2S7// "^ ^^€f0SEDS^^. ■s // LIBRARY OF THE \ // UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS \ AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 3 1 823 j St89a ! 1818 1 V. 1 ^^^P ^^w^^- RARE BOOK ROOM ,^^^^^f^^ ANTI.DELPHINE. A NOVEL. ANTI - DELPHINE FOUNDED ON FACTS. IN TWO VOLUMES. BY Mrs. BYRON, C /^^v^^-"^^^ xU^^UAj AUTHOR OF THE BORDERERS, DREUNCOURT AND RODALVT» "What is this world? thy school, oh miBery I "Where every man is sent to learn to suffer : And he who knows not that was born for nothing. YOUNG. VOL. I. > ' >g >^ore so, infinitely, than I am, though I own I may not be quite impartial in my judgment The lady is a widow', and thirty years of age ; tall, elegantly formed, and, though not handsome^ she dresses so well^ and possesses such fascinating manners, that all the gentlemen are charmed with her. She was left, at the death of her bus- band, in narrow circumstances ; but she has many rich relations, and as she is on very good terms with them, they never suffer her to feel the least incon- venience on this account, d3 But to ANTI-DELPHINJ. But the complaisance which neces- sity has compelled her constantly to assume towards those who may have it in their power to assist her, has pro- duced in her the baneful habit of paying respect only to the rich ; and as she knows I cannot be classed in that number, she scarcely gives her- self the trouble to treat me with com- mon civility, whilst she overwhelms my sister with the most flattering at- tentions. I should not be hurt by her cold- ness, but she affects at all times to consider me as a mere child, and often insinuates in the presence of my fa- ther, that to portionless young women a convent offers a safe and desirable retreat from the dangers of the world. You know, my dear aunt, the repug- nance which I always testified to a conventual life, wJien my father wish- ed ANTr-DELPHIl^E. 11 ed me, on the marriage of my sister, to embrace it, though for a short time only. You will, therefore, not be sur- prised when I confess to you, that the impertinent interference of Ma- dame de Montauban makes me very angry. I cannot imagine that she really thinks me so childish as she wishes to make me appear ; on the contrary, I believe she perceives that I can make very womanly observations on her civilities to M. de St. Edmund, as well as to my sister: I am afraid gal- lantry and avarice are her ruling pas- sions ; though I suspect that she is ingenious enough to render the former subservient to the latter. ' 1She certainly makes me uneasy, and the more so, as I dare not mention my suspicions to my sister, lest they might make 12 ANTI-DELFlllNE. make her so likewise : she is so charm- ing in her present cheerful disposition, that I would not ruffle it on any con- sideration ; and, to do M. de St. Ed- mund justice, he is so tender and polite in his hchaviour towards her, that, if he continue it, he cannot fail to inspire her <^entle bosom with love, M'hich is alone wanting to complete her fdicity. Our good friend M.de Beaumont vsed to say, that a \romani ought to feci i>o passion but gratitude ; and that to love, she need only to beloved. I know not if tlie whole of his position be just, but surely no woman of sensibility and virtuous inclinations can be ten- derly esteemed by a worthy man, with- nut participating in the affection which she inspires. I hope this will be my sister's case, my AXTI-DELPHIVE. 13 my dear sister's, to whom I am so much indebted, wlio has so well sup- plied to me the loss of our angel mo- ther, and for whose cares I can never bt sufficiently grateful. I sometimes Fear that her too great gentleness of disposition, and her af- fection for my father and me, induced her to accept M. de St. Edmund's liand, without sufliciently consulting her inclination. S'ne saw that my fa- ther's wishes were interested, even be- yond what lie acknowledged, in the completion of the match ; she consi- dered that by gratifying those wishes she should relieve iiim from a load of anxiety, and secure an asylum to n.e, for whom she had already sacrificed the first bloom of her youth in retire- ment. May Heaven reward the motives which 14 ANTI-DELPHINE. which prompted her obedience, and- may she never repent of the choice which she accepted rather than made ! M. de St. Edmund is generous to excess, as he proved himself to bg by marrying the portionless^ daughter of a fallen house ; he is brave, kind, liberal, and well-informed : but, alas ! he is gay — and in that little monosyU kble what mischief may not be con- tained ! Would that fashion had never authorized u& to soften the names of viccsy whilst the vicious remain un- changed ! But am not I too severe ? M. de St. Edmund has not at least deserved that epithet since his mar- riage ; and surely recollection of the past, may bring conviction of its fruitlessness, that conviction may pro- duce repentance, and repentance may occasion reformation. But ANTI-DELPHINE. 15 But habits are so easily acquired, and so difficult to be overcome, that even with the greatest affection for his wife, a man who has been what the world will naw only call gay, cannot at once wholly reform. For he who suddenly emerges from a state of constant inebriety, M'hilst he laments the effects of his intemperance, resorts to a repetition of the poisonous draught to stimulate his enervated frame, and enable him to rouse himself from the dreadful languor, the eaus^ of which he still cannot be prevailed on to dis- continue. — Alas i all Eugenia's worth may not preserve her from affliction, which would be rendered more severe by the sensibility that now makes her so engaging ! But I am Avilling to write on any subject rather than on this, and as I believe that nothinor draws us more readily from contem- plating the misfortunes of others than the 16 ANTI-DELPHI XE. the recital of our own, I will com- plain to you of the vexatious conduct, which the young ^larquis de Mertueil, \vhom I have mentioned in farmer letters, observes towards me. We generally meet him in our par- ties ; and as he is really tlie politest and most agreeable young man I have hitherto seen, I perhaps may have re- ceived his attentions with more plea- sure than those of many others, who when they pay a female a compliment, appear to tliink that she is under an obligation to them for the trouble which they have taken. But the Marquis has offended me of late by the inconsistency of his be- haviour : in company he affects a dis- tant and ceremonious civility ; when lie meets me alone, he disgusts me by the extravagance of his professions. Is ANTI-DELPHINE. 17 I* this generous, my dear aunt ? is It honourable? Little as your Clementina may know the world, giddy as she may appear in it, she is not so igno- rant as to imagine that honour can ever require the garb of mystery, nor is she so thoughtless as to admire the man who thus insults her by assum- ing it. Last night we had a little dance ; I went out of the ball-room to give some trifling orders to the domestics, and met the Marquis in the anti-cham- ber : "Ah! lovely Clementina," said he, seizing my hand^ *' how fortunate 1 am to meet you thus 1 how liappy you can render me by favouring me even for a few moments only, with the delightful conversation which charms me still more powerfully than your beauty." To this high-flown comj)li- nient I replied, that I should be very willincr o 18 ANTl-DELPIIINE. willing to render him happy, when I could do it without any trouble or in- convenience to myself, but that not then being the case, I desired he would instantly release me, as I was impa- tient to execute a commission from my sister, that I might rejoin the dance as soon as possible. He called me inexorable, and him- self miserable ; but notwithstanding the excess of his grief, he could crawl into the room, and attach himself so closely to a Mademoiselle de Leon, a young lady of great fortune, that he forgot to pay your poor Clementina the compliment of soliciting her hand during any part of the evening : an attention, which politeness to my sis- ter alone demanded from him. How- ever, my dear madam, I did not re- gret the omission, as I was most agree- ably engaged all the evening with a }oung ANTI-DELPHI NE. I^ young Englishman of the name of Seymour : he is the intimate friend of your Henry, our dear cousin, with Avhom we so ardently desire to become again acquainted, and from whose friendship we hope to receive so much pleasure. Mr. Seymour assures us that Henry will be enabled to leave London very soon. I think he has now resided there nearly seven years : what an age for fond parents to be separated from their only child ! and particularly when that child is so much all that his parents can desire, as Mr. Seymour describes Henry to be. I have written a long letter, my dear aunt, and prudently entered into my own griefs and vexations in the first part, reserving the pleasing intelli- gence of your son as a bojvic louche at 20 ANTT-LjELPIIINK. at the last. You may tell my uncle that I feel particularly happy on his account, as 1 know tliat nothing but the return of your son can console him for the absence of your CLEMENTINA. 21 LETTER III.^- ^^^-^- Clementina de St, Far to Madame de TourcifU, Pari*. H^- Alas ! my dear aunt, my dislike to Madame de Montauban was too well founded. Base woman ! taking ad- vantage of M. de St. Edmund's weak- ness, she is endeavouring to estrange his affections from my sister, just when the constant display of them began to make the desired impression on her ten- der and good heart. lam already weary of 22 ANTI-D£LPHINE. of the society which I was so impa* tient to enter. In the quiet retire- ment of Bellevue, I was unwilling to believe the accounts of the vices and treacheries of the world. How often have I repeated with enthusiasm from your favourite English poet, '* Perish the lore, which deadens young desirei^** Alas ! I may now add, •* Indulge gay hope and fancy's pleasing fire, ** Fancy and hope too soon shall of thereiselves expire." For if in polished society w^ do not often meet with undisguised vices, or lawless crimes, there are still so many selfish arts and mean deceptions con- tinually practised, that the unfortu- nate novice in them is filled with dis- appointment and distrust I had ANTI-DELPHINE. 2: IJiad just sent my last letter to you, when Madame de Montauban, who preseiives the most perfect familiarity with my sister, called to inquire after her health, hoping that the exertions of the preceding evening had not fa- tigued her ; I was in my dressing- room which adjoins my sister's ; and, Clearing who was her visitor, I did not give myself the trouble to leave it. When the lady arose to depart, M. ile St. Edmund could not do less than hand her to her carriage ; in going down the stairs 1 overheard him in- quire if she had been amused by the dance; imagine my surprise and con- fusion when she answered, '' I was more than amused, I was happy. Alas ! I am even mofe so than I could wish, in the society of those with whom I am but too iiiuch charmed ; and it is only in the solitude of my own house that' ^4 ANTI-DELPHINE. that I lament the illusion with whicli I suffer myself to be cheated." I was breathless with consternation ; for though her words might be deemed general, yet I was convinced by M, de St. Edmund's answer, that the looks by which they were accompanied, were sutficiently particular : for after a mo- mentary pause he said in a soft tone, ** Fortunate are all whom Madame de Montauban favours with her esteem, and happy indeed the man who may hope to obtain it by the most ardent and respectful attentions." -- I heard no more. — For a few minutes I remained almost petrified ; but reco- vering myself, I went to my sister, who was unconscious of the injury which had just been offered to her, and whose countenance exhibited, as usual, the undisturbed serenity of a peaceful mind. Before AKTI-DELPHINl^. 25 Before I could speak» M. de St. Ed- inund returned. " What a cbarmiiig- woman is Madame de !Montaiiban !' said he, as he entered the room. *" Sli@ is indeed," replied my sister, ^* and I consider myself fortunate in possessing her as a friend." — " You are so, my dear Eugenia," he answered, " and I hope that you will study by every attention to retain her as one.*' This was toa much ; my face and neck were cover- ed with crimson, and feeling almost suffocated, 1 ran to the window, and hastily threw it open. The action could not pass unobserved. j\I. dc St. Edmund coloured as deeply as I had ; whilst my sister afllectionalciy inquired if I were ill. 1 could only answer by a flood of tears, which quire alarmed her ; but 1 soon recovered utterance, and saitl that the fi tigue of the preceding evening, joined to want of rest, had occasioned a ir.o- VOL. I. c nientary Q6 anti-delphine. mentary depression of my spirits, but that I had even then recovered them, and that she knew I was not likely to suffer long from their absence. She replied with her usual kindness, and Monsieur came to me in the most friendly manner, and embracing me said, '* I should be sorry indeed were my sweet Clementina to lose her charming vivacity ; for even did I not esteem her for her own worth, I couM never cease to do it for the sake of a wife, who becomes every day more inestimable to me.*' He said this pointedly; fearing, as 1 perceived, that 1 might have over-* heard his conversation with the friend to whom Eugenia was to be so atten- tive, and therefore wishing to re- move every anxious doubt from my breast. The intention was kind, and in part succeeded. But is it iK)t won- derful, ANTI-DELPHINE. 27 clerful, my dear aunt, that M. de St. Edmund, who is certainly a sensible man, should not immediately see the disgusting indelicacy of this woman'* behaviour ? Does it not teach us that no strength of mind is proof against flattery, that subtle poison, which never fails of effect where skilfully administered ? My sister soon after went with her husband to visit one of his relations ; and 1 not feeling my spirits quite re- covered, declined accompanying them. This was destined to be a day of vexa- tion to me. They had not been gone ten minutes, when the Marquis called, and, hearing that I was at home, de- sired to be shown up stairs. Whea he saw that I was alone, he com?r.enced his usual style of conversation, and affected to dwell on the mortification which he had received the preceding c 2 evening. 28 ANTl-DELPHINE. evening, in not having been favoured with my hand during any part of it. Vexed at his intrusion, and disgusted by his hypocrisy, I replied with no small degree of peevishness, *^ It is ra- ther surprising, if you consider your not having danced with me as so great an evil, that you did not once endeavour to avert it, by asking me to become your partner." The cox- comb's eyes sparkled at this foolish speech ; and taking my hand, he ex- claimed with the most insufferable air of self-conceit, ''Beautiful Clementina, you look so bewitching in anger, that I can almost pardon myself for caus- ing it by the aj)pearance of neglect ; but assure me of your forgiveness, and never again shall you have reason to complain of my inattention." At any other time I might have laughed at his absurdity ; but I was not then in the humotir to be amused by folly, and ANTI-DELPHINE. 2^ and felt only provoked at his effron- tery, and intentional misinterpreta- tion of my words ; I was going to answer him with the contempt which I thought he deserved, but the effort \yas too much for my already weaken- ed spirits, and before I could speak, my tears, which had been but ill sup- pressed on his entrance, again fell, and my voice was lost in sobs. The Mar- quis was astonished ; and, wholly thrown off his guard by so unexpect-. ed a scene, he ventured to insult me by a proposal which I flatter myself had he been master of his reason he durst not have made. '^ My sweetest Clementina," said he, hastily rising and endeavouring again to take the hand which I had indignantly drawn from him, " why these tears? they wound me to the soul You well know that I adore you — I shall never cease \o do so; but you know also my situ- ation ; :30 ANTl-DELPllINE. ation ; — dependent on a sordid parent who scarcely allows me sufficient to support the appearance which my rank demands. I am aware that he looks to my marriage as a mean of adding to the wealth and consequence of my name ; and I am too fatally convinced that were I to form an en- gagement contrary to his inclinations lie would wholly incapacitate me from providing for the dear object of my love in a style suitable to her worth, or to my esteem. Your father, Cle- mentina, is anxious to see you esta- blished, the Marquis de Liancourt has professed himself your slave. Happy man ! he can lay his fortune at the feet of one who would add lustre to a diadem ; need I say how enviable I consider his destiny ? In accepting him you will make M. de St. Far happy ; and, oh ! suffer me to hope that the ardour and sincerity of my passion might ANTI-DELPIilNE. 31 might fill the void which in your sen- sible heart the absence of a lively af- fection for your husband might occa- sion. — You are displeased, my adored Clementina; perhaps you tliink that the love which will admit another to share its treasures, must be weak and unworthy of its object ; may I then fondly hope that she whom I adore will soar above the prejudices of nar- row minds, and live for love alone ?" — He was proceeding, but my pa- tience was exhausted, or rather my faculties began to recover from the confusion into whicii they had been thrown, and I recollected myself suf- ficiently to say with great composure, *' Henceforward, Sir, never insult me with your attention; for be assured, that in public or private, it will be received by me with the most undis- guised contempt; and let me advise you 3^2 A N'T I - D E I. r 11 1 N F^ you in future, not to listen so readily to the dictates of your vanity, as iw the present instance it has certainly most egregiously deceived you.*' I then kft the room, and retired to iny own apartment, to give vent to my tears, \vhilst I sa\v% in melancholy forebodings, the future fate of my sister, and deplored my own, which thus subjected me to the insults of li- centiousness. Alas ! m.y dear aunt, what a situation would mine have been, had I loved this ungenerous man as his vanity taught hira to believe 1 Perhaps the dictates of my heart might iiave proved more powerful than those of my judgment ; or if not, I should have felt all the misery of one who rcntinues to love where she has ceased To esteem. I am truly thankful that 111 is ib not my case ; I confess that my pride (I trust not an improper pride) ANTl-DELPHINE, bb pride) is shocked, and perhaps my vanity may be a little mortified ; but the pangs of wounded affection are not mine,and the discovery of the base principles of one man will make me careful not to put it in the power of any other to insult me by the avowal of similar sentiments. Indeed, my dear aunt, I thought that my cheeks would have been abso- lutely scorched with indignation, had not a deluge of tears fortunately quenched the -^^mes which glowed upon them. I wept the more because I was con- demned to weep alone, without even the power of complaining, that com- mon thou<>:h unavailing privilege of the unhappy. At length I resolved to trouble you, my dearest aunt, with an account of my vexations ; I know c 5 that 34 ANTI-DELPHINE. that you will listen to me, and will advise me how to act under them. In this you will, I am sure, agree with me, that it will be prudent to conceal from my sister every thing which might distress her; and therefore your opinion shall be a law, and obeyed as such by your most affec« tionate, though distressed CLEMENTINA* ss LETTER IV, Clementina de St. Far ta Madame de Tourvilte, Paris, Your kind letter, my dear aunt, has been a cordial to my drooping spirits, and most gratefully do I thank you for it. I cannot but ardently wish to recal the happy period, when my sister and I spent twelve months un- der your hospitable roof, without one sigh but what the remembrance of our beloved mother drew from usi It 36 ANTI-DELPHIXE. It is not vet seven months since \vc left you, in consequence of my sis- ter's marriage, and I have been un- happy one-third of the time. I am ah.nost ashamed of confessing this, even to you, my dear aunt, as I have not forgotten tiie rapturous anxiety M ilh which I looked forward to re- visiting Paris. But time clianges all tliings; and, young as lam, I have already seen the efiects of his influ- «nce. When we resided here some years since, I was, it is true, too young to be intixluced into com- pany, but I can well remember that our entertainments were splendid, that my father was courted, my mo- ther idolized, and that my sister and I were caressed by all around us. Judge, then, of the surprise with vhich the different reception I found on my return here inspired me : I do not pretend to say that I met not with ANTI-DELPHINE, 37 with attention ; a very few personal advantages will always, whilst they are new, ensure the unmeaning civi- lity of the idle and frivolous; but I soon found, that when the attraction of novelty was worn off, I ceased to command the admiration which I saw unremittingly lavished on those who were more blessed with the goods of fortune than I was. I could not be insensible of the change, nor was it difficult to discover the cause of it. When I was at Paris five years since, my father held several lucrative and honourable employments about the king; and my mother, exclusive of her high birth, personal charms (in which my loved Eugenia so much resembles her), unbounded accom- plishments, and elegant manners, was no less in favour with the queen, Avho, unfortunate as she now is, was at that time the admiration of every court 3S ANTI-IXELPHINE. court in Europe, and the darling of the French nation. How changed is all now 1 My mother dead, and my father reduced by party rage to a mere private nobleman, whose estates (of which the produce is almost in- adequate to the support of his rank) must at his death descend to a dis- tant relation: when, added to these considerations, we reflect that the very principles and conduct for which he was formerly esteemed, are now become displeasing to many of those with whom we are obliged to asso-» ciate, it is no wonder that my poor father is often coldly received, and that his daughter participates in his mortification. Would that I could only save him from feeling it ! I am wounded to the soul, my dear aunt, when I see this good man, wha nerer assumed consequence from pros- perity, treated with neglect in com- parative ANTI-DELPHINE. 39 parative adversity. His voice, which formerly never failed to command re- spectful attention, is now, too fre- quently, either not listened to or interrupted ; and even those who are placed the nearest to him, seeing of how little consequence he is made to appear, affect to be attending to con- versation in some other part of the room, lest his should be directed to them. Happily my father possesses that dignity which cannot be de- graded, that fortitude which cannot be subdued. In every company there* will be some who can appreciate me- rit; and I should be unjust to Mr, Seymour, were I not to acknowledge that he is one to whom it never ap- peals in vain. Rich in the indepen- dance of his country, he thinks for himself, speaks as he thinks, and acts according to his feelings. His at- tentions 40 ANTI-DELPHINE- tentions have often restored me to a proper and necessary sense of my own consequence, and have mor6 than once taught me to rise superior to the petty attacks of malice. Sometimes I think that my sister is sensible of the different reception which we meet with ; but as 1 cannot bear the idea of makiug her uneasy, I always appear cheerful in her pre- sence ; and as M. de St. Edmund is universally esteemed, and his society courted, she is of course never ex- posed to mortifying treatment, and consequently may not suspect that ^ve are subjected to it. But indeed, my dear aunt, I can never be very un- happy whilst I behold my Eugenia so much the reverse. M. de St. Edmund behaves to her at present exactly as I should wish; and seeing her con- tented ANTI-DELPHINE- '-^J tented and universally admired, all my own mortifications appear trifling, and are forgotten. If my sister were only beautiful and accomplished, I should not love her so tenderly ; but I know her heart. I cannot forget how for four years she supplied the place of a mother to me ; how, heedless of her charms, she secluded herself from society to prepare me for it; how assiduously, knowing the diminution of my fa- thers income, she endeavoured to make my attainments emulate her own. I cannot forget with what pa- tient industry she taught, with what tenderness she reproved, with what affection she indulged me. My father ceased to remember, in her company, the loss of a wife whom he had idolized, and whose charms he saw revived in ;his daughter. The servants revered her 42 ANTI-BELPHINE. her as their mistress ; tlie poor blessed her as their benefactress. But it is as unnecessary to describe to you the beauties of her mind, as it would be to dwell on those of her person ; both are too conspicuous to be easily concealed. In her union -with M, de St. Ed^ mund, she certainly consulted not her heart ; that was untouched : she felt no tender partiality for him, but he possessed the first place in her re- gard. His long attachment to her, and his generosity in voluntarily re- signing to me the portion he received with her, gained her esteem ; and as the transition fram esteem to love is easy, I trust his attentions, if conti- nued, will meet their just reward. My father believes them to be ten- derly attached to each other. He told ANTI-DELPHINE. 43 told me so yesterday with tears of joy ; adding, " I only pray that I may live to see my Clementina as happily situated : I should then be impatient to rejoin the angel whom I have lost, and should think that my lot on earth had been enviable, notwith- standing the malice of my enemies, who have sought to embitter it." Is not he, my dear aunt, a kind parent? his affection is manifested as much in the merest trifles, as in concerns of the utmost consequence. I wish you could see, when we are in company, with what pleasure he seeks to turn the conversation to any subject on which he knows we are qualified to speak ; how kindly he endeavours to bring me into notice, by asking my opinion on every topic, on which he thinks me capable of conversing; and how, by innumerable graces and attentions, he constantly adds lustre to 44 ASTTI-DELPHINE. to his virtues. Ah ! you will readily believe that his comfort and happiness are every day objects of increasing consequence to me. Mr. Seymour has a packet for you from your son Henry; he will send it to 3^ou as soon as he can meet >vith a safe conveyance ; for though the want of one be rather a disgrace to a civilized country, yet the increasing turbulence of the times makes the transmitting of letters an object of serious consideration. Mr. Seymour is very amiable: he has gained much of my esteem since my adventure with the odious little Marquis, and every day contributes to increase it. Tell my uncle that I am certaim lie is much more dull without me than he ANTI-DELPHINE. 45 lie is willing to confess ; and I have the vanity to think that you also, my '0L. I. 13 a little ^0 ANTI-DELPHINE. a little in my estimation by being allied to such perfection. As I understand you have never seen your lovely cousins since they were mere children, I will have the honour to describe them to you ; not only for the pleasure I shall derive from the agreeable employment, but likewise as it will accustom me to write with ease on subjects requiring i fine flow of language, and abun- dance of compound epithets, which are now so much the rage. The eldest of your cousins, Avhose name, as you probably know, is Eugenia, is tall and most elegantly formed ; there is in her carriage such ineffable dig- nity and grace, that when she enters a room, an involuntary air of defe- rence and respect is visible in the countenances of all present. Her beauty ANTI-DELI»hINE. 51 beauty is of the pensive Madona cast ; her fine dark eyes alternately languish in themost exquisite softness of sen- sibility, or sparkle with the utmost brilliancy of expression. Her accomplishments are as numer- ous and as perfect as her beauties. When she plays on her harp to an at- tentive crowd, she resembles St. Ce- cilia, except that her admiring audi- tors are mere mortals, M'ho know not whether their ears be more ravished by the celestial sounds floating round them, than their eyes are dazzled by the fair and finely proportioned hands and arms, which move in the most graceful attitudes over the trembling strings. She has all the fire of an Italian with all the melting tender- ness of a Spanish female. 1 should inevitably have bowed for life before so sweet a shrine, but unfortunately D 2 she LIBRARY UNVySRSmf OF W M AXTI-DELPIIINE. slie is alread}^ married ; atid I am yet so much of an Englishman as to think this circumstance an impedi- ment to my devoirs. In this dilemma, I found that the wounds which I had received from one sister, M'ere only to be healed by contemplating the charms of the other; and these are indeed sufficiently powerful to divert my mind from every consideration, except that of endeavouring to render myself wor- thy of possessing them. She is a Hebe ! and in her presence only love, joy, and perpetual youth can be thought of. Clementina, *Hke her sister, is a traitress to her native country, and will not be indebted to It even for beauty. She is fairer than any woman whom I have yet seen in the warmer climates, possess- ing all the finest bloom of an English complexion ; ANII-DELPinNE. ^3 complexion ; and, to convince the observer that it is unborrowed, she contrives to let it mantle on her cheek in such rich and uncontrolled suffusions, that I am never weary or watching the sweetly- varying hera'd of her thoughts. Blue eyes, flaxen tresses, and a countenance the n^.ost animated, tender, and ingenuous tliat nature ever formed, complete the por- trait of this lovely girl, whose talents, accomplishments, and manners are no way inferior to those of her amiable sister. In short, Henry, I must adopt the words of Benedict — *' When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live to be mar- ried :" for such havoc have tln^ na- tive graces and unaffected virtues of the interesting Clementina made in my heart, that I mu.t avail myself of the U.v talionis, and insist on hers in return for the loss of mine, M-hich she 54 ANTI-DXLPHINE* she has wounded so severely, that it will never again be of use to its owner. Yet I am not so blinded by pas- sion as to be unable to see that the lady has her humours, and I am afraid that she imperiously expects tlie tribute of admiration, to which iil', however, must acknowledge the justice of her claim. I am per- haps wrong in being thus severe on her; for, so far from seeking it fron^i me, she receives it with all the indif- ference imaginable, even wlien paid voluntarily. But here is a little Marquis, a grinning capering pup- py, who seems to possess the power cf interesting her infinitely more than many others, than whom he is cer- tainly less deserving : not that his attentions appear to afford her plea- sure; on the contrary, I have seen her ANTI-DELPHINE. 55 her lovely countenance overshadowed with vexation, or glowing with an- ger, when he has attempted to render them particular. But is not even marked displeasure more flattering to those towards whom it is expressed, than indifference? I dare say the Marquis, at least, thinks it is ; fur he seems to have an excellent opi- nion of himself, and Frenchman-like (pardon, Henry, the nationality of this English remark), if there be two ways of construing a look or an ex- pression, always follows the mode of translating it wliich best accords with his wishes. Would that she distinguished mc from others, even though it were only by her frowns ! But I am not an object of sufficient consequence iu her eyes. Her countenance is the faithful index of her heart, and I vainlv .56'- ANTI-DELPHiNfe. vainly look for emotions to be ex = pressed ill the one which have never ])een felt in the other. I declare to you, De Tourville^ tliat if she loved a man of sense, I .should rejoice to see her happy ; but I cannot patiently think of her at- Michnient to this contemptible little ■\i a rail is. She, however, probably be- lieves him to be a man of sense and .1 gentleman ; and as liappiness is certainly ideal, may she find it with ]w^^, if she intend to look to him as The source of it I I possibly might not have been luppy with her ; for I repeat, that I suspect her of a boundless desire of admiration, and a wish to make her exaction of it entirely arbitrary. Her biother-in-law, ]\L de St. Edmund, who is a most agreeable man, pays her ANTI-DELPHINE. 57 her at all times a degree of attention highly flattering. Yet, would you believe it ? the unconscionable girl is actually angry if he be civil to any other female. I can see him even watch an opportunity of her absence to converse for a few moments with a Madame de Montauban, a very pleasing woman, who is extremely intimate with his wife. You may judge from this specimen what a ter- magant she is. Yet I fear, that, like the lover described by our immortal Shakespeare, whose beauties your knowledge of his lano'uage well en- ables you to unflerstand, i sliali con- template her faults till I believe them virtues in her. Faults, indeed, she has none; for, except in the in- stances I have mentioned, she seems as careless of her charms as they are irre3isti!)le. V5 Playful. 5i ANTr-DEt?HIN2. Playful^ gentle, and tender in her manners, is it surprising that she is an object of universal admiration ? or that she, happy in the innocent vivacity of youth, should accept that admiration with indifference, *' As if secure of all beholders* hearts, Neglecting, she could take thcin." ' You will think me an inconsistent fellow, and that I have drawn an in- consistent character of my fair one, but I know not the exact situation of rny own heart ; still less of hers. I can only say, with Hamlet, **- I have of late, but wherefore I know not. Lost all mirth, foregone ai! eustoniary exercises; And indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition^ That this goodly frame, the earth, seem* to me A sterde promontory ; this most excellent canopy. The air, this brave o'erhanging firmament. This majestical roof, fretted with golden fire,. >Vhj it appears no other thing to me, than A foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. Man delights not me, nor woman neither." I hope this will be the last letter I shall address to you in England. Your father and mother impatiently expect you ; and your cousins are so eager to see you, that I maliciously de- scribed you to them as an Adonis in appearance, and an Apollo in accom- plishments, trusting that disappoint- ment would create disgust, and occa-» sion comparisons to be drawn accord- ingly in favour of him wlio, notwith- standing his treachery in this instance, will in every other be always found Your verv sincere friend, •and obedient servant^ CHARLES SEYMOUR. 60 LETTER VI. I-^adamc de Montauhan taMomieur de Si. Edmund. Timrsday Noon. It is, Sir, the privilege of our sex to vary our inclinations, without incur- ring from yours the charge of incon- sisteucy i 1 am therefore resolved to avail myself of my right to be whim- sical, for our advantages are too few to be neglected. hi You You will guess by this prelude that I have resolved to accept the invita- tion which you so politely gave me to make one of your party to Clair- ville. I was in truth engaged for the even- ing of to-morrow, to a concert and supper at the Marchioness de Mer- tueil's : but really as the summer ap- proaches, I feel utterly unequal to the fatigue of being confined in heated rooms, for the sake of music to which none listen, though all affect to com- mend it. 1 frankly confess, that I can- not make myself agreeable at these dil- letanti meetings ; for I can counterfeit no raptures, when I am almost overpow- ered with sleep at the conclusion of a stupid concerto ; and I am too often silent, when all around me are compli- menting a persevering performer, on the facility of lingering which he has displayed* 6$ ANTI-DELPHINE. displayed. I hate compositions' where harmony and feeling are sacrificed to bring together every jarring sound and harsh transition, in order to she\y under the term briUianc}^ the mecha- nical strength, quickness and correct- niess which may be gained by practice, even where taste and ear have been totally denied. I sometimes, indeed, endeavour to add my quota of praise on these occasions, b\*t unfortunately I can seldom finish the speech I re- serve for them, without yawning, be- ing as weary of uttering words which I do not mean, as of listening to sounds which I cannot approve. These severe remarks concerning music will account for my preferring a rural ramble with friends whom I esteem, to adding to the number of a meeting in which, though nominally assembled to indulge in harmony, every ANTI-DELPHINE. 6$ every one may be governed by dis- cordant principles. Perhaps you won- der why I should not rather address myself to Madame de St. Edmund than to you : I know that she is en- gaged this morning with the Countess de Mirepoix, and I wish to transmit my intention of accompanying her to-morrow, as soon as possible, lest her party should be made up ; if that be already the case, let me know, that I may not intrude myself into it. This afternoon I intend to pass rationally, and shall devote it to the study of your favorite Creblllon. My pleasure in perusing his lively works would have been considerably aug- mented by the illustration of your judicious remarks; and had the charm- ing Eugenia been disengaged, I might, as I know you are that rara avis, a domestic husband, have hoped that you you would have had the goodness to have read to us, whilst we worked at ourlootns like the diligent and illustri- ous dames of old. Not that there are the same inducements to industry in these degenerate modern days ; we might, indetd, embroider scarfs, but where should we find knights worthy to receive them ? Yet had I a scarf prepared, I think I know one on whom I could bestow it, who would not have disgraced the purest days of chi- valry ; when valour, mercy, and cour- tesy, were as much the characteristics of one sex, as gentleness, purity, and constancy were of the other. Alasl I fly from the painful realities of life, to wander in the flowery fields of fiction, for in them only can I find happiness : in them I may contemplate virtue without reproach — in the world I see only folly or vice. I condemn them, and am censured for being severe. I was ANTI-DELPHINE. 65 was not always so, but lately society has disgusted me, and I consequently judge more impartially of its friv^oli- ties than I did when I was thought- less enough to be amused bv them. But why declaim against society, to one whose graces always ensure him a welcome in all its circles ? It is as ridiculous as it would be for a blind man to assure one who enjoys the bless- ing of sight, that the beauties of nature are not worthy of observation. If Madame de St. Edmund still in- tends to go to Clairville to-morrow, pray inform me. — I hope she will, as I am weary of the world, and languish for a ten)porary seclusion from it with those whom I love; in which number I frankly acknowledge thiit you will, for the sake of your wife, ever be clas- sed by, Sir, your most obedient SERAPHINA VZ MONIAUBAN** 66 LETTER VII. Motuicur de St» Edmund to Madame de Montauhan, Thursday Afternoon* Permit ine, Madam, to address you in the lai:)guage of our graceful mo- narch, Henry the IVth; and to say to you as he did to the fair Gabrielle, **Twohours after the arrival of the cou- rier who will deliver you this, you will see a cavalier who esteems you much.'* Throughout the elegant little epistle, from which I have quoted the above, I could ANTI-DELPHINE. 67 I could adopt his sentiments without doing violence to my own. I am not, indeed, king of France and Na- varre, but if I were, I would ask no higher privilege for my crown than that of chusing my Gabrielle, and then, I think, even the gallant and fortunate Henry might have regarded niy choice with envy. I am at a loss how to excuse my presumption in asking permission tci intrude upon your solitude this even- ing ; but to know that you are alone, and reading Crebillon, is a temptation infinitely too strong for me to resist. I also am solitary, for Madame de St. Edmund has spent the whole of the day with the Countess de Mirepoix, and will not return till a late hour. For her sake, then, I entreat you. Ma- dam, to suffer me to pass in your society, the moments which, as you are pleased 68 ANTI-DELPHINE. pleased to rally me on my being that insipid character called a domestic husband, I will honestly confess I must* otherwise spend heavily in the absence of Madame de St. Edmund. I ask this favour in her name, but it is not that I am too proud to owe you ftn obligation in my own. No, with whatever kindnesses you may be pleased to load me, you shall find that I have humility to receive them with all thankfulness. I shall see you, then, this evening. We shall read '' Lts Egaremens da C(eur, et de I' Esprit,'' My heart has already learnt to wander. If it had not, I should, perhaps, be more de- serving of the epitl^et *' domestic,*' which you. Madam, so often bestow an your most devoted servant PIERRE PEST. EDMUND*. 69 LETTER VIIL Madame de St, Edmund to Madame de Montauhan, Friday Morning. 1am really sorry, my dear friend, that on your first refusal to accompany me to Clairville, I immediately relin- quished the design of going thither, and resolved to devote the day to my father, who has long wished Clemen tin?. and me to pay with him a visit to an old friend who lives in the suburbs. But I understand you feel a violent inclination 70 ANTI-DELPHINE. inclination for this excursion, and I cannot bear the idea that you should be disappointed. I wish, therefore, that you would excuse my absence^ and permit Monsieur de St. Edmund and Clementina to supply my place. I can easily apologize to my father's friend, for the non-attendance of the latter, and Monsieur de St. Edmund is not acquainted with him ; oblige me then, my dear friend, in this, and I shall spend a day as agreeably in the suburbs of Paris, as you will, I hope, in the delightful environs of Clairville ; for I shall then know that I am obliging my father, and that you and my dear Clementina are gratified. Monsieur de St. Edmund told me last night with much triumph, that he had won three games at chess of you during your tete a tete ; but my admi- ration ANTl-DELPHINE. 71 ration of his success was considerably abated, when he added that you were only a learner, and that he had engag- ed to be your instructor in that inter- esting and rational game. I told him that it would have been wiser, and more likely to inspire you with a par- tiality for it, if he had suffered you to be the victor. But the idea of con- quest, even in trifles, is too gratifying to vanity to be relinquished, and it shews us, my dear, how little the men are to be trusted, for they will avail themselves of an advantage when- ever it is offered to them, without making any allowance for the igno- rance or inexperience by which it may have been occasioned. Can I conclude better than with this moral reflection ? I will only add that I can never say any thing more 72 ANTI-DELPHTNE. more true than that I am with the most perfect esteem Very sincerely your's, f EUGENIA DE ST. EDMUND, 73 LETTER IX. Madame de Montauhan to Madame de St. Edmund, Friday Morning. JAo, my dear friend, I am not so mere a woman as to suffer my wish for an object to increase in proportion as obstacles occur to prevent my obtain- ing it* It is true, I was anxious, perliaps to a degree of childishness, to spend the day in the country. VOL. I. E Even 74 ANTI-DELPHINE. Even now, tlie bright beams of the sun fallhig on my paper redouble my aversion, from the idea of a glare of wax-lights in July. A refreshing breeze wafts deliciously into my apartment, and almost tempts me abroad to enjoy its coolness ; for I anticipate the heat of the Marchioness de Mertueil's crowded rooms this evening, and I feel already suffo- cated* I own I cannot prefer the scrapings of a Count or the screamings of a Countess to the delightful harmony of nature, or to that voluptuous silence which, amidst her beauties, is more pleasing to a mind of sensi- bility than even the sweetest sounds. But I must go, though tormented by the pains of a severe head-ache. f. I do not consider myself of suf- ficient ANTI-DELPUINE. 7S ficicnt importance to behave with ap- parent rudeness ; and, after having assured the IMarchioness that nothing but a positive engagement in the country should have prevented my having the honour of waiting on her, I should not wish to risk offending her, by suffering her to hear that I prefeiTed remaining alone in my own house, to meeting all the world ia her'so There is still one way by which I may extricate myself from this em- b arras, and that will be by paying a visit to my uncle, Monsieur de la Ville, at'his chateau. Monsieur de St. Edmund is acquainted with him: if he be disengaged, and will escort me, I am certain that my uncle will be much gratified by seeing him. £ 2 But 7^ ANTI-DELPHI NE^ But I will on no account deprive you of Clementina's society, parti- cularly in a visit which appears, from your account, to be more of duty than of pleasure; as her vivacity may in that case be a very useful addition to your own. If, then, Monsieur de St. Edmund will give me the pleasure of his company, it must be on the express condition of making no other altera- tion in your party. I would not even take him from it, if you had not assured me that he was unac- quainted with the friend whom you are going to visit. I am afraid you will think that I abound in the fickleness which, in the beginning of this epistle, I affected to disclaim. Let my severe head- ache excuse it ; and believe me ca- pable ANTI-DEXPHlXEf. 77 {^able of the greatest constancy when I declare myself. My dear Madam, Unalterably your's, SERAPHINA DE MONTAUBAN. 7a LETTER X, Monsieur de St.Edmund to Madame de Montnubnm Tuesday Morning* 1 MUST for ever, Madanij revere the venerable chateau of Monsieur de la Ville ; for it was there that I became really acquainted with the worth of one who in society fascinates the un- derstanding, but reserves for retire- ment the subduing of the heart. In society, the number of your admirers aflbrds security to each of them indi- vidually ANTI-DELPHIXE. 7§ Ticlually. The most confident can scarcely flatter himself with the hope of success, where he has so many rivals; nor dare tlie most i>resump- tiious hazard particular attentions, where jealousy prompts the watch- fulness of so many eyes. But what security against your charms is there for the unfortunate, though douht- less envied, man, who contemplates them in retirement, where they ap- ■ pear to such infinite advantage ! Jn society you eclipse every other female; in retirement you make it forgottea that any other exists. In society you surprize by your talents, dazzle by your wit, and captivate by your graces; in retirement you subdue by your softness, charm by the tender- ness which can only then be called forth, and fascinate by every varied power to please. Do 80 ANTI-DELPIIINE, Do not deny me the consolation of praising perfections of which I am unhappily too sensible. Permit me, this evening, to inquire in person concerning your health. 1 was afraid yesterday that you were fatigued by the length of your ride. You sighed frequently ; and the vivacity with uhich vou had enchanted Monsieur de la Ville quite forsook you. Am I too presumptuous in thus betraying my anxiety ? Oh ! permit me to plead my excuse, which, if it avail not, punish me in any way but by banishment from your presence ; for ifi that only could you command, and ] refuse to obey. You see, ]\Iadam, notwithstanding your hvely railleries, I am not quite the domestic man you would persuade me to believe myself; and in justice to Madame de St. Edmund, I ought to ANTI*r)EL?HINE. 81 to add also, that she is not one of those unwise ladies, who, in order, I suppose, to make home more agree- able to their husbands, always receive them with frowns after a temporary absence from it. No : she is ever amiable; and if even her own merit were less conspicuous, that of having gained your friendship, w^ould aUvays exalt her in the eyes of him who has the happiness to subscribe himself, Madam, Your most devoted Humble servant, PIERRE DE ST. EDMUND* E O £2 LETTER XI. Madame de Montauban to Monsieur de StiEimund. Tuesday Noon. Xhose who maintain that matri- mony has not altered the gallanr Monsieur de St. Edmund, would cer- tainly be convinced of their error, WTre they to know that he had writ- ten an epistle to a lady, professedly, complimentary, and concluded it with^. an eulogium on his wife ! ! The- ANTI-DELPHINE. S3; The subject, it must be confessed, is rather obsolete, but for its singu- larity well deserves to bs revived-^ However, I am glad; to learn that your protracted visit at the chateau did not occasion any remarks which might have induced you to repent of your politeness, especially as I have thought,, since our return, that Ma- dame de St. Edmund has looked coldly on me : but it may be that my anxiety to preserve her friendship renders me suspicious of the least diminution of it ; or perhaps it is that the most amiable women must be allowed some capricious moments; and, indeed, the sensibility of our sex is such, that a female may often appear ill-humoured, when in fact she is only unhappy. You have expressed your admira- tion of the chateau de la Ville, just 84 ANTI-DELPHIME. time to enable me to judge of your sincerity. My uncle was so charmed with your company, that lie cannot be easy until you promise to favour him with it again, and to add to his pleasure, by introducing Madame de St. Edmund to his cha- teau, with which, I have no doubt, she will be charmed. I have this morning received a letter from him. requesting me to fix an early day for a visit, and to form a party to spend some time with him. He has inclosed a list of the friends whom lie wishes me to invite; but its length prevents me from execut- ing this part of his commission with satisfaction, as among the pleasures of the country, 1 never rank going in a crov/d to enjoy them. However, you and I have had the rare privi- lege of amusing ourselves, and know- ing ANTI-DELPHINE^ 85 ing when we were amused ; and the rationality of such a privilege is so evident, that I hope it may be enjoyed by an increased number of guests. To do my uncle justice, he is not one of those who invite a party into the country in order to make it as much like town as possible ; who amuse their guests with walking out in the heat of the day, regale them with dinner in the cool of the even- ing, keep them at cards till mid- night, and then remark what a pleas- ing variety is made in the country, by having their friends from town to partake its pleasures with them. I shall call on Madame de St. Ed- mund to-morrow, to inquire v/hen it will be agreeable to her to leave Paris for a few days, and to ask her of whom she would wish the party to consist, as my first anxiety will be to render ^S ANTr-DELPHINE> Tender it pleasant to her, for whom, indeed it will be principally formed* As for you, Sir, I am angry with you. I find that you are guilty of flattery. You cannot plead innocence of the charge :: your conscience had before accused you of- it; and the only real compliment you ever pay me, is when you fear that itnvill not have escaped my observation. This is indeed a great fault, and as I have too sincere a friendship for you not to be anxious to promote your amend- ment, I shall punish you by con- demning you to coming this evening to give me a lesson on chess. I shall offer you no gayer amuse- ment ; and to bear with my stupidity in learning, will be a penance suffi- ciently severe to make you very care- ful not to merit it again by a repe- tition. ANTI-DEtPHINE. S7 tition of the fault which gave rise to it. I beg you will not, from a prin- ciple of revenge, exert your whole skill against me, as I may be unable to bear my defeat with good humour^, and I do not feel sufficiently intimate with you to permit you to know the, failings of, Sir, Your most obedient,^ S-ERAPHI^^A DE MONTAUBA^c 8» LETTER XIL Clementina de St. Tar to Madame de Touniik, Paris, 1' FEAR, my dear aunt, that you will again have called me idle, but indeed I must disown the charge. It is surely an error to call the dissipated idle. Do not they toil from morning till night in search of pleasure ? and when one tedious day has ended in weariness and disappointment, do they not continue the pursuit on the next, without ANTI-DELPHINE. Sg without suffering the least discou- ragement by their constant want of success ? It must be acknowledged, then, that in patience and persever- ance they are not deficient, though the cause in which these virtues are exerted may not be altogether worthy of them* You will easily imagine that I have some selfish reason for my anxiety in endeavouring to exculpate the triflers of the day from the charge of idle- ness. I confess, then, that it is be- cause of late I have classed myself among them. jMy sister, Monsieur de St. Edmund, and I, have spent the last week in the eountiy, at the magnificent chateau of Monsieur de la Yille, an uncle by marriage of Madame de Montauban. Of course she was of the party, and the princi- pal persoainit; for Monsieur de la Yille £)0 ANTI-DELPHINE. VII le being an old man, and ren- dered infirm by the goat, deputed his niece to perform the honours of his house. I must in justice to her de- clare, that she executed that office extremely well, and was very polite and attentive, so long as all the gen- tlemen paid court, and the ladies gave- up to her. She is one of those cau^ tious characters who carefully avoic^ promoting any amusement M'hereiu- tliey are not themselves the primary objects of attention -^ For tliis reason: she discourages music ; for she has neither voice nor ear. If, in the morning,, my sister and I were en- treated to form a little concert with some of the company, Madame de Montauban had always the head-ache ; and then Mons. de St. Edmund, who otherw ise would have been unfashion- able enough to listen with the great- est pleasure to his wife's performances^ was A NTI- DELPHI Nil* 91 "was invited to accompany her in a promenade, because nothing contri- buted so much towards reHeving her malady, as exercise and fresh air; >vhile nothing tended so much to in- crease it as the noise of instruments and voices among which her owa vocal powers could not be distin- guished^ In the evenfngs, however, she re- covered her spirits at the card- table, which is her proper sphere; and ther^^ indeed, the trifling vivacity of her conversation passes for wit, and has the double advantage of gaining the admiration, and diverting the atten- tion of the company : thus, at the same time, her vanity is gratified and her purse enriched, for she never loses- sight of her interests ; and whilst be- tween every repartee she pauses for a moment^ apparently only to recover breath, 9£ ANTI-DELPHINE. breath, she is, in reahty, calculating the chances for or against her with the greatest mathematical precision*- }f, however, she be accidentally dis- covered receiving what is not due, or neglecting to pay what is, the trifling mistake is of course imputed to inattention, and none can be so shocking as, by claiming pecuniary rights, to interrupt a conversation which appears so brilliant and inte- resting ; — I say appears,, for I have already discovered that there is in wit, as in jewels^ a mock species, which sparkles tolerably in a crouded room, and by the light of innumer- able tapers, when the same would ap- pear, on a closer scrutiny, particularly in a retired situation, a poor counter- feit of no value.. You see, my dear aunt, that I db not yet lave Madame de Montauban^ and ANTI-DELPHINE, ^3 and she has not increased my regard by her neglect to include my father in our party. I sensibly feel any rndeness shewn to him, and am cer- tain that this mark of it originated solely with her, as she had the intire nomination of the guests. For my own part I M^as not in the least flat- tered by being of the number, as, on account of my present residence in my -sister's house, it was impossible to avoid inviting me, and this, in- deed, only rendered the omission of my father still more pointed. I had resolved to decline her invi- tation with all the coolness which I really feel towards her ; but sometimes, to resent an insult is to gratify the petty malice which produced it, and as I was far from wishing to add in the least to her triumph, I rekictantly accompanied my sister, for whose sake ^4 A2* T I-D E L P H I N E. sake, however, 1 was anxious to con- ceal my vexation. I am, indeed, e-x* ceedjngly desirous that nothing should transpire which might lead Eugenia to suspect the treachery of her new friend ; for if the knowledge of her ills will not enable her to avert them, it is surely wise to suffer her to remain in ignorance of them. Such is Eugenia's sensibility, that the discovery of Madame de JNIontau- ban's perfidy, and her husband's weak- ness, would infallibly cloud her lovely countenance with sorrow : at the same time that lier natural sweetness of dis- position would prompt her to treat Mons. de St. Edmund with additional kindness, in order to rccal him to his allegiance; and indeed I believe that his fondness for her would urge hitn never to stray from it, if the mild dic- tates of affection were.not overpowered bv AKTI-DELPHINE. 95 by the intrigues of flattery and va^ nity. The slightest increase of attention from Eugenia would not be unob- served by him, as he must be con- scious of not deserving it, and this would be a cause of uneasiness to him, at leas^t in her presence; for how pain- ful must it be to receive obligations from those whom we are injuring I He would fly from her to Madame de Montauban, in whose company he certainly would not be awed by any great severity of virtue, and might imagine that he liked her society^ when, in fact, it would only afford him ease from its mediocrity^ You find, my dear aunt, that like a good chess player I .can see many moves before me ; you may, perhaps, -think that I see them through the distorting 96 ANTI-DELPHINE. distorting medium of prejudice; but believe me, I am not too severe ; I could not love Eugenia, if I liked Madame de Montauban* Our party was increased during the last three days of our visit, by the arrival of the Marquis de Mertueil and Mr. Seymour. Had the former been desirous of appearing to disad- vantage, he could not have taken a more certain method to succeed than by associating himself with the latter. Since my introduction into society, I have frequently been surprised at the excessive vanity, or the extreme humility displayed in the choice of companions. We sometimes see a beautiful woman selected for the friend of one who is, perhaps, scarcely removed from deformity ; or a sen- sible man attended by one who may be only just able to applaud the re- marks ANTI-DELPHINE. 97 marks which he cannot comprehend : yet the plain female does not appear to think her claims on admiration in- ferior to those of the beauty to whom she acts as a foil ; or does the stupid ignoramus seem to think his galima- tias as deserving of the attention of the company as the most judicious observations of his sensible friend, and utters them accordingly with a much greater air of importance. A pleasing young lady of our party said to me one day, " Ah ! Mademoi- selle, how beautiful and accouiplished is Madame de St. Edmund, and how amiable too ! But shall I confess to you that I cannot forbear wishing that either she were less charming, or I more so ; for the pleasure which I should feel in her society is lessened by the consciousness that where she is, none other can be admired ; a voL.T. F consideration/' 98 AJ^TI'DELPHINE. consideration,'* added she smiling, " not very likely to increase the at- tachment of one female to another.*' Some may deem these sentiments selfish, but surely a candid avowal of them is indicative of an ingenuous disposition. I did not wish to treat the Marquis de Mertueil with particular coldness, as I consider pointed condurt of any kind flattering to the object of it, insomuch as it convinces the j)erson to whom it is d rected that he is suf- iiciently important to occupy, in some measure^ tlie thoughts of those who adopt it. I therefore i^ebaved to him as to every otlicr gentleman, carefully avoiding a particular politeness to any one, lest be should susj-fct me of the despiciible artifice of seeking to rouse his jealousy though he had forfeited my esteem. The ANTI-DELPHINE. QQ The Marquis, however, is too ricli in the possession of his own good opinion to he easily persuaded that he does not stand very high in that of others. One day I had the misfortune to find myself nearly alone with him, being in a part of the room at some distance from the rest of tl-e company. Embracing the advantage vv hich this accident offered, he liad the effron- tery to thank me for my goodness in restoring him to my fctvour ; adding, that from the moment when he feared he had inadvertently lost it, he had been the most miserable of men. I replied with the utmost composure, " I could have wished. Sir, not to have been reminded of circumstances which, from their unimportance, have been long since forgotten by me ; by recalling them to my me- ¥ 2 morv 100 ANTI-DELPIIIN'E. inory, you oblige me to take the trouble of shewing a marked contempt where I should have infinitely pre- ferred following the dictates of indo- lence, in behaving only with the in- difference naturally felt in the pre- sence of an insignificant object." I then left him, and flatter myself that he did not feel perfectly at ease, as he certainly did not recover his usual smile of self- approbation for some time afterwards. I fear, my dear aunt, that you will think me very ill-natured to derive pleasure from the mortification of others. But the respect due to my* self required that I should treat the Marquis with this undisguised con- tempt ; particularly as it was the second time he had deserved it by his incorrigible vanity. Tfelt ANTl-DELFHIXE. 101 I felt comparatively happy in our return to Paris, and thought the road much pleasanter from the chateau thaa it had appeared in our approach to it. Mr. Seymour accompanied us home, taking the place whichMad.de Mon- tauban had occupied ingoing to the chateau, and we found in him an infi- nitely more agreeable companion. — I cannot like her — vanity may be her only fault , but that vanity is surely carried to an unpardonable height when it prompts her to court the attention of the husband of her to w hom she pretends to be so much attached. The friendship which meditates such an injury cannot be sincere, and I am afraid that conjugal harmony has but too often owed its interruption to a friend like Madame de Montauban^ And after all. the conquest of a married man, whatever importance Madame 102 ANTI-DELPIIINE. Madaine de Montauban may affix to it, in my opinion is not to be consi- dered such a striking proof of the infallibility of her cliarins^as she seems inclined to believe. If a woman will make the first ad* vances, they will certainly be received by a married man v/ith gratitude pro- portionate to the distrust which he had in his claim to them ; whilst the young men of the present day affectj on the contrary, to confer a favour on a lady by accepting her attentions. Adieu, my dear aunt. You will think that all these splenetic observations lire only a poor atonement for my late silence; but my next letter shall be cheerful and good humoured, as you have often kindly called your own CLEMENTINA, 103 LETTER XIII. M, de St. Edmmd tQ MadaiiK ds Montauhan^ Friday Morning* Why, madam, will you not ahvays be charming as you were last night ? It is when we are alone that you rivet those chains of which I ne'/er feel the weight hut when we are in a croud, for then you withhold from me smiles which would make the most galling servitude a state of happiness. Whence this unkind difference of conduct ? Is 01 ANTI-DELPIIINE. Is it to make me yet more sensible of the tedious restraints of society ? All ! believe me, you could not have pursued more effectual nieans to make me hate it. T contrast a cold and formal circle, insipid in proportion c-is it is inlarged^ with the delightful tete a tetes which I have liad the felicity to enjoy with one Vv'hose conversation and manners are calculated at once to improve the mind and interest the heart. I laugh mechanically at tlie forced jests of some whom fashion has constituted wits in defiance of nature's previous decree that they should be fools ; hut I compare their feeble efforts at re- partee with the brilliant sallies con- tinually issuing, almost unconsci- ously, from lips which justly proud of their office seem to blush deeper sweets in the perfori.uince of it. I could ANTI-DELPHIXE. 105 1 could better bear with tiresome ceremonies and hacknied forms had I your sympathy to sustain my pa- tience in a trial too severe- for mere philosophy ; but I look towards you as it were by instinct, when my ex- hausted spirits need support ; a glance from you would be a cordial to them, but I have the additional mortification of seeing only averted looks, or the cold expression of indifference, whilst you bestow on every other person attentions of which I will not say that any one is less worthy than I should be, for your favours are too justly appreciated ever to be received with ingratitude ; but surely I may without presumption affirm that you could confer them on none who would be more sensible of their value. You do me the justice to profess. yourself 106 AxVTI-DELPHINE. yourself convinced of this, and you sty that it is in consequence of it you have bestowed on me the title of your friend, which I gratefully acknow- ledge is inestimable. Is it, then, that this honour has roused in me the ambition to hope for some yet more enviable ; or is it that there may be rivals in friendship as well as in love, and that jealousy is, perhaps, a natural attendant on excess in either? You assure me that you do not feel really interested in the society ■wherein you deport yourself so ami- ably towards all but me : yet if you be not charmed, is it a natural con- sequence that you are not to charm ? ^and those whom you captivate^ are they the less happy in your smiles as being more the offspring of polite- ness than of sentiment ? Do not de- spise ANTI-DELPHINE. 10/ spise me for the apparent narrowness of nny ideas ! Perhaps I am too pre- sumptuous when I declare myself willing to disclahn that of a friend, for then I must assume that of a lover. LaBruyere will not allo^v of Platonic love, yet grants that there may be between the sexes a sentiment of a nature differing from both love and friendship, and, as he says, perhaps more pleasing than either. I agree with him that this state is possible, but that it is pleasant I cannot so readily allow. Perhaps my sensa- tions hitherto have been but vaguely understood even by myself, yet can the object which has inspired be ig» norant of them ? Ah, no! surely to her they are known, perhaps they are even ansuered ! Whither is my pre* sumption leading me r Yet if passion did not plunge me into delirium, you r ^5 last 10S ANTI-DELPPIINE. last niglit appeared to my enamoured eyes not wholly insensible to the effusions of a heart devoted to you. I even thought that the native candour of your mind was about to triumph over the cautious disguise too early implanted by mistaken prudence in your sex at the expence of every tender sensibility and pure emotion of the soul ! You sighed too ! Ah 1 I have not forgotten that love is born in a sigh, and, indeed, it seemed to me that the preci(.us words, '^ I love yor,'' hung on your lips as if unwilling to leave so delightful an abode, or per- haps restrained by some unjust fear which could only arise from igno- rance of the power of your own charms. Ah ! \vhy this distrust with one whom you must know too well to suspect of abusing the soft con- fession which his hopes prompt hin:^ to ANTI-DELPHINE. 109 to think you miglit be induced to make were you assured that it M'ould not be bestowed on one unworthy of it ? Ah ! if there needed any addition to the claims which your charms already liave on iny admiration, surely by adding gratitude to the number they would be fixed beyond the power of change, the influence of which I cannot even now suppose ; for what- ever may become of the future, the past is irrevocable, and whilst my memory can recall it I never can have a more delightful subject of contem- plation. Let me intreat your permis* sion to see } ou this evening. I live but in your presence, and the languor of the hours when I cannot have that happiness, is cheered but by counting the moments which biing me nearer to it* Adieuy 1 10 ANTI-DELPHTNE. Adieu, madam, until I can in person assure you how much I am honoured by considering myself as the most obedient of your servants PI ERE E DE ST, RDMUNRc Ill LETTER XIV, Madame de Moniauban to Momieur de St. Edmund, Saturday Afternoon. Your billet of yesterday found me in a wretched humour, which was not lessened by the unjust reproaches it contained. I should be too for- tunate in your friendship were you intirely free from the arbitrary inch- nitions of your sex ; I am convinced, however, how highly I value it, by the consolation which I felt on re- flectinq; 112 ANTI-DELPHINE. fleeting that you did not witness the- vexation to which your avowal of them gave rise. I have almost re- solved never to converse or corres- pond with you again. In our conversatFons 3-ou make me say a thousand things which 1 can never mean, and which, in your ab- sence, it seems to me impossible that I should have uttered. — My letters are filled with explanations of my meaning, and your's with perverting it — where is this to end ? We never persuade each other by our arguments, and yet we are never weary of main- taining them. Let me, hjowever, seek to convince you that your com- plaints are at least selfish, if not ab- solutely unjust. You accuse me of being less ami- able towards you iu public tlian ia pnvate :. AXTI-DELPHIXE. 113 private : this charge, however, acquits mc of vanity, for it proves that your attentions are not made subservient to it. But granting this, for I wisli to giv^e an example of candour to you who will never grant any thing, yet why is it so ? Because I know the malevolence of society, and how much it delights in misrepresenting actions the most innocent. — Your friendship for me, if manifested ia pubhc, v/ould be magnified into an attachment tlie more blamable as it would be the more unexpected, from the known excess of your passion for your wife, of which she is every way deser.ving. I therefore sliould be accused, however unjustly, of divert- ing you from that constancy which you have, since your marriage, so laudably practised to the admircttioa of all your former acquaintance. Par 1 14 ANTI-DELPHINE. Far be it from me to occasion the least diminution of that admiration, and still further to risk making Ma- dame de St. Edmund uneasy by de- priving her of the smallest part of the attention to which yor. have so much accustomed her, that if excess have not iriven birth to indifference, she would not feel assured of your regard without it. I torment myself v/ith fancying that of late her friendship for me has deelined, but she cannot be so unjust as to be jealous of your esteem. Alas ! it is too valuable to me to be easily relinquished ; and yet I should regret the continuance of it did it wound her sensibility, though I might be tempted to think such an effect rather the offspring of caprice 1 Ah 1 believe me, I do not wish to make you hate society, I know too well the pain occasioned by a sense of its injustice. But I am, perhaps, guilty ANTI-DELPHINE. 115 guilty of the fault for which I am condemning it. I affect to blame its restraints when, in fact, I have those which are the most insurmountable within my own breast : a conviction of the importance of that passion which your sex can treat occasion- ally with convenient levity will, I hope, ever preserve me from its ef- fects. The words which you fancied my Jips so ready to express, I should guard, even had I the inclination to utter them, with the most rigid caution ; for I should consider them as syno- nimous with declaring myself a slave for life. Love is a talisman which raises the possessors of it in their own estima- tion, and, happy themselves, they seek II 6* ANTI-DELPHINE. seek to render all around them so likewise. Perhaps a woman alone can ap- preciate all the value of this delight- ful passion, for to the female heart is it given to feel its fullest influence. La Bruyere does us justice when he says that women are more capahle of exalted attachments than men are. Your sex makes love the pleasure and relaxation of life; to ours it consti- tutes the ohject and business of it. A woman's world is love ! born with the wish to please, she finds happi- ness in proportion to her success, and moves in a magic circle of which her lover is the centre; to him she is un- ceasingly attracted; and for him she displays all her powers to charm. This state of existence, 1 frankly own, appears very enviable to me, but I ANTI-DELPHINET. 117 am not so visionary as to imagine that it can be realized in society. — You are angry because I am more rational in retirement than in a croud ; know you not, my friend, that " Le grand raonde est leger, inapplique, volage ; .*' Sa voix trouble et seduit. Est-OH seul on est sage." To be received well in the world it is necessary to be foolish as it is to appear amused with spectacles how- ever wearisome, and flattered witli compliments however dull. One great privilege, hov/ever, for which we ought not to be ungrateful is, that whilst, in company, the eyes, lips, and ears must act according to establish- ed rule, the imagination is permitted to reniain free, and I am often in* debted to its powers for enabling me to wear the garb of patient attention whilst 118 ANTI'DELPHINE. "whilst I am really mentally enjoying a scene and society the very opposite to that in which I find myself. — Ah ! it is a flattering deceitful power, but its ilkisions are the solaces by Avhich the dull realities of life are sus- tained. Adieu : write to me no more, neither seek to see me again, for your con- versation, epistolary or personal, un- fits me for that of the less refined; and as thfy form infinitely the greater part of society, "whilst we are con- demned ro remain in it, certainly it is not wisdom to suffer ourselves to be diss^usted with them. Adieu, then. I shall be solitary this evening, but not alone, for you know Montaigne says that a man is most absent from his friend when in his company, ANTI-DELPHIXE. 11^ company, for that his presence re- leasing attention, gives the thoughts liberty to wander on every occasion! Certainly the calm and indolent as- surance of content immediately in- spired by the presence of a friend is as charming as the restless anxiety to which his absence gives rise is tormenting. Adieu. ^ERAPHINA BE MONTAVBAN, 120 LETTER XV. Monsieur de St. Edmund to Madame de Monfauhan. Tuesday Aftfrnoon. I HAVE presented niyself at your door in vain, madam : it remains closed against me, and by your order too ! Have I deserved this from you ? I did not imagine that you could carry your al)surd ideas of de- ference to the u'orld to such a cruel heiiiht. i3ut voiir attendants inform me that you are about to leave Paris. Am AN-TI-DELPHINE. 131 Am I only to be informed from tliem of this desio-n to make me miserable? Surely the seclusion in which you have of late so obstinately persisted, has changed even your nature, and you have forgotten in solitude the claims which some, who are unfortu- nately left in society, ought to have on your compassion. My dear madam, reflect on the barbarous mode of conduct which you have unjustly adopted towards me ; remember that I unfortunate!}' retain my feelings, if you have ac- quired the enviable privilege of sus- pending yours. I scarcely believe my ears, when your order of denial sounds in them ; and sometimes I think that it must be owing to a change in my person, that I am not recognized by your domestics ; which is far from improbable, for the mind and body VOL. I. G are 122 ANTI-DELPIIINE. are too nearly allied for my counte- nance not to have suffered by the vexations which you have occasioned nie. You owe me much, madam, in return for them ; but I must insist that the first acknowledgment of your debt shall be an order for my admittance into your presence, and I can then more readily enter into an explanation of all that I shall still think due to me. Like a cautious creditor, I shall watch all your steps ; and I should indeed deserve to for- feit my claims, could I suffer you to depart hence without accompanying you, in order to ensure your re- turn. I have ordered my servant to de- liver this billet on his way into the suburbs ; and as I shall leave the house immediately on his departure, in ANTI-DELPHI N'E. 123 in a very few moments after the pe- rusal of it you must expect to see, Madam, Most devotedly yours, PIERRE DE ST. EDMUND, GS lU LETTER XVI. Clementina de St. Far to Madame de Teurville, ParM. My fears are realized, my dear aunt. Madame de Montauban has per- suaded Monsieur de St. Edmund to leave Paris, and to make her the corn- pan ion of his flitrht. b' I believe they are gone into Dau- phin6, to Monsieur de St. Edmund's estates : at least he has desired that his ANTl-DELPHINE, 12d Ills letters may be addressed to him there. The ostensible motives for his departure are to superintend some alterations and improvements on his lands, which, he told my sister, made liis presence indispensably neces- sary ; but he did not say that ]\Ia- clame de Montauban's was equally so. The pleasure of communicating this additional intelligence was reserved for a little chattering Madame Li- mont; one of the many who think themselves privileged to be imperti- nent under the pretence of friend- ship ; who run to inform their ac- quaintance of a misfortune, in order to give advice how they should con-» duct themselves under it, and v»bo enjoin secrecy to others, merely tliat they may reserve to themselves the pleasure of communication. I think my sister had anticipated, and ISG ANTI-DELPHINE. and was therefore, in some measure, prepared for the event, though she had never given the least hint of her suspicions to any one. I cer- tainly might have expected this cruel stroke; yet it ha« affected me as severely as if it had been utterly iinlooked for. For some moments anger triumphed over my grief, and I could not deny myself tlie satfs faction of gratifying it, I'V giving utterance to the bitter expressions whicli it naturally sug- gested. • You would, indeed, have thought, had you seen me. *^''-^* ^ was M^ ITijured wife, and my sister only a sympathizing friend. She used every possible argument to calm and console me. " Consi- der, my dear Clementina," said she, ^' tliat ]\Ionsieur de St. Edmund has always ANTTI-DELPHIXE. 127 always been gay, though I believe that Madame de Montaiiban has se- duced hiui by lier artifices, arid I liave been more deceived by her than liim. 1 could scarcely have expect- ed that he would have remained con- stant so long as he has done; and at last he left nie w ith politeness : he will soon see his error, and return to me with renewed affection." Thus she endeavoured to reason with mc, as I doubt not she had before rea* soned with herself Slie was anxious that my father should remain in ig- norance of the unfortunate event : she wiiihed to spare him the slightest sensation of self-reproach, which' might arise from his having united her to a man whose age and princi- ples were so different from her own. When we saw him, however, his agitation proclaimed his knowledge Ii28 AKTI-DELPHINE.. of Avhat wc SO anxiously wished tf> liicle from him. *' Do not weep, my cliild," said he, without observing that m}' sister was niuch more com- posed tliaii lie was, *' do not Meep^ ail will yet be well : no man can long forsake my Eugenia. Ah, why have I lived to see my child made wretched; and that too through the means of her mistaken father 1" He paused — his eyes were full of tears. Eugenia took the advantage of his silence to beg, in the sweetest tones of consolation, that he would not distress himself; but the sight of her father's grief overcame her resolulion,, which gradually forsook her, and, after a vain effort to resume it, she tlirew herself into his arms, and min- gled her tears with his. At length my poor father exclaim- ed, " I had lioped that you were ANTI-DELPHIXE. 129 happy together ; you always appear- ed to be so; and I watched you attentively, pleased with the flatter- ing hope that your happiness was real." *^ We were happy, my dear sir," replied Eugenia, as she melted into tears of tenderness, for of what- ever we are deprived, we remember only its value; '* we were happy in- deed, and I trust we shall be so again." My father shook his head J and, overpowered by his feelings^ re- signed himself to a gloomy silence, ^'hich neither Eugenia nor I could summon resolution to interrupt. The entrance of a servant with a message at length relieved us fiom this situation; and after he left the room, the conversation imperceptibly turned upon the line of conduct which it would be necessary to adopt in so dehcate a situation; and as a- G 5 subject 130 ANTI-DELPHINE. subject by examination is cfisarmed of many of the terrors which silent meditation attaches to it, we began by degrees to be more composed. Fortunately we had not any en- gagement for the evening; and my father, after some further conversa- tion, left us in a state of mind more tranquil than that in which he had found us. We have resolved to see our friends as usual, at least until my sister hears from IMonsieur de St. Edmund, as when she knows his plans, she can with more propriety arrange her own. 1 dare say she is at tliis moment employed as I am, in writing to you, my dear aunt, who so kindly partici- pate hi our pleasures and in our pains. Whatever trials Heaven mav think proper to send us, we shall certainly always ANTI-DELPHINE. 131 always find consolation in theaffection of relatives so kind as you and my un- cle have ever been to us. Believe me, my dear aunt, we are truly sensible of your goodness, and feel how much you are entitled to the warmest gra- titude of my Eugenia and your ever affectionate CLEMENTINA. 132 LETTER XVIL Monsieur de St. Edrmind to the Count de JSIirepuix. Grenoble. xiow many years have now passed, my dear Count, since the beginning of our mutual regard ! I am unr uiUing to compute tlie exact num- ber ; for, though our friendship be a subject which I must ever contem- plate with pleasure, yet to reflect on the length of tin^e which has elapsed since its commencement, is produce tive ANTI-DELPHI!? E. 155 tive of considerations not altof};ether so agreeable. '& I cannot remember that period without at the same time recollecting that we arc no longer in the pride of youth. Our gallant St. Evremond says, that the last sighs of a fine woman are more for the loss of beauty than of life; and I believe that in a man who has been fortunate in his amours, there exists a corres- pondent passion ; for to him old age has certainly no mortification greater than that of being deprived of all hopes of further conquest. To the man who has been accus- tomed CO the cheering intluence of female smiles, the v, inter of old age is as dreadful as is the absence of the sun to the butterfiy, which, whilst warmed in ihe golden beams of day, displays 134 ANTI-DELPHINE. displays its brightest colours, and flutters from flower to flower in spor- tive gaiety ; but no sooner does niglit spread her sable mantle over its slen- der form, than it droops, folds its wings, and siaks into a state of tor- pitude. You will probably conclude from these reflections that I have enrolled myself in the list of pemitents, and that I am about to retire into Italy, to expiate, by abstinence and solitude, the follies of my youth. On the con- trary, I am on the point of renewing them ; and perhaps have a little pride in shewing the gay werld, that at five-and-forty I have not ceased to please. It would be in vain to deny that a lively and interesting widow is at present the companion of my wan* derings- ANTI-DELPHINE. 135 derings* All the world knows it ; and from my wife only am I anxious that it should be concealed. The wreath of conquest was never more valuable in my eyes by being gemmed with the tears of forsaken beauty ; and I owe too much to my Eugenia willingly to draw one sigh from that bosom, which is the fair abode of every virtue. During four years she formed the pleasing anxiety of my life : I mar- ried her; and since then she has been the pride and solace of it. Were my election to be renewed, she would again be the chosen of my heart, which is at this moment as sensible of her worth as when it first ac- knowledged her charms. Yes; her influence over my affection remains unchanged, but the senses are re- bellious : 13& ANTI-DELPHINE. bellious; they are not always fasti- dious, and will sometimes be amused with objects, whose only power to please arises from novelty. In marriage, the most perfect es- teem and unbounded confidence, the tenderest ailection, and the most soothing and deiightful tranquillity, may be enjoyed. But, in this state, the fluctuations of hope and fear, the agreeable torments of suspense, the pleasures of expectation, and tlie sensibility of passion, must be no> longer expected. A good n^. an would Avillingly resign them fiom a principle of duty ; a wise man, from a con vie- - tion of their futility. Alas ! I fear that I am neither the one nor the other. I rank among, the numerous characters who have just virtue enough to make them sen- sible AN^TI-DELPHINE. 137 sfble of the deformity of vice; just strength enough to lament the weak- ness which cannot withstand the al- lurements of folly ; and possess just enough of the world's good opinion to know its value, and wish that it could be more worthily bestowed. You> De Mirepoix, are a married man; and, though every married man might not, yet you will believe me, when I swear to you, that I love my wife, and that if she were not my wife, she should be my mis* tress. I know that I should be laughed at if I were suspected of a folly like this* Every one knows how much I esteem her, and how much I am gratified in seeing her splendid and caressed. Yet many men are all this merely because the admiration paid to> their 138 ANTI-DELPIIINE. their wives by the uoild, administers to tlieir own vanity, and soothes their self-love. This is not my case. I revere my life's virtues; 1 respect her talents ; I adore her graces ; and admire lier person. In short, I love her, though without passion I acknowledge; for that can no more exist in marriage, than the fervor of devotion can be kept alive in the uniformity of a cloister. Familiarity with any object is de- structive of its eifect. Habit de- prives the voluptuary of tlie keen relish of pleasure; and the volun- tary sufferings of the penitent lessen the acute sense of pain. It recon- ciles the devotee to her sackcloth and ashes, and teaches the possessor of beauty the language of modera- tion. ANTI-DELPHINE. 159 tion. I^ut the love which I feel for my Eugenia can never be inspired by another; and my opinion of a vir- tuous M'oman is so exalted, that I believe she would prefer esteem with- out passion, to passion without es- teem. With this full conviction of her worth, I must acknowledge that I am at present unjust to Madame de St. Edmund ; yet I am perhaps still more unjust to Madame de jMontau- ban. I desert the former, biit thc latter I deceive. If I estrano-e mv- %^\i for a time from the former, it is only for a time that I attach myself to the latter. I believe that Madame de Tviontauban entertained a sincere passion for me, and I am ungenerous enough to make it subservient only to my own amusement. To 140 ANTI-DELPHINF.. To Eugenia I can atone for my temporary infidelity by increased ten- derness; and her pure and virtuous heart will cherish no resentment towards a returning and repentant husband. Already I anticipate not only the delicate attentions by uhicli she will endeavour to convince me of her entire forgiveness^ but the amiable artifices by which she will seek to reconcile me to myself. Yes, my heart is already occupied with the delightful idea of return- ing to her. But how can I acquiC myself towards Madame de Montau- ban ? She will be left a prey to list- kssness and regret, whilst she mourns the unfortunate partiality which she had long endeavoured to conceal from the object of it. She is not anartful woman, DeMire- poix ; ANTI-DELPHINE. 14l poix ; 1 know the sex, and am too old to be duped, though not old enough to treat a female harshly. I cannot repulse tenderness with dis- dain, or presume on it and be un- grateful. All this trouble I have taken to prove, that if my conduct towards my wife be improper, that towards the woman for whom I have deserted her is still more so. I have, indeed, from the beginning of my letter, wandered from what I had meant to be its sole subject ; and this was, to beg that the friendship with which you have so long honoured me, should now be exteiided to Madame de St. Edmund, hex lather, and sister. Eugenia possesses that innate dig- nity which alone would support her against the world ; but I do not wish her 142 ANTI-DELPHINE. her to depend only on that. The countenance of the rich and power- ful is the securest shield against ma- lice and ill-nature, and none would presume to think her unprotected, even in the absence of her husband, whilst honoured with the friendship of the Countess de ^lirepoix. To know Monsieur de St Far, her father, is to respect him ; and the sentiment of pit}^ which the know- ledge of his misfortunes might in- spire, yields to admiration of the fortitude with which they are borne. Party-rage has not been able to de- prive him of his children, and in them he possesses treasures beyond what wealth or fame could give. For several years he enjoyed a pen- sion, which, however, with many others, was lately struck off, through the ANTI-UELPHINE. 143 the intrigues of those, who, envious of the good things wherein they do not partake, endeavour, under the specious pretence of reform, to re- duce all to their own level. I fortu- nately obtained intelhgence of this diminution in the income of Monsieur de St. Far, who was then in th.e coun- try, and by a little address I have since contrived to keep him in igno- rance of the circumstance, by mak- ing him remittances to the same amount as usual, through the channel by which he had been accustomed to receive them. This addition to his own property^ enables him to support the appearance which his rank de- mands, and to possess the comforts which his advanced age requires ; whilst he, under the idea that what he received is in right of his pen- sion, enjoys it without feeling any of the painful sensations which are ex- cited 144 ANTI-DELPHINE. cited by a consciousness of obliga- tion. I should be sorry were my ab- sence to undeceive him : by 3^our as- sistance I hope to prevent the possi- bility of it; and if you will have the goodness to officiate for me till my return, I will beg you to take the trouble of dedicating a few lei- sure moments to calling on my banker, who will instruct you in what manner to proceed. I will not say how much you will oblige me by doing me this service, as I know that few inducements are required by you to perform an act of benevo- lence. Clementina I regard as my sister, and am proud of having one so lovely as she is. Had you been young, De Mirepoix, and unmarried, I might have hoped, through her means, to have united the bonds of consanguinity ANTI-DELPIilNE. I45 consanguinity with those of friend- ship ; as it is, your regard for me must induce you to watch over her until my return, when I liope to be- stow her as she deserves, and at the same time make a worthy man happy. I shall give lier a portion, which, though too small to tempt avarice, will } et be large enough to free her from the sense of entire dependance on her husband. I design her, as you may have already conceived, for the engaging young Englishman whom you have so frequently seen >vilh us. I trust that their minds are conf2:e- nial ; and, as her father has given, his consent, I have no doubt of ob- taining hers. Seymour exists but in her presence, and it is in his countrv that domestic happiness flourishes in the greatest perfection. For this reason I should VOL. I, H scarcely 146 ^^XTI-DELPillNF. scarcely wish to tempt him from his native isle to reside in our land of anarchy and confusion. The lov& of their country is a theme which lias been familiar to all men in every age. The English prove that their aijw?^ patria exists not in idea only ; for the time of their residence abroad is seldom extended beyond '^^■hat necesi^ity requires. They tra- verse ev'cry .land in search of riches, but only with the pleasing prospect of spending them in their own. Hap- py tlicy who can be proud of their country, and whose love of it can form so considerable and praise- wor- thy a source of pleasure ! We are not so fortunate; for, to possess a love of ours at present, would be to patronize vice and exult in folly. May the period soon arrive, my dear niend, when we may be patriots on rational grounds, .and be enabled to love ANTI-DELPHINE. 14-7 love our country above all others fv)r beinf^ the most wovlhv of our love ! 1 own, that on this subject my wishes arc warmer than my hopes. At all events^ I fear that before the former are accomplished, 1 shall have time to run over great part of Italy ; and indeed, had I the whole world to tiaverse^ 1 should not expect the completion of them in my absence. But however variable the (disposition of the times may be, I trust that you ■will always find me unchanged, And most devotedly your's, PIERRE DE ST. EDMUND. H 148 LETTER XVIII. ^THk Covnt dc Mirepoixto M, de St. Edmunds Paris. 1 HAVE not yet, my friend j ceased to smile at your curious epistle. It is the production of a mind ill at ease ; it is the work of a man, who is labouring to convince others of what he cannot easily convince him- self. To ANTI-DELPHINE. l49 To imagine that, in your present sUuation, you can want amusement, would be an insult to you and your fair fellow-traveller ; it would be to doubt the powers of gallantry in one, and the powers of pleasing in the other. However, as I am not so fortu-- nately occupied as you may be, per- mit me to amuse myself by making a few remarks- on the whimsical pro- duction with which you have fa- voured me, and which I value even for the eccentricities which charac- terize it, I sincerely coHdoIe with yau on the subject which you so , feelingly deplore; nor do my condolences en- tirely arise from the. selfishness of sympathy ; for I caunot forget that I. have 150 ANTI-^DELPHINE. have one great source of consolation wjiicli you do not seem to remember — it is, that I am your junior by six years, I do not, however, pretend that, even ^vith this advantage, 1 am in the bloom of life any more than you are, but neither can 1 reproach myself for neglecting its sweets when I posst^ssed them, I have ever regarded youth as the j^eason of hope, of expectation, and delight ; and the rl'membrance of its pleabures now sheds a mild influence over the more chastened enjoyments of middle life. Your simile of the butterfly is in Itself pretty, exclusive of the merito- rious modesty which you evince in thus comparing yourself to an insect piovcrbic^liy trifling. However, you certainly ANTI-DELPHTXE. lo\ certainly are right in endeavouring to avert its fate as long us you possi- bly can. That the fair object of your pre- sent devoirs is lively, all the world knows ; and that she is interesting, I am glad you find. Your attentions ought to be re^-arded, for I believe that I 'hey vv^ere originally j.^erfcclly disinterested, and more a tribute ta your reputation for gallantry, than the genuine effusions of the hearts Reputation, my friend, of any kind, like every earthly good, has its attendant evils, and the trouble of preserving it is almost equivalent to the j)leasure of possessing it. We do not bke to part in age — (ob.serve, if tbis word age startle you, it is your own expression) — with any thing 16^2 ANTI-DELPIIINP:. thing to which we have been accus- tomed from youth. You have had all your life tlie character of a man of gallantry, and you are ^\iHing to support it now, at the expence of leaving a woman whom you fondly and justly love, to follow one whom I will not say you nnich despise, for that word is perhaps too harsh to be used at any time in speaking of a female, but whom you cannot fail to condemn. , You say that you had a pride in shewing the gay world, that at five* and-forty you had not ceased to please. Ah ! my friend, we too often sacrifice real happiness, tliat we may assume the semblance of it. We are more anxious to appear happy than to be so, more desirous to excite envy in the bosoms of others, by an outward ANTI-DELPHI NE, 153 Outward shew of felicity, . than to possess the consciousness of it iu our own. . We all court happiness, but we W:ish not to enjoy her in the shade ; we are anxious with her^ as, with a beautiful mistress, to proclaim . her charms to the world, in order to gra- tify our self-love, , by the. admiration which tbey create; and the conse- quence is, with her as with mistresses of more mortal .mould, that our va- nity' is too often punished by the de- sertion of the object Mhich we had so imprudently exposed. 1 confess I had rather,^ for the cre- dit of men of pleasure, that you had shewn the. world that one of them could place his felicity in domestic happiness, particularly in happiness so perfect as yours might have been. H 5 I wish 154' /. KTT-DELPniNE. J wish you had shewn, tliat if (to use your own simile) you once rovccl f. um flower to flower, attracted one moment by the brilliant colours of the tulip, at the next by the humble sweetness of the violet, then by the modesty of the spotless lily, or the per fun es of the blushing rose, yet, when fortunate enough to find one flower, combining in itself the beauty and fragrance of every other, that then, blest in its sweets, you could be content to rove no further^, but grate- fidly to observe among them that constancy which, though in such circumstances it can no longer be deemed a virtue, can yet never cease to be a pleasure. Ti'ust me, vou were much more the object of envy as Madame de St. Edmund's husband, than you will ever be as Madame de MontaubanV gallant. ANTI-DELPttlNE. 15^ gallant. Absence, the touch-stone of real worth, will convince you of that of the former, as you will every day be made more sensible how much she gains in comparing her with the latter. You seek to excuse your weakness by pleading your habitual complai- sance to the sex: is it not rather^ my friend, the craving of habitual vanity? of a forced appetite, spoiled by th€ high seasoning of flattery? — But you say, that though too old to be duped, 3^ou are not old enough to treat a female harshly, or repulse tenderness with disdain. 1 never yet, St. Edmund, knew a man boast of his knowledge of the world, until he apprehended that he had been mis- taken in his opinion of it. When we' find ourselves deceived, it is natural for us tp seek to deceive others. I meaa 156 ANTI-DELPHINE. mean not, however, to add my cen- sure to your own, which I perceive you have incurred, notwithstanding the ingenious arguments by which you endeavour to silence it. Let me persuade you, however, not to add to your perplexities by un- necessary anxiety for the future hap- piness of your fair friend. Believe me. it will not easilv be wrecked. Her attachment does not appear to have been of that genuine and deli- cate nature, which would make it droop under the self-inflicted tortures of concealment : on the contrary, I suspect that her's is a flame on which the cold gales of indiff'erence will' have no other effect, than that of directing its course towards some other object. Rochefoucault, whose truths offend all ANTI-DELPHINE. 157 aU those who cannot controvert them, says that *' a woman mourns her first lover long, if she do not oh- tain a second." The female heart is too tender to remain unoccupied ; IMadame de Montauban's is probably not composed of materials unusually hard. You cannot reproach yourself with having seduced her from the paths of virtue, and I dare say that you will not be afEicted by witnessing in her, after your desertion, any severe excess of painful and penitent se- clusion. Your absence is, on one account, pleasing to me ; though I certainly must condemn its cause^ it will enable me ta shew you how happy I shall be in fulfilling every request which you may honour me by making ; but indeed 158 ANTr-DELFHTNE. indeed, in this ready compliance, I shall" have no merit, your wishes and niy own, in this instance, so exactly accord, that whilst you are obliged by the services which I can render to your family, I am infi- iiitely too well rewarded by the sa- tisfaction I feel in rendering them to those so amiable and deserving* Believe me, my dear St. Edmund, you cannot give me a higher proof of your esteem, than by commanding to the utmost Your's most sincerely, EUSTACE DE MIREPOTX, 159 LETTER XIX. Clementina de St. Far fo Madame de Touriilk. Paris. Pleasure and pain, my dear aunt, we are told are so intimately con- nected, that wherever one is, the other soon follows. My last letter was unavoidably occupied with unpleasant occurrences ; 43ut a most delightful incident shall he the subject of this. I always com- municate l60 ANTI-DELPHINE^ municate every thing disagreeable whilst the impressions of vexation are strong in my mind, I am therefore determined to act impartially, and write the accomit of our evening's and, indeed, morning's amusement ; for it is now near six o'clock, whilst, my sensations of pleasure are at their, acme. Away, then,, every intrusion of fa- tigue, or allurement of sleep ; I wave my pen, and feel renovated by. the theme on which I am about; tq ejiter* When J last . wrote to you, wg haci been engaged for _ some time tp a ball, which was given this evening a,t the house of the Count de Mirepoix, a particular friend of Monsieur d^ St. Edmund. My ANTI-DELPHINE. l6\ My father was anxious that we should fulfil our engagement, and I was very ready to acquiesce ; but my sister, who had not been in public since Monsieur de St. Edmund's de- parture, conjured up so many phan- toms of mortifying pity, affected con- solation, and ill-disguised triumph, that her spirits sunk as the hour drew near, and she almost persuaded herself that it would be more advisable to remain at home. I own that my sentiments on this subject differed from her's. I knew that my father Arished us to accom- pany him thither. I had likewise promised to dance with Mr. Seymour, and you know, my dear aunt, that as he is a stranger, and a foreigner, it ■would have been extremely un polite to have disappointed him. I there- fore combated her arguments with all lG2 ANTI-DKLPIIINK. all the eloquence of wljicli I was inistress. T begged her to recall to mind the v/ords of lielvetius on self- importance, and strengthened his re» marks by the following quotation from the Rambler of Dr. Johnson, that great and good man, A\'hose works you^ my dear aunt, have taught us to un- derstand and admire. ** Every man,*' he says, " is of con- sequence to himself, and, therefore, he imagines to others ; and supposing the world already acquainted with all his pleasures and all his pains, is, per- haps, the first to publish injuries or misfortunes which had never been known unle&s related f)y himself." The words of Johnson arc seldom- urged in vain. Eugenia accordingly yielded to their force, and consentt-d tQ AXTI-DELPHIXE. 163 to go to the bail, but on tlie condi- tion tliat I should order her dress, and intirely relieve her from the trou- ble of decorating herself I wil- lingly agreed to this stipulation, and, in justice to my own taste, I must add that she never looked more beau- tiful. Her fine auburn hair was braided and couiined with strings of pearls ; her neck, arms, and wrists, were de- corated with the same delicate orna- ments ; her robe, thougli simple, was exactly calculated to display to the utmost advantage her lovely form, which was shaded bv a Ions; lace veil, the graceful iblcls of which added to the elegance of her appear- ance. Engenia smiled approbation as she carelessly l64f ANTI-DELPIIINE. carelessly surveyed the mirror that proudly reflected her bewitching figure, with which 1 was indeed so much delighted as to be almost in- different to the adorning of my own. My head was siiviply decorated with roses, and the same charming flowers graced my bosom. Thus equipped^ we alighted at the door of the Count de Mirepoix. There is something so exhilarating in the lights and music of a ball- room, that the heart must be deso- late indeed, in which they do not produce a momentary suspension of its sorrows in a scene where every countenance is illumined by gaiety and hope, and where the most luxu- riant ideas of fancy are realised by the hand of opulence. Even ANTI-DKLPHINE* iGj Even Eugenia looked animated as yve passed through the superb anti- chamber to a saloon which opened into the ball-room, and in which the choicest exotics wafted their perfumes through the air : the glare of innu- merable lights rivalling the day in brilliancy, was softened by shades of painted gauze ; and the elfgant wreaths of flowers which crowned the whole^ appeared to consecrate the scene to mirth and festivity. Yet all this grandeur had not that effect on our feelings which the scent of a charming lilac-tree produced. '* Ah 1" exclaimed Eugenia, '' that delightful fragrance reminds me of the window in my aunt's closet, against which her favourite lilac grows in such abundance !" And indeed, my dearest madam, the beau- tiful \66 ANTI-DELPHINE, tiful flower brought a croud of tender recollections into our minds as we each placed a sprig of it in our bo- soms. The Count de Mirepoix has im- mense possessions, and lives in a style of great magnificence. Generou."* without ostentation, the poor feel his bounty as well as the rich ; and few, whatever may be their situation in life, enter his noble mansion with- out being charmed with the owner of it. His lady is a fine woman of a most amiable character and much dignity of manners. She is much respected, and I rejoice to see the progress of an intimacy between my sister and her, which will, I hope^ be productive of equal pleasure to both parties. All ANTI-DELPHINE. 16? All the company were, or appeared to be, hap{)y. Nothing occurred to wound my sifter's feehngs, and I had the pleasure of seeing her become more cheerful as the evening ad- vanced. I had wisely taken the resolution to forget all our recent vexations and troubles, and was dancing with no little animation when my attention >fas suddenly diverted from the dance by the entrance of the most elegant young man I ever beheld. You shall guess the name of this irresistible stranger, whose person I will describe to you ; and if you cannot recognise him from my de- scription, I will inform you by whom he was introduced ; if that will not be sufficient to lead to a discovery, I will 168 ANTl-DELPHINE. will have the pleasure of telling you his name myself. He is tall, slender, and finely form- ed ; uniting* in his person the most interesting appearance with an air of inexpressible dignity ; a clear brown complexion, beautiful forehead and eye-brows, brilliant dark eyes, which give animation to a thoughtful expressive countenance, fine teeth, hair like my Eugenia's, and dressed in the English fashion. Now, my dear aunt, cannot you guess who he is ? Or you, my clever uncle ? Oh ! how dull you are be- come amidst retirement and books ! He entered with Mr. Seymour, who had been called from me a few mi- nutes before. You do not guess even yet ! Then I am indeed in despair ; what .ANTI-DELPHI NE. I69 what, can you not discover in the finished portrait I have drawn, the re- semblance of your own son ? your dear Henry ? Wise parents ! admir- able diviners ! Yes, madam, it was he indeed. You know we have never seen him since we were mere babies, and I as- sure you that I had not the most distant thought of beholding my cousin in this charming stranger; though certainly his entrance with Mr. Seymour, and the daily expec- tation we were in of his arriyal might have led me to suspect it — but it never suggested itself to me until I saw him conducting my sister to the upper end of the room to begin the dance ; and as the particulars of their introduction were rather interesting, 1^ will give you them as they were related to me by Eugenia. VOL. I. I Mr, 170 ANTI-DELPHI NE. Mr. Seymour brought your son to her, and merely begged to introduce him as a candidate for the honour of her hand in the dance. She replied that she should be happy in the ac- quaintance of any friend of Mr. Sey- mour, but in that instance was under the necessity of declining it as she had resolved not to dance again that evening. *' If, madam," said your interesting Henry, " you be half as compas- sionate as your countenance must lead me to suppose, you will, I am sure, revoke your resolution in fa- vour of one who is not only a stran- ger to the company here, but almost in his native country, so long has he been absent from it.'' My sister, pleased with his vivacity, appearance, and address, suffered herself to be prevailed upon, and had given him ANTI-DELPHINE. 171 her hand, when recollecting herself, ** Mr. Seymour/' said she, *' you have been so inattentive in the in- troduction of your friend, that I know not by what name to address him." ** I acknowledge my neglect, madam,'' he replied, " but it was in fact designed ; I wished to see how- far your compassion would extend towards one who has represented him- self to be friendless and unknown. I trust you will not, however, repent of your condescension when I an- nounce this stranger to you as Heniy de Tourville." The surprize was too great for my sister, whose bloom forsook her cheeks. She looked earnestly at him and endeavoured to speak, but her voice faltered, and she burst into tears. Henry was shocked, and Sey- I 2 mour 172 ANTI-DELPHI NE. niour reproached himself for having thoughtlessly exposed her sensibility to a trial which it was unable to support. She, however, soon recovered her- self, and when those who had pressed round her with anxious inquiries, were informed that her emotion had risen merely from the sudden and unex- pected meeting with a relation, who had been long absent, they politely left her at liberty to converse with him. Now was not all this, my dear aunt, \very pretty ! Your poor Clementina had no such adventure ; she was in- troduced to him in the plain, old- fashioned st^^le ; and when Henry and I had once declared that we were very happy to see each other, there was ANTI-DELPHINE* 173 was an end of our mutual perturba- tions and anxieties: whilst he, there- fare, was affectionately asking my sister/if s'le were too warm or too cold, fatigued or amused, and a number of questions equally impor- tant, I was obliged to content my- self with poor Seymour, who humbly endeavoured to emulate his friend's attentions. And now, my dear madam, I have concluded the account of our even- ing's adventure, and I hope in such a manner as to merit your approba- tion. Never let my uncle again call me ati^-idk- girl, for I declare that I have written until I have scarcely strength to tell you that your son means to set off for Belle-vue as sooii as JV^ ANTI-DELPHINl:. as the business which brought him to Paris is concluded. Adieu, my dear aunt. I certainly shall not waste much time in court- ing the drowsy god, for he has already taken possession of the senses of Your 175 LETTER XX. The Count dc Mirepoix to Madame de St, Edmund, Monday Moruin^. Madame de Mirepoix is much in. disposed, and the only consolation of which my affliction admits is that I am emholdened by her indisposi- tion to write a billet which will, I trust, be opened by the fairest hands in France. I am willing, madam, that my wife sliouid. 176 ANTI-DELPHINE. should owe to me the greatest plea- sure of which she is at any time ca- pable of receiving, and therefore I presume to solicit for her the favour of your company to-day. She is racked with the gout in her hands, and the pain is so violent that it induces a subsequent languor between the paroxysn?s of it, which is yet more difficult to bear. Your amiable attentions will divert her sense of the former, and your interesting conversation will effectually rouse her from the latter. — Ah ! I know not of any state of existence which might not be made enviable by your conde- scending to participate in its cares. I wish to heighten the gratification which I flatter myself 1 shall pro- cure for Madame de Mirej)oix, by giving her the additional pleasure of surprize. Have the goodness then, madam, to favour me with one Mord in ANTI-DELPHINE. 177 in reply to my intreaty, and I shall enjoy the idea of so unexpectedly delighting Madame de Mirepoix by your company, which she would not ask, fearing lest your benevolence should suffer a knowledge of her situ- ation to supersede some engagement more pleasurable than that of solacing an invalid. I am, Madam, with the most profound respect, and the most sincere esteem, your most obedient, humble servant, EUSTACE DE MIREPOIX. 17b LETTER XXI. Madame de SuEdmund to Madame de Mirepoix. Monday Noon. iG the painful disorder in your hands, my dear madam, I have just been indebted for a billet from tlxe counts Believe me, I am truly sorry for the cause, particularly as I cannot shew my sympathy as 1 should wish, being engaged the whole of this day oa ANTI-DELPHINE* 17^ on business for my father. To-mor- row, however, I hope to be able to dedicate intirely to you, and shall be very happy if my company prove the slightest consolation to you, under your present indisposition ; it will, perhaps, be more valuable at a time when, I think, you will not have that ©f the count, who I believe will then be in the country. Adieu, my dear madam. The time will appear long to me until I can personally assure you of the concern with which the knowledge of your sufferings has inspired Your's most affectionately, J 80 LETTER XXII. Henry de TourvilU to Madame de Tourville. Paris. Do not, my much-beloved and re- spected mother, censure me for ap- pearing to loiter away, in the pursuit of pleasure, that time which duly and inclination (had I alone con- sulted them) would, long ere this, have urged me to dedicate to my parents ANTI-DELPHIN'E. 181 parents and Belle-vae. Believe me, my stay here has been, and for two or three weeks longer will continue to be, unavoidable T indeed nothing but tlie most absolute necessity should have detained me for one moment from a home which is en- deared to me bv the tenderest recol- lections, and from which I have alreadv been estranged too Jong. Ah ! my dear mother, what charms are contained for the feeling heart in the word home ! Man, wTCtched man, has need of some asylum from his griefs : he looks round the world, and sickens at the chilling selfishness by which his warmest sympathies are repelled ; — he remembers his home, and his heart again expands ; it tells him that he is not alone upon the earth : ah ! 182 ANTI-DELPHINE. no ; a happy home is a terrestrial heaven 1 The most fortunate man is an object of pity if he have not a little circle which affection and sym- pathy have endeared to him, and in which he can recount his successes and excite a participation in his re- joicings. Even pain may be more support- able than pleasure, if cither must bo^ borne alone. We naturally wish ta spare those whom we love, a know- ledge of the pangs which may afflict our own hearts ; but when rapture dilates the bosom> its sighs proclaim ils desire that those dear to it should participate in its transports. Con- cealment of pain is the effort of for- titude, but to enjoy pleasure alone, is to indulge selfishness. My vexation on being detained here ANTI-DELPHINE. 183 here would be insupportable had I only the society of strangers ; but I am much consoled by that of Sey- mour, my earliest and my most va« lued friend^ whose warm attachment to me expands my heart, by inspir- ing in it the livliest sensations of gratitude and delight It is not, however, to him alone^ that I am indebted for pleasing sen- sations, though I have been ungallant enough to mention his claims on my regard, previous to acknowledging those of my lovely cousins; and yet this was only because you are a stranger to Seymour's worth, and eannot be so to theirs. Indeed it is impossible for me to describe to you how much I am charmed with them» How fortunate you were to be so long blessed with their society ! Why did not you immediately send an- express 184 ANTI-DELPHI NE^ express for me on their arrival at Belle-vue ? Or at least you might Jiavc been more animated in your description of them. I acknowledge that you informed me they were beau- tiful, and not more beautiful than good; but I have seen so many- women who possessed beauty without being amiable, who were good with- out being interesting, that these general expressions created in me no uncommon expectations. Though Eugenia had lost every remembrance of me, I recollected her immediately. The influence of time appeared more striking in Clemen- tina, whom I have never seen since she was quite a child ; but in nei- ther the one nor the other are the expressions of countenance, or tones of voice, in the least altered. These awaken in me the most affectionate remembrances ANTI-DELPHINE. 185 remembrances of our infantile sports, and the mixed emotions which are excited in my breast on recollecting the innocence and simplicity of their childhood, whicb I now see united to the sensibility and dignity of ma- turity, are as delightful as they are new. I am thought to resemble Eu- genia so much, that I am often ad- dressed as her brother. I confess that I am flattered when this is the case, and should be yet more so could I hope that my resemblance to her ex- tended also to the virtues and talents Avith which she is so liberally en- dued. You know that I am not In tlie least acquainted with Monsieur dc St. Edmund. I own the situation in which 1 have found his wife, does not add to m'y esteem for him ; though having prevfiously formed a favourable opinion 186 ANTI-DKLPHINE. opinion of him, perhaps his beha- viour does not excite in me the ab- horrence which I should feel for similar conduct in any other, while there can certainly be few who would be less excusable : but this shews the injustice of prepossessions, and the difficulty of conquering them. Per* haps those which I feel for him are strengthened by the good offices of bis friends, who are numerous, and apparently much attached to him ; they say he has but one failing : what that failing is, his recent conduct leaves no room to conjecture. But while they seek to excuse in hira this single foible, they forget that a man who has only one fault is too often governed by it intirely, and is thus hurried on to excesses alike prejudicial to society and to himself; whilst another may be suliject to many failings, but a slave to few, foi' AXTI-DELPIIINE. 187 for the strength of each being weak- ened by division, they may become more irksome to himself than inju- rious to others ; and Montaigne truly observes that *' the torrents which divide themselves into many streams are the least dangerous." The good natured world judges, however, good naturedly where it is not immediately concerned^ and is very lenient to- wards faults by which it does not suffer. But if many endeavour to excul- pate him, all agree in praising hcF whom he has so unjustly left, whom he has exposed to tlie sneers of malice and envy, and the attacks of the thoughtless or licentious. The re- spect which she universally inspires, even in this trvin'>- and delicate situ- ation, is, however, a pleasing and con* vincing pioof that virtuous conduct will 188 ANTI-DELPHINE. will always be admired, even by those who may have ceased to practise it ; and indeed her example shines with redoubled lustre when contrasted with the darkness amidst which it is displayed. Equally removed from austerity or levity, she neither shuns nor courts society. Her chief inti- mate is the Countess de Mirepoix, who is very amiable, and whose hus- band is one of Monsieur de St. Ed- mund's oldest friends. His atten- tions to Eugenia are so excessive, that I sometimes think they are painful to her ; she of course attri- butes them intirely to his regard for her husband; but if I mistake not, they originate in motives more ten- der than even he is aware of. I flatter myself that this remark has been made by me alone, and I hope that it will not be made by any ANTI DELPHINE. 1^9 any other. The known intimacy of the Count de Mirepoix with Mon- sieur de St. Edmund, prevents the sus- picion of superficial observers : but the friendship of the dissolute, is too often only a partnership of vice, which is dissoluble at pleasure, on the occur- rence of separate interests ; and Mon- sieur de St. Edmund eould ill up- braid the count with following the example which his own conduct has so unhappily afforded. The only differ- ence betv/cen the two is, that the former errs througji vanity, and the latter through sensibility. Not that I mean in the least to excuse the per- fidy of the count in abusing the absence of his friend ; in this instance, however, it will be accompanied by its own punishment; for to love Eu- genia hopelessly (and whoever loves her in her present situation mnst, from her pure ideas of rectitude, love hopelcs.^ly) 190 ANTI-DELPHINE. hopelessly) is surely punished se- verely enough for greater errors than that of admh'ing perfections like her's. But 1 must not suffer my fair cousins to engross the whole of n)y attention, howev^er great their claims on it may he. Present my tender- est regards to my dear father, and tell him that I shall have the plea- sure of increasing his library, as I am not only enabled to present him with the principal works of all the most esteemed English authors of the present day, but have likewise been so fortunate as to procure some scarce and valuable editions of the classics, of which I know he has long been in search. How happy shall I be in dedicating once more my mornings to him, and my ANTI-DELPHINE. 1^1 my evenings to my mother, particu- larly her favourite hour of twilight, when, outward objects fading on the sight, the contemplative mind exerts its own powers in supplying stores far reflection or conversation ! Adieu, my dear mother ! adieu, till the wished-for and not far-distant period arrives, when you will be per- sonally assured of the warm affection of your son HENRY DE TOURVILLE. 192 LETTER XXIII. The Count de Jdirepoix to Mad. de St, Edmund, Monday Morning^. Pardon, madam, my presumption in seeking by letter, the conversation which you so studiously avoid fa- vouring me with in person. I appeal not to your compassion, but to your justice, which will teach you not to be severe on a transgression of which your own cruelty is the cause. Of ANTI-DELPHINE. 1^3 Of late you have industriously shunned nie ; my attentions appear to have become odious to you, and you refuse to accept from me the. most triflhig civilities. In what have I been so unfortunate as to offend you ? Condemn me not with- out informing me of my fault ; for how can I atone for that of which I am ignorant? If my atte'ntions appear obtrusive or troublesome, they at least origi- nate in my friendship for Monsieur de St. Edmund ; and if they have ever been carried to excess, they ought surely to be excused by the object towards whom they have been di- rected. Madame de Mirepoix remarks the alteration in your conduct ; its cold- ness afflicts her, and she wearies VOL. I. K herself 19^ ANTI-DELPHINE. herself in endeavouring to conjecture the cause of it. She esteems you too highly to deserve from you even the appearance of neglect ; for her sake there fore, madam, I conjure you to wear it no longer ; for her sake I conjure you not to deprive me of your esteem ; it is necessary to my existence, and to merit the continuance of it will be the unceasing effort of one who, with e very- sentiment of the most profound re- spect and admiration, is proud to subscribe himself, Madam, Your most devoted servant, EUSTACE DE MIREPOIX. 195 LETTER XXIV. Mad, de St, Edmund to the Count de Mirepoix, Monday Noon. 1 OUR billet, sir, I have this mo- ment received. It does not strictly require any answer, for it treats only of imaginary wrongs. But as I can express in a few words all that is necessary for me to say, or you to know, I will not give you reason K 2 ' to 196 ANTI-T>ELPHrNE. to accuse me of a breach of politeness ill observing a total silence on the occasion. That I have of late declined your attentions I frankly acknowledge:; and will as frankly add, that it was because they became too marked to -continue pleasing. The Count de Mirepoix cannot be particular to one without attracting the observation of many ; and to in- gross attentions in society is unjust, for whilst all behave with propriety, all have a right to expect them. Though*! may be convinced th:\t your's towards me originates in your rcoard for ^lonsicur de St. Ednuind, yet others do not know the great extent of it; and situated as I am I ought ANTI-DELPHINE. I<)7 I ought to be particularly careful not to authorize unfavourable con- jectures by conduct apparently equi- vocal. I must a\^o\r> moreover, that however the zeal of your friendship may manifest itself in your attentions to me, its delicacy would be more apparent in avoiding such a display of them as must certainly attract public observation* You say that I reject from you tiie- most trifling civilities ; let them, sir, be offered in common with those of others, and in common with them^ they will be accepted, I know Madame de Mirepoix too- well to fear the loss of her esteem by a conduct which, I flatter myself, is exactly what her's would be in u situation similar to mine. Adieu, 198 ANTI-DELPHINE. Adieu, sir. It is my turn to request you not to be offended with my can- dour, and to believe that you have, and I hope will ever retain, many claims on the gratitude and esteem of EUGENIA PE ST» EDMUND^ 199 LETTER XXV. The Count de Mirepoixio Mad, deSt, Edmund. Friday. Noon, Still, Tnadam> I must complain, for you are still unjust ; you break the treaty which you proposed your- self, you refuse to fulfil conditions which were laid down by yourself alone. You expressly said, '^ treat me only with the attention due to any other lady, 200 ANTI-DELPIIINE. lady, and it shall be received as from any other gentleman." 1 did so ; for I wished to convince you of my obedience, however painful tl>e proofs which you required of it. I will not here repeat reasons which I have ©ften urged in vain, why I conceived myself authorized to observe towards you a conduct somewhat more mark- ed than is due to common acquaint- ance only. But I will once more appeal to your justice, and ask, if you have fulfilled your part of the engage- ment, as I have mine ? Have I omitted any thing which you re- quired ? Have you performed any thing which you promised ? If Task you to dance, you are wearied ; to sing, you are hoarse ; to play at cards, you are engaged at another table ; to converse, you are expected in ano- ther ANTI-DELPHI NE» 201 ther party. Surely such a marked rejection of the most common civili- ties is more hkely to attract observa- tion, than an easy acceptance of them would be. What is it that you dread ? Not the censure of the world, for that which is undeserved cannot injure : still less'-^ can you fear the possibility of mak- ing M. de St. Edmund uneasy; he has proved himself superior to jea- lousy, by leaving an object whose charms make her so capable of. cre-- ating it. - I' confess that I' cannot conceive how any man can possess a treasure without paying for it the tax of anxi- ety proportioned to its value : but I can- easily imagine that he v/ho is sufficiently a philosopher to be care- less of its preservation, would not K 5 ' find 20^ AXTI-DELPHINE. find his fortitude desert him, even if he were to suffer a total loss of it. Do not, however, mistake me, madam ; I am well aware that Mon- sieur de St. Edmund will never he so severely tried ; I wish only to re- anove a delicacy which is carried to fastidiousness, a prudence which de- generates into suspicion : either of these is unworthy of the mind of Madame de St. Edmund ; suffer me, then, to hope that the native lihera- litv of that mind will he once more permitted to expand, and extend to him whose highest ambition is the privilege of subscribing himself, ]\Iadam, Your most devoted humble servant, EUSTACE DE MIREPOIX. 203 LETTER XXVI. Mdd' de St, Edmund to the Count de MirepoU\ Wednesday Morning. I FEEL, sir, that I am degrading my- self by writing a second time on a subject which I had hoped for your own sake you should never more have presumed to mention. By what right you criticise my ac- tions is unknown to me, and I re- gret 204" AXTI-DELPHINE. gret that I ever condescended to explain their motives to you. You said that something was due to you as Monsieur de St, Edmund's friend : as such I treated you, until I thought your claim to that title was rendered doubtful by your con- duct. I then exerted the privilege of behaving to you as to any other acquaintance; and accordingly de- clined your civilities with those of many others, because I received no gratification from them. I was not prevented from accept- ing them by fear of the censure of the world ; for though I think that a certain deference is due to its opi- nions from those who live in it, and share its benefits, yet the fear of my own reproach will, I trust, be ever greater AKTI-DELPIir^E, 205 greater than that of the reproach of others. Neither am I afraid that your at- tentions to nie would make Monsieur de St. Edmund uneasy : I know him, and am flattered by the proper confi- dence which he reposes in me, though you with equal cruelty and indelicacy insinuate that this arises solely from indifference. I am persuaded that my welfare will never cease to interest him ; and however jealousy may be in your opinion a proof of affection, in mine it is an insult, at least after marriage; for before that union, it is generally deemed, and sometimes, in- deed, is a compliment to the object by which it is inspired. Before marriage it may be the offspring of anxiety ; but after, it can only be that of distrust. Tlie ^06 ANTI-DELPHINE* The merit, however, of studying the ease of Monsieur de St. Edmund in thJD instance, is not mine ; I only consult my own in rejecting the adulation of a person who is in- different to me, and in declining, attentions which are equally weari- some and ahsurd. I am sorry that you will oblige me. to appear ungrateful and unpolite. Suffer me, I -conjure you, to esteem you again as I once did. Let me intreat you to resume the conduct which you formerly observed, and which was much more honourable to yourself, and flattering to me, than: that which has lattely offended me ; and wdiich, if continued, will have no other effect than to render my further residence in Paris equally- unpleasant and improper. The re- spect ANTI-DELPHINE. 207 spect which 1 owe to myself, will then necessarily oblige me to deck some other abode, where I may at least be free from insult. I trust that you are too generous to force me to a step so hostile to my wishes; and in the full hope that this painful subject may never be renewed, I remain, sir. Your most obedient, EUGENIA DE ST. EDMUND, S08 LETTER XXVII. The Count dt MirepQix to Mad. de St. Edmu7\d. Wednesday Noon. To add insult to crudty, madam, mockery to injustice, is what I did not expect from the gentleness of your disposition, nor did I deserve it in return for the sincerity of my regard. But why should I use a* term so inadequate to the expression of my feelings? I will say, in return for ANTI-DELPUIxVE. £09 for the excess of my passion, which I will no longer attempt to disguise : madam, I love you ! You cannot deprive mc of the pleasure I feel in tracing the words, * I love you ;' I repeat them, I gaze enraptured on them, and let it be the odious task of prudery and cold- ness to obliterate them from the paper, they cannot be erased from my heart, any more than can the resolution which is imprinted on it, to follow you throughout the world; Am not I the master of my steps, as much as you are the mistress of your actions ? ^ Yes, madam, your power over me is unlimited, save when you com- mand me to forget } ou ; could I obey you in that instance, I should be ^10^ ANTI-DELPHINE.. be utterly unworthy of the happiness to which I aspire. Do not drive me to desperation ; for your own sake be not too severe on me ; learn to appreciate the va- lue of a faithful heart, instead of probing its wounds even to agony. Despair may teach me to forget what I owe to you, but your lenity can only produce beneficial effects. If I have wandered from the paths of rectitude,, pardon me, and pity me. for having been misled by the me- teor-blaze of pasiion : your persua^ sive accents will recall me to a sense, of my error; but if you forsake mc. I can listen only to the voice of my despair. Do not desert me too sud» denly ; for the sake of my wife I. conjure you not to leave Paris whilst I am in a state of agitation already too^ ANTI-DELPHINE. 2ii too great to escape her observation ; Avhat then would it be should I hear of your departure — how could I con- ceal it either from her, or from the world ? I should not even endea- vour to do it ; no, they all should know my unhappiuess, and who is there who v» ill not pity il ■? Suffer me at least to see you, if but for a i :o.iicnt* Suffer me to extenu- ate n y fault, or plead for its for- givt^Lcss. I ask but this favour, and I tvHst that you ^\ili not have the cruelty to deny it to Madam, Your moat devoted servant, EUSTACE DE MIREPOIX. tl^ lETTEH XXVill. Mid, dc St, Idrtiund to tJie Covni de Mirepoia^ Wednesday Night.. I OPENED your billet, sir, in tli^ hope that it contained a candid ac- knowledgment of your error, for such an acknowledgment might justly have been expected from a man of sense, and a gentleman. I was. ANTl-DELPHINE. 21$ twas disappointed, and have therefore •returned it. Your threat to follow me I regard -as the effusion of a madman, who 'fancies himself living in those days -of violence when force was law, and justice unknown. Considered in this light, your in- sulting avowal of an unlawful pas- sion inspires me with concern rather th^n anger. But though the ravings of a ma- niac may be pitied, they ought to he guarded against ; and I shall so far reap the benefit of living in an enlightened age and civilized society, that, on the least appear- ance of such a step being necessar}-, 1 shall immediately resort to the protection 214 ANTI-DELPHINE. protection of those laws which pre- §erve at the same time the safety of the kingdom, and the security of the individual. KUGEISIA DE ST. EDMUNB* SIS LETTER XXIX. Madatne de St, Edmund to Madame de Tourvilk, Paris. Alas ! my dear inadam, how soon are the unfortunate made sensible of their situation ! The absence of my husbandj grievous as it is rendered by attendant circumstances^ I could support in the hope of his return ; but I f.nd that the friendless must not expect protection in the gay li- centious society of Paris. I can 5216 ANTI-DELPIIINE. I can scarcely prevail on myself ta inform even you, my dear aunt, that the Count cle Mirepoix, who once called himself M. de St. Edmund's warmest friend, has dared to in^ suit nie with declarations of his love ! Ah ! how degraded I feel in having been condemned to hear them ! The count must certain- ly have imagined that he saw some levity of conduct in nie, v/hich may liave encouraged him to commit such an outrage against morality, friend- sliip, and society. Perhaps, knowing the peculiar cir- cumstances of Monsieur de St. Ed- mund's departure, he supposed that I was only lightly afflicted by it, and that the attention of another, dread- ful thought ! would soon erase it intirely from my mind. If ANTI-DELPIIIXE. 217 If I have endeavoured to appear dieerful, it has been that the world might not be induced by the dis- play of my sorrows to censure the conduct of a man whom I esteem, and who has always behaved to me most kindly. Even since he left me, his gene- rosity has still continued to make me an object of envy. When I have with a heavy heart been decorated in the costly jewels which his love had lavished on me, I have often seen the desiring eyes of my female acquaintance fixed eagerly on them, and I have then forcibly felt the truth of the maxim which tells us that *' before we wish for any thing belonging to another, we should in- quire how far it conduces to the happiness of its possessor." But I shall no lons]:er raise either envv or VOL. !• L admiration. 21S ANTI-DELPHINE. admiration. I will once more seek an asylum with you, my dear aunt, -who for twelve months laboured to render my sister and me happy, and who will not now refuse to make me still move your debtor when I am . destitute of every other aid. :The last letters from my husband - Mere dated from Italy, where he says he shall be unavoidably detained some time longer by business. Of course I cannot flatter myself with the ex- pectation of his return, for at least Aome months. I have, however, the satisfaction to bear that Madame de Montaubau re- mains in Dauphin^, with her rela- tions ; and 1 hope that by being freed from her allurements, his natural rectitude will prompt him to return to the paths of domestic happiness with ANTI-DZLPIIINE. 21^ with renewed pleasure after his tem- porary deviation from them. He is still kind to me in his letters, in his bounty, and in every thing bat tlie cruel absence which leaves me soli- tary and unprotected. I shall be much distressed on part- ing with Clementina, but my father wishes her to remain near him ; and ^3 she is not old enough to preside alone in his house, and has no female friend in Paris with whom slie wishes to reside, she intends to board for some time in the convent de Salnte ^larie, where, as she is acquainted with the abbess and several of the novices, I hope she will be agreeably situated. My only regret on quit- ting Paris will arise from leaving her and my dear father ; the company of iny acfjuaintance here, I can resign without a sigh, J. C Ta g^ilO ANTI-DELPITIIC£. In society we rather bear with than enjoy. We are rarely much amused, and still more rarely interested. A constant exchange of unmeaning ce- remonies must weary even the most trifling, and in what is termed po- lite company, we cannot look foe more. Here the volubility of speech is always in proportion to the frivolity of the subjects on which it is em- ployed ; and the greatest number of words are invariably bestowed on such as are of the least importance. But if any topic abstracted from the common ones of the day be ac- cidentally introduced, a cautious silence is observed by the greater part of the con.pany, lestan unwary remark might betray the speaker's ignorance, or by its tendency lead others ANTI-DELPHIXE» 221 ©thers to form some conjecture as to his disposition and opinions; ncitbxr of which are esteemed neceisary, or even desirable to be known in tliat kind of society which has its lf()rtun(s of our neiiihhonrs many will be silent ; th(;u