Damon and Delia - William Godwin
DAMON
AND
DELIA:
A TALE.
--NEQUE SEMPER ARCUM
TENDIT APOLLO. HOR.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. HOOKHAM, AT HIS CIRCULATING
LIBRARY, NEW BOND-STEET, CORNER
OF BRUTON-STREET.
M,DCC,LXXXIV.
CONTENTS
PART the FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
_Containing introductory Matter._
CHAPTER II.
_A Ball_
CHAPTER III.
_A Ghost._
CHAPTER IV.
_A love Scene._
CHAPTER V.
_A Man of Humour._
CHAPTER VI.
_Containing some Specimens of Heroism._
CHAPTER VII.
_Containing that with which the Reader will be acquainted when he has
read it._
CHAPTER VIII.
_Two Persons of Fashion._
CHAPTER IX.
_A tragical Resolution._
CONTENTS.
PART the SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
_In which the Story begins over again_.
CHAPTER II.
_The History of Mr. Godfrey_.
CHAPTER III.
_A Misanthrope_.
CHAPTER IV.
_Much ado about nothing_.
CHAPTER V.
_A Woman of learning_.
CHAPTER VI.
_A Catastrophe_.
CHAPTER VII.
_Containing what will terrify the Reader_.
CHAPTER VIII.
_A Denouement_.
CHAPTER IX.
_Which dismisses the Reader_.
DAMON
AND
DELIA.
PART the FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
_Containing introductory matter_.
The races at Southampton have, for time immemorial, constituted a scene of
rivalship, war, and envy. All the passions incident to the human frame
have here assumed as true a scope, as in the more noisy and more tragical
contentions of statesmen and warriors. Here nature has displayed her most
hidden attractions, and art has furnished out the artillery of beauty.
Here the coquet has surprised, and the love-sick nymph has sapped the
heart of the unwary swain. The scene has been equally sought by the bolder
and more haughty, as by the timid sex. Here the foxhunter has sought a new
subject of his boast in the _nonchalance_ of _dishabille_; the
peer has played off the dazzling charms of a coronet and a star; and the
_petit maitre_ has employed the anxious niceties of dress.
Of all the beauties in this brilliant circle, she, who was incomparably
the most celebrated, was the graceful Delia. Her person, though not
absolutely tall, had an air of dignity. Her form was bewitching, and her
neck was alabaster. Her cheeks glowed with the lovely vermilion of nature,
her mouth was small and pouting, her lips were coral, and her teeth whiter
than the driven snow. Her forehead was bold, high, and polished, her
eyebrows were arched, and from beneath them her fine blue eyes shone with
intelligence, and sparkled with heedless gaiety. Her hair was of the
brightest auburn, it was in the greatest abundance, and when, unfettered
by the ligaments of fashion, it flowed about her shoulders and her lovely
neck, it presented the most ravishing object that can possibly be
imagined.
With all this beauty, it Cannot be supposed but that Delia was followed by
a train of admirers. The celebrated Mr. Prattle, for whom a thousand fair
ones cracked their fans and tore their caps, was one of the first to
enlist himself among her adorers. Squire Savage, the fox-hunter, who, like
Hippolitus of old, chased the wily fox and timid hare, and had never yet
acknowledged the empire of beauty, was subdued by the artless sweetness of
Delia. Nay, it has been reported, that the incomparable lord Martin, a
peer of ten thousand pounds a year, had made advances to her father. It is
true, his lordship was scarcely four feet three inches in stature, his
belly was prominent, one leg was half a foot shorter, and one shoulder
half a foot higher than the other. His temper was as crooked as his shape;
the sight of a happy human being would give him the spleen; and no mortal
man could long reside under the same roof with him. But in spite of these
trifling imperfections, it has been confidently affirmed, that some of the
haughtiest beauties of Hampshire would have been proud of his alliance.
Thus assailed with all the temptations that human nature could furnish, it
might naturally be supposed, that Delia had long since resigned her heart.
But in this conjecture, however natural, the reader will find himself
mistaken. She seemed as coy as Daphne, and as cold as Diana. She diverted
herself indeed with the insignificant loquaciousness of Mr. Prattle, and
the aukward gallantry of the Squire; but she never bestowed upon either a
serious thought. And for lord Martin, who was indisputably allowed to be
the best match in the county, she could not bear to hear him named with
patience, and she always turned pale at the sight of him.
But Delia was not destined always to laugh at the darts of Cupid. Mrs.
Bridget her waiting maid, delighted to run over the list of her adorers,
and she was much more eloquent and more copious upon the subject than we
have been. When her mistress received the mention of each with gay
indifference, Mrs. Bridget would close the dialogue, and with a sagacious
look, and a shake of her head, would tell the lovely Delia, that the
longer it was before her time came, the more surely and the more deeply
she would be caught at last. And to say truth, the wisest philosopher
might have joined in the verdict of the sage Bridget. There was a softness
in the temper of Delia, that seemed particularly formed for the tender
passion. The voice of misery never assailed her ear in vain. Her purse was
always open to the orphan, the maimed, and the sick. After reading a
tender tale of love, the intricacies of the Princess of Cleves, the soft
distress of Sophia Western, or the more modern story of the Sorrows of
Werter, her gentle breast would heave with sighs, and her eye, suffused
with tears, confess a congenial spirit.
The father of Delia--let the reader drop a tear over this blot in our
little narrative--had once been a tradesman. He was naturally phlegmatic,
methodical, and avaricious. His ear was formed to relish better the hoarse
voice of an exchange broker, than the finest tones of Handel's organ. He
found something much more agreeable and interesting in the perusal of his
ledger and his day book, than in the scenes of Shakespeare, or the
elegance of Addison. With this disposition, he had notwithstanding, when
age had chilled the vigour of his limbs, and scattered her snow over those
hairs which had escaped the hands of the barber, resigned his shop, and
retired to enjoy the fruits of his industry. It is as natural for a
tradesman in modern times to desire to die in the tranquillity of a
gentleman, as it was for the Saxon kings of the Heptarchy to act the same
inevitable scene amidst the severities of a cloister.
The old gentleman however found, and it is not impossible that some of his
brethren may have found it before him, when the great transaction was
irretrievably over, that retirement and indolence did not constitute the
situation for which either nature or habit had fitted him. It has been
observed by some of those philosophers who have made the human mind the
object of their study, that idleness is often the mother of love. It might
indeed have been supposed, that Mr. Hartley, for that was his name, by
having attained the age of sixty, might have outlived every danger of this
kind. But opportunity and temptation supplied that, which might have been
deficient on the side of nature.
Within a little mile of the mansion in which he had taken up his retreat,
resided two ancient maiden ladies. Under cover of the venerable age to
which they had attained, they had laid aside many of those modes which
coyness and modesty have prescribed to their sex. The visits of a man were
avowedly as welcome to them, and indeed much more so, than those of a
woman. Their want of attractions either external or mental, had indeed
hindered the circle of their acquaintance from being very extensive; but
there were some, as well as Mr. Hartley, who preferred the company of
ugliness, censoriousness and ill nature to solitude.
Such were the Miss Cranley's, the name of the elder of whom was Amelia,
and that of the younger Sophia. Miss Amelia was nominally forty, and her
sister thirty years of age. Perhaps if we stated the matter more
accurately, we should rate the elder at fifty-six, and the younger
somewhere about fifty. They both of them were masculine in their
behaviour, and studious in their disposition. Miss Amelia, delighted in
the study of theology; she disputed with the curate, maintained a godly
correspondence with a neighbouring cobler, and was even said to be
preparing a pamphlet in defence of the dogmas of Mr. Whitfield. Miss
Sophia, who will make a much more considerable figure in this history, was
altogether as indefatigable in the study of politics, as her sister was in
that of theology. She adhered indeed to none of our political parties, for
she suspected and despised them all. My lord North she treated as stupid,
sleepy, and void of personal principle. Mr. Fox was a brawling gamester,
devoid of all attachments but that of ambition, and who treated the mob
with flattery and contempt. Mr. Burke was a Jesuit in disguise, who under
the most specious professions, was capable of the blackest and meanest
actions. For her own part she was a steady republican. That couplet of Dr.
Garth was continually in her mouth,
_From my very soul I hate,
All kings and ministers of state._
CHAPTER II.
_A Ball._
Thus much it was necessary to premise, in order to acquaint the reader
with the situation of our heroine, and that of some other personages in
this history. Having discharged this task, we will return to the point
from which we set out.
It was at one of the balls at the races at Southampton--the company was
already assembled. The card tables were set, and our maiden ladies,
together with many other venerable pieces of antiquity, were assembled
around them. In another and more spacious room, appeared all that
Southampton could boast of youth and beauty. The squire and his sister,
Mr. Prattle, and lord Martin, formed a part of the company. The first
bustle was nearly composed, when Damon entered the assembly.
He appeared to be a stranger to every body present. And, as he is equally
a stranger to our readers, we will now announce him in proper form. Damon
appeared to be about twenty years of age. His person was tall, and his
limbs slender and well formed. His dress was elegance itself. His coat was
ornamented with a profusion of lace, and the diamond sparkled in his shoe.
His countenance was manly and erect. There appeared in it a noble
confidence, which the spectator would at first sight ascribe to dignity of
birth, and a perfect familiarity with whatever is elegant and polite. This
confidence however had not the least alloy of _hauteur_, his eye
expressed the most open sensibility and the kindest sympathy.
There is something undescribably interesting in the figure we have
delineated. The moment our hero entered the room, the attention of every
person present was fixed upon him. The master of the ceremonies
immediately advanced, and escorted him to the most honourable seat that
yet remained vacant. While Damon examined with an eager eye the gay
parterre of beauty that appeared before him, a general whisper was excited
upon his account. "Who is he?" "Who is he?" echoed from every corner of
the room. But while curiosity was busy in his enquiries, there was not an
individual capable of satisfying them.
The business of every one was now the choice of a partner. But as one
object had engrossed the attention of all, they were willing to see the
election he would make, though every one feared to lose the partner he had
destined for himself. Damon was therefore, however unwilling to
distinguish himself in so particular a manner, constrained to advance the
foremost. He passed slightly along before a considerable number, who sat
in expectation. At length he approached the seat of Delia. He bowed to her
in the most graceful manner, and intreated to be honoured with her hand.
She smiled assent, and they crossed the room among a croud of envious
rivals. Besides the lovers we had mentioned, there were four others, who
had secretly determined to dance with Delia.
But if the gentlemen were disappointed, to whose eyes the beauty of Delia,
however unrivalled, was familiar, the disappointment and envy of the fair
sex upon the loss of Damon, whose external and natural recommendations had
beside the grace of novelty, were inexpressible. The daughter of Mr.
Griskin, an eminent butcher in Clare-market, who had indeed from nature,
the grace of being cross-eyed, now looked in ten thousand more various
directions than she ever did before. Miss Prim, agitated in every limb,
cracked her fan into twenty pieces. Miss Gawky, who had unfortunately been
initiated by the chamber maid in the art of snuff-taking, plied her box
with more zeal than ever. Miss Languish actually fainted, and was with
some difficulty conveyed into the air. Such was the confusion occasioned
in the ball at Southampton, by the election of Damon.
Affairs being now somewhat adjusted, the dances began. Damon at every
interval addressed himself to his lovely partner in the easiest and most
elegant conversation. He talked with fluency, and his air and manner gave
a grace and dignity to the most trifling topics. The heart of Delia,
acknowledged the charms of youthful beauty and graceful deportment, and
secretly confessed that it had never before encountered so formidable an
enemy.
When the usual topics of conversation had been exhausted, the behaviour of
Damon became insensibly more particular, he pressed her hand with the most
melting ardour, and a sigh ever and anon escaped from his breast. He paid
her several very elegant compliments, though they were all of them
confined within the limits of decorum. Delia, on the other hand, though
she apparently received them with the most gay indifference, in reality
drank deep of the poison of love, and the words of Damon made an
impression upon her heart, that was not easily to be erased.
But however delicious was the scene in which they were engaged, it
necessarily drew to a conclusion. The drowsy clocks now announced the hour
of three in the morning. The dances broke up, and the company separated.
Delia leaped into the chariot that was waiting, and quickly arrived at the
parental mansion. Fatigued with the various objects that had passed before
her, she immediately retired to rest. For some time however a busy train
of thoughts detained her from the empire of sleep. "How lovely a stranger!
How elegant his manners, and how brilliant his wit! How soft and engaging
the whole of his behaviour! But ah! was this the fruit of reverence and
admiration? Might it not be no more than general gallantry? Oh that I were
mistress of his heart! That he would lay his person at my feet! What a
contrast between him and my former admirers! How doubly hateful does lord
Martin, the lover favoured by my father now appear! But ah! who is this
Damon? What is his fortune, and what his pretensions? His dress surely
bespoke him a man of rank. His elegant manners could have been learned in
no vulgar circle. How sweet, methinks is suspence! How delightful the
uncertainty that hangs about him! And yet, how glad should I be to have my
doubts resolved."
Soothed with these and similar reflections, the lovely maid fell asleep.
But even in sleep she did not forget the impressions she had received. She
imagined that Damon now approached her pillow. But how unlike the Damon
she had seen! His eyes had something in them superior to a mortal. His
shoulders were adorned with wings, and a vest of celestial azure flowed
around him. He smiled upon her with the most bewitching grace. But the
gentle maid involuntarily stretched out her arms towards him, and the
pleasing vision vanished from her sight.
Again she closed her eyes, and again she endeavoured to regain her former
object. Damon indeed appeared, but in how different a manner! his
countenance was impressed with every mark of horror, and he seemed to fly
before some who inveterately pursued him. They appeared with the
countenances of furies, and the snakes hissed around their temples. Delia
looked earnestly upon them, and presently recollected the features of the
admirers we have already celebrated. The noble peer under the figure of
Tisiphone, led the troop. Damon stumbled and fell. Sudden as lightning
Tisiphone reached the spot, and plunged a dagger in his heart. She drew it
forth reeking with blood, and the lovely youth appeared in the agonies of
death. Terrified beyond measure, Delia screamed with horror and awoke.
In the midst of reveries like these, now agitated with apprehension, and
now soothed with pleasure, Delia passed the night. The sun appeared, her
gold repeater informed her that it was twelve, and, assisted by the fair
hands of Mrs. Bridget, she began to rise.
CHAPTER III.
_A Ghost._
Mr. Hartley had breakfasted and walked out in the fields, before Delia
appeared. She had scarcely begun her morning repast, ere Miss Fletcher,
the favourite companion and confidante of Delia, entered the room. "My
dearest creature," cried the visitor, "how do you do? Had not we not a
most charming evening? I vow I was fatigued to death: and then, lord
Martin, I think he never appeared to so much advantage. Why he was quite
covered with diamonds, spangles, and frogs." "Ah!" cried Delia, "but the
young stranger." "True," answered Miss Fletcher, "I liked him of all
things; so tall, so genteel, and so sweetly perfumed.--I cannot think who
he is. I called upon Miss Griskin, and I called upon Miss Savage, nobody
knows. He is some great man." "When did he come to town?" said Delia,
"Where does he lodge?" "My dear, he came to town yesterday in the evening,
and went away again as soon as the ball was over. But do not you think
that Mr. Prattle's new suit of scarlet sattin was vastly becoming? I vow I
could have fallen in love with him. He is so gay and so trifling, and so
fond of hearing himself talk. Why, does not he say a number of smart
things?" "It is exessively strange," said Delia. (She was thinking of the
stranger.) But Miss Fletcher went on--"Not at all, my life. Upon my word I
think he is always very entertaining. He cuts out paper so prettily, and he
has drawn me the sweetest pattern for an apron. I vow, I think, I never
showed you it." "What can be his name?" said Delia; "His name, my dear;
law, child, you do not hear a word one says to you. But of all things,
give me the green coat and pink breeches of Mr. Savage. But did you ever
hear the like? There will be a terrible to do--Lord Martin is in such a
quandary--He has sent people far and near." "I wish they may find him,"
exclaimed Delia. "Nay, if they do, I would not be in his shoes for the
world. My lord vows revenge. He says he is his rival. Why, child, the
stranger did not make love to you, did he?" "Mercy on us," cried Delia,
"then my dream is out." "Oh, bless us," said Miss Fletcher, "what dream,
my dear?" Her curiosity then prevailed upon her to be silent for a few
moments, while Delia related that with which the reader is already
acquainted.
In return, Delia requested of her friend to explain to her more
intelligibly what she hinted of the anger of lord Martin. "Why, my dear,
his lordship has been employed all this morning in writing challenges.
They say he has not writ less than a dozen, and has sent them by as many
messengers, like a hue and cry, all over the county--my lord is a little
man--but what of that--he is as stout as Hercules, and as brave as
what-d'ye call'um, that you and I read of in Pope's Homer. He is in such a
vengeance of a passion, that he cannot contain himself. He tells it to
every body he sees; and his mother and sister run about the house
screaming and fainting like so many mad things."
Delia, as we have already said, was endowed with a competent share of
natural understanding. She therefore easily perceived, that from an anger
so boisterous and so public, no very fatal effects were to be apprehended.
This reflection quieted the terrors that her dream had excited, and which
the young partiality she began to feel for the amiable stranger would
otherwise have confirmed. Her breast being thus calmed, she made about
half a dozen morning visits, among which, one to Miss Griskin, and another
to Miss Languish, were included. The conversation every where turned upon
the outrageousness of lord Martin. All but the gentle Delia, were full of
anxiety and expectation. The females were broken into parties respecting
the event of the duel. Many trembled for the fate of lord Martin, so
splendid, so rich, and consequently, in their opinion, so amiable and so
witty. Others, guided by the unadulterated sentiments of nature, poured
forth all their vows for the courteous unknown. "May those active limbs
remain without a wound! May his elegant blue and silver never be stained
with blood! Ah, what a pity, that eyes so bright, and teeth so white,
should be shrowded in the darkness of the grave."
The dinner, a vulgar meal, that passed exactly in the same manner as fifty
dinners had before it, shall be consigned to silence. The evening was
bright and calm. It was in the close of autumn; and every thing tempted
our lovely fair one to take the air. By the way she called upon her
inseparable friend and companion. They directed their course towards the
sea side.
Here they had not advanced far, before they entered a grove, a spot
particularly the favourite of Delia. In a little opening there was a bank
embroidered with daisies and butter-cups; a little row of willows bending
their heads forward, formed a kind of canopy; and directly before it,
there was a vista through the trees, which afforded a distant prospect of
the sea, with every here and there a vessel passing along, and the beams
of the setting sun quivered on the waves.
Delia and her companion advanced towards the well known spot. The mellow
voice of the thrush, and the clear pipe of the blackbird, diversified at
intervals with the tender notes of the nightingale, formed the most
agreable natural concert. The breast of Delia, framed for softness and
melancholy, was filled with sensations responsive to the objects around
her, and even the eternal clack of Miss Fletcher was still.
Presently, however, a new and unexpected object claimed their attention. A
note, stronger and sweeter than that of any of the native choristers of
the grove, swelled upon the air, and floated towards them. Having
approached a few paces, they stood still to listen. It seemed to proceed
from a flute, played upon by a human voice. The air was melancholy, but
the skill was divine.
The native curiosity of Miss Fletcher was not upon this occasion a match
for the sympathetic spirit of Delia. She pressed forward with an eager and
uncertain step, and looking through an interstice formed by two venerable
oaks, she perceived the figure of a young man sitting in her favourite
alcove. His back was turned towards the side upon which she was. Having
finished the air, he threw his flute carelesly from him, and folded his
arms in a posture the most disconsolate that can be imagined. He rose and
advanced a little with an irregular step. "Ah lovely mistress of my soul,"
cried he, "thou little regardest the anguish that must for ever be an
inmate of this breast! While I am a prey to a thousand tormenting
imaginations, thou riotest in the empire of beauty, heedless of the wounds
thou inflicted, and the slaves thou chainest to thy chariot. Wretch that I
am, what is to be done? But I must think no more." Saying this he snatched
up his flute, and thrusting it into his bosom, hurried out of the grove.
While he spoke, Delia imagined that the voice was one that she had heard
before though she knew not where. Her heart whispered her something more
than her understanding could disentangle. But as he stooped to take his
flute from the ground his profile was necessarily turned towards the inner
part of the grove. Delia started and trembled. Damon stood confessed. But
she scarcely recollected his features before he rushed away swifter than
the winged hawk, and was immediately out of sight.
Delia was too full of a thousand reflections upon this unexpected
rencounter to be able to utter a word. But Miss Fletcher immediately
began. "God bless us," cried she, "did you ever see the like? Why it is my
belief it is a ghost or a wizard. I never heard any thing so pretty--I
vow, I am terribly frightened."
Delia now caught hold of her arm. "For heaven's sake, let us quit the
grove. I do not know what is the matter--but I feel myself quite sick."
"Good God! good heavens! Well, I do not wonder you are all in a
tremble--But suppose now it should be nothing but Mr. Prattle--He is
always somewhere or other--And then he plays _God save the king_, and
_Darby and Joan_, like any thing." "Oh," said the lovely, trembling
nymph, "they were the sweetest notes!" "Ah," said her companion, "he is a
fine man. And then he is so modest--He will play at one and thirty, and
ride upon a stick with little Tommy all day long. But sure it could not be
Mr. Prattle--He always wears his hair in a queue you know--but the ghost
had a bag and solitaire." "Well," cried Delia, "let us think no more of
it. But did we hear anything?"--"Law, child, why he played the nicest
glee--and then he made such a speech, for all the world like Mr. Button,
that I like so to see in Hamlet." "True," said Delia,--"but what he said
was more like the soft complainings of my dear Castalio. Did not he
complain of a false mistress?" "Why he did say something of that kind.--If
it be neither a ghost nor Mr. Prattle. I hope in God he is going to appear
upon the Southampton stage. I do so love to see a fine young man come on
for the first time with