Frank Mildmay; Or, the Naval OfficerMarryat, Frederick
History
Frank Mildmay; Or, the Naval Officer
Marryat, Frederick
Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 19th century -- Fiction; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Officers -- Fiction; Sea stories
Madame de Stael has pronounced love to be an episode in a man's life;
and so far it is true. There are as many episodes in life as there are
in novels and romances; but in neither case do they destroy the general
plot of the history, although they may, for the time, distract or divert
our attention. Here, then, is the distinction between passion and love.
I felt a passion for Eugenia, love for Emily. And why? Because
although it was through my own persuasions and entreaties that her
scruples had been overcome; although it was through her affection for me
which would not allow her to refuse me any demand, even to the sacrifice
of herself, that Eugenia had fallen,--still, in the eyes of society, she
had fallen; and I did not offer up a pure and holy love to that which
was not accounted pure. In this I gave way, ungratefully, to the
heartless casuistry of the world. But Emily, enshrined in modesty, with
every talent, equal, if not superior charms, defended by rank and
connection, was a flower perpetually blooming on the stem of virtue,
that it would have amounted to sacrilege to attempt to have plucked: and
the attempt itself would have savoured of insanity, from the utter
hopelessness of success. Every sentiment connected with her was pure
from mere selfishness. Not for worlds would I have injured her; because
in destroying her peace of mind, my own would have fled for ever. When
I contemplated our final union, I blushed for my own unworthiness; and
looked forward to the day when, by repentance and amendment, I might be
deemed worthy to lead her to the altar.
I had not time to pursue these reflections any further. Emily heard my
appeal, and rising from her seat in the most dignified manner, addressed
me in the commanding language of conscious virtue and injured innocence.
"Sir," said she, "I trust I am too honest to deceive you, or any one;
nor have I done that of which I need be ashamed. Whatever reasons I may
have to repent of my misplaced confidence, I will make no secret of that
which now compels me to change my opinion of you; you will find them
amply detailed in this paper," at the same time putting into my hand the
letter from my father to Mr Somerville.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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