Again; men boast of their triumphs over women, what do they boast
of? Truly the creature of sensibility was surprised by her
sensibility into folly--into vice;* and the dreadful reckoning
falls heavily on her own weak head, when reason wakes. For where
art thou to find comfort, forlorn and disconsolate one? He who
ought to have directed thy reason, and supported thy weakness, has
betrayed thee! In a dream of passion thou consentedst to wander
through flowery lawns, and heedlessly stepping over the precipice
to which thy guide, instead of guarding, lured thee, thou startest
from thy dream only to face a sneering, frowning world, and to find
thyself alone in a waste, for he that triumphed in thy weakness is
now pursuing new conquests; but for thee--there is no redemption on
this side the grave! And what resource hast thou in an enervated
mind to raise a sinking heart?
(*Footnote. The poor moth fluttering round a candle, burns its
wings.)
But, if the sexes be really to live in a state of warfare, if
nature has pointed it out, let men act nobly, or let pride whisper
to them, that the victory is mean when they merely vanquish
sensibility. The real conquest is that over affection not taken by
surprise--when, like Heloisa, a woman gives up all the world,
deliberately, for love. I do not now consider the wisdom or virtue
of such a sacrifice, I only contend that it was a sacrifice to
affection, and not merely to sensibility, though she had her share.
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