Let me now confess a suspicion which, to my shame and mortification, I have entertained; it is that you are more capable of love than myself. Yes, my Eloisa, it is on you that my life, my being depends: I revere you with all the faculties of my soul; but yours contains more of love. I see, I feel, that love hath penetrated deeper into your heart than mine. It is that which animates your charms, which prevails in your discourse, which gives to your eyes that penetrating sweetness, to your voice such moving accents: it is that which your presence alone imperceptibly communicates to the hearts of others, the tender emotions of your own. Alas! How far am I from such an independent state of love! I seek the enjoyment, and you the love, of the beloved object: I am transported, and you enamoured; not all my transports are equal to your languishing softness; and it is in such sensations as yours, only that supreme felicity consists. It is but since yesterday that I have known such refined pleasure. You have left me something of that inconceivable charm peculiar to yourself; and I am persuaded that your sweet breath hath inspired me with a new soul. Haste then, I conjure you, to compleat the work you have begun. Take from me all that remains of mine, and give me a soul entirely yours. No, angelic beauty, celestial mind, no sentiments but such as yours can do honour to your charms. You alone are worthy to inspire a perfect passion; you alone are capable of feeling it. Ah! give me _your_ heart, my Eloisa, that I may love you as you deserve?
Letter LVI. From Clara to Eloisa.
I have a piece of information for my dear cousin, in which she will find herself a little interested. Last night there happened an affair between your friend and Lord B---- which may possibly become serious. Thus it was, as I had it from Mr. Orbe, who was present, and who gave me the following account this morning.
Having supped with his Lordship, and entertained themselves for a couple of hours with their music, they sat down to chat and drink punch. Your friend drank only one single glass mixt with water. The other two were not quite so sober; for though Mr. Orbe declares he was not touched, I intend to give him my opinion of that matter some other time. You naturally became the subject of their conversation; for you know this Englishman can talk of no body else. Your friend, who did not much relish his Lordship’s discourse, seemed so little obliged to him for his confidence, that at last, my Lord, slushed with liquor, and piqued at the coldness of his manner, dared to tell him, in complaining of your indifference, that it was not so general as might be imagined, and that those who were silent had less reason to complain. You know your friend’s impetuosity: he instantly took fire, repeated the words with great warmth and insult, which drew upon him the _lie_, and, they both flew to their swords. Lord B----, who was half seas over, in running gave his ancle a sudden twist which obliged him to stagger to a chair. His leg began immediately to swell, and this more effectually appeased their wrath than all Mr. Orbe’s interposition. But as he continued attentive to what past, he observed your friend, in going out, approach his Lordship, and heard him whisper: _As soon as you are able to walk, you will let me know it, or shall take care to inform myself----You need not give yourself that trouble,_ said the other with a contemptuous smile, _you shall know it time enough----We shall see,_ returned your friend, and left the room. Mr. Orbe when he delivers this letter, will tell you more particularly. It is your prudence that must suggest the means of stifling this unlucky affair. In the mean time, the bearer waits your commands, and you may depend on his secrecy.
Pardon me, my dear, my friendship forces me to speak: I am terribly apprehensive on your account. Your attachment can never continue long concealed in this small town; it is indeed a miraculous piece of good fortune, considering it is now two years since it begun, that you are not already the public talk of the place. But it will very soon happen, if you are not extremely cautious. I am convinced your character would long since have suffered, if you had been less generally beloved; but the people are so universally prejudiced in your favour, that no one dares to speak ill of you for fear of being discredited and despised. Nevertheless every thing must have an end; and must I fear that your mystery draws near its period; I have great reason to apprehend that Lord B----’s suspicions proceed from some disagreeable tales he has heard. Let me intreat you to think seriously of this affair. The watch-man has been heard to say, that, some time ago, he saw your friend come out of your house at five o’clock in the morning. Fortunately he himself had early intelligence of this report and found means to silence the fellow; but what signifies such silence? It will serve only to confirm the reports that will be privately whispered to all the world. Besides, your mother’s suspicions are daily increasing. You remember her frequent hints. She has several times spoke to me in such bitter terms, that if she did not dread the violence of your father’s temper, I am certain she would already have opened her mind to him; but she is conscious that the blame would fall chiefly on herself.
It is impossible I should repeat it too often; think of your safety before it be too late. Prevent those growing suspicions, which nothing but his absence can dispel: and indeed, to be sincere with you, under what pretext can he be supposed to continue here? Possibly in a few weeks more his removal may be to no purpose. If the least circumstance should reach your father’s ear, you will have cause to tremble at the indignation of an old officer, so tenacious of the honour of his family, and at the petulance of a violent youth. But we must first endeavour to terminate the affair with Lord B----, for it were in vain to attempt to persuade your friend to decamp, till that is in some shape accomplished.
Letter LVII. From Eloisa.
I have been informed, my friend, of what has passed between you and my Lord B----; and from a perfect knowledge of the fact, I have a mind to discuss the affair, and give you my opinion of the conduct you ought to observe on this occasion, agreeable to the sentiments you profess, and of which I suppose you do not make only an idle parade.
I do not concern myself whether you are skilled in fencing, nor whether you think yourself capable of contending with a man who is famous all over Europe for his superior dexterity in that art, having fought five or six times in his life, and always killed, wounded, or disarmed his man. I know that in such a case as yours, people consult not their skill, but their courage; and that the fashionable method to be revenged of a man who has insulted you, is to let him run you through the body. But let us pace over this _wise_ maxim; you will tell me that your honour and mine are dearer to you than life. This, therefore, is the principle on which we must reason.
To begin with what immediately concerns yourself. Can you ever make it appear in what respect you were personally offended by a conversation that related solely to me? We shall see presently whether you ought on such an occasion to take my cause upon yourself: in the mean time, you cannot but allow that the quarrel was quite foreign to your own honour in particular, unless you are to take the suspicion of being beloved by me as an affront. I must own you have been insulted; but then it was after having begun the quarrel yourself by an atrocious affront; and, as I have had frequent opportunities, from the many military people in our family, of hearing these horrible questions debated, I am not to learn that one outrage committed in return to another does not annul the first, and that he who receives the first insult is the only person offended. It is the same in this case, as in a rencounter, where the aggressor is only in fault: he who wounds and kills another in his own defence, is not considered as being guilty of murder.
To come now to myself; we will agree that I was insulted by the conversation of my Lord B----, although he said no more of me than he might justify. Do you know what you are about in defending my cause with so much warmth and indiscretion? You aggravate his insults; you prove he was in the right; you sacrifice my honour to the false punctilios of yours, and defame your mistress to gain at most the reputation of a good swords-man. Pray tell me what affinity there is between your manner of justifying me and my real justification? Do you think that to engage in my behalf with so much heat is any great proof that there are no connections between us? And that it is sufficient to shew your courage to convince the world you are not my lover? Be assured, my Lord B----’s insinuations are less injurious to me than your conduct. It is you alone who take upon yourself, by this bustle to publish and confirm them. He may, perhaps, turn aside the point of your sword in conflict; but never will my reputation, nor perhaps my being, survive the mortal blow you meditate.