I have seen a quarrel of this kind last longer than a year. It was a woman of the greatest distinction who sacrificed all her happiness, sooner than give her lover the chance of entertaining the slightest possible doubt of the magnanimity of her pride. The reconciliation was the work of chance, and, on my friend's side, due to a moment of weakness, which, on meeting her lover, she was unable to overcome. She imagined him forty miles away, and found him in a place, where certainly he did not expect to see her. She could not hide the first transports of delight; her lover was more overcome than she; they almost fell at each other's feet and never have I seen tears flow so abundantly--it was the unlooked-for appearance of happiness. Tears are the supreme smile. The Duke of Argyll gave a fine example of presence of mind, in not drawing Feminine Pride into a combat, in the interview he had at Richmond with Queen Caroline.[1] The more nobility in a woman's character, the more terrible are these storms-- As the blackest sky Foretells the heaviest tempest. (_Don Juan_.) Can it be that the more fervently, in the normal course of life, a woman delights in the rare qualities of her lover, the more she tries, in those cruel moments, when sympathy seems turned to the reverse, to wreak her vengeance on what usually she sees in him superior [Pg 92] to other people? She is afraid of being confounded with them. It is a precious long time since I read that boring _Clarissa_; but I think it is through feminine pride that she lets herself die, and does not accept the hand of Lovelace. Lovelace's fault was great; but as she did love him a little, she could have found pardon in her heart for a crime, of which the cause was love. Monime, on the contrary, seems to me a touching model of feminine delicacy. What cheek does not blush with pleasure to hear from the lips of an actress worthy of the part:-- That fatal love which I had crushed and conquered, * * * * * Your wiles detected, and I cannot now Disown what I confess'd; you cannot raze Its memory; the shame of that avowal, To which you forced me, will abide for ever Present before my mind, and I should think That you were always of my faith uncertain. The grave itself to me were less abhorrent Than marriage bed shared with a spouse, who took Cruel advantage of my simple trust, And, to destroy my peace for ever, fann'd A flame that fired my cheek for other love Than his.[2] I can picture to myself future generations saying: "So that's what Monarchy[3] was good for--to produce that sort of character and their portrayal by great artists. " And yet I find an admirable example of this delicacy even in the republics of the Middle Ages; which seems to destroy my system of the influence of governments on the passions, but which I shall cite in good faith.