I know that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
A writer, evidently a Frenchman, in the British or some other
Encyclopaedia, under the article "Man," draws a very ingenious contrast
between the two sexes, which is correct enough in its general
principles, but exceedingly erroneous in many very important points.
Speaking of the different behavior of men and women, under the pressure
of grief or calamity, he says, "Woman weeps--man remains silent--woman
is in agony when man weeps--she is in despair when man is in agony."
Mr. Philosopher, you are a goose. It is obvious that you have drawn your
conclusions from your observations of Frenchmen exclusively, who are
theatrical and affected from the cradle to the grave.
"Woman weeps while man remains silent."--True; she gives vent to her
feelings by weeping, and her full heart is tranquillized by her tears,
which seem not only to relieve and refresh the swollen and burning eyes
of the body, but to render those of the mind more clear and
penetrating. What, for instance, was the language and sentiment of Mary
Queen of Scots, when Rizzio was murdered in her presence? "I will dry up
my tears," said the high-spirited descendant of the Stuarts, "and think
of revenge." Man's remaining silent is not always an evidence of
fortitude or resignation; it may be stupidity and want of feeling, or
gloom and sulkiness; a disposition to find fault with Divine Providence
for visiting him with affliction.
"Woman is in agony when man weeps." Absurd! her tears have relieved her
agony. Like the elastic and pliable willow, she has yielded to the storm
of grief, and her buoyant spirit rises comparatively uninjured from the
conflict.
"Woman is in despair when man is in agony." It is said that the
difference between a fool and a madman is, that the fool draws wrong
conclusions from correct principles, and the madman correct conclusions
from erroneous principles. I leave my readers to judge under which
denomination the author quoted comes. There is but one step in his
climax that approaches the truth, and he has drawn a series of wrong
conclusions from that. The concurrent testimony of a host of writers,
both moralists and historians, goes to establish the fact, that, under
the pressure of remediable misfortunes, women have infinitely greater
acuteness and quickness of perception of means of relief--more
promptness, energy, and courage in carrying them into execution, than
men. "Hope the deceiver" retains possession of the heart of woman long,
long after man has hanged, shot, or drowned himself in despair.
Isabella was certainly almost overcome by the melancholy intelligence,
when first communicated; but weeping and the repose of the morning had
tranquillized her, and the facts that she had ascertained had given her
fresh courage and hopes. Not daring, however, to urge her uncle too far
at that time, as she saw he was out of humor, she was still determined
not by any means to regard one, nor two, nor twenty refusals as
decisive; but, if he could not be "carried by boarding," to blockade him
into compliance. Her uncle's order for her admittance to the prison, she
determined only to use occasionally, and as circumstances pointed out,
for fear of exciting suspicion; but to reserve it as a sort of sheet
anchor for the perfection of a half-formed scheme that was already
agitating her brain.
Under pretence of merely ascertaining that the prisoners were supplied
with all the comfort that their situation would admit, but in reality to
communicate with her lover, she visited the prison that very day. She
found the prisoner, who was already heart-sick of the confinement,
independently of its probable termination, walking listlessly up and
down the passage leading to the inner prison, which was both spacious
and airy; for, as before observed, his excellency had so far relented as
to direct that the prisoners, during the day, should be permitted to
enjoy the air. His surprise at seeing her was extreme--not that he
doubted she would make an attempt to see him, but he considered it a
hopeless one. She met him with tranquillity, almost cheerfulness.
"Thank heaven!" he exclaimed mentally, "there is some hope of once more
snuffing fresh air; that sweet girl would never be so composed unless
she had some plan in her mind for my delivery. Isabella, dearest
Isabella, tell me, for heaven's sake, how have you managed to get into
this place, that every one else is so anxious to keep out of? Has the
old Don dismounted from his high horse? He has been polite enough to
make me a morning call, but I am afraid he does not intend to allow me
to return it. However, as long as he permits you to follow his example,
I hope that I shall be enabled to bear the disappointment with becoming
resignation."
"Hush, hush! how can you talk so giddily, when you know not what may be
your fate?"
"Why, hanging is not a favorite Spanish punishment, so I suppose he will
honor me so far as to expend a little powder and shot upon me."
"O, Charles! Charles! be quiet, for heaven's sake. Tell me, what did my
uncle say?"
"Say? why, he scolded a good deal, said that I had heretofore behaved
very decently, and that he was very sorry to see me here."
"He has written to the viceroy, to know what he is to do with you. My
uncle, with all his faults, is an angel of mercy, compared with that
cold-blooded, bigoted, cruel man. I have read somewhere that it is
written over the gates of the infernal regions 'Let all who enter here
leave hope behind.' Let all who fall into the hands of that haughty
nobleman, whether innocent or guilty, leave hope behind too. He is
governed entirely by his priests, and the very circumstance of your
being a Protestant, however harmless, and found in his dominions, would
be sufficient to make you an object of hatred and vengeance."
"Well, all that may be; but recollect my country will not tamely permit
her sons to be dragged to foreign prisons, without knowing wherefore."
"You cannot suppose that your country will plunge into a war for your
sakes?"
"No, no, my love; she would be a fool if she did; but there is a set of
fellows called ambassadors, that often do more with their tongues than
ten thousand good fellows can with their bayonets. But tell me, if you
know, where is the ship? what says the good old Captain Williams to the
scrape?"
"The ship has moved farther out, and he has been on shore twice to-day
to intercede for you, but without effect, though my uncle has so far
relented as to order you all the comforts that you wish."
"I should be obliged to him, then, for the comfort of walking out of
prison."
"When the ship moved out of gunshot," continued Isabella, without
noticing what she thought his artificial gaiety, "there was some
apprehension that Captain Williams intended to make some desperate
attempt to release you; but he has been on shore since, and had an
interview with my uncle, and the alarm has subsided."
"Well done! that is the best thing I have heard this long time--a whole
garrisoned Spanish town thrown into consternation by a single Yankee
merchantman! upon my word, I shall entertain a more exalted opinion than
ever of Spanish courage."
Isabella permitted him to indulge his national vanity, when she again
urged that his situation was but little short of desperate, unless he
was speedily relieved from it.
"I know, I know that my head is in the lion's mouth, and how it is to be
got out I know not. If I could see Captain Williams--perhaps a good
round fine paid to his high mightiness might open these doors."
"I will write to Captain Williams myself," said the young lady, "perhaps
something of that kind might be done. In the mean time, whenever you
have any wine or other provisions, of which I will see that there shall
be no lack, make a point of sharing it with the guard; and, by all
means," she added, in a lower tone, "see that the sentry is never
forgotten."
"Ha! oho! I see the whole affair--there are never but five men on duty
here at night." "Rash, hot-headed creature! there will be no occasion
for such madness. Even if you should escape from prison, and reach your
ship in safety, which would be next to impossible----"
"Well, what?" said Morton, observing that she was silent. She raised her
eyes, swimming in tears.
"I understand you--dear, dear Isabella, do you think I would leave this
country without you? No, never."
"Then remain perfectly quiet, attempt nothing, do nothing of yourself.
In the mean time," continued she, rising, "do not abandon yourself
either to hope or despair."
With these words she left the prison.