Chapter III: The First Discord

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 _un_worthy 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.