“I shall be glad to come home and talk these matters
                                    with you. I have read your scheme very attentively. That Arabella has been mistress to King
                                    Charles, is sufficient to all the purposes of the story. It can only
                                    diminish that respect we feel for her to make her turn whore to one of the
                                    Lords of his Bedchamber. Her son must not know that she has been a whore: it
                                    matters not that she has been whore to a King: equally
                                    in both cases, it is against decorum and against the delicacy of a son’s
                                    respect that he should be privy to it. No doubt, many sons might feel a wayward
                                    pleasure in the honourable guilt of their mothers, but is it a true feeling? Is
                                    it the best sort of feeling? Is it a feeling to be exposed on theatres to
                                    mothers and daughters? Your conclusion (or rather Defoe’s) comes far short of the tragic ending, which is
                                    always expected, and it is not safe to disappoint. A tragic auditory wants blood. They care but little about a man and his wife
                                    parting. Besides, what will you do with the son, after all his pursuits and
                                    adventures? Even quietly leave him to take guinea-and-a-half lodgings with mama
                                    in Leghorn! O impotent and pacific measures! . . . I am certain that you must
                                    mix up some strong ingredients of distress to give a savour to your pottage. I
                                    still think that you may, and must, graft the story of Savage upon Defoe. Your
                                    hero must kill a man or do some
                                        thing. Can’t you bring him to the gallows or some great
                                    mischief, out of which she must have recourse to an explanation with her
                                    husband to save him. Think on this. The husband, for instance, has great
                                    friends in Court at Leghorn. The son is condemned to death. She cannot teaze
                                    him for a stranger. She must tell the whole truth. Or she may teaze him, as for a stranger, till (like Othello in Cassio’s
                                    case) he begins to suspect her for her importunity. Or, being pardoned, can she
                                    not teaze her husband to get him banished? Something of this I suggested
                                    before. Both is best. The murder and the pardon will
                                    make business for the fourth act, and 
| 88 | WILLIAM GODWIN |