Forgive me, my dear friend, these involuntary emotions, nor imagine that I carry these reflections farther than I ought. Love’s soft moments are not to be expected amidst the tortures of anxiety. I cannot conceal my sufferings from you, and yet I would not overwhelm you with them; nay, you must know them, though not to share, yet to soften them. But into whose bosom dare I pour them, if not into, thine? Are not you my faithful friend, my prudent counselor, my tender comfort? Have not you been fostering in my soul the love of virtue, when, alas! that virtue itself was no longer within me? How often should I have sunk under the pressure of my afflictions had not thy pitying hand relieved me from my sorrows, and wiped away my tears? It is your tender care alone supports me. I dare not abuse myself while you continue to esteem me, and I flatter myself, that if I were indeed contemptible, none of you would or could so honour me with your regard. I am flying to the arms of my dear cousin, or rather to the heart of a tender sister, there to repose the load of grief with which I am oppressed. Come thither this evening, and contribute to restore to me that peace and serenity, of which I have long been deprived.
Letter XXXVIII. To Eloisa.
No, Eloisa, it is impossible! I can never bear to see you every day, if I am always to be charmed in the manner I was last night. My affection must ever bear proportion to the discovery of your beauties, and you are an inexhaustible source of endless wonder and delight, beyond my utmost hopes, beyond my most sanguine expectations! What a delicious evening to me was the last! What amazing raptures did I feel! O enchanting sorrow! How infinitely doth the pleasing languor of a heart softened by concern, surpass the boisterous pleasures, the foolish gaiety, and the extravagant joy with which a boundless passion inspires the ungovernable lover! O peaceful bliss! never, never shall thy pleasing idea be torn from my memory! Heavens, what an enchanting sight! it was extasy itself, to see two such perfect beauties embrace each other so affectionately; your face reclined upon her breast, mixing your tender tears together, and bedewing that charming bosom, just as heaven refreshes a bed of new blown flowers. I grew jealous of such a friendship, and thought there was some thing more interesting in it than even in love itself. I was grieved at the impossibility of consoling you, without disturbing you at the same time by the violence of my emotion. No, nothing, nothing upon earth is capable of exciting so pleasing a sensation as your mutual caresses. Even the sight of two lovers would have been less delightful.
Oh how could I have admired, nay, adored your dear cousin, if the divine Eloisa herself had not taken up all my thoughts! You throw, my dearest angel, an irresistible charm on every thing that surrounds you. Your gown, your gloves, fan, work, nay every thing that was the object of my outward senses, enchanted my very soul; and you yourself compleatd the enchantment. Forbear, forbear, my dear, dear Eloisa, nor deprive me of all sensation, by making my enjoyment too exquisite. My transports approach so nearly to phrenzy, that I begin to be apprehensive I shall lose my reason. Let me, at least, be sensible of my felicity; let me at least have a rational idea of those raptures, which are more sublime, and more penetrating, than my glowing imagination could paint. How can you think yourself disgraced? This very thought is a sure proof that your senses likewise are affected. Oh, you are too perfect for frail mortality! I should believe you to be of a more exalted purer species, if the violence of my passion did not clearly evince, that we are of a kindred frame. No human being conceives your excellence; you are unknown even to yourself; my heart alone knows and can estimate its Eloisa. Were you only an idol of worship, could you have been enraptured with the dull homage of admiring mortals? Were you only an angel, how much you would lose of your real value!
Tell me, if you can, how such a passion as mine is capable of increasing? I am ignorant of the means, yet am but too sensible of the fact. You are indeed ever present with me, yet there are some days in which thy beautiful image is peculiarly before me, and haunts me as it were with such amazing assiduity that neither time nor place can deprive me of the delightful object. I even believe you left it with me in the dairy-house, at the conclusion of your last letter. Since you mentioned that rural spot, I have been continually rambling in the fields, and am always insensibly led towards the same place. Every time I behold it, it appears still more enchanting.
_Non vide il mondo si leggiadri rami, Ne mosse’l vento mai si verdi frondi._
I find the country more delightful, the verdure fresher and livelier, the air more temperate and serene than ever I did before; even the feathered songsters of the sky seem to tune their tender throats with more harmony and pleasure; the murmuring rills invite to love- inspiring dalliance, while the blossoms of the vine regale me from afar with the choicest perfumes. Some secret charm enlivens every object, or raises my sensations to a more exquisite degree. I am tempted to imagine that even the earth adorns herself to make a nuptial bed for your happy lover, worthy of the passion which he feels, and the goddess he adores. O, my Eloisa, my dearer better half! let us immediately add to these beauties of the spring, the presence of two faithful lovers. Let us carry the true sentiments of pleasures to places which comparatively afford but an empty idea of it. Let us animate all nature which is absolutely dead without the genial warmth of love. Am I yet to stay three days, three whole days? Oh what an age to a fond expecting lover! Intoxicated with my passion, I wait that happy moment with the most melancholy impatience. Oh how happy should we be, if heaven would annihilate those tedious intervals which retard the blissful moment!
Letter XXXIX. From Eloisa.
There is not a single emotion of your heart, which I do not share with the tenderest concern. But talk no more of pleasures, whilst others, who have deserved much better than either of us, are suffering under the pressure of the severest afflictions. Read the inclosed, and then be composed if you can. I indeed, who am well acquainted with the good girl who wrote it, was not able to proceed without shedding tears of sorrow and compassion. The recollection it gave me of my blameable negligence, touched my very soul, and, to my bitter confusion, I perceive but too plainly, that a forgetfulness of the principal points of my duty, has extended itself to all those of inferior consideration. I had promised this poor child to take care of her; I recommended her to my mother, and kept her in some degree under my continual inspection: but, alas! when I became unable to protect myself, I abandoned her too, and exposed her to worse misfortunes than even I myself have fallen into. I shudder to think that had I not been roused from my carelessness, in two days time my ward would have been ruined; her own indigence, and the snares of others, would have ruined, for ever ruined, a modest and discreet girl, who may hereafter possibly prove an excellent parent. O, my dear friend! can there be such vile creatures upon earth, who would extort from the depth of misery what the heart alone should give? That any one can submit to receive the tender embraces of love from the arms of famine itself!
Can you be unmoved at my Fanny’s filial piety, at the integrity of her sentiments, and the simplicity of her innocence? But are you not affected with the uncommon tenderness of the lover, who will sell even himself to assist his poor mistress? Would not you think yourself too happy to be the instrument of uniting a couple so well formed for each other? If we, alas, (whose situation so much resembles theirs) do not compassionate lovers who are united by nature, but divided by misfortunes, where else can they seek relief with a probability of success? For my own part, I have determined to make some amends for my neglect, by contributing my utmost endeavours to unite these two young people. Heaven will, I hope, assist the generous undertaking, and my success may prove a good omen to us. I desire, nay, conjure you, by all that is good and dear to you, to set out for Neufchatel the very moment you receive this, or to-morrow morning at farthest. You will then go to Mr. Merveilleux, and try to obtain the young man’s release; spare neither money nor intreaties. Take Fanny’s letter along with you. No breast, that is not absolutely void of all sentiments of humanity, can read it without emotion. In short, whatever money it may cost, whatever pleasure of her own it may defer, be sure not to return without an entire free discharge for Claudius Anet; if you do, you may be assured, I shall never enjoy a single moment’s satisfaction during the remainder of my life.