Be assured, neither Mrs. Belon, nor any superior beauty, could ever delude my attention from Eloisa. If after all this, you still doubt my sincerity, and can injure my love and your own charms so much as still to suspect me, pray tell me, how I became acquainted with every minute particular of your conduct? Did not I see you shine among the inferior beauties, like the sun among the stars, that were eclipsed by your radiance? Did not I see the young fellows hovering about your chair, and buzzing in your ear? Did not I perceive you singled out from the rest of your sex to be the only object of universal admiration? Did not I perceive their studied assiduities, their continual compliments, and your cold and modest indifference, infinitely more affecting than the most haughty demeanor you could possibly have assumed? Yes, my Eloisa, I saw the effect produced by the sight of your snowy delicate arm, when you pulled off your glove; I saw too that the young stranger who picked it up seemed tempted to kiss the charming hand that received it. And did not I see a still bolder swain, whose steady stare obliged you to add another pin to your tucker? All this may perhaps convince you I was not so absent as you imagine; not that I was the least jealous; for I know your heart was not cast in such a mold as to be susceptible of every passion: nor will you, I hope, think otherwise of mine.
Let us then return to that calm, blest retirement, which I quitted with such regret. My heart finds no satisfaction in the tumultuous hurry of the world. Its empty tinsel pleasures dispose it only to lament the want of more substantial joys the more feelingly, and make it prefer its own real sufferings to the melancholy train of continual disappointments. Surely, Eloisa, we may attain much more solid satisfaction, in any situation, than under our present restraint. And yet you seem to forget it. To be so near each other for a whole fortnight without meeting! Oh, it is an age of time to an enamoured enraptured heart! Absence itself would be infinitely more supportable. Tell me to what end you can make use of a discretion, which occasions more misfortunes than it is able to prevent? Of what importance can it be to prolong a life, in which every succeeding moment brings fresh punishment? Were it not better, yes surely a thousand times, to meet once more at all events, and then submit to our fate with resignation.
I own freely, my dear friend, I would fain know the utmost of the secret you conceal. There never was a discovery that could interest me so deeply: but all my endeavours are in vain. I can however be as silent as you would wish, and repress my forward curiosity. But may I not hope soon to be satisfied? Perhaps you are still in the castle- building system. Oh thou dear object of my affections! surely now it is high time to improve all our schemes into reality.
P. S. I had almost forgot to tell you that M. Roguin made me the offer of a company in the regiment he is raising for the king of Sardinia. I was highly pleased at this brave man’s signal mark of his esteem, and thanking him for his kindness, told him, the shortness of my sight, and great love of a studious and sedentary life, unfitted me for so active an employment. My love can claim no great share in this sacrifice. Every one in my opinion owes his life to his country, which therefore he should not risk in the service of those princes to whom he is no ways indebted; much less is he at liberty to let himself out for hire, and turn the noblest profession in the world into that of a vile mercenary. These maxims I claim by inheritance from my father; and happy enough should I be, could I imitate him as well in his steady adherence to his duty, and love to his country. He never would enter into the service of any foreign prince, but in the year 1712, acquired great reputation in fighting for his country: he served in many engagements, in one of which he was wounded, and at the battle of Wilmerghen was so fortunate as, in the fight of general Sacconex, to take a standard from the enemy.
Letter XXXV. From Eloisa.
I could never think, my dear friend, that what I hinted of Mrs. Belon in jest could have excited so long or so serious an explanation. An over eagerness in one’s own defence is sometimes productive of the very reverse of its intention, and fixes a lasting suspicion instead of removing or lightening the accusation. The most trifling incidents, when attended to minutely, immediately grow up into events of importance. Our situation indeed secures us from making this case our own; for our hearts are too busy to listen to mere punctilios; though all disputes between lovers on points of little moment, have too often a much deeper foundation than they imagine.
I am rather glad however of the opportunity which this accident has given me, of saying somewhat to you on the subject of jealousy; a subject which, alas, but too nearly concerns me. I see, my dear friend, by the similitude of our tempers and near alliance of our dispositions, that love alone will be the great business of our lives: and surely when such impressions as we feel have been once made, love must either extinguish or absorb every other passion. The least relaxation in our passion must inevitably produce a most dangerous lethargy: a total apathy, an indifference to every enjoyment, and a disrelish of every present comfort would very soon take place if our affections were once cooled, and indeed life itself would then become a burthen. With respect to myself, you cannot but perceive, that the present transports of my passion could alone veil over the horror of my disastrous situation, and the sad alternative proposed to my choice, is the extravagance of love, or a death of despair. Judge then if after this I am able to determine a point on which the happiness or misery of my future life so absolutely depends.
If I may be allowed to know any thing of my own temper and disposition, though I am oftentimes distracted with violent emotions, it is but seldom that their influence can hurry me into action. My sorrows must have preyed on my heart for a long time before I could ever be prevailed on to discover the source of them to their author; and being firmly persuaded that there can be no offence without intention, I would much rather submit to a thousand real subjects of complaint than ever come to an explanation. A disposition of this kind will neither easily give way to suspicion, nor be anxiously concerned at the jealousy of others. Oh, shield me, gracious heaven, from the tormenting pangs of causeless jealousy! I am fully assured that your heart was made for mine and for no other; but self-deceit is of all others the most easy imposition: a transient liking is often mistaken for a real passion, as it is difficult to distinguish the effects of sudden fancy from the result of a sincere and settled affection. If you yourself can doubt your own constancy without any reason, how could you blame me were I capable of mistrusting you? But that way leads to misery. So cruel a doubt as that would imbitter the remainder of my life. I should sigh in secret without complaining, and die an inconsolable martyr to my passion.
But let me intreat you to prevent a misfortune, the idea of which shocks my very soul. Swear to me, my dear, dear friend! but not by love, for lover’s oaths are never made but with intention to be broken; but swear by the sacred name of honour, which you highly revere, that I shall ever be the confident of your inmost thoughts, the repository of all your secrets, the witness of all your emotions, and if perchance, (which gracious heaven avert!) if any change should take place in your affections, swear moreover that you will instantly inform me of so interesting a revolution. Think not to excuse yourself by alleging, that such a change is impossible. I believe, I hope, nay, I am well assured of your sincerity; oblige me, however, and prevent all false alarms; take from me the possibility of doubting, and secure my present peace. To hear my fate from you, how hard soever it might be, were much better than through ignorance of the truth to be perpetually exposed to the tortures of imaginary evils. Some comfort, some alleviation of my sorrows would arise from your remorse; though my affections must cease, you would necessarily become the partner of my griefs: and even my own anxiety, when poured into your breast, would seem less distracting.
’Tis on this account, my dear friend, that I congratulate myself more especially on the fond choice of my heart; that honour strengthens and confirms the bond which affection first begun; and that my security depends not on the violence of passion, but the more sober and settled dictates of principle: ’tis this which cements, at the same time that it ensures, the affections; ’tis this virtue that must reconcile us to our woes. Had it been my sad misfortune to have fixed my affections on a lover void of principle, even supposing those affections should continue unchangeable, yet what security should I have of the continuance of his lover? By what methods could I silence those perpetual misgivings that would be ever rising in my mind, and in what manner could I be assured that I was not imposed on, either by his artifice or my own credulity? But thou, my dear, my honourable friend, who hast no dark designs to cover, no secret frauds to practise, thou wilt, I am well assured, preserve the constancy thou hast vowed. You will never be shamed out of your duty, through the false bashfulness of owning an infidelity, and when you can no longer love your Eloisa, you will frankly tell her----yes, you will say, my Eloisa I do not---- I cannot; indeed I cannot, finish the sentence.