BUT, as I said before, why should words impose upon us? A well regulated marriage is not like these connections of interest or ambition. A fond couple, attached to each other by mutual affection, are two lovers who live happily together. Though the priest p.r.o.nounces certain words, though the lawyer draws up certain instruments; yet I look on these preparatives in the same light as a lover considers a rope-ladder which he fastens to his mistress's window: If they can but live together, what does it signify at what price, or by what means, their union is accomplished. Where love is real, and, well founded, it is impossible to be happy but in the quiet enjoyment of the beloved object; and the price at which it is obtained, does not lessen the vivacity and delights of a pa.s.sion, such as my imagination conceives. If I was inclined to romance, I would not picture images of true happiness in Arcadia. I am not prudish enough to confine the delicacy of affection to wishes only.

I would open my romance with the marriage of a couple united by sentiment, taste, and inclination. Can we conceive a higher felicity, than the blending of their interests and lives in such an union? The lover has the pleasure of giving his mistress the last testimony of esteem and confidence; and she, in return, commits her peace and liberty to his protection. Can they exchange more dear and affectionate pledges? Is it not natural, to give the most incontestible proofs of that tenderness with which our minds are impressed? I am sensible, that some are so nice as to maintain, that the pleasures of love are derived from the dangers and difficulties with which it is attended; they very pertly observe, that a rose would not be a rose without thorns. There are a thousand insipid remarks of this sort, which make so little impression on me, that I am persuaded, was I a lover, the dread of injuring my mistress would make me unhappy, if the enjoyment of her was attended with danger to herself.

TWO married lovers lead very different lives: They have the pleasure to pa.s.s their time in a successive intercourse of mutual obligations and marks of benevolence; and they have the delight to find, that each forms the entire happiness of the beloved object. Herein consists perfect felicity. The most trivial concerns of economy become n.o.ble and elegant, when they are exalted by sentiments of affection: To furnish an apartment, is not barely to furnish an apartment; it is a place where I expect my lover: To prepare a supper, is not merely giving orders to my cook; it is an amus.e.m.e.nt to regale the object I dote on. In this light, a woman considers these necessary occupations, as more lively and affecting pleasures than those gaudy sights which amuse the greater part of the s.e.x, who are incapable of true enjoyment.

A FIXED and affectionate attachment softens every emotion of the soul, and renders every object agreeable which presents itself to the happy lover (I mean one who is married to his mistress). If he exercises any employment, the fatigues of the camp, the troubles of the court, all become agreeable, when he reflects, that he endures these inconveniences to serve the object of his affections. If fortune is favourable to him, (for success does not depend on merit) all the advantages it procures, are so many tributes which he thinks due to the charms of the lovely fair; and, in gratifying this ambition, he feels a more lively pleasure, and more worthy of an honest man, than that of raising his fortune, and gaining public applause. He enjoys glory, t.i.tles, and riches, no farther than as they regard her he loves; and when he attracts the approbation of a senate, the applause of an army, or the commendation of his prince, it is her praises which ultimately flatter him.

IN a reverse of fortune, he has the consolation of retiring to one who is affected by his disgrace; and, locked in her embraces, he has the satisfaction of giving utterance to the following tender reflections: "My happiness does not depend on the caprice of fortune; "I have a constant asylum against inquietude. Your esteem renders me "insensible of the injustice of a court, or the ingrat.i.tude of a "master; and my losses afford me a kind of pleasure, since they "furnish me with fresh proofs of your virtue and affection. Of what "use is grandeur to those who are already happy? We have no need of "flatterers, we want no equipages; I reign in your affections, and I "enjoy every delight in the possession of your person."

IN short, there is no situation in which melancholy may not be a.s.suaged by the company of the beloved object. Sickness itself is not without its alleviation, when we have the pleasure of being attended by her we love. I should never conclude, if I attempted to give a detail of all the delights of an attachment, wherein we meet with every thing which can flatter the senses with the most lively and diffusive raptures. But I must not omit taking notice of the pleasure of beholding the lovely pledges of a tender friendship, daily growing up, and of amusing ourselves, according to our different s.e.xes, in training them to perfection. We give way to this agreeable instinct of nature, refined by love. In a daughter, we praise the beauty of her mother; in a son, we commend the understanding, and the appearance of innate probity, which we esteem in his father. It is a pleasure which, according to Moses, the Almighty himself enjoyed, when he beheld the work of his hands; and saw that all was good.

SPEAKING of Moses, I cannot forbear observing, that the primitive plan of felicity infinitely surpa.s.ses all others; and I cannot form an idea Of paradise, more like a paradise, than the state in which our first parents were placed: That proved of short duration, because they were unacquainted with the world; and it is for the same reason, that so few love matches prove happy. Eve was like a silly child, and Adam was not much enlightened. When such people come together, their being amorous is to no purpose, for their affections must necessarily be short-lived. In the transports of their love, they form supernatural ideas of each other. The man thinks his mistress an angel, because she is handsome; and she is enraptured with the merit of her lover, because he adores her. The first decay of her complexion deprives her of his adoration; and the husband, being no longer an adorer, becomes hateful to her who had no other foundation for her love. By degrees, they grow disgustful (sic) to each other; and, after the example of our first parents, they do not fail to reproach each other With the crime of their mutual imbecillity (sic).

After indifference, contempt comes apace, and they are convinced, that they must hate each other, because they are married. Their smallest defects swell in each other's view, and they grow blind to those charms, which, in any other object, would affect them. A commerce founded merely on sensation can be attended with no other consequences.

A MAN, when he marries the object of his affections, should forget that she appears to him adorable, and should consider her merely as a mortal, subject to disorders, caprice, and ill temper; he should arm himself with fort.i.tude, to bear the loss of her beauty, and should provide himself with a fund of complaisance, which is requisite to support a constant intercourse with a person, even of the highest understanding and the greatest equanimity. The wife, on the other hand, should not expect a continued course of adulation and obedience, she should dispose herself to obey in her turn with a good grace: A science very difficult to attain, and consequently the more estimable in the opinion of a man who is sensible of the merit. She should endeavour to revive the charms of the mistress, by the solidity and good sense of the friend.

WHEN a pair who entertain such rational sentiments, are united by indissoluble bonds, all nature smiles upon them, and the most common objects appear delightful. In, my opinion, such a life is infinitely more happy and more voluptuous, than the most ravishing and best regulated gallantry.

A WOMAN who is capable of reflection, can consider a gallant in no other light than that of a seducer, who would take advantage of her weakness, to procure a momentary pleasure, at the expence of her glory, her peace, her honour, and perhaps, her life. A highwayman, who claps a pistol to your breast, to rob you of your purse, is less dishonest and less guilty; and I have so good an opinion of myself, as to believe, that if I was a man, I should be as capable of a.s.suming the character of an a.s.sa.s.sin, as that of defiling an honest woman, esteemed in the world, and happy in her husband, by inspiring her with a pa.s.sion, to which she must sacrifice her honour, her tranquillity, and her virtue.

SHOULD I make her despicable, who appears amiable in my eyes? Should I reward her tenderness, by making her abhorred by her family, by rendering her children indifferent to her, and her husband detestible (sic)? I believe that these reflections would have appeared to me in as strong a light, if my s.e.x had not rendered them excusable in such cases; and I hope, that I should have had more sense, than to imagine vice the less vicious, because it is the fashion.

N. B. I AM much pleased with the Turkish manners; a people, though ignorant, yet, in my judgment, extremely polite. A gallant, convicted of having debauched a married Woman, is regarded as a pernicious being, and held in the same abhorrence as a prost.i.tute with us. He is certain of never making his fortune; and they would deem it scandalous to confer any considerable employment on a man suspected of having committed such enormous injustice.

WHAT would these moral people think of our antiknights-errant, who are ever in pursuit of adventures to reduce innocent virgins to distress, and to rob virtuous women of their honour; who regard beauty, youth, rank, nay virtue itself, as so many incentives, which inflame their desires, and render their efforts more eager; and who, priding themselves in the glory of appearing expert seducers, forget, that with all their endeavours, they can only acquire the second rank in that n.o.ble order, the devil having long since been in possession of the first?

OUR barbarous manners are so well calculated for the establishment of vice and wretchedness, which are ever inseparable, that it requires a degree of understanding and sensibility, infinitely above the common, to relish the felicity of a marriage, such as I have described.

Nature is so weak, and so p.r.o.ne to change, that it is difficult to maintain the best grounded constancy, in the midst of those dissipations, which our ridiculous customs have rendered unavoidable.

IT must pain an amorous husband, to see his wife take all the fashionable liberties; it seems harsh not to allow them; and, to be conformable, he is reduced to the necessity of letting every one take them that will; to hear her impart the charms of her understanding to all the world, to see her display her bosom at noon-day, to behold her bedeck herself for the ball, and for the play, and attract a thousand and a thousand (sic) adorers, and listen to the insipid flattery of a thousand and a thousand c.o.xcombs. Is it possible to preserve an esteem for such a creature? or, at least, must not her value be greatly diminished by such a commerce?

I MUST still resort to the maxims of the East, where the most beautiful women are content to confine the power of their charms to him who has a right to enjoy them; and they are too sincere, not to confess, that they think themselves capable of exciting desires.

I RECOLLECT a conversation that I had with a lady of great quality at Constantinople, (the most amiable woman I ever knew in my life, and with whom I afterwards contracted the closest friendship.) She frankly acknowledged, that she was satisfied with her husband. What libertines, said she, you Christian ladies are! you are permitted to receive visits from as many men as you think proper, and your laws allow you the unlimited use of love and wine. I a.s.sured her, that she was wrong informed, and that it was criminal to listen to, or to love, any other than our husbands. "Your husbands are great fools,"

she replied smiling, "to be content with so precarious a fidelity.

"Your necks, your eyes, your hands, your conversation are all for the "public, and what do you pretend to reserve for them? Pardon me, "my pretty sultana," she added, embracing me, "I have a strong "inclination to believe all that you tell me, but you would impose "impossibilities upon me. I know the filthiness of the infidels; I "perceive that you are ashamed, and I will say no more."

I FOUND so much good sense and propriety in what she said, that I knew not how to contradict her; and, at length, I acknowledged, that she had reason to prefer the Mahometan manners to our ridiculous customs, which form a confused medley of the rigid maxims of Christianity, with all the libertinism (sic) of the Spartans: And, notwithstanding our absurd manners, I am persuaded, that a woman who is determined to place her happiness in her husband's affections, should abandon the extravagant desire of engaging public adoration; and that a husband, who tenderly loves his wife, should, in his turn, give up the reputation of being a gallant. You find that I am supposing a very extraordinary pair; it is not very surprising, therefore, that such an union should be uncommon in those countries, where it is requisite to conform to established customs, in order to be happy.

VERSES

_Written in the Chiask, at Pera, overlooking Constantinople, December 26th, 1718._

By Lady MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.

GIVE me, great G.o.d! Said I, a little farm, In summer shady, and in winter warm; Where a clear spring gives birth to murm'ring brooks, By nature gliding down the mossy rocks.

Not artfully by leading pipes convey'd, Or greatly falling in a forc'd _cascade_, Pure and unsully'd winding thro' the shade.

All-bounteous Heaven has added to my prayer A softer climate, and a purer air.

OUR frozen ISLE now chilling winter binds, Deform'd by rains, and rough with blasting winds; The wither'd woods grow white with h.o.a.ry frost, By driving storms their verdant beauty lost, The trembling birds their leafless covert shun, And seek, in distant climes a warmer sun: The water-nymphs their silent urns deplore, Ev'n _Thames_ benum'd's a river now no more: The barren meads no longer yield delight, By glist'ring snows made painful to the sight.

HERE summer reigns with one eternal smile, Succeeding harvests bless the happy soil.

Fair fertile fields, to whom indulgent Heaven Has ev'ry charm of ev'ry season given; No killing cold deforms the beauteous year, The springing flowers no coming winter fear.

But as the parent _Rose_ decays and dies, The infant-buds with brighter colour rise, And with fresh sweets the mother's scent supplies, Near them the _Violet_ grows with odours blest, And blooms in more than Tyrian purple drest; The rich _Jonquils_ their golden beams display, And shine in glories emulating day; The peaceful groves their verdant leaves retain, The streams still murmur undefil'd with rain, And tow'ring greens adorn the fruitful plain.

The warbling kind uninterrupted sing, Warm'd with enjoyments of perpetual spring.

HERE, at my window, I at once survey The crowded city and resounding sea; In distant views the _Asian_ mountains rise, And lose their snowy summits in the skies; Above those mountains proud _Olympus_ towers, The parliamental seat of heavenly powers.

New to the sight, my ravish'd eyes admire Each gilded crescent and each antique spire, The marble mosques, beneath whose ample domes Fierce warlike _sultans_ sleep in peaceful tombs; Those lofty structures, once the Christians boast, Their names, their beauty, and their honours lost; Those altars bright with gold and sculpture grac'd, By barb'rous zeal of savage foes defac'd: _Sophia_ alone her ancient name retains, Tho' unbelieving vows her shrine profanes; Where holy saints have died in sacred cells, Where monarchs pray'd, the frantic _Dervise_ dwells.

How art thou fall'n, imperial city, low!

Where are thy hopes of _Roman_ glory now?

Where are thy palaces by prelates rais'd?

Where _Grecian_ artists all their skill display'd, Before the happy sciences decay'd; So vast, that youthful kings might here reside, So splendid, to content a patriarch's pride; Convents where emperors profess'd of old, Their labour'd pillars that their triumphs told; Vain monuments of them that once were great, Sunk undistinguish'd by one common fate; One little spot, the tenure small contains, Of _Greek_ n.o.bility, the poor remains.

Where other _Helens_ with like powerful charms, Had once engag'd the warring world in arms; Those names which royal ancestors can boast, In mean mechanic arts obscurely lost: Those eyes a second _Homer_ might inspire, Fix'd at the loom destroy their useless fire; Griev'd at a view which struck upon my mind The short-liv'd vanity of human kind.

IN gaudy objects I indulge my sight, And turn where _Eastern pomp_ gives gay delight; See the vast train in various habits drest, By the bright scimitar and sable vest, The proud vizier distinguish'd o'er the rest; Six slaves in gay attire his bridle hold, His bridle rich with gems, and stirrups gold; His snowy steed adorn'd with costly pride, Whole troops of soldiers mounted by his side, These top the plumy crest Arabian courtiers guide.

With artful duty, all decline their eyes, No bellowing shouts of noisy crowds arise; Silence, in solemn state, the march attends, Till at the dread divan the slow procession ends.

YET not these prospects all profusely gay, The gilded navy that adorns the sea, The rising city in confusion fair, Magnificently form'd irregular; Where woods and palaces at once surprise, Gardens on gardens, domes on domes arise, And endless beauties tire the wand'ring eyes; So sooth my wishes, or so charm my mind, As this _retreat_ secure from human kind.

No knave's successful craft does spleen excite, No c.o.xcomb's tawdry splendour shocks my sight; No mob-alarm awakes my female fear, No praise my mind, nor envy hurts my ear, Ev'n fame itself can hardly reach me here: Impertinence with all her tattling train, Fair-sounding flattery's delicious bane; Censorious folly, noisy party-rage The thousand tongues with which she must engage, Who dares have _virtue_ in a _vicious_ age.

VERSES

TO THE Lady MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE,

By Mr POPE.

I.

IN beauty or wit, No mortal as yet To question your empire has dar'd; But men of discerning Have thought that in learning, To yield to a lady was hard.

II.

Impertinent schools, With musty dull rules Have reading to females deny'd; So papists refuse The BIBLE to use, Lest flocks should be wise as their guide.

III.

'Twas a woman at first (Indeed she was curst) In _knowledge_ that tasted _delight_; And sages agree, The laws should decree To the first possessor the right.

IV.

Then bravely, fair dame, Renew the old claim, Which to your whole s.e.x does belong, And let men receive, From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of _right_ and of _wrong_.

V.

But if the first Eve Hard doom did receive, When only _one apple_ had she, What a punishment new Shall be found out for you, Who tasting have robb'd the _whole tree_?