But do you know what makes this moderation so painful to the generality of men? It is the difficulty of supporting it with propriety. It is the necessity they lie under of never impeaching it by an unworthy action: for if the fear of doing ill does not restrain men in one case, why should it in another, where that restraint may be attributed to a more natural motive? Hence, it is plain, it does not proceed from virtue, but cowardice; and it is with justice that such scruples are laughed at, as appear only in cases of danger. Have you not observed that persons, captious and ready to affront others, are, for the most part, bad men, who, for fear of having the contempt in which they are universally held publicly exposed, endeavour to screen, by some _honourable_ quarrels, the infamy of their lives? Is it for you to imitate such wretches as these? Let us set aside men of a military profession, who fell their blood for pay, and who, unwilling to be degraded from their rank, calculate from their interest what they owe to their honour, and know to a shilling the value of their lives. Let us, my friend, leave these gentlemen to their fighting. Nothing is less honourable than that honour about which they make such a noise; and which is nothing more than an absurd custom, a false imitation of virtue, which prides itself in the greatest crimes. Your honour is not in the power of another: it depends on yourself, and not on the opinion of the world; its defence is neither in the sword nor the buckler, but in a life of integrity and virtue; a proof of greater courage than to brave death in a duel.----
On these principles you may reconcile the encomiums I have always bestowed on true valour, with the contempt I have as constantly expressed for the base pretenders to magnanimity. I admire men of spirit, and hate cowards; I would break with a pusillanimous lover, who should betray the want of a proper resolution in cases of danger, and think with all the rest of my sex, that the ardours of true courage heighten those of love. But, I would have such courage exerted only on lawful occasions, and not an idle parade made of it when it is unnecessary, as if there was some fear of not having it ready when it should be called for. There are cowards who will make one effort to exert their courage, that they may have a pretence to avoid danger the rest of their lives. True courage is more constant and less impetuous; it is always what it ought to be, and wants neither the spur nor the rein; the man of real magnanimity carries it always about him; in fighting he exerts it against his enemy; in company against back-biting and falsehood, and on a sick bed against the attacks of pain and the horrors of death. That fortitude of mind which inspires true courage is always exerted; it places virtue out of the reach of events, and does not consist in braving danger, but in not fearing it. Such, my friend, is the merit of that courage I have often commended, and which I would admire in you. All other pretences to bravery are wild, extravagant, and brutal; it is even cowardice to submit to them; and I despise as much the man who runs himself into needless danger, as him who turns his back on what he ought to encounter.
If I am not much mistaken, I have now made it clear, that, in this your quarrel with Lord B----, your own honour is not at all concerned; that you are going to compromise mine by drawing your sword to avenge it; that such conduct is neither just, reasonable, nor lawful; that it by no means agrees with the sentiments you profess, but belongs only to bad men, who make use of their courage as a supplement to virtues they do not possess, or to officers that fight not for honour but interest; that there is more true courage in despising than adopting it, that the inconveniences to which you expose yourself by rejecting it are inseparable from the practice of our duty, and are more apparent than real; in fine, that men who are the most ready to recur to the sword, are always those of the most suspicious characters. From all which I conclude, that you cannot either give or accept a challenge on this occasion, without giving up at once the cause of reason, virtue, honour, and Eloisa. Canvas my arguments as you please, heap sophism on sophism, as you will, it will be always found that a man of true courage is not a coward, and that a man of virtue cannot be without honour. And I think I have demonstrated as clearly that a man of true courage despises, and a man of virtue abhors, duelling.
I thought proper, my friend, in so serious and important an affair, to speak to you only in the plain language of reason, and to represent things simply as they are. If I would have described them as they appear to me, and engaged the passions and humanity in the cause, I should have addressed you in a different stile. You know that my father had the misfortune, in his youth, to kill his antagonist in a duel: that antagonist was his friend; they fought with regret, but were obliged to it by that absurd notion of a point of honour. That fatal blow which deprived the one of life, robbed the other of his piece of mind for ever. From that time has the most cruel remorse incessantly preyed on his heart; he is often heard to sigh and weep in private: his imagination still represents to him the fatal steel pushed by his cruel hand into the breast of the man he loved; his slumbers are disturbed by the appearances of his pale and bleeding friend: he looks with terror on the mortal wound; he endeavours to stop the blood that flows from it; he is seized with horror, and cries out, will this corpse never cease pursuing me? It is five years since he lost the only support of his name, and hope of his family; since when, he has reproached himself with his death, as a just judgment from heaven, which avenged on him the loss of that unhappy father, whom he deprived of an only son.
I must confess that all this, added to my natural aversion to cruelty, fills me with such horror at duels, that I regard them as instances of the lowest degree of brutality into which mankind can possibly descend. I look upon those, who go chearfully to a duel, in no other light than as wild beasts going to tear each other to pieces; and, if there remains the least sentiment of humanity within them, I think the murdered less to be pitied than the murderer. Observe those men who are accustomed to this horrid practice; they only brave remorse by stifling the voice of nature; they grow by degrees cruel and insensible; they sport with the lives of others, and their punishment for having turned a deaf ear to humanity, is to lose at length every sense of it. How shocking must be such a situation? Is it possible you can desire to be like them? No, you were never made for such a state of detestable brutality: be careful of the first step that leads to it; your mind is yet undepraved and innocent: begin not to debase it, at the hazard of your life, by an attempt that has no virtue, a crime that has no temptation, and a point of honour founded only on absurdity.
I have said nothing to you of your Eloisa; she will be a gainer, no doubt, by leaving your heart to speak for her. One word, only one word, and I leave her to you. You have sometimes honoured me with the endearing name of wife; perhaps I ought at this time to bear that of mother. Will you leave me a widow before we are legally united?
P. S. I make use of an authority in this letter, which no prudent man ever resisted. If you refuse to submit to it, I have nothing farther to say to you: but think of it well before hand. Take a week’s time for reflection, and to meditate on this important subject. It is not for any particular reason I demand this delay, but for my own pleasure. Remember, I make use only on this occasion of a right; which you yourself have given me over you, and which extends at least to what I now require.
Letter LVIII. From Eloisa to Lord B----.
I have no intention in writing to your Lordship, to accuse or complain of you; since you are pleased to affront me, I must certainly be the offender, though I may be ignorant of my offence. Would any gentleman seek to dishonour a reputable family without a cause? Surely no: therefore satisfy your revenge, if you believe it just. This letter will furnish you with an easy method of ruining an unhappy girl, who can never forgive herself for having offended you, and who commits to your discretion that honour which you intend to blast. Yes, my Lord, your imputations were just: I have a lover, whom I sincerely love; my heart, my person, are entirely his, and death only can dissolve our union. This lover is the very man whom you honour with your friendship, and he deserves it, because he loves you and is virtuous. Nevertheless, he must perish by your hand. Offended honour, I know, can be appeased only by a human sacrifice. I know that his own courage will prove his destruction. I am convinced, that in a combat in which you have so little to fear, his intrepid heart will impatiently rush upon the point of your sword. I have endeavoured to restrain his inconsiderate ardour, by the power of reason; but alas! even whilst I was writing, I was conscious of the inutility of my arguments: What opinion soever I may have of his virtue, I do not believe it so sublime as to detach him from a false point of honour. You may safely anticipate the pleasure you will have in piercing the heart of your friend: but be assured, barbarous man, that you shall never enjoy that of being witness to my tears and my despair. No, I swear by that sacred flame which fills my whole heart, that I will not survive, one single day, the man for whom alone I breathe! Yes, Sir, you will reap the glory of having, in one instant, sent to the grave two unhappy lovers, whose offence was not intentional, and by whom you were honoured and esteemed.