The Life and Romances of Mrs. Eliza Haywood Part 4

The same admirable sentiment was shared by the surviving heroine of "The Double Marriage: or, the Fatal Release" (1726), who after witnessing a signal demonstration of the perfidy of man, resolves to shun for ever the false s.e.x.

Dazzled by the numerous accomplishments of Bellcour, the charming Alathia weds him in secret. When he finds that his father has designed to bestow his hand upon the heiress of an India merchant, he dares not confess his fault, but lets himself be carried to Plymouth to meet his intended bride. There he determines to escape from his father during a hunting party, but while pa.s.sing a wood, he hears cries and rescues a fair maiden from violation. The beautiful stranger allows him to conduct her back to Plymouth, and turns out to be Mirtamene, the woman he is to marry. Though very much in love with this new beauty, Bellcour cannot relinquish the thought of Alathia without a struggle. But in fatal hesitation the time slips by, and he is finally compelled to wed a second bride. Meanwhile the deserted Alathia hears disquieting reports of her husband's conduct. In disguise as a boy she travels to Plymouth to see for herself, confronts her guilty partner, and after hearing his confession, stabs herself. Overcome by remorse and love, Bellcour imitates her, while Mirtamene "warn'd by the example of Bellcour, that Interest, Absence, or a new Pa.s.sion, can make the most seeming constant Lover false, took a Resolution ever to contemn and hate that betraying s.e.x to which she owed her Misfortune and the Sight of such a Disaster as she had beheld in Alathia."

Not content to retire in disgust from the world, Glicera, the victim of fickle man in "The City Jilt" (1726) determines to retaliate upon the lover who has ruined and abandoned her when the death of her father left her without a fortune or a protector. To secure her revenge she encourages the advances of a senile alderman, Grubguard by name, whom she takes infinite delight in deceiving by the help of an ingenious confidant. Meanwhile an unfortunate lawsuit and the extravagances of his wife have ruined the false Melladore, who is obliged to mortgage his estate to Grubguard. Glicera obtains the deeds from the amorous alderman, and then sends him packing. Melladore is forced to beg of her sufficient funds to purchase a commission and later dies in battle. With the fortune she has won from her various lovers Glicera retires from the world and henceforth shuns the society of men.

In these three tales Mrs. Haywood followed the guidance of her own experience when it ran counter to the traditions of romance. The betrayed heroine ought to have died, or at least to have been immured in a convent to suffer a living death, but instead of acquiescing in their fate, Belinda and Cleomira, Mirtamene, and Glicera defy the world, and in the last case prove that the worm may turn.

Among the works of her first decade of authors.h.i.+p a few effusions in which Mrs. Haywood has succeeded to a degree in motivating, characterizing, or a.n.a.lyzing the pa.s.sions of her characters, must be exempted from the general charge of commonplaceness. The first of these is "Idalia: or, the Unfortunate Mistress" (1724), the story of a young Venetian beauty--like La.s.selia, her charms can only be imagined not described--whose varied amorous adventures carry her over most of Italy.

She is sought by countless suitors, among them the base Florez, whom her father promptly forbids the house. Idalia's vanity is piqued at the loss of a single adorer, and more from perverseness than from love she continues to correspond with him. He makes no further use of her condescension than to boast of her favors, until at the command of his patron, Don Ferdinand, he induces Idalia to make an a.s.signation with him. Ferdinand meets her and not without difficulty at length effects her ruin. Her lover's friend, Henriquez, in conducting her to a place of safety in Padua, becomes himself the victim of her charms, quarrels with Ferdinand, and slays him and is slain. Henriquez' brother, Myrtano, next succeeds as Idalia's adorer, but learning that he is about to make an advantageous marriage, she secretly decamps. In her flight the very guide turns out to be a n.o.ble lover in disguise. When she escapes from him in a s.h.i.+p bound for Naples, the sea-captain pays her crude court, but just in time to save her from his embraces the s.h.i.+p is captured by Barbary corsairs--commanded by a young married couple. Though the heroine is in peasant dress, she is treated with distinction by her captors. Her history moves them to tears, and they in turn are in the midst of relating to her the involved story of their courts.h.i.+p, when the vessel is wrecked by a gale. Borne ash.o.r.e on a plank, Idalia is succored by cottagers, and continues her journey in man's clothes. She is loved by a lady, and by the lady's husband, who turns out to be her dear Myrtano. Their felicity is interrupted by the jealousy of Myrtano's wife, who appeals to the Pope and forces the lovers to separate by his order. Idalia leads a miserable life, persecuted by all the young gallants of Rome. One day she sees Florez, the first cause of all her misfortunes, pa.s.s the window, and with thoughts bent on revenge sends him a billet, which he carries to his master. Myrtano keeps the appointment, m.u.f.fled in a cloak, and Idalia stabs him by mistake.

Overcome by remorse, she dies by the same knife.

The motivation of the heroine at the beginning of the story, as Miss Morgan has pointed out,[13]is more elaborate than usual in Haywoodian romance. To show a young girl's vanity teasing her into an intrigue required a more delicate appreciation of the pa.s.sions than the stock situations in love stories afforded. Obliged to draw upon her own resources, Mrs. Haywood handled the incidents with a niceness that could hardly have been expected from the author of "Love in Excess." Her sense for _vraisemblance_ protected her from many absurdities, though not from all. For instance, when Idalia to preserve herself from the importunities of Ferdinand employs the same threat of stabbing herself that Clarissa Harlowe in similar circ.u.mstances holds over Lovelace, the Italian heroine very naturally tries first to stab her seducer. But realism vanishes when Idalia begins her romantic flight from place to place and from lover to lover. The incidents of romance crowd fast around her. When in man's clothes she is loved by a woman who takes her for what she seems, and by the woman's husband who knows her for what she is, the reader cannot help recalling a similar Gordian love-knot in Sidney's "Arcadia." Perhaps the only convincing detail in the latter part of the book is the heroine's miserable end. But although the sentiments of the characters are reported in concealed blank verse that smacks of theatrical rant, though the absurd Oriental digressions, the disguises, the frequent poisonings, and fortunate accidents all detract from the naturalness and plausibility of the tale, yet one cannot deny the piece occasional merits, which if smothered in extravagances, are hopeful signs of a coming change. The very excess of strained and unnatural incidents indicates that the popular palate was becoming cloyed; for a time the writers of fiction attempted to stimulate it by spicing the dish, but when the limit of mordancy was reached, a new diet became imperative.

Though in no sense a soothing draught for the overstrained sensibilities of romance readers, "The Fatal Secret: or, Constancy in Distress" (1724) nevertheless represents a valuable part of Mrs. Haywood's contribution to the technique of the novel. Few of her works indicate more clearly her power to display the operations of pa.s.sion dominating a young and innocent heart.

When the story opens, Anadea is a heart-free maid of sixteen, better educated than most young girls, and chiefly interested in her studies.

Fearing to leave her unprovided for, her father urges her to marry, and she, though inclined to a single life, returns a dutiful answer, begging him to direct her choice. He fixes upon the worthy Chevalier de Semar, and bids her prepare for the wedding.

"The Time which the necessary Preparations took up, Anadea pa.s.s'd in modelling her Soul, as much as possible, to be pleas'd with the State for which she was intended.--The Chevalier had many good Qualities, and she endeavoured to add to them in Imagination a thousand more.

Never did any Woman take greater Pains to resist the Dictates of Desire, than she did to create them ...yet she had it not in her Power to feel any of those soft Emotions, those Impatiencies for his Absence, those tender Thrillings in his Presence, nor any of those agreeable Perplexities which are the unfailing Consequences of Love ...and she began, at length, to lay the Blame on her own want of Sensibility, and to imagine she had not a Heart fram'd like those of other Women."

At the house of a friend Anadea meets the Count de Blessure and feels the starts of hitherto unsuspected pa.s.sion. Beside this new lover the Chevalier appears as nought. Her mind is racked by an alternation of hope and despair.

"In Anxieties, such as hopeless Lovers feel, did the discontented Anadea pa.s.s the Night:--She could not avoid wis.h.i.+ng, though there was not the least Room for her to imagine a Possibility of what she wish'd:--She could not help praying, yet thought those Prayers a Sin.

--Her once calm and peaceful Bosom was now all Hurry and Confusion:-- The Esteem which she had been long labouring to feel for the Chevalier, was now turn'd to Aversion and Disdain; and the Indifference she had for all Mankind, now converted into the most violent Pa.s.sion for one ...she thought she could be contended to live a single Life, and knew so little of the encroaching Nature of the Pa.s.sion she had entertained, that she believed she should never languish for any greater Joy, than that she might, without a Crime, indulge Contemplation with the Idea of his Perfections; and to destroy that pleasing Theory by marrying with another ...was more terrible to her than the worst of Deaths.--Confounded what to do, or rather wild that there was nothing she could do that might be of Service to her in an Exigence like this, her Mind grew all a Chaos, and the unintermitting Inquietudes of her Soul not permitting any Repose, she ...had a very good Pretence to keep her Chamber, and receive no Visits."

She pa.s.ses the day in tormenting perplexities, sometimes relieved by intervals of unsubstantial joy, when she fancies that her affianced may break off the match for some reason, that his sickness, an accident, or death may leave her free to wed Blessure. In imagination she pictures to herself happy meetings with her lover, and even repeats their conversation. Then recollecting her true situation, she lapses into real woe and bitterness of heart. The Count, however, has been deeply affected by her charms, and though he learns that she is engaged to De Semar, he sends her an appealing letter to discover whether the match is the result of choice or duty. Upon the receipt of this billet the soul of Anadea is distracted between the impulses of love and the dictates of prudence. Finally she writes a discreet, but not too severe reply, intimating that her choice is due more to duty than to inclination.

Naturally the Count protests vehemently against her sacrificing herself to a man for whom she cares nothing, vows that the day of her wedding with De Semar shall be his last upon earth, and entreats a meeting.

"What now became of the enamour'd Anadea? How was it possible for a Heart so prepossessed as hers, to hold out in a Reserve which was very near breaking the Strings which held it--... Yet still the Consequences that might attend this Meeting, for a Time repelled the Dictates of her Pa.s.sion.--But it was no more than a faint Struggle; Love! all-conquering, all-o'er-powering Love! triumphed over every other Consideration! and she consented to his and her own impatient Wishes."

Under the pretence of a change of air she goes to a friend's house at Versailles, where Blessure secretly weds her. After a short period of felicity, they are betrayed by an officious maid. Blessure kills the Chevalier, but is himself wounded and cast into prison. His father secures a pardon by promising the king's mistress that the Count shall marry her daughter, but Blessure remains constant to Anadea, though keeping his marriage a secret for fear of infuriating his father. He is sent away by his displeased parent to learn the virtue of obedience, while Anadea retires to St. Cloud to await her husband's return. There the story ends in an unexpected tragedy of incest and blood.

The back-stairs intrigues and the sensational horrors which to the majority of Mrs. Haywood's readers doubtless seemed the chief attraction of the story are not different from the melodramatic features of countless other amatory tales, French and English. But when for a dozen pages the author seeks to discover and explain the motives of her characters both by impersonal comment and by the self-revelation of letters, she is making a noteworthy step--even if an unconscious one-- toward the Richardsonian method of laying bare the inner natures of ordinary people. She has here pursued the a.n.a.lysis of character as an end in itself, for in "The Fatal Secret" there is no hint of disguised scandal, nor any appeal to the pruriency of degenerate readers.

Sensational in the extreme the story is, but nevertheless the progress of the narrative is delayed while the sentiments of the heroine are examined in the minutest detail. While better known romancers exploited chiefly the strange and surprising adventures (other than amorous) of their characters, or used the _voyage imaginaire_ for the purposes of satire, Eliza Haywood and her female colleagues stimulated the popular taste for romances of the heart. In trying to depict the working of intense human pa.s.sions they rendered a distinct service to the development of English fiction.

The story of "The Mercenary Lover" (1726) involved, besides the ability to body forth emotion, considerable power to show a gradual degradation in the character of one of the heroines.

The avaricious c.l.i.tander gains the moiety of a fortune by marrying the young, gay Miranda, but cannot rest without securing to himself the portion of the elder sister as well. Althea's thoughtful and less volatile nature has. .h.i.therto resisted the a.s.saults of love, but her insidious brother-in-law undermines her virtue by giving her wanton books and tempting her with soft speeches until she yields to his wishes. When he attempts to make her sign a deed of gift instead of a will to provide for their child, she discovers his treachery and flees to the country. By playing upon her tenderness he coaxes her back and poisons her. Miranda is fully informed of her husband's villainy, but contents herself with removing from the house. Thus c.l.i.tander loses not only his sister-in-law's, but his wife's fortune as well, and is completely unmanned by remorse and apprehension.

The contrast between the characters of the gay and thoughtless wife and the pensive, pure-minded girl is skilfully managed, and the various steps in the downward course of Althea's nature are exhibited in detail.

Like Anadea in "The Fatal Secret" she retires to her chamber not to sleep, but to indulge in the freedom of her thoughts, which are poured forth at length to let the reader into the secrets of her pa.s.sion-ridden bosom. To reveal character in action was beyond the limit of Eliza Haywood's technique; and once the story is well under way, Althea becomes as colorless as only a heroine of romance can be. But the author's effort to differentiate the female characters before the action begins, and to make a portion of the plot turn upon a psychological change in one of them shows that even sensation-loving readers were demanding a stricter veracity of treatment than had hitherto been necessary.

But perhaps the most careful interlocking of character and event to be found among these embryo novels is contained in "The Life of Madam De Villesache. Written by a Lady, who was an Eye-witness of the greatest part of her Adventures, and faithfully Translated from her French Ma.n.u.script. By Mrs. Eliza Haywood" (1727). Since no original source for this story has come to light, we may probably a.s.sume that the French ma.n.u.script was a complete fabrication on the part of the English author.

At any rate, the tale was one of pa.s.sion and intrigue such as she delighted to compose.

Henrietta, daughter of a certain Duke, grows up in obscure circ.u.mstances to be a miracle of beauty. When her father comes to carry her to court, her rustic lover, Clermont, pleads so effectually that she consents to a secret union with him. In the glare of the court she half forgets her country husband until too fatally reminded of him by being sought in marriage by the Marquis of Ab----lle. Her attempts at evasion are vain, and rather than face her father's anger, she permits herself to be married a second time. She has not long enjoyed her new rank when Clermont, whom she has informed of her step, appears to reproach her and to claim his rights. Still irresolute, she persuades him by tears and prayers not to expose her perfidy, and secretly admits him to a husband's privileges. In due time the pair are caught by the Marquis, and to avoid his rage confess their prior marriage. Clermont is thrown into prison, where he dies not without suspicion of poison. Henrietta retires to convent, but the Duke, her father, in order to gain the Marquis's estate for her unborn infant, manages to stifle the evidence of her first marriage. Enraged that he cannot obtain a divorce, the Marquis resolves to be revenged upon his perjured wife. He intercepts her coach in a wood outside of Paris and brutally murders her. The Duke orders her magnificently buried. Although nothing against the Marquis can be proved, he is not allowed to escape the vengeance of heaven, but goes mad and in a lucid interval just before death confesses his crimes.

The weakness and irresolution of the heroine are made the pivot of each turning point in the plot. When she yields to her lover's entreaties to consummate a hasty marriage; when fear of her father's displeasure induces her to keep their union a secret; when her love of luxurious grandeur at court persuades her to contract a more exalted match; when her terror of Clermont forces her into a shameless expedient for the sake of mollifying his anger; and when after her exposure by her husband, the Marquis, she brazens out her trial in hopes of maintaining the splendor of her rank and fortune, she is welding link by link the chain of circ.u.mstance that draws her to ultimate disaster. She is by no means a simple heroine motivated by the elementary pa.s.sions; instead she is constantly swayed by emotions and desires of the most diverse and complex nature. After her first taste of court life she learns to look back on her husband's rusticity with a sort of contempt, and to regret her precipitate action.

"Not that she hated Clermont; on the contrary, she had yet very great Remains of her former Pa.s.sion for him, whenever she reflected on the Endearments which had past between them: but then she depis'd the Meanness of his Extraction, and the Thoughts that she had put him in possession of a t.i.tle, which gave him the Power, whenever he pleas'd to exert it, of calling her from the present Grandeur of her State, and obliging her to live with him in a mean Retirement; made all Desires instigated by her Affection, immediately give way to that new Idol of her Wishes, Greatness! And she more ardently endeavour'd to find some Stratagem to prevent him from ever seeing her again, than she had formerly pray'd in the Simplicity and Innocence of her Affections, never to be separated from him." (p. 14).

When an ambitious marriage is proposed, her first horror at the thought of deserting her country husband yields to a sort of resignation when she persuades herself of the necessity of the step. And when she considers the riches, t.i.tle, and agreeable person of the Marquis, she almost disdains herself for hesitating to prefer him to Clermont. Her life is the tragedy of a soul too indolent to swim against the current of events. Mrs. Haywood managed to give extraordinary vividness and consistency to the character of the vacillating Henrietta by making the plot depend almost entirely upon the indecision of the heroine.

Consequently none of the author's women are as sharply defined as this weak, pleasure-loving French girl. The character drawing, though too much subordinated to the sensational elements in the story, is nevertheless distinct and true to life.

Most probably, however, the few attempts at a.n.a.lysis of character or interrelation of character and plot were of little concern both to the author of emotional fiction and to her readers. The romancer's purpose was not to reveal an accurate picture of life and manners, but to thrill the susceptible bosom by scenes of tender love, amorous rapture, or desperate revenge. The department of sensationalism especially exploited by women writers and generally allowed to be most suited to their genius is sufficiently indicated by the words typographically emphasized on the t.i.tle-page of one of Mrs. Haywood's few essays. "Reflections on the Various Effects of LOVE, According to the contrary Dispositions of the Persons on whom it operates. Ill.u.s.trated with a great many Examples of the good and bad Consequences of that Pa.s.sION. Collected from the best Ancient and Modern HISTORIES. Intermix'd with the latest AMOURS and INTRIGUES of Persons of the First Rank of both s.e.xes, of a certain Island adjacent to the Kingdom of Utopia. Written by the Author of The Mercenary Lover, and the Memoirs of the said Island. Love is not sin, but where 'tis sinful Love. Never before made Publick." To any contemporary connoisseur of hectic literature such a feast of Love, Pa.s.sion, Histories, Amours, and Intrigues as this, offered in the shop of N. Dobb in the Strand for the small price of one s.h.i.+lling, must have been irresistible. No less moving was the appeal of Eliza's fiction to such Biddy Tipkins and Polly Honeycombes as delighted in a tale of amorous adventure, particularly if it was set in the glittering atmosphere of the court. A typical story of intrigues among the great is "La.s.selia: or, the Self-Abandoned" (1723).

The heroine, niece of Madame de Montespan, finding herself in danger of becoming her aunt's rival in the affections of Louis XIV, goes secretly into the country to visit her friends M. and Mme Valier, where she falls in love with De L'Amye, a married gentleman. Summoned back to court by the amorous monarch, La.s.selia chooses rather to flee from the protection of her friends in the disguise of a pilgrim, and led by lucky chance casts herself on the protection of her lover, who conveys her to a country inn and there maintains her for some time to their mutual felicity. Mile Douxmourie, once affianced to De L'Amye but jilted by him, accidentally discovers the pair and immediately communicates with the gallant's wife, who with the Valiers soon appears to reclaim the recreants. The wife rages at her husband, he at the perfidious Douxmourie, while La.s.selia offers to stab herself. By the good offices of her friends, however, the girl is persuaded to enter a nunnery where she becomes a pattern of piety. De L'Amye is reconciled to his wife.

In the first few pages of the story the author makes a noteworthy attempt to create an atmosphere of impending disaster. When De L'Amye first meets the heroine, three drops of blood fall from his nose and stain the white handkerchief in her hand, and the company rallies him on this sign of an approaching union, much to his wife's discomfiture. The accident and her yet unrecognized love fill La.s.selia's mind with uneasy forebodings. "She wou'd start like one in a Frenzy, and cry out, Oh! it was not for nothing that those ominous Drops of Blood fell from him on my Handkerchief!--It was not for nothing I was seiz'd with such an unusual Horror--Nor is it in vain, that my Soul shrinks, and seems to dread a second Interview!--They are all, I fear, too sure Predictions of some fatal Consequence." These gloomy thoughts at length give way to an ecstasy of despairing love, and when her affection is reciprocated, to a series of pa.s.sionate letters and poems, which indeed make necessary the author's apology for the "too great Warmth" of the style.

Since the ultimate disaster of adventurous heroines was regarded as a sop to moral readers, Mrs. Haywood frequently failed to gratify her audience with a happy ending, but occasionally a departure from strict virtue might be condoned, provided it took place in a country far removed from England. The scene of "The Padlock: or, No Guard without Virtue"[14] was appropriately laid in Spain.

Don Lepidio of Seville, by his jealous conduct, completely alienates the affections of his young and beautiful wife, Violante. She finally writes a reply to the earnest entreaties of an unknown lover, and though filled with apprehension at seeing her letter carried off by an ugly black slave, agrees to meet him. Don Honorius, for it was he who had a.s.sumed the disguise of the slave, proves to be the wonder of his s.e.x. He persuades her to elope to the house of one of his relations, and after Lepidio has secured a divorce, marries her with great felicity.

That novels of intrigue, even without the tinsel of court dress and the romance of French or Spanish setting, were acceptable to Eliza Haywood's public is shown by the two parts of "The Masqueraders: or, Fatal Curiosity" (1724-5), which in the most luscious language of pa.s.sion narrate the philanderings of a "charming Rover" called Dorimenus, "whose real Name, for some Reasons, I shall conceal." London masquerades, as the t.i.tle indicates, play a large part in the plot. A more sprightly tale, though still of the unedifying sort, is "Fantomina: or, Love in a Maze. Being the Secret History of an Amour between two Persons of Condition." The story is so fantastic that it can hardly be suspected of having any connection with an actual occurrence, but the novelist was not unaware of the advertising value of hinted scandal.

A young lady of distinguished birth, beauty, wit, and spirit for a frolic goes masked to the theatre, and there falling in love with the agreeable Beauplaisir, begins an intrigue with him. When his ardor cools, she lures him on again under a different disguise, and thus manages four several _liaisons_ successively as Fantomina, Celia the Chambermaid, the Widow Bloomer, and the fair Incognita. Meanwhile she meets her lover frequently in public a.s.semblies without ever arousing his suspicion of her double, or rather manifold ident.i.ty. But at length she is unable to disguise the effects of her imprudence, her gallant ungallantly refuses to marry her, and the fair intriguer is packed off to a convent in France.

Though the story cannot pretend to support the cause of morality, the style of this piece is unusually clear and straightforward, sometimes suitably periphrastic, but never inflated. The pa.s.sion described is that of real life ungarnished by romance. Only greater refinement was needed to make the entertainment fit for ladies and gentlemen.

The cardinal defect of some of Mrs. Haywood's romances-in-little lay, however, in a romantic over-refinement of the pa.s.sions rather than in a too vigorous animalism. Full of the most delicate scruples is "The Surprise: or, Constancy Rewarded" (1724),[15] appropriately dedicated to the Sir Galahad of comedy, Sir Richard Steele. The story relates how Euphemia discovers that the seemingly faithless Bellamant has, in reality, abandoned her on the day set for their marriage because he was unwilling to have her share in the loss of his fortune. She, meanwhile, has inherited a convenient sum, redeems him from his creditors, and after practicing a little mystification to test his constancy, leads him to the altar. Few of Mrs. Haywood's novels are more entirely moral or more essentially dull.

Though the scene of "The Rash Resolve: or, the Untimely Discovery"

(1724) is laid in Porto Rico and in Spain, the romancer took little advantage of her opportunity to introduce the usual "cloak and sword"

incidents of Spanish fiction. Instead her tale is one of generous love and melting pathos more characteristic of the romance than of the _novella_ or its successors.

The Porto Rican heiress, Emanuella, is defrauded of her fortune by her guardian, Don Pedro, and imprisoned in his house to force her to marry his son, Don Marco. That generous lover helps her to escape to Madrid, and to emphasize the truth of her claims against his wily father, falls upon his sword in the presence of the court. Emanuella's t.i.tle to her fortune cleared by this extraordinary measure, she continues to reside at the house of Don Jabin, whose daughter, Berillia, she saves from a monastery by making up the deficiency in her dowry. The ungrateful girl, however, resents Emanuella's disapproval of her foppish lover, and resolves to be revenged upon her benefactress. She, therefore, forwards Emanuella's affair with Emilius until the lovers are hopelessly compromised; then taking advantage of the loss of the lady's fortune at sea, blackens her character to Emilius and provokes him to desert her.

The abandoned Emanuella enters a convent.

Emilius is challenged by Octavio as a rival in the love of Julia, and though he had never before heard of the lady, he soon becomes her lover in fact, and eventually marries her. Emanuella escapes from the nunnery and wanders to a little provincial town where she bears a son to Emilius. Berillia, who has been rusticated to a village near by in consequence of her amour, encounters her unfortunate friend by chance and runs away from her duenna to join her. She persuades Emanuella to draw a large sum on Don Jabin, robs her, and goes to join her gallant.

The injured lady supports her child by mean drudgery until by chance she meets Emilius and his wife, who do all they can to comfort her. But worn out by her afflictions, she dies of a broken heart, leaving her son to be adopted by his father.

Dr. Johnson might with equal truth have said to Mrs. Haywood as to the author of the "Memoirs of Miss Sydney Biddulph," "I know not, Madam, that you have a right ...to make your readers suffer so much." Even the pathetic "History of Jemmy and Jenny Jessamy" has nothing to surpa.s.s the train of woes exhibited in this earlier tale.

In the same "soft" style are two novels, "The Unequal Conflict: or, Nature Triumphant" (1725) and its sequel, "Fatal Fondness: or, Love its own Opposer." The plot begins with the writer's favorite situation.

Philenia, affianced to Coeurdemont, falls in love with Fillamour. By the help of a confidant, Antonia, the lovers are enabled to arrange a plan of escape. On the eve of the wedding Fillamour breaks into the house and, leaving his servants to bind and gag the father, flies immediately to his soul's adored.

"He threw himself on his knees, as he approach'd the dear mistress of his soul, and with a voice and manner all soft and love-inspiring.--Now madam, said he, if the adoring Fillamour is not unworthy the glory of your deliverance, I come to offer it, and to a.s.sure you, that not only this, but the service of my whole future life is entirely devoted to you. The innocent Philenia had not presently the power of replying, the different emotions of love, and shame, fear, and joy, made such a confusion in her sentiments, that she could only look the meanings of them all: Fillamour, however, found enough in this mute language to make him know, he was in as fair a way of happiness, as he cou'd wish; and returning her glances with others as languis.h.i.+ng, as the most melting longing love cou'd teach the loveliest eyes in the world, they continued, for some moments, thus transmitting souls--" until their confidant hurries them out of the house.

After the elopement Fillamour is distracted by the opposing motives of love and interest. To marry Philenia means ruin, for his ambitious uncle, who has proposed an advantageous marriage to him, would never forgive him for a love match. The innocent cause of his distress finally discovers his perplexity and agrees to live a single life until they can marry without loss of fortune. In this state of affairs "their love seem'd to be a copy of that pure and immaterial pa.s.sion, which angels regard each other with, and, which we are allow'd to hope shall be our portion, when, shaking off our earth, we meet in a happier world, where we are to live and love forever." The lovers' paradise is invaded by Philenia's father, who carries her home and locks her up more closely than before. In a short time she has the shocking intelligence that Fillamour has married according to the wishes of his worldly uncle. She still remains constant to him, but "the remainder of her yet surprising adventures," remarks the author, "and those of Antonia and Coeurdemont must be told another time, having good reason to doubt my reader will be tir'd, when I am so myself."

Eliza was perhaps the first to recover from the fatigue, for in a little more than two months the continuation, costing sixpence more than the first instalment, was offered to her readers.

After making his marriage of _convenance_ Fillamour again pays his court to Philenia, and seizing a lucky moment to surprise her on her daily walk, half by persuasion, half by force, carries his point. But before they can meet a second time she is carried off by a gang of villains, who mistake her for another woman. The languis.h.i.+ng Misimene, who has pursued Fillamour into the country in man's clothes, consoles him for the loss of his first love. Upon his return to town he finds that his wife has fled to join her lover. Meanwhile Philenia's honor is preserved by timely s.h.i.+pwreck of the vessel in which the ravishers are carrying her off. Washed ash.o.r.e on the inevitable plank, she supports herself among the fisher folk by weaving nets until after a year's toil she is relieved by Antonia and Coeurdemont, now happily married. The relation of their adventures occupies some pages. Philenia comes back to town to find her lover weltering in his blood, stabbed by the jealous Misimene.

Believing him dead, she seizes the same sword, plunges it into her bosom, and instantly expires. Misimene goes into frenzies, and Fillamour alone recovers to live out a life of undying grief.