558 Whosoe is False to Women will not be true to men. YE On the Fair and Faithfull. E wish to know her, for she sweeter is But She's a Virtue, may from Vice recall A man who is false in his relations to women is scarcely ever to be depended on in his associations with men. If temptation or danger besets him, he generally fails. The conduct of Monmouth was not only despicable and villainous in regard to his neglected and impoverished wife, but also in those closer ties (as he considered them to be,) by which he was attached temporarily to his successive Mistresses. Not to mention others preceding her, there had been found no safeguard against his fickleness either in the beauty and the constancy of Eleanor Needham, or in her having borne four children to him (see p. 388), whenever his fancy veered more strongly to the Lady Henrietta Wentworth. We have shown that for awhile he had given his heart to both, in a "Twin Flame;" as he had earlier done with others, always to more than one at any time. He never took the trouble to conceal his amours from the world, or his unfaithfulness from the women whom he had seduced. Himself the child of illicit affections, he retained to his latest breath a hardened conscience regarding offences against chastity. It is possible that there may be still lurking in some old family mansion, unrecorded by Royal Historical Commissions, a bundle of faded letters, written in a delicate female hand, with graceful playfulness, but an underlying suggestion of melancholy, that tell the story of Lady Wentworth's life during the few months that came between the death of Charles the Second and the ill-omened departure of her lover for Lyme, on the 24th of May. Three anxious months! More than any one, she would know the conflicting thoughts of Monmouth, his irresolution, his foolish hopes, his paroxysms of despondency. The Princess Mary had discoursed with him about Hungary and the glory of a soldier's life, fighting against the Turkish enemies of Christendom; or aiding Sweden in the coalition against the dreaded power of the French king. She would be flattered by his gallant attentions, which were accepted as from an acknowledged first cousin, to one whose own husband neglected all those endearing attentions which a handsome woman considers to be her due. Only when Monmouth had incautiously dropt some word which betrayed his retention of a hope that the succession to the English Crown might yet be open to him, would she with vehemence rebuke the presumption, Henrietta Wentworth, Monmouth's sole confidant. 559 not alone for its folly, but because it threatened interference with her own claims. To her he did not dare tell much. Still less to William could Monmouth unveil himself. The herd of vagabond conspirators, who lurked in Holland, were ready enough to hearken, still readier to prompt, such ambitious thoughts of his. But with these exiles there must have been always matters of practical detail, and immediate need, rising into supremacy; not mere sentiment. They were perpetually harping on pecuniary wants. Money was needed for their own support, for purchase of stores, ammunition, vessels to carry across sea the raisers of sedition; for rallying of purchased mobs, inflamed by such seditious pamphlets and intemperate harangues as Robert Ferguson knew how to manufacture easily, unrestrained by prudence, loyalty, or truth: and equally well knew how to charge for, from the common fund. Interwoven with these hirelings there was a nobler band, it is true, of genuine patriots, less selfish or time-serving: gentlemen of birth and breeding, of stainless honour, nearly all of whom were Scotchmen. Such were James Fletcher of Saltoun and Sir Patrick Hume. But even these were domineered over by the half-crazed Archibald, Earl of Argyle; whose personal injuries in the past, and personal ambition in the future, made him the most dangerous ingredient in the mixture of explosives. Thus it happened that to no single friend could Monmouth make confession of all his hopes and fears, except to her who had for his sake already sacrificed her maidenly honour, and borne him offspring that would always wear the stain of illegitimacy like their father. If we can fancy her revealing her thoughts in letter to any one, we are rebuked by the remembrance of the dangerous nature of the secrets she held in confidence; and also, that, by her choice of sharing a dishonoured couch, she had alienated herself from every one of her best friends in England. Her mother had long ago striven to remove her from peril and pollution; the attempt had been made too late, after her heart had already taken side with her lover. In headstrong passion she had yielded herself to his arms. No excuse of ignorance could be advanced for her, she knew. She had dwelt at the Court where his evil renown was common talk. She had shared with him in the Revels there, innocently for awhile. His wife was known to herself and to her friends; was held in honour, above the slanders of the dissolute Satirists who spared no woman's name. When a girl like the Lady Henrietta Wentworth yielded herself to become the acknowledged Mistress of such a libertine as Monmouth was avowed to be, we may admit the plea of irresistible infatuation as an excuse for her misconduct, but it is impossible to consider her as a victim of seduction who has been duped innocently or unwillingly. We only yield sympathy for the strength of her affection, which overpowered her principles of honour. 560 Lady Henrietta's sacrifices for Monmouth. We have scanty evidence by which we can learn how far she encouraged the project of Monmouth devoting himself afresh to a military life, and becoming a Volunteer in Hungary or Sweden. She is reported to have done this, but gossip is untrustworthy. We suppose that she at first had favoured it, and then may have used her influence against it, fearing to be separated from him and thereafter in absence forgotten. She was of too high a spirit to dread danger for him or for herself. Indeed, ere long she gave her aid to him in an expedition far more perilous, one fated to prove his ruin. She knew his every desire and design. She doubtless shared his ambition. Later, she sacrificed her jewels to help him make the descent on the Western Coast, by the purchase of arms (which in the event were wasted, and went astray). Could she have foreseen clearly the future bigotry and folly of King James the Second, she might have welcomed with avidity the plan of devoting Monmouth's best efforts to secure military glory in renewed contests against the Turk. Had he thus far succeeded, and won the confidence of English sympathizers in some "Christians' New Victory" (like that described on our p. 380), no one can say that it would not have been probably followed, say in 1689, by the fugitive Romanist being none the less displaced and without warfare; his successor, chosen by the nation, then found to be not William of Orange, but instead, a renowned warrior from the heart of Europe, "King Monmouth!". But of all sad words, of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been!" In private life it is folly to "greet ower skailed milk," or afflict the mind with tardy regrets for unrealised possibilities! Truly, "that way madness lies." But we all know that changes would have inevitably occurred, had some one little step been taken differently; some choice been otherwise than what idle whim or blind hazard dictated. Under no possible circumstances could Monmouth have grown into a wise and heroic or useful King; therefore the fault of his rebellious abettors was unpardonable. But the course of English History would have been materially altered if he had bravely decided to carry out his first intentions, and relinquish for a time all hope of England's crown: devoting himself meanwhile to honourable and unselfish enterprize, winning a warrior's fame. The Golden Prize was within reach, although he failed to win it. And nobody calls him a dunce, J [Pepys Collection, V. 404.] State and Ambition. A New Song, at the Duke's Theatre, to Sylvia. 562 Tom D'Urfey's "State and Ambition." Jove on his Throne was the victim of Beauty, And priz'd her far more than his Heav'nly Crown: She too was pleas'd with her beautiful Lover, And stroak'd his white Plumes, and feasted her Eye; His cunning in Loving knew well how to move her, [=And he too By Billing begins the business of Joy. Since Divine Powers example have given, 16 [al. lect., Ordain'd. 24 If we should not follow their precepts, we sin: And seven years to come will not One, past, repay. Of Loving in Youth is the Crown of our days; But tedious the moments when crost with delays. I see, my dear Sylvia at last has consented, That blush in your cheek does plainly appear, So faithful I'll prove, and so true to my Dear. But revels at night for the loss of the day. Printed for Philip Brooksby, at the Golden Ball, in Pye-Corner. 32 38 40 48 Before 1703, a Medley was published, naming the popular songs (Pepys Collection, V. 411), beginning similarly. "State and Ambition, Joy to great Cæsar!" The music of D'Urfey's original song was given in Pills to Purge Melancholy, ii. 34; also previously in his folio Collection of Several New Songs, 1684. We have already, on p. 549, given a Coronation Song, to the same tune. محمد |