumstances with the vail withdrawn from my eyes what a change of feeling exists! such as would incline me if I did not believe that it was the will of God we should have met to mourn deeply at ever having desired it.

In again however reluctantly alluding to the hateful enquiry above noticed—one at the bare utterance of which it is a mercy that God "in whose hands your breath is" knowing your despicable motives (since all hearts are open in His sight and from whom no secrets are hid however ignorant I may have been and was of the same) did not in His wrath strike you dead at my feet. I beg to remind you of my answer which ought, yea, must in itself have convinced you at the time of my misunderstanding your meaning—it being in the following words—"If it be the will of God;" for surely you could never for a moment suppose it to be His will whose purity is such that he charges even His angels with folly that I, his devoted child and servant, should bring such deep dishonor on His holy name as to—but my pen with every feeling of my offended nature recoils from even writing, much less submitting to such abhorrent degradation which none but most polluted lips could ever dare to vent.

The answer was given thus hesitatingly although at the time I was laboring under impressions of its being called forth by the highest and most honorable intentions on your part. And why thus hesitatingly? you would ask. Because I was not and am not quite satisfied that under any circumstances the regenerate soul can be justified in the sight of God in uniting itself to the unregenerate, it being written "Be not unequally yoked with unbelievers," also, "How can two walk together unless they be agreed?"

Thus you will perceive that when laboring under the most favorable impression of your upright intentions, notwithstanding your rank, etc., all of which with me are beheld in the utter nothingness such empty things deserve, I should have hesitated until I perceived in you that change of heart so necessary to salvation, without which "no man can see the Lord," fearing I ought not to consent even under the most flattering circumstances to partake in any outward honors likely to bring the disapprobation of God.

When I reflect on my view of the case and then in a moment the distressing thought of one so sinful on your part darts like a dagger into my offended spirit, I feel that I should not be surprised (although rest assured, I do not desire it,) at any vengeance God saw fit to shower down for such a dreadful intention upon Your Grace's head. Oh may His Holy Spirit convince you of the heinousness of the sin in question, leading you from darkness to light and from "the power of Satan" (under whose influence you so evidently at present are,) "unto God" in order that your transgressions may be blotted out in the Blood of the Lamb—and that consequently the present—and if I mistake not the greatest sin as far as thought may be concerned in God's sight, it being of so aggravated a nature arising from the consideration of the motives which first actuated me to address you and afterwards receive Your Grace—namely, your eternal happiness—may never be laid to your charge. In order that such may not be the case it will be necessary that you should experience that "Repentance unto life not to be repented of" which, if felt, would bring with it an unhesitating desire to apologize with remorse and anguish for the iniquity herein noticed and which can never be erased from my memory until you do, feeling it a respect due to myself and Religion. I deliver you on this second and last occasion,—for of course I here take a final leave of one I can never wish to behold again under present circumstances,—once more into His Hands who "is no respecter of persons," beseeching Him to grant you not only repentance but forgiveness. I subscribe myself by a title as far exceeding any Your Grace can possess as the Heavens do the earth and which I would neither exchange nor resign to become the Empress of a thousand worlds,

A Servant of Christ and a Child of God,

A. J.

"After I had written this letter and was meditating, these precious words came 'FEAR NOT, for I am with thee, be not dismayed, for I am thy God, I will strengthen thee, I will help thee, yea, I will uphold thee with the Right Arm of My Righteousness'—and thus upheld who can faint? thus upheld who can despair? O my Heavenly Father, strengthen me in the 'inner man' more and more, I beseech Thee, to endure this and any other trial Thou in Thine unerring wisdom mayest see fit; anxious for nothing but to fulfil Thy will in all things, knowing that the path of duty is the path of peace: also that it is through 'much tribulation we must enter the Kingdom' that glorious Kingdom where 'the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.' Sharp as this trial is, I have to repeat my frequently acknowledged experience of finding my strength equal to my day—or in other words the fulfilment of this Scripture 'Thy strength is made perfect in weakness.'

"Tuesday, Jan. 13, 1835. Last night after experiencing and penning the feelings herein described, I retired to rest and slept sweetly and peacefully until about three o'clock—when I awoke with a disinclination to sleep again—consequently adverted in thought to my late distressing trials and whilst thus occupied felt assured what I had suggested must have been that to which the Duke alludes with such daring effrontery! I then rose, put on my dressing gown and wrote the language of my indignant soul as far as such could be painted! but a faint picture at best! Alas! that one so esteemed should give such cause to show his unworthiness. But it is doubtlessly permitted for some end which poor blind mortals cannot penetrate, therefore let me not murmur, but bless God who has thought me worthy whilst so unworthy to rank among that blessed number described by the angel to Saint John as having 'come out of much tribulation and washed their robes and made them white in the Blood of The Lamb.' This may stand as the greatest trial I ever had! Yet I am so wonderfully upheld, agreeably to the gracious promise previously given, that I can hardly believe such degrading circumstances exist! Oh! What an awful thing that one so high in power is afraid to do that which can call forth the gaze and disapprobation of a sinful, dying, misjudging world, yet fearless of committing the most dreadful crime before Him 'Who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.' O may the letter just about to be sent be permitted to sink deep into his rebellious soul calling it from darkness to light and from the power of Satan unto God. Then indeed we shall have cause to declare the goodness of God in thus permitting (however revolting and distressing,) late occurrences to take place! And since He can bring good out of evil, I submit all that has transpired to His gracious, condescending and unerring governance for this purpose, knowing that He can bring 'light out of darkness and make crooked things straight.' O I can never be sufficiently grateful for the powerful strength which so powerfully upholds me! and trust the same will be a means among His other innumerable, unmerited blessings of causing me to glorify His Holy Name with the best powers of my soul and body under whatever trials or sorrows may be yet in store for me! Oh may each and all tend to ripen me 'for an inheritance among the saints in light for Christ's sake!'

"Since the above was written I have indeed in a few hours had additional cause for gratitude and love to God, having received a letter from the Duke apologizing in every way I could expect, considering all circumstances, for occasioning my displeasure. Oh! how gracious is the Lord of Heaven and Earth thus to undertake for so unworthy a worm! for which I praise Thee, I bless Thee, I magnify Thee to Whom all power, majesty and dominion belong!"

The Duke's letter of apology is full of calm dignity, but one regrets that the accusation was not dismissed with a show, at least, of righteous indignation.

London, Jan. 13, 1835.

My dear Miss J.,—I beg your pardon if I have written a line or used an expression which could annoy you. Believe me; it is the thing of all others that I would wish to avoid! And that there is nobody more strongly impressed than I am with veneration for your Virtues, attainments and Sentiments!

Believe me Ever Yours

Most sincerely,

Wellington.

This quarrel is of chief interest as indicating that Miss J.'s anxiety for the Duke's soul was not altogether disinterested. If it had been, her resentment at his gallantry would hardly have been expressed in this manner. It is evident that to her mind, the Duke had been trifling with her. His kindly reception of her efforts to promote his "everlasting welfare" had raised hopes that would have seemed absurd to any one of every-day common-sense. She asserts openly in several places in her Diary that she believed it was the will of God that she should become the wife of the Duke.

In this persuasion she was confirmed by her friend Mrs. L.; and to her and to Miss J. there was nothing unreasonable in the expectation. The latter considered herself no whit inferior to the Duke in any respect, as she takes pains to affirm. Instances of this may be given from her Diary. She says:—

"I was impressed throughout my correspondence with and knowledge of the Duke with a feeling that the end God had in view was my exaltation for His Glory, or in other words to show forth His power.... I attach so little importance to rank or worldly grandeur, that I should have considered I conferred as high an honor on the Duke in bestowing my hand as he would in receiving it, of which he was well aware!"

Miss J. judged herself to be actuated by no worldly motives in her desire for such promotion. She cleverly concealed the mundane nature of her aspirations even from herself. Throughout, her declaration is that her sole aim in life has invariably been, "Glorify Thyself in Me!" By her elevation to a position where she will be a centre of observation she hopes to influence those ungodly souls by whom she will be surrounded, and to imbue them with true piety. She writes:—

"I in my turn was permitted to love the Duke, but the honor and glory of God were ever my consideration. Consequently such affection of mine being of so opposite a nature to his own was principally displayed in my watchful solicitude for his everlasting welfare, concerning which I was firm and faithful throughout, believing God would convert him eventually, causing him to shine forth gloriously in His adorable service. As in that case the erroneous impressions in my mind would in all probability have been verified, I looked forward to becoming as 'a city set on a hill which cannot be hid,' conceiving such exaltation would admit of showing forth His praises openly before men. But I doubt not that I am far happier thus situated, enjoying a lively sense of His Divine, Adorable presence than I could possibly have had under the turmoil attending more exalted circumstances. As the poor Duke evidently did everything in his power to overcome the feelings referred to, I am aware the World could form no idea of the extent or power of the same without this explanation from my pen."

The Duke's affection for Miss J. can hardly have been altogether the work of her imagination. Besides the interview copied in her Diary, there is the evidence of the correspondence. True, his epistles are lacking in open protestations of devotion. Miss J. herself remarks that the Duke's letters were always cautiously written. He was too much a man of the world to run the risk of compromising himself in black and white. But the very existence of this correspondence, extending over a period of seventeen years, is a strong argument in favor of his having felt for her a remarkably warm friendship at the least.

It can hardly be supposed that the Duke seriously intended to marry Miss J. As he himself writes to her,—

"I should not treat you as I should wish to be treated myself. The commands of all others which we ought to obey are those dictated to us by our social relations. What would be said, if I, a man of seventy years of age, nearly, were to take in marriage a lady young enough to be my Granddaughter?"

Upon this Miss J. comments:—

"Alas! Alas! how deceitful is the human heart! For I am convinced that although the Duke wrote thus, there was not a moment during our acquaintance when if I had not been by the Grace of God what I was and am that he would have thought I was too young to bow down before me with the most sinful adulation."

What was either a flirtation or a manifestation of fatherly fondness on the part of the Duke was a grand passion to Miss J. Perhaps her vanity was as deeply touched as her heart; but those who knew her best declared that never until the Duke's death did she resign all hope of becoming the Duchess of Wellington.

In another part of her Diary she writes, with the diffuseness and reiteration that mark her style:—

"That I loved the Duke I am not ashamed to say, God knows, and that too with the purest affection. Consequently when he asked me if I felt sufficient to be with him a whole life, (which was the question referred to in that odious letter, for odious indeed it still appears in my sight, yea, increasingly so with time, for I recoil with unspeakable horror from the thought that I could be thus enquired of without being clearly comprehended), I replied to the same in the following words, 'If it be the will of God,' not supposing for a moment, as expressed, that such an enquiry could be made of one with God's Holy Book before me, to which I had been attracting his attention with all the reverence and veneration so holy an employment demanded, except under intentions the most honorable. This idea many would perhaps say must have arisen from my want of knowledge of mankind and the world etc. But in that case how was it that dear Mrs. L–, a perfect woman of the world in her early life, could think the same and consequently encourage such views?"

Long after the Duke had wearied of his passing fancy Miss J. clung to the idea that she could yet draw him to her. Her secluded life, given up to good works and pious meditations, and still later her confirmed ill-health, heightened her unworldliness, and rendered it more than ever difficult for her to see the impossibility of what in the eyes of the Duke and his family and friends would have been a misalliance.

It is perhaps uncharitable to suppose that Miss J. intended by her assumed reluctance to grant the Duke a third interview to force him to make a formal declaration of his intentions and ask her hand in marriage. If this, however, was her plan, it met with a signal failure. Clearly nothing was farther from the Duke's thoughts than to make himself the butt of popular ridicule by taking a wife forty-five years younger than himself, and of retired even though perfectly respectable social position. Besides that, it can hardly be wondered at if the Duke, a man free from binding domestic ties, were not in a humor to place permanently at his elbow so strict a mentor as Miss J., no matter how pretty she might be. The prudishness and piety that were fascinating in a beautiful woman seldom seen, would wax wearisome in the most charming creature bound to him by indissoluble ties.