Containing a most improving Philosophical Enquiry into the diff ring Philosophies of the Third Earl of Shaftesburg and Mr. Bernard Mandeville, together with an Account of our Heroine’s sincere Dilemma concerning the Role of Womankind in the Great world; whereupon we follow our Heroine to a Country Fair and relate the Misadventures she had there; her Debut as a Duellist, and, last but not least, her most surprising Rescue by a most surprising Rescuer.
I RODE ALL MORNING without Mishap, stopping to water Lustre at Noon (and to buy Bread and Cheese from a Village Market); then I rode again thro’ most of the Afternoon.
On the Road, I pass’d many interesting Sights: old Men playing Bowls upon a Village Green; a Stage-Coach rattling along the Highway at great Speed, its Passengers being shaken to Death, most likely, by its rough Ride; Boys angling by a verdant River-Bank; wretched-looking Young Girls from a local Workhouse, scrubbing Clothes by the side of the same River.
I remember most vividly the low, rolling Hills and wide Skies, the Villages of warm, golden Stone, the Fields of Corn and winter Barley, the Sheep grazing upon the Downs, and the black and white Cows eating the bountiful moist Grass.
’Twas astounding that the mere Fact of dressing as a Man and having an aristocratick Horse and a fierce-looking Sword (tho’ I knew not how to use it), could protect one from most Mischances, and i’faith I was perhaps lull’d into a false Security that first Day, by Reason of my Great Good Fortune in not being stopp’d.
I was able to reflect upon the Beauties of the Countryside and upon my Plight, as well as to consider the Uncertainty of my Future, and to discourse with Lustre upon the opposing Philosophies of the Third Earl of Shaftesbury, who expounded the Perfection of the Universe and the Naturalness of Virtue in Man, and of Mr. Bernard Mandeville, who, upon the Contrary, argu’d that Self-Interest was the only Motivation of Mankind. Tho’ my Heart inclin’d towards Shaftesbury’s Reasoning, my Mind was more apt to favour Mandeville’s; ne’ertheless it occurr’d to me that neither of these Investigations into the Great Springs of Human Actions seem’d to embrace the Behaviour of Men towards Women, but only the Behaviour of Men towards each other. Was this not odd? Did not Mankind comprise Womankind as well? The Philosophers claim’d ’twas so, and yet e’en the most benevolent amongst ’em, the ones who would most vociferously argue the Universality of Christian Charity and Love, seem’d to disregard the Passions and Interests of one-half the Human Race.
How then could I choose a Philosophy upon which to model my perilous Destiny, when none of the Philosophers had consider’d Woman in their Speculations upon Reason, Nature, and Truth? For, if (as I sincerely believ’d) a Supreme Being of Infinite Wisdom did exist, and if (as I also sincerely believ’d) that Supreme Being had chosen to create, out of all possible Systems, the Best, why, then, must I not devoutly assume that this World in which I found myself was the Best of all Possible Worlds?
And yet, clearly, ’twas not the Best of all Possible Worlds for Women—unless, as Mr. Pope had argu’d, there was a hidden Justice behind this Veil of seeming Injustice. If, i’faith, all Creatures were part of one Great Organism, which, in turn, was part of the Universal Mind, and consequently of God, then our seeming Diff’rences were but Harmonies unknown to us. For had not Shaftesbury said that “All Mankind is, as ’twere, one Great Being, divided into sev’ral Parts”? Then Lord Bellars and Mr. Pope and even Lord Bellars’ London Mistress must all be Parts of one Great Organism, possessing the Blessings of the Universal Mind. Fie on’t! ’Twas not possible that God should approve such goings-on! A Pox on the Third Earl of Shaftesbury and his damnable Optimism!
What did Lustre think? Was he content with his Place in the Great Chain of Being? Did he believe this was the Best of all Possible Worlds? When he turn’d his Noble Head and lookt me Eye to Eye, he seem’d to say that he was happy with his Place so long as I should be his Mistress, but that he should hardly be so happy if a Horse Thief or Robber should take him.
I shudder’d at the very Thought, and threw my Arms about Lustre’s Neck. I lov’d that Animal so! What Tenderness we can feel for our mute Animal Brethren! The Thought of losing him (or i’faith of his being harm’d) fill’d me with more Pain than the Thought of my own Death.
Suddenly, as I was musing on these very melancholy Things, my Eyes, those bright Orbs that had so lately been feasting upon the Beauties of the Countryside, began to o’erflow with Tears, which in turn drew a watery transparent Curtain betwixt myself and the World, making the entire Landscape resemble some underwater Faery Grotto. And then, when the Tears began to flow, one Sorrow renew’d another. The Thought of losing Lustre led to the Thought of how I had been betray’d, which in turn led to the Thought of leaving my Step-Mother without so much as a Farewell Kiss. O I was wretched indeed! I fell to Weeping aloud, and would perhaps have collaps’d with my Arms about Lustre’s Neck, by the mossy Bank of some Stream (into which I might then have thrown myself, Ophelia-like), had not the Fear of being discover’d as a Woman by the Fact of my Weeping, discouraged me. So I put Iron in my Will (if not in my Soul) and dried my Tears. I bit my Lip for Shame at my Melancholy, banish’d all Thoughts of Self-Slaughter, and rode on.
“But of one Thing I am sure,” I remarkt to Lustre when I had quite o’ercome my Fit of Tears, “whate’er is—most certainly is not Right.” So much for Mr. Pope. O I was glad to be rid of him and his Hypocrisy. When I became a Great Poet (and I would become a Great Poet despite his Snickering about Women Poets) I would not use the Muse to traduce the Truth. For as Horace says, “Scribendi recte Sapere est & principium & fons”; or, in plain English, “Of good Writing, the Source and Fount is Wisdom.” I devoutly promis’d both myself and Lustre that in all my Future Writings I would ne’er betray that Maxim.
’Twas well past Dinner Time for People of Fashion, and almost Supper Time for the Country Folk—in short, ’twas almost Sundown—when I rode into a bustling country Village, and being persuaded both by the Emptiness of my Stomach and the Weariness of my beloved Horse, to make a Stop, I began looking about for an Inn.
But a Fair was in Progress in that Town, and the divers Swarms of rowdy, riotous People who fill’d the Streets convinced me that perhaps ’twas not the safest Town in which to pass the Night. Nonetheless, I linger’d awhile at the Fair, rejoicing somewhat in my Freedom to take in the Sights of the Great World whilst in a Man’s Disguise, but ’twas a sorry Fair and, i’faith, its Wonders made me more melancholick than chearful. There was a constant, intolerable Squalling of Penny Trumpets, a Rumbling of Drums, the incessant Shoving and Pushing of the Multitude, and the Air was foul with the Singeing of Pigs, to provide Burnt Crackling upon which the Rabble feasted as if ’twere Manna.
There were, of course, the Rope Dancers, both with and without a Pole, cavorting high above the Heads of the Populace. A droll-looking Italian in fine frill’d Holland Shirt, red Hose, and pink Tights, pranced along the Rope with a red Wheelbarrow before him, and two Children and a Dog in it; as if ’twere not enough, he also balanced a Duck upon his Head. But the Children in the Cart seem’d terrified and clutch’d the little white Dog more in Terror than Merriment, and the Crowd laugh’d raucously and threw Plums and Nuts at the Head of the Rope Dancer to distract him, as if they rather hop’d to see him fall than to perform his Entertainments.
They were soon distracted from his Anticks by a female Rope Dancer call’d Lady Mary (tho’ whether she was the famous Lady Mary, or only a crass Country Imitator, I cannot say). In any case, she more distinguish’d herself by her Lack of Petticoats than by her Tricks upon the Rope, for she wore only the scantiest frill’d Pantaloons laced with Gold, and she had dispens’d with Hoop and Petticoats altogether—tho’ not with Stays, which she wore without the Addition of Handkerchief, Sleeves, or Tucker, so that her Breasts spill’d o’er the Top of her Stays and flapp’d in the Breeze for all to see.
The Crowd went wild upon her Appearance, the Men remarking lewdly upon her Nudity, and the Women disapproving loudly, calling her Whore and Strumpet, but being unable to unglue their Eyes from her Bosom for all that.
Lady Mary cavorted in the Air above their Heads, seemingly dodging their Insults with her dext’rous Grace, and smiling for all the World as if she saw thro’ their false Morality.
There was something in her Spirit I liked, a sort of Mockery of the World’s Affectations. Tho’ I could no more strip naked and dance upon a Rope than I could take Wing and fly to China, I felt that she mockt her Audience as much as they mockt her, and in this Contest of Wits, she was the Winner. There was Art in her Prancing, after all—tho’ perhaps a low sort of Art compared to the Noble Tragedy or the lofty Epick; and there was something in her Visage that seem’d to say we were all Rope Dancers of a sort, prancing a little Time betwixt the Cradle and the Bier, only to fall, at the End, into the Grave.
I turn’d away from this Sight, once again grown melancholick, and led Lustre into the Throng in search of a Pyeman or some other Purveyor of Foodstuffs. The Crowd, howe’er, was pressing towards another Attraction, and willy-nilly, my Horse and I were swept along to a Booth which promis’d “a Great Collection of Strange and Wonderful Rarities, all Alive from sev’ral Parts of the World.” The Proprietor of the Booth, a certain Mr. Doggett, was a Famous Actor who had abandon’d his Calling in order to grow rich off the Rabble that attended sundry Fairs about the Countryside. He was a strutting Fellow, with an Actor’s Hunger for Applause and a Merchant’s Hunger for Money, and all the fine Feelings of a hungry Cur scavenging for his Supper.
“Hear ye, Hear ye!” he cried to the Throng, pushing his greasy cockt Hat back on his Head, pulling at the Queue of his Tye-Wig, and screwing up his red Face to intimidate those Members of the Audience he could not tempt with his freakish Wares.
“’Ere’s the Sight of a Lifetime,” he declaim’d. “What? Are ye timid? Are ye womanish? Are ye afear’d fer yer Wits?”
The Crowd stood mute and transfixt by his Bullying. I was determin’d to lead Lustre away and escape the Freak Show. But just at the Moment I began to back away, he fixt his terrible Gaze upon me and said, “Won’t the Young Gentleman lead the Crowd? Or are ye afear’d, too?”
Thus challenged, I had to make reply, and so, in what I hop’d was my deepest Voice, I said, “Sirrah, my Horse wants Water. I cannot loiter here.”
Down comes Doggett from his Pulpit, seizes Lustre by the Halter, praises his Beauty with a covetous Look, and says: “I’ll water yer Horse, Boy. Come, see the Show fer not one Farthing.” In a trice, he leads Lustre to an Enclosure behind the Pulpit, hands the Halter to his Manservant, and mounts the Booth again before the teeming Crowd.
“’Ere, Boy,” he says to me, “lead the Way, will ye?” I was still too much of a compliant Girl (’neath my Boy’s Disguise) to challenge a big, tall Bully when thus commanded, and so I follow’d Mr. Doggett into his great Tent of Freaks and the whole Throng follow’d me. Nay, it engulf’d me in straining forward to see the Freaks.
In the stagnant and fetid Air of the Tent, Doggett display’d his Wonders. He show’d us a Woman having three Breasts, and likewise her little Daughter, also with three Breasts (tho’ whether they were of Flesh or Wax, ’twas indeed hard to tell because Doggett ne’er let us get close enough to properly see). He also show’d us a monstrous Child, with a huge Head, who suckt at the Bosom of another Woman, and whose poor Skull seem’d swollen and purple. He then presented a diminutive Black Man, lately brought from the West Indies, whom he call’d “the Wonder of this Age.” The little Black Prince was but three feet high, with the Form and Figure of a grown Man, tho’ marvellously delicate in all Proportions. There were also two Creatures call’d “Wood Monsters from the East Indies,” who lookt rather to me like twin Boys with false Hair glu’d to their Bodies and Harts’ Horns affixt to their unfortunate Scalps; and a Marmoset that danced the Cheshire Rounds; and two Dogs, nam’d Swami Bounce and Swami Bark, who wore Turbans and sat upon little Thrones and were said by Doggett to be able to foretell the Future by Barking (howe’er, the Translations thereof could only be con-stru’d by Doggett!). There were Hungarian Twins, join’d at the Back, who convers’d with each other in High or Low Dutch, Hungarian, French, or English, as the Crowd desir’d. There was also a Hungarian Youth, who had, in the Places where his Thighs or Legs should be, Women’s Breasts, upon which he was said to be able to walk (tho’ he did no such Thing whilst I watch’d). There was also a Boy who could paint Pictures with his Feet whilst he play’d on a Violin with his Hands, and a Girl born with neither Arms nor Legs, who nonetheless could thread a Needle and sew with her Teeth (the little Black Prince held the Fabrick for her); and finally, there was a Boy cover’d all over his Body with the Bristles of a Boar.
’Twas enough to satisfy my Curiosity for Oddities the Rest of my Life! The pressing Crowd seem’d to me more freakish than the Rarities themselves, for what can prevail upon the Rabble to gape at those less fortunate than themselves, except a gloating Sense of their own Self-Love? What can be the Fascination, the Entertainment, the Surprize in it? Is it merely to bless oneself with one’s own Good Fortune in being born with two Arms, two Legs, and the requisite Number of Fingers?
I was musing thus, and trying to make my Way out of the Tent to reclaim Lustre, when a fat, red-faced Village Maid before me, turn’d to me and shouted,
“Swine! Squeeze me Bum, will ye?” And she clouted me with her Basket of Plums, causing quite a Number of ’em to fall upon the Ground.
I was stunn’d. Of course, I had done no such Thing; I had not e’en been aware of her Presence until she clouted me. But her Accusation alerted the rough Country Bumpkin who was her Escort, and he turn’d on me, making the same Accusation.
“Squeeze ’er Bum, will ye? I’ll squeeze yer filthy ’Ead till yer filthy Brains fall out!”
What to do? Apologize for a Sin I did not commit, stand and fight o’er a fictitious Wrong—I quickly chose the former Path.
“A thousand Pardons, Madam,” said I in what I hop’d was my deepest Voice.
“A thousand Pardons up yer Arse!” her Defender mockt. “All ye fine Gentlemen think ye can grab at any Country Lass an’ not be punish’d fer it—well, I’ll show ye! A Pox on yer Arrogance! Zounds! I’ll ’ave Blood fer yer damn’d Arrogance! Damme if I won’t!”
“Sir,” says I, “you mistake me. I have nothing but the highest Respect for your Lady’s Honour.”
’Twas the wrong Tack to take. The Rabble was growing inflam’d with Ale and the Excitement of the Fair, and they wisht for nothing more than a Brawl, no Matter how unjust the Cause. All my Apologies only inflam’d ’em more and made my Adversary more determin’d to fight.
“Draw,” he thunder’d. “We’ll settle this Lady’s Honour ’ere an’ now!”
I had Daniel’s Sword, but scarce knew how to use it. Would that I had studied Fencing as I had Horsemanship and Dancing! The Crowd was closing in, shouting Encouragement and already laying Wagers for the Fight.
“’E’s a Pansy an’ a Fop, I’ll warrant,” says one Man close to me (speaking, of course, about myself). O I was in a Quandary of Quandaries! Ought I to reveal myself as a Woman and lose my Disguise for the Remainder of my long Journey? Should I fight it out and be flatten’d or possibly e’en run thro’ by this Great Oaf?
The Many-headed Monster of the Rabble grew larger and larger as the Shouts of the Multitude within the Tent attracted People from other parts of the Fair. The Posture-Masters had stopp’d their Contortions and press’d into the Tent to watch. The Tumblers and Vaulters, Jugglers and Rope Dancers, and e’en the Merry Andrew and his Second, had been drawn into the Tent as well, and now stood at the Sidelines, leering and winking, doing Impersonations of the great fat Country Wench who preen’d and prinkt with Pride that a real Duel was going to be fought o’er her Beauty.
“Damn ye, Sir, fer a Cowardly Pimp,” says her Swain. “Give me Satisfaction like a Man of Honour, or I’ll cut yer Ears off!”
I thought quickly, my Mind growing clear as Crystal in my Panick. I remember’d that tho’ Duelling was i’faith illegal (tho’ the Legalities were seldom enforced), there were certain Rules which would not be countermanded. A Gentleman was entitl’d to his Second, and to the Presence of his Surgeon; also, he was entitl’d to choose his Spot for the Duel.
“Sir,” says I, “I shall meet you in an Hour’s Time without the Old Walls of the Town—and I pray you are more a Man of Honour than to take advantage of a Gentleman when he hath neither Second nor Surgeon to attend him!”
“Damn yer Second an’ yer Surgeon, ye Cowardly Fop!” says my valiant Adversary. “I’ll ’ave Satisfaction an’ ’ave it ’ere.”
Praying to God or the Supreme Being for Aid and Courage, I drew my Silver-hiked Sword, and prepar’d to meet Choirs of Angels and the Almighty Himself forthwith. I blest myself. Ne’er had I more fervently believ’d in the Hereafter.
I stood thus for what seem’d like an Eternity. My Sword pois’d in my Hand, my Adversary glow’ring at me (he was restrain’d for the Moment only by other Members of the Rabble who wisht to clear an Arena so that all might better see the Fight and better lay their Wagers), I waited for the End of this Best of all Possible Worlds. Whereupon, just as my fierce Adversary prepar’d to draw, there came a Thund’ring of Hooves in the thick Air of the Tent and a terrifying Neighing and Whinnying—and who should appear but Lustre himself with Doggett’s poor would-be Horse Thief of a Servant clinging for Dear Life to his Neck! My beloved Stallion stampeded into the Centre of the Ring, rear’d up, throwing Doggett’s Servant clear, whinnied like Pegasus flying across the Skies, dipp’d his Head thrice as if to bid me to mount, slow’d whilst I clamber’d onto his Back, and gallop’d away like the very Wind, with his shockt but grateful Mistress hanging on to his Back.
Within and without the Tent, the Multitude stood and gap’d. Of all the Wonders of Nature they had seen on this remarkable Day, Lustre was surely the most wond’rous.
We clatter’d thro’ the Town at breakneck Speed, out thro’ the Gates and across the Meadows, where a full Moon was just now rising, and the Road before us lookt like a purple Ribband, shining and beckoning, but leading we knew not where.