“Ah, I have long hoped for this,” said the Sentimental Bachelor.
“It is a good while now—I think it must be ever since Adam—that
Tyrant Man has had to pay all too dearly for the favor—and favors—of
the unfair sex. Of course, there is a difference in the value of
the advantages enjoyed. For illustration, there is the good will of
Celeste, of Babette, of Clarisse—best of all, of the incomparable
Clorinda! I say good will, for I speak of that which I myself have had
the supreme distinction to enjoy; and no gentleman, sir, will ever so
far forget himself as to call a lady’s preference for him by a stronger
name. Discretion, sir, discretion—that is what every man of sense and
feeling goes in for.”
The Timorous Reporter signified such approval as was consistent with
the public interest and the prosperity of the press.
“As I was saying, the good will of the admirable Nanette, the most
excellent Lucia—excellent no longer, alas, for she is dead—of the
superb Héloise, and I might, perhaps, add to the list one or two
others, is above price and beyond appraisement. Yet it was not to be
had for nothing; the gods are not so kind. I have suffered, sir, I have
paid, believe me.
“What am I coming to? Why, this, my lad, this. The supreme court of one
of our States has decided that, in proving an intention of marriage on
the part of a male defendant, what the lady plaintiff may have said
to others about it is not competent evidence. ‘Hearsay evidence’?
Why, yes; the honorable court was polite enough to call it so, but,
doubtless, if, with all due respect for the ladies mentioned—Herminia,
Adèle, Demetria and the others—I may venture to say so, the real ground
of exclusion of such evidence is its incredibility. I trust to your
discretion not to report me as uttering that opinion; not for the world
would I wound the sensibilities of the adorable Miranda, most veracious
of her sex.”
The speaker paused, gazing pensively at vacancy as if communing with
the day before yesterday. The reporter endeavored to reveal by his
manner a policy of expectation.
“My dear boy,” resumed the Sentimental Bachelor, “if you aspire to the
good will of a woman, and are marriageable, you should be prepared and
willing to have it believed by all her friends that your intentions
are honorable—yes, sir; you must submit to be placed in that false
position: it is a part of the price. True, you may swear the lady to
secrecy; and Congreve says that no one is so good as a woman to keep a
secret, for, although she is sure to tell it, yet nobody will believe
her. Alas! he underestimated human credulity, which is the eighth
wonder of the world. Beware of human credulity; it is always ready to
believe the worst.
“What’s that? You have had sweethearts that did not say you wanted to
marry them; women friends that did not say you were in love with them?
Fortunate man! But consider how young you are. It is a just inference
that they too are young. Youth is the season of veracity; wait. As
these excellent young ladies (whom Heaven bless) grow older—as they
miss more and more the attentions of men—as they dwell more and more
upon joys of the irrevocable past, they will have a different story to
tell, and right mercifully is it decreed that they shall believe it
themselves. Why, even the once charming Doretta finds, I am told, a
consolation for the horrors of age and whist in the dream of repeated
proposals from me—Meeee! Ah, well, it were inhuman to deny to one
to whom I gave so much the happiness of stating the amount of the
benefaction. Far be it from me to bring down her gray hairs in sorrow
to the truth.
“But, suppose, my dear young friend, that I were wealthy enough to
be sued for breach of promise of marriage—which Heaven forbid! You
see how this righteous decision of that supreme court would remove
from me the temptation and necessity of contradicting a lady. Oh, it
is a great decision! It marks a notable advance in the apprehension
of the underlying motives of human action. For they are human—except
Iphigenia, who is divine. Not so beautiful as Perdita; not so
intelligent as Lorena; not so devoted as Janette; so young as Marie;
so faithful as Theodora—peerless Theodora! But Iphigenia—she has the
cleverness to be so very new! It makes a difference.”
Remarking that Bulwer was a most admirable writer, the Timorous
Reporter took his leave.